Chapter Text
The one thing to surely stay consistent in Namjoon’s life is dingy clubs. That’s where it starts.
He goes to his first concert at the age of seventeen. Sweaty hands wring when he tells his parents that he’s staying at Seokjin-hyung’s new apartment, headphones blare Asking Alexandria on the train even though they’re kind of embarrassing at his point (it’s 2012, scene is dead), and Hoseok attempts to tame Namjoon’s too-slowly growing out hair on the floor of the furniture lacking studio.
It’s bittersweet - he won’t see his high school friend as often as he’s used to, but it’s his first time knowing someone with their very own household, no parents in sight. They can do whatever they want. Seokjin just moved to Seoul for university, but somehow still wants to hang out with Namjoon and Hoseok. They must be cool. (They’re not.)
It’s intimidating as soon as they arrive. The venue is small and worn down, the entrance in a dark alleyway filled with smoking people clad in dark clothing. Seokjin fits in in just fine, maybe a bit too well polished and pretty, but he always looks like he belongs. Hoseok is just as ridiculously pubescent and lanky as Namjoon, but his excitement turns into confidence and people return his giddy grins. Namjoon, however, is very much out of place. He’s a teenager with acne who studies too much and doesn’t even have ear piercings. Next time Hoseok offers to give him some, he will accept, parents be damned.
The concert is 18+ but he’s got the height and speech (debate club) skills to get in without any fuss. It’s scary and new, but freeing. At school, Hoseok is the only person who listens to similar music to Namjoon, and they hardly even dress to show it. Here, Namjoon is plain, underwhelming, and fascinated by everyone he sees. Band shirts and piercings and bleached hair, by far the most tattoos he’s ever seen. It’s like the concerts he watches on youtube, but he’s living it, and no one’s even on stage yet.
The building is just as dark and cramped as it looked from the outside, it’s in a basement with a sticky floor and the stage is barely a meter off the ground. The glance he had at the line up showed that every band was Korean, and he had heard of none of them, meaning that the tickets were cheap. Namjoon gets caught up in the excitement and occasional discreet sips of Seokjin’s soju, they find a place near the stage because everyone else stays at the bar, and it’s not long before the dark sound of a guitar permeates through the room.
He remembered snorting at the name of the band: Gloss. It was blatantly out of place amongst the array of violent death related titles, sounding more like they belong on some 70s glam rock line up.
Instead of a group of dads, the people on stage look like they could be even younger than Namjoon. There’s five of them, all with silly haircuts fit for myspace and ripped skinny jeans paired with too much eyeliner; exactly how Namjoon wanted to look a few years ago, exactly what he’d cringe at now. One of the guitarists is surely in middle school, and the singer is even shorter than him. Namjoon is unsure if he should laugh or coo - Seokjin is doing the former, Hoseok the latter.
Despite their looks, the song starts, and everyone promptly shuts up.
Live music is supposed to be objectively worse, especially when it’s by teenage local bands, but they’re good. The expectation was expecting some painful breakdowns and bad screaming, instead finding polished guitar solos and vocals fit for ballads. It would be a lot to take in no matter what, it’s Namjoon’s first time at a concert, but he gets distracted by one thing in particular.
The lead guitarist is closest, right in front of him, and all he can look at.
The man looks older than the others, but the smallest on stage, no older than twenty. Long, dark hair falls into his catlike eyes which don’t look up, staying focused on the red guitar. Big hands, skinny legs, pouty lips. It’s hard to tell if he’s really that pale, or if it’s just the lifeless bright lights, but he looks unreal. Undead. The Slipknot shirt he’s wearing is torn at the collar like his overly ripped jeans and there’s eyeliner smudged around his eyes.
Though a bit outdated, he looks really fucking cool, but it’s nothing compared to what he’s doing.
Namjoon is in awe. He plays bass (badly), intimidated by the intricacy of guitar, always amazed when Seokjin plays for him, but that’s nothing compared to this. The band covers an Avenged Sevenfold song which real people shouldn’t be able to do, yet the guitarist nails the solo, and Seokjin curses in Namjoon’s ear.
It’s mostly a blur, not much is taken in. Namjoon is left with a memory of a small emo who plays guitar far too well and hardly looks up at the audience. They make eye contact once, time stops, and then it’s over. Unforgettable.
A short set by an unknown group is enough. It could just be because it was his first concert, or maybe they were that special.
Namjoon wants to start a band.
He’s not great at bass, definitely can’t sing, but lyrics are where his heart lies. The rest can be learned, like everything else he dedicates himself to. He has been writing since he had milk teeth. Namjoon likes pretty things, and certain words can be more beautiful than any view, the discovery of the right music made this love grow. A friend introduced him to My Chemical Romance on their shitty desktop computer when he was thirteen, and he was done for.
Back in high school Seokjin would indulge in the lyrics he wrote, getting out his guitar and trying to fit them to a melody. He has a pretty singing voice, soft and gentle, the opposite of the messages of the songs they were fans of. They didn’t put much time into it, but managed to convince an enthusiastic Hoseok to learn drums in music class. It didn’t go much beyond that: youtube bass lessons, unfinished compositions with fond memories attached, staying in the music classroom after school to attempt some blink-182 cover. There wasn’t enough dedication to even come up with a name.
