#sugamon fluff

The day of the quiz, Yoongi was nearly late to class. He’d spent 20 minutes that morning lying in bed, tucked up to his chin in his snug Kumamon covers and debating internally whether he really needed to come to school. But at 6:21, when his phone pinged with a ‘Good morning hyung!!!’ message from that sweet summer child Namjoon, he begrudgingly rolled off his toasty mattress and offered himself to the interminable passage of time in the outside world.

He was whipped.

“Hey you little shits, I’m here.” As he thunked down his light khaki backpack dramatically onto the desk next to Namjoon’s, the tall boy offered him a warm greeting and a big dimpled eye smile so bright it lit up the cloudy skies outside. Yoongi picked the review sheet up from his desk.

Practice problems covered the page in an indecipherable mass of numbers and letters and graphs.

It was like something in his brain had been set off, and a slight throbbing began building in the back of skull as he tried to make sense of the writing. Not this again, Jesus Christ.

The light chatter that filled the room became a thick and inescapable buzz and his hands were unsteady when they released the faintly crumpled paper from their choked hold, letting it drift back onto the desk. He was suffocating.

“Alright, you have 20 minutes to prepare however you want to. We'll start the test at 7:25 sharp.”

“I'm gonna go to the restroom,” Yoongi strained, rising shakily from his desk. “You two start prepping without me.”

“Are you okay, hyung?” Hoseok asked, apprehensive.

Yoongi gave a brittle smirk. “Peachy. I'm fine.” He made his way past the doorway as coolly as he could.

He was not fine. 

Please, please not now. Get yourself together.

He hunched over the ugly bathroom sink top, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white with effort as he tried to stop his precarious swaying. Cold beads of water he had splashed onto his flushed face dripped from his wet fringe and onto the colored stone.

God, I’m pitiful. Losing it over a fucking math test? He gave a hoarse chuckle at his water-marred image in the mirror. A cheap smirk gaped back at him, as if mocking his laughable situation.

I wish I could just die here.

Bit by bit, he loosened his grip on the counter and let himself slump to the floor, curling against the cold tile like a helpless child.

✺

“Yoongi-hyung’s been gone for a while, huh,” wondered Namjoon aloud to no one in particular.  Hoseok’s eyebrows drew together as he pursed his lips. He glanced at the clock.

“Yeah, I guess it’s kind of weird. Want me to go check on him?” he offered, moving to stand.

“No, I’ll go,” the younger boy set his pencil down. “Can you finish these two problems for me?”

“Sure.”

Namjoon hurried out of the room, concerned. Is he sick? He didn’t look too good this morning.

✺

He was still on the ground when he heard door softly clicking open, and then rushed footsteps.

“Yoongi-hyung! What's wrong? Are you okay?”

Of all people—

“No, not really,” Yoongi choked out, fingers shoved roughly into his dyed hair as he cradled his forehead, praying for the pain to subside. “Do I fucking look okay?”

“What’s wrong, hyung?” Namjoon was beginning to panic. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Is it a migraine? Are you sick?”

“It hurts, it hurts so bad and I can’t”—he gasped, struggling to take in enough air— “I can’t breathe.”

Feverish tears had begun trailing down his pinked cheeks as he fought off his frenzy, and he let the taller boy pull him into an embrace with his strong tanned arms.

“Shh, shh, it’ll be alright. I’m here, hyung.” His warm hands thread soothingly through Yoongi’s thick black hair and petting his slight, shivering back in gentle strokes.

“G-God, I hate myself.”

The smaller boy buried the softening hiccups of his sobbing into the cushy yellow velour of Namjoon’s neon hoodie, hopelessly trying to hold himself together.

“But we love you. Hobi-hyung and—and I. We love you, and you’re going to be okay.”

They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, until Yoongi’s tears had completely subsided and his breathing evened out. He gently pushed himself away from the secure hug around him.

“I’m fine, let’s go back.” He rose precariously with Namjoon’s large hand ghosting cautiously over his lower back and took one last glance at the mirror, patting away what remained of the wetness around his eyes.

“Are you sure? We can stay a bit longer if you want.”

