Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Barely nineteen
You say you’re crazy
You say you’ve got voices in your head
I said I didn’t care

 

— ‘Boyhood’ is a coming-of-age song. The narrator's feelings toward a particular person are explored as the listener matures along with them, moving from an immature "I don't care, I just want you" to a transcendent "I'll fix you" and finally arriving at the point of acceptance with "I'll take [care of] you; however you are."

But as a listener, you mature with the melodies and the sounds of the song. You can tell with how it is arranged that the 9795 had a lot of fun making this song. There are a lot of unconventional genres coming together; something you wouldn’t expect to sound good, yet it does. Is it a folk song? Is it RnB? Or is it a rock ballad, after all?

The lyrics for ‘Boyhood’ were co-written by Jung Kook and Jimin and beautifully arranged by V. ‘Boyhood’ feels like a celebration of their band’s genius after five years together.

AS A TRAINEE

Everything else is bearable.

Hectic schedules, tours, and diets. Not being able to see the family as often as he’d like to, the pretty limited love life, the lack of real friends. Everything else is bearable. It’s not hard. There’s money and hookups and fans’ love and support. There’s a dream right in Yoongi’s hands. There’s music. 

It’s enough. It makes up for everything else. 

But the chants. The goddamn chants. 

Screams and concert hall noises that can still be heard even when he closes his eyes. Even when he squeezes them tightly and counts to ten, mentally ordering himself to calm down and breathe, the roar of the crowd resonates in his eardrums. 

Beats and chords and words that will never leave him now. Even if he takes a sedative, even if he adds a sleeping pill to that, even if, on top of that, he takes a sip of whiskey in hopes that once he lies down in bed, he will drift off to sleep without any interruptions, music doesn’t shut the fuck up. Because even in his dreams, the lyrics to all their different songs get messed up. Run plays on top of 2!3!, 2!3! overlays with Silver Spoon , and then, in addition, there’s another hundred tracks that Yoongi hadn’t finished working on.

That is fucking unbearable. 

Yoongi doesn’t remember the last time he experienced real silence. He doesn’t remember the last time he fell asleep without tossing in bed for hours. He doesn’t remember existing without this weight on his chest, this noise in his ears. 

So with nine months to go before Cypher’s contract expires, interviews lined up for weeks in advance, and a promised album they have yet to sit down and write, Yoongi finally admits it out loud. 

“I can’t do this anymore.”

He’s tiredly leaning on the kitchen counter, eyes peering at the ceiling. He blinks heavily. Headache is at the back of his skull, and the chants are all over his head, messy messy messy, overlapping with the real world.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoon Jung  HoseokMinYoongi—)

Coming back from a schedule, it’s been a tiring day full of filming, and tomorrow they have an early alarm for a photoshoot. They’ve decided that crashing at the dorm would be better than scattering all over Seoul to their respective apartments and being picked up even earlier in the morning to arrive at the photoshoot on time. 

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoon—)

For fuck’s sake. Yoongi turns away, and presses his forehead against the cupboard. He hopes it will take the headache away, hopes it will stop the chants, but they’re all over him. They climb up his bones, they settle inside his blood cells. 

He really can’t do this anymore. 

“Me neither,” Hoseok says, stepping inside  the kitchen. He says it easily—he doesn’t mean it, not really. 

Namjoon’s heavy steps follow Hoseok. He’s just stretching his arms and yawning, like Yoongi hasn’t said anything that deserves his attention. Which is understandable. 

It happens all the time. Yoongi says it all the time. He says it before the concerts, anxious to start performing, even countless times after his first, “This is my last time.” He says it after the concerts, sweaty and exhausted and empty, his soul sucked out by the crowd of thousands, “Never again.”  He says it in-between practices, “I quit.”   

Yoongi turns back around, away from the cupboard, and he says it again. He says it again on this one especially heavy dark evening, loud evening, the chants nauseating in his head. He says it and means it, owning up to his decision. He repeats the words like it’s going to change something. 

“I,” he licks his lips. He’s a fucking coward, fucking traitor. They’ve worked for this dream since they were acne-scarred kids. He’s not hurting the twenty-three-year-olds Kim Namjoon and Jung Hoseok right now. He’s strangling the children they once were. “I mean it. I want to stop.” 

There’s a silence, seconds of missed beats of the heart. They go in tune with the chants.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongi Cypher Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min YoongiCypherKimNamjoonJungHoseok—)

Yoongi expects them to get angry at him. Cypher made their debut in the idol scene as a rap group. They have accomplished a lot, but there is still so much to be done. They’re far from their peak, and they can do more, do better. They cannot walk away from this. Not now. Yoongi knows about this. 

But he can no longer do it. 

Hoseok and Namjoon stare at him. 

Yoongi feels this need to tell them that everything else is bearable. He wants to justify his decision. 

He wants to tell them that he’s tried so many times to make it work. He has tried to drown the chants in alcohol. He has tried to silence them through sex. He has tried to get them consumed in music, in work, in people. But the chants don’t go away, and they drive him crazy, and he can’t even make music properly these days because of them, and so he thinks the only way to get them out of his head is to forget them. 

In order to forget them, they have to stop. 

“Oh,” says Namjoon.

“How long, hyung?” asks Hoseok, and just like this, they hurt for him. They understand.

That’s the worst part.

“For too long,” Yoongi breathes, Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min YoongiCypherKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinKimJungMinCypherY, he shakes his head. He’s both laughing and crying from relief. “For too long, I think.”

Fireworks under my skin 
Just a boy from a small hometown
Who really, really wanted to sing
Do you like music? Huh, I breathe it

 

— Essentially, ‘Mismatched’ is a hip-hop song, with production credit going to the 9795’s company sunbaenim, J-Hope, known for his funky sounds. He’s credited as a songwriter alongside Jimin. However, it’s hard not to acknowledge—at least, not after Jimin's repeated mentions in interviews—that although uncredited, Jung Kook had been a massive help in writing. 

‘Mismatched’ is the type of song that you involuntarily dance to. It’s also a song that you find yourself relating to once you pay full attention to the lyrics, just because they sing about universal feelings and experiences. 

The bell on his studio’s door announces an intruder.

Yoongi grips the mouse and looks up at the ceiling, blinking. He contemplates opening the door. He’s been trying to work something out of a few simple beats he has come up with, and it’s been…going. It’s been going somewhere, and he doesn’t want to break this streak of whatever inspiration he has. It feels like Yoongi’s skull will soon break because of all the voices in his head mixed with the music in the headphones, but it’s—whatever. 

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi CypherKim NamjoonJung Hoseok—)

He has to start learning how to live with it, after all. 

The bell rings again. This time, it sounds annoyed, the intruder pressing several times into the button. 

“I know you’re fuc—” a voice stops. It clears its throat. “I know you’re in here!”

Yeri.

Yoongi jolts to his feet and almost stumbles as he scurries to open the door for her. Unlike his expectations, instead of being presented with a mad, angry expression on her face, he's met with a rather sweet smile. Yoongi has lived for long enough to know that these kind of smiles don’t bring anything good. 

“Hello,” Yeri says, bowing, which is weird, she’s addressing him politely and formally, and she only does that when they’re in front of the board of directors. 

Yoongi bows to her back, this autopilot motion engraved in him. “Hello…” he murmurs, scanning her over, and that’s when he notices three other figures behind her.

They’re standing all huddled up, shoulder to shoulder. All of them have faces still almost triangularly childish, short haircuts, boyishly sheepish looks. They must be in their teens or barely out of them. They look weirdly familiar, but Yoongi can’t really explain why.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi CypherKim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi CypherKim Namjoon Jung—)

Yoongi presses his hands against his forehead, trying to rub soothing circles into it covertly. “Uh,” he looks up shortly at the boys, “and you are…?” 

Yeri stirs up, once again being weirdly enthusiastic. “It’s so great that you asked, Suga-nim!” She gestures behind herself. “They’re our budding trainees!”

Oh, right. Yoongi has seen them around the company. They haven’t really interacted, a few meaningless greetings here and there, stumbling into each other in the doorways of the practice rooms. 

“Great,” Yoongi deadpans. The word budding is rubbing him the wrong way. “Good for them.”

“We’re currently trying out our new introductory programme for our about-to-debut trainees,” Yeri continues blabbering as she passes Yoongi and walks inside the studio nonchalantly, as if she owns the Genius Lab. “Do you mind us coming in?”

Yoongi watches her in disbelief, his mouth parted. She’s fucking inside already! In the middle of his studio! And she’s wearing this innocent expression on her face that he hates, too!

Fine. Yoongi breathes out, muttering curses under his breath. Two can play this game. 

“Not at all.” Yoongi smiles twice as sweetly. He waves the guys in, and they walk in awkwardly, bowing and murmuring “Hello” as they pass Yoongi in the doorway. They crowd together behind Yeri, as though Yoongi is some sort of monster and only this short twenty-four-year-old girl fresh out of college can protect them from him.

Yoongi scoffs and slumps down onto his chair back at his desk. He rubs his forehead again, Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi CypherKimNamjoonJungHoseok, fuck it. 

“So, how exactly does this introductory programme work?” he asks. 

“The trainees get acquainted with their future seniors,” Yeri says. “Isn’t it… inspiring? ”

Yoongi stares at three lanky teenagers peeking out from behind Yeri’s shoulders, unimpressed. Yeri has her lips in a thin line—she doesn’t like Yoongi’s attitude. But Yoongi doesn’t like her intruding on his work process, either, so they’re even. 

“This is Kim Taehyung,” she pushes, voice sweet; a fake smile like this must hurt her cheeks. She points at one of the teens, but Yoongi doesn’t bother to look. “This is Park Jimin, and this is Jeon Jungkook.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, already turning away in his chair back to the computer screen, “yeah, ok, we got acquainted. It was very nice to meet you guys—”

“Great! Now that you’re introduced to each other, I’m gonna leave you to hang out with each other.”

“Yeah, yeah, cool,” Yoongi says absentmindedly, already opening up the project he’s been working on, his eyes skimming over it, when the meaning of Yeri’s words reaches him. “Wait, no, not cool—”

She’s gone. Only the three teens, hovering painfully awkwardly in the middle of his studio as if lambs to the slaughter, remain. 

Fuck it. Fuck her. 

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher—)

And fuck these chants, too, by the way. 

Yoongi stands up abruptly, sends an awkward smile to the guys—God, they’re, what, eighteen?—as he passes them by and pushes the door open. Yeri is already at the end of the corridor. 

“I HATE YOU!” Yoongi yells at her. Only her laughter reaches him. 

He grudgingly comes back to the room. The boys are still here, guilty expressions on their faces. Yoongi spares each of them a glance. 

God, he doesn’t even remember who is who. 

He sits down at his swivel chair back again. He prompts his chin on his fist and just tries to let himself think, except that it’s fucking impossible because the chants are here. The chants never truly leave.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi KimNamjoo—)

“Suga-sunbaenim,” one of them, the bravest one, whispers. It doesn’t go beyond Yoongi’s stage name, doesn’t get to the point of a sentence. It’s just Yoongi’s stage name, the one he hates so much.

They are looking at him. Yoongi knows this look. It’s hope.

He sighs, turning away to his computer screen. “Do you kids like music?”

“We do,” the bravest one replies again.

Yoongi can work with that. 

The bravest one’s name is Park Jimin. Technically, he’s the oldest one. He has this kind of voice that makes Yoongi think of crystallophone, that one musical instrument that produces the sound from glass. His voice is so clear, so pure. Yoongi nods contently as Park Jimin sings a verse for him. It’s beautiful. 

After him comes Kim Taehyung. He’s the same year as Park Jimin. He has a lower tone, so when Yoongi asks the kids to sing a cappella and for Taehyung to act like bass, he does it excellently, to the point where Yoongi gets goosebumps down his spine. Budding trainees, Yeri had said, but Yoongi feels guilty about thinking of them as mere successors. 

They’re the future.

Their youngest is Jeon Jungkook. He’s alright. 

Hoseok literally freezes with the spoon of yukgaejang mid-way to his mouth. He lowers it, the soup splashes, and Namjoon tries to clean the table after him with napkins but only gets it dirtier. Yoongi tiredly calls over the waiter, asking him kindly to clean up after them.

“C’mon,” Hoseok says, “the kid is more than alright.”

They’re in a restaurant. It’s a cheap one, not too far from their first dorm. They have enough money now to dine in places much nicer than this, but there’s something about the nostalgia, something about the places where their friendship began that makes the food here taste better, more savoury. The whole place smells of soju and burned second-rate cigarettes. It smells like boyhood, dreams, and not being able to afford a decent meal. Smells like home. 

They’re supposed to discuss their breakup, but it’s a topic too scary and unfamiliar. Especially when sober. Yoongi knows he wants to have a clear mind when they talk about it, but neither he nor the guys have the guts to bring it up. They don’t know how to. They were so sure that they would just exist forever, but now this feels both too real and too wrong at the same time. 

So, like the scared teens in adult bodies they are, they’ve spent the past few hours just talking about all the things they usually talk about when they get together like this. They talk about music, how life’s going, how their parents are doing, and gossip about their co-workers. Or their future co-workers, for that matter. Or… The workers that will replace them. 

Whatever. 

( Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi CypherKim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi—)

“All of them are more than alright,” Yoongi murmurs, choosing to focus on his noodles rather than looking at the surprised faces of Namjoon and Hoseok. 

“Yeah, and you gave a speech about the other two, but when it came to Jeon Jungkook, you’ve only said one word,” Namjoon points out. 

“Well,” Yoongi shrugs and doesn’t know what to add to that. Doesn’t know how to tell them that when Jungkook sang, the chants in Yoongi’s head stopped.

( Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi CypherKim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi CypherKimNamjoonJung—)

He doesn’t know how to say that while Jungkook was singing, Yoongi could only hear him. So he’s alright. Just alright, even though Yoongi could probably say so much more. 

Yoongi sees that Namjoon and Hoseok get ready to push—they know him too well, they know how many words he hides within himself. So maybe what he does next is an asshole move, but he does it anyway.

Yoongi wipes at his mouth with a napkin, putting his chopsticks aside. It’s such a nonchalant move, so well-played, A+ acting, as though he is not heavy-hearted in the slightest. “Maybe we should talk about why we’re here.”

Dreams are exhausting
To have, not to have
To achieve, to give up
Dreams, did you always mean to be like this?
Destructive, did you always mean to be destructive?

 

— ‘Dreamers’ is the perfect title track. It has all the qualities for it: it’s catchy, it’s pop, it’s the radio song. You listen to it in the car while running errands, you sing it under your breath as you clean up the kitchen after a get-together with your friends, and you dance to its remix in the club.

‘Dreamers’ unlike ‘Boyhood’ is not nostalgic about the past. It’s a “Thank God it’s over. Thank God now I can rest.” We can only congratulate the 9795 on achieving their dreams, no matter how exhausting the journey was, and hope they have a good rest. While we keep dreaming on to be at peace one day, too.

Their contract will end in nine months. They won’t renew it. As simple as that. 

It’s not as simple, of course, but for now, it’s enough. Even though Hoseok and Namjoon try to talk him out of this. Even though they keep repeating that they can terminate the contract right this second and just move on, set new goals. The company will understand, they say. But Yoongi wants to finish what his teenage self has promised to do. He will complete the contract.

Nine months left. The last promised album left to make. By December, it’ll be over. It’s only nine months. What can happen in nine months? Surely, it can’t get worse than it already is.

The chants in Yoongi’s head are already unbearable, and yet he’s still going on. The songs he’s trying—the emphasis on the word trying—to make for their new album suck. He feels spent and tired, yet he still stubbornly locks himself up in his studio to work on them. He has no desire to show his face to the public, but he continues to sit in the makeup chair every morning, blabbers excitedly at all the interviews,  and obediently shakes hands with the stockholders at the meetings. 

Even when he can’t do this annoying, overly complicated move at their dance practices, he still tries it over and over again until it comes out right, just like he used to when his dreams weren’t so crushingly suffocating.

Sometimes he hears Namjoon and Hoseok talk in their dorm kitchen when they think Yoongi is asleep. They keep asking each other how they didn’t notice anything off about Yoongi. They keep asking themselves how they just let Yoongi suffer alone.

And Yoongi, as he stills in the corridor leading to the bathroom, hidden by the shadows from their conversation, wants to tell them it was never their fault.

He looks normal. Maybe a bit on the skinnier side lately, but the tabloids say he looks handsome like this. Must be SUGA’s new diet, they write. He lives normally, too. He lives like nothing is going on. He still smiles and laughs and talks just as animatedly as he always did.

It’s not his behaviour that’s changed.

He’s just rotting from the inside. It’ll stink one day, his heart, when he will decay enough for it to show. But it doesn’t yet. It couldn’t be noticed. So it’s neither Hoseok nor Namjoon’s fault. It’s his. 

And now, on top of all his problems, he also has three kids constantly spying on him. At least, that’s what Yoongi tells Yeri when they share lunch at the company cafeteria together, to which she scoffs and tells him to stop being such a crybaby.

“They don’t spy on you,” she says, pointing at him with her chopsticks. “They learn from you.”

Yoongi shakes his head. He lowers his gaze, going back to eating. He grabs a piece of kimchi with his chopsticks, sends it to his mouth, munches on it sadly. “I have nothing to teach them.”

“Really?” The corner of Yeri’s mouth turns upward, mocking. She’s just like Yoongi, that’s her most annoying trait. “C’mon, I didn’t ask you to teach them how to sing.”

“Ouch,” Yoongi says tonelessly. “You know I get the highest scores when we go karaoke.”

“Fuck, would you mind saying it louder? It’s not like the whole company thinks we’re dating, huh?”

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min YoongiCypherCypher Cypher —KimNamjon—)

Yoongi winces. He pretends it’s only because of Yeri’s words, the idea of people assuming they’re together. He rubs his forehead. “Not my fault you’re obsessed with me.”

Yeri rolls her eyes. “My point stands. You were almost the same age as they are now when you got into the industry. We—”

“You were in college when I debuted.”

“We, ” Yeri pushes, “as a company. We failed to provide the support you needed—”

“Well, maybe you should talk this out with your father—”

“But now we can do it over,” Yeri says, and her eyes light up. Scratch what Yoongi said earlier, her most annoying trait is her kindness. This stubborn wish to do good by all means. “We can learn and do better.”

Yoongi shrugs, humming. It’s not an agreement, but he’s also not ignoring her. It’s just—a sound. He heard her.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi—)

“Just talk to them.” Yeri’s voice is almost pleading. “What troubled you when you were about to debut? What did you struggle with when you debuted? What helped you carry on?”

Yoongi thinks about it. 

“It’s stupid,” he says. 

“Talking about your feelings is not stupid, Yoongi-yah. It’s healthy.”

“No, I mean—what helped me carry on. It’s stupid.”

My dream, gets left unsaid. 

Yeri’s eyes get sad. It’s always like this. She’s like an open book, too easy to read. She’s the same age as Yoongi but feels younger to him. Yoongi wants to protect her more often than he wants to fight her, and they fight every day. They fight endlessly like real siblings do.

“You know,” Yeri starts.

“Oh no, oh no, we’re not doing this—” Yoongi hurries to stand up, grabbing his tray full of unfinished food at an awkward angle.

“If there’s something troubling you—”

“No, no, no, not doing it, not cool—”

“At least finish your food!”

“I’m good!” He hasn’t been hungry to begin with.

Yoongi is already out of the cafeteria, the tray dropped by the self-service cleaning spot and the cook ahjumma thanked in a quick bow as he walked passed her. But even when he’s out of Yeri’s reach, he still feels her gaze. It’s full of compassion and warmth.

Yeri might not realise Yoongi is rotting, but she knows something is wrong. Something is off.

What Yeri doesn’t know is that Yoongi has tried talking. With the kids, he has tried it.

But he’s not good with words, not as Namjoon is, and he’s not empathetic enough like Hoseok. He can’t lie to the trainees that it’s going to get better because he knows it won’t, and he doesn’t want to disappoint them and say that this whole thing fucking sucks, get the hell out of here while you still can, because he knows it doesn’t. It doesn’t suck. Music. Concerts. Money. Love. Meeting new people. Doing what you did as a hobby in your teenage years as a job now.

It doesn’t suck. It just doesn’t.

What sucks is: Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi in his head. The dull ache at the back of his skull.

What sucks is pressing your forehead against the cold side of the pillow at night; you’re tipsy and maybe a bit high on the number of pills you’ve taken, and you just wish the whole world would go deaf so you could finally fall asleep.

What sucks is the confused gaze of the kids lingering on Yoongi after he’s been struggling to find some coherent words for minutes already. So he barks something barely human, like “Fuck it, c’mere ” and talks about the only thing he knows how to talk about. He talks about love.

He talks about music.

He used to think the word ‘love’—sa-rang—sounded too simple. It was until he learned what love actually sounds like. 

The thing is, love sounds like Chopin, love sounds like A-minor, love sounds like seven octaves, like eighty-eight keys.

The guys seem to like it when he talks about music. They come one by one to his studio on different days; there must be some sort of schedule that Yoongi is too lazy to figure out. They just ring the bell to the studio, and Yoongi simply always opens the door for them. He’s trying to be the support system Yeri was talking about. 

For each of the kids, it means a different kind of approach.

For example, Kim Taehyung is most interested in how the song arrangements are made. He and Yoongi sit in front of the computer screen for hours as Yoongi explains the software, and they play around with beats, sounds, and samples. The fun only ends when Taehyung’s manager, or Yeri, comes by and drags Taehyung away to his other appointments. Or sometimes it’s Yoongi’s manager, and he has an interview to go to, a photoshoot to do, or a commercial to film.

Either way, it always feels like time goes too quickly when Yoongi is with Taehyung. They stay together for overtime more often than they do not. Besides, Yoongi took him out for lunch once, and they talked about their childhood over bowls of jajangmyeon and bonded over the fact that they both had come to Seoul from Daegu chasing their dreams.

Or take Park Jimin, for instance. He and Yoongi start to get along quickly: Yoongi keeps grumbling, and Jimin keeps teasing him about it, and if there’s anyone else next to them, like Namjoon, they ask them to keep it down and stop acting like an old married couple.

“You’ve known each other for what, a month?”

But aside from endless banter, Yoongi sees Park Jimin’s genuine interest in songwriting. Jimin often texts Yoongi the lyrics he has come up with, and Yoongi sends him feedback. Or he’ll meet Park Jimin later in the company building and give him the feedback, and Jimin gives him an earful because Yoongi just can’t reply to his message like a normal person would, could he? 

However, Jeon Jungkook.

He’s a bit of an enigma to Yoongi. Even weeks after the start of this shitass introductory programme, the support system building, Yoongi barely knows anything about him. They mostly sit in silence in Yoongi’s studio. Jungkook watches what Yoongi does, but every time Yoongi turns to him to ask if there’s anything he’s curious about in Yoongi’s work, Jungkook’s eyes only grow wider as if he’s been caught in some sort of terrible crime, and his gaze slips onto the floor, away from Yoongi, as he shakes his head. 

They never stay overtime. When the clock hits the allotted time—an hour and a half, they only ever get an hour and a half—Jungkook stands up, bows to Yoongi, Thank you for having me, sunbaenim, and leaves.

“Okay,” Yeri says because Yoongi does tell her eventually that he tried the talking and drastically failed at it with Jungkook. They’re once again at the company cafeteria: it’s sundae day. Yeri loves sundae, there’s no way they’d miss it. “Okay, so what exactly is the problem? He doesn’t talk to you?”

Yeri speaks as she has another bite of her sausage, her middle finger near the right corner of her mouth, ready to wipe the grease off if any gets on it. Yoongi doesn’t have the heart to tell her it’s on her other side. Or maybe he enjoys it too much, her misery.

“No,” Yoongi says, “but I talked to Hobi the other day—he sometimes practises dances with them, right?—and I asked him about Jungkook, and Hobi was so surprised? He thought we were talking about two different people. The Jungkook he knows is like the loudest kid ever—”

Yeri stares at him. “You’re four years older than him.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi frowns. “So he’s a kid, basically? A child.”

“ You are a kid yourself. You’re what, twenty-one?”

“Twenty-four,” Yoongi huffs. He contemplates talking to her about the fact that after leading a life too fast and demanding for a simple human being like him, he feels spent. Feels like he’s a hundred years old at least. Everyone feels like a kid to him. “Can we focus on what I’ve been trying to tell you?”

“You haven’t touched your sausage. Can I have it if you won’t eat it?”

Yoongi pushes his tray to her. Yeri’s eyes light up, and she smiles—kind of creepily, by the way—to herself, and starts eating from Yoongi’s plate. Yoongi knows that sharing food from one plate won’t help the dating rumours die down, but he thinks he’s long past caring about them.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi CypherKim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Cypher! Cyp—Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher—KimNamjoon—JungHoseok-MinYoongi—)

“Okay, so you think I’m just worrying over nothing?” Yoongi asks. 

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! KimNamjoon Jung Hoseok MinYoongiCypher!Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi—)

“I just,” Yeri takes her time to chew on her bite, “don’t get it. Is his silence troubling you in any way? I think it’s very polite of him. You know, I expected you to grumble about Kim Taehyung’s antics, but here you are, complaining that one of the trainees actually respects your time.”

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi CypherKim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Cypher! Cyp—Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher—KimNamjoon—JungHoseok-MinYoongi—)

Yoongi is about to bang his head against the table. Whether it be because of the chants or Jeon Jungkook, he does not know. “Yeah,” he breathes, “I mean, but—”

He looks disinterested in me.

I want him to be as interested as the other two are. 

Besides, there are these two weird situations that keep bothering Yoongi.

It starts, like all situations that keep bothering Yoongi lately, with Park Jimin.

To be specific, it starts with Park Jimin strolling in beside Jungkook. It’s Jungkook day, his turn to come. The budding trainees always come one by one—Yoongi’s studio is barely big enough to fit four people. They’ll suffocate in here if he’s going to teach them all together. 

So when Yoongi sees Jimin next to Jungkook, he assumes that it’s because he, once again, has forgotten to reply to him earlier, and Jimin has come to give Yoongi shit about it. Yoongi already switches his defensive mode on, giving Jimin a look: The hell you need? And Jimin raises his eyebrows to say: Try me.

But then Jungkook sniffs, his piercing gaze making a hole in his sneakers; the sound of him sniffing almost as if—upset.

“I come here in peace,” Jimin says, keeping his hands up in defence.

He slips inside Yoongi’s studio so easily—it’s like second nature to him. He knows all his ways around here. He knows where Yoongi keeps his pens and notes, he knows in which drawer Yoongi stores extra batteries, he knows how to fit himself into the sofa in the corner of the room. 

“Don’t mind me,” Jimin chippers from there, his phone in his hands. “I’ll just crash here while you two do your thing, yeah?”

Yoongi feels a little like he’s being left out of some sort of scheming. It seems like an act played out too well. Knowing Jimin, there’s definitely something up. But Yoongi just waves him off. Whatever. He only needs to finish the song. 

Yoongi nods at Jungkook and at the second chair he bought specifically for the introductory programme—it’s not comfortable showing them how to use the software while one of them is standing, and the sofa is too far (“ Shut up, ” Yoongi scowls when Yeri smiles at him exceptionally brightly at this part of the story. “Don’t you dare say anything.”). Jungkook obediently plops down. Yoongi studies his features for a long second before tearing his gaze away. On that day, Jungkook looks even more solemn than he usually does.

Yoongi doesn’t have the right to ask him what’s wrong, so the next hour goes like this: with Jungkook quietly breathing next to Yoongi, KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonJungHoseokMin in Yoongi’s brain, and the imperfect song filling the studio. 

Eventually, Yoongi is taken out of his reverie when Jimin scoffs. “Wow, you guys actually don’t talk at all?”

“Hyung,” Jungkook hisses, rapidly turning around to Jimin on his swivel chair, “shut the hell up—”

This kind of emotion in Jungkook, who’s always been anything but the snappy kid to Yoongi, first makes Yoongi freeze; and then crack up. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and he sees Jungkook fighting a smile on his face, too.

Yoongi hadn’t realised there was someone on this planet who could actually act against Park Jimin. “Yeah,” he says through his laughter, barely making it through coherently, “if you can’t respect the silence of the work process, Jimin-ssi, don’t make it everyone else’s problem, okay?”

Jimin’s smile grows big and kind. “Alright.” He hops off the couch with the ease of the dancer—Yoongi thinks it was Hoseok who told him that Jimin studied in a dance school. “I’ll leave you two alone, then. With your silence. ”

“I won’t see you out.”

Jimin sticks out his tongue at him. “I don’t need you to!” He’s already out of the studio, waving goodbye. “Bye, hyung! Bye, my lovely dongsaeng! Fighting!”

Yoongi shakes his head in disbelief. Jimin is barely two years younger than him, but he does feel like a child. He moves like one. He behaves like one. Yoongi, on the other hand, feels almost spent at this point, even though he’s barely twenty-four. It’s the age ordinary people usually graduate from university and find a job, but he’s already at the end of his career. 

Sometimes it’s scary to think about. How quickly fame forces you to grow up. 

Even now, everything in Yoongi’s motions is of someone old, someone tired of movement: he pushes on his knees to stand up from the chair and walks over to the door—Jimin has left it half-opened. Yoongi closes it and sighs. 

When he turns around, Jungkook is once again the quiet kid. He’s looking down at his palms with his fingers spread as if he’s seeing them for the first time. 

Yoongi wonders if he’s upset about Jimin’s words, but he doesn’t believe Jungkook would give him an honest answer if Yoongi was to ask him about it. 

Yoongi walks back to his chair. He spares a quick glance at his watch: it’s been an hour and fifteen minutes. They’re almost done. Only fifteen minutes left before Jungkook leaves.

“Is my silence bothering you, sunbaenim?” 

Jungkook is now looking up at him, and Yoongi stands awkwardly with his mouth parted. He didn’t expect Jungkook to speak up. They talk so rarely, his voice is almost unknown to Yoongi: it’s boyish, quiet, a bit hoarse.

Yoongi doesn’t know how to tell him that his silence is welcomed. The world is always so loud around Yoongi, with the music, the voices of the board of directors, the complaints of the stockholders, makeup artists chatting between each other as they put foundation on Yoongi’s skin,  Cypher’s dance instructors yelling, Seven! Eight! the footsteps resonating in the practice room as they move their feet to the rhythm, and the chants. The world is always so loud, and this silence with Jungkook is surprisingly…nice. 

So instead of saying that he’s thankful for it, he blurts out, shaking his head, “No, not at all.” Which is not a lie, but it feels like one nevertheless. 

“Okay,” Jungkook whispers. 

Yeri stares at him, unimpressed.

Yoongi shoves a napkin into the left corner of her mouth, the one with a smudge left of sundae, just to not let her win this one. God, he knows he’s ridiculous. He knows he usually wouldn’t even care.

Maybe it’s because there’s a secret he’s carrying, and it’s heavy, so he’s trying to focus on everything else but the fact that he’s going to quit his dream in nine (is it eight now?) months. Even now, he’s choosing to tell her this absolutely irrelevant story about Jeon Jungkook and not something that’s actually important—for example, how his dinner with Namjoon and Hoseok went the other day. The day when they decided to quit and not tell the company about this until very late. 

Yeri and Yoongi have known each other since they were kids. Their grandmothers were neighbours, and as children, they  spent a lot of time by each other’s sides. The first time Yoongi tried beer, Yeri was with him. The first time he performed, Yeri was in the crowd. The day his voice broke, she made fun of him so much. She had seen him at his best and at his worst and never turned away. 

She would understand if he told her that these days all he feels is fear for his future and shame. She would understand this guilt gnawing at his bones. 

It’s just—

He can’t. He just can’t. In the past month, he had tried so many times, and yet every time he opened his mouth, only useless words came out. 

“Yoongi-yah, my friend,” Yeri says, wiping at her mouth carefully. Yoongi looks up at her. “Have you ever considered that it’s not about Jungkook, and it’s about you?”

What about him? What is there about him? He’s just a guy. He’s a pathetic human being who couldn’t carry the weight of his own dreams. Who got crushed by them.

But when Yeri says that it’s about him, she makes his name sound like—

“Oh, c’mon, don’t make me into a scary monster.” 

“That’s not what I mean,” Yeri says. “You’re one of the Cypher members. You’re an idol for so many people around Jungkook’s age. Have you ever thought about it?”

“That he’s a fan?”

“That he admires your work, you idiot.” And Yeri makes a move to stand up as if Yoongi has tired her out.

Yoongi grabs her wrist, trying to sit her down. “I said there were two weird situations! You haven’t heard the second one! It’ll make sense to you after you hear the second one!”

Yeri almost growls at him. “I have better stuff to do—”

“Please,” Yoongi pouts. “You were right. Talking helps.”

It doesn’t. Yoongi just needs to vent about something insignificant if he can’t open up about anything serious. 

Yeri doesn’t have to know about this.

She nods, like she’s doing Yoongi a big favour, and sits back down on the chair. The cafeteria hall is half-empty—she’s right, that lunch is almost over—and now that there are not as many people chatting, it is terribly quiet. Yoongi has to speak lower, not as animatedly, not as expressively.

After the so-called Park-Jimin-Incident, or two days later, to be precise, when it’s once again Jungkook’s turn to spend time with Yoongi, there’s Kim Taehyung by his side. He’s grinning widely at Yoongi, his arm thrown over Jungkook’s shoulders.

“Hey, hyung.”

“Hey yourself.” Yoongi’s lips set in a thin line. “I didn’t want to see your face today. You were just here yesterday.”

“I know you’ve missed me,” Taehyung smiles twice as wide. He walks past Yoongi while tugging Jungkook inside the Genius Lab. Jungkook’s shoulder brushes Yoongi’s chest. 

Yoongi stares at them both. There’s definitely something going on that he’s not a part of, and he’s not sure he likes that.

It goes just like it did with Jimin: Jungkook is on the chair next to Yoongi’s, and Taehyung is on the sofa. Except that Taehyung doesn’t busy himself with his phone. Instead, he has his arms crossed over his chest, leaning forward, watching Jungkook and Yoongi almost like he’s a nature observer.

God, Yoongi. The kids are just occupying his studio as if the lounge room in the company is no longer enough for them. 

“Yah,” Yoongi says. “If you’re here already, then at least do some work.”

Taehyung scrunches his nose. “But I don’t want to,” he whines. He points with his hands at the desk, the scandalised tone of his voice filling the room. “You don’t even have the third chair for me! Are you gonna make me stand up for hours?”

And realistically, Yoongi knows that it’s Jungkook who he should send back on the sofa. Jungkook doesn’t seem interested in either songwriting or producing. Maybe this introductory programme just completely sucks for him, and Jungkook finds Yoongi a boring teacher. Maybe he hates Yoongi’s guts, actually.

“C’mere,” Yoongi grumbles, patting his chair, “I’ll do the standing.”

“Aw,” Taehyung smiles. “So sweet of you.”

“Get your ass here,” Yoongi deadpans, and Taehyung hurries.

Yoongi lets Taehyung take the lead and mostly watches him from afar—unless Taehyung has questions that Yoongi answers. Even Jungkook, always with so few words shared, murmurs his suggestions to Taehyung, which tells Yoongi that he has been learning after all.

It’s a surprising thought. Surprising in how warm it makes Yoongi’s chest feel. 

He refuses the itch in his hand to ruffle Jungkook’s hair when he proposes a brilliant idea to connect the verse with the pre-chorus. Yoongi would’ve let Taehyung do it himself, but he suddenly grows so excited at Jungkook’s suggestion that he hovers over Taehyung in the chair, snatches the mouse out of Taehyung’s hand, and makes the arrangement himself. 

He plays it. Then he loops it and plays it again. There’s a small, almost insignificant change suggested by Jungkook, but how much difference it makes. Yoongi would never be able to come up with it. The mess of the sounds in his head simply wouldn’t have allowed it. 

“It’s good,” Yoongi says. He makes sure to look at Jungkook when he says it. “It’s really good, Jungkook-ah.”

Jungkook still doesn’t meet his eyes and only nods stiffly. 

Yoongi announces the session is finished. On their way out, he lets Taehyung exit first and catches Jungkook’s elbow gently before he can slip away from Yoongi completely and utterly. 

Jungkook stares at him like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide and breath non-existent, stuck in his chest.

“You know,” Yoongi says, and he tries so hard to sound soft, to sound kind. Because he is not the monster Yeri makes him out to be, after all. “You don’t have to do this introductory programme with me if what I do isn’t something you’re interested in. I won’t take it personally, I promise.”

“Ah,” Jungkook nods, again this stiffness, again this feeling in Yoongi’s chest, again Jungkook’s gaze is down, burning holes through his sneakers. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Yoongi tries not to show that he’s disappointed by his answer. Does it mean Jungkook won’t come again?

“I have to go now, sunbae.”

“Oh.” Yoongi is still holding onto Jungkook’s elbow. He lets go of it. “Yes, of course. Bye, Jungkook-ah.”

Jungkook bows and jogs to catch up with Taehyung.

Yoongi can’t give a rational enough reason why, instead of closing the door to his studio and going back to work, he leans onto the doorjamb and watches Jungkook and Taehyung. He hears the ends of Taehyung’s words because of how loud he is. They don’t quite make sense, but he’s laughing about something. He sounds teasing, and Jungkook slaps Taehyung’s bicep for that, hissing, and then turns around to look for something behind his shoulder.

He looks relieved when he doesn’t seem to find what he’s been looking for.

He looks relieved. Right until his gaze catches on Yoongi. After that, he just looks stiff, just like he always does, and panicked.

Dear God, were they badmouthing Yoongi?

Wait, twice as worse: did Jeon Jungkook just catch Yoongi staring at him?

Fuck.

Yoongi tries to play it off cool: he raises his hand to wave at him. Nothing weird was going on here, nothing bad.

But Jungkook rapidly turns around, grabs Taehyung’s elbow, and drags him around the corner of the corridor. Just like that, they’re out of Yoongi’s sight.

Slowly, Yoongi lowers his hand. He looks at his palm, spreads his fingers, and then squeezes it into a fist and back. Weird.

“This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”

“C’mon, don’t you think he actually dislikes me? Like, he’s too polite to say it. I’m his senior, after all, so—”

“I think you’re an idiot,” barks Yeri. “What time is it?” Instead of waiting for Yoongi’s reply, she checks her phone herself. “Shit, you’re late already.” She stands up abruptly and starts gathering the mess on the table, all the used-up napkins, and dirty wooden chopsticks, shoving it all onto her tray.

Yoongi follows her up absentmindedly, helping her to clean up. “I don’t think he’ll come,” he murmurs, even though he knows it’s pointless to argue with Yeri when she’s like this. Their fingers bump into each other as they collect their trash off the table and onto the tray. “I told him he doesn’t have to come, so I don’t think he will.”

“Then you’re even dumber than I already think of you,” Yeri scoffs. “He will come. Judging by what you’ve told me, he should be at your studio precisely on time. And you’re late. ”

Not having any of the arguments Yoongi has prepared for her, Yeri goes to leave their trays at the self-cleaning service. Yoongi just trails after her. They go to the elevators together. The chants follow after Yoongi.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoon Jung  HoseokMinYoongi—)

Before Yeri steps out on the second floor, their most office-like floor where all the creators for the entertainment content and managers bundle up together, she levels him with her stare. “And don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t touch your food at all.”

Yoongi physically recoils from her words. Yeri never chooses her impulsive blows. That’s her worst trait—she’s like a baby; she doesn’t know how much she can hurt. He thinks she notices his startled expression, and something close to regret shadows her face before the elevator’s doors separate them and Yeri stays behind while Yoongi goes up.

The third floor in their company building—technically, they rent only half of the building—is their last floor. The one with all the recording studios. Yoongi’s studio is the one before the last on the floor. It requires eighty-eight steps, almost like walking down a piano keyboard, and rounding the corner.

The structure of their company building is a bit strange. It’s as though it was built with toy blocks by a kid who didn’t really care about the practicality of the site, only about fun and imagination. 

Yoongi rounds the corner. He both wants to see Jungkook there and not, but he’s not sure what he would like more. He checks his phone—he’s not even late, it’s only eight minutes past their established time. By the time Yoongi raises his eyes from the screen, he’s next to the Genius Lab’s door.

Jungkook is here. 

He’s squatting against the wall, his head leaning on it tiredly. His eyes are closed, and like this, he looks peaceful. He reminds Yoongi a bit of himself. Maybe that’s the whole problem. 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” says Yoongi. 

Jungkook blinks his eyes open. He looks up at Yoongi from where he’s squatting and nips his bottom lip. “Well.” It doesn’t go anywhere beyond that.

With his eyes open, he looks tired. All the trainees look tired, actually, but he appears even more so, on the brink of exhaustion, almost. His dark circles are so prominent. Yoongi wishes his hands could heal them, could wipe them away in one gentle stroke of his thumbs. Is this what being the support system means? 

“Stand up,” Yoongi says. Jungkook does. 

He does it a bit weightlessly, like boys often do: no grunting, a simple push from the soles and up. His eyes are now at the same level as Yoongi, peering right at him: he’s the same height as Yoongi, that’s why. But he’s only twenty, Yoongi knows, remembers from this one time he asked Jungkook about the year he was born and Jungkook murmuring it so quietly Yoongi had to lean down to catch it. He’s only twenty, and it makes Yoongi wonder if he’s going to become taller once he finishes growing up. 

Yoongi waves his hand suggestively, turning away already. “Let’s go.” 

Jungkook doesn’t ask any questions and blindly follows him instead. Yoongi did the same with Yeri: it felt like he was her puppy. This time, it’s like Jungkook is Yoongi’s shadow. It’s like they’re walking through snow, and Jungkook makes sure to match his steps with Yoongi’s footprints.

They get out of the building. It’s spring, April, and a warm day full of sun. It’s nice to be out like this. The company building has been making Yoongi nauseous and claustrophobic. 

“What’s your favourite food?” Yoongi asks as they walk down the street.

“Ramen.” Jungkook’s voice is as soft as Busan’s breeze, as rumbling as the sea wave. It cuts through the chants in Yoongi’s head, KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongi, overpowers them. 

Yoongi stops, turning to face him. Jungkook stalls from behind him, too, having almost bumped into Yoongi but avoided him at the last moment. 

Yoongi quirks his eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to be eating ramen right now?”

Jungkook looks at his feet. “Well, sunbae asked me about my favourite food, not my current craving.”

Yoongi huffs, a sound to hide the smile that wants to appear on his face. “Which is?”

“Samgyeopsal,” Jungkook sighs dreamily.

“I can hear you salivating,” Yoongi huffs again. This time, his smile is barely concealed, weaving through his voice like a loose thread. “Alright. I know a place nearby.”

To this, Jungkook doesn’t reply. They once again walk in silence. It’s less sombre, however, and Yoongi can swear he hears an excited skip in Jungkook’s steps. The dumb smile almost climbs on his face for that. 

They get to the restaurant quickly. There’s no line at this time of the day, too early for dinner and too late for lunch, and only a few tables are occupied. They get settled and served quickly. 

Yoongi takes charge of the grill. Jungkook doesn’t argue with that. 

“So, uh,” Yoongi starts. Jungkook looks up at him. It’s only a second where his gaze pierces into Yoongi before it returns back to the table. 

Yoongi is bad at this, actually. Friendships come to him naturally, all the conversations and dynamics, but with Jungkook, he feels like he’s drowning. Like his father has never taught him how to swim.  

Yoongi clears his throat. “What have you been up to today?”

His question is followed by silence, which makes Yoongi feel stupid for speaking up in the first place. This silence is drowned by the sizzling sound and smoky flavour of meat in the air. 

Then, “Just the usual.”

“Which is?”

“English class. Dance class. Vocal training. You.”

The way Jungkook says you goes straight into Yoongi’s gut, a punch too strong. It doesn’t sound accusing, it’s too formal for this, but Yoongi somehow knows it’s there anyway.

“Sunbae thought I wouldn’t come,” Jungkook states.

Yoongi doesn’t answer that. Jungkook is not the only one who knows how to keep silent. 

Instead, he grills more meat. 

“I don’t mean to waste your time,” Jungkook says suddenly. He’s sitting like a kid in this cheap red plastic chair, hands plastered against its corners, pressing, pushing, eyes focused on the grill. He frowns, biting on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t mean to waste your time on someone like me.”

“Someone…like you?”

“I’m a slow learner, okay?” Jungkook blurts, and from then on, he’s an unstoppable force of words. “It’s like, Tae-hyung is so-o-o quick with learning new things. He already knows the mixing app like the back of his hand. I just barely started to navigate through it. And—I’m not really good at writing songs like Jimin-hyung. In our dorm, uh, sometimes we sit down to write together? And hyung always gets a whole song, or at least a chorus, and some verses. Me? I can barely put two sentences together.”

Jungkook’s eyes are gleaming with sheer force. Like he must prove to Yoongi that he’s a slow learner, and all Yoongi wants to do is ask him, Who told you that? 

Do you really have to be quick at everything that you do? 

Yoongi wants to comfort him and tell him that it’s okay. But Jungkook is looking him straight in the eyes for what feels like the first time, and his eyes are so dark they’re black, and there are stars in them, stars. A cat gets Yoongi’s tongue, and it’s him this time who breaks eye contact first.

“Have you ever considered that it’s because they ask questions, and you just do everything on your own? It’s admirable but—lonely,” he mutters. The tongs in his hand are useless, he’s now just stirring the meat around on the grill for the sake of it. 

Jungkook breathes out audibly. He sounds like he’s heard these words before, and they weren’t helpful. Yoongi snickers at this realisation, receiving a shy grin from Jungkook. 

It stalls Yoongi, his smile. It’s so…

Boyish. That’s the word. 

“Jimin and Taehyung told me the same thing,” Jungkook says. “Not the admirable part, though. Just about questions. They told me I should…ask you something. Anything. But I never seem to have anything good to ask.”

Yoongi lays the tongs aside and picks up the meat with the chopsticks. He still doesn’t want to eat, but he knows that Jungkook won’t start eating until he does it first. He’s a polite kid that sticks to formalities. He’s still calling Yoongi sunbae, after all, even though they’ve been getting quite close in their shared silence in the past month. 

“The questions don’t have morality. So just ask me anything. Yeah?” Yoongi swallows the piece of meat. It’s nasty and nauseating in his empty stomach, but it’s worth the hungry enthusiasm as Jungkook throws himself at food. 

God, this kid eats well. 

They sit in silence, Yoongi admiring Jungkook as he inhales the meat in front of him. The restaurant owner’s TV is playing in the background, the waiters keep chatting with each other, and the entire establishment is filled with noises, sounds, and voices, so being like this is not awkward.

And it’s not like they’re not used to the silence between each other. 

Finally, Jungkook leans back with a satisfied groan. Yoongi chooses to hide his smile by propping his chin on his fist and covering his mouth.

“Do you want something else?” Yoongi asks, tilting his head. “Something to drink? Dessert?” 

Jungkook’s eyes shine. “Can we get more meat?”

“Dear lord,” Yoongi mutters, laughing. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

If only he knew that to get this kid to talk to him was to take him out to the BBQ, he’d do it much earlier. 

“My favourite time of the day is spending time with you in the studio,” says Jungkook as Yoongi rolls his sleeves and starts grilling their second round of meat. “I’m sorry I’m bad at showing this. But I really do love it.”

He sounds so vulnerable like this. Jokes aside, as his senior, it was Yoongi’s job to break the ice between them. 

“You’re not wasting my time. And I really like having you in my studio, too,” Yoongi says, his eyes focused on the grill. Just like his mother, Yoongi does not know how to apologise in any other way but this: he puts a perfectly grilled piece of meat into Jungkook’s bowl. “Eat up,” he murmurs. “Your day sounds exhausting.”

“Having dreams is exhausting,” shrugs Jungkook, picking up the chopsticks. 

That’s an interesting thought. A thought that Yoongi plays around within his mind as he turns the meat over on the other side. 

“Hm,” he says, then. “I don’t think so.”

For a second, Jungkook’s eyes hold onto Yoongi and then lower again. He picks kimchi, and puts it on top of the meat. “How come?”

“ Dreams themselves are exhausting by nature,” Yoongi points at him with the tongs. “Think about it. Having them is exhausting. Not having them is exhausting, too, because everyone keeps putting this pressure on you to have them.”

Yoongi watches him chew on the meat. “That’s true,” Jungkook nods. “Sunbae’s right.”

A pause.

“Is achieving dreams exhausting, too?” Jungkook asks. 

“Eat some more,” Yoongi says instead of replying, and judging by the way Jungkook complies with him, he knows all the things that remain unsaid. This is kind of nice. 

Not having to talk but being heard anyway.

You’ve always told me I was too honest
How I live, how I breathe, and how I sing
But what can I do?
If it’s sincerely, me

 

— ‘Sincerely, me’. A Thank-you song. A deep bow in music form to the family, friends, and fans of the 9795. And the only thing I can say is, Thank you for being sincere, the 9795. Thank you for never being afraid to speak up for all of us. Your honesty has given us strength, too. 

Judging by all the interviews the 9795’s members gave during the promotion of the album, ‘Sincerely, me’ was quite a song to make. Jung Kook, Jimin, V, and their company sunbaenim, RM, all participated in writing it, and it’s not a surprise there are so many different kinds of gratitude represented in this song. 

The thing is, Yoongi knows Park Jimin from his lyrics. 

Yoongi keeps telling Jimin that he’s too open in them. That his honesty is going to hurt him one day. 

“It’s a hard habit to break,” Yoongi explains. He taps his temple. “Writing out genuine feelings onto the paper. It’s too addictive.” 

“Speaking from your own experience, Suga-ssi?” Park Jimin teases, and Yoongi wants to suffocate him with the sofa pillow tucked under his arm. 

They’re in the lounge room on the third floor. Technically, it’s for the producers and artists at the company. In reality, Cypher is the only debuted group, and the few producers they have, enjoy the cafeteria on the first floor and their studios much more than this useless room. So it’s perfect for conversations like this—when you don’t want anyone to know. When you want the words to stay in the room. 

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoon Jung  HoseokMinYoongi—)

Yoongi rubs at his face tiredly. He groans into his palms. “Ugh. Do you always need to pick fights? I’m just trying to talk sense into you. I’m telling you that I can see you fucking bare in your lyrics, and believe me, it’s not worth it.”

“Huh?” Jimin smirks. He sits up straighter on the couch opposite Yoongi, gets his elbows on his knees, and looks at him, a bit disbelieving. As if Yoongi just told him that Santa Claus is real. “Okay,” he says, “surprise me. What do you see in my songs?”

Yoongi leans back in his seat, looking up at the ceiling groggily. He blinks. It’s close to twelve in the morning, and he’s going a little crazy. The chants in his head are holding a stadium concert right now, all the KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongi blaring right through Yoongi’s skull. Yoongi isn’t in the mood to explain to a stuck-up kid that his songs are like a secret diary that doesn’t have a lock. 

“You grew up in Busan,” Yoongi says flatly, still looking up at the ceiling. 

“I still slip into the dialect sometimes. You don’t have to read my songs to know about this.”

“Yes, but you write about it as if you’re homesick. Which you are.” Jimin doesn’t say anything to it, confirm or deny it, so Yoongi goes on. “Your family is comfortable with money. In school, you had too much free time and never had to worry about anything. You miss not having to work hard.” Yoongi looks back down at Jimin. “Want me to continue?”

Park Jimin tilts his head. He’s curious now, leaning forward; Yoongi has intrigued him. “Go on.”

“As a teen, you probably fell in with the wrong crowd. So your family got you to Seoul to this shitass company. They wanted to get you away from them.”

Park Jimin nods. Once again, it’s neither a confirmation nor a denial of Yoongi’s statements. He just rubs his chin and keeps nodding, thinking, considering. Yoongi doesn’t need him to say it to know that he’s right.

“You see?” Yoongi says. “I’m reading you like an open book. When you debut, I assure you, you won’t like it when everyone sees right through you. This transparency—it’s not good. It feels good at first, but it’s like—I don’t know, walking out onto the balcony naked after sex, and there’s—”

“Do you see anything else?” Park Jimin interrupts him. His voice is strained. 

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoon Jung  HoseokMinYoongiCypherkim—)

Yoongi’s expression softens. “Do you really want me to say it?” 

Park Jimin nods again. This time, this motion is small, childlike. 

Yoongi exhales gently. “Fine. You’re in love with your close friend.”

Park Jimin’s eyes narrow. “That’s it?”

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCyph—)

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Jimin breathes out, leaning back. He runs his fingers through his hair. He says again, quietly, “ Okay. ” 

He seems so relieved, and Yoongi doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he knows exactly who that close friend is. That he knows why Jimin likes that close friend so much.

This person—they’re unlike all his previous friends. They’re softer. Kinder. They probably never did a single bad thing that Jimin has done. They’re good company. And Yoongi understands. 

When you’ve never loved or been loved like this, it’s hard. You want to tell at least someone about this, but at the same time, you’re so ashamed of it that you don’t want anyone to know. 

Yoongi knows this feeling too well. 

“Should I lie in my songs then?” Jimin asks.

Yoongi looks up at him in surprise. He thought they’d be done with this conversation, but it seems like even though Jimin dislikes working hard, he is willing to do it. 

“There’s nothing wrong with being honest in your songs,” Yoongi says. “It’s great, actually. But not like this. You have to be more subtle. Smarter than simply displaying yourself for all to see. For everyone to know everything about you."

And what Yoongi means is, Don’t lay your heart out like this. Too many people will want to hurt you because of this.

“How should I do it, then?”

“You write about yourself, which is great. You write about something you know. It’s the absolute worst when you write about something you have no idea about,” Yoongi says slowly. “ But it’s just that when I read your lyrics, I immediately know they’re about you. And I need you to write about yourself in a way that I—or anyone else, for that matter—feel like you write about me. Your lyrics have to touch me. They have to comfort me. ”

“The listener, you mean?”

“Yes. Understood?”

“Makes sense,” Jimin says. “Ok, I’ll try.”

Yoongi pushes on his knees, standing up. Jimin immediately follows him, and he again looks so much younger than Yoongi, so much more inexperienced. It makes Yoongi afraid he’ll lose all of his admirable honesty in adulthood. There has to be some sort of balance, and Yoongi’s scared Jimin won’t be able to find it.

This kind of fear makes Yoongi tug Jimin into a side hug and squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. It forces Yoongi to put up an act of someone braver, someone you can lean on.

It makes Yoongi be the support system Yeri wants to make out of him. 

“Cheer up,” Yoongi says. He smiles at Jimin. “You’re such a good songwriter already. I have almost nothing to teach you. Let me have this one remark, ok? Just for my ego.”

“Hyung,” Jimin scoffs, laughing, shoving him away playfully. And Yoongi lets him, but suddenly pushing away morphs into a genuine hug. Jimin presses himself into Yoongi. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

They stay like this for a moment. Yoongi awkwardly pats Jimin’s back. 

(KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoon JungHoseokMinYoongi—)

“Oh, hyung, here you are—”

“Jimin-ah—”

Yoongi and Jimin jump away from each other. On the lounge doorstep, Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook stand wide-eyed, almost as if they’ve just caught Jimin and Yoongi in something inappropriate. 

“Oh,” Taehyung frowns, “sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt your moment. It’s just—we were about to leave to the dorms, and if you wanna go together—”

Jimin frowns, the same way Taehyung does, and wordlessly walks out of the lounge. He grabs Taehyung’s wrist, and Taehyung barely gets out a nod of goodbye to Yoongi before he disappears into the corridor. Jungkook, as usual, doesn’t meet Yoongi’s eyes and only bows briefly before following the other two outside. 

“Good night, sunbaenim.” 

Yoongi doesn’t know what comes over him because, after a second of silence and an empty doorstep, he darts forward. “Wait, Jungkook—”

Jungkook is already so many steps away from the lounge room. Their distance stretches between him and Yoongi. It always does.

Jungkook turns around. “What is it, sunbae?”

The thing is, Yoongi also knows Kim Taehyung from their midnight sessions. 

It’s inevitable the way it happened: Taehyung kept murmuring and dropping little moments of his life as he moved the sound bar in the app, eyes focused on the screen; I was a goody-two-shoes child. As he tried mixing the track for the first time all by himself, without Yoongi’s supervision, the end of his tongue sticking out in the concentration; We didn’t have much, but getting to spend time with my family was the most precious gift to me. As he sang the melody to Yoongi; My grandma used to sing this kind of lullaby to me all the time. Maybe we can use it for the hook, hyung?

That’s how Yoongi got to know him. He’s too open for his own good, too, just like Jimin. He puts too much of himself into his music. 

The good thing about music, however, is that not everyone can read it. Unlike the song lyrics, only a few people can appreciate it. 

The thing is that, however, Jeon Jungkook. 

Yoongi doesn’t know much about him. Jungkook never tells him anything until Yoongi asks. In their sessions, he only recently started to stay overtime, but it was more like Yoongi who started holding him up: when Jungkook would stand up to leave, Yoongi would walk him to the door and—ask a question. Or two. There were many times he would lean against the doorjamb as he asked them, arms folded, with Jungkook hovering at the doorstep, his one hand clinging to the strap of his backpack. 

They were not important questions. Just: How are your classes going? How’s your songwriting doing? The dance practice wasn’t too hard on you today?  

Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?

Most of the time, Jungkook did. But sometimes, rarely so, on very good days, he had none. And Yoongi would say: Wait here.  

He’d grab his jacket, and they’d go get some food. Yoongi would get his mask on, add a baseball cap on top of his head, and lower it so his eyes wouldn’t be seen. Jungkook would go out just the way he is: he has nobody to hide himself from. 

In these instances, food would always make Jungkook more talkative. When Yoongi takes him out, he’d bubble things out about his days. Would tell Yoongi about his childhood, how it feels to grow up in Busan, and how it feels to grow up in general. He’d talk to Yoongi about his English classes, and how difficult the language is. One time he spoke to Yoongi about vocal training. Explaining the singing techniques, Jungkook pressed his hand against Yoongi’s stomach, It should travel from here, sunbae, did you know?

Yoongi pretended he didn’t. 

Jungkook’s hand stayed for a moment too long, and Yoongi held his breath, counting the seconds. He only got to seven when Jungkook dropped his hand, cheeks burning bright red, and suddenly blurted out a goodbye to Yoongi, turned around, and ran from the studio. 

They got to know each other like this: in between their food talks, in between Yoongi walking Jungkook to his practices, in between Jungkook leaving his studio. They got to know each other like this: with this distance stretching between them. The distance of the table’s surface. The distance of the doorstep. The distance of Yoongi’s studio. 

Now, in the distance of the corridor— 

“Will you come tomorrow?” Yoongi asks. “To the studio. Will you come tomorrow?”

Jungkook frowns. “I always do.”

“Still,” Yoongi says. He sounds breathless, even though he didn’t run. His chest rises and falls heavily. “Still, it’s nice to ask again.” 

Jungkook’s expression softens. “Then, yes. Of course I will.” 

I’ve tried to put together these words again and again
But everything seems to come back to this
Maybe one day we’ll have a better phrase
But for now:
From us, sincerely, thank you

 

— When Jimin finishes singing ‘Sincerely, me’ so crystal clear, with the rest of the music almost faded out, when he reaches the high note and then immediately drops to something quieter and gentler, it always makes me want to cry for some reason. 

I believe we’ve all struggled, at least once, to find the better words and blamed the limitations of our mother tongue in failing to do so. I admire the 9795 for coming to embrace it. Sometimes, beauty is in its simplicity. 

“You look like shit,” Namjoon says instead of a greeting once they meet in their respective makeup chairs next to each other. “Rough night?”

Yoongi shrugs. “The usual.” 

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongi—)

First, trying to fall asleep on his own, then a pill, then a drink, then some more pills, then sitting up in front of the screen for hours until dusk breaks through. If lucky, he falls asleep for a few hours before their manager comes and shakes him awake for schedule. If not, he takes a shower, gets dressed, and meets their manager right at the door, ready and present for the day. 

He catches Namjoon giving him a not-so-subtle worried lookover but pretends not to notice. Their makeup stylists arrive, fluttering around them to get everything set up, so they fall silent. Yoongi’s condition is not something to discuss in the presence of intruders. 

“Good morning,” Hoseok sing-songs, stepping inside the makeup room. There’s a smile on his face and a cup of iced Americano in his hand. He plops down to Yoongi’s right and hands him the coffee cup suggestively.

Yoongi takes it, sips it, groans. The coffee hits him immediately, and he hands it back to Hoseok, thanking him with a short nod. Hoseok nods back. It’s barely noticeable, but that’s how this friendship goes. In big small gestures. 

“Another day, another interview?” Hoseok whines playfully. “Just how many questions could they possibly have for us?”

“Uh-uh,” Yoongi hums just to fill the silence. 

If the silence full of Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi— can be called silence. 

Yoongi rubs his forehead, reaching out to the papers laying on the desk alongside all the makeup products. All the potential questions for this interview are written out there, and he wants to make sure he’s ready to answer them and check if there are any questions he doesn’t think are supposed to be asked at all.

There’s one that catches his attention. Specifically, it makes Yoongi think back to their budding trainees. 

To be fair, everything makes him think about them these days. 

Sitting down at his studio, finally alone, just piano and him and the chants, he tries to play some notes, a melody. When he writes it down, he finds himself thinking: It will look good on their debut album. He often asks Yeri if the company has decided on the kids’ debut date, and Yeri rolls her eyes and asks him if he would be interested in Cypher’s comeback date instead. Yoongi always looks at her like a guilty puppy and doesn’t know how to tell her that he wishes Cypher would never have a comeback again. 

The question that’s gotten his attention is: When did you learn how to make music? 

In the interview, Yoongi would say that he learned how to make music at thirteen. Before that, he had a piano tutor, but all she did was yell at him whenever he forgot to position his hands the proper way. He’d laugh that she looked just like a witch, concealing how scary it felt back then whenever she raised her voice at him.  

In his head, Yoongi knows that his answer means that, unlike their budding trainees, he had to learn everything about music by himself. Nobody ever told him that he shouldn’t be this honest in his songs. He learned it the hard way. He had never had anyone to lean on. It had always been him against the whole world. 

He shares this thought later in the day with Namjoon and Hoseok after they’re done with practising the performance for their future TV appearance. The room is empty, and it’s only the three of them sitting on the floor against the wall. The giant mirror across them reflects their sweaty red faces, and Yoongi feels pathetic that his breathing has still not fully recovered from the intense practice. 

“Do you envy them?” Namjoon asks gently because he always knows the right thing to ask. “That they have us now. Do you envy them?”

Yoongi takes his time to answer. By the time he shakes his head, his breathing has calmed down. “No, I don’t think so. I think I’m…happy.”

And Namjoon smiles. “Me too.”

Hoseok is twisting the water bottle in his hands wordlessly, but Yoongi sees him nodding in the mirror, and that’s all there needs to be. 

All three of them lacked the support system these kids are getting now. All three know how devastatingly scary it feels to chase the dream without the solid ground under your feet. It doesn’t have to be said out loud to be true, to be real. 

“You know,” Yoongi says quietly, almost as if in secret. It sounds so loud in the empty room anyway. “I know we’re supposed to be making our album and all…”

“...Yes?”

“But Kim Taehyung, he—he made some tracks, right, with me? They need some polishing, but…” Yoongi doesn’t finish the phrase, moving on. “I also have some lyrics from Park Jimin. They’re also not perfect, but maybe you and Hobi could look through them and—”

Namjoon stares at him. Stares right through him. “You want to make an album for them.” It doesn’t sound like a question. 

Yoongi leans his back against the wall. It’s rough, too uncomfortable holding his weight. He looks up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what I want to make. I just have some tracks from Taehyung and lyrics from Jimin.” Yoongi sighs. He hates admitting it because he still has some pride left, but—“They’re so talented. Insanely so. They train them like crazy, and the kids barely rest. Did you know the company teaches them English? It’s like—”

(KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongi—)

“The company is betting everything on them, yeah,” Hoseok says, announcing the thought the three of them had shared since Yeri introduced them to the trainees. 

Because they’re not just trainees. They’re budding ones. 

The company thinks they’re the future stars. They’re spending all the money Cypher has earned on these three, on all the various classes for the skills they think the kids will need in the future. Because they believe they’ll be something big. So the company has gone all-in now. 

“I think I get it,” Yoongi says. “Why the company does it. And I think if we’re going to help a little, then… With what we know, with what we can do, with our names in the credits for their debut album, then maybe…” It will make up for us leaving.

“Well, I don’t know what they’re capable of, to be honest,” Namjoon shrugs.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoon—)

“Oh, well, in dance, they’re totally better than you two,” Hoseok says, and Namjoon pouts at him until Hoseok pats him on the thigh reassuringly. 

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongi—)

“They usually just come talk to me about what they had for lunch, not about music,” Namjoon says. He bumps into Yoongi’s shoulder with his playfully. “You’re their favourite for a reason.”

Yoongi looks down at the floor, scratching behind his ear. “I’m not their favourite. What are you talking about?...” 

Hoseok laughs, hitting Yoongi on his chest. “They’re literally obsessed with you.”

“Uh-uh,” Yoongi disagrees.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongi—)

Without saying a word, all three of them stand up. They groan as they do so, too. At this point, they’ve spent so much time with each other that they’re one. Yoongi realises that he’s not sure how he’ll be able to let go of this. He thought that the hardest part would be parting with his dream, but now that he thinks about it, maybe it’ll be all the people he’s met along the way.

They walk together in the direction of the elevators. 

“Why don’t you record a vocal guide?” Namjoon muses. “So I can get an idea of who they are.”

Yoongi points at himself. “ Me? A guide? Hell no. The last time I did it, you made so much fun of me—” 

“Ask Ara?” Hoseok suggests.

Normally, Yoongi would do exactly that. Bae Ara is this one singer from another company. Having debuted around the same time, they’ve been friends ever since. Their friendship is built on trust and always helping each other, no questions asked. It includes Ara recording guides for his more vocal-oriented songs. 

But Yoongi knows that a man’s voice would be nicer to have for this. 

Suddenly, he’s hit with the idea.

“I’ll ask Jungkook,” Yoongi announces. His voice is so loud that it shrieks through the empty hall. 

Namjoon hums absentmindedly, busy with his phone. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

Fuck all the CDs mom never bought, fuck the Cinetown,
Fuck the haters, fuck the maths, fuck the CSAT I’ve never passed
Converse High? Fuck it
And all of your exes, fuck them too, by the way
For never treating you right, fuck ‘em

 

— Boyhood can mean a lot of things. Sometimes, it means being petty and possessive. Being aggressive about things just because you can. Wistful for the things you never got. 

The electric guitar, heavy drums, and darker sound of the song that nobody has any idea how to pronounce (the 9795, we have some questions!) feel surprisingly…therapeutic. ‘**##%%;!!’ captures the feeling of the rebellious teen. It seems like the 9795 had a lot on their minds for some time. 

For us, listeners, this song is a good opportunity to let it all out.  Volume up and enjoy yourself. Feel free to scream the lines alongside Jung Kook. 

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi CypherKimNamjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoo—)

“Good morning.”

Yoongi nods. “Morning,” he rasps, his voice heavy, thick.

“Coffee?” Minjae asks.

“Sure.”

It’s noon, this weird limbo between morning and day. Minjae is a late bird. He goes to sleep late and wakes up late, unlike Yoongi, who just wishes to sleep somehow, no matter the time. He’s been up since nine, having fallen asleep somewhere around four. And while nine is a normal waking hour and getting five hours of sleep is more than Yoongi usually gets, which is very nice, spending time from nine to twelve in a foreign apartment is not. 

He couldn’t leave because that’d mean Minjae would be left asleep with the door to the apartment open, but staying has been torturous, too. Torturously boring, torturously awkward.

Yoongi has just been in the kitchen, sitting on the chair closest to the outlet, scrolling through his phone as the chants blare through his head. He has a glass of water on the table next to him, but that’s where it ends. He and Minjae are close, but not close enough for Yoongi to make coffee in his kitchen. Or do anything, really.

“Next time, you don’t have to wait for me,” Minjae drops casually. “You can have whatever you see. Be my guest.”

Or maybe not.

To be fair, Yoongi’s not sure where they stand. They have this comfortable kind of…partnership, maybe. They don’t really have fights because they don’t open up enough to each other to have arguments. They spend time together when lonely, and they fuck when horny. Yoongi likes Minjae enough, and Minjae doesn’t seem to mind sharing a bed with the Cypher member. He had signed the NDA without any additional stress for Yoongi—just a stroke of the pen on the papers, Kim Minjae in cursive English, and it was sealed.

Yoongi tugs his leg up to his chest, sitting up more comfortably. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks.”

Minjae sends him a smile. Yoongi musters to smile back. His chest is so heavy suddenly.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimJungMinCypher, Cypher—)

“Any plans for the rest of the day?” Minjae asks, probably just to keep the conversation going. Yoongi looks over him for a second: he’s standing with his back to Yoongi, busy making coffee. He’s kind of a coffee freak and has all the professional machines in his house. He says it’s because he loves his coffee well-made, but Yoongi thinks it’s because he worked as a barista when he was in college and loved it too much. Loves it too much, still.

Yoongi told him once that maybe he should consider quitting his job and actually pursuing what he likes. Minjae scoffed and said the barista is only appropriate when you’re a broke college student, not when you’re twenty-four and looking for career growth. ‘ Is it worth it, though? The career growth over dreams,’ Yoongi had asked him, and Minjae laughed, not unkindly, and told him he gets way too talkative post-sex. Which he does. Every one of his partners had told him the same thing at least once.

The coffee machine starts working overwhelmingly loud, almost pushing the KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonJungHoseok out of Yoongi’s brains.

The stress on the word almost.

The kitchen fills with the freshly made coffee smell. Minjae turns around, leaning his weight against the kitchen counter now, his head tilted at Yoongi. He’s handsome like this, kind and understanding with his words, and sometimes Yoongi just wants to ask why, for God’s sake, it won’t work. Why it refuses to.  

 “No plans?” Minjae nudges gently.

Yoongi shifts his gaze away from Minjae and down at the phone in his hands. He hooks his chin over his knee, scrolling down the Naver feed. He can’t focus on the words, but he doesn’t want to focus on Minjae either.

“Not really,” Yoongi finally admits. It’s bitter, his words.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min YoongiCypher—)

“It’s rare,” Minjae hums. “You usually never rest.”

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min YoongiCypherKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher—)

“Don’t worry,” Yoongi mumbles, “soon I’ll be on tour and you won’t see my face for a few good months.”

With the corner of his eye, he catches Minjae turning away. The coffee machine has stopped working, and this silence is too loud. Like certain words were supposed to be said in this moment, but instead, there’s only the void and the comfortable distance between them.  

Minjae passes him a cup of coffee. Yoongi accepts it and sips it absentmindedly, eyes still focused on the phone.

“Fuck,” he hisses. He almost drops the cup onto the table, wanting to get rid of it as soon as possible. It’s a wonder nothing spills.

“You okay?” Minjae asks, giving him a worried look.

Yoongi bites at the end of his tongue, hoping this burning feeling in his mouth will go away quickly, but he knows that it’s going to stay for the next few days for sure, ruining any food flavour for him.

Yoongi waves Minjae off. “I’m fine.”

Minjae doesn’t push. He gets to cooking brunch, and Yoongi continues to scroll through his phone, waiting for his coffee to cool down. It’s such a mindless action. Just like the mindless posts, mindless pictures.

And then, a notification pops up at the top of his screen.

Jeon Jungkook ABC Ent.

Sure, I can.

Oh. Yoongi immediately sits up straighter. He didn’t expect the reply, having lost hope somewhere yesterday evening when his message had been read and left unanswered. Now that he has it, his heart is suddenly singing, blooming, growing until it’s not enough to fit, and it clogs his throat.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cyph—)

“Would you like to stay for lunch, then? If you don’t have any plans,” Minjae says.

Yoongi shakes his head, just a tiny motion, barely there. He doesn’t want to sound too excited. “Can I take a shower, though?”

Minjae shrugs. “Sure.”

Minjae is not really interested in where Yoongi is going. They are not territorial like this. He just lets Yoongi shower and kisses him goodbye at the doorstep—kind of absentmindedly, the same way Yoongi has taken a sip of his coffee, like a chore. Yoongi calls the taxi. When the driver asks him where to, he gives the company's address.

Hopping out of the car, Yoongi sees Jungkook waiting for him at the entrance. He’s sitting up on the stairs: like a real youth, he’s not disgusted by dirt yet. There’s something intimate about waiting for someone, Yoongi thinks as he walks up to Jungkook, something more delicate that goes beyond flesh.

“Hey.”

Jungkook shortly looks up at him, then slips away. He always does. Yoongi can never hold his gaze for long enough. At the same time, he can’t tell where the word enough starts with Jungkook.

“Hey,” Jungkook says. He stands up quickly, with a subtle push off the ground and up. 

It’s summer, the most usual hot humid day. Behind Yoongi, a food delivery motorcycle passes. Everything is so normal, like any other day. Why does it feel so dream-like, then?

On a hot summer day like this, Jungkook is wearing shorts, his knees exposed: they’re all bruised up, with cuts here and there. Yoongi knows where they come from: from endless hours in the dance studio, practising and falling and failing and trying again and again and again. Jungkook’s face is a bit puffy, a bit uneven, with red spots here and there. His hair is laying flat against his forehead, and he just looks…warm. Like the sun. Like a star.

Yoongi pushes this thought away. He marches inside the building. He doesn’t have to look back to know that Jungkook is following him. His steps are soft, the sneakers squeaking against the floor.

It’s the weekend, and not so many people are around. Maybe that’s why it feels like a dream: because going through the lonely corridors of the company with the lights dimmed, only natural sunlight dancing off the walls, it’s almost like Yoongi and Jungkook are the last people left on Earth.

They stand shoulder to shoulder in the elevator.

“What are we going to do, sunbae?” Jungkook asks quietly, and Yoongi realises that he’s never told Jungkook what he wants from him. He only texted, Can you be at the company by 1:30 p.m. tomorrow? And Jungkook agreed to it blindly,  giving Yoongi the benefit of the doubt.

“We’re going to record a song,” Yoongi says.

Jungkook’s head whips around, and Yoongi suddenly worries if he’s broken his neck. He stares at Yoongi, wide-eyed; something about him is gleaming. “Really?!” His voice is higher than it usually is. Less sombre, less shy; it’s—excited.

“Yes,” Yoongi says, almost taken aback, “really.”

Jungkook’s mouth twitches, fighting the smile. He sets his lips in a thin line and nods.

The elevator opens. They walk down the corridor, again these eighty-eight steps down the piano keyboard, again the love in simple eighty-eight squeaks of Jungkook’s sneakers.

Yoongi feels Jungkook vibrating as he works through the routine of turning on the computer in his studio, opening the apps, and setting up the microphone. He feels Jungkook’s eyes following him closely. With this excitement in him, he’s suddenly so much bigger in his presence. He’s always felt small to Yoongi, but now he’s occupying the whole room. He might just be too big for it.

“Do you like your studio, sunbae?” comes the question out of the blue. It’s almost like he’s drunk on his happiness, so he’s braver, firmer. Even his voice is more solid like this.

Yoongi sends him a surprised glance. “It’s—okay. I’m not complaining.” He returns to fixing the microphone.

“And if sunbae were honest?”

Yoongi considers it. He thought he was honest; he really has nothing to complain about. A place to make music, no matter how it is, is a place to make music, and that’s all he needs.

“It’s a bit small,” Yoongi admits to Jungkook, straightening up from the mic stand. “C’mere, it’s all done.”

Jungkook takes a step closer. “Would you like a bigger studio, sunbae?” 

Yoongi smiles. “Just a bit, maybe? Just so it’s a little easier to breathe. So more than three people can take up the space.”

Jungkook hums. He looks down at his sneakers, almost as if he can’t bear to look at Yoongi right now. “I like it like this.”

“It’s because it’s just you and me now,” Yoongi smiles a bit wider. His hand itches to do something stupid—like ruffle Jungkook’s hair.  “Once it’s more people, it’s hard to work.”

"I like it like this," Jungkook repeats stubbornly, and Yoongi laughs.

“Okay. That’s nice because you’re stuck with me here for hours from now on.”

