The People You Meet, for fearnoworld

[bangtanmod]

Title: The People You Meet
Recipient: fearnoworld
Character and pairing: Jin (+ Jin/Jimin, Rapmon/Jin)
Rating: PG
Summary: Six different ways Jin meets Bangtan.
Notes: I'm sorry this is a little different than your prompts, but I hope it's something like what you were looking for! (5k words)



how do you know if someone's vegan? (don't worry, they'll tell you)

Jin arrives early to the first university senate meeting of the year, wondering if he's overdressed in his suit and tie. He's still not sure how he ended up elected to a position- Namjoon had asked him to run, because "they need a representative from the business faculty who isn't a total douchebag," but that doesn't explain how he actually won the votes. Namjoon is of the opinion it had to do with Jin's soft, responsible voice and, more importantly, his shoulders in a suit, which isn't exactly reassuring.

"Let me guess, accounting?" A bright voice says by his ear.

Jin turns to see a smiling student dressed in paint-stained jeans and a plaid button-up. His hair is shaved above the ears and dyed a light brown verging on blond, and Jin counts four buttons pinned above his breast, one of which depicts a uterus.

"Right on the money," Jin says, regretting the pun almost as soon as it leaves his mouth. Thankfully the other student lets out a toothy laugh. Jin sticks out his hand. "Jin Kim, fourth year."

The student eyes his hand with a knowing smile, but shakes it anyway. "Hoseok Jung. I'm a second year in social work and environmental studies." He's Korean too, Jin thinks. "So you're my committee partner."

"Wait, what," Jin says before he can help himself.

Hoseok's eyes crinkle. "Namjoon didn't tell you? I'm co-chairing the ad hoc committee supervising our sustainable plumbing renovations. Most of the work is planned for the business building, so we need a rep from you guys. And, no offence." He lowers his voice. "But no way am I working with Jackson Wang."

Jin covers his smile. Jackson is the other business major on the senate. Jin did a finance project with him in third year, which enables him to truthfully say, "I don't blame you."

Hoseok looks delighted. "Well, well, Jin. I did hope we'd get along. Here, let's sit together. This is your first meeting right? These drag on forever and they're so dull, I hope you had no other plans tonight. Wait, did you have plans? Nice suit." Hoseok leads him to two seats off to the side, chattering the whole way. Jin can barely keep up- strike that, he can't keep up. Hoseok has pulled out their chairs and is leaning over Jin's arm, stroking the fine grey wool of his suit lapel.

"I don't have plans," Jin manages to say. "The suit is- I had a networking event before this."

"Ahh." Hoseok leans back, eyes narrowed. "A business major after all."

Jin is trying to decide if that's a bad thing when several other students spill into the room, talking amongst themselves. Hoseok takes his seat, pulling Jin down by the arm.

"Do you want to grab dinner after this? I can fill you in on the committee."

Jin blinks. "Will it take that long?"

Hoseok rolls his eyes. "Trust me."

"Sure," Jin agrees. "Where would you like?"

"Have you been to the garden cooperative near campus? No? I think that'll be the only place still open when we're done, and I'm vegan, so." Hoseok shrugs. "I'll take you, it's pretty good."

"It's a date." Jin says, feeling pleased when Hoseok blinks rapidly in surprise. He can be unexpected too, Jin thinks, congratulating himself.

Hoseok recovers quickly, however, and bends close with a conspiratorial look. "Hey, Jin."

"What?"

"Do you have a Korean name?"

The question makes Jin feel a little shy for some reason. "Yeah. It's Seokjin."

"Seokjin," Hoseok repeats. It sounds warm on his tongue. "I like that. Hoseokjin," he tries, a smile spreading across his face afterwards as though he has tasted something he likes. He winks at Jin. "Sounds like we were meant to be."

For the countless time, Jin wonders what Namjoon got him into.

why can't ghosts tell a lie? (you can see right through them.)

Over the years, Seokjin had heard the multitudes of rumors about his house- that it was built on the grave of a spiteful Joseon era shaman, that it was situated a tad too close to a cave a local gumiho had been imprisoned in. Families came and went, each lasting no more than a few months before their bags were packed and they were out the door- the only explanation given terrified accounts of moving possessions and doors opening on their own.

