Work Text:
Taehyung meets Min Yoongi on a rather unassuming autumn day just before noon.
He’s just finishing up work for the morning, (renovations are nearly complete, he’s just been fighting his muse with the final mural along the back wall of the shop). Just locking the door when he catches sight of what he first mistakes to be a bipedal hedgehog before realizing that no, that is indeed a human being. Aforementioned human being is fumbling with the keys to their door- likely hindered by the heavily stickered crutches they’re using to prop themselves up.
Taehyung moves before the rest of his brain catches up; his grandparents had made sure to instill a deep sense of empathy in him growing up- not that they’d had to work terribly hard. He’d always been a bit softer than his siblings, incredibly in tune with the people surrounding him and their moods.
The man- definitely a man, he’d never heard a woman speak in such low tones before; curses and sighs before beginning to rearrange limbs, keys now lying on the sidewalk. Thankfully, he makes it to them first, an absentminded “allow me” breaking the air between them as he snags the wayward keyring, noting the cookie keychains and fluffy black cat charms as he hands it back to the- oh, very handsome- man.
There’s not much he can do for a moment as his mind goes completely blank, belatedly registering the dark fluffy hair peeking out from under the hood of the pullover, dark eyes squinting at him like he’d only just recently woken up. A series of piercings line up one ear in scattered order, lip ring between his teeth as the shorter man appraises him in return.
“Thanks.” The small, rumpled man finally mutters, grabbing the keys delicately from Taehyung’s hand. Their knuckles brush- he has the rather distinct, abstract thought of: this is the kind of person I could fall in love with as he watches dumbly the key clicking the door open. He clears his throat, taking the opportunity to actually glance into the window, blinks. It’s the small florist shop he’s been curiously peering into on his way by for the last month or so- there’s a fridge full to the brim of bouquets and vases, shelves artfully filled with green foliage and the back wall painted a deep shade of green with white shelving units.
Given his odd hours working on the shop means odder hours spent in society- he hasn’t had the chance to investigate the flower shop- dawn florals, the white lettering says in lowercase font, while it’s open, never mind any of the other businesses in the neighborhood.
(A shame, considering he’s had his eye on a little pair of vintage radios in the window of the antique shop three doors down- he thinks they’d make the perfect accent for the parlour.)
“It’s not a problem. I’m Kim Taehyung, I’m opening Singularity, just ah-“ he gestures vaguely as the smaller man manages to wrangle the door open, wobbling ever so slightly on his crutches. “Yeah. The tattoo shop.”
He’s prepared, somewhere in the back of his mind, for the scoff, the quick flash of judgement most people give him when he tells them what he does for work. It’s happened before, he’s certainly no stranger to it by now- enough of his peers, friends and family have been quite thorough in sharing their opinions on the choices he’s made in his life. But this time, it doesn’t come.
What does;
“Min Yoongi.” The man says, and it’s not nearly as standoffish as Taehyung might have expected given the overall disgruntled appearance and disposition. “Welcome to the neighborhood, Taehyung-ssi.”
“Thank you.” He replies, almost tripping over the words as his face heats up, taken aback by the genuine greeting. “I’ve been meaning to come explore the area when everything is actually ope-“
The last word is swallowed by a yawn that likely speaks for him, and Yoongi stares at him with something akin to amusement on his face, door propped open with one of his crutches with the early morning sun climbing over the first buildings on the street.
“Feel free to stop by sometime.” Comes the offer. “You’ll need something green in that studio, I bet.”
Something blooms in Taehyung’s chest, unfurling warmth that doesn’t go away even as he stutters out what might be an agreement before making his hasty escape, unable to shake the flush in his cheeks even after arriving back at his small apartment and crawling into bed.
Min Yoongi, indeed.
-
This is how it starts.
(It goes like this.)