Jungkook nods, still unable to meet Yoongi’s gaze. He nods so violently and eagerly, his hair messes up. Now that Yoongi has an excuse to touch, he reaches out and fixes Jungkook’s hair into something more appropriate. It only takes him a second, but the sensation of the touch lingers for longer.

It’s still itching in Yoongi’s fingertips when he clears his throat and hands Jungkook the papers he printed for him earlier. “Here are the lyrics I need you to—”

“Does our company have a real recording booth? With separate rooms and stuff?”

It halts Yoongi, again with the sudden question out of nowhere, but he takes hold of himself quickly.

“This mic isn’t real enough for you?”

Jungkook’s mouth parts. He starts frantically waving his hands. “No, sunbae, I was just wondering. I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t know why I even asked it, I’m sorry—”

Yoongi shakes his head, and it stops any further words from Jungkook.

“You wanna see the recording room?”

Jungkook’s lips are pursed. He chews on his bottom one, looking at Yoongi sheepishly, and then looking away quickly. 

“Jungkook,” Yoongi breathes out. “I want to know what you’re thinking.”

Jungkook nods.

“So. The recording room. Yes or no?” Yoongi asks again.

“I just don’t want to be a nuisance—”

“Yes or no, Jungkook?”

“Yes.”

Yoongi smiles. “Ok. We can do that.”

It’s just a vocal guide, and Yoongi knows they don’t have to go to such lengths to have it. But he thinks he would do anything to have a smile like this blooming on Jungkook’s face. A smile so big it’s impossible to fight it. Even sneak into the recording booth on the company’s day off.

“We only have one,” Yoongi tells him as they get out of the Genius Lab and head in the direction of the recording booth.

“It doesn’t sound like we have much,” Jungkook notes thoughtfully.

“We have a lot, actually,” Yoongi says. “We have a lot of genuine, passionate people under this roof. This is more than every fancy building could ever cover up for.”

Jungkook hums, almost as if he understands. Maybe he does.

In the recording room, Yoongi quickly shows him around. He would love to just stay behind and let Jungkook marvel at everything with his wide, Bambi-like eyes, but they do have a guide to record.

“Let’s get to work, okay?” Yoongi says gently, and something changes in Jungkook. He’s less childlike once he’s reminded he’s here to work.

Yoongi lets him warm up and helps him with the headphones and the microphone.

“If you feel lost, let me know and I'll guide you.”

“Okay,” Jungkook smiles. “I can do that.”

But he doesn’t end up feeling lost. Rather, he finally seems like he’s in his element. Like he belongs here.

In Yoongi’s studio, he has always looked like a fish out of water. But here, as Yoongi studies him from the window separating them, he looks like he’s always meant to be in this room.

Yoongi countdowns with his fingers, Taehyung’s track plays, and Jungkook’s voice fills his headphones.

He sounds so beautiful.

All of the budding trainees sound beautiful, actually. It’s not a surprise. Yoongi has heard all of them before. It’s just there’s something about Jungkook’s voice that is filling Yoongi up from the inside. That makes it so much harder to breathe, a clot of feelings that don’t belong to Yoongi clogging up his whole existence: Yoongi suddenly feels like he, just like Jimin, is in love with his close friend. That’s what Jimin’s lyrics do, they push these feelings down your throat that aren’t really yours. 

But there’s something else to Jimin’s lyrics that Jungkook’s singing. And as he takes this one high note, Yoongi realises that maybe, it’s all because if Jimin is too open in his lyrics, if Taehyung is too open in his melodies, then Jungkook is too open in his singing.

His heart bleeds out. He’s putting something personal into his singing. Like he’s telling a story too intimate, and it fills Yoongi up, too, and drowns all of him out. Yoongi feels drunk and in love with someone forbidden, someone he’s not supposed to have these feelings for. 

The track stops. Yoongi feels too empty now without it. He wants to listen to it again. Now that the talent of all three guys has been combined together, he’s drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

“Sunbae.” Jungkook’s voice. Everywhere in the room. In Yoongi’s headphones. In Yoongi’s head, shutting the voices, the crowd, the chants. “Sunbae, did it sound alright?”

Yoongi shifts to look at him. Jungkook is already looking his way. Yoongi expects him to drop his gaze as he always does, but for the first time, he holds onto Yoongi’s eye contact.

And Yoongi thinks, oh.

He looks at Yoongi through the recording booth’s window, so inexperienced, his heart open still with dreams that you can watch playing like a Disney movie in his eyes, and Yoongi knows he’s fucked, he’s fucked, he’s fucked.

Oh, it would’ve been for the better if Jungkook had stayed with his gaze down at the floor.

“I think so,” Yoongi says. His fingers are shaking where he pushes the button to let the sound of his voice travel to the recording booth.

He hears Jungkook scoff. The rustling of the papers in his hand. “I’ll go again, then.”

A perfectionist. It’s going to hurt him one day.

Just a boy from a small hometown 
Who really, really wanted to love 
Do I love you? Huh, I begin with you

 

— Once again, just like in ‘Boyhood’, the lyrics in ‘Mismatched’ create a parallel in the storytelling: if in the first verse we hear about a boy who really, really wanted to sing, then in the second verse it’s about a boy who really, really wanted to live. The third verse—the last one—is ironically about a boy who really, really wanted to love.

That’s where the universal feelings come into the picture. 

Don’t we all just really, really want to live? Don’t we all just really, really want to love? Don’t we all just have something we really, really want to do? 

But for now, as the song plays, we dance.

“It’s my first time seeing sunbae dance in person.”

The sound that leaves Yoongi’s chest can only be described as a chuckle as he fights for his own life. He’s breathing heavily, bent over himself, palms against knees. 

“Well,” he says, straightening up, just because he’s embarrassed that Jungkook sees him in his weakest state, and he wants to appear better than this. “I am an idol, after all.”

Looking up at himself in the mirror, he notices that he’s all sweaty and red. If he’s an idol, then he’s a shitty one who gets tired after barely going through the choreo. Yoongi scrunches his nose and looks away, wiping at his forehead with the hem of his shirt. Yuck . 

When he meets Jungkook’s eyes in the mirror, they’re huge. Bigger than they usually are. His mouth is parted. 

“Is everything okay?” Yoongi asks. 

Jungkook doesn’t reply, still staring at Yoongi with this expression on his face.

“Jungkook?”

“Ah?”

“Is everything okay?”

“Oh,” Jungkook yanks his head, and just like this, he slipped away from Yoongi once again. “Y-yes?”

Yoongi smiles. “Is that a question?”

Jungkook bites him back with something, but it’s too quiet, muffled. He likes to tease and joke around like any boy around his age does, but he’s also very easy to tease. 

The dance instructor, having gathered his belongings, bows to Yoongi on his way to the exit. “Good work today, Yoongi-yah.”

Yoongi bows back a bit belatedly. He has forgotten he and Jungkook weren’t alone in here. “Get home safe.” 

Jungkook bows goodbye to the dance instructor, too. Yoongi observes this interaction with weird adoration, an odd feeling that keeps broadening in his chest. 

Finally, they’re alone, and for a moment, it’s awkward. The distance of the practice room stretching between them. 

Jungkook lifts the cup holder he has in his hands. 

Yoongi raises his eyebrows, taking a furtive deep breath in as he musters up the courage to walk up to Jungkook. “What’s that?”

“A coffee delivery for the idol-nim.” 

Yoongi halts at the exact moment his heart skips a treacherous beat and then continues. “Thank you, Jungkook-ah.” 

Yoongi reaches for it, takes the lid off, and—

“Be careful,” Jungkook grumbles, his fingers wrapped around the cup, distancing it away from Yoongi’s mouth. “It’s hot.”

Yoongi frowns. “Yeah? That’s the point of coffee?”

“You should let it cool down a little.”

“But I want it now— ”

“You’ll have to wait, sunbae. I literally just got it. It must be scalding.”

Yoongi scoffs. He thinks about telling Jungkook that he’s lived just fine without him for twenty-four years and coffee never hurt him before. But then he remembers how he burned his mouth back at Minjae’s, couldn’t enjoy his meals for the rest of the week, and sighs, giving up. What a sensible kid. It’s annoying, even.

Yoongi grabs his things, and they leave the practice room. Jungkook doesn’t really ask where they’re going as Yoongi beelines to the elevators. 

“What were you practising for?” he asks instead.

“We’re going on tour soon,” Yoongi shrugs, pushing the number three button. “I’m not in good shape, so I asked the instructor if he’ll stay behind and train with me some more.”

If not being in good shape means that he’s losing rhythm every few steps because of the fucking KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonJung overlaying with the actual music, then Jungkook doesn’t have to know that. 

“Oh,” Jungkook whispers. 

Yoongi laughs, bumping his shoulder playfully. “What’s up with that face?”

“I guess I’ve forgotten that sunbae is an actual idol, after all.”

Yoongi blinks at him.

Jungkook reddens; it’s so easy to fluster him. “I mean— It’s just—before, you were just a picture on the TV. You were always on stage or on variety shows. So you had this… idol vibe.”

“ Idol vibe? ” Yoongi teases. Jungkook is a bit lanky with his words, the same way he’s lanky in his appearance, and it’s weirdly adorable to Yoongi, everything about him is. 

Still, if looks could kill, Yoongi’d be dead for this. 

“You know what I mean, sunbae,” Jungkook scoffs before he continues. “But now, whenever I see you, you’re… real. You’re always in your studio. Making music. With us.”

For you, Yoongi feels the need to correct him but doesn’t. 

“You also smile much more in real life than you do on camera.”

“It’s because you’re funny,” Yoongi deadpans, not a second spared to let himself think of why exactly he smiles so much around Jungkook. “Nobody could ever stand a chance of not laughing at you.”

“Sunbae!”

The elevator doors open on the third floor to their giggles and boyish fighting. They are met with a nonchalant Yeri, who only yawns at their antics as if she’s used to seeing them this way. 

Which maybe she is. They’ve been inseparable lately. 

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she says. “Getting out?”

Jungkook dunks his head in the politest, most respectful bow Yoongi has ever seen out of him. Yoongi scowls at Yeri, only to gently squeeze her elbow as they pass each other on their respective ways in and out of the elevator. 

“Text me later, okay?” he mouths. 

Her response is to roll her eyes and give an OK sign before the elevator closes. Yoongi and Jungkook are alone again, but this time, it’s as if the spell has been broken. All that remains are eighty-eight steps and a turn around the corner filled with silence, Jungkook's mood abruptly changing.

They quietly work around each other in Yoongi’s studio. Jungkook takes his place on the sofa to look for a restaurant of choice for this evening while Yoongi occupies the chair to look through his emails. He  sips the coffee that Jungkook finally allows him to have as he scrolls through his inbox until he finds the one he was looking for. 

The files Hoseok had sent him each have a ‘ final version’ in their names. Yoongi saves them on his computer and transfers some of the other projects to his flash drive. Behind him, Jungkook hums some song that’s been playing a lot lately in the gym the company owns a membership to. It’s the background noise that Yoongi welcomes. 

By the time he’s finished, the text comes.

Kim Yeri

I’ll talk to my father tomorrow, but no promises. He might still think they’re not ready. 

Personally, I’d say that debuting them around January next year would be the best choice. We’ll have time to prepare album concepts, arrange the photoshoots, and book the stages. Are the songs ready?

Me

some of them 

Kim Yeri

You know, as your friend, I’m happy the guys inspire you so much.

As the company's manager, I really wish you’d work on Cypher’s album as much as you work on theirs.

Yoongi locks his phone before he can even finish reading the last text. 

He slumps tiredly in his chair, closing his eyes. He breathes in, then breathes out. His foot turns the chair around absentmindedly. It’s a childish motion, twirling around in the swivel chair. 

When he opens his eyes, he sees Jungkook sprawled on the sofa, a phone in his hands. Yoongi thinks that if the phrase ‘ Everything is going to be okay’ could be described in human form, it’d be Jungkook. 

“How do you feel about pizza?” Jungkook mumbles, not even tearing his gaze away from the screen. He doesn’t know that he is bringing this peace to Yoongi he hasn’t experienced in a long time. “There’s a restaurant two blocks away. It looks nice.”

Yoongi has already stood up. “Sure. Let’s go.”

This summer night will be starry, Dad says 
Have you seen the meteor shower? 
It passed me by so slowly, I could only look at it  
Maybe once upon a summer, we were both looking at the same sky

 

— ‘Seasons pass me by’, where do I even begin with you? How do I explain to the readers that you’re the song that reminds me of the passage of time and makes me nostalgic to leave myself and my boyhood behind? How do I say, “Can I stay a little longer?” without admitting my weakness aloud? 

The tour isn’t even half-done, and it’s already getting to Yoongi’s head. 

To be specific, the chants are getting louder and louder. In the concert halls. In his brain. He keeps asking the technicians to make the sound in his in-ear monitors louder, but KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongi still blares through all the same. 

But that’s not the problem. At least not the biggest one.

The problem is, every time Yoongi is on stage and takes a look around the crowd, he feels at peace. Every time he sees actual faces enjoying him, enjoying his music, enjoying his performance, he feels so goddamn happy it hurts . He imagines not having it, and dread sets on his shoulders. 

The problem is, music destroys and heals him, and he feels torn apart at that revelation.

He catches the way Namjoon and Hoseok look at the fans, their gazes soft. It usually happens at their finishing song, the one before the encore: it’s Cypher’s softer one, and they usually invite a vocalist for that. As the chorus breaks in, the audience lights up with their flashlights, and Namjoon and Hoseok wave their arms in tune with the melody. They go from one corner of the stage to another, making sure they see everyone in the crowd, and that’s how Yoongi knows that they're already nostalgic. They’re missing it even though it hasn’t passed them by yet, not completely.

It's always the moment when he thinks he may have rushed into his decision too quickly. It’s a good thing they haven’t told their agency about it because it allows them to drop it at any given moment. They could share breakfast in their hotel, Yoongi could casually say, ‘Maybe we shouldn’t disband, after all’ , and Namjoon and Hoseok could shrug and agree with him, just as casually as Yoongi did. Nobody will ever know how much they have gone through in order to exist further on.

But this moment always ends. The song does. As the vocalist takes the final note and the crowd cries, Yoongi is hit with the energy he can no longer take. He stumbles back, first towards backstage, then to the safety of the hotel room.

On their ride back, the staff asks Yoongi if he’d like to join them for dinner. Yoongi shakes his head, jokes around, smiles. Room service is my favourite restaurant. Namjoon purses his lips at him, tilting his head at him, and Yoongi mouths, I’m okay. Hoseok squeezes his shoulder as they climb out of the van, wordlessly reminding him that if Yoongi needs him, he’s always here, just down the hotel corridor. Yoongi playfully pushes his shoulder. I’m fine, what are you even talking about?

Stumbling back into his hotel room after another concert finished, sometimes he just lays on the floor with eyes closed. His mind swings like a pleasant seesaw from his boyhood, and he lets it carry him. All the stars gathered in him so far bleed out of him.

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongi—

Other times, he curls into himself in bed like a fetus—maybe one day, if he does it the right way, he’ll return to where he came from. 

He wants to feel nothing, but instead, he feels everything.

KimNamjoonCypherJungHoseokCypherMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoonJungHoseok Min Yoongi—

He clutches his head. He wants to go to another city already, wants to be done with the concert there already, too. He wants to go home as soon as he can because this tour is messing him up way too much in a way that his human body can’t really take.

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongi Cypher KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongi Can it stop? KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongCypher Is he supposed to just KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoonJung live with it KimNamjoonJungHoseok for the KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher for the rest KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher of KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher! his KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCyph—

Fuck.

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonJungHoseok

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongi

KimNamjoonJungHoseokCypherMinYoongiKimNamjoon

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonCypher

KimNamjoonCypherJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoon

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypherCypher

It’s too much. It’s too fucking much.

The moments when he stumbles back into his hotel room after concerts are always when he thinks he’s stupid for thinking that he could go on. The chants don’t go away.

Except for the times when Jungkook is singing.

Jungkook.

Yoongi doesn’t know how he manages it, but he picks himself up from the floor and finds his phone. He checks the time and tries to do the calculations. What time is it in Seoul? Is it too early or too late? But he doesn’t know exactly where he is, or how far away they are, other than the fact that they’re an entire world away from each other.

Jungkook picks up quickly, so it must be an appropriate time to call.

“Sunbaenim?”

“Jungkook,” breathes out Yoongi. “Hi. Good morning.”

“It’s noon.”

“Good afternoon,” Yoongi corrects himself. He sits down on the bed, feeling stupid and ridiculous. What is he supposed to tell Jungkook?

Your senior producer is about to go crazy, and the only times when he feels somewhat fine is when he’s with you? So can you humour me on the phone a little?

This is just—vulgar.

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh. “Good afternoon,” he echoes. A smile is heard in his voice. He doesn’t sound too weirded out by Yoongi’s call. Unlike Yoongi, he sounds like it's the most normal thing in the world—for them to call each other when they're away.

There’s a silence. A long one, interrupted by the sounds surrounding Jungkook. Cars honking, people talking, the wind rustling. He must be out. Yoongi must’ve distracted him. 

“Sorry,” Yoongi whispers. He presses his palm against his eye, and groans tiredly. “I’m sorry, I think…I think I misdialed your number. I’ll just hang up, sorry—”

He doesn’t even get the chance to take the phone away from his ear when Jungkook rushes, “No, no, sunbae, wait—”

Yoongi halts. “What is it?”

“I know that your call was an accident, but— Can we stay on the phone a little longer?”

Yoongi parts his mouth, and just doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Ah?”

“It’s just…I’m walking to the dorms from the grocery store, and I’ve forgotten my headphones today so I was a little bored when you called me, but— Can you keep me company? While I walk back?”

This boy. He makes Yoongi feel so much. 

He makes the voices go away. 

“Yes,” Yoongi says. “Yes, of course.” 

Again, this pause. When Yoongi left Seoul, they were past this awkwardness, but here they are again. 

“How—” Yoongi starts and doesn’t know where to end this phrase. He means to ask how Jungkook is, but all that comes out is, “How are the guys?”

If Jungkook is opposed to this question, he doesn’t show it. “They’re ok,” he says. “Taehyung misses you.” 

Yoongi knows that if Taehyung had really missed him, he’d just text Yoongi immediately about this. Kim Taehyung is too straightforward about his feelings to silently miss Yoongi’s presence in his life. 

“Does he?” Yoongi asks softly.

“Yes. You’re all he’s talking about these days.”

Yoongi shakes his head. He lays back down on the bed, like a starfish.

“Jimin-hyung is writing a lot lately,” Jungkook says after a short pause. 

“Oh?”

“Our whole dorm is filled with sticky notes. He has a habit of writing things down everywhere once he’s hit with an idea. He used to write on the walls, but then Yeri-noona saw it and scolded us. Now the company makes sure to provide sticky notes on top of all other necessities. Like toilet paper.”

Yoongi laughs. “It’s not the worst thing to be provided with.”

“It isn’t,” Jungkook agrees. “It’s a fun way to live, actually. When I brush my teeth in the morning, I don’t look at myself in the mirror. I read all the new notes on it. Before opening the fridge to have breakfast, I try to find LOTD.”

“What’s that?”

“Lyrics of the day, sunbae,” Jungkook says, his voice playful. “How can you not know?”

“Well, what was your LOTD today?”

“It’s a good thing you asked,” Jungkook says. “It might be just my favourite LOTD so far. I think it’s a new one.”

“Really? I’m intrigued.”

“It goes like this: ‘They told me the sky will cry of stars tonight, and suddenly, I want to lie down and cry, too’.”

Hearing these lines, Yoongi’s heart skips a beat, and he thinks: Me too. He wrote it about me. I’ve been crying of stars every night. I’m afraid I’ll be starless soon. 

He pushes himself up by the elbows. “How—did he even come up with that?”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook says. “I heard on the news that the meteor shower should happen tonight. Maybe that inspired him.”

“Your tonight or my tonight?”

“Dunno, sunbae,” Jungkook says, again this word, swallowing half of the sounds. “Come outside and see for yourself?”

Yoongi picks himself up. He gets out of bed and proceeds out onto the balcony.

“Are you out?” Jungkook says.

“Yes.”

“Look up, sunbae.”

Yoongi does. It’s just the sky. Just the same stars, same moon, as always. No meteor shower. He’s not too disappointed about it, has never expected to see it in the first place. However—

“Are you looking up, too?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, almost dumbfounded. “Yeah, of course. I’m standing like an idiot in the middle of the street, looking up. My neck is hurting a little, even.”

“Mine too.”

They laugh a bit reservedly around each other. Jungkook’s laughter is always sweet, and Yoongi’s phone doesn't do justice to the sound. 

“So, no meteor shower?” Yoongi asks.

“Yeah,” Jungkook sighs. “Sadly. Maybe it’s my tonight after all.”

A pause.

“Why do you ask, though?” Jungkook asks quietly, gently. “Sunbae?”

“Just thought it’s nice that even a whole world away, we’re still looking at the same sky, after all.”

What he’s afraid to say is, It makes me feel less lonely like this.

“Yeah,” Jungkook sniffles, “it’s very nice.”

They talk every night on the phone for the rest of the tour. It becomes more bearable.

When I cry, the stars cry with me
And when I cry, I cry of stars

 

— ‘Star-seeding’, the process of sowing yourself with stars. It’s this song where I feel like my commentary is unnecessary. Some songs just get into your soul and rinse it out like an old, broken washing machine, to each human in their own way.  

RM has always had an ear for crafting music that sounds like that. He did it again for 'Star-seeding', this time assisting Taehyung with the arrangement and Jimin with the lyrics. 

 

Yoongi is out tonight. 

He’s back in Seoul early because of this outing. It’s the outing that’s difficult to arrange; each time it takes planning in advance because so many schedules of different people collide. Their group chat is full of fighting whenever they start mapping out the new meeting: which BBQ restaurant is the best, what date it should be, how they are all going to fit at the same table with each other… Yoongi usually doesn’t partake in anything well until they finalise the time and place. 

It’s a lot of work, a lot of fear, a lot of guilt. But when it happens, it’s always so good. The atmosphere. The dark tones of the grill bar. There is so much food you know you won’t be able to eat tomorrow for the whole day, beer, soju, soju and beer, laughter, curses, all the conversations where you need to talk over the music, the stories, funny and not. Some are dancing, some are kissing in the darker corners, some are holding hands in the most casual, comforting way, the way they would never be able to outside of this bar. 

It’s good to be with them. It’s like it’s easier to breathe here next to them. Easier than anywhere in Seoul, anywhere in the whole world, even. 

Don’t get him wrong. It’s good to be with Hoseok and Namjoon, too. But despite being understanding and supportive, they will never do it on the level these people do. 

They talk about the same things Yoongi talks about with Namjoon and Hoseok. Weather, car prices, travelling, music, movies, family, childhood traumas, sex, their favourite wine, politics, work. 

It’s just—when Yoongi starts talking about their budding trainees, how Yoongi has been writing for their album lately, how each of them is so unique and talented that they have to look forward to their debut… They know. They immediately know.

“Huh,” Hyunwoo smirks. His eyes are gleaming in the gloom of the bar, combined with disco lights flashing across his features. “So tell us more about Jeon Jungkook.”

Camilla, one of their most active texters in the group chat, frowns. “Weren’t you dating another guy? What was his name? Minjoo—”

“Minjae,” Camilla’s girlfriend, helps out. Yoongi feels bad that he can’t seem to remember her name, even though it’s the third time she comes with Camilla to another outing like this one, and Yoongi is sure that he heard they were planning on moving to the US to stay with Camilla’s family. Feels bad that he can’t remember the name of his good friend’s girlfriend, while the said girlfriend remembers the name of his fuckbuddy. “I thought you guys were good for each other.”

“I’m not seeing him anymore,” Yoongi breathes out tiredly. He rubs a soothing circle into his forehead. The party has started to get a little stuffy, a little hazy. Too loud. 

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher—)

“Why?” someone around the table asks. 

Because Minjae himself is a pretty average, boring guy who can’t even comprehend that he doesn’t have to work as a barista. That he can think about something bigger when Yoongi tells him not to let go of his dreams, like opening a coffee shop of his own. 

“He has a small dick!” Camilla scoffs. “Or he’s an asshole! Who fucking cares? Can we go back to Jeon Jungkook? Yoongi looked so happy when he was talking about him, I really liked—”

“Yeah! It’s been a while since Yoongi-oppa—”

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min YoongiCypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi—)

“Honestly, it’s so cute that he was so shy around you at first, Yoongi-yah. He must’ve had a crush on you—”

(KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKim—)

“God, I miss the times when I was crushing on my seniors, it was so-o-o fun for whatever reason—”

“Yoongi-hyung, are you going to bring him to us next time?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t think he will want to come with me.”

And Camilla’s girlfriend—Sooyeon, her name is Sooyeon, right—smiles at him. “Oh, oppa.” As if he’s the most silliest man on the planet.

Which maybe he is. 

They drink some more. Yoongi, drunk to the point he doesn’t bother to hide his feelings anymore, pulls out his phone and starts showing them photos and videos of Jungkook. They’re very limited, and mostly of the boy eating or singing or dozing off on Yoongi’s sofa in the studio, but everyone goes ‘ Awww’ all the same. 

At some point, Yoongi’s vision blurs. There’s Jungkook’s ID and his voice coming from the speaker, barely audible over the music and chatting. Around Yoongi, Camilla, Sooyeon, and Hyunwoo, the most invested in Yoongi’s love life, politely take a step back from him, giving him what they call privacy. 

“Sunbae?”

“Huh?” Yoongi says, standing up to go outside. He looks around, confused. “Did he call me while I was talking about him or something? And I’ve just accepted the call blindly?”

“You called him yourself!” Hyunwoo tells him cheerfully. “Completely shit-faced, Yoongi-yah?”

Yoongi waves him off and stumbles out of the bar. 

Outside it’s chilly, the air sobering. Yoongi inhales greedily, hugging himself—he’s forgotten his jacket inside. 

“You still here?” Yoongi asks quietly, bringing his phone back to his ear. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says just as quietly. 

“Sorry.” 

Yoongi’s not sure what he’s apologising for. He’s been calling Jungkook every night for the past weeks. It’s not unusual for them anymore.

He looks around. He thinks he’s too tired and excited to stand, so he squats, leaning his back right against the wall. 

“It’s okay,” Jungkook says. “Are you out with the staff?” He doesn’t know that Yoongi is back in South Korea. Nobody does, except the people in this bar and Cypher’s closest managers.

“No, I’m just—with my friends.” Yoongi doesn’t want to lie to him. He also wishes he didn’t have to elaborate further on his queer friends’ get-togethers every once in a while. 

“Having fun?” Jungkook asks gently. For the twenty-year-old, it is such a mature question. The way it’s asked. Not prying. Just caring. 

Yoongi massages his heart. “Yes,” he says. It’s the truth. He’s having lots of fun talking about Jungkook so fucking freely, with little to no guilt. “Yes, I am. We haven’t seen each other in a while. It’s nice.”

“I’m glad,” Jungkook whispers. “Very glad.” After this, a yawn comes.

Yoongi laughs. He tries not to smile too wide but then decides to fuck it . Jungkook is not here to see it anyway. “What are you doing? Are you tired after a long day?”

“I’m actually just in the dorms,” Jungkook deadpans, but Yoongi can hear him suppressing a laugh. “We had a day off of some sort, so I’m a bit bored. Days like this make me even more exhausted than when I train hard.”

God, it’s so nice. Just to talk about their days. They usually talk only about music or what Taehyung and Jimin have been up to. Never about what they are doing.

Someone offers Yoongi a cigarette. It’s someone from the bar, so Yoongi takes it, nodding a quick thanks. He takes the first drag, it’s both as intoxicating as the alcohol and as sobering as the air outside. 

“What would you like to be doing now?” Yoongi asks.

If Jungkook was the one to ask this question, Yoongi, without a doubt, would say, Be with you. 

He would love so much to have Jungkook here next to him. He would love to show Jungkook to the others, no matter how much he shies away from it. He would love for others to love him. To see how sweet, how kind he is, and how much of the stars’ warmth can be found in one person. 

He’s not sure Jungkook would love to be with him , however. 

“I’d love to be eating samgyeopsal right now,” Jungkook sighs dreamily. 

Yoongi smiles again. This time, it’s sadder. “Why can’t you?”

“Too expensive.”

“I’ll transfer you money.” Alcohol makes Yoongi so brazen. Not good. 

He takes another puff of the cigarette and puts it out. He throws it to the bin with one quick motion of an ex-basketball player, and finds himself thinking that soon enough, there’ll be another ‘ex’ attached to his name. Only three months left. Time flies so quickly. 

“Can you take me out instead?” asks Jungkook. 

Yoongi looks around himself. Excitement mixed with worry fogs his mind. He starts calculating how long it’s going to take him to come to Jungkook’s dorms—

“Right now?” he asks, out of breath just at the thought of how much he will have to run around to fulfil Jungkook’s wish—

“No,” Jungkook says quickly. “ No, today you have fun with your friends. Just—someday. Will you take me out?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” 

“Good. Now go back to your friends, sunbae.”

“You’re bossy,” Yoongi mutters, standing up and groaning. 

“You’re old,” Jungkook teases.

“I know.” Yoongi sighs. That’s the whole problem, isn’t it? “I know.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Good night, Jungkook-ah.”

A pause. Then, Jungkook sighs, seemingly giving up on drunken Yoongi. “Good night, sunbae.”

Yoongi goes back inside the grill bar. He’s a bit wary that everyone will be back to teasing him about the Jeon Jungkook situation, but it seems like they have moved on. Yoongi breathes out in relief. He doesn’t think he could handle them any longer. He barely handles himself.

He grabs his soju glass but finds it empty. He looks around for the bottle on the table, lost, disoriented both from the booze in his body and the conversation with Jungkook.

“Let me help.”

Yoongi’s glass gets filled, then clinked. 

It’s Kim Seokjin, an editor from Music World magazine. He’s written several articles about Cypher, always praising their work. Yoongi kind of loves him, even. They have a good bond. They went out a couple of times together for drinks. 

Yoongi hasn’t seen Seokjin in a while on their outings. He’s been out of the scene, and nobody really knew where he was. His articles haven't been around, either. 

“Wow,” Yoongi says. “Long time no see.”

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher Kim NamjoonJung Hoseok—)

Seokjin smiles, his hand scratching at his shaved head. “Well. Life.”

They drink some more. Seokjin talks about the only thing he’s known for the past eighteen months. Yoongi talks about the only thing that’s on his mind these days.

“So, this guy… Jungkook? It sounds serious.”

“It’s not,” Yoongi assures Seokjin. “It can’t be.”

“Why not? He sounds like—”

“He’s twenty.”

Seokjin smiles. “You’re twenty-four?”

“ Exactly.” 

He is twenty-four, and Jungkook is twenty. He will be done with his career soon, and Jungkook is about to start it. They’re going in opposite directions. Yoongi doesn’t think he wants a serious relationship with promises of a future marriage or anything like that, but he does want a certain commitment, the one that twenty-year-old boys don’t have. Believe him, he was twenty once. 

“They’ve all said he has a crush on me.”

Seokjin’s face softens. “You want something more, Yoongi-yah?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t know what I want.” Fucking liar. He looks up at the ceiling, all the LED lights dancing on it, and blinks. “He’s just—so fucking young. ”  

“He sounds like a dreamer, though.”

“Why does it even matter?”

“I thought the dreamers were your type, s’all,” Seokjin shrugs. “And dreamers are the type to love.”

Dreams. Everything keeps coming back to them. 

“Yeah, he’s twenty,” Seokjin carries on. “But you literally grow out of everything but your dreams. I write articles about musicians. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. You guys are—”

“What about me?” Yoongi blurts.

Seokjin’s scolding dies mid-word. “What about you?”

Yoongi looks at him for long enough for his vision to blur, teary. “I think I’ve grown out of my dream, hyung.” 

One day, the weight of the dreams will be taken off our shoulders,
And you’ll feel at peace again
For now, let me hold it for you 
Let me ease the pain

— ‘Dreamers’ is not just about the 9795 bragging about being able to achieve their dreams. On top of being a perfect title track, it’s also a song about hope. Of future days, brighter than our today, than our yesterday. And I feel like these days, considering all the recent events, a little bit of gentle hope won’t hurt anybody. 

Yoongi has come here looking for Hoseok. 

He didn’t expect to see him here and, therefore, hadn’t prepared himself for the way his heart squeezes in his chest at the sight of him. It's been months since he's seen him—at least not on the phone screen.

He’s dancing. Yoongi’s eyes follow the routes of his body, the way it blooms to music. Yoongi folds his arms, his shoulder coming to rest on the wall, and just watches him. 

Like this, Yoongi is just another person who believes in him. Like this, he’s just another producer who says that Jungkook and his group will make it big. 

But then Jungkook dances, dances, and dances, and Yoongi still can’t look away, a feeling bigger than him caught in his throat. 

But then the music stops, and it’s just Jungkook’s heavy, tired breathing against the empty room and Yoongi’s nonexistent one, trying to hold it in, trying not to let it slip into the air. 

He fails. He knows he fails. 

Their eyes meet in the mirror. Jungkook is immediately up. He’s standing upright like he’s not tired at all. Like his body isn’t a sweaty mush of something. He’s a string.

“Sunbae.” 

His back is still facing Yoongi. Their eyes still hold onto each other’s gazes in the mirror. Neither of them can look away.

It’s said in a surprised manner, but it’s also said in a welcoming manner, but first and foremost, it’s said gently, it’s said happily, and Yoongi sighs, a heavy breath leaving his chest. Fine. 

Yoongi has been caught. He sniffles, looks at his feet, and pinches his nose. God, they’ve known each other for months already. Yoongi should’ve told him to call him hyung, but it seems too intimate, and Yoongi wants to hold on to their distance. He wants to stay just another person who believes in him, he wants to stay just another producer for him.

But the whole problem is that Jungkook makes sunbae sound like a secret, like an oath, like a promise. 

“Sunbae, you’re back.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. “Yeah, I am.”

Jungkook turns around, and now there’s no mirror between them, only this unbearable distance. It’s better than being a whole world away from each other, however.

Jungkook takes a small step towards Yoongi, and—Yoongi’s not sure how exactly it happens—but in an instant, Jungkook crashes into him and hugs him. He’s sweaty, Jungkook, and he tries not to press too much into Yoongi. It’s just a welcome back hug, a greeting type of hug, it shouldn’t last longer than a few seconds, shouldn’t feel so comforting.

But it does. 

And for that, Yoongi doesn’t let Jungkook let go of him. Instead, he hugs him back, and presses them closer together. He feels Jungkook breathing out contently into his neck. It’s a warm ticklish puff of air, and Yoongi welcomes it, welcomes Jungkook’s smell, Jungkook’s muscles under his fingertips. 

Jungkook buries his nose in Yoongi’s shoulder. He’s always open to the touch, Yoongi knows. He’s like a cat, he likes when he’s caressed, and he likes to nuzzle. 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back for another week.”

“Well, I am.”

Yoongi distances himself from him. Their hands slide off each other, and Jungkook is no longer meeting Yoongi’s eyes. 

“Are you hungry?” Yoongi asks.

Jungkook nods. 

“Okay,” Yoongi smiles. “Let’s go, then. I promised to take you out for samgyeopsal, didn’t I? My treat.”

They go to the same BBQ restaurant Yoongi had taken him out to for the first time. It’s Friday night, so it’s busier, louder. Drunken laughter, men in office suits popping soju bottles open one after another, unwilling to go home to their wives this evening. Neither Yoongi nor Jungkook fit into this atmosphere. The waiter recognises them and seats them in the far corner at the back.

Jungkook sits against the wall, so Yoongi has no choice but to look at him. Yoongi sits with his back facing the rest of the restaurant, so Jungkook can either look at him or observe the restaurant’s visitors. As always, it’s not in Yoongi’s favour.

Jungkook studies the restaurant’s crowd, and Yoongi studies him. It’s been more than half a year since they’ve known each other, and Jungkook seems to start growing out of his last teenage features. He appears more grown to Yoongi, with his hair longer and an adorable fringe of the coconut, some of his baby fat lost on his cheeks.

Jungkook chews on his bottom lip, then gives up and looks over at Yoongi. “I wanna drink tonight, too.”

Yoongi calls the waiter over, orders. 

“Is there any special occasion?” he asks casually as he fills their glasses. 

“Sunbae is back, is it not enough for a celebration?”

It shouldn’t be. 

Yoongi smirks, but even he knows that it’s a sad one. They clink their glasses, downing the first shots. The alcohol is good, calming in Yoongi’s chest, in his mind. A heart’s a heavy burden, and the alcohol makes Yoongi feel weightless. Like he’s not a hundred years old. 

“We have a debut date.” 

Oh. 

Yoongi’s head snaps back. “When?”

Jungkook plays with the table’s corner, his nail picking at it. “January, 7th.” 

Cypher’s contract will be done by that time. 

“I’ve always wanted to be a singer,” Jungkook speaks up suddenly, his voice loud and wavering, like this one thought had been stuck in his head for a while. “I always wanted to be a singer, but now that it’s actually happening, I think I’m… I don’t know. Like, scared? Yeah, maybe ‘scared’ would be a good word.” 

They get the meat served. Yoongi rolls up his sleeves and takes charge of the grill, and Jungkook fills up their glasses with soju again. It’s seamless work, existing around each other. 

“Tell me more,” Yoongi says gently, turning the meat over. “Why are you scared?”

Jungkook huffs, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. “I’m scared for so many things. To happen. Not to happen. You know?”

Yoongi does. The only problem, he doesn’t know how to comfort Jungkook in this. If he could take these fears off him, get them all on his shoulders and bear them instead of him, he would. 

So he just puts the piece of meat in his bowl. The best one, grilled just the way Yoongi knows he likes it. 

Jungkook murmurs his thanks and eats up. 

“To be honest,” Yoongi starts, clearing his throat. He shifts in his chair uncomfortably. “I didn’t really want to do it like this. I wanted to be a producer. Just a producer. And they made me dance. ”

He wanted to make Jungkook laugh, maybe smile a bit, but Jungkook’s gaze is still serious as he asks,  “Why did you do it, then?”

Yoongi blinks. “It seemed like it was my only chance at doing music.” A pause. “Besides, I’ve grown quite close with Namjoon and Hobi. They really wanted to do it. I guess I didn’t want to let them down, either.”

“I see,” Jungkook whispers. “That’s admirable.”

He doesn’t sound like he means it. 

Yoongi doesn’t want to push on him. He doesn’t like it because Jungkook, more often than not, seems to him like a boy that’ll be too easy to break. To be completely honest, Yoongi is afraid that this industry will crush him. Sometimes he’s mortified, even.

There’s so much good stored in him. He’s respectful to his seniors and kind to his friends. He’s so honest in his singing. So hard-working in his training. He’s so talented and yet not taking his talent for granted. But he’s almost like an ivory with all of these good things in him.

Maybe that’s why Yoongi is working on the album for their budding trainees so diligently. So that this industry won’t even think about hurting him. Or Jimin and Taehyung, for that matter. 

Jungkook’s chopsticks pick up on one of the side dishes. “Sunbae, any tips for future debutants?”

“Don’t let it get into your head. Stay grounded.” Yoongi thinks about it. Whether to tell him or not. Then he decides to just fuck it. “When wearing an earpiece, don’t let the chants become louder than the music.”

Jungkook looks disappointed by his answer. Maybe he expected something less boringly adult from Yoongi, something like Work hard, and you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted. 

Two hours later, he’s drunk. He pouted to Yoongi about Jimin and Taehyung snuggling in their dorms right in front of him, and angrily told him that romance is overrated, sunbae! then gave him a lecture on how good it is that meat exists. 

For tonight, all of his fears are forgotten, but he’s drunk, and it is a problem. A problem for Yoongi, the one he brought on himself.

It’s Yoongi’s fault. Yoongi shouldn’t have obliged him with his drinking in the first place. He shouldn’t have been so religious in ordering him bottle after bottle at the glances Jungkook gave him. 

Yoongi barely gets him out of the restaurant and to the bus stop. He’s unsure if the buses are still here at this time, so he tries to call a taxi. The taxi app gives up on him, probably too many orders at this time of the Friday night. Yoongi slumps down onto the bench, and leans his head against the glass wall tiredly. 

Jungkook is currently hugging the lamppost next to the bus stop.

Yoongi is never taking him out to drink ever again. 

“Sunbae,” he calls.

Yoongi looks over at him: he’s so adorably weird. So cheeky like this. It’s a lovely look to him, such a lovely one. Yoongi faces away from it.

Only then does he hum.

“Sunbae,” Jungkook repeats. “Sunbae, do you wanna know a secret?”

Yoongi is still looking away. There’s just an empty street in front of him, not a a single vehicle in sight, less a cab. The whole world seems to have disappeared, and it’s just them. It’s just them: a very sober Yoongi and a very drunk Jungkook. 

Yoongi hides his hands in the pockets of his jacket. It’s cold, it’s autumn, it’s night. They should be home already. 

“Sunbae,” Jungkook says. He has detached himself from the lamppost, and is now hovering right above Yoongi. He sounds disappointed that Yoongi hasn’t been paying attention to him. “Would you like to know a secret or not?”

Yoongi hums absentmindedly and then shrugs, whether from the cold or a lack of answers. 

It happens like this: Jungkook cups Yoongi’s face, turning Yoongi around. It’s rushed, everything in his motion is. And then, just as hurriedly, as if one wrong second and he’s going to have no stomach for it, he leans down.

The kiss is tender like all first times,  pliant and inexperienced. 

And as Yoongi gets his hands out of his pockets—slow, everything about his motions is slow—and as he carefully wraps them around Jungkook’s hips, kissing him back, he wonders what kind of a secret it is if it’s been so obvious from the very start. 

***

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongi—)

Yoongi has just sat down in his chair, returning from the second floor, right after probably making the toughest decision and having the hardest conversation of his life, when the door to his studio bangs open.

Only one person knows the password. And he’s never violated his rights like this before.

Yoongi buries his face in his hands. He knows what is coming. 

“What was that about?” 

Yoongi rubs at his forehead, then finally gathers the remaining sane pieces of himself and turns around. “What?” 

“Yesterday,” Jungkook pushes. “Yesterday, when we kissed.” 

He puts a stress on the word ‘we’, on the word ‘us’. Yoongi had kissed him back, that’s the whole problem; he had pressed Jungkook against himself and kissed him deeply and longingly. 

Yoongi blinks heavily, tiredly, ashamed. He knows that kissing wasn’t the worst part. Jungkook doesn’t accuse him of that. 

“You just,” Jungkook breathes, he’s angry, he’s upset, he’s so many feelings, and Yoongi doesn’t know how to handle him. “You got rid of me. You kissed me, and then you put me into the taxi, and you didn’t get in, you just pushed money into my hands, you just told the driver the address to my dorm and you—you let me go.”

“So you weren’t as drunk as you made yourself out to be?”

“Who fucking cares about that?” Jungkook snaps. He looks away from Yoongi. “Just—why?”

Yoongi stands up after him.

“What was I supposed to do?” he asks, his voice harsh. His voice is of a parent scolding a child. “Maybe I should’ve taken you home? Take advantage of you while you’re drunk out of your mind? Would you like that?”

“You wouldn’t do it,” Jungkook says. “I know sunbae, you wouldn’t do it.”

“So I didn’t. ”

Jungkook slumps down. He’s angry, Yoongi sees it, he sees it in his gritted jaw, in his upset eyes. Anger is a secondary emotion. Anger is a result of hurt.

“But you don’t see the problem,” Jungkook pushes again.

Yoongi groans. God, he’s too old for this. Too tired. There are supposed to be other things on his mind right now, especially after that conversation with Yeri and her father earlier, but instead, he can only think about Jungkook. Everything always comes back to Jungkook. 

“What is the problem?” Yoongi asks. 

“I wanted to be with you,” Jungkook  replies. “You didn’t have to take me home to take advantage of me. We could’ve just stayed together. For a little longer, we could’ve just stayed together.”

Silence. 

“I wanted to be with you last night,” Jungkook says again, this time quieter, smaller, like it’s going to change something. 

God, he’s so young, what was Yoongi thinking about?

“You don’t see the problem, either,” Yoongi says, eventually. Jungkook opens his mouth, getting enough air in his lungs to argue, and Yoongi cuts it off with, “We can’t be together, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s eyes redden, and a tear spills. It slides down his cheek quickly and catches onto the edge of his jaw. He’s not crying—it’s just one tear, wiped away with the back of his hand harshly, like it never existed in the first place. 

But seeing this single tear, Yoongi suddenly hates himself hundreds, even thousands of times more than he has been hating himself all this time. From the moment he saw the silent disappointment in Namjoon’s and Hoseok’s eyes as he told them that he couldn’t do it anymore, till now. He hates himself for being who he is, he hates himself for this weight on his shoulders, he hates himself for the voices in his head. He just hates himself, completely and utterly.

Jungkook takes a rushed step towards Yoongi. “But I love you, ” he breathes. 

Yoongi is not an idiot. He knew. Of course, he did. Maybe not with the word ‘love’, but—all the times that Jungkook’s hand brushed Yoongi’s and Jungkook jolted away from the touch. All the times his mood went down after he saw Yoongi playfully bickering with Jimin. All the times he grinned at Yoongi and at all the unfunny jokes he made. 

Yoongi is not an idiot. He knows he’s in love with Jungkook. His love for Jungkook is an uncomfortable kind of love. It’s the love that gets into your bones too deeply too quickly. It’s the love that sticks around and refuses to leave you. It’s the love that stays, the love that hurts when you get separated for too long. It’s the love too big for the human body. 

Yoongi is not an idiot. He can’t let Jungkook go through this. Yoongi barely sleeps, he keeps taking the pills, he keeps drinking to shut the voices in his head down. How is he supposed to let Jungkook love him? It’s not fair for Jungkook.

Yoongi is not an idiot. Jungkook is barely twenty. 

“Don’t worry,” Yoongi says, guiding Jungkook’s hands away. “It’ll pass.”

Chapter Text

Twenty-two, the sweetest age,
I think I finally got it figured out
You said the voices are still in your head
Full of myself, I told you I’ll fix you

 

— I have mentioned this before, but I will say it again: what I like the most about ‘Boyhood’ is the way the song matures. The way every verse is a different stage of life with a different attitude to the same problem—the said voices of the narrator’s romantic interest. 

Only at twenty-two can we be so sure of ourselves to assume that we finally know what life is about. Only at twenty-two can we be so brazen to say that our love can fix someone. 

AS A ROOKIE IDOL 

Eighteen months later, with a baseball cap covering Yoongi’s head, he clutches his sports bag tightly as the bus drives off and reveals four familiar figures across the road from the stop where it dropped him off. 

They’re all looking at him, only at him. They can’t take their eyes off him. 

Yoongi breathes out. It’s over in a second, another crucial moment in his life passing him by like it was nothing. With the documents signed, he’s officially dismissed, and just like that, his military life is over. 

He looks around the street—empty—and crosses the road, without bothering to go over to the crosswalk and waiting three minutes for the green light. As he’s on the other side, his jogging morphs into walking. He’s walking in a way an outsider would call leisurely, padding over to his four people. He’d call his walking scared and embarrassed, ashamed, everything inside of him curling into tight knots. 

The first body to crush into him is Hoseok. He hugs Yoongi so tightly, it feels like he’s trying to squeeze the remaining air out of Yoongi. Yoongi pats him on his back awkwardly. 

“C’mon now,” Yoongi mutters, even though he doesn’t know what else to add to this, or how to continue it. It’s not a big deal? 

But it kind of is. They haven’t seen each other in over a year. So many things have changed. 

“You’ve gotten buffer,” Namjoon notices with a smile on his face. He hugs Yoongi sideways and doesn’t stay for too long. 

“Have you seen yourself?” Yoongi scoffs, and Namjoon smiles again at him, the dimpled smile of his, scratching behind his ear shyly. 

“It is what it is. I’m happy to know they didn’t starve you there. It’s good to have you back.”

Yoongi did gain a little weight, but it’s not surprising, considering he was depressed and starving himself the last time he was in Seoul. Back there, in the camp, there wasn’t room to deny food or exercise. 

Namjoon doesn’t have to know about it. 

The two remaining familiar figures are: 

Yeri. She hugs him kind of tentatively, no words shared. She almost moulds into Yoongi, just staying in his embrace for a few moments and then stepping back, and then an awkward fixing of hair behind her ear on her behalf. 

The last one is her father. Kim Woojin. He claps Yoongi on the back several times, smiling at him proudly like a real father would. 

“Welcome home, kiddo. You’re a man now.”

And Yoongi looks at him and thinks, Is he? Is he really? 

“Let’s go,” Yeri’s father says, holding onto Yoongi’s elbow as he pulls him in the direction of their parked car. “The welcome back dinner is on me.”

Yoongi would’ve preferred to go home and get changed, have a shower, maybe, lie down in his bed for the first time in a year and a half, not go to some godforsaken dinner, but he knows that this is not how it works. 

He ducks his head in a bow. “Thank you, Father.”

“You’re welcome, son.”

Now, this is how it’s always been done. 

In the restaurant, Yoongi meets with his blood family. They apologise for not being able to meet him at the graduation ceremony. Daegu trains don’t run according to your schedule. You have to understand, darling. And Yoongi nods, eating this shit up. He keeps silent that all the other mothers have made it just fine with the trains not running according to their sons’ main events in their lives, and instead hugs her and his father. It comes out awkward and insincere, hypocritical. 

His parents start thanking Kim Woojin for organising this wonderful dinner, blabbering about how beautiful the restaurant is, and how they are so happy that Yoongi has him in his life. Yoongi sighs at them as he stands aside. These people never change. 

“The welcome is different when your father-in-law is the CEO of the music label,” Yoongi’s older brother muses, bumping into Yoongi’s shoulder playfully.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “He’s not—that.”

He and Geunwoo aren’t really close. To be completely honest, not close at all. Geunwoo has a life in Daegu, and Yoongi has a life in Seoul. They don’t collide until pivotal moments in life like this — coming back from military service, Geunwoo’s marriage, or Geunwoo’s daughter's birth. This is how things work with them.

Geunwoo smirks. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Yoongi shoves his hands into his jeans. He rolls on his feet like a little kid, witnessing all the chaos of people appearing one by one in the restaurant. Who are they? Who invited them? Why are they here? 

“Okay,” Yeri’s father finally announces, clapping his hands. “The kids go in this room, the adults—to this one.” 

Yoongi wonders if he’s a kid or an adult. Seeing his family running to the adult room, along with all the other important people, he figures he is the child whose honour the party is being organised for.

“I’ll be in the adult room,” Geunwoo says. “Have a good time with your friends, okay? It’s your day.”

Coming back from the military, Yoongi thinks, is like a second birth for a boy. 

“Yeri-yah,” Kim Woojin calls out. 

“Yes, Dad?”

“Come with me.”

She sends Yoongi an apologetic glance and proceeds after her father to the adults’ room like a scolded child. 

In the kids’ room, it’s only Yoongi, Namjoon, and Hoseok, which is not that bad, to tell the truth. Just empty. Empty like the three remaining seats are. Yoongi side-eyes them as he pulls out the chair for himself but doesn’t say a word. 

Suddenly, the door bangs open. 

“Oh my god, hyungnim—”

“We’re so, so, sorry, we had this filming—”

“The director was such a dipshit—”

“Our manager—”

“ The traffic—”

Yoongi stands up and hugs them both. Just to shut these idiots up. 

They melt into him, nuzzling like kittens. Jimin laughs, mocking him about getting soft, weren’t they supposed to make a man out of you? and Taehyung just silently embraces him back. They’re warm from standing under blinding camera lights for hours and smell like a film studio, like running around the city endlessly. 

“We’re sorry. We really wanted to be there to welcome you back from military hell, but you know… work.”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi waves them off. “I understand. Thank you for coming here.”

When they step back, and the third figure isn’t there behind them, Yoongi isn’t disappointed. It’s more of a feeling when you don’t get something you knew you couldn’t have yet hoped for. 

Yoongi doesn’t think he and Jungkook would have anything to talk about, anyway. They would make things awkward. Just like they did right after the confession. The two months of uncomfortable stillness between them. It’s for the better. 

With Jimin and Taehyung, the table becomes less stagnant immediately: they share handshakes with Namjoon and Hoseok, laugh, chat about their day, ask how everything went, and pop the soju bottles open. In a blink of an eye, Yoongi has downed his second shot of soju, his whole chest warm, sitting up, and taking part in conversation more enthusiastically. 

It’s good to be home. 

“So, uh,” Namjoon says, “Jungkook?..”

Yoongi pretends he’s really interested in the pickled radish. 

“Oh, Jungkook!” Jimin stirs up. There’s something about his voice. It’s the same as when he showed up beside Jungkook at Yoongi’s studio all these years ago. 

Do you guys really not talk? 

“Jungkook is with that guy right now.”

Yoongi frowns. When he looks up from the plate with the pickled radish, Jimin is staring right at him. Yoongi looks down and tries to distract himself by eating.

Okay, here’s what Yoongi assumes everyone in this room knows so far: he and Jungkook were good friends. Something happened between them, and they stopped being good friends. On top of that, Namjoon and Hoseok know that Yoongi likes men. None of them know that Jungkook is into men. Only Yoongi knows that Jimin likes Taehyung. Maybe Jungkook, too, because he’s a sensible kid, and he’s been living in one dorm with them for years. He and Yoongi didn’t discuss Jimin and Taehyung’s relationship status directly, but there were…innuendos. And now there’s nothing. Hasn’t been anything for the past twenty months, to be exact. 

Yoongi ignores the traitorous missed beat of his heart and instead focuses on beckoning Hoseok to fill up their glasses and downing another glass of soju. 

Maybe he’s just out with his friend. 

“What guy?” Hoseok asks, just to keep the conversation going. 

“He’s dating this one guy right now,” Taehyung says. Yoongi feels his intense gaze on him. Like Taehyung is only speaking to him right now. “It’s a whole thing.”

Well, it’s not like Yoongi didn’t say that Jungkook’s feelings for him would pass. They had, and it’s good. It’s for the better. It’s what Yoongi hoped for. 

It’s just that now Yoongi assumes everyone in this room knows Jungkook is into men. Namjoon and Hoseok know Yoongi likes men, and Taehyung and Jimin probably do, too. Everyone knows. Everyone knows that Yoongi and Jungkook were good friends, but then something happened, and now they’re not. Haven’t been for a while. 

It’s not hard to connect one thing to another.

This is sickening.

“I need to take a breather,” Yoongi excuses himself, standing up abruptly. The whole world suddenly sways—he’s drunker than he thought.

"Hyung," Jimin says worriedly.

Too late.

“I’m fine,” Yoongi says, getting out of the kids’ room. “Just a second.”

But stepping out of the room brings him right into Yeri, apparently on her way to get him. 

“Father wants you to meet some people,” she whispers. Her nose scrunches. “Are you drunk?”

Yoongi smiles at her. Why is it so blue? His soul? “Maybe?”

Yeri scans him from top to bottom, weighing his condition.  

“Ugh. Just—don’t talk. Shake some hands. Smile. Behave. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

It’s not hard, per se. It’s all the same, actually. It’s what Yoongi is used to. Pretending. Obliging to the orders. It’s familiar. He walks in a circle, obediently shaking various large, wealthy hands. He bows and plays nice. He smiles. Because that’s how it’s always been done. 

He thinks Yeri has nothing to worry about because these people are much drunker than him, anyway. 

She drags him out of the restaurant right after. Yoongi follows after her, feeling just a little, not much at all, broken. Outside, the night has fallen over already. But this city never sleeps: it shines with all the fluorescent signs, and buildings lit up like Christmas trees. It’s chilly outside, sobering. Yoongi fights against the shivers creeping up his back.

Yeri leans back against the restaurant’s wall. Yoongi mirrors her, pushing his hands down his jacket’s pockets. 

“Join my record label.”

Yoongi’s head whips around to face her.

Yeri is looking down at her shoes, playing with her boots like a little girl. 

“I’m not stupid,” she mutters. “You can fool my father, but I’m not him. And I knew from the moment you asked us to let you join the military that after you returned, Cypher wouldn’t be renewing their contract.”

Yoongi blinks at her.

“You don’t want to perform anymore? Fine, I get it. Join me as a producer.”

“What are you talking about?”

Yeri breathes out audibly. “I’m going to start my own music label. This is getting out of control. My father is a piece of shit and doesn’t know how to deal with the industry. Every good producer we’ve had left us because he just keeps demanding more. Your beloved 9795 are being worked to the bone.” 

She turns to him. There’s a fire in her eyes, and Yoongi’s afraid to get burned.

“I’m talking about that if you don’t care about yourself anymore, then care about the kids. They need us. The support system, remember?”

Yoongi’s not sure when they became a thing called we. 

Yeri scoffs, looking away from him. Now she’s gazing directly in front of her, yet she may be glaring at an image of something else. Of someone else. 

“He’s doing the exact thing he did to you guys, only worse, so much worse, because their first album was a hit, and he wants to keep milking money off of them, and I—” Yeri shakes her head. “I can’t let anyone go through this again.”

“Are you drunk, Yeri?”

“Listen to me. ” Yeri’s hands settle on his shoulders, turning them both to face each other. “You weren’t here for the past eighteen months. So you have to trust me on this. Don’t you trust me?”

Yoongi laughs softly. This is a joke, right? Just a prank? 

“C’mon, it can’t be that bad.” He plays along. 

Yeri’s expression is so serious. “Pdogg? Left us. Slow Rabbit? Him too. Supreme Boi? Same. Even Adora, even though she was an angel with this patience of hers.”

“No.”

“Yes, Yoongi-yah. The 9795 are left with a bunch of talentless shits. Do you actually believe those kissing my father’s ass will be able to create anything close to the level of the 9795’s first album?”

Yoongi knows the answer: only the 9795 themselves will be able to create a second album that can surpass the first album in its greatness. 

“The 9795’s second album will fail,” Yeri says, and Yoongi knows she’s right. “Their dream will be ruined.”

And at the idea of it, Yoongi’s heart stops. No. He can’t let it happen. That was a promise he made to himself. To protect them. He has promised to keep the chants and everything else that comes with fame away from them. 

“I won’t let it happen,” Yeri says sternly. “But I can’t do it alone. I need you by my side.”

Yoongi fixes his cap, rubbing at his forehead. He leans his head against the wall and looks up at the starless sky. 

“How are you even going to pull it off?” he asks quietly.

“I’ll sue him,” Yeri shrugs. 

“You what?”

“I’ll sue him. I’ll get all our producers back. The 9795. You guys. I think Namjoon is already on board. We’ll be like Avengers.” 

Dear older daughters, have you always meant to be so cruel to your fathers? Or have they forced you to be?

Yoongi almost chokes. “This—this is ridiculous. You know we won’t win against him—”

“The truth is on our side!”

Their conversation is getting louder. The city is getting noisier. The cars pass them by, and all the strangers outside their little world pass them by as they argue in the middle of the street in front of one of the many restaurants in Seoul. 

“It doesn’t fucking matter! He’s your father! He’s Kim Woojin! You realise that you’re like, a nepo baby—”

“I’m a what ?”

“C’mon, you’re in this industry only because of your father, and I don’t mean that you’re not intelligent enough, but this is fucking crazy. He has connections, and you only have connections because of him— ”

“Don’t assume you're a saint either! If I am a nepo baby, then let me break it down for you: you’re a nepo crush! Fucking congratulations! ”

Yoongi recoils. “W-what?” 

Suddenly, it’s quiet. 

God, it’s been years, and she hasn’t grown up at all. She’s still like a baby, unaware of her strength and how much power her words hold. 

“Yeri-yah, did you—” And he doesn’t know what he wants to ask. Did she have a crush on him? Did she ask her father to include Yoongi in the group? Is he really this untalented, this worthless?

Yeri’s eyes are wide open. Yoongi sees regret in them. 

“I,” she croaks, voice quiet, “ no. No, of course not.”

“Then — what does all of this mean?” Yoongi is quiet, too.

Yeri reaches out to him, but her hands don’t quite make it, and she drops them in the middle. Yoongi doesn’t mean to soothe her; it’s too cruel. He knows it for himself, being calmed down by your loved ones. But he does it anyway.

Because that’s what brothers do, and he never felt anything more towards her than that. 

“It’s okay,” he says, rocking her from side to side. She’s so small in his arms, just a baby. “It’s okay, just tell me honestly.”

“I just told my father I liked you. That’s it, I swear. Back then, when he was deciding on the group. He—he didn’t want to debut you guys. And I,” she hiccups, “I told him that he should believe in you because I do. I believed in you. I believed in all of you. It’s just—I really, really wanted to see you do what you love.”

Yoongi hums, stroking her back. He doesn’t think Thank you is a suitable answer because he’s not sure he’s thankful for what Yeri did. He doesn’t want to say It’s okay, either because is it, really?

Yeri saves him as she speaks up again, another desperate cry leaving her. “I thought it’d be good for you. But dad only ever ruins everything; he always does. I don’t know why I even trusted him with you. And so now I ask you to help me do it over, do better. I’m sorry I failed to protect you, alright?”

“It’s okay. You weren’t the one who did it to me. You were in college, and you weren’t around. It’s not your fault. ”

“Still, I want to fix it,” Yeri says. “I want to make things right. Don’t you get it? I can only redeem myself with the 9795. Yoongi-yah, I need you. I need Cypher. We have to make the second album for them. Let’s give them a chance to live this dream.”

“I can’t,” Yoongi says softly, like he’s trying to talk sense into his stubborn kid. “I can’t make music anymore.”

“Why? ”

Speaking about things that haven’t changed. 

Yoongi takes her hand, presses it into his forehead. “Voices. In my head.”

“What?”

“The chants,” Yoongi says. “They’re in here. They don’t go away. I thought that…leaving music would help with it. I thought that walking away and getting into military service would make them stop. But they didn’t—”

“They didn’t stop,” Yeri whispers. “Of course they didn’t. How could they?”

He’s still depressed. The voices are still here. There hasn’t been a single day without them. His plan of enlisting and forcing the chants out of his head has failed. Yoongi feels ridiculous for doing this to himself. 

And Yoongi cries. He cries like a little boy. He and Yeri sit down at the curb, and Yoongi reveals everything, the same way he had told Namjoon and Hoseok all these years ago. Yeri blames him for not telling her, then promises to get him into therapy. 

“A doctor will help,” she says. 

“Why are you so sure?”

Yeri shrugs. “It’s better than trying to drown it in alcohol, isn’t it? Better than disappearing from our lives for a year and a half.”

Yoongi hums. He can’t agree with her, but he doesn’t want to argue with her on this right now. He thinks he’s gone far enough to say that he will try each method if it means getting better. He’s tired of this. Tired of rotting. 

He and Yeri talk more. Not just about the voices. About everything else. How has she been? What has she been up to? How was the food at the military base? Is there anything Yoongi is craving now that he’s out and free?

“You never had feelings for me? Not even for a small moment?” 

Yoongi looks at her, his heart suddenly in his stomach. He feels it beating, he’s too alive for this question, this moment is too real. Yeri’s eyes are wide and hopeful on him, with the mascara messed up under her eyes. 

“Like, I keep thinking about it, and maybe… Maybe I’m just too late with my confession? Is the timing wrong? Do you have someone else?”

Yoongi chews on his bottom lip. “I don’t think I could. Have feelings for you, I mean.” He searches for the napkins in his bag, anything to not deal with Yeri’s stare on him. He mutters, passing her the napkin, “I don’t think I can.”

“Huh?” Yeri takes the napkin absentmindedly, wiping it under her eyes. She squints at it, then folds it and wipes it again. “Am I this unlovable?”

Yoongi takes the napkin out of her fingers, turns her around, and helps her get the mascara off. “It’s not about you.” Without makeup, she looks even younger. Looks barely fifteen. 

“I don’t get it— Wait.”

Yoongi smiles at her. It’s just a pull of his lips, no teeth. It can barely be considered a smile—it’s just an empty expression, a meaningless action to fill the void. “Yeah,” he mutters.

“Are you…”

“Just say it.”

But she doesn’t. Maybe she’s afraid to say it out loud, to make it real, to give the word the needed weight. To give this word a meaning. It means a whole life spent in the quiet, in shame, in trying to be okay with it and failing over and over again. 

“It’s okay,” she says, her hands on Yoongi’s hands. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?” Yoongi smiles. 

“I think so. But still—wow. What a rollercoaster of the night. I need a cigarette.”

It’s her turn to dig through her purse. She takes out the pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She fiddles with it for a moment, then takes out the cigarette. She awkwardly rubs it between her fingers. “The first time I kissed someone, it was a girl.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. We just wanted to know what it feels like.”

“How did it feel?”

“It felt…okay. I don’t think I like kissing that much, though.”

She doesn’t add anything to this. Yoongi doesn’t know if there’s anything to be added if she’s not ready to talk about it. So he moves on.

“For me, too,” he says. Yeri and he have never been intimate with each other like this, have never been this honest. Growing up together forces you to keep a lot from each other. Yoongi wonders if it’s because you often try to stay the same kids for each other. Is it just an act of innocence, trying to remain in your boyhood? 

“Huh?” Yeri says. 

“The first time I kissed someone, it was a girl.”

“That’s how you knew you were gay?”

There, she said it. This word. It’s heavy and shameful on Yoongi’s shoulders. It’s always been. 

“I always knew, Yeri-yah. I just wanted to fix myself.”

She looks at him so sadly. Then, suddenly scoffs and grins as she lights the cigarette, taking the first puff. “When I get you into therapy, you’re going to talk about it, too.” There’s nothing to smile about, but Yoongi understands her reaction—sometimes, it’s the only way to say all the things that are too terrifying to admit. 

She suggestively reaches out her hand with the cigarette to Yoongi. Just like the good old times. She and Yoongi might as well be sixteen and hiding from their grandmothers right now, sharing the first bad habit they’ll grow into later. 

Yoongi takes the cigarette. “You know it won’t be possible for me.” 

The smoke in his lungs is heavenly, heavenly calming. 

“I’ll find you the LGBTQ+ friendly one,” Yeri promises.

Yoongi laughs. “Wow, for someone who couldn’t say the word ‘gay’ a few seconds ago, you’re incredibly knowledgeable.” 

Yeri joins him in his laughter. It’s kind of hysterical, she’s almost crying. She’s right: too much has happened to them in one day. It’s only so human of them to laugh like hyenas in the middle of the night over something so sad, something so burdening. 

“I was just—stunned!” Yeri defends herself. “I expected anything but that!”

“Okay,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, a smile still clinging to his lips. He takes another puff. It’s even more intoxicating, it’s even better. 

He passes the cigarette back to Yeri. She smokes like a street urchin, but Yoongi thinks it’s what naturally happens when you spend your childhood with boys like Yoongi.

Yoongi breathes in, then out. It’s good to be back in Seoul. Looking up at the polluted sky, no stars nor meteor shower in sight, he finds himself thinking about the one person he hasn’t seen yet. 

Is he okay? Has he been eating well? Is he happy in his relationship? Is his family healthy?

“But you’re right, you know,” Yoongi says because suddenly it feels like if he doesn’t say it out loud, at least to someone, this feeling in his chest will consume him and eat him alive. 

The cigarette gets transferred back to Yoongi’s fingers. Yeri smiles. “About what? I’m always right.”

“I do have someone else.” 

Before Yeri can assume that he’s in an actual relationship and demand to see him, Yoongi rushes to add. “But we’re not,” he scrunches his nose. His own words make him cringe, wanting to curl into himself. It’s his first time talking about this, and he feels like a teenager who can’t get his shit together. He probably is. “We’re not together. It’s just—”

Yeri puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezes it lightly. “He’s just in your heart?”

Yoongi smiles before taking the final puff of the cigarette, the scalding in his throat bitter than the feeling in his chest. “He’s just fucking everywhere, Yeri-yah.”

After hugging everyone goodbye, they get him into the taxi. Everyone is yelling something, and Yoongi smiles, waving at them as the car takes off. Only at the traffic light does he let the smile fall from his face.

Only after the car has rounded a corner do the chants come back. 

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! 

Welcome home, motherfucker. 

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

He’s been suppressing them the whole evening, and now they’re having a ball in his head. He’s gotten good at it in the military base. Holding the voices back. He can go through his entire day without a single chant.

It’s just that once the day is over and he’s alone, they come back. They always do. They return twofold, drowning the rest of the world out. Yoongi feels the headache right at the centre of his skull. He takes off his baseball cap—nobody can see him in the night, in the darkness of the corner of the taxi. 

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Yoongi’s forehead meets with the pleasantly cold window. He closes his eyes and just breathes for a while.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Then, he does just what he’s always done.

He gets his headphones. He plugs them in. He plays the 9795. 

When I cry, I cry of stars,
When I cry, I think of you 

 

— They say that men do not cry, but the 9795 do not care. ‘Star-seeding’ is extremely raw and honest in a way that we have not heard from the music industry in a long time. 

Even though so few of us are actual stars in real life like the 9795, and we do not know the burden of it, the guys have a way of conveying their music to us  that makes us feel as though it was written specifically for us. They have always had the talent for making a song feel personal. As if it is written about you and for you. You only. 

 

For the first time in years, Yoongi steps back inside his studio. 

That’s what he and Yeri have decided on. He can come in and out of the company as he used to when he worked here. She will hold her father back from making Cypher sign a new contract while Yoongi looks around and sees if the 9795 really need their saving after all, or if it’s just her selfish grudge against her father acting up. She has given him a year to decide. 

But for now, he’s here. 

He switches the light on and takes a careful look around. He expected the studio to look untouched and unlived, but somehow, it’s surprisingly cosy. A clean floor. A blanket draped over the back of the sofa. Not a speck of dust. 

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! 

He’s alone, there’s no point in holding the voices back. He lets them dance and flip and roll in his head, going all the way out in a steady marching rhythm. 

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Yoongi runs his fingers along the desk. He feels new to this place. 

To be fair, he feels new to every place that used to feel like home to him. It’s been almost three weeks since he returned, and this alien feeling remains. The nearest grocery market to his apartment has been renovated, all the aisles are now in an unfamiliar order. The BBQ restaurant near the company shut down, and now an A4 paper with the words ‘FOR RENT’ is taped to the door. Even his apartment feels as if it has grown additional walls, and Yoongi keeps bumping into their sharp edges, disoriented in space. 

He turns the computer on. He doesn’t want to make music, not tonight at least, or maybe ever again, but he also doesn’t know what else to do in here. Should he just leave? But he’s just come in. What was the purpose of all of that, then?

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

The computer screen welcomes him with a familiar sound just in time for the door to the studio clicks open.

Yoongi jumps away from the computer as if he’s been caught in a crime instead of being in the room assigned to him. His heart is in his stomach. He didn’t expect company. 

He wonders who it might be—maybe Namjoon and Hoseok decided to check on him. But the moment he looks at the doorway, he stills. Freezes in time and space. 

They take turns blinking at each other. The chants take a step back, shutting up, holding their breath in. 

The door was locked, of course. Only one person knows the password. Who else would it be?

“Oh,” Yoongi says, because this stillness between them is suffocating. “Hey.”

Jungkook frowns. Wipes under his nose with the side of his hand, harshly turns away and walks out. Yoongi looks down at his shoes, leaning his weight against the desk tiredly. His mind is empty. His chest is so heavy all of a sudden. He counts the seconds, breathes in, then out. Just like he always did when things got a bit unbearable during his time in the military. 

He only gets to seven when the door opens again. Jungkook flies in.

“ It’s not a dre— ” Jungkook cuts himself off, collecting himself. “You’re back.”

Yoongi awkwardly fixes his beanie. “Yeah,” he says. He’s aware of Jungkook’s eyes wandering all over him, and looks away, studying the walls, the lightning, and the shelves still full of his trinkets, untouched. “You didn’t know?”

Jungkook scoffs, rolling his eyes. “How would I know?” His attitude is—interesting, to say the least. Two years ago, he was like a shy kitten, a warm ball of fluff and gentleness, and now he has teeth. He can bite. “You’re literally He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when it comes to me. Every time I step into a room and they go silent, I know they’ve been talking about you.”

Up until this moment, it was Jungkook-didn’t-show-up-at-my-welcoming-dinner. Now it’s slowly morphing into Nobody-told-Jungkook-I’m-back, making Yoongi think about things he shouldn’t be thinking about. For example: if Jungkook knew, would he still not have come to the dinner?

Yoongi sighs. “You told them? Jimin and Taehyung, you told them?” 

He doesn’t intend to sound accusing. He doesn’t think he sounds like that, anyway. He’s just asking because Taehyung and Jimin behaved weirdly during the dinner, and he wants to confirm the reason. 

But Jungkook almost bristles at his words. “I couldn’t stop crying for weeks,” he says defensively. “They said I owed them an explanation after taking care of me so much. What was I supposed to do?” 

This conversation is surprisingly easy. Yoongi thought they wouldn’t be able to talk to each other just like they did two months after the confession, but the words roll off easily, the questions fall off easily, and the replies come out with the same ease, too. It’s like they’re playing table tennis and can’t get enough of it. 

Yoongi begins hoping that he can fix it. Can fix them. Turn them into something that is not two months of a cold shoulder. Friends again, perhaps. Co-workers who talk from time to time. It’ll be enough for Yoongi. 

Yoongi breathes in, trying to get as much air in his lungs as possible. “Jungkook, I—”

“Not because of that shit,” Jungkook says. The word shit sounds wrong in his mouth. “Because you left. I couldn’t stop crying after you left.”

And all Yoongi wants is to hug him tightly and tell him that it’s okay. They were used to spending all their free time with each other, and that kind of reaction is normal after being suddenly cut off from each other’s lives like that. 

For that reason, Yoongi couldn’t stop crying for days, either. He was missing everyone endlessly. But first and foremost, he missed Jungkook, and therefore — 

“It wasn’t shit, you know. It’s just—”

“Don’t,” Jungkook cuts him off, and Yoongi is thankful for that. He wouldn’t know how to continue if he weren’t interrupted. Jungkook glares at him. His eyes are punctuated by makeup, appearing even bigger than they usually are. “Just don’t. You don’t have the right.”

Yoongi nods and looks down at his shoes. He feels small, somehow. Just a speck of dust. He would be so easy to wipe away. So, so easy. One swipe of the cloth, and he’s gone. 

“Do you come here often?” asks Yoongi because this silence is unbearable. This stillness between them is. The distance used to feel sweet and electrifying, and now it’s just heavy. “Looks like… you’ve marched in quite comfortably.”

“No,” says Jungkook quickly. Yoongi sees him swallowing. “No, I just. Wow, why would I even come here often? I—I just forgot my hoodie here.”

Jungkook grabs the thing that Yoongi had mistaken for the blanket. It is, in fact, a hoodie. 

“See? Just a hoodie.”

But it’s Yoongi’s hoodie. 

The one he gave Jungkook during one of their late-night sessions: Jungkook came right from dance practice, sweating profusely, and Yoongi was polite enough to offer it to him. It’s the hoodie Jungkook promised to wash at the dorms and return the next day. It’s the hoodie Yoongi had never gotten back. The one he never asked to have back. 

Because he knew. 

Because it wasn’t shit. It just wasn’t. 

Yoongi feels Jungkook sneaking a glance at him, evaluating whether Yoongi recognizes the piece of clothing or not. Yoongi pretends he doesn’t. 

“I’ll leave now, sunbae.” 

Jungkook bows goodbye to him. So respectfully, it hurts. They’re long past that. 

He’s already out of the studio when Yoongi lunges to stop him, catching himself by the door. “Jungkook!” 

The company’s corridor is eighty-eight keys of a piano. Jungkook has stilled on one of the keys: it’s one of the uglier sounds, minor, like a whale song. 

Jungkook tilts his head. 

Yoongi thinks he’s gotten handsome. He was a pretty kid before, but he’s  genuinely a handsome guy now. Maybe it has to do with how his hair grew out, dyed a lighter brown than his natural tone. Maybe it’s how his face lost the last of his baby fat, leaving behind tight skin, the thin curve of the jawline, and the dimpled left cheek as he purses his lips. Maybe it’s his makeup, the shadows over his eyes, the pinkness of his lips. 

“What is it?” Jungkook says. 

“You can call me hyung, you know.”