Unfair, really, considering that Seokjin was only trying to keep things neat and tidy.

It's been years now since the last family. One too many rumors of hauntings for potential buyers to ignore. Since then, the house has fallen into a state of mild disarray. Seokjin can take care of the cobwebs and the grimy layer of dust that settled on the abandoned furniture, but his spirit domain only extends as far as the front door. He can do nothing about the overgrown hedges, or the weeds growing up through the cracks in the sidewalk. Seokjin is sure it has to be an eyesore, but situated at the end of the block and hidden behind a fence, there's no one to complain.

The only visitors he gets these days are neighborhood kids entering the house on a dare or teenagers hosting parties, which is why Seokjin is so surprised to see two guys climbing over the long-rusted gate while the sun is still out. They're older than the others who come by, lugging heavy backpacks instead of six packs of beer. Seokjin plants his hands on the windowsill and leans his head out as far as his domain allows him for a closer look. Unfortunately, he can't make out much more than their height difference and the fact that they're wearing matching shirts, stamped with an unrecognizable logo.

"This has to be the place, right?" he hears drifting over from where they've stopped, hesitating before the front door. He pulls a small gray box out of his backpack, smacking it against his palm a few times with a frown.

His taller companion nods. He runs a hand along the traditional wood-paneling Seokjin's parents had once been so proud of, as if expecting to find something there besides overgrown ivy poking through the cracks, before reaching for the door and letting himself in. Seokjin could be offended if it didn't happen so often.

"Got anything yet?" he asks, each syllable punctuated with a cautious step. He lifts the camera around his neck to his face and snaps a few shots.

"Nope, we'll probably get something once I set up shop though."

The guy with the box kneels to the floor, taking off his backpack and pulling out several strange contraptions. A few items look like the one he's holding, with more dials and buttons. He flips one of them on, holding it up in the air.

"Hey, Taehyung, do you have the list of complaints?"

"Right here," Taehyung says, pausing his photography to pull a file from his backpack. "Let's see. A lot of items being moved around, some furniture out of place. Noises in the middle of the night. Broken vase-"

Seokjin, who'd been nodding along with the list, scowls. The Jeon's boy had broken it and blamed it on their resident ghost, the little brat.

"'Organized their sock drawer'? Okay, never heard that one before."

"Maybe it's the ghost of a housekeeper," the other one says, laughing.

While they set up whatever it is they're doing, Seokjin slinks away into the living room. The thing about being a ghost is that, well, it's mostly pretty boring. In a way, not much different than his mundane alive life. Seokjin has learned to appreciate the small pleasures in his afterlife- a good thunderstorm, birds outside his windows, and the opportunity to scare people.

He's not a malicious ghost. He does this because it's what his visitors want. When preteen boys hop the fence and break in, they want to something they can tell all their friends about. So he gives it to them. A few items floating around and some clanking pans and they're out the door and down the block before Seokjin can say boo.

These guys are older than his usual crowd, but Seokjin reasons that everyone appreciates the classics. There's an old sheet that's been lying on the floor for ages, dusty and covered in who knows what, but it'll do. He's in the process of throwing it on when one of the guys, Taehyung, enters the room.

Seokjin trips over the sheet. "Wait, go back," he says, knowing that Taehyung can't hear him. "I wasn't ready."

"Jimin!" Taehyung calls, tentatively raising his camera.

"You won't believe these EMF readings, they're off the-"

Jimin stops in the doorway, looking up from his contraption. He points at the floor, where Seokjin is trying to untangle himself from the stupid sheet.

"I think we found our ghost," Taehyung says.

if you're guilty, try harder

"Why are you even here?"

It's not a question Seokjin is expecting. He had expected something along the lines of who his favorite singers were, what songs he liked- easy icebreakers between him and the group of boys he'd been introduced to just days prior. Taehyung certainly likes him if his mating dance or whatever that was supposed to be is anything to go by. Namjoon and the others have been nice, accommodating even. It's Yoongi who glares at him, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the practice mirror.

"I auditioned?" Seokjin says, shifting awkwardly.

Yoongi scoffs, only rolling his eyes when Namjoon glances over and draws his thumb across his neck. The others haven't noticed anything, still singing into water bottles on the other side of the room. "No shit. You think the rest of us just waltzed in?"