Three weeks ago, Yoongi had been unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and Namjoon’s cat had tripped him up down the small set of stairs after their weekly group dinner. Worse still, Seokjin had been present. After ensuring that Yoongi was not, in fact, in any danger of immediately perishing, his only hyung had laughed himself stupid and almost tripped headfirst into a wall.
Would have been rather satisfying justice from the universe, but alas. No luck.
All of this while Namjoon called Hoseok in a panic to pick them up since two of them had been drinking (Jin and Yoongi) and one of them couldn’t drive (Namjoon).
Still, it was more than a little inconvenient to find himself on crutches for at least six weeks while his impressively broken ankle heals, even more so due to the fact he doesn’t exactly work in a shop that allows much sitting. Thankfully, Jin had been benevolent enough to bring in his spare gaming chair for him to use when he needed a break- a lot of them, he’d been finding out over the last couple of weeks. Thankfully, he was his own boss and manager, so any of the disapproving clucks he received from the more work-oriented older women who wandered into his shop looking for odds and ends were quickly and ruthlessly put to rest.
Not that it matters. The clientele he’s built over the last three years has been enough that anyone who knows him knows that he’s one of the hardest workers in their little shopping district, with some of the highest quality florals and cuts available. He’s sourced out Hoseok’s balcony to grow some of his own flowers, his housemate delighted by the colors that crop up. He’s already got the tulip bulbs in the ground- he’s hoping the double blooms are as lovely as they were when he travelled back home to… procure… several bags worth from his mother’s extensive gardens.
He's on his way into the shop, half asleep, craving caffeine something fierce and knowing it’ll be at least another hour before Namjoon is up and brings him his semi-daily fix on his way back from his morning walk. He opens Cypher about an hour after Yoongi opens, and it isn’t like he goes out of his way to make his life easier, though it’s certainly been happening a bit more since the Incident. Jin has also been more of a nuisance than usual, making sure Yoongi has groceries that he drops off every couple days, cooking lunches that he brings over between jobs. If Hoseok wasn’t so busy with his schedule, he’s pretty sure he’d have set up camp in his living room. As it is, he keeps depositing Jungkook on his doorstep at random for him to find star-fished on his floor as the younger man whines about why he decided to open a tech repair shop of all things when “so many people don’t even know how to restart their computers, hyung!”
Anyways.
He’s on his way in, and he’s struggling with his keys- a new inconvenience he’s had to comes to terms with as of late- dropping them and resigning himself to his fate when a hand appears to return the damn things.
“Thanks.” He finally blinks, taken aback by the incredibly handsome man who is attached to the other end of his keys. He’s handsome- Yoongi has eyes, thank you- hair curling over his forehead, eyes almost as wide as Jungkook’s as he clears his throat and politely looks in his store’s front window while Yoongi wrestles with the lock. It’s been sticky since he’d had the front cleaned professionally, and he’s been meaning to ask Namjoon if he has anything he can use to loosen it back up again.
He isn’t any good with new people, but he’s pleased to find that Taehyung- his new neighbor who’s been fixing up the old clothing shop into something new, something more suited to the changing age of the street demographic- takes the lead in introducing himself. Yoongi finds himself rather endeared by it, even as he says words that leave his memory almost as swiftly as they leave his tongue, watching the taller man move along with a grace that’s almost too easy.
Kim Taehyung, he thinks, will be a good thing for their little neighborhood.
-
It’s several days later when Taehyung finally puts his paintbrush down, mural complete. Sprawling illustrative flowers outlined in thick lines, daisies and sunflowers and peonies in a chaotic design that stretches up to the ceiling, vining leaves interspersed throughout. Once he finishes hauling the large wood counter in front of it, he’ll actually be able to start moving the rest of the furniture and his materials in to be able to set up. He’s already begun booking out appointments beginning the next several weeks. It’s an optimistic feeling; the autumnal months are usually fairly popular for people to book tattoos; just cool enough to not need to worry about keeping them covered in summer heat or the damp of the winter.