It changes after the concert. Namjoon saw people his age doing what he thought was impossible, and he set his heart on getting there himself.
A boy named Taehyung with an alarmingly deep voice comments on the album in Hoseok’s hands in a music shop in Seoul. His singing voice is haunting, his personality is the opposite, and he fits in with them like he was made for it. The band begins in autumn.
A lot changes in a year when you’re a teenager. Everything becomes humiliating: your haircut, old clothes, the bands you owed your life to.
Namjoon’s hair grows out in 2013. He buys a lot of black clothing, moving on from the metalcore which filled his previous summer, onto the more heavy and gritty. He turns eighteen, and as long as school comes first, his parents let him be (aside from the occasional comment about how much he looks like a delinquent). Hoseok pierces his ears when he gets good grades, which is often. His final year of high school is a blur of university applications, late night study rooms, and band practice squeezed in between.
He comes across Gloss again when he moves to Seoul.
Sharing a cramped bedroom with Hoseok gives them more time to focus on their band. While Namjoon ends up on a sociology course, his roommate studies music, giving them access to more equipment. Somehow, by Namjoon’s nineteenth birthday they manage to record a very mediocre album.
It isn’t tame in any way: filled to the brim with criticism of politics and societal norms, often fuelled by the topics in Namjoon’s classes. The genre is a bit of a mess, somewhere between punk rock and metal with some rap shoved in there (to the fault of Namjoon). It’s shocking enough to gain them some attention online, which leads to a slot at a concert thanks to someone dropping out last minute.
They’re so indecisive that they don’t decide on a band name until the very last minute, after they’ve finished the whole album. It ends with a game of rock paper scissors, resulting in naming themselves after their favourite song on the album: Spinebreaker. It’s vaguely threatening while also making fun of rich kids, which is exactly what they’re going for. Ironic, will make people roll their eyes, and therefore fitting.
So it begins.
It’s not quite autumn, still far too hot. The band got drunk at Seokjin’s apartment after getting the news of their first gig, Hoseok passed out so Namjoon had to make it home alone. He had been too excited to take in any of the information about the concert, including the lineup. Tipsy in bed, he tries to look it up with uncooperative fingers, and chokes at the sight.
Gloss are the main support act.
It’s the same shitty venue as last time, but he feels entirely unworthy. Namjoon can’t comprehend sharing a stage with them, there’s no way he deserves it. He’s confident in his ability to write music, but not to play it live, he’s too clumsy. The opposite of everything he saw in Gloss. Especially that guitarist.
It’s terrifying. Packing up his bass makes Namjoon sweat more than his university entrance exams. He’s going to perform on stage to a crowd of people who listen to good music, before a selection of bands far cooler than his own. If he fucks up, it’ll never be forgotten.
Their band is a bit different. Namjoon likes that about them - above anything else, at least they talk about important stuff. The actual music, however, is not the most polished. He just hopes that the local emos are open minded enough for something a bit more messy.
His friends wouldn’t let him dress as usual, apparently Namjoon isn’t naturally cool. His jorts were confiscated, ending up in jeans far tighter than he’d like. An overall not very Namjoon getup, which might be a good thing. At least he isn’t wearing eyeliner.
Getting up on stage with shaky legs, he’s fully prepared to be booed as soon as they start their first song, perhaps even a few comedic tomatoes will be thrown. The lights seem a lot brighter than they were at soundcheck, so blinding that it’s hard to look up, and that’s probably for the best. Namjoon keeps his eyes on his fingers during the first song, playing carefully, hardly messing up, each note vibrating deep into his chest.
The bravery to squint at the crowd comes towards the end of the set. People are nodding along, shoulders swaying. It’s not quite the music to dance to, but there are audible claps at the end of each song, and Namjoon has found his calling.
Getting off the stage, drenched in far too much sweat, is when he sees him again.
Namjoon is trying not to pass out from the adrenaline coursing through him, getting patted on the back by his squealing bandmates, told that he did well, that he’s cool as fuck and they’re gonna make it big.
“I didn’t think you had it in you, Joon.” Hoseok grins, getting lifted up by Taehyung as they pile into their tiny shared dressing room. “You didn’t even drop your pick!”
It’s elating. He feels so fucking good, shaking and a bit dizzy but never better.
As they make their way into the room, someone pushes their way out.
The lead guitarist of Gloss, a shock of minty green hair. He avoids eye contact but offers a tight smile, clearly in a rush to get on stage. Namjoon doesn’t have time to do anything but stumble out of the way, just enough time to embarrass himself. The norm.
Seokjin rolls his eyes, not used to being pushed aside. “I thought the other bands would be a bit more friendly, now that we’re one of them.”
“He’s just jealous of your guitar skills.” Taehyung says earnestly and it’s taken as an insult.
They have just enough time to clean themselves up a bit. Namjoon is an overly sweaty person, his hair is unsalvageable, having to be pushed off of his wet forehead. Looking like shit doesn’t deter any of the excitement, though. This is the best day of his life, and now he’s going to watch Gloss perform on the same stage.