Because sunbae is their secret and a promise, and there’s no room for it anymore. 

Jungkook shrugs like it’s easy for him. “Okay, hyung.”

Ouch. That hurt. 

You just need a little more courage,
An encouraging smile from someone to go on
To persevere, to make it worth it
Can I be this someone to you? Would you let me if I tried? 

 

— But first and foremost, ‘Dreamers’ is about people being here for each other. As humans, that’s what we do: we hold the weight of each other’s dreams as we offer our shoulders, as we send fleeting smiles to each other. “You’re going to make it.”

And you will.

Across the table, the papers slide to him. 

“Their schedule for the next two weeks,” Yeri mutters around her spoon. 

They’re in the cafeteria. It’s been renovated some months after Yoongi enlisted, apparently, or at least that’s what Namjoon told Yoongi the last time they came down here. The cafeteria looks brand new, and Yoongi feels like an alien again in the previously familiar space. 

It’s kimchi stew day, which is new, too. Yeri said the former cook resigned because of some nonsensical kitchen drama, and the newly hired one reformed the whole menu. It means that sundae day, Yeri’s favourite, does not exist anymore. 

Yoongi leans back in his chair to study the papers. 

“Wow,” he says, flipping to the second page. He rubs a soothing circle on his forehead at the signs of the chants approaching him, pushes them back. He looks up at Yeri shortly, then back down onto the papers. “Is it even legal for them to work these hours?”

“Did you really think I’ve decided to go against my father just for fun?” Yeri hisses quietly. “No human being should work like this.”

“Look, I’m not saying that you want to do it for fun. I just think there’s always something personal involved in such matters.”

All the times her father buried her potential. All the times he didn’t listen to her ideas. All the times he brushed her off as a simple manager when she was so much more capable. 

“Eat your goddamn stew, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi follows her order absentmindedly: one spoon in his mouth, the disgusting texture swallowed, done, then another before returning to the papers. Either this or she’ll tell on him to his therapist, who’s not even a real therapist but rather an old grandpa who probably witnessed the Great Depression, that he’s been skipping his meals, and the old grandpa will scold Yoongi and make him eat twice as much.

You see? No real doctor would do that. 

Flipping through the papers again, Yoongi shakes his head in disbelief that this is what his life is now like. “I can’t believe I’ll have to literally investigate my dongsaengs. How am I supposed to do that? I’m not a fucking detective.”

“You haven’t seen them for more than a year,” Yeri says. “You just want to catch up. What’s wrong with that?” 

Oh, there’s nothing wrong with that. 

It’s just that he’s in love with one of them. Their younger one. And it’s just that their younger one confessed his love to Yoongi two years ago, and Yoongi behaved like a jerk towards him. That’s all. Other than that, all cool.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi sighs. “It’s just… Do they even want me in their life now? Makes my spying on them a bit harder.”

“You’re their mentor,” Yeri says. “If only you knew how much they’ve been talking about you for the past eighteen months, I don’t think you’d be saying this now. They’ve missed you so much. Is it so hard to believe it?”

Actually, yes.

“I’m sure they will love to have your company.”

Yoongi looks down at the table, blinking tiredly. His nail scratches at the corner of it.  

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Fuck. 

He lets his guard down, and the voices come through. They always do. They don’t like to be under the lock. 

Yoongi tugs his beanie a bit lower to his eyebrows—it adds soothing pressure on his forehead. 

“I actually think it’d be better for you and them if you didn’t think of it as spying. You’re their friend who wants to know whether they are happy with their work conditions or not. You’re not investigating.”

“Totally doesn’t sound like you’re trying to convince me to be your spy.”

“You’re infuriating.” 

“Taking this after you, I believe.”

“I missed you,” Yeri suddenly says, and her voice is so surprisingly longing. 

Yoongi’s gaze shifts to Yeri. “Yeah,” he smiles gently. “Yeah, me too. I missed you too.”

A moment hangs between them softly, only interrupted by waves of Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! in Yoongi’s head and then by the abrupt screech of Yeri’s chair. 

“Ok,” Yeri says, standing up. She looks down at her watch. “Their dance practice ends in five minutes, and then they’re leaving for the commercial shoot. Now go. Pretend to bump into them or something.”

Yoongi stands up after her. “This is ridiculous,” he informs her. 

Yeri pretends not to hear him. “I’ll clean after us.” 

Yoongi pretends not to see her giving him a look after noticing her empty bowl against his barely touched one. He feels bad leaving her to clean after their mess, but she is the boss here—so he does what he’s told.

He pretends to bump into the 9795 as they hurry out of the elevators and get transferred by their managers to a van outside. He makes small talk, asking where they are going and if he can join them. The managers, the ones the company hired after Yoongi joined the military, don’t understand why they would even bring this random man with the 9795 to their schedule.

Yoongi believes that despite how far fame can take you, people are so quick to forget your face.

“Please,” Taehyung bats his eyelashes at, who Yoongi assumes is the Head Manager, but looks more like the personification of The Boss Baby. Boss Manager. “Hyung, we haven’t seen Yoongi-hyung in so long! He won’t distract us.”

Jimin joins him. “Hyungnim! We’ll be on our best behaviour during the shoot if you let Yoongi-hyung come. We have so little time, we barely got to see him during the dinner party!”

The Head Manager—Boss Manager—sighs unnecessarily exasperatedly. Yoongi doesn’t think he’s a bad guy here. He’s just doing his job and seems to be on good terms with the boys. It’s Yoongi who is making the man’s job twice as hard when he asks for such a brazen thing. 

“Jungkook-ah, what do you think?” Boss Manager asks. It needs to be a team decision.

“If you knew who he was, we wouldn’t be wasting our time now on this decision.”

Boss Manager gives Yoongi a measured look. Yoongi fixes the beanie on his head for the lack of better action, feeling awkward and embarrassed at Jungkook’s words. 

He’s no one. Sure, he used to be something, but he’s no one now. He’s not even an official employee of the company. He just is. 

“Fine,” Boss Manager gives up, and Yoongi almost smiles at him. Taehyung and Jimin engulf him in a happy hug, yelling, but he softly scolds them off and tells them to get to the car. “We won’t be able to fit in one van. Taehyung, Jimin, you go first, and I’ll get the second one and drive Jungkook and… Uh—”

“Min Yoongi,” Jungkook supplies helpfully.

“And drive Jungkook and Yoongi-ssi to the shoot.”

This decision seems to satisfy everyone except Yoongi and Jungkook. They don’t get the time to protest, however: the Boss Manager dashes inside the company building—not very Boss-like, mind you—to get the keys and fetch the van, and Taehyung and Jimin get herded into the vehicle by the manager's assistant after exchanging furtive glances and suggestively arching their eyebrows at Jungkook and Yoongi.

Jungkook and Yoongi are left alone on the street. They avoid looking at each other by looking in opposite directions of the street: Jungkook looks in the direction of the cars passing by, while Yoongi looks at the street intersection where their van should appear.

“Have they started dating?” asks Yoongi. Just to fill this silence. Because even though it is silence, it is not his usual comfortable silence with Jungkook. And he wants to test the water, to learn if Jungkook knows or not. 

Jungkook doesn’t sound taken aback by Yoongi’s question.

“These two?” he huffs as if Yoongi has just said something ridiculous. “No. Still pining over each other like fools.”

So he knows. Did Taehyung or Jimin tell him, or did he figure it out himself? 

“Huh.”

“It’s complicated.” Jungkook sounds like he has heard this phrase from Taehyung or Jimin, or both of them, at least a hundred times, that’s how tired and overused it comes out of him. “We’re in the same band. What if they break up? What do we do?”

“So what you’re saying is that it’s better to have two idiots infatuated with each other in the same band.”

Jungkook snorts. “Oh, right. Here comes our love expert.” 

Yoongi breathes out tiredly. “Jungkook, I just mean—”

“ No. You don’t—”

“I don’t have the right, yeah, I remember.”

Something almost close to a smile flashes across Jungkook’s face. It’s so quick to vanish, though, and he’s once again a stubborn, jaw-gritted manchild. 

Yoongi wonders if there’s hope for them to ever have a conversation that doesn’t end up with Jungkook rolling his eyes at Yoongi. Yoongi understands that forgiveness can only come after a sincere apology, but how can he do it if Jungkook never lets him finish?

“I agree. I don’t have any right at all,” Yoongi says, this time softer. When he turns from his respective direction to look at Jungkook, he finds Jungkook already looking at him, and somehow, a breath gets stuck in Yoongi’s throat before he manages to bury it back down in his lungs and continue. “It was an unfair thing to say. I’m sorry I didn’t handle it better. As your senior, I should’ve done better.”

Jungkook studies him long enough that Yoongi starts reconsidering his life choices. 

“And?” comes the quiet, almost too gentle—gentler than Yoongi deserves—nudge. 

“I’m sorry I left.”

“Not for that,” Jungkook says.

“I’m sorry I left without any notice.”

“And?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your messages.”

“And?”

I’m sorry that despite all of this, I’m still in love with you.

Yoongi frowns. “Uh, I’m sorry I’m an asshole?”

The corners of Jungkook’s mouth pull up. Somehow, this kind of smile only appears sad to Yoongi, but he can’t put a finger on why exactly it is. 

“There was nothing else to apologise for. Was just messing with you, hyung.”

Ouch. It’ll take some time for Yoongi to adjust. He’s brought it upon himself, and he knows that it was the right decision, but it hurts. It hurts too much. 

Yoongi shifts his gaze, fixing the beanie on his head, and observes the corner of the street. No van in sight. 

“Definitely fucked at least twice,” Jungkook says.

Yoongi’s head whirls back around at him, eyes wide. 

“Taehyung and Jimin, I mean,” Jungkook explains. “They fucked at least twice.” 

The word ‘fuck’, just like the ‘shit’, sounds wrong on his tongue. 

It’s not that he’s not allowed to curse. It just sounds like he’s forcing the harsher words out of himself against his nature.

Jungkook looks at Yoongi, his teeth nipping at his bottom lip like he’s trying to see Yoongi’s reaction to his words. Yoongi doesn’t know what he expects of him: if Yoongi should be surprised that at twenty-two he knows what sex is, or if he should be surprised that two guys who are in love with each other and spend all their time together have shared a bed only twice. 

“Ah,” Yoongi says. “And you know this because…?”

“The walls are thin in the dorm.”

“Ugh,” Yoongi winces sympathetically. “Sorry about that.”

“That’s why I was in your studio that night,” Jungkook says. “I went to sleep there because they were getting too loud. Again.”

Of course. It’s not like Yoongi expected anything else from him. It’s not like Yoongi thought that maybe Jungkook had missed him, and the studio was the only place still remaining of him. 

The black van comes around the corner. That’s how Yoongi knows they only have two minutes left alone. And he knows that the better way to fill this silence would be to suggest that Jungkook should come by Yoongi’s studio anytime Taehyung and Jimin ever do it again.  

“Are you really seeing someone these days?” he asks instead because he’s selfish. He’s always been.

Jungkook’s sharp gaze on Yoongi is challenging. “What if I was? How’d it make you feel?”

Yoongi thinks about it for a second. “Happy,” he says. “I’d be happy to know that you outgrew it.”

A pause. When Jungkook releases the bottom lip he’s been gnawing, it’s glossy, red, and bears the traces of his teeth. It takes a second for Yoongi to find his eyes again. 

“Then today is a good day for you. I am, in fact, seeing someone.”

Yoongi wants to throw up. 

“That’s a relief,” he whispers.

The van parks next to them. The doors open. Jungkook slides inside before Yoongi. 

The Head Manager finds Yoongi’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He fixes it to look at Yoongi from a better angle.

“I think I know who you are, Yoongi-ssi.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“You’re the son of the newly hired cook in the cafeteria, aren’t you? I think I saw you around a few times.”

The van dies in Jungkook’s laughter: it’s his genuine one, high-pitched and uncontrolled. Yoongi steals a side-eyed glance at him, and it makes his whole body warm. 

He just wants him to always be happy, Yoongi thinks. So it’s for the better that his love for Yoongi has passed. It’s not like Yoongi can provide him with the happiness he deserves.

“Try again another time, manager-nim,” Yoongi smiles. 

Dear world, I, I, I,
I’m scared and can’t move
Open your arms to me
So I don’t feel so alone
Can’t you do it, dear world? Because I,

 

— ‘Dear world, I’ is a song about that all-too-familiar fear that gnaws at your bones.  You wish to be welcomed by the world, yet it’s almost as if there’s still no place for you to exist here. The violin crying in the background throughout the whole piece only adds to creating a specific mood for the song: the violin is known to often be accompanied by piano, but for the ‘Dear world, I’ it’s all alone, muchlike the narrator is.

We have to thank Jimin and Jung Kook for working on the lyrics, as well as Taehyung for composing such a beautifully raw soundtrack. 

 

The lounge room fills with the smell of jajangmyeon as Yoongi rips the delivery bag open. He carefully retrieves the plastic bowls, sliding one to the other side of the coffee table to Jimin. Jimin works on getting fried chicken out of another bag. Yoongi passes him the package of wooden chopsticks, and Jimin passes him his cup of iced Americano.

It’s 2 a.m. 

“Jinsoo-hyung will kill you once he finds out you fed me this,” Jimin muses after he’s slurped the first bite of noodles.

Yoongi sips his coffee. “Well, his latest guess was that I’m the son of someone from the Korean government, so I think he’ll cut me some slack.”

Jimin laughs, shaking his head. As he inhales more of the noodles, Yoongi begs his heart to stop sighing so fucking fondly. But then Jimin gives Yoongi a strange look, first to him, then to his untouched bowl of jajangmyeon, and then back to Yoongi, and Yoongi realises that they're here to eat together, not for Yoongi to feed Jimin. 

Yoongi mixes the noodles and takes the first bite. It settles warmly in his stomach, only slightly disgustingly. 

“Do you think he’ll ever just search you on Naver?” asks Jimin, munching on the chicken leg now. 

“It’ll only happen if he admits his defeat, and I’m pretty sure he’s a stuck-up motherfucker.”

“You guys are close these days, eh?”

“A bit impossible not to be,” Yoongi shrugs. 

Yoongi spends most of his time following the 9795 on their activities. He’s there when they have a photoshoot, and he’s there when they hold a fansign event. He’s there when they go to the radio station to give yet another interview, and he’s there when they practise their choreography for the small upcoming concert. 

He’s behind the scenes. Not where he used to be, but he’s there. Right next to their Head Manager, Jinsoo.

He still doesn’t know who Yoongi is. He makes his guesses every morning instead of a greeting, and each time it only gets crazier. Yoongi believes that at this point, Jinsoo simply enjoys it, their little fun game. 

It’s weird the way this friendship works, but it does. They share inside jokes, complaints about the hectic schedule and the annoying questions the interviewers keep asking the boys, and their affection for the 9795. It’s more than enough. 

“You know,” Jimin starts carefully. “Jungkook seems to be very happy that you’re spending much of your time with us.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says dryly, now fiddling with the noodles in his plastic bowl rather than actually eating. “I’ve noticed from his scowling and how he rolls his eyes at me every time I speak up.”

“He’s just being difficult. He’ll come around, don’t worry.” When Jimin appears to notice that Yoongi doesn’t believe him for a single bit, he sighs and points his chopsticks at Yoongi. “Yah. Hyungnim. I’ve been here for all the eighteen months you’ve been away, and when I say it’s the happiest I’ve seen Jungkook in a while, I mean it. ”

Yoongi wonders if Jimin realises that these words only hurt so much worse than if Jimin would say that Jungkook didn’t miss him at all. 

Yoongi lays his chopsticks aside. His appetite is gone, and the voices, now that the fence is lowered, push through. 

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Yoongi pats his baseball cap awkwardly. 

“Do you think I’m an asshole for what I did?” 

Jimin blinks at him, taken aback like he didn’t expect Yoongi to crack so easily. “For letting him down with those words? Yeah, a little. For trying to protect him? No, I don’t think so.”  

It’s an interesting choice of words. The word trying. Like Yoongi had failed in protecting him, but it’s okay, it was still worth a try. 

Yoongi shakes his head wistfully and collects their plastic bowls: Jimin’s empty one, smeared with the leftover sauce, and Yoongi’s half-finished one. Yoongi hates letting the food go to waste, but he’s also afraid that if he packs his bowl up for tomorrow’s lunch, Jimin will suspect something’s wrong, and Yoongi doesn’t want that. He, just like the rest of the 9795, has enough on his plate. He doesn’t like to talk about it—neither of them do—but Yoongi doesn’t need words to know. 

It’s all about the dark circles that show up once he takes the makeup off on nights like these, when he and Yoongi get together in the lounge room and just talk, talk, talk. It’s all about the exhaustion settled deeply in his eyes; the exhaustion Yoongi is so used to, having seen it too many times in the mirror. 

Is this just the nature of the job, or is this what Yeri meant when she said her father worked them to the bone? And how can Yoongi tell if this exhaustion is normal or not when it’s all he’s ever known in his life?

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Yoongi grabs the dirty chopsticks and the napkins, gets it all into one delivery bag, and then pushes himself up to throw it into the big rubbish bag in the corner of the room. Tomorrow morning, before any of them can get to work, it’ll be gone. 

“You realise that it’s not a bad thing that you make him happy, right?” Jimin’s voice reaches his back, and Yoongi shrinks into himself. “Even if you don’t love him in the same way, I know you do love him, after all. And that’s all that matters.”

So Jimin doesn’t know about Yoongi’s actual feelings. He only knows that Yoongi has tried to protect Jungkook and failed. That he left him like this. 

He’s right about one thing: Yoongi does love Jungkook in a very different way. 

“You love all of us,” Jimin says. “Your heart is so gentle, Suga-ssi.”

Yoongi smirks, shaking his head again. It’s too gentle, maybe, so it breaks so easily. So it keeps rotting and rotting and rotting. 

Somehow, that’s what Yoongi’s grandpa therapist keeps telling him, too. 

Your heart is soft, Min Yoongi-ssi, the grandpa therapist’s voice scratches against Yoongi’s eardrums, and sometimes when Yoongi comes back home from the suburbs of the grandpa’s house, he lays down in his bed and lets the voices come back and cries. At those times, alongside the usual chants, Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!, his own father’s voice joins. He says the same thing Jimin and the grandpa therapist tell him. 

The tone of his voice is entirely different, however. That’s the whole problem. 

Maybe one day Yoongi will talk about this to the grandpa therapist as well. But for now, each time Yoongi sits down in the grandpa therapist’s kitchen, they only talk about the music they love and used to love, and sometimes—only sometimes—how having loved boys with wide doe eyes unites them, drags them through time and space of the entire century of guilt and shame and fear. 

“Now,” Yoongi says, plopping back down on the sofa because he can be an intruding motherfucker, too. “Tell me with all the honesty you can gather within yourself… Why won’t it work between you and Taehyung?”

Jimin opens his mouth.

“And don’t feed me this ‘ It’s complicated’ bullshit. I’m not Jungkook.”

Jimin’s parted mouth snaps shut. He turns away to rummage through his backpack, taking something out of it. 

He throws it onto the coffee table between them. It’s the notebook, Yoongi recognises it. All the blunt scratches it carries, the smudges of the ink on the cover. 

“Are you sure?” Yoongi asks. 

“I won’t be able to get more honest than this.”

Yoongi breathes out tiredly and scoots over the edge of the sofa to grab the notebook. He flips through the pages he’s seen and read already, and slows down at the pages he’s only seen empty before. They’re all filled with words now, along with angry crossed-out ones, and ones gently underlined when the words came out right, just how he needed them to. 

Jimin shyly reaches over the coffee table, his slightly shaking fingers helping Yoongi turn the pages over to reach the answer to Yoongi’s question. He taps his index finger on the needed page.

“This one,” Jimin says.

Silence takes over as Yoongi reads it. 

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! 

Well, as silent as it can get. It’s past midnight, and the chants are acting up. They want to go free. They’ve been on their best behaviour for the whole day and are mad that Yoongi is depriving them of their allotted time.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Yoongi frowns, closing his eyes as he struggles to focus, rubbing at this spot between his eyebrows. 

Jimin mistakes his motion for confusion. 

“I wanted this song to be like… I welcome this world, you know? Even though it’s sometimes ugly and not kind to me, I welcome it,” he starts blabbering nervously. Yoongi shortly looks up at him: Jimin is now spreading his arms to show exactly the way he welcomes this world. “With my soul split open, I welcome it. I want to embrace it. But the world…” His voice gets quieter. Yoongi’s gaze slips down back onto the page. “I don’t think it wants me.”

And Yoongi thinks, I don’t think it wants me either.

“The truth is, I’m scared,” Jimin says. “I’m just so scared. I’m scared my past self will hurt him. I’m scared I will hurt him. But first and foremost, I’m scared the world will want to hurt us. We’re getting more and more famous day by day, and don’t get me wrong—I'm thankful, God; I’m so fortunate to do it, but—hyungnim… The world will not welcome us. It just won’t. So I think it’s my only way to protect him.”

“Not dating him, you mean?”

Jimin breathes out in relief. Yoongi understands him, if only a little. “Being apart.”

So if you try to destroy me again,
I hope I’ll be reborn even stronger and kinder

 

— In a way, ‘Dear world, I’ is like asking a question: “Would you do it all over again? Despite how hard and scary and painful it was, would you live through it again?” And getting an answer: “In a heartbeat.”

“Thank you,” Yoongi says as an ahjumma hands him four skewers of fish cakes. He barely balances them in his hands—he already has one of his hands occupied by the cup of iced Americano he’s gotten earlier—and turns to Taehyung, passing the skewers to him. 

Taehyung’s eyes light up and he takes a greedy first bite.

“So tell me, why don’t you guys make your own songs anymore?” Yoongi asks.

The last time Yeri and Yoongi saw each other in passing, she was coming out of her father’s office and Yoongi was going in. She requested him to ask the 9795 about this. She was still convinced that the second album the company had started to slowly arrange for them was going to flop, and the only way out for it was to have Cypher step in again. Yoongi gave her a look because Yeri still hadn’t realised that he couldn’t make music anymore. He just couldn’t.  

“The 9795 are perfectly capable of making a few songs on their own. If not a whole album,” Yoongi scoffed.

“Then why haven’t I heard any of their songs in years?” Yeri said.

And instead of answering the question, Taehyung just munches on the fish cake. Slowly. 

Fucking devil.

“It’s not that we don’t write our own songs anymore,” he says eventually when he has finished the third skewer and Yoongi has surpassed his desire to kill him. “Jimin and Jungkook write plenty. Our whole dorm is just their lyrics.”

Yoongi stirs. “Jungkook writes?”

Taehyung flashes him a smile that screams ‘Gotcha’. “And you’d be interested in this information… Why?”

They stroll from the food stall deeper into the street. It’s a summer night after a hot humid day, and it feels pleasantly chilly against Yoongi’s skin. The street is crowded with tourists, buskers, and locals. It’s all so festive, with fluorescent signs and flashing lights everywhere. It’s so festive it’s overwhelming, and Yoongi doesn’t have the power to focus enough to push the chants back. 

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! 

Despite everything, it’s a nice evening to be out. 

Yoongi catches a couple of curious glances that are sent their way, and tugs his beanie lower, even though rationally, he knows that these curious glances aren’t for him. Not anymore, at least. 

“Two years ago, Jungkook didn’t seem interested in songwriting, is all I’m saying,” Yoongi murmurs. “So I’m just a bit surprised to hear he’s been writing.”

“You should try asking him to show you his stuff.”

“Do you think he’d let me see?” Yoongi's fish cake skewer is useless in his hand, still untouched. He hands it to Taehyung blindly. 

Taehyung accepts it, humming Thank you. “You know he will do anything if it’s you who asks him.”

It leaves room for further conversation, a conversation that Yoongi doesn’t want to unravel. He could ask Taehyung, How do you know? 

But the thing is, everyone knows. 

Or Yoongi could say, Everything’s changed, just to be reassured that nothing has changed, or to affirm that everything has, in fact, changed. Yoongi doesn’t know which way is the scariest one because both seem terrifying to him.

So they walk to another food stall in silence. This stall has red bar stools and a small dining area, so they hop in and order a bunch of food. Or it’s more like Taehyung orders a bunch of food, and Yoongi mentally cries for his wallet but keeps shut. He wants to see Taehyung eat. The 9795 are always running around, and Yoongi still remembers the dieting he was made to go through and how happy he was on evenings like today. 

Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! 

“So what is it?” Yoongi asks, his arms crossed, as the vendor serves them their first batch of food.

“Eh?” Taehyung looks up at him, having already taken a bite of his roasted sweet potato, and sticking his burned tongue out. The vendor ahjumma laughs at him warmly and reminds him to be eating hot food slowly from now on. 

Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! 

Yoongi pushes his cup of the iced coffee to Taehyung. “I asked why you don’t write your own songs anymore, and you said it wasn’t that.”

Taehyung sucks on the straw, smacks his mouth. “Bitter. The coffee.” He stretches, his joints making a clicking sound, and groans in satisfaction. “It’s not that we don’t write our own stuff anymore. We do. As I said, Jimin and Jungkook keep coming up with lyrics. I mess around with the melodies, come up with some here and there. I try to work on my lyrics, too, and Jimin and Jungkook try to make tracks in exchange, too. We’ve even gotten to record some of them with Namjoonie-hyung.”

This is exactly what has been troubling Yoongi. Because he could swear he remembered Namjoon mentioning that he had been supervising the 9795, joking that he was going to snatch Yoongi’s mentoring position, in their monthly military message exchanges. Yeri not hearing any of them is just odd. 

“But the company staff,” and that’s where Taehyung’s face gets sour, “they say the songs…don’t suit our group’s image.”

“What is that supposed to mean? What are you writing about?” Yoongi says.

“I don’t know, just a bunch of stuff? Friendship. Sex. Love. We write a lot about different kinds of love. Gratitude for fans. Missing family. I think I write a lot about my childhood and put a lot of my childhood sounds in my tracks, too.”

“And? It’s not good enough?” 

Because Yoongi fucking taught these kids, and he knows what they’re capable of. When Yeri says that Cypher should step in to produce yet another album for the 9795, Yoongi wants to tell her that these kids are him, his knowledge and  everything he’s ever come to know in this life. 

“No, hyung, you don’t get it… They say our songs are too immature.”

A pause.

Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! 

Immature. But the 9795 are only twenty-four, Jungkook even younger. What is there to their life except for youth, moving away to the busy city of Seoul at the ripe age of seventeen, and missing family endlessly? What is there to their life except for friendship and sex and love, all different kinds of it? 

“I think it’s perfectly fine for your age,” Yoongi says, lifting the front of his beanie enough to rub calming circles into his forehead with his palm. Knowing the guys, they’d come up with a completely unique take on trivial so-called immature topics. 

“Well. They just don’t suit our image.”

Yoongi wonders what image Taehyung and the company mean. The 9795 debuted under Cypher’s mentorship. Their first album is just them singing Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon’s words, singing about Cypher’s worldview. The gentler version of it was a bit different from their angry spitfire tracks, but it was theirs. They took inspiration from what Taehyung had been composing back then, from Jimin’s lyrics, and they went with it. 

Composing the first album for the 9795, Cypher were the same age as the 9795 are now. What kind of maturity are they talking about?

“When you left,” Taehyung continues, avoiding Yoongi’s gaze now, and instead choosing to focus on peeling an egg, “we were still showing the company a lot of our songs. But the more rejections from them we got, the more closeted we became. It just wasn’t worth it, you know? We had our fun in Hobi-hyung and Namjoonie-hyung’s studios, but that’s where we drew the line.”

Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! 

“Eat some more,” Yoongi nudges Taehyung because even years later, he still doesn’t know a better way of offering comfort. 

“‘Kay.” But Taehyung hands Yoongi the peeled egg, and it makes Yoongi smile as he accepts it. 

They talk more about songwriting. Taehyung gets bubbly and excited and shows Yoongi some of the samples he’s been making recently, and Yoongi points out some of the bumpy moments he manages to catch in the buzz of the downtown market street and the voices of his head. 

They talk about Yoongi’s therapist, too. Because somehow, out of all the guys, Taehyung seems like the one who will understand Yoongi in this. Yoongi doesn’t exactly open up: he just mentions that his therapist is a man in his seventies, more of a grandpa than an actual doctor. Yoongi tells Taehyung that the other day his therapist grandpa suggested Yoongi start doing yoga to keep his bad thoughts at bay, and when Yoongi started whining because why in hell would he do yoga?, the grandpa therapist said that he and Yoongi could do it together. 

“Do you have a lot of bad thoughts, hyungnim?” Taehyung asks gently after that.

Does Yoongi have a lot of bad thoughts?

Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! 

Not really. The whole problem with the chants is that they’re the best thing that happened to Yoongi turned into a literal nightmare. 

“He’s exaggerating,” settles Yoongi. 

Taehyung nods like he understands. Then, “So, yoga?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, the smile curling around the corners of his  mouth. “We signed up for elderly yoga.”

“Nice. I hope it helps.”

And Yoongi looks at him and thinks, I hope you never get to do this. He hopes that Taehyung never gets the bad thoughts Yoongi has. He hopes that Taehyung never stops being this bright, soft-hearted, kind boy that composes his songs about the person he’s in love with and makes them sound too honest.

But Yoongi knows it’s just wishful thinking. Taehyung is already someone more. He’s someone who isn’t just looking for Yoongi’s guidance in this life. 

At the very least, he’s someone who listens to Yoongi carefully, with this sickeningly serious and concerned expression on his face like it hurts him to know these things about Yoongi, and Yoongi finds himself being understood. 

In the middle of them wrapping up their dinner, thanking the vendor for her hospitality and her thanking them for being such well-behaved young boys, someone from the crowd recognises Taehyung. The girl asks Yoongi to take a picture of her and Taehyung. Yoongi does it wordlessly, one click and over, but he really can’t believe how fast everything changed: it seems like a few weeks ago, it was him playing dress-up each time he would go out in public, and now everything’s upside down. 

Yoongi fishes for his wallet to pay the vendor—only to be stopped by Taehyung’s gentle hand on his elbow. 

“It’s on me,” he says. “Don’t worry about this, hyungnim.”

The kids have their own pocket money now. Right. 

Woo, take it easy
Woo, take me easy
Take it, take it, just take it

 

— As an album, Boyhood is extremely versatile. It has ballads and it has pop songs, it has rock and it has hip-hop. Boyhood cries and dances and rebels and sings serenades under your window. But sometimes it also does this: it gathers friends in the family’s garage full of cheap musical instruments from the times when your father dreamed of conquering the world, and it just…has fun. 

‘Take ?? easy’ is the song that, as the title claims, doesn’t know itself except that it’s good and it’s rocking. 

“C’mon, stop glaring at me,” Yoongi laughs quietly. “I’m just taking you out for barbecue.” 

Jungkook frowns, his lips coming together, and he’s just cute and lovely and so unrecognisable at the same time, so not Yoongi’s anymore it hurts. “Why?”

“Because I’ve taken out Jimin and Taehyung already, and I thought you might feel left out if I didn’t take you out, too.”

It’s not entirely true. 

First of all, he’s taking Jungkook out to get more information for Yeri. Is Jungkook unsatisfied that the 9795 are not able to work on their own songs, too, or was it just Taehyung’s own feelings, speaking on the behalf of the whole group?

Second, Yoongi is a selfish human being and he wants to have this balmy August evening at dinner with Jungkook. It’s just the way it used to be. Always together. Yoongi buys them both dinner after a long day of work, Jungkook sits across from him, and the distance of the table’s surface stretches between them. 

Yoongi doesn’t remember how they got to this restaurant. Doesn’t remember what it took to convince Jungkook to come with him or if it took any convincing at all because all that matters is that they’re only the table’s surface away from each other, and it’s intoxicating and a bit surreal to think about. 

“Okay,” Jungkook breathes out.

Yoongi smiles. “Yeah? Good?”

Jungkook doesn’t reply. He only looks at Yoongi from underneath his eyelashes.

Lately, every time Jungkook looks at him, Yoongi always feels a breath stuck in his throat before he releases it, softly exhaling, lowering his gaze down. 

“What are we even going to do?” Jungkook asks, looking around the restaurant. His fingers tap a rhythm on the table.

Yoongi shrugs. “We can talk.”

“About what?”

“About anything, really. But we also can just silently eat the meat and go our separate ways.”

Jungkook doesn’t get to reply. They waiter finally approaches, and Yoongi orders, recalling Jungkook's favourite pork cut from memory. Yoongi wonders if Jungkook remains silent because he doesn't care or because he’s surprised that Yoongi still remembers this particular cut of meat.

The meat gets served quickly. Yoongi reaches for tongs to take charge of the grill, but Jungkook stops him.

“I’ll do it, hyungnim.”

It’s another change in him. He used to let Yoongi take care of him, used to love it when Yoongi did it, but now he puts up a fight every time Yoongi does something as simple as letting him through the door first. 

Yoongi looks at Jungkook, at the prominent line crossing his forehead in concentration, and wonders: Where will the changes in him end? Is there an end to them, and how is Yoongi going to take them all?

“How have you been recently?” Yoongi asks, fixing his beanie in an awkward attempt to start the conversation. 

He hasn’t seen the 9795 in a while—he no longer accompanies them on their schedule, and the only time when the 9795 are in the company building, they’re always so busy that Yoongi only catches one glimpse of them per week.

Jungkook remains silent, eyes unwavering on the grill. 

“Have you started preparing for the tour?” Yoongi tries again.

Jungkook flips the meat over. Silence again.

“Are you excited to leave and see the fans?” 

Jungkook doesn’t say a word. 

The BBQ restaurant is buzzing with conversation around them, the noises of the grill, glasses clinking, and laughter, and Yoongi and Jungkook are just absurdly passive. Like their lips haven’t touched even once, like their pinkies haven’t brushed as they walked together to Yoongi’s studio, crossing over the eighty-eight keys of the company’s corridor. Like they’re strangers to each other. 

“Is your manager missing me?” Yoongi asks, aiming for some humour in the situation, but Jungkook doesn’t waver. Yoongi blames himself and his useless brain cells for even coming up with the thought of telling Jungkook that they can just stay silent during dinner. 

The meat is ready. 

Jungkook doesn’t touch it.

Yoongi realises that he’s waiting for him to take the first bite. Because despite everything, he’s still the most polite young man. 

Yoongi picks up the meat, gets it into a lettuce wrap, adds garlic. He chews on it a bit reluctantly but it turns out to be ridiculously good, the meat almost melting in his mouth. 

Jungkook picks some up for himself. They eat in silence, just like Yoongi suggested they would. The meat will be finished eventually, and they will go their separate ways without talking to each other. Being together like this used to be their favourite part of the day, but then Yoongi had fucked everything up, and maybe Jungkook had fucked everything up a little with his confession, too, and now there’s no way back for them, and Yoongi hates it. 

“Taehyung told me you’ve been writing songs,” Yoongi says carefully. Just to try again. For the last time. Before he gives up on this trying-to-be-friendly thing. 

Jungkook stops chewing on the food. It’s only for a second, but this second hangs, and it’s tangible, it’s there.

Bingo, Yoongi thinks, barely avoiding smiling. Fucking bingo.  

Just because of how happy he is, he makes another wrap and eats it almost absentmindedly. 

“Want me to look it over for you?” Yoongi asks.

Jungkook glares. He once again glares, and Yoongi once again slips away from him, lowering his gaze down. He always does. He can never hold Jungkook’s eye contact for long anymore. 

Jungkook murmurs something.

“Come again?” Yoongi says.

“Yes, I do. Why not? Thought you wouldn’t ask.”

“Why wouldn’t I?" Yoongi says, surprised. "Of course I would love to look at what you’ve written. That’s what I’ve always done.”

A pause. Jungkook appears to be in a stupor, then he jerks lightly and shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe your mentoring ends with Jimin and Taehyung.”

Yoongi frowns. “You know it’s not true. You guys are equally important to me.”

“Are we?”

Yoongi swallows a lump of truth in his throat. Of course Jungkook always comes first. 

He doesn’t have to know about it. 

“Yes.” Yoongi’s voice comes out too thick, too hoarse.

Jungkook stares at him. Yoongi picks at the corner of the table, avoiding eye contact. Did Jungkook hear the lie in his voice, or…?

Yoongi clears his throat. “Okay, well, you can send me the lyrics—”

“I have it with me.” Jungkook grumbles, turning sideways from Yoongi to rummage through his backpack. 

He pulls a notebook out. The notebook’s design is  similar to Jimin’s. Probably was bought with the idea of it, too, except that Jungkook’s cover is perfect, flawless. It’s blue, the cover. Dark blue, similar to black, and there’s not a single smudge on it, well-kept. 

Their fingers brush as Jungkook passes the notebook over. 

Jimin can barely tolerate Yoongi’s silence when he reads his lyrics. He always starts blabbering and elaborating on the ideas. Which lines he still dislikes, which lines he’s proud of. But Jungkook is so quiet. He always is. Almost as if he knows about all the voices inside Yoongi’s head; knows that there are so many of them that Yoongi doesn’t need an additional one. 

A lot of things have changed, sure. Jungkook's louder than Yoongi remembers, bolder, talking back to Yoongi instead of just quietly agreeing with everything that Yoongi says. He’s as if slowly gaining confidence and trust in his voice, in his body, the way it can take a blow of the cruel world. But he’s still so intuitively understanding of Yoongi, always oddly knowing what’s better for him, and that, for once, didn’t change in Jungkook. 

Yoongi finishes reading the last filled-in page. There are only five in total.

“There’s a lot of English in your songs,” Yoongi says. 

“It’s easier this way,” Jungkook replies. 

What a liar. Yoongi knows him inside and out.

The mother tongue is like this: it’s impossibly hard to bear. The mother tongue is always too sincere and heavy on you. Second, third, fourth, and all other -th learned languages will never hurt you, will never wound you as deeply as your native language does every day. 

A second language is not easier. It’s lighter. There’s a difference. 

“It’s good. You have a good way with your words,” Yoongi says. “You did well, Jungkook-ah.”

Jungkook’s eyes gleam as he looks at Yoongi. “No advice?”

Try not to write only about banging someone or wanting to bang someone. 

“I’d say that you should try to use less English and see for yourself how it changes your song. Some of your verses are just straight-up English. It’s okay, but it’s just… I guess it seems like you’ve hidden yourself too much.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve told this to Jimin before but in a slightly different way. He used to be too transparent in his songs, so the listener couldn’t relate to what he was writing about because it was solely his experience. With you, it’s the other way around — you’re so…detached in your narration. Let’s just say it makes it difficult to relate to as well. Your songs are only an experience. Not mine, not yours, not anyone’s. Understand?”

“What about me?” Jungkook asks, and for a moment, Yoongi can’t really understand what he means. 

“Ah?”

“What about me? Am I transparent in anything?”

He’s transparent in everything that he loves. He’s transparent when he’s dancing, his body telling the most tragic love story Yoongi has ever read. He’s transparent when he’s on the stage, looking around the audience, and Yoongi knows all of his thoughts, can read them as if there were a running line on his forehead. The running line is like a mantra: I want to stay on the stage for as long as I can. I want to sing till I die.

But Yoongi knows that’s not what Jungkook meant.

“You’re very honest with your singing,” Yoongi says.

“Am I?”

“Totally.” Yoongi could tell him more: his transparency in his love for Yoongi, how it used to be so thick in the air, Yoongi had trouble breathing. But he comes back to where they have started. “There needs to be a balance. Between being too honest and not honest enough. I think that’s the best advice I can personally give you. You can try working on one of the songs, the one that you like the most, and then bring it to me and we can talk about it again.”

“Can we?” 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, taken aback by the hope that is so absurdly loud in Jungkook’s voice. “Yeah, of course. Or you can bring it to Namjoon, or Hoseok, or to all of us. Get as much help as you can.”

They finish eating. Yoongi pays. Jungkook says he has to be back at the company. Yoongi suggests walking him to the building. Jungkook doesn’t say anything, and Yoongi assumes that he’s not opposed. 

They pass by the BBQ restaurant they used to dine in, the one that has an A4 paper glued to the door saying ‘FOR RENT’ still on it, and then the bus stop. Jungkook halts there for a moment, which stretches into many seconds. He looks at the bus stop almost longingly, with an odd sense of sadness on his otherwise blank face. Yoongi is only two steps away from him, waiting for him patiently, but it feels like more. Feels like they’re a whole world apart, united only by the same sky and stars above their heads. 

“How did you know?” Jungkook asks, turning away from the bus stop to Yoongi. “How did you know I was gay? You didn’t even flinch. Like you knew.”

Yoongi tilts his head and tries to be as gentle as he can when he says, “I know everything about you.”

And instead of frowning and saying, No, you don’t, like he normally would, this stubborn manchild, Jungkook, asks quietly, “From my singing?”

“Almost. From Jimin’s lyrics,” Yoongi admits. “He wrote something along the lines of ‘I have a friend, he’s just like me.’ ”

Jungkook stares at him, disappointed, but amused. A smile curls around his lips. “ That’s how you knew?” Like he expected something much smarter from Yoongi than this. 

“I recognised you in his words,” Yoongi says. “It wasn’t hard to. Taehyung was always the romantic interest in his lyrics, and you were his best friend who was similar to him in too many ways.”

Jungkook looks back to the bus stop. Yoongi can’t bear to see it—it reminds too much of a mouth too soft, of a kiss too innocent, of his hands holding the waist of somebody he’s not supposed to touch. Not like this. So he looks at Jungkook instead, his side profile: how thin his features have become, how much more fragile he seems because of them. He didn’t eat as much as he usually does during dinner, either. Preparing to look perfect on tour. A porcelain doll, he would be easily broken by someone’s uncaring rough hands.

Hands like Yoongi’s. 

“You know,” Jungkook says. “Even though I have Taehyung and Jimin around me… Have you, even… It’s still a lonely journey. Having to hide and push this part of yourself inside because it’s not something to be seen.”

Yoongi gets it. He does. He had always been lonely until years ago, when Kim Seokjin came to interview Cypher for the first time and then gently pulled Yoongi aside, encouraging him to come join him at a friendly gathering that would be happening in two months. 

Maybe it's the natural order of things, Yoongi thinks, before he finds himself suggesting that after the tour, Jungkook come join him at one of their LGBTQ+ friendly gatherings.

Chapter Text

You don’t like dancing, I don’t like being away from you
One step forward, two steps back
On the tippy toes, so close yet so far
Wait for it, you say

 

— Coming in right after the ‘**##%%;!!’, ‘Wait for it’ carries that rock, rebellious sound. But apart from that, the song transforms into something lighter: gone are your wistful, fuming thoughts about not getting what you want. It's a push-and-pull situation now, as the lyrics embrace it; you’ve almost gotten what you want, you just need to wait.

‘Wait for it’ is the second song the 9795’s sunbaenim J-Hope worked on, apart from ‘Mismatched’, and his love for dance keeps showing up in all of the tracks he’s taken his part in. The song has lost its hip-hop sound against ‘Mismatched’ but still, there’s something about it that you just want to get on the dancefloor and light it up.

Summer passes Yoongi by like this: like a comet crossing over the bright blue sky. Quickly and mercilessly.

The 9795 go on tour around the world. It’s rather small, really, and is more like Asia and North America, but it’s a start. It’s something.

Yoongi stays in Seoul. With the chants.

He catches up with Hoseok and Namjoon, going out to dinner with them a couple of times. They go bowling, even, and Yoongi actually has fun. Bowling is bright and noisy, and they drink too much beer, and the chants blare through Yoongi’s head exceptionally loudly that night, but when Yoongi stumbles back home, plugging in his earphones and drowning the rest of the world in the 9795, he, for the first time in a while, thinks that he feels…fine.

And it’s good, this feeling. Forgotten. Unfamiliar. But good. He sleeps with a light heart on that day. Hoseok and Namjoon are still his closest friends. His brothers. His life.

The guilt comes back the next day as it always does, but having a peaceful mind even for one night is more than enough for Yoongi.

The grandpa therapist does what he calls ‘taking Yoongi out’ for the road trip—or, more like, the grandpa therapist proposes the idea and Yoongi rents a car and drives them to Sokcho. They spend a whole day at the sea. It’s sunny, sky clear and blue, and windy, pleasantly so. The beach town is surprisingly welcoming to them. They get chicken at the BBQ restaurant that some local guy recommends, and on their way back can’t stop talking about how delicious the food was.

Yoongi has never had a parental figure quite like his grandpa therapist: he was never close with his parents and found them to be weak-minded people, resembling him too much, and Yeri’s father only ever struck an irrational fear of authority in Yoongi. Being friendly and being understood, and laughing so easily without having to try too hard, is new, but also…good.

They listen to the 9795 on their drive. The grandpa therapist—a hard-die trot lover—says they’re alright, which Yoongi translates as him being impressed.

Summer morphs into autumn.

Yeri shyly prompts for name ideas for her future company. Yoongi stares at the paper with the names listed, unimpressed. He reminds her gently that nothing is finalised yet.

“Just humour me a little, can you?” she whines, and Yoongi gives up. He carefully reads through all the names.

“Black Swan,” he taps his index finger on the paper. “I really like this one.”

They don’t bring it up ever again. Yeri comments on the irrational decisions of her father, booking concert venues too small for the 9795, and Yoongi, not a businessman, never knows what to tell her.

Sometimes, all he wants to ask her is: Would you really do it all differently? All right? Or, maybe: Are you sure you’ll be able to carry this weight?

In the fall, the 9795 come back to Seoul, and Jungkook and Yoongi go out together.

Not together together, Yoongi has to explain to Camilla when he asks her to ensure there’s enough food for his plus-one. Just together. Taking a baby gay out.

By the time Yoongi arrives at the bar, Jungkook is already there, pacing near the entrance. Yoongi checks his watch: he’s on time. Jungkook is the one who’s early. He must be waiting for Yoongi to come in.

“Hey.”

Jungkook’s head snaps up from looking at the asphalt. “Oh. Hey.”

They haven’t seen each other in two months.

Jungkook’s hair is now blond, parted in the middle, highlighting the gentle curves of his face. He’s dressed elegantly, but not overly so, and appears to be confident and satisfied with his clothes. As a twenty-two-year-old, he’s still struggling to find a style he’s comfortable with, and Yoongi has noticed him experimenting a lot. Sometimes he’s dressed casually, with only skinny jeans and a white shirt, and other times he’s dressed almost over the top for some video shoot, with slacks and a coat, to the point Yoongi feels underdressed when he sees him.

But tonight, he looks... good, with his smooth black shirt tucked into the black pants and white sneakers. He has some makeup on, too, his lips pink and—

Yoongi shifts his gaze to the bar's blue fluorescent sign. “Have you been waiting for long?” He, somehow, feels awkward.

“No, no—”

Yoongi moves closer to him as a couple passes them to go inside the bar. Like this, he can make out the tiredness settled beneath Jungkook’s concealer: the tour must’ve exhausted him. Yoongi did tell him that he didn’t have to come today and they could go to any other gathering organised later on, but Jungkook insisted that he wanted to come.

“You seem tense,” Yoongi says. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook breathes. “It’s just… I’m not good at meeting new people.”

Yoongi stares at him in disbelief. Does he really believe that he, Jeon Jungkook, can ever be anything but the life of the party? Doesn’t he know what he is?

Doesn’t he know that he attracts the light and love of the stars, that he embraces the sun’s warmth, that he is a spring in this dark gloomy autumn?

“You’re gonna be fine,” Yoongi says. “I don’t really see the problem right now. Tell me more?”

Jungkook smacks his lips, and a dimple on his left cheek appears. “What if somebody hits on me?”

The first thought Yoongi has is, Why would anyone hit on you?

Then the second—only a moment later—Dear Lord, who wouldn’t hit on Jungkook?

It’s a queer event. It's a safe space. Jungkook is handsome and charismatic. Every time he walks into the room, the world always takes a moment to take a breath that gets stuck in its throat.

If Yoongi didn’t know Jungkook personally, he’d love to take his chance with a guy like him at an event like this one.

The third thought is the most painful one.

“I told you you could’ve brought your boyfriend with you,” Yoongi says, a bit tiredly, a bit fake.

A pause follows.

Yoongi looks over at Jungkook. “What is it?” he sighs.

Jungkook nips on his bottom lip. “I broke up with him.”

When? How? Why? And Jimin hasn’t told me?

But all of these questions would just sound wrong coming out of Yoongi’s mouth. Too happy.

So all Yoongi does is squeeze Jungkook’s bicep sympathetically and say, “Then I actually don’t understand what we’re trying to solve here. You’re a grown boy. Do you really need me to remind you to use protection?” Done, he proceeds towards the bar.

It takes Jungkook a couple of seconds to catch up to Yoongi after this.

Inside, it’s stuffy and crowded already. The tables are filled with all kinds of food. Soju bottles and beer cans have been opened, and the chatter is everywhere. People gravitate towards each other, forming small groups; they all haven’t seen each other in a while, and they are homesick for this feeling of belonging that only a night like this can give. The music is too loud, and it feels like they’re late to the party.

“No, but for real, what if somebody hits on me?” Jungkook whispers into Yoongi’s ear, his hand lost somewhere at Yoongi’s elbow, as they make their way through the bar.

“God, Jungkook, just say that you’re taken if you don’t want to sleep with anyone, what’s the problem?” Yoongi hisses, squinting his eyes around the bar.

“Good, can I pretend to date you?”

Yoongi’s mind is elsewhere, busy searching for Hyunwoo, Camilla, or her girlfriend in this crowd, and he barely registers the meaning behind Jungkook’s words. “No, what the hell, this is the last thing you’re gonna do—”

“You know, you need to start wearing glasses if your vision is deteriorating—”

“My eye vision isn’t deteriorating— Oh, hi.”

It’s neither Hyunwoo nor Camilla but a bunch of girls. A bunch of different girls: hair short and hair as long as Rapunzel, makeup bold and no makeup on, short revealing skirts and floral dresses, tight jeans and crop tops, baggy pants and sweatshirts. Yoongi’s not close to them but close enough for their eyes to light up as they recognise him. They all squeal and hug Yoongi.

They’ve missed him, they tell him, it’s so good to see him back, they hope he’s healthy and happy. They’re already one drink in, they tell him, giggling, pink cheeks.

Yoongi loves to see them like this: feeling safe.

He beckons Jungkook to come closer. A shadow of weird self-doubt crosses his features before he gets a hold of himself and takes another step in.

“Hello.” He bows. “Please take good care of me. I’m J—”

“This is J—” Yoongi starts at the same time.

“Oh, I know you! You’re from that idol group—”

The snap of the fingers. “The 9795!”

Beside Yoongi, Jungkook goes rigid. Fear seeps from him in the form of cold sweat,  which travels onto Yoongi. Yoongi grabs Jungkook’s wrist to calm him down. This is not a place where people out each other. Everyone is safe here, in all different forms of safety: no matter your orientation, no matter your gender, no matter your fame. Because everyone in here knows what it’s like—to hide. How terrifying this feeling is.

“I saw you guys on the TV! I like this one guy, ugh, what’s his name?”

“V, you like V, unnie.”

“Oh, right. My mom likes Jimin, actually—”

The table laughs, Jungkook with them, a bit more reserved than usual.

“Ah, all moms love him, c’mon—”

“Not just moms! My dad is obsessed with Jimin, too.”

“Jungkook-ssi, I think I saw you once performing at one of the college festivals…”

“I was with her! You guys were so fucking cool.”

“Oh, thank you—”

Someone puts a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, pulling him out of the conversation.

“Yoongi-hyung, is it you?!”

It feels like having cold water poured over you. Like surfacing after being underwater for minutes. The laughter is now mute, and the music is now once again too loud. It takes Yoongi’s brain a second to match a face to the name.

Hyunwoo. Grinning from ear to ear.

He grabs Yoongi into a bear hug, squeezing the air out of him. Yoongi groans, pretending to be disgusted, but by the time they've separated from the embrace, he’s smiling, too.

Hyunwoo tugs on Yoongi’s beanie, covering Yoongi’s ears. “The beanie looks really good on you.”

Yoongi slaps his hand away, fixing the beanie back into something appropriate. “Fuck you, man. This beard? Not cool. Shave it off.”

Hyunwoo sticks his tongue out, which Yoongi interprets as I can do whatever the fuck I want.

Yoongi looks around. “I’ve been looking for you. Where’s everyone?”

“Oh. We’re at tha-a-at table, can you see?” Hyunwoo points with his hand in the back corner’s direction. “I was just on my way to grab more snacks. You should join us. Camilla said there’s someone else with you?”

“Ah, yes—” Yoongi looks back around: Jungkook is again laughing with the girls, this time his genuine kind of laugh. He seems like a natural. Seems to be fitting in.

For a moment, the whole world stops. Yoongi might be the one to blame for it, or he might be not, as he mutes everything and focuses on Jungkook only: his wide smile, with teeth, lips curling, nose scrunching, head thrown back. The dark blue lights from the dance floor settle on him, skimming his arms, his neck.

The moment breaks as Yoongi notices a pen in Jungkook’s hands and his hand performing a motion repeated so many times that it must be unforgettable now, on the phone case of one of the girls.

Yoongi frowns.

It’s not a fansign. Yoongi doesn’t want him to be the 9795 Jungkook tonight. He wants him to be just a guy who is allowed to have some beer and freedom under this bar’s roof.

“Jungkook-ah.”

Yoongi doesn’t hope for his voice to reach him: it’s too quiet, too soft. Somehow, Jungkook’s head whirls in Yoongi’s direction anyway, the pen hovering over the last stroke.

“Yes, hyung?”

For the first time, ‘hyung’ doesn’t hurt. It just stings a little, and it’s alright. It’s bearable.

“Let’s go?” Yoongi gestures in the direction of the back tables where Hyunwoo had shown him.

Jungkook bows goodbye to the girls, laughs again, hands the pen back, and stands up from their table. The eyes follow him from all around the bar now. He’s the main event of the night. There could never be any other outcome to begin with.

“They’re so cool, hyung,” Jungkook blabbers, his side glued against Yoongi. “Kristina dances, did you know? She showed me the video of—”

“Oh my god, Yoongi-oppa!”

Camilla’s fiancée—Sooyeon, her name is Sooyeon and she is not just Yoongi’s good friend’s girlfriend anymore—jumps at him, engulfing him in the most comforting hug. One Yoongi hasn’t gotten in a while. Camilla joins her right after, and Yoongi laughs, hugging them both. Others from the table come up to greet him after these two years, too.

It’s good to be back.

“Jungkook-ah—” Yoongi turns around, smiling.

Jungkook is standing two steps behind, studying his white sneakers, his hands locked behind him. Yoongi’s smile morphs into something softer. He finds the small of Jungkook’s back, pushing him forward.

“Guys, let me introduce Jeon Jungkook to you. My dongsaeng.”

Everyone greets Jungkook warmly. Jungkook looks taken aback: Yoongi’s friends from these outings look completely different from his friends in his ordinary life. He regains himself quickly, chippering to ask them to take care of him. 

They are squeezed into a table. It’s short on space but nobody really cares, especially not after the first wave of Cheers! goes over the table and beer spreads like a warm layer of honey in their chests.

Yoongi and Jungkook sit next to each other. There’s no room left to move their legs away, and Yoongi’s whole existence is slowly narrowing down to this one spot of warmth where their thighs are pressed together. He can’t really concentrate on anything, buzzing with the proximity to Jungkook instead, drunk on it and the beer he keeps chugging.

Jungkook is in the spotlight as usual. It’s not surprising: that’s the way his soul is. It shines brightly, and others are drawn to it. Yoongi is just yet another moth drawn to his light; nothing more, nothing less.

Someone tells Jungkook a story about how two years ago, Yoongi told people at the bar about the budding trainees and how surreal it felt to see his words come true. They still remember their surprise when they saw the 9795 for the first time on the TV.

Jungkook seems to be interested in the story, but Yoongi is quickly distracted by Hyunwoo. He starts whining to him about his own enlistment coming up, and Yoongi can no longer spy on Jungkook’s reactions. When his attention is finally back on Jungkook, it’s Camilla entertaining him now.

She is telling Jungkook about that one time they got together in Busan and Yoongi got drunk and wanted to go skinny dipping in the ocean—

“Yah,” Yoongi cuts in. “He doesn’t have to know this about his senior.”

Jungkook elbows Yoongi. “Don’t listen to him, noona.” He leans over the table so it’s more comfortable for him to listen to Camilla, the bar getting louder and louder per hour, per amount of alcohol in their veins. “Tell me everything about Yoongi-hyung.”

Jungkook's eyes are gleaming with mischief. Yoongi scoffs. Camilla sends him a knowing smile.

Yoongi doubts they don’t remember Yoongi’s drunk ramblings about how talented  Jungkook is. His confession which he tried to hide, and failed, everyone reading him like an open book. They could’ve teased the shit out of him this evening, too, turn it into a shitshow. But they haven’t. And Yoongi is thankful.

He reclines in his seat, his knee bumping into Jungkook’s. Jungkook sends him a short sweet smile, Yoongi goes breathless, and it seems like they’ll get stuck in this moment, they’ll just live in here forever as Yoongi marvels at Jungkook and Jungkook smiles at him softly. Until a second later, Jungkook turns back to Camilla, his chin perched up on his palm.

Just two years ago, in Seoul, another bar but with the same people, Yoongi wished for Jungkook to be there with him. He wanted to show Jungkook to the others, no matter how much he would shy away from it. He wanted for others to love him. To see how sweet, how kind he is, and how much of the stars’ warmth could be found in one person.

Wishes have a funny tendency to come true in a way you never want them to.

For example: it’s two years later, and Jungkook is here with him. He has shown Jungkook to the others, and now they love him. But he is no longer the kid who could shy away from attention—rather, he lives in it, it’s a reality for him. A norm. And he is not here with Yoongi the way Yoongi had wanted him to be.

The way Yoongi still wants him to, to be honest, even though he knows there’s no room for it. Allowing himself to love Jungkook is not the same as this table booth where one can still squeeze in, their thighs pressed together. There’s not a universe where he could take his chance and it’d end happily for Jungkook. 

Or: back then, Jungkook sighed dreamily and said that he’d love to have samgyeopsal right now. Fast-forward to two years later, Yoongi asking Camilla to make sure there would be enough pork belly at the gathering.

“Jungkook-ssi!” Sooyeon exclaims. “Would you like to dance? Leave your boring old man and come with us!”

Jungkook doesn’t correct her—maybe he didn’t hear her properly, the music is loud, after all, or maybe he just brushed it off, it’s just Sooyeon’s drunk talk anyway.

Yoongi doesn’t correct her—because he really is Jungkook’s. Completely and utterly.

And he is boring.

The only thing Sooyeon is wrong about is his age.

He’s not old anymore. At twenty-four, he felt a hundred years old, and now, at twenty-six, he feels immature, feels too young. He feels like a boy. Unable to meet anyone’s gaze. Seeking guidance. A purpose.

When will he start feeling his age, he wonders? When will life begin for him?

He must be drunk to have such thoughts.

He steals a glance at the dance floor, like a thief, with a shameful curiosity. Just a second, he promises himself and then gets hit by the curves, the shirt with the collar spread open, the smooth movements.

Some of the guys blabber into his ear unstoppably. Yoongi hums from time to time to be polite, but he’s not interested in anything anymore. He can’t stop gawking, can’t take his eyes off the dance floor. Off Jungkook.

Jungkook always dances like he’s blooming to the music. Always dances like it’s going to be his last time doing it, so he’s going to take everything he can out of this.

He is beautiful and captivating like this, blue LED lights skimming over him like a lover’s hand. He is irresistible like this, moving like he was born for the stage—he was—and people gather around him quickly.

He always catches the crowd’s attention, Jungkook. That’s just what he does.

While accompanying the 9795 on their schedule, Yoongi had a chance to see them performing on the stage: it was a little concert at one of the universities’ stages for students. Everyone in the crowd went crazy when the 9795 were announced, but Yoongi didn’t expect how well the boys would deal with the audience. They knew what to say, how to say it, where to look, where to run to, where the adlib was needed, and where it was for the best to stay in the safer tune.

They were amazing. The crowd loved them.

However, Jeon Jungkook.

He was exceptional on the stage. He was someone you could not not look at, search with your eyes every time he sang, every time he danced.

Nothing really changes on the dance floor. Yoongi tries not to dwell on it. Tries to dwell only on Jungkook.

He’s just dancing. He’s just enjoying himself.

“Min Suga-ssi, is it you?” comes the voice from above, pulling Yoongi out of this reverie, out of this dream too good to be true; another bucket of cold water, the second one this evening. 

Yoongi looks up, and standing next to the table turns out to be no one but—

“Oh, Seokjin-hyung.”

Seokjin reaches out his hand to him. As Yoongi takes it, Seokjin pulls him up and into a hug. They don’t really say a word, it’s unnecessary. When Seokjin’s hand slides down Yoongi’s beanie, as if carding through his hair, it speaks louder than any word ever could.

They go to the bar to get more drinks. Yoongi has to perform a weird dance around Seokjin to get into a certain spot where Jungkook can be seen. Seokjin side-eyes him, and Yoongi pretends he doesn’t notice it, leaning back with his elbows at the bar counter as he plays it cool.

Seokjin distracts him with a conversation. He talks about his job, all the recent reviews he’s written, and the interviews with stars he’s taken. Yoongi asks him about this one girl group, DREAMERS girls, which debuted just a few months ago. He’s been looking into them. They’re good. He thinks they have something promising in them.

Seokjin gets even more enthusiastic than he usually does when he’s talking about his job. There's something in his words about being the girl group of the generation—which actually makes Yoongi whirl his head around to see if he didn’t mishear what Seokjin said. Seokjin doesn’t like big words; not words like the greatest, like history, like generation, and Yoongi is surprised at the power seven girls can have if given a chance.

Yoongi looks away from Jungkook only for a second, he swears; his eyes linger on Seokjin’s profile in surprise only for a fucking moment before he looks back at the dance floor and…

The song has changed, it’s slower now. The dance floor is more controlling. Jungkook is more controlling of his body.

Yoongi swallows. Hard. Takes a sip of the beer.

Seokjin’s blabbering about DREAMERS’ vocal range dies mid-word. “You okay?”

Yoongi sips from the bottle again, gaze unwavering from Jungkook. “Yeah.”

Seokjin follows his gaze. Jungkook shouldn’t be too hard to notice in the crowd.

“Oh. Jeon Jungkook? He’s here?”

Yoongi doesn’t know if Seokjin means that the 9795’s main vocalist Jeon Jungkook is here or if he means that Jeon Jungkook, the twenty-year-old Yoongi cried to Seokjin about the last time they saw each other, is here.

“Well.” Yoongi shrugs.

Seokjin studies him for a moment. 

“You still love him.” Not a question. A statement. A conversation about the job all forgotten.

Yoongi smiles, self-deprticatingly. He closes his eyes, breathing tiredly. “Kind of impossible not to.”

“I can see why,” Seokjin muses.

“Yah, don’t look at him,” Yoongi grumbles, pushing Seokjin’s shoulder playfully. He blinks once more at the ceiling before returning his focus to where it belongs.

Seokjin snorts. “He’s only for you to watch? Then I have bad news for you.”

Yoongi can see the terrible news unravelling right in front of him: some guy is now dancing with Jungkook. The tipsy state of Yoongi’s mind doesn’t really care how friend-appropriate their dancing is. His stomach is sick. He wants Jungkook for himself to look at, and no one else.

“You must be wondering why I won’t just do it, right?” Yoongi says. “He’s no longer twenty. He’s still a dreamer, and I’m still in love with him.”

“Oh, I know the reason.”

“Really?”

Seokjin smiles. It’s sad. “You love him so much you’re afraid of it.”

Yoongi shakes his head. “God, I hate you.”

“He loves you too, you know,” Seokjin says.

“Not anymore.”

“You actually believe that?”

Yes, Yoongi actually believes that. He believes that after all the hickeys on Jungkook’s neck he saw getting tapped down by foundation thanks to the makeup artists’ skills. After all the times he overheard Jungkook talking to his boyfriend (an ex now, but Jungkook is an attractive, sensible, charming guy, he’ll find someone else in no time) on the phone in the green room. After all the times Yoongi’s heard Jungkook say, “Yeah, love you, too,” as he was hanging up from the call with his ex. After reading Jungkook’s lyrics, Yoongi believes it.

“Yoongi-yah, this is the kind of bullshit that I won’t be tolerating—”

Jungkook is suddenly out of Yoongi’s line of sight, and everything drowns out, the rest of the world does. Seokjin scolds him for doing this to himself, but Yoongi frowns, somewhere else entirely already, trying to catch a glimpse of Jungkook in the crowd. Maybe he went back to the table, or to the restroom, or maybe he went home with that guy who had wrapped his hands around his hips, or…

Yoongi notices him: Jungkook is, in fact, with the guy. They stand close to each other, shouting something at each other. Jungkook points at something—someone—the tip of his finger perfectly aligning with where Yoongi is standing. The guy has a funny, confused expression on his face, and he points at what Jungkook has pointed, and again, it serendipitously lands on Yoongi.

Jungkook seems to have gotten enough, and now he and the guy are heading in the direction of… Seokjin and Yoongi.

This just screams trouble.

Even Seokjin has stopped trying to talk sense into Yoongi, and now they both are reclining at the bar counter, sensing the impending doom coming over them. Quietly waiting for it.

The voices of Jungkook and the guy are starting to reach them.

“That’s your boyfriend? Him?”

Everything in Yoongi drops. No. Fucking no. Right after Yoongi directly asked Jungkook not to do it.

“Watch your tone,” Jungkook tells the guy. “That’s my favourite human being on this whole fucking Earth you’re talking about.”

Seokjin gives Yoongi a look. Yoongi shakes his head, his jaw gritted.

“Why did he leave you all alone on the dance floor then? Maybe you’re not his favourite human being?”

Jungkook all but almost stomps his foot. “He doesn’t like dancing. And he was watching me from here so assholes like you wouldn’t fucking bother me.”

“Seems like he failed.” The guy first smiles at Jungkook with gentle pity, then at Yoongi. “Did he even care? About you putting on a show for him on the dance floor.”

Something about Jungkook’s confidence falters. He and the guy are only one step away from Seokjin and Yoongi, and now is the moment for them to either step up into this act or not.

And Yoongi knows that it’s only for him to decide. And he knows that this is specifically what he asked Jungkook not to do, and he knows that Jungkook has put him in this position without his approval. He knows, he knows, he knows everything, and yet he still does what he does.

Yoongi glances at Seokjin. Don’t ask, his eyes say, and then Yoongi is pushing himself off the bar counter, sending the guy a small, well-knowing smirk. It’s just a pull of the corner of his mouth, but it’s a smile that means victory. Whether the guy wants it or not, for this evening, Jungkook is Yoongi’s.

“What do you mean, did I even care?” Yoongi tilts his head at the guy. “I was loving every second of it. Well until you snatched him out of my sight.”

Yoongi pulls on Jungkook’s wrist to get him behind himself, missing the winning smile crossing Jungkook’s face. Missing the way Jungkook’s face lights up behind him.

He only gets to feel Jungkook’s hands on his shoulders, gets to feel the blazing route of Jungkook’s palm sliding down, catching on his fingers. Yoongi lets Jungkook’s fingers slip in between his; it comes naturally, how their hands fit together. Jungkook’s palm is a bit sweaty and soft, Yoongi’s is dry and calloused.

Jungkook hooks his chin over Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi feels him getting closer and closer, the tip of his nose—cold, it’s so cold—bumping into Yoongi’s cheek.

“Sorry,” he whispers into Yoongi’s ear. His lips catch on Yoongi’s skin.

Yoongi swipes his thumb over Jungkook’s knuckles. It’s fine. He takes a deep breath in before turning his head a little in Jungkook’s direction. They’re only a few inches away. Jungkook’s eyes are a bit glassy and so big, with so much hope stored in them.

Yoongi really is going to do it, isn’t he?

“Hey, baby,” he mouths, and he can feel the guy going rigid at their antics. They’re playing the annoying, PDA-loving couple, and Yoongi is kind of enjoying fucking with people like this.

Jungkook smiles gently. “Hey, hyung,” he whispers, like it’s a secret between them only. He hasn’t smiled at Yoongi like this in a while. He used to do it a lot, but after the kiss, after the confession, after Yoongi left him, there was room left only for him to roll his eyes at Yoongi, and Yoongi is kind of enjoying being like this with him again, too.

“Everything okay?” he asks softly as his hand brushes the hair out of Jungkook’s eyes.

Yeah, he’s definitely doing it. And he’s performing terribly, his voice is all fake, everyone can hear it, and the only reason they still come out somewhat convincing is because Jungkook looks at Yoongi like he’s the one responsible for hanging up the stars every night.

“Yeah,” Jungkook breathes. “Yeah, now that I’m with you.” His eyes travel to the guy and back to Yoongi.

Yoongi is not an aggressive kind of person. The angriest he’s ever been was on the club’s stage, he was sixteen and called himself a rapper and wanted to prove something to this world. Wanted people to hear him.

Sooyeon comes out of nowhere.

“Hey, Jungkook-ah, we’ve lost you!” She’s smiling widely, her breathing all heavy from the dancing, cheeks pink. Her smile is quick to disappear as she scans around their whole group. She sobers up immediately. “Um, is everything okay here?”

Yoongi is not an aggressive type of person. But Jungkook is his favourite human on the globe. Without this pretending-to-date thing, he is. And Yoongi hates when his favourite people are bothered.

“You’re still here?” Yoongi asks the guy with the most poorly hidden malice he can find from within himself.

“I mean, I was just,” the guy starts.

Yoongi spares the guy a look, quirking his eyebrow. Try me.

The guy looks defeated, and Yoongi loses all the rage in himself, too. What’s the point of arguing in a place like this? Camilla won’t be happy once she finds out.

“Fuck off,” Yoongi says, tiredly so.

The guy parts his mouth as he wants to say something more. But the momentum is lost, everything is lost, and he only sets his lips into a thin line, turns on his heels, and walks away, disappearing back into the crowd.

“Wow,” Sooyeon comments.

“Yeah, wow,” Seokjin parrots her, clearly impressed.

“We’ll go for a breather,” Yoongi says, tone apologetic for the scene they’ve just caused, and drags Jungkook out of the bar. Their hands stay locked as they go through the place.

The last phrase their backs catch is Sooyeon begging Seokjin to tell her what the guy could have possibly done to provoke Yoongi like this.

Outside the bar, it’s not even chilly. It’s cold. Yoongi regrets forgetting his jacket back at the table. He shivers—he’s not good with the cold, has never been.

“Well, that was hot,” Jungkook says, amused, and his voice, now that it’s not overlapped with music but rather with the quietness of the street, comes out loud and as if unmuted, Yoongi’s ear popping as it unclogs. 

“What the hell was that, Jeon Jungkook?”

Yoongi’s voice must come as a surprise to Jungkook, too, now that it’s lost the sweet, boyfriend-like undertone, having gained back this seniority, this distance. Jungkook recoils, taking one step back from Yoongi like he can’t recognise him now. It’s almost as though in the bar, as the smoke and LED lights danced around their bodies, Jungkook has forgotten about the harsh reality of them. Has forgotten that the whispered Hey, baby came out of the same mouth that told him It’ll pass.

Yoongi rubs his forehead. “I asked you not to do one thing. Only one thing. And this is exactly what you did.”

“How is that my fault?!” Jungkook explodes. He is not a boy who smiles all gently at Yoongi any longer, either. “I told him I wasn’t interested! But he kept pushing on me! So there were two options: I could punch him or I could tell him that I was taken. I opted for the second one, and guess what? He didn’t fucking believe me! So I had to choose someone to pretend to be with me tonight!”

“Jungkook…”

“No, let me fucking finish for once!” Jungkook says. “Maybe you’d like it more if I turned this dinner into a fight? Then I’m fucking sorry that I chose the safety of you!”

He doesn’t look angry. Not at all. He just looks…sad, and Yoongi once again feels like he’s let him down.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi says. “You’re right. I’m glad you chose me.”

“I literally don’t know anyone else at this party, who else would I come to for help?” Jungkook bites, but it comes out so…weird. His voice. He turns away.

Yoongi’s eyebrows knit in the middle. “Hey, kid…” He reaches out to touch Jungkook, maybe, but Jungkook backs away from him and takes a breath so deep and shuddering it resonates in Yoongi’s chest.

He’s crying. Of course he is. Yoongi always makes him cry.

Jungkook looks up to the sky. Probably to just stop his tears, but Yoongi follows his gaze absentmindedly, bringing his head up to the sky.

It’s starless. The sky. This city. Pollution, they say. And Yoongi wonders if they have ever tried looking in front of themselves. If they have tried finding starboys and stargirls in the millions of people living here.

“God,” Jungkook rasps, his voice dry, barely audible, “it just fucking—sucks.”

“What does?” Yoongi tries. He tries to do it gently, but he thinks that being the trigger point to Jungkook that he is, it’s meaningless.

“Everything,” Jungkook says. “Everything just fucking sucks.”

And Yoongi doesn’t know if he should agree that yeah, everything fucking sucks, everything in this world does, or if he should try lying to him.

“You look so happy with them,” Jungkook says. The tears are streaming down his face uncontrollably. “Did you know?”

Yoongi wants to come closer and wipe his tears away. He wants to fix it for him, fix every single thing that sucks for him in this world, but he doesn’t quite know how.

“I watched you all evening. You were glowing. You’re never like this with us.”

“With the 9795?” Yoongi asks.

“No, no, with everyone. With Namjoon-hyung. With Hoseok-hyung. With Yeri-noona. With the 9795. You’re never so happy with us like you were at the bar.”

Yoongi’s expression softens. “It’s because you’re family. They’re just friends, and we meet one time a year so we’re always happy to see each other. But you’re family, Jungkook-ah, people from the company are. And you have to understand that family…doesn’t always make you happy. We’re too close to each other. So sometimes we hurt one another without meaning to.”

Jungkook sobs even harder, and it breaks Yoongi’s heart into two. To imagine that’s how he had cried while Yoongi was away.

“C’mon now,” Yoongi says gently. “Do you want me to call you a cab home?”

It takes a whole infinity before Jungkook nods.

Yoongi nods back. “I’ll go grab our things from the bar. Do you want to come with me or do you want to stay here to breathe for a minute?”

“Here,” comes in a dull, post-crying voice.

“Okay. I’ll be quick.”

As if one extra minute will have Jungkook leaving on his own, Yoongi goes through the bar like a hurricane. He says goodbye to Seokjin and the others, grabs the wallets and the jackets they’ve left back at the table, and on his way out he remembers to ask for a bottle of water at the bar counter.

In less than five minutes, he’s out.

Even Jungkook seems to be surprised at Yoongi’s speed.

“Here.” Yoongi helps him get the jacket on, and then hands him the opened water bottle.

Jungkook accepts it reluctantly. The care from Yoongi, that is.

“You know,” Jungkook says, taking a small sip of water. “I’ve realised that I’ve never gotten to hug you hello.”

Yoongi takes the water bottle out of his hands. “Not sure I’m following you?”

“When you haven’t seen a person for a long time, the first thing you do when you finally meet with them is hug them. It’s common sense. But I,” and Jungkook’s voice breaks, “never hugged you. When I first saw you after these eighteen months, I walked out.”

“Jungkook, it’s okay—”

“And I really, really wanted to hug you, I swear. But I was angry and upset and embarrassed, God, do you even have any idea how humiliating—”

Yoongi doesn’t let him finish. Instead, he grabs Jungkook and embraces him. Tightly and on purpose. Their chests crash, and it pushes the air out of them both, but Yoongi doesn’t let go of him. He only pulls him closer.

He’s right, Jungkook. People have been hugging Yoongi endlessly for the past couple of months. But only now does he feel complete. Only now does he feel like he truly came back home.

“Hello, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi says, his voice too thick, too affected. It takes everything in him not to press his cheek against Jungkook’s or do something even more brazen, like dare to whisper these words into his temple. “Long time no see.”

Jungkook hiccups. “Hi. I’ve missed you, sunbae.” He plays along.

Yoongi thinks he’s trying to meld them together at this point, because he holds Jungkook even firmer, even tighter, his hand sliding down Jungkook’s back. The water bottle in Yoongi’s hand must be pressing into Jungkook’s ribs uncomfortably, but he doesn’t say anything, instead burying his nose in Yoongi’s shoulder.