Jimin had brought him a London fog an hour earlier on his way by from his bakery shift, kissing his cheek fondly as he’d left Taehyung to it, still smelling thickly of focaccia and sugar. If it hadn’t been so early, he’d probably been convinced to stay and keep him company, but Taehyung wasn’t so selfish to deprive him of his bed when he’d been up so long already.
He’s been sitting cross-legged on the floor a while as it is, sipping his drink and basking in the quiet contentment of seeing his hard work begin to come to fruition, when he hears an odd tip-tap sort of click from outside. One he has, admittedly, already begun to associate with the arrival of his next-door neighbor and his crutches. Yoongi is running early, evidently. Taehyung checks his phone just in case, certain he hasn’t been working for so long already.
(Thankfully not, to his relief. Not that he would have been terribly surprised even if he had. Once he fixates on a task, it’s easy for time to get away from him.)
He hasn’t spoken to Yoongi beyond one other occasion as they bumped into each other when Taehyung was locking up a few days earlier. Honestly, it was hard to say which one of them was more flustered by it- Yoongi had been wearing an oversized baby blue hoodie that came down over his fingers, cheeks puffy from sleep, hair pulled back into a tiny ponytail that Taehyung had found it immensely difficult not to coo over.
It’s only a little bit later when he hears the tip-tap click returning, a sharp rap of knuckles on the glass of the door breaking him from his reverie (or doze, hard to say when he’s chronically exhausted these days).
Yoongi is standing at the door, one crutch discarded in favor of holding onto a purple pot, greenery jostled against his side as Taehyung opens the door curiously.
“Yoongi-ssi, good morning.” He greets, offering the other man as warm a smile he can manage with his eyes burning and his body demanding he lay down for longer than a handful of hours.
“Taehyung-ssi.” Comes the quick retort, sharp if not for the light flush to his cheeks. “I saw that you were in today and brought you something green for your counter.”
The flutter of endeared affection comes back again as Taehyung takes the plant, admiring the leaves and the way the green turns to cream down the centers.
“Thank you, Yoongi-ssi.” He says, smile stretching a little wider, a little more genuine. “That’s very kind.”
“It’s a dieffenbachia.” The smaller man says, averting his eyes. If not for the persistent color to his cheeks, Taehyung would say he was looking for a reason to leave. “They can get large, but for now it’ll probably be happy to stay on the counter. Bright indirect light, and if you have any pets don’t let them eat it; it’s poisonous.”
“I’ll do my best to take care of it.” He pledges. “Though I know where to find you if I have any questions.”
Yoongi nods again, a little jerky.
“I like your tattoo.” He says quietly.
Ah.
Taehyung glances down at the tiny linework dog on his wrist, twisting his hand so Yoongi can see it better.
“It’s of my Yeontannie.” He explains. “He was my first dog after I moved here, so I felt like it was only right to remember that. I’ll have to make sure if I bring him with me that he doesn’t get into anything.”
Yoongi hums thoughtfully, shifting his weight, and it reminds Taehyung that he’s only on one crutch and probably needs to sit down again soon. He remembers the single time he’d broken his arm falling out of a tree and his entire balance had been off until he’d been able to use it again.
“Anyways, I should-“
“You should sit down, hyung-“
They blink at each other, words cut off as they speak over one another. Taehyung feels his cheeks warm further at the way Yoongi’s features soften ever so slightly, the slip up thankfully covered by their mutual need to say something.
“I should go.” Yoongi finishes. “I have to start getting ready to open.”
“Have a good day, Yoongi-ssi.”
“You too, Taehyung-ssi.”
-
(Taehyung waits until he’s certain Yoongi can’t hear him before he sits down in the middle of the studio space and wails in distress over just how sweet Yoongi is, the purple pot sitting innocently on the counter with a plant in it just for him making something begin to bloom in his chest.)
-
(It turns into-)
“What kind of flower do you think would suit me, hyung?”
Yoongi jumps; he hadn’t even heard the other man come in, apparently too absorbed in trying to figure out what kind of cuts to bring in for the next couple of weeks. His last feature had been hydrangeas- beautiful, but equally as fleeting and determined to wither and die under his hand.