It’s more crowded than last time. People care about Gloss, so they have to shove a bit to get through the crowd. Namjoon’s ego wasn’t ready for the experience of being recognised from his set and causing people to move out of the way. He feels cool as fuck, Hoseok calls him out for the way he juts out his jaw during rare bouts of confidence. The cool moment is over as soon as it starts.
Gloss’ appearance is more dramatic than last time: some darker makeup and goth clothing. it makes some people gasp. Like Namjoon’s band, they’re kind of out of place, but in a different way. It’s a coincidence that he ends up in the same place in the crowd as last time, right in front of the lead guitarist.
They make eye contact again. It’s different this time - they’re almost equals. He’s not some idol, just a fellow guy in a band.
That is, until his first solo, and it’s very clear that he’s not just anything. He’s really on another level, belonging to a far bigger stage, a far bigger audience, a venue that has actual toilet seats. He props his foot up on the monitor speaker, right in front of Namjoon, an arm’s length away from him. His jeans are more ripped than before, more skin on show. Namjoon doesn’t know where to look, but his jaw is hanging open.
Namjoon had convinced himself that he had overhyped this band in his head, he thought they were so impressive because they were the first act he ever saw live, there’s no way that a local band could be so good.
No, they got better.
It’s not just the music, it’s the way they act - like they own the stage, even though they’re so young. Along with their clothing, the lyrics are darker than before, too, more grotesque than teenage angst. The set flies by, they cover another anthem from Namjoon’s youth and the crowd loves it. They cheer far more than they did for him, which isn’t surprising at all. Gloss deserves it.
By the end of it, Hoseok shoves a finger into Namjoon’s open mouth and jokes about him having a crush, which is laughed off. Seokjin buys drinks, Taehyung complains about his coke, Namjoon tells him the dangers of underage drinking as if he didn’t do the same last year.
Alcohol paired with the post-performance joy feels a bit like how Namjoon imagines sex to be. His friends keep complimenting him, saying that it’s all thanks to his song writing, everyone will want to get into his pants when they know it. He doesn’t even know what to do with himself, preening.
Copious amounts of soju has Namjoon on his way to the backstage bathroom (it’s further away and not much better than the public one, but it just feels good to have the option). The clarity of being alone in a bathroom whilst drunk is unlike anything else, he’s washing his hands and wincing at his sweaty hair when the door opens.
They make eye contact in the mirror.
Dark eyes, black eyeshadow; pink cheeks, bright hair.
Holy shit. This is the time to compliment him. Nice performance bro, my fellow musician, isn’t it fun having such a career (Namjoon works as a tutor and spent too much money renting equipment for this performance, this is absolutely not his career).
“You were really good!” Namjoon blurts it out too loudly, turning around to face him. The guy stops on his way to the urinal. “I saw you last year, too. You guys are great.”
The fluorescent lights make his skin look sickly, but in a flattering way, like a doll. It’s not just the stage lights, then, he really is that pale. His hair is a shade fit for a grandmother’s bathroom; it would probably reflect onto the wall if he got any closer to it. He’s a lot smaller than he looks on stage. Namjoon feels oversized and out of place.
He blinks. Not expecting to be ambushed with a compliment in the bathroom, which is very reasonable. Namjoon feels like a weird fangirl. “Ah, thank you,” His voice is deeper than expected, kind of slurred in a sleepy way, or maybe he’s just drunk. He laughs, stilted, and looks around the room as if there’s something to admire other than mould and lewd graffiti. “You were in the opening band, right?”
Namjoon is memorable. Okay. He’s not gonna say something embarrassing right now.
“Yeah, it was our first gig.” He tries to say it like it’s nothing. It doesn’t come out like that, he’s overeager, inexperienced, it’s painted all over him.
“You said that on stage, congrats.” This boy doesn’t make eye contact much, but when he does, it’s flooring. Namjoon is an extrovert. He knows how to make small talk, even if he has a tendency to say stupid stuff. For some reason, this is a lot harder than usual. Probably because he’s in a cool as fuck band, and Namjoon is a pathetic rookie. He’s good with formal situations, not emo boys in filthy bathrooms. “I liked the song about capitalism, a refreshing type of angst.”
Namjoon’s lyrics are memorable.
“Holy shit, thank you. I, uh—wrote that.” Was that bragging? Namjoon is an arrogant asshole, wow. “I’m Namjoon. Sorry, this is a weird place to introduce myself, you can...” He nods towards the urinal, as if this adult man needed permission to pee.
“Yoongi. Thanks.” He smiles, nods, and steps over a puddle on the floor while Namjoon stares.
Yoongi. The overly talented guitarist of Gloss. Very small, silly hair, deep voice.
Namjoon hurries out of the bathroom, not wanting to disrupt him any longer, and returns to a very drunk Hoseok who has obtained a group of new friends. They all look a bit terrifying, yet they feed Namjoon more praise.
A pretty goth girl with lip piercings and hand tattoos ends up next to him, but he’s starting to get used to feeling out of his league. She talks about the music she likes, all bands he always found a bit too heavy. He stutters a lot, but she likes that, if the pointed nails digging into his thigh are anything to go by.
Maybe that’s more of a threat. Either way, it’s hot. When she shows off her split tongue and asks if he wants to feel it, he lets her lick right into his mouth without a second thought. Hoseok can be heart hooting in the distance.