“You can call me hyung, you know,” Yoongi says.

Jungkook sniffles. “Sure thing, hyung.”

For the first time, it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t even sting.

It blooms.

This winter is going to be harsh, they say
Even away, I pray to Gods to make it warm
Let the winter pass by quickly, I ask
You’re not good with the cold, I tell them

 

— Overall, ‘Seasons pass me by’ can be summarized as follows: Years pass, seasons pass one by one, and the lovers may no longer be together, but everything reminds them of each other. They just want their partner to be happy. Whether they’re still together or not.

That’s what ‘Seasons pass me by’ is. A love that settles in your bones like the winter cold does when you wear a jacket too thin or step outside for a breather, having forgotten it inside.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

It's past midnight. Yoongi is in his useless studio, sitting in the producer chair—does it even have a right to be called a producer’s chair?—spacing out to the opened project on his computer, and he wonders, not for the first time, if a way to fix him even exists. If he will ever stop feeling like he’s only one step away from the edge of the cliff. One fall away from complete madness, from headaches that never end, from the chants that never stop, not even when he’s next to Jungkook.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Sure. Being around his grandpa therapist helps with his family trauma, or whatever that it’s called. Eating with Yeri in the cafeteria, just laughing about how their days are going, helps with loneliness. Catching up with the 9795 on their activities is fun, too, because even in the middle of working as hard as they do, they always find time to fool around.

Everyone on their staff laughs on a daily basis: because of Jimin and Taehyung’s silly fights about dumplings, because Jungkook spun Jimin around and Taehyung has proposed that they try ballet, because Taehyung made Jungkook do aegyo. Yoongi catches them sometimes—in the practice rooms, or at the company’s entrance—and he always likes to just lean his shoulder against the wall and watch them for a moment.

They always look so happy.

But then Yoongi meets with Hoseok and Namjoon in the company’s corridor and they look at each other, taking turns blinking, and this weight on Yoongi’s shoulders is back. This guilt is. It never really, truly goes away.

When they shake hands to greet each other, Yoongi’s palm is always left dusty. Always left with the ash of their dreams burned down and left behind.

Sometimes Yoongi finds enough air in his lungs to push out, “I’m—”

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

“Don’t say sorry, or I’ll kill you,” Namjoon usually promises, his voice quite peaceful.

Hoseok usually says, “I’m hungry, too. Let’s go eat some ramen?” He looks at Yoongi sternly. “Because that’s what you wanted to say, isn’t it?”

And Yoongi knows that one day he’ll have to push through this facade. That one day he will have to apologise properly. One day he will have to get on his knees and bow and ask for forgiveness.

But for now, it’s past midnight and he’s sitting in his chair in front of the opened project on his computer and the voices are waltzing in his mind, set free.

Maybe Yoongi should just let himself free fall. Instead of trying to balance himself out on his broken legs, he should dive from the cliff right into the abyss.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

But for now Yoongi is in his studio, and he hits play.

The song plays out and ends. He hits play again. The song plays out and ends.

Yoongi looks up at the ceiling and blinks.

His phone chimes. He blinks again, feeling drowsy, feeling sick to his stomach, and lazily picks up the phone to see who decided to text him at this forsaken hour.

The ID makes him sit up straighter, collecting himself.

The 9795 Jeon Jungkook

you here?

at the company, i mean?

Me

yeah

why?

Instead of a reply, a quiet knock on the door, barely there, as if not meaning to intrude, comes. Yoongi breathes in, then out, then pushes off his knees and stands up.

Jungkook could’ve opened the door himself but chose not to. Probably because just like Yoongi doesn’t have the right to say certain things to him now, Jungkook doesn’t feel like he has the right anymore to use the password to Yoongi’s studio, either.

Behind the door, Jungkook stands. For a moment, life feels frozen: Yoongi notices his red eyes, the heaviness of his limbs, and how uncomfortable he seems in the skinny jeans and shirt he’s wearing.

Then, life fast-forwards, a harsh breath-in on Yoongi’s part.

“Oh god,” Jungkook says as he barges inside Yoongi’s studio. “Hi, hello.”

Yoongi worriedly follows him with his eyes. “Are you o—”

“Oh, me?” Jungkook says. “No worries, I just haven’t slept in forty-eight hours, so it feels like I’m both high and drunk.”

That explains his mad-like behaviour.

“Care to explain how you know what ‘high’ feels like?” Yoongi sighs, giving up, and closing the door after him.

The room, the space they’re sharing, has been vacuumed. Whatever happens here will stay here. Whatever is said here will belong to this place only and never leave it.

“I assume that this is exactly how it feels like,” Jungkook says. “I don’t actually know. Don’t pay too much attention to my words.”

He turns around, and almost knocks the shelf with Yoongi’s trinkets down. He catches it—and himself—at the last moment. It’s like he’s too big for this room, too uncoordinated, his body not his own anymore.

Yoongi feels too small as he tries to melt himself into the wall on the opposite side of Jungkook.

They’ve been getting better. Their friendship has. Jungkook doesn’t roll his eyes as much as he usually does at Yoongi. He doesn’t snap anymore. He even comes to Yoongi with his lyrics for one of the songs as Yoongi suggested him to. And even though it’s still about sex, still about someone’s rough fingers touching someone else’s body gently for the first time in their life, about the hands sneaked under the shirt, it’s finally something solid as the Korean syllables take up the place. Something Yoongi was talking about back in the restaurant.

It’s the experience.

It makes Yoongi rub his thumb against his index finger. His hands are rough, too.

As he looked through the lyrics, he asked himself if he ever touched anything gently with them, and then realised that in his life he only ever touched two things with the same gentleness that Jungkook had written about.

The first was a piano. Yoongi was twelve and he just started to learn it. He always touched the keys like they were sacred, like the sound coming out was holy.

The second was Jungkook. Yoongi was twenty-four and Jungkook leaned down to kiss him. Yoongi’s hands settled on his hips to hold him in. He was so careful with his touch. He was afraid he would break Jungkook like this, with his want, and had to hold himself back. His hands were shaking a little from even being allowed to touch Jungkook like that.

And as Yoongi read through the lyrics, he wondered how it would feel to touch Jungkook like this, under his shirt, skin bare; would he feel as firm as he looks or would he feel even more fragile than Yoongi thinks of him? Would he break? Or would he be soft? Would he have bruises left from Yoongi’s hold? Regrets?

With his head turned upright, Jungkook carefully inspects the studio. Like this, with the light reflected wrong on him, he looks even more exhausted, with eyebags too dark, now not even a concealer to hide it, makeup on his eyes smeared from wearing it for the whole day.

“Do you still dislike your studio?” Jungkook asks, tilting his head at Yoongi after what feels like several infinities of him just looking around.

“I never said I didn’t like it,” Yoongi says gently. This studio to him is like the childhood room he’s left behind in Daegu: it’s where he grew up, it’s where he turned from the angry teen performing at the clubs’ stages into the uncaring crowd into a musician with people following him, with people understanding him. It’s where he lost himself.

Jungkook blinks at him. Heavily so.

Yoongi wants to put him to sleep. He wants to tuck him in bed, wants to lay him down on this sofa, at least; wants to take care of him like he used to.

Jungkook shouldn’t be here, at his studio, at this hour. He should be at the dorms, in his bed. He shouldn’t have been allowed to stay up for so long in the first place. Yoongi will have to have a serious talk with Jinsoo once he catches this man on his break—though sometimes it feels like the guy works as hard as the 9795 do, living on the same schedule as them, the same speed.

When Yoongi still accompanied the 9795 on their schedule—back in the summer—he once had a talk with Jinsoo. They shared a lot of them as they stood in the shadows of the LED panels that the 9795 worked under. Yoongi thinks it was when the guys were recording a mini live session that this conversation happened:

“Talented kids,” Jinsoo murmured.

Yoongi hummed.

“They won’t be able to keep it up for long, though. This kind of schedule is maniacal.”

Yoongi agreed. In summer, he always felt tired, too, from always running from place to place, and he wasn’t even the actual member. He wasn’t the one the cameras were pointed at. Wasn’t the one who kept giving up parts of himself into the crowd, into photographers’ camera lenses, into words for several journalists every day.

Back then, whenever Yoongi would sympathetically caress Taehyung’s shoulder, or massage Jimin’s neck, or send Jungkook a worried glance—Tired?—they would always brush him off. They were always ready to work even harder.

But this kind of schedule must’ve started to catch up with them. And Yoongi once again feels like he failed.

“You said it was too small, remember? The studio. You told me that. Do you remember?” Jungkook says.

How does Yoongi explain to him that he remembers everything when it comes to him?

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. “Yeah, I remember. I did say that.”

“Do you still think it’s too small for you?”

“I think it’s a perfect fit now,” Yoongi smiles.

What he doesn’t say is, however: it’s getting too small for you, Jeon Jungkook. It’s getting too small for you and your bandmates. It’s too small for a star like Park Jimin. Too small for an idol like Kim Taehyung.

Jungkook takes some steps further into the studio. His gaze lingers on Yoongi’s computer screen, the project opened and untouched.

“What are you working on?” he asks quietly. Looks back at Yoongi. Pushes out, “Hyung?”

Almost as if he knows that Yoongi would do anything for him if he asked. 

“Do you wanna give it a listen?”

Jungkook licks over his bottom lip. “Yes.”

Yoongi gestures at his producer chair. “Sit down.”

Jungkook does. Yoongi feels weirdly self-conscious as he unplugs the headphones and leans over Jungkook to grab the mouse.

Jungkook’s fingers slide down from the keyboard to the edge of the desk.

“Remember when we were just starting to do the introductory programme?”

The click follows as Yoongi backtracks to the beginning of the unfinished, unpolished project. The proximity with Jungkook is a bit too much and a bit not close at all; Yoongi knows the way his chest rises and falls, but he wants to know more.

“Yeah?” Yoongi whispers, straightening up. He leans against the desk with his back, getting half of his weight on it, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jungkook looks up at him. His eyes are of stars.

“Taehyung came with me on this day,” Jungkook says. He adds, now with a bit more venom, “Even though it was my day.”

“I remember,” Yoongi says. Jungkook tonight reminds him of twenty-year-old Jungkook. Maybe that’s what exhaustion does to him—turns him back into the kid like Yoongi first came to know him.

“I was so jealous of Taehyung when he got to sit in your chair,” Jungkook says as his hands caress the sides of the chair like it’s something precious to him. Like it’s made out of gold, or something expensive, something valuable. “I wanted to be the one in your chair. I wanted you to tell me to change seats and sit in your chair, even though I knew it was unreasonable. I wanted to be close to your things. Wanted to be close to you.”

He’s definitely too open today. Too honest.

“I think it was about that time that Jimin and Taehyung knew that I liked you.”

So they always knew. They hadn’t just found out about Jungkook’s feelings for Yoongi when Yoongi left and Jungkook cried. They always knew.

“Because I always talked about you, I guess. During the practices, it was, sunbae this and sunbae that. Taehyungie-hyung’s ears started to hurt because of me always talking about you. Jiminie-hyung’s, too. He would sit down to write a song and I would sit next to him and just keep complaining to him that I didn’t know how to talk to you. Maybe that’s why they came with me on my days. They came to check.”

Jungkook rubs at his eyes, tired, tired, tired, everything about him is so tired. He blinks heavily, again.

“It’s so weird. Life is. I used to not be able to talk to you, getting my tongue-tied and shit, and now you’re one of the few people I know how to talk to.”

Yoongi bites his bottom lip. Jungkook looks away, to the computer screen. His eyes scan the layers of the track, and Yoongi watches him. He always watches him.

Yoongi doesn’t know how to reply to him because all he can think about is: I didn’t even know I liked you until it was too late. He doubts it’s something Jungkook wants to hear.

So Yoongi hits the space on the keyboard. The song plays.

Jungkook closes his eyes, almost moulding into the chair like he wants to leave himself here. Or, perhaps, it’s just his tiredness getting the worst of him, maybe he’s about to fall asleep as the music fills the room.

The track sounds a lot like early Cypher did: raging, the more words per second the better, show all of these assholes you’re the best one out here, show them you’re the one who deserves the fame, control the flow, control your breathing, tell them, fucking tell them all that you—

The song ends abruptly. It’s unfinished, it stops where the voices in his head took over, where it got unbearable to go on. Only the silence is playing now. Yoongi hits the space bar again. Enough.

“What do you think?” asks Yoongi, fixing the beanie on his head.

Judging by Jungkook’s silence, this track fucking sucks. It’s shit. It’s just full of shit. Yoongi waits for Jungkook to mock him. For his lips curl into an ugly smirk and tell him that even years later, Yoongi is still just a sixteen-year-old boy trying to get people to listen to him. Trying to prove something to this world.

Jungkook squeezes his eyes. He bites on his bottom lip—Yoongi sees it trembling. “It’s an apology.”

Yoongi almost jolts, getting his weight off the desk. “What?”

“It’s an apology song to Hoseokie-hyung and Namjoonie-hyung” Jungkook looks up at him. His eyes are red-rimmed. He shakes his head, and whispers, “I don’t get it. What are you apologising for?”

Yoongi stares at him in disbelief.

This fucking twenty-something listened to Yoongi’s song and heard that underneath all the raging layers, underneath all the greed, all the most selfish emotions, it was a simple apology. It was a bow, Yoongi on his knees, his forehead hitting the floor. It was to say, I killed the younger versions of ourselves, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sick with myself, I didn’t know what else to do.

Yoongi pushes himself away from the desk. Away from Jungkook. “It’s late. You should go home. Where’s Jinsoo? He should take you home.”

He hears the chair creak as Jungkook rises to his feet after Yoongi.

“What’s up with Cypher? Something is going on, isn’t it? Why aren’t you doing any promotions? Why aren’t you making any songs for the new album? Why does Namjoonie-hyung keep producing songs for everyone fucking else in this world but for Cypher? Why is Hoseokie-hyung working on his second mixtape instead of Cypher’s album? Why does it sound so sad? And why,” Jungkook’s voice cracks traitorously, “does it sound like a goodbye every time I listen to it?”

Yoongi pulls out the phone from his jeans. “Ok, I’ll text Jinsoo myself, no problem.”

“Min Yoongi? What are you apologising for? What did you do?”

“Jungkook, it wasn’t an apology song,” Yoongi says tiredly, trying to talk sense into him.

“It’s not true. I heard it. I’m pretty sure you’re blaming yourself for the things you’re not responsible for.”

“Don’t pretend like you know me.”

“But I fucking do!”

And somehow, they’re suddenly so close to each other. Jungkook is hovering over him because he’s taller now. Taller, he’s gotten taller in Yoongi’s absence. And Yoongi now has to look up at Jungkook when they stand face-to-face like this.

They breathe, tired of arguing. Lately, that’s all they do—they fight and then they make up. They fight and then they make up, over and over.

“Can I see you without your stupid hat?” Jungkook blurts.

Yoongi hoped that once he’d come back from military service, they would start anew, all feelings left behind and forgotten. He hoped that both of them would move on.

But instead, it just feels like they’re picking it up right after the love confession in this same studio.

“Why?” Yoongi asks, voice small.

“Because I want to,” Jungkook grumbles. “You’re always wearing it these days, I miss you without it.”

Yoongi’s wearing it, alternating between the beanie and the baseball cap, because he doesn’t feel confident enough in his short hair. It’s been months since he came back from the military, and what used to be buzzed hair is now a chunk of a black halo. It just looks stupid. A bit ridiculous. A bit too open. And Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ready to be too open with people. Not like this.

Yoongi tugs the beanie off. “Fine.”

Jungkook halts. It’s only a moment, however, and then he takes a careful step towards Yoongi. If they were standing close before, now they’re too close.

Jungkook’s touch is tentative at first, too, just like his step was, his fingertips grazing short hair.

That’s the whole problem with Jungkook, he’s always so fucking delicate with Yoongi.

Jungkook’s other hand joins in, his thumbs stroking. Yoongi hasn’t been touched this gently since forever, probably. Since his grandmother passed away.

Jungkook makes Yoongi look up at him, lifting his chin. For a moment, the stars in his eyes gleam exceptionally brightly, and he smiles at Yoongi. His smile is half boyish, half manly. It’s so dreamy, too, but maybe it comes from his lack of sleep.

“You look beautiful,” Jungkook whispers. It is said quietly and quickly, maybe in hopes that Yoongi wouldn’t catch it, but Yoongi does, regardless.

Yoongi looks up at him, at his eyes so big and open still—no Disney movies, only actual hard work now—and yet he still thinks, Dear God, Jeon Jungkook.

Even years later, I’m still in love with you.

Yoongi knows they’re about to do something stupid, so he guides Jungkook’s hands away and tugs the beanie back on.

“Tell me,” Jungkook says, “tell me that you didn’t say it back because you knew you were going to join the military and didn't want to leave me hanging, tell me—”

“Do you want me to lie?”

The phrase comes like a slap in the face. Jungkook recoils, and Yoongi turns away from him, wincing. Fuck.

“But…” Jungkook says. “At the bar. I thought… I thought something happened. Between us.”

He’s been talking eloquently recently, no more awkwardness with his sentences, the same way his body has grown out of its awkwardness. But it’s back now, his speech all over the place.

He’s just a teen in an adult body, Yoongi is just a boy, too. What are they trying to solve here? They’re too young to be together. Both of them are.

“Nothing can ever happen between us, Jungkook-ah.” I won’t let it.

“Why don’t you just give me a chance?”

“Jungkook, go home. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The distance between them suddenly feels much larger, lengthier; like it’s not just some pathetic steps that separate him and Yoongi but rather four years of their age difference, two years of Yoongi being away from him, Jungkook’s fame bringing him closer to the stars, Yoongi’s stage name, long-forgotten and long-hated SUGA, bringing him closer to the ground, to the tombstone.

Jungkook’s eyes get glassy. “I can’t believe I loved you once.”

He grabs his belongings and storms out of the room.

From the corridor, right through the opened hole in the door that he left, comes, “I fucking hate you, Min Yoongi, I hope you know that! I HATE YOU!” Accompanied by the eighty-eight piano keys of the corridor hit all wrong.

Yoongi stays.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

The chants stay, too.

If you ask me, I’ve always wanted more
M-O-R-E
The distance, the damn distance stretching between us
I was afraid you’d let it stay

 

— ‘Wait for it’ opens with a guitar riff, like some people open the door kicking it down. Here I am, the song says, here are my feelings. Take me like this. Jung Kook’s voice is perfect to start this kind of song off: confidence seeps off of him, his voice cocky, and yet there's something vulnerable about it. There always is. Jung Kook sings as if he's telling a fairy tale, voice honey-like, and you cannot do anything but sit there and listen to him, your mouth parted.

 

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Yoongi is in the studio.

These days, that’s all where he really is. If he’s not in the studio, then he’s at the grandpa therapist’s house, and vice versa. He doesn’t really like coming home. He doesn’t really like going outside. He doesn’t really like living, to be honest.

So he’s existing. With this hole in his chest, the weird emptiness, like if you were to cut him open, it’d be just a space full of nothing, and with this cast-iron in his head that he’s gotten tired of pushing back and yet he’s still trying, Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher, he’s existing. Going through life like a ghost. He’d bump into someone’s shoulder on the street, and nobody would even notice. Only his studio gives him a sense of his existence’s weight. 

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

He’s been doing elderly yoga. It doesn’t help.

But the ahjummas that train with him and the grandpa have been telling him that he’s a handsome young man and even started bringing him snacks. From time to time, they try to flirt with the grandpa, mentioning in a brief second the most tragic stories of how their husbands died and their kids left them. It always makes Yoongi smile. Not the deaths. Just how the grandpa therapist shies away from women. Sometimes Yoongi thinks that the sole reason why the ahjummas continue to flirt with the grandpa—they don’t seem interested in him anymore—is to win the competition of who can make Yoongi laugh louder.

He’s been trying to work on music outside of his studio like Yeri suggested. It doesn’t help.

He went to this coffee shop, laptop under his arm. There, Cypher's song, one of their most popular ones, one of the few that made its way on the radio and charts, was playing. The barista girl glanced at Yoongi, and for a moment he dreaded—or hoped—that she recognised him. Recognised him as Suga of Cypher.

But she only asked him if he knew what the song was.

“Sounds a bit out of style, but kind of cool? What do you think, sir?” were her words. When Yoongi smiled softly at her and asked why she thought he knew what the song was, she just shrugged. “Your eyes got so nostalgic. You were tapping your finger on the counter to the song.”

He was just admiring his older work.

He’s been selling some stuff he’s making in his studio. His money is not infinite, and the absolutely talentless tracks he composes in his late nights bring some side hustle and allow him to buy groceries for a month. It’s nowhere good, but it earns money, and it’s enough.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

He’s been going out with Hoseok to the different cafe spots that he keeps finding on Instagram and wanting to try out. He’s even been following Namjoon’s advice on loneliness and hooked up with some guy once. Didn’t like it because he was so different from Jungkook.

So sometime later, feeling that loneliness again, he hooked up with another guy. Didn’t like it either, because he resembled Jungkook too much and that just felt weird and wrong. But Yoongi finished. Hard; like he hadn’t in a while. Squeezed his eyes and imagined.

Speaking of Jungkook.

Jungkook hasn’t been present in his life.

Because he hates Yoongi.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Yoongi rubs at his forehead. The headache is here again.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

He closes his eyes, letting his forehead rest on the cold surface of his desk. The chants are his lullaby for tonight.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

The knock on his studio’s door draws Yoongi out of  his thoughts. He was drifting as if rocking in the waves of the chants, but now he’s fully present—in the moment as his heart catches in his throat because a knock like this can only come from one person.

Who fucking hates Yoongi.

It’s 2 a.m. They both should be anywhere else but here.

“Please,” comes the muffled voice from behind the door.

Yoongi pushes himself away from the desk and stands up. He fixes his beanie on his head into something appropriate. It is not a question of pettiness whether to open the door for him or not. Yoongi would open it one way or another, the ‘please’ or without.

Because he doesn’t hate Jungkook. He doesn’t think he can.

Having opened the door, Yoongi is met with the constellation of exhaustion and hard work.

He’s wearing a hoodie. Yoongi’s hoodie. It used to hang off his sides, but now it fits perfectly—he’s not a scrawny kid anymore. He’s bare-faced and a little red in some places. Without makeup on, he looks so much more like a boy instead of the young man Yoongi has been getting to know in these past few months after returning from his military service.

He’s so pale like this, without colours blended into him. His lips are barely pink, lost against his facial tone; and yet Yoongi looks at him and still gets his breath stuck in his throat.

Must be his eyes, Yoongi thinks. His eyes are so dark, sucking him and the rest of the world in.

“I didn’t know where else to go. They’re at it again,” Jungkook says.

“The walls are thin?” Yoongi smiles, but his joke dies flat.

“Can I stay with you?” Jungkook asks. He sounds so small like this, the youngest Yoongi has known him. “I promise I won’t like, do anything to you. I just—”

“God, Jungkook, I don’t think you’re some sort of pervert.”

Light completely goes out from Jungkook’s eyes.

“Come on in,” Yoongi tells him softly. He thinks he shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t do anything but.

Jungkook comes in shyly, almost as if it’s his first time in this place. He looks around, then sits down on the sofa. He’s been here thousands of times, he occupied this sofa in all of the different positions: sitting up like a student, sprawled like a lazy child, crouched like a musician. But now he lies down and curls into himself.

Yoongi tears his gaze away from him unwillingly. He steps back to his chair, sitting down tiredly. The project he’s working on is just a commercial song.

When he can no longer pretend he’s paying attention to his computer screen, he tries to turn his head around as subtly as he can, stealing a glance at Jungkook.

Jungkook appears to just be scrolling through something on his phone, still curled into himself, one arm under his head instead of a pillow. There’s something too familiar about this scene, too domestic, too right that it tugs on Yoongi’s heartstrings and gets them torn like the strings of a violin snapping during the most intense part of the performance.

Yoongi turns back around. This time he even manages to move one bar and stare at the screen for the rest of the time before it’s polite to check up on Jungkook again.

He’s asleep.

Yoongi takes off his headphones.

He’s asleep and soundly so. It makes a smile cross Yoongi’s face.

And then something pulls at his broken heart, and he stands up and walks up to him, looking down at the constellation of dreams that is sleeping in his studio. He looks down at the body on his couch. Starved, hungry, overworked body. Jungkook is a good-looking kid, but they’re making him into a handsome young man. Life does. This company does.

Yoongi looks down at him, and he doesn’t think Jungkook is having peaceful dreams. Something about the way his body shrinks into itself, and the disturbed puffs of his sleep.

Having dreams is exhausting. Desire rumbling in your chest.

Achieving dreams is exhausting, too.

Giving up on dreams is just fucking unbearable.

So Yoongi keeps wondering, when does it get easy? Or do dreams simply only like hard workers?

Moved by a weird feeling in his chest, Yoongi kneels in front of the sofa. He takes the phone out of Jungkook’s hand, laying it aside, and then just—holds his breath, as if waiting for something.

But nothing comes, except for Jungkook snoring again exceptionally loudly. 

Tentatively, Yoongi reaches out with his hand, wiping with his knuckle under Jungkook’s eye: he wants to wipe away his dark bags, he wants to take his tiredness and all of the exhausting dreams away and only leave the happiness of achieved ones for him. But when his shaking knuckle, trembling from the closeness to Jungkook, finishes its route at Jungkook’s temple, his skin is still the same. Still filled with the bruises under his eyes.

Yoongi presses his forehead against the sofa. Jungkook’s unnerved breath is hitting his the top of his beanie. Yoongi counts to seven, then rolls onto his cheek. They’re barely inches away now. Yoongi can count his eyelashes, his moles, all of his black dots, all the acne scars that he can’t usually see from afar, but first and foremost he feels hit and swayed by the tiredness radiating from him.

How does Yoongi take this weight away from him? How can he ease the load for him?

“What do I do with you, Jeon Jungkook?” Yoongi brushes a stray hair away from his face. And he knows it’s fucking stupid, but he still whispers, his chest hurting. “When will you stop working so fucking hard?”

His answer is Jungkook’s puff in his dream. Yoongi smiles.

He wants to touch him. He wants to make himself small enough to fit between the sofa’s back and Jungkook’s body, and hug him, soak in all of his tiredness into himself. He wants to crawl a hole through his bones and get inside and live there.

It’s not love that can be explained with words anymore.

So Yoongi carefully pushes himself up from the sofa. He doesn’t have a blanket nor a spare hoodie here to cover him with, but his jacket is fluffy and warm so he hopes it’ll make up for it. He drapes it over Jungkook’s shoulders.

Me

where are you?

Kim Namjoon

In the studio. Why?

Yoongi switches off the light. He’s almost out when Jungkook’s voice reaches him.

“Until it’s enough. Until it makes up.”

At first, Yoongi can’t really understand what he means, from how quiet and muffled his voice is. He’s probably just talking in his sleep, but Yoongi’s eyes widen nevertheless as he realises that Jungkook is talking about working.

“Makes up for what? Jungkook, you realise that it’ll never be enough, right?”

But Jungkook is already asleep. Or at least he pretends so.

Yoongi closes the door as quietly as he can. Namjoon’s studio is barely some steps away from his, just round the corner and here you are, and Yoongi doesn’t have the proper time to understand the meaning behind Jungkook’s words.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

The door to Namjoon’s studio is already open.

“Hey,” Yoongi says as he slips in. He closes the door, this time properly.

“Hey,” Namjoon whispers, pressing his index finger against his lips. He points with his head to the corner of the studio.

There, Taehyung and Jimin are asleep on the sofa. Taehyung is sitting up, his head uncomfortably thrown over the neck of the sofa—it’ll ache for the rest of the day once he wakes up. Jimin is curled up on the cushion, his head resting on Taehyung’s lap. Taehyung’s fingers are lost in his hair, like before they both fell asleep—or, rather, were knocked out—he was stroking Jimin’s hair.

God, Yoongi thinks, do these kids have no home to sleep?

Are the walls really that thin? Or is it the comfort that these studios bring that the dorms can’t provide? That’s the question.

Yoongi and Namjoon come out of the studio. They are in the corridor, somewhere in the middle of love, of eighty-eight keys of the piano.

Namjoon is in his glasses, eyes red. He must’ve been working non-stop for some time. He is writing something these days, something for himself, but it’s not easy for him to open up about the things he’s working on unless they’re done.

Namjoon takes his glasses off, rubbing his temples tiredly. Yoongi is so tired of the word ‘tired’, he’s sick of it; he wants to tear it off all the dictionaries, wants to make this word disappear so the people he loves never know what it means, what it feels like. Never know that it feels like neverending concert in your head, Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

“What’s up?” Namjoon says.

Yoongi doesn’t know how to ask for it.

So he asks it the only way he can. Straightforwardly.

“What if we wrote the second album for the 9795?”

And Namjoon looks at him so sadly, so sadly gentle, so sadly sympathetic, as if he knows all the reasons behind Yoongi’s actions and words. “Why do you want to do that, hyung?”

“Because—” and Yoongi is suddenly breathless and hoarse. He pushes through because that’s what he’s always done. “Because I hate to see them like this. I hate to see them being overworked like that. From what Taehyung told me, to write their second album, they work with the producers and songwriters, explaining what kind of songs they want, what they feel like, but us—you and Hobi and I—we know who the 9795 are. We know what to write for them. How to write for them. And I just thought that taking charge of their second album would take at least a little weight off their shoulders.”

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

“You know what Seokjin-hyung told me when we met up the other day?” And without waiting for Yoongi’s reply, without allowing Yoongi to ask why Seokjin would even meet up with Namjoon in the first place, Namjoon says, “The reason why the 9795 were called rookies of the year is because it was us who produced their first album. We as Cypher put everything into it. It was like ‘What if Cypher could sing?’ kind of album. And Seokjin-hyung said it sounded beautiful. And it really did. You know it, don’t you?”

The first album of the 9795, Integrity, was the most beautiful thing Yoongi has ever composed, had the most beautiful lyrics he’s ever written. Namjoon and Hoseok went over and beyond their usual writing styles for it, too. All of them were so inspired by the budding trainees and who they were, these kids; they were so pained by who they used to be.

Jungkook running away from his hometown without ever looking back. Taehyung carrying the weight of his childhood room horrors—what it heard, what it didn’t hear. Jimin’s addiction, the lifestyle of someone who was always the cool one, the one who didn’t have to work hard until it was all he ever knew.

“But we never knew their actual feelings, hyung,” Namjoon says, and just like this, the illusion is broken.

Yoongi didn’t write their first album solely for the 9795, despite the lies he had been feeding himself all this time. Neither did Hoseok or Namjoon.

Integrity, according to its name, was written honestly. It was based on a lot of Jimin’s and Taehyung’s lyrics and melodies, but it had always been theirs. Cypher’s.

They wrote about the long-gone but never-forgotten fear of stepping into your twenties. Yoongi wrote how it felt to get on that train to go chase your dream, out of breath and scared and excited about the new life. Hoseok wrote how some words you hear in your childhood bedroom stick with you and then never fade, like most scars don’t fade away. Namjoon wrote about the pills exchanged during his high school years, falling in with the wrong crowd, enjoying it, and then suffering the consequences. 

Love for Jungkook made Yoongi feel young; he felt like a nineteen-year-old just learning how to love, to live, and to operate in this world, so he wrote it—he wrote it all out for the album.

“It wasn't the 9795's album, it was ours. They made it theirs as they started to perform and add their own adlibs and personality into the songs.”

So what, Yoongi thinks? So fucking what?

Even if Namjoon is right, what can stop them from doing it again? Apart from the chants in Yoongi’s head? The ones that he will fucking fight over and choke down if that’s what’s needed for him to be able to write for the 9795 again?

“Besides, the second album is almost finished,” Namjoon says. “They already have all the needed photoshoots scheduled and ready to go. All their clothes are measured and sent to be made. Most of the songs are already mixed and approved.”

Yoongi swallows. Hard. He takes a step back, his shoulders sagging. He’s late. He’s too late. Yeri told him from the start that this was what he should have been done, but he is late.

“And how does it sound?” Yoongi asks, defeated. “The second album? Do you know anything about it?”

Namjoon purses his lips. “It sounds…I don’t know. It sounds fine. It’s just an album. Just a regular album.”

Yoongi knows what it means. The 9795 were too unique, too good, the industry and the crowd won’t forgive them for coming up with something generic. They need them to either be at the same level or even higher with this, not mediocre.

It’ll break the 9795. They won’t be able to bear this. They’re too young. They’ve been climbing to the top of this mountain of fame so meticulously hard; this company can’t just do this to them.

“Were the guys really not allowed to work on it?” Yoongi asks. That’s all he really needs to know.

Namjoon frowns. “They were allowed. But they asked for the company’s producers to work on it anyway.”

“Taehyung told me that the company said their songs were too immature.”

“Yeah, so, as I understand, the guys decided to play it safe and just go with the company’s flow.”

“But why didn’t they ask us to write for them? ”

“Hyung…” Namjoon says carefully, in a voice that Yoongi hates because it confirms that Yoongi’s broken, that Yoongi needs special treatment. “They may not want to be dependent on us all the time... They may want to do something on their own, too. They have a right to make their own choices, their own decisions. Their own mistakes.”

And as Namjoon says it, Yoongi realises that what Jungkook meant was, Nobody forced us to work hard. We chose to.

It’s around 5 a.m. when Yoongi comes back to his studio.

Jungkook is sitting up on the sofa, trying to blink out the sleep from his eyes. He looks lost and so sad. So tired. The jacket Yoongi has left like a blanket for him is now properly worn, and he wraps himself into it, almost as if hugging himself.

The sigh that leaves Jungkook sounds too close to something more desperate, like a dry cry.

“Hey,” Yoongi says, announcing his presence.

Jungkook starts, as if he didn’t hear Yoongi come in. In the blink of an eye, his back straightens, his facial expression under control. Yoongi knows how it is: it’s the face you make when you’re in front of the camera and you have to act perfect. You have to perform a certain act.

Jungkook starts gathering his belongings.

“Won’t you stay?” Yoongi asks. He reaches out the cup of iced Americano to Jungkook. “I brought you coffee.”

After the disaster of the conversation, he and Namjoon went to a convenience store. Yoongi treated them both to this absolutely disgusting yet working magically iced coffee, and thought that bringing one back to Jungkook would be nice. Like a gift of reconciliation. 

Jungkook looks at the iced Americano in Yoongi’s hand in disbelief. “Really, Min Yoongi?”

Min Yoongi hurts even worse than hyung.

“Nevermind. They must be done. I’ll just go.”

And Yoongi wants to ask him to stay. There must be a reason he came to Yoongi, right? Must be a reason behind his lying?

“Okay,” Yoongi says softly. He wants him to stay, but he also doesn’t want to hold him back. Never did.

It seems like the wrong answer, or like an answer misunderstood. Something flashes in Jungkook’s eyes, but it’s too quick to disappear, too quick to catch.

“Fine. Fucking great.”

Jungkook pushes himself off the sofa and knocks his shoulder into Yoongi’s as he passes him to get to the door. The coffee splashes around Yoongi’s fingers.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

An afterthought: he took Yoongi's jacket with him.

Love that’s gathered roughly under your fingertips
Yet you always touch gently
Me, you always touch me gently

 

— ‘Take ?? easy’ is a song of contrasts: the way it starts sounds dark and seductive, and yet it grows into something softer, something gentler. Like a person who appears so tough on the outside, but when they touch you, it’s featherlight, as if they know their strength and are afraid to hurt you.

 

It happens at 4 a.m., Sunday night.

Yoongi is trying to work on one of his tracks when the voices come back. He winces—Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!—and feels weirdly salty at the chants. He just needed another ten minutes of silence.

He doesn’t ask for much, does he? He lets them do whatever they want. But in return, couldn’t he get some alone time at 4 a.m. on Sunday night?

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Fuck. Today, they come with an unbearable type of headache.

Yoongi looks at the shelf on his right, bottom drawer. He has some leftover pills there. His grandpa therapist asks him to alternate to the green tea, but… It only works when the headache is manageable.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! KimNamjoonJungHoseok MinYoongiCypher!

The names start to glue together. Ever since the military, they’ve been more organised: always as if marching to the rhythm. But now—

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoon—

Yoongi shifts his gaze back to the computer screen. He takes off his baseball cap and rubs a soothing circle into his forehead. Maybe he should just go home. He could try falling asleep there.

But he knows that at home it will only get worse. As soon as he were to leave the studio, the emptiness inside of him would grow in size, and the chants would take up all the space. They would grow and grow in him until eventually he’d blow up like a balloon, exploding with the chants like fireworks.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon  Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongi—

Yoongi opens the browser. Types: the 9795. It comes with a surprise of his hands shaking, the keyboard clacking anxiously under his fingertips. Weird.

Yoongi clicks on the first link. The song plays. He reclines in his swivel chair, looking up at the ceiling. He blinks and just waits for it because that’s what the 9795’s music usually does. It stops the chants. And the headaches. And the whole world, to be honest.

It’s their most popular song, the one that’s playing in Yoongi’s headphones. The one Yoongi thinks they’re tired of performing already, and yet they always do it perfectly, like it’s their first recital at the company’s evaluation and they must do everything brilliantly.

KimNamjoonCypherJungHoseokCypherMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoonJungHoseok Min Yoongi —

The song ends.

The chants are still here.

Yoongi clicks to play the next. He closes his eyes and tries not to think. Just like the yoga he does with the grandpa therapist, these ten minutes of stillness and letting everything go at the end of each session.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim NamjoonJungHoseok MinYoongiCypher! KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher! KimNamjoon  JungHoseokMinYoongiCypher—

Yoongi doesn’t register the song ending. The chants are so much louder than the song. For the next one, he tries to bring the volume up only to realise his computer is already warning him about damaging his hearing.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim NamjoonJungHoseok MinYoongi Cypher! KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher! KimNamjoon  Jung Hoseok! Cypher! Cypher!

Suddenly, it hurts. Not the music that blares in Yoongi’s headphones; Yoongi can’t even hear it.

The chants do. They hurt.

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!

The chants don’t hurt like a headache does. A headache is heavy and foggy and made of hot metal somewhere in his skull, but it’s a familiar kind of pain; it’s the one that can be healed by Yoongi's grandma seaweed soup and the swipe of her cold hand against Yoongi’s forehead.

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!

The chants hurt unfamiliarly. They hurt in a way nothing has ever hurt Yoongi before—not like his shoulder as he fell off the delivery bike, not like his grumbling stomach as he starved himself, not like his whining muscles after as he practised the choreography for hours on the dead end.

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!

The chants hurt like there’s someone using saucepans instead of drums in his head; they hurt like there’s someone who turned the volume up in his head from five to one hundred and it echoes and screeches and screams and deafens.

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher! KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!

This kind of pain, the one Yoongi has never truly encountered before, makes him curl into himself. He keeps his head low, trying to shelter himself somehow from the world, but it doesn’t help. It only hurts. Everything around him does. Everything in him does. This echoing void in his chest.

He’s been so good at pushing the chants away lately. Why are they suddenly all over him? Why are they suddenly trying to destroy him?

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

It just hurts and hurts and hurts. It hurts and hurts and hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It just hurts.

Yoongi wants to endure it. Yoongi wants to overcome it like he overcame all the unbearable things in his life.

All the times his parents chose Geunwoo over him. All the times loving boys brought him nicknames, weird glances, and mean laughter. All the times he was told his music was insignificant and boringly ordinary. All the times he woke up at the military base and had to go about his day again. All the times he woke up in his cold empty apartment and felt disoriented, felt like he had nowhere to go. 

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjooJungHoseokMinYoongiKim!NamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypherCypherCypher!

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

KimNamjoonJungHoseokCypherMinYoongiKimNamjoonCypher!Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

The thing about the 9795’s music stopping the chants is not true. Not entirely, at least. The 9795 do stop the chants.

But first and foremost, it’s Jungkook. Jungkook’s voice is the one that always stops them. The chants have always been respectful of Jungkook, since day one, since the first second he sang in this goddamn studio, his voice of an angel. They shut up and trembled and listened to Jungkook. They still do.

So Yoongi does what he does.

He grabs his phone and calls Jungkook.

And Jungkook, of course, doesn’t answer. Yoongi waits for the call to be answered but it just ends when the wait becomes too long. The beeps are mockingly loud.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

He takes a harsh breath in. He tries to call again.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Again.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

And again.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

The seventh time, the call ends so abruptly. Yoongi realises that Jungkook just hung up on him.

Because he fucking hates Yoongi. Yoongi imagines him in his dorms, in bed; someone keeps calling him, but he doesn’t hear it at first. When he finally wakes up and sees Yoongi’s name as the caller’s ID, he hangs up with no hesitation and goes back to sleep peacefully.

Yoongi doesn’t blame Jungkook because he deserves it. After all he’s done, this is exactly how he is supposed to be treated.

But, dear god. The chants.

He’ll die. He’ll go crazy. His ears will bleed. He’ll explode and won’t be able to pick himself up.

He gets out of his studio. He feels drunk and high—unlike Jungkook, he knows what it’s like—and a little bit too alive. Dead men do not hurt like he does. Dead men do not hear the voices in their heads.

Yoongi tries Namjoon’s studio. Locked. He must be home. He tries Hoseok’s studio. Locked, too.

Of course, who in their right mind would be in the company at 4 a.m., Sunday?

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Only the 9795. Yoongi hopes that Jimin might be here. Or Taehyung. They could… They could do something.

The lounge room is empty. The whole building seems to die out. The only place some living sound is coming from with the exception of KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher! blaring through his head turns out to be the doorway of the practice room. And Yoongi suddenly finds himself in the situation that had happened before, it’s just that the chants don’t stop this time.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

It’s Jungkook, and he’s dancing. Yoongi is by the door watching him. The music must have stopped—Yoongi can’t really hear anything except the chants—and Jungkook has gone still now, too, his chest heavily rising and falling. He looks angry but Yoongi isn’t sure if it’s himself or the world he’s angry at.

Their eyes meet in the mirror. For a second—just for a second—it’s finally quiet and it doesn’t hurt.

And then, a crushing wave, in a doubled amount, Yoongi’s heart squeezed in his chest,

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjooJungHoseokMinYoongiKim!NamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypherCypherCypher!

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

KimNamjoonJungHoseokCypherMinYoongiKimNamjoonCypher!Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

And Yoongi is breathless; he’s suffocating; the voices are everywhere. They’re in his lungs, in his throat, he’s afraid he’ll speak and throw up with them. They’re in his ribcage, trying to break free, trying to escape him, trying to blow him up.

Jungkook’s lips make a thin line. “Min Yoongi. I thought you must’ve gotten the idea from my deliberately hanging up on your calls that I am not in the mood to talk to you.”

Yoongi respects his choice. He does. He doesn’t want to bother him. He wants to walk away.

He squeezes his eyes and sees a concert venue too familiar, a microphone in his hand, a good thousand of faceless people in the audience. They scream for him.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Yoongi wants to walk away and leave Jungkook alone and let himself be and maybe it’ll stop, everything in him will, this cycle of hurt, this cycle of letting go of his dreams, he should exit the stage, he should leave the chants behind, but all he does is—

“Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi whispers, taking one small step forward, catching himself by the wall. One single hot tear spills from his eye. Even this hurts, and he can’t bring himself to wipe it away. His whole body aches, crying with him; this pain was not made to endure for bodies too human like his.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

The facade falls off Jungkook’s face. A second ago, he was red from the dancing, and now he’s pale, he’s so pale.

“Is everything…okay?” he asks, voice strained.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! “They hurt so fucking much.” Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Jungkook takes a striding step towards Yoongi. “What is it? What hurts? Min Yoongi?”

“The chants, Jungkook, the chants, they—” Yoongi’s sob doesn’t even make it to the end.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Yoongi squats, unable to bear his own weight anymore. He clutches his head, trying to protect it from exploding, and cries.

He cries of stars, he cries of chants, he cries because he’s tired, because it seems to never get easier, life doesn’t. He’s anxious, disappointed, scared. He’s a failure, he’s the son who was never meant to be here, he’s not a real singer. His name was so easy to forget and he doesn’t want it, he wants people to remember him. He doesn’t want to leave the stage but he can’t stay either, so what does he do? What does he do now? Life feels stuck to him, life feels like there’s nothing to look forward to but pain, but the chants, but Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

After him, Jungkook falls to his knees. His hands push Yoongi’s hair away from his forehead, cradling his face. He looks collected, but Yoongi knows from his shaking hands that he’s panicked, too.

“The chants?” Jungkook asks. “What is it? Where does it hurt? Are you hurt? Show me.”

Yoongi looks at him and feels breathless, feels like this crying will consume him and leave nothing of him, the chants will. He wants to tell him that they’re everywhere, they’re everywhere, but can’t form a sentence.

“I—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, just tell me how to help and I’ll do it—”

Yoongi chokes on his crying and it’s scary, too, he can’t fucking breathe. “No, I, Jungkook—”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here—”

Yoongi shakes his head, cries harder, wants to disappear. Jungkook’s thumbs brush away his tears and Yoongi thinks he might be crying, too.

It’s loud, it’s so loud; Yoongi doesn’t think that it’ll ever stop, and even if it will, the chants will now just echo forever in him, they’ll make him go deaf. Yoongi shakes uncontrollably, his hands trying to shield his head or maybe what he does is just tearing his hair out at this point. As if when he gets rid of his short hair, the chants will be pulled out of him, too.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Jungkook tries to stop Yoongi from harming himself, guiding Yoongi’s hands away from his head repeatedly. He holds them tightly in his, and Yoongi struggles against him.

“Leave it,” Yoongi sobs. “Leave it, it’s too loud, I can’t, I can’t.”

“I can't let go of your hands, you're gonna hurt yourself,” Jungkook whispers brokenly. “Just tell me what I should do.”

“Make them go away.”

Jungkook’s hands cover his ears.

The world goes quiet.

It’ll quiet down one day
The concert venues unfilled, no chants
There’ll be just me, and you, and silence

— I often wonder: if I knew that the 9795 would end their raucous electric guitar rock of ‘**##%%;!!’ with a soft, faded out acoustic strumming, would I still go numb as I did? I can’t seem to find the answer. But every time I listen to it, I still shiver at the end.

What a message. What a song. What an album.

“Yoongi-hyung!” the voice travels all across the restaurant alongside the arm reaching up into the air. “We’re here!”

Normally, this action would earn a bunch of displeased glares. But it’s New Year’s eve and everyone in this nice restaurant, one of the many in Seoul, is happy and in love with the whole world, even if for one night only, so they let it be.

Still, Yoongi lowers his head so as not to draw any more attention to his figure, wrapping himself deeper into his coat as he goes through the restaurant’s hall to get to the table where everyone is already waiting for him.

“Sorry. Traffic,” he breathes out, sitting down in the spare chair. He’s brought cold wind from the outside with him, on his coat, and now he feels too hot in the stuffy room of the restaurant. He struggles out of his outerwear. Yoongi hastily tries to fix his hair into something appropriate—he stopped wearing the beanies and baseball caps to hide it.

Partially it's because after Jungkook saw him so broken, Yoongi doesn't think he can be embarrassed about anything anymore. Partially, it's also because his hair has finally grown into the appropriate length. Yoongi went to get the haircut, and now he looks... okay. Normal. Like no chants are playing in his head on repeat, like a broken record.

"Did I miss much?” Yoongi asks.

“Not at all, hyung,” Namjoon says. He’s on Yoongi’s right. They shake hands. Next to him sits this one girl he’s been seeing for a while—they’re on and off, and Yoongi kind of dislikes her for that. He gives her a nod, she gives him a smile so short there’s no way she doesn’t know why Yoongi dislikes her.

Hoseok is on the opposite side of the table. Yoongi shakes his hand, too.

He saw Hoseok and Namjoon some weeks ago, and now they avoid looking at each other.

They got together in a restaurant not so different from this one. They ordered the most expensive items on the menu and lots of wine and just sat there for the whole evening and talked about how life has been going for them recently.

But the conversation only got honest enough when they stumbled out of that restaurant and went to some dubious bar at the corner of the street with soju glasses that were not washed properly and plastic chairs so flimsy that Namjoon actually broke one when he tried to move it over closer to the table. The meat there tasted so much better and flavourful than the steak they had ordered on their first stop.

“I feel so fucking lost,” Namjoon confessed, drunk and red and with no filter. “Hyung, I want you to know that I don’t feel angry. Or remorseful. Or anything. It would happen one way or another. And I want you to know that your health always comes to me first. But it happened sooner than I expected. I don’t have any backup plans. I’m trying to come up with something, but I only feel lost.”

“I know, Namjoon-ah. Me too. Me too,”  Yoongi said.

“RM of Cypher was invincible. He was so fucking cool, honestly. But I’m not sure Kim Namjoon is of any worth.”

“Of course he is,” Hoseok battled him. “He’s my best friend, so I know what I’m talking about.”

Yoongi crossed his arms over his chest and made sure to look away when he said, “I miss it. I miss the stage so much. I even miss dancing, can you believe it?” 

They cried so much, like kids usually do, that the owner ahjumma felt called to give them a discount.

Next to Hoseok sit Taehyung and Jimin.

Taehyung is the one who called Yoongi to the table, and he was the one to organise this New Year’s Eve monstrosity. Yoongi has no idea why they are gathered like this, in this weird company, but here they are. On their call earlier, Taehyung said something about his birthday not being celebrated properly, something about feeling lonely.

Yoongi didn’t know how to tell him that he never liked winter holidays because Christmas and New Year had always made him feel so lonely, too. Even when he was around family, even when he was around his friends he wanted to see, even when he was surrounded by a crowd of people in Times Square, he always felt so, so fucking lonely.

So he agreed to come. And now here he is.

Jimin refuses to meet Yoongi’s eyes.

On Yoongi’s left sits Yeri.

This time, it’s Yoongi who avoids looking. He has a text from her unanswered in his messaging app.

Kim Yeri

It’s a new year in a week. Have you decided?

The other day, as Yoongi and his grandpa therapist were taking a walk in the park, Yoongi confessed to him that he didn’t know it was morally right of him to file a lawsuit against his own boss.

“He never treated me the wrong way,” Yoongi said. “Is it really my battle to pick up? And the guys… They work hard, sure, but… It’s their choice to work at this pace. When I was an idol like them, I worked the same way. I wanted to.”

“Did you, really?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi said, surprised that he meant it. “Besides, I don’t feel like the guys need my guidance anymore. They’re all grown-up. They know what they’re doing.”

“You’re all grown-up too, and yet you're still looking for answers in me,” the grandpa therapist said. “Nobody knows what they’re doing. You, however, should go into this cold-hearted.”

“I can’t go into this cold-hearted. Because it concerns people I love.”

“Well, then go into this warm-hearted.” The grandpa therapist shrugged. “Be a decent human being. Told you nobody knows what they’re doing. We’re all just trying to get by.”

“You’re not really helping, you know that?”

The grandpa therapist just continued to stroll as if he didn’t hear Yoongi. He does this often—ignoring Yoongi at the times convenient for him. It had annoyed Yoongi at first when he was just getting to know the grandpa, but now it makes Yoongi smile and his heart warm.

Still, he hasn’t decided whether to go into this decision cold or warm-hearted, so he has been postponing it. And now he’s forced to sit next to the person he has been hiding away from.

The two chairs next to Jimin are empty. Yoongi means to ask who else is going to join them besides Jungkook. Jinsoo, maybe? But then he hears someone laughing, his heart giving a heavy thud, and looks up at where the sound is travelling from and sees them. Jungkook and the guy—the man—next to him.

Yoongi doesn’t know if it’s his ex or if it’s someone new. It doesn’t really matter to him. But that explains why Jimin would avoid looking at Yoongi.

Seems like he has known. From the beginning. And maybe none at this table know about Yoongi’s feelings for Jungkook, but surely there are at least two who know about Jungkook’s feelings for Yoongi. What they used to be, what they are now, still. And these two know that this is a fucking bad idea.

Especially with the way the guy looks. The way he speaks. The way he breathes. Yoongi had been wondering who he was, this human who got the songs from Jungkook, who got to kiss and  leave all the bites on Jungkook’s skin, who got all the I love yous from Jungkook mumbled into the phone speaker sleepily in the mornings as Jungkook prepared for a long day with his schedule packed. Yoongi had been dying to know and at the same time wished to never meet him.

“Youngjae. Kim Youngjae.” The guy introduces himself to the group.

And as Yoongi mutters, shaking his hand, “Min Yoongi.” He’s not jealous.  Not at all.

He’s heartbroken.

He’s not heartbroken because of Jungkook, his relationship. He’s heartbroken for Jungkook.

What did you do, Jeon Jungkook? Yoongi keeps thinking. Why’d you go to such lengths?

Youngjae looks like Yoongi, eyes small, sharp, face round with a surprising thin jawline. His voice is deep like Yoongi’s, too, his laughter breathy. He likes whiskey and orders it both for himself and Jungkook. Jungkook sits for half of the dinner with his face sour each time he takes a sip from his glass, well until Yoongi pretends he’s tired of his beer and wants something stronger. Jungkook lights up immediately and suggests they change their drinks.

“You like whiskey?” Youngjae asks as Yoongi exchanges glasses with Jungkook and takes a sip of it.

It feels good. In his throat. In his stomach. In his brain. So warm. Fuzzy. Feels like home.

“I tolerate it,” Yoongi smiles cheekily. He hasn’t drunk anything strong for a while—it reminds him of the days when he kept swallowing the pills and washing them down with alcohol.

His grandpa therapist would be against it. But what’s done is done.

The dinner goes well, surprisingly. Everyone from the company has known each other for years already, there are so many moments existing only for them, in their memory, and it’s been a while since all of them last got together like that.

The last time Yoongi ate out with Hoseok and Namjoon like this, they cried, but now all three of them are crying with laughter as they tell the table the story that happened to Namjoon at one of their tours.

“There’s no way his foot got stuck in the toilet,” Jungkook frowns.

Yeri winks at him. “Oh, but it did.”

“No fucking way,” Jungkook repeats, eyes wide with mischief in them.

Yeri seems to relax, too. She keeps sipping her wine and laughing and smiling and Yoongi can’t help but to smile at her, too. She’s been so in her own head recently, trying to catch her father slipping control. She needed this. A reminder that there are more things in life than trying to punish your father for his mistakes with you.

The 9795 end up telling their embarrassing stories from the tour and other times they've travelled to other countries to film or perform. All the times Jungkook cried when he sang a note not high enough. All the times they got lost in foreign cities as they would go out of their hotels to grab something to eat without their manager’s supervision.

“I almost got on a train to the Netherlands… We were in Stockholm,” Taehyung says.

Jimin waves him off. “Not that bad. One time I ate street food in London and was almost shitting myself twenty minutes prior to the concert. Remember, that festival?”

“Oh, K-wave something—”

God, Yoongi thinks as he snaps back at some moment, reclining in his seat, observing their table from afar. How happy everyone looks as they clink their glasses and cheer for more good moments to come. Is it so hard for all days to be like this?

Even with Youngjae being a cargo, he’s charismatic enough to flow into the conversations the rest of the group holds easily. This is where his similarities with Yoongi’s draw a line.

Yoongi feels heavy all the time, and Youngjae is so much fucking lighter than him in everything he does.

He laughs easier than Yoongi. Smiles easier than Yoongi. Touches Jungkook with the ease Yoongi has never known. Yoongi’s fingers trembled when he brushed Jungkook’s stray hair from his eyes as he slept; Youngjae keeps his hand on Jungkook’s knee assertively and heavily, only pulling away when the waitress or some other stranger passes by their table.

Namjoon's situationship finishes the dinner early. Because that's what she does; she always leaves. Yoongi scowls at her, her weird attitude that he can't find a reasoning to. Namjoon pats his thigh in a reassuring gesture. It's okay, he mouths.

Is it, really?

But after she's left, it's as if some sort of weight has been taken off. Or it's just that there's an even number of people now. And after realising their little group consists of the lovers, the soulmates, the friends since birth, and the best friends, they decide to play the game that determines how well they know each other. Just to shake things up a little—they have been getting a little tired and sleepy from the drinks.

Soulmates—Jimin and Taehyung—are in the lead. Second place is shared by the friends since birth—Yeri and Yoongi—and the best friends—Hoseok and Namjoon. The lovers are failing the game completely and utterly, hanging only by a thread thanks to Jungkook’s observant nature.

Yoongi can see him getting irritated. Not because Youngjae doesn’t know a single damn thing about him. But because Jungkook just hates losing.

By the way, this is exactly why Monopoly is his least favourite game in this whole world, and Youngjae should have at least known that. But instead, he says a completely random game that Yoongi doubts Jungkook even knows the name of.

Yoongi scoffs, shaking his head disapprovingly. A mistake on his part.

Forgive him, he’s drunk and he can allow himself to be a little heartbroken not just for Jungkook but for himself, too, and petty.

Youngjae gets defensive. “Yoongi-ssi, what’s so funny? You think you know anything about Jungkook? You’re just his producer.”

Jimin sits up straighter. Taehyung stops fiddling around. Jungkook looks everywhere else but at Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t know just anything about Jungkook. He knows everything. He gathered Jungkook piece by piece: some pieces Jungkook handed to Yoongi himself, opening up in their late dinner sessions, some pieces Yoongi collected through his singing, some pieces Yoongi spent months on searching and polishing. He put the pieces of who Jungkook is into a mosaic, all colours jumbled up.

The mosaic of Jungkook is the most beautiful one Yoongi has ever seen.

“His favourite meal is samgyeopsal,” Yoongi says. “He’s a lightweight and doesn’t like strong alcohol. He has a sweet tooth. His favourite juice is grape-flavoured. His favourite artist is IU.  He’s a dog person and he wants to have a dog someday. A doberman. His mom got him into karate when he was seven and he has a brown belt. The first time he performed was in the second grade, in elementary school. The scar on his cheek is from when the neighbourhood kid hit him accidentally with the swing. His least favourite game is Monopoly, and his favourite ice cream flavour is chocolate, and…”

He could say more. Could talk that Jungkook wants to get a sleeve tattoo one day and had already started saving up the money for that. Could say that Jungkook ran away from Busan, just like Yoongi ran away from Daegu; and their only main difference is that Jungkook doesn’t seem to look back while all Yoongi does is turn over his shoulder to check on everyone he’s running away from.

He could say more but he doesn’t, hating the surprised faces of everyone that cling to him.

Yoongi starts gathering his things. He knows that he talked enough already. He talked way too much.

“Bravo,” Youngjae claps his hands three times. “Now you’re just being a creep.”

Good for him Yoongi doesn’t like violence, or he’d have a fist in his face already.

“Go fuck yourself,” Yoongi spits, standing up. He glares at Jungkook. “Get yourself a better boyfriend.”

“Jungkook begged me to let you come because he said you were lonely,” Youngjae says. His voice is so mocking, and Yoongi thinks, since when did you organise this? “You were invited because nobody fucking cares about you, Yoongi-ssi.”

Yoongi recoils. Again this word, lonely.

The table explodes.

“Shut the hell up, you asshole!”

“Jungkook, don’t let him say these things about Yoongi!”

“You must’ve been mistaken,” Yeri says quite peacefully. “In here, you’re the one nobody cares about.”

“Yoongi is the best person in this world!”

Namjoon and Hoseok sit back, their jaws gritted. Yoongi knows that if they were to do something right now to defend Yoongi, that action would end up with them getting thrown out and Youngjae in the hospital.

Still, Namjoon sends Yoongi an evaluating glance. Yoongi shakes his head.

Jungkook sits with his arms crossed, eyes closed. When his eyes open, he finds Yoongi’s figure.

Reflected in his eyes, Yoongi sees: Do you want me to lie?

“Jungkook, say something,” says Taehyung, already by Yoongi’s side.

Yoongi squeezes his elbow. “It’s okay. I’ll just leave.”

But before he leaves, he needs the restroom. To splash some water on his face. To not feel like he’s just been chewed on and spit out.

A creep. Yes, that’s what you call people who carry love for boys they’ve known since they were twenty. People who know everything about others’ boyfriends while said boyfriends know nothing.

Yoongi stops the waitress in the hall, asking her where the restroom is. She explains to him patiently—he doesn’t deserve such kindness—and even walks him to the corner he needs to round to make it to the bathroom.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Yoongi is surprised at how deep into the restaurant they’ve put the restroom: it’s at the end of the long corridor, the atmosphere heavy, with yellow lights dimmed, and some weird pictures as if from the Joseon period put up on the walls.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Yoongi marches past them.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok—

“Min Yoongi.”

Hands on his shoulders turn him around, and the next thing he knows, Jeon Jungkook has cupped his face and leaned down. It happens so quickly and unexpectedly that Yoongi himself is surprised that by the time Jungkook’s lips touch his, he has already closed his eyes and breathed out in relief, welcoming him.

Their lips lock together easily.

Yoongi missed this. Missed him. Missed his mouth, this feeling the way he lays his love on Yoongi, missed the way he all but strives with his soul to him. Only got it once and still missed it endlessly, missed it like humans are not supposed to miss anything in this life, longed for it, yearned for it.

The first time Jungkook kissed him, the kiss ended up being inexperiencedly sweet, inexperiencedly eager. This time the kiss carries all the lovers Jungkook had, carries his character; it’s lustful. With tongue—Jungkook pushes, and Yoongi lets him, parts his mouth, and lets him. He presses himself even closer to Yoongi, impossibly closer, his hands brushing Yoongi's hair behind. 

It’s Jungkook’s second time kissing Yoongi, and all Yoongi can think about is that Jungkook, unlike everyone else, always kisses Yoongi as if it’s going to be his last time doing so. And it really could be.

“Hyung?”

“Yeah?” Broken, his voice is so broken, just like the rest of him is.

“To the restroom.”

“What?”

“To the restroom.”

And without giving Yoongi time to register what he means, Jungkook opens the door behind himself blindly and drags Yoongi in.

The restroom is just one spacious room, with a toilet, a plant, again a weird picture from the Joseon period hung up on the wall, and a sink, all bathed in soft yellow lighting. Perfect to keep secrets, perfect to cheat on your partners, perfect to explore each other’s mouths in the gloom of it.

It’s awkward only for a second as the realisation settles on them like mould. Like dust settled on all the things Yoongi left behind when he went to complete his military service.

Are they really going to do it?

And as Yoongi takes Jungkook’s face in his hands gently, his thumbs stroking just under Jungkook’s eyes, he knows that yes, they really are going to do it.

Jungkook’s mouth parts slightly, suggestively, and Yoongi knows that he’s waiting for him. Waiting for Yoongi to kiss him first. His eyes are closed, he’s ready, he’s wanting.

Yoongi holds his breath and leans in and kisses him. Kisses him on his eyelids, his nose, his chin. Jungkook breathes out audibly, having not expected such delicacy after a kiss so passionate in the corridor, and this is the moment Yoongi chooses to lock their lips again.

It’s tender and breathy, then wet, turning sloppy. Yoongi licks into him: he tastes like Yoongi’s boyhood. Bad decisions. Fucking up and trying to do over, do better, and then fucking up again.

Yoongi kisses him gently, he doesn’t know how to treat him any other way. Three years later, Jungkook is still an ivory that Yoongi is afraid to break, afraid to touch, and even afraid to breathe next to. Jungkook’s fingers curl on his shoulders, squeeze him softly.

“Hyung,” Jungkook moans quietly, right into his mouth.

Yoongi never hoped to hear such sounds from Jungkook, but now that he has, he’s afraid he won’t be able to get rid of them. They’ll ring forever right next to the chants, they’ll settle in his bones and make a home out of his body.

In the middle of their mouths sliding together, Yoongi recalls the song Jungkook wrote. Remembers the line about rough hands sneaking under a shirt. And even though Yoongi is scared shitless about touching Jungkook’s bare skin, he also wonders and wants. He wants so much.

Carefully, Yoongi sneaks his hands under Jungkook’s pullover, skimming over his flesh. Jungkook moans again, arches into the touch, and pulls Yoongi even  closer. Yoongi’s fingertips count his ribs, going up, then press into his shoulder blade, counting the bones on his spine, going down.

They’ve never been so close to each other. It’s a new territory, a new feeling, and Yoongi wants to remember it because, for sure, it won’t happen ever again. He wants to take note of every detail. How smooth Jungkook’s skin is, how warm, how responsive he is, clinging back onto Yoongi.

“One more, please,” Jungkook asks, his voice wrecked, low. His lips are all red and glossy, and it takes Yoongi a second to refocus and realise that as he busied himself with exploring Jungkook’s body, he forgot to kiss Jungkook back.

“So polite.” Yoongi smiles and kisses him again, imprinting his grin onto Jungkook’s mouth. He’s not fully here, drunk on whiskey and high on the feeling of Jungkook breaking just under his fingertips. He becomes even more brazen—that’s what alcohol usually does to him—and squeezes Jungkook’s waist.

“More, more, more,” Jungkook whispers, pinning Yoongi to the sink. He pushes Yoongi’s coat off his shoulders. He kisses Yoongi back, first briefly, then suddenly sweetly and deeply. “More, hyung.” 

His hand goes under Yoongi’s sweater, too, skimming his stomach, softly exploring, almost shyly, and Yoongi breaks apart a little, too, right here. His weak, low moans make Jungkook smile, as if proud of himself for being able to draw out these sounds from Yoongi. He once again slots their mouths together, and Yoongi once again lets him; they cannot get enough of each other. 

“Jungkook?” comes the voice from behind the door.

Jungkook’s smile falls. His hand drops away from Yoongi.

“Shit,” he curses quietly. “The door—”

Yoongi leans over and locks it. If the restroom getting locked only after he has announced his presence surprises Youngjae, he doesn’t express it verbally.

Yoongi guides Jungkook back to himself, his thumb on Jungkook’s chin. “Don’t think about him.”

The thing he said about jealousy?

Forget it. He is jealous. He’s so fucking jealous—he’s always been. Of every hickey he’s seen, of every “I love you” he’s heard that wasn’t addressed to him, of every picture that Jungkook took in the greenroom and sent not to him. Selfishly so, he’s been jealous. He’s been dying from it.

He’s been so jealous, but how the tables have turned. Youngjae is outside and Yoongi is now the one who’s with Jungkook in this forsaken restroom. The one whose mouth leaves the wet path of kisses on Jungkook’s jawline.

“Hated it today when you were smiling at noona,” Jungkook says. “Always hate it so fucking much. Want you only to smile at me.”

Yoongi wipes with his thumb at Jungkook’s hickey. It’s some days old, almost faded. He doesn’t need to say anything about this: he just smiled at his friend, and Jungkook brought a boyfriend, or a lover, or a fucker, whatever he is, to the dinner.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Jungkook says. He says it assertively, but Yoongi hears his voice shaking at the edges. Like he’s afraid Yoongi is going to leave him because of this.

Yoongi looks up from the hickey—he hates it, God, he hates to see it so much—to lock eyes with Jungkook.

He’s drunk and heartbroken and out of his mind when he says, “Prove it.”

Jungkook blinks at him. They stand in a deafening silence, so close to each other, chests rising and falling, aroused, breathing fucked up. Starting over is like this: Jungkook leaves a featherlight kiss on Yoongi’s temple, lower on the cheek, lower on the jaw, lower on the neck. Sucks on his skin, just a little, nibbling. Yoongi’s skin breaks so easily. Just as he does as he groans again, this time louder.

“I’ll suck you off, okay?” Jungkook whispers. He’s so fucking warm, so fucking good.

“Yeah,” Yoongi whispers, eyes closed, mind elsewhere. “Yeah, okay—”

Jungkook gets on his knees.

When his fingers start working on the button of Yoongi’s jeans, Yoongi opens his eyes.

Jungkook is looking up at him. His eyes are filled with lust, arousal. Yoongi’s not sure he’s any better.

Jungkook doesn’t look away as he tugs on the zipper. Yoongi lets his heart skip a beat. He lets himself get lost in this. Just for a second. Just to learn how good it can feel.

He gets his hand on Jungkook’s hair, stroking it.

Jungkook is a tease, he’s going slowly. Another second passes. Yoongi imagines tugging him closer; imagines all the unholy things they can do in here and get away with it easily. And Yoongi wants all of them so badly. But he knows that the fact that they can doesn’t mean that they should.

“Stand up.”

Jungkook frowns. “Huh?”

Yoongi pulls him up, his hand firm on Jungkook’s elbow. “Stand up, Jungkook, come on.”

Fuck, what the hell are they doing? How did they get here? Why was Jungkook about to suck Yoongi off in this damn bathroom as his boyfriend is standing right outside?

What does Jungkook do to Yoongi that Yoongi loses himself when he’s with him?

Yoongi tugs his zipper back, buttons his jeans, fixes them into something more appropriate. When he sees the reflection of himself and Jungkook in the mirror, he’s unsure how to fix them into something more appropriate. Eyes red, hair mussed up, the desire thick.

Jungkook stands, confused, and hurt, his arms sagging helplessly.

“Why? It was…going well, wasn’t it? Did I do something wrong?”

And how does Yoongi tell him that he was fucking perfect, that he was a dream come true as Yoongi watched him kneel, as he kissed Yoongi as if Yoongi was something precious to him, something important?

“We really shouldn’t,” Yoongi says, looking away. He leans back on the sink, his palms pressing into the cold marble.

A pregnant pause follows. Then, the realisation downs on Jungkook, and he takes a step back, almost bristling. Now, that’s a familiar sight.

“Are you serious right now?”

Yoongi tries to be the voice of reason. “You don’t want to cheat on your boyfriend—”

“I don’t fucking care about him and he clearly doesn’t care about me either—”

“We’re in the bathroom of a goddamn restaurant, Jungkook—”

Jungkook throws his hands up exasperatedly. “God, okay, let’s go to the hotel, then. You call the taxi while I tell Youngjae that I’m ending things with him.” His voice is getting louder with each word. “Is this all that is needed for me to be with you? Or is there something more I should do?”

“You know it’s not that easy,” Yoongi says quietly. He looks down at his sneakers, blinking.

What did he get himself into? Why can’t he just keep his distance from Jungkook? When will he stop hurting him? Why does his blue, blue soul keep wanting to be with him?

Jungkooks narrows his eyes at him. “Are you fucking this guy? The one that was next to you at the bar?”

Just from the absurdity of it, Yoongi’s head snaps up. His mouth hangs open. “Do you mean…Kim Seokjin?”

“I have no idea what his fucking name is. Are you fucking him?”

Yoongi sobers up, suddenly annoyed, too. “I don’t fuck anyone, Jungkook, what the hell?”

“Then why do you keep pushing me away on this? Am I not your type? I don’t ask you to date me anymore, I don’t ask us to be together, I don’t ask for any of the shit I used to dream about. But we’re clearly into each other and one night never hurt anyone—”

“It hurt a lot of times, actually. And it will hurt you. If we spend one night together, it will hurt you, and I don’t want it for you, Jungkook, don’t you get it? Somebody has to make this decision.”

“What is not fair is you making a decision for both of us,” Jungkook spits. “I’m not a kid anymore. You don’t have to patronise me. I can make my own decisions, too. So even if I get hurt, at least it was my deliberate choice.”

“You deserve better than this,” Yoongi says.  

He thinks he sounds stern. Sending his point across. But at his phrase, Jungkook’s eyes get so sad. His expression softens. He takes a step forward, his hand reaching out to touch Yoongi, to soothe him.

“Is it about that night?” he asks softly. Yoongi wants to ask him which night he means because they have shared so many of them that he lost count. “About the chants?”

Yoongi turns away, avoiding his touch.

They haven’t spoken since that night. Yoongi avoided Jungkook, embarrassed and ashamed. Well until this dinner that Taehyung organised. Hoseok had told him Jungkook tried to see him, but Yoongi, knowing Jungkook would want to do it, didn’t dare to step into the company’s building for the two weeks.

“Talk to me,” Jungkook says. “How can I do anything for you if you don’t share your burden with me?”

Yoongi sighs. “You don’t have to do anything for me, Jungkook.”

“But I want to. I want to be here for you, like you are always here for me. I want to take care of you. The chants? We can fix it. I know we can. If you let me… I'll think of something.”

Yoongi turns back around. In Jungkook’s eyes, there’s hope gleaming.

Not today, Yoongi thinks. Not tonight. Not ever, he reminds himself.

“Let me go, then,” Yoongi says. “If you care for me as you say you do, you will let me go, Jeon Jungkook.”

Watching Jungkook's hope get crushed is heartbreaking. His eyes growing distant. Again this distance when they're only a few steps away from each other.

“Fine,” Jungkook breathes out. He unlocks the door, slamming it wide open. “Go! Leave! Just fucking leave again! It’s a pity you can’t enlist for the second time, huh?”

If Youngjae is surprised at seeing the door open, exposing Jungkook as he glares at Yoongi’s retreating back disapprovingly, he doesn’t show it.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Outside the restaurant, Yeri is waiting for him. She cocks her head in the direction of some alley. Yoongi nods. As they get there, she looks around, then pulls the cigarette pack from her bag.

She offers him a cigarette. Yoongi politely declines. She shrugs.

Her lighter shrieks. Yoongi watches her bony fingers curling around it to keep the fire alight.

“So, Jeon Jungkook? The one that’s everywhere?”

Yoongi smirks. “Took you long enough.”

The first puff comes out. The second-hand smoke gets into Yoongi’s lungs. It’s worse like this; cigarettes only feel good when you’re the one who’s smoking.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

“Despite what you might believe, I can never tell what you’re thinking about,” Yeri says. The cigarette keeps smouldering in her fingers. “You never say nor show what you’re feeling. So I never know what you’re going through.”

It’s news to Yoongi. He always feels weak. Always feels too emotional. Always feels like he’s going through life naked, like a bare wire of hurt and fear and love. There’s so much of it in him that he doesn’t know how his body manages to keep it all inside without exploding.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

“That’s why you agreed to help out the 9795? Because of Jungkook?”

“No,” Yoongi says. “I agreed because I wanted to be the support system for them.”

But they don’t need him anymore, he doesn’t say.

Yeri takes another puff of the cigarette. “So I went through accounting…”

“No,” Yoongi says. “No. I’ve decided. I’m out.”

“Let me finish.”

Yoongi’s mouth snaps shut. He looks down at his sneakers, a scolded child, too big for the man’s body he’s in.

“I went through accounting. The 9795 are being underpaid significantly.  Haven’t you noticed how their hard work doesn’t equal to the amount of money they’re getting into their pockets?”

He should get mad at this. In the back of his mind, he knows that he should.

But he doesn’t.

“To be frank, it’s how life works,” Yoongi shrugs. “They’re fine with the way things are. They’re fine with their second album, too. If they wanted, they would work on it.”

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

“My father wouldn’t let them even if they wanted to. You know it. You fucking know it. If he lets them write their own songs, why didn’t he allow them to do it this time?!”

“Yeri,” Yoongi says, his hands on her shoulders. He looks her in the eyes. “The game’s over. Okay?”

Yeri swallows. She opens her mouth but no sound comes out. Yoongi’s hands fall off her shoulders. His index finger gets burned on her cigarette, but he doesn’t really feel it. After the night with the chants, after he just saw Jungkook letting him go, he doesn’t think anything will ever be able to hurt him again.

He turns and walks away from the alley, back to the street, pushing his hands down his pockets.

“You promised to help me!” Yeri yells, voice found again.

Yoongi freezes.

“I didn’t promise a single damn thing,” he says, pointing his index finger at Yeri. “I told you I’d look into it, and I did. Guess what? They don’t need us to save them. They can make their own decisions. We should stop patronising them.”

Yeri doesn’t say anything. Her lip quivers, but she doesn’t cry. Yoongi breathes out shakily and walks away. He hails a cab. He goes home.

Out of all the New Years Yoongi has had—and he has had twenty-six of them—this is so far his loneliest one.

Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher!

Or maybe not. The chants are with him, after all.

***

Yoongi is passing the corridor to go to the elevators when he catches the ends of phrases coming from the lounge room.

“Your album—”

It’s a familiar voice. It’s the voice that Yoongi welcomes. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, considering this voice is the one that constantly speaks out on music, and the 9795 released their second album just a week ago.

Yoongi stops. He considers just going about his day, but he can’t help eavesdropping a little. He walks closer to the lounge room, opening the door quietly. Nobody really notices him coming in. He lets his shoulder rest against the door frame, crossing his arms.