It'd be a lie to say Seokjin doesn't know what Yoongi means. Six is already a decent number. Seven's odd- off. Lines have to be redistributed, choreography changed. Seokjin hadn't even expected the choreography- ballad singers don't move around much on Inkigayo or Music Bank. He didn't have to during his auditions either, and he knows it shows from the way Yoongi grimaces whenever he tries. He takes a small comfort in the fact that Namjoon's still worse than him, but it's Seokjin that everyone's watching. The odd one out, the pretty boy in a group of kids who've been rapping since before they were Jungkook's age.

He's not sure Yoongi isn't right, but Seokjin's got a streak of stubbornness (or maybe just masochism) that makes him say, "I think I deserve to be here as much as you do."

"You just keep thinking that," Yoongi says, turning away.

Namjoon shoots him a sympathetic look, but it's nothing Seokjin can't handle. He takes his water bottle to join the others.

It turns out to be surprisingly easy to avoid someone you live and work with. Seokjin doesn't do it on purpose- Yoongi spends most of his time in the recording room and Seokjin has his own vocal lessons anyway. Seokjin isn't expecting anything to change, which makes it that much more surprising when Yoongi sits down next to him during practice break a week later.

"What do you know about hip hop?"

Seokjin blinks a few times. "Nothing, I guess."

"That's what I thought," Yoongi says, and he drops a piece of paper into Seokjin's lap. "Here's a list of everything you need to listen to. This is just an introduction, we'll move onto the advanced stuff after you get through all these. Now start with Epik High, listen to Fly. And I put a few of my own songs on here-"

"Uh, Yoongi?" Seokjin says, cutting Yoongi's rant short.

"Yeah?"

"Namjoon put you up to this, right?"

Yoongi scrunches up his face. "Too obvious?"

"Just a bit," Seokjin says. He picks up the list, helpfully labeled get seokjin schooled in Yoongi's atrocious handwriting. There's twenty five songs. Seokjin only recognizes one.

"It's also because I can't debut with someone who doesn't know Kanye from Biggie," Yoongi says. It might be his form of a blessing.

He motions for Seokjin to sit closer, handing him one of his headphones. A heavy bass fills Seokjin's ear. He listens.

is that a radish in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

Hyosang tosses his pencil on the table. "Okay, that's it. My brain is going to explode and splatter all over your walls if I have to balance another chemical reaction."

Seokjin laughs. "You don't have to resort to threats. Here." He reaches under the table and tosses a small stack of take-out menus on top of their homework sheets.

Hyosang peers up at him from under his lashes. "Oh, are you hungry? I guess I could have a bite too." He gathers the menus and starts to flip through them.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. "Your complaining only gets fatal when you want to eat." He points to a menu at the back. "I haven't tried that place, but I hear their jajangmyun is amazing."

Hyosang nods firmly and shuffles the stack together, handing it back to Seokjin with both hands. "Sold."

They order two bowls of jajangmyun and extra pickled daikon radish, turning on a music show while they wait. Seokjin loses track of how many songs go by, the groups all bleeding into one long blur of shorts over tights and pelvic gyrations, but eventually the front door buzzes and he grabs Hyosang's wallet.

"Hello! Two orders of jajangmyun?"

The delivery boy is already unpacking a large yellow container half his size when Seokjin opens the door, pulling out plastic-wrapped bowls of noodles and sauce and expediently stacking them atop each other. He only looks up when he receives no response.

"Sir?"

"Oh." Seokjin overcomes his surprise. "Yeah, thanks." He wonders if maybe this is a family business: the kid looks like he's in junior high, smiley-eyed with the straps of his bicycle helmet tight against his round cheeks. He glances at the dishes, and ventures, "Extra daikon?"

The boy rummages through his delivery box. "Oh no." He sounds genuinely stricken, looking up at Seokjin with round, horrified eyes. "I think- I think they forgot it? I'm really sorry- "

"No, no." Seokjin hastens to cut him off. "That's okay. Don't worry. How much do I owe you?" He counts out an appropriate number of bills from Hyosang's wallet, then hesitates, watching the boy pack up. "How old are you?" He blurts out, curiosity getting the best of him. A lot of his old classmates used to go behind the school's back and take part-time jobs, but a middle-schooler doing late-night deliveries on a weekday seems just plain unethical.

