Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

October, 3, 2018

The old, battered red car stops by the sidewalk, engine still on, the car blinkers glowing orange in the dimly lit street in rhythmic flashes.

Yoongi sighs and stretches his neck, hands still loosely gripping around the steering wheel. He sends a glance at the rearview mirror when he hears another car approaching and, without realizing, his body tenses, hands gripping the wheel tighter. The car drives by without a moment of hesitation and Yoongi relaxes again. 

His phone starts buzzing. Yoongi considers ignoring it for a few seconds. Maybe it’s just another flood of notifications, some more hateful, angry messages that he cannot bring himself to scroll through anymore. But, with the way the buzzing keeps going with no pause, Yoongi realizes someone is calling him. He leans against the car seat as he twists his body around so that he can reach for his phone in the back-pocket of his jeans. He checks the ID on the screen, then replies to the call.

“I’m fine,” is the first thing Yoongi says.

“Where are you?”

“I just needed to breathe some air.”

A scoff comes from the other side of the phone. Namjoon’s voice is terse and pulled tight as a violin string when he replies, “You never fucking need to breathe some air when shit goes down, you usually lock yourself up in your room.”

“Yeah, well-” Yoongi rolls his left shoulder. “Don’t you always say that’s bad for me?”

“Hyung.”

“I’m fine. I’ll come back in, like, an hour or something, so —”

“Fuck, you’re under his house again, aren’t you?”

Yoongi looks at the empty street at his side, street lamps casting yellow triangles of light on the rough asphalt. It’s so quiet, he can almost hear Namjoon’s slow breathing from the other side of the phone.

“I’m fine,” is, again, Yoongi’s answer.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Let it go, Joon.”

“You’re the one who should let it go, you should forget about him for now and whatever you thought you could—”

“That I could what?”

No answer. Namjoon stops breathing for a while, then releases it into this exasperated, tired sigh.

Yoongi doesn’t get it. He’s the one who’s supposed to be tired, and exasperated, broken, angry, he’s the one who should—

What the fuck does it matter?

“I’ll come back later,” Yoongi murmurs. He doesn’t wait for Namjoon to say anything and ends the call, locking the phone before he can see by mistake any of the hundreds of notifications from the screen.

What he does instead is close his eyes and rest his head against the seat whilst the radio quietly hums away a slow song with sweet vocals, probably a girl. It sounds nice. 

God, it’s quiet outside. And cold. The car windows have started fogging up, turning the street and its tall lamps into blurred, confused silhouettes and colors.

The girl sings some more, notes higher, talks about the sleepless nights she had to go through since her clothes stopped smelling of her partner.

The door to the passenger seat opens, the sound sharp, then the car dips down with someone else’s weight. Yoongi straightens up, gets his hands on the steering wheel again and waits for the door to close before he gets the car moving, driving away from the curb and back into the streets.

Eyes on the road, Yoongi asks. “Where?”

“Does it matter?”

Yoongi sends him a quick glance, finds him struggling with the seatbelt, hands trembling a little. Yoongi reaches for the seatbelt and takes care of that himself before he turns the car to the left. “Same place as usual.”

“Fine.” 

They stay quiet for the rest of the ride.

Yoongi drives out of Gangnam and only sends a quick look towards the radio when he hears the volume rising. The sweet song from before has ended, and now a speaker is giving the name of the singer. Immediately after, another song starts, this one a lot more melancholic, accompanied by a deep, male voice.  

Once they’re further away from Gangnam, the streets become lonely and quiet once more. He hasn’t checked the time, but Yoongi knows it must be either too late into the night or too early in the morning. There’s a sting of guilt in his stomach at this then, because he knows Namjoon must really have been worried sick, not finding him anywhere in the flat when it was already so late. 

He’ll apologize later.

For now, he keeps driving.

Yoongi kills the engine once they reach the top of the hill and the radio turns off too, plunging the car into utter silence. Yoongi struggles to look up from the center of the steering wheel, words caught at his throat, clawing at it as they try to tumble off his tongue. He swallows them down.

Fuck, he hates himself when he gets like this.

Even the other day, he couldn’t say anything. He just sat there. 

And even now. Even now that Yoongi can hear trembling hands struggling with the seatbelt, even now that Yoongi can hear his breath get rougher and more shallow, even now he’s just sitting here.

With a noise similar to a whimper, Jimin finally gets the seat belt off of him and he rushes out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Yoongi remains seated, stiff and frozen, for a few more seconds, brain slowly catching up on what is going on, on where they stand, what lead them to this, on the eyes creeping on them from everywhere.

He gets out of the car and rushes to Jimin. He’s gripping onto the wooden fence that separates them from the edge of the hill, knuckles white, his body almost bent over it, shoulders shaking under the thin sweater Jimin is wearing.

“Shit, why are you wearing just that?” Yoongi starts taking off his coat. “You’re gonna catch your fucking death.”

The moment Yoongi rests the coat over his back, Jimin straightens up and turns around with a sharp movement, eyes blazing, skin white under the moonlight. Suddenly, he pushes at Yoongi’s chest without much strength. Yoongi stares at him, Jimin’s eyebrows pull together. Once again, he pushes him, this time a bit harder. 

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispers. 

At this, Jimin’s expression hardens, lips pulled in a thin, white line, and his palms hit at Yoongi’s chest once more, then again, this time hard enough that Yoongi stumbles back a couple of steps.

“Why?!” Jimin yells, voice hoarse like he has been screaming for entire hours. Maybe he has. “Why didn’t you say anything?!” Another push. “We had a promise! We had a deal! You just fucking sat there!”

“I’m —”

“Don’t say you’re sorry, don’t you fucking dare!” Jimin screams and glares at him with red eyes, cheeks already wet. When he goes to push at his chest again, Yoongi grabs his wrists and tries to pull him towards him, chest tightening when Jimin fights against it. “We had a deal!”

“Jimin, please, come here.”

“No! No, I’m so mad at you! I’m so fucking mad! Have you read what they’re saying?! Have you?!”

“Come here.”

“This isn’t fair, it’s not fucking fair!”

“ Jimin,” Yoongi breathes out, tightens his grip around Jimin’s wrists. “Please. Please , Min-ah, come here.”

And Jimin, finally, does. Features twisting into something pained and hands shaking harder than before, Jimin throws himself at Yoongi so hard that they stumble back, feet unsteady, arms tightly wrapped around each other. 

Yoongi thinks that, since yesterday, he could be prepared for anything. Yet, hearing Jimin sob like this, having him so vulnerable in his arms, that is something that nothing could have prepared him for. Nothing. Biting down on his bottom lip, Yoongi tries to draw in a deep breath and groans when he fails, eyes burning and wetness clinging to his lashes. When he buries his face in the crook of Jimin’s neck, Jimin’s skin is so cold that it has him shivering. Still, he presses his mouth there softly and then pulls back, coaxing Jimin into doing the same. He wipes Jimin’s wet cheeks with his thumbs, then with the hems of his sleeves.

“Stop crying.”

Jimin sniffs, nose wrinkling when he does. “You’re crying too.”

Yoongi, despite himself, snorts. He sees the corners of Jimin’s lips curl up in a small smile for a split second. “Yeah, I’m crying too.”

“Hyung.” Jimin sighs. “I’m sorry, hyung.”

“I know. I’m sorry too.”

“It’s not—” Jimin doesn’t finish the sentence. He looks away in the end, eyes dark and glassy as he takes in the glowing city beneath the hill, yellow and pink lights mixing and blurring into flares of LED. “Yoongi.”

Holding his hand, Yoongi goes to grab the coat that fell on the ground before. He puts it on Jimin’s shoulders again and looks at him when he feels cold fingers cradle the sides of his face. Jimin looks at him, gaze lingering and, maybe for the first time since they met, unsure.

“Yoongi,” Jimin repeats, voice breaking around the vowels of his name. “What do we do now?”

Yoongi leans down to kiss him. Despite where they’re standing now and how they got here, Jimin still sighs against his mouth and parts his lips with a soft sound, still cups Yoongi’s face and wipes his thumb over his cheekbones.

What do we do now?

Yoongi kisses him harder, holds his waist and pulls him closer, breathes in the cold air of Seoul and tries to steal more of those sounds from Jimin.

What do we do now?

NOVEMBER, 1, 2017

[ NESTRA Entertainment to debut new solo artist in December. ]

Insiders have confirmed today that, by December, NESTRA Entertainment plans on debuting a new artist. Details about the debut haven’t been disclosed yet, but NESTRA Entertainment has confirmed— READ MORE

+234/-24   Isn’t the timing just a little shady? 

+311/-31  Look at that, trying to cover up for something. Honestly, I pity whoever is going to debut to fix the mistakes of his seniors.

+123/-9  We all know that the only reason why NESTRA is rushing to debut a new idol in so little time is to try and sway the public attention from their latest disaster. They always do this. Sooner or later, there won’t be any sacrificial lambs for them to throw in the spotlight and they will end up being forgotten.

+90/-6  LOL whoever has to debut with such a scandal to cover… good luck.

Yoongi locks his phone screen and pockets the device, left hand going to rest over his knee. He tries to sit more comfortably on the stiff, plastic seat of the subway but fails. With a sigh, he lets his body slump forward, shoulders immediately hunching down. Whenever Hoseok sees him he clicks his tongue at him and tries to push his shoulders back up, muttering something about him getting a crooked spine before his thirties. 

It’s early, not even 8 a.m., but the subway train is filled to the brim with people: office workers and students, maybe some teachers too. Yoongi sniffs and grimaces at how thick the air feels with such a large volume of people all pressed against each other, no empty space to be found. 

Yoongi’s phone buzzes and he grabs it with a quick motion before reading the message.

NJ

Can I sleep at yours tonight?

                                                                                 Sure.

SENT, 07:52 AM

NJ

Thanks

I’ll bring some chicken

                                                                                yehet

SENT, 07:53

NJ

please never type that again

and good luck today

                                                                               Thanks 

SENT, 07:53

When Yoongi looks up from his phone, he realizes that he’s at his stop. Sprinting up on his feet and then pushing his way through the crowd, muttering quiet apologies, he manages to get out of the train. Since it’s still so early, the station is relatively empty and it doesn’t take him much to get out on the streets. With the way the train was so crowded, the air was stuffy and uncomfortably warm. Outside, Yoongi finds himself shivering lightly in his coat at the crisp and chill morning air. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and starts making his way towards the address of the recording studio. Yoongi finds himself checking it again on his phone with a frown; last time he worked for the company, the recording studios were in Songpa-gu, but they’ve moved to a bigger building last year, in Seocho-gu. Looking around himself, Yoongi guesses that NESTRA Entertainment really did make bank since the last time he worked for them, judging from the countless tall office buildings to the European-style restaurants and cafes. 

Isn’t the Seoul Art Center in this district too?

It’s basically thanks to me if they managed to move here, Yoongi thinks to himself. He shakes his head before he starts focusing too hard on how stupid he had been back then when he signed his contract and quickens his pace.

He arrives at the address five minutes later, cheeks pink from the cold and fingers numb. Inside, the building looks modern and too minimal, with a black and white urban style, couches that somehow manage to look uncomfortable. At the end of the room, there’s a front-office with an already smiling woman waiting for him to approach.

“Min Yoongi,” he says. He lets an awkward second of silence go by, then clears his voice. “There should be a booth booked for me.”

The woman’s smile widens as she starts typing his name in the computer in front of her, fingers fast on the keyboard. Yoongi looks at her uniform, an elegant suit of a nice, smooth-looking fabric. He thinks he’s never owned something so fancy in his life.

“Yes, recording booth number seven,” she replies then, voice cheerful. “I will be printing your access pass, one moment please.”

Yoongi hums, eyes wandering across the mostly empty room. There are only two doors, one at either side of the walls, and he imagines one leads to the booths whilst the other is for the offices. A man suddenly walks in from outside, carrying four paper cups of coffee all at once, hair a bit wild as he hurries towards the door to the right, pushing it open with his shoulder. His suit is a lot less fancy than the one the lady is wearing. An intern, for sure. 

“Here,Yoongi-ssi.”

He turns around and accepts the plastic card the woman hands him. It’s a white card with nothing but his name printed on, the logo of the company and a black stripe on the back.

“The booths open at 7 A.M., they close at 2 A.M., whilst the front desk closes at 7 P.M., if you’ll find yourself in need of extra time in the booths you may book extra sessions, accordingly to the available slots,” she explains, still smiling and still too energetic. “Food isn’t allowed inside the booths, whilst drinks are. If you need anything, you may ask me at any time.”

Yoongi nods. “Thank you. Do you know around what time—”

“Manager Kim will be here shortly.”

Yoongi blinks, not expecting her to guess what he was going to ask. Wordlessly, he nods once more and then heads towards the door on the left side after the woman waves with her hand in that direction.

The recording studios have been improved as well.

Yoongi lets the door close behind him with a beep and he pockets the entry pass, walking deeper into the room. The control room is spacious enough for two people to lounge freely and there’s even a small, two-seats sofa pushed against the wall. Yoongi goes to the mixing console, humming under his breath as he lets his fingers graze over the different buttons, following the direction of the channel’s columns. On the large desk, there are two smaller mixers, amplifiers and two reference monitors. Yoongi drops heavily on one of the two office chairs, hearing it creak under his weight. Its little wheels, too, make a shrill sound when he drags it closer to the desk but it’s not unpleasant. He sends a look at the vocal booth in front of him from its window: the light inside is warm, not too bright, microphone and headphones already in place, and it doesn’t look too small,so it should be comfortable inside. 

Overall, it’s clear that the company actually invested some good money into their studios and equipment.

“Thank fuck for that,” Yoongi mutters under his breath. fingers skimming over a small, portable keyboard. When the booth door beeps, Yoongi flinches slightly and then turns around, steps forward at the sight of who he assumes must be Manager Kim. Behind him, a second figure steps into the room but stays almost hidden behind the manager’s back. The door closes, beeps one more, a long, awkward pause falls on them. 

Suddenly, the manager smiles. It’s a dry, forced, small thing that still reveals lips cracked from the cold.  “Yoongi-ssi, am I right?” 

“Ah,” Yoongi replies with a quick bow. “Yes. it’s good to meet you.” 

“Sorry for making you wait.” Kim Yoonhae is tall and heavy like a bulldozer in a way that, weirdly, makes Yoongi think that a single slap from this man might just throw his head right off his neck. Kim Yoonhae starts digging into an expensive-looking leather messenger bag, thick brows furrowed together. Finally, the person that has been hiding behind him steps forward and his eyes meet Yoongi’s. Whilst Kim Yoonhae mutters something under his breath, Yoongi holds gazes with who he imagines being NESTRA Entertainment’s final straw of hope, Park Jimin.

Kim Yoonhae clears his throat. “I am Park Jimin’s manager,” he says and then straightens up after taking a yellow, thick manila folder from his bag. He hands it to Yoongi who grabs it quickly. “Here, please take this. You will find most of the information you need, if you have any further questions you can ask Jimin. I wish I could stay but, unfortunately, I have meetings to attend.”

Yoongi frowns. He was expecting the manager to stay with them for at least the first meeting, but the man is already glancing back and forth at his wristwatch, a pensive dip to his brows. 

“That’s fine,” Yoongi mutters, sending a quick look towards Park Jimin. He looks young, not as young as some debuting idols, but young nonetheless. He isn’t looking at him anymore, instead letting his gaze wander across the booth, taking in the devices and space. 

“I’ll be back for Jimin at—” Kim Yoonhae pauses and glances once more at his watch. “Five, this afternoon. I wish you a good session.”

Yoongi makes it to bow and bid his goodbyes but the manager is already rushing out and disappearing behind a beeping, now locked door.

Yoongi can’t help but arch an eyebrow, irked off. 

He’s fucking rude, he thinks, Or maybe it’s the lack of coffee that makes me wanna spit on his shoes.  

When Yoongi hears Park Jimin scoffing at his back, he turns around. There are a few moments of awkward silence and stiffness, both of them just standing in the middle of the studio without saying anything, almost holding their breaths, sending tentative glances at each other. In the end, Yoongi decides to act like the barely functioning adult he is.

“You can leave your stuff there,” he blurts out, gesturing at the small sofa. “And, yeah, you should sit.” 

“Mh,” Park Jimin hums and he begins taking off his black coat, scarf still kept up high enough to reach the tip of his nose. 

Yoongi grabs the wheeled office chair and brings it a bit closer to him before sitting on it. He waits for Park Jimin to make himself comfortable and then, without thinking too much about it, says, “Is he always in such a rush?” 

Jimin looks at him, doesn’t immediately reply. Yoongi wonders if he made him uncomfortable, slightly talking shit about his manager. Then, Jimin answers, “I’m not the only act he manages. He has to take care of my seniors, too.” 

Ah, yes, the gigantic, terrible, frenzied elephant in the room that no one really wants to talk about.

Yoongi grabs the folder and starts going through it, thumb moving through the pages. He looks up from the stack of paper and adds, “He doesn’t look too pleasant.” 

Park Jimin, amongst all odds, smiles. Even with the scarf hiding the lower part of his face, it’s easy to see he is. His cheeks rise higher, his eyes glint with something faintly mischievous. “He isn’t,” he replies, voice steady. 

He’s got a strong gaze, Yoongi realizes. The kind of gaze that makes people swoon when it catches a camera and stares deep into it. 

He starts reading the documents Manager Kim left him and they hold an overwhelming amount of information, from Jimin’s height and weight, to his vocal range, his skills, his formation at a dance academy. He skims through that, reaches the last bundle of papers. If there could be an IKEA manual for song-producing, he imagines it would look a little something like this. 

“It says here they’re looking for songs that can showcase your charm,” Yoongi says, briefly looking up from the paper when Jimin scoffs behind his scarf. “Like they told me at the meeting last month, one should be sensual, the other one a ballad. Do you know if you will be promoting them both?” 

“I doubt that,” Jimin replies and, with an almost trained movement, he pushes back blond hair. “Only the title track.” 

Yoongi hums. 

Thing is, these documents are useless; he remembers that business meeting like it was yesterday. It lasted almost four hours, he was being bombarded with details by frantic, desperate looking managers who were watching their stocks plummet to the ground like missiles. Yoongi had took all of that in, scoffed at the extremely tight deadline they gave him, thrived off the panicked reaction they all had at his clear disbelief. Then, Yoongi had pushed and pulled until he had signed a contract that had enough zeroes and a good enough share of copyright to make his hands almost shake with adrenaline. He had thought, back then, that he had finally become business-smart. 

Park Jimin shifts on his seat, straightens his shoulders, fixes the emerald-green sweater over his chest. Yoongi puts the papers away for now. 

“Did you have breakfast?” 

Jimin looks at him for a moment. “No, not yet.” 

“Hm. Me neither.” Yoongi stands up and grabs his coat. “Let’s go.” 

“What? Where?” 

“To have breakfast. Your manager should be gone by now and I’m starving.” 

Nothing in Jimin’s expression changed but it’s clear he’s hesitating. Yoongi thinks that there might be a thousand reasons as to why: company doesn’t wanna risk him being seen and deal with magazines making speculations about their last hope of survival, maybe he has a diet to follow, or maybe… maybe it’s the simplest reason. 

Yoongi tries a smile and says, “My treat.”

Jimin grabs his coat.

“How long have you been a trainee?”

“Five years.”

It’s rush hour at the cafe’ that Yoongi had deemed small enough to not make Jimin uncomfortable about the food price. Still, it is bustling with people right now, office workers and interns grabbing coffee cups left and right, rushing in and out. Jimin and Yoongi sit in a corner of the cafe’ at a table, a steaming mug of tea clasped between Jimin’s hands, an egg sandwich left untouched on a plate in front of him. Yoongi takes a sip of his coffee and wonders if Jimin is ever going to lower his scarf.

“Five years. Mh.” 

Again, Jimin’s smile is hidden but it’s clearly there. “I know that I’m old to debut.” 

“Old?” Yoongi’s eyes widen. “You’re twenty-one, you’re not old.” 

“Mmh.” Jimin blinks. “That’s not what my manager says.” 

Yoongi’s eyebrow tugs upwards. The cafe’ starts emptying out, leaving only lazier, quieter patrons sitting at scattered tables and hiding behind mugs of coffee and books. 

Jimin shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.” He traces the rim of the mug with his thumb, still doesn’t attempt to get the scarf down or to take a sip of the tea. Maybe he’s shy.

“Let’s talk about music.” Yoongi puts his cup down and leans back into his chair. “What would you like? Genre wise, instruments, even the style for the lyrics. What’s your taste?”

Jimin stays quiet. It is then that it hits Yoongi; it’s in the small details. The stiffness of Park Jimin’s shoulders, the constant fidgeting, tugging his hair and sleeves, straightening up only to then hunch down lower in a way that makes it look like he’s ready to either cower away or attack someone, the steadiness of his brown eyes, even the fact that he hid his face, clearly because he’s not good at controlling his expressions.

He’s not shy. 

He’s trying not to let his anger burst out of him.

Suddenly, Jimin says, “I asked for them to choose you as a producer for my songs.” 

Yoongi, too, is very bad at controlling his face and his surprise must be evident judging by the amused glint in Jimin’s eyes. 

“You did?” Yoongi asks and Jimin nods. “Why?” 

And then, finally, Jimin takes off his scarf. He settles it on his lap, folds it in two, then he picks up the tea mug. “I’m a fan,” he replies. 

Park Jimin has the kind of face that one might find in an Italian museum, sculpted in marble, timeless and ageless and captive in between tall walls and painted ceilings.

Yoongi coughs into his fist, squirms a little on his chair. “No, you’re not.” 

“I am.” Jimin says and then, more serious, almost too much, he adds, “I think your music is incredible.” 

What?

Yoongi shakes his head, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He wonders if he’s about to produce a song for the idol with the worst taste in music ever. 

“I only made one song and it’s mediocre at best.” Yoongi takes a sip of his coffee, trying hard not to remember the embarrassment he had felt when, anytime he walked into a bar, he had to listen to the chorus of “ You, you, it’s you I want! / Like cherries on cake and sugar in cream”. “I just got lucky that it become such a summer hit, otherwise—” 

“Not that music.” 

Yoongi’s smile drops, his grip on the coffee mug loosens enough to make him flinch when the cup starts tilting to the side. He sets it on the table, feels his heart pick up speed, a slow, muted, unfair panic settling in.

If Jimin notices, he doesn’t comment on it. 

“I saw you live in a club a couple of years ago.” For the first time since they met today, Park Jimin looks like he’s actually enjoying himself. “I had to get a fake ID to get in, you know? It was so crazy to me, it was the first time I went into a club like that.” 

Honestly, Yoongi is kind of flattered. That panic, though, it doesn’t want to leave.

“Listen—” 

“Don’t worry,” Jimin cuts him off, voice softer than Yoongi had heard it up until now. His gaze, too, seems to hold less weight. “I know what they think about idol music in the underground scene. I won’t tell anyone.” 

Yoongi relaxes a little.

Even when he worked with NESTRA for the first time, he had been clear about keeping his identity safe. Still, he imagines that Jimin must have had access to documents and such related to his sunbaes and, in contracts, Yoongi’s real name was there. His photo, too. That’s how Jimin must have recognized him.

When he had to work for NESTRA Entertainment, his pen name was GLOSS. AGUST D was someone that shouldn’t ever be seen in the daylight of mainstream.

And Min Yoongi was no one.

He clears his throat. “Yeah, well, the underground scene doesn’t pay the bills.” 

“I can imagine.” Jimin’s lips pull into a small smile, something that is there one second, gone the other. “But really, Yoongi-ssi, I do love your music. That’s why I asked for you. I think that you might make something good. Something that suits me.” He pauses. From the bar counter, sounds of steam and brewing coffee mix with the low chatter of the few patrons that are still inside, gets broken only by the tingling of ceramic mugs. When Jimin speaks again, he sounds different. “My voice isn’t very good.” 

Yoongi blinks. “Huh?” 

“It’s mediocre.” Jimin sends him a quick glance, then takes a sip of his tea. Now, he looks vulnerable. “Manager Kim always tells me I’m lucky I can at least dance and that I look like this, otherwise I wouldn’t make it.” 

That’s fucking annoying. Yoongi clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “The more you talk about him, the more fucking pleasant he sounds.” 

Jimin huffs a light chuckle. “In this line of work not many people can be described as decent, let alone pleasant.” He nibbles on his bottom lip for a moment, then looks up at Yoongi. “But it’s true that I can dance. I’m very good.” 

Huh. 

Not vulnerable anymore. Not even angry. 

Passionate, if anything. Yoongi likes passion.

“Alright,” Yoongi begins saying, “So—?” 

“If you could make a song that makes me want to dance,” he nods to himself, gazes at Yoongi and there’s something very intrusive in the way Park Jimin looks at people when it’s about something he loves. “I would be endlessly grateful if you could do that, Yoongi-ssi.” After a moment, he smiles. “Honestly, I know that the only reason they’re making me debut so suddenly is so that I distract the public from what my sunbaes did.” 

Yoongi stiffens and, on reflex, he tries to comfort him, tries to lighten up the blow. “I’m sure that’s not—” 

Park Jimin doesn’t let him. “Oh, no, it is. They made that very clear. The management team, I mean. I wasn’t meant to debut this year. Hell, I wasn’t meant to debut at all. But the other trainees are too young, and the girl group they planned on debuting next year isn’t ready. So it’s up to me to take the grunt and hope that they forget about what happened.” 

The door to the cafe’ opens, carrying a burst of cold wind and a girl inside, cheeks and nose red with cold, gloved hands rubbing together.

Yoongi looks at Jimin. “I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not.” Jimin grins. And there he is again. Gaze steady, features sharp, jaw clenched, anger and confidence mixing together, falling onto him like a second skin. “This might be my only shot and I won’t waste it. I’ll make them regret keeping me in the dark for so long.” 

Yoongi likes passion.

He likes people who suit confidence even more.

“Well. Park Jimin,” Yoongi says, “I think you and I will make something good together.”

[ The camera focuses, blurred images becoming clearer with the whirring sound of the viewfinder fixing itself. 

Jimin lays on blue sheets, skin like silver where the moonlight catches him. pink hair falling over his brows messily. He breathes in, presses his face heavier into the pillow, then looks at someone out of frame.

“A couple of evenings ago I walked by an art shop. Exhibition? I’m not sure.” His voice sounds cracked, words slurred, thick with heaviness. “There were these sketches. I think they were made with charcoal, the paper looked like it would have felt rough to the touch. I thought of you.”

The camera stays steady.

“You thought of me?”

Jimin nods, eyes already fluttering closed, sleep making his limbs loose. 

“Why me?”

Lightly, Jimin’s lips curl up in a smile. “They looked beautiful.” ]

NOVEMBER, 9, 2017

Yoongi's ears have started itching and growing uncomfortably warm under the heavy earphones he's been wearing for a while. He's entertained the idea of taking them off for a grand total of five seconds, then he remembered that if he can't protect his hearing with very loud music he would have to deal with the unbearable, gut-wrenching whirring noise his old laptop's fans make whenever he dares to open two folders at once. 

Itchy ears it is.

With a sigh, Yoongi rolls his shoulders and then leans back into his chair, eyes wandering around his room. He must have lost track of time, because the sun went down and now the space is bathed in blue shades and the red, neon glow of the Chinese restaurant's sign next door. He thinks about turning on the lights, but his limbs only get more slack as if to say, not today chief . He sends a quick look towards the aquarium and grins as Achilles swims around the newest addition to his habitat: a small, decayed castle tower that Yoongi himself put together using small pebbles he had found near a pond last time he had visited Daegu's botanical garden. 

He checks the time: it's already almost nine in the evening and he barely got anything done. He groans, the sound muted by the earphones, then decides to snap out of it. Whether he likes it or not, he has a deadline and it's a hellish one. There's no way he can actually start writing music, not with how little material he has, but he can do some research. He reaches for the manila folder manager Kim Yoonhae left him with, scrolls through the papers for a moment and then grabs the USB key in it before connecting it to his laptop. From what he understood, there might be some videos of Jimin in it. He's met with seven different files, all videos, the first one dated March 2012. It's Jimin's second round of auditions for the company. Yoongi decides, in the end, to turn off the music and instead plug the earphones in the laptop before clicking on the video. 

It's only six minutes long and Yoongi's mouth thins into a grin when he sees just how different Jimin looked as a kid: his face is the one of a child, cheeks still round and flushed with either nerves or embarrassment, and he looks shorter, way less confident, and yet way less wary. In the video, Jimin introduces himself, replies to a few questions to whoever is asking them from behind the camera, then he takes a deep breath, eyes closed and he starts singing. Yoongi grimaces at the audio quality of the video, so bad that he can barely hear Jimin's voice.  The sound cracks and distorts whenever Jimin hits what must be high notes and it barely catches the sound of him when he starts singing the chorus of— God, Yoongi can't even understand what song Jimin is singing with the way the audio is. Sure, the camera quality isn't that great either, but the audio is an actual mess. He stops the video, knowing he won't get anything out of it, and goes look for more in the other files. After a few moments of clicking, opening videos and closing them, he realizes that there's no extra footage of Jimin's singing. Not even a vocal class being recorded, the rest of the videos seem to be only dance practices.

Yoongi hums under his breath. He realizes that, to truly understand what Jimin's voice sounds like, he will have to hear it from Jimin himself in person.

That also means that this will be another wasted night. He can't start making a song without knowing exactly how a damn singer sounds; sure, he could try with a guide version, have Hoseok sing in it, but then he'd have to change it to suit Jimin's voice and with how tight of a deadline he has he's not sure he can do that.

Not to mention that, well. Inspiration isn't exactly his best friend right now.

He makes it to just shut down the laptop, but then hesitates. He looks at the last file, a video that, according to the date, was recorded just a couple months ago. 

He clicks on it.

Jimin is in the very middle of the frame, standing in what must be the starting pose of a choreography, an arm draped over his stomach, the other bent behind his back. Yoongi's relieved to find out that both the audio and video quality of this particular video are crisp. When the music starts, it's not what he expected, maybe the song from another idol group or a western singer. Instead, it begins with high violins and a deep, haunting bass. Maybe an electric contrabass. Jimin looks up sharply, eyes finding the camera immediately, head tilting slightly to the side in a manner that feels taunting. Yoongi feels himself tensing up.

Yoongi isn't a dancer. He doesn't know the first thing about what good dancing is, what genres there truly are, what makes a good dancer and what makes a mediocre one. 

But he knows that confidence rarely comes from nothing. 

Jimin moves like someone who knows exactly how good they are: his body bends and twists and tenses like a machine that he's in full control over and it comes to a point where it's the music chasing Jimin, trying to catch up to him. There are moments where he sends glances at the camera and at times they're scathing hot, narrow and chilling when the song goes higher and faster, softer as it slows down to a low thrumming of bass and piano, then his gaze becomes almost luring, dangerous. 

Yoongi watches, unblinking, until the music disappears and there's only Jimin dancing.

There are moments where Yoongi thinks that, when the cold lights of the dance studio hit Jimin just right, his skin looks blue.

He moves like water does in lucid dreams.

From the back of his mind, Yoongi can hear a melody. A new one. With screeching violins and—

A knocking, loud enough to be heard despite the earphones muffling out sounds, breaks him out of whatever haze he was into. Yoongi blinks, realizing that the video ended, and he takes off his earphones, chest weirdly tight, breath short. Again, someone knocks at his door and with a sigh, Yoongi stands up, groaning at the way his muscles have stiffened after sitting in that chair for so long. He opens the door and he's met with Namjoon's wide eyes.

"Sorry," Namjoon mumbles. "I've been knocking for a while."

Yoongi shakes his head. "Had headphones on, didn't hear you." He walks out of the room and into his living room. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." Namjoon waves a hand in front of him dismissively, shifts his weight from one long leg to another. "You were working?"

Was he?

Does swooning over a dancer count as working?

"Something like that," Yoongi replies quietly. "You need something, Joon-ah? There's food in the fridge."

"No, actually I was just gonna tell you I'm leaving." Namjoon clears his throat, tries a smile. No dimples to be found in this one. "Thanks for letting me stay over, hyung."

Yoongi stays silent for a moment, lets himself feel the pull of anxiety at his stomach. "You know you can stay tonight too, yeah?"

"Nah," Namjoon chuckles, dry and tense. "No, I'll go back home."

"Joon-ah." Yoongi steps forward. "Look, you know what Hoseok and I think."

Namjoon's smile softens. At least, this one is more genuine. "Yep. I do."

"You can stay one more night. You can take the couch. Hell, I can buy you a damn mattress, but—"

But please, stay here where I can make sure you don't do something fucking dumb.

"Hyung," Namjoon says, softly, quietly, with the gentleness and weariness of an ancient spiring left to roam the earth and all its loneliness. "It's fine. Seriously."

And it's not like Yoongi can force him to stay.

"Alright, fine," he says. Even smiles, just because he knows Namjoon feels more at ease when people fake calm just as much as he does. "Just be careful, yeah?"

"As careful as a toad crossing the road."

"That... does not help your case but sure."

Namjoon snorts and waves with his hand again, already turning around, grabbing his bag and rushing to the door, almost as if the offering of safety Yoongi has given him is choking him. 

And then, Yoongi is alone.

He knows Hoseok isn't coming over tonight either and, well, that is a whole other set of worries and anxiety he'll deal with later when he lies in bed. He hovers in the living room for a bit, eyes taking in the small room and battered couch with the damn springs jutting out of one side, covered by an ugly pikachu pillow that Hoseok won at an arcade machine. He could eat something, but his stomach is tied in knots now. Maybe he should have pressed harder, insisted with Namjoon and let him stay another night.

In the end, he walks back into his room, turns on the desk lamp to, at least, not wander through actual darkness and then he drags his chair in front of where Achilles' aquarium is. The betta fish swims towards him once he sits down, then swirls around for a few moments. Yoongi grins at it and opens the first drawer of the cabinet where the aquarium sits, finds the small pocket mirror and angles it against the aquarium's glass. Achilles sees it, swims towards it and then dashes away, Yoongi follows the fish around with the mirror, snorting when Achilles starts tapping with its front at the glass. 

When the fish twists around, its small body bending faintly, light catches on its blue scales and Yoongi sees Jimin dancing again, hears violins screaming in anguish like long lost lovers.

NOVEMBER, 11, 2017

Manager Kim barely looks at Yoongi when he drops Jimin by the studio. He just opens the door, murmurs something at Jimin, nods at Yoongi and then leaves, closing the door behind himself.

Yoongi scoffs and he catches Jimin grinning at him.

"'Morning," Yoongi mutters and he gestures at the couch. "As usual, make yourself comfortable. How are you?"