“Your album, it’s… How do I put it into words? It doesn’t really embrace you, let’s say.”

Taehyung is burning a hole through the floor, his gaze down, hands clenched tightly on his knees. Like a scolded child. Yoongi has never really seen him like this.

Jimin is staring right at the interviewer. He looks angry.

“Do you guys even know what you’re singing about?” Kim Seokjin asks. Yoongi can tell he’s trying to ask it gently. But he fails. Of course he does. These guys are not used to being criticised. They're used to being praised, to sweeping nominations, to being rookies of the year, rookies of this generation, even.

“We do,” Jimin says. Even years after, he’s still their bravest one. “It’s not hard to sing about love.”

“Love for some girl’s thin wrists?” Seokjin smiles crookedly. “Walking her home after school like a lost puppy? Jimin-ssi, as far as I know, you never even finished high school and failed your CSAT.”

Jungkook’s face is just blank. Not hurt, not mad—nothing.

Fine, Yoongi can be hurt and mad instead of him. For him.

The 9795’s second album sales were their lowest. Their fans tried to hype it up but didn’t succeed. All these ugly articles came out. Yoongi had seen all the headlines about their second comeback but couldn’t bring himself to read any of them. He was afraid that this dark clot in his chest, every time his eyes would catch on words  like 'mediocre' or 'fail', would consume him completely and utterly.

But moreover, he’s mad at Kim Woojin. He’s mad that he allowed the 9795 to think that their songs were too immature. He’s mad that he didn’t even consider asking Cypher to write the album for the 9795 again. He’s mad that Yeri turned out to be right. He’s mad at her for letting him walk away on that day.

Most of all, he’s mad at himself. He’s crazy with this pain because he knows he’s the one responsible for it. He’s the one who let it happen. He knew about it and deliberately walked away from it. No one owns him to stop him from making his wrong decisions.

He failed in his idol career. He failed in being the support system his juniors needed. Is he of any worth at all? Or is he just sick with the flu called Chronic Failure?

“Seokjin-ssi,” Yoongi clears his throat, announcing his presence.

Seokjin’s head whips around to the sound of Yoongi’s voice. A smile—his genuine happy one—blooms on his face. “Yoongi-yah!”

“Seokjin-ssi,” Yoongi repeats. “I think you should leave.”

They sit in silence, unmoving, as Seokjin gathers his things. Yoongi doesn't look up when Seokjin squeezes by him at the doorway. He knows that this time what he did was the right thing, but it still hurts. He’ll have to call him later and apologise for this.

“He’s right,” Jungkook says. “Kim Seokjin. He’s right.”

“Yeah,” Jimin says grimly. “Yeah, he is.”

Taehyung stays silent but Yoongi knows it’s only because he agrees and doesn’t have anything to add.

“What do you guys mean?” Yoongi asks. For him, Seokjin was wrong for bashing them like he did in the first place.

Jungkook looks at him as if it’s his first time noticing Yoongi in the room. “We have to write our own songs. For real this time.”

And Taehyung clicks his tongue, pushes off his knees, and rises up to his feet quickly. “Let’s go, then. Let’s get to work.” He grabs Jungkook and Jimin’s wrists, tugging them up from their seats. “Chop chop, c’mon.”

The last phrase makes everyone smile and scoff in amusement. It’s a sad kind of amusement, however, like a funny story told about a person whose funeral you’re attending.

All of them have such a determined look on their faces, and Yoongi keeps marvelling at them. They just finished a tour some months ago. They have practices piling up, meet-and-greets, interviews… And still, they want to work more.

Dreams, did you always mean to be so destructive? Yoongi thinks as he looks at them, overworked and underpaid and wanting to work harder anyway.

One by one, they pass Yoongi in the doorframe. He has pressed himself into it, letting them step out. That’s right, they’re not the kids who need his supervision.  He has taught them everything he knows about making music. He knows they’ll do it. They will write something absolutely phenomenal.

Their only obstacle is that nobody will let them release it. And even though they don’t need Yoongi’s mentorship, they still need his support. They need someone to lean on. That’s what Yeri was talking about, Yoongi realises it now. It was supposed to be this company, was supposed to be Kim Woojin, but instead it’s falling on the shoulders of twentysomethings that barely know what they are doing themselves.

Jungkook is the last one to leave. But when he comes up to the door and Yoongi pushes himself even deeper into the door frame, he stalls a little. His eyes lock with Yoongi’s, and there’s still so much love stored in them that Yoongi isn’t sure he deserves any.

“If you think that coming to our rescue will make me less mad at you, you’re wrong," Jungkook says.

Liar. Yoongi sees it in his eyes. Yoongi knows all of him, he can read him like an open book. He’s grateful. And Yoongi is relieved he could’ve been of help to him.

But he didn’t do it because he wanted to make Jungkook less mad at him. He did it because he could see them hurting. And as the support system he is, his only response was to protect.

He was supposed to do it earlier. But he’s too late. Again. As always.

“So you don’t even care?” Jungkook says. “Me being mad at you? You don’t care?”

“You know I’m not like that.”

And what Yoongi means is, I care too much. I care too much, which is why I wouldn’t use dirty methods to make you less mad at me.

Jungkook’s chest rises and falls angrily. Yoongi can’t bear to look at him anymore, afraid he’ll do something stupid like maybe start begging Jungkook to forgive him. So Yoongi gives his nod of goodbye and picks up the pace in the direction of his studio.

He’s only halfway across the corridor when Jungkook’s voice reaches him.

“Fine!” Jungkook yells. Yoongi’s heart stops. “Fine, okay? I admit it, I’m grateful you didn’t date me when I was younger! I’m fucking thankful, okay? I’m thankful you were worried about not corrupting me or whatever! But I’m older now! And have been in relationships!”

Yoongi whips around.

Jungkook startles as their gazes meet, losing momentum in his speech. Just a second of him getting his breath stuck in his throat before he continues.

“It’s been three years! You told me it was going to go away! Then why do I still love you so fucking much?!”

He sounds…tired. Of his love for Yoongi. He sounds exhausted from it.

Yoongi buries his face in his hands. “Dear God, Jungkook,” he murmurs, rubbing his eyelids, his forehead. “You’re only twenty-three, what do you even know about love?”

“Not much, I admit it! But what I know is that my love for you clings to me! I avoided you, and I tried to be angry at you, but even after you rejected me yet again, it still refuses to leave me! Because I love you! Is that so hard to believe?”

It’s not. It’s not hard to believe at all. It’s just—

“Can you stop shouting about it in the corridor? Do you want everyone to know?”

“Why do you worry about that so much? Who fucking cares?”

Yoongi was patient. He had been enduring Jungkook rolling his eyes at him and Jungkook treating him like a piece of shit. He had been enduring Jungkook touching him too gently to be true and Jungkook shouting at his face.

But it’s only now that he snaps.

“Because everyone fucking does!” Yoongi throws his hands up. “Everyone watches your every fucking move, Jungkook, don’t you realise who you are?”

After the 9795’s failure with the second album, they got even more attention from journalists. Their every step is reported in the articles. The other day, Yoongi saw the photos of Taehyung in a convenience store. And bashing, bashing, bashing, they always find how to criticize them.

“If you’re so fucking fearless,” Yoongi says, “then why don’t you go tell the whole world that you’re in love with your senior failure of a producer?”

Jungkook flinches like he’s just been slapped. His eyes get so sad.

Yoongi expects him to say that Yoongi is not a failure. To reassure him. To soothe him.

But instead, Jungkook’s lips set in a thin line. “You know what? Maybe I will.”

***

When he dials the number, he thinks that for what he did and how he behaved, it would be fair if his call wasn’t picked up.

But she picks up the call immediately.

“Yeri.”

“Yoongi? Is everything okay?”

“I’ve changed my mind. Let’s get the 9795 out of this hell. Let’s sue this fucker."

Chapter Text

Now that I’m twenty-six, I feel clueless
What am I even doing?
But you say you don’t think the voices will go away
And all I know is I’ll take care of you
However you are, I’ll take you.

 

— When I was a kid, I thought that once I grew up, I would know everything. I would know what I should be doing, and I would not have regrets. When I was in my late teens, I was sure I had achieved the autonomy my child-self aspired to have. I was sure I knew what I was doing. When I got to my thirties, I realised that it was far from the truth. Actually, I had no idea where I was going, except that I was and that I was going fast. It scared me. How clueless and disoriented I felt.

‘Boyhood’ is so strikingly honest that I ask myself, “Was it really necessary? To bare oneself like this?” But then I think how comforting it is to know that you are not alone. Maybe if we speak more about this… If we gather our fear for the future together, it’ll become courage.

As a song, ‘Boyhood’ is a story told in three acts. The third act is the act of maturity and finding peace within oneself. It is the willingness to commit to a relationship. It is a promise: I will not try to fix you [because you do not need to be fixed] but I will take care of you. I may be young and know so little, but I will, I will, I will.

AS AN INTERNATIONAL PHENOMENON

The TV is on.

“The 9795 work hard for their performance in Seoul after the global success of their third album…”

Yoongi clicks on the remote, switching the channel.

“...their record label, Black Swan, founded by Kim Yeri…”

Yoongi clicks on the remote.

“...nobody believed she would win the case…”

Yoongi clicks on the remote.

“...the album called Behind The Scenes, BTS for short, composed and arranged entirely by the 9795 alone…”

Yoongi clicks on the remote.

“The release of your third album got postponed several times,” the smooth voice of the interviewer goes. “How does it feel to finally have it out?”

The camera switches to Jimin. “Well… I feel relieved, surely, but also I think it is important to understand why the album’s release was delayed.”

The interview is done in the style of a round-table discussion. The camera moves on to the next person.

“In order for us to be able to release an album like that—an album that has our full say in everything…” Taehyung says, slowly, weighing each word, “...we needed to undergo certain circumstances. We hope for your understanding.”

Yoongi’s heart catches in his throat. He knows who’s coming next. His index slips off the remote. The camera shifts.

“I believe all things happen at the right time. Who knows… If we had released the third album earlier, would it still have received as much love as it did?”

Jungkook. In a suit. Hair and makeup highlighting his best features. Shoulders wide, posture perfect. Beautiful.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

“Remind me again… which one of them is yours?” the grandpa therapist’s voice scratches across the living room.

Yoongi quickly turns off the TV.

“None,” he says, pushing off his knees to stand up. He doesn’t meet the grandpa’s eyes, fixing the blanket on the sofa instead. “They’re their own people.”

“I’d expect you to say that all of them are yours.” Sensing that Yoongi doesn’t feel like talking about it, the grandpa’s voice grows even softer. “C’mon now. Dinner’s ready.”

“Okay.”

Yoongi's favourite dishes and a seaweed soup are served for dinner. There are also two pieces of cake in the fridge that they picked up on their way to the grandpa's house.

“Will you stay the night?” the grandpa asks, slurping at the edge of his spoon.

“If you don’t mind.”

The grandpa smiles. Even this action seems so slow in him; everything about him is slow. “I don’t. You’re always welcome here, Yoongi-yah.”

See, this is not how the patient-therapist relationship should go. But this is how it is. And maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. At least once in his life, Yoongi wants to be welcomed somewhere.

“So, about the girl group Yeri asked you to write the album for…”

Yoongi’s phone starts ringing. Yoongi side-eyes it, checking the caller ID.

He sighs. “I have to take it, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Yoongi stands up, moving away from the table. He grabs the phone and walks out to the porch. It’s chilly, but it will do. It’s night already, and the whole neighbourhood is only illuminated by the light coming from the grandpa’s house.

Outside, the voices come back.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi slightly winces at them, massaging his temple.

“Hey,” Yeri says way too happily when Yoongi picks up the call. “Happy birthday, bro!”

It takes everything in Yoongi not to break out into a smile too wide. “Thanks,” he says dryly.

“Twenty-nine, huh?”

“Get this ‘You’re-old’ tone out of your voice. We’re the same age.”

“Well, I am surely not turning twenty-nine until November!” Yeri informs him enthusiastically.

“Technically, you’ve turned this age on the New Year.”

“Technically, we’re now using the international age system in Korea. So, no. I’m not twenty-nine well until November 14. Live with it.”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi rolls his eyes, scoffing into the speaker. Yeri replies with a childish kind of laughter, the warmest kind of it, right into his ear. Yoongi kicks the porch lightly with his heel. The conversation doesn’t seem to end, but there’s nothing to be said anymore. Not on his part, at least.

“I wanted to surprise you with good news,” Yeri says. Her voice has turned much softer now. “On your birthday. That’s why I called.”

Yoongi relaxes. “Okay,” he says, voice softened, too. “Let’s hear it.”

Three missed beats of his heart follow with the dramatic pause from Yeri’s side.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“We’re moving into the new building.”

Everything in Yoongi drops. “What?”

Yeri mistakes his lack of response for enthusiasm. “Right?! How exciting is that?! This building is going to be much bigger and brighter. You’ll have a new studio, too. You know our old building can’t really accommodate everyone in our team now nor our artists…”

A new studio? For him? But—

“What…?” Yoongi whispers.

His phone dings with a new notification. Right into his ear, next to the chants, Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Yoongi pulls the phone from his ear, Yeri’s voice quieting down. At the top of the screen, a new message.

The 9795 Kim Taehyung

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HYUNGNIM!

From Jimin: happy birthday you dork, love you love you love you

And right after this,

The 9795 Jeon Jungkook

happy birthday, hyung :)

Missing the old me
Don’t, just don’t
It’s so not worth it
What’s the point of missing something/someone that’s gone?

 

—‘Take ?? easy’, for me is a song about confusion (as the two question marks in the title imply) and contradictions. It asks questions like: Who are you to me now? Who am I to you now? It’s the song that says, “Do not miss me,” but it sounds longing; the song that tells you, “Live without regrets,” but sings about them.

“I’ll miss the studio.”

Yoongi turns around.

He’s on his knees, on the floor, packing the wires and cables away into the box. Now that the TV screen, desk, and sofa are gone, the studio appears strangely spacious, in a way it has never before.

In the doorway stands Jungkook. He’s leaning his temple against the doorjamb.

He looks beautiful. Handsome.

Yoongi looks away, a heavy breath stuck in his chest, unable to leave him. It’s like this every time he’s with Jungkook.

Yoongi looks around the place. This studio witnessed Yoongi falling in love with Jungkook: gradually, then all at once. These walls heard Jungkook’s first I love you to Yoongi. It’s the place Jungkook had always come to when he needed rest.

It’s the place that holds all of Yoongi’s dreams. How is he supposed to let go of it?

“I’ll miss it, too,” Yoongi says, and it’s the truth. It’s the goddamn truth, but it doesn’t feel like the word ‘miss’ is enough to describe what Yoongi is going through. How does he put this feeling of weird emptiness and fear in his chest into words?

It feels a little like leaving your childhood room behind. Like something that once was essential to your life is being taken away from you. Yoongi thought he had grown used to this feeling in the past three years, but it seems like every time it happens it still hurts all the same.

That’s what happened in these three years: Yeri and Yoongi carefully went through ABC Entertainment’s documents, finding proof that the label wasn’t able to provide a suitable work condition. With Kim Seokjin’s help, Yoongi found a lawyer. Yeri filed a lawsuit. The world went crazy.

They won. It wasn’t hard to.

It only took one year and millions of tears spilled; Yeri yelling at her father in the privacy of his office, Kim Woojin trying to talk sense into her. It only took the 9795 anxiously calling Yoongi up almost every night; Hyung, are you sure about this? When will we be able to make music again? And Yoongi repeatedly reassuring them that of course he is sure, he and Yeri are making it for the 9795’s sake, and promising them that soon, soon, soon… Even though he had no idea when. Even though he had no idea if what he was doing was the right thing.

But they won. That’s all that matters, right?

Yeri and her father don’t talk anymore. But he let her have the building, so for most employees, it was as if nothing changed. The ABC Entertainment sign at the front entrance was switched to Black Swan Records. A small renovation was made inside the building. The producers that had left Kim Woojin came back. Life was going on.

Life is going on, and that’s why everyone in the company is in this moving hectic mode, packing and running around with carton boxes as they try to make it before the deadline strikes.

“Does hyung need help?” Jungkook asks. Soft steps forward follow his question.

To answer his question, no. No, Yoongi doesn’t need anyone’s help. He had to shush away Yeri and Hoseok away the other time they tried to help him pack. He wants to do it himself. He has to.

But this studio is not just about him. At least, not anymore. Hasn’t been for the past five years.

It’s about him and Jungkook.

“Help would be appreciated,” Yoongi says. “Can you get everything off the shelf into that box?” He points first at the shelf, then at the box.

Jungkook smiles. His teeth are whiter than they used to be, more even, but his smile is just as beautiful as it’s always been. “Sure.” He’s so soft-spoken, Jungkook is, has always been; how did he even manage to get all those harsh words out of himself three years ago? When all he did was scowl and roll his eyes at Yoongi?

Jungkook gets on his knees next to the shelf. He drags the carton box Yoongi has pointed at closer to himself, and starts slowly, carefully working through decluttering the shelf. Yoongi comes back to wrapping the wires and cables away.

The quiet accompanies them as they work.

Once, Yoongi looks up from his box only to see Jungkook inspecting some of Yoongi’s things curiously: his figurines and some lost Polaroid photos he has found at the back of the drawer. His fingers caress everything so gently. Like Yoongi’s past is made out of glass for him.

But Jungkook never asks anything about what interests him in Yoongi’s dusty, behind-the-shelf life, and they just carry on with their work in silence.

Silence is good. Silence is comfortable. Silence is familiar, and yet—something nudges Yoongi to speak up.

“How’s Taehyung?” Yoongi asks. He saw him just yesterday, he knows that Taehyung is well and thriving; there’s no need for him to ask this question.

Jungkook hums. “He’s okay.”

“What about Jimin?”

“He’s well, too.”

“Are you going on tour soon?”

It’s in three weeks, Yoongi’s mind helpfully supplies, because he knows, he knows everything.

“It starts in three weeks,” Jungkook says. “Right after we move into the new building.”

“Are you excited?”

Silence again.

Jungkook looks up from the box he’s been diligently filling up. “Don’t you want to know how I am?”

That’s exactly the question Yoongi has been trying to avoid.

“How are you?” he asks obediently regardless.

Jungkook shakes his head. Yoongi sees the smirk curling at the corners of his lips. It’s such a sad sight.

You see, just like it wasn’t hard to win the case, it wasn’t hard to grow close with Jungkook again, either.

Not in a situation like what they were in. Jungkook needed someone to talk to during and after the case, as everything seemed to fall apart, and Yoongi was there for him.

Jungkook didn’t try to kiss him or confess again. Yoongi didn’t try to make his life miserable again. Jungkook’s love bites were no longer showing up on his neck, and Yoongi didn’t feel jealous enough to do something stupid. They just were. Like they used to be at the beginning of it all, except Jungkook was not a shy kid unable to make a proper conversation with Yoongi anymore, and Yoongi was no longer a kid in an adult body, lost in this world.

So they’re amicable. They’re people who are usually called friends. They go to dinners—sometimes with Taehyung and Jimin, sometimes alone—and when Jungkook gets drunk and starts praising meat again, Yoongi doesn’t think about things as silly as kissing him stupid. Not at all.

Sometimes Yoongi asks Jungkook to make a vocal guide for him. More often than not, he still turns to Bae Ara. But every time he asks, Jungkook never refuses and executes it perfectly.

Sometimes Jungkook is stuck on the lyrics for his song and he asks Yoongi for help. They can spend a whole night just writing, Yoongi at the piano, Jungkook at the sofa.

They are friends.

Except for the times that Jungkook shows up in the doorframe of Yoongi’s studio and at the sight of him Yoongi’s heart catches in his throat. There’s this second where they are not friends. Have never been.

But that moment always ends. And it only comes back around the personal questions, ‘How have you been?’ included.

Jungkook closes the box, grabs the black pencil from where it’s laying near Yoongi’s feet, and writes in big letters: BOTTOM SHELF. He stands up, hands on his hips.

“Anything else?”

Yoongi looks around the studio. “I think I’ll manage the rest.”

“No, no, if you’re not done, let me finish helping you,” Jungkook says. Quickly, he adds, “I don’t have anything else to do anyway.”

Surprised at Jungkook’s words, and how determined he sounds, Yoongi can only shrug weakly. “Well, if you insist…”

Jungkook lights up and nods. Yoongi shows him to the top of the shelf that still has all sorts of junk piled up there and gives him another box to put all of it into.

“But…” Jungkook speaks up, his voice breaking on a single syllable into a whisper.

Yoongi looks up from his own box, the one he’s been taping. “Hm?”

Jungkook’s gaze travels onto his sneakers. “Can hyung treat me to lunch first?’

“Huh?”

Jungkook’s hand scratches the back of his head and then makes a flapping gesture in the air. “Let’s have a break and go get something to eat and then we can come back and do the rest.”

Yoongi smiles. “Aren’t you supposed to be treating me now?”

“But I like it when you treat me,” Jungkook pouts.

“Yeah?” Yoongi asks softly. It comes out so quietly, almost just a breath.

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies in the same way. “Makes me feel normal. Like, you know. All of this crazy stuff isn’t happening. Like I’m still just me.”

“You’re still just you,” Yoongi tells him. He tries to say it lightheartedly, but also with the intention that he means it. He means it all. 

“You know what I mean,” Jungkook says.

Does Yoongi know?

Is there anyone who doesn’t?

While it might seem like nothing has changed, in reality, everything has. Nothing is the same anymore.

The whole world has changed. It used to not know these three boys from South Korea, and now they’re all the world is ever talking about, apart from politics, wars, economics, crises, and ecology. The 9795 made it. Their third album did. The first songs for it were written in the bathrooms of the Seoul Court, in between breaks; composed on the floors of Yoongi and Yeri’s apartments as they rotated turns in taking the 9795 in—the dorms were too expensive to rent; recorded in random rental studios.

So many things have changed. In the meantime, during the lawsuit, Namjoon and Hoseok had enlisted and come back safely from their military service. After the lawsuit, Yeri slowly started scouting new budding trainees and even acquired the already debuted group DREAMERS girls a month ago. That’s why they’re moving out into the new building in the first place: this building has gotten too small for Black Swan Records’ ambitions.

So many things have changed, really. Maybe too many. For example, Jungkook’s arm: as he reaches out his hand for Yoongi to haul him up from the floor and his shirt’s sleeve rolls up, it exposes the arm full of ink. A tattoo sleeve.

Or:

“Alright, we can use a break,” Yoongi muses as he grabs his wallet and phone from the floor. “Where would you like to be treated today, idol-nim?”

“The BBQ restaurant. The one that we used to dine in, remember?”

Yoongi remembers. Yoongi remembers it too well.

He remembers it, and he knows what has happened to it: the A4 paper, ‘FOR RENT’, and nobody interested in it for the past couple of years.

“Eh? It’s been closed for like, forever.”

Jungkook’s voice gains a mischievous, happy undertone. “It’s opened again.”

“After three years?”

“Well,” Jungkook says, battling the smile on his face and failing at it as he rolls on his heels like a little kid. “Seems like somebody finally got the money to make it into something.”

“It’s not a BBQ restaurant anymore,” is the first Yoongi says as they stop in front of the building that used to be their BBQ restaurant.

“It definitely isn’t,” Jungkook agrees enthusiastically. He grins at Yoongi, almost as if to say: Gotcha, huh?

“Literally what are you going to eat in here?” Yoongi grumbles as he holds the door open for Jungkook. “It’s a goddamn coffee shop.” And the pastel one on top of it, everything in this faint mint-purple-yellow-pink palette.

It looks like a study place for the top students of high schools rather than a place for men in office suits to get shitfaced after work. It is so unlike the BBQ restaurant Yoongi remembers: it doesn’t carry the same smell of burned cigarettes and cheap alcohol. It smells very nice inside, actually, like flowers; like spring. Like new beginnings.

Yoongi studies the pastel pink menu on the wall as the girl behind the counter patiently waits for him to make an order. It goes on for too long before Yoongi gives up, and smiles at her ever so politely.

“Sorry. Wait a second.”

“Sure!”

Yoongi comes back to Jungkook. He has chosen a seat at the very back of the shop, bucket hat and a mask barely leaving space for his eyes. He looks up from scrolling his phone when he notices Yoongi hovering near the table.

“There’s just coffee and some pastries,” Yoongi informs him. He taps with his knuckles on the surface. “Nothing nutritious. I don’t like this place.”

“Well, I like it,” Jungkook says. “And I wanted to have a lunch break, not a whole feast.”

“You said you were hungry. I assumed—”

“I want something sweet. And warm. And some bread.”

“Still—”

“I promise, if I’m still hungry after this, you can have delivery sent to the studio. How does it sound?”

Yoongi’s lips make a thin line. “Fine.”

He can’t see it but he thinks Jungkook is once again grinning at him from behind the mask. Yoongi sighs tiredly and returns to the counter. The girl stirs, putting on her customer service smile.

“Ready to make an order now?”

Yoongi nods groggily and then once again spaces out at the menu before he finally decides on his order. The girl, who’s both the cashier and the barista in this pastel-themed cafe, begins to arrange it, all of her motions quick, well-learned. As the 9795’s song comes up on the shop’s playlist, Yoongi notices her dancing a little around her working space to the beat.

Yoongi’s phone chimes.

The 9795 Jeon Jungkook

im bored here

hyunggggggg can you hurry the processsss

Yoongi turns around to glare at Jungkook—only to find Jungkook already looking at him. He has taken off his bucket hat, his hair messy. He quirks his eyebrow at Yoongi.

Yoongi shakes his head at him.

“You didn’t have to wait here,” the girl says as she pushes the tray to Yoongi with two cups of coffee and a plate with a croissant. She is not really looking at Yoongi and rather at Jungkook now. “I could’ve—”

“It’s okay, thank you,” Yoongi interrupts her softly.

She doesn’t fight him.

“Finally,” Jungkook breathes out happily when Yoongi comes back to their table with the tray. His hand reaches out for his cup of coffee.

“No,” Yoongi stops him, plopping down on the chair opposite Jungkook. “No, c’mon, it must still be too hot. You’re gonna burn your mouth.”

“But—”

“Just wait for it. Just a little longer.”

Jungkook makes a face at Yoongi. Still, he lowers the cup.

Yoongi’s phone chimes again. 

The 9795 Park Jimin

wyd

Me

getting coffee with jungkook, why?

The 9795 Park Jimin

Tae was looking for you, said something about the t-shirt?

but now we want some coffee, too

can we interrupt your date or…?

Me

not a date

“Seriously, it upsets me a lot when you pay attention to your phone and not to me,” Jungkook says. His voice doesn’t sound like he means it—rather, it’s just teasing. “What’s so interesting there?”

He doesn’t make a single move to look into Yoongi’s phone, but still, as soon as the words leave him, Yoongi locks it, suddenly burning alight with this…shame. Fear, maybe.

They’ve been doing so well. They don’t need this word—‘date’; they don’t need this implication of what they could have had if not for a thousand reasons of whynots.

“It’s just Jimin,” Yoongi says. “Would you mind if he and Taehyung joined us?”

Jungkook reclines in his seat. For a brief moment, he observes Yoongi from a distance. Then, his features soften and he smiles, shaking his head. “No, of course not.”

He reaches for the plate with the croissant, but his fingers find something else entirely. It’s a piece of paper, ripped in a hurry, with uneven edges. He reads through it, his eyes carefully travelling over the black-inked words.

Yoongi doesn’t know what’s written on that paper. But the way Jungkook’s eyes light up with something incredibly warm as he looks up from the paper to the counter is enough for him. As Yoongi watches Jungkook waving and smiling at the girl the way he never truly smiled at Yoongi, he knows what the gleam in Jungkook’s eyes means.

Love, it’s love. A very different kind of it. But—love, nevertheless.

Sincere, unlike all of you hypocrites
Naive but not stupid
Always chose love over rationality
Read all the articles you wrote about me
Bet it’s fun to be a writer these days
One day at the bottom, the next one on top
Thank you anyways by the way,
For your words have inspired Black Swan

 

— What I personally absolutely loved about ‘Sincerely, me’ is the rap intermission in the otherwise gentle, almost sentimental song. The rap part from Jungkook, a bow from  RM (who was credited as a songwriter, as was mentioned earlier), and the rough words from a boy we watched rising from the dead. Undoubtedly, the lyrics refer to the backlash the 9795 and their former company faced after the release of their second album. Everyone was watching their every move back then, waiting for them to slip again. But the 9795 didn’t slip. They learned from their mistakes and produced their first real hit, the one that brought them right to the stars—their third album, BTS.

Who knows, if their second album hadn’t received so much negativity, would the 9795 still have left their former company and transferred over to Black Swan Records?

 

“Hey.”

It’s Jungkook. He’s once again resting his temple against the doorframe, arms folded. He’s looking around the studio. Yoongi’s studio. A new one. They’ve moved in just a few days ago, and it still feels weird, being here— almost wrong.

This new building is gigantic. It’s a skyscraper in the busy centre of Seoul. The first time Yoongi saw it, he had to tilt his head backward, trying to make sense of a building this tall. He thought to himself, How will our small company fill it in?

Turns out, easily. Easier than everything else in this world.

And it’s scary. Scarier than Yoongi could have ever imagined. He did dream of making it big; dreamed of big cars, big houses, and big rings. But somehow, this just feels like he’s reaping something he didn’t plant. Something he didn’t deserve.

Even the new studio, once Yoongi has filled it up with the furniture and the equipment from the previous one, just appears cheap. Yoongi had paid quite a lot of money for all of his working equipment, but it doesn’t suit the new studio. Everything that belongs to him doesn’t fit into this life. Yoongi doesn’t.

“Hey,” Yoongi replies, unsure what brings Jungkook by. He rises from his previous position—busy with installing the table. His back makes a nasty, awkward, joint-clicking sound, and he groans a little. He wipes at his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Hey,” says Jungkook again, and it’s a bit silly, but Yoongi doesn’t say anything about this. Jungkook looks around the studio. “Just wanted to see how you’re settling in.”

“Ah.”

Jungkook sounds so mature like this. He’s now checking up on Yoongi. He’s now seeing how people are settling in. It’s weird and unfamiliar, but not unpleasant.

Jungkook pushes himself off the doorframe, walks in further. He checks up on the walls. He makes big striding steps along the room almost as if he’s counting them.

He glances at Yoongi, for just a second, then back to observing the room. “You like it? The studio?”

Yoongi blinks at him, confused. “I mean, yeah?” There’s nothing to be disliked. It’s his own space to create things, and it’s enough for him. Yeri could’ve kicked him out—he hadn’t produced a decent song since the 9795’s first album, but here he is. With his own studio. Settling in. Still going, after all.

“Is it big enough for you?” Jungkook asks, almost absentmindedly as he looks over the ceiling. When he looks back down at Yoongi, he’s frowning. “It is bigger than your previous one, right?”

Yoongi blinks at him again. “It’s fucking enormous, Jungkook-ah.”

Jungkook smiles. He looks like a pleased cat. “That’s great.”

And this is the moment Yoongi recalls that it was Jungkook’s shyly proposed idea to move into the new building. It was Jungkook who brought it up during one of the status meetings—which Yoongi wouldn’t even be attending, by the way, if not for the fact that he and Jungkook are seated right next to each other in these.

Dear god, Yoongi realises.

This Black Swan building exists only because of Jungkook.

It exists only because once, an idol Suga told a twenty-year-old trainee Jungkook that his studio felt too small, felt suffocating. And a rookie idol in love with his senior producer, Yoongi, worked hard until he could make it happen. Until a global phenomenon, Jeon Jungkook could harvest what he had sowed.

Just so a man with no name could have a studio big enough.

So Yoongi gapes at Jungkook. He gapes and gapes and gapes, his chest suddenly torn apart, heart hammering. And Jungkook doesn’t know about it, he’s just looking around the room, checking on the walls closely. He doesn’t know that he both breaks Yoongi’s heart and fixes it at the same time; he doesn’t know that he’s the kindest, most forgiving soul Yoongi has ever met.

“Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi starts without knowing where this word will take him. To what kind of a sentence?

At hearing his own name come from Yoongi, Jungkook turns around. His expression softens. “Hyung-ah?” he says, only slightly cheekily.

“I—” Yoongi says, all of the words stuck in his throat.

“Do you like it? Your new studio?” Jungkook interrupts him, not allowing him to go on.

And Yoongi thinks that maybe his words of gratitude are not needed. Thinks that Jungkook knows all of them anyway.

Yoongi releases a heavy breath, feeling so much lighter. “Yes,” he says. “I love it.”

“That’s good,” Jungkook says, voice warm, so warm Yoongi feels hot from it, cheeks burning. He looks away, his hand scratching at his nape shyly.

For a moment, silence hangs between them.

Their silence is always full of all the accusations they have shouted at each other’s faces.

I hate you, Min Yoongi!

Don’t you realise who you are?

Leave!

If you’re so fucking fearless—

Just fucking leave again!

Why don’t you go tell the whole world about it?

The fact that they moved on from it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. It’s still there. All of it. Their history is heavy and full of ups and downs. This pretence that they are such good friends is nice, of course. Sometimes it almost feels real.

Everyone watches your every fucking move!

You told me it was going to go away!

Stand up, Jungkook, come on.

Then why do I

still

love

you

so

fucking

much?

But it’s not real. It’s not true. It’s fake.

They have hurt each other and never apologised for it. Never talked about it. Just let it live and grow inside of them. Who knows for how long they can keep this act up?

But for today, they can. They swallow the hurt, the grudge, the regret, and pretend like there hasn’t ever been any love confession. The restaurant’s restroom did not exist, nor did the wandering fingers on skin soft and warm under rough hands. What exists is only a superstar and the producer who believed in him from the start. What exists is a rookie idol who wasn’t allowed to release his own songs and his senior who opened his arms and let him cry on his shoulder during the lawsuit. They exist as two friends who have known each other for five years and have been there for each other through the ups and downs.

“Do you, um,” Yoongi says, gesturing at the desk behind himself. “Would you mind helping me out?”

Jungkook’s mouth hangs. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he looks around himself, a panicked expression on his face. “I really did come just to check. I have a gym session, you know, we’re preparing for the tour, stamina, all that stuff, and I—”

“No,” Yoongi says, “no, don’t sweat it, it’s fine, I just—” I just wanted to spend more time with you.

“But I can totally call someone to help you out if you’re struggling on your own. Actually, I don’t think you should be the one to arrange your studio anyway, it’s like, so much work—”

Yoongi shakes his head. “Jungkook-ah.”

“Yeah, what is Yeri-noona even thinking about it? Ok, wait a sec—”

“Jungkook.”

Jungkook looks up from his phone. “Yes?”

“Let me walk you to the gym.” Yoongi takes one big step toward Jungkook, their gazes locked on each other. Yoongi brings down Jungkook’s hand that’s holding the phone. “Okay?”

Jungkook swallows, hard. “Okay.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

The walk to the gym is short: just to the elevators, sharing soft breaths as the metal box ascends several floors, and they’re there. Yoongi and Jungkook step out of the elevator. They have to say goodbye now.

Yoongi opens his mouth.

“Sunbae!”

The voice is feminine and high. Both Jungkook and Yoongi look to the side: around the corner appears one of the DREAMERS’ girls. Remi.

Jungkook’s ‘sunbae’ always had this certain undertone to it. Started out of Jungkook’s shyness and respect toward Yoongi, and had morphed into a soft intimate callout, a promise. It was their reminder to keep this safe distance between each other. To be on guard and not let it become something more, something that would hurt them.

But Jungkook never calls Yoongi ‘sunbae’ anymore. They have dared to breach the distance and failed, burning themselves on it.

Remi’s ‘sunbae’ is just a word. Is just an honorific.

“Suga-sunbae!” she repeats, waving her hand enthusiastically. She’s smiling; she always is.

She has her hair divided into two messy braids, her face bare, red and glossy from sweat. She’s in her tracksuit—she must’ve been working out earlier. She doesn’t look presentable. Doesn’t look ready for a red carpet, but still, when Yoongi sees her, he can only think of one word.

A stargirl.

She has a certain glow that Yoongi only sees in people like her. In people like Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung.

Remi bows to Jungkook, her bow low, and Jungkook bows back, just as low. No matter how far his fame brings him, he is still just as respectful to others as he has always been.

“We’re recording tomorrow, right?” Remi asks, her attention back on Yoongi.

Yoongi is in charge of the DREAMERS' new album. He’d prefer to have at least Hoseok on it, too—he needs that upbeat, untraditional sound for them; but Hoseok is busy with this one trainee boy group that Yeri wants to debut by next year.

“Depends whether you’ve written anything or not. I shouldn’t be the one doing all the work, eh?”

“I have, I have. Don’t worry, sunbae. Not great, but I’ll make it work.”

“Not great won’t do,” Yoongi clicks his tongue.

“I’ll think of something,” Remi promises. She’s always in her head and Yoongi constantly needs to ground her.

“Text me if you have any trouble, okay? We’ll work it out then. Together.”

Yoongi can feel Jungkook studying his side profile. What does he see, Yoongi wonders? Who does he see? Does he see a failed singer, a producer who’s just trying to get by? Does he see a man he tried to love and failed? Or a senior that was supposed to be his protector yet drastically failed at that?

And why does every word relating to Yoongi comes back to the word ‘fail’?

Remi gets a call from her manager, rapidly bows goodbye, and leaves towards the elevators, going on with her schedule.

Jungkook and Yoongi, they stay.

“How come the 9795 don’t record anything with you anymore?” Jungkook blurts.

It’s such a sudden, out-of-nowhere question.

After what the 9795 did with their BTS album… After their music, solely recorded by themselves, made it to places Yoongi hardly ever imagined going, why would they need someone like Yoongi?

“Jungkook, I mean… You guys have grown as musicians so much. You don’t… You don’t really need me anymore.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows knit in the middle. “That’s not true,” he says, voice sickeningly serious, the way it often gets these days.

Yoongi knows what’s coming out of his mouth next, and he mentally braces himself for it. For the blow it’ll bring. For the amount of ache his heart will have to go through.

“We need you,” Jungkook says. “Jimin and Taehyung need you. I need you.”

Here it is.

Yoongi snorts, his heart crazy, even though he knew; even though he tried and failed at preparing himself for it.

“You don’t look like you believe me,” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, you are…” Yoongi makes a vague gesture in the air because he doesn’t know how to explain what Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung are. He doesn’t think a word that would do them justice exists.

And still, when Jungkook asks, “If we asked you to write another album for us, would you do it?”

Yoongi replies, “In a heartbeat.”

Asking me questions like
Would I do it again?
The answer is easy, so
As it is, take my answer as it is

 

—  Jung Kook wrote and composed ‘Take ?? easy’ all by himself, but we can see the influence his company senior RM has had on his hoobae. When it comes to writing their songs, both artists often turn to wordplay. As a huge Cypher fan, I cannot help but admire the impact they have left on their juniors.

Yoongi is at the grandpa’s house. Again.

He and the grandpa have a routine. It’s a routine so consistent that Yoongi barely shows up at his apartment anymore. He likes it better here: it’s quiet, the chants at the back of his mind just a lullaby. Now that it’s late spring, the grandpa has been planting the first seeds and Yoongi has been helping him out. As Yoongi’s fingers work around the cool, loose soil, he feels grounded. Feels at peace.

This routine started much earlier, three years ago at least, but fully transitioned into what it is now only after the lawsuit. It started when Yeri finally had the means to pay for the 9795’s new dorm and they moved out of Yoongi’s apartment, and Yoongi found it so empty. No longer filled with Jimin’s sticky notes full of his lyrics, Jungkook’s voice as he showered and thought no one could hear him, Taehyung humming melodies as he made breakfast for everyone. Without all of them, Yoongi’s apartment felt so…terrifyingly soulless. Claustrophobic.

So after the lawsuit, after the emptied apartment, Yoongi packed some of his things to crash at the grandpa’s as he often did in the past, every time he felt exhausted from the guilt and the voices in his head. He would always go back to his apartment eventually. But that time he arrived at the grandpa’s and…never truly left. Just plumped down on the sofa in the grandpa’s house and slept well until the fatigue finally left his body. When he woke up, there was bibimbap made and ready for him.

“Stay,” the grandpa said, his hand swiping at Yoongi’s forehead. “Stay another night.”

Funny: Yoongi used to dream about moving out from his parents’ house, only to end up at this stranger’s doorstep begging to be welcomed.

Yoongi felt exhausted from the lawsuit. He had been carrying the weight of worries for both himself and the 9795. Just so the 9795 could sleep peacefully, without this fear of the future. He took it all. Because that’s what being a support system means, right?

The question is: where does the support system put his own burdens down?

“Dinner?” the grandpa asks, slowly moving from the kitchen to the living room where Yoongi is, his feet making a shuffling sound.

“Not hungry,” Yoongi says. “Thank you.”

“You should eat.”

“Not hungry.”

“You should.”

Starving is impossible with him.

“Fine,” Yoongi says, pushing off his knees to stand from the sofa. “I guess I can eat some.”

Yoongi sets the table in the living room. The grandpa brings out the dishes, everything about his motions slow, his hands shaking a little. When Yoongi tries helping him, he bites back with sharp words so that Yoongi plumps back down to the floor obediently.

They watch the 9795 variety show on the TV as they eat. They’re funny, the guys; they have the natural charm of the boys next door. They’re simple, it’s their best trait. They are like any other boy you might meet in your daily life. Watching them just fooling around in some game their filming crew came up with feels good. Refreshing. Feels like you’re just watching them out of your window: here they are, the local rascals, the ones that play football in the neighbourhood playground before school.

The grandpa’s favourite is Jimin, and a smile often crosses his face involuntarily whenever Jimin appears on the screen.

“How come you never brought him home?” the grandpa grumbles, pointing with his chopsticks at the TV screen. “I would love to get to know him.”

“Wow, ahjussi. You’re getting a little ahead of yourself,” Yoongi says. “Just because I’m friends with worldwide stars doesn’t mean I’m going to introduce you to them.”

“At least bring your little one sometime,” the grandpa says. “It’s getting boring here.”

Your little one.

Jungkook.

“I’m not enough for you?” Yoongi raises his eyebrows, choosing to play along rather than dwell on the salt that’s being rubbed into the wound.  His voice is warm, he’s just fooling around.

“You’re more than enough,” the grandpa says immediately, sternly, without allowing Yoongi to doubt his words. “But I’m just saying that it felt good when you brought this one friend home. Namjoonie. He was so polite.”

The other day, Namjoon called Yoongi up. When Namjoon suggested they meet up, Yoongi invited him over to the grandpa’s house, not his. Whether Namjoon was surprised or not, he didn’t show it. He knew Yoongi was close to his grandpa therapist, unprofessionally so; maybe he had known from the beginning that it would always end up like this. The grandpa gave Yoongi and Namjoon space and a living room to talk, and Yoongi felt like a teenage boy that’s finally being treated right.

Maybe that’s what he does, the grandpa. He rewrites Yoongi’s childhood memories, changing his core, his DNA. Gives him the acceptance and understanding that Yoongi had been deprived of as a young boy coming of age. Gives him home.

Yoongi hadn’t had a home for a while. Maybe never. He had run away from his childhood home and had just been wandering around ever since coming to Seoul. First were the dorms that the company rented to them. Then, once Cypher started performing at some gigs and earning solid money, Yoongi bought his first and last apartment. It wasn’t a home either because it should feel good to come back home. But coming back to his apartment just always felt wrong and empty. Except for the times the 9795 were there.

“I wouldn’t be able to bring the 9795 over now anyway. They’re on the tour,” Yoongi says. He picks up the pickled radish from the side dish, munches on it. “Have been for like, a month? I think. A bit more.”

It’s been forty-four days since they’ve left.

“Well,” the grandpa’s hand makes a gesture in the air, “then bring them after they’ve come back!”

Yoongi shakes his head. “They’re busy.”

“They won’t be busy for you.”

Yoongi opens his mouth to argue more, but his phone starts ringing.

Yoongi frowns. Who’d even call him so late? He finds his phone laid abandoned on the sofa, stretching lazily to grab it.

The caller’s ID pushes his heart up his throat. Yoongi slowly slides his finger against the phone’s side, contemplating picking the call up.

“Who is it?” the grandpa asks when the ringing carries on for too long.

Fuck it, Yoongi thinks.

“I’ll take it,” he says, standing up, feeling too big for this living room, with this giant clot inside his chest.

The grandpa waves him off.

Yoongi comes out to the porch. It’s the end of May, it’s hot; he doesn’t even need a jacket thrown over his shoulders to feel comfortable outside. He leans against the fence with his elbows and looks around the grandpa’s yard.

He takes a deep breath in, as if getting ready to jump into a pool of water, then slides his thumb across the screen and brings the phone to his ear.

“I miss you.” 

It’s Jungkook, and he’s crying.

Yoongi doesn’t know what he expected from this call, but it wasn’t this.

“Jungkook?”

“I miss you so fucking much.”

Yoongi sucks in his breath.

“I miss your stupid face, I miss your old studio, I miss my family, but first and foremost I miss you, I miss you, I miss—” The last word gets eaten by the loudest, most heartbreaking sob Yoongi has ever heard.

Just like the family he’s never really had and can’t really miss, Jungkook’s crying makes Yoongi think that it’s not that Jungkook is literally half a world away right now that got him missing Yoongi like this. It’s not the physical distance that has made Jungkook call Yoongi up and bleed his longing into the phone’s speaker. It’s not that.

It’s the way they hadn’t spoken properly in more than a month. Since the 9795 started their tour, to be precise. Yoongi and Jungkook are lousy texters, and Yoongi didn’t want to distract him from enjoying the tour so he hasn’t been calling, either.

So they have just been existing. Apart from each other.

“—you, I miss you, hyung, God, it feels like my heart will give up—”

It hasn’t been easy. Existing like this.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi sighs.

It shuts Jungkook up. Yoongi does.

“You’re right,” Jungkook says, voice as if straightening up, even though Yoongi said nothing but his name. “You’re right, this is fucking stupid,” he spits this word. “I shouldn’t have called you.” Another heartwrenching sob, now more similar to a dry sigh. “I don’t know what came over me, forget it, I’m sorry.”

Silence.

There are things Yoongi is supposed to tell him: Stop saying sorry. It’s not stupid. I was happy when I saw it was you who called me. My heart broke when I realised why you called me. I’m glad you called me either way.

“God, I’m an idiot,” Jungkook says, and Yoongi knows he’s about to hang up because Yoongi isn’t even replying to him. He’s just keeping goddamn silent.

Because he needs Jungkook to hang up. But this word—idiot—applied to Jungkook snaps him back to reality.

The thing is, it’s not that Yoongi didn’t want to distract Jungkook from the tour with his calls. Oh, he’s selfish enough to. And it’s not even about him being a lousy texter. Of course not.

The truth is, Yoongi was worried about how close he and Jungkook had been getting again. How, once again, this attraction and distance of the few steps between them had started to feel like electricity, like something alive and setting their skin on fire. Stolen glances, brushing fingers as Yoongi hands Jungkook his cup of coffee, their shoulders knocking when they walk side by side as if their bodies cannot help but gravitate towards each other.

The plan was to let it die out while Jungkook was on tour. The plan was to separate them again, to uproot whatever had been blooming. The tour was a perfect excuse. But not anymore.

Yoongi has so many things to tell Jungkook.

I miss you, too, I miss you endlessly, Yoongi wants to be able to tell him. I can’t eat samgyeopsal without thinking about you. I miss your laugh, I miss it when you smile at me just because, I miss coming into the company building and running into you and how you would say, “Good morning!” and it would just brighten up my entire day. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, I can’t stop missing you and everything reminds me of you. I want you to tell me if you’ve eaten well, if all these new cities welcome you well, if your fans are treating you well.

But it won’t be enough, will it? Not for them, not for people like Jungkook and Yoongi.

Yoongi swears silently. He runs his hand through his hair, tired.

He’s not tired of Jungkook. He could never be.

He’s tired of himself. He’s tired of himself, he’s tired of making Jungkook cry all the fucking time, he’s tired of his plans never working out like he wants them to.

So Yoongi says, “If I…” His voice is dry as if he himself had been crying for hours. He contemplates continuing what he was going to say.

“Yes?” Jungkook’s voice is high-pitched, and nervous, like grasping at straws.

“If I came to Europe, would it—” Would it make you happier? “Would it be okay?”

“Huh?”

Yoongi coughs. “For the rest of your tour in Europe, I mean. I could accompany you for the rest of your tour.”

A sniffle. “Can’t you come right now?” Quietly. Said in a manner not demanding but rather desperate, pleading.

“I—I was chosen to be a mentor for the idol survival show,” Yoongi says, taken aback by the heartache in Jungkook’s voice. He’s heard the anger in Jungkook’s voice before, sadness, frustration, desperation, love, but it was never—never this. “I have a contract, I have to do it.”

And Yoongi is suddenly lost in Jungkook’s heartache, going crazy because of it. Thinking that maybe he should just cancel everything and go to Jungkook straight away. But he knows how hard it was for Yeri to organise the show in the first place. She asked him to and he promised her he’d do it.

“The shooting starts in some weeks. By the time it’s done, I’ll fly out to you right away,” Yoongi says, his tone almost apologetic. “And I’ll stay with you for the rest of the tour. For Europe and Asia dates. Okay? I promise.”

“Oh,” Jungkook says, his own struggles all forgotten as if they’ve never existed in the first place. “Oh, of course you should stay. Oh my god, being a mentor for the survival show sounds exciting.” There’s some rustling at the other end, in another city all across the world from Yoongi. Jungkook’s getting more comfortable in his bed, maybe. Probably. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Yoongi admits. “I was kind of surprised when Yeri reached out to me about this, but I thought that it might be fun. It wouldn’t hurt to try, you know.”

He refused to do it initially, wishing to keep a low profile. Yeri had to ask him again and again until he caved in.

Nobody remembers him anyway. He’ll just be this one weird mentor who has come out of nowhere, attracts no interest from the viewers, and maybe gives sensible advice to trainees from time to time.

“Yeah, it wouldn’t hurt to try at all,” Jungkook says, a smile heard in his voice. “I think you’ll be amazing at this.”

Yoongi scoffs, shaking his head. “You flatter me way too much.”

“Don’t make any wide-eyed trainee fall for you,” Jungkook says, playfully stern.

“I’m too old for this,” Yoongi says.

“You are,” Jungkook agrees easily. “And you already have one, anyway.”

“My wide-eyed trainee is a superstar now.”

For a moment, it’s just quiet, with the exception of crickets chirping and the wind rising. Yoongi looks up at the sky. Still starless, still polluted, just as all these years ago, but Yoongi knows now that stars in Seoul are not to be found there. You have to search for them in another place.

Yeri said he has a talent for it. That’s why Yoongi agreed to take part in the show.

And then, Jungkook’s reply comes. Right through the distance of a thousand kilometres between him and Yoongi, crossing the whole sky like a falling star.

“In his heart, this superstar is still just a wide-eyed trainee in love with his senior,” Jungkook says.

A pause.

It is not a confession, but there is room for interpretation. It’s a room too stuffy. Does he mean that the fame hasn’t changed him, that he stayed the same twenty-year-old with his heart too open and trusting? Or does he mean something else entirely?

“I—don’t know what came over me,” Jungkook laughs forcefully. “Let’s not talk about it. Just—tell me more?”

And Yoongi tells him everything. And then Jungkook tells him everything. And like this, it’s almost enough.

Set me free
If you cannot embrace
Let me go
If you cannot hold
Because, dear world, I, I, I

— V’s part in ‘Dear world, I’ is the most heartbreaking to me, somehow.  I cannot give an exact reason why. It’s already a gut wrenching, grievous song, but when V joins right after Jimin’s verse… The way he is singing this… I feel understood, and it is sickening, depressing. To know that someone understands you a little bit too much for your liking.

If music is supposed to heal, this one does not. It picks at your wound with a small knife and tells you, “This will be alright.” But you know it won’t.

Right after ‘Dear world, I’ comes ‘Seasons pass me by’, the last song on the album.

“Hey,” Yoongi says, knocking on the doorjamb with his knuckle three times. He doesn’t want to disturb the girl at the desk hunched over the papers, her hand clutched at her hair in distress.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Uhuh,” the girl hums without looking up.

“Can I come in, Boss?” Yoongi asks, his foot scraping the doorway playfully shy. “Or are you too busy for me?”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Without waiting for her reply, Yoongi comes in. He’s not as familiar with the new office as he was with the old one, but he falls into the chair on her left easily, comfortably. Yeri stares at him.

“You’re fucking inside already,” she huffs, and Yoongi can swear her eye is twitching.

“Oh, am I?” Yoongi’s finger slides against the side of her desk. It’s clean, not a speck of dust left on the fingertip. “An eye for an eye, I’d say.”

All the times she marched inside his studio, the worst one being five years ago when she brought three people, who he assumed were teenagers at the time, into his studio without his permission and cheerfully exclaimed that they were the budding trainees.

Look at the budding trainees now.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yeri scoffs, shaking her head. She puts away the papers, and sits up straighter in her armchair, very boss-like. She clasps her hands and looks at Yoongi expectantly.

Yoongi looks back at her.

A pause. The chants gain momentum, playing louder in Yoongi’s head.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yeri blinks.

Yoongi blinks back.

“Did you need something, Yoongi-yah?” Yeri asks, putting on a polite smile, and Yoongi is hit with the realisation that he actually has to say it. It seems ridiculous to him to ask her of all people for this; but before being childhood friends, she is the CEO and Yoongi is nothing more than her employee.

He mirrors her by sitting up straighter, too, trying to gain respect through his posture.

She won’t say no to him, will she?

“So the idol survival show wrapped up a few days ago,” Yoongi begins carefully.

“Yeah,” Yeri says, dumbfounded. “They said you’ve done a great job. They want you there for the second season, too.”

Yoongi doesn’t let himself hang onto this thought for too long. He thinks he was decent at best, but the unasked praise isn’t the reason he’s here.

“And I’ve finished the songs for the DREAMERS album I had to do,” he continues.

Yeri nods slowly. “Yeah, you have.”

“And I don’t really have anything to do right now.”

“I guess…you don’t.”

That’s such a lie. There’s always work to be done. Always more songs to write. More trainees to teach.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi breathes out tiredly. This conversation is stretching like chewing gum that has lost its flavour. “So I’ve been thinking about…”

“...About?” Yeri prompts.

“Vacation.”

Yeri’s lips quiver like she’s trying to hold back her laughter. She bites on it, but it’s pointless, the corners of her mouth have already pulled up, and the snorting sound has already escaped her chest.

“You haven’t taken a vacation since you had your first part-time job,” Yeri says. “What would you even do? Are you sure you know how to rest?”

Yoongi looks away from her, staring at the wall in front of him. It’s full of various magazine covers that the 9795 and DREAMERS have featured in.

No Cypher. They have never gotten big enough for magazine covers. Only got big enough for the chants to blare in Yoongi’s head.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“I’d…travel,” Yoongi says.

“Where?”

“I don’t know… Europe.” Yoongi coughs to clear the lump of half-lie half-truth stuck in his throat. “Europe sounds nice.”

“Hm. And when do you plan to go?”

“Maybe in a week… Or so.”

“Huh,” Yeri says. “The 9795 wrap up their South American tour dates and arrive in Europe in a week.”

“What a coincidence,” Yoongi says tonelessly. “I didn’t know.” He’s such a bad liar.

“You’re insufferable, do you at least know that?”

Yoongi smiles, his gaze sinking down to his hands placed on his knees firmly. He knows he is. Of course he is.

Yeri stands up, grabbing her blazer from her chair’s headrest.

“C’mon,” her voice is softer now. “Let’s go have some lunch. It’s sundae day.”

Yoongi wonders if it means that he’s not getting his vacation. Still, he rises to his feet and follows her to the company’s cafeteria. It’s one of the few things that Yeri got back once she became the CEO of Black Swan Records. The former cook and sundae day.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

The cafeteria is much bigger and brighter now, gleaming in the sun shining through the wall windows. As Yeri goes through the cafeteria, everyone greets her with respectful bows. She bows back, just as respectfully, with a polite smile on her face.

“CEO-nim,” one of the employees approaches her. “About that photoshoot—”

“Not here,” she dismisses him, gentle but assertive. “Enjoy your food for now, okay?”

Yoongi can’t recognise her like this. To be fair, he can’t recognise her in a lot of moments. He used to read her like an open book, but now he can never tell what her next move will be. She used to say the first thing that would come to her mind, but now she chooses all her words so carefully. And Yoongi thinks he misses being hurt by her words because being hurt by Yeri used to mean that at least she was honest with him. Without weighing her words, she was honest.

Yoongi misses the old version of her, but at the same time, it’s like she’s never changed, more like she has always meant to be like this. Like something natural clicked in her. And Yoongi loves her, he still loves her as much as he always has; will always love her. Their lives have threaded into one another too much for him not to love her. He just loves her a bit differently. Because the new version of her wouldn’t understand Yoongi’s old way of loving.

“So what is it?” Yeri asks when they have sat down in the far corner of the cafeteria with their trays. “You suddenly want to attend the 9795’s concert?”

Yoongi shrugs, mixing noodles in his bowl. “Well, why not.”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Can I take a guess?”

“Huh?” Yoongi briefly looks up at her from his bowl, then his gaze sinks back. “Sure.”

“Something happened between you and Jungkook.”

Yoongi stills. He forces himself to move and take the first bite of his noodles. At least like this, he won’t have to reply.

“So I’m right,” Yeri says. 

“Eat your fucking sundae, Yeri-ssi. Aish.” Yoongi shakes his head. He murmurs under his breath, “What’s her problem?”

“You know you’re starting to talk like a grandpa?”

“Not my fault he’s my only real friend.”

“Hey! Not true! I’m your friend, too!”

Her words fall flat. They’ve been so distant from each other lately. She’s busy handling one of the biggest record labels in the country. Yoongi’s busy making a name for the groups signed under her label.

They used to be so close, but this lawsuit, instead of uniting them, only seems to tear them apart. Like Siamese twins, it’s painful. They’ve been attached at the hip since they were just children growing up in the same neighbourhood, and this distance just feels wrong.

But they’re not children anymore. They’re partners in crime now. And they’ll never be forgiven for what they did. What they did to have these large floor-to-ceiling windows, this skyscraper, and the stars burning their hands.

Yeri’s last remark lingers in the air like smoke from cigarettes. Bitter, it’s bitter.

“Why do you even like gossip so much?” Yoongi says exasperatedly, giving up. He could have told Yeri that they can hardly be called friends anymore, but what would be the point of that? What’s the point of holding grudges if they’re not going to bring him and Yeri anywhere?

Yeri must know it, too—judging from how relieved and happy she looks, grabbing at Yoongi’s extended hand of peace, ready to try again. “It’s not gossip if it’s about you. It’s talking about your feelings, and that’s healthy.”

“It’s so fucking uncool,” Yoongi murmurs.

“You’re like a child.”

“Only when I’m with you.”

“Yeah,” Yeri says. “Yeah, I feel like I’m a child again when I’m next to you, too.” And Yoongi knows her well enough to hear the unsaid, ‘And I miss it.’

I miss my childhood self, I miss not having responsibilities, I miss bantering, I miss the version of myself when I’m with you.

Yeri ducks her head, as if embarrassed, and grabs a piece of sausage with her chopsticks. Yoongi eats more of his noodles.

“So what happened?” Yeri nudges softly after a pause. “With Jungkook?”

Now that they have reduced some of the tension between them, it feels easier to talk. Yoongi gives up on his noodles halfway—his stomach is too full—and pushes the bowl away from himself.

“Nothing happened. He just called.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“So he just breathed into the fucking phone?” Yeri levels him with her stare. “Yoongi-yah, I’m seriously getting sick of trying to pull the information out of you.”

Yoongi could say the same to her: he’s getting sick of her questions, too.

“Fine.”  He leans back in his seat, running his hand through his hair. “Jungkook and I haven’t talked in a while. Since they started the tour. So he just called one night, I picked up, he was like, crying, and said that he missed me, and I—”

“Oh man, did you tell him you miss him too?”

“What? No!”

Yeri gapes at him. “What the hell? Why?!”

Yoongi throws his hands up. “There’s no point in me telling him that! It’s going to make things worse!”

Yeri mirrors him, throwing her hands up in the air, too. “Worse how? You fucking love him!”

“Shout fucking louder, why don’t you?!”

Yeri’s mouth snaps shut as she realises that yes, screaming about a producer under your label being in love with your global superstar in your company’s cafeteria might not be the best idea, especially if the producer and the superstar are both men.

Yeri lowers her voice, bringing herself closer to Yoongi. “I just mean, if he told you he missed you, I think it’s kind of, I don’t know… Maybe he does reciprocate your feelings?”

“That is not the problem,” Yoongi says.

Both of Jungkook’s love confessions ring in his head. Right next to the chants.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! But I love you. Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! My love for you clings to me. Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Because I love you! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Then what is?”

“The problem is that if I told him I missed him, too, it wouldn’t change a single damn thing,” Yoongi says. “Why would I say it if I could just go and ease it for him?”

“Because the communication is healthy and you could potentially date the boy you love?”

“I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me I’m not going to ruin his career.”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Only the chants, the clatter of the spoons and chopsticks follow Yoongi’s words, slurps here and there, laughter, work talk.

The disappointment settles like dust in Yoongi’s stomach because maybe—just maybe—for a moment, for a small second, he hoped that Yeri would tell him that Yoongi could love Jungkook and not destroy his dreams at the same time.

Yeri’s gaze shifts elsewhere. “I mean… If it’s not you, it’ll be someone else. I’d prefer it if it was you.”

“And I’d prefer not to ruin his career at all,” Yoongi says softly. He starts cleaning up the mess from their table onto his tray. He didn’t even hope for it this much anyway. “There are others who will come and love him the way he needs.”

“And he needs to be loved… how?”

“Without attracting unwanted attention,” Yoongi says. “I can’t really give it to him. Not the way he wants to. I love him so much that I’m afraid everyone will look at my face and just know. The world will want to hurt him because of this, and I can’t let it.”

Yeri doesn’t reply to him, doesn’t talk him out of it. She knows the world will hurt if it can. So she helps him clean up the table. They leave their trays at the self-cleaning area and go to the elevators, their walk from lunch leisurely and slow.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Can I ask you a question?” Yeri asks as they wait for the elevators.

“Shoot.”

Yeri turns her head to look at him. Yoongi feels her studying his side profile. Feels her reading him like an open book.

“What does it feel like? To love someone so much?” Yeri asks.

“Like a blessing,” Yoongi says.

Yeri blinks. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just…” Yoongi sighs. “Kind of hard to explain. I don’t know. It’s like, when you go through life, you don’t really expect… yourself to be able to have such deep feelings for someone. And then it happens and it proves that you can love, I guess. Really love.”

“Is it burdening?” Yeri asks quietly.

Yoongi thinks about it. He thinks back to the past five years, how it felt to love Jungkook.

He shakes his head. “Not at all. It’s like breathing, loving him.”

“Doesn’t require thinking?”

“Doesn’t require effort.”

Yeri opens her mouth to say something more, but the elevator arrives and they walk in, the conversation heavy on their shoulders. Yeri presses the button for his studio floor, then her office floor.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

They have already gone up the first dozen floors when Yoongi speaks up again.

“So you’ll let me go?”

“Yoongi-yah…” Yeri’s voice is so sad. Why is it so sad? “You’ve always been free to go.”

Dreamed of so many things
Never got them
Dreamed of so many people
Only lost them

 

—  Music is my favourite thing in the whole world. This is a given, considering my line of work. I can talk about music for hours on end, and I do. The thing is, it makes it a little complicated for me to connect with people who are not as obsessed with music as I am.

I have a friend of a friend. We meet from time to time, but never have anything to talk about. Hard-of-hearing, he refuses to listen to music anymore—because it never feels like it used to; and I don’t push—because it really is not my place.

He called me up the other day, crying. He said that he came across a song that, for a second—just for a second—made him feel like he could actually hear it. Not just the vibrations, but everything.

It was the 9795’s ‘**##%%;!!’.

Arriving at London, Heathrow, the city greets Yoongi with the sun breaking through its windows and Jinsoo standing with the ‘MIN YOONKI’ signboard. Yoongi raises his arm and nods to show him that yeah, he’s noticed him, and Jinsoo can stop embarrassing him. People around them are all rushing somewhere, families and friends meet, businessmen and ladies hurry to get out of the airport and get to work.

Yoongi grips the handle of his suitcase tighter and pushes through, just a couple of steps more to finally reach Jinsoo. The chants follow him, Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! They follow him step by step, through the years, through various cities and countries.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Jinsoo smiles widely at him. A few grey hair strands he has gained in the past couple of years of going through the lawsuit and managing the biggest boyband in the world catch the light of London’s summer sun. Yoongi thinks that it’s not just a few grey hair strands anymore, but much more, getting hit with a sudden realisation that Jinsoo, the Boss Manager, is getting older. The silver hair doesn’t do him any disservice. He looks handsome, Jinsoo, it’s just—

“We really haven’t seen each other in a while, huh?” Yoongi says awkwardly, his index finger rubbing at his nose. He sniffles, looking away, the sun in his eyes making him wince.

“And you still haven’t learned how to greet people properly after you haven’t seen them in a long time,” Jinsoo says, laughter scratching the ends of his words. “C’mere, I’ll show you.”

He grabs Yoongi and wraps him in a bear hug. And Yoongi, his arm pulled awkwardly holding onto the suitcase now jammed behind him, lets him. It only lasts a couple of seconds, and then Jinsoo steps back. He grabs Yoongi’s luggage and walks them out of the airport to the van waiting for them.

“I think with this kind of treatment, you need to be the Queen’s grandson at the very least,” Jinsoo says, proceeding to open the van’s door for him with a deep bow.

“Fuck you, man, seriously,” Yoongi says, no malice in his voice, and climbs into the car.

It’s all leather inside. Yoongi caresses the material of the seat absentmindedly. He thinks about the vans that used to be too small to fit four people inside. How crazy is it that one music album can elevate vans to a higher class with room for legs and more? Just one stupid, meaningless music album?

“They’re already at the stadium,” Jinsoo informs him as he climbs inside after Yoongi. “Do you wanna go there? Or to the hotel? Get some sleep?”

Yoongi’s jetlag is killing him—he hasn’t gotten any sleep on the plane. He is not needed at the concert and will probably be more of a bother to everyone on the staff than any help. Realistically, he knows that the right answer is the hotel. By the time the 9795 are done with the concert, he’ll be well-rested and not on the edge of being delirious as he is now.

“The stadium,” Yoongi says, because hearts never listen.

“Okay,” Jinsoo says softly.

Arriving at the stadium feels a little surreal. The girls and boys in their various outfits are laughing and having loud discussions as they stand in a massive queue that is only getting longer by the minute. It feels like a dream come true. Except it doesn’t belong to Yoongi. Was never his to begin with.

Yoongi touches the walls of the stadium’s corridors as they go through, letting his fingers run over the rough surface, checking how real it is. Cypher never got to do this. Didn’t even come close to this level. They played concert venues big enough to feel good about themselves, but being at the stadium puts a big question mark in Yoongi’s head: would they be able to perform here one day, too, if only Yoongi didn’t give it up? Or have they always meant to fail like this, their knees scraping at the hot asphalt as they fall from the hill of fame?

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

The chants are getting louder with each step Yoongi takes, as though they know that there’s a person near who shuts them down. They just want to exist for a little longer, can Yoongi really blame them? Who doesn’t?

“Here,” Jinsoo says, pushing the door to the green room open. He holds it, waiting for Yoongi to come in.

Yoongi doesn’t. He stalls. He looks at Jinsoo, everything in him shaking, and for a second, he means to tell him, the words at the end of his tongue: Get me the hell out of here. I can’t do it, I won’t do it, I refuse to.

What did he forget here? Did he come here to break his heart open? How did Jungkook even manage to make him come here, and why was he so cruel with it? Doesn’t he know that this stadium—this life—is everything Yoongi has ever wanted and needed?

But then Yoongi catches Jimin and Taehyung’s voices. They’re telling some story, laughing with the stadium staff about it. Their English is perfect. In Cypher, only Namjoon could interact with international fans, Yoongi and Hoseok smiling politely as they stood by his sides. At the same time, it’s not like Cypher was ever this big or famous internationally to begin with. Whereas the 9795 have been trained for it, have taken all these language classes for. Ever since Yeri described them as budding for the first time, the 9795 were always meant to be global stars.

It’s just that nobody expected them to have ‘super’ attached to it. And now nobody really knows what to do with these three boys, and these three boys surely don’t know what to do with themselves either.

So all Yoongi can do is push this bitter jealousy down his throat, try not to choke on it, and go and be there for them. For Jungkook.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

The green room is loud and raucous.

Except for Jungkook—he’s sitting with a guitar in the far corner, his fingers strumming a melody. He looks a little lost in his world, which often happens to him, he’s a dreamy kid. But not whenever he’s around people like this. Like this, with people surrounding him, he likes to be the jokester, likes to be the light.

Yoongi feels like an alien in the room, unnoticed yet sticking out like a sore thumb regardless. Everyone is going about their usual routine. It is the tour life, which means it is hectic and a little crazy, but also impossibly slow when soundcheck is over and all you have is time to waste as you wait for the concert to begin.

Yoongi doesn’t really care about anyone in this room. His tunnel vision has narrowed down to Jungkook’s lonely figure in the corner.

At the sight of him, the chants in Yoongi’s head stop. It’s silent again, the way it only gets when the 9795’s music is playing, and it is such a relief, a weight taken off Yoongi’s shoulders. It’s how normal people live, with no music inside them, no chants.

Jungkook lays his guitar aside. He stands up and stretches, yawning. His sweater goes up and exposes a patch of his skin. And right then, at that moment, his eyes land on Yoongi. His arms drop down, the sweater goes back down. He freezes.

And all Yoongi can do at that moment, as his heart misses a beat, two, three, seemingly having stopped completely, is to pull the corners of his mouth up reluctantly. Surprise?

He didn’t tell anyone he was coming. Only four people have known: Yeri and Jinsoo—for arranging purposes; Namjoon and Hoseok—for support purposes.

“Hyung, what the hell!” Jimin exclaims, jumping over the couch to get to Yoongi faster and sweeping him off his feet into a hug so tight that Yoongi’s not sure he can handle it.

After him, the hurricane in the form of Kim Taehyung attaches himself to Yoongi’s other side.

“For the love of God, what are you even doing here?”

“Not so happy to see me, you punk?” Yoongi chuckles.

“No,” Taehyung says immediately, clinging onto Yoongi tighter without meaning to let go, “it’s just—I don’t get it. What brings you here?”

“Taehyung-ah,” Jimin says quietly, sternly. He tugs at Taehyung’s hoodie, pulling him away from Yoongi.

They both take a step back, Jimin’s hand settling gently on Taehyung’s hip, revealing Jungkook. He’s standing right behind them, his hands fisted into his sweater’s sleeves. Yoongi marvels at him: he’s so strikingly beautiful, it hurts to look at him. He looks like home, like Seoul, like Daegu, like all of Yoongi’s childhood dreams—the ones that got crushed hard once he grew up.

Yoongi waits for Jungkook to come up to him, but then realises that this time, it’s he who has to take the first step. So he does, taking a step, then two, until they’re standing close together.

Yoongi guides Jungkook’s head onto his shoulder. Jungkook falls into him easily, easier than Yoongi thought he would, and he fits. He fits into all of Yoongi’s curves, all of his scrawny angles. He sighs again, again this shuddering sigh, resonating through Yoongi’s chest.

Yoongi’s hand rubs up and down Jungkook’s back. “Hi.”

Jungkook tightens his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders. “You came.”

“I promised you,” Yoongi says softly. “How could I not?”

Yoongi leaves mid-concert on that day. His jetlag suddenly hits him hard, and Jinsoo gets him into the hands of one of his assistants. So Yoongi leaves, the fireworks so loud behind him, everything drowning in blue lights, Jungkook’s voice piercing Yoongi like a bullet through his high note, swamped by the fans’ chants.

Park Jimin! Kim Taehyung! Jeon Jungkook! 9-7-9-5!

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

At the hotel, the manager’s assistant escorts Yoongi to his room. Technically, he is rooming with Jimin. In reality, all of the closest people on the team know that Jimin and Taehyung shared rooms in all the hotels around the world, and Yoongi will be here alone. Jungkook’s room is on the opposite end of the corridor.

Yoongi opens his suitcase. Gets out of his travelling clothes and changes into comfy clothes. He is so tired that he barely holds himself up as he is washing up. He falls into bed and closes his eyes for what he promises himself to be for some minutes before he stirs awake at the sound of someone knocking.

The morning rays hit Yoongi in the face. A second round of knocks at the door follows. Yoongi groans, pushing himself up, Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher, and opens the door. Harshly. Coming face-to-face with Jinsoo.

“It’s breakfast time,” the manager says gently. Yoongi notices Jungkook hovering behind him. The chants die down like waves crashing into the shore.

“Um.” Yoongi tries to subtly fix his morning hair. “I mean, do I have to? Today? Maybe I could skip—”

“But our team always eats breakfast together,” Jungkook’s voice reaches him. His words have pouty vowels to them.

Yoongi looks at Jinsoo, pleading for help. Jinsoo smiles and shrugs.

Fucking fine.

“Give me a second,” Yoongi says,  putting on a polite smile to his face as he closes the door t carefully, slowly.

He goes through his room like a hurricane: the clothes, brushing his teeth, combing through his hair with his fingers.

By the time he comes out to the hotel’s corridor, Jinsoo is nowhere to be seen. Only Jungkook is squatting down next to Yoongi’s door, scrolling through something on his phone. A fond smile clings to his face—the one that he usually has when it comes to his fans.

This Jungkook is a picture too familiar, and Yoongi suddenly wishes for time to stop. To let them both just exist in this moment a little longer; lost somewhere between Jungkook’s early twenties: he’s still a kid who doesn’t know how to talk to Yoongi, Yoongi is still a guy who doesn’t know how to treat him.

But of course time doesn’t stop. Jungkook notices Yoongi out of the corner of his eye and jumps back to his full height, shoving the phone into the pocket of his jeans.

“Ready?”

Yoongi nods. “Lead the way.”

They walk to the elevators in silence. Yoongi counts the steps of the corridor, but loses courage at step number ninety—it’s already too many steps, nothing like the eighty-eight steps of a piano, of love, of love for the piano in their old company building.

“You know, I didn’t think you’d come,” Jungkook says. He takes a step forward to push on the elevator button, then back, refusing to look at Yoongi. He chews on his bottom lip as he stares up at the floor number rising.

“But—why?” Yoongi asks, surprised. “I told you I would.”

“I don’t know. We’ve just never talked about it after… I called you.”

“We’ve been texting,” Yoongi says. It’s not entirely the truth. He adds, “A little.” Now it’s more like it. “You could’ve asked.”

“I was embarrassed!” Jungkook exclaims. It sounds so loud, almost screeching, and next time he speaks, it’s much softer and calmer. “I was so embarrassed…  In the past month, there were so many times I wanted to call you again and tell you to forget it, to just stay in Seoul and forget it. And then I figured that you might have forgotten about it already anyway. I thought maybe you just said that to humour me. But yesterday, you were suddenly here, and I…”

“And you?..”

“And I felt so relieved. Just at the sight of you, I felt happy and relieved.”

The thing about Jungkook is that he never shies away from his feelings. If he feels happy, he’ll say it. If his favourite time of the day is spending time with you in the studio, he’ll tell you. If he loves you, he’ll make sure you know.

Yoongi used to think it was a trait too childlike to have—to allow yourself to be so vulnerable with others so easily. And now he thinks that maybe it’s where Jungkook’s maturity has always come from.

Yoongi wants to tell him: Me too, I was so happy to see you, I missed you so much that I can’t believe how we managed to stay apart for so long. He wants to tell him: The voices in my head stopped when I saw you, did you know?

But he knows he won’t ever be able to.

The elevator comes and saves him from having to respond. The mirrors inside reflect to Yoongi two men who are in their twenties, avoiding looking at each other. Both are dressed in black, skinny starved bodies, one for beauty, the other out of desperation. One is a star shining too brightly, the other is an unknown celestial body that didn’t survive a meteor shower.