The kid looks confused. "Me? Why- oh, is it my face?" He points at himself. He has a high, bubbly laugh, and remarkably short fingers. "Haha, I get that a lot. I'm in high school!"

"Ah." Seokjin nods slowly. "Of course."

"Here, hyung- I mean, sir." The boy pulls two crumpled flyers from his jacket and presents them to Seokjin with two hands. "That's a special promotional offer, since we just opened this month! Thank you, and please order again!" He bows twice, picking up his delivery box, and waves as he walks to his bike. Seokjin lifts his hand in goodbye, amused.

"What took so long?" Hyosang asks him when he returns.

Seokjin tosses him his wallet back, hitting Hyosang dead in the chest. "The delivery boy was new."

The next time Seokjin is hit with late night study hunger cravings, Hyosang unearths one of the promotional flyers and waves it in his face. "Might as well save money. Since you are using my money," he complains.

This time, the delivery boy greets him with five plates of pickled daikon.

"Um," Seokjin says.

"I'm sorry I forgot last time!" the boy says earnestly. "Don't worry, I paid for the extras myself."

Seokjin cover his mouth with his hand, trying not to laugh in the boy's face. "What am I supposed to do with five orders of pickled daikon?" He asks, genuinely curious.

The boy blanches, and Seokjin has to hide behind his doorframe. His stomach hurts from holding back his laughter.

"I guess I didn't think that one through." The boy says, rubbing his chin. His eyes crinkle good-naturedly. "It's okay, hyu- sir, you're the customer, you can laugh."

"You can call me hyung," Seokjin says. "My name is Kim Seokjin. But I guess you already know that from the delivery slip?"

"Yeah," the boy admits. "Ah, then I'm Park Jimin. It's nice to meet you!"

"Now we're fair." Seokjin scoops up the stack of food dishes and pretends he's closing the door.

"No, wait," Jimin frowns. "Hyung, you're holding all my noodles and you haven't paid me yet!"

Seokjin grins all the way back to living room, where Hyosang is waiting for him with a scowl on his face. "Are you flirting with the delivery boy?" Hyosang accuses. "The delivery boy whose voice hasn't even cracked?"

"I'm flirting with the delivery boy like you're flirting with your chemistry tutor, Hyosang." From Hyosang's sudden blush and stutter, Seokjin reflects that maybe Ikje-hyung wasn't the best example to use. He sets the food down and checks the receipt in his pocket. There's a scribble in black marker in the corner that reads Remember daikon >:O!!!- presumably Jimin's note to himself.

"Your smile is so gross right now," says Hyosang. Seokjin doesn't dignify him with a response.

my baby shot me down

Seokjin removes his glove and gives his hand to the visored guard at the door, who takes it and stamps his wrist, pricking blood. He winces: eleven months on the ship and he's still not used to the clearance procedures for anything above Classified B. The DNA scan authenticates within milliseconds, and Seokjin is allowed inside the holding chamber.

Inside, the ensign waiting for him stands at attention. Feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped at the base of his spine, and chin parallel to the floor, he stares straight ahead from his position in the dead centre of the room. Perfect posture, Seokjin thinks, and he says it out loud.

The ensign doesn't bat an eyelash. "Excellent training too," Seokjin observes. He says it kindly, not interested in taunting. "Uniform like new, boots shined, haircut not a centimetre past regulation." The ensign's chest rises almost imperceptibly. He's unsure of Seokjin's intentions.

"So what are you doing here, Jungkook?" Seokjin finishes quietly. He stops in front of the ensign, stooping to make direct eye contact.

Jungkook hesitates for a second. Then he opens his mouth, and says, clear and perfectly articulated, "I disobeyed direct orders in a non-simulation skirmish, sir. I endangered the lives of my fellow soldiers, sir. I endangered the lives of my commanding officers- "

"Okay, I read the report." Seokjin sighs. "But why didn't you listen when Senior Commander Min told you to cease fire?"

Jungkook goes tight-lipped. Seokjin can see in his face that he's struggling to phrase the answer. This is why these procedures are stupid, Seokjin thinks. He's known Jeon Jungkook since before they enlisted in the fleet, and used to babysit when Jungkook's parents had to work overtime at the lab. He's wiped tears from Jungkook's chubby cheeks more times than he can count. This would go much quicker if they could just talk to each other like back then, Seokjin stroking Jungkook's hair while Jungkook sobs his wrongdoing into Seokjin's chest.