Jimin starts shedding his coat and high scarf. "I'm alright!" He exclaims. He sounds quite cheerful and Yoongi is surprised to see the change in attitude. "You, Yoongi-ssi?"

"I'm alright too, thanks." Yoongi looks at him as Jimin sits and ruffles his hair, flattened by the beanie he was wearing, then he smiles. "You've got a little something on your—" He points at his own cheek and Jimin's hand flies over the spot Yoongi was mentioning.

There's glitter stuck there on the skin and Jimin laughs, seemingly embarrassed. "Right, yesterday evening we started shooting the album jacket. Well, part of it at least. With how tight times are we're doing stuff weirdly, whenever there are free slots of time." He tries scratching the glitter off. "I swear, I took a shower that lasted hours yesterday and I still find glitter in places that glitter should never see."

Yoongi snorts, then squints at Jimin. "Blue."

"Huh?"

"The glitter, it's blue."

Jimin hums and then gives up on trying to get the few remaining glitter specks off him. "That's kind of the theme I guess. Lots of blue."

Huh.

Yoongi guesses he's not the only one with a pair of working eyes in the team.

“Blue suits you, that’s why," Yoongi says and then he sits on his chair. "Show me the photos once you’ve got them, yeah? This company might be shit about a lot of things, but they’ve always had good art directors.” 

Jimin nods with a smile. “Alright.” 

“I’ve started working on your song." That's kind of a stretch, but Jimin doesn't need to know that. "The title track, I mean.” 

“Oh!” Jimin claps his hands together once, eyes bright. "Really?"

Yoongi nods. “I’ve seen some of your dance practices, so—” He shrugs. 

From the couch, Jimin's excited smile turns into something more quiet and, yet, a lot more powerful. “Were you inspired, Yoongi-ssi?” 

Yoongi's breath hitches, blue scales and liquid movements flashing behind his eyes.

He was.

“Yah." Yoongi grumbles and clears his voice. "Don’t tease your elders like that." A pause. "And yeah, what if I was, mh?” 

Jimin leans back against the couch, head tilting faintly to the side, that same lazy grin still on his lips. If anything, he seems pleased. “So, what did I inspire?” 

If anything, he seems like he wants to push and pull and watch as Yoongi stumbles to try and not make a fool of himself.

If anything, Jimin seems to be looking for something out of Yoongi.

Yoongi stays quiet for a few moments, eyes moving over Jimin, catching the slight twitch of Jimin's fingers when his gaze travels lower. Then, he looks back at him and replies, “Violins.” 

Jimin blinks. “Huh?” 

“They said it’s a sensual concept, they didn’t say it has to be vulgar. You’re not vulgar, you’re elegant." Yoongi nods. "So, yeah, violins.” He's not sure if Jimin likes that idea, but he doesn't seem to hate it either. Then, Yoongi turns around and grabs his phone. “I need to hear you sing, though.” 

And just like that, with one short, harmless sentence, Jimin’s entire confidence crumbles. Yoongi stiffens as he takes in the change in Jimin's attitude, how his hands start fisting the fabric of his coat, lips pulled into a white line. 

Eventually, Jimin asks, “Now?”

Yoongi breathes in. “I can’t really write you music without knowing what your voice sounds like.” 

“Didn’t you have videos?” 

“I can’t hear shit in them, the quality is terrible.” Jimin flinches and that's when realization hits Yoongi. “But you already knew that.” 

Jimin starts squirming, eyes downcast. Was he the one who told the rest of the managing team to only put that single video of his voice in? Or was it the team itself, deeming Jimin's voice not enough and therefore not even bothering giving Yoongi some decent material?

In the end, it doesn't matter. 

“Look, Jimin," Yoongi sighs. "I don’t judge singers. That’s not my job. Whether you’re a good singer or not doesn’t matter to me, but I need to have a sense of your voice, your color, timber.” 

But Jimin doesn't look up from his lap. He only grips the coat tighter, starts biting down his bottom lip. 

“Look, okay, I’m gonna turn around,” Yoongi says and he makes the office chair swirl around until his back is to Jimin. “Like this. And when you’re ready you can sing. Sing whatever you want, even the opening of a cartoon, I don’t care. I won’t even tell you what I think about your voice if you’re worried about it, mh?”

Yoongi isn't lying when he said he doesn't care about what Jimin's voice sounds like. 

He's been in this business for a while and, both in the mainstream and the underground, it is a matter of fact that not everyone can sing. Yoongi remembers very well one of the members from the girl group he produced for; her name is Junhee, and she could not hold a note for the life of her. It wasn't that she had a bad voice, she just hadn't learned how to use it. But, hell, it didn't matter because the girl danced like a fucking beast and had the stage presence of a giant. 

Maybe an entire minute passes but then Yoongi hears Jimin breathing in. The moment he tries to sing the first verse of a song Yoongi has never heard of, his voice cracks. Yoongi hears Jimin hiss out a curse, catches the broken hitch in his breathing and he pushes the chair back a few inches with his feet. He reaches behind himself until his fingers brush against Jimin's knee and, then, he squeezes it.

“Easy, Jimin-ah," he murmurs before dropping his hand. 

Silence stretches on. Then, he starts singing.

And Yoongi knows this song, it's the latest track Yaeji released, a slow, eerie and haunting melody with breathy, controlled vocals that set the tone for the kind of chilling, lonesome atmosphere huge cities have when night falls and the streets are empty, neon painted.

And Yoongi listens.

Jimin stops singing after the first chorus and he lets out a shaky, relieved breath. Slowly, Yoongi turns the chair around and frowns at the sight of Jimin's pale face and red-bitten  lips. This isn't just insecurity, Yoongi thinks. This is fear.

And it has no place in someone like Park Jimin.

Carefully, Yoongi leans down. “Look at me.” Jimin does and looks at him with that same wary, unsure gaze he has sometimes. Yoongi almost reaches out to squeeze his knee again, but thinks against it. He says, “I don’t know who told you that your voice is mediocre, and I don’t care." Before Jimin can scoff or say anything, he adds, "But you have the kind of voice that makes people like me want to write entire pieces just so that other people can listen to it.” 

Jimin doesn't reply. He stares and stares at Yoongi, holding his breath until it releases in a soft sight and until his eyes start turning red and wet. At that point, Yoongi turns around again, not wanting to make Jimin uncomfortable. He wasn't wrong when he thought that Jimin wears his emotions on his sleeves, and maybe it will be a problem in the long run in this line of work, but for now it doesn't matter. 

He drags the chair towards the control panel again and grabs from his bag one of his notebooks, searching for a pen then.“You have a very unique timber," he says once he finds it. He begins scribbling down some notes about Jimin's voice on a free page of the notebook. "There aren’t many singers with a voice like yours, not with that kind of color. I’m sure people will find it very charming." Then, "You make words sound very warm when you sing them.” 

More silence and Yoongi doesn't try to break it. Instead, he writes some more and applies a harsher pressure, so that the dry sound the pen makes on paper mixes (and hides) with the rubbing of Jimin's hands on his own face and his unsteady breaths.

After a while, Jimin whispers, “Thank you, Yoongi-ssi.” 

Yoongi smiles, closes the notebook and puts it away. “Mmh, you’re very welcome. Now, let’s go get some breakfast and then this hyung can start making some music with you.”

NOVEMBER, 13, 2017

The studio isn't rented for Yoongi and Jimin for two days so he works at home. He doesn't hear from Jimin but he imagines him being just as busy as Yoongi, if not more. When Manager Kim had come back to drive Yoongi back to his dorm, he remembers hearing the two mutter amongst themselves about the schedule and, from what little glimpses of conversation Yoongi had stolen, it sounded fucking packed.

So, Yoongi worked from home.

His laptop has been huffing and puffing for a while now, rioting against the heavy music software Yoongi has running. He squirms on the couch, grimacing at those fucking springs that, sooner or later, will burst out, tear the sofa's fabric open and stab Yoongi in the back. Or asscheek.

Hell, he's being dramatic.

Seven hours of nonstop working does that to you, he thinks as he checks the time on his phone. He pulled an all-nighter without even meaning to.

Yoongi sighs and sets the laptop aside, stretching his back as he arches against the couch with a groan. Well, he has the guide version basically done, so there's that at least. 

"If only it was what they asked of me," Yoongi murmurs before rubbing at his eyes.

He knew that it was going to come out different from the original plans, but he still ended up surprised at just how different it sounds. It's not sensual. The violins are too aggressive, the base too heavy. It's filled with an eerie atmosphere and something too big that hangs intensely over it all.

He can fix that though.

He will.

Yoongi hears someone fighting with the door lock then and, for a moment, he wonders if he's finally being mugged. Then, the door opens and in comes stumbling Jung Hoseok. He mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like blasphemy and he tries to shut the door slowly, quietly. From the couch, Yoongi crosses his arms and watches as Hoseok sighs and starts taking off his scarf, talking to himself about how goddamn cold it is as he slips off his boots. He's carrying a paper bag with the logo of a coffee shop from nearby and he's holding onto it like dear life. When he finally turns around and finds Yoongi staring at him from the couch, he screeches and clutches at his chest, pressing himself against the door. His eyes flutter closed and he heaves a deep sigh before he straightens up and pushes back bleached orange hair.

"You scared the fuck out of me."

"I didn't notice."

A pause, then Hoseok says, "I’m going to be real honest, I was hoping you were still asleep.” 

Yoongi arches an eyebrow. “Huh. No shit.” 

“Yeah, that way I could have pretended that I slept in my bed and woke up like a diligent person, got you breakfast just because I’m that great of a friend and not because it was all part of my elaborate plan to make you think all of what I just listed.” 

“I lost you at pretended.” 

“I don’t blame you.” Hoseok happily makes his way to the couch, paper bag swinging. He sets it on the coffee table and then drops heavily on the free spot of the couch next to Yoongi with a groan, limbs loosening and lips turning into a relaxed smile. There are a few moments of silence where Yoongi just looks at Hoseok's profile and he wonders when it was that it became so sharp and how is it that the kid who used to jump into mud-puddles now looks like he holds the secret to what sunlight truly feels like.

Yoongi rolls his shoulder. “What did you get for breakfast? I smell cinnamon.” 

“Starbucks had cinnamon rolls.” 

Yoongi groans. “You’re lucky I need sugar.” 

Hoseok starts pulling out the food and hot drinks from the paper bag and sets them all on the coffee table, swatting at Yoongi’s socked feet with a grimace, murmuring about hygiene and manners. Yoongi puts his feet back on the table, grins to himself when Hoseok makes an undignified shriek and pushes them off once more. 

Later, as Hoseok digs into his egg sandwich and Yoongi sips on warm coffee, lips still tasting of frosted sugar from the cinnamon roll, Yoongi realizes this is the first time Hoseok came back home in two days. 

Hell, Yoongi has barely heard from him at all and, too occupied with Namjoon and work, he didn't even think about actually checking up on him.

Before guilt and concern can fully punch him in the guts, Yoongi quietly says, “Stop sleeping around like that, Seoksie."

By his side, Hoseok stiffens and then he rolls his eyes, a scoff forced out of his chest. “Are you slut-shaming me? Wow. I wasn't expecting that from you, Yoongi-hyung, you became part of the system and—” 

“I will genuinely shove that sandwich down your throat with my bare fist if you don’t shut up.” 

Hoseok huffs out a breath and swallows down another bite of the sandwich. “Don’t think I can take another deep-throating in under five hours.” 

Yoongi groans and puts away his coffee, kicks at Hoseok's sheen when he finds him giggling to himself. “I hate you.” 

“Mh, no you don’t, but nice try.” 

Yoongi settles back on the couch. “You know I don’t mean it like that.”  

After a few moments of silence, Hoseok replies,“I know.” 

Yoongi hums. “They’re shitty people.” 

“I know.” 

“You deserve better.” 

“Mh.” 

“Hoseok.” 

“Alright, got it." Hoseok downs the rest of his sandwich. "I deserve better.” 

“Yeah, you sure do sound like you believe that.” 

“Hey, the first step is trying.” 

“Right.” 

What's the point of having this discussion whenever Hoseok comes back home after yet another night spent with assholes who don't even realize how damn lucky they are to have the slightest bit of attention from someone like him? 

Hoseok is as bright and beautiful as he is stubborn. 

“I’m being careful, hyung. I really am.” Hoseok leans his head against Yoongi's shoulder, looking at him with one of those smiles of his, loud and private all at once. “Promise.” 

And it's not like Yoongi has any right to act like Hoseok's fucking mom, so—

“Alright.” Yoongi sighs. "As long as you're careful."

Hoseok drops a kiss on his cheek that has Yoongi swatting at him with a disgruntled groan and Hoseok begins whining when Yoongi starts rubbing his cheek with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Then, Hoseok's gaze falls on Yoongi's still opened laptop.

“You’re working on the song for the idol, right?" He asks before he grabs the second cinnamon roll. "Is it coming out well?” 

“It’s coming out different than what his company asked for," Yoongi admits. "But I can work on that.” 

“Why different? Usually you’re good at sticking with what soulless corporates require. The god of capitalism is one that makes you work like a well oiled machine.” 

Yoongi snorts. “The god of capitalism is failing me lately.” He drinks some more of his coffee, now lukewarm. “I gotta get my shit together. Nevermind me, if I fuck this up it’s Jimin who gets the shorter side of the stick.” 

“Oh." Hoseok blinks at him. "You like him.” 

He thinks of anguished violins and liquid blue when it comes to Jimin's music.

Yoongi shrugs. “I don’t hate him.” 

“No, I mean that you respect him. Usually you don’t lose your mind over songs for idols, but you care about this one. Care about him.” 

Yoongi hums. “He deserves a good song.” 

“Because he’s just that good?” 

“Because he’s passionate. I like passion. Passion inspires me.” 

“Mmh. And what does he inspire you?” 

Lucid dreams where blue water slides over smooth ice, whilst Jimin's body bends and snaps under the control of screeching strings and—

“Don’t you have work in, like, half an hour?” 

“Fuck, shit, shit!" Hoseok sprints off the couch and shoves the whole cinnamon roll down his throat in a terrible, gurgling sound. He collects his clothes, starts putting his coat back on. "See what I fucking get for sucking dick and eating pussy?!” 

“I hope you get fired.”

Two days later, Jimin listens to the guide version.

Yoongi can tell he’s not impressed. It’s clear in the slight frown on his face and by the way he stays uncomfortably still. Yoongi won’t act like he’s surprised by the bleak reaction, nor will he try to find excuses like “hey, this is only the melody, just you wait until we get some lyrics in this” because that’s not the issue. The problem is quite simpler and, well, to put it very straight—

“It’s not sensual,” Jimin finally says after a few moments of silence go by after the end of the song. He sends Yoongi an apologetic glance. “I’m not saying it’s bad, because it isn’t. It’s just… well, it’s not what we are going for. If anything, it sounds like something out of a very good score for a horror movie. It’s eerie.”

Yoongi nods, humming to himself. He taps his fingers over the desk and straightens his shoulders. “Yeah, it is. I know.” 

“You know. Then—”

“It won’t stay this way. This is just the guide version, this is almost a base for me. But I’ll turn it into something different, something that suits you and that satisfies the soulless corporation that give us our paychecks.” At this, Jimin snorts. “But trust me, Jimin-ah, I’ll make this become sensual.”

Jimin looks at him for a few moments. Apparently they had another round of photoshoots last night and almost up to dawn and the skin under his eyes has darkened just enough for Yoongi to notice. Then, Jimin’s mouth curls into a slow, easy smirk.

“I have no doubts you’ll be able to do that,” he says and then looks away, taking a sip from the tea and honey Yoongi got for him earlier. 

Yoongi blinks, registering the words and the tone Jimin had, voice a little lower than usual, words spoken with intention. He leans back in his chair. “What’s that supposed to mean, huh?” 

Jimin’s grin widens from behind the cup. “Oh, nothing.” 

“Are you implying something, mh?” 

Jimin puts the tea down and then crosses his arms over his chest, eyes filled with mirth when they land on Yoongi again. “What was it you said in one of your songs about your tongue?”

Regret tastes a lot like that night two years ago lost in a drunken haze, adrenaline and the lingering buzz of an orgasm when he had thought that he could get away with writing whatever the fuck went through his head just because he was “an artist.”

Yoongi groans, face heating up and he tries to hide his flush behind his hands, feeling just more mortified when Jimin starts laughing. “Jesus, don’t do that to me.” Jimin’s eyes curve and glint, body relaxed and Yoongi thinks this might be the most comfortable he’s looked in a long time. 

“Oh, man.” Yoongi shakes his head. “I seriously thought I was such hot shit when I wrote that song.” 

“Who says you aren’t?” 

It kinda slips.

Yoongi can sense that Jimin didn’t actually want to say that out loud the second the words leave his mouth and silence follows. Yoongi looks at Jimin, expecting one of them to look away. It doesn’t happen. Jimin looks more tense, eyes a little wide like a little kid getting caught doing something bad, but he keeps staring at him with the same mirth, the same confidence that has Yoongi think of ice melting following the heavy melody of lonely violins.

He also thinks that recognizing beauty where it’s obvious is harmless, but that attraction can become dangerous. And so, he’s the one who looks away.

“Okay.” He clears his throat and rolls his chair towards the desk. “Alright. Let’s try to think about some lyrics?”

After a pause, Jimin sighs. “Sure.”

“Ever written any?”

“No.”

“There’s a first for everything.” Yoongi grabs a pair of headphones from the side of the table. “And maybe I’ll try making this song sound less like a requiem.”

Yoongi could lie to himself and say that they made some decent progress, but lying doesn’t pay bills.

Maybe it was also just plain unfair to have Jimin try to come up with lyrics when they barely have a melody to go with them, and Yoongi—

Yoongi thinks there’s something missing that keeps him from adding a sense to his screaming violins and agonizingly slow piano. In the end, he guesses that recognizing someone’s obvious beauty might only get you so far. 

Attraction, though, he can’t even begin to entertain the idea.

When manager Kim comes back for Yoongi and realizes that all the work they’ve done is basically only in their own heads, he’s not pleased. Jimin bids Yoongi goodbye, smiles at him and walks out, followed by the manager. But the man hesitates, a hand holding the door open. In the end, he turns around, eyes narrow and lips thin.

“I will remind you, Yoongi-ssi,” he begins saying with the same dry voice of a parent scolding a child. “The company gave you a deadline. Were you to miss that deadline, then our side of the deal will do just the same thing.”

And isn’t that the one fucking thing that kills someone’s inspiration?

Deadlines. Contracts. Money.

Yoongi hates the word boheme just as much as anyone with a goddamn brain and he also thinks that, with all the good intentions in the world, Rent was a shit musical about spoiled brats who hid their privilege behind the pretense of real art. 

Hoseok works his goddamn back off at that Chinese restaurant, and his contract as a substitute teacher in the dance studio ends in about a month. Yoongi has money saved, a good amount, because royalties do fucking matter even when you were an idiot who signed a shitty contract, but those are savings for a reason. 

Yes, he still has dreams and he likes to cling onto them.

And Namjoon— well, Namjoon has his own shit to deal with.

So above all of his issues, the lackluster direction of his inspiration, the heavy weight of his deadline, his biggest enemy is the one thing that, in the end, can destroy even the most ancient of relics: time.

There is just not enough of it. With Jimin’s schedule being so packed and his company going on this suicide mission of making him debut in barely a month from now, the fact that the recording studios close at night, Yoongi realizes he needs to buy the time he can’t simply book.

Plus, he’s always been a better songwriter when it’s dark out and there’s more blue to be found in the streets.

And so, later that same night, with anxiety reaching for his throat and trembling fingers, he does something really stupid.

He texts Jimin.

             I know I shouldn’t do this but 

we need to work.

It’s Yoongi, by the way.

Whatever

Can you see me tonight to work on the song?

I know a place.

Shit you’re probably busy look don’t

worry I’ll think of something

sent, 8:32 PM

PARK JIMIN

Where do we meet?

received, 8:57 PM

[MEMBERS OF IDOL GROUP LisTENing ACCUSED OF DRUG USE AND GAMBLING]

On September 12, Gangnam police arrested and took into custody three members of the famous group LisTENing, managed by NESTRA Entertainment. Jung Hyunwee (23), Lee Byungjook (22) and Lee Jihwan (25) have been accused of buying and using marijuana and heavier drugs, and of partaking in illegal gambling nights in undisclosed locations. The news broke when an anonymous source CLICK TO READ MORE

+589 / -23 They threw their careers in the gutter and for what? Serves them right, for being so greedy.

+234 / -34 I read somewhere that the Jihwan guy, the leader, tried to excuse this mess by saying he’s been under a lot of stress lately and needed to just get his mind off for a while. The truth is that these idols are just spoiled and protected by their company who let them do whatever they pleased because they paid their bills.

+124 / -49 Isn’t the gambling just a rumour, though?

+97 / -12 They don’t deserve all the privileges they have. Their company is left to clean after their mess and what about the rest of the group? They were selfish.

NOVEMBER, 15, 2017

Inside the pojangmacha it smells strongly of sweet bean paste, frying oil and steaming salted water. There aren’t many people tonight given it’s a weekday. Only two office workers probably trying to squeeze in a snack and drink before rushing back home and two old men sitting at the furthest corner of the tent, sipping on glasses of soju and quietly playing Godori , the cards old and worn out at the corners. Yoongi wonders if that’s why one of them is clearly losing whilst the other grins at his sure victory; maybe he’s learned to recognize the cards by the little cracks and scrapings of the paper. 

Yoongi checks his phone: Jimin is a few minutes late, whilst Hoseok just texted him he won’t be home for dinner. Yoongi grimaces. Then again, he’s not coming home either.

Except I’m not skipping meals only to be treated like fucking shit.  

Before he can fully let his thoughts run wild and bitter, he catches the plastic tent of the pojangmacha being lifted and when he looks up he sees Jimin walking inside, a paper mouth mask sitting snugly over his nose and mouth. He bows to the owner, a round, rosy woman in her sixties, then he sees Yoongi and walks over to him, the hint of a smile already peeking from behind the mask.

“Hi,” Jimin gasps, chest heaving as he starts taking off his coat and scarf. He lowers the mask too, tucking it beneath his chin, and Yoongi’s eyes widen at the flush of his face. 

“Did you run here?” Yoongi asks, eyes following Jimin’s movements as he sits on the plastic chair next to Yoongi’s, posture perfect, shoulders straight.

Yoongi has a weird admiration for the way Jimin sits like he’s always in a throne room instead of whatever plain place he’s in.

“Yeah, I ran. I was late.” 

“I mean, I would have waited for you.” Yoongi frowns. “Why is your hair wet? You’re gonna catch something.” 

Jimin lets out a small, almost sheepish laugh. He shrugs and sits a little more comfortably. “I’ll be fine, Yoongi-ssi, really. And I just got out of practice, so. Had to take a shower quickly.” 

“Ah, Jimin-ah, you could have told me if it wasn’t a good day, I would have picked another date.” 

“This is my only free evening.” 

“Oh.” 

“Unless we count Sunday but I don’t wanna make you work on a Sunday.” 

“Mmh.” Yoongi taps his fingers on top of the red, plastic table, then he sees, from the corner of his eye, the rosy lady bringing plates of fried fish cakes to the two old men. “Next time if it’s too tight of a time-break tell me, yeah? I’ll arrange something. What are you eating?” 

Jimin looks around the interior of the pojangmacha, his mouth pressed in a thin, pale line. “Uh.” 

“Their jajangmyeon is really good. You drink?” 

Jimin swallows. “I do, but-” 

“Let’s get some soju too, then. Ahjumma!” The rosy lady smiles wide, eyes curving, lines deepening at the sides of her face. “Ah, two servings of Jajangmyeon and a bottle of soju.” She nods, murmuring something so quietly Yoongi doesn’t catch it, then disappears behind a plastic flap-door into the small kitchen.

There’s silence for a while and when Yoongi turns to Jimin he finds him staring back, a soft curl to his mouth. 

“I shouldn’t eat jajangmyeon so late at night,” he says, voice low and yet cheerful, like he’s telling a secret. “I’ll wake up with puffy eyes.” 

Yoongi snorts lightly, rubs his nose and shrugs. “Who cares? You’ll just be stuck with me all day in a studio tomorrow.” 

Jimin’s smile dims down, his eyes lose that glint of mirth. 

“Right,” he mutters. “ Just with you.” 

Yoongi is almost starting to get used to the way the atmosphere can become so tense so quickly with Jimin. 

Almost.

He still finds himself holding his breath, gripping onto the edge of the chair, forcing his eyes to not dip down lower, from holding Jimin’s gaze to the bridge of his nose, and lower still, lower until there’s the cupid-bow of his mouth and —

Jimin clears his voice and Yoongi blinks himself out of whatever stupor he keeps falling into.

“So!” Jimin exclaims, once again smiling, fingers brushing through damp hair. “What are we trying to do tonight?” 

“Work later.” Yoongi says as he spots the rosy, round lady walking back to their table carrying a tray with two bowls of jajangmyeon, and along with that her toothy smile. “Food first.”

As they start finishing their food, Yoongi lets Jimin listen to the new and improved version of the song. 

It’s starting to shape up: sounds less like an intimidating concerto for violins and more like something slow and liquid, almost squeezing in between tight crooks and narrow spaces, filling them and changing shape accordingly, no more the ghost of a sound, but more of a skeleton for a melody. 

Jimin listens to it three times in a row in complete silence, eyes fluttering closed at times, narrowing at others. He doesn’t need to say he likes it, Yoongi can see it. 

His neck strains at the drop of a beat, the muscles of his forearm flex at the crescendo of low, screeching violins, his shoulders straighten and then hunch when it switches to a minor key. 

Without realizing it, Jimin is already dancing to Yoongi’s song.

Still, when Jimin takes off the earphones, looks at Yoongi with a smile and says. “I really like this, hyung.” 

Yoongi can’t help the hot, thick surging of pride in his chest. He’s thankful that with the soju and the warm temperature inside the pojangmacha he can blame the flushing of his face on something.

“Well, next step is lyrics,” Yoongi reaches inside his backpack and takes out a pile of five notebooks, drops them all in the center of the table. “These are my treasures.”

“Oh, wow.”

“My songs.”

“Oh.” Jimin grabs one, almost hesitant. “Oh, wow.”

Yoongi snaps his fingers. “Exactly. You should be very thankful that your hyung is showing you these.”

“Right, of course I should be. So very thankful.”

“I know you’re being a sarcastic little shit, but I don’t even care. Still, go through them. Read the lyrics. Tell me when you like something, whether it's phrasing or a lyrical theme, aesthetic, I don’t care. Whatever works.”

Jimin looks at him as he stops scrolling mid-through notebook. “What if I don’t find anything?”

Yoongi holds up his hand high and the rosy lady is already on her way. “That’s what soju is for.”

When Yoongi will think back on this night, he will always end up blaming how much he drank. Because, in the future, he will need to put the blame on something other than his treacherous heart and weak soul.

He will blame the extra bottle of soju and the way the air got so thick with steam and the scent of food, will blame the rising temperature inside the tent.

He knows that they drank just that bit too much: they’re looser, flushed, sleeves rolled up as high as possible, collars pushed lower, the skin in the dip of their collarbones pink.

The lingering of Jimin’s gaze turns lazy. Or maybe bold.

Yoongi acts like he doesn’t notice and, on that, he will also blame the soju.

“You know,” Yoongi mutters at some point. “Just because the song is sensual it doesn’t mean the lyrics have to be explicit.” 

Jimin scoffs. He’s fanning himself with one of Yoongi’s notebooks and he looks very warm, has started to sweat a little, the column of his neck faintly shiny under the orange lights of the pojangmacha. 

“I highly doubt the company would want me to sing about downright fucking someone.” 

Amidst the uncomfortable warmth, Yoongi shivers. 

God, Yoongi is weak to too many things and the list just keeps getting longer and longer.  The thing is, Jimin’s voice after a few drinks gets this raspy timber, words a bit more slurred and yet sometimes awfully sharp, vowels dragged for just long enough.

He downs one more glass of soju. Feels it burning down his throat all the way to his stomach. “No, I get that,” Yoongi says and he rubs his nose. “I mean, it doesn’t even have to be vaguely about sex. Or girls. Or whatever.”

Jimin looks at him. Even his gaze turns impossibly heavier with alcohol in his system. More intense, less intrusive, yet still steady. 

“Intimacy, too, is sensual. Knowing someone well, and —” Yoongi gestures in front of himself. “Y’know, recognizing the signs that there is attraction, be it physical or just aesthetic. And… and hands brushing together by accident, the change of the color of one’s skin season after season. The shift of someone’s voice when they drank too much, or when something upsets them. Or something excites them. Slow words in the middle of the night when you should be asleep, murmured, like secrets. The smell of someone’s shampoo, or the way their hair feels when you brush your fingers through it. The feel of their mouth on your cheeks, the flush of their skin, the heat of it, the way they hold their gaze with you, lingering, on purpose, because they want you to understand that — ”

He stops talking the moment it hits him that his brain keeps associating whatever fucking foolish idea of intimacy he has with little things of Jimin that Yoongi picked up along the way.

He swallows and decides he will blame every single thing on his soju, will laugh it off, bury his face in between the pages of his own notebooks.

Instead, he looks at Jimin and feels his entire body catch fire, skin alight, chest exploding, because Jimin can’t hide his expressions and it is so easy to recognize Jimin’s want when it swims liquid in his gaze and settles loose on his limbs, legs spread open, lips parted, skin so flushed Yoongi wants to press his mouth on it right this instant, wants to map it with his tongue, have the taste lingering in his mouth for days. 

This, too, he will blame it on tonight’s soju.

He doesn’t know if it’s the flinch of Yoongi’s fingers or the soft exhale he lets out, but something breaks Jimin’s gaze. He sits up straight, looks away and crosses one leg over the other, chest rising and falling fast enough for Yoongi to notice. The flush on his cheeks gets even worse.

Suddenly, Jimin fills himself another glass of soju and downs it in one quick motion before he shuts closed. Yoongi’s notebook. 

“Let’s walk,” he rasps, already grabbing his coat. “It’s too hot in here.”

Only when they’re outside does it hit Yoongi that it’s become way too late. The streets are almost empty, cars speeding by carrying the yellow glow of their headlights. Most pojangmachas have already closed and some street vendors are frying their last batches of fishcakes. 

As he and Jimin walk on the large sidewalk, with Han River by their side, liquid and humming quiet in the night’s silence, the air turns colder, stingier. Yoongi would feel grateful for it if he could; he expected the cold to snap him out of his drunken haze and dangerous, dangerous want. 

Instead, the more he walks the more he feels it. His steps are a mess. He thinks that if he tried to really focus on where he’s putting his feet he might even make more of a fool of himself than he already is. Jimin, though, might be the same. He’s swaying. Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen him sway. Everything about him is perfectly balanced, perfectly steady. But now, his steps are less perfect and a little more human. 

Still, his posture is fucking annoyingly spotless. 

“God,” Jimin sighs then, twisting around to glance at Yoongi, who is walking behind him. “I was buh-burning inside that pojangmacha. So damn hot. But you were right, the jajangmyeon was so tasty.” He hiccups and giggles, cheeks all rosy, tip of his nose turning a lil red. Yoongi breathes out slowly, walks a little faster, closer. “I shouldn’t have drank that much, though.” 

Yoongi snorts. Almost trips on his own foot. 

“Once in a while is fine, isn’t it?” 

“Mmh, you’re right. But still. Tomorrow I’ll-” Jimin frowns. Then he smiles again and slows down his steps until Yoongi is walking by his side. “Nevermind. Oh! Oh, I love it here at night, y’know? Whu-when I was in my first years as a trainee I kept sneaking out the dorm to come here and-” He laughs, eyes turning into half moons, lips pink. “And I’d buy egg waffles even though I really shouldn’t have and I’d stuff myself full of red bean jam. Oh, and-” Suddenly he’s hunching forward and, on reflex, Yoongi’s hand grabs onto his arm and pulls him back up, slightly concerned that maybe he’s feeling sick. 

“Oh My God, I tripped,” Jimin gasps and straightens up with a wide grin. “I haven’t tripped in six years.”

“What? Six years?”

“Mmh.”

“How the fuck?”

“I’m a dancer.”

“Or maybe you aren’t human.”

Jimin starts laughing. It begins quiet and slow, then turns louder and faster, bold, unashamed, such a goddamn lovely sound that Yoongi hums to it the way he does when he hears a good song. Then, he’s laughing too, smiles wider when Jimin throws his head back. teeth showing and giggles spreading through empty space and cold air. Yoongi’s hand lets go of Jimin’s arm and instead curls around the boy’s wrist. Maybe Yoongi’s hand is really cold, or maybe Jimin’s skin is just that warm.

It’s difficult, maybe impossible, to not be aware of just how gorgeous Jimin is.

Especially tonight.

God, tonight . 

Under these lights, the cold yellow glow of the streetlamps and the silver moonlight, Jimin’s skin looks blue.

Jimin sobers up and then he catches Yoongi’s gaze. Something must show in it, something loud, because Jimin’s breath hitches, gets caught in his throat and makes him raise a hand, hold onto the fabric of Yoongi’s coat.

He wets his lips. “Do you wuh-” Jimin stops. He tilts his head to the side, skin blue, gaze like the crest of ocean’s waves. “Am I attractive?”

Yoongi is too drunk to give a fuck and too weak to the perfect shade of blue of Jimin’s being. “You know you are.” 

Jimin blinks and the ocean in his gaze seems to slowly fade away. “Mmh. Yeah. I am.” He doesn’t seem pleased. “They always say I should be grateful I am.”

Yoongi’s grip on Jimin’s wrist tightens. “Who says that?” 

“Lots of people who decide whether or not I get to make music.” 

That’s not the only reason.

Shit, fuck, that can’t be the only reason. 

Yoongi wants to tell him all of it, wants to tell him, Screw what they think and what they say, they matter nothing, so what if you’re beautiful, if you’re so gorgeous you steal my breath away, you’re passionate, you turn words into something warm, what do they get to decide? What do they know of you? You make poets want to write music, what the fuck do they know?

The words are all there, on the tip of his tongue, and they’re backed up by screeching violins and melodies in minor key.

They don’t come out.

In the end, Jimin just smiles and lets go of his coat, wriggles his wrist out of Yoongi’s hold and starts walking again, still swaying, still, for the first time, unsteady. 

Walking under pale, yellow cones of light and humming a simple tune to himself, Jimin looks like he belongs somewhere fictional and untouchable. 

But Yoongi, who is walking a couple of steps behind him and knows that this is reality and that Jimin only looks perfect but breathes just as hard as any other human, sees the weight on Jimin’s shoulders and says, “Your voice is very nice.” Jimin stops dead in his tracks, the sole of his shoe dragging roughly on the concrete. It’s too quiet for too long. When Jimin breathes again, it’s deep and long and trembling, frailer than poppies by the end of May. 

