"I'm Yoongi," he says. "Hoseok's roommate? he asked if I would be willing to drive you to work so here I am." Jeongguk stares at Yoongi's outstretched hand—nails covered in chipped black polish, which are attached to a very long and veiny hand, which is coming out of a fucking leather jacket, which is thrown over a black shirt, which is tucked into a pair of very tight and ripped black jeans, which come to rest above a pair of black combat boots, and that's just—not fair. at all.
somehow, Jeongguk manages to make the part of his brain not connected to his dick work enough to raise his hand, grasping onto Yoongi's a little too tightly. he swallows thickly, praying to God that his face isn't as red as it feels when he looks Yoongi in the eye again and lets out a quiet, "hi."
(or: Yoongi is a bad boy, Jeongguk is a baby boy, and opposites always attract.)