"There aren't any recording devices in this room," he says. "Whatever you say, I'll make it sound better in my report. You can talk to me freely, Jungkook-ah."

Jungkook doesn't waver. Several minutes pass. Seokjin is patient, but he wishes there was a chair or something because his bent knees are starting to ache. He's just about to give up and stretch out his legs when Jungkook's lips tremble.

"Are they really not recording?" he whispers.

Seokjin's thighs find renewed strength. "No, I made sure of it. Tell me what happened, Jungkook."

Jungkook licks his lips, throat working. "I- recognized the enemy. They patched into my intercom, and I heard them."

Seokjin frowns. "The enemy initiated contact? Did they manipulate you? What were they- did they hack or block anything? Is that why you didn't hear Senior Commander Min's orders?"

"No, no, I recognized them," Jungkook insists. "I recognized them, and- and because I did, I shot them when Senior Commander Min ordered me otherwise." His voice is steady, but he looks pale and his chest is heaving a little.

"Okay," Seokjin says slowly. "So what did they say, Jungkook? Who was it?"

Jungkook takes a breath. Then another. Inhale through his nose, exhale out the mouth, like he's counting in his head. Then, all in a rush, he blurts out: "Taehyung. Kim Taehyung, Seokjin-hyung, you remember him, right? You used babysit the both of us all the time, and he would always eat the crayons, he used to- "

"Taehyung has been missing for six years," Seokjin interrupts. He examines Jungkook closely, brow furrowed. The boy is sweating and his heart rate is up. If he's lying, he doesn't know it.

"I swear it was him. He patched into my video comm, he looks the same. He talked to me- he laughed at me." Jungkook sounds anguished. "He laughed, and then he said, in that horrible archaic dialect he used to imitate, you know, the one he said his great-grandfather used. He laughed, and he said, Jeon Jungkook, I'm alive."

Seokjin is silent for a long time.

"Please, Seokjin-hyung- "

"It's okay, Jungkook," Seokjin says quietly. He takes a step and lets his hand brush over the top of Jungkook's head, just once and almost tenderly. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it. It's your first mistake, and you're the best soldier the fleet's seen in years. Seriously, don't worry. Didn't I always cover for you with your parents?"

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut. His eyelashes are damp. Seokjin carefully wipes under them, though his thumbs come away dry.

He leaves Jungkook the way he found him and waits for the reinforced door of the chamber to seal shut before he taps his regulation earpiece. "Did you get all of that?"

"Crystal clear," Hoseok's voice chirps.

"This kid." Seokjin exhales, troubled. "I tried so hard to give him another out."

"You can't help those who won't help themselves." Hoseok clucks his tongue. "Don't worry too much, Jungkook will be fine."

Seokjin shakes his head, knowing Hoseok can probably see him on one of his cameras. "I should've taught him to lie a little better when he was younger."

"Oh please." Hoseok laughs. "You're only good at it because you look so harmless, Seokjin."

baby baby you're caramel macchiato

It's the first coffee he's allowed to buy on the company tab at the little cafe down the street. After a morning of lugging around boxes of what couldn't possibly be just scripts- punishment for the crime of having a freshly printed work badge- one of the nicer seniors not hellbent on breaking both his arms and his spirit had waved him over and asked for a simpler favor.

Seokjin has scribbled the order on the back of his hand with a sharpie pilfered from the secretary's desk and bolted for the elevators, towards the sweet smell of coffee beans and freedom.

The bell chimes when he nudges the door open with his shoulder. There's only a few patrons here this time of day; some college students working at laptops, a couple of businesswomen chatting on one of the couches. The barista behind the counter is sweeping when Seokjin approaches, but he looks up when he sees Seokjin. "Hi, what can I get you today?"

The barista is cute, with nice lips and thick eyebrows and deep-set dimples that emerge when he smiles at Seokjin. It throws him off, so he stutters when he asks for a "grande caffe Americano", reading off the back of his hand.

"Anything for you?" the barista asks, rather cheerfully.

Oh, right. Company card. "I'll have a tall iced caramel macchiato? With soy milk, please."

"And your name?"