He begins walking again.

Yoongi follows behind like a dog that needs water.

It’s almost dawn when he gets back home, still buzzing with alcohol and whatever it is that Jimin makes him feel, fingers fumbling and trembling around his pencils, almost tearing the paper of his notebooks as he scrolls to find an empty page.

He starts furiously jotting down lyrics, the words in his head lost to a blur of blue skin and silver eyes.

Attraction is dangerous, but one hell of a drug for inspiration.

Infatuation is lethal.

NOVEMBER, 16, 2017

Maybe the room spins a little if Yoongi stands up too quickly.

He drops back in his chair and groans, rubbing at his temples. The LED white lights in the recording booth are so damn bright they make Yoongi’s eyes sting and his head throb. And, surely, his hangover isn’t helping. 

That, plus the fact that he maybe got one total hour of sleep. Give or take. 

His head is still filled with hasty, frenzied lyrics written down in a state of panic at the idea of losing all of his inspiration and maybe those aren’t helping his case much either.

Still, he got up this morning, put on some clothes (his socks are mismatched but who checks on socks anyway,) downed too much coffee and he made his way to work like a damn adult.

Namjoon would be proud of him.

The beep the electric lock of the door makes when it opens sounds a lot louder this morning. And Manager Kim… well, he looks like always.

But today, he’s alone.

Yoongi stands up to greet him and they both bow at each other quickly before Yoongi sits down again. 

“Good morning,” Yoongi says and then tries to look past the man to see if Jimin is behind him. No one. The door closes. “Jimin is—?”

Manager Kim crosses his arms over his chest. “He went to get you two coffee.”

“Oh, there was no need, thank you.”

Manager Kim stays silent.

More brooding than usual.

Yoongi remembers the not so thinly warning he received yesterday and tries to sound very professional when he says, “I have lyrics. Will probably finish the track today, start working on the b-side this evening. If everything works well, we can start recording tomorrow and-” 

The man suddenly sucks in a quick breath. “Min, let me make something very clear.” 

The hostility in his usually dry, soulless voice is so starking that Yoongi is taken aback for a moment. 

Just a moment. 

Yoongi arches an eyebrow, leans back in his chair. If there’s no more need to keep up false pretenses of basic courtesy, then he will drop the act too. “Which would be?” 

Manager Kim crosses his arms over his chest, straightens his shoulders and tilts up his chin. 

“This company pays you a considerable amount of money to make music and to make it so that it meets the company’s deadlines,” he says. Then, like sharp glass, he adds, “What it doesn’t pay you for, is hooking up with our acts.” 

Whatever air of confidence Yoongi had gets slapped off of him. He knows he must have blanched, must have something show, because the obvious displeasure on Kim’s face turns to genuine sneer. 

Still, Yoongi struggles to find words. When the impact  of this man’s words reaches him, there’s shame for a moment, embarrassment the other. 

“What the- What are you talking about?” 

“I know Jimin was out last night, I know he’s hungover because he’s awful at hiding it.” Manager Kim shakes his head. “He told me he was alone, but Jimin is also a very bad liar. I can tell the same goes for you.” 

Then the embarrassment turns to anger.

Yoongi stands up. “What the hell are you implying?” He hisses, red in the face, fingers twitching. “We didn’t-” 

“I don’t care.” Kim tilts his head to the side, regards Yoongi with thinly veiled disgust. “My job is to make sure Park Jimin doesn’t damage his own career and that he especially doesn’t damage the company’s reputation.” 

Yoongi scoffs. “ What reputation?” 

From the abrupt shift in Kim’s expression, Yoongi knows he hit the right spot. Whatever facade of bravado and confidence slowly leaves place for the numb, forced persona this man takes on when he’s working.

Manager Kim shifts his weight from one leg to another and sighs. “Listen, Yoongi-ssi.” And just like that, polite speech is back in order once more. “My job is to make sure Jimin’s debut goes smoothly.” 

Yoongi hums. “So is mine.” 

“And to make sure he stays out of malicious comments or any sort of negative energy.” 

“Ah.” Slowly, Yoongi nods, then clicks his tongue. “And do you think you’re accomplishing that by belittling him, humiliating him and disregarding his skills in favor of his looks?”

Manager Kim flushed, eyes widening, arms slacking until they fall by his hips. The two stare at each other, both sitting on insults and accusations, and both with their respective warnings hovering between them.

The door opens again before anyone can reiterate and Jimin walks in carrying two styrofoam cups from the coffee shop where they always have breakfast. He looks weirdly cheerful despite the bloodshot eyes and pale face, his hangover so damn obvious that Yoongi has to at least agree on one thing with the manager, Jimin really can’t hide anything for shit.

“I’ll be back by seven,” manager Kim mutters, already making his way to the door. “I wish you both a good session.”

“Thank you!” Jimin exclaims and he watches the door close before he turns to Yoongi, gaze soft despite the tiredness in them. He hands Yoongi the cup of coffee.

“Did you also sleep like utter shit?”

Yoongi swallows but he forces out a smile. He accepts the cup and nods. “Sleep is a strong word.” He coughs in his fist and rolls his shoulders, trying to get rid of the tension and heat in his chest, Kim’s vulgar insinuations still far too clear in his head.

At least Jimin hasn’t heard anything.

“Alright, lyrics,” Yoongi says. He takes a sip of his coffee and then sets the cup aside in favor of reaching for his notebook. “Can you believe I got shit done? ‘Cause I barely can, soju really does wonders—”

As he grabs the notebook, Jimin’s fingers curl around his wrist.

He looks up, finds Jimin smiling at him, gaze warm and a smile so subtle one could miss it if they didn’t know where to look.

Jimin murmurs, “Thank you for just what you said.”

But Yoongi knows exactly where to look.

Jimin lets go of him and drops on the couch with a sigh. “Hyung, I got my tea and honey all by myself this time, I’m all grown up now.”

Yoongi, despite the violins playing blue notes in his head, huffs out a chuckle. “‘s that so? Good job, Park Jimin.”

Jimin hums. “Now, let’s see these lyrics.” 

Later that night, when he’s at home, Yoongi starts working on the ballad.

Hoseok is at home too, which has Yoongi so damn relieved he can barely believe it, and he’s sitting by his side on the couch with one hand deep in a bag of honey dipped chips and the other holding his phone, thumb expertly moving up and down to scroll down his Twitter timeline.  

Maybe saying that he’s working on the ballad is a bit of a hopelessly optimistic attitude when all he’s done for now has been staring at his music software and tweaking sounds effects and sampling instruments over and over again.

Hoseok mutters something to himself, which Yoongi promptly ignores. 

Truth is, Yoongi can’t focus. Maybe he shouldn’t expect his muse to start kicking in euphoria again just after one day of tireless work and an almost complete song (God, he really wants to have the violins recorded in the studio. Real violins, not cold samples, he needs them, Jimin deserves them.) Then again, if he thinks of his muse then his mind becomes a sneaky little thing and makes him think about Jimin again. About how he reacted to the lyrics.

Hoseok scoffs. “Beomsoo is shading you again.” 

After the first reading, Jimin looked almost overwhelmed. Then, at the second one, confused. He murmured the words to himself, read them in silence, then stroked the paper with the tips of his fingers, almost as if he could get a feel of them through the harshly pressed ink. 

He kept re-reading one part. 

“Like —” Hoseok throws another chip in his mouth and chews on it loudly. “ He’s really out there subtweeting you as if you didn’t roast his ass for everyone to see last time you were on the same stage. Why is he setting himself up for more humiliation?”  

He kept re-reading it, whispering it to himself.

“What does it matter

your skin is warm and so is your voice 

so what does it matter if you look blue under these lights?” 

“Hyung, are you listening?” 

“No.” Yoongi sighs “I don’t give a fuck about what Beomsoo says. I have a mediocre ballad to get started that will probably pay our bills for the next seven months. What does Beomsoo have except a shitty flat that is probably infested by roaches?” 

Hoseok blinks, mouth opened and the half-chewed chip laying in all its glory in the middle of his tongue. He swallows and laughs. 

“Goddamn, hyung, write that down for the next time you’re against him.” 

Yoongi rolls his eyes, shakes his head. “There won’t be a next time. And stop stalking his twitter before you like one of his tweets.” Yoongi looks back to his laptop’s screen. “Again.” 

Hoseok kicks Yoongi’s thigh with a socked foot. “ It was one time and I was high! ” 

Yoongi tries, he swears he does.

But all he manages to come up with is a mediocre round of piano and a basic, slow rhythm set by sampled snaps. 

So, as he always does when music defeats him, he ends up working on Achilles’ aquarium because, unlike the unforgiving soul of melodies, at least this has immediate results. 

Achilles looks to be happy. No stress lines, no laziness, and he’s been eating regularly. Still, the sweet potatoes’ stems grew too long. So, Yoongi grabs his chair, settles by the aquarium, removes the tank’s lid and starts trimming the stems and overgrown leaves. 

“I don’t put this energy in my own self care,” Yoongi mutters, trimming scissors in hand. He sends the betta fish a look. “You should be thankful, but you’re a fish.”

Achilles twirls around his little castle tower. 

People cope with stress the way that best suits them: some binge-eat, others use coloring books, watch trashy dramas on KBS, listen to Britney’s Toxic on repeat, drink too much, fuck strangers, whatever helps. 

Yoongi takes care of a completely natural, no filter, free of chemicals aquarium. Because you really do need to do what helps you cope.

“I don’t like how the potatoes are maturing,” Yoongi mutters. “I might shift to strawberries. Would you like that, mh? It would smell amazing.” He cuts off another stem. “Achilles, sooner or later I’ll catch you pretending like you can’t understand me and when I do I will put a fucking clown fish in there with you. Now, I know you wouldn’t like that.” Achilles mouths at the soil at the bottom of the aquarium. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Speaking to a fish helps him cope and Yoongi will take whatever helps at this point in his life. After all, Achilles is one hell of a listener.

So he focuses on that, lets the traffic noises from down the road fade into static noise until all he can hear are the dry snaps and clicks of his trimming scissors.

It’s stupid.

It is.

But whenever the light catches the fish and glints off blue scales, Yoongi’s mind fills with the violins of his song.

NOVEMBER, 19, 2017

Yoongi has never seen someone look as uncomfortable as Jimin does inside the recording booth.

Sitting on the other side of the glass, Yoongi looks at him as Jimin shifts uncomfortably from one leg to the other, eyes fixed on the sheets of paper with the lyrics, set on a music stand. Then he starts fixing the headphones over his ears more snugly, looks up at the microphone in front of him like it’s an enemy.

Yoongi sighs, presses the intercom button and leans closer to his own mic.

“Jimin-ah, can you hear me?”

Wordlessly, Jimin nods, eyes once again on the lyrics.

“You studied the final track, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And you know the lyrics by memory.”

Jimin briefly looks at him through the dividing glass. In the small recording booth, with the black soundproof walls and the lone, warm yellow light of a single lamp, Jimin looks impossibly far. “I do.”

Yoongi nods at him. “You do. You practiced. You told me yourself. So why do you look so scared?”

Jimin doesn’t reply. Instead, he straightens his shoulders and absentmindedly picks at the corners of the lyrics papers.

“Jimin-ah, don’t be scared. Be calm. Just sing.” A few moments of silence go by. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

At this, Jimin looks up, eyes sharp and steady. “Who says I want to do that?”

Yoongi’s breath hitches and he loses the pressure he had on the microphone button and the silence that follows feels static. Still, he can’t look away. Jimin stares at him, unblinking, and for one stupid, dangerous moment, Yoongi thinks that the only time he’s ever seen that kind of strength in Jimin’s eyes was when he was talking about dance.

Because Jimin wears his emotions for everyone to see, it’s impossible to ignore them.

In the end, Jimin’s the merciful one, or maybe the smartest of the two, and drops his eyes on the lyrics once more. Yoongi gets the hint and clears his voice before he presses down the microphone button again.

“Alright, this is just the first run down, so don’t be nervous if I give you some directions later on,” Yoongi says, then, “First verse from the start, I’ll play the intro too.”

The first session of recording goes just as well as a first session can go.

Jimin stutters his way through the first verse, his voice cracks on the second recording, on the third it falls flat.

It’s fine and it’s normal and Yoongi knows this but he feels like Jimin grows more and more scared of the microphone with each try.

“Go easy,” Yoongi tells him at one point. “Breathe at the pause between the second and third line, that way you can finish the verse in one go.”

Jimin does, and it’s better. He seems to realize that too.

He takes directions well, which is more than Yoongi can say for half the artists he worked with. He listens, elaborates, immediately tries something new. His voice grows steadier as they go, his emotions more obvious in the breathy, lower tones of his voice.

By the time Yoongi can positively say they got the first verse down, he calls for a break.

They eat the egg sandwiches Jimin bought for them that morning as they read through the notes Yoongi left by the side of the lyrics, voices low, almost like whispers, as if a veil has fallen over them once the reality of this being the song Jimin will perform and be introduced with hits them.

“My directions are just mine,” Yoongi says, pen pointing at his notes and dragging along the paper. “They don’t have to be yours. If you feel like singing the second verse differently, do it. If you want to add something to the chorus, go for it. Once you’re in that recording booth I mean almost nothing to the song. It becomes yours only.”

The recording for the second verse is smoother. 

Jimin is more confident and his voice follows through. Yoongi’s eyes flutter closed, blue waves with silver foam filling his head, a violin plays from beneath the water and Jimin’s voice catches on the eerie undertones of the melody, shifts to something terrifyingly sharp and undeniably elegant. 

And then, there’s the factor of how focused Jimin gets once he starts working. It’s almost like watching an actor stay in character: Jimin keeps himself in check, almost, shakes his head lightly the second he feels like his concentration is slipping away, narrow eyes and jaw clenched.

“ All this talent, ” Yoongi thinks to himself when Jimin’s voice goes higher at the end of a line. “ And they made him believe there was none of it in him. ”

They get the second verse done in half the time.

“Want a break?” Yoongi asks through the mic.

Jimin shakes his head, grabs a bottle of water from the ground and gulps some of it down. “No, I feel like if I stop I’ll lose the feel of it.”

Yoongi hums, he rubs at his nose. “Chorus next? Or you wanna do the bridge, come back to the chorus later?”

“Chorus.”

Yoongi reads through his notes for a moment. “You remember what I said about your voice, yeah?”

Jimin sends him a quick glance from behind the glass and nods. Yoongi smiles at him. “Good. This energy you’ve had for the verses, double it for the chorus,” he says. “Do what you gotta do to make it feel warm.”

Jimin does.

He looks at him.

From the moment he starts singing the chorus, Jimin’s eyes leave the lyrics and set on Yoongi. There’s no hesitation, no second thought, no uncertainty. Jimin’s gaze is a physical weight on Yoongi’s chest, pressing down and down until he can’t breathe, the tilt of his voice, the warmth of it gentle ropes that wrap around his legs and arms.

Yoongi lets him do this. He’s captive, and he accepts it.

He shouldn’t, but he does.

If infatuation alone is lethal, what happens when it’s mutual?

“They’re dropping the first visual teaser next week.”

Yoongi looks up from his notebook. Jimin is tracing the rim of his cup of tea, eyes not really focusing on anything. 

“And?”

Jimin heaves a sigh and leans back in his chair. With a small smile, he says, “And I’m terrified.”

Yoongi’s mouth parts around words that don’t immediately come out. Jimin stares at him, almost expectant, as if anything Yoongi could tell him may help him in any way. Yoongi doubts he has that much power.

“Don’t be,” is what he says in the end. 

Jimin scoffs. It’s not malicious, it’s just out of incredulity. 

“Don’t be,” Jimin repeats in a murmur. “Do you ever check the articles written about my company? About my debut? What people say?” Jimin breathes in. “ I’m terrified .”

Of course Yoongi saw them. He never fully read through them, never went past the previews or headlines, but he can imagine the response they got. Doesn’t dare to read what they say about Jimin, though.

He’s not sure he could handle them and if that thought scares him, that’s for him to hide.

Yoongi twists the chair around so that he faces Jimin. “Stop looking for those articles,” he says. “What they say doesn’t matter. None of those people mean anything.” He pauses. “But you mean everything.”

“To who?”

It’s said so sharply that Yoongi flinches. Jimin notices, because he always seems to notice everything, and his features soften, gaze less like shards of glass and more like the melting ice of Yoongi’s dreams.

“To who, hyung?” He asks again, only this time it sounds less like an accusation and more like a plea.

When it’s obvious that Yoongi won’t reply even when the answer is written all over him, Jimin’s smile widens and he stands up. “Let’s finish recording this song, yeah?”

Listening to the recording when he’s back home, Yoongi is hit with just how jarring Jimin’s vocals can be. There’s an intensity to it that is rare to find nowadays, so raw in certain verses that it pulls at something in your chest. It turns out that Park Jimin’s feelings are even more out in the open than usual in a song.

Or maybe he’s biased, but he doubts it.

Mentally, Yoongi retraces the schedule before the deadline in two weeks and hums to himself; tomorrow he wants to try and record some adlibs, and after Yoongi asked for a violinist, the company contacted one, who he'll record with on the same day in the afternoon. All that is left will be the final mixing, then the ballad. Maybe he should start genuinely worrying about it, maybe not. Right now, Yoongi feels like he might be able to write an entire concerto centered around Jimin’s singing.

From the kitchen, Hoseok hisses under his breath just before what might be either a pan or a pot hit the ground with a dull, metallic sound. Yoongi rolls his eyes, glad that at least Hoseok is spending the night home instead of whatever flat he usually ends up in. Given that it’s Hoseok on cooking-duties tonight, Yoongi knows he won’t have to wait long for dinner (fried rice is hardly a tough science to crack) but he still opens the music software on his laptop, grabs his headphones from the coffee table and before he can even plug them in or put them on, the doorbell rings.

Hoseok’s face pops up from behind the kitchen door. “Were you expecting company?”

Yoongi shakes his head, setting the laptop aside. He goes to the door and opens it a smidge, to see who’s behind it, then pulls it open fully as soon as he gets a glimpse of Namjoon’s face.

The man doesn’t even wait for Yoongi to step aside, but simply makes his way inside before slamming the door behind him, eyes wide and face shiny with sweat, flush with exertion. 

There’s silence for a few moments, where only Namjoon’s ragged breathing can be heard, then Yoongi sighs. “Joon-ah, what happened?”

Namjoon swallows down thickly, tries to straighten up, but his chest is still heaving and his eyes won’t leave the door as if he’s terrified someone is going to kick it open. 

“Can I—” Namjoon looks at Yoongi, pleading and shaken up, upset in a way Yoongi has only seen him once. “Can I stay the night?”

Slowly, Yoongi nods and Hoseok steps out of the kitchen and into the living room, eyes wary.

“What happened?” Yoongi asks again.

Namjoon wets his lips and cards his fingers through his damp hair. “I ran here.”
“Yeah, no shit.”

“Was he at your place, Joon?” Hoseok asks, arms crossed over his chest.

Namjoon squirms a little on his spot and Yoongi tries to ignore the wave of fondness that threatens to take over his concern and anger. 

“I was coming back from… from a drop.” Namjoon shakes his head and he huffs out a breath. “He wuh-was standing in front of my door. I don’t know if he saw me, I-I bolted down the stairs, ran here. Fuck, I ran here, I wasn’t even thinking, if he followed me then—”

“Namjoon.” Yoongi grabs his forearm, squeezes it until he gets Namjoon’s eyes to focus on him. “It’s fine. You can stay.”

Relief washes over Namjoon’s face, makes his features go slack and his knees weak for a moment. He nods. “Thank yuh—”

“But you need to stop working for him.”

Namjoon snorts and he brings a hand to his face, pushing at his temples. “I’m trying.”

“No, I mean now.”

“You know I can’t.”

“No, you can! You’re just being a stubborn asshole!” Yoongi breathes in and tightens his grip on Namjoon’s arm. “Namjoon, now.”

For a moment, it looks as if Namjoon might give up. Might finally, finally, listen to Yoongi and allow himself to accept other’s help. But that lasts only for a moment.

“No, I’m almost done.”

“I’ll lend you the money. Jesus, Joon, let me lend you the money, you’ll pay me back with the fucking interests if you want that so damn badly, but let me—”

“I said no .” Namjoon steps back, pushes his arm out of Yoongi’s hold. “I won’t take your money, you’ve been saving for ages.”

“I don’t care!”
“I do!” Namjoon closes his eyes for a second and when he looks at Yoongi again there’s all this damn pride in him, and Yoongi has been trying to get that shit out of Namjoon’s system but by God is it hard. “I’ll pay off my damn debt to Shinwoo the way it has to be. I’m the one who got involved with him, it was my mistake. I’ll fix it.”

“Namjoon,” Hoseok calls, voice quiet and careful like he’s a parent giving his kid bad news. “Please, let us help.”

Namjoon shakes his head. Stubborn like a damn politician, one wouldn’t believe that he’s an artist.  “Just two drops and I’m done. I’m late with them, that’s why he was here, but by the end of the week I’ll have all the shit dropped to my contacts and I’ll be done with him.”

“And how do you know he won’t push for more?!” Yoongi hisses, chest heating when Namjoon flinches. “Namjoon, he’s a fucking gangster! You think he’s just going to carry out on his end of the deal like a fucking normal person?”

“That will also be my problem to handle.”

“Ah, right, of fucking course.” Yoongi scoffs and then he looks down at the black backpack Namjoon is holding onto. “You said you were just done with a drop, does that mean you have drugs in there?”

Namjoon clenches his jaw and looks down at the ground, shame coloring his face once more. Hoseok mutters a curse under his breath and Yoongi finds himself laughing in disbelief.

“Shit, Namjoon. Do you want me to get fucking arrested?”

“No one will come here.”

“Yeah, I sure fucking hope so.”

“You think I would put you guys in danger?!”

“Haven’t you done that already?”

It’s unfair. Yoongi can be like that sometimes, he always seems to know where to hit to hurt the most and he’s not always able to keep his thoughts to himself. Still, the mortified, heartbroken expression on Namjoon’s face is enough to make him wish he could sew his mouth shut for the rest of his life.

Once the silence becomes too much to handle, Hoseok clears his voice and walks closer. “Look, let’s all calm down. Joon, you go take a shower, yeah? You can change in some of my clothes, there’s clean stuff in the closet.” Hoseok manages a smile. “And then we can have dinner and we’ll share a bed even if you will insist on taking the couch because I said so.”

That gets a genuine grin out of Namjoon, one that lifts the guilt off Yoongi’s shoulders for a while. He watches as Namjoon makes his way to the bathroom, disappearing behind the closed door. At the same time, both he and Hoseok breathe in deeply, shoulders slouching.

“Was I too harsh?”

Hoseok shakes his head. “Someone has to be.”

“Yeah, and it’s always me. He’s going to end up hating me one day.”

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous.” Hoseok taps at his chin and smiles. “He’s gonna be alright. And fed, by the end of the night, if you help me cook.”

“It’s fucking rice with eggs, how do you need my help?”

“I may have burned the eggs.”

“I wish I could kick you out of this house.”

Sometimes, Yoongi has a nightmare.

It rarely ever changes.

He’s running away from something. At first he doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t even know why he’s running. But his legs won’t stop moving and pushing him forward, not even when his lungs feel like they might explode, not even when his gums start burning. Suddenly, the road isn’t flat anymore and it’s only upwards, growing steeper and less paved as he runs. At one point, it’s almost as if he’s trying to run up a wall. He ends up falling on his stomach, sliding down, terror taking over, making him try to grab onto the ground, fingertips bleeding, nails breaking.

And that’s when he knows that, if he turns around right now, he will find that the thing following him is a shadow.

It has his shape.

NOVEMBER, 24, 2017

The days that go by are quiet and calm, as if time has suddenly decided to slow down and let them breathe.

They finish recording the title track on the 21st and, by that time, Yoongi has the ballad ready. It’s not just thanks to him.

Namjoon has always been better than him at writing slow, melancholic melodies and, to be honest, most of the merits for the song should go to him.

“It’s to pay you back,” Namjoon had said once he had finished the track on Yoongi’s wheezing laptop. “For everything you did for me. Plus, you worked on this too and you’ll do the final mixing in that fancy studio of yours. I just helped.”

Yoongi was far too anxious with the looming weight of the company’s deadline to put up too much of a fuss, so he had accepted and went with it, finished writing the lyrics and those, at least, are his own work.

He finishes mixing the title track and sends it to the company’s team on the 22nd of November. He expects that at least a day will go by before he hears back from them but, instead, he receives a confirmation e-mail in the next two hours: in the mail, he’s thanked for the work done, confirmed that the song is fine as it is and won’t need any further changes, and reminded that he has to send over the b-side by the end of the month at 4 P.M., not one moment later. Yoongi reads through the mail’s content and scoffs at the realization that, given how little time it took them to give him the okay, they probably didn’t even truly listen to the song. 

They just want to get this done as soon as possible to throw Jimin in the spotlight and hope that he will absorb all the negative press.

If Jimin is nervous, he stops showing it. Or at least, he tries to and Yoongi pretends to buy his whole shtick. 

To do this, Yoongi decides to start focusing on the rest of Jimin’s little quirks and habits. In retrospect, it might have been a terrible idea.

Jimin is too endearing under too many aspects and Yoongi’s mind keeps catching on every single new habit Jimin has. How he hides his mouth when he laughs, the fact that he pulls his sleeves over his hands when he’s cold, the way he crunches his nose when he eats something sour, that he always exclaims a solemn Okay! when he’s about to start recording. That he brightens up too obviously, too loudly, when he walks in the recording studio and his eyes meet Yoongi’s. That he always scoots closer with his chair until their arms are brushing. He flushes pink when Yoongi praises him during recording, turns even redder if Yoongi smiles at him whilst he sings. But once confidence overtakes him, he becomes too bold, too strong, locks eyes with Yoongi from the recording booth, turns the glass that divides them into nothing but thin air.

The ballad’s title is “ When it’s night. ”

Jimin read through the lyrics with a light frown, then set the notebook aside and regarded Yoongi for what felt like an eternity.

“This sounds like a song about heartbreak,” he whispered.

Yoongi hummed. “Does it?”

“Yeah.” Jimin swallowed. “Is it?”

Yoongi grinned, shook his head. “No, not like that. I wrote this thinking about a friend of mine.”

“Oh.”

“He’s going through some shit.” Yoongi got the thought of Namjoon out of his head. “Still, it’s good if it sounds like a heartbreak. Heartbreaks sell more.”

Jimin chuckled, looked down at the lyrics. Quiet, he asks, “So you haven’t gotten your heart broken?”

And Yoongi—

Yoongi is stupid and weak, he found out.

“Not just yet,” he had replied.

But he knows it will happen.

Jimin will hold the broken pieces of it in his hands no matter what happens next.

They finish recording When it’s night on the 24th and they do it in one single session.

Yoongi’s breath gets punched right out of his lungs when Jimin stares at him through the glass, sings, “I thought of you, I do it when it’s night, And I still can’t forgive you, And I wish I could help it, But I think of you when it’s night.”

He thinks Jimin’s voice might be more suited for slow, melancholic ballads like this even more than it is for sensual songs. 

He thinks Jimin’s voice is suited for him.

It’s a stupid thought.

Then, on the 25 of November, it’s their last recording session.

They add the final touches, some ad-libs for When it’s night , Yoongi shows him the basis of mixing a track, adding the layers, effects to vocals and instruments. They have lunch out at the usual cafe’ and they stay there for too long then order dessert to stay even more.

They don’t talk about the first visual teaser that will drop tomorrow, they barely mention the packed schedule Jimin has in front of him for the next month, how he has to learn a whole choreo in less than two weeks. In reality, they barely talk at all. They stay in the cafe’ and look at the way raindrops fall down the store’s windows in unsteady lines, make offhanded comments about the people who rush by the cafe’, in and out.

Jimin promises that he’ll text and call when he has some free time, that he’ll try and send him some behind the scenes pics. That, once he will be done with the first week of promotions, they can meet again, have a drink, fully celebrate.

When manager Kim comes later at the recording studio, he has the decency of thanking Yoongi and shaking his hand before he nods at Jimin to go. Jimin leaves without looking behind him and Yoongi is left in an empty recording studio.

For a while, he stands there, not knowing what to do. He still has to finish mixing When it’s night , so he could try and do that. Yoongi sits down on the chair, stares at the control panel like he has never seen one before.

Before he can even act like he wants to work, the door opens again with a beep. Jimin walks in, stands by the threshold for long, silent moments. Yoongi stares at him, unmoving, barely breathing.

In the end, Jimin sucks in a breath, walks to Yoongi and, slowly, he leans down, one hand bracketed on the chair’s armrest. His lips press faintly on Yoongi’s for a second, then another, then once more, until Yoongi’s eyes close and Jimin presses harder. Just for a second. Then he pulls back, smiles at him and in that warm voice of his says, “Thank you.”

He leaves again.

Yoongi can recognize goodbyes when they’re unspoken too.

NOVEMBER, 25, 2017

The visual teaser drops on the company’s Twitter account and Instagram at the same time.

Yoongi looks at the amount of likes and retweets steadily growing and smiles.

In the photo, Jimin sits on a bed with blue, satin sheets, a silver blouse hanging perfectly off one shoulder, shards of blue glass attached to golden strings all around him, reflecting hues of blues on his skin, eyes staring directly into the camera as if he’s trying to destroy it. 

He looks beautiful.

Untouchable.

[NESTRA Entertainment’s Jimin debuts with immediate hit, reigns over charts .]

Jimin’s debut track “ blue under these lights ” gathers unexpected success amidst his company’s controversies. In just under four hours, the music video for the track has gathered more than one million views and they are steadily rising. As of now, it sits at number 3 on MELON CLICK TO READ MORE

+234/-12 I wasn’t expecting such a good song to be honest, but I’m positively surprised. It’s hard to overlook the company’s controversy, but wouldn’t it be unfair to put it on his shoulders? I’ll be rooting for him

+202/-23 Woah the producer is GLOSS?? Isn’t he the one who produced Cherry Heart for that girl group?? So he can also make decent music kkkkkk

+189/-9 Woah this Park Jimin’s voice is so pretty??? And the choreography is impressive. I’m a fan from today onwards!

+67/-19 at least he’s handsome, but that could just be plastic surgery lol

DECEMBER, 23, 2017

Yoongi doesn’t hear from Jimin. Not during the days before the debut, not after.

It doesn’t matter.

Yoongi wasn’t expecting him to actually follow through, he can only imagine how busy Jimin must have been. 

Can also guess manager Kim might have told him not to reach out to Yoongi again.

But in the end, it doesn’t matter.

Yoongi is there when the teaser drops at midnight. Sees Jimin in that silver blouse moving like gravity doesn’t work on him, body following the melody, shudders when the music stops and Jimin stares at the camera with piercing eyes, lids covered in a deep blue powder, silver glowing off his cheekbones.

That was on the fifteenth of December. The next day, the music video and the songs came out.

Yoongi buys the singles on ITunes, forces Hoseok to wake up just to do the same. They watch the music video together in silence, both holding their breaths as they watch Jimin send smouldering gazes at the camera, as he dances a choreography that has Hoseok gasping, his voice somehow so much louder now that it’s out for everyone to hear.

Once it’s over, Hoseok plays it once more. In the end, he says, “I can see why you’re so taken by him.”

Yoongi breathes in. “Was.”

“Right. Was.”

Yoongi can’t help the pride he feels when he sees the songs doing so well on the charts. The title track does incredibly well, especially considering how Jimin has just debuted and amidst only negative press too. And When it’s night is always just a couple of spots behind blue under these lights , not leaving the top 10 for the life of her. 

He reads through the critics reviews, chest tight with relief at the overall very positive reception. Has to scoff once one particularly passive aggressive critic has to remind everyone that “All GLOSS was known for was a chessy bubblegum pop song that we should all just pretend didn’t exist,” but still follows with praise for the songs.

Yoongi feels something warm swell into him when one review goes into great lengths about trying to describe the charm in Jimin’s voice. When he fails, he writes, “and maybe that’s the most charming part of it all.”

He sends the best reviews that mention When it’s night to Namjoon and receives a thumbs up emoji in response.

Later that night, he sends a text to Jimin. A simple one, it just reads “Good job, Park Jimin.”

He never receives an answer, nor does he expect one.

(Two days later, both Yoongi and Hoseok are staring at his bank account with eyes too wide and mouths opened. All Hoseok says about it after coming back to his senses is, “Hyung. Your bank account is thicc. With two Cs.”)

And then there’s today.

For some reason, Yoongi never lets himself watch the live performances of his song whilst Jimin promotes it. He follows the charting, checks if there have been any wins. It’s always either in the top 3 or top 5, but doesn’t get a win. Granted, it was wishful thinking hoping to get a first win in not even a week from Jimin’s debut, who was still dealing with too much negative press reminding everyone of his senior’s mistakes. Still, the song keeps doing incredibly well and doesn’t seem to want to leave the top 20 of most Korean charts.

But today is the last day of promotions.

Yoongi sits on the couch with Hoseok by his side, stuffing his mouth with popcorns and singing along to a very impressive song by a girl group Yoongi can’t remember the name of. He had texted Namjoon to ask if he wanted to join, but hasn’t heard back from him yet.

Then, it’s Jimin on the stage.

And just that sight… just that sight alone, just seeing Jimin on that stage, after years of him yearning for it, that alone has Yoongi grip onto the edge of the couch. 

Jimin’s dancing is flawless. He has been promoting for a week straight and he looks like he is ready to give seven more performances. He’s sharp and strong when needed, fluid and elegant when the song requires it, follows the camera like it’s his prey. His confidence must have grown, Yoongi thinks, because his voice is crystal clear even above the MR track, his breathing precise. He still follows Yoongi’s directions.

“Oh, he’s got fanchants,” Hoseok says brightly. “Good, good.”

Once the performance ends, with blue and silver confetti falling all around him, Jimin stares at the camera, chest heaving and sweat pearling his forehead and he smiles wide, eyes shining and curving.

Yoongi sighs and, by his side, Hoseok hums.

“This kid really has charisma,” he says, pointing at the scream and then shoving more popcorn in his mouth. After chewing, Hoseok adds, “He fills the stage. Steals attention.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi smiles. “Yeah, he’s amazing.”

And untouchable.

He’s never looked as far as he does now.

DECEMBER, 24, 2017

UNKNOWN

hey

It’s Jimin

I know it’s been a while but things have

been hectic

Doesn’t matter. I’m done with promotions

Can we meet? my treat this time

If you can’t it’s fine hyung

RECEIVED, 8:23 PM

Where do we meet?