“I may want to, but something tells me Hoseok isn’t okay with doing the test alone.” He laughed as Namjoon cursed under his breath, almost tripping over himself when he checked his watch.

“Let’s go, Joon-ah.”

✺

“Yah, I really thought you’d both ditched or something! I was so pissed that you didn’t invite me, I swear to the old white guy in the sky—”

“Just say God.”

“That might be offensive, and I’m not going to take my chances in this outrageously PC world,” Hoseok continued, undeterred by his senior’s interjection. “Anyway, I swear I was this close”—he paused to hold two fingers about the width of a saltine apart to demonstrate just how close—”to hemorrhaging, and I find it utterly heartbreaking that neither of you seem to give half an expired Altoids tin of bullshit about....”

Looking back on it, it really wasn’t as bad he’d expected, Yoongi mused, teeth tugging on his bottom lip as he tuned out the chatter. They had made it back to the classroom just as the tests were being passed out, though Hoseok had looked very much on the verge of death by self-implosion. 

My life is in shambles.

Just as he was about to relive his entire regretful episode in the school bathroom, he was suddenly very aware of the situation at hand.

“Children,” Yoongi hissed, digging his stubby nails into Namjoon’s forearm as he narrowly avoided being barreled into by a small toddler that resembled a bald (but equally terrifying) Danny DeVito. “Why are there so many? Have they spawned?”

“Hyung, I...I don’t think that’d how it works…”

“Then tell me why there is a small army of munchkins on a college campus.”

Namjoon pointed matter-of-factly to the sign of the building next to them. Child Development Lab. “You should check it out, hyung. Everyone there is your size—maybe you’ll make some new friends.”

“You little shi—” The tall boy had taken off at a dead sprint toward the bus stop, and Yoongi bolted after him, his white hood flapping behind him as the chilly air infiltrated his cozy checkered sweatshirt.

They arrived at the stop six minutes before the bus was due, out of breath from the chase and from laughter. Namjoon could feel a bald patch starting where Yoongi had noogied him.

“Hey, hyung.”

“Yeah?”

“Today, in the restroom…”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck, not this again, Christ on a bike—

“Panic attack.” Yoongi looked down at his sleek black Pumas, trying to explain so the conversation as minimally weird as possible. “It happens sometimes, but I can usually get my shit together by myself. Sorry you had to see that.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” rushed Namjoon. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be offensive and you don’t have to answer me, but are there like, triggers? That cause your attacks, I mean.”

“Yeah. Stuff that I’ve bad experiences with before, like...like calculus.” Wow, this was sounding real stupid, real quick. “That probably sounds really dumb, I know.”

“Nah, it makes sense.” The bus had pulled into the stop and once again the two sat together, Yoongi at the window because Namjoon’s legs were not made for public transportation. They were astonishingly similar to uncooked spaghetti: too long and not very flexible.

“Hey, hyung?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we keep studying together? I’ll help you prep for tests so well you won’t ever be worried again.”

Yoongi turned to face the boy. What a precious, wholesome egghead. His egghead. He’d have to remember to change his contact name later.

“Asking me out on another date? You’ve got balls, son.”

“It isn’t like that!”

“You said you loved me in the restroom,” he smirked, satisfied with the way Namjoon fell silent. “Or were you just saying that to butter me up?”

Namjoon shrunk into the fuzzy hood of his sweatshirt, tightening the strings until only his plush lips and round nose could be seen. “I’d never say anything just to flatter you. I think you’re really cool. And a good person. And Hobi-hyung likes you, and he has good taste in people.”

“Whatever you say, kid.” A comfortable silence fell between them as Yoongi leaned ever so slightly onto Namjoon’s velvety shoulder.

“Yah, Joon-ah?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks. For being there, I mean.”

Yoongi was sure it was going to be the bleakest summer of his life. First of all, the days had been maintaining depressingly lukewarm temperatures of no more than 21°C though it was now well into early July. In every other year, it would be hot enough to fry his dog on the asphalt by this time of year. But today, he was tugging on his thick, dark hoodie in order to stay alive on the frigid 6:30 AM bus that would bring him to class.

Min Yoongi, high school senior, resident rebel and misunderstood teen, was doing summer school.

✺

“Namjoonie! You’re taking this class too?”