“I remember you also saying you’d stay for the rest of the tour,” Jungkook says. “But, really, you don’t have to do this.”

Yoongi shifts his gaze away from the mirror toward Jungkook. “What if I want to?”

“I’d be thankful,” Jungkook says quietly, looking down at his feet. “It’d be nice to have some company.”

“Have you been feeling lonely?” Yoongi asks.

“A little,” Jungkook says. “But I’ve always felt like this. It’s not easy to be in a three-person group.”

Yoongi laughs. “Believe me, I know.”

Namjoon and Hoseok are his best friends. They have been by each other’s sides since they were literally kids, and Yoongi knows them inside out. He knows that there are times when only Hoseok can cheer Namjoon up, and there are times when only Namjoon can understand Hoseok’s struggles. He also knows that there are things Namjoon can only confide in Yoongi about, and there are dreams Hoseok is willing to share only with Yoongi.

All of these things don’t reduce their friendship as a whole. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt sometimes.

“But Namjoon and Hoseok aren’t Taehyung and Jimin,” Jungkook fights weakly. “They’re like soulmate shit level. And I’m—I’m just Jungkook.”

“You’re their Jungkook, it’s different. You’re their best friend, and nothing can change that,” Yoongi says. “But I understand what you mean. I’m sure it’s hard for them, too. There are no winners in a three-person friend group. It takes a lot of love and trust. Which I know you three have.”

The elevator opens. They walk out to the lobby. Jungkook guides them in what Yoongi assumes is the direction of the hotel’s restaurant.

In the restaurant’s private room, everyone is gathered—which totals six heads. There are only two free seats left, next to each other. Yoongi takes the one closest to the wall, and Jungkook sits to his right.

Jimin and Taehyung appear to be lost in their little world, eating from each other’s plates, laughing quietly. Yoongi can swear they peck each other once, but it happens so quickly that Yoongi doubts if he didn’t hallucinate it. Jinsoo sends Yoongi and Jungkook a quick smile and then goes back to chatting with people from the 9795 crew. Yoongi recognises some of their faces but not their names.

The table is filled with various plates, most of them half-empty. It’s not Korean, there’s no rice, and some of the food has gone cold already. Yoongi keeps sighing, picking at the food on his plate sadly. He thinks about how nice it would be to have a boiled egg at least, but Jungkook has snatched the last one earlier. If it were anyone else, Yoongi would ask to share. But with Jungkook, everything is always so different.

“It’s good to have you here, hyung,” Taehyung says. “How long are you going to stay with us?”

“Um,” Yoongi says, side-eyeing Jungkook, who seems to be very interested in peeling the boiled egg. “For the rest of the tour?”

“Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Taehyung!” Jimin says.

“Jimin!” Taehyung says in the same tone of voice.

Yoongi can sense Jungkook’s fingers have stopped working on peeling the egg.

So he says, honestly, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

For this, he gains a shy, warm smile from Jungkook and a peeled egg added to his plate.

Mismatched, that’s who we are
(Would it be so wrong?)
Mismatched, that’s how we are
(But I still want it)

 

— The catchy beat of the chorus in ‘Mismatched’ adds a magical charm to the song overall. It is that type of chorus you tap your fingers on the steering wheel to as the song comes up on the radio, that type of chorus you bop your head to without noticing. ‘Mismatched’ is a song about self-love; we are mismatched pieces of one big mosaic, and it’s okay. Our heart desires and rational thoughts of our mind contradict each other a lot, and it’s okay.

It is okay, but remember that after ‘Mismatched’ comes ‘Boyhood’, a song that proves to us that hearts never listen and that hearts always win.

Slowly falling back into a routine, picking it up from where they left it in Seoul the last time they saw each other, Yoongi tries to hold on to the distance between himself and Jungkook.

He tries to hold on to the distance as he and Jungkook go out for dinner after concerts, just wandering around the cities in order to find a good cafe to dine in. Jinsoo lets them go reluctantly, but he does—with Jungkook covered from head to toe and two bodyguards a few steps behind Yoongi and Jungkook.

Yoongi tries to hold on to the distance as they share a table in these restaurants. Europe in the summer is such a pretty dream: it’s warm enough to be seated outside, candles on tables dawning a certain atmosphere. The buildings around them are of small towns, all bricks and homey. It’s always old city centres that Yoongi and Jungkook dine in, tourists everywhere, and sometimes, it’s just so easy to forget who they really are.

Yoongi tries to hold on to the distance as they explore the tourist sights together. He takes the photos for Jungkook, and then Jungkook sits next to him, immersed in his screen, choosing the best one to upload onto his social media. When he asks Yoongi what he thinks is the best one, Yoongi always gets a little lost: every picture of Jungkook is stunning.

Sometimes, Jungkook calls one of the bodyguards over and asks him to take a picture of them together. He and Yoongi shuffle timidly toward each other, the Eiffel Tower behind them. Yoongi’s hand ghosts over the small of Jungkook’s back, Jungkook pulls out his best smile and V-pose with his fingers.

These pictures are Yoongi’s favourite. He asks Jungkook to send him the photos and saves them all.

So it would be fair to say that Yoongi tries to hold on to the distance and fails.

He fails as he and Jungkook share conversations out on the balconies of all the hotels they are checked into—conversations too deep and too personal.

It happens in Lisbon, Portugal. It’s the day before the concert. The merciless summer sun slowly disappears after the horizon. By Jungkook’s request, someone from the 9795’s crew brought grapes, cheese, and two glasses of wine. Jungkook and Yoongi sit down at the small plastic table.

“It’s been hard,” Jungkook admits, his eyes wandering over the city view instead of focusing on Yoongi.

He takes a sip of his wine, and Yoongi can’t stop looking at him. He used to not be able to handle liquor, and now he’s drinking all elegantly, savouring the wine taste in his mouth, and talking all elegantly, too.

“I know we’ve been avoiding talking about it,” Jungkook says. “But I feel like you have to know. Or, rather, I selfishly want you to know. Hyungs like to pretend that everything is fine… And of course it is… But it was hard. Our second album was failing and I was so fucking scared. You’re the only mentor I’ve ever had. I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m sorry,” is all Yoongi can say. “I should’ve been there for you.”

“No,” Jungkook dismisses him quickly. His gaze slips onto Yoongi, and Yoongi maintains eye contact. “It’s me. I’m sorry. I know I pushed you away with my harsh words, with the things I told you. The way I behaved around you. Cussing at you. Trying to prove something.”

“It’s okay—”

“I don’t think I would have forgiven someone like you forgave me.”

And Yoongi is so lost at Jungkook’s words because—“I’ve never had to forgive you. I was never angry at you in the first place. I thought I deserved it, so I accepted your behaviour.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “No,” he says. “No. You don’t deserve bad things in your life.”

“You’re far from being a bad thing in my life if that’s what you’re trying to say.” And what Yoongi means is that You’re the second-best thing that happened to me besides music.

Yoongi fails to hold on to the distance as he and Jungkook sneak out of their hotel to take a night walk at the beach, already some pints of beer in. It happens in Barcelona, Spain. It’s so late into the night that it feels cold to be outside, more so near the sea, and Yoongi knows they have to go back to the hotel soon—Jinsoo might get worried.

They have taken their sneakers off, carrying them now in their hands. The sand under their feet is lukewarm and wet. Jungkook walks closer to the sea, the waves licking at his feet lazily. Yoongi tipsily tells him a story about this one time he and Yeri packed their things up and ran away to Busan for a day.

“Scared our grandmothers to shit,” Yoongi laughs, and Jungkook joins him.

There are a lot of things that have changed in Jungkook. He is broader than he used to be, his smile is morphing from a boyish grin to something more manly, and his right arm slowly fills with ink. He is more confident and sure in his body; it’s all in the way he walks, the way he stands, the way he breathes. He is more confident and sure in his mind; it’s in the way he talks, the way he thinks, the way he isn’t afraid to speak up anymore.

But his laughter is all the same. The same high-pitched, childlike sound.

“Seems like Busan comes in the form of good memories for you,” Jungkook says. “First skinny-dipping with the guys from the bar, now this.”

“It does,” Yoongi says softly. “Busan makes me feel free.”

The moonlight reflects on Jungkook’s face. The sound of the ocean is woven into his voice.

“We should go there together sometime,” Jungkook says. “We can stay with my grandparents. I think they’d love to meet you.”

Yoongi doesn’t ask why they can’t stay with his parents. He doesn’t need to. He knows everything about Jungkook, so he knows about this, too.

“Okay,” he says.

“Oh, and we can go to this one restaurant that I really liked when I was a kid!”

“Okay,” Yoongi says.

“And we can visit my high school! I was pretty close to my music teacher, he’s the one who told me to pursue music more seriously. I think he’d let us inside, and I’d show you my classroom, and—”

“Okay,” Yoongi says.

“And I could show you the beach where I learned how to swim! And—”

And Yoongi wants to tell Jungkook, Okay, okay, okay, okay to everything, if I could I’d just stay next to you forever, I’d glue myself to you and never let go, I’d live under your skin—

“Yah,” Jungkook says, splashing Yoongi with water. “You aren’t listening to me, are you?”

Yoongi jumps away before the water can get on his clothes. “Jeon Jungkook!” He doesn’t even get to the middle of his name when he is suddenly lifted.

Yoongi wraps his legs around Jungkook’s hips as Jungkook’s arms go from beneath his knees to his bottom. It doesn’t feel like Yoongi has any weight to him at all. Yoongi’s known he exercises regularly, heard Taehyung joke about it a couple of times, but who fucking knew he could lift Yoongi as if he was the weight of a feather?

Walking into the sea, the water at his ankles, Jungkook makes a slight movement as if he is about to throw Yoongi into the water.

“I swear to God, Jeon Jungkook,” Yoongi groans, clinging to Jungkook, because if not this way, then he’d be tossed right into the water.

“Huh? You say you wanna get in the water?”

“For fuck’s sake, put me down—”

“Put you down?”

Jungkook’s hands come loose, and Yoongi instinctively wraps his arms around Jungkook’s neck. If he is getting soaked with cold ocean water, then he and Jungkook are getting soaked together.

At the last second, Jungkook’s hold grows firmer. He pulls Yoongi up, and for a moment, it’s just them in this big world. Just them and the ocean and the stars. Barcelona seems so far away, Seoul even farther. Like this, right here, can’t they just stay?

“You fucker,” Yoongi huffs. He relaxes a little. 

Jungkook looks up at him with his soft brown gaze, and the mood changes. The night grows warmer, the ocean gentler with its tide sounds. Everything seems so much more intimate now. Yoongi wonders how Jungkook does it so damn easily each time?

“I’d never let you fall,” Jungkook whispers. “I know you hate water.”

He’s the sea child, and Yoongi hates water. He likes to fool around, but Yoongi feels too heavy to do it. He’s too open with his feelings, and Yoongi never feels brave enough to speak them aloud. They are not compatible. They shouldn’t work.

Yoongi tries to hold on to the distance and fails as he cradles Jungkook, crying in his arms. It happens in Munich, Germany. The little girl, barely seven years old, who is slowly losing her hearing, comes backstage with her mother. She tells the guys that she loves them and then that she doesn’t want to lose her hearing because it means she won’t be able to listen to the 9795 anymore. Music is her favourite thing in this world, and it’ll be so sad without it, she says.

The 9795 hold themselves gracefully in front of her, like the stars they are.  They smile even more brightly than they usually do when they meet their fans, and they play with the girl’s ponytails, making her giggle. Taehyung hates to part with her, so she cups Taehyung’s cheek and tells him that it’s okay. All of the green room laughs, except it’s so heartbreaking, this laughter. It’s so desperate.

Later, tabloids write that Munich, Germany’s, BTS Tour, was the best 9795’s performance. Something absolutely magical happened on the stage last night.

Yoongi tries to hold on to the distance and fails. He knows he does because, after the Munich concert, when Jungkook tells him, “Stay. I can’t do it alone. Not tonight.” Yoongi does. He stays.

Yoongi tries to hold on to the distance and fails, fails, fails, and only falls, falls, falls.

And of course Jimin knows.

“Didn’t see you around in our room much in Munich,” he muses as they set to unpack his things in Rome, Italy.

He and Yoongi are unofficial roommates now, always getting the double room in their hotels. Jimin never spends his actual time here, but he has to uphold the image that he does—for the workers who are too nosy, and for the people who like to talk too much.

“Well.” Yoongi smacks his lips. “I don’t really see you around our room, ever.”

“Where have you been?” Jimin asks.

And what is Yoongi supposed to tell him?

I was in your younger member’s room, holding him as he cried. He asked me to stay, so I did.

Or is he supposed to tell him about the one bed they shared while Jungkook was tucked into Yoongi’s chest, whispering that he doesn’t want this world if it means that the little girls and boys can’t hear music?

“At Jungkook’s,” Yoongi opts for the truth. “We stayed up for too long, and I fell asleep there.”

Jimin blinks at him.

“Nothing happened,” Yoongi says.

“Didn’t say it did.”

“You looked at me in a way that implied that you thought something happened.”

Jimin laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Hyung, why are you like this?”

If only Yoongi knew.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi unzips his luggage and sighs at all the mess. He’s been on the road for a few weeks, but he still hasn’t gotten used to packing. He wants to do it neatly, but every time, with little to no time left before they have to check out and go to the airport again, he ends up just tossing every item of clothing inside the suitcase and then praying it will fit.

He side-eyes Jimin’s luggage. It’s all perfectly in place.

“You know, Jungkook told me about the call,” Jimin says. “Right after. He marched into our room with Taehyung, dragged me out, and told me everything. He was like, ‘Do you think he’ll come? Just like that?’ And I remember thinking to myself that if you do, then it’s true.”

“What is?” Yoongi snorts. “It’s true that I care for my dongsaeng whom I’ve watched grow up?”

“You love him, don’t you?”

Yoongi goes rigid. Right on the floor where he’s sitting, knees tucked under himself, as he’s taking wrinkled shirts out of his suitcase. He freezes and he thinks he dies right here.

“I know you care for all three of us deeply,” Jimin says. “But you came here right after shooting your show. You came here in the middle of your projects. Came on the fucking tour with its impossible schedule and stayed not only for one or two days but for the whole fucking European tour. Only love makes us crazy like that.”

And Yoongi realises that he can’t run away from it forever. He and Jimin have always been too alike. Where Jimin was cramming his feelings into his lyrics, Yoongi had been there before, too. Where Jimin ran away from his love for Taehyung, Yoongi had been doing the same regarding Jungkook, too. The surprising part here is that Jimin hadn’t realised it earlier.

Did he not see the lovesick gaze Yoongi always has on his face every time he watches Jungkook perform?

“Don’t tell him,” is what Yoongi says. “Please don’t.”

“No. Of course not. It’s something that he has to hear from you.”

“He won’t.”

Jimin’s expression forms into something that Yoongi hates. Sympathy. Understanding.

“What is holding you back?” he asks. “Tell me more.”

“I already have a therapist, thanks.”

“Right,” Jimin nods. “Taehyung told me.”

Yoongi is not surprised by that. Of course Taehyung did. Sharing is healthy in couples. And he doesn’t mind Jimin knowing.

“You guys don’t have any secrets from each other at all?” Yoongi grumbles, just to act a little upset about it.

Jimin shrugs. “I am him, and he is me, sorry. What he knows, I know. What I know, he knows.”

Yoongi stands up and puts his clothes away in the wardrobe. Jimin takes it as a sign to step back. He falls onto his bed and just scrolls through his phone as he waits for Yoongi to finish—Yoongi has promised to take him out for lunch after they’re done with unpacking. He said there was something about the song he was stuck on.

But of course Park Jimin can’t stay silent for too long. Just like the chants in Yoongi’s head.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Honestly,” Jimin speaks up from where he’s laying like a starfish on the bed. “It’d be better if something finally happened between you and Jungkook. The sexual tension between you two.” Jimin scrunches his nose, waving his hand. “Unbearable. Eye-fucking him every time he runs to change his outfit during the intermissions?”

Yoongi throws his jeans at him. “Stop with this nonsense and get your ass up. You wanted to eat, no?”

Jimin obediently tugs his pants off and changes into the jeans. “You realise he’s making a show just for you when he undresses?”

Yoongi decides to ignore Jimin and all of these flashes of Jungkook’s body engraved in his mind. Every time he, sweaty from dancing and smiling like a mad person from the high of the concert, runs backstage, performing multiple tasks at once—tugging his shirt off to get dragged into the new one, drinking water, having his makeup fixed. Backstage is always so loud, loud, loud, the 9795 crew hurrying and running back and forth, flying into Yoongi because each damn time he just stands there, unable to catch a breath.

“C’mon! I’m serious! Get laid! It’ll help!” Jimin keeps nagging, like a fly buzzing near Yoongi’s ear.

Yoongi grabs his phone and wallet. “Some of us don’t want to have sex when other people are in the same dorm with us, Park Jimin.”

Jimin gasps. “Jungkook told you that?!”

“You and Taehyung are not the only ones who share everything with each other,” Yoongi says triumphantly, but then catches the look Jimin sends him—as if what Yoongi said only proves his point.

Yoongi decides to ignore that, too. He puts on his sneakers, and Jimin puts on his baseball cap, a black mask hanging off his ear.

Jimin proceeds to open the door, walking out to the hotel’s corridor backwards. “Personally, I think Jungkook would totally be into—”

“Going out, Jimin-ssi?”

Jimin startles, the words on his tongue dying midway. Jungkook is behind him, looking innocent in blue shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, but Jimin seems mortified at the mere idea of Jungkook overhearing him.

Yoongi closes the door. It makes a click to indicate that it’s been locked.

“Yoongi-hyung, you’re going out, too?” Jungkook asks, surprised.

“Can’t spend all of my time with you alone, can I?” Yoongi says, but the joke somehow just hangs in the air thickly.

“That’s right,” Jungkook says, and his voice is so warm. “Have a good time, you two. Taehyungie-hyung and I were going to play Nintendo Switch together.”

He used to get jealous at Yoongi bickering with Jimin, used to get jealous at the most simple things like Taehyung sitting in Yoongi’s chair. It was cute, his childish jealousy. But now he smiles warmly at the idea of Yoongi and Jimin spending time together. He wants them to spend time together. He wants them to be happy.

That’s how Yoongi always felt towards him, too. He always only wanted Jungkook to be happy, to spend time with people he loves and enjoys being around.

Jimin and Yoongi find a nice small restaurant nearby their hotel. The bodyguards startle their waitress a little—it’s a family restaurant, prices too low for people with bodyguards to come inside. But the thing with the 9795 is that you can make them wear expensive clothing and perform at sold-out stadiums, but they don’t lose sight of where their roots are.

The food is served quickly. The waitress goes as far as asking the bodyguards if they would like some water, it’s hot outside, after all. They politely decline, but Yoongi hears them exchanging surprising comments about this interaction.

“Okay,” Yoongi says. “So, what’s up with the song?”

“We started working on the new album,” Jimin says. Yoongi opens his mouth, and Jimin rushes to add, “Nothing is complete, though. We just have a couple of song drafts that, combined together, could tell a certain story… So we’d like to see where it goes.”

Yoongi reclines in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks up at the ceiling, blinks. He can’t believe what he’s just heard. “Dear lord, Park Jimin. The BTS album wasn’t enough for you?” And it’s not that he wants to hold the 9795 back, no.

But will they ever take a fucking break? Will they ever stop working so hard? Can’t they just enjoy the fame and money and performances for now? Why do they always feel the need to work more?

“It’s nothing much, I swear,” Jimin repeats. “It’s just— There’s one song that all three of us really like, but we’re stuck on it.”

Yoongi knows this feeling.

“Fine.”

Jimin smiles victoriously.

“It started with Jungkook,” he says. “You know how he doesn’t really write songs? He mostly hums some nonsense as he goes through life, and if it’s good enough, he’ll send the lyrics to me and then we’ll both work on it.”

“Yeah. I know.” There’s nothing about Jeon Jungkook Yoongi doesn’t know.

He knows that Jungkook used to write differently when he was younger: imitating Jimin, he had a leather notebook and sticky notes all over the dorms. He used to have writing sessions with Jimin, but words wouldn’t come to him. He was frustrated and angry, and at some point, he dropped writing altogether, focusing on his vocal technique. It was when the 9795 started staying in Yoongi’s apartment that Yoongi noticed how many melodies and lyrics Jungkook would come up with as he simply lived. He hummed as he washed the dishes, he sang in the shower, he loved making a noraebang out of Yoongi’s living room at night.

Yoongi knows that music lives in Jungkook. He doesn’t need a notebook for his lyrics. The whole world is there for him instead.

“So we were in L.A.? I think. And we were missing Korean food, so we found this buffet with Asian cuisine. We were getting food on our plates, and I was next to him when he sang, out of the blue as always, ‘You said you’ve got voices in your head / You said nothing could fix you / I told you I would.’”

Yoongi’s heart stops. Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! It’s about him, it’s his head that the voices live, and Jungkook knows. Jungkook told him once he would fix them, fix him.

“I really loved it. I don’t know why. I just thought that it had potential. We sat down right away. I told him to sing it again, ready to write it down in my notebook. He did, but he couldn’t remember the exact words, so what came out was, ‘You said there are voices in your head / You said it can’t be fixed / I said I didn’t care’. But I could swear I remembered that the first time he sang it, it was about a person trying to fix their loved one. I do not care and I’ll fix you are two completely different things, aren’t they?”

“I—I guess,” Yoongi says, still shaken by the fact that Jungkook was singing about him.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Moreover, Jungkook was singing about Yoongi and his struggles, his pain.

“Later, after the concert, Taehyung couldn’t sleep. Usually, when that happens, I stay up with him and we try to work on music together,” Jimin says.

Yoongi means to ask if it happens often that Taehyung can’t fall asleep. He wants to ask if this is the actual reason why Jimin stays in Taehyung’s room so much. It seems like everyone is just fighting their inner demons constantly.

“I asked him, ‘What do you think about these lyrics?’ And he said, ‘If you put these two verses in reverse, it sounds like a narrator has grown up.’ So I asked, ‘So fixing someone with voices in their head is a mature way of handling them?’ He thought about it for a second, and then he said, ‘I think a mature way would be taking care of them.’ So I wrote the third verse. But there’s still something missing. I can’t really figure out what exactly.”

Yoongi can’t believe Jimin dragged him out of the hotel just for this. Can’t believe that Park Jimin, the first Korean act on Billboard, is asking him for such silly, obvious advice.

“It sounds like you need a bridge, PD-nim,” Yoongi says, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement.

A pause.

Jimin blinks. Then he buries his face in his hands. Yoongi looks over at him in worry. He doesn’t need another crying, budding trainee in his hands. He hates to see them cry—it makes him want to fight the whole world for them. Jimin’s shoulders shake.

“I’m blind, aren’t I?” Jimin laughs. This bastard is laughing. “God, it was the easiest solution, and I completely overlooked it.”

“Oh, come on.” Yoongi tugs his hands away from his face. “Happens to the best of us.”

“Not to you,” Jimin says quietly, suddenly too serious. “Never.”

Yoongi doesn’t know how to respond to him.

Sure, it doesn’t happen to him now, but he’s been making music since he was thirteen and fell in love with it at the ripe age of twelve when he was let close to a piano for the first time in his life. Jimin is just a baby in that sense. He hasn’t been making music for so long, coming from a dancing background, and he still has so much to learn.

But what he did is that he wrote one album, and it was beautiful. It was so beautiful, it took over the world and climbed the charts to the top. Most importantly, Jimin’s album touched people’s hearts. Because it was real, and it was truthful.

“So, um. The bridge,” Jimin says, because the pause got too long. Yoongi blinks out of it. “But I’ve already told the whole story in three verses. The narrator has grown up. What should the bridge be about?”

Yoongi thinks about it. He thinks about Jungkook, and how he made him feel today. The chants buzz, Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Maybe…” Yoongi says. “Maybe something about wanting happiness for that person. It’s not easy… To live with voices in your head. I don’t think so. So the narrator can mature through love by saying, I don’t care—I’ll fix you—I’ll take care of you. But there would also be a reminder for the listener that the narrator never meant any harm. They just always wanted the best for their loved one. They just wanted them to be happy.”

Jimin hums. Yoongi can see the creative string pulling at him, so he suggests they pay for the food and go back to the hotel. When Yoongi tries to take out his wallet to pay for them, Jimin scolds him and tells him that he is the most stubborn hyung he’s ever had to deal with.

“You can stop paying for us,” Jimin says. “You can just let us take care of you now.”

“Maybe I still have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that these trainees in my studio are superstars now.”

Jimin claps him on the back playfully. “Better get used to it,” he teases. “Next album will be the diamond one.”

“I know,” Yoongi says. Of course it will.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

They walk back to the hotel, playing this game where they tweak the lyrics for the bridge back and forth. Jimin is buzzing so much that there’s electricity in him. He can’t stop smiling, and Yoongi can’t help but smile, too. It’s something Yoongi hasn’t experienced in a while, this excitement about creating something.

Before Jimin can disappear into Taehyung’s room to go into maniac writing mode, Yoongi calls out his name. There’s something that’s been on his mind this whole time. Jimin halts, his hand on the doorknob, and looks expectantly at Yoongi.

“What would you call this song anyway?” Yoongi asks.

“I don’t know.” Jimin sends him a smile. “‘Boyhood’, maybe? ‘Boyhood’ sounds nice.”

You’re my guiding star
My shooting star
Every time I looked at you
I made a wish
It was you, your happiness

 

— ‘Boyhood’ starts very carefully and timidly. Gaining momentum and speed at the bridge was an insane, risky choice, but it played out beautifully. Lyrics-wise, it’s interesting to see the story unravel in this way: the narrator might have done wrong towards their lover, but they did not mean harm. They just wanted to provide their loved one with happiness.

This is why I personally find it fascinating that the album ends with ‘Seasons pass me by’, a song about letting go. Letting go not because the love has passed, but because it is so strong. Because you know your loved one, despite your love, will not be happy if it is with you.

 

Yoongi blames Jimin for what happens next.

It happens right after the concert in Rome, Italy. Jungkook suggests they go out to eat, and Yoongi, as always, complies with him. Taehyung and Jimin join them. Some of the 9795’s crew tag along, too, and the dinner ends up a gloriously loud mess. The 9795 blab excitedly about the concert, they feel good in their bones that night. Their dancers cheer for more performances to come. The wine glasses get clinked and then filled endlessly by waiters. It is so easy to get into a certain mood with service that is so attentive.

Live music is playing. The summer night breeze is so soft, brushing over Yoongi. He leans his head back and lets it caress him. One of the 9795’s staff cracks a joke, he laughs. He laughs more than he usually does around the 9795’s staff that night—all of them are conventionally married, and Yoongi always feels a bit unnerved next to them. But not on that night. On that night, somehow, he warms up to them.

Jungkook sends Yoongi a fleeting smile across the table, a smile meant just for them, a smile that has so many layers underneath it. It’s a smile of reassurance: You good? Are you having a good time? But it’s also a smile that says: I’m happy you’re here.

Jimin catches it, too, and then winks at Yoongi. His voice from yesterday keeps nagging in Yoongi’s head.

But it is Jungkook’s smile that makes something snap in Yoongi.

Everyone is out of the restaurant, bidding goodbyes for tonight. Taehyung tugs on Jimin’s wrist in the direction of the hotel. Some managers and makeup artists say something about seeing Rome’s attractions while they’re still here, while others say they want to continue partying.

Jungkook cocks his head in the opposite direction of everyone, and Yoongi shoves his hands into his jean jacket’s pockets and nods. Of course he does.

They walk around the city, tipsy and stealing shy glances at each other, soaking up the night and all the foreign words. Jungkook’s bodyguards, as usual, are a few steps away from them.

It is such a balmy night, so beautiful like this. Yoongi keeps bumping into Jungkook’s side, and Jungkook keeps laughing about his clumsiness, even though they both know the truth of it.

They know that it’s their bodies that hate the distance, that are always gravitating toward each other.

(Without all of this romantic bullshit inside of Yoongi, in Jimin’s words: This tension is unbearable.)

“What is it?” Yoongi asks cheekily when Jungkook sends him yet another mischievous smile. “What is on your mind?”

“Nothing, just some stuff,” Jungkook shrugs.

“I want to know what you’re thinking, Jungkook.”

Jungkook looks behind himself at the bodyguards, then back at Yoongi. He comes impossibly close to Yoongi, his mouth near Yoongi’s ear, the hand covering his words from the rest of the world.

“Let’s run away.”

Yoongi looks up at him in surprise.

Jungkook raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

He’s still wearing his makeup heavy after the concert, his eyebrows dark, eyes carefully punctuated with eyeliner and brown eyeshadow. His gaze on Yoongi is so soft, and Yoongi is a little breathless, a little tipsy, a little in love with Jungkook. Just a little. Just a teeny, tiny bit. Just in love with him for the whole of his existence, that’s all.

(Only love makes us crazy like that.)

“Okay,” Yoongi says.

Like little misbehaved kids, they run on three. Yoongi looks behind himself only once, to check on the lost expressions of the bodyguards. Do they run after them? Or do they let adults like Yoongi and Jungkook alone? Yoongi doesn’t get to find out—Jungkook pulls on his hand, encouraging him to run faster.

They run until their lungs burn. Which happens quite early on for Yoongi, his stamina low. But they have gotten away from the bodyguards, and that’s all that matters.

They are still laughing about the confusion on the bodyguards’ faces, hysterically folding into themselves as they stumble into some alley. There are hundreds of them in Rome, all the same yellowish, rugged brick walls.

Jungkook’s back hits the wall, and Yoongi’s hand comes to rest beside his head. Jungkook looks at him like Yoongi is the sun of the entire universe, like he always does, always did, never really stopped. How can Jungkook still do it if he knows about the darkness inside Yoongi?

Does he really not care? Or would he try to fix Yoongi again if Yoongi let him? Or is he mature enough now to take care of Yoongi with all the voices in his head?

“I won’t say it, I promise,” Jungkook whispers. “Kiss me, c’mon. I want you to.”

Yoongi does. He sucks his breath in, still short from the running, and presses his mouth against Jungkook’s. It’s only their third kiss, but it’s so easy. Yoongi’s hands wrap around Jungkook’s waist, around his whole frame, tugging him in. He’s greedy, and he wants to grab everything from Jungkook while he still can. While it’s still possible. Jungkook is getting bigger day by day. Yoongi’s name is being forgotten day by day.

The evening before Yoongi left, he and Hoseok shared dinner. Yoongi admitted that he was only going for Jungkook, and Hoseok tilted his head in this sympathetic way only he can and gently asked him what it felt like to watch Jungkook grow. Like watching any other kid growing up, Yoongi shrugged.

It was only half the truth.

The full truth is that watching him grow felt like trying to hold water in your hands. Fucking impossible.

Yoongi and Jungkook part with a soft click, breathing even more fucked up than before. Yoongi presses a short kiss to the corner of Jungkook’s mouth. He tastes sweet, like music performed in front of thousands of people, like a platinum album, like first place on music charts all over the world. Yoongi wonders if he’ll ever get enough of Jungkook like this.

“I—” Jungkook breathes, and Yoongi bites him slightly, barely there, for that.

“Told me you weren’t going to say anything.”

“I said I wasn’t going to say it. I didn’t say I was going to stay quiet the whole damn time—”

Yoongi kisses the rest of the words off his lips. Jungkook tugs him in, kissing him back unhurriedly, taking his time. It is a bit sickening, too intoxicating. Jimin’s voice rings in Yoongi’s ear: Jungkook wants it, he undresses for you, tension, tension, tension, unbearable, it’ll help. Jimin and Taehyung did it before getting together, Jimin knows what he’s talking about.

But good things always end. They just do.

That night, they end with Jungkook’s quiet sob.

Yoongi’s stomach drops, even though it’s something he should’ve expected. He always makes Jungkook cry. That’s just what he does. Why did he think this time was going to be different?

Yoongi wipes at Jungkook’s cheek with the back of his hand. He tries to do it gently, but seemingly fails, considering Jungkook only cries harder.

“What do I do with you, Jeon Jungkook?” Yoongi whispers, his thumbs collecting tears from Jungkook’s cheeks. “You cry when I’m not with you. You cry when I’m next to you.”

Jungkook wipes at his eyes quickly, sniffling. “Not crying. You see? Not crying.” And only more tears escape him as he says it.

Yoongi doesn’t know whether Jungkook wants him to comfort him, or if he wants Yoongi to leave him to breathe in his own space. Yoongi ends up hovering somewhere in between, and this awkwardness is eating him alive.

Jungkook sniffles again.

“Why are you crying?” Yoongi asks quietly. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook says dismissively. “You did nothing wrong. It was perfect.”

So Yoongi wasn’t the only one who felt that. Not the only one who felt that as their mouths slid together, something too tender and too good to be true happened. A kiss too soft, lips tingly, tongues brazen. Too perfect.

Maybe it’s just Rome. Just the new city atmosphere. Just post-concert thrill streaming through their bones.

“I think I just had too much to drink, ‘s all,” Jungkook says.

“Okay,” Yoongi nods. “Let’s get you back at the hotel, then?”

Jungkook sighs. He presses his palms against his eyes, rubbing them harshly. If only Yoongi had the right, he’d reach out and guide Jungkook’s hands away. He’d tell him, This is not how you treat your body. And then he’d kiss him on his eyelids gently, This is how.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Yeah, okay.”

But he lingers before walking out of the alley. Looks behind his shoulder as if he doesn’t want to leave. Yoongi means to call out his name but doesn’t have the heart for it. He waits for Jungkook until he’s ready to let go of this place.

Jungkook sighs again and then slumps down a little, like he always does these days when he’s out in public. Out of the alleyway and on the street, there are people still wandering around, and he doesn’t want to get recognised.

The walk back to the hotel is silent. The magic of the evening is all ruined. Yoongi doesn’t even dare to look at Jungkook’s face again. He curls his hands into fists inside his jacket’s pockets and repeatedly tells himself that it was nothing. That this clot of disappointment in his chest shouldn’t even exist in the first place. Jungkook’s comfort comes first.

They slip inside the hotel from the backdoor. Yoongi walks Jungkook to his room. That’s where this night ends. The genius Park Jimin was all wrong. Maybe he should just keep doing what he does best—writing songs, that is—and leave the love fools to their misery.

“Do you feel sick? Your stomach doing okay?” Yoongi asks Jungkook worriedly.

He knows he should leave Jungkook alone now. He should turn around and go back to his room, lie down in his bed, and forget anything ever happened.

But he stays glued to the hotel corridor, asking all these unnecessary questions, fretting around Jungkook.

“I’m okay,” Jungkook says. “Don’t worry about me, hyung.”

“Okay. Then… Then I’ll go.” Yoongi doesn’t want to go. He moves one foot, then another. It takes an effort too great. “Good night.”

Jungkook chews on his bottom lip. He doesn’t say good night back. Yoongi is okay with that. Totally fine.

“Can you come inside for a second?” Jungkook’s voice reaches him. It sounds so abrupt in the otherwise silent corridor. The air stiffens.

“Eh?” Yoongi says.

Jungkook opens the door to the room, walking inside backwards. Inviting Yoongi in.

Yoongi goes after him as if hypnotised. A moth drawn to a flame. The flame of the star.

Jungkook closes the door with his back. For a moment, it’s just silent and a bit heavy, torturous. The light wind walks into Jungkook’s room—he must’ve left the window open before going out to the restaurant. They stand in the gloom of the room. Only one sad light illuminates their faces from above.

“Can we try again?” Jungkook asks.

Yoongi manages to keep the monster inside of him at bay. This monster inside of him that only wants, and wants, and wants. That only knows how to take.

“Promise me not to cry this time,” he says. “I won’t be able to take it.”

Confusion ghosts over Jungkook’s face. And Yoongi wants to tell him, Don’t you know?

When you cry, I want to cry, too. When you cry, I want to take away your sorrows, and it breaks my heart when I realise that I can’t.

“I promise,” Jungkook says. “Told you, I was just a bit drunk and got a bit emotional.”

He brushes past Yoongi to walk deeper inside the room. Everything is so casual, nothing out of the ordinary. Like they do this every night in every city they visit.

Jungkook switches the main light on. “But it’s okay now. We walked, and my head cleared.”

“Are you sure?” Yoongi asks, taking a tentative step forward.

“Yeah, I—” Jungkook’s voice dies as Yoongi steps right behind him and kisses this one spot between his neck and spine.

He trails the kisses down to Jungkook’s exhausted, sore shoulder. He kisses him slightly above the elbow—the bruise there faint, barely noticeable if Yoongi didn’t know it was there. If he didn’t know that it’s been there for five days already, since Jungkook slipped on the stage in Barcelona.

Jungkook turns around and wraps his arms around Yoongi’s waist. Yoongi stands on his tiptoes and kisses him on the forehead. It’s hot, and Yoongi knows the headache must be building up somewhere inside Jungkook; so he kisses it again just to try and see if he can take the pain away. He fails, of course.

This time is so different from that night in the restaurant’s restroom so many years ago. That was lustful, jealous, and angry. This is gentle and almost wistful.

Jungkook strips Yoongi out of his jacket. It falls on the floor somewhere, but Yoongi doesn’t care. He guides Jungkook deeper into the room. God, where is the bed? Yoongi removes Jungkook’s shirt, running his palm down Jungkook’s chest. Jungkook’s fingers curl at the hem of his t-shirt. Yoongi helps him take it off.

Everything has been slowly gaining speed, but now it’s stagnant again. Yoongi feels both chilly with the room’s window open and too hot under Jungkook’s gaze studying him so intensely. It is not his bare body that Yoongi wants to hide, but rather—

“What’s this?” Jungkook asks, his fingers tracing the scar on Yoongi’s shoulder. It’s warm, his touch, so warm it leaves goosebumps. He doesn’t put any pressure on it, merely ghosting his fingers over the raw line.

“A surgery scar,” Yoongi says. “From when I fell on the delivery bike and dislocated my shoulder.”

Jungkook’s eyes snap back to Yoongi’s, surprised, then back. He scans the scar again.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore. It happened a long time ago.”

“Before me?” Jungkook specifies.

“Before you. I was eighteen.”

“Tell me more.”

“Nothing really to tell,” Yoongi laughs quietly.

“I want to know you.”

Yoongi had been wondering about this. There were some nights he would imagine what baring himself in front of Jungkook would feel like. None of Yoongi’s boyfriends ever cared before, the scars on Yoongi’s skin were too small to notice, happened too long ago to bother. So Yoongi wondered if Jungkook wouldn’t care, either. He assumed he wouldn’t, too young to care. He assumed—in his wildest fantasies he’s not proud of—Jungkook would get too eager and too caught up in the moment to notice.

But he wants to know Yoongi.

“It was in Seoul,” Yoongi says. “I worked part-time. Tried to make some side money. I just fell. No tragic story. Yeri got me to the hospital. Her dad paid for the surgery.”

“The one you sued?”

There are a lot of moments in Yoongi’s life that he’s not proud of. “The one I sued.”

Jungkook’s hand goes lower. It’s too good, his rough palm against Yoongi’s skin, too warm. Jungkook traces another scar now; this one is almost faded, barely noticeable.

“This?” he asks.

“Appendix,” Yoongi says. “I was twenty-two, I think.”

“Before me.”

“Before you.”

And Jungkook looks down at him, at his body, and Yoongi looks up at him, at his face, at his soft features and wandering eyes. He sees this realisation settling on Jungkook: just how easy Yoongi is to get hurt, how easy he is to bruise, to scar, how fragile Yoongi really is.

“How much more hurt do you hide within yourself, Min Yoongi?” Jungkook whispers.

Too much, Yoongi thinks. Too much.

“You’re still drunk, Jeon Jungkook,” Yoongi realises with a laugh. His hand involuntarily comes to cup Jungkook’s face. “Aren’t you?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “Just tipsy.”

“We don’t have to do this,” Yoongi says. “How about I just get you to bed?”

“Only if you stay.”

“I will.”

The heat of the moment dies down, and Yoongi finds the bed. He and Jungkook lie down on their sides, facing each other. Jungkook shuffles closer. Yoongi smiles. Jungkook smiles back and then surges forward, catching Yoongi’s bottom lip. This kiss feels like a continuation from the alley, picking up right where they’ve left it. It’s just as soft and makes Yoongi tingly.

He puts a careful hand on Jungkook’s waist. It doesn’t stop Jungkook—rather, he takes it as a sign to crawl on top of Yoongi and kiss him even deeper, even better. And Yoongi thinks, I can get used to it.

He can get used to sharing a hotel room with Jungkook. He can get used to being backstage and cheering for his little superstars from behind them. He can get used to lunches with Jimin, discussing the future of their albums, helping him out here and there. He can get used to writing songs with Taehyung in the green room.

He can get used to sharing his life with Jungkook. He can. If only Jungkook continues to kiss him like that, he can do anything.

Suddenly, the chants break through the opened window.

Park Jimin! Kim Taehyung! Jeon Jungkook! 9-7-9-5! Park Jimin! Kim Taehyung! Jeon Jungkook! 9-7-9-5!

Yoongi freezes. Jungkook breaks the kiss, frowning.

“Is something—” Park Jimin! Kim Taehyung! Jeon Jungkook! 9-7-9-5! “Oh.”

Park Jimin! Kim Taehyung! Jeon Jungkook! 9-7-9-5! Park Jimin! Kim Taehyung! Jeon Jungkook! 9-7-9-5!

The fans become even louder, their screaming taking up everything. Next to them, Cypher’s chants arise. They are usually always so silent next to Jungkook, it throws Yoongi off, and into a place too dark and hurtful.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi feels like he can’t breathe.

“Oh dear,” Jungkook laughs. Yoongi hears him as if there are a thousand light-years of distance between them. His voice is right here, but it’s so far away, still. “They weren’t here just ten minutes ago. It’s so late, too… It’s dangerous for them to be outside so late at night.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says absentmindedly. From what he does with the grandpa therapist, he knows that the first thing that he should do in order to come back to himself is regain his normal breathing.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Why is he breathing so fucking hard?

Park Jimin! Kim Taehyung! Jeon Jungkook! 9-7-9-5! Park Jimin! Kim Taehyung! Jeon Jungkook! 9-7-9-5!

Why is existing so heavy?

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“I’ll close the window.” Jungkook pecks Yoongi on the cheek, pushing himself up from the bed. “Wait a second.”

Yoongi wants to throw up.

“Okay.”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Park Jimin! Kim Taehyung! Jeon Jungkook! 9-7-9-5! Cypher!

Yoongi hears the 9795’s chants every day, at every concert. He is used to them, he has chanted the 9795’s names alongside their fans so many times that he lost count. They shouldn’t hurt him, they never did. The 9795 and their music have always been Yoongi’s salvation. But now they do. They hurt. The chants in his head overlap with the real-life ones, and Yoongi feels split open, feels like a balloon popped. Feels like he can’t go on. Feels trapped.

Feels trapped in this misery, in the failure. Feels trapped between the dreams that have passed and the dreams that have surpassed expectations.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Park Jimin! Kim Taehyung! Jeon Jungkook! 9-7-9-5! Cypher!

Yoongi pushes himself up on the bed to sit up straighter. He watches Jungkook closing the window, his back, his shoulder blades moving, tight skin. He tries focusing on him and fails. The world is so loud, and there’s no place for Yoongi in it.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Park Jimin! Kim Taehyung! Jeon Jungkook! 9-7-9-5! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Park Jimin! Kim Taehyung! Jeon Jungkook! 9-7-9-5! Cypher!

Yoongi hugs his knees, drawing them closer to his chest. Embarrassed and broken. He should go and stop bothering Jungkook with his brokenness, but he can’t move.

The window is closed now, but the chants are still here. Turning back, Jungkook is still wearing this soft, reserved-for-the-fans smile, the one Yoongi never gets but always has his heart squeezed in his chest.

 It immediately drops when Jungkook sees Yoongi.

Kim Namjoon! Park Jimin! Jung Hoseok! Kim Taehyung! Min Yoongi! Jeon Jungkook! Cypher! 9-7-9-5! Kim Namjoon! Park Jimin! Jung Hoseok! Kim Taehyung! Min Yoongi! Jeon Jungkook! Cypher! 9-7-9-5!

Jungkook asks him something. Reading his lips, it must be something along the lines of, “Are you okay?”

But Yoongi can’t hear him, can’t really hear anything except for the chants. Kim Namjoon! Park Jimin! Jung Hoseok! Kim Taehyung! Min Yoongi! Jeon Jungkook! Cypher! 9-7-9-5!

It is nothing like the one that happened before. That one was loud and hysterical, Yoongi couldn’t stop blabbering and drowning, and trying to escape; this one is quiet and Yoongi is all alone and he doesn’t think he remembers human words.

So he has no idea how Jungkook recognises what is happening to Yoongi, inside Yoongi, but he does.

“Does it hurt?” Jungkook asks. “Does it hurt again, baby?”

He used to talk so little to Yoongi, Yoongi didn’t know what his voice sounded like. He used to be a kid afraid of his own shadow, and now he calls Yoongi baby and wants to protect him.

Kim Namjoon! Park Jimin! Jung Hoseok! Kim Taehyung! Min Yoongi! Jeon Jungkook! Cypher! 9-7-9-5!

“I,” Yoongi starts and doesn’t know how to go on. “It just—hurts.”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Park Jimin! Kim Taehyung! Jeon Jungkook! 9-7-9-5! Park Jimin! Kim Taehyung! Jeon Jungkook! 9-7-9-5!

Kim Namjoon! Park Jimin! Jung Hoseok! Kim Taehyung! Min Yoongi! Jeon Jungkook! Cypher! 9-7-9-5! Kim Namjoon! Park Jimin! Jung Hoseok! Kim Taehyung! Min Yoongi! Jeon Jungkook! Cypher! 9-7-9-5!

Jungkook’s hands cover his ears. The world goes quiet.

It’s the world too quiet, that’s the problem. Yoongi’s head is a house that doesn’t know stillness, it’s always rumbling, there’s always music inside, always the voices.

“Talk to me?” Yoongi asks.

Jungkook seems to be taken aback. “Talk? I should talk? But I thought—”

“It’s quiet,” Yoongi explains. “So quiet.”

“Oh,” Jungkook says, sobering up. “I can talk all night long, don’t you know me? Let’s see… What should I talk about?”

Yoongi thinks about it for a moment. “Tell me good things.”

“Good things?” Jungkook smiles at him so brightly it hurts. “There are so many good things. You and Yeri-noona got us out of that other company. We have a platinum album. Taehyungie-hyung and Jiminie-hyung have started dating, and are so in love that I’m sure the next album will be nothing but their lovesick songs, and we’re gonna have a diamond record. Isn’t that a good thing? What else… Oh, wait, did you know that Sakura, one of our dancers, is…”

Time passes like this. Jungkook talks, and Yoongi listens.

When Jungkook thinks Yoongi’s asleep,  he presses a warm kiss onto Yoongi’s forehead. “Not gonna let anything hurt you, you hear me? Not again.”

Dear world, I begged you so many times
Then why did it have to be them
Who kissed me where it was hurting
And not you?

 

— It is our parents who kiss our wounds, but if you are as alone in this world as the narrator in ‘Dear world, I’, who will do it for you? Who will be even willing to do it? Sure, there are parts of our body we can kiss ourselves to soothe our pain: a cut on a finger, a scratch on a knee. But what about bruises on our elbows? What about our sore shoulders? Our headaches? Who is going to kiss us there, where it hurts the most? Who is going to take away the pain?

 

The room is stuffy.

That’s what makes Yoongi wake up and open his eyes. The unbearable heat in the whole room.

Yoongi blinks the sleep out of his eyes. For a moment, he wonders why he didn’t put on the A/C last night. Then, his gaze slightly shifts and he sees a body next to his.

It’s laying on its stomach, face in the pillow. Their little snores fill the room. It’s topless, the body, and Yoongi watches its back peacefully rising and falling, a mortifying realisation settling on his shoulders. Everything from last night flashes before Yoongi; the concert, then the restaurant, walking around Rome, the alley.

Shit, shit, shit. Yoongi presses his palm against his forehead. What did he fucking do?

The kiss. Jungkook crying. Walking back to the hotel with this awkward heavy tension between them. Can we try again? And then Yoongi fucked everything up because of the chants. 

Yoongi lies in bed for another five seconds, perfectly still. He closes his eyes and tries to tell himself that what happened was okay. They didn’t have sex. What’s the worse that could have happened?

What comes back to him is Jungkook tracing Yoongi’s scars. Jungkook covering Yoongi’s ears. Kissing him on the forehead.

Yoongi pushes himself off the bed, swearing silently. No, he can’t do it. He can’t stay. Maybe it would be better if this night would go like nights like this play out for all other people. But Yoongi can’t even get laid like a normal person now.

How will he be able to look Jungkook in the eyes now? Knowing that he fucked up something important between them last night? There was this moment, this second, where he believed he could’ve pushed past their history and try. For the first time, they could’ve… could’ve tried.

But he wasted that opportunity. Wasted because he’s fucking crazy.

Yoongi finds a t-shirt on the floor. He’s not sure whether it’s his or Jungkook’s, but slips it on anyway, too busy with his other thoughts to care. All of them buzz around him like annoying flies, and he can’t get them out of his head. He assumes that the jeans that are carefully folded on the armchair are his, so he tugs them on, praying that the sound of him shuffling won’t wake Jungkook up. He doesn’t like to think about the fact that he doesn’t remember taking off his jeans last night, so it was probably Jungkook who did it.

On the table, there’s a phone charging. Yoongi checks it. It’s his.

Of course Jungkook took care of his fucking phone. This small action only makes Yoongi hate himself more.

Me

we need to talk

Boss Manager

6 a.m., Yoongi-yah. Post-concert.

Please, not today.

Me

can u get me out of this country

Boss Manager

[Typing…]

Fuck this. Yoongi doesn’t have time to hold his breath and wait for Jinsoo to come around. He gives Jungkook’s sleeping figure one last glance, then picks himself up and tells himself to go. To move his fucking feet and leave.

He hasn’t crossed even half of the corridor when Jungkook’s voice reaches him.

“You have someplace to be?”

Yoongi stops. He knows he shouldn’t. What he should do is not stop but carry on and go, go to the elevators, up two floors. He should knock on Jinsoo’s door and tell him in person that he has to get him out of this country and back to South Korea.

But, of course, Yoongi turns around. Jungkook is standing just outside his room, leaning against the doorframe, his head tilted. He doesn’t have anything on besides the swim shorts he wore to bed and a jean jacket. It barely covers his body.

Yoongi’s phone starts to ring.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi breathes out, ignoring the call. He has something much more important here. But as he starts to speak, he realises that he doesn’t know how to talk about this. “Yesterday… What happened last night… It’s not what I came here for.”

“Almost-happened-sex or me comforting you?”

“Both.”

Jungkook winces but takes the blow. Swallows his pride. Carries on, “Why?” He pushes himself off the door and walks some steps closer to Yoongi.

“I came to be here for you. You asked me to come, so I did. I came here to support you, not the other way around. And surely I didn’t come here to—” Yoongi helplessly throws his hands up. “Fuck, Jungkook, you had to take off my jeans yesterday because I was too out of it to do it myself—”

“And I’d do it again!” Jungkook says. “Why can’t both of us be here for each other? Why can’t I be here for you? What would be so wrong about it?”

Yoongi almost says it. He almost says everything.

Because you stop the chants, and you know it. Because I am not normal with my struggles. Because taking care of me is a burden I don’t want you to take on.

Because I don’t think I deserve you.

But at the last second, he manages to remind himself that there are things Jungkook is better off not knowing.

It’s six in the morning. They’re in the hotel’s corridor. There are other residents who are still asleep. What are they even doing here? Why are they arguing about something that Yoongi has already decided on?

Yoongi purses his lips and turns away. That’s right. He should go.

“Don’t you fucking dare to leave, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi looks back at Jungkook, shocked. He doesn’t notice that his phone keeps going off.

“I am not falling into that shitty trap ever again,” Jungkook says, slowly walking up to Yoongi. “And now I’m telling you: do anything, but don’t fucking leave! Yell at me! Cry! Stay silent! But stay! Stay with me!”

Nobody has ever held onto Yoongi so tightly. Nobody has ever put so much trust in him like this, blindly and without a doubt. Nobody has ever wanted Yoongi next to them so much. Not even his own family. When he packed his things to leave for Seoul for the first time, nobody blinked an eye.

And now Jungkook, this man who has known Yoongi for five years, not even a quarter of Yoongi’s life, is arguing against all of Yoongi’s doubts and insecurities, at six in the morning, in the middle of the hotel.

“Is it so hard to stay?” Jungkook asks, and Yoongi can feel the hurt in him resonating in his own chest. “Do you really hate being next to me so much?”

Yoongi only feels sane when he’s next to Jungkook, how can he hate it?

“No,” he says quietly. “No, of course not.”

“Then stay,” Jungkook repeats stubbornly. “You promised me, remember?”

Yoongi nods. He did promise.

“Stay,” Jungkook says again. His fingers shyly ghost over Yoongi’s fingers. “Let’s talk it out.”

Would it really be so wrong to talk about it this time?

Yoongi nods again. Jungkook nods back and sighs like he’s just come out of a battle too great for him. Yoongi sees a small winning smile on his face that he’s trying to suppress.

Yoongi’s phone keeps ringing.

“You should take that call,” Jungkook says.

Yoongi obediently takes the phone out of his pocket. He looks at the caller ID. He sighs.

“I’ll take it.”

“Ok.” Jungkook takes a polite step back and becomes very interested in the hotel’s wallpaper.

Yoongi slides his finger across the screen, accepting the call. He brings it to his ear.

“Hey.”

“Yoongi-yah…” Yeri whispers, voice thick, like she’s been crying for hours.

Yoongi’s stomach drops. This is the kind of voice people get when they are about to tell you that one of your family members has just passed away in the most tragic event ever to happen to humanity.

“Did…something happen?” Yoongi asks carefully, heart in his throat. He starts telling himself that whatever it is, he’s going to chew on it, and swallow, and ingest it, and live with it.

Jungkook must’ve felt something was off with his voice. He turns away from the wallpaper and mouths, “Who is it?”

“Yeri,” Yoongi tells him wordlessly.

Jungkook frowns. He bites on his bottom lip and just studies Yoongi intensely, holding onto eye contact. Somehow, absolutely out of nowhere, it gives Yoongi the strength to go on.

Whatever happens, Jungkook is here.

“Yeri-yah. Stay with me. Did something happen?” Yoongi asks. He tries not to sound nervous, but he knows he fails from the way Jungkook squeezes his hand to remind him that yes, he’s here, he’s going to stay. Yoongi spreads his fingers, and Jungkook’s fingers easily slip in between his.

“No, nothing happened,” Yeri says quietly, voice gravelly. “No. I just don’t know what to do.”

Yoongi lets it sink in.

Yeri doesn’t know what to do.

This is the end of the world as Yoongi knows it.

“Yoongi-yah, you have to know that I don’t do it really often,” Yeri says slowly. “But when I do, I’m always careful. I’m a guidebook for safety. So I really didn’t think much about it at first. There were some symptoms here and there. Maybe I ate something wrong. My period didn’t come. Well, whatever, I’m under stress all the time, I have an irregular cycle anyway…”

Yoongi knows where it’s going.

This call is not about someone passing away.

“I never thought about this, to be honest. Actually, no, the correct way to put it would be: I haven’t thought about it for a while. But now I look at these two lines, and you know what I’m thinking about? Hm, do you know, Yoongi-yah?”

Of course it’s not about death. It’s about a new life. It’s ironic that both situations have the same voice tone reserved for them.

Yoongi swallows thickly. He doesn’t know how to talk about it in a way that Yeri wants him to.

“What…are you thinking about?” he asks.

“What if I keep it?” Yeri whispers.

Fuck.

Yoongi looks Jungkook in the eyes.

He doesn’t mean to hurt Jungkook. But Yeri doesn’t have anyone else but him and a couple of her girlfriends from school. And she’s not really close with them because she’s always too busy running the company. She hasn’t been talking to her father since filing the lawsuit. She doesn’t have anyone, but it’s a situation where someone should be there for her.

“Do you need me to come?” Yoongi asks.

Something close to hurt flashes in Jungkook’s eyes. He’s quick to hide it, however, lowering his gaze to his phone. He doesn’t let go of Yoongi’s hand as he starts typing something on his phone, his initial frown growing deeper.

“I don’t know?” Yeri says, and her voice breaks. What comes next through Yoongi’s phone is just tears, tears, tears. “God, I really don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Stop asking me. I have no idea. I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.”

“It’s okay,” Yoongi tells her. “It’s okay. It’s okay not to know what to do with it.” Lord, Yoongi doesn’t know what to do with it, either. Who is he to decide? “I’ll come, and we’ll deal with it, okay? We’ll talk, we’ll think of something.”

“Yeah,” Yeri breathes. She sniffles. “Yeah, okay.”

“Look, I’ll call the grandpa to come to you while I’m—”

“Your grandpa is fucking dead.”

Ouch.

Yoongi didn’t want to say it in front of Jungkook. But he has no other choice.

“My therapist,” Yoongi says. “I’ll call my grandpa therapist so he can be with you while I’m travelling back to Seoul. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“Okay,” Yeri says. She sounds calmer now. “I’m sorry. Thank you.”

“It’s okay, don’t be sorry. I’ll hang up now, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay.”

For a moment, as Yoongi hangs up, it’s quiet in the corridor. Without Yeri crying, asking him to come; without Jungkook, pleading with him to stay, it’s so quiet.

Jungkook is looking down at his feet.

“Do you really need to leave?” he asks.

“Yeri’s pregnant.”

Yoongi knows that it is in this moment that Jungkook lets go of him. That he lets go of him as he breathes out, tiredly, releasing Yoongi from his lungs, from his hold. Setting Yoongi free from his promise.

“I asked Jinsoo to book you a flight and drive you to the airport,” Jungkook says. His hand slips out of Yoongi’s. “Your flight is in six hours.”

“Where are you going?” Yoongi asks, small.

Jungkook smiles. It’s so sad. Why does everyone keep looking at Yoongi like that? “We need to pack your things, don’t we?”

The packing goes quietly. The only sounds are of Jungkook trying to suppress his yawns and failing. He folds all of Yoongi’s clothes perfectly and puts them in the suitcase. Yoongi finds himself wondering if it was Jimin who taught him that.

Yoongi feels awkward just sitting on his bed as Jungkook is on his knees, crunched over his luggage. Yoongi tries helping him, but Jungkook shoos him away. Packing Yoongi’s things seems like a ritual, too personal for him. Yoongi doesn’t fight him on it.

“So, um,” Jungkook says eventually, seemingly tired of this silence. He seems shy with his question and reminds Yoongi of a twenty-year-old Jungkook too much. “The therapist?”

“The grandpa therapist,” Yoongi corrects him.

“Since when?” Jungkook asks softly. He folds Yoongi’s sweater now, the one that Yoongi prepared for the colder countries but never got to wear. Will never get to, not on this tour.

“Since I came back from the military.”

“Three years,” Jungkook states.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says quietly.

“Because of the chants?”

“There are a lot of things.”

“I see,” Jungkook whispers. He puts away Yoongi’s jeans, then his slacks—the ones Yoongi packed to wear when the 9795 are invited to the interviews for the local magazines.

The problem with Jungkook, Yoongi thinks, is that he’s treating all of Yoongi’s things too delicately, with too much care. Yoongi wants to tell him, Leave it, it’s fucking clothes, you don’t have to do this, just throw it all in there and zip it up, c’mon, don’t be like this. But he doesn’t. He just sits back and marvels at Jungkook, at his gentleness.

Yoongi has only ever touched two things in his life in the same way, and Jungkook lives like that.

“What else?” Jungkook prompts again, this time even softer than the last.

“He’s gay, the grandpa,” Yoongi says. “It helps, too.”

Jungkook’s gaze wavers from Yoongi’s luggage to Yoongi’s face, then back.

“It’s just—the guilt,” Yoongi says. “There’s a lot of guilt in me.”

“Do the guys from the bar help you with it, too?”

“Yes,” Yoongi nods. “They help a lot. They remind me that a life for people like us exists, and it’s a good life.”

Jungkook opens his mouth. Yoongi almost hears the question rolling off his tongue.

Do I help, too?

Or maybe he’d ask, Do I make you feel guilty?

But whatever that is, Jungkook ends up never asking his question. Instead, he finishes packing up Yoongi’s luggage. He zips it up and smiles at Yoongi, proud of himself.

“All done—”

“Weren’t you scared to do it that night? At the bus stop?”

Jungkook blinks at Yoongi, lost at the sudden change of topic. “Kiss you?”

Yoongi cringes. “Yeah, that.”

It’s the question that’s been on Yoongi’s mind for too long.

If only Yoongi wasn’t gay. If only Yoongi wasn’t in love with Jungkook. If only he didn’t kiss Jungkook back. What could the circumstances be? Hasn’t Jungkook ever wondered about that? What if Yoongi was an asshole who would just out him to everyone? How could he put his trust in Yoongi so easily?

Jungkook’s expression softens. “I was never once scared about anything when it came to you, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi remembers the night of his first kiss with Jungkook very well. It was the day when the budding trainees were promised their debut, the one Yoongi begged Yeri for. Jungkook told Yoongi that he was scared of it. Was scared of things to happen, not to happen.

So when he says that he was never scared of anything when it came to Yoongi, Yoongi hears, I was scared of everything but you.

“You’re not the monster you make yourself to be,” Jungkook says.

Yoongi looks away from him.

“No monsters on Earth,” Jungkook says, like he’s trying to prove something to Yoongi. “Only humans.”

Yoongi scoffs. What a silly thing to say. What a true songwriter Jungkook is. How many beautiful words can he find to try to prove this to Yoongi?

“Besides,” Jungkook adds. “I know everything about you, too. I was your fanboy before I was anything else, and I listened to your songs. You’re not the only one who can read between the lines.”

Oh, the times when Yoongi didn’t know how to separate himself from his art. The times when he was just baring himself, taking off his skin raw from himself.

“You don’t,” Yoongi tells Jungkook. “There are a lot of things you still don’t know about me.”

“I’m getting there,” Jungkook argues.

“Maybe,” Yoongi smiles. He flicks his nose. “I have to go now.”

Jungkook sighs heavily. He rises to his full height from the floor. Yoongi pushes himself up from the bed. The room suddenly feels too small for the two of them. They hover awkwardly over each other as they navigate through the room.

Jungkook walks him to the door.

“See you in Seoul?” he whispers, hopeful.

Yoongi nods. He wants to stay and say something meaningful to Jungkook. Something that will get them through the last months of the 9795 tour with hope. But as always, he loses all of the words when he needs them the most.

He starts to walk away. Jungkook catches on to his wrist, turning him around.

“Kiss me goodbye,” Jungkook asks. “One last time.”

Yoongi looks up at him.

If he kisses him goodbye now, what will happen to them? It feels like something more than a goodbye kiss. Feels like something they will have to talk about once they are both back in Seoul.

And for the first time in a while, Yoongi is not scared of it. Maybe he welcomes the idea of it, even. They have started talking about things that actually matter today. Yoongi showed Jungkook parts of himself he had been hiding before. Jungkook accepted him. So many things are still uncertain, but there’s been a start to something.

So, brave for the first time in years, Yoongi lets go of the grip on his luggage. His hand comes to cup Jungkook’s face. It’s shaking where it’s touching Jungkook’s skin. Even years later, Jungkook is still the second and last thing Yoongi has touched gently in his life. He’s afraid he’s going to break him again.

“Please,” Jungkook says, almost as if he knows what this word does to Yoongi when it comes from his mouth.

“Okay.”

Yoongi leans up, Jungkook’s breath brushing his cheek, and their mouths almost meet when someone’s giggle fills the corridor.

Jungkook jumps away. Yoongi’s hand slips off. Yoongi looks in the direction of the giggle. It’s just some girl, barely ten-eleven years old by the look of it. She’s not even paying attention to them, but rather consumed by the world on her phone.

But Jungkook jumps away, and Yoongi’s hand slips off, and the momentum is lost. Lost is Yoongi’s delusion that maybe they can work it out. Here’s a reminder, right in his face: Jungkook is a star too big for him to swallow. Nobody should see them together. Yoongi should be afraid.

“Hyung…” Jungkook says, voice quiet, apologetic.

Yoongi smiles, mouth closed, just the corners of his lips. Just to be polite. “No. It’s okay. I understand.”

He turns away, grabs his luggage, and beelines for the elevator. He tries to count his steps to calm himself down, but he’s only on the seventh when the tears start to spill uncontrollably. He wipes them away harshly with his wrist.

What a fucking idiot.

What did he hope for? That he could date Jungkook? Jeon Jungkook? The 9795 Jeon Jungkook? The global phenomenon Jeon Jungkook? Him? Min Yoongi? Even the manager from his own company doesn’t fucking know who he is, what’s there to talk about?

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

Yoongi thinks he hears someone repeatedly knocking themselves into the wall, but he isn’t too sure—he can’t really hear it, he’s doing the same.

Then, the elevator comes.

Good thing, Yoongi is not alone. The chants are here. And they have brought their friends, too.

Kim Namjoon! Park Jimin!

Jung Hoseok! Kim Taehyung!

Min Yoongi! Jeon Jungkook!

Cypher! 9-7-9-5!

Chapter Text

You were here when nobody else was
I showed you my ugly parts and you stayed despite
And so I say, again and again,
Sincerely, me

— There’s a clear reason why the 9795 are so well-loved: they were never afraid to be seen as human, and humanity comes at a cost of flaws and wrong-doings.  That’s why ‘Sincerely, me’ is included in the album—to acknowledge that, to say that it’s okay not to be okay.

Just out of the shower, Yoongi, still trying to dry his hair with the towel, halts as he notices Yeri.

She’s studying the shelf that the grandpa had set up in the corridor between the bedrooms and the living room.

Yoongi gives up on his hair, tossing the towel over his shoulder, and just leans on the wall to watch her.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

It’s not a big display. But it’s something. Yoongi avoids this shelf for the most part whenever he’s at the grandpa’s house, but Yeri looks over it with nostalgic curiosity. She looks so small as she hugs herself, her hands clutched at her elbows, eyes wandering over the Cypher’s achievements. The physical copies of their albums. The photos from their debut to the last photoshoot. A banner. Yoongi’s face on a fan, concert merchandise. Yoongi tried investigating where the grandpa even got these from, but the grandpa is good at keeping silent.

Maybe that’s why he and Yoongi work.

Yeri’s fingers run over the shelf tentatively. She touches the framed photo, a small smile crossing her face.

“You guys were so little when you debuted,” she says quietly. Yoongi thought he was discreet about his presence—turns out, not quite. “Seventeen?”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Joon and Hobi were eighteen. I was nineteen.” Yoongi pushes himself off the wall, takes a few steps closer to see which photo got Yeri’s attention.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

It’s the picture from one of their earliest concerts: Yoongi is still wearing eyeliner that's too thick, his hair a red colour, Namjoon has this asshole expression on his face and spiky hair dyed blond, and Hoseok hides himself behind a black, leather mask. It makes Yoongi smile. They thought they looked cool.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Even younger than our Jungkook,” Yeri says absentmindedly. At the single mention of his name, Yoongi’s heart hurts.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

It’s only been sixteen hours since Yoongi walked away. Since Jungkook jolted away from him. It seems like a whole lifetime ago.

“We wanted it this way,” Yoongi says. Don’t think about Jungkook, he tells himself. Don’t dare to.

“I know,” Yeri says. “Doesn’t make it less tragic, does it? Didn’t even get a chance at college. Barely finished high school.”

“I don’t have any regrets.”

Yoongi only wanted to reassure Yeri about this, but surprisingly, he finds that he means it. He doesn’t have any regrets about Cypher, neither about their questionable choices in fashion nor about his nonexistent education. Being a part of Cypher had been the best years of his life. Well, until the chants came and ruined everything.

Yeri turns away from the display to face Yoongi.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she says simply, almost blankly. If she thinks this is courteous of her, it’s too late. Yoongi doesn’t need this. What he needs is for at least one of them not to regret that he has come here. Otherwise, what’s the point of all the sacrifices?

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“You needed me. You told me so.”  Who are these words for? For her or for him? Is he trying to justify what he did?

Yeri’s chest puffs up as she says, “I can take care of myself.”

“She can’t!” the grandpa’s voice scratches from the kitchen to the corridor. “She behaves like a stubborn baby.”

“Sounds like our Boss,” Yoongi smiles, surprisingly. It comes out tired. Tiredly soft.

He is so tired and worn out. His body feels like a coat he’s grown out of. He arrived in Seoul two hours ago, landed, and went straight to the grandpa’s house. Yeri was already here, being taken care of. She looked calm. Seemed like herself again, and not this clueless little girl Yoongi had spoken to on the phone. It made Yoongi calm down, too, even though he only made it because of the adrenaline that rushed through him. He took a hot shower, washing off the Rome smell, scrubbing off Jungkook’s fingertips that had traced his scars.

Yoongi wants to sleep now. It’s around two in the morning in Italy, and his body is still running somewhere in-between European time zones. But he promised Yeri a talk and the grandpa breakfast.

The breakfast goes by with Yeri and the grandpa chatting, chopsticks clacking against the bowls, and the TV on with some random show on. Yoongi doesn’t register anything, he sends food to his mouth robotically, chews, swallows. Jungkook's face is right in front of him. Hyung, he had said. The sound of his voice is all messed up in Yoongi’s head. Did he say it apologetically, or did he say it trying to get Yoongi to understand why he jumped away?

“Yoongi-yah?” comes the grandpa’s voice.

“Yes?” Yoongi speaks up. His voice is so small.

“Do you want more?”

Yoongi looks down at his bowl. It’s empty. “No, thank you.”

“Okay,” the grandpa says softly. “You two can talk now. I won’t interrupt you.” He starts to rise from the floor slowly, collecting their dishes.

“No,” Yeri protests, her hand on the grandpa’s wrist. “Let us clean the table.”

That’s what they do best—their habit, their ritual, from the company’s canteen to their dinners shared together in their grandmother’s houses as teenagers. Yoongi gathers the bowls and cutlery, and Yeri gathers the leftovers. Now that the grandpa is not here with them, left to go check on his garden, the grieving silence takes over.

They’re both almost thirty. So many things have already happened to them. They went through the loss of their loved ones, attending their funerals; they made it from a small, eerie-structured building lost in the city to the skyscraper in the centre of Seoul; they sued Yeri’s father and won; they put the 9795 at a height that later on will be scary to descend from.

So why, for God’s sake, is it so hard for them to talk about it, another part of adulting? It’s not like talking is tougher than letting go of their dreams; not like it’s tougher than walking away from the love of your life over and over, continuously turning your back on them. It’s not like talking is hard.

The silence follows them into the kitchen. It lingers as Yoongi shows Yeri where the food containers are, and stays as Yeri puts the leftovers away. Yoongi places the dirty dishes in the sink. Presses his palms against it.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Now. They have to talk now.

“Have you decided?” Yoongi blurts, and it’s so random, so weird, said in the wrong breath. He pushes away from the sink, choosing to lean against it instead. He doesn’t think he can hold his own weight right now. “It’s not too late, is it? You know it doesn’t have to be—”

Yeri’s eyes are so wide when she looks at him. She didn’t expect it, didn’t have time to prepare. “But I…” The whole world seems to hold its breath, waiting for her response. She slumps down. “I don’t know, maybe I want it.”

And Yoongi is torn because he doesn’t know if children should come out of the word maybe or if the word want is enough for them.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he asks. “You have so many responsibilities with the company already. Will you be able to take them all?”

Yeri sighs. She puts the lid on the last container, presses it until it clicks, and places it in the fridge.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“I’ll figure it out,” she says, so quietly but so sure of herself, too.

Of course she will. Yoongi doesn’t doubt her. She’s Kim Yeri. She always has everything figured out. And she has never done anything that she didn’t think she could manage. Yoongi doubts the world and society. He knows how it can be. 

“Okay,” Yoongi says softly. “What about the father?”

“No way I’m telling my dad about this.” Why does it sound so painfully like, “He wouldn’t want to see me after what I did?” 

“No, I mean.” Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek. “The father of the child?”

“I didn’t tell him,” gets said gravelly.

“Why?”

“He’s just some guy. He wouldn’t care. I met him at a fucking bar in Itaewon. You really think he needs this?”

“That’s not fair. He has to know, at least.”

For a moment, Yeri just glares at Yoongi. “Why can’t you just support me in this?” she asks, angry.

Yoongi’s lips make a thin line.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Fucking hell.

He wants to tell her that he already has enough on his plate without her. His head is a forsaken concert stadium, and it hurts all the time. She should go and try living like him—she wouldn’t last even a day. He’s been like this for years.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

He wants to tell her that he’s exhausted and jetlagged. He came here straight from the airport and didn’t even get to nap. He wants to tell her that he wants to sleep so much that he could cry right now from the aching exhaustion simmering through his limbs. But more than that, more than anything else in this world, he wants to be back with Jungkook. He wants to tell her that he wishes he could go back in time and never pick up her goddamn call. He wants to tell her that she and her fucking problem have ruined every single good thing for him, but he’s fucking here anyway. He crossed half of the continent to be here with her, to be here for her. Is that not enough? How much more selfish can she get?

Yeri bursts out crying. She doesn’t cry like Jungkook; he always starts crying quietly, one tear spilling, then another. She cries by wailing, hysterical, burrowing her face in her hands to hide. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t cry often, so it just builds up in her and grows, and grows, and grows in size until it’s too much to be kept in her body—this pain and all of her other emotions.

“I’m so sorry,” Yeri sobs, her words barely comprehensible. “I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

Yoongi shakes his head, anger lost. She’s pregnant, her body is new to it, her mind must be a mess. He’s tired and snappy, his brain is just mush after the flight. Both of them are bombs ready to explode. Yoongi didn’t mean any of his thoughts either. It was his own choice to leave. Jungkook would’ve jumped away from his touch one way or another, sooner or later, too. It’s for the better that it happened sooner. Yoongi just needs to come to terms with it.

“I won’t be a good mother, will I?” Yeri whispers. She presses her hand against her forehead, rubbing at it like a headache has built up there. “I have a fucking temper. I am at the top of my career, I should be doing other things than raising a kid. I’ve never even really wanted one until now. I don’t even know what a normal family is supposed to look like. I’ll never be able to give this child the attention they deserve. They’ll grow up miserable, and they’ll blame me for it. And then they will fabricate the company’s accounts, sue me, steal my groups and producers, and start their own record label—”

Yoongi’s stomach drops.

“Stop.” Yoongi isn’t sure if he cuts her off so sternly because he doesn’t want to hear her talking badly about herself or because he can’t take the truth of her words. “No. No. No,” he says. “No. Of course not.”

He reaches for Yeri and guides her into his arms. He holds her tightly as her whole body quakes through her crying. She clings to him.

This. This is why he’s here. Words have never been his strong point. But the very least he can do is be there for his loved ones. Maybe he’s not a good person, having fucked up too many times, but at least he can do this.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Remember what you told me?” Yoongi says. “We won’t make the same mistakes our parents did with us. We’ll do it over. We’ll do better. We will learn and raise our children better than we were raised.”

Yeri presses her face into his shoulder. She breathes heavily, hiccuping from the intensity of her crying. Yoongi hugs her tightly, like trying to mend her pieces together.

“You made it with Black Swan,” Yoongi whispers. “You did it over and better, and you created the biggest band in this whole damn world. How hard can it be to raise a child after what you’ve done?”

“I assume it’s still pretty damn hard,” Yeri says, and then cries all over again.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi rocks her in his arms to the rhythm of the chants. Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher, the voices in his head scream as he tells her about all the good things she’s ever done, all the brave decisions she’s made. That’s right. Yeri doesn’t need him to make a choice for her. She has already made one. She needs him because she needs someone to tell her that if she wants to, she can do it.

“I can promise you one thing,” Yoongi says quietly once Yeri has calmed down a little. He distances them slightly, holding her by her shoulders. He makes sure to look her in the eyes as he makes his promise. “It will be the most loved child in this whole world. Don’t have any doubt about it. They will be so loved that they will not know how rough life really can be. They will be so loved that they will never be scared of anything ugly. Every unloved thing, they’ll love it.”

