#sugamonnet

Wow, love is not worth this.

“First of all, no, no dollars, and second,” Yoongi gasps, reaching for an extra pillow so he can smother his soon to be ex, “I’m not a ‘bad influence on the kids’.”

They wrestle for a moment, after Namjoon snatches the pillow from Yoongi’s limited grasp (he’s still half asleep, okay?); the younger tosses the neutralized weapon the floor, and rolls over, settling his leg over Yoongi’s. “Hyung,” he says, smiling, “we all gotta contribute. It’s not just you, I promise. See-” he reaches to the end table, retrieving the empty coffee canister he’d brought into the bedroom with him. “I’ve already put a dollar in, and even Jin-hyung slipped up.”

Yoongi rolls his still half-closed eyes, submitting to the fact that he’s now pretty goddamn awake; he’s not even sure if he has class today. “‘I’m not going along with this, Joon.”

“You gotta, hyung, or they’ll kick us out of the house and we’ll miss class trying to work to afford our own place, then we’ll have to drop out-”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Yoongi grumbles, “What day is it?”

“Monday, that’s actually why I came in. It’s a quarter past eight already.”

Yoongi jerks to full alert, tossing both Namjoon and the blanket from his body; the blanket gently slithers to the floor, but Namjoon kind of… flails his way there. “Shit-” Yoongi stumbles from the bed, reaching a hand out for his boyfriend, “sorry, babe, sorry, are you okay?”

Namjoon brushes him off, laughing. “I’m fine, go shower, you’re gonna be late.”

Yoongi nods, grabbing his towel from the foot of the bed. “I swear, if Jimin is still in there…”

Yoongi is almost to the bathroom door when he hears Namjoon bellowing from the other room. “Four in the jar, hyung, don’t forget!”

Goddamnit.

Yoongi’s thirsty; he’s been going through his notes for hours, barely blinking, he even skipped dinner. He’s not cramming, he’s just… intensely reviewing for an academic evaluation. That’s timed. And proctored.

Okay, he’s cramming. But he’s talking a break and he’s going to get some water.

Namjoon is asleep in their bed, earbuds in and sleeping mask on, but Yoongi tiptoes anyway, slipping through the bedroom door. He can hear a TV somewhere, but for the most part, the house is quiet, dark; it must be past one AM, if not later. So Yoongi is as quiet as he can be, his barefeet ghosting over the cool hardwood as he makes his way to the kitchen. A chill creeps up his spine; damn winter.

Leaving the lights off so he doesn’t wake anyone, Yoongi feels his way to the fridge, and once there, closes his eyes against the harsh light as he reaches in for a bottle of water. He’s three swallows in to downing the bottle when he hears breathing, so he turns, expecting to see someone in the hall.

“Holy fuck-Jimin!” Yoongi sputters, coughing as he inhales some of the water; Jimin is right the fuck there, standing next to the fridge like some kind of terror of the night, looking as scared as Yoongi feels.

“Shh, hyung, you’ll wake everyone,” the redhead hisses, glancing around, “why are you screaming?”

“Because you fucking scared me, Jimin, what the hell are you doing just standing there?”

Jimin snorts, rubbing at his chest as he flushes, visible even in the darkness. “Ironically, trying not to scare you.”

“Well great job, kid.” Yoongi sighs, feeling his heartbeat start to regulate. But Jimin is still standing there, smiling in a way that the elder doesn’t trust. “What?” he asks, wary of the answer.

Jimin points to the kitchen island, to the jar in the center. “Three dollars for the swear jar, hyung.”

Yoongi crushes his bottle of water, debating on throwing it at the other so he can run away.

(He decides against it.)

A week later, Yoongi gets caught cursing when he accidentally turns on the cold water in the shower, instead of the hot. Then he gets caught mumbling swears at his computer when his professor sends out an email pushing up the deadline on an assignment. The elder feels pretty attacked, if he’s being honest, but at least it isn’t just him filling the jar.

There seems to be a slew of cursing available in their house at all times, from all sides. Jimin and Taehyung start throwing excessive assholes around when they play video games, and Jungkook takes to singing songs out loud that are definitely not meant for radio play. Hoseok, damn him, seems to take enjoyment out of provoking the younger ones, and even Seokjin, their passive-aggressive eldest, drops a multitude of F-bombs as he tosses his sass around.

Namjoon, of course, curses more than Yoongi anyway, so he just goes about life as normal. It’s almost as if Yoongi is the only one making a conscious effort not to swear. Which is confusing, to say the least.

It isn’t until the weekend of March ninth that things begin to make sense.

“There has to be at least five-hundred bucks in that thing,” Yoongi observes, picking at his lunch. “That’s almost amusing, if it weren’t so sad.”

“Well, we’re going to need at least five, but minus what you’ve put in, it’s five-fifty,” Namjoon comments, slipping his arm around the elder’s waist. He seems playful, which sends red flares sparking through Yoongi’s brian.

The elder pins Namjoon with a stare, dropping his soup spoon. “What the hell did you do, Namjoon.”

“Nothing,” he smiles, “yet.”

Great.

Yoongi wakes up on his birthday, and stumbles into the hall, instantly assaulted by the smell of cooking seaweed soup, and the raucous sounds of his six housemates.

“Oh, he’s awake,” Seokjin announces to the world, rather loudly, from where he stands at the stove.

Instantly, everyone rushes to the room, three shopping bags between them. “I’m not okay with this,” Yoongi mutters sleepily, sniffing the air for signs of coffee. As if reading his mind, Namjoon produces a cup, from Yoongi’s favorite on-campus shop. “Thanks,” the elder says, blushing a bit.

Jimin and Hoseok glance at each other, then they empty the bags into the counter, while Jungkook and Taehyung yodel out a rendition of “Happy Birthday” that makes Yoongi want to crawl into a hole; that is, until he sees what can only be his gifts.

Namjoon steps forward, his hand on the small of Yoongi’s back. “It’s a new laptop, a hard drive, and a bag to carry it all in,” he explains, rubbing his palm over the elder’s skin, “happy birthday, hyung.”

Namjoon’s salutation is followed by an echo of everyone else's, but Yoongi is frozen. “Wait,” he says, glancing at his boyfriend, his friends, “the money from the swear jar…?”

“Yep.”

“You asshole.”

Jungkook bounces in place, waving his arms around. “My birthday is next! A dollar to the swear jar, hyung,” he chatters, but Yoongi isn’t listening.