She kisses his neck, biting hard. He gasps weakly and somehow locks eyes with Yoongi at that exact moment. He’s standing at the bar, looking right back at him, not avoiding eye contact like in the bathroom. Namjoon doesn’t know what to do, just proceeds to whimper, and gets his dick grabbed through his jeans. There’s no doubt that he looks pathetic, and it doesn’t make things less arousing. He should probably reflect on that at some point.
They stand up and her boots make her almost as tall as Namjoon. Hoseok wishes him luck as he leaves. Namjoon doesn’t tell her he’s a virgin, but it’s pretty obvious when he ends up pinned to her bed and coming in her mouth far too fast. The split tongue is blamed. She kindly guides him through eating her out, tugging his hair and telling him he’s doing a good job. He doesn’t even get laughed at when he ends up hard again in record time, she just generously rides him until he’s finishing embarrassingly fast for the second time in one night.
He’s somehow both giddy and boneless on the train home, unsure if anything that night actually happened. Maybe his drink was spiked. First gig, first time speaking to Yoongi, first time fucking someone.
Sex always seemed so daunting to him. Namjoon doesn’t flirt, ever. He made peace with being patient, expecting to go a lifetime without getting laid, saving himself from the embarrassment of trying. Instead, he lost his virginity to a one night stand with a split tongue who didn’t even ask for his number, just said she’ll go to his next concert. It feels reckless in a way that Namjoon is not, but it feels good.
He doesn’t even shower when he gets home, too tired. Just crawls into bed still smelling of sex, entirely disgusting.
“Did you get pegged?” Hoseok asks, propped up on an elbow and grinning.
“I kind of feel like I did, actually.”
“Proud of you, Joonie.”
If he illegally downloads some Gloss songs the next day, it’s because he’s supporting his fellow local artists. Maybe a little bit of hero worship. He’s not obsessed, they’re just cool.
If he thinks about the weird eye contact with Yoongi a few times, it’s because he misses that night: the thrill of performing for a crowd, the pride of his friends, having a pretty girl grabbing his dick. Yoongi just reminds him of that.
The metal scene in South Korea is minimal, but they manage to gradually gain some more attention.
A few more gigs, always the opening act, always in Seoul or somewhere close. They get more confident with their music and instruments, Namjoon actually learns how to play bass. Taehyung gets a bit less boyish and his voice gets even deeper, Seokjin does guitar solos, Hoseok invests in an electric drum kit so he can practice at home (it means they can’t have a table in their apartment, but that’s fine, they can hold their bowls).
Namjoon keeps up with university and tutoring, parents of students often give him food to take home, Hoseok is very passionate about this job because of it. They make friends with people in bands, write a lot of music, Namjoon even stumbles through a few more sexual encounters.
It turns out that Gloss don’t even live in Seoul, they have to come all the way up from Daegu whenever they have a gig in the capital. This is good for Namjoon’s band, they can do things last minute. There are a few tame battles for slots, Gloss usually gets them, they’re bigger. Namjoon fixates on changing this, starting an entirely secret one sided rivalry (he’s not relevant enough for Gloss to worry about him - for now).
Namjoon crashes into Yoongi again on the way to another shitty dressing room.
Their gig together was a while ago, a whole year has passed. Namjoon is a better musician now, a bit more confident, slightly less ridiculously teenage - he’s almost twenty. He bleached his hair silver and got a few tattoos, but is no less lanky than before. It can’t be as awkward as last time, he’s good at this.
They literally crash into each other. Yoongi almost falls onto the floor, Namjoon catches him, grips his bony arms and pulls him back up while he gets stared at in horror. He’s lucky the bass on his back didn’t knock anyone out, though his head does feel a bit fucked.
“Fuck, sorry!” Namjoon feels like he’s always apologising to the poor guy.
Yoongi shakes his head, ever nonchalant. “’s okay.” He’s clearly on his way somewhere, not wanting to talk to some weird clumsy mess of a man, but Namjoon can’t stop himself.
“We played the same gig together last year.” That felt good to say. Equals.
“We met in the toilet, right?” Yoongi asks, remembering Namjoon, who nods.
He has baby pink hair this time, softer than before. It contrasts with the clutter of piercings dangling from his ears and the Type O Negative shirt. Their songs are all so filthy, his hair is the opposite, virgin pink like the knees poking through his ripped jeans. There are endless little details to take in, it’s hard not to stare.
“I like your shirt.” It’s the first thing that comes to Namjoon’s mind. It seems that he’s still not very good at this.
Yoongi looks taken aback, eyebrows raised. “The band or the dick?”
Oh no. It’s the album cover of Slow, Deep and Hard, and that’s absolutely a dick. How could someone possibly miss that? Namjoon, the not quite virgin who stays out later at the library than he does at clubs, that’s who. He prays that his face doesn’t look as hot as it feels.
“Th—” A voice crack. “The band.” He laughs awkwardly and Yoongi is clearly amused. It’s the first time he’s seen him properly smile, so at least there’s that. Maybe he needs to humiliate himself more often, if that’s even possible. “Do you wear that in public?”
“Of course.” Yoongi speaks slowly, like he always knows exactly what he’s about to say, in no rush. “If my tattoos are enough to horrify pathetic old men, why hold back, right?”