“Like worms?” Yeri snorts through tears.

“Yeah,” Yoongi smiles, “like worms. Spiders. Cats that only have one eye. Everything that’s usually left unloved, they will wonder about it and treat it kindly and with love. Because love will be the only thing they know.”

Yeri nods. She takes a long breath in, then exhales all of it. She wipes the tears from her face. Yoongi gets a glass of water for her, and Yeri accepts it gratefully, taking a big, greedy sip.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“But you need to call that guy first,” Yoongi says. “He has to know and have a choice whether to be there for this kid or not.”

“What if he refuses to?” Yeri asks, lowering the glass.

“Well, then fuck him,” Yoongi shrugs.

“Everything is always so easy for you.”

That’s wrong. Nothing is ever easy for him. In fact, he feels like he goes through this life as if there’s an additional weight shackled to his ankle in comparison to other people. Each step in this life takes an effort too great for him. He overthinks everything and cares too much. That’s the whole problem. He cares too much, so he comes off like he cares about nothing.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“I will call him on one term,” Yeri says, her voice suddenly solid and stern, the way it usually is. She puts the glass on the counter. It makes a loud, dominating sound.

“What is it?”

“I know you won’t ever say it first, because you’re one stubborn motherfucker. But if there’s a situation that you’re in that is just perfect for a confession, you tell Jungkook honestly how you feel about him,” Yeri says. “He deserves to know, too.”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

What Yoongi hears is, If Jungkook confesses to you, you say it back.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Okay,” Yoongi nods. “Okay, I’ll tell him.”

He doesn’t have to, as long as he doesn’t pro—

“You have to promise me.”

Fuck this childhood friendship. Fuck that she knows him so well.

“I promise.”

This autumn will be blessed, everyone tells me
The winter harsh, the spring warm, the summer starry
It’s time to harvest now
Everything has passed us by

— Once in a decade or so, an artist creates a song that we all dramatically cry into microphones at noraebangs when our lives are so bitter that soju tastes sweet. ‘Seasons pass me by’, one of the most beautifully composed songs of our times, will become that song. Trust me.

Yoongi circles his thumb around the bottle’s rim. “So here’s that.”

Namjoon and Hoseok sit in silence around him. Namjoon takes a sip from his beer bottle, and his mouth comes off with a loud, awkward smack. None of them care. No one fucking cares, they’re family, they’re past formalities, past everything.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“This is a mess, hyung,” Namjoon states.

“I know,” Yoongi says.

Namjoon pushes his chair back, rising up. “We’ll need more alcohol.”

“Stronger, too,” Hoseok adds.

“Agreed,” comes Namjoon’s voice from where he’s rummaging through the cabinets.

This random pity party is hosted in his apartment. Yoongi told them he wanted to talk and asked them when they were free. Namjoon and Hoseok rearranged their entire schedule to be there for him. Today.

Because that’s what friends do, right? They share the burden and the fun moments. They listen to each other. They stay together.

Because in our lives, we all deserve a group of people we can be ourselves around. We need them so we can share things like, “Hey, have you seen the Lakers game last night? What a mess.” Or complain about the weather, “It’s raining cats and dogs today, what a shame.” Or call them, “Would you happen to know how to install the Ikea shelf?” And have them come over to try to help you and miserably fail at it, but hey, at least you’re two idiots together, right?

You also need friends to have someone to confess to quietly, shamefully, “I love the 9795’s Jungkook.”

They’re past formalities, but still, as Yoongi recounted to them everything that happened to him and Jungkook in the past five years, he felt… weird. Weirdly shy. He’s never really discussed guys with Namjoon and Hoseok, at least not in the same way they’ve discussed girls with him. They’ve known about his sexuality, and they’ve always been understanding, but Yoongi has never felt not guilty. Not ashamed. And so he always made sure to redirect the conversation whenever it would get too close to the topic of him and his partners.

But now they know. Now they know about the two confessions, about “It’ll pass” and “My love for you clings to me!”, and about the hands that reached for Yoongi’s ears and covered them to stop the chants. They know that the 9795’s Jungkook who’s loved by the entire world and probably some deities as well, is loved by Min Yoongi. They know that the 9795’s Jungkook could have had anyone in this world, but he chose Yoongi, a failure of a producer at Black Swan Records.

“So it’s mutual,” Namjoon says as he fills their glasses with wine.

“It is,” Yoongi says.

“But Jungkook doesn’t know.” Namjoon passes the glasses, sitting back down at the table.

“I guess.”

“Hardly,” Hoseok says, smacking his lips, after they have clinked their glasses together and each taken a sip. “I knew it from the moment Yoongi recited Jungkook’s preferences in that restaurant on Taehyung’s birthday.”

Yoongi’s heart goes up in his throat. Right with the wine, probably.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“You think he—knows?” Yoongi croaks.

Namjoon shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Love blinds.”

Hoseok clicks his tongue. “Namjoon has a point.”

“By the way, remind me again. Why are we so scared of him knowing we love him?” We. Namjoon uses the word ‘we’, the word ‘us’. Because true friends are always on your side, whether you’re right or not.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“It’s not that I’m scared,” Yoongi lies. “It’s just that it will make things more complicated if I confess.”

“And so far, have you guys had an easy ride?”

In order not to reply to Namjoon, Yoongi drinks from his glass again. Out of the snacks, they only have fried octopus left, and Yoongi picks it up and munches on it.

“I just don’t quite get it,” Hoseok says, honest and sympathetic as always. “Can you, like... not say it? Like you physically can’t? You open your mouth and nothing comes out?”

Initially, Yoongi just planned to see how well he could talk about his feelings for Jungkook. If he wants to live up to the promise he has given Yeri, he needs to start opening up about his feelings for him to other people, too. Like a trial.

But it seems like he’s drastically failing at it. 

Okay. Yoongi can be honest. Really honest this time.

“It’s just that I didn’t mean to love him,” Yoongi says. “He didn’t even turn twenty when I met him. I was dating another guy during that time. Thought I loved him. Maybe even wanted to settle down with him, I don’t know. He was a comfortable kind of love. You know? But Jungkook was always captivating. And he’s an uncomfortable kind of love. Because you don’t notice it until it’s too late.”

Hoseok signals to Namjoon to pour more wine for Yoongi.

“Talk it out, hyung,” they say, because they’re his best friends and they know that it is one of these rare moments when he speaks his whole true self without holding back like he usually does.

“He was always so quiet,” Yoongi continues. “My head’s a mess of sounds. We’re living in an age where everyone is constantly talking, sharing, reposting, and he was quiet. I loved spending time with him. We understood each other, it felt like.”

“If he was older, would you go for it?” Namjoon asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so. But he was twenty. He was about to debut. We were about to end things with Cypher. Totally different directions. I didn’t want to hold him back. Besides, I truly believed it was kind of… A crush on your senior type of thing. It passes. I wasn’t going to get my heart broken because of a twenty-year-old boy.”

Hoseok and Namjoon are both too quiet. Then comes, “I understand.”

“Then I couldn’t be with him because… After he debuted, he worked so hard towards his dream. On the other hand… after my military service, I didn’t know what I was doing at all. Even now, I’m still a bit lost, but it was much worse back then.”

“What about now? What is holding you back now?”

His fame. His age. He has grown up so well. I am broken.

“He’s too big,” Yoongi whispers, eyelids too heavy. He rubs at his eyes. “He’s too fucking big now. How am I supposed to love him?”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Namjoon-ah,” Hoseok says, sombre. “Stronger.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says in exactly the same tone. He takes out the whiskey and new glasses. Pours for all of them. They drink it without clinking. Nothing to cheer for.

Yoongi wants to cry. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be with Jungkook; it’s just that he can’t, he explains to the guys. Yoongi wants to do all of this shit that couples do. He’d do all of the things he always refused to do in his previous relationships for Jungkook: he’d buy him flowers; he’d cuddle with him whenever Jungkook wanted to; he’d clean the poop after the dog Jungkook wanted to so much; he’d hold Jungkook’s hand all the fucking time, even though it’s sweaty and cold, and Yoongi hates this feeling. He’d do his absolute best to be a good boyfriend for Jungkook. The best.

This is so unfair that his life doesn’t ever collide with Jungkook’s. They’re always two parallel lines that can’t meet. They get so close to each other, but they never cross.

“God, I really love him so much. It’s unimaginable how much I love him. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop.”

“Still,” Hoseok says, lazily picking at the remaining octopus, “I think you should tell him.”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Should he? Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“You know what?” Yoongi slams his hands against the table, rising up. “I’m going to. Right now.”

“No!” Namjoon jumps to his feet after Yoongi. He tries to sit Yoongi back down, fretting around him. “Hyung, you can’t tell him right now.”

“But why?” Yoongi pouts. “I wanna call him. I miss him. I miss him so much. He’s my baby. My angel. My little star. We shared a room once or twice while he was on tour, and now I sleep terribly without him.” He blinks. “Do you guys think he has trouble sleeping, too?”

Silence.

The chants go, nauseating in his head, throbbing: Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“You see,” Yoongi says, “that’s why I need to call him and tell him that I love him. I wanna know how he’s doing.”

“Hyung,” Namjoon sighs fondly. Or tiredly. Yoongi wouldn’t know; somehow, all the tone indicators are going past him. “You’re, um, how do I put it politely?”

“Drunk,” Hoseok says. “Extremely.”

What? Yoongi doesn’t feel drunk. Yoongi feels totally sober.

“It’s not good to confess to someone when you’re drunk,” Namjoon explains patiently.

“Then I’m gonna go pee,” Yoongi announces.

At this, nobody stops him.

He stands up from the table like a sober person. It’s only when he takes another step and sways, his body too light, against all expectations, that he realises: Yeah, he’s drunk out of his mind. He’s drunk out of his mind after many glasses of whiskey downed one after another. No wonder he couldn’t stop talking. It’s so easy. His tongue is so loose.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

He barely gets to the restroom. Everything is done mechanically; all of his motions are ragged, lacking smoothness. His actions lack logic. He should come back to the kitchen-dining-room-part of Namjoon’s apartment, but instead, his legs take him through the bedroom to the balcony.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

The window has been left open on the balcony. Yoongi leans against it with his elbows, taking a deep breath in. The fresh air is even more intoxicating than the alcohol itself. Yoongi looks up at the sky. Starless, but there’s a full moon.

He’s drunk, and he misses Jungkook, and the sky always reminds him that even when they’re apart physically, at least they’re under the same sky. He’s drunk, and he wants to call Jungkook and tell him he loves him. That he always did.

He doesn’t think about things to say, he doesn’t think about the time difference, he doesn’t think about anything. He just pulls out his phone and finds the contact. He presses the call button quite confidently for a person whose vision is blurring so much that he can barely read.

It doesn’t take long to have his call picked up. Or maybe Yoongi is too drunk and the time has started flowing slower, it’s stretching like childhood summer; it goes on forever, forever boring, until—

“Hyungnim?”

Just at the sound of his voice, warmth spreads in Yoongi’s chest. He has missed it so much. Has missed him.

“Hi, it’s me.” Yoongi’s voice is too thick and drunk. He tries clearing his throat and sobering up, but fails. Everything in this world is swaying a little, slowly spinning. He takes a step back to lean his back against the balcony’s wall and almost misses it, losing coordination in the process.

“Hyung,” Jungkook says, voice high-pitched, in disbelief, almost as if on the verge of tears. “Hi. Hi, hyung. How are you?”

“Not this,” Yoongi mumbles, his palm rubbing at his forehead. There was a reason he called Jungkook, it’s somewhere in the back of his mind. “No, Jungkook-ah, you have to tell me—”

Jungkook doesn’t seem to hear him, either. “There were so many times I wanted to call you and tell you I’m sorry, I’m sorry I jumped away, I didn’t mean to, it’s just—”

“Not this, listen to me, you tell me, tell me you—” Tell me you love me, I’m gonna say it back, I promised to, just one time, I want to tell you about this just one time.

“I know you have just opened up to me about guilt. I shouldn’t have jumped away. It was wrong.”

“No, Jungkook-ah—”

“Wait. Are you drunk?”

Shit. How did he know?

“You only ever slur my name like this when you’re drunk.”

Fuck.

“Well, maybe I am a little tipsy,” Yoongi admits, playing it cool.

“God, you’re wasted,” Jungkook murmurs, mostly to himself. “Is there anyone next to you to take care of you?”

Yoongi looks around himself. “There’s no one next to me. There’s only you.”

He hears Jungkook groaning. “Are you with the guys from the bar? Or have you been drinking alone?”

“I was with Namjoon and Hobi. I just went to pee and then remembered I wanted to call you.”

Yoongi’s answer doesn’t misguide Jungkook. He keeps his focus, unlike Yoongi, who has already forgotten why he called Jungkook in the first place. “Are the hyungs just as drunk as you?”

“I don’t think so. I’m the one who drank the most,” Yoongi says, feeling a weird sense of pride swelling in his chest.

Jungkook doesn’t care. “Okay,” he says. “Stay where you are. I’m gonna hang up for a second and then call you back. You’ll pick up my call, right? And you’ll tell me what you prepared for me.”

Yoongi doesn’t want Jungkook to hang up. He doesn’t care if he will hang up for a second or two or for a minute and call him back, or if he will just abandon Yoongi right here. Selfishly, Yoongi doesn’t want him to hang up. He wants to stay on the phone with Jungkook even if their conversation is meaningless, even if it doesn’t make sense, because, albeit imperfect, at least they’re together like this. At least it’s almost like Jungkook didn’t jump away from Yoongi as though Yoongi were infected with some terrible disease.

“Don’t hang up,” Yoongi says. “Don’t hang up. I’m gonna tell you a secret.”

Everything falters at this moment. Jungkook does.

The last time the word ‘secret’ was exchanged between them, Jungkook kissed him for the first time. Yoongi is perfectly aware of what he’s doing.

“What,” Jungkook whispers, swallows, “kind of secret?”

There are so many things Yoongi keeps away from Jungkook. There are so many secrets that he just carries with him and doesn’t know where to put them down.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

“I am a terrible, terrible person,” Yoongi says. He’s so drunk that the words leave him uncontrollably. Too many things have been bottled up inside of him. His tongue is disconnected from the rest of his body, everything is moving on its own. He is a monster with four limbs, an ugly one, the one who breaks things once he touches them. “When I was twenty-four… I told my best friends… ‘Let’s stop making music’. I said that. Can you imagine? We literally breathed it, and I made us stop. And now none of us—none!—know what to do anymore.”

Maybe he wants Jungkook to soothe him. He wants Jungkook to pity him. He wants him to tell him, Aw, poor thing. You’ve lost yourself. It must be hard.

“You do, though,” Jungkook says instead, and this is not it, this is not what Yoongi wanted to hear from him. Jungkook’s voice is so soft. So kind. “Namjoonie-hyung is in the middle of his second solo project, and he makes hit after hit for the other artists. Hobi-hyung is making up most of the choreos for Black Swan’s groups. You mentor new groups. You guys have all found something new to do for yourself. Besides, you’re still together. Still best friends. It matters.”

Jungkook’s right. Yoongi knows he is. Just how many groups disband in a year in this country? What about the world? Cypher isn’t unique at all in that sense. Some groups disband, and the members don’t even get in touch any longer.

But Cypher is different. On Namjoon’s birthday, Hoseok and Yoongi sit on the family side of the table. They are still working under the same roof. When they need to share their burdens, they reach out to each other.

Cypher is too different, perhaps, because it disbanded not because of a lack of talent, money, or interest. After all, the chants exist in Yoongi’s head because they were so loud. All of the people in their concert halls cheered for them, believed in them. All of these voices in Yoongi’s head wanted to see them succeed.

The problem is that Cypher disbanded because one member couldn’t carry on making music.

“It’s shit,” Yoongi spits. “It’s fucking shit, and I hate it. I know that if not for me, we would be making our album instead of supervising somebody else’s.”

A pause. Jungkook lets Yoongi go through this angry outburst. Yoongi’s thoughts wander elsewhere.

He thinks he wants a cigarette and another sip of whiskey in his body. Wants the pills back. Wants a head without the chants back.

 “You know what I think you should do?” Jungkook says carefully after giving him some time. 

“Mhm?”

“Namjoon-hyung wrote a goodbye album. Hobi-hyung, too. Maybe you could try… Making something for yourself, too. I think it would be nice. After all, to let go of something, you have to say goodbye first.”

Yoongi laughs. This is such a naive thought.

Namjoon and Hoseok released their albums three years ago, right after the failed second album of the 9795. Back then, some people still remembered who Cypher were. On the Internet, one or two forums speculated whether Cypher was going to get back together or not. Namjoon and Hoseok released their goodbye albums, and that’s when everyone knew that was it. Still, the public enjoyed their music. Namjoon and Hoseok entered military service after that. Journalists wrote some good articles about them and shook up the news a little.

But now that it’s been almost five years since Cypher’s disbandment, all remaining hopes crushed, who would even care?

“Nobody knows who SUGA of Cypher is anymore,” Yoongi says.

“That’s not true,” Jungkook argues. “But if it means so much to you, why don’t you just…create something new for yourself?”

Names never really mattered to Jungkook. He debuted under his real one; he never had to hide, never had to create a persona so meticulously. What is it about rappers that makes them need and yearn for a cover-up?

Yoongi shakes his head. “Who would even want to listen to this?”

“I would,” Jungkook says without skipping a beat. Says it because he truly believes Yoongi is capable of something.

This is when Yoongi’s drunken mind snaps back into reality. Maybe it’s the fresh air that finally worked, or maybe it’s Jungkook’s gentleness that reminded Yoongi that he doesn’t deserve it. Doesn’t deserve anything, in fact.

Fuck this love confession thing, Yoongi thinks; what a fucking waste of time, what a fucking waste of potential, he is.

“You know what I think you should do?” Yoongi asks.

“Yeah?” Jungkook says softly, and Yoongi already hates himself for the words that are about to leave his mouth.

“You should keep away from me.” On his palate, this phrase tastes like dog shit. “Keep away, understood? Don’t come too close.”

“Hyung—”

Yoongi has failed in everything, and he doesn’t want Jungkook to fail. He’s cursed, perhaps, that all of his misfortunes are transferred onto the people he loves. Yoongi has enough people on him that he’s let down already. He won’t be able to take it if he lets Jungkook down, too.

“Don’t love me, okay? Just don’t. It’s not worth it.”

Yoongi meant to say, Don’t fucking love me, let me be, let me be alone, let me fucking die, I wouldn’t care, I wouldn’t fucking care. But he chose something softer. Something that he thought wouldn’t hurt.

The air seems to be pushed out of Jungkook’s lungs. Outraged, he says, “You can’t just tell me this. It’s not your fucking business who I love.”

Yoongi pushes himself off the wall. “It is when your love concerns me.”

“You think it’s that easy?” Jungkook asks, angry.

“It should be,” Yoongi says, just as angry. “You can, and should, love someone who isn’t sick.”

“You have absolutely no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t say it like you didn’t fucking cry when I kissed you!”

If Jungkook is taken aback by that unexpected accusation, he doesn’t show it. “I cried because I felt happy! I cried because I felt that it was right, that it was finally the right time! But then you started the whole thing and you—”

“Oh, yeah? So I ruined it? I should have just ignored your tears? Would it be better this way? Just fuck you senseless while you’re crying? Is that what you want? Is that what you need from me?”

Yoongi thinks it is the first time they are arguing like this—when both of them are actually mad at each other. Usually, it’s push-and-pull: one acts up, and the other tries to calm him down. But this time, it’s too different and unfamiliar, and Yoongi is drunk. All he wants Jungkook to tell him is that yeah, he fucked up, he jumped away, but Yoongi forgave him in the next second, so why can’t they go back to the hotel room in Rome, to the moment where Jungkook packed his things with so much care and attentiveness?

Yoongi wants to ask him, Why didn’t you go after me? Why didn’t you breach the distance? Why did you let it happen? Why didn’t you just kiss me again?

But he knows the answer.

Yoongi never said it back, that’s why.

“Stop it. Stop before you say something you’ll regret,” Jungkook says tiredly, all of the fight in his voice gone. “If you think your pretentiously hurtful words will make me believe you’re a bad person, you’re wrong. So stop trying.”

What an annoying, kind motherfucker. What did Yoongi ever do to him that he believes in him so unconditionally?

“If you think you’ll hurt me like this, you won’t. I know better than to believe you. I know you would never do any of the things you’ve just said, and I’m thankful and relieved for that,” Jungkook says. “I’m very lucky to have you, one of the kindest and most selfless people I know. So I need you to go to bed now and sober up. Let’s meet once I’m back in Seoul. Let’s talk all of it out.”

“I don’t wanna see you, actually,” Yoongi says, a stubborn child.

“Too bad, because I do.”

What can Yoongi say to this?

How can he make Jungkook see that Yoongi wants the best for him, which means that Yoongi himself isn’t suitable for his life?

What did Jungkook say? Kind? Selfless? That’s not him. That’s some other Min Yoongi.

Yoongi’s father never actually taught him how to swim. Yoongi recalls this memory so vividly all of a sudden. He never taught him how to swim. He just told Yoongi to walk into the sea and watched from the shore if the survival instinct would arise in Yoongi or not. And Yoongi is bitter at him for that. Bitter for everything that he’s never done, bitter for everything that he’s ever done, that it was never the thing that Yoongi needed from him.

“You once told me that I shouldn’t be afraid to ask you questions,” Jungkook says, pulling Yoongi out of the cold Busan sea. Has it been a minute since Yoongi hasn’t answered, or longer? “But I’ll be honest now, and I’ll tell you that I’m still fucking mortified to ask you anything.”

At first, Yoongi doesn’t understand where it’s coming from in Jungkook. Where it’s going to go. Will it drown like Yoongi?

“I’m going to be brave for once and ask you this. Tell me honestly, just once. Do you really not love me?”

And Yoongi doesn’t know how to tell him that he’s always loved him. He loved him young and inexperienced, he loved him tired and overworked, he loves him now still, successful and so much bigger than Yoongi in all of the senses of the word. He has always loved him because it’s Jungkook, it’s his warm spot in the middle of his whole being, something that Yoongi has never seen in other people before.

Yoongi doesn’t know how to put all of this into words. He’s never been a good speaker to begin with. This love in him hasn’t been a type of love to be explained in words for some years. It has grown out of it, has become something too big, something that Yoongi tries to hide and fails, fails, fails.

“It’s a bad question,” is what he ends up saying.

“Questions,” Jungkook says, voice low, he must be frowning right now, “don’t have morality. You told me so yourself. You told me I could ask you anything.”

“You can. I never said I was going to have answers to all of your questions.”

“This is not a mathematical equation that I’m asking you to solve! It’s a yes-or-no question! How hard can it be to say, ‘No, Jungkook, I don’t love you’?! Or, how hard can it be to say, ‘Yes, Jungkook, I l—’”

“Jeon Jungkook,” Yoongi cuts him off.

Yeri made him promise to confess to Jungkook the next time the situation allowed it. But Yoongi doesn’t think this is how it’s supposed to go. Namjoon’s right, he should be sober. He should not be broken when he says it.

Yoongi decides right here, at this moment, that the best way is to just never allow this situation to happen. In order not to drown, don’t get into the fucking water if you can’t swim.

“Jeon Jungkook, I want you to stay healthy. Don’t get sick. Take care of yourself,” Yoongi says. “Let’s live well while we’re still alive. Apart from each other.”

“This is the opposite of ‘I don’t love you’,” Jungkook says quietly.

“It is what it is.”

Jungkook scoffs. “I don’t know why I’m trying to talk sense into you when you’re drunk.”

He hangs up.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi looks up at the sky. Starless. The full moon hurts his eyes.

He needs a cigarette.

Hoseok finds him a minute later.  Yoongi knows it’s him from the way he steps onto the balcony, he could recognise his walk anywhere. Yoongi looks over his shoulder. Hoseok mumbles something into the phone that’s pressed against his ear and seemingly hangs up. He looks too serious, unaware that Yoongi has noticed him. Once their gazes lock, a smile blooms on his face.

“Hey,” he says cheerfully, and hugs Yoongi.

He holds him carefully. Too carefully. Yoongi is not ivory. Yoongi is a sturdy piece of shit, he won’t break.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Listen,” Hoseok says, seemingly amused. “Getting shitfaced like a teenager wasn’t part of the plan. We’re not young anymore.”

“I need a cigarette,” Yoongi mumbles, whines. Like a real kid. He suddenly feels even drunker than he actually is. “I need a cigarette and my studio.”

“I don’t smoke, and I think the best place for you right now would be a bed. Namjoon prepared a place for you to sleep in another room. C’mon.”

“But I have to write a song.”

Hoseok softly pulls him away from the balcony and into the guest room, rubbing a soothing circle into his back. Yoongi struggles in his hold a little, debating between separating and nuzzling into Hoseok’s warm touch.

“I have to write a song…” Yoongi tells him, trying to prove it to him. “Right now. I have to write it. I need to write a song.”

“Okay, okay,” Hoseok laughs quietly, amused, and even drunk. Yoongi knows he says it just to humour him. “Tell me more. What kind of a song do you need to write?”

“I have to write a goodbye song. ‘Cause I need to let go.”

Even the moments I loved,
I wonder if they were real
Did I dream of them?
Or did I dream of you?
But you tell me
Wait for it,
So I do, I do, I do

— I am going to tell you a secret in hopes that you will keep ‘Wait for it’ even closer to your heart after that. That’s where it all started. ‘Wait for it’, believe it or not, was the song that set the ground for the further creation of the Boyhood album. It is not so surprising when you think about it: ‘Wait for it’ could easily have been mistaken for the opening song.

“Sorry,” Yoongi chokes. “You want us to do what now?”

Taehyung blinks at him, innocently sweet. “Would you like me to start from the beginning?”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi wonders what beginning he means. Knowing Kim Taehyung, he’ll stand up from the couch where he’s sitting now and go behind the studio’s door. He’ll knock on it impatiently, yelling, “Hyungnim! Hyungnim, I know you’re in here! Open the door! It’s an emergency!” And Yoongi will have to play along with him: go through the same annoyance he went through fifteen minutes ago, and lose it the moment he slams the door open. Taehyung will hug him, tightly and on purpose, and Yoongi will awkwardly pat him on the back.

No, Yoongi doesn’t want Taehyung to start from the very beginning. The start was actually kind of nice, considering they haven’t seen each other since July and it’s the end of September now. Yoongi has missed him, his face, his kind smile he always shares so easily with others.

No, Yoongi needs him to repeat—

“Just the album thing, please.”

Taehyung doesn’t waste a second. “Ok, so. Jimin told you about the ‘Boyhood’ song, right?”

“Right.”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“He probably said that we were just messing around and that we weren’t ready to start the process of the new album yet.”

“Yes.”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“But,” Taehyung says. “After you’ve left… the inspiration really hit.”

“Wow,” Yoongi says, tonelessly. “Maybe I was the problem all along.”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“What?” Taehyung frowns. He points at Yoongi with his index finger. “You say one more bad thing about my Yoongi-hyung and we’ll have to go outside and talk.”

Yoongi puts his hands defensively up in an exasperated manner. Look at him. Can’t even bad-mouth himself because the goddamn kids he taught how to make music are watching him like hawks.

“So we tried writing songs for the album and realised that there was something missing,” Taehyung says. “You.”

It punches Yoongi right into the stomach, this you. But still, even repeated the whole story for the second time, he doesn’t understand. He looks at Taehyung, confused, lost.

Taehyung smiles. “If we are going to write an album about our boyhood… there’s no way we can do it without Cypher.”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

What a fucking lie, Yoongi wants to tell him. What a fucking lie.

“Why?”

“You watched us grow up,” Taehyung says simply. “Hobi-hyung taught us how to dance with our hearts. Namjoon-hyung always made sure to give us advice during our turbulent times. You, hyung, taught us how to make music. We became Rookie of the Year because Cypher made our first album. For six years, you were always here for us. So now, very selfishly, on behalf of the 9795, I want to ask you to be here for us for one more time. I ask you to write an album—not instead of us, of course; that would be too greedy. But with us.”

Taehyung looks at him sickeningly serious, his voice sickeningly polite, the way it only gets during press conferences and interviews. Yoongi is not used to being with him like this.

“Write it with us, please.”

Why is Taehyung treating them as if Cypher are better than the 9795? Like Cypher was something more than just a rap group that took off in the idol industry and died without any hustle?

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi stands up from the chair. He’s empty, he’s just so empty. He can’t handle it. Doesn’t know how to. Has never been taught this. He grabs his jacket from the desk and leaves clueless Taehyung behind.

It must take him some solid seconds to catch up that Yoongi really has just stood up and left him without any explanations. Yoongi has already crossed half of the corridor that leads to the elevators when Taehyung’s voice reaches his back.

“Where are you going?!”

Yoongi waves him off. “Wait here. I need a smoke!”

Smoking is a long-forgotten habit. It’s always been recreational at best, but here he is. Trading one addiction for another. If not alcohol, then the pills; if not the pills, then Jungkook; if not Jungkook, then cigarettes. Carrying the burned smell on his fingertips, on his clothes. He’s not proud of it. But it helps. He has been a frequent visitor to the back exit of the building, alongside other Black Swan Record employees with the same vice. There’s something uniting about smoking together. But today, he’s alone. 

Yoongi takes a puff, the burned feeling in his mouth, the burned-out feeling in his body.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

He has a goodbye song half-finished in his drafts. Arranged on Namjoon’s laptop the morning after he got shitfaced, made as he suffered from the worst hangover he’s had in years. He has some other songs, too. Songs that he wrote mulling over Jungkook, his idea. What if Yoongi was not SUGA of Cypher anymore? What if Yoongi was somebody else? Who would he be? Who would he choose to become? There’s no clear title yet, but the songs are being made—one by one.

Slowly, he weaves a story, in between leading the DREAMERS girls’ comeback with sweet love songs and a few ballads here and there, and mentoring the new boyband group on the verge of debuting. He told Yeri about it the other day at their lunch in the canteen, and she was so happy. She said she’ll do her best to give Yoongi’s project the promotion he deserves.

The thing is, Yoongi doesn’t think his project deserves anything.

But it’s his. For the first time in years, it’s his. It’s an album about learning to let go. To let go of the dreams, to let go of this cycle of hurt, to let go of the voices, to let go of Jungkook.

And now Taehyung—or the 9795—wants Cypher to get back together and write an album with them. This is the opposite of letting go. This is like getting chained back in.

Yoongi makes another tug, Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! in his head when he suddenly spots an all too familiar figure appearing in the alley. His heart speeds up. The chants stop.

It’s dressed in all black, this figure, a bucket hat and a mask, a backpack hanging off its shoulder, but Yoongi would recognise it anywhere. It follows him in his dreams, it occupies a good part of his daily thoughts. He replays their conversations in his mind constantly, back and forth, forth and back.

Jungkook is followed by his manager behind him. He’s looking down at his feet as he’s walking towards the back door, seemingly lost in his own world. The manager—not Jinsoo—is barely keeping up with him.

It’s been a week since the 9795 came back from their tour—Yoongi saw the articles, all the pictures from the airport. Jimin texted him that he and Yoongi need to go out drinking sometime now that he’s back; Yoongi answered him with a thumbs-up emoji.

So it’s not that Yoongi didn’t expect to see Jungkook. They’re working in the same company, after all. Rather,  he didn’t expect to see him so soon. Didn’t get enough time to prepare himself for their first encounter after their… call.

Jungkook’s gaze travels from the ground and up, stumbling right into Yoongi. Their eyes lock; they hold onto this eye contact—Yoongi with the cigarette smouldering, halfway into his mouth, like a fucking idiot, and Jungkook clutching onto his backpack’s strap with this lost expression on his face that changes from something mortified first and then to something blank in the next moment, completely unreadable.

He thinks about this silence suddenly bestowed onto him; again this silence, for the first time in months, which feels like years. No chants. Silence; only the quiet wind walking in the company’s backyard alley.

Jungkook slows down a little. Seconds pass, he’s approaching Yoongi closer and closer. What should Yoongi tell him?

Hey. Good to see you.

Good to see you can’t explain how much Yoongi has missed him.

Welcome back.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Do you want me to write an album about your boyhood, too?

Yoongi can no longer handle this eye contact, so he looks away. He wants to melt into the ground in order not to have to deal with it. By the quick second glance he sends Jungkook, catching Jungkook with this mortified expression on his face again, Jungkook doesn’t want to do it either. Jungkook didn’t expect to see Yoongi so soon. Jungkook didn’t know, didn’t have any idea that Yoongi was out here, at the back exit, smoking seven times per day, at least.

Yoongi wants to hide his cigarette as if he’s a child. As if he’s about to get scolded. Knowing Jungkook, he shouldn’t be too happy to catch Yoongi smoking. Knowing the way their last conversation ended, he shouldn’t be too happy to see Yoongi at all.

At the last few steps separating Jungkook and him, Yoongi pulls himself together. It’s just a boy he’s known since he was twenty years old. It’s his co-worker. They’ve been by each other’s sides for five years. Yoongi’s hands know so much about Jungkook’s body. It shouldn’t be so awkward.

“Sunbaenim,” Jungkook bows as a greeting, painfully respectful. Yoongi realises that this is it.

Yoongi wanted distance? There, have it. The formality of Jungkook’s speech.

Yoongi can’t do anything but bow back slightly and say, with the same tone and formality, “Jungkook-ssi.”

Jungkook passes him by. Walks through the door and doesn’t even look back. Because Yoongi called him while drunk and told him to keep away, not to love him—and so he did. Why did Yoongi expect him to act any differently?

After Jungkook, his manager bows to Yoongi. Yoongi bows, too. This is exactly how people who work for the same company greet each other. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yoongi finishes the cigarette. Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! At every fucking puff. At every second of his life. Yoongi is so tired of it. It’s so repetitive.

He goes back up to his studio. Taehyung is still there, just like Yoongi told him to be. He’s sprawled over the sofa, the phone in his hands. He’s playing some game as he waits patiently for Yoongi. He’s occupying Yoongi’s studio like it’s his second home.

“You came back?” he asks lazily.

“Show me what you’ve got,” Yoongi says.

Taehyung, almost as if he knew Yoongi would ask for this, jumps off the sofa, tossing his phone aside. He plops down at the keyboard. Yoongi hasn’t played it in a while, so it’s a little dusty. A little unattended. A little unloved, Yoongi would say. He doesn’t use the piano anymore to compose—everything is right there, in the computer software, why would he hurt himself over this?

Not giving Yoongi time to prepare, Taehyung starts playing. His fingers press on the keys roughly, patchy. It’s so obvious that he didn’t receive actual lessons and learned it second-hand from Yoongi. He sings quietly, barely audible—this song does not have words yet, it’s just meaningless humming, an idea, a sketch.

It sounds like the time of your life when the trees are still giants, your parents are young and know the answers to all of your questions, and life feels like it’ll just go on forever.

The song ends abruptly, dying on the wrong note. Yoongi frowns. He wanted to hear more. Addicting. The 9795 are always so addictive.

“That’s it?” he asks.

Taehyung shrugs.

Yoongi thinks to himself, Do all of the prodigies have to act like assholes?

Taehyung starts playing again: it’s another melody, it goes a bit faster this time, his fingers pressing on the keys, against all the love that’s gathered in this forsaken musical instrument.

Each press of Taehyung’s fingers on the keys strokes against Yoongi’s ribs like Jungkook’s fingers had. Steals Yoongi’s breath away the same way Jungkook always does whenever he comes into the room. It feels like Jungkook’s mouth sliding down Yoongi’s neck, leaving a warm, wet path behind, tingly butterflies scratching against Yoongi’s stomach. The notes sound like all the kind words Jungkook had ever cried out to Yoongi’s face—all of these words that Yoongi didn’t deserve.

Yoongi closes his eyes.

This time, Taehyung is singing.

“Even the moments I loved, I wonder if they were real. Did I dream of them? Or did I dream of you? But you tell me, wait for it, so I do, I do, I do.”

Too fucking good. Too fucking genius-like.

Yoongi looks back at his computer almost longingly. The goodbye song—his goodbye song—is lost somewhere on the flash drive there.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest. He can either work on his very mediocre project with no name, or he can participate in writing an album of the century.

The choice to tell the truth has already been made the second Yoongi spotted Jungkook in the distance.

He turns on his heels, walking out of the studio.

This time, Taehyung is quicker to catch up. He comes out after him. “Where are you going? To smoke again?”

Yoongi points behind himself. “To get Joon and Hobi?”

“What about Jimin and Jungkook?”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “You’re gonna write a diamond record without your bandmates?”

They gather everyone in Yoongi’s studio. To have five people besides him jumbled up here is a weird feeling. His previous studio used to be so short on space, it was barely big enough for three people to work together, but the new Genius Lab could possibly host a party inside. Then again, it’s not like Yoongi ever needed more space before. He only worked with Cypher. Three people in their group fit perfectly into Yoongi’s previous life. It was only when the budding trainees were introduced to them and carved a place inside Yoongi’s heart that the studio became too small.

His new studio—Yoongi should probably stop calling it ‘new’, it’s been half a year since he got it—became a great solution. All thanks to Jungkook, this boy, this man that’s now standing in the middle of it, in a pose that he owns, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Yoongi wonders what he thinks of all of it. Does he think it’s a terrible idea for Cypher to write an album for them? Like Namjoon and Hoseok who are sitting down on the couch, frowning, their jaws gritted? Or is he excited, too, like his bandmates who can barely stand still as they are explaining the concept of the album, their hands flying in the air, passion spilling out of them?

Yoongi wants to know, but Jungkook’s face doesn’t reveal anything. He’s just listening to everyone carefully.

Yoongi catches the look Hoseok is sending him. Taehyung and Jimin slowly die down in their speeches.

“Is something…wrong?” Jimin asks.

Silence. Uncomfortable. None of Cypher dare to speak up.

“It’s just,” Namjoon sighs, giving up. He rubs his palms, avoiding looking at the 9795. “I’ve never really written anything with five people at the same time.”

For that matter, Yoongi has never written anything that way, either. He only knows how to make music with two people. Two specific people, to be completely honest. He can only work alone or with them. No other option has ever been considered.

“How are we even going to do it?” Namjoon continues. The questions keep coming. “What are you going to tell Yeri? Do you think she’ll approve? You know that we have other teams assigned to us, right? You probably have a lot of schedules, too. How will we find time to write it? Or what if the album doesn’t work out, not the way you envision it would? Like, okay, we make it—but what if after it’s completed, you listen to it and think, ‘Oh, what a fucking mess’”

The corner of Taehyung’s mouth pulls up. “Are you talking about Cypher right now? Have you ever written anything that could be described as a mess?”

“Believe me, I have.”

“It’s not that we don’t want to do it,” Hoseok adds. “It’s just that we don’t know how.”

The enthusiasm that has initially filled the room all but flushes. Jimin and Taehyung visibly deflate. Namjoon and Hoseok look in the direction of the door with guilt-ridden expressions on their faces.

Yoongi understands their fear. He’s afraid, too. He’s afraid he doesn’t remember what making music as a team looks like, especially with a team of six people. He’s scared his skills are not enough for the 9795’s talent and fame. It’s a big weight they want Cypher to take on and carry. A big task. Perhaps too big.

But it’s not unmanageable. How do you eat an elephant?

Piece by piece.

“What if we tried to write one song together?” Yoongi speaks up. The room’s attention shifts to him. He pushes himself off the wall. “If it doesn’t go as they want it to, then they write the album without us. But if there’s—” And he’s suddenly lost with words.

What can be found between a group that didn’t manage to survive in the idol industry and a global phenomenon?

“A spark,” Jungkook says, helping Yoongi out.

Yoongi clings to this word. “Yeah, if there’s a spark—a promise—then we submit the song to Yeri and wait for her decision. If the song gets approved, we record the album together.”

Namjoon looks at him in a way that is the embodiment of, Are you sure we can make it work?

Yoongi doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything, really. But he wants to try.

So he nods. Trust me.

And Namjoon and Hoseok say, “Okay.”

At first, they struggled to choose this one song to work on. ‘Boyhood’ gets dismissed immediately—it’s the song for the 9795 to handle. Besides, Yoongi isn’t sure he can work on the song about himself. On the song about the voices.

Jimin wades through his lyrics notebooks, suggesting this, and that, and that, but Jungkook and Taehyung keep rejecting each of his variants.

“You know what?” Yoongi says eventually when he knows Hoseok and Namjoon’s patience is starting to run low. “Taehyung-ah. Play the song you showed me.”

Taehyung stirs. “Which one?”

“The one that goes, I do, I do, I do?”

“Eh?”

Oh, fucker. Yoongi knows what he’s doing.

He wants Yoongi to play it.

As always, he wins.

Yoongi takes a step towards the keyboard. He sits down almost like he doesn’t have the right to, not anymore. He purses his lips, looking down at the keys. He subtly wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and then folds them carefully over the piano. His fingertips barely brush the keys.

He licks his lips.

Does he even remember how to do it?

He presses the first handful of keys experimentally, almost timidly. The rest comes easily. Like riding a bike. Like breathing.

“It’s ‘Anticipation’.” Jungkook recognises the melody. He takes a small step towards Yoongi; it seems instinctive, like a reflex. Drawn to music. Jungkook explains, “The song. It’s called ‘Anticipation’.”

Yoongi sends him a surprised glance and then shifts his eyes back onto the keyboard. His fingers keep flittering around the keys over and over, playing the same part that Taehyung played for him.

Jungkook waits for Yoongi to finish the piece. Where Yoongi starts to play it from the beginning, Jungkook picks up: “Even the moments I loved, I wondered if they were real. Did I dream of them?”

Taehyung and Jimin join him. “Or did I dream of you? But you tell me to wait for it, so I do, I do, I do.”

And as the 9795 sing it with Yoongi accompanying them, almost like the first time Yoongi asked them to sing for him, Yoongi knows that this is it. This is the moment when Namjoon and Hoseok are convinced to write this song.

“Hyung?” Hoseok rises from the sofa. “Can you play it faster?”

“Sure?” Yoongi says. He’s surprised by his own answer. But before he can even think about how exactly he is going to play it faster, he has already changed the tempo, his fingers dancing around the piano in a slightly sped-up tone.

It doesn’t require thinking, making music. Only some love.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Hoseok says, and Namjoon is already transferring himself to Yoongi’s chair and turning on his computer, pulling up a new project.

The 9795 watch them, confused and yet mesmerised.

“Okay,” Hoseok says once Yoongi has finished playing. “I know what to do with it.”

They spend the rest of the evening holed up in Yoongi’s studio.

Yoongi did forget what it felt like to work as a team. How fun it is. How much joy creating something together brings. So unlike when he’s alone and only has himself to rely on.

Taehyung and Hoseok make the arrangements, talking over each other as they suggest one idea after another, and Yoongi has to intervene and stop them; otherwise, they’ll get stuck here for days. Namjoon and Jimin revise the song’s lyrics, and then argue for a solid half an hour over the word’s spelling. While they’re at it, the draft of the song gets finished and Yoongi instals the mic stand. Jungkook, a real dork, fools around with his ad-libs when it’s his turn to record. Everyone in the room laughs so much and so loudly at his antics. Yoongi’s stomach starts to hurt, cheeks burning. It seems to only make Jungkook joke around more.

Namjoon said he wouldn’t know how to work together, but it turns out to be so easy, so natural. Like it was meant to be.

The next day, they submit the song to the board of directors.

They get the green light.

I’ll take it, I’ll take the weight
Of your dreams, of mine, of ours
I’ll hold them without punishment

— If you look through the lyrics, you will realise that there is not a single word in any other language but Korean. The 9795 never shied away from their bilinguality in their previous records, but there is something about pride and comfort and honesty when it comes to their choice of composing an entire album in their mother language as a global phenomenon. Some phrases and word choices from this album are hard to translate without losing half of their meaning—in this review, I have tried to deliver them as precisely as I could.

But still, it does not mean the 9795 have erased their international listeners completely. The song, ‘Dreamers’ would be the best example: they sing ‘I’ll hold them [the dreams] without punishment’, referring to Atlas who was punished to hold the sky, a titan from Greek mythology, well-known across the different countries.

They write this album so quickly that it’s almost as if they are running out of time. As if there is a certain deadline and they’re late.

Days start to blur together. Yoongi thinks he hasn’t experienced so much joy and laughter in such a long time, it’s scary to think about. Boyhood comes together like this: the 9795 share their sketches, samples, beats, lyrics, and Cypher polishes all of them. Stitches them together like how an older sibling would sew a hole in their youngest’s shirt.

They write it in all the ungodly hours, in the worst moments.

Yoongi daydreams of the chord progressions in the shower.

Namjoon stands up in the middle of a conference, grabs his jacket from the back of his chair, spits excuses, bowing endlessly, and flies out of the room. Later, he shows everyone the first draft of what he calls ‘Cry-star’ (“It’s a wordplay to ‘Crystal’, get it, hyung?” he boasts to Yoongi, and Yoongi smiles and tells him that he’s done well).

Hoseok wears the same outfit for three days in a row, which is so unlike him it can only mean one thing—he’s been sleeping in the company building. But it all pays off when he presents to the room his version of ‘Anticipation’—or ‘Wait for it’, as they decide to name it.

They create a group chat in KakaoTalk to exchange ideas: Jimin keeps sending the lyrics suggestions at 5 in the morning, and Yoongi can never tell if he hasn’t slept yet or if he’s getting ready for the 9795’s schedule. Taehyung ends up using the chat to send memes and Instagram reels that he finds funny and occasionally to text, “EVERYONE!! IN GL IN 5 MINUTES!!” So he can gather everyone in one room, and they can work all together. Jungkook uses it mostly to ignore everyone. He and Yoongi have always been lousy texters.

So it’s not surprising when one night, Yoongi receives a knock at his studio’s door. It’s not the knock itself that makes Yoongi falter as he stops working, his fingers hovering over the beat machine. 

It’s just… Only one person in this building, in this whole country, on this goddamn Earth, can make a knock sound so gentle. Like they don’t mean to intrude.

Yoongi looks up at the ceiling, blinks tiredly at the blinding light above. His eyes shift back to the screen, the bars in the software app, unfinished, unperfect. He considers all of the possibilities. If he opens the door now, what happens? Do they fight again, just like the last time on the phone? Does Yoongi make him cry again? Do they try to fix things between them for the millionth time, just to fail again a minute, an hour, or a week later? Just how many times do they have to do it before it finally sticks?

It’s better off like this. Just writing the album together. Spending time together around their team. It should end there. This time, it must.

But what if Jungkook is behind the door and he’s once again exhausted, having come to Yoongi’s studio to rest just like he did when he was just a rookie idol? Where will he go if Yoongi refuses to open the door for him now?

Fuck. Okay, he’ll do it.

Yoongi opens the door.

Indeed, Jungkook is behind it. He’s in an oversized—everything, which makes him look both twice as big and twice as smaller than he is. As they are writing the album, he’s been growing out his hair, so he looks softer, evened out. He’s only wearing a t-shirt, so his tattoo sleeve is right there, on display.

Okay, hell no, forget it. Yoongi is not doing this.

“You should go to sleep,” Yoongi says, halfway through closing the door.

Jungkook’s hand appears in the way. He doesn’t even push on the door to keep it open. He just keeps his hand between the door and the jamb. “I’m not alone.” As if to say, I’m not alone, so get a grip. I’m not alone, so stop acting like we can’t exist in the same room like normal human beings.

Yoongi’s hand slips off the door’s handle. Jungkook opens the door wider. Behind him stand Jimin and Taehyung. All three look sheepish, bashful. Yoongi takes a tired step back and lets them enter. Instead of scattering over the room like they’d usually do, they stay in a tight formation: Jungkook in the front, Taehyung and Jimin by his sides. Like one wrong move, and Jimin will exclaim, “2! 3!”, and Taehyung will continue, “Hi! We are!”, and Jungkook will smile exceptionally brightly, like he always does when it comes to his fans, and say, “The 9795!”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows at them. Jimin coughs, clearing his throat. Taehyung pinches Jungkook. Jungkook pushes out, “We wanted…to ask you something.” Then he adds, like an afterthought, “Sunbae.”

“Okay,” Yoongi says, voice strained, hands in fists, the crescent marks of his fingernails left on the skin of his palms.

“We,” Jungkook licks his lips. Yoongi is dying a little on the inside. “We were thinking… We don’t want any English.”

What, for the love of God, is it even supposed to mean? These two sentences aren’t even making sense.

Yoongi frowns. “What?”

“In our songs,” Jungkook says. “We don’t want any English lyrics in our songs.”

Again, it takes Yoongi a second before he can register what is so inherently wrong with that, to the point that the 9795 guys are standing on the other side of the room from him, asking that of him so shyly, like they don’t have the right for it.

Then it hits Yoongi. If they don’t want any English lyrics, most of the songs they have now will have to be remade. It’d just be easier to start over.

“Like, at all?” he specifies.

The 9795 nod.

Yoongi looks them over. “But… why?”

The songs are perfect the way they are. It’s not that they lack anything, and they made sure not to overuse English in the songs. Yoongi doesn’t understand where this sudden need to scrape half of their work comes from.

“I think it’ll be nice to share our language with the international fans,” Jimin says.

“I like the way Korean sounds,” Taehyung says.

Jungkook stays silent. He’s just studying his feet, his head down.

“What about you?” Yoongi asks.

Jungkook’s head snaps up. He looks Yoongi right in the eyes. “Honest. I need this album to be honest.”

Now that’s more like it.

Still, Yoongi presses his palm against his forehead, massaging it lightly.

What can he even say to them? It’s their album. They can do whatever they want with it. Yoongi is a mere assistant, a sidekick. He does what he’s told to do. But the 9795, these men, these superstars who wrote one of the most beautiful albums in history, still look at him with the same fascination in their eyes as they did when they were just kids who didn’t know anything about music.

“Do you think we can do it?” Jimin asks, and this is when Yoongi realises that they haven’t moved on from ABC Entertainment. They are still stuck at that point in their career when the company tells the 9795 that their songs are too immature, prohibiting the group from releasing them.

“You can do whatever you want,” Yoongi says softly. “It’s yours. The album. It’s yours.”

The whole room breathes out.

“Don’t worry about anything. I’ll rewrite the songs.” Yoongi walks over to the door, opening it in an inviting manner. “Now go to sleep, alright? It’s late. You workaholics.”

“You’re one to talk,” he hears Jungkook murmuring under his breath on the way out.

“Excuse me, Jungkook-ssi?” Yoongi raises his voice a little. Because if they’re going to keep this act of the hierarchical relationship between them, sunbae and whatnot, there needs to be respect. There needs to be distance.

“Nothing, sunbaenim!” Jungkook chirps, sending Yoongi a phony sugary smile—the one that punches Yoongi right into the gut. “Good night!”

Yoongi sighs, shaking his head in a defeated, endeared manner. “Good night, Jungkook-ah.” And Jungkook’s smile morphs into something softer, something more real. They both know the humour of the situation they’re in. How ridiculous it is to act like they’re just co-workers when there was once something so much bigger. Jungkook used to describe it with the word ‘love’. Yoongi thinks it’s a word too simple for people like them.

Jimin stays with Yoongi that night. Even though Yoongi repeatedly tells him that it’s fine, that he can do it by himself and reminds Jimin of his  early alarm for the commercial shooting tomorrow morning, Jimin insists, and Yoongi lets him.

Most of the night goes to waste. Yoongi decides to rewrite ‘Dreaming Out Loud’ first. Initially, it had been made without much struggle: the 9795 said they wanted a song that would comfort their fans, Cypher did it. Dreams are something people always need to be comforted about. But now, translating lyrics from English to Korean just leaves them with nothing because the translation ends up sounding stupid and clichéd. Cheesy.

Cheesy and tacky is exactly how the second album of the 9795 was described, and Yoongi won’t let them fail again like this. But it’s late, and ‘Dreaming Out Loud’ only becomes worse and worse each time Yoongi picks up a pen and scribbles a line.

Jimin is half-asleep when Yoongi decides it’s time for a smoke break. He stirs at the sound of Yoongi’s swivel chair moving as Yoongi rises to stand up.

“Where are you going?” He looks at Yoongi like a lost newborn kitten from where he’s been dozing off on the sofa.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“For a smoke.”

Jimin starts to gather his things. “I’ll come with you.”

Yoongi dismisses him. “Stay. It’s cold outside.”

“No, it’s fine. I need some fresh air.”

They go down to the first floor and out through the back door. It’s so late in the night, nothing seems real anymore. Jimin yawns seven times, and Yoongi, looking at him, suppresses yawning another seven times. In the company, only a few people are left, and none of them are smokers like Yoongi. He and Jimin are alone in the backyard.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

As Yoongi said, it is ridiculously cold on this late October night. Their thin jackets are a mockery in that frigid weather. Yoongi, having never been good with the cold in the first place, shakes like a leaf as he is lighting a cigarette.

“If you get sick, Jungkook is going to kill me,” Jimin says conversationally.

“I acknowledge your attempt at trying to make me open up about my feelings. I am going to ignore you,” Yoongi says, teeth clacking. He takes a puff, inhaling the smoke and the biting cold air.

Jimin sighs. He rests his back tiredly against the wall. He looks sleepy, his eyes puffy, and he tries to wrap himself deeper into his jacket, as if he really believes that it will save him from the cold.

If only Jimin knew how much self-control Yoongi holds himself responsible for, he wouldn’t even bother trying to get Yoongi to talk.

Each time Yoongi stumbles into Jungkook in the elevators, he has to pull himself together. He even manages to bow and mumble, “Good day, Jungkook-ssi,” act like he doesn’t want to press the button so the doors would close faster, and he can pin Jungkook into the corner and just kiss him right there.

That is hard. Keeping silent is not. Ignoring Jimin’s comments falls into one of the easiest tasks Yoongi had to do while writing the album.

For example, this one time they had all gathered in Yoongi’s studio to review the songs they made so far. The song Hoseok and Taehyung worked on was playing through the speakers, filling the whole room with beats. This kind of the song teenagers dance to at prom. Yoongi was so ridiculously happy with it. It was so boyhood at its core and the perfect opening track for the album.

“Oh, this is fun,” Yoongi kept saying. His smile refused to leave his face, and it was starting to hurt. “I love it. I like it very much.” He was in a good mood, to the point where he felt like tugging on Taehyung’s sleeve playfully. “Isn’t it fun, Taehyung-ah?”

Taehyung nodded, smiling at him softly. “It is, hyung.”

Yoongi slightly turned around in his chair and caught a smile on Jungkook’s face. He was just standing in the middle of the room looking endeared, his arms crossed over his chest, and smiling, with his mouth closed.

“What is it, Jungkook-ssi?” Yoongi asked. “Don’t you like the song?”

Jungkook shook his head, still smiling. “Nothing, sunbae. It’s nothing. The song’s great.”

Yoongi winked at him, more playful than anything else. Jungkook looked away. Yoongi heard him scoffing, and it didn’t sound like he was annoyed but rather endeared to Yoongi’s antics.

Oh, how much Yoongi wanted to do more than a simple wink. You see? That was hard.

Or, another time, when they stepped out to get some food at the Chinese restaurant down the block from the company building after a successful writing session. Everyone had already finished all of their food, and were on their phones, minding their own business as they sat in silence, digesting the food. This was when the news broke. The TV in the restaurant announced it loud and clear.

And as the news broke out, Jimin and Taehyung looked at each other, and Yoongi glanced over at Jungkook, who sat on the other side of the table—instinctively, like a reflex, his heart skipping a hopeful beat as if it could change something. As if it could turn back the time and reverse everything, suck in all these years of self-hatred and guilt.

Yoongi’s gaze slipped back onto his phone, then. It was blowing up with messages from a certain group chat.

Camilla

WHAT THE HELL

[Link]

Hyunwoo

YOONGI-HYUNG?? HAVE U SEEN THE NEWS

Kim Seokjin MusicWorld

You’re all seeing it, right? I’m not the crazy one?

Jungkook never spared Yoongi a single glance—because when Yoongi told Jungkook not to love him, Jungkook did.

The news was still playing in front of Yoongi’s eyes when he stood up, excusing himself. “I’m gonna go call the grandpa and check on him.”

After a few hours, the news was all over the TV and the Internet: The South Korean National Assembly is said to be considering legalising same-sex marriage.

From the start, Yoongi and Jungkook should have been just this: co-workers, a coy ‘Sunbae’ on Jungkook’s lips, and a boyish wink from Yoongi every once in a while when he’s content and happy with the song he’s made. A star is allowed to flirt with their producer a little. Never crossing the line, though. Not a single hopeful thought about marriage, even if it were to be allowed. They weren’t meant to be star-crossed lovers. Yoongi wasn’t supposed to have voices in his head, Jungkook wasn’t supposed to stop them.

But they are what they are. And perhaps writing Boyhood is so liberating because it’s the first time in years that Yoongi writes music with his head quiet. Jungkook is always near him, standing next to Yoongi’s chair, arms crossed, chewing on his bottom lip as he observes the screen, Yoongi’s work, or just lounging somewhere back on the sofa in the studio.

Yoongi thought he got so used to the chants that it’d be lonely without them. But apparently, the real voices of the 9795 and Cypher are so much better. They’re not distracting like the chants. They’re helpful. They encourage Yoongi. They worry about him and ask him if he’s hungry. And sometimes, the voices morph into warm bodies: Namjoon clapping Yoongi on his back, Hoseok high-fiving him, Taehyung picking a grain of rice that got stuck to Yoongi’s chin and sending it to his mouth, Jimin giving him the tightest back hug, his laughter resonating right through Yoongi.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi and Jimin share the silence while he smokes. Jimin is gazing at the sky, his head supported by the wall as he’s looking up. Yoongi follows his gaze.

Starless. Yoongi takes another tug, the last one, and throws the cigarette out into the bin.

“Speaking of Jungkook…” Jimin speaks up.

Yoongi frowns. “C’mon, I’ve just told you—”

“Was it you who told him once that dreams are exhausting to achieve?”

Yoongi studies him for a long moment.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

He remembers it. Of course he remembers it. He remembers it the same way he remembers everything when it comes to Jungkook. This conversation happened between them when they had just started to get close. It was the first time Yoongi took him out for food. Jungkook told him about his schedule, Yoongi said that his day sounded exhausting, and Jungkook just shrugged and said that having dreams is exhausting.

“Not exactly,” Yoongi says slowly, sensing that there’s more to this conversation than just his pathetic love life. “I just told him that dreams are exhausting in general. To have, not to have, you know. They’re kind of destructive in that sense.”

Jimin snaps his fingers. “This is it.”

They come back to Yoongi’s studio, with Jimin almost jogging. Yoongi can barely keep up and eventually loses him. Jimin is already at his studio door, while Yoongi still has a whole corridor to go through.

“What’s the password?” comes the question.

Yoongi ignores him. Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! The chants go in tune with his steps.

“Don’t tell me it’s Jungkook’s birthday,” Jimin teases.

Yoongi hears him trying out the password, and his heart skips a beat.

“Don’t!” he yells, speeding up.

The door unlocks.

“Holy shit! It is Jungkook’s birthday!”

Yoongi slows back down to his leisurely walk. What’s the point of running to stop Jimin if it’s already done?

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“You tell him, and I kill you in your sleep, Park Jimin,” Yoongi informs him quite peacefully as he walks inside his studio. He makes a mental note to change the studio’s password.

Jimin, already at Yoongi’s chair, Yoongi’s pen in his hand, scribbling something down in his notebook, hums.

“I’m serious,” Yoongi says, plopping down on the sofa. He lays down on his side, curling into himself. He studies Jimin’s figure as he’s writing and thinks to himself, How did he manage to grow up so quickly? He looks broader, steadier, but not any taller. There’s something so incredibly comforting and grounding in Jimin now. His jawline is set tightly as his wrist moves briskly.

“Me too,” Jimin says. He’s not even looking at Yoongi. “I’m not gonna tell him, but it’s ridiculous. You’re breaking your own heart.”

“Maybe I like it this way.”

At this, Jimin stops. The look he gives Yoongi is so…sympathetic.

Yoongi wishes he could explain it to Jimin. He wishes he could explain about the clot of emptiness in his chest, how it keeps growing inside of him, how he’s afraid he won’t be able to make Jungkook happy.

Yoongi wishes he could explain all of the feelings inside of him to Jimin. How there’s so much love stored but so much anger, too. If Jungkook is the most beautiful mosaic, Yoongi is God’s messed-up blanket. They wanted to sew it prettily, with all the different patterns—a rag quilt, perhaps. But they ended up using too many, the patches uneven, cut out messily. Regret, guilt, fury, love for music—the biggest piece—and the threads of fears that stick out in all directions were sewn rotten. That’s what Yoongi is.

Yoongi thinks about the unfinished project on his flash drive, the one he abandoned in order to write Boyhood for the 9795, and for a second, he feels the words on the end of his tongue.

I wanna show you something, Jimin-ah. It should be so easy to say.

Out of everyone, he wants Jimin to be the first to hear it—even though it’s unfinished and raw and tacky, less genius than what the 9795 usually do—but he thinks Jimin would understand, and he wants to show him. He wants to go up to him: This is how I feel. And I don’t think Jungkook should love something like me.

He never gets to say it. Jimin speaks up first.

“How about you get some sleep while I finish working on the song?” he says softly.

“Okay,” Yoongi says, closes his eyes, and sleeps till the morning. No dreams are chasing him.

The song, initially titled ‘Dreaming Out Loud’, changes on that night into ‘Dreamers’.

Dear world, what did I do for you to resent me so much?

 

— I have asked myself this for my entire life. Dear world, why won’t you answer me?

Yoongi’s phone chimes.

Boss Manager

The 9795 with you?

Yoongi spares the screen a glance, and decides to ignore the message, choosing to focus on the actual work he has to do—as a leading producer for the DREAMERS’ upcoming album, that is.

Of course the 9795 are with him. Jungkook is lounging in the chair next to him, playing some game on his phone with this serious, concentrated expression on his face, eyebrows furrowed and tongue poking at his cheek.  Taehyung is in the back, on the sofa. The last time Yoongi turned to check on him, he was watching something on his phone with Jimin. Jimin has stepped out for the restroom, so he should be back soon.

Jinsoo should know better than reaching out to Yoongi to ask that. If not in Yoongi’s studio, where else would the 9795 be, after all? While writing the album, they made a break room out of it, denying the existence of the lounge just a corridor away from the Genius Lab. Whenever they’re free, they’re here. What is even the point of asking this?

Yoongi’s phone chimes again. Yoongi groans mentally and picks it up.

Boss Manager

Get them off their phones immediately.

We’re dealing with it.

Yoongi’s stomach drops. Fuck. Of course Jinsoo wouldn’t text him just because he wanted to know where the 9795 were.

“Give me your phone,” Yoongi says, blindly reaching out to Jungkook. His voice is blank. He tries not to think about what anything of this means.

The phone is immediately passed into his hold. “What? Why?”

Yoongi ignores him. He turns around in the chair, now reaching out toward the sofa. “Your phone, Kim Taehyung.”

One earbud out, Taehyung looks at him like he’s speaking an alien language.

“Give me your fucking phone,” Yoongi repeats.

“Fine, fine! No need to be such a grump,” Taehyung says, handing Yoongi the phone. “Just didn’t hear you well the first time, ‘s all.”

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asks.

Yoongi ignores him again. With his hands shaking, he opens Naver on his phone. He means to start typing the 9795, but it’s pointless: the news is already all over the feed, pushed right into his face. Yoongi clicks on the first article that comes up.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. With every word and picture that he scrolls past, he only feels sicker. He presses his palm against his mouth, barely keeping himself from puking. He wants to throw his phone away; wants to have someone to take it away from him, too.

Jungkook’s hand is suddenly reaching out to him like he means to soothe Yoongi or hold his hand or do something else entirely. “Hyung,” he says, or maybe he doesn’t, maybe Yoongi mishears him, everything in his ears is white noise, “don’t—”

The door to the studio opens, and all of the attention shifts to the doorway, Jungkook’s hand sagging down, barely grazing Yoongi’s knuckles.

Jimin.

“They know,” he says, clutching his phone. He doesn’t pay any attention to Jungkook or Yoongi. He’s looking at Taehyung only, with this mixture of dread and exhaustion of ‘I told you so’ in his eyes. “They know.”

“Hey,” Yoongi says. He pushes himself to rise from his chair. Just this simple push is heavy, costs him too much energy. Liar, deceiver. But someone in this room has to say, “Hey, it’s okay—”

“It’s not okay,” Jimin cuts him off. He’s always so soft-spoken and polite in his speech, Yoongi almost doesn’t recognise his voice as he snaps at him. Immediately, all the fight leaves him, and Jimin slumps down, his eyes back on the screen. He tries to breathe in and fails. “There’s—and us, and they say—they—they know.”

“Don’t look,” Yoongi tries to wrestle the phone out of Jimin’s hands. “Don’t read anything, don’t look, it’s not real, okay?”

“What’s going on?” Jungkook repeats, this time his voice jumping a few octaves higher, gaining this anxious undertone that makes Yoongi want to hug him and rock him and lie to him repeatedly that nothing is going on, everything’s gonna be okay.

“There’s—there’s this article.” Jimin’s voice shakes. “They know.”

“They know nothing, okay?” Yoongi tries to be the voice of reason. He doesn’t know who he is trying to convince. “It’s just all speculation. You can’t even be recognised in the pictures. Jinsoo told me we’re dealing with it. So there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Jimin smiles. “But they know, don’t they?”

The 9795 went through a bashing once before. For months, they were mocked by the journalists, followed by them, taunted. They’re strong, these three. Yoongi knows it. But the criticism never applied to a matter as personal, as intimate as this one. The pictures of Taehyung and Jimin in the dark hours as they both went out to buy tangerines. Such a domestic moment, a routine, something that was supposed to stay only between them, was now shared online with the ugliest words a writer could’ve found within themselves to describe what was going on, passing through hundreds of hands and mouths. No wonder Jimin can barely keep standing on his feet. The 9795 are strong, but everyone has a limit.

Yoongi guides Jimin to the sofa. To Taehyung. There’s really nothing he can do for them. Not like this. He’s never been the coddling type to begin with. He’s the one who just wrestles the phones away from their hands and sues their CEOs when they’re hurt.

There’s a mournful silence that tells Yoongi: whatever Jinsoo wanted him to do, he failed. The silence in the studio is broken by Jimin’s sob.

This is unbearable.

Yoongi grabs his phone and wallet from the desk and walks out of the room.

He doesn’t mean to do this, but still, when the door to the studio closes, it sounds more like it’s been slammed shut.

He’s only a few steps away when he hears the door opening again, and then closing with a soft click.

“Where are you going?” Jungkook’s voice reaches him. “Sunbae?”

It stops Yoongi. How small he sounds.

“Just going to get some coffee for us,” Yoongi lies.

“Let me come with you.”

No.

Yoongi turns on his heels to face Jungkook and regrets his choice the very second his eyes land on him.

Jungkook doesn’t just sound small—he looks small, too. He stands there, his hands curled into fists, and he looks at Yoongi with so much heartache. He looks at him like one more second, and he’ll say, Fix it, hyung.

Yoongi won’t be able to take it. He’s not made out of stone. He has feelings, too. A lot of them. He can’t take everyone out of the 9795 falling apart in front of him. Yoongi pleads with him silently, Please, Jungkook-ah. I need you to be stronger than this.

Yoongi needs him, just like he needed him back then, in Rome, on the phone call with Yeri. He needs him steady and composed, unfazed. He and Jungkook can’t allow themselves to go to pieces right now. They should be there for Taehyung and Jimin. But for Taehyung and Jimin to lean on their shoulders, Yoongi and Jungkook should stop trembling. 

As if having heard Yoongi’s thoughts, something shifts in Jungkook. He breathes out shakily, and all at once, his eyes lose their tearful shimmer. Instead, there is something more stern in them now. He’s suddenly firmer, broader. More secure. Grounded.

He looks back at the door he’s just come out of, then back at Yoongi. “Please. Take me with you,” he says. “They need each other right now.”

And just for this—just because Jungkook managed to pull himself together, Yoongi is immediately comforted by him. He calms down, too, after Jungkook, and turns back around, gesturing to Jungkook to follow him. 

In the elevator, Jungkook’s finger darts between the buttons for the first floor and underground parking. He looks behind his shoulder at Yoongi. “Can we get coffee at that shop? The one that used to be a BBQ restaurant.”

Yoongi, leaning with his back on the wall, arms crossed, nods tiredly. “Sure.”

When they get down to the parking lot, the car and Jungkook’s driver are already waiting for them. Yoongi waves Jungkook to get inside the car, taking the cigarette pack out of his pocket. Jungkook looks at him like Yoongi is the biggest disappointment of his entire life, and Yoongi doesn’t blame him for that.

He steps behind the car, where the bins are located. There’s ash all over them; Yoongi isn’t the only one killing himself in this company, isn’t the only one feeling on edge all the time.

Yoongi puts a cigarette between his lips and hauls out his phone.

There was a reason he didn’t want Jungkook to be with him right now. It wasn’t connected to the fact that he didn’t want to be alone with Jungkook. They had gotten over it while working on the album and had put all of the feelings of, Don’t get close to me and Do you really not love me? behind. They’re awkward, but they make it work.

It is the fact that Yoongi didn't want anyone to know what he’s about to do.

As he’s waiting for his call to be picked up, he lights the cigarette.

“Yoongi-yah!” as always, the cheerful voice greets him.

“Have you seen the article?” Yoongi asks, straight to the point, without sugarcoating. No need for formalities. Yoongi is seeing red in front of him. He can talk softly to Jungkook, but he’s the only exception—Yoongi wants to fight the whole world right now, and he isn’t in the mood to fumble in order to find the right polite words.

The voice loses its cheerful tone. “Yeah. Yeah, I have.”

“You must know who wrote it.”

A pause. “Maybe.”

“Give me the asshole’s number.”

“What are you even gonna do? Yoongi-yah, there are other, better ways of dealing with it. I’m sure your company is already—”

“Please.” There goes the unsaid: You don’t give his number to me now, I’m going to ransack this entire fucking industry to get it. 

A sigh comes from the other side of the speaker. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Already did, Yoongi thinks.

Yoongi’s phone chimes with a new message notification.

“Thanks,” Yoongi says. “I owe you.”

“You really don’t.”

Yoongi hangs up with a weird hole inside his chest. He throws the cigarette out into the bin, half-burned. He looks down at the message on his phone screen.

Maybe Seokjin is right. Maybe Yoongi doesn’t need to do this. He knows Yeri has it under control.

His gaze falls on the car. Jungkook is there, inside, waiting for him. The chants are aware that he’s here, close to Yoongi, and they don’t dare to surface.

In this quietness, Yoongi is hit with the sudden realisation: it could’ve been them. It could’ve been him and Jungkook in this article. If they weren’t careful enough, if it wasn’t a little girl interrupting their kiss in Rome but someone else, it could’ve been them.

Yoongi takes out the second cigarette. Lights it. Presses Call.

“Hello, Choi Jungwon’s office, journalist for YTC News,” the sweet voice of the secretary informs.

Yoongi takes the first puff, breathes out. “I have a message for Choi Jungwon. Please write it down accordingly and get it to him as soon as you can.”

“Sir, I reckon it would not be possible as of right now. Choi Jungwon is very busy at this moment, and—”

“I come from Black Swan Records. My name is Min Yoongi.”

It shuts her up.

“Now, you write down the message,” he says. “Word for word.”

Yoongi doesn’t have to do this, but he has been made to be the support system. The one that doesn’t know any limits. He plays unfairly and comes out a winner.

Yoongi knows what he is. He knows what he did. He knows that everyone in the industry knows. There’s no shame left because what he did created the 9795, and the winners are not to be judged. So he tells the secretary everything as it is.

“Let me repeat your message, sir, so we are clear that I have written down everything correctly,” the toneless voice inclines, the sweetness all lost.

It actually humours Yoongi. By the sound of her voice, the secretary must be in her early twenties. How is she going to relay it? Yoongi wonders. How is it going to sound? The same robotic way she’s been talking to him all this time after she learned who he is?

“Okay,” Yoongi says, a small smirk curling in the corner of his mouth. “Let’s hear it.”

“My name is Min Yoongi, and I work for Black Swan Records. Bet you know who I am, you stupid dog shit. Bet you know what I did with that lawsuit, huh? Whether your pathetic little ass figured it out yourself or you heard the rumours, you know what happened. All the rumours are true, you son of a bitch. All of them. So truly, I am impressed that you even had the guts to publish that article. I sued Kim Woojin to protect the 9795, you think I’ll hesitate to file another lawsuit against you? I won’t even have to go to the lengths I went with ABC Entertainment. You dug your own grave. What a miserable life, thinking the 9795 don’t have people who love them for who they are. So you better take down your article right now. You deal with every malicious comment from now on that was inspired by you. You don’t want to find out what will happen if, in an hour’s time, I see at least one still remaining. I wonder what your dirty little mouth wanted to achieve when speaking like this about the 9795. Attention? Aw, did your mother never tell you she loved you? Fine. You wanted your three seconds of fame? You’ll never be able to write again. Will never have a decent job. Will die like a fucking stray on the street. And if your two grains of a brain think my words are a bluff, go and try me. This is not a threat, it’s a promise.”

By the time she’s done, Yoongi is smiling.

“Is that correct?” the secretary asks.

“It’s correct. Thank you.”

He ends the call first.

“Took you long enough,” Jungkook grumbles once Yoongi finally climbs inside the car. He scrunches his nose—Yoongi must have brought the burned smell with him.

“Sorry,” Yoongi says quietly, reducing his crass tone to a more reserved, lenient one. His voice, harsh and gruff merely seconds ago, is now warm and gentle.

The ride to the coffee shop is quiet. Jungkook is busy, scrolling on his phone restlessly. Yoongi should take it away from him again. Tell him: don’t look, don’t read, look away, forget it. Focus on me. Don’t think about anything else.

But, as always, when Jungkook most needs it, Yoongi can’t even mutter a single word to him.

“Maybe we should have coffee here,” Jungkook says when they step inside the coffee shop. “Give hyungs some more alone time.”

The coffee shop, this flower field of pastel colours, is filled with high school students, just like Yoongi said it would be. It’s a perfect place for them, with their dreams still young and fresh, as life just begins for them. They’re all wearing their uniforms; girls have their hair styled neatly, boys wear their Air Jordans proudly. The music in the coffee shop is loud but the chatter of the teenagers and their neverending giggling is even louder. They must have just finished their school day, and are now taking a break in the coffee shop before they have to head to their study rooms and evening cram schools.

Yoongi and Jungkook couldn’t have chosen a worse time to come here. It would’ve been fine if they just got their coffees and left, but if they are to have it here, the task won’t be as easy.

Yoongi tugs on Jungkook’s jacket, bringing him closer. Jungkook, having not expected that, almost stumbles into him, and Yoongi has to steady him by his waist. Jungkook’s eyes, barely visible from under his bucket hat, peer into Yoongi’s and widen in surprise.

“Are you sure?” Yoongi whispers. Their faces are so close to each other, it’s a bit sickening. Yoongi side-eyes their surroundings. “The place’s busy.”

“I want to,” says Jungkook, voice muffled because of the mask he’s wearing.

Damn it, and damn Yoongi who can’t say no to him. “Let’s be careful, then. Okay?”

Jungkook nods. Yoongi spots the only free seat left available next to the window at the front of the shop. He nudges Jungkook in that direction.

“I’ll order,” Yoongi says. “Go take a seat.”

“I want something warm,” Jungkook manages to tell Yoongi before Yoongi has pushed him away entirely.

Yoongi shows him an OK sign. The corners of Jungkook’s eyes curl up, and Yoongi imagines that underneath the mask, he’s smiling.

The grin doesn’t last long on his face. As soon as Jungkook’s out of Yoongi’s reach, having sat down at the table he directed him to, Yoongi notices all of his features fall flat, as if he only smiled in the first place to reassure him. He takes off his bucket hat, puts it down on the table, and fixes his hair carefully, delicately.

“Are you ready to order?” a barista’s voice stirs Yoongi, shifting his attention from gaping at Jungkook to the boy behind the counter.