SENT, 8:25 PM

Yoongi walks in the same pojangmacha as last time. 

It still looks and smells the same, of fried rice cakes and boiling water. At the same table where they sat last time they were here, Yoongi finds Jimin.

He’s on his phone when Yoongi approaches him, a black mouth-mask covering half of his face and, for a second, he feels like they’re back to that night all over again.

Jimin looks up then, eyes wide when they meet Yoongi’s, half-moons when he smiles beneath the mask.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” Yoongi sits on the seat opposite to him and smiles. “I’d say congratulations are in order.”

Jimin giggles, a little bashful, cheeks already rosy from the heat inside the tent. He lowers his mask until it rests beneath his chin and Yoongi knows it’s stupid, that it hasn’t even been a month since they last met, but he thinks Jimin looks different. 

“It’s all thanks to you, hyung,” Jimin says. “The debut would have been a mess hadn’t it been for you.”

Yoongi scoffs and waves a hand in front of him as if to shake the words away. “Don’t be ridiculous. You did the hardest part of it.”

Jimin hums, tilts his head to the side. “Did you watch me perform?”

Yoongi nods. He opens his mouth to speak but the old, rosy lady is by their table, wordlessly waiting for their order with a wrinkled smile.

“Two servings of jajangmyeon,” Jimin says. “And soju, please.” When he turns to Yoongi again he grins. “In memory of old times.”

“To answer your question, yes. I watched you perform two days ago. You were incredible.”

Jimin’s smile widens, eyes bright. Yoongi hasn’t seen him this happy before, not once.

“On the first broadcast I missed a note so damn hard it must have shown in my panicked face,” Jimin says and shakes his head. “I was so mad at myself I cried backstage.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue. “You’re too harsh on yourself.”

“The staff was so sweet,” Jimin leans back in his chair. His hair is still carrying the light, azure dye that he had for the promotions, and strands fall messily over his brows. “They kept assuring me it was very good, that the MR was loud enough to cover it.” He pauses, then his smile turns smug. “So I had it lowered for the next performance.”

Yoongi laughs, takes in the fondness that Jimin’s gaze shifts to when he does. “Good job. Hyung is very proud of you, Jimin-ah.”

The rosy lady comes back, carrying her tray of jajangmyeon bowls and soju bottles. Once she leaves again, Yoongi says, “I bought the album and everything. I even streamed the music video.”

“Half a million views were just from you.”

“Maybe. But you have no proof.”

Jimin looks at him for a moment, then he picks up his chopsticks. “I’m glad you’re here, hyung.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi sighs. “Me too.”

It goes similarly to last time. They eat and drink too much, laugh too loudly at things that aren’t that funny, Jimin tells him about the famous Inkigayo sandwiches and how they don’t really taste that good, and that he hasn’t found anyone’s phone number in the wrapping just yet so the disappointment still hurts like a fresh wound. Yoongi tells him about Hoseok memorizing blue under these lights choreo in under two hours, showing him the video he took of him dancing it in the living room. Jimin asks for Hoseok’s number and promises to try and talk the management team into hiring Hoseok either as a backup dancer for future shows or just as a member of the dance team of the company.

And just like last time, their bodies relax too much and their gazes grow bolder, longer, heavier. 

“There are the same old men playing cards like last time,” Jimin says at one point, and he wets his lips.

Yoongi stares at him for too long, then asks, “You remember them?”

“Hyung,” Jimin sighs, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I remember everything from that night.” He doesn’t give Yoongi enough time to let him say that he, too remembers it all. Despite the soju and the blame he puts on it, he remembers every detail. Jimin straightens up and grabs his wallet from the jacket. “Let me pay and then we should take a walk, mh?”

Outside, December carries a wind too cold and yet the air is stale with humidity. Jimin walks by his side this time, not ahead of him, and Yoongi hasn’t drank that much as last time, can’t put blame on anyone but himself if he keeps finding blue on Jimin’s skin when the light hits him right.

“Hyung, you should save the number I texted you from,” Jimin says then. “And just delete the other one.”

Yoongi nods. “Did you change phones?”

Jimin doesn’t reply immediately. “I have two phones.”

Yoongi stops walking. Jimin turns around with a frown, then smiles. “What?”

“Did he tell you not to text me?”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

Jimin sighs. “Yeah. He did.” A pause. “He checks my texts on that number. So I got another phone without him knowing.”

“He-” Yoongi blinks. “He does what?”

With a shrug, Jimin walks closer to him. “It’s not that uncommon.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay. That’s your privacy.”

Something shifts on Jimin’s expression. “I guess he just doesn’t want a repeat of what happened with my sunbaes.”

Manager Kim might have been shit at a lot of things, but he’s right when he says that Jimin can’t lie for the life of him.

“That’s not the real reason,” Yoongi says. Jimin doesn’t answer, but his honesty is a dangerous thing. “Tell me the real reason, Jimin.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to hear it.”

Jimin hesitates. He takes a deep breath and lets his eyes roam over the silver lights that shine off the surface of the river, cold turning his nose red.

“He’s convinced we fucked.”

Yoongi scoffs. Just like that, he’s back in that recording studio, cornered by that man and his arrogance, his disregard for his feelings or Jimin’s.

“He’s a piece of shit.”

“I want to.”

Yoongi frowns. Jimin stares at him for long seconds, his gaze as steady as it has always been. In the end, he takes another step forward, until he’s almost pressed against Yoongi.

“Hyung,” Jimin murmurs. “I want you .”

Yoongi knows.

He’s known for a while.

That doesn’t mean hearing it still doesn’t make his chest ache. He thinks he must be flushing because the wind suddenly feels a lot colder on his face.

The words don’t come to him and Jimin, who is too kind, always too merciful, smiles.

“And I know you want me too,” he says. “So the question is, will you let me have you just tonight?”

And the answer is only one. Just one.

Jimin brings them to a motel that looks as shady as a motel in tiny alleys of Seoul can be. Inside, though, the furniture looks brand new, the walls clean, and the air smells of a lavender air spray Yoongi thinks Hoseok uses all the damn time.

There’s no one at reception nor anyone waiting in the lobby, just a large touch screen where one can see the available rooms and pick one. Jimin walks ahead of Yoongi and starts scrolling through the options, finally settling on a simple room, paying with his credit card without uttering a word. Beneath the monitor, there’s a small opening that, after a few moments, slowly ejects a keycard. Jimin grabs it, sends Yoongi a glance, and then they’re both heading to the second floor.

Yoongi’s heart is a frenzied, terrified cacophony in his own ears, his hands shaking where he hid them inside the pockets of his coat.

Just before he opens the door to the room, Jimin looks at him. “If you changed your mind, tell me now. We can pretend it never happened.”

“Just like we’re pretending you didn’t kiss me last time?” Yoongi asks and finds himself smiling at the flush on Jimin’s face. “Open the door and let me touch you.”

This time, Jimin doesn’t kiss him like he’s got everything to lose.

Inside, the room is quiet, the hotel is too far away from the busy street to let any noise spill inside. Yoongi’s head is filled with the way Jimin’s breath hitches when the kiss deepens and that already seems too loud. Jimin presses him against the doorframe, body flush against his, hands already working the buttons of Yoongi’s coat, tugging on his scarf until it comes off and pools on the ground.

The moment Yoongi manages to drag the jacket off Jimin’s shoulders, his hands move under the sweater he’s wearing, fingers curling around Jimin’s hip, brushing along warm skin. When he presses his palm flat on Jimin’s stomach he feels the shift of his muscles, the curve of his abdomen and greed, like an old friend, greets him again and screams at him to have more, all of it.

Yoongi slides his thigh between Jimin’s leg, pushes his hips until Jimin’s groin drags against him and relishes in the quiet moan Jimin lets out. With each roll of Jimin’s hips, Yoongi can feel him hardening against his leg and he dips his head low, lips brushing under the line of Jimin’s jaw.

“No marks,” Jimin gasps, holds him tighter. “I have a-a shoot in two days.”

“No marks,” Yoongi repeats, then pushes away from the door. “I want you in my mouth.”

“ Yeah, please.” Jimin tugs at his bottom lip faintly, then licks at it. “Fuck, please.”

Kissing again, hurried and messy, Jimin guides them to the bed, stumbling on his own feet when he kicks off his shoes and laughing it off against his lips. Jimin sits on the edge of the mattress, fingers unbuckling the belt of his jeans and then the buttons. Yoongi helps him off the pants and then gets down on his knees, hands tracing up Jimin’s calves, then his thighs, pushing to spread his legs open.

“You know,” he says as his hands move higher. “When Hozier sang about worshipping like a dog? I think he was talking about this moment.”

Even in the dark room, with only a white, electric glow of a neon sign barely peeking through the window, Jimin’s smile is the one sight Yoongi thinks he might die for.

“That was so gay, hyung.”

“Mmh, just you wait until I get my mouth on you, that will be even gayer.”

Jimin snorts and falls down on the bed on his back. “Aaah, you’re ruining the moment. I wanted this to be like in the movies. All serious and sexy.”

Yoongi presses a kiss against Jimin’s thigh, feels him shiver. “That’s not how sex works.”

Jimin sighs. “Show me how it works, then.”

Yoongi palms Jimin through his boxers, fingers shaking, mouth dry. He hooks them under the waistband, drags the underwear down until Jimin’s cock is out and, just as he hears Jimin sucking in a quick breath, he wets his lips and takes it in his mouth. Jimin gasps, tenses for a moment before his body seems to sink into the mattress, quiet moans coming out of his hitched breaths.

Yoongi sucks and laps at it, hums around it when Jimin moans out a curse, hands roaming over Jimin’s thighs and hips, pressing when the skin feels more tender. It turns messy too fast, saliva gathering around his mouth and down his chin, jaw aching when he takes him deeper. Jimin’s hips keep twitching, as if he wants to push into Yoongi’s mouth but he’s keeping himself from doing it. For a second, Yoongi wants to tell him to fuck his mouth like he matters nothing. Instead, Yoongi’s fingers fumble with the buttons and zip of his own jeans until he manages to wrap his hand around his own cock, stroking himself fast and feeling his stomach tensing, a moan building from his chest. Jimin’s knees press against each side of his shoulders, moans getting higher and quicker. With his free hand, Yoongi reaches for his stomach, slipping under his sweater and then higher until his fingers brush against Jimin’s nipple. He rubs at it, feels it hardening, and Jimin arches his back and cries out, Yoongi’s cock twitches in his hand and he strokes himself faster, fist closing around the tip.

“‘m close,” Jimin gasps. “Fuck, tuh-tell me I can come.”

Yoongi moans and sucks around his cock harder, faster, fingers tugging and pinching at Jimin’s nipple until Jimin lets out a whimper and comes inside his mouth, down his throat when Yoongi swallows and keeps going, face hot, Jimin’s moans bouncing off the walls and in his ears. Finally, he pulls back. Yoongi wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to regain his breathing, his cock still hard in his hand. He drags himself up and onto the mattress, hovering above Jimin and taking in the sight of him. Jimin’s eyes are closed, lips parted and bitten red, his body still shivering but so lax on the bed. There’s a square of white light that falls on the side of his face and wrist, his fingers still weakly curled around black sheets. Yoongi leans down and kisses it, feels the frantic beating of Jimin’s heart against his lips.

“There it is,” he murmurs and slots his fingers with Jimin’s, keeps mouthing at blue veins.

Jimin hums. “What is?”

“Your skin.”

Jimin turns his head to the side, eyes opening. “What?”

Yoongi breathes in. “It looks blue.”

He watches as realization dawns on Jimin, smiles when his eyes widen and his gaze becomes less steady.

“Oh,” Jimin breathes out. “God, Yoongi-”

“You must have known.”

“I just-” Jimin presses his lips together. “I hoped.”

“You made it too easy for me to write music for you.”

“Shit, do you want me to cry?” Jimin scoffs, softens when Yoongi laughs. “Come here.”

Yoongi does, follows Jimin’s command until their lips touch again, kisses him and holds him, and this doesn’t feel like a goodbye yet, but it will soon enough. Jimin reaches down, wraps his hand around Yoongi’s cock and strokes it, drags his teeth down Yoongi’s throat when he breaks the kiss.

“You’re so hard,” he whispers. “Fuck, I’m an idiot.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve wanted you to fuck me for so long.” He huffs out a short, breathless laugh. “I forgot to bring lube. Condoms. Anything.”

“You-you invited me out to seduce me and forgot the essentials?”

“Mmh.”

“You’re right, you’re an idiot.

“Don’t be mean to me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Jimin rubs his thumb over the head of Yoongi’s cock, a smirk pulling at his mouth when he feels him shudder. “Fuck my thighs.”

Yoongi groans. “You’re going to kill me, Park Jimin.”

In the future, Yoongi will look for things to blame this night on and will end up with empty hands.

If he truly were to blame anyone, then it would have to be either him or Jimin, and he’s too much of a coward to blame himself, far too devoted to use Jimin’s feelings as an excuse.

But this night still feels unreal. It’s as if time moves too slowly and too quick in the same moment, bending and then stretching, squeezing his lungs, then stroking his cheeks. That square of white light is the only thing that remains unchanged throughout it all.

When he has Jimin under him, pressed in the mattress, the inside of his thighs hot and slick as he fucks in between them, when he moans his name too quietly, when he barely dares to brush his mouth along the side of Jimin’s neck, that white, electric square stays there, seems to always catch a patch of Jimin’s skin to paint it blue. 

Even when Jimin murmurs filth in his ear and still makes it sound like a song, Yoongi’s eyes can’t leave those flashes of blue. When, later into this seemingly endless night, Yoongi has his hand wrapped around Jimin’s cock, stroking him too slowly, for too long, until Jimin is trembling and whimpering pleads, eyes closed and lips swollen, the dip of his collarbones are a perfect shade of turquoise. 

And then later.

When Jimin is dressed again, standing by the bed and stalling, buying time as he pretends to have troubles doing the buttons of his jacket, the first hints of morning light bathe the room in soft yellows and pale pinks and Jimin has never looked as blue as he does now.

Yoongi looks at him from where he’s sitting on the bed, skin still feeling too raw and sensitive, and he thinks that this time it’s his turn to have mercy.

“I’m not going to see you again, am I?”

Jimin freezes. He lets go of the button he was struggling with and sighs. “Of course you’ll see me again, we aren’t strangers.”

“Let me rephrase, then.” Yoongi swallows, feels something bitter settling down in his stomach. “I’m not going to have you like I had you tonight again, am I?’

Jimin looks at him and smiles. “No. And neither am I.”

“Right.”

“Just tonight. I said it.”

“You did.” Yoongi nods. “Alright.”

“I’m hurting you.”

“ Min-ah ,” Yoongi breathes out. “I think you’re hurting yourself the most.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches, eyes getting glassy. He looks away for a few moments, shoulders straight and despite everything, his gaze is as steady as it has ever been.

“Go on, Jimin,” Yoongi says. “Say goodbye again.”

And Jimin does.

He walks to Yoongi, leans down and kisses him just like that day, soft and careful. He pulls away, smiles at him. “Thank you.”

Yoongi leaves an hour later, when he realizes that the time for checkout is long overdue.

Outside, the sky is a dull grey, clouds brewing up a storm. 

Chapter Text

DECEMBER, 25, 2017

MIN-AH

Merry Christmas, hyung

RECEIVED, 12:23

DECEMBER, 30, 2017

Yoongi groans when Hoseok pushes a bowl of popcorn on his lap and sends him a half-hearted glare, which goes completely ignored.

“Aah, your prodigy’s first variety show,” Hoseok sighs, almost dreamy. “Aren’t you proud?”

“Why are we watching this?” Yoongi mutters and, in the end, gives up and gets some popcorn in his mouth. He grimaces at the taste and wonders just how Hoseok is capable of fucking up this kind of food too.

“Because you actually want to watch it but are too proud to admit it.”

“I don’t-”

“You literally saved the date on the damn calendar. Oh! Oh, it’s starting, shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“ Shut up!”

The variety show in which Jimin is starring is the usual, overused concept that, no matter how much Yoongi likes to bitch about, still works and provides decent entertainment. 

The two hosts, a comedian that goes by Wool and an idol turned variety guest named Seungwee, seem to have good chemistry and Yoongi finds himself enjoying the girl’s jokes a lot more than Wool’s. They introduce Jimin, give him a round of applause when he walks in the studio and Jimin might be a shit liar, but he sure knows how to act when there’s a camera on him. He smiles like there’s not one damn problem in his life, sends charming looks at any chance he has, and acts bashful and shy when Wool starts praising his looks, calling him handsome over and over again.

Hoseok clicks his tongue. “Does NESTRA give classes on how to make audiences fall in love with you?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Stop stealing the popcorn. Man, he’s a natural at this, really.”

They make Jimin dance the choreo as blue under these lights plays in the studio, camera cutting to show the hosts’ awed expressions and over the top reactions more than once. Although, Yoongi wouldn’t doubt that they’re not faking this time.

There’s a series of games and challenges, one that makes Jimin yell out funnily when he has to throw a series of circles in a box that Seungwee keeps moving as she runs around the studio.

Then, they’re sitting on plastic stools, the hosts are holding some cheat cards, and Seungwee proudly proclaims that it’s “The burning questions corner”.

“We asked on twitter to your fans to send us their burning questions for you,” Wool explains.

Jimin blinks. “ I have fans?”

Seungwee snorts, hides her smile behind her cheat cards then sobers up. “ Aah, Jimin-ssi! Of course you do! You’re a prodigy rookie!”

They ask the usual kinds of questions. What are his hobbies, if he has any embarrassing stories from his childhood, if he has a girlfriend (to which Jimin just starts genuinely laughing, which prompts Wool to laugh along just as naturally.)

Then, Seungwee asks, “ Ah, but what’s your type of girl?”

Jimin chuckles and then hums, seemingly thinking about it. “ Someone who is into music too. And who listens to me.”

“Wow, that is quite a low standard.”

“Aaah, no no. I’m serious. Maybe someone around my height if I were to go in detail?”

“Your height?! Woah, Jimin-ssi, your standards really are low then.”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” Jimin then presses his lips together. “ Someone who thinks my voice is warm, then.”

Yoongi breathes out, slow and trembling, fingers digging into the edge of the couch.

The show ends after a few minutes, and Yoongi keeps staring at the TV as credits roll and a round of ads begins.

Hoseok sets the now empty bowl on the coffee table and looks at Yoongi for a moment before he says, “You fucking idiot, you’re in love with him aren’t you?”

Yoongi doesn’t reply.

“Even worse,” Hoseok adds as he shakes his head. “He loves you back.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi murmurs. “I guess so.”

“You just set yourselves up to break each other’s hearts.”

And they have no one but themselves to blame.

JANUARY, 2, 2018

Once, when he’s out to buy groceries, Yoongi looks up towards a billboard and almost trips on his own feet when Jimin’s face is on it, gigantic and perfect, grey eyes staring at him from the middle of a tall building.

An ad for colored contacts.

Yoongi stares at it for entire minutes, standing in the middle of a busy street, skin turning numb when the cold gets too much.

JANUARY, 17,2018

It’s 5 in the morning when aggressive, loud knocking shakes Yoongi from blue dreams of ice and violins. He blinks in the dark, confused, and for a moment he wonders if he simply imagined it, entertains the idea of just flopping back on the mattress and hide under the blankets to try and chase his lingering dream. Instead, the knocking comes again, even louder.

Yoongi sighs and stumbles out of bed, almost tripping on the fold of his carpet, and heads out into the living room and to the front door.

“Who is it?” Yoongi asks loudly, rubbing his eyes.

There’s a moment of silence, then Yoongi hears Namjoon’s voice and he’s awake all at once. He opens the door, immediately steps aside to let Namjoon in, and  shuts the door closed.

“Shit,” Yoongi murmurs. “God, what happened to you?”

Namjoon’s face is just white skin and purple bruises, lips red with dried blood. He stares at the door with wide eyes, chest heaving with ragged breaths. Suddenly, he straightens up, stares at Yoongi almost as if he doesn’t recognize him immediately.

“I paid.”

“What?”

“My debt. I paid it.” Namjoon brings a hand to his mouth, presses lightly on his bottom lip and grimaces. “Did my last drop and-and told him I was done. Our deal was done.” A pause. “He wasn’t very happy.”

“Sit. Sit down, on the couch.” Yoongi gestures at him and then rushes to the kitchen, fumbling around until he  finds a clean cloth. He takes ice cubes from the freezer then, putting them on the cloth until he deems there’s enough, and ties the fabric with a knot before he goes back to Namjoon, who’s now sitting too stiffly on the sofa.

“Here.” Yoongi hands him the ice-bag. “On your cheekbone. No, the left one. Shit, Namjoon.”

Namjoon hums, gaze lost on a spot on the ground. He presses the cloth on his cheekbone, hissing at the feeling. “I’m out.”

Yoongi blinks. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to accept relief just yet. “You’re sure of it?”

Namjoon nods. “A deal is a deal, he said.”

“Yeah, did he say so before or after he tried to fuck up your face?”

“It wasn’t him. The others. Junwoo and- it doesn’t matter. He wasn’t happy but he stopped them at one point. A deal is a deal.” Namjoon sniffs, licks at his red lips. “I can’t- I don’t have any money.”

“It’s okay.”

“The library won’t pay me until next month, I can’t afford rent.”

“You’re staying here.” Yoongi sits next to him, squeezes his knee. “You stay until you get back on your feet and-and shit, if you wanna just stay here with us you can, we can get a mattress and we just drop it in the living room, fuck this couch anyway, it’s so uncomfortable.”

At this, Namjoon snorts and immediately whines in pain, clutching at his stomach. Still, he laughs. “I can feel a-a spring of this thing right between my asscheeks.”

Yoongi, too, laughs, although his sounds a lot more panicked than it should. “Yeah, it’s a mess.”

“The most action I got in months.”

“Shit, that’s so disgusting, don’t say that ever again.” Yoongi breathes in. “Plus, Hoseok likes to cuddle. You can just share his bed, he’d accept that as a form of rent.”

Namjoon smiles and, slowly, his body relaxes. He leans back into the couch and sighs, eyes fluttering closed. “I’ll think about it.”

“Alright. Okay, good.”

“Where’s Hoseok anyway?”

“Yeah. Good question.” Yoongi already has the answer but he doesn’t want to think about it for now. “Listen, I’m gonna get the first aid kit and fix your face, yeah? Don’t fall asleep just yet.”

“Not making promises.”

“Just keep your eyes open for a minute,” Yoongi says, standing up. “Then you can sleep all you want.”

“Okay.”

“Joon-ah.”

“Mh?”

“I’m really fucking glad you’re here.”

Namjoon smiles, eyes opening just for a moment. “Me too.”

JANUARY, 29, 2018

The way the world sounds when he gets off the stage is muted, rough around the edges like static, but quiet at the very core, distant, like steps on fresh snow.

Yoongi blinks sweat off his eyelashes and, blindly, walks down the unsteady steps of the wooden set of stairs that lead to the club’s backstage. He almost trips on the last one, but catches himself in time. 

Once he’s on steadier grounds, Yoongi steps away from the stairs and presses his back against one of the walls, breathing in deep, letting his eyes flutter closed. He knows that, right after a set, the backstage area is a frenzy of club staff and acts running around trying to make things work to the best of their abilities, so Yoongi always ends up making himself smaller in a corner, waiting for the panicked motions to end or for another artist to get on stage so that the attention transfers there.

His hands are shaking. Adrenaline wears off quickly and once his sweat starts drying he can’t suppress a shudder.

Where’s Namjoon?

“Min.”

Yoongi opens his eyes and, barely, he keeps a grimace to himself. “Beomsoo. You up?”

The man nods. “In a minute.” He pauses, eyes trailing from Yoongi’s head down to his chest, then up again. “You good?”

Yoongi shrugs. He really wishes Namjoon were here. Beomsoo takes a step forward and Yoongi holds his breath, skin already prickling with something uncomfortable. Beomsoo always does this, the piece of shit, always likes getting into people’s personal spaces just to show that he can do it, just so he can intimidate them, make them feel smaller. Too bad that all he’s got to brag about really is his height. 

Yoongi even told him once. On stage. He can’t remember well, drunk out of his skin and filled with a boldness that only comes to him when he’s high off adrenaline, but it was something along the lines of, “Maybe if you put the energy you had getting so fucking tall into writing decent verses, you wouldn’t be standing here like a useless shit whilst I fuck up your reputation.” Yeah, something like that. Except, he managed to make that rhyme. 

Beomsoo takes a deep breath from his nose all of a sudden, huge nostrils pulling in. He wets his lips and looks towards the top of the club’s stage, where staff members are cleaning up and preparing for his set. He turns back to Yoongi and starts playing with the thin, silver chain he always wears around his neck, a silver crucifix pendant on his chest. Yoongi has to tear his eyes away from it.

“When will you get on stage with me again?” Beomsoo asks.

Yoongi straightens his shoulders and then palms at his neck, feeling it sticky and cold with dry sweat. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t really do free-style anyway, that time was an exception.”

Beomsoo’s mouth twists for a second, then he works his jaw. He says, “Well, make another one for me.”

Ah, so he really can’t get over how badly he was humiliated last time. Namjoon told him that, after that night, Beomsoo had gone around talking shit about Yoongi as if he was the winner of that battle, still red-faced with shame and clinging onto a bottle of beer with trembling fingers.

Yoongi arches an eyebrow and, before he can really think about the pros and cons of his words, he replies, “Why, do you get off being humiliated on stage?”

Even in the dimly lit area, Yoongi can see the color Beomsoo’s face takes after a few moments, white at first, then crimson all at once. He looks like he either wants to explode or get his hands around Yoongi’s neck, squeeze and squeeze until it snaps and—

From the top of the stage, a girl calls for Beomsoo, saying it’s his turn. Beomsoo stays frozen for a few more moments, chest heaving, large, rounded eyes glaring at Yoongi with barely repressed rage. Then, he storms off and hurries up the creaking wooden stairs, yelling into the mic the girl from before gives to him to get the crowd’s attention. Yoongi, too, walks away and deeper into the backstage area, looking for Namjoon, squeezing his way in between bodies and narrow corridors. His heart hasn’t managed to calm down yet; first it was frantic with the adrenaline the stage gave him, now it’s squeezed with the anxiety that comes with even breathing the same air as Beomsoo and his stupid cross—

A girl suddenly grabs his arm. Yoongi stops just before he hides in the relative safety of the dark corridor that leads to the club’s bathrooms and turns to her with a frown. From the stage, Beomsoo’s voice booms, followed by loud cheers and stomping on the ground. 

“There’s someone asking for you,” the girl, a member of the staff that Yoongi actually remembers because she’s usually very calm and quick on her decisions, says. Yells out, actually, high pitched voice somehow managing to overcome the sudden loud, trembling basses of Beomsoo’s track.

Yoongi’s frown deepens. Before he can ask if it’s Namjoon, the girl steps aside, revealing a hunched figure almost hiding behind her, head hung low with purpose, clearly trying their best to not gather attention on themselves. Yoongi blinks and narrows his eyes in the dim area, trying to work out this person’s features and failing at first because of the black mouth-mask that covers a good half of their face. Soon, though, Yoongi catches wide, brown eyes staring at him and the feeling that comes with that, it’s physical. Yoongi’s arm darts forward and he’s quick in grabbing Jimin’s wrist, pulling him closer to him and then dragging him out of the backstage area and into that same dark corridor, deeper into it until the air turns less stuffy and colder and Beomsoo’s awful music fades into nothing but the vibrations of basses. 

With a sharp tug, Yoongi guides Jimin into standing with his back against the wall, pushes him against it before he sends a quick look behind himself, making sure no one else is in the corridor. 

“What are you doing here?” Yoongi asks then. Foolishly, he whispers, as if someone could hear them. “Why didn’t you tell me you were gonna come?”

Jimin doesn’t reply. In the dark Yoongi can barely make out the outlines of his face, yet can feel on his damn skin the way Jimin is gazing at him. It has his heart frantic with something else, makes him press closer into Jimin’s space.

“You can’t just go to these kinds of clubs anymore. What if someone recognized you, what if there was a photographer, Dispatch has fucking field trips in this area, what—”

Jimin pulls the mask off his face and leans forward, steals a kiss from Yoongi’s mouth so fast that he can’t even react immediately. He stands there, shivering at the cold air that comes from whatever opened window at the end of the corridor and holds his breath. Jimin’s fingertips are on his cheekbones then, touches so hesitant Yoongi must focus to truly feel them, too taken by the familiar warmth of Jimin’s mouth, too shaken by the way those lips keep trembling against his own. 

Jimin pulls away after a moment or so, breath unsteady, and Yoongi finds himself chasing after him, lips parting and craving Jimin again.

“Missed you,” Jimin murmurs, breath hitching when he’s being kissed by steadier lips, hands clutching at Yoongi’s jacket and tugging him closer, and closer, until any space left between them is replaced with the feel of their bodies. “Lemme stay with you tonight.”

Yoongi looks at him for a few moments, muted music and trembling basses making their chests vibrate. Dim lights and heavy shadows do nothing to hide the hungry, warm weight of Jimin’s gaze.

“You said that that was going to be the only time,” Yoongi replies, already leaning down for another taste of Jimin’s mouth. “You said, just this one time .”

“I lied.” Jimin’s fingers bury in his hair and pull lightly, lips hot and soft against Yoongi’s. “ God , I lied. One more time.”

Yoongi breathes in deep, sharp. He doesn’t realize, but he presses Jimin against the wall harder. “Is this another lie?”

Seconds go by, divided only by the deep thrumming of bass and treble, Jimin’s thumb traces the line of his bottom lip.

“Yes,” he answers, voice thick with honesty. “But pretend it isn’t if it helps.”

“Jimin.”

“I missed you, hyung.”

“That doesn’t—”

“Please?” Jimin cradles his face. “ Please . I finally have-have three days off, my shoots are done and I don’t know when I’ll get to even speak to you again. So, please.”

The answer is already there in Yoongi’s brain, it’s ready to fall off his mouth and get lost in between Jimin’s lips. 

Instead, he says, “What if I don’t want to?”

Jimin rolls his eyes and yet there’s the beginning of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Always stubborn and smug when it’s about Yoongi. “You do want me.”

“Maybe I don’t. Not tonight.”

In a quieter, warmer voice, Jimin asks, “Now who’s the liar?”

They both are, and they’ve both been since that night when they pretended like only those few, stolen hours were going to be enough.

Still, Jimin kisses him again, licks into his mouth and pulls at his hair before whispering, “You didn’t get to fuck me last time. I want you to.”

Yoongi’s hands tighten where they hold Jimin’s hips and he finds himself holding his breath, memories of how Jimin’s bare skin had felt resurfacing so quick and hard that he feels himself flushing.

“You’re going to be the ruin of me,” Yoongi says.

Then, they’re rushing out of the club, heads hung low, scarfs high over their mouths and noses, steps quick and soundless over the snow that fell during the earlier hours of the night and their fingers brushing together inside the pocket of Yoongi’s coat.

“Look, my flat is small.”

“I don’t care.”

“Really small.”

Jimin is leaning against the wall, right by Yoongi’s front door as he stalls for time when he smiles, an eyebrow arched. “I don’t know what expectations you have of my own house, but it’s not big either. I’m still living in the company’s dorms.”

“I know I’m being stupid. It’s just—” Yoongi looks at his house keys, then at the lock. “I’m wary of the people I let in.”

“Oh.”

“Not only in my house, just—” Yoongi finds himself laughing nervously. “I don’t know why we are having this conversation outside in the cold. It’s fucking snowing and I’m just making you stand here. I’m sorry.”

Jimin stares at him for a moment, then reaches over and tugs at the sleeve of Yoongi’s coat. “Hyung,” he says. “Open the door and let me touch you.”

Yoongi huffs out a breath that puffs out in front of his mouth in a white cloud, then shakes his head and opens the door. “Using my own words against me is unfair.”

“I know.” Jimin walks inside when Yoongi steps aside. He looks around himself, humming quietly as he takes in the small flat. He kicks his shoes off and then turns around as Yoongi goes to turn the light on. “Can you leave them off?”

“The lights?”

“Yeah.”

“I can.” Yoongi gets his coat off, gestures at Jimin to give him his too. “But why?”

Jimin hesitates for a few moments, looking at him in the darkness. “We didn’t turn them on the first time either. And when we kissed, earlier, it was dark too.” Silence, then, “It’s like we’re meant to stay in the dark.”

Yoongi steps forward, approaches Jimin like one does with a scared animal. “Min-ah, if you don’t want—”

“I want to. Want you.” Jimin holds his breath, releases it in a slow exhale. “So much it scares me.”

At that, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. The truth is, he’s as scared as Jimin is. Maybe more. They can pretend this is just another night, that it’s the last one, but it won’t change the fact that it’s a lie and that they both know it.

Outside, it keeps snowing. Jimin reaches for Yoongi’s face, cradles it in his hands before he leans in to kiss him, slowly and surely, no pretending.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “I still want you.”

Jimin’s skin is so hot that Yoongi wonders if he could get scorched by it. That doesn’t stop his hands from touching as much of him as he can, from tracing the curves of his hips down to the dip between his buttocks and thighs, thumbs pressing in the dimples on the low of his back. Jimin kisses him hard, teeth tugging at his bottom lip before he licks over it, rolling his hips in Yoongi’s grip, desperate and impatient, and it’s so tempting to just take him now, thrust into him and hear him ask for more.

He doesn’t. Instead, Yoongi slows down and coaxes Jimin in doing the same, lays him down onto the plush pillows and then sits back on his heels, hands roaming over him, caressing blue skin and teasing at his nipples until Jimin’s cock is leaking and twitching over his stomach, until the lightest touch has him bite off a whimper, soft, breathy moans filling the space of the room.

When Yoongi is inside him, thrusting into him shallow and slow, calling his name and pressing his mouth to the blue veins of Jimin’s wrist, he thinks that this night could sound like a song.

“Your aquarium is weird.”

Yoongi fixes the pillow under his head and rolls to the side, laying across the bed as he watches Jimin tap lightly on the aquarium’s glass. Achilles seems curious and it swims towards Jimin, only to then swirl around to hide behind his castle tower.

“It’s a no filter aquarium,” Yoongi says, rubbing a hand over his face.

Jimin hugs the bed sheets closer around his body and frowns at him.

“The roots of the potatoes take care of purifying the water. Plus some other stuff, but it’s all natural. No chemicals or weird stuff.”

Jimin’s eyes widen. “Oh, that’s so cool, hyung.”

Yoongi snorts. “Is it?”

“It must take a lot of time to take care of it.”

“Mmh, but it relaxes me.”

“What’s the fish name?”

“Achilles.”