The tall brunette turned to the desk behind him. “Hobi-hyung?”

When Namjoon applied for the thrilling college course of MAT 003A Analytic Geometry and Calculus I, he knew he'd be one of the youngest in class. Most incoming high school juniors were going on crazy trips, making the most out of their new licenses and last summer before college applications. However, Kim Namjoon believed that true enjoyment came from the refreshing experience of learning new . He was a first class dweeb, but at least he wasn’t alone.

“I didn’t expect you would take such an early class,” Namjoon said. Hoseok’s expression immediately dropped to one of mild disgust. Judging by his lazy black HBA sweatshirt and the thick knit headband keeping his messy faded orange hair off his face, he probably didn’t either.

“I know, right? But I’m teaching more classes at the dance studio since it’s summer. Gotta make it rain, ya feel?” 

No, Namjoon did not feel, but he nodded anyway. “So, are you still doing only the class for little kids—”

He was cut off by a figure in black slamming a bag onto the desk next to Hoseok’s. It was a boy shorter than him, and thinner too, with a black cap pulled low on his forehead and a “fuck-off” expression on his face. He did not seem excited to be here.

Hobi, however, was elated. “Ah, Yoongi-hyung! To be honest, I didn’t think you’d show up.” 

Yoongi sank heavily into his seat and shoved his face in his arms with a groan. “I didn’t think I’d come either,” he mumbled, “but I failed calculus last semester so I have to pass an accredited course to make it up.” Hoseok pat his friend on the back sympathetically and looked back at Namjoon, who’d been awkwardly regarding the interaction.

“Yoongi-hyung’s my best broski! He’s gonna be a senior,” the dancer explained. “He’s kinda really done with everyone’s shit, you know?”

“Ah,” Namjoon replied understandingly, though he did not know as he was barely a junior. He adjusted his fashionable Steven Spielberg glasses to subtly express his intellectual capacity. Perhaps this coming school year would cripple his spirit, and he’d be able to relate.

✺

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Hoseok yawned as the three exited the classroom at 11:20 AM sharp. “My stomach has been eating itself for the past hour. I’m gonna grab something from the snack shack. Do either of you want to come?”

“Nah, I’m okay,” replied Namjoon, taking out the honey chips he had so thoughtfully packed from his backpack. “I'm heading to the bus stop.”

“Me too,” muttered Yoongi incoherently, trudging alongside Namjoon. Upon discovering the first class would only be covering review from precalculus, the smaller boy had slept through the entire four hours and was currently still very groggy.

They made their way to the bus stop in silence. Namjoon had not touched another chip since they had split from Hobi, because he was very self-conscious of his crunching. Instead, he turned toward Yoongi and offered him the bag.

“Want some? They're really good.”

Yoongi glanced up at him, then took a chip.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, Yoongi-ssi.” Now that they were side-by-side, Namjoon could see that the senior was almost a full head shorter than him. He was so pale he sparkled a little in the sun, like a vampire from a poorly-written teen fiction novel. It was kinda cute, but his resting bitch face was intimidating.

They boarded the bus together and sat in the back.

“What stop do you get off?” asked Namjoon, attempting to fill the obvious void of silence between them. Hoseok had said Yoongi was his “best broski”, so the awkward junior felt obligated to attempt a friendship.

“In four stops. Key and Madison.”

“Ah, I’m only three away.”

There was no response from Yoongi. Namjoon was now very uncomfortable, so he said 'screw it’ to conversation and stared aimlessly out the window for the rest of his ride.

✺

“I want to gut myself alive.”

“I would feel bad for you,” Hoseok started, “but you did kind of ask for it. You probably shouldn't have slept through the week.”

“Don't fucking lecture me, kiddo,” snapped Yoongi. “How was I supposed to know our first test is this week?”

“You have the syllabus.”

“Well I lost it so fuck off.”

Hoseok did not seem particularly offended by the snarling. “He gets like this when he's stressed,” he explained to Namjoon. He turned back to Yoongi. “You should go to the tutoring center or something. They're open until 4 on school days.”

“I have to work until 4. There's no way I could get off early enough to get here in time.” Yoongi grabbed his backpack, ready to take off. “Whatever, it's just one quiz. It can't hurt my grade that much.”