(Belatedly, he realizes he never actually gave Taehyung permission to call him so familiarly, but it’s sort of endearing, the way it feels as though he’s always been in their little street.)
“Well,” he says, and it’s automatic- “when were you born?”
“December 30th.”
Yoongi hums, briefly struggling to wrack the vast, cluttered regions of his memory for what he can distantly remember. “Depending on who you ask, there’s a few flowers- if you’re born in December people say holly or narcissus, and if you’re going by your birth day, poinsettias or calycanthus.”
“Those are so…” Taehyung wrinkles his nose, point made without needing to say anything further. Yoongi understands it- there’s something about December that always winds up pointing back to a holiday.
“Christmas? Yeah, I agree.” He finally says, tone dry.
“So… which one of those do you think suits me?” Taehyung persists, and now his feet are kicking gently against the edge of the counter where he’s pulled himself up. Thankfully Yoongi has a sturdy enough to hold several hundred pounds of weight, or he’d have had to shoo off the man.
“Out of those…. Probably the calycanthus.” He hums. “You remind me more of a coreopsis, though.”
“Not all of us know what those are, hyung.” Taehyung pouts- pouts!- at him, earning a startled huff of a laugh and an eye roll.
“It’s called a tickweed, usually. They usually bloom in late summer or fall, but in flower language, they mean ‘always cheerful’. I think it suits you.” He explains, tracing a pattern on his thigh. He doesn’t really want to see the look on Taehyung’s face- always a coward when it comes to anything revolving around his flowers.
“That’s so sweet, hyung.” Taehyung says instead, tone soft and a little too Knowing. As if Yoongi wasn’t already combusting at the mere thought of saying the words in the first place. “You’ll have to show me some when they bloom next.”
“Yes, hyung will show you, Tae.” He agrees.
-
(And-)
“How long have you worked here?”
“Three years.” Yoongi says, and he’s bundled up to the nose, black mask pulled down under his chin while he nurses an iced coffee (curtesy of Namjoon- he’d found a new café with a cute barista a couple of blocks over, and has personally made it his mission to supply enough caffeine to quite possibly last Yoongi a lifetime in the process.) “I opened… a little over three years now?”
His face turns into a squint as he mentally does the numbers in his head, nodding when he comes up with the right date.
Taehyung turned up about twenty minutes prior, eyes bright, hands covered in what Yoongi is fairly certain is paint but doesn’t terribly want to find out in case he’s wrong, and he’s made himself at home on the half empty orchid display Yoongi has been debating on whether or not to order more of due to his unfortunate nature of being unable to keep them alive for too long. There’s just something about them that he struggles with, even if they aren’t… terrible… to keep alive at the end of the day.
“I opened a little bit before Namjoon, so… yes.”
Namjoon, who had met Tae and almost immediately caught on to the vague, somewhat longing comments Yoongi had been dropping in passing in the evenings. It wouldn’t be long before Taehyung was invited to their weekly dinners, subjected to the full chaos of the group if Seokjin had his way. Which… was unfortunately far more likely than he liked, considering how rare it was that their shy florist seemed to take an interest in… anything, really- that wasn’t a plant or plant byproduct.
Hopefully by then he wouldn’t have to wear the damn boot on his leg anymore, either.
-
As feared, Seokjin falls in love with Taehyung immediately. The pair had run into each other while Seokjin was leaving Namjoon’s and the tattooist was heading in to drop off a book he’d borrowed- something old and terribly boring to most but the few in the niche following. Somewhere along that meet-and-greet the topic of Jimin had come up- the barista Namjoon ever so conveniently had “a very respectful and platonic heart boner for”, and the next thing Yoongi knew there were seven of them crammed into his apartment for the next group dinner.
