Yoongi’s got his cellphone pressed in between his shoulder and his ear, a pen in his hand and a notebook in the other. There’s barely any time left until the interview is scheduled and Yoongi knows he’s cutting it short but hey, he was in denial up until now. He’s doing the best he can. “Can you repeat that for me?” he says impatiently, biting down on his lip as he scribbles down most of what he heard from the other.
“I said,” Hoseok’s tired voice grunts out, “it’d be good if he was ugly, and kind of casually messy. Someone who doesn’t know how to cook, maybe?” He hums softly as he thinks. “Someone who doesn’t do their homework,” he adds cheerily. Yoongi furrows his eyebrows but writes down a checklist for what Hoseok is saying anyway. “A party guy? That’d annoy the shit out of you. Someone who really loves music and will play it loudly.”
Yoongi groans, leaning his head back against the office chair. “Come on, this is too much. I can’t live with someone like this. That’s some terror shit right there, dude.”
“You asked me for help, this is my help,” Hoseok says, sounding offended.
“I know, shit, I know I just don’t want to live with some annoying little shit. I get your points, dude. I do, really fucking do, but I’m gonna live with this guy. Can’t you think of something a bit less extreme to turn me off?”
“Turn off? Are you turned on right now? Min Yoongi, you crazy bastard, you haven’t even met him y--”
“Jesus Christ, no,” Yoongi interrupts, rolling his eyes as he - for the fourth time in a minute - reconsiders his decision to ask Hoseok for help instead of Namjoon. He didn’t want to deal with his overly psychological friend over-analysing the situation and trying to give him life advice, so he went to his far less self-insightful fuckboy friend instead.
“Then what’d you mean?” Hoseok asks immediately. Yoongi can hear the pout in his voice.
“Turn me off, like, make me uninterested in him-- wait, I don’t even know why we’re talking about this shit. He’ll probably be ugly and I’ll be so fine.”
Yoongi throws his pen and notebook on his desk when it’s clear he won’t get any use from it. He’s not about to ask the dude if he considers himself ugly, or whatever Hoseok suggested he’d do. He uses his feet to push away from his desk in frustration, the wheels of his chair wailing miserably under his weight. He’d buy a new chair, but he’s paying double in rent at the moment so he can’t afford it.
Hoseok stays silent for longer than usual, until a soft, “Dude, why can’t you meet up with my friend? That’d solve this shit and I promise he’s ugly,” filters through the phone.
Yoongi looks down at his feet and recalls his earlier argument against it; that it’d be weird to reject one of his friends’ friends. Hoseok has a way of promising things to his buddies before he’s made sure it’s possible, so if Yoongi let him call his friend he wouldn’t say there’s a slight chance he’ll have an apartment to live in by the end of the week. He’d tell him he found him a place. If Yoongi said no to one of them he’d become the bad guy who tore up an already made deal.
Even if that wasn’t the major issue, there’s still the problem with Yoongi’s frequent puppy crushes on straight guys who get freaked out when he can’t help but act like a schoolgirl around them.
“It’d be awkward,” Yoongi sighs, scrunching his face up as he cringes at the next sentence leaving his lips, “especially if I get a fucking crush…”
“So you admit you’d crush on them!” Hoseok exclaims like he won the lottery. Yoongi’s about to curse him out when he hears a soft, barely audible knock on his front door.
“Hang on, I’m hanging up,” he says carefully, narrowing his eyes at the door like it’s the enemy.
“What? Why--” Hoseok protests, but Yoongi’s thumb is already closing in on the end call button. He doesn’t waste time, lifting himself out of the chair and walking up to the door with determined steps. With his hand hovering over the handle, he throws a glance behind himself at the living room that he meticulously cleaned a few hours earlier. Nothing seems to be out of place aside from the notebook he furiously threw in a childish fit, but even that looks alright.
He shouldn’t be nervous - he tells himself he isn’t - but when he opens the door to reveal his potential roommate he realises he should be very, very nervous. “H-Hey,” he stutters out, stepping forward to lean against the doorframe as casually as he can manage. “You’re Jimin?”