Jimin giggles, cheeks still flushed pink, and Yoongi hears himself sighing, heart throwing a riot in his chest.

“Why—why did you give him such a majestic name?”

“He’s a majestic fish.”

“He’s as small as my palm.”

“And what a tiny palm you have.”

“Why are you teasing me now?”

“Do you wanna know why I named him Achilles?” Yoongi shrugs. “I have a thing for dramatic gays.”

Jimin smiles. “And in fact, here we are.”

“Mmh.”

“Who’s Achilles and who’s Patroclus here?”

Yoongi replies, “You’re Achilles.”

Jimin arches an eyebrow. With the way the desk lamp casts a yellow glow from behind the aquarium, Achilles’ shadow keeps appearing over the blue expanse of Jimin’s skin. as he swims around.

“Why am I Achilles?”

“You know those ancient, greek statues? Made of marble and bronze? You look like one of them.” Yoongi closes his eyes and straightens his spin, arching on the bed. “Perfect. Like they described demigods.”

Jimin stays quiet for a few moments, then starts sputtering. “That’s too much. Why are you like this? And how can you say such embarrassing stuff out loud?”

Yoongi grins to himself. “Are you blushing, Park Jimin?”

“Of course I am.”

“You’re lovely,” Yoongi sighs. “God, you’re so lovely.”

“I hate this.” Yoongi hears the sound of a chair scraping, then the mattress dips down under Jimin’s weight as he gets on it. He drapes the sheets over them both and lays down next to Yoongi, chin resting over his shoulder. “You get a kick out of teasing me and the fact that you won’t even apologize for it is terrible.”

“But why would I apologize when it clearly pleases you, mh?”

“That’s beside the point.” Jimin takes a deep breath, his body slowly relaxing. “I should leave.”

“No, you shouldn’t. It’s storming outside, stay for the night.” When Jimin doesn’t reply immediately, Yoongi opens his eyes, tries to catch Jimin’s gaze. “I can cook.”

“Huh?” Jimin blinks at him. “Why are you bragging right now?”

“I’m trying to buy you with food. I’ll cook you something really delicious in the morning if you stay the night.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“Cuff me up and throw me in jail then.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Can you make me doenjang jjigae?”

Yoongi scoffs. “If I can… of course I can make it.”

“Woah, you’re basically a starred chef.” Jimin scoots closer, arms wrapping around Yoongi. “Fine. I’m staying then.”

“Good.” Yoongi closes his eyes again, the exhaustion of the night finally settling down on him. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Jimin asks, quiet and already thick with sleep. Yoongi didn’t think about it, but Jimin must have come to the club right after he finished his schedule today. He must be tired, too.

“For lying to me last time.” Yoongi breathes in, smells the vanilla shampoo Jimin used earlier in the shower. “Next time, you should lie again. And again. And again.”

Jimin doesn’t reply for a long time, long enough for Yoongi’s breathing to ease into something slow and vulnerable. 

He feels Jimin hold him tighter before he falls asleep, thinks he can hear him murmur something, but the words are lost to him.

Jimin eats with a smile too wide, wiggling happily on his stool, chopsticks moving fast from the bowl of white rice to then pick pieces of tofu from the jjigae. Yoongi sits on the stool opposite to his, chin on the palm of his hand and he can’t shake whatever stupid grin he has on his face.

At one point, Jimin looks up at him and rolls his eyes. “Stop staring while I eat.”

“But the sight is quite lovely.”

“I’ll throw this whole stew in your face.”

“And you’ll look lovely while doing that.”

“You’re such a—”

The front door opens all of a sudden and Jimin’s smile disappears at the sound, his chopsticks promptly falling from his grip.

“Ah, that must be my flatmate,” Yoongi says.

He hears Hoseok walking in, then closing the door. After a few moments of silence, his steps can be heard approaching the kitchen and, when he’s on the threshold, he startle with a gasp, clutching at his chest.

“Holy shit, why do you keep spooking me?”

“You’re the one always getting spooked, I’m just sitting here.”

“Yeah, but—” Hoseok’s eyes wander off Yoongi and set on Jimin. Slowly, his eyes widen in recognition and the paper bag he’s carrying drops on the ground. “Oh, fuck.”

Yoongi turns around to Jimin, then jumps off the stool once he catches the terror in Jimin’s eyes.

“Hey, hey no, it’s alright.” Yoongi walks around the counter and stands in front of Jimin, hands reaching for his shoulders. “It’s Hoseok. Just Hoseok. He won’t say anything, won’t tell anyone. I swear.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything, only swallows thickly, panicked gaze still not leaving Hoseok. After a few tense seconds, Jimin grits out, “You didn’t tell me there was going to be someone.”

“Yeah, well, it’s always a wild card with Hoseok.”

“I’m right here,” Hoseok mutters. Still, when Yoongi twists around to glare at him he finds the man sending Jimin a reassuring smile. “Park Jimin, right? Don’t worry, not a word will come out of my mouth. I mean it.” Hoseok then gestures at the paper bag before he hands it to Yoongi. “Here, I bought too many pastries.” Then, to Jimin, he adds, “I do that. I buy food to make him forgive me for fucking with the wrong crowd.”

“More like fucking the wrong crowd,” Yoongi murmurs as he peaks into the bag. “Jesus, did you fucking rob the place?”

“Ah, he’s always so grateful.” Hoseok grins at Jimin one last time before he waves awkwardly at him as he steps out of the kitchen. “Have fun!”

As they’re left alone, Yoongi turns to Jimin. He looks relatively less scared, but he’s sitting too stiff, holding onto his breath. Yoongi sighs.

“I should have told you I have roommates. Sorry. But Namjoon is still in the process of moving from his place to mine, so yesterday he probably stayed at his flat. And Hoseok is… well, he doesn’t really spend much time at home these days.”

“It’s fine,” Jimin replies quietly. He shakes his head and wipes a hand over his face. “I just wasn’t expecting it. And, yeah, sorry.”

“No, it’s alright, really. It’s my fault.”

“I should go.” Jimin gets off the stool and immediately makes his way out of the kitchen. 

After a few seconds, Yoongi follows behind him, stomach a knot of tension and guilt. Jimin is quick to grab his things from Yoongi’s room and getting his coat and mouth mask on. He hesitates by the door before he opens it and turns to Yoongi. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Mmh.”

“I’m not. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just—” Jimin pauses, then breathes in deeply. “I don't even know. But I should go anyway, it’s a long way to the dorm.”

“Do you want me to drive you?”

“No, no don’t worry. I like taking the subway.”

“Alright.”

Jimin walks out of the house, stands by the threshold, boots sinking in the layer of fresh snow that has accumulated during the night. Yoongi, too, remains by the entrance, both of them gazing at each other without moving.

He’s not sure about who will be the merciful one today.

Suddenly, Jimin grabs his phone and types something before he pockets it again. 

“I’m not going to stay in the dorms for much longer,” Jimin says. “They’re moving me to another place. Bigger, nicer.”

Yoongi grins at him. “What a star you’re becoming already.”

“Oh, shut it. I sent you the address.”

Yoongi, taken aback, stares at him. “You did?”

Jimin nods. “So, just… You know, whenever I’ll have some free evenings, or days, or anything and maybe you wanna meet me you can just text me and we can meet.” Jimin skin is already reddening from the cold and he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “If you want to.”

“I do.”

Jimin snorts. “You replied way too quickly.”

“I don’t care.”

“Alright. Good.” Jimin nods to himself before he steps back. “I’ll see you then, hyung.”

“You’re not saying goodbye this time?”

And Jimin says, “Not this time.”

[The camera focuses slowly. Half of Jimin’s face is pressed into the pillow, eyes closed, skin flushed. A hand suddenly and briefly appears into frame, tugging blankets over Jimin’s shoulder. 

“I dreamed of you.”

“You did?”

Jimin hums. He opens one eye, closes it again. 

“We were in a forest. You looked like you belonged to it. To the woods and the trees and the grass. I didn’t, though.”

The camera shifts, loses focus, sheets rustle. When it focuses again and stabilizes, the angle is different, closer to Jimin’s face.

“What happened in the dream?”

Jimin buries his face deeper into the pillow, sighs. “I chased after you like a desperate man and you kept trying to be found.” From outside comes the distant noise of a car speeding by. “The woods kept stealing you from me.”

Silence, the camera catches it like static. 

“Maybe it was a nightmare.” Jimin breathes in. “Turn that off and kiss me.”]  

FEBRUARY, 1, 2018

When Suran walks into the cafe, Yoongi thinks she might have shrunk. 

She spots him after a moment of looking around and smiles before making her way to his table, steps light and graceful. Yoongi stands up, already bowing to her, but she waves a hand at him fast. 

“Don’t act like that, it makes me feel old.”

“Noona, not to break your bubble but—”

“Finish that sentence, I dare you.” She sits down and removes the thick, blue scarf from around her neck. “Aah, it’s been too long since I last saw you. You got more handsome. I like the hair, black suits you more than blond.”

Yoongi chuckles and brings a hand to his hair, suddenly self conscious about everything. Suran is all kinds of lovely, kind and terrifyingly talented. Yoongi gets weird around people he respects. 

“Should we order something? They make very good coffee here. And I’m starving, I want a sandwich. Noona will pay for you.”

It’s in the middle of Yoongi chewing on his food, a thick salted croissant, that Suran tells him why she called him after so long.

He almost chokes on the food before he can get a grip of himself.

“You wanna work with me?”

Suran arches an eyebrow at him, fingers playing with a strand of dark, long hair. “I mean, we already did once, I don’t know why you’re so surprised.”

“Just… This isn’t me asking you to feature on a song of mine. It’s you asking me.”

“It is.”

“I’m honored. That’s why I’m reacting like this.”

“You’re sweet.” Suran smiles at him. “Listen, I know you produced blue under these lights. You can use all the fake names in the world, but I’d recognize your sound everywhere.”

“Well, that’s just not reassuring.”

Suran huffs out a quiet laugh, eyes fond on Yoongi. “It was a gorgeous song, Yoongi. The other one, too, but that sounded more like Namjoon’s work.”

“You’re scary as all Hell, you know?”

“I’d love to work on a song with you, Yoongi. As AGUST D, as GLOSS, whichever you prefer.” She pauses, then stirs her coffee with a teaspoon. “I would love it even more if you featured on it, but—”

Yoongi stiffens. “Noona, I—”

“I know, I know.” She sighs. “I’m settling for you to only produce it with me. Work on the lyrics. You always write such gorgeous lyrics, Yoongi-yah. It would be my honor to sing for you again.”

It’s not that Yoongi doesn’t want to. Or that he isn’t flattered at the fact that Suran doesn’t only want him to work with her again, but would even be willing to have him feature on the track.

The problem is another one.

AGUST D is his only persona that has a face. People who listen to his music know what he looks like because of his performances and sets, the more faithful fans, albeit a small number, even know his real name. And that, already, sometimes feels too much.

Still—

“If I can just produce it, then yes,” Yoongi replies in the end. Before Suran can even speak, he holds up a hand. “No photos of me anywhere.”

Suran smiles. “Of course.”

“Alright.” Yoongi breathes in and then nods. “Alright, let’s work together.”

FEBRUARY, 12, 2018

Namjoon moves into the apartment. 

Him, Hoseok and Yoongi spend too much money on ordering Italian food, spend too much time drinking red wine and laughing over Namjoon when he tries to slurp in some noodles and ends up covering his face with porcini sauce.

When it’s later in the night, and Yoongi tells Namjoon about Jimin, he can only find pity in the man’s eyes. And empathy.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Yoongi slurs, mind as fuzzy as cotton after his fourth glass of wine. “We aren’t together, okay? I don’t know what we are, but it’s fine for now.”

Namjoon hums. “But you’d want to be with him.”

“Yeah, well—” He shrugs. “What does it matter?”

“It matters plenty,” Hoseok answers. He’s laying on Namjoon’s mattress (the sofa is gone and it was a heartfelt farewell), face red and lips pressed into an infinite pout, eyes glazed over. He had two glasses. And a soda. “Jus’— aaah, you love him and doesn’t he love you? Isn’t it sad that you two can’t be together for real? Because of what? His job? Isn’t that sad? It’s sad.”

“Don’t start crying now.”

“We should call him!” Hoseok suddenly exclaims, and he rolls onto his stomach, almost tilting his glass to the side. “Let’s call him!”

“It’s three in the morning, asshole. We aren’t calling him.”

Hoseok whines, stumbles on nonsensical words until he slaps the mattress with the palm of his hand. “We’re calling him! Or I’ll be really sad! Plus, Namjoon hasn’t even met him yet, at least he should introduce himself!”

Yoongi frowns. “At three in the morning through a phone call?”

Hoseok, already on his way to another temper tantrum, gets interrupted by Namjoon who, with just one sentence, shatters all of Yoongi’s hopes and dreams. “I’d love to introduce myself through a phone call at three in the morning.”

“I hate you both, I wish I had never met you.” Still, Yoongi gets his phone out and starts going through his contacts until he finds Jimin’s. He brings the phone to his ear and says, “He’s not gonna reply anyway, it’s late.”

“Motherfucker, put it on speaker.” Hoseok tries to straighten up, fails miserably.

Yoongi rolls his eyes and turns on the speaker, sending unimpressed glances at his two friends as the call drags on and on with no one to pick it up. Yet, just as he sees hope disappear from their eyes, Jimin’s voice rings in the quiet room.

“ Hyung? ”

“Ah, shit,” Yoongi groans.

“Oh my God!” Hoseok shrieks. “Jimin-ah! Park Jimin! It’s me! Hoseok!”

There’s a pause, then Yoongi hears Jimin chuckling. “ Ah, yes, good evening. Or morning?”

“I’m so sorry,” Yoongi mutters. “Why are you even awake?”

“ I just got home from practice, it’s okay, I can sleep in a little tomorrow morning. But why are you calling ?”

“Ah, yes.” Namjoon moves closer to the phone. “Park Jimin? My name is Kim Namjoon, I’m Yoongi’s new flatmate, I don’t know if he told you about me.”

“Oh, he has! It’s good to hear your voice, Namjoon-ssi.”

Namjoon looks at Yoongi. “Woah, he’s so polite.”

“Yeah, unlike you two he is.”

Jimin laughs. “ Are you all drunk?”

“Debatable,” Yoongi replies.

“Very much so, Jimin.” Hoseok clears his voice. “Yoongi-hyung told me you can hold your alcohol quite well, next time we should all have a drink together.”

“ I’d like that a lot, Hoseok-ssi .”

“Park Jimin!” Namjoon suddenly exclaims. “You sang my song, Park Jimin! Did Yoongi tell you I helped him write When it’s night?”

“ Oh! ” Jimin pauses, then in a low voice he replies. “ He has omitted such detail .”

“Ah , I see, he was trying to get all the merits to impress you.”

Yoongi glares at him. “ You are the one who told me not to tell anyone, I’ll kick you out of this house.”

“I literally just moved in.”

“ Wait ,” Jimin says then. He stays quiet for a second. “ Wait, I know your voice.”

Namjoon frowns. “You do?”

“F uck! Fuck, of course, you’re RM aren’t you ?” Jimin gasps. “ Oh, I should have figured, since you’re friends with Yoongi-hyung. Oh, God, I’m a little excited now, I’m a fan.”

Namjoon grins, smug and pleased. “Yes, I see you have good taste, Park Jimin.”

“Yah.” Yoongi looks at the phone. “Weren’t you my fan?”

“ Can’t I be a fan of both?”

“Oh, well next time why don’t you ask Namjoon to produce your songs, huh?”

Jimin giggles and Yoongi finds himself smiling and promptly ignoring Hoseok snorting at him. “ Ah, Yoongi-hyung, don’t worry, you’re still number 1 in my top five.”

“Aren’t you two cute?” Namjoon murmurs, his grin widening when Yoongi tries to kick him.

“Alright, introductions done.” Yoongi turns off the speaker and presses the phone to his ear again. “Sorry for bothering you, you should go to sleep.”

“You never bother me, hyung.”
“Still. It’s late.”

“Come see me tomorrow. I’ll be home around ten in the evening.”

Yoongi glances at Namjoon and Hoseok, then lowers his voice. “Are you sure?”

“I miss you.”

“Alright. Yeah, alright.”

“ You can drive me around, ” Jimin says with a smile in his voice. “ We can make out in your car.”

“What’s with you and your cliche aesthetic?”

“ I’m very unoriginal. ”

“Don’t be ridiculous. But yes, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Silence for a few moments, then, “Good night.”

“Mmh, good night.” After hesitating, Yoongi ends the call and then sighs heavily, hiding his face behind his hand. “Why are you two like this?”

Hoseok simply hums to himself as he rolls back on his bed, eyes closed. Namjoon takes another sip of his wine, long legs tipping off the edge of the mattress, his weight resting on his left elbow. “Yoongi-hyung.”

Yoongi looks at him. “What?”

“I hope you two will be happy for as long as it’s granted to you.”

Since it’s Namjoon, this is the closest to a god’s blessing Yoongi will ever get.  

FEBRUARY, 13, 2018

In the small space of Yoongi’s car, Jimin smells of white sandalwood and fabric softener. Warm and tender and more familiar than most things in Yoongi’s life at this point.

Which is all kinds of frightening and concerning and he should stop himself, hold himself back.

It’s difficult to do so, when there’s so much blue on Jimin’s skin to touch and melting heat to be found in the way he kisses.

“Your car is shit,” Jimin murmurs at one point, before pecking his lips lightly.

“Bold words from someone who doesn’t even have a license.”

“Mmh, but when I’ll have it I’ll buy a nice car and drive you around.”

“What kind of nice car?” Yoongi asks, slides his fingers under the hem of Jimin’s black pullover.

“I don’t know, but it will be nice.” Jimin sighs, kisses him again, harder, deeper, slower. 

They drove around for an hour or so, listening to whatever song would come up on the radio, grimacing at the dirty snow that has accumulated on the sides and corners of the streets, then parked the car up on a hill, darkness all around them whilst Seoul shines neon yellow and purple at their feet.

Where light can’t reach them, it feels more comfortable.

Sitting on the backseat, with Jimin on top of him gripping his hair and pressed against him, Yoongi feels raw like freshly bloomed bruises. There’s music playing from the car radio, Jimin’s own playlist, a woman with a deep voice croons about lost love and sleepless nights. Yoongi wonders when it will be his turn to sing of the same pain and he feels like it will always end up being too soon.

Jimin hums on his mouth, tugs at his bottom lip, Yoongi’s hands roam over his back, tracing the arch of it.

“Keep doing that, and I’ll get hard,” he hisses. Jimin grins.

“That’s the plan.”

“We can’t have sex in my car.”

“We don’t have to.”

“We aren’t doing anything in my car, because I’m wearing the only decent pair of jeans I own and cleaning up will be a mess.” Yoongi squeezes Jimin’s hip. “Be patient, Min-ah.”

“You’re boring.” Jimin drops another kiss on his mouth then clambers off his lap, sitting on the empty space of the backseat with crossed legs. “It’s quiet here. I like it.”

Yoongi rests his arm on the headrest, starts carding his fingers through Jimin’s hair. “You look tired.”
“I am. My team is already thinking about my comeback.”

“Already?”
Jimin shrugs. The blue dye has worn off his hair, and now it's a dead, bleached blond, almost white. “Since it worked in quieting down the press about my seniors they want to ride on the wave. Apparently, I’m the new one who’s going to pay their bills for a while.” He pauses. “Manager Kim made it clear that they’re looking for producers that aren’t, well, you.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Can’t blame him.”

“He’s a piece of shit.”

“Does he treat you well?”

“That’s a big word.”

“Hey.”

“My debut went well and so now he’s my personal manager, which means he has only me to worry about. At least, in that aspect, he’s not as stressed and therefore easier to be around.”

Maybe Yoongi shouldn’t have brought this up. Jimin doesn’t look as relaxed as he was before, eyes narrow and staring at the back of the passenger seat. Yoongi clears his voice and then leans over the front seats, grabbing his backpack and then opening it.

“Namjoon got me a gift.”

Jimin turns his head around to look at him. “Gift?”

“Yeah, both for me and Hoseok, to thank us for letting him move in with us. We told him it wasn’t necessary, but, well, he’s stubborn.” Yoongi fishes the camcorder from the bag and hears Jimin gasping.

“Holy shit, that looks old.”

“It’s from the 90s, he said. He’s a fucking hipster, he owns all kinds of old things. This one, he got it in Japan from a street vendor.” Yoongi taps on the side of it. “See? It records on tape.”

“Oh, it’s pretty.” Jimin looks at it with a smile. “Does it still work?”

Yoongi hums and turns it on. “Non-rechargeable batteries are a pain in the ass but it works.” He presses the viewfinder to his eye, points the camcorder towards Jimin and starts recording. “You look very pretty.”

Jimin scoffs. “It’s dark as shit in here,  you probably can’t see me at all.”

“No, I can see you.”

Jimin stares at him for a few moments before he smirks at the camera. “What kind of films do you want to take with that, mh?”

“Yah, don’t be vulgar. This is an iconic piece of technology.”

Jimin laughs, eyes switching from the camcorder to Yoongi. “Wait, now I’m embarrassed and I don’t know what to say.”

“You can just sit here and look good. Oscar worthy.”

“There you go again, being shameless.” The song from the car radio ends, another one starts, one that Yoongi recognizes too well. Jimin, too, immediately sighs as Namjoon’s song, Tokyo, starts. “I love this song.”

“You have his music on your playlist?”

“I told you I’m a fan.”

“Do you have my mixtape on your playlist then?”

Jimin presses his lips together. “I mean, not on this one.”

“You have hurt me today.”

“It doesn’t fit the mood for this playlist! I have it on others, I swear.” He blows a kiss to the camcorder. “There, I’m forgiven.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Even if the volume is low, Namjoon’s deep, raw voice fills the car like raising water. Jimin’s eyes flutter closed, his chest rises with a deep breath, and Yoongi watches him through the viewfinder.

“God, this one is so sad,” he murmurs.

“Mmh, it is.”

Jimin’s hand searches for his until his fingers brush against Yoongi’s. “Your Namjoon-hyung just seems like a very sad person.”

“Not all the time.” Most of the time, Namjoon is too busy looking for beauty in the curves of falling leaves to be sad. “When he wrote this, though, he really was. Miserable.”

“Is this about a heartbreak?”

“Yeah.” Jimin looks away from the camcorder and to him, arching an eyebrow. “What?”

“Tell me about it,” he replies.

“Why?”

Jimin smiles, skin a perfect indigo. “There’s comfort in other people’s heartbreaks.”

Yoongi snorts. “You’re an asshole.”

“Mmh, maybe. Just tell me, come on. Who broke RM’s heart?”

“Alright.” Yoongi sighs and looks away from the viewfinder, but still keeps the camcorder pointed towards Jimin. “Alright, this was last year. March, I think. Namjoon had to go to Tokyo and stay there for a month for-” He hesitates. He had to go to do his first, serious job as a dealer for Shinwoo. It was a month long deal of Namjoon having to negotiate with Japanese pushers and dark alleys he wasn’t familiar with. He was terrified. “Let’s just call it work. Don’t look at me like that, you don’t want to know about his ex job. Either way, he was working there for a month and this one night he told me that he had gotten lost.” Yoongi rests his head against the seat. “In the end, he walked into this place, it was one of those-those high end bars that serve expensive wine while a live band plays blues in a corner, and the lights are so low that the wood of the bar counter looks red. Namjoon described it even in more detail. He sits on one of the stools, orders himself a drink. He doesn’t remember what drink. But he remembers the drink that the man sitting next to him orders: a glass of Cabernet. Namjoon told me he-he saw this guy’s face and immediately wanted him. Then they started talking and this guy had the kind of voice that makes poets wanna write sonnets about it. And a mole just beneath his bottom lip. He remembers all this fucking details about this guy, it’s crazy. Whatever. That night they end up in Namjoon’s hotel room. And the same happens the next night, and the next one, so on and on. It turns out, this guy is an actor, he’s in Tokyo for his debut movie, he plays the villain, I don’t know. The guy tells Namjoon straight away, this won’t last forever, I can’t get attached, at one point either you or I will be out of this city and we will never meet again. Namjoon said he was fine with that. Because Namjoon is a liar and he wants too much too soon. In the end, it was the guy who left a month later. Namjoon just woke up in Tokyo to an empty bed, empty heart, whatever.” Yoongi thinks back to that sleepless night where he listened for hours to Namjoon’s stories about this man, about the things they used to talk about, about how deep his voice sounded and how his smile held all of Autumn and the beginning of Winter. “They didn’t even exchange names, you know?”

Jimin blinks. “Shit.”

“Mmh. Namjoon is the classic broken, lonely poet who hates suffering but thrives off his own pain.”

Jimin squeezes the tender skin of the back of Yoongi’s hand as if to scold him. “Wouldn’t it be crazy romantic if they met again?”

Yoongi looks into the viewfinder again. “The world doesn’t work on romantic.”

“Where’s my sad, aching, love song then, mh?”

It will come soon enough , Yoongi thinks.

“You haven’t broken my heart just yet.”

Jimin looks at him and the silence stretches for too long. Yoongi stops recording, hears the tape stop rolling, and turns off the camcorder. “I got a new job.”

“Oh?”

“I still have to discuss the contract, but I have a meeting in two days. You know Suran, I imagine.”

“Holy shit.” Jimin straightens up. “You’re working with her again?”

“You sound excited.”

“I am!” Jimin smiles and scoots closer to him. “Hyung this is great! God, I love So far away, I’m so excited for this! Are you going to feature in it? Will there be a music video?”

Yoongi grins, leans in to kiss Jimin’s cheek. “Don’t freak out just yet. I’m not gonna feature in it, I’ll produce it. And even if I did and there had been a music video, I wouldn’t have agreed to appear in it.”

Jimin stays quiet. In a low voice then, he sighs, “Can I ask you something?”

Yoongi frowns but nods.

“I don’t want this to come off the wrong way, but —” He bites on his bottom lip, then shakes his head. “Yoongi-hyung, you’re rich, aren’t you?”

Yoongi’s eyes widen. A sheepish laughter spills off his mouth without him meaning to. “I mean, I have royalties. And— well, yeah, I have money.”

Jimin hums. “You have money, but your car can barely go up a hill without sounding like it will explode. Your flat, it’s lovely, I mean it, but it’s so small and now there are three people living in it. And then there’s your music. You sing about… about fame and success, but you don’t make music videos, you don’t want to feature on other artist’s songs, you use different names for all your music and you— shit, hyung, you only have a soundcloud account.”

“Where are you going with this?” He realizes he sounded too harsh when Jimin immediately looks terribly guilty.

“No, please, don’t be mad, I’m not trying to offend you, it’s just—” Jimin sighs. Slowly, he lifts a hand until he can brush the tips of his fingers over Yoongi’s cheekbone. “What are you so scared of?”

“Everything,” Yoongi immediately replies and he finds his own body stiffening at his own confession. But he might as well tell someone. If that someone is Jimin, then isn’t it okay? 

“Everything?” Jimin asks, voice gentle and eyes even kinder. “Why?”

Yoongi grimaces slightly, squirms a little on his seat. “It’s hard to explain.” He wets his lips. “It’s just… I don’t feel comfortable letting people see me. Like, me. If people see you, then they know you too much. I have issues sometimes even getting on the tiniest stages in shitty clubs, I cover half my face with hoodies, keep the lights low. I don’t want them to know Min Yoongi.”

Jimin nods, slow. “But you’re okay with them seeing AGUST?”

“He’s just a character. It’s fine if they see him. I can come up with an entire backstory and they’d believe it and it would still be fine, because it would be fake.” Yoongi turns his face to the side to press a kiss on the palm of Jimin’s hand. “As long as it’s fake. But then there’s the other part of me. Me as Min Yoongi.” In the dim interior of the old car, Jimin looks like he’s part of the scenery only by mistake. “Greed fucking eats me alive, Min-ah.”

“Hyung,” Jimin sighs and scoots just a bit closer.

“I want it all. The success, the fame, the recognition, the arrogance that comes with it. I crave it. But, God, it’s so fucking scary.The idea that so many people could know my name, my face, my habits and-and taste. It terrifies me.”

Jimin allows a few moments of silence to go by, then says, “But they already know you. You don’t lie in your music, your words are the closest to taking a peek into your soul. Your lyrics, they’re the real you.”

Yoongi smiles. “Yeah, but they don’t know that. AGUST is a character. So they will think they know him. Not me. Never me.”

“Isn’t that unfair?”

“To them?”

“Fuck them. To you. ” Jimin breathes in and releases air in a soft exhale. “You’re so good, I wish the whole world knew just how much.”

And maybe he’s right.

But isn’t it good enough if it’s only Jimin who gets to know him like this?

It should be enough.

“It’s late,” Yoongi says in the end. He can see disappointment on Jimin’s features but he decides to ignore it. “I’m driving you home, mh?”

“Are you gonna stay over for the night?”

“You want me to? Is it okay?”

Jimin nods. “I don’t have a schedule for tomorrow, you can stay and then you’ll cook breakfast for me.”

Yoongi snorts. “Is it an order?”

“You ass, you should be honored.”

Yoongi’s greed looks like a shadow and it holds his shape, looms over him whenever he’s not careful enough and lets his thoughts run wild. When it happens, taking a hold of it and himself and separating them before they become one gets hard. In his nightmares, it becomes almost impossible.

But later that night, it’s easier.

When he has Jimin in his arms, body bare and hot and raw, skin cerulean in the dark room, it’s easier to keep that shadow away.

It tries to catch him, still, hand cold where it wraps around his neck, but then Jimin’s mouth is on his, Yoongi is fucking into him deeper, hears his name spilling from Jimin’s lips like a blessing and the hold the shadow has on him loosens, air gets in his lungs again. 

This is mine, Yoongi thinks as he presses wet kisses over the side of Jimin’s neck and feels him shudder beneath him, As long as I get to have him, this is mine alone.

And the shadow disappears somewhere behind him.

“I still have a dream, though,” Yoongi tells him later, when they’re too sated and heavy to move and Jimin’s fingers keep drawing shapes over his back. “And maybe it fuels my greed. I’ve been saving up for it.”

“What dream?” Jimin asked, quiet and sleepy.

“A company. Mine, and Namjoon’s and Hoseok’s. One where music comes before anything else, with people who are passionate. People like you.”

Jimin had hummed, a smile on his lips. “That’s a nice dream to have, hyung.”

[ NESTRA ENT. releases statement in regards to their group LisTENing’s contracts.]

This morning, NESTRA Entertainment released on their SNS a statement that finally put an end to fans speculations. It has been confirmed that members Jung Hyunwee, Lee Byungjook, and Lee Jihwan have left the group and their contracts have been terminated. They go on to explain that the future for the five remaining members is uncertain but_ CLICK TO READ MORE

+234/-45 Took them long enough. I hope the other members will still find fortune.

+198/-34 Now it would be nice if the police also did their job, don’t you think?

+90/-45 Just because Park Jimin’s debut got them off the hook they think they can just get rid of the group that made this company mean anything? I hope you rot, Park Jimin.

FEBRUARY, 23, 2018

“I just think we eat too much.”

“There’s three of us in the house,” Yoongi mutters as he drops another carton of eggs in his cart. “We eat the same way as any other twenty-something unhealthy men.”

“Speak for yourself,” Namjoon retorts, eyes wandering across the supermarket aisle. “I’m perfectly healthy.”

“Just because you eat more avocados than any other human being on earth it doesn’t mean you’re healthy.”

“You’re being mean to me and I don’t deserve it.” Namjoon’s freakishly long arm darts in front of Yoongi to grab a pack of bear gummies. “Hoseok will kick our ass if we don’t get these.”

“He had that interview with that expensive gym at Gangnam today, didn’t he?” Yoongi clicks his tongue. “We should cook something good for him. Ah, you know what, let’s just get fried chicken on our way back.”

They pay for their groceries and head out, shoulders rising as soon as a particularly cold wind hits them and Namjoon starts whining about how unfair it is that he’s so tall, because the air is even colder from his position. All that gets him is a kick in the ass from Yoongi.

After a few minutes of walking, Yoongi’s arms start aching and burning with the weight of the grocery bags. Maybe he shouldn’t have bought that family sized box of gochujang, but it was on sale, but most importantly he shouldn’t have taken the heaviest bags. Him and his damn pride, Namjoon is built like that for nothing? No, he has those godly proportions just so he can carry groceries and that’s exactly what’s gonna happen.

Yoongi turns around, ready to whine his way into leaving the heaviest bags in Namjoon’s hands, but he finds out that there’s no one by his side. Confused, he looks around himself, eyes scanning over the crowd of people walking on the street and, finally, he finds Namjoon standing by the edge of the sidewalk, his grocery bags on the ground, eyes wide as he stares at something across the road. Yoongi rushes to him, concern growing when he notices the tears welling up in Namjoon’s eyes, the faint trembling of his bottom lip.

“Joon-ah?” Yoongi asks, setting his own bags on the ground to grab Namjoon’s arm. “Namjoon, what’s wrong?”

Namjoon blinks. “It’s him.”

“Him? What, who?”

Namjoon struggles for a few moments to reply, mouth opening and closing several times, tears stubbornly clinging to his lashes. In the end, all he can say is, “ Tokyo.”

Yoongi’s chest gets as tight as a knot and, finally, he follows the line of Namjoon’s gaze until it spots it: across the road, in the middle of a tall building, there is a huge billboard for an upcoming movie. It’s titled Lark, and on the poster there are two men’s profiles. They stand back to back, one of them carrying a dignified, solemn expression. Yoongi recognizes the actor, his name is Park Seojoon. The other man bears a different expression, lips curved into a wicked grin, round, large eyes full of myrth, unruly dark curls falling over his brows. And the name printed under his face  is —

“ Taehyung ,” Namjoon whispers. “His name is Taehyung.”

At home, Namjoon drops on the couch without a word and dried tears on his cheeks while Yoongi gets the groceries out of the bags and puts them away in the fridge and pantry in silence. He gets cooking then. They forgot to buy the fried chicken in the end, so Yoongi decides to make it from scratch even though he’s always the first one to complain about the stench the frying oil leaves in the house. He prepares the batter, heats up the oil in a pot and gets working.

Hoseok slams the door open an hour later, singing loudly and giggling in between the lyrics. Yoongi steps out of the kitchen and into the living room, sighing when he spots Namjoon sitting in the same exact spot as he had left him in.

“Man, I fucking love my life!” Hoseok exclaims when he turns to them, shrugging his coat off.

“I take it the interview went well,” Yoongi says.

“Fuck the interview. I mean, yeah, it went well, next week they’re letting me have a practice lesson to see how the gym patrons like it, but I’m basically hired.” 