"Kim Seokjin," he answers. Then shakes his head. "I mean just Seokjin, you don't need to know that."

The barista laughs, not even out of pity but like he think Seokjin is funny. This is rare. "That'll be 9,200 won. You can take a seat, I'll bring them out to you."

Seokjin sits at a table, pulling out his phone. His mom had sent him a good luck message while he was at work, complete with five different emoticons because she's been obsessed since Seokjin showed her how to use them. Yoongi has invited him out for drinks later. He's checking his email when he hears his name, "Seokjin?" He stands turning towards the counter-

And that's when he collides with Namjoon. Seokjin feels something wet splash down his chest and he hopes it's the iced drink and not hot coffee. They step apart and Seokjin touches his formerly white button-down, now completely soaked with macchiato.

"Fuck," the barista says, echoing Seokjin's thoughts. "I'm so sorry." He sets the undamaged coffee down and grabs a fistful of napkins, shoving them at Seokjin, but there's no helping it. His shirt is ruined.

The commotion brings another guy out of the back. "Namjoon, what did you do this time?" he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. Seokjin gets the feeling this might have happened a few times before.

"It was an accident," Seokjin volunteers. "My fault."

"Let us get your drink on the house," the new guy says, "to make up for the shirt."

"No, it's fine," Seokjin says. "Really. I'll just. See if my coworkers have a shirt I can borrow."

"Take mine," Namjoon says from the floor, in the middle of trying to clean up the spill.

Seokjin points to his Starbucks polo. "Your-?"

"I have one in my locker," Namjoon says. He stands, thrusting the wet napkins into his coworker's hands before he sprints off to the back.

"I should've fired him a long time ago," the guy says, sighing.

The shirt that Namjoon gives him is, thankfully, just a plain black. Seokjin tries it on in the bathroom, scrubbing his chest of the sticky caramel syrup before putting it on. It's a little tight across the chest, but hidden under the blazer he left in the building, it'll do. Seokjin leaves with two free drinks in his hands, carefully handed to him by the second barista.

"Did you change your shirt?" Manager-Kim asks, squinting suspiciously when Seokjin hands him his coffee.

"Nope," Seokjin lies.

It's another two days before Seokjin can return to the coffee shop to give back Namjoon's shirt. Luckily, he's working again, this time organizing a display of coffee beans when the bell chimes behind Seokjin. He meets Seokjin behind the counter.

"Thank you for the shirt," Seokjin says, sliding it over to him.

"Sorry for spilling your drink on you," Namjoon says, grimacing. "Did it fit?"

"It was a little tight in the-" Seokjin points to his shoulders, blushing for no reason at all.

"Ah, right." Namjoon might be blushing too.

"But it got the job done, so thank you."

He orders another iced drink today. Maybe it's just his good mood when he leaves the store, but this one tastes a little sweeter than the last.

Seokjin becomes a frequent patron of the coffee shop. The coffee in the cafeteria at the SBS building is shit, so between coffee runs for coworkers and the morning espresso to keep him awake, Seokjin sees a lot more of Namjoon. He likes the mid-morning coffee runs the best. Everyone's already at work and it's too early for the late sleepers to be out looking for a caffeine fix. It means he can talk to Namjoon.

He's a nice guy. He remembers Seokjin's name after the first visit, always asks him about his job ("Mostly I just follow people around holding things, great use of my degree, right?") and sometimes shares samples of the baked goods whenever his manager, Hoseok, turns his back. Seokijn's still too hung up on his ex to call it a crush, but he always looks forward to the break in his day when he gets to see Namjoon.

It's his fifth or sixth visit (Seokjin's stopped counting) when interrupts his usual order to say, "You're wearing glasses."

"Do they make me look smarter?" Seokjin asks, straightening his glasses. "I feel like no one at work takes me seriously."

"I like them," Namjoon says, nodding decisively. "They're cute."

Seokjin's cheeks flush. He reminds himself that Namjoon calling his glasses cute isn't the same thing as calling him cute. "Thanks," he says, covering his mouth with his hand.

Today when Namjoon slides his drink across the counter, there's a piece of paper underneath it. "I'm performing at this concert on Friday in Hongdae," Namjoon says. His dimples show. "You should come."

Seokjin smiles around his straw. "I think I might."