Overwhelmed didn’t quite begin to cover how it felt to see how the two newest additions in his living room, but Yoongi liked to think that he was doing very well given the circumstances. Circumstances being that he was two beers in and beginning to feel a little floaty around the edges, not quite as hindered by his own demeaner as usual. It meant that he was a little touchier, a little more able to reciprocate the way Taehyung leaned into him, low voice murmuring something about music and the way he held his plants.
(Admittedly, Yoongi was a little lost on that comment, but he’d take it if it meant Taehyung was happy.)
He could see the way Seokjin and Hoseok were eying the way he interacted with Taehyung in his peripheral but stubbornly ignored them and the persistent flush that didn’t seem to want to leave as Taehyung began to wax poetic about the way they’d met.
(He didn’t think he’d made that much of an impression. Who knew?)
By the end of the night, Taehyung and Jimin departed with Namjoon and Jungkook. Jin was the opposite direction and Hoseok was already tucked in the spare bedroom after he’d made a rather bold (and frankly accurate) rendition of Ring Ding Dong on the kitchen counter.
-
“You like him, don’t you, Yoongichi?” Seokjin asks, glass of wine cradled in his hand as Yoongi sat down on the couch with an exhausted huff. His leg was achy from being on it too long, but there was also a sense of bone deep satisfaction. That he’d made it through the night without making too much a fool of himself. That his people and Taehyung clicked so easily, like he’d always been there with Jimin to fill in the cracks of their chaotic pack.
“Mm.” he said, staring at a nonexistent mark in the ceiling.
“I think if you let him, he’d give you the world.”
“I think so too, hyung.”
-
So he starts small.
Gives Taehyung more plants under the guise of making his little tattoo studio feel more like home. A cacti for the window, a trailing succulent. Pothos and philodendrons, spider plants and snake plants, a peace lily, a palm. Soon Taehyung has to build a shelf for them to live on, boxy grin bright as he shows off the new space when Yoongi sees him next.
Taehyung gives him small prints. Of florals, mostly. Things that seem more like sketchbook pages than finished pieces, but Yoongi treasures them all the same. When the first days of spring come, he starts bringing him dandelion crowns and clover to put in tiny vases along his counter.
Jimin stops by to say hello after he sees Taehyung in the mornings, always smelling of something freshly baked and more often than not sneaking him some kind of savory treat.
(Usually cheese scones or savory tarts, but he won’t complain.)
-
(It ends begins like this.)
“Hyung, did you know I’ve loved you a little bit since the first time we met?”
Yoongi blinks at the forward statement, unable to help the thick flush that spreads from ear to ear. He didn’t know, and he says as much, but the words are practically spat out lest he stutter. Taehyung looks terribly fond as he sits on the edge of the counter, like he always does when he’s between clients these days. His hair is longer now, brushing his shoulders, effortlessly handsome as he smiles so warmly at him.
He knows he’s not quite as forward as the other man. Always shy, despite the way he acts or dresses. Taehyung doesn’t think him any less for it.
“I think it’s easy to love you.” He continues, as if he can’t see the way Yoongi is flushing a deeper and deeper red, hands retreating into the oversized shirt he’s wearing and hiding his cheeks below the neck of the fabric.
“I love you too.” He finally manages, an embarrassed noise escaping him when Taehyung leans over to press a chaste kiss to the side of his temple.
“I know.”
(Taehyung still cries when Yoongi finally brings him a bouquet of vivid coreopsis the second they bloom in his garden, when actions are easier than words.)
(Yoongi pretends he doesn’t cry when Taehyung adds them to his mural, paints them bright orange and reds so everyone knows that they’re a little different and a lot more special.)
(He definitely isn’t crying when Taehyung tattoos matching flowers with red strings on their wrists, “so that no matter how far they go, we’ll always find our way back to each other.")
-
But that’s love, Yoongi thinks one evening, Taehyung asleep on his shoulder halfway through some random black and white film he’d pled his case for, studying the ink in his skin and a small smile on his lips.
It’s just like flowers growing in sidewalk cracks.