“Congrats.”

“But seriously, fuck that.” Hoseok smiles wide, cheeks flushed. “I got a date.”

“Of course you scored a date when you were there for a job interview.”

“There’s this kid, hyung. God, he’s so cute. And buff. He works there, yeah, he’s a fucking boxing instructor. His name is Jungkook and he looks like everything good in the world and holy shit, he kept blushing but he still got the guts to ask me out, I was ready to suck his dick there in the middle of the gym.”

Namjoon stands up suddenly. He walks to Hoseok, looks at him for a moment with bloodshot eyes, then he manages a smile. He squeezes Hoseok’s shoulder, breathes out a feeble Congrats , then he leaves the room. Yoongi sighs when he hears the sound of the shower running from the toilet after a few moments of silence, and he turns back to Hoseok.

“What’s wrong with him?” He asks, his smile gone. “Is he okay?”

“He will be.”

“Seriously, what the fuck happened?”

“He found out Tokyo’s name.”

There’s confusion on Hoseok’s face for a while, then realization hits him, lips parting into a gasp, eyes wide.

“Shit. How?”

Yoongi gestures. “There was this big ass billboard with the poster for the movie the guy was filming back in Tokyo. Namjoon saw it.”

“ Shit. ”

“His name is Kim Taehyung.” Yoongi pauses then tilts his head to the side. “Honestly, I can see why Namjoon would fall for him. Even from all that distance I could see just how gorgeous this guy is.”

Hoseok scoffs. “Don’t let Jimin hear you.”

“Ah, shut the fuck up. Anyway, congrats on the job, Seoksie. I made you fried chicken.”

“Oh my God, I’m gonna cry.”

“Please, don’t.”

Hoseok sighs. “Is he gonna eat with us?”

“I don’t know. We’ll just force him if he says he won’t eat.”

“Your way of comforting people is always very aggressive but effective.”

Hope you’re ok and that your

day wasn’t too tiring

I’m gonna get to sleep in a bit

But remember when I told you about Namjoon’s tokyo boy?

We found out his name today cuz we found

this huge billboard with the movie poster

Kim Taehyung

Adds a whole new layer of heartbreak

Goodnight

SENT, 11.34 PM

MIN-AH

Wait

Oh God

Hyung, shit

Kim Taehyung is in the side branch of NESTRA, the

one with the acting and modeling talents

He’s my best friend.

RECEIVED, 00.23 AM

MARCH, 03, 2018

Yoongi doesn’t get to see Jimin for a while. 

Work is hectic for him, his schedule packed as his company prepares him for his first comeback, plus a photoshoot for Grazia magazine, then a promotional campaign for a new lipstick collection.

Slowly, but surely and steadily, his reputation grows. And people love him. Yoongi hears it all from Hoseok, who throws himself into social media like he runs those apps, tells him about the overwhelming support Jimin gets from the general public, how his fanbase gets bigger with each day.

Yoongi’s greed is a terrifying thing, but he still fights it away with teeth and claws.

They don’t get to talk about Taehyung again, they barely have time to text these days, and Yoongi doesn’t want to upset Namjoon even more, not when he seems to have gotten over the initial shock. His coping mechanism is to take more turns at the library where he works and to write sad songs in the middle of the night.

There are worse ways to deal with heartbreak, Yoongi reckons, so he lets the sleepless nights fly.

Plus, he’s busy too.

He signed the contract with Suran’s management and the two started working earnestly. For once, Yoongi’s muse doesn’t play games on him and he finds himself furiously writing down piano melodies, his fingers steady and sure when he tries them out on his keyboard, lyrics flowing in his mind gracefully the way tall grass sways when the wind is kind enough.

One afternoon, in the recording studio, Suran asks, “Who are you writing this for?”

“For you,” Yoongi replies, sending her an unimpressed glance. “Unless I signed the wrong contract.”

“For me,” she replies, fingers twirling locks of long hair. “Right. I didn’t know you were in love with me.”

Yoongi almost chokes on his spit and turns to Suran with a wild look. “Shit, noona, don’t even joke about it. I had enough shit with dealing with my internalized homophobia a long time ago, I’m not playing games here.”

“That’s what I mean.” Suran smiles, her face too sweet and kind for the type of world she’s into. “These lyrics, they’re not for me.”

And Yoongi doesn’t reply. He looks down to his notebook, reads over the lines he just wrote down, But for you, who is so much softer than me, I’ll try to act like an adult . He sighs and realizes he can’t ever truly escape the blue shade of Jimin’s presence in his mind.

“Are you in love, Yoongi-yah?”

Of course he is.

God, how could he not?

The song will come out in April.

Hoseok goes on his first date with Jungkook and comes back home starry-eyed and with steps as light as air.

Still, two nights later, he doesn’t come back home for the night. The morning after, when he sneaks inside, his neck is covered in red and purple and his steps are as heavy as cement.

The truth is, Yoongi doesn’t know how to save Hoseok.

Hell, he doesn’t know how to save his damn self.

Then there’s today.

This morning, Hoseok and Namjoon woke him up with a store-bought cake onto which they decided it was going to be fun to put fifty-three candles. Yoongi blows them out, then shoves whipped cream over Hoseok’s face, laughing at the undignified screech the man lets out.

And then, there’s now.

He has a set tonight in one of the few clubs Yoongi thinks doesn’t smell like piss and spilled beer. There are over fifteen people performing tonight and Yoongi is set to get on stage towards the second half of the night. 

As he waits for the evening to start, he stands with his back pressed against the wall, eyes closed, his green jacket thick over his shoulders, the air a little stale with the number of people waiting in the backstage. Staff moving around frantically, Yoongi tries to focus, to slip into whatever character he will bring on stage tonight.

But, of course, Beomsoo is here too.

He’s talking to him, drilling his ears with stuff he doesn’t care about, bragging about this chance he has of maybe signing with an indie company to get an album out. Because unlike some people, he doesn’t like staying stuck in shitty clubs with no money, that’s what he says. Yoongi almost laughs at his face.

“I heard you’re working with that Suran chick again.”

At this, Yoongi’s eyes open and he stares at Beomsoo, his gaze slowly falling over the silver crucifix around his neck.

“I am,” he replies.

“Hey, good for you Min. Good for you.”

“Thanks.”

Beomsoo licks his lips, then leans in, gets into Yoongi’s space as he always fucking does. “Yah, Min, tell me the truth.”

“What truth?”

Beomsoo grins. “You’re fucking her, aren’t you?”

Yoongi arches an eyebrow. “I’m giving you one chance to shut up right now.”

“Come on, ain’t nothing bad about it. Hell, if anything it’s a relief.”

Yoongi’s hands twitch, heat spreading in his chest. “The fuck are you implying?”

Beomsoo regards him for a while. That crucifix looks bigger than usual. In the end, he shakes his head and laughs it all off.

“Nothing, nothing. Still, you must be fucking her. ‘S the second time you’re working with her, you must have fucked her at least once.”

Yoongi looks at him, feels his mouth twisting into a smirk. “It’s funny that you think in order to work with someone I need to fuck them. But maybe you’re talking from experience, ‘s that how you got your big chance with whatever company took mercy on you?”

It’s always too easy with Beomsoo. Too easy and too gratifying to see him get red and flustered, that height of him good for fucking nothing, shoulders squaring as if he thinks he can just punch words out of people’s mouths. As if he would ever lay a hand on anyone.

In the end, Beomsoo grits out, “Bold words from someone who won’t go on stage with me again.”

“I don’t need to get on a stage with you to make you look like shit, you do it all by yourself.”

“You’re a fucking prick.”

“I am. But you’re still here.” Yoongi should shut his mouth now. Instead, he leans down, tilts his head to the side and looks up at him with a smirk. “Or maybe you’re into that. All this talk about me fucking people, maybe you just want me to —”

“ Finish that fucking sentence ,” Beomsoo snarls then, too loud, attracting people’s attention. “I dare you!”

Staff is there in a second, dragging Beomsoo a few steps back, warning both him and Yoongi that if they start shit in the club then they’ll get kicked out before the show even begins. 

Yoongi looks at Beomsoo as he huffs and puffs for a few moments before he leaves, steps heavy. He’s probably going to whine to his friends and steal their weed, maybe snort some poor idiot’s cocaine; it wouldn’t be the first time the fool goes on stage completely fucked up.

Yoongi stays where he is. He closes his eyes, presses himself against the wall and breathes in deep.

“Why do I even bother?” he murmurs, then tries to gather what’s left of his focus.

A couple of hours later, when he steps off the stage and into the back area again, he stumbles on his steps and almost loses his balance. He plants a hand on the wall, eyes blinking fast, adrenaline rushing through him in heavy hits. He swallows and dabs the sweat off his chin and forehead with the edge of his jacket’s sleeve, feeling too hot and too cold at the same time. The set went well, or at least he thinks so. He swears he can’t remember half of it, head prickling still with Beomsoo’s goddamn attitude and all the unsaid words hidden under his sneer and silver cross.

It doesn’t matter anyway.

Yoongi should just get a grip and get out of here, find Hoseok and Namjoon and maybe convince them to buy him a beer before they get the hell home. Then, someone is grabbing his arm, pulling him off the wall. By reflex, Yoongi tries to pull back but it takes him only a second to recognize Jimin’s eyes.

“What the —”

Jimin turns around and starts walking, dragging Yoongi along with him. He really wishes Jimin would understand the concept of being famous and not going to clubs like this anymore, but he feels like the words would be ignored and brushed away with an easy smile and an easier kiss. Jimin maneuvers them across the small crowd backstage and heads into one of the corridors that lead to the bathrooms. Quickly, he pushes the door of the toilets open, quickly scanning around the area and he finds it empty, then he’s pushing Yoongi into one of the stalls, door shutting closed behind them. Jimin locks it, pushes down under his chin the cotton mouth mask, then his lips are on Yoongi’s. The kiss is too heated from the beginning, messy and hurried, his tongue licking into Yoongi’s mouth, teeth tugging at his bottom lip.

“Fuck, you looked so good,” Jimin whispers then, hands fisting the fabric of Yoongi’s jacket. “So fucking hot.”

“You need to learn to warn me when you come to my shows.”

“You can teach me about that later.” Jimin’s hands start fumbling with Yoongi’s belt. “I missed you.”

“I can see that. Wait, what—”

Jimin drops on his knees, undoes the button and zip of Yoongi’s jeans and then presses his mouth to his cock, tongue dragging along the bulge, wet even through the cotton of Yoongi’s briefs.

“ Shit,” Yoongi hisses. “Are you serious?”

“There’s no one here.”

“That’s not—”

“I got hard watching you.”

Yoongi holds his breath, feels his cock twitch in his underwear. Jimin looks up at him from where he’s kneeling, eyes dark and liquid under the flickering, white LED lights of the ceiling. He wets his lips, palms Yoongi’s dick until it’s hard and straining against the fabric.

“Tell me I can suck you off.” Jimin licks his lips. “ Tell me .”

Shit.

Yoongi could stand here and weigh out the cons and pros of being so reckless in a place where recklessness gets your life ruined, but he doesn’t. Too enthralled by the sight of Jimin staring at him so openly, lips slick with spit, skin silver whenever the ceiling’s LED flickers to white, then blue when it’s dark for a split second, he’s crushed by the presence of his want and greed is already there holding his hand.

So in the end he says, “You can.”

Jimin lets out a small, almost relieved breath, then he’s pushing Yoongi’s brief down enough for him to wrap his lips around Yoongi’s cock, then swallowing him down, moaning around the length. Yoongi presses a hand to his own mouth, sucking in a sharp breath from his nose, head tilting back until it rests on the cold tiles of the wall behind him. Jimin’s mouth is wet and hot, tight when he sucks around his cock as he pulls back, tongue flat under it, lips slick around the tip. Even here, the music is loud, the bass of the track playing louder, vibrating low in Yoongi’s stomach, making his hips falter. 

Jimin pulls back, mouths at the side of his cock, his fingers closing and kneading around the head.

“Hyung —” Jimin looks at him. “Fuck my mouth.”

Yoongi muffles a moan under his hand, then lowers it just enough to talk. “Are you serious right now?”

“Please.” Jimin reaches for Yoongi’s hand and then brings it to his head, Yoongi’s fingers easily carding through his hair “ Fuck my mouth.”

When Yoongi doesn’t immediately reply, Jimin opens his mouth, tongue barely peeking out, and stares at him. Waiting. The sight alone could kill him. 

In the end, Yoongi knows he’s too weak to his own desire to say no. His fist closes around Jimin’s hair, then he’s pushing his cock inside his mouth, moaning low when Jimin’s eyes flutter closed, jaw slack, cheeks flushed. He starts slow, shallow thrusts that leave him breathless all the same, his eyes focused on the way his dick disappears between Jimin’s lips, how spit slowly starts dribbling down the boy’s chin. The music coming from the club changes, turns to something louder and faster, bass a heavy thrum. Jimin opens his eyes then, locks his gaze with Yoongi’s as he reaches between his own legs, shaky fingers popping the buttons of his pants open, then reaching for his cock. He starts stroking himself, moans around Yoongi’s cock and the feel of it makes Yoongi’s hips snap forward harshly. 

“ Fuck, ” Yoongi groans, makes it to slow down but Jimin sucks around him and strokes his own cock faster, glaring at Yoongi as if to scold him for being so careful. “You want it harder?” Jimin’s lashes flutter and he moans again. “What if it hurts?” Jimin’s cock twitches in his hand. Shit. “Oh, you want it to.” As an answer, Jimin hums, lips red and eyes so dark as they look black.

Yoongi’s grip on his hair tightens, then he snaps his hips forward. He fails to bite off a loud moan, shudders at the sight of Jimin’s eyes closing, eyebrows furrowed and then he starts fucking into his mouth harder, deeper, until Jimin can only suck in harsh breaths from his nose when it brushes against his pelvis.

“Fuck, Min-ah, so good—” Yoongi swallows, mouth dry, skin buzzing. He thrusts his cock inside Jimin’s mouth, then out, snaps his hips forward again. “Luh-look at you. Taking it so well.”

Jimin moans, the sound muffled and high. When he opens his eyes there are tears caught in his lashes and a look Yoongi has never seen on him, one so glazed and heated it has him wanting to wreck him even more. The club’s music mixes with the wet sounds of his cock fucking into the tight heat of Jimin’s mouth and with their moans and ragged breaths. He’s close, his entire body thrumming with it, and he can feel Jimin must be too, the vibrations of his whimpers and moans around his dick getting frantic, almost pained. 

“Make yourself come,” Yoongi grits out, thrusts deep in him. “You want to, yeah? ‘m close too. Come for hyung, Min-ah.”

Jimin strokes himself faster, legs shaking, then he’s coming in his fist, eyes glazed and unfocused, moans choked and high until Yoongi, too, spills inside Jimin’s mouth and down his throat. Yoongi slows down, moans bouncing off the walls and shit, he really hopes no one came in without them noticing.

When he pulls out, Jimin swallows thickly and stays kneeled down, eyes barely open as his chest heaves. Yoongi quickly gets his clothes back on, flinching lightly at how sensitive he feels, then starts pulling toilet paper out of the dispenser by the toilet. He kneels down in front of Jimin and cleans his hand quickly, throwing the dirty paper in the toilet.

“You’re okay?” Yoongi asks.

Jimin blinks and looks at him for a moment with such a fucked out expression that Yoongi finds himself grinning.

“So good,” he murmurs in the end, voice hoarse. “We guh-gotta do this more often.”

“What, me fucking your mouth in a shitty toilet?”

Jimin huffs out a light chuckle. “Maybe the setting can improve.”

Yoongi hums, then presses a kiss to Jimin’s lips. “Come on, get yourself dressed and let’s get out of here.”

“Can we go to my place?”

“We can go wherever you want.”

Jimin starts fumbling with the zip of his jeans. “They finally installed my bathtub. We can take a bath together.”

“What a romantic end to this very not romantic thing we just did.”

“Then you’ll fuck me until I can’t remember my name.”

Yoongi sends him an unimpressed glance. “There, you ruined the romanticism.”

Jimin laughs, then lets Yoongi pull him up on his feet. Before they exit the toilet stall, Yoongi peeks out of the door to be sure no one is inside. He finds the place empty and nods at Jimin before they slip out of the bathrooms and back into the frenzy of the club’s backstage, Jimin’s mouth mask pulled up to his nose, head hung low. Yoongi takes his phone out and sends a quick text to Namjoon, telling him he’ll sleep at Jimin’s place, then they make their way out of the club as quick as possible, shivering when the chill, night air hits their flushed faces.

Jimin’s bathtub ends up being more spacious than Yoongi hoped for. They fit comfortably in it, with enough space for them to even stretch their legs. Jimin is quite assertive when he decides to scoot closer until he sits between Yoongi’s legs, knees up to his chest and chin touching the warm water and foam, eyes blinking lazily at him.

Yoongi gathers shampoo in his hand and begins to wash Jimin’s hair, scoffing when he receives a pleased hum in response. “You’re a spoiled child.”

“And what about it?” Jimin rolls his shoulders. “This is so nice.”

Yoongi keeps rubbing shampoo on Jimin’s scalp, snorting when foam dribbles down his forehead and on Jimin’s eyelid. Jimin whines at the feeling, nose scrunching, and Yoongi wipes the foam off.

“I missed you too,” Yoongi admits then. “A lot.”

“Mmh. I was really busy.”

“I know, Min-ah.” He grabs the shower-head and turns on the water, waiting for it to be warmer, then Yoongi washes the shampoo off. “I was busy too. Kept myself distracted.”

Jimin smiles, eyes closed and he looks serene, calm as warm water trickles down his neck and shoulders. “You missed me that much you had to distract yourself?”

Yoongi turns off the water and puts away the shower-head. He cups Jimin’s cheeks, thumbs drawing circles on his cheekbones. “You have no idea.”

Jimin’s smile widens and he blinks his eyes open. “You look like hot shit on stage, you know?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “So I don’t look hot when I’m not on stage?”

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna say anything, but—” Jimin yelps and then laughs when Yoongi squeezes his cheek between his fingers. “Ow.”

“I mean it though, Jimin. You can’t risk coming to those clubs so often. Or, at least, you should tell me.”

Jimin hums. “Alright. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m happy you came.” Yoongi leans back in the tub, sighing when water laps around his neck. “Plus, I doubt manager Kim would be happy knowing you went to see me rap.” Jimin doesn’t reply immediately. Enough silence goes by that Yoongi frowns at him. “What’s wrong?”

Jimin shrugs. “Nothing.” He wraps his arms around his knees, rests his chin on top of his wrist. “Nothing, all is going great.”

“You don’t sound like it is.”

Jimin starts nibbling lightly on his bottom lip, eyes staring at the soap bubbles on the water’s surface. “I’m tired.”

Yoongi knows. 

Away from the dim lights of the club and out of the night’s darkness, Jimin’s skin is too pale and the space under his eyes too dark. Yoongi reaches for Jimin, grabs him by the waist and pulls him closer, water sloshing around them. 

“This is the first weekend I get to spend home in so long,” Jimin adds. “I forgot the last time I slept more than a couple of hours.”

“Shit, Jimin. You have to tell them to slow the fuck down.”

Jimin scoffs. “Yeah, it’s not that easy.” He looks at Yoongi. “We have an issue going on.”

“What issue?”

“You know Kim Seokjin?”

Yoongi nods. Seokjin is one of the most notorious acts from NESTRA Entertainment. He has the voice of a damn angel and the looks of a demon sent on Earth to lure you into Hell. Not to mention he’s way too likeable and so damn funny, perfect for variety shows. He even starred in a widely acclaimed drama, proving that he can even act like a veteran actor. His songs, ballads mostly, have always done incredibly well on the charts, and he even sang five OSTs for one movie and four dramas. Overall, Kim Seokjin is one of NESTRA’s biggest successes.

“He decided he won’t renew his contract,” Jimin says. “Next month, he’ll leave the company.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen. “Ah, that’s not good.”

“With my senior’s scandal still fresh this will bring more mess. The media will compete on who gets to make this into something a lot bigger than it actually is, they’ll try to connect it with the previous scandals and it won’t look good.” Jimin sighs. “So, of course, I’m gonna have to be the scapegoat once more. They’re pushing me so much these days for that reason. Then, as soon as the news that Seokjin is leaving the company drops they’ll announce my comeback. It’s all happening so fast, and I can barely catch-catch a fucking breath. God, I’m tired.”

“I’m sorry, Min-ah,” Yoongi murmurs. “Look, you’re free this weekend, yes? How about I stay over, mh? I’ll cook for you, you won’t have to move a muscle. You can sleep all the time if you want to, or we can watch shitty movies and nothing else. You won’t even need to get out of bed.”

At this, Jimin smiles. “Yeah?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Movies, food, sex, more movies?”

“I mean, sex does involve some kind of physical exertion, but sure.”

“But aren’t you busy?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing urgent.” Yoongi holds up his hand, his pinky raised. “So? Deal?”

Jimin snorts, grimacing a little at the cheesiness of it, but still hooks his pinky with Yoongi’s. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Min-ah. Anytime.” Yoongi grins. “Now, let’s get out of here and we can sleep.”

In bed, under the heavy covers of Jimin’s bed, everything feels a little safer and easier.

In between sleepy kisses and hesitant touches, Jimin tells him about Taehyung.

“I met him when I became a trainee. We went to the same school. He’s such a good person, you wouldn’t believe it. And so talented, it’s like he was made for this business. And I remember how excited he was when he left for Tokyo to shoot the film, but when he came back he—” Jimin sighs. “God, he was so sad. He was miserable. I spent so many nights just trying to make him stop crying, but he would never tell me why he was so broken. Eventually, he started healing, but I swear I’ve never seen him like this. He’s always— sure, sometimes he gets a bit lost in his own thoughts, but he’s always been so positive and driven. All of a sudden he could barely leave his bed on his own. I should have realized you were talking about Tae when you told me about Namjoon’s heartbreak, but it really didn’t cross my mind. Tae never told me anything about Tokyo.”

“Taehyung is in love with him, isn’t he?”

Jimin hums, eyes closed, words slowly slurring together when he replies. “I want ‘em to meet again. They deserve some closure, no? I think they do. Tae would want that.”

“I think Joon does too.”

“No one deserves to end somethin’ with a broken heart.”

Yoongi agrees.

And yet, here he is, holding onto the one person who will inevitably cradle the broken shards of Yoongi’s heart.

“It was my birthday today.”

Yoongi isn’t sure why he said it. Still, Jimin groans and swats at his chest weakly. “You should have told me, you ass. I would have taken you out for dinner or somethin’.”

“No, this is better.”

“Sap.” Jimin buries his face in Yoongi’s chest and sighs. “Next year, then.”

“Sure,” Yoongi murmurs. “Next year.”

APRIL 2, 2018

The news that Kim Seokjin has left NESTRA Entertainment takes the entire nation by storm in a way that has Yoongi breathless.

Everyone talks about it. Fans, the news, even very casual music listeners, because in the end everyone loved Seokjin’s songs even if they heard them only by mistake on the radio, or because they were fans of a show where he featured on the soundtrack, or his own drama.

Needless to say, the media feeds on it like roaches. They twist every word that NESTRA Ent. writes in their statement, start making speculations. Some even dare imply that, maybe, Seokjin too was involved with the drug scandal of Jimin’s sunbaes.

The situation doesn’t improve when Kim Seokjin tweets nothing but a yeet followed by an eggplant emoji. Hoseok laughs about it until he starts crying.

Then, it all fades away.

All in all, it is a weird situation.

What’s weirder, though, is when Yoongi receives a call from an unknown number.

“Shit.” Yoongi drops the pan sizzling with oil and garlic when his phone suddenly starts ringing. He manages not to drop the contents and turns off the stove, wiping his hands on his pants before he grabs his phone.

“Hello?”

“Ah, is this Min Yoongi?” 

Yoongi frowns, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Who am I talking to?”

“It’s Kim Seokjin.”

Yoongi chokes on his own spit. Between the solemn delivery of the sentence and the sheer insanity of it all, Yoongi has no damn doubts that this is actually Kim Seokjin talking.

“I—” Yoongi blinks. “How did you get this number?”

“Jiminie gave it to me,” Seokjin replies and the more he speaks, the more Yoongi recognizes his voice. “Listen, I don’t have much time right now, but I would like to arrange a meeting with you.”

“A meeting.”

“Work related.”

“What the hell?”

“Indeed. Are you free tomorrow for brunch?”

Who the fuck actually goes out for brunch, Yoongi thinks. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand.”

A pause. “Min Yoongi-ssi, do you not know what brunch is?”

What the fuck.

“Of course I know what—”

“Then it is settled. I will send you the details by text, now excuse me but I need to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And then Kim Seokjin ends the call.

Yoongi stares at the black screen of his phone for what feels like minutes. Then, Seokjin’s text indeed arrives, with the details of their meeting, the time, the place, then a selca of Seokjin doing the peace sign.

“What the fuck?” 

Just then, the door opens. Yoongi frowns and puts the phone away, heading to the living room. Namjoon has the late shift at the library and won’t be back for two hours yet, and Hoseok— well, he had left without a word carrying his usual sports bag, so Yoongi knows he must have gone to see them again.

And yet, Hoseok is there. Facing the closed door, unmoving, shoulders hunched down,  his hand wrapped tight around the strap of his bag.

Yoongi approaches him slowly. “Seoksie?”

“Don’t get mad.”

There’s a plethora of red flags going off in Yoongi’s brain. He takes another step forward. “Okay, I won’t get mad. What happened?”

Hoseok takes a deep breath then turns around. Yoongi stares at him for a few moments, his brain slowly registering the state of Hoseok’s face, then panic kicks in. “Jesus fucking Christ, Hoseok.”

“Alright, easy with the blasphemy, this is a Christian household.”

“No, it fucking isn’t and shit! Look at you, what the—” Yoongi gestures at him to go and sit somewhere, then rushes to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. He feels like lately he’s been patching up his friends a bit too many times for comfort.

He goes back to the living room and finds Hoseok sitting cross-legged on Namjoon’s mattress, a pillow held between his arms. Yoongi kneels in front of him with a sigh, opening the kit and getting out some cotton. He damps it with antiseptic, then dabs it over Hoseok’s split lip. 

“Ow,” Hoseok whines, lips pursing into a pout. “That stings like a bitch.”

“Yeah, just you wait until I get my hands on you.”

“Don’t be mean to me or I’ll seriously start crying.”

“Hoseok, your fucking left eye is shut closed. What happened?”

“You should see the other guy.”

“ Hoseok.”

“It’s just—” Hoseok hesitates. He swallows harshly, shakes his head. He tries to rub at his bruised cheek, but flinches as soon as he does. “I went to them.”

“ They did this?!” Yoongi stares at him, eyes wide. “Are you fucking serious?!”

“Look, it’s— It was supposed to be like always, but Junwoo had cocaine and-and he offered me some, but I said no. So he and Aesook got high, then she wanted to have sex. And I just— I thought it was okay, but it wasn’t, because I just—” Hoseok’s lips start wobbling. “I don’t know why I kuh-kept going to them, they’re assholes, I don’t like them, they don’t even like me and they always try to get me high as fuck and I don’t want to but— Fuck, hyung, I kept thu-thinking it was Jungkook.”

Yoongi puts away the cotton pad and squeezes Hoseok’s wrists, trying to catch his gaze. “Hey, Seoksie, it’s okay. It’s alright, just calm down.”

“I really like him so much, so why did I keep going to see them? I’m so fucking stupid, I don’t get it, why am I like this?”

“Hoseok, just tell me what happened. Please?”

Hoseok takes in a deep breath, eyes glassy and his bloody nose flushed a little red on the tip. “We were fucking, but I-I wasn’t liking it. So I thought, maybe if I think it’s Kook, yeah? Wouldn’t it feel good then? But that’s so gross and I felt gross so I told them I didn’t wanna have sex anymore and Aesook, she got mad. She was so mad, and kept screaming at me, and so Junwoo got mad too, and he— well, he said a lot, I can’t even remember. But I just told them, you know, this is it, it’s done, just go fuck yourselves like always, I don’t think I wanna see you again. So Aesook just fucking laughed at me, the bitch, and she was like, don’t you say that every time, but then you always come back like a dog. And so then I told her she can suck on Jungwoo’s tiny cock like always and leave me alone.” Hoseok sniffs. “Yeah, he wasn’t too happy about it. So we fought.”

Yoongi gestures at his face. “And he thought it was gonna be a good idea to try and break your nose?”

“Wait is, it actually broken?”

“No.”

Hoseok rubs off a tear as soon as it goes down his cheek. “Well, his is.”

“Holy shit, you broke his nose.”

“I also think a couple of his teeth flew away.”

“Oh, wow.”

“My hands hurt.”

“Your knuckles are fucked up. You never learned how to throw punches.”

“Alright, Rocky Balboa, fuck off.” Hoseok rubs behind his neck, head hung low. “The worst part is that Aesook was right. I always go back. I feel like I’ll do it again.”

Yoongi reaches for Hoseok’s knee, gives it a squeeze. He’s never been in this position before. Since the start, from the beginning of Hoseok meeting with people who barely deserved a spare glance from him, Yoongi always felt like stopping him from doing whatever he wanted was unfair. He’s not Hoseok’s guardian, not his damn father. But now that they’re here, now that Hoseok is the one who took the first step back, maybe there’s a possibility.

“Seoksie, listen to me,” Yoongi begins saying. “I know that you were in a dark place when you met them and that it never meant anything to you, but they’re horrible. They’re horrible, Hoseok.”

“I know,” Hoseok mutters.

“They always treated you like shit and, sure, it’s not like you loved them either, but you’re good. They’re not. And they know this, and they took advantage of that, that you were weak back then. They’re manipulative and just— Hoseok, you can just get away from them and never see them again and your life won’t change. It will stay the same and improve, slowly.” Hoseok raises his head and looks at him with a frown. “It will. But Seoksie, look, I can’t save you. Namjoon and Jungkook can’t save you either. You can. And we will help you along the way.”

Quiet, Hoseok replies, “Hyung, I feel so fucking lonely.”

“I know. Fuck, I know. They know too. They-they used that against you. You told me, they always fucking drill it in your head that you’re lonely and that you need them but you don’t. You don’t.”

“I’m still lonely.”

“Did you feel less lonely with them?”

Hoseok blinks, lips parting around words that don’t come out. In the end, he heaves a deep sigh and shakes his head. 

Yoongi nods. “Seoksie, it’s better to be lonely but healthy than to be lonely and used by anyone who doesn’t see how good you are.”

“No, shut up, I’m gonna cry.”

“Hey, you can cry if you feel like crying.”

“No, quit it, seriously.” Hoseok shakes his shoulders, almost as if to get rid of whatever it is that’s making him choked up. He looks at Yoongi. “If I— if I try to go back to them, can you remind me of today and stop me?”

Yoongi nods, maybe too earnestly, but this is the first damn time that Hoseok asks for his help and, God, he’ll cling onto it like a lifeline. “I’ll chain you to the damn wall if necessary.”

“That’s a bit much.” Hoseok grants him a small smile. “Alright. Thank you.”

“You know, if you want to— maybe you can tell Jungkook.”

Hoseok huffs out a breath and shakes his head. “No, screw that.”

“But you said he’s good to you, right? You two go on dates and shit, but you won’t ask him to actually be your boyfriend or to try and do things more seriously ‘cause you felt bad about Aesook and Junwoo. But, y’know, maybe talking about this and explaining yourself, vent to someone who is truly out of this situation can help.”

Hoseok thinks about it for a few moments, eyes drifting past Yoongi, focusing on maybe a random spot on the wall. “What if he doesn’t want to see me again then?”

“Then you don’t. But from what you told me, he seems like a sensible person. Someone who’s good at listening. You don’t have to tell him, but it’s something to keep in mind, yeah?”

Hesitantly, Hoseok nods. “Okay.” A pause. “Since when are you good at giving advice?”

“Fuck off, I’m great at giving advice, you just never wanted to listen to me.”

Hoseok’s lips curl at the corners. “I did that, didn’t I? Just… refuse to listen to you.”

“It’s fine, Hoseok. It’s fine. You’re going to be alright.” Yoongi gets the cotton pad again. “Now let me clean off this mess on your face and then you can force me to watch a bad movie with you.”

Hoseok chooses The Notebook only because he knows Yoongi hates it more than most things in the world. They lay down on Namjoon’s bed with Yoongi’s wheezing laptop propped on two pillows, mouths dirty with the oil from the pork cutlet Yoongi cooked. When Namjoon arrives later and finds them curled up in his bed, Hoseok deeply asleep and snoring on Yoongi’s chest, he simply sighs and joins them, wrapping his arms around Hoseok’s stomach and laying by his side.

APRIL 3, 2018

Kim Seokjin is everything Yoongi expected him to be and some more.

They meet in maybe the bougiest looking bistro in all of Gangnam-gu and Seokjin fills his plate with the food offered in the buffet to the point of leaving behind him a trail of grains of curry couscous as they head back to their table. He wears his coat over his shoulders as if it was a cape, wears a velvet hat and when he starts eating he gets grease on his lips but he somehow makes it look like it’s gloss.

He talks like a victorian gentleman at times and like a jobless dad of five the next. 

The best part of it all, Yoongi thinks, is that his ears are bright red under his hat, as if he’s extremely embarrassed of behaving this way but just can’t get enough at the same time.

“You took so little food, why is that? Do not worry, for I will pay.”

Yoongi looks at him with an arched eyebrow. He can afford the food just fine, he’s just not a bottomless pit the way Seokjin seems to be.

“It’s fine, this is enough for me,” Yoongi replies as he gets a piece of orange chicken in his mouth. “Err, Seokjin-ssi-”

“Either hyung or no suffix at all, I do not like being reminded of my mortality.”

What the fuck is this guy on?

“Seokjin-hyung,” Yoongi grits out. “I was wondering if you could tell me why we’re meeting today?”

Yoongi tried asking Jimin about it this morning before he left the flat, but Jimin was just as clueless as he is.

“Food first. I don’t like speaking of work when I eat.”

“So this is about work.”

“Food. First.”

Well…

Somehow, Seokjin manages to finish his mountain of food before Yoongi finishes him, and then somehow has space for every single type of dessert the bistrooffers.

Some people also recognize him, but either they’re too intimidated to approach him, either they don’t care enough.

Finally, as Seokjin takes a spoonful of vanilla pudding, he starts speaking.

“I’m sure you know I left NESTRA.”

Yoongi nods. “I read about it.”

“Mmh. Do you have any ideas as to why?”

“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

Seokjin hums. “Yes, well, to put it shortly: that company can suck my dick.”