“Maybe not, but it's a group grade. I don't want my grade to drop because your irresponsible ass decided to snooze through the last five lectures, and I'm sure Namjoonie feels the same.” Hoseok sighed. “Well, I can't help you either. I'm literally deceased after herding those hyper little kids in the toddler class.”

Namjoon cleared his throat. “I, uh, I could review with you. I don't really do much in the summer, so I'm free anytime. Maybe we could meet somewhere.” He suddenly felt incredibly embarrassed. Yoongi probably thought he was annoying for butting in. “I mean, only if you want to.”

Yoongi stared at him. The way Namjoon would glance down and puff his cheeks when he was nervous was kind of really adorable.

“Sure, kid. Is the café tomorrow at 6:30 okay? The one near here.”

“Sounds good.”

✺

When Namjoon stepped into The Grind, the hipster café home to the world’s first avocado and hemp cold brew, at 6:28 the following evening, he saw Yoongi was already at a booth. He was hunched over his laptop, looking swallowed up by his double layering of an embroidered satin bomber jacket over a black Stussy hoodie. His unruly black hair stuck out haphazardly under the hood and framed the matte horn-rimmed glasses he wore. Even from 20 feet away, Namjoon could see the life-repelling glare on his face.

Namjoon moved to sit across from him. “Uh, hey Yoongi-ssi,” he managed, heavily intimidated by the man's irritated expression. Yoongi glanced up from his computer.

“You’re friends with Hobi, right? Just call me hyung.” He closed his Macbook and set it to the side, against the dark, aesthetic planks on the wall. “What do you want to order? It’s on me.”

“No, it’s fine, I can—”

Yoongi cut him off. “I’m repaying you for tutoring me.”

Namjoon didn’t want to be annoying and push, so he let him pay for his disgustingly basic Caramel Ecstasy. He was flipping through the textbook when Yoongi shoved the drink at him.

“Don’t start. I’m not mentally prepared for this shit yet,” he muttered around the environmentally-friendly biodegradable paper straw of his own iced Americano. “Let’s just talk for a bit, ‘cause you and I both know this is awkward as fuck.“ He propped his chin up with one hand and stared across the rustic wooden table.

Namjoon panicked.

“Yeah, uh, I’m really bad at making small talk on the first date.” His face paled when he realized what he just said.

Yoongi narrowed his eyes. “Did you just call this a date?”

“Yes? No? I mean, technically yes, but I meant a date as in friends. A date between bros. A dude date, you know, it’s not like we’re gay or anything.”

When he noticed he was the loudest one in the room, Namjoon stopped and smiled through his cringe. He was seconds away from vomiting. That was the most mortifying spiel he had ever uttered and his chance to even befriend Yoongi was now probably in the negatives.

The tension had become unpleasantly obvious, and after a few seconds, Yoongi set his hand down.

“Well, I’m not gay. But I do like guys, so if you have a probl—”

Namjoon choked on his coffee, drawing attention to himself once again with his second shameful act of the day. 

“NO! I’m perfectly fine with that, man. I’m friends with gay people. I love gay people. Sometimes, I even wanna be gay!“

By now, he wasn’t even trying to feel better. Within a little more than half an hour, Namjoon had managed to embarrass himself more than in the rest of his entire life. But Yoongi didn’t seem offended.

The brunette was snickering. “Alright kid, whatever you say. Let’s just get to the math now. You’re a hot mess.”

Not just a mess, but a hot mess? Was Yoongi hitting on him? Ignoring his flushed cheeks, the younger boy pushed his textbook to the center. “Okay, so I was thinking that we begin with chapter three, since that’s wh—”

“Are you gonna teach me upside down? I can’t read shit if you’re across from me.” Yoongi shoved his bag off the rest of his bench. “Sit here.”

Reluctantly, Namjoon moved over. This was not good for his soft 16-year old heart, which pumped a little faster when he realized this was the first time he was seeing Yoongi so closely. When he leaned over to check the boy’s work, Namjoon could smell a faint, minty trace of his shampoo and noticed the adorable, kittenish way Yoongi scrunched his nose when he was solving a tough question.