That bravery is not something Namjoon can relate to. The glares he gets when his arms are on show are hard to get used to, always wanting to apologise for having tattoos. Namjoon is on the brink of coming up with something cool and relatable to say in return, hoping to start a friendship. Maybe an opportunity to show off his own, to touch Yoongi’s arm again to admire them, but someone interrupts.
“Unloading the van is more urgent than getting laid, hyung.” It’s the vocalist, just as small as Yoongi but a bit more excitable, holding himself very differently. He winks a dark rimmed eye and drags Yoongi away without another word. According to Yoongi’s loud complaints, his name is Jimin.
It takes a moment for Namjoon to register his words. Alone in a damp hallway, wondering if that sentence can be interpreted as anything other than it sounds. War flashbacks to middle school: being flirted with as a joke for being just that unattractive. There’s no way that fellow bands are that childish, right?
Hoseok asks him if he saw a ghost, a light-hearted suggestive comment should not be this haunting.
Just before he is due onstage, Namjoon finds himself in the universally unwanted experience of sharing a conversation whilst pissing.
Donghyuk is a bit of a dick. He’s in a beatdown band (whatever the fuck that is, something with a lot of breakdowns and not much else), calls himself Supreme Boi, and likes to kick the poor people who stand a bit too close to a mosh pit. He gave a girl a nosebleed once and got punched in the face by her boyfriend, no one tried to help him, he’s that much of a dick. A displeasure to be around, but he has a lot of connections, and helps their band get gigs.
Namjoon needs to stop talking to people in green-tinged bathrooms.
Donghyuk appeared just as he unzipped, choosing the urinal right next to his like a barbarian, and started up his useless chit-chat. It’s hard to pee when someone is staring right at you, this is the stuff of nightmares. Namjoon nods along to the unnecessary conversation, trying his best to zone out, until it gets worse.
“You know Gloss, right?”
“I’ve seen them a few times, yeah.” Namjoon says, ready to brag about performing with them.
“Have you seen them recently?” No pause for a response, to be expected. “They were pretty okay before, but they changed their whole look lately, and it’s a bit embarrassing, right?” Namjoon hasn’t seen them on stage since last year, but they can’t be that different. He’s shocked by the blatant insult of a fellow band. “I get that emo was a thing, but if you’re gonna wear that much makeup, why not just... be in an idol group, or like, be a girl.”
“Well, one of them is a girl—” He cuts in, but doesn’t even get a chance to continue, though he’s unsure of what he’d even say. The man just keeps bitching away like a child.
“Shit, I never would’ve guessed.” His laugh makes Namjoon wince. Namjoon is cringing, zipping his jeans up, hopefully signalling the end of the conversation. He wants to call him out for being a dick, but there’s no room to speak. “It’s like they’re dressed for a gay BDSM club.”
Along with not getting a chance to talk, a bigger problem is that Namjoon doesn’t even know if he can tell him to stop being so rude. While Namjoon may be a passionate advocate of equality, often getting into arguments about feminism and LGBT rights with anyone who provides the opportunity, always ready to defend his friends, Donghyuk is important to their band’s ability to get gigs. Pissing him off would be terrible for them.
Namjoon doesn’t mind sabotaging himself, but can he do that to his best friends when they’re working so hard for success?
The decision is made for him.
The single bathroom stall creaks open. The sight of pink makes Namjoon’s heart drop.
Yoongi walks calmly over to the sink, eyes down while he washes his hands. Namjoon body throbs with shame, trying to think of what to say, how to explain that he didn’t agree with any of the shit Donghyuk said, he’s just fucking stupid.
“You think I’m pretty enough to be an idol?” Yoongi flutters his eyelashes, throwing a paper towel into the bin and leaving the room before Donghyuk can splutter out a response. The noise he makes when the door creaks shut is akin to a pig.
Namjoon feels sick during his performance.
Over the past year they’ve managed to gain a handful of people who actually listen to their music. Seeing real humans singing along to their silly little songs is unparalleled, it makes Namjoon lose his shit every time. But even that isn’t enough to get the bitter taste out of his mouth.
Hoseok pulls him aside and asks if he’s okay afterwards, like the too good friend he is, giving Namjoon a chance to complain. “Fucking Donghyuk was bitching about a band in the bathroom, and a member overheard it.”
“What was he saying?”
“Making fun of their look, being borderline homophobic, the usual. I feel like such an asshole.” Namjoon explains, embarrassed by his lack of bravery.
“Did you agree with him?” It hurts that his friend could even ask such a thing, but then again, Namjoon might as well have done that.
“No, what the fuck, I just stood there. He didn’t even give me the chance to speak, and we were pissing.”
“Sounds like him. One day we’ll tell him to fuck off, I promise.” Hoseok laughs, looking much less shocked than a moment ago. It’s calming. “I’m sure they hear that shit all the time, he won’t remember you.” A soothing pat on Namjoon’s back. “Hyung, will you make out with me in front of Supreme Boi?” He yells across the room and Seokjin is caught off guard for once.
They move on, Namjoon does his post-concert sweat wiping, changing his shirt, and tries to get over it. One bad night: an unfortunate incident, a bad performance, he’ll get over it.
