Till Death Do Us Part ||Taekook||

Chapter #21 Dimples

If adjectives had trailers this exact moment would be the one to define awkward. Yoongi had a small kitchen in the corner of his apartment with a small island that had three bar stools tucked under. 

Namjoon and I filled two of the seats, leaving the one in the middle of us empty. The crackling sound of sliced beef that Yoongi was sautéing with a series of vegetables was the only noise filling the room.

I kept myself occupied by squinting at different parts of the room to see if I could see the hazy reminisce of cigarette smoke. I craned my neck at the ceiling, running my eyes along the mold that filled every crease.

"Are you still struggling with leaks?" I finally said, breaking the silence. Yoongi seemed relieved that I did. Although he didn't even bother to answer with words. 

He nodded his head towards a corner of the small living room behind us. A large silver bucket was planted there, I hadn't even noticed it since it matched the vibe of the rest of the house.

Now that he pointed it out, my brain started to process the quiet plink noise of the water droplets seeping through the ceiling.

"I did small construction jobs before I became a bartender. I could probably help you patch that up if you ever want me to."

Yoongi shook his head.

"It's fine." He muttered under his breath. I've never seen Yoongi act so small. He reminded me of a child who got scolded. The crackling began to slow. 

On queue, Yoongi pulled the pan from the burner, pouring the sizzling food into three bowls. He slid one bowl to me, the other to Namjoon.

"Thank you." I said appreciative. I glanced at Namjoon who didn't even bother to give a word of affirmation. I rolled my eyes. Namjoon did in fact decide to cut through the silence with something else.

"I asked the executive about the desk job. He said he'd be willing to interview you." He spoke bluntly. Yoongi pondered, letting the forkful of food in his mouth just hang there. Finally he pulled the fork from his mouth, swallowing hard.

"I told you I'm not interested." He said, his eyes still locked onto the bottom of his bowl almost like it had all the answers to the universe. I swallowed awkwardly, suddenly feeling like I shouldn't be hearing this conversation.

"You know you can't live off of that bar job that you have." He scowled. I was confused. Yoongi certainly could. Vermin is an incredibly high status bar, if he continues this path he'd be able to retire by forty years old. 

In fact he could afford a very nice apartment in the center of Seoul if he really wanted to. I wasn't sure why he stayed in a shithole like this but he did.

Part of me believed it was because deep down Yoongi feels most content living in a place filled with the human waste of the world. 

Maybe because he finds the people here more interesting. Or maybe because he related to their problems or just liked hearing about them. He's always liked feeling useful. 

The prostitutes and drunks of the area used him like table rag. He was naïve. He knew he was. He liked it that way.

I think he likes feeling as if he's making a difference. As if he's helping. For a while he used to keep his door unlocked to let the prostitutes use his bathroom. Whenever I asked him about it he always said,

"It's just a safe place for them. A place where they can escape the heat."

He cares. That's the problem. He cares too much; he forces himself to live in this shabby place almost like he wants to make sure everyone gets out okay before he leaves.