Yoongi chokes on his spit and hurriedly grabs his glass of water, chugging it down. “I-I see. Was it a monetary issue or-”

Seokjin waves a hand at him dismissively. “No, nothing of the sort. If anything, when I told them I was not going to renew the contract they were even offering me far more money than I need.” Seokjin looks at him for a moment. “Did Jimin ever talk to you about the way NESTRA’s management team behaves?”

“We tend to not go into details about it.”

“Tend.” Seokjin grins. “Present.”

Shit.

“Don’t worry, I can see you panic but there is no need.” Seokjin finishes eating his pudding, then starts on the slice of sacher cake. “I have no interest in whatever relationship you have. That’s not why I’m here today.”

“Okay. Then why are you here?”

“Jimin and I aren’t extremely close, but he’s a good kid and I have always tried to be a decent sunbae to him. When he debuted I was very impressed, so I asked him about you. He told me you are a very capable producer, and a very good person too. So I asked for your business number and he gave it to me.” Seokjin puts down the fork. “To make a very long story short, I would like to work with you.”

If Yoongi thinks about it very carefully, he knows this doesn’t make sense. At all. But, given who Kim Seokjin appears to be, and that’s someone just quite out of the ordinary, there’s a part of him that tells Yoongi, hey maybe we should listen to this guy.

Yoongi clears his voice. “You… left a gigantic company to come work with me?”

At this, Kim Seokjin scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself. I left NESTRA because I didn’t want to get my passion sucked right out of me. And to become a mukbanger.”

“I am slightly confused.”

“I like eating.”

“No, I can see that. Just, the turn of events is confusing.”

“You don’t have a studio of your own, do you?”

Yoongi is pretty sure his room doesn’t count as one. “I don’t.”

“Do you plan on having one, one day?”

“I do, but—”

“Good.” Seokjin finishes the slice of sacher cake and moves right onto the apple pie. “That’s all I need to know. I am in no rush. I’m very rich.”

“That’s good to know.”

“I’ve always been, I come from a wealthy family. All that has ever been truly mine and not handed to me on a silver plate was my career and my passion, but that company was stealing from me the latter. So I left. I will take a break, although I still have plans of releasing music on my own, independently. We can work together for those songs too, if you want to. In the meantime, I am opening a mukbang channel.” Seokjin hums around his bite of apple pie. “This is really tasty, are you sure you do not want some?”

Yoongi nods, a little dumbfounded. “I don’t want to offend you, but you are quite weird.”

Seokjin smiles and like this, eyes a little curved and plump lips curled at the corners, he looks younger. “I’ve been told so. But even so, isn’t it better to live like this?”

“Why me?”

Seokjin thinks about it for a moment and that is also all the time he needs to finish the slice of apple pie, finally clearing his plate. “Jimin said you have passion for music and nothing else. And it shows. I think you and I could make good music together and I need someone with passion to remind me what music is truly about in the first place.”

And it’s not that Yoongi doesn’t appreciate it. Truly, he does. He’s always thought Kim Seokjin was one of those few artists that had made it big and still cared about quality and artistry.

Yet, that doesn’t change the issue at hand.

“Seokjin… hyung. I won’t lie and say that I’m not flattered by all this trust you have in me but—” Yoongi sighs. “I can’t make you promises.”

“Am I shoving a contract in your face whilst forcing a pen in your hand?” Seokjin arches an eyebrow. “I told you, I will wait. I really want to open that mukbang channel and to stuff myself until I want to sob. And if you want to work with me on things I can release independently, then I’ll book us a recording studio to work. Hell, you can think of me as a sponsor.”

“That’s—”

“Something that you should think about,” Seokjin says, finishing the sentence for him. He smiles and then stands up, gathering his leather bag and coat. “Well, I should go now. Ah, no, stop reaching for your wallet, I said I’m paying. You can think about my offer and do what you want with it, you have my number so you know where to contact me once you make your decision. It was a pleasure talking to you, Yoongi.”

Seokjin bows to him and Yoongi does the same, albeit still rooted to his seat by disbelief and lingering conclusion. Seokjin makes it to leave, but he hesitates just as he turns around. Yoongi stares at his back, marveling at the sheer width of the man’s shoulders, then Seokjin turns to him once more. 

“Jimin signed my same kind of contract,” Seokjin says, voice suddenly void of the playfulness it had carried up until now. “That means that, if he were to want to break it off he would have to pay a fine that no one can truly afford. The house where he’s living is being rented by the company, which means that, again, if he wanted to leave the company he would end up having to either find himself without a roof over his head, or to compensate the company for all the rent it paid until then. The company would also hold all copyright on his music, so he would probably not be able to perform his songs. In the six years I worked for NESTRA, I only ever had two full weeks of what could, to a certain extent, considered a break. I still had to film a commercial in the middle of it.” Seokjin exhales slowly, then smiles once more. “Something to keep in mind as well. Have a good day.”

Seokjin exits the bistro in long strides, leaving Yoongi alone.

He thinks of Jimin’s exhaustion from a few weeks ago, how for the whole weekend they had spent together Jimin kept falling asleep whenever Yoongi would leave him alone for just a few minutes, how he seemed to be dreading the arrival of Monday.

Something to keep in mind , Seokjin said. But in reality, it was a warning.

Get him out of there.

APRIL 17, 2018

Yoongi makes his choice one evening.

Namjoon comes back home and he looks the same as he did when he returned from Tokyo, with eyes still wet and red and fingers trembling as if they’re craving for a pen and paper to write down his heartbreak into words.

“I went to the movies,” he admits in the end when Yoongi and Hoseok make him sit down in the kitchen with a bowl of vanilla ice cream. “I saw his film.”

Hoseok clicks his tongue. “May I say, that doesn’t sound like a healthy idea.”

Namjoon glares at him. “Oh, the health guru spoke.”

“Hey, that’s a low blow.”

“Both of you, shut up,” Yoongi cuts them off. “So, you saw his movie. And?”

Namjoon shrugs, starts pushing around melting ice cream with his spoon. “It was good.”

“Mh.”

“Seriously, great film. Nice plot twist, and some shots were—”

“Namjoon, we aren’t asking for a review.”

“What do you want me to say?” Namjoon shoves a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. “It’s just— He was so good. Seriously, he’s amazing. It didn’t even look like he was acting, it was so effortless. And he looked… he looked beautiful.” Namjoon stares at the table for a moment. “I just don’t understand if I miss him or if I just want closure. I don’t understand why I even fell in love with a nameless person in the first place. For a moment, as the movie started, I thought that maybe if I saw him not as the boy from the bar in Tokyo that drank expensive wine, but as Kim Taehyung, an actor that I don’t really know at all, then maybe I would have stopped loving him or that-that it would have felt a little different at least. But that’s not the case. Not at all.”

And then he just kept on eating his ice cream, lips wobbling and eyes red rimmed.

So, Yoongi made a choice and he’s not going to turn back on it but maybe he is starting to wonder if this was a good idea.

Still, there’s no turning back.

Yoongi checks his phone just in time to see Jimin’s text, informing him he’ll be there in five minutes. He looks at Hoseok as he drags the kitchen table into the living room, Namjoon’s bed has been pushed to the end of the room and covered with a pretty, silky-looking fabric he had gotten back in Tokyo to make it look less like a bed and more like a place where one can actually sit on if they want to.

Namjoon’s voice comes from the kitchen. “I’m surprised Jimin wants us to have dinner together.”

Hoseok stiffens. Yoongi clears his voice. “Yeah, he had a free night and wanted to just… y’know, get his mind off work.”

Namjoon brings the plates to the table and he and Hoseok start setting it up whilst Yoongi anxiously stands by the door, the heel of his foot bouncing up and down in quick motions. 

If this doesn’t work, it will be a catastrophe. 

Namjoon goes back to the kitchen to get water and that’s when the doorbell rings. Hoseok almost trips on his own feet and Yoongi’s breath hitches. The two share a look, then Yoongi opens the door.

“Hi,” Jimin murmurs, half of his face hidden by his usual mask. Behind him stands Kim Taehyung.

Yoongi stares at him for maybe a bit too long for comfort, stricken  by how effortlessly gorgeous the guy looks, and how unfairly tall he is, then he gets a grip of himself.

“Please, come in,” Yoongi says, smiling. Jimin walks inside and Taehyung does the same, bowing to him and excusing himself as he steps in.

“Jimin told me a lot about you,” Taehyung says, voice as deep and velvety as Namjoon had described it to him. “It’s good to-”

He’s interrupted by the loud bang of something dull hitting the floor. Taehyung flinches and looks towards the source of the noise and Yoongi gets to see them all, the hundreds of emotions that cross Taehyung’s face when he recognizes Namjoon. The confusion, the happiness, surprise and relief mixing and turning like watercolors on paper.

Namjoon stands in the middle of the living room, the hands that were carrying the bottle of water empty, eyes wide and unblinking as he stares at Taehyung, face blank of any expression. The glass of water hasn’t broken, but it rolls helplessly on the floor, water dripping out of it.

Silence stretches on, and on, Hoseok is holding onto the table as if he needs the physical support of it.

Then, Taehyung’s breath hitches and he rushes back outside, slamming the door behind him.

“Shit,” Jimin hisses, immediately following after him.

Hoseok coughs in his fist. “So it’s true that cheap glass doesn’t shatter but bounces like plastic.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and then runs out of the flat too, finding Jimin and Taehyung a few steps away from the stairs that lead to the first floor of the condo.

“You’re a piece of shit!” Taehyung screams at Jimin and he’s struggling against the hold Jimin has on his wrist. “You’re a liar!”

“You would have never come had I told you he was going to be here!”

“Yeah, no shit! That’s because I don’t want to see him! How did you even know-?!”

“You’re the liar!” Jimin retorts. He lets go of Taehyung and points a finger at him. “I spent entire nights drying your fucking tears because you missed this guy! You were fucking miserable! You still are!”

“That doesn’t give you the right!” Taehyung snarls back, hands balled up in fists. “To just throw me in that house without me being ready for it! How the fuck did you think i was going to react, huh?! Life isn’t a movie, Jimin! What, you just thought I was going to throw my arms around him and-and sob my heart out and then we would have lived happily ever after?! Are you that stupid?!”

“You need the closure!”

“You don’t know what I need, you absolute-” He stops speaking once he looks away from Jimin. 

Yoongi turns around just in time to see Namjoon walk towards them, feet bare and muscles too stiff. Jimin steps aside, letting Namjoon stand in front of Taehyung.

Hoseok, too, carefully sneaks outside to check on the situation.

Namjoon and Taehyung gaze at each other for what feels like hours and it’s too intense, too intimate, too tense, like one of them is either going to snap or explode all at once.

Then, Namjoon breathes in.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to see me again after today,” he says. His usually steady voice lost to a frenzied, shaky tone. “But I just- My name is Namjoon.”

Taehyung’s shoulders deflate, the stern expression on his face fading away, leaving only something so soft and fond that Yoongi’s heart aches at the sight.

“My name is Namjoon and I wrote entire songs about you.” He pauses. “And it’s okay if you’ll never listen to them, but I think… I think I want you to know my name.”

No one speaks for a while. Slowly, Jimin makes his way to Yoongi’s side, holding his breath and staring at the two men, hoping for something a little unrealistic, something like a happy ending maybe.

Then, Taehyung takes a step forward. “My name is Taehyung.”

Namjoon lets out this sound that could either be a wheeze or a chuckle. “I know.”

Taehyung smiles. “And I don’t like wine.”

“What?”

“I just felt like I looked bougie if I drank it. It was very expensive.”

“That’s so stupid.”

“I felt like you liked watching me drink that wine. So I kept buying it.”

“God, that’s stupid. I’m in love with you.” 

“Oh, wow.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

“No, it’s okay.”

Jimin sighs. “They’re equally dumb.”

“Well, since that’s out of the way.” Namjoon nods and then points behind him with his thumb. “Alright. I’m just gonna go and you can go too and you’ll live your life and act in cool movies, that’s good, that’s-”

“Take me out for dinner.”

“Yes, I’ll have dinner- wait, no, what did you say?”

Taehyung grins, eyes a little glassy. “Take me out for dinner. And you can tell me more about yourself and I can do the same. And then we’ll take a walk and talk some more. Like we used to do in Tokyo.”

“Yes!” Namjoon exclaims. “Yes, okay, let’s go!”

“You’re not wearing shoes.”

“Right! Okay, I’ll get on shoes and then we can go, that makes sense. You… you wait right here. Don’t leave. I mean, unless you change your mind, then yeah, of course, you can leave if you-”

“No, I’m not leaving.”

“Oh. Okay. Good. Shoes.” Namjoon turns around and runs back in the house with this stupid, large smile on his face and flushed cheeks.

Taehyung lets out a breath, then sends a very weak glare towards Jimin. “I’m still mad at you.” 

“I’ll bear the consequences of your rage,” Jimin replies. Yoongi can see his smile even with the mask covering it. “Don’t fuck it up.”

Taehyung hums, then looks at Yoongi. He smiles and nods at him. “Thank you.”

Namjoon walks out at that moment, shoes barely on and with his coat draped over his arm, wallet held in his hand. “Oh my God, okay, I’m leaving.”

Yoongi waves at him with his hand and watches them as they climb down the stairs, shoulders bumping together.

From where he’s perched by the door, Hoseok whistles. “We should start a business where we reunite long lost lovers, we’d make millions.”

[ The lens focuses with a whirring noise. 

“... and then we could go to an amusement park.”

“Are you serious?”

“I like amusement parks. The —” The camera captures the small gesture Jimin’s makes in front of his face. “The wheel thing.”

From out of frame, Yoongi laughs. “Ah, yes the famous wheel thing.”

“We’ll get on it. Kiss when we reach the top.”

“Alright.”

Jimin snorts, eyes closed, sheets covering him up to the nose. “You agreed way too quickly.”

“Maybe you’re not the only one who likes cliches.”

“That’s so sweet. You’re sweet.”

Yoongi’s hand appears from the left side of the frame, fingers playing with Jimin’s dark hair. Silence. The lens refocuses when Jimin shifts slightly, the mic catches the noise of a car rushing outside.

Jimin opens his eyes, looks past the camera.

“I’m going to ask you to make a deal with me, and you will say yes.”

“What?”

“If we ever get caught —”

“No, shut up.”

“If we get caught, you have to blame me.”]

[NESTRA ENTERTAINMENT DROPS THE FIRST TEASER FOR JIMIN’S COMEBACK]

Today, at 4 PM, the company released the first out of three teasers for Jimin’s new single and first EP. The mini-album will have five tracks, and fans will get to listen to it for the first time on May 2. The title track, Ink on petals, talks about the process of falling out of CLICK TO READ MORE

+109/-12 Starting to see a pattern in how NESTRA handles controversy.

+98/-9 Wait, but didn’t a leak once come out and it was supposed to be a new song for Kim Seokjin? Did they just give a rookie the song that Kim Seokjin was supposed to sing?

+78/-12 Seokjin leaves the company and suddenly they make this Jimin have a comeback. It’s almost like NESTRA can’t bear not to distract people whenever something bad happens. This Park Jimin doesn’t even have to put in hard work to be granted a career, he’s just thriving off other people’s misfortune.

SEPTEMBER 21, 2018

Something happens and Yoongi isn’t sure he can explain it.

Time, he thinks, starts suddenly moving differently. All at once. Frantic.

Jimin’s comeback is a success. The song is good, Yoongi can’t lie, probably a lot better than blue under these lights in terms of what the public would want from a singer like Jimin. It suits him, the melody is as good as it could ever be, Jimin’s vocals shine throughout it and the choreography has Yoongi’s mouth dry. He’s on the phone with Jimin when he checks the charts and sees Ink on petals at number 1 on Gaon and Melon, two more tracks from Jimin’s mini albums respectively at number 4 and 5. Jimin yells so loud Yoongi has to get the phone as far as possible from his ear.

One week later, Jimin gets his first win on Inkigayo .

Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon are all watching it happen on their television, popcorn scattered all around them since Hoseok decided to throw the bowl in the air when it was announced that Jimin had won. Namjoon maybe tears up a little when Jimin just stares at the trophy in his hand with wide eyes and parted lips, confetti floating about all around him. Finally, it looks like realization hits him and it’s so obvious he’s holding back tears that Namjoon takes it upon himself to cry in Jimin’s place. 

A quiet thank you is all Jimin manages to whisper in the microphone before he’s hiding his face behind the trophy, smiling way too wide, bowing to the audience, shoulders shaking.

Yoongi doesn’t see him for a month. Every night, at unspeakable hours, he’s on the phone with Jimin, talking to him as quietly as possible, telling him about his day until he hears Jimin’s breathing evening out, turning into a soft, rhythmic hum, and he knows he’s fallen asleep.

He meets Jungkook in the middle of June.

Hoseok brings him home for dinner one evening and the kid is as sweet as it can get. He’s so awfully shy at first, quiet and trying his best to hide behind Hoseok, but in the end he ends up being so chatty that Yoongi can only stares in open awe as Jungkook gulps down noodles and still manages to talk about this film he saw with Hoseok, and this exhibition they want to go next week, and how their shifts are so in sync at work that it feels like they spend too much time together, which results in Hoseok sulking, which also results in Jungkook getting flustered and immediately clarifying that he’s happy about it.

Then, Jungkook shows them his Instagram and Yoongi swears on everything good and mighty, it’s just extremely beautiful photos of Hoseok. Maybe he only spots a couple where the subject isn't his best friend striking seemingly effortless poses.

In the end, it’s just quite obvious that they’re in love. In that kind of obnoxious, loud way.

Yoongi looks at them, at how they gravitate around each other all evening, and he doesn't think there are words to describe how relieved he is that, finally, someone saw just how good and worthy of love Hoseok is.

Yoongi struggles to keep his greed at bay that night.

Summer arrives and it brings scorching heat and a sense of utter stillness. Seoul falls asleep with summer. People run away from the city and its unforgiving warmth, those who stay prefer locking themselves in their houses or take extra turns at wherever they work just so they can steal the relief the cooling system of their offices brings them.

Seokjin’s mukbang channel reaches 1 million subscribers in a month and Seokjin celebrates with a livestream where he shoves a whole cake in his stomach and still ends up looking like he’s walked right out of a fashion show.

Yoongi still hasn’t given him a reply to his offer.

Namjoon keeps going out for what he calls “ fancy dinners that I can’t afford and Taehyung knows so he just pays all the time and I’m starting to feel like I’m his sugar baby, ” but when Yoongi asks him about what kind of relationship they have, Namjoon always shrugs, red to the tip of his ears, and replies, “We’re friends.”

Except that more often than not, Yoongi wakes up too early in the morning because his room turns into a furnace and, when he steps in the living room, Namjoon and Taehyung are sleeping together in Namjoon’s bed, linen grey sheets bundled around them, noses brushing, like the scorching heat can’t get to them.

Achilles gets a new addition to his aquarium: a wooden relic of a pirate ship. He seems to like it and more often than not, Yoongi will see him sleeping inside of it. 

Yoongi switches from strawberries to sweet potatoes again for the time being, with summer being so harsh the strawberries get moldy too quickly.

Jimin is everywhere.

From the billboard next to Yoongi’s favorite coffee place, to the fried chicken commercial on TV, to the radio and TV, guest on he doesn’t even know how many variety shows, performing at various events, summer college festivals, acoustic sessions across various shows.

He’s everywhere.

Yoongi has never missed him so much.

He can count on his fingers how many times he’s seen Jimin during these months. Each time seems a bit more stolen than the other, more panicked and hurried, greedy and frantic when they finally get to touch each other, words hushed and lost in dimly lit rooms, forgotten in favor of breathing each other’s names into their skin.

Yoongi’s hands trace the curve of his bones, the feel of his ribs against his fingertips, and they all feel suddenly too noticeable.

Jimin always falls asleep right after, although he tries so hard to fight against his exhaustion, whispering and asking about Yoongi’s days, telling him about something silly that happened to him, steering clear of anything work related, telling Yoongi that he still listens to Wine every time he’s feeling restless, until his words become slurred and then fade away to the silence.

Yoongi doesn’t think he’s losing him just yet, but he knows he’s getting close.

Then October comes.

OCTOBER, 2, 2018

“So I got him tickets for that exhibition of… the photographer that I don’t remember the name of,” Hoseok says, happily munching on his cereal. “And then we’re going to our favorite Chinese restaurant. Then maybe we can take a walk somewhere, since it’s still sunny outside. Cold as fuck though. He’ll like it, right?”

Yoongi has slept maybe two hours if he’s being generous with himself. He grabs a cup from the counter and fills it with coffee, eyes half-closed. “If he’ll like that it’s cold?”

Hoseok groans from the stool he’s perched on. “The date plan, you idiot.”

Yoongi takes a sip of his coffee, leaning against the stove. “Hoseok, you could take Jungkook to see dumpsters catching fire and he’d still like it because you’re there with him.”

Hoseok scoffs and puffs, blushing like a highschooler. “You’re awful. Just tell me he’ll like it.”

“He’ll like it.”

“Put some emotion in it.”

“Oh gosh! Jolly me! He will most certainly be ecstatic with-”

“You know what, get fucked.”

Yoongi hums, focuses on his coffee before it starts getting lukewarm. But Hoseok’s right, the weather is nice despite being so cold. Maybe he, too, could go and walk somewhere, maybe to a nice coffee shop where he can just steal their wifi and try to write something. Before he can truly convince himself of leaving the house, his phone buzzes. Yoongi takes it from the counter and sees that it’s two texts from Namjoon.

JOON-AH

Whatever you’re doing, please

don’t freak out. Please. Maybe sit somewhere.

I’m sorry.

https://link_direct…

Yoongi stares at the link for a few moments and he feels anxiety rising slowly in his system, catching on his stomach in a moment, turning it into an aching knot. He hesitates before he clicks on the link, swallows when it directs him to the newest article of an online magazine he’s never heard of.

He reads through the article once, then twice, then once more. Stares at the three photos attached at the end of it for what feels like entire minutes. Without realizing the hold he has on his cup loosens and it’s the harsh sound of ceramic breaking as it hits the ground that makes him look away from the phone.

Hoseok startles from where he’s sitting, the rushes to his feet.

“Are you okay?” He asks, clicking his tongue at the mess on the ground. “Ah, don’t move, your feet are bare, you’re gonna cut yourself.”

Yoongi doesn't think he could move even if he wanted to. 

Hoseok starts cleaning the shards of the cup, picking them up carefully and dropping them in the trash can, then he mops the floor dry with a cloth.

Yoongi can’t move.

His phone buzzes again, and this time it keeps doing so. He looks at the screen, recognizes NESTRA’s management ID and, with a sigh, he picks up the call.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Yoongi says as soon as the phone is by his ear. Maybe the tone of his voice gives him away, because Hoseok now is staring at him, jaw clenched. “I saw the article. Should I come to the offices? Yes… yes I’ll be there as soon as possible.” 

Yoongi ends the call and breathes in, deep, then out. Despite his body feeling like it wants to burst at the seam, he feels oddly calm.

“Hyung?” Hoseok asks. “Hey, what happened?”

Yoongi is not even sure.

“A magazine released an article. Someone sent them photos of me and Jimin. So they released an article.”

Hoseok stares at him, eyes widening, and there’s this deep, unsettling thing about seeing Hoseok’s face so twisted with anger and horror that Yoongi isn’t sure of what to do.

“Can you—” Yoongi gestures in front of himself. “I’m sorry, can you get me some clothes from the closet? Anything is fine. I just. I don't think I can move.”

Slowly, Hoseok nods, backs away. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Yoongi hums and decides to stare at the floor for now. He needs something to focus his attention on and the floor works for now. Yoongi waits for Hoseok to leave the kitchen, and he does so excruciatingly slow, eyes on Yoongi as if Hoseok fears he might burst the moment he looks away.

Finally, when Hoseok steps out, Yoongi slaps a hand against his own mouth, muffles what might be a scream or a whimper on his palm, skin clammy and cold.

He thinks back to the articles, tries to grasp at the words written in it but fails to do so, can picture perfectly the blurry photos at the end of it, goosebumps of disgust rising over his arms.

This is how I lose him , he realizes, This is it .

They’re in one of the offices of NESTRA’s main building and it’s sterile the way hospital rooms are. Smells similar too, of fresh, cheap detergent. 

Manager Kim is here, along with five more members of the management team. The CEO of the company isn’t here, he left for L.A. yesterday for some conference meeting but will fly back to Seoul tomorrow. He left directions.

The men are speaking in hushed tones, as if someone could hear them from outside the door, like there’s still a secret to keep safe. As if everything isn’t already out in the open.

Yoongi is trying to listen to them, he swears he is, but the words come to him in a soft hum and then fade into static as soon as he thinks he can catch some of them. All he can do is stare at Jimin, sitting across the table from him. He hasn’t said a word either, hadn’t even looked at him when Yoongi walked in the office. His eyes are dry and his gaze as steady as it has ever been, arms crossed over his stomach as he nods along to what the management team is saying. But there’s no blue to find on his skin and that’s all Yoongi can bring himself to care about.

“Well?”

Yoongi blinks, turns to manager Kim. “What?”

The man breathes in deeply and he looks like he’s very close to strangling him. “I asked you, do you have anything to say?”

That’s when Jimin finally looks at him.

Yoongi knows why.

“If we get caught, you have to blame me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Blame me. Say that I begged you to, that I was the one who looked for you. That I promised you more jobs for the company, that it was all me.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No. And why?”

“Yoongi, you have a dream. You have passion. But no one can protect you. I can.”

“...”

“I can.”

They made a deal.

Yoongi made a promise to him and Jimin expects him to keep it.

He decides this will be the first and last time he will ever disappoint Jimin.

Yoongi looks at manager Kim and shakes his head. From across the table, Jimin’s jaw clenches.

“Nothing?” Manager Kim arches an eyebrow. “Nothing at all?”

Yoongi says nothing, only shakes his head again.

“It doesn’t matter what he has to say,” one of the other men says, one that has very grey hair and comically large eyes. “What’s done is done. It’s already out.” He leans his elbows on the table and, for some reason, Yoongi notices the the sleeves of his suit aren’t fitted at all and cut too short over his wrists. “Still, we’re lucky with how this happened. The photos are extremely low quality, blurry to the point that most people are questioning whether or not they’re legit. With the fact that they also come from an anonymous source and that this magazine is well known for spreading drama without evidence, they don’t have a reputation for being a reliable news outlet.”

Another man speaks then, the youngest of the group. Yoongi looks at him and he thinks he can see a glimpse of empathy and genuine worry in his gaze. “Plus, with the fact that you’ve always used a pen name for the songs you wrote for our acts, no one can find a link between you and Jimin. So most people are questioning the credibility of their claim, saying that it makes no sense that an idol would be so close to a rapper such as Agust D.”

Yoongi nods. “So?”

“So.” Manager Kim squares his shoulders. “We already have been contacted by the magazine. They are willing to retract their statement if we pay them a generous sum of money. Which, of course, we will. But you’ll take the grunt of it.”

It’s the way he says it. So smug and cocky and, Yoongi knows, satisfied.  

“Let me get this straight,” Yoongi says. “You want me to say that it’s me in the photos, but not Jimin?”

“ You won’t say anything. The magazine will.”

“No.”

Yoongi turns to Jimin and the entire room falls silent. Jimin’s voice cut through the air like a razorblade and now he stares at his manager with that gaze of his and he looks extremely far away.

“What do you mean, no?” Manager Kim asks.

“The magazine will retract all of its claims,” Jimin says. “And will issue a statement where they apologize for their rushed judgement and poor behavior. They will admit to not having fact-checked what their source told them and apologize to the actual people in the pictures, whoever they might be.”

Manager Kim scoffs and he brings a hand to his jaw, rubbing at his stubble. “If you think they’d be willing to—”

“I wasn’t willing to have those photos spread,” Jimin cuts him off, narrows his eyes at the man. “Yoongi wasn’t. I don’t care what they’re willing to do. They’ll do it.”

“They will ask for even more money.”

“Then pay them.”

“Listen, you made this mess and—”

“You will not out him,” Jimin grits out and now he’s not as steady anymore. He looks scorching and ready to snap and, if possible, he’s scarier like this. “You will not do that to him.”

Yoongi realizes he’s holding his breath when his lungs start aching. Slowly, he breathes out, then in.

Manager Kim slams a hand on the table, the sound jarring. Jimin doesn't even flinch. “You are not in any position to decide what happens next, so don’t you have the audacity to—”

“If you don’t do as I say I will go to every single newspaper willing to listen to me and tell them about my trainee years.”

The silence that follows is unsettling. Manager Kim blanches so quickly and abruptly that, for a moment, he looks like he might pass out. The rest of the management team doesn’t look too far off either.

Jimin leans forward. “And then I will tell them of the time and money the company spent covering for my sunbaes’ gambling, about the stuff you willingly let people snort during your corporate parties, about the dorm conditions, about how you, manager Kim, harassed one of the interns two years ago. And then I’ll make up something even worse and the thing about lies is that, once you throw them in the middle of very true things, they don’t look that unbelievable after all.” Jimin leans back in his seat then, folds one leg over the other. “Your choice.”

And the truth is, there is no choice.

Two and a half hours later, the online magazine releases a very long and heartfelt statement about how remorseful and mortified they are about what happened, that the article has been deleted and that they take all responsibilities for the innocent people in the photos, that the journalist who wrote the article has been removed from the staff and a whole other load of bullshit.

After an hour, NESTRA also releases a statement where they apologize for the confusion and concern amongst fans and that they will take this matter to court, that they will keep on protecting their artists from any malicious article and, once more, a whole other load of bullshit.

It doesn’t matter.

The fans eat this as if they were starving animals.

Yoongi is being told to leave the office then, and that if other matters were to arise, then he would be contacted. Manager Kim doesn’t look at him and, instead, stands in front of Jimin as if he’s shielding him. As if he even protected him once before.

Yoongi leaves.

He goes back home and he immediately finds himself held by Hoseok and Namjoon, squeezed too tight for comfort, and yet he closes his eyes and breathes in, smells the strong scent of Hoseok’s cologne and the flavor of Namjoon’s fabric softener, and for some reason that’s what makes him break.

Yoongi starts crying and doesn’t stop.

It’s late when he wakes up. The sky is already dark and it is unbearably quiet.

Yoongi sits up in his bed and rubs at his eyes, feels them still too sensitive, skin swollen. He’s not really sure how he got in bed, but he thinks Namjoon might have actually carried him here. Which is not something he wants to even entertain as an option.

Yoongi sighs and sends a look towards the aquarium: Achilles is swimming around, perfectly unaware, unfairly ignorant to how anything actually works.

Yoongi is hungry. He checks the time on his phone and sees that it’s almost midnight already, so maybe food can wait. Maybe he can try to sleep some more or—

Suddenly, Jimin’s ID flashes on the screen and the phone buzzes. It takes Yoongi a moment to realize what’s happening, then he’s fumbling with shaky fingers to pick up the call.

“Min-ah,” Yoongi whispers. “Min-ah, I’m so—”

“ Can you come pick me up ?”

“I— are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“ Yoongi, please.”

“Okay. Okay, I’m coming, it’s alright, don’t—” Yoongi gets out of bed, finds out he’s still wearing the same clothes from this morning. “It’s alright, hyung is coming yeah? Are you home?”

“ Yeah. ”

“I’m coming. It’s alright, Min-ah, I’ll be there in a second. I promise.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything else, and the call ends. Yoongi grabs his coat and the car keys, then he’s quietly slipping out of his room. The lights are off and Yoongi can see Namjoon is asleep on his mattress, snoring away. 

He’s out of the house in a second.

OCTOBER, 3, 2018

“ What do we do now?”

Yoongi knows, realistically, what they should do. He doesn’t have the courage to focus too hard on the idea and he thinks Jimin doesn’t either. 

They sit in the backseat of Yoongi’s car in silence for hours, songs playing one after the other from Jimin’s playlist, filling the car with comforting melodies and lyrics about heartbreak and hope and all those things Jimin ends up seeking out when he’s upset. They watch the black sky turn into pale lilac and washed out oranges, then, finally, blue.

That’s when Jimin shifts against him and murmurs, “Take me home.”

When Yoongi parks under Jimin’s house, he turns off the engine and waits for Jimin to find the strength to walk out. Away.

“I don’t know when I’ll get to see you again,” Jimin says.

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t say that.”

“I don’t—” Jimin sighs. “I can’t let you go just yet.”

Yoongi nods. If it’s not now, it will be another day. Yoongi will wait until then. “I can’t either.”

Jimin smiles at him, all kinds of frail and tired. “Turns out we’re both greedy.” He unbuckles his belt, leans forward until he can press his lips on Yoongi’s. “It’s not goodbye.”

Yoongi replies. “Not yet.”

“Yeah. Not yet.”

He waits until Jimin walks inside the house, then starts the car and drives back to his flat. Hoseok and Namjoon are awake, waiting for him with the usual bag of pastries from the usual bistro, the usual cups of coffee. 

Namjoon tells him he asked for a day off and will stay home for today and Hoseok doesn’t have classes at the gym on Tuesday. They sit on Namjoon’s bed, prop Yoongi’s crying laptop on the pillows and scroll through Netflix catalogue for one hour before they decide on what to watch.

And just like that, life goes on.

NOVEMBER, 12, 2018

KIM SEOKJIN

Dear Yoongi, I hope to find you in good

health as I send you this message.

In case you were wondering, I am doing splendid.
My mukbang channel is doing incredibly well 

and I am soon to feature in a song with IU

I am sure you know who she is.

I write to you because you have yet to send me a clear

answer about my offer for a collaboration.
Please do send me a confirmation or rejection at once.

Sincerely, Kim Seokjin.

RECEIVED, 12:34 PM

 Please stop writing texts

as if you were a victorian gentleman

writing a letter to your long lost lover asking them

to elope and leave their life behind.

Sincerely, Yoongi.

SENT, 12:54 PM

DECEMBER, 25, 2018

MIN-AH

Merry Christmas

I miss you

God, I miss you

RECEIVED, 05:21 PM

When can I see you?

Jimin

Please

SENT, 06:23

JANUARY, 12, 2019

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

Namjoon blinks at him, fingers tapping against the neck of a beer bottle. “Huh?”

Yoongi stares at the small stage a few feet away from him, the only thing diving him from it the crowd of people already standing in front of it, dancing to the generic music the club plays before the sets begin.

It’s a small stage. It’s always been.

Tonight, it looks impossibly huge.

“You mean performing?” Namjoon asks and Yoongi gives him a nod of his head. “Hey, are you okay?”

He hasn’t been okay in one hell of a time but tonight it’s different. 

Yoongi stares and stares some more at that stage and the more he does, the more his stomach tightens and churns, aching deep and unyielding. 