Unaffected as usual (the opposite of Namjoon as usual), Yoongi doesn’t hold back on stage.
And Donghyuk was right with one thing, Gloss did change a lot. It’s jarring. A lot of makeup, chains and leather, more filthy lyrics. The singer keeps touching everyone, at one point Yoongi’s guitar gets more action than Namjoon has in his entire lifetime. He’s wearing a sheer shirt with a harness over the top, nipples visible, and spends a lot of time on his knees looking vulgar.
It feels kind of dirty to watch. Voyeuristic and wrong, but impossible to look away from.
Namjoon isn’t one to judge, but he gets what Donghyuk was referring to. The explicit detail of sucking dick makes him blink a bit. He’s used to hearing such things, all of his bandmates are gay, and they are not the type to hold back on any details of their sex lives. However, live songs by a Korean metal band isn’t where he expected to hear these things.
It’s shocking, but just makes them cooler. Namjoon is a passionate ally, and there’s nothing better than people being unashamed of something that can easily be used against them.
There are a few disapproving mutters by particularly cowardly men, Namjoon wonders why they’d be at such a concert if they’re not open minded. He can’t stop thinking, with horror, that by being his pathetic self and not openly disagreeing with what Donghyuk said in the toilets, he might just come across the same as them.
He has to apologise.
It’s easier said than done.
Yoongi was elusive when he was just a potential acquaintance. A cryptid of sorts. Namjoon was always aware of him in the territory he frequented, but he was hard to spot, harder to pin down for a conversation.
Now that Namjoon is officially a homophobic dick, and in most need of said cryptid, it’s even harder.
The venue is small as fuck and there’s only one person with pink hair in the building, it should be easy. The very slow and steady gain of popularity for Spinebreaker has Namjoon in high demand from someone other than his parents for the first time in his life, which slows down the search. He gets stopped and complimented every now and then, grabbed for too many conversations. One of them, to his distress, is Donghyuk.
By the time he finally sees Yoongi, it doesn’t go as planned.
Donghyuk corners him, a few members of the headlining band at his heels. Namjoon fucking hates this guy, but still ends up having to stand there and smile though his consistently offensive jokes. At least they get acquainted with someone far more successful than them. Namjoon looks at the bright side, until he spots Yoongi.
Eye contact at inconvenient times is becoming their thing. That, and bathrooms.
A below average Bring Me The Horizon cover is blaring in his ears, but he can practically hear Yoongi’s scoff from across the room. The guilt lingers.
Apologies are hard.
Their bands don’t have concerts together for a while. When Gloss are performing, Namjoon is busy with university, and there are no opportunities to see him. Yoongi is as mysterious online as one would expect: no social media, just occasionally appearing in his bandmates’ photos. Namjoon might be desperate to apologise, but the members are intimidating. There’s no way that he can message a stranger asking for their friend’s number like some pathetic fan.
As more time passes, the busier he gets, and Yoongi is pushed to the back of his mind. He probably has encounters like that all the time looking the way he does, Namjoon isn’t memorable anyway.
He may not be memorable in general, but he manages to make himself pretty hard to forget - in the worst way possible.
2015 is a good year for Spinebreaker. They release another album, gain more attention, even get paid for their concerts. Their music ventures into the region of hardcore, a bit more niche but the fans go harder. Namjoon misses more classes than he’d like to for band opportunities, makes up for it by staying up all night in the library whenever Hoseok gets laid.
Namjoon doesn’t go to many parties other than the occasional post gig club night if it’s at the same venue. After over two years of concerts, he ends up at a rare real house party. It’s a shitty apartment, furniture pushed out of the way to make room for everyone. Namjoon has spent the whole night being social, even turned down some girls’ flirting to keep talking, it’s enough to forget about constant looming university deadlines. As always, getting up to use the toilet is a reminder of how drunk he is.
He stands in the hallway for a moment, music ringing in his ears, some people making out against the wall next to him. There are too many doors for such a small apartment to know which is which, but there is definitely a hand up that girl’s skirt, so he chooses randomly.
Bathroom related incidents are Namjoon’s constant downfall.
The room is dark. He just steps right in, blinks for a minute. The music is a bit less loud but it feels like his brain is buzzing.
It takes a moment to realise that there’s someone sitting on the bed. A big guy with tattooed arms. Another moment to realise that his legs are spread, holding someone’s head down against his crotch. He opens his eyes, unphased, gaze dragging over Namjoon like his presence is welcomed.
“Didn’t you talk about him before? You were right.” The man says, voice strained. He’s not talking to Namjoon, but he’s looking right at him.
He doesn’t let the person pull back for a moment, hands gripping bleached hair. There’s a gag loud enough to be heard over the music, loud enough to kick Namjoon’s hazy mind back into motion, a bit too late.
“Were you watching?” Another voice. The hoarseness of it amplifies the disdain.
Yoongi’s hair is blonde now.
There were so many half formed plans of how to apologise, to explain that Donghyuk is a bitch and Namjoon would never agree with him, he even went to pride last year, they’re nothing alike. He wanted to tell Yoongi that he’s admirable for being so unique, for making such obscure music, and doing it proudly.
The plans didn’t account for the sight of Yoongi with red-hot cheeks and drool on his chin.
Yoongi is usually intimidating. Deep voice, steely eyes. Despite his height, he’s intense, always reducing Namjoon to a pathetic state. On his knees, it’s somehow worse. It kind of feels like Namjoon should be the one in that position, which is a weird thought.
Namjoon is glued to the spot, speechless, spineless, maybe even brainless. Yoongi glares right at him, wiping his chin with the back of a hand, staying right where he is. The spit glistens on his skin. If Namjoon took a step to the side, he’d be able to see the guy’s bare dick. The dick that was just in Yoongi’s mouth. Another weird thought.
It’s odd - he walks in on Hoseok getting laid a lot more often than he’d like to, has even witnessed far more graphic scenes than this because of it. This somehow feels so different from any of those times. Maybe it’s the admiration paired with slight fear he has for Yoongi, or just the alcohol, but it’s making something warm stir low in his stomach.
He realises, with horror, that he’s getting hard.
That’s a normal physical reaction to sexual acts, nothing to be ashamed of, if not for the fact that he walked in here without permission and Yoongi hates him. Not only has Namjoon portrayed himself as a bitchy asshole in the past, but now he looks (and feels) like a pervert, too.
“Shit, I’m so sorry.” Namjoon fumbles. “I didn’t mean to—” He cannot fathom why he’s not leaving, why his body is betraying him, and why Yoongi has started smirking. It just keeps getting worse.
The guy pets at Yoongi’s hair not so delicately. “Want to watch?” He asks, hand quickly shoved off, pinned to the bed.
“Matthew.” Yoongi warns, annoyed. At least it’s not directed at Namjoon, though he didn’t particularly care to learn the guy’s name.
“I’m not—oh my god, I’m sorry.” Namjoon manages to stutter out, turning around and almost walking right into the wall. “Have a nice… that.” He opens the door and escapes. The slam of it closing too hard is followed by Yoongi’s laughter, taunting.
At least the staring and hard on probably hinted that Namjoon is not homophobic. One less thing to worry about, replaced with a new problem of him being a blatant creep who watches people get off without their consent.
Making it to the bathroom is a bit of a blur, he ends up sitting down to pee because he’s incapable of trusting his knees. Just from the alcohol, of course. Squinting in the bright room is a bit too sobering, and all he can see is the mess of Yoongi’s hair and the pink of his lips. Cold water doesn’t stop the overheating, and Seokjin asks him if he got railed when he returns to the safety of his friends.
Like the optimistic idiot he is, Namjoon expects Yoongi to leave after he’s finished with… what he’s doing. He usually goes straight home after concerts, never staying to have fun, surely he’ll do the same now. Especially after being walked in on. After being violated by Namjoon.
Yoongi walks into the room alone, someone vacates their seat on the couch for him, and there he sits. Directly across from Namjoon. There’s enough distance between them, he’s on the other side of the room, but his hair hasn’t even been smoothed down and there’s a big fat hickey on his neck. Namjoon can’t think about anything else.
“Are you about to throw up?” Hoseok prods at Namjoon’s thigh as if he isn’t almost as bad as Taehyung at holding his alcohol.
“Don’t look, but I just walked in on a member of Gloss...” Namjoon lowers his voice, leaning to whisper into his ear like a schoolgirl. “Giving someone a blowjob.”
“What!” Hoseok practically starts vibrating with excitement, eyes lit up, all traces of alcohol induced suffering gone. “Was it the singer? He looks like he would.”
“Stop shouting, I’m not telling you who it was that’s—invasive”
Hoseok grins. “Was it hot?”
The answer is yes, which cannot be admitted. Namjoon huffs. Seokjin is listening now, leaning in to hear the gossip. “Do you think I’m into watching people fuck without their consent? And it was a guy.”
“Wait, holy shit,” Hoseok’s eyes widen, a sinister grin breaking out. This can’t go well. “Was it your little enemy?”
“He’s not my enemy! I don’t hate him, it’s one sided.” Namjoon isn’t very nonchalant. He doesn’t dare to check if Yoongi is watching.
“Rivalry is inherently horny.” Hoseok smacks Namjoon’s thigh when he says it. “This is too good, you never even apologised to him and now he’s gonna think you’re homophobic and a creep!”
“Why would this be funny in any way?” Namjoon groans, not wanting to hear anything about horniness towards Yoongi.
“Here’s an idea, he’s not talking to anyone right now. Why don’t you go over there and explain yourself?”
Namjoon laughs, as if it could be that easy. Hoseok doesn’t know what Yoongi is like: the way he looks at Namjoon like he knows exactly what he’s thinking, how pathetic he is. “He’s fucking terrifying and I just saw him with a dick in his mouth.”
“Can’t stop thinking about it, huh?” Hoseok wiggles his eyebrows, and Namjoon downs his drink.
It’s not long before Taehyung passes out as usual, and being the responsible hyung that he is, Namjoon takes him home instead of talking to Yoongi.
He’ll apologise next time.
Pink cheeks fog his mind when he goes to bed. Easily blamed on the alcohol.
It’s a new layer of fear towards Yoongi.