“I don’t know, I’m being stupid,” Yoongi says in the end and he grabs Namjoon’s bottle, chugging down a good portion of the beer, feeling it sit heavy in his belly. 

“Look, if you don’t feel like performing tonight just don’t do it.”

“You won’t perform?” Jungkook suddenly chimes in, eyes wide. Yoongi looks at him for a moment and shrugs. “Why, hyung? Something wrong?”

Everything.

And nothing at the same time but Yoongi isn’t making sense tonight.

Hoseok, who’s standing by Jungkook’s side, catches on the tense atmosphere and walks closer to Yoongi, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “What is it?”

Yoongi looks at the stage once more, feels his throat close.

It would be the first time he performs since that article came out. Sure, people have already forgotten about it. Some didn’t even have the time to read it before it had been deleted. Others didn’t care, those who did were mostly upset about how it had been handled. Then there’s Beomsoo who, as Hoseok told him, has been running his mouth on Twitter as usual, spewing not so subtle hints about Yoongi’s sexuality, his private life, even had the audacity to hint that once Yoongi had tried to suck him off. No one believed him. The tweet was deleted ten minutes after it was posted.

And even the worst, most hateful words that had been screamed on social media… usually, all of these things wouldn’t matter.

But tonight, for some reason, they do.

“Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok whispers as he leans in closer. “You don't have to go up there if you don’t want to.”

Realistically, Yoongi knows he’s right.

But then there’s his pride, that’s always been too big of a thing with him, and his greed that has just been his shadow ever since he had started being able to think for himself, and he’s not so sure about it anymore.

So, he shakes his head, downs the rest of Namjoon’s beer. “Jungkook is here too tonight and it would be an asshole move to just ditch on the set, they expect me to fill in a thirty minutes slot. It’s fine.” Before Hoseok can say anything else, Yoongi turns to Namjoon and hands him the empty bottle. “Get me another one.”

He thinks he knows this stage by memory. His feet remember the way the wood only slightly bends under his weight if he walks on it heavily enough, can tell where the stage ends and knows that if he takes two steps more than necessary to the left he risks a fall. 

Tonight, this stage is a stranger.

The people listening to him rasp into the microphone look like an army ready to swallow him whole.

His own music, the one he breathed and birthed, sounds like someone else’s.

At one point, Yoongi thinks he can hear his greed talk to him, whisper in his ear, This is enough, before it takes over him. it's not him performing anymore. His mouth moves around words he’s not pronouncing. His shadow takes the stage and he lets it happen.

When his set is done, Yoongi gets off the stage so quickly he almost misses a step, risks falling flat on his face at the end of the stairs. He regains his balance, shoves the microphone in someone’s chest and drags himself out of the backstage area, lungs tight and sweat sticking to his temples and chest. He walks into the same corridor where he and Jimin kissed so many nights ago, whispering in the darkness and hiding away. He manages to find the door to the back area of the club, the one that usually only staff is allowed to use, and he pushes it open with his whole weight, stumbles outside and hears the sound the soles of his shoes make against rough concrete.

Yoongi takes a deep breath, eyes closed. The air is moist, it smells like it will start raining anytime soon. And fuck, it’s cold, but he needs it right now. Even when he starts shivering, sweat drying on his skin uncomfortably, he needs it. 

“You good, man?”

Yoongi turns to the side and he finds a girl standing by the wall, hugging herself under her leather jacket. She has a lipstick stained cigarette between her fingers and pretty eyes with smudged makeup, hair a mess. Maybe she was in the crowd too.

Yoongi nods and the girl frowns. “You don’t look okay to me.”

“‘m fine.”

She looks at him for a moment. “Want a smoke?”

“I quit two years ago,” Yoongi replies. Then, “Yeah, please.”

At this, she laughs. She has a large mouth when she smiles, and very straight teeth. The girl starts fishing through her purse until she gets a pack of cigarettes out and she hands it to Yoongi, then she also gives him her lighter. “Rough night?”

“Rough month and a half.” Yoongi gives her the lighter and the rest of her cigarettes back. “Thanks.”

She hums and looks away, bright red lips a pout around the cigarette she’s almost done smoking. The two smoke in silence, music coming in muffled waves. 

“I came here with my boyfriend,” she says at one point. “But this music is shit.”

Yoongi snorts. “Thanks.”

“Oh, shit, you were one of the dudes rapping?”

“Yeah. But it’s fine. What music do you like?”

She shrugs. “Punk.”

“Huh. And they said punk is dead.”

“Not until I breathe.” She takes one last drag of smoke and then throws the stub on the ground, crushes it under the heel of her black boot. “I should go back in. Hope your next month won’t be as shit.”

“Thanks. Maybe next time bring your boyfriend to a punk gig.”

She giggles, looks a bit younger. “He’d break up with me in a damn second. But, hey, maybe I’ll do that when I get tired of him.”

Yoongi smiles at her and waves her goodbye as she walks away, probably heading back to the entrance to go back inside to her boyfriend. Yoongi instead decides to go stand where she was, and leans against the wall, head tilted back and staring up at the black, cloudy sky. He brings the cigarette to his mouth, breathes in smoke and suddenly remembers why he quit two years ago as the acrid, bitter aftertaste sits on his tongue. 

He grabs his phone then, sends a quick text to Hoseok telling him he’s outside and will be back in a minute. Then, the door opens again.

Yoongi holds his breath when Beomsoo walks outside too, followed by another guy, one Yoongi recognizes as a friend of Beomsoo’s, always hanging around with him and the rest of his crew at the clubs where he performs.

“Min.” Beomsoo grins at him and goes to stand in front of him. “How’re you doing, mh?”

Yoongi sends a quick glance at Beomsoo’s friend, who stands not too far from him, back pressed against the closed door.

Something doesn’t seem right.

“I’m fine,” Yoongi replies, taking another drag of smoke. “You’re not on tonight?”

“Nah, I am, just in a while.” He pauses. “They’re keeping me for the second half.”

Yoongi nods. “Cool.”

“Usually that would be your spot.”

“Usually.”

“Not tonight though.”

Yoongi rubs at his neck. “And?”

“They probably don’t wanna stir even more drama, y’know?” Beomsoo clicks his tongue. “With the whole thing about you.”

“What thing?”

“The article.”

This fucker.

Yoongi shrugs. “That wasn’t me anyway.”

“But it was.”

Yoongi flicks the cigarette on the ground. “What, you can’t read? It was a whole dumb mistake. Why do you even care anyway?”

“Because, Min-” Beomsoo’s grin widens, showing his front, crooked tooth. “I know it was you.”

For a moment, Yoongi wants to just scoff and walk away, can’t bring himself to care enough about repeating that whole story about the magazine getting it all wrong and already apologizing, but then-

Then it hits him and it hits him hard.

“It was you,” Yoongi murmurs. “You sent those photos.”

Beomsoo snorts. He has his cheeks flushed, he keeps shifting his weight from one leg to the other, like he’s just too excited to stay fucking still. He nods, once, then once more, until it just looks like a frantic movement he can’t control. “Yeah, Min, it was me. ‘Cause I always…” Beomsoo gestures at him. “Fuck, I always knew. Always knew you were one of those. You smell like it. Look like it. I always fucking knew, but when I saw you with an idol?! Fucking… what’s his name again, Park Jimin? How do you even know the lil bitch, huh?”

“Wash your fucking mouth, Beomsoo.”

“What? Did I hurt you poor, precious feelings?”

Yoongi stands still, too still, he knows he looks scared. And fuck, he is. 

But that’s not all he is. 

“You fucking piece of shit, you have no idea what the fuck you did.”

“Clearly fucking nothing. The asshole’s company probably paid a shitload of money to coover the mess. But maybe I did just enough. Hell, you should thank me I didn’t give them your full name.”

Yoongi lets out a breath of disbelief, the corner of his mouth twitching. “ Thank you.”

Beomsoo licks his lips, nods.

“Alright.” Yoongi pushes himself off the wall. “Thank you. Thank you for proving that you’ve always been a spineless fucker who can barely spit two rhymes without sounding like you got a goddamn colony of roaches in your throat. Now-” Yoongi nudges his chin forward, looking at Beomsoo’s chest. “You can shove that fucking cross up your ass and pretend it’s my cock.”

Yoongi sees the punch coming before Beomsoo even raises his arm, and he’s quick at dodging it, immediately darting to the left. He watches Beomsoo’s knuckles hit the wall at full strength and he can’t help the surge of satisfaction he feels when Beomsoo screams in pain, dropping down on his knees and cradling his hand to his chest, two fingers already crooked and trembling. Then, it’s suddenly a blur. 

He knows someone grabs him by the air, and that’s when his brain reminds him that Beomsoo wasn’t alone. The next thing he knows is that he’s on the ground, concrete digging in his cheek and temple, tearing skin, and for some stupid reason he’s trying to protect his fingers instead of his head, where most of the pain comes in throbbing waves. He curls on himself, hides his hands between his thighs, thinks that if he can’t play the piano again his mother will be too damn sad for him to bear it, so he just lays there and takes it, feels a foot hitting and hitting again in the same spot at his shoulder until the pain becomes a numb, faraway thing. Then, just like it started, it also stops.

His ears are ringing and he can’t bring himself to open his eyes, but he can feel, somehow, hands on him.

Pain comes back all at once like a match being lit, and he groans, mutters something about his shoulder.

“ -hear me?!” It’s Namjoon’s voice. “ Hyung!”

“ Enough! Jungkook, enough!”

“Can you fucking hear me?!”

He can but words are really difficult right now. Since his mouth feels like sandpaper, Yoongi only manages a grunt and a slow nod of his head. After a few moments, Namjoon must be lifting him up, making him sit up straight.

“Come on, open your eyes. Shit , you’re bleeding.”

Yoongi frowns, blinks his eyes open. Well, he can see, so he guesses it’s a good start. He looks around himself, sees that Beomsoo is nowhere to be found but his friend is on the ground on all fours, groaning and attempting to get away from Jungkook who suddenly looks a lot taller and intimidating than he usually does whilst Hoseok shoves him back.

“Hurts,” Yoongi groans. He spits then and grimaces at how red is saliva looks on the ground. “Gross.”

“What hurts?” Namjoon asks, eyes wide and skin white. “Head? You’re bleeding from your temple, maybe you have a concussion, we should go to the hospital.”

“Shoulder,” Yoongi replies, and he swallows. His head hurts too, but not nearly as much as his shoulder. 

“Can you move it? Try rolling it, carefully.”

Yoongi does. He winces, but manages to roll it and move it. Namjoon lets out a sigh of relief, arms tight around his waist. “‘kay, it’s not broken.”

“We should call the police,” Hoseok says.

“No.” Yoongi sniffs and, God, even his nose hurts. “Fuck them, I don’t care.”

“Yoongi-hyung, you can’t just-”

“Jungkook could get in trouble. Guy looks half dead.”

At this, Jungkook turns to him and grimaces, looking extremely ashamed, cheeks flushed with adrenaline and anger. His fists are shaking. He really is a child. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking and-”

“No, don’t.” Yoongi tries to wave a hand at him but as soon as he tries his entire body yells out in protest. “Shit, just get me home.”

“We should go to a hospital, not home,” Hoseok retorts.

“Get me home or I will spit in your cereal tomorrow.”

Namjoon sighs, then he starts hauling him up on his feet. “If you survive until tomorrow.”

“Fuck you.” Yoongi sends a glance towards Beomsoo’s friend, who’s looking at him as he desperately tries to stop blood from dripping down his broken nose. “Ditch Beomsoo’s ass. He’s a shit friend. And you’re an asshole.”

The guy says nothing and looks away, then Namjoon is dragging him away, mostly carrying all of his weight as he holds onto Yoongi’s waist. “Wow, you really showed him.”

“One more word,” Yoongi sighs. “And I will put raw shrimp under your mattress so that next time Taehyung comes over he will puke in your mouth from the smell.”

“Yep, you definitely don’t have a concussion.”

For the first time in maybe forever, Yoongi is the one being patched up.

Not by Namjoon and Hoseok. Oh, they tried. With all their might. But it resulted in Hoseok almost stuffing his nostrils with cotton pads and in Namjoon dropping the bottle of disinfectant on the ground. Then, thankfully, Jungkook told them to get off of him and took control of the situation.

Yoongi thinks he might survive.

They end up keeping him awake all night, still fearing a concussion, and only send him to bed when it’s clear that it looks far worse than the actual general state of his well being. His face is a mess, but that’s mostly because of how the concrete cut into his face and because of the first hit. Yoongi’s body thrums with ghost pain, numbed and muffled by painkillers, and when morning comes he ends up falling asleep on Namjoon’s mattress.

When he wakes up, it’s dark outside.

Yoongi checks the time and sees that it’s around seven in the evening. Namjoon has his evening shift at the library, Hoseok has a late class at the gym and won’t be back before ten. So, Yoongi decides to be a functioning human being and to take a shower.

Seeing his reflection leaves him unsettled. He knows that bruises are a nasty thing, but he really does look like he went through hell. There’s a deep, purple, swollen curve all beneath his right eye and it’s starting to turn yellow at the corners already. The left side of his face is just a  mess from where the concrete dug in the skin, scabs looking like ancient scars. When he gets his clothes off, hissing at the throbbing in his shoulder, he notices the many, almost overlapping bruises all around his shoulder and down his torso.

“He stepped on me,” Yoongi murmurs in realization. “The fucker.”

The pressure of the hot water is, at first, unbearable and then a miracle. Yoongi sighs and closes his eyes, head hung low and stands under the jet of water for entire minutes without moving, relishing in the feeling of his muscles finally releasing tension, the heat slowly numbing the little shocks of pain coming from his shoulder and face. Getting washed up is more of a chore than he expected, but once he’s done with that he allows himself a few more minutes under the water.

Letting his mind wander off isn’t a smart idea. Inevitably, he thinks about Beomsoo. About how smug he looked when he revealed what he had done. He was so damn happy that he had almost ruined his life. Disappointed that it didn’t work.

He thinks about Jimin, then. Back to that night a month ago up on the hill, back to Jimin’s anger and sadness, how he had shoved at him because Yoongi hadn’t allowed him to protect him some more, because he hadn’t kept faith in their deal. 

To think that Beomsoo did this, that he had this power over them, it makes him sick.

God, he hasn’t seen Jimin for so long. Hasn’t heard his voice either. And yet, Jimin has been everywhere. In commercials and music shows and billboards, pushed and pushed even more by his company, probably to try and make people really convinced that absolutely nothing is wrong, here, look at him, at our blue boy, would we push him this hard if he really was involved in a scandal? Look at him. Look some more.

Yoongi turns off the water and he makes a decision.

Hoseok, Namjoon, I made you two dinner.

It’s in the fridge. Maybe, though, try and cook for your

damn selves these next couple of days. 

Please, feed Achilles. I left you all the instructions by the

aquarium. I will find out if you forgot or did something wrong.

I always find out. 

Don’t worry about me, yeah? I’ll be back, I just need

to get out of this city for a few days. You can always call me or text me, seriously, don’t worry.

Hoseok, thank Jungkook again for punching an asshole and then patching me up. Next time, hyung will buy him dinner.

See you in a couple of days.

I love you.

But, like, don’t tell anyone.

Yeet.

JANUARY, 13, 2019

When Yoongi parks under Jimin’s house and texts him that he’s outside, he expects Jimin to either not reply to him at all or to tell him to go back home.

Instead, Jimin texts him back a simple, come up

In front of the door to Jimin’s condo, he hesitates. 

Something in his head tells him that, if he rings the door, then he will be one step closer to his heartbreak. 

He rings the doorbell anyway.

When Jimin opens the door, Yoongi’s breath catches in his throat. Jimin stares at him for a few moments, then his eyes widen and he grabs him by the wrist, drags him inside.

“What happened to you?” He asks, hands hovering mere inches over his face. “Shit, Yoongi, what happened?”

No, Yoongi thinks, What happened to you ?

Jimin looks different in an aching, terrible kind of way. Yoongi looks at him, takes in the dark shadows under his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks, how sharper his cheekbones look and how much more obvious his collarbones are under his skin. That this sweater, he’s worn it once before and it didn’t fall so large on him. That his hair has been bleached until it looks fried at the edges, dead at the roots.

“Hyung,” Jimin whispers, pale and concerned. “Who did this? Did you go to the hospital, or-”

Yoongi breathes out and then he’s wrapping his arms around Jimin’s frame and God, he feels so much thinner, too light even like this. 

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi grits out, jaw clenched and voice shaking. “I’m so sorry, Min-ah, hyung is so sorry.”

Jimin is tense for a moment, then he’s hugging Yoongi back, pressing his nose in the crook of his neck. “Why are you crying?”

Yoongi doesn’t have an answer. Can’t find the right words to describe how much he’s aching for him.

There are no words, there aren’t.

His heart's already breaking.

Yoongi makes tea. Jimin always has so many different flavors and kinds of tea, from the fruity ones to the darker, heavier leaves. He pours it in two cups and then walks back to Jimin’s room, where Jimin is sitting on the bed, eyes tired where they stare at his reflection in the wall mirror. 

Yoongi sets the cups on the bedside table, then Jimin sighs.

“I get it now,” he says.

“Get what?” Yoongi asks.

“Why you reacted that way when you saw me earlier,” Jimin replies, still staring at the mirror. “I’m so ugly.”

Yoongi stiffens. Jimin doesn't look away from the mirror, nor does he say anything else. Slowly, Yoongi walks to him and then kneels on the ground, hands finding Jimin’s and squeezing them.

“You’re not.”

Jimin narrows his eyes at the mirror. “I look like I am.”

“ You’re not. ” Yoongi sighs. “Min-ah, you’re just tired. You are, aren’t you?”

Finally, Jimin looks at him. After a while, he nods. “I am… I am so tired.”

“Yeah.”

“Manager Kim kept saying that I couldn’t be left out of the spotlight for a moment because-because of that article, people had to be sure that nothing is out of the ordinary so I had to-to work so much.” 

“When was the last time you slept?”

“I- yesterday I think I slept in the car. For a couple of hours.”

“Fuck, Min-ah.”

“God, I’m so tired. Shit.” Jimin sniffs and he starts rubbing his eyes. “Why do I feel like crying? I keep getting the urge to cry these days, I don’t get it.”

“It’s ‘cause you’re exhausted.” Yoongi stands up and then he sits on the mattress. “Listen to me, yeah? How about you get some sleep?”

“But you just got here.”

“No, please, get some sleep. And while you sleep, I’ll pack our bags.”

Jimin blinks. “Bags.”

“Yeah.”

“For what?”

“A trip.”

“What trip?”

“The one we’re going to do.”

“I-I have work tomorrow.”

“No.” Yoongi leans in and kisses him on the cheek. “No, I’m stealing you.”

“You’re what?”

“Kidnapping you. Whatever you wanna tell your management team when they ask you where you are.” Yoongi grabs a pillow and brings it closer to Jimin, then gestures at him to lay down. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Jimin looks at him, a light frown creasing his features faintly. Then, he does lay down, and he’s smiling. “Are we running away?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes,” Jimin sighs, eyes closing. “So much.”

That’s all Yoongi needs.

Hours after, when they’ve loaded their bags in the trunk of Yoongi’s relic of a car and they start driving off, Yoongi tells Jimin to sleep some more as he turns on the radio, keeping the volume low.

He knows this isn’t a solution. Knows that this won’t change the fact that, in one way or another, Yoongi began losing Jimin a long time ago.

Realistically, practically, they’re running away. And there’s only so much distance one can cover before problems catch up to you.

And that’s fine for Yoongi. He imagines it’s fine for Jimin as well. 

At the end of the day, they’re just postponing their ending. 

So they’ll run away for as long as they get to.

When Yoongi will, in the future, inevitably end up thinking back to the two days they spent in Icheon, he won’t blame them on anything. Or, well, he could blame them on a lot of things but he refuses to.

He thinks this is the happiest Jimin has ever been.

From the moment they decide to sleep in a small motel that looks so out of touch with the reality of Seoul and what they’ve experienced in their life, Yoongi can see the shift in Jimin’s gaze. It loses its steadiness. Turns a little unsure but excited all the same. As they check in, Yoongi can see him smiling under his mouth mask, cheekbones high and pink.

The room is small but cozy, the mattress so soft that when Jimin throws himself on it he makes a sound of distress as he sinks in it, looking up at Yoongi with wide eyes and a laughter already making his shoulder shake. 

“This bed is gonna swallow us in our sleep,” Jimin says, then starts rolling around.

Icheon is small and pretty in the way that only small towns can be. 

They visit the lake, spend too much time there just walking by the water, then waste even more time in the park. Before the sun disappears, they walk by the streets of the town, walking inside the prettiest ceramic shops they can find and marveling at the delicate vases and plates that are exposed.

Sometimes, Icheon looks like it could belong to a tv-show set in the 90s, with its grey buildings and old-looking banners for feet massages and bath houses.

Jimin stops every other minute to take photos and Yoongi lets him, even poses for him when Jimin points the phone camera at him, acting like they’re in the middle of a very important photoshoot. 

Icheon changes when night comes. It glows warm yellow with street lamps, bright pink and blue with neon signs for restaurants and bars. They end up eating in a small noodle restaurant that serves gigantic portions of Jjapaguri with steak in pretty ceramic bowls. Whilst Jimin is too busy talking about how nice the lake was and how quiet the town is, Yoongi hums along as he moves his pieces of steak in Jimin’s bowl, keeps a smile to himself as Jimin eats it all without even noticing that he has so much more meat than he does, ends up ordering a serving of marinated pork that they grill at the table, cheeks flushed and lips shiny with grease.

People here don’t really look at you and when they do, they simply don’t take notice of you. So they end up walking along the town holding hands and then putting them in the pocket of Jimin’s coat when it starts getting too cold. Not to hide. Just because they want to warm up.

When they get back to the motel it’s too late into the night and already closer to morning. Their clothes disappear too fast and it’s so quiet that every small sound they make, every choked breath Jimin lets out, everything sounds like the loudest thing in the world.

Yoongi kisses and touches blue skin, the bluest it has ever been, shivers at the warm praises Jimin whispers in his ear and shakes when Jimin’s hand presses too hard on his bruised shoulder until pain becomes something indiscernible from pleasure. 

Yoongi realizes that, when you’re a runaway, all the other things that seemed so complicated are suddenly very easy.

Later, when they’re laying in bed with tangled sheets around their legs, hearts still whole, Jimin says, “We can't stay here forever.”

Yoongi keeps his eyes closed, cheek resting on the pillow, arms wrapped around Jimin’s waist. “We can’t.”

“Running away doesn’t last forever.”

“Yeah.”

“I wish it did.”

“Me too.”

Jimin sighs and his fingers brush along the line of Yoongi’s jaw. “I really have been so happy with you.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi breathes in. “I wish I could have done more.”

“No, you did so much. So much.” He pauses, then, “I remember — the first time I saw you in that studio — I remember thinking, he looks smaller when he’s not on a stage.” Yoongi smiles, hums. “Your voice, though, it sounded a lot deeper. And you were such a— I don’t know how to explain it. You just looked so calm, you know? You have this way of speaking and-and the way you carry yourself, you always look so very calm. Like you’re totally in control of your surroundings even though it’s not true. After a few days of working with you, once I started to understand you more, I realized that you weren’t in control of anything, but that you accepted that. You had come to terms with the fact that you couldn’t control anything and that was why you were so calm around me, always knowing what to say, always so kind and patient.”

Yoongi starts carding his fingers through Jimin’s hair. “You make it easy to be kind.”

Jimin shifts until he’s holding himself up on his elbows, face close to Yoongi’s, his gaze steady once more. They look at each other for a while, eyes already used to the dark room, until Jimin leans down to kiss him. He says, “You looked so far away on that stage when I first saw you, but you were easy to find.” One more kiss. “And so much easier to love.”

They leave the afternoon after.

The drive back to Seoul is silent, song after song playing from the radio at low volume, the streets becoming familiar once more when they’re back in the city.

Yoongi parks the car under Jimin’s house just as the sun starts setting.

Jimin looks down to his lap for long seconds before he says, “It can’t work like this anymore.”

Yoongi glances at him and answers, “It can’t.”

“Because it’s not fair. If we kept hiding and just— we keep being together in the dark, it’s not fair.”

“It’s not.”

“I still can’t let you go.” Jimin takes a deep breath. “But I have to.”

Yoongi smiles at him. “You’ve always been the brave one between us.”

It gets a small laugh from Jimin, eyes a little glassy when he finally looks at Yoongi too. “I’m not going to ask you to wait for me.”

“You don’t need to.”

“No, Yoongi, I mean it.”

“So do I.” 

“You’re such a—”

“Min-ah, I’ll miss you.”

Jimin’s features twist in something pained, tears caught in his lashes. “I will too.”

Yoongi prepares himself. “Go on. Say goodbye again.”

And Jimin does. 

He leans forward until his lips touch Yoongi’s, soft at first, then hard all at once, parting only slightly, one hand fisting the fabric of Yoongi’s sweater. And Yoongi, in return, hands Jimin the pieces of his broken heart like he has always known he would have.

“Thank you,” Jimin whispers when he pulls away and just before he slips out of the car.

Yoongi stays there for a few more minutes. His body refuses to move and that’s alright, he can allow himself to be in pain for now. Besides, he imagines that functioning with a broken heart can’t be very easy. He’ll get used to it.

He watches the sun setting, eyes burning at the shifts in color of the sky, orange and red, then lilac and darker, darker until for one split second it flashes blue. 

MARCH, 26, 2020

[KIM SEOKJIN COMES BACK WITH NEW EP, PRODUCED BY RAPPER AGUST D]

After two years, Kim Seokjin comes back in the music industry. He announced his return on his own youtube mukbang channel: “ I will be releasing an EP next month. I worked with a dear friend of mine, who helped me with production. You might know him, he’s AGUST D.” But most people don’t know who AGUST D, real name Min Yoongi, is. Not for his music, at least, but more so for his dating scandal with idol Park Jimin, one that had been immediately declined by all parties and then swept under the CLICK TO READ MORE

+123/-21 I think it’s very admirable that Kim Seokjin is still making music despite having left one of the biggest music companies. It really shows where his passion is.

+98/-12 Okay but I read this rumor once that AGUST D was actually the one who produced the debut track for Park Jimin?? I don’t know how true that is, but wouldn’t that make the whole scandal more real?

+78/-3 who the hell is AGUST D

DECEMBER, 12, 2020

[MELON 2020: AGUST D WINS PRODUCER OF THE YEAR AGAINST ALL ODDS]

Despite everything rooting against him and Kim Seokjin, AGUST D has won his first award as producer at the prestigious Melon Music Awards. AGUST D, his real name Min Yoongi, has always been a notorious name in the underground scene as a rapper, and has numerous songs to his name, but this is his first record to be actually released on streaming sites and to reach such high numbers on charts. And tonight he made his first appearance at an award show and on television. During his award speech, Min Yoongi CLICK TO READ MORE

+198/-26 I was very moved by how supportive Kim Seokjin was when it was announced Min Yoongi had won. I’m looking forward to see what he will do in the future, since he expressed his desire to start his own music company.

+78/-13 Isn’t it interesting that the one time Min Yoongi goes to an award show, Park Jimin doesn’t?

FEBRUARY, 2, 2021

[PARK JIMIN LEAVES NESTRA ENTERTAINMENT]

At 4 PM today, NESTRA Ent. released a statement on all their SNS accounts, informing fans about their split with famous idol Park Jimin.

“ It is with a heavy heart that we announce Park Jimin’s departure from the company. This was done amicably and with no hard feelings. Taking into consideration Jimin’s feelings and his own health, we came to the conclusion that this final decision is for the best. We apologize to the fans, and ask for their understanding. Finally, we wish nothing but the best for Park Jimin, and thank him for all his hard work.”

It is worth mentioning that Park Jimin’s contract, though, has not been terminated yet. This CLICK TO READ MORE

+234/-32 There’s something else going on. He left the company but his contract is still active? Why not just call it all off?

+190/-21 I’m happy for Park Jimin. Everyone knows just how much of a terrible company NESTRA has proved to be in the last couple of years. I haven’t seen someone as overworked as Jimin ever since his sunbaes and we’ve all seen how it ended.

+89/-12 I genuinely think this Park Jimin has something big he can use against the company. Otherwise they would have never allowed him to leave, or at least not without him having to pay a huge fine. Instead he still has an active contract? That means he only will have to split a portion of his future earnings with the company until the contract expires. That’s the best outcome for him. Park Jimin, just what huge thing you have against them?

@PJM_TWT tweeted: As a wise man once said.

                    YEET

@KSEOK_twt replied: I am so proud of you

FEBRUARY, 13, 2021

“This is one hell of an empty room,” Hoseok says.

Yoongi hums, standing in the middle of said empty room and, he hopes, his future studio. “As empty as all the other rooms.”

“It’s alright,” Namjoon adds. “They won’t be empty for too long.”

Yoongi checks the time on his phone and clicks his tongue. “We should have at least brought a table or something. Jin-hyung will be here at any moment, and so will our lawyer. We can’t really make Kim Seokjin sign a contract on the floor.”

“It’s fine, we’ll just do it in the lobby.” Namjoon walks around the room in long strides. “Look at us… standing in one of the rooms of our company building. You know that Paul Rudd meme? That’s us right now.”

Hoseok bursts out laughing and Yoongi can’t quite keep the smile to himself this time. It’s been a rocky fucking road, but they made it. He thinks he can allow himself to enjoy the feeling.

Seokjin signs the contract with his own expensive pen, smug and satisfied as he adds one last swirl to his signature.

They celebrate in the bar next to the building, ordering champagne first, then soju for them and whatever expensive French wine Seokjin likes. They stay there for hours, laughing and joking about the millions of won they will for sure lose if this doesn’t work out as planned. Jungkook joins them at one point, planting a kiss on Hoseok’s mouth and then ordering a beer for himself. Yoongi is thinking about convincing Jungkook to join the company too as a member of the art team. But that can wait for now.

Namjoon leaves an hour later when he realizes he’s late for his usual fancy dinner with Taehyung. Jungkook  and Hoseok excuse themselves too after a while, and Yoongi is left alone with Seokjin.

The two drink in silence for a few more minutes, until Seokjin puts down his glass.

“Have you heard about Jimin?”

Yoongi’s fingers twitch where they hold his glass of soju, but he nods. “I did. I’m happy for him.”

Seokjin hums. “So am I. Although, now he needs a new company.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I didn’t suggest anything.”

“You were implying.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Drop it.”

“Ah, screw it.” Seokjin takes a small, square piece of folded paper from his pocket and he puts it on the center of the table. “Jimin changed phone number last year. This is his current number.” He downs the rest of his wine and then stands up, putting his coat back on. “Do what you want with it.”

Yoongi doesn’t move but he can’t quite look away from that piece of paper. “I spent the last two years trying to heal from my heartbreak. Why the fuck would you think I would just dive right back into it?”

“Because,” Seokjin replies with a knowing smile. “Jimin asked me to give you this number.”

Ah.

Yoongi was right, then. Jimin truly always has been the bravest of the two.

Seokjin leaves without another word. 

Yoongi orders another bottle of soju and doesn’t drink any of it. He stares at the small piece of paper, fingers tapping against the leather of the couch he’s sitting on. 

The truth is, living with a broken heart wasn’t as hard as he thought it would have been. The first days were the worst. During his entire relationship with Jimin, there had been times when they hadn’t met for a long period. Yoongi wasn’t a stranger to missing him. But missing him now, knowing that they had already said their goodbye was worst. Much worse than anything Yoongi could have prepared himself for.

But still, he kept living. Kept breathing and waking up every day, take a shower, get ready for the blue dreams that were going to choke him at night. 

Yoongi has learned how to live with a broken heart. He thinks it might be because Jimin is still taking such good care of its pieces.

He even learned how to keep his greed at bay. Most times.

Right now, he thinks he might lose to it. The shadow whispers in his ear to take that piece of paper and call him. Maybe he can have him back, doesn’t he want Jimin back? Isn’t he the only thing he’s ever truly wanted?

Yoongi stands up and walks away from the table as he shrugs his coat on, leaving the piece of paper there.

Two hours later, Yoongi rushes inside the bar again, chest heaving from how fast he ran back. The bar is empty now if not for the staff cleaning the tables and sweeping the floor, music turned off, lights dim.

“Sir?” A bartender calls from behind the counter as he balances five glasses in his arms. “I’m sorry but we’re closing.”

Yoongi wets his lips and nods. “I forgot… forgot something. At that table, over there, a piece of paper.”

The bartender regards him for a moment, probably wondering if he’s drunk. “I’m sorry, but we’ve already cleaned up and—”

“Did you throw away the trash?”

“No, not yet.”

He could ask Seokjin for the number again. Sure. He could, if he wanted to then find himself owing Seokjin for the rest of his life and deal with the smugness and teasing that would come from it.

Yeah, no, he doesn’t want that.

“Can I check in your trash?”

“Are you… dude, are you serious?”

Shit, he is.

Do you still live at the condo?

SENT, 01:23 AM

JIMIN

Who’s this and how do you

have this number?

Wait

Yoongi?

RECEIVED, 01:30 AM

When Yoongi will think back to this night in the future, he will blame Seokjin and his own weakness.

His old, red, dying car gave its last breath two years ago. 

Yoongi parks his new car, one that doesn’t cry out in pain whenever he dares driving faster than twenty miles per hour, and that looks like it might be very expensive (it’s really not but no one needs to know that.)

There’s something weird about parking under Jimin’s apartment again. It’s familiar to the point of almost feeling like dejavu, but Yoongi has never been scared before when waiting for Jimin to come down. Has never gripped onto the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white.

He thinks he changed during these last two years. He knows Jimin has too. Yoongi saw him grow into the artist that he is now along with his broken heart, saw his features harden with every new album, sharpen to the point where he looked intimidating even when he was just walking in an airport. 

Yoongi wonders if that hill where they used to spend entire hours of the night has changed too. He never dared to go back there alone. Maybe they closed access to it, or maybe they built a kiosk there, or something similar. 

Yoongi closes his eyes, breathes in. 

Maybe they should go there tonight and find out.

The car door opens with a sharp sound and Yoongi turns around, breath held in his lungs until his eyes meet Jimin’s.

Steady.

Jimin sits in the passenger’s seat, closes the car door behind him slowly. His hair is black now.

Yoongi lets out a slow breath, hears it shake at the end.

Jimin notices. He always did notice those smaller things about him. He swallows thickly, fingers gripping onto the edges of the seat, and then he smiles.

“Hi,” he whispers.

Yoongi feels the hundreds of broken shards of his heart tremble and, gently, piece themselves back together.

“Hi, Min-ah.”

What does it matter if he changed?

He still looks blue under these lights.