At first, he was just intimidating, then he was given a misunderstood reason to dislike Namjoon, but now there is a much more concrete basis for hatred. It clings to Namjoon, hard to shake off. It’s guilt, but something else, too. Something darker. The image of Yoongi on his knees returns to his mind at the weirdest times, to an annoying extent.
Namjoon isn’t an angry person, ever. If he’s ever mad, it’s at himself, and he’s the only one it gets taken out on. The Yoongi problem eats away at him, and while he hates himself for getting into those situations, he starts to blame Yoongi, too.
Why does he have such an affect? Why did he have to be so hard to talk to at first, so elusive when Namjoon wanted to apologise, so smug at that party?
With great shame, sometimes Namjoon lets himself indulge in watching a few Gloss music videos. Just to keep up with their competition, of course. It’s all blood, leather and lust. Their music gets more daring with every release; there’s a new album in 2016 and Namjoon sits in shock while the lead vocalist spits some black goo into the other’s mouth.
According to Wikipedia (they’re relevant enough for that, apparently), Gloss are heavy metal, which is debatable. They’re loved overseas, especially by queer people. The similar bands recommended are Motionless in White and In This Moment, who from a quick glance have the same dramatic approach to makeup. Overcompensating with looks to make up for their music, Namjoon guesses.
Yoongi doesn’t fit it much. He’s a lot less scandalous than the others in their music videos, and on stage, just keeps to himself. According to English comments, this is very appealing. The small one with the deepest voice and too-pale skin, doesn’t talk much in interviews, lets his bandmates do as they please but never reciprocates.
There’s a possibility that Namjoon is paying a bit too much attention.
He’s aware of this, and that makes it worse. It’s clear that Yoongi has to be actively avoided to give Namjoon’s brain a chance to calm down, which can’t be too hard, but it is inconvenienced by the seemingly constant news of Gloss getting big.
Someone casually mentions that Yoongi even writes songs for other people, gets paid for it. Namjoon is still a fucking tutor at the age of 22. A really good one, that is. Despite his growing number of tattoos and piercings he manages to keep a very middle class group of customers who love to tip. His contact name on Hoseok’s phone is currently a very classy ‘milf magnet’.
Gloss are clearly the more successful band, Namjoon won’t lie to himself. However, Seokjin has a way with words, Hoseok is just that lovable, and Taehyung is hilarious. It’s enough to squeeze their band into a few slots up for grabs, slots which usually would’ve gone to Gloss. This feels good, good enough for Namjoon to start to gradually wean himself off of keeping up with the other band’s content. He’s on their level, they’re very different subgenres, no need to worry about them.
University passes in a blur, Namjoon survives.
Spinebreaker are always changing, but consistently politically charged and hard to swallow. Taehyung’s deep, haunting voice makes them stand out from anything else within their genre, he can actually sing, while Namjoon’s rap is there to cut through the beauty it brings. They gain more attention, mostly in the west, but also enough local fans to keep moving onto bigger venues in Korea, even playing in Japan a few times. They get to take part in a festival, which is a very memorable and muddy weekend.
Namjoon changes a lot, too. A drunken night leads to a shaved head which surprisingly stays, with Taehyung in charge of dying it a different colour every month. His arms fill up with tattoos gradually, mostly of favourite plants and references to art. University stress causes a habit of getting body modifications to distract himself, currently leaving him with a pierced eyebrow, nostril, and stretched ears. His parents do not approve, but at least he continues to get good grades.
All traces of lankiness are gone thanks to Hoseok’s passion for dragging him to the gym. It turns out that Namjoon gains muscle fast, and his friends never fail to point this out, there’s always someone gripping his arms in awe. It’s kind of embarrassing, feeling like you’re taking up too much space, but it does get him laid.
He also eventually quits being a tutor to focus on their band, which somehow becomes his actual career. This leads up to the start of 2017, with the most exciting news of Namjoon’s life.
An American band invites them to be their opening act on a world tour. A month and a half in the US followed by a few weeks in Europe, on stage almost every day, living in a tour bus. There’s no hesitation, they say yes without any doubt. It starts in April, just after Namjoon will finish university, and he’ll happily miss his graduation if need be.
They get the news while Namjoon is in a morning exam. He’s half dead by the time he gets out of it, shuffling out of the building only to find Taehyung running towards him at full speed, Hoseok close behind. They start screeching about an American tour, and Namjoon actually collapses right there as soon as his friends fling themselves onto him. It’s humiliating, and he doesn’t even notice the embarrassment, which is a first.
Spinebreaker made it, this is a fact.
The past repeats itself.
It’s just like 2013, but Seokjin’s apartment is a bit bigger than before, Namjoon finds himself tipsy and buzzing with excitement the night before their flight to the US. It’s stupid of them to drink when they have to be functional the next day, but the celebration is needed. Namjoon handed in his dissertation, Hoseok finished his exams, everyone has packed their bags.
His friends keep grabbing his shoulders, shaking him and letting out yells of disbelief. A night of light-hearted fun, reflection on their past accompanied with half of them tearing up (Hoseok and Taehyung, as usual), followed by some very sobering news.
Just like 2013, the line up features Gloss.
They were a last minute addition, another band pulled out, and they’ll be on tour together for over two months.
All eyes on Namjoon.