Yoongi orders quickly, and decides to wait it out at the counter. He watches Jungkook from afar: he’s busy with his phone again, his eyebrows furrowed, expression so serious it’s almost like he’s either extremely worried or extremely mad, or both at once. The boy at the counter once again catches Yoongi staring, and as he pushes the tray with two coffee cups and a croissant to him, smiles at him knowingly.

Great. Yoongi is pitied by teenagers now.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

He places the tray carefully on their table. Jungkook is sprawled out in the booth, lounging as he’s scrolling through his phone. There’s a chair on the opposite side of the table. Yoongi spares it a longing glance.

Then he breathes out tiredly, already knowing that it’s the worst idea he’s had in a while, and sits down next to Jungkook in the booth. It’s not the smartest solution, but Yoongi partially covering him is better than Jungkook being on display for the whole coffee shop to marvel at.

Jungkook changes his comfortable sprawling position to something more collected. There’s a question right at the end of his tongue, Yoongi can practically hear it, but it dies as soon as Yoongi shifts even further, almost facing Jungkook now, his back shielding him.

Jungkook takes off his mask and sips his coffee.

“Good?” Yoongi asks. “Not too hot?”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah. It’s very good. I like the coffee here.”

“That’s a relief.” They’re talking so robotically, too politely; their conversation could be written down for the Korean language textbooks.

An awkward second passes, and the plate with the croissant gets moved in Yoongi’s direction.

“It’s okay,” Yoongi says. “I’m not hungry. I got it for you.”

“I can’t eat the whole thing,” argues Jungkook. “At least eat half of it.”

But Yoongi looks at the croissant, and just the idea of eating it makes him feel squeamish. He hopes for Jungkook’s understanding, hopes that he won’t take it personally. It’s just that Yoongi has been rotting for years, and the appetite isn’t known for people like him.

“The article was deleted, by the way,” Jungkook says quietly, a bit abruptly, like he was mulling over this sentence too long in his head so it came out flatly, mechanically. “It looks like it never existed in the first place.”

“Really?” Yoongi says. He’s a bad actor, and this one word comes out insincerely. The bitter, warm honey spreads in his chest. Good, he thinks. Good.

The students slowly start gathering their things, emptying out the coffee shop, and it becomes a little easier to breathe. Yoongi grabs this opportunity to excuse himself and step out. He doesn’t wander far; his patience barely allows him to take a couple steps away from the shop’s door before he takes out his phone and finds yet another number. Son Eunseo, it says.

He couldn’t imagine calling her ever again, but here they are.

Eunseo picks up quickly, almost as if she has been waiting for him to call. “Hey,” she says, voice sour. “Saw the article. It sucks. I’m sorry.”

She knows why she’s needed. It’s not surprising: they shared quite a few moments together. Whereas the 9795 were writing lyrics for their BTS album in the court’s restrooms, Yoongi was there, in the court’s corridor, sitting in the shitty metal chairs next to her. Waiting together for the verdict is like smoking. It’s uniting. You don’t even notice that you have opened your mouth and told the person waiting with you your entire life story.

Eunseo and Yoongi talked about a lot of things. One of them was Yoongi’s wish to protect his loved ones. His selfish desire to not let anyone or anything hurt them. Not again.

Yoongi doesn’t spare time to explain why he called her. “Do you think we can win this one, too?” he asks. “So that this son of a bitch would never be able to publish anything ever again?”

A pause. Son Eunseo, the best lawyer in South Korea, will never take a case she isn’t fully sure she will win.

“You want to know my opinion?” she asks carefully.

She’s the most intelligent person Yoongi knows apart from Yeri, and Seokjin, and maybe Namjoon. Of course he wants to know. “Yes, of course. Tell me.”

“Most likely, it’s sabotage because of the gay marriage legalisation news. It has started, Yoongi-ssi. They know love is going to win.” Eunseo pauses. “There’ll be a lot of news like that from now on. They’re going to keep floating. I’m sorry it had to happen to Jimin-ssi and V-ssi.”

Yoongi notices Jungkook through the coffee shop’s window. He’s resting his arms on the table, using them as a comforter to lay his head down. Now that Yoongi isn’t next to him, no one to keep up an act of strength for, his face is completely void of all the emotions. Yoongi had seen a similar expression on his face once: when Kim Seokjin told the 9795 that their second album was a total failure.

It broke Yoongi’s heart back then, and it still does.

“You think it’s senseless to fight him?” Yoongi asks.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Eunseo says. She has a warrior spirit, so her responses are usually sharp, albeit aimed at kindness. Yoongi likes her for that. “What I’m saying is, be careful. But don’t be scared, either. Love is going to win. You hear me? Love is going to win. I can promise you that.”

“I know,” Yoongi says, his eyes tracing Jungkook’s figure.

Jungkook looks out of the window, catching Yoongi staring at him. His blank expression remains, but neither of them looks away. Yoongi must be out of his mind, but before he can even register what he’s doing, Yoongi leans down and breathes on the window. It creates a space for him to draw two dots and an arc. Under it, he writes a short phrase, his handwriting messy.

•ᴗ•
Cheer up !!

Jungkook’s mouth quirks, and then he breaks out into a wide smile, the one he probably didn’t even expect from himself. He recovers quickly, hiding his face in his arms, the first to break eye contact. Cute.

Yoongi’s heart squeezes in his chest.

Don’t do anything stupid, Seokjin’s voice keeps ringing in his head.

“Let’s do it, then,” Yoongi tells Eunseo. “Let’s sue him, too.”

Because it wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

Chapter Text

So what’s the point of regretting something that has been done?

— In ‘Take ?? easy’, this is the line that I adore the most. It is a perfect callback to the first verse, where Jimin sang, ‘What’s the point of missing someone or something that’s gone’. The 9795 are right: there is no point in neither missing anything that is gone nor is there a point in regretting something that is done. Take it easy.

“Play it again,” Taehyung asks Yoongi.

Yoongi sends Jimin a worried glance, leaning over to the computer reluctantly. Jimin raises his eyebrows at Yoongi in an exasperated manner that means, Just do as he says. Yoongi fumbles with the mouse and loops the draft of Boyhood—only 5 songs in total so far—from the start.

The first song—Yoongi’s favourite, ‘Huh’ as Hoseok calls it—plays. Everyone gathered in the studio, both Cypher and the 9795, with the exception of Jungkook, gets into deep thought as the voices of the 9795 fill the room for the second time this evening. 

Writing the album has halted after the article incident. None of them are in the right mindset.

Taehyung and Jimin have started avoiding each other, and everyone has to walk on eggshells around them, trying to juggle between the two. The most pressure is on Jungkook, as he is tasked with balancing them on every public appearance of the 9795.

Namjoon announced the other day that ‘Cry-star’ has to be remade and rewritten or, even better, completely forgotten.

Hoseok is stuck on the ‘Huh’, polishing it endlessly—somehow, no matter how many times Yoongi tells him that it’s perfect, there’s something that doesn’t sit right with Hoseok when it comes to this song.

On top of that, Yeri gently reminded Yoong that he was running late with the DREAMERS’ comeback. So he’s been pushing Boyhood behind as he tries to regain the workflow for the girls. When Yeri proposed the idea of reassigning the lead producer position to somebody else, both Yoongi and the DREAMERS girls protested. They have a good bond, and they enjoy working with each other. It’s their third time making an album together, and they’re not going to give it up.

But it’s just… tough. For the past few weeks, it’s been very tough. For everyone.

It’s at the end of the third song that Jungkook slips through the gap in the door they’ve left for him. Quietly, like a shadow, a coat hanging over his arm. He was asked by the managers to do a live translation earlier without prior notice, when everyone else was getting ready to listen to the recording they'd completed so far. Everyone knew he’d be late but still forgot to leave a free space for him. Jungkook looks around the room helplessly, trying to navigate himself.

Yoongi doesn’t get to think before he rises from his chair, wordlessly gesturing for Jungkook to take a seat.

“Thank you, sunbae,” Jungkook whispers, which comes out more like him moving his lips without any sound. Yoongi hears him regardless.

For the rest of the last two songs, no one utters a single word. They just sit in this unnervingly tense silence with the music playing.

“That’s not it,” Jimin clicks his tongue as the last song on the album, ‘Wait for it’, ends.

“It doesn’t sound right,” Jungkook agrees.

“It’s trash,” Taehyung says.

Okay, they’ve listened to each of the songs at least hundreds of times. Of course they’re tired of it, Taehyung especially since he’s the one who makes most of the arrangements. Some of the parts are still rough; Yoongi could hear them himself, but trash is a little too harsh, in his opinion.

“Maybe it was a mistake after all,” Taehyung mutters, rising from the sofa.

Yoongi can forgive everything, but not the hurt flashing in Jimin’s eyes. As if  he knows what Taehyung’s words are truly referring to, and maybe it’s not so much about the album itself but rather something else. Someone else.

“Stay where you fucking are,” Yoongi spits.

Taehyung, struck by Yoongi’s voice tone, falls back down on the couch.

“Look, it’s normal,” Namjoon says, always the voice of reason. “I can’t even count the number of times we wanted to scrape our records and just start anew.”

“Yeah!” Hoseok joins, just as enthusiastic. “And you know what we always did in that case?”

The 9795 blink at them.

“Got drunk?”

“Fixed the parts you didn’t like?”

“Left it as it was and hoped for the best?”

“We always invited a third-party whose opinion on music we trusted,” Yoongi says, an epiphany hitting him. He smiles at Namjoon and Hoseok. It’s weird that he didn’t think of it before. He should’ve done it the moment he realised that the album-making process was heading into a slump. Yoogni starts gathering his belongings, grabbing his jacket from his chair. “I’ll go call him.”

Everyone in the studio exchanges knowing smirks between each other.

“Hyung, oh, don’t bother. I’ll do it,” Namjoon volunteers. He says it so innocently, as if he’s the best dongsaeng in the entire world.

“It’s okay, Namjoon-ah.” Yoongi smiles sweetly, as if he’s the best hyung in the entire world. “Don’t worry about it. Hyung will do it.”

His back catches the 9795 and Cypher conspiring against him about how he’s definitely only going out to smoke. Yoongi doesn’t mind being the object of their teasing as long as his studio stops being such a depressive, tension-filled place.

Besides, it’s the truth. He has been getting jumpy and unsettled, his fingers longing to be busy with something, his lungs missing the burn.

Outside, having made the first puff, he dials the only number Cypher has been turning to each time they are stuck. He explains the situation. The voice informs him that they can drop by Black Swan Records in fifteen minutes.

“You’re lucky I’m nearby and have nothing better to do.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “You should be thankful I’m letting you have early access to the record of this fucking century.”

“We’ll see.”

Exactly three cigarettes later, Yoongi guides him inside Genius Lab.

Just at the sight of him, Cypher break out into smiles. They hug him very tightly and warmly, the way only old friends can greet each other.

“Woah,” he says, heartily teasing as always. His smile is so big and contagious, Yoongi can’t stop smiling either. “I didn’t think I’d live to see the moment Cypher came together again in one studio.”

“Aish, hyung,” Yoongi says, whining. Involuntarily, his lips form a pout. “It’s not like we didn’t see each other.”

Hoseok drags Yoongi and Namjoon closer by their shoulders, sandwiching himself between them. “We’re literally family. I can’t let these dorks live without me.”

Yoongi can feel the surprised eyes of the 9795 on all of them. But the most burning gaze is Jungkook’s, and it’s on Yoongi. Yoongi supposes Jungkook had never really seen him like that—had never seen Yoongi in a younger position. Yoongi’s always the hyung, always someone who takes the weight of everything.

“Okay, okay,” Yoongi says, getting out of Hoseok’s hold. “Enough.” He clears his throat, turning to the 9795. “Guys,” he says. “Let me introduce you to Kim Seokjin. MusicWorld’s editor-in-chief.”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, looking away. “We’ve met before.”

“Oh, come on!” Seokjin slaps Jimin on the shoulder lightly. “I didn’t say it was your fault that your second album sucked, and I quite enjoyed BTS!”

“Thanks, I guess,” Jimin murmurs.

“Okay,” Namjoon intervenes. “How about we let Seokjin-hyung listen to what we have and let him decide if this album can still be saved or not?”

They sit Seokjin down at the centre of the sofa as the main guest. Yoongi hits the space bar on the keyboard, and for the third time that evening, the Boyhood album plays. Sick of it, everyone is looking at Seokjin only, trying to catch any reaction from him. Even the 9795, despite their attitude, are paying close attention to him. But Kim Seokjin sits with his eyes closed the entire time and simply listens, unbothered.

After the last song ends, he opens his eyes. They all wait for his verdict.

Yoongi will never admit it later on, but at that moment, he was the most nervous one. For those twenty minutes as the album played, he was sweating and praying to all the Gods he doesn’t even believe in, that Seokjin would like it. He was afraid that by getting involved in writing the Boyhood album he once again failed and let everyone down. He was scared that his curse of neverending failure had been transmitted to the 9795, too.

But now that Seokjin has opened his eyes, even before he says anything, Yoongi, ahead of the rest of the room, just knows. He turns away, hiding his grin, and hits his desk in a tiny triumphant motion.

“What’s the album gonna be called?” Kim Seokjin asks.

“Boyhood,” Taehyung says.

“Boyhood.” Kim Seokjin tries the word on his tongue. “That’s genius. This is gonna change the world.”

I have to admit now that I loved Boyhood from the very first time I listened to it. I fell in love with it like this: when it was still imperfect, rough, and almost messy in some parts. But it was sincere. It was sincere, and as I listened to it, I knew—it was going to change the world.

“You haven’t been home recently,” the grandpa says as he puts the bowl of soup on the table in front of Yoongi. His hands are shaking, and Yoongi has to help him, holding the bowl carefully by the sides to place it down without spilling anything.

On the opposite side of the table, Yeri is studying Yoongi curiously. Yoongi scowls at her and shifts his attention back to the grandpa.

“I know,” he pouts. “I’m sorry. I was working. How’s your health?”

The grandpa makes this scoffing sound of disapproval. He doesn’t let Yoongi change the topic. “You’ve been skipping elderly yoga. These women have been asking about you.”

The way he says ‘these women’, both mortified and incredibly fond, makes Yoongi smile.

“I was working,” Yoongi says. He stirs the soup inside his bowl, his stomach displeased. “I promise I’ll make it up to them.”

In his defense, he was, in fact, working. Seokjin’s visit dragged Boyhood out of its slump, and Cypher and the 9795 have been working over their potential for the last few weeks. Seokjin joined them a couple of other times in their writing sessions. They’ve been getting quite close—closer than they’ve ever been. Even with Cypher, Seokjin never got to actually take part in writing the songs like he does with the 9795. It inspired some fights, too.

Like that one time that Seokjin suggested that they should change the title of ‘Huh’, citing that the song was much more nuanced.

“Besides, it gets weak in the chorus,” he said.

Before Yoongi got into an actual fight with Seokjin just for this phrase alone— for some weird reason, he felt overly attached to ‘Huh’—Namjoon gathered the 9795’s staff in Yoongi’s studio and played the song for them to get their verdict. Always rooting for democracy and having as many people involved in the creative process as possible.

“This song is basically about two people being too different,” Jimin said, after the song had just finished and the whole room kept this unnerving silence. He avoided looking Taehyung in the eyes. “They’re too different, yet they come together. So it’s like asking, ‘Huh? Will we ever actually work together? We don’t fit at all.’”

“It’s like getting a match on Tinder but in reverse,” one of the girls from the staff mused.

Hoseok hummed from where he was sitting at the desk in front of Yoongi’s computer. He rubbed his chin. “Unmatch. That’s...”

“I don’t like it,” Yoongi shook his head. “It doesn’t sound right. I’m telling you, ‘Huh’ is—”

“What about ‘Mismatched’?” Jungkook spoke up. Everyone marvelled at him.

That’s how the song was titled. Hoseok rewrote the chorus in two weeks time, and Yoongi re-recorded it with the 9795. During Jungkook’s part, Yoongi realised why ‘Mismatched’ (or ‘Huh’) had always been so close to his heart: it’s the song that Yoongi found fitting to the relationship between him and Jungkook.

They are mismatched, too. In their age, in their status, in their fame, or the lack of it. Too different. Too unalike.

The grandpa sits down next to Yoongi at the table. Just like everything else in the world, he does it slowly. Yeri supports his back as he lowers himself to his knees.

“Let’s eat,” the grandpa says.

Yoongi and Yeri duck in a bow, murmuring, Thank you for the food. They wait for the grandpa to have the first slurp of soup before they dive into their respective bowls.

The grandpa barely eats some rice before he lowers his utensils and studies Yoongi’s side profile intensely. Yoongi thinks he’s doing a relatively good job at pretending that such attention isn’t affecting him at all as he picks at the fried zucchini plate.

The grandpa points at him with his index finger. “You.” Yoongi shudders at the tone of his voice. “By the colour of your face, you haven’t been outside in a long time.”

Still fighting the shivers from earlier, Yoongi waves him off. “I’m just pale in general, it’s fine.”

“And by the look of your face, you’ve been skipping meals, too.”

“I was working,” Yoongi repeats stubbornly. “Slipped my mind a couple of times. But I wasn’t starving.” And just to prove it to him, he eats a spoonful of soup.

It tastes bland. Tastes sickening.

“The guys told me you’ve been smoking too much,” Yeri adds.

Yoongi glares at her. “Yah!” What a fucking snitch.

Yoongi will not kill her today only because she’s six months pregnant and Yoongi wants to meet her baby. And to tell the truth, he did bring Yeri quite a lot of trouble when he decided to sue that journalist (they won, Eunseo took care of it) without notifying her first. He had been feeling extremely guilty about this and his overprotective behaviour. He didn’t regret it, but the guilt in him is a growing thorn in his throat that just keeps on stifling. The guilt only intensified when the media caught Kim Seokjin sneaking inside Black Swan’s company building for ‘a suspicious amount of times’ as they called it.

But what could Yoongi do? When Jungkook asked him one evening, “Remember that girl from Munich?”, what else could he do apart from inviting Kim Seokjin again?

“What about her?” Yoongi asked warily back then.

Did he remember her? Did he remember how desperately Jungkook cried for her, for her pain? The prospect of not being able to hear music when it’s the only thing that gets you going?

“I want a song for her,” Jungkook said.

“About her?”

“No. For her to listen to.” What he didn’t say: for music to stay.

They spent the rest of the night holed up in Yoongi’s studio, trying to come up with at least a draft of how this kind of song has to sound. They worked on it together throughout the week, but neither Yoongi nor Jungkook were satisfied with it.

“You know what?” Yoongi said on one of the evenings when he knew he was getting cranky. “I’m gonna go call Seokjin-hyung.”

“Ugh,” Jungkook groaned. For some weird reason, he had a feud with Seokjin and barely tolerated him each time the journalist came to a writing session. “Is he an expert in this area, too, or…?”

Yoongi frowned. “His partner is hard of hearing.”

Jungkook’s face paled. “Oh,” he said. “I—I didn’t know.”

“I thought you were grown enough to know that we shouldn’t judge people so quickly. Everyone is going through something.”

Jungkook lowered his head. “Yes, sunbae. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

So, again, how could Yoongi not ask Seokjin to come on that day when it concerned Jungkook’s song? Sure, it stirred the pot a little, but Eunseo took care of it, didn’t she? In fact, Yeri should be thankful they have Seokjin (and Sunwoo)—without them, ‘**##%%;!!’, one of the most magical songs on the album, wouldn’t exist.

Yoongi wishes Yeri and the grandpa could understand that Boyhood right now is one of the few things that makes him want to live. He wishes they could realise that music is not just a job to him. Creating music takes a lot of energy, it’s stressful and Yoongi has to smoke two in a row. But nothing in this world is more rewarding and satisfying than when he listens to the song he’s just arranged together with Namjoon and Hoseok, and there’s this second where he thinks, This is good. There’s nothing in this world where he would like to be more than at the recording studio, at the producer’s chair, with Jungkook at the booth, singing on top of his lungs as he takes that one high note in ‘**##%%;!!’, for the album that they’re making together.

Yoongi wishes Yeri and the grandpa could understand, but realises that they never will, as the grandpa says, “You’re going to work yourself to death and die before I do.”

“Good,” Yoongi hums. “This way I won’t have to cry at your funeral.”

Yoongi wants to ask the grandpa about the news concerning the same-sex marriage legalisation. What it feels like after all these years. Does it give him as much hope, too? Does it make him overly emotional, too? Yoongi wants to know all of this, talk to the grandpa about it. In this world, there are many more important things to discuss, so why do they have to talk about Yoongi?

After dinner, the grandpa leaves for a nap. Yoongi and Yeri stay in the living room to finish watching the episode that’s been playing on the TV all this time in the background. They stay with this silence, not a word shared between them, the childish bickering all forgotten now that they don’t have anyone to perform in front of.

Yoongi rubs at his forehead, the chants around him are just annoying flies, Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

As the credits roll in, Yoongi stands, pushing up from the floor. In his eyes, for a moment, it goes dark, and he catches himself by the wall. Yeri spares him a worried glance. Yoongi shakes his head as if to say, I’m fine, just stood up too quickly. They work on cleaning the table together. Everything’s a routine, the nicest kind: Yeri is in charge of the leftovers, and Yoongi is in charge of washing the dishes.

“The DREAMERS’ album is doing well,” Yeri says conversationally, putting away the food containers into the fridge. “Pretty sure they’ll get a lot of awards when the time comes. You really have an ear for producing hits.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “It’s all the girls. They’re really talented.”

“Aw, don’t be shy, Min Genius.”

It’s been a while since he’s been called that. In fact, it’s been so long it throws him off at first and he stills the sponge, the water running all over his hands, washing away the soap.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Then, he relaxes, coming back to scrubbing the kimchi’s juice off the chopping board. “I’m not the same person who named their studio Genius Lab anymore.”

A pause. Yeri closes the fridge. “You’re right,” she says. “You’re someone greater.”

Yoongi scoffs, with a small smile curling on his lips. “You’re funny.”

But Yeri isn’t laughing.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Her soft steps follow. She presses her forehead against Yoongi’s shoulder.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

She breathes out heavily. Whispers, “We’ve grown a lot, haven’t we?”

Yoongi looks at her in surprise. Why is she suddenly getting sentimental? As she stands under the yellow light of the grandpa’s kitchen, the safest place on this planet, what is troubling her?

He wonders if it’s her pregnancy. It’s been taking a toll on her—her body changing with mood swings and constantly pestering her assistant of all people with her cravings.

She doesn’t have that many close friends left who could support her. Yoongi is trying his best, but amidst the chaos of writing the album, he knows that he tends to neglect Yeri sometimes. He knows and it’s killing him, this knowledge. They talked about it a couple of times and Yeri slapped his head for even thinking that he disregarded her in any way, but…

From his teenage years, Yoongi used to watch these eyes light up at the smallest occasions, and now they only turn more forlorn, grim. Like that one time when Yoongi told her he wouldn’t be able to attend her mid-pregnancy ultrasound scan. He was there for the first ultrasound scan, and he wanted to be there for her second, too, but it just didn’t work out and it sucked, it sucked for both of them.

He knows that eventually, Yeri went to the ultrasound scan with one of her friends from business school. Still, a brother is better than a friend from a decade ago who almost turned into a stranger once, isn’t it? Sure, Yeri has been growing close with that friend again, mentioning her every now and then in their weekly dinners at the grandpa’s house (Yoongi can never remember her name), but that’s different. That’s not the same.

It’s Yoongi’s fault, in a way. By not confessing to Jungkook, he doesn’t have the right to tell Yeri that perhaps she should try calling the father of the child. To see if there’s anyone else in this world who would want to hold her hand as the screen shows a shapeless, static image and the doctor slowly explains where the hands and where the feet are.

Yoongi looks at Yeri and wonders if it’s something else that worries her. If it’s something as trivial as work. Managing so many talented and successful artists alone must be hard, too. Black Swan Records is accomplishing so many firsts in the industry and in the world, and there’s no existing manual that would tell them if they are making the right choices or the wrong ones as a company. They’re just trying to do over and do better. Sometimes it feels like they’re just splashing in the water aimlessly.

Yoongi wonders if it’s both. Yoongi wonders if the loneliness, constant stress at work, and carrying a literal child under her heart make her huddle closer to Yoongi.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Are you tired, Yeri-yah?” Yoongi asks her softly, patting her hair.

“A little,” she admits.

If that’s so wrong, Mom, I’m sorry, 
I don’t want to be healthy,
I don’t think I can [be]

 

— The 9795, I wonder what your inspiration behind ‘**##%%;!!’ was. I always wonder how much pain you had to go through to be able to write it, and it hurts me when I think that I know the answer.

Yoongi is getting back from the restroom to his studio when he hears yelling coming from the lounge room. He’s just passing by, and he doesn’t mean to intrude. But serendipitously, he’s at the wrong place, wrong time, and Taehyung flies out of the lounge room right into him.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“You okay?” Yoongi asks, steadying him by his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” says Taehyung. “On top of this fucking world!”

He wrenches free from Yoongi’s hands and leaves, stomping in the direction of the elevators.

Yoongi hates to meddle. If he were in the same position, he would destroy anyone who ventured to step inside the lounge room. But, for better or worse, the rest of his friends are not him.

Yoongi pushes the door to the lounge room slightly open. Just so his voice can travel inside. “Hey. Do you need someone right now, or do you want to be left alone?” He looks down at his shoes, studying his laces.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Come inside,” Jimin’s gravelly voice comes.

Yoongi nudges the door fully open with his shoulder. He doesn’t dare to go deeper and just stands at the entrance. He’s bad at this. He’s not the coddling type.

“Park Jimin,” Yoongi says. There’s no gentleness behind his voice, but no bite, either. “I would kill for you. I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t want to kill Kim Taehyung. So let’s solve it peacefully. What happened?”

“Same as usual,” Jimin says. “We still have no idea where we stand after this whole article thing.”

Yoongi glances at Jimin. He’s on the sofa, wiping his tears away. Yoongi can’t handle that kind of sight of him, so he shifts his gaze back onto his shoes. He chews on his bottom lip. Pushes out, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Jimin sighs.

A few missed beats pass. Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! go next to them. Yoongi taps on the wall with his finger. Sucks on his bottom lip, releases it with a smack. He wishes he was better at this. He wishes Jungkook would find crying Jimin here instead of him, or Hoseok, or anyone else, really. Someone who can actually comfort people and not just stand and hope that their presence is enough by itself. Jimin deserves to have someone better catch him and Taehyung in a fight than Yoongi.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Taehyung and I only started dating during our last tour,” Jimin speaks up.

“Oh,” Yoongi says. He’s so glad, but at the same time so disappointed in himself, that Jimin is the one who pushes the conversation forward. “Really?”

“Well, you know that things were…complicated between us before. I don’t know what it is about tours, but they’re different, aren’t they? You felt it, too, with Jungkook, right?”

Yoongi purses his lips. “Maybe.”

“C’mon, humour me at least a little bit. Don’t make me sound crazy.”

“Alright,” Yoongi gives up.

He pushes off the door—pushes too quickly, ending up feeling dizzy for a second and then regaining his balance. He sits down next to Jimin on the sofa, and locks his hands. Doesn’t say anything for a minute or two as he tries to find the words to describe what he felt towards Jungkook on the tour.

“On the tour, I just felt…” And fails, of course he fails. “I don’t know. I guess I realised that the world was actually bigger than the country I tried to fit myself into.”

“And then?”

“Then I realised that he’s a worldwide superstar, so it doesn’t matter how big or small the world is. Jungkook is always going to be bigger.”

“Now we’re talking.”

Are they? Because, to tell the truth, Yoongi feels like he’s tearing the most vulnerable parts of himself off his flesh and handing them to Jimin, his hands all bloody.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“You see, he has nightmares, Taehyung. He doesn’t sleep all that well,” Jimin explains, and at that, the chants in Yoongi’s head become deafeningly loud.

Kim! Nam! Joon! Jung! Ho! Seok! Min! Yoon! Gi! Cypher!

Yoongi doesn’t even care about the pain that the chants bring. “What kind of nightmares?” The question escapes Yoongi so quickly, before he can even think about holding it back.

Immediately, he feels so much shame. He knows it’s inappropriate. He knows it’s something only Taehyung can tell him about.

Jimin looks like he’s negotiating with himself about whether to tell Yoongi about it or not. Then, “Empty stadiums,” he says. There’s something about his voice that makes it sound like he’s returning some sort of debt when he tells Yoongi about the demons that haunt Taehyung. “They’re trippy, the nightmares. The stadium turns into his childhood room and back. Stuff like that. And everyone keeps screaming for him.”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Everyone keeps screaming for Yoongi, too.

“The nightmares got worse on the tour,” Jimin says. “But Taehyung told me that I helped him sleep better. That’s why I was always sharing the room with him. Not to have sex. Taehyung and I never shied away from sexual intimacy, but on the tour, we barely touched each other. We were learning how to handle emotional vulnerability that came with our kind of love. For years, we had been avoiding it, but on the tour we were basically forced to face it.”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi looks at Jimin and wonders if this is really the same boy that was guided by Yeri into Yoongi’s studio all these years ago? How come he’s so mature in his speech? How come he’s so mature in navigating his relationships? And why does Yoongi feel like an adolescent next to him?

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“I told Tae everything,” Jimin continues. “I told him I was scared of hurting him. He said that he was scared, too. ‘Let’s be scared together, then,’ he told me. I looked at him and thought, This person goes through so much. Every single damn night, over and over. The least I can do is pretend to be brave for him. But the truth is, I never pushed past that fear. I’ve always been paranoid and scared.” Jimin buries his face in his hands. “Where did it get us? My pretentious bravery?”

Yoongi doesn’t know how to tell him that, for him, Jimin has always been the bravest one. Brave was Yoongi’s first impression of him. When Yoongi brought up the topic of filing a lawsuit against Kim Woojin with the 9795 for the first time, it was Jimin who saw past the terror and supported Yoongi in that decision. And, at the end of the day, Jimin got to be with Taehyung. Despite everything, despite being scared senseless, he chose to confront that fear and be with Taehyung. That’s bravery, too.

Yoongi clasps his hands together even tighter. He presses his right thumb against the centre of his left palm, rubbing it forcibly until it hurts. He should tell Jimin all of this. He must let Jimin know that he’s the bravest person Yoongi knows.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“I think you’re too harsh on yourself,” Yoongi ends up saying, hollowly. If there’s a coward in this room, it’s him.

Still, just for this phrase alone, Yoongi earns a surprised small ‘Oh’ from Jimin and a smile. Yoongi smiles back at him. He can only hope that it comes out as kind and encouraging as he wishes it to. Comforting Jimin is different from comforting Yeri and Jungkook. Heavier. Comforting Jungkook is a skill that Yoongi has learned alongside everything else he has come to know about Jungkook, and comforting Yeri has always felt like comforting his own reflection. Comforting them is an instinct, something primitive. They hurt, and Yoongi hurts for them, but with Jimin, Yoongi doesn’t even know where to look, much less what to say or do for him to make him feel better.

He figures that food will never be the wrong answer.

Yoongi finally gathers enough courage to reach out and awkwardly pat Jimin’s back a couple of times. “C’mon now. Hyung will treat you to something good.”

Under his palm, Jimin’s back shakes with laughter. “Sure.” He smiles brightly, his eyes red and puffy. He sniffles once, wiping the rest of the tears off his face. “That’d be nice.”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

They stand up from the couch, gathering their belongings. Yoongi decides that giving Jimin some alone time won’t hurt and warns him that he’ll go grab his wallet from the studio, asking Jimin to meet him at the elevators.

He barely takes one step toward the door when Jimin stops him.

“Wait.”

Yoongi turns back around, tilting his head in question.

“I showed you a song some years ago. Remember, about the world?”

It takes Yoongi a minute to recall the song. And then it dawns on him. If he felt sorry for Jimin before, now he’s completely and utterly heartbroken. “You wanted the world to welcome you.”

Jimin’s biggest fear was always  that the world would reject him. He was afraid the world wouldn’t welcome him. He was scared that the world would want to hurt him and Taehyung. From day one, he knew the article incident would happen. That article was Jimin’s waking nightmare. It was his nightmare come true.

“You read the lyrics for that song, and I saw in your eyes that you understood me,” Jimin says. “Back then, I thought that I finally managed to achieve this authenticity you were always talking about. Now I realise it’s because you felt the same. With Jungkook. Didn’t you?”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi swallows, hard. “I do.” Talking about his feelings for Jungkook is so hard when he’s sober. 

“So… What would you do if you were in my place?”

The answer is simple: distance. Distance, distance, distance. Yoongi wants Jungkook to be happy. The state of his happiness is unachievable if Jungkook is with Yoongi. They tried so many times, and each time they failed.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

But it’s not a solution Yoongi wants for Jimin to have. He and Taehyung have something precious. They shouldn’t give it up.

So Yoongi chooses to turn Jimin’s question into a joke. He smiles. “Look at me. He calls me sunbae. I don’t think I have anything left to do, you know?”

“He’s just fucking with you. Believe me.”

“Or maybe he’s just trying to make things right.”

He says it softly, as a matter of fact. He doesn’t regret anything, nor does he pity himself over this. But Jimin literally flinches at Yoongi’s words.

His eyes grow so…sad. That’s the word. Sadly understanding.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi doesn’t want to dwell on it. He clears his throat, collecting himself. “Anyway. If I were you, I’d write a song. I’d work on music. Together. With Taehyung. I don’t know about you, but music always clears my mind. And I don’t remember—I might be wrong, but I think that song of yours—about the world—it never had a conclusion, did it? There was still a choice: whether to go up against the world together or fight it alone. It seems like the exact problem you and Taehyung have.”

Jimin nods reluctantly. 

“Music is an intimate process,” Yoongi continues, scratching behind his ear shyly. “Much more intimate than bedsheet stuff, deeper than any conversation that you could ever have, so… Maybe it’ll be a good place to figure stuff out with each other.”

Jimin blinks, then suddenly spins and starts recollecting the things that he and Yoongi had gathered earlier. Wordlessly.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi should take the hint and leave Jimin alone with his thoughts now.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi should go.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Besides,” Yoongi adds, and falters, dying a little bit inside.

Jimin looks up at him. “Besides…?”

“These news reports,” Yoongi says, “about the legalisation of gay marriage.”

“Yes?”

God, what is he, a kid?

“It gave me so much hope, s’all,” Yoongi says. “Like, there are still these awful articles and guilt, so much guilt, but it’s almost—almost like we have a future. A real one. Almost like it’s gonna be okay.”

Jimin crashes into him. He hugs Yoongi tightly—like Yoongi should’ve hugged him the moment he saw him crying.

“Oh, hyung.” Jimin rubs soothing circles into Yoongi’s back. “I know. I know. Me too. It made me really happy.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi whispers, hoarse. He laughs with tears escaping him, weirdly happy. “Yeah.”

Jimin pulls away, holding Yoongi tightly by his shoulders. Yoongi tries to dodge any eye contact, but Jimin still manages to cup his face, forcing Yoongi to look at him. “Aw, are you crying?”

He asks that, but his thumbs are already wiping tears off Yoongi’s cheeks. His touch is so soft and warm.

This. This is how Yoongi should have consoled Jimin from the start, but now he only feels ashamed that he has diverted all of the attention from Jimin’s heartache to his own pain.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!  Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi shakes his head violently. “No.”

Jimin laughs. Yoongi’s unexpected sappiness seems to humour him. He embraces Yoongi again, even tighter this time, and guides Yoongi’s head into his shoulder. “It’s okay. Cry a little. I won’t tell anyone.”

Yoongi doesn’t want to cry, be it a little or a lot. He doesn’t want to cry at all. He doesn’t want to shed tears at a concept so mushy and silly as marriage, but maybe Yeri has been right after all. They have grown a lot. They have grown so much that they are starting to get the itch under their skin to settle down. They might not recognise this itch consciously, but it must be there.

Jimin cards his hand through Yoongi’s hair as Yoongi sobs even harder into his shoulder. He whispers into Yoongi’s temple, almost as if he’s giving up his deepest secret, “You always look a little angry, but we all know that you have the kindest heart out of all of us. Pretty sure Jungkook loves you exactly because of that.”

Yoongi shakes his head again. No. The present tense is so wrong. He mutters against the material of Jimin’s sweater—it has turned all wet and snotty and salty—“I told him not to love me anymore.”

Jimin’s hand pauses in Yoongi’s hair for a moment. Then he resumes the strokes, his touch even gentler than before. “I know. I know everything. Silly. Silly hyung.”

Scared, alone, anxious,
Happy, excited, contented,
Worried, sick, worried sick,
Angry, livid, bitter,
But mostly, tender and loving

— ‘Dear world, I’ is about staying kind, about loving, about choosing to stay—despite.

“And into the downward-facing dog…” the calm voice of the yoga instructor goes.

Next to Yoongi, Taehyung whines quietly. “I hate this.”

Yoongi barely keeps himself from rolling his eyes. The only reason he doesn’t is because he’s too focused on holding his body up with his feeble hands, trying to keep up with the rest of the ahjummas. These women aren’t even sweaty in the slightest—panting less. Weird enough, today Yoongi is exceptionally tired out with the practice, even though they aren’t doing anything out of the ordinary. The grandpa must’ve been right—Yoongi had skipped too many classes and lost all the stamina he had built up before.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Roll yourself all the way down to your spine, and hug your knees into your chest.”

“What the hell?” Taehyung mutters, following up the instructions.

“We’re finishing up,” Yoongi hisses. “Keep quiet. And try not to think about anything.”

Usually, yoga calms him down, stretches his muscles, but today, as he lies down on the mat, he is thankful that he can finally catch his breath. He shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath in, then out, forcing his brain to shut up. Through the chants, Yoongi recognises the instructor’s steps, then hears her gently reminding Taehyung to keep his palms facing upwards.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Seven minutes later, Taehyung and Yoongi bow to the instructor and gather their mats in the corner of the room. There, the ahjumass catch Yoongi for a chit-chat. Yoongi introduces Kim Taehyung to them.

“Ay, another handsome boy will join us?” they tease.

Taehyung smiles, hands behind his back, so courteous, the prince of South Korea. “Hyung suggested we take a lesson or two together. Couldn’t turn him down.”

Clearly, the ahjummas aren’t even aware 9795 might be anything beyond the simple numbers and are charmed by Kim Taehyung solely because that’s who he is—polite, genuine, and warm. Unlike the instructor, who’s definitely at the age to keep a BTS album on her bookshelf. Yoongi sees her hovering at the back of the practice room, waiting for them at a polite distance to be done with his conversation with the ahjummas before she asks for a photo, an autograph, a hug, or whatever it is that she might want out of Taehyung.

Yoongi doesn’t think she’s wrong for wanting that. It’s just that he thought of bringing Taehyung here since Jimin told him about Taehyung’s nightmares, hoping that the yoga class would help Taehyung loosen up, and he wants this class to be the same safe space for him as it is for Yoongi.

Yoongi tries to catch the eye of the instructor. When she notices him looking at her, he presses his lips into a thin line and shakes his head shortly. Her mouth opens, and then she collects herself and nods.

“Sorry,” she mouths. She looks a bit disappointed, but also understanding. That’s the best thing about the 9795’s fans. They’re all a reflection of the 9795, just as polite and warm.

“Don’t be,” Yoongi mouths back, showing her a thumbs-up. That makes her smile.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi guides Taehyung out of the practice room with a gentle hand at his back. They change out of the gym clothes into their regular outfits, which means Yoongi feels totally underdressed next to Taehyung.

“Are you even comfortable wearing this?” Yoongi asks, tugging on Taehyung’s shapeless button-up, as they exit the gym and head in the van’s direction. They walk fast—it’s November, it’s cold, and neither of them are wearing jackets—and Yoongi finds himself out of breath again.

“Are you feeling okay?” Taehyung asks instead of replying to Yoongi, like he often likes to do.

Yoongi hasn’t felt okay in years.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Yoongi says. “Why?”

“You look a little pale.”

“The practice was a little tough today.”

Taehyung spares Yoongi a disbelieving look but lets it slide. The 9795’s driver opens the van’s door for them, and they climb in.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

In the heavy Seoul traffic of Tuesday post-work hours, they’re moving slowly, slower than Yoongi would like. He didn’t get to smoke; Taehyung rushing him back to the company, and now he feels restless and fidgety. Apart from that, the ride goes smoothly—over time, Taehyung has grown to appreciate silence. They both give each other time to cool off after the yoga class, lost in their thoughts.

They get dropped off at the company’s back exit. Immediately, even before reaching the unofficial smoking zone, Yoongi feels for his back pocket, finding the pack of cigarettes.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“You go ahead,” Yoongi tells Taehyung, pulling a cigarette out of the pack. “I’ll catch up.”

Taehyung looks at Yoongi the same way Jungkook looked at him once—like Yoongi is the biggest disappointment of his life. Then, “I’ll stay with you. Keep you company.”

Taehyung doesn’t have to do this. At the back door, familiar faces stand, probably on their last smoke break for today’s work day. Yoongi doesn’t know their names, but he borrowed a lighter from them once or twice, and this, in a very twisted, uncultured way, is already a bond, too. Yoongi doesn’t need Taehyung’s company. Still, having him is nicer than having anyone else in this world.

Yoongi shakes hands with the familiar faces. They exchange quick small talk as Yoongi lights the cigarette, and then Yoongi pulls Taehyung slightly aside from them.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“‘Dear world’ is looking good,” Yoongi says, taking a puff. It’s more small talk, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to smoke peacefully in this silence under Taehyung’s judgemental gaze.

“‘Dear world, I’,” Taehyung corrects him. “And yeah. Yeah, I think it’s a good one. We have to thank you for that.”

“It’s all on you. You made this song. Even Seokjin didn’t have anything to say about it. It’s…” A masterpiece. Something exceptional. “Really, really good. I hope you know that. It’s a great song. I mean it. I’m—” Proud of you.

It hits Yoongi right then, right in the face: it really was him who taught these boys to make music. Would ‘Dear world, I’ even exist if it weren’t for a twenty-four-year-old Yoongi’s inability to talk about music in any other way but maniacally, madly, violently loving?  He can and should be proud of them. Of himself, too.

He never says it on that day, but Taehyung hears him anyway. His lips waver into a small smile. “Thank you, hyung. But what I meant was that Jimin and I are thankful that you helped us talk it out without having to open our mouths.” He scratches his nape. “To tell the truth, I hate talking. Music’s always been easier.”

And that makes Yoongi wonder if it’s a trait that Taehyung has inherited from Yoongi. If it’s something that he has picked up from Yoongi somewhere  between Yoongi teaching him how to tune a guitar and using a software app for mixing. Because at Taehyung’s words, Yoongi’s heart screams, For me, too. For me, too, always, since my parents made me attend piano classes for the first time in my life.

And Yoongi’s head follows, Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“You have to figure out your shit with Jungkook, too,” Taehyung says.

So that’s what it’s about. Not about music. About Jungkook. Which is, somehow, almost the same to Yoongi, and he can’t quite pinpoint why.

Yoongi flicks the cigarette. “Nothing to figure out. What’s done is done.”

“You know what’s the greatest thing I’ve noticed about you two?” Taehyung continues like he hasn’t even heard Yoongi. “You never turn your back on each other. As humans, we tend to get angry and hold grudges when someone upsets us, but that’s not the case with you. Has never been. Don’t take it personally, but I once asked Jungkook, ‘Why are you so hung up on him?’ And he told me, ‘He never gave up on me. No matter what I did, no matter how many times I failed him, he never gave up on me’.”

What? Jungkook told him that?

But Jungkook never failed Yoongi. Jungkook never did anything that could make Yoongi turn his back on him.

For that matter, it’s Jungkook who has never given up on Yoongi. Hasn’t ever given up on anything, to be honest, even though Yoongi thought that the failure of the 9795’s second album would break him and make him quit. He perseveres; that’s what Jungkook does, and Yoongi loves him for that.

“So I just keep thinking...” Taehyung says. “Maybe we all deserve people in our lives who don’t love us for something we did but rather love us despite what we did.”

Yoongi smirks, taking his last drag off the cigarette. “We just need to be loved for who we are. There’s no science to loving. If love is a burden you have to carry, that’s not right.”

His words silence Taehyung. Some sort of fight leaves his eyes, and he exhales heavily, disappointedly.

Yoongi stubs the cigarette out then and throws it into the bin, a move of an ex-basketball player. Too many exes attached to Yoongi’s name. Despite what Taehyung and Jungkook might believe, Yoongi has given up on a lot of things in his life.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

The chanting of his name in the concert halls is one of them.

“Let’s go,” Yoongi says, patting Taehyung’s back sympathetically before he slips away from him to the back door.

“You have to open your eyes and realise that there’s something good,” Yoongi’s back catches Taehyung’s voice. It’s pressuring, insisting. Like he’s trying to prove it to Yoongi. “Between you and Jungkook. Something valuable. Precious.”

Yoongi knows it. In fact, he’s perfectly aware of that.

He also knows that he’s great at ruining precious things: Cypher’s dream being one of them. He won’t be able to forgive himself for messing up Jungkook’s life, not the way he did with Namjoon’s and Hoseok’s.

Gladly, Taehyung doesn’t bring it up anymore. Yoongi walks him to the practice room, the chants trailing after them, Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! He doesn’t have to do it, the same way Taehyung didn’t have to stay with him for a smoke, but it’s nice to keep each other company.

And, just like Taehyung, Yoongi has an ulterior motive, too. He lets Taehyung inside the room first and then comes to rest his temple against the doorframe. In the room, the rest of the crew is already gathered, chatting enthusiastically as they wait for Taehyung.

Jungkook beams, having noticed Yoongi. “Yo, sunbae!” He’s sitting on the floor, his legs spread wide, stretching. “How was the yoga class?”

Warmth spreads in Yoongi’s chest, the chants gone. He waves shortly at Jungkook, and Jungkook smiles even wider. He’s the most lovely human Yoongi has ever come to know. At that moment, Yoongi wishes so badly that loving him wouldn’t be as burdensome to Jungkook. Maybe this way—if Yoongi wasn’t so broken, if Yoongi didn’t need yoga, if Yoongi didn’t need a therapist, if Jungkook didn’t stop the chants in his head—they could’ve been happy.

“Hyungnim!” Jimin exclaims. “Come inside for a second!”

Yoongi frowns in confusion but still does as he’s told. He pushes off the door, taking a step forward, another, and blinks;  somehow it comes out a little heavily, his eyes darkening for a moment like they often do these days when Yoongi stands up or moves too quickly, and then he... stirs awake.

He’s not in the practice room. He’s not in the company at all. The ceiling is completely different from the company’s; there’s no room that would have this type of ceiling. Yoongi is lying down on the mattress, in bed. There are no beds in the company, either. And he’s not wearing his clothes—it’s a hospital gown.

A swarm of voices overcomes him.

“He didn’t breathe!”

“All of us got scared, okay?”

“I checked for his pulse! His heart stopped!”

“His heart didn’t stop. I was there, too. He just fainted. I promise you.”

A long, tiny ringing goes through Yoongi’s ear.

He closes his eyes.

“Just fainted?!”

“I could feel his pulse. Seriously, Kook, I understand. Everyone’s jumpy, but I swear it didn’t happen. He’s okay. He’s just sleeping.”

“Tone it down, or step out of the room and argue there,” another voice joins in. It sounds both unfamiliar and too familiar at the same time. “You’ll wake him up.”

“Listen, you asshole, you’ve arrived here like, what, five minutes ago? We’ve been here for hours.”

“You aren’t even supposed to be here,” the unfamiliar voice argues quite calmly. “You’re not family.”

“Yeah, I’m something more—”

More arguing follows. Yoongi’s brain, too exhausted to distinguish words anymore, decides to shut down.

Yoongi feels heavy. So heavy.

“Mom?” Yoongi says, eyes closed, still. His voice, so quiet and small, barely travels through the room.

How come we always call for our mom, even if she’s failed us?

“He’s awake, he’s awake.”

“Don’t crowd him!”

“Someone call for the doctor!”

The doctor. Yoongi winces. Too many voices. Too many sounds.

He tries opening his eyes again. This time, his vision blurs once and then clears.

The room around him resembles a hotel more than a hospital: all wooden panels, big leather couch with the TV, even a desk. Only a medical bed and an IV stand next to it, connected to Yoongi’s hand, telling Yoongi that he is, after all, in a hospital.

His brain is operating again, starting to recognise the faces around him: Jungkook and Taehyung are standing aside; Jimin and Geunwoo, Yoongi’s older brother—the one who is supposed to be in Daegu right now—are fretting over him.

What a fucking mess. Even Geunwoo is here.

Yoongi tries to sit up.

“Stay down,” Geunwoo says, his hand an unfamiliar weight on Yoongi’s shoulder. That was his voice earlier, too.

“I feel stupid just lying down,” Yoongi complains, falling back down.

“Well, I feel stupid that I’m here, so we’re even.”

“I feel stupid that I’m here, too. Two to one.”

Slowly, everything starts to come back to him. He tagged along with Taehyung to see Jungkook. Jimin called him to come inside the practice room. Yoongi pushed off the door. And then he was here.

“Did you bring me here just because I blacked out?” Yoongi asks, rubbing at his forehead.

Stupid. That’s so fucking stupid. And they brought him to this VIP hospital room, too, as if he were dying. How will Yoongi even be able to pay for this? His insurance won’t cut it.

The door to the ward slides open, and a man in a white coat comes in with a nurse next to him. The doctor appears to be young, somewhere in his thirties, and seems to be humoured by the whole situation, judging by the small smile on his lips that he keeps fighting. Behind him trail Namjoon and Hoseok.

Yoongi groans mentally. It would be better if he died, he decides right then. This situation is so humiliating that he wishes to be anywhere else but here. Even the doctor knows that it was pointless to get Yoongi to a private ward just because he fainted.

But what makes it worse is that everyone is fucking here, as though gathered to say the last farewell.

“Slept well, Min Yoongi-ssi?” the doctor asks. Amusement glints in his eyes, crow’s feet in the corners. “It seems to me like you needed some rest.”

An asshole, Yoongi decides, that’s who this doctor is. Can’t he see that Yoongi is already so embarrassed that he wants to melt through the floor?

Yoongi looks up at the ceiling, the one that is so unlike the company’s, and prays that this is just a dream. If he pretends hard enough and doesn’t speak, maybe it’ll all pass.

“Well, um,” Geunwoo speaks up as the oldest in the group, after the silent treatment that Yoongi is giving to the doctor becomes impolite. “Is everything…okay?”

“Overall, yes,” the doctor replies immediately, like he’s been waiting for someone to ask him that. “You told us that Min Yoongi-ssi has been working a lot recently, so most likely his fainting was caused by that. Stress, fatigue, overworking... We’ll need to run some tests on Yoongi-ssi now that he’s awake.”

“Can’t you just let me go home?” Yoongi asks. He turns to face the doctor, looks him straight in the eyes, and sends him a hidden signal: Get me out of here. He tries adding puppy eyes to that.

“Don’t worry, Doc, he’ll do everything you say,” Jimin chimes in.

Because it always happens like this, doesn’t it? You rot inside yourself peacefully, and then your body starts to stink. That’s when everyone notices.

That's when everyone makes a big deal out of it.

The nurse carefully pulls the IV out of Yoongi's hand—she does it so gently and steadily that it doesn’t even hurt. After that, she helps Yoongi get up. It’s completely unnecessary; Yoongi can stand just fine on his own, but she has to get paid for doing something, after all, so Yoongi lets her. Under the sickeningly worried gazes of others, he is guided out of the room. He glares at Hoseok and Namjoon as he passes by them in the doorway.

“How could you let them take me here?” he mouths, pissed off.

And these two—the ones who call themselves his brothers—can only stare back with upset, guilt-ridden eyes. That’s how Yoongi knows: they didn’t even protest against bringing him to the hospital. And Yoongi suddenly feels so ashamed for snapping at them. Namjoon and Hoseok are the few people who know how bad it can get for Yoongi. They know that he’s rotting, they know about the chants, they know about everything that’s wrong with him. Before the 9795, Namjoon and Hoseok were the only people who cared deeply for Yoongi. Of course they’re worried, too—just in a different, more silent way. A way that isn’t so easily betrayed by explosive emotions like the 9795’s.

As Yoongi is dragged through a variety of tests—they feel more like a formality than anything else—his doctor, surnamed Shin as Yoongi finds out, chats with him. The questions are random: starting from Yoongi’s favourite dish and how often he eats it to how he knows the 9795. It’s done so casually, like they’re strangers randomly seated next to each other in a bar who got into a chat and then couldn’t stop talking to each other, that Yoongi doesn’t even notice the time passing. In forty minutes, they’re done, and the nurse is guiding him back to his room.

In the ward, everyone is languishing in different corners. Geunwoo is sitting in the armchair closer to the door, on his phone. Jimin is at the desk, scribbling violently at his notebook. Taehyung is watching TV from the sofa. Jungkook is next to him, but he’s not paying any attention to the movie on the screen. His focus is on a sweatshirt. Yoongi recognises this sweatshirt as his—the one that he wore earlier today before he got changed into a hospital gown. Jungkook folds the sweatshirt, waits for a second, chewing on his bottom lip, unfolds it, and then folds it back again, smoothing out the creases.

Yoongi watches him repeat the same process at least twice before he finally finds enough strength within himself to break this perfect little bubble and move his feet audibly. “Where are Namjoon and Hobi?”

Everyone looks up at him, distracted from their initial tasks.

“I sent them home,” Geunwoo says. He stands up, stretching and yawning. Yoongi feels almost sorry for him—why was he called to come here? Moreover, why did he come? Abandoning his wife and daughter in Daegu like this? “It’s been getting crowded. Tried to send off the kids, too, but they’re stubborn.”

Those are Yoongi’s kids. Of course they wouldn’t leave him. They wouldn’t leave him even if the world was ending; even if Yoongi asked them to, they wouldn’t.

For the first time that evening, Yoongi wonders how the 9795 and Cypher even managed to get inside if they weren’t family members. He supposes money buys everything these days.

The thought of money brings his headache back.

“Look, I don’t want to sound ungrateful,” he starts carefully as he sits down on the bed. He’s aware of everyone’s eyes dotting on him; if they don’t watch him close enough, he’ll just faint again. It’s tiring. “I don’t wanna sound ungrateful,” he repeats, putting more emphasis on it, “but if you were to take me to the hospital, couldn’t you bring me to a less fancy one?”

It’s not that Yoongi doesn’t have money. The DREAMERS are charting all over the country and partially in other parts of Asia. Yeri pays him for mentoring this one boy group. He’s still getting royalties from the advertisement songs he made a couple of years ago.

Yoongi has money. He has enough money to live comfortably, he’d say. But he doesn’t have money to get into the best Seoul hospital on a random Wednesday.

“We’ll think of something,” Geunwoo promises. “I’ll take out my savings—”

“No need,” Jimin says. He’s speaking politely, but there’s something about the tone of his voice that Yoongi knows has Geunwoo gritting his teeth. “We’ve got it covered.”

“I won’t accept money from you,” Yoongi cuts him off immediately. “I won’t take money that I know I won’t be able to pay back.”

“Frankly, I don’t think I care,” Jimin says. “And I don’t need you to pay me back. I rushed you here, I’ll take this responsibility.”

Yoongi can assume that Jimin has more than enough in his bank account to pay for Yoongi’s bill. He won’t have to cut any of his expenses after he pays for Yoongi. For Jimin, it’d be like when Yoongi buys a pack of mangoes in a supermarket—a little expensive, but it won’t hurt the budget overall. So Yoongi isn’t worried that he’ll rob Jimin of his money.

It just feels shitty. So wrong. Yoongi doesn’t want handouts. Doesn’t want charity. 

Jimin must hear his thoughts, because in the next second, his expression turns revoltingly serious and angry. He opens his mouth to argue, and, like a routine too familiar, Yoongi breathes in to fight him back.

They never get to do it—Yoongi’s doctor walks in with the results of Yoongi’s tests in his hands. He doesn’t smile this time.

The mood in the ward drops from aggressive to anxious.

The doctor slowly walks them through Yoongi’s test results. He approaches the topic of his diagnosis carefully, mentioning that they’ll have to do more tests to be sure of the cause of it. But by following the right diet, getting the needed shots or supplements, and, preferably, quitting smoking, Yoongi should be feeling better in no time.

“Why didn’t you visit a doctor earlier?” Dr. Shin asks, his gaze shifting from his notes to Yoongi. He looks and sounds so…appalled. Like he’s not sure a human being is supposed to just be okay with their state if they get results like Yoongi’s. “Haven’t you noticed how tired you were?”

Yoongi is tired all the fucking time; how would he notice?

He’s been running on low energy for years. Every day has been the same: he needs to drag himself out of bed in the morning and then lull himself to sleep at night. Every day is just a battle between what has to be done and what Yoongi’s mind wants to do. How could he notice something has gone wrong when everything has been wrong forever?

Dr. Shin looks at Yoongi expectantly, but Yoongi ends up never giving him an answer. Taking matters into his own hands, Geunwoo leads the doctor out of the room, asking him some follow-up questions. Because that’s what grown-ups do. They take care of things and do not just sit with their mouths sealed as someone is trying to save them.

“Okay,” Jimin says, seemingly trying to calm himself down. He paces around the room. “Okay, we can work with that.”

Work with what? With that pretentious illness? As if Yoongi is going to believe that diagnosis.

Yoongi finally finds his voice again. “This doctor is a greedy shitass. He asked me so many questions about you guys, I’m pretty sure he only said something to have you pay him more. Why would I listen to him? Pretty sure it’s not even a real illness—”

“That is not fucking negotiable!” Taehyung yells, having spoken up for the first time, and Yoongi winces at how loud he is, how angry, how upset. “You are going to quit smoking, you are going to start eating healthily, you are going to attend every fucking appointment needed, and if it comes to this, I will be dragging you here myself.”

Jimin side-hugs Taehyung, trying to calm him down. “It’s okay, Tae, Yoongi-hyung is just—”

Taehyung drags his hands off him. “Don’t fucking touch me. You’re always on his side. You two are so fucking alike.”

He walks out of the ward. Jimin sends Yoongi a look, Yoongi nods, and Jimin walks out after Taehyung. Which leaves Jungkook as the only one still remaining in the room. His fingers anxiously knit at the neck of Yoongi’s sweatshirt.

“Do you also have something to tell me, or…?” Yoongi asks.

Jungkook shifts his gaze from the sweatshirt to Yoongi. All this time, Jungkook’s been just as silent as Taehyung, not a word shared—at least not at Yoongi’s presence. Yoongi doesn’t even expect him to speak up, he just wanted to try and see if he could hear his voice. He thinks it’s something he needs right now: just Jungkook’s sweet and soothing voice—whether he’ll curse at Yoongi or tell him that everything’s going to be okay, it doesn’t matter.

But Jungkook just keeps silent, continuing to observe Yoongi with this tiredness hidden beneath the bruises of his eyes. Yoongi supposes he doesn’t have anything to say.

“Why won’t you let Jimin-hyung pay the bill for you, but you didn’t say anything about Geunwoo-ssi?”

Oh. That’s what he wants to know?

“He’s family,” Yoongi shrugs, looking away from Jungkook, because seeing Jungkook so shattered makes him feel even worse.

“You told me once that people from the company were family.”

“He’s blood family.”

“But you chose us. You chose us as your family.” And suddenly, Jungkook’s angry; like a car that has been slowly accelerating and then had the gas pedal depressed all at once. “Where was he when you needed support? Where was he? Why didn’t you fucking call him when you had your panic attacks?”

Here it goes. They had been dancing so much around this term—panic attacks—but Jungkook just spat it out. He gave it weight, and it’s heavy; it’s so heavy. Yoongi’s not sure he can carry it.

“You let us take care of you before,” Jungkook says. “Let us do it again.” And like this wasn’t enough to break Yoongi’s heart, he adds, “You’d do it for us without batting an eye. Hell, Jimin’s bill would already be paid by you if he were in your shoes. We’ll never catch up with you in taking care of us, but, for the very least, I beg you, let us try.”

And all Yoongi can do is blink his unspilled tears away and nod briefly, a couple of times, like a bobblehead. Obediently, assenting. Jungkook’s right. The company’s people are so much closer to him than his own family. He should stop battling them and clashing with them like this, when he knows he’d return the favour in a matter of no time, without hesitation.

Yoongi looks down at his feet. Now that he’s gotten Jungkook to speak, he wants to know if he can ask for more tonight.

“By the way,” Yoongi says, “why are you so far away?”

Jungkook’s sitting on the sofa in the remote corner. If he could be any further away from Yoongi, he’d be out of his room. This distance is the worst one so far, and tonight, Yoongi has a feeling both of them might need it gone. Just for tonight.

“Because if I was standing close, I’d do a lot of stupid things,” Jungkook whispers, eventually, like a confession.

“Like?”

Jungkook doesn’t give him an answer.

“C’mere.” Yoongi pats the spot on the bed next to him.

Jungkook pushes himself off the sofa reluctantly, carefully. He doesn’t seem to understand why Yoongi would want him close—not after everything Yoongi had told him. But he trusts him blindly, the same way he trusted Yoongi not to hurt him when he put his hand between the studio’s door and frame.

The bed’s mattress dips slightly under Jungkook’s weight. Jungkook presses his lips together and refuses to meet Yoongi’s eyes, his hands awkwardly stuck between his thighs. He’s so mature in the way he speaks his mind, but so small at the same time, with his childlike mannerisms.

“Did I scare you?” Yoongi asks gently, finding Jungkook’s hand between his thighs and taking it between his hands. “Did sunbae scare you, Jungkook-ah?”

This.

This is why Yoongi wanted him close. To tell him it’s okay to be scared for Yoongi. To reassure him that there’s no need to be. Yoongi is a tough motherfucker. He’s going to overcome everything and not complain even once.

Jungkook’s eyes redden. He blinks, a shaky breath escaping him.

He looks at Yoongi, both confused and surprised but mostly relieved. As if  now that Yoongi has comforted him, he realises how badly he needs it after everything that went down today. But Yoongi knows him, he knows him better than anyone else, better than Jungkook knows himself—and he knows that all this time Jungkook was quiet, unlike Taehyung who was wordlessly raging inside, it was because Jungkook was too scared to even say anything, trying to appear tougher than he was.

“No,” he whispers. He manages to hold his tears back, but his voice is so hoarse, almost as if he’s been crying for hours. “I got scared for sunbae. That’s different.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Jungkook’s fingers go lax in Yoongi’s hand for a second, and then he intertwines them tightly with Yoongi’s, without meaning to let go. Jungkook’s eyes are so—hopeful on him.  “Tell me. Tell me that you’ll do everything the doctor will ask you to do.”

Their faces are so close. Yoongi opens his mouth to tell him that yes, he’ll do everything, but they’re in such close proximity that somehow he also feels like slotting his mouth against Jungkook’s and owning up to the promise he made to Yeri.

“Jungkook-ah—”

Yoongi doesn’t even get to the last syllable of Jungkook’s name when the door to the room slides open—fucking again, for the nth time this evening—and somebody rushes in.

“Yoongi-yah, I’m so sorry—” It sounds like Minjae.

Yoongi double-checks. But there’s no mistaking it: out of all the people on this planet, Minjae, Yoongi’s ex-boyfriend, has just stormed inside the room. He has a worried, almost panicked expression on his face, and a bag of tangerines hanging off his wrist.

He looks so misplaced here to Yoongi. They haven’t seen each other in so long—ever since Yoongi realised his feelings for Jungkook were something more than just ‘It’s the quiet kid that I enjoy supervising the most’, and honestly, it’d be less weird if a stranger walked inside Yoongi’s room than him.

“I was a bit busy at work but I came here as soon as—” Minjae’s blabbering dies mid-word as he notices Jungkook.

He blinks at Jungkook. Jungkook blinks back at him. Then, he glances at the bag of tangerines on Minjae's wrist.

“What are you doing here?” Yoongi asks tiredly, deflating from the unspoken confession from a second ago. This evening is getting too much for him to handle. He doesn’t need his ex here. He just wants to be left alone with Jungkook for a little longer.

“I’m your emergency contact, apparently.”

“Fuck.” Yoongi rubs at his forehead. What an idiot. He remembers now: he changed his emergency contact number from his mom’s to Minjae’s the last time he got mad at her, and blissfully forgot about it. He didn’t even think his emergency contacts would ever be needed. “I’m sorry.”

Minjae just smiles. He carefully looks over Yoongi and Jungkook from top to bottom. “Am I interrupting something?”

Yoongi realises that he and Jungkook are still holding hands, sitting on one bed with their thighs pressed together. Jungkook must realise it at the same time as him: he gently pulls away his hand from Yoongi’s hold and scoots away, wiping his palms over his jeans. Awkward.

Yoongi really, really hates this day.

“It’s, um, Minjae,” he says, gesturing between two men in a clumsy, embarrassed manner. “Minjae, it’s—”

“You’re Jungkook, aren’t you?” Minjae says, reaching out with his hand for Jungkook to shake. “The 9795?”

Jungkook takes Minjae’s hand reluctantly, shyly, bowing to him alongside everything. “I, um, yes.”

“I just saw your face on the subway station,” Minjae explains. “Heard a lot about you, too.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Lots of praise. When you were a trainee. From Yoongi.”

Jungkook looks at Yoongi. “Oh. Really?” he says flatly.

Minjae places the bag of tangerines on the desk, and looks around the ward, almost in awe.

He and Yoongi lived comfortably when they dated, but again—nothing fancy. Nothing too expensive before you save up for months for it. This hospital is global phenomenon’s level. Almost unfair how the best medicine goes to waste for unserious diseases like Yoongi’s.

Minjae rests his weight against the desk, crossing his arms. “So… Care to tell me how you got here?” And at his question, perhaps because of the way it’s asked in such a laid-back manner, Yoongi, surprisingly, feels so much warmth. So much familiarity. Yoongi is reminded that he and Minjae are past lovers who got together peacefully and parted ways peacefully, too. Yoongi genuinely cared for him at some point of his life, and Minjae cared for him, too. They were good together—the sex was good, the conversation was good, sharing life together was good.

Nothing exceptional, but good.

Yoongi laughs, unable to hold it. For the first time this evening, he releases all of the stress that has pent-up in him. “Oh, man. Where do I even start?”

Minjae grins. “Well, please start somewhere at least, because—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence: the door, this goddamn door that Yoongi thinks he should’ve locked by now, opens again. Like in a cheap comedy movie. The scriptwriters couldn’t think of better plot twists, so why not make people just come in endlessly, interrupting the characters all of the time?

“Who are you?” Dr. Shin asks Minjae, exasperated. He seems to be sick of this screenplay, too—that every time he comes in, a new face is added to the room. “How did you get here?”

Minjae scurries off the desk, his mouth spilling with explanations.

“He’s pretty,” Jungkook whispers to Yoongi as the doctor and Minjae are busy speaking to each other. “And cute. Your type?”

“He’s alright,” Yoongi shrugs absentmindedly. With the corner of his eye, he catches Minjae bowing to the doctor and exiting the room. “I haven’t seen him in a while. Can you go check on him? I want to talk to him a little more before he leaves.”

A hesitation mixed with something bitter, like envy, crosses Jungkook’s features. Then, he collects himself and nods. For that, Yoongi smiles at him and rubs his back in a quick, thankful motion. Jungkook pushes off with both hands on the mattress, stands up, and jogs out of the room.

Before the door slides closed, Yoongi hears Jungkook’s voice travelling through the hospital’s corridor, “Minjae-ssi! Wait up!”

Yoongi redirects his attention to the doctor.

The door doesn’t open again, but another character is rushing into this play. The chants.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

In another universe, Yoongi thinks he and this doctor could be friends. But instead, Yoongi is forced to sit through the lecture like a scolded child as the doctor explains to him what kind of a diet he has to follow from now on, what kind of course of injections he’ll have to go through, and what will be done next after the course is finished.

Yoongi wants to ask him, What do I do if the chants in my head won’t leave me alone? Do you know how to treat it, too?

But he knows it’s just foolish thinking. The chants won’t go away. So instead, he just notes everything down and nods every couple of seconds. After the lecture, they schedule the next day’s appointment, and the doctor reassures Yoongi that his bill was paid in advance.

“Got an autograph from Jimin and V, too,” he winks. Yoongi stares at him in disbelief. “You can go home now. Rest up, Min Yoongi-ssi.”

And finally, Yoongi is left alone in the room, with only the voices in his head keeping him company.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

He picks himself up and gathers his belongings. He locks the door, strips out of the hospital gown and changes back into his clothes, so dearly folded by Jungkook. He stares at the bag with tangerines on the desk and then leaves the ward without the bag or regrets, relieved that this day is finally over and he can come back home now.

Yoongi checks his phone. There, Namjoon and Hoseok have sent him apologies for leaving so abruptly, couldn’t argue over Geunwoo-hyung, you know? Apparently, Jimin and Taehyung left after paying the bill, too, and, moreover, dragged Geunwoo with them to get him checked in to the hotel.

The 9795 Park Jimin

Get home safely with Jungkook ;)

Yoongi almost growls. Fucker.

Where is he supposed to find Jungkook, even? Yoongi decides that asking the nurses at the front desk will be his best option. He comes up to them timidly, unsure if he should reveal Jungkook’s name or just describe his appearance to them.

“Sorry. Have you seen—” starts Yoongi.

“Jungkook-nim?” one of the nurses behind the desk asks. She has a polite smile on her face as she gestures in the direction of one of the corridors. “He’s over there, at the waiting area. Would you want me to walk you?”

“Oh,” Yoongi says. “No, no need. Thank you.” Belatedly, he bows, wandering off in the direction the nurse guided him.

First what he sees are four rows of jointed seats and a TV playing. Then, two heads, Jungkook’s with blue highlights in his hair, Minjae with his faded black, and one courteous seat separating them.

Yoongi is about to call for Jungkook when he catches Minjae saying quietly, like a confession, “He’s a good one. I really loved him. A lot. So you better treat him right.”

Yoongi freezes.

Jungkook replies with something to him, snickering, but he’s even quieter than Minjae and Yoongi fails to hear it under all the TV noise.

“He’s a bit stubborn, isn’t he?” Minjae says. “Never admits his love aloud, but will burn the whole world for the ones he chooses.”

Against all of Yoongi’s principles that he’s built over his pathetic twenty-nine years of life, Yoongi steps closer to the wall, trying to breathe as soundlessly as he can, in hopes that it’ll help him stay unnoticed for longer.

Jungkook sighs, murmuring something again. Minjae listens to him closely.

“You’re younger than him, aren’t you?” Minjae says. Jungkook’s head bobs in a nod. “You’re in trouble, then. But maybe you should try taking him as he is. He’s stubborn and doesn’t like words. And remember that your rival will always be music.”

Jungkook replies with something that first makes Minjae laugh and then say, “You’re cute.”

The bitter feeling in Yoongi’s chest makes him want to come out of his hiding place right away and stop whatever it is that’s going on between these two.

Sure, Jungkook is cute. There’s no doubt that he’s the loveliest person. But Minjae should have kept it to himself.

Yoongi has already pushed off the wall, taking a step toward the waiting area, when he hears Minjae talking about his job. About the coffee shop. Yoongi falls back to the wall. He listens carefully. When Jungkook asks Minjae something, Minjae names the street. It’s the street that Yoongi recognises. It’s the street where the bus stop is located.

The street that used to have a BBQ restaurant, and then for three continuous years, a ‘FOR RENT’ A4 paper glued to it.

The coffee shop, the pastel one, so unlike Minjae, belongs to him. Because Yoongi, of all people, believe it or not, has inspired him to follow his dream.

“He really opened my eyes, I think. I used to think I wasn’t capable of anything great, but he kind of… just put faith in me so blindly. That’s just what he does. If he loves you, he believes in you wholeheartedly. His trust makes you want to believe in yourself, too.”

Mom always said, ‘At least you’re healthy’
Her dream got ruined when the doctor told her I was ill
Music, they said, and love for it

 

— For  all of us who had to go through years of nagging to pay attention to our studies instead of music, for all of us who had to watch the silent disappointment simmering in our mother’s eyes as we told her that we were serious about it, for all of us who heard our father say, ‘You’re ill, my child, you must be ill’. For all the sick ones, let me introduce to you  ‘**##%%;!!’, dear readers.

They hold a so-called listening party for Boyhood in the grandpa’s house.

Mostly because that’s all where Yoongi is. The 9795 forbade Yoongi from going to work for two weeks, insisting that he should just take his daily injections in the hospital and rest. When Yoongi complains that he has nothing to do, they tell him, “Good.”

Good!

As Yoongi almost dies of boredom, the guys wrap up working on the album, and just like that, after two and a half months, it’s finished. After various all-nighters, after all the times they tried to find time between the 9795’s schedules and Cypher’s responsibilities at the company as mentors, after all the frustrated coffee breaks turned into writing sessions right in the lounge room, the album is finally done.

If Yoongi is slightly discontented that he wasn’t there, at the finishing point, next to the 9795 and Cypher, it’s only slightly. He knows that he did his best for this album: recording, re-recording, arranging the vocals, rearranging the vocals again, and mixing the songs. He was there when Jimin re-wrote ‘Dreaming Out Loud’ into ‘Dreamers’, and he was there to give a little push to Jimin and Taehyung to create ‘Dear world, I’. He spent the whole night with Jungkook, coming up with the idea for the ‘**##%%;!!’ and calling Kim Seokjin to have him give advice for that kind of song. He was there to help Hoseok out with his hook for ‘Mismatched’, and he was there when Namjoon was stuck on ‘Sincerely, me’, suggesting they should include a rap part for Jungkook in the track.

Yoongi gave his everything to the 9795’s album, and he takes pride in this.

Kim Seokjin arrives early for the listening party. He was invited, too—the 9795 grew close with him, especially Jungkook, and for half of the all-nighters they pulled to write Boyhood, Kim Seokjin was in the same room as them.

He brings strawberries from his uncle’s farm in one hand and makgeolli in the other.

Yoongi quirks his eyebrow. “You realise that this will reduce the possibility of us actually doing any work, right?”

“That’s the whole point, Yoongi-yah.” Seokjin smiles and invites himself inside. He makes himself at home quickly. Rolling up his sleeves, he goes right into the kitchen to help the grandpa with the rest of the dishes.

The next ones to arrive are Namjoon and Hoseok. They’re familiar with the grandpa’s house, and they take over host responsibilities. They bring out a dinner table from the storage room, orchestrated by the grandpa. From the outside, back at the hospital, they seemed like the most nonchalant ones about Yoongi’s health condition. But Yoongi knows that in reality, they were the most anxious ones. It’s in all of their motions, in their wordless fretting as they sit Yoongi down and tell him not to worry about anything.

The 9795 end up being a little late, coming right from their schedule, in makeup and clothes too fancy for an evening like theirs.

“Sorry we’re late!” They bow so respectfully to the grandpa. “Thank you for having us!”

Yoongi shows them around the house as the rest of the guys set up the table. Jimin and Taehyung are enthusiastic about every single feature of the grandpa’s house, starting from Yoongi’s room to the yoga mats stored in the corner. However, Jungkook goes around the house as if in a trance. He’s so quiet this evening, and Yoongi wants to know, wants to ask him what's in his head. But he knows that sometimes you lose the right to ask some questions.

The thing that gets Jungkook’s attention is the open shelf with Cypher’s albums and photos. He studies all of the photos there so carefully. A small smile ghosts over his face.

“We look a bit funny, don’t we?” Yoongi says, stepping closer. Jimin and Taehyung have wandered off, and it’s only him and Jungkook now.

“Maybe,” Jungkook shrugs. He reaches out with his fingertips to the frame but never quite touches it. “But I remember that when I was fifteen, I was really smitten with this one rapper. Wanted to have a life with him. Travel together, build a home together, raise kids together.”

Yoongi’s mouth quirks.

“Namjoon-hyung was really something,” Jungkook says.

It is a confession so sudden that Yoongi bursts into laughter. Jungkook sends him a smile, a shy glance full of warmth, an inner joke, an ironic secret shared between them.

Yoongi wishes he could be allowed to say more, to joke around more: You must really like Cypher men. He wishes he could ask more: For how long have you listened to our music? Have you ever been to our concert? Have you ever been a part of the chants in my head?

Jungkook’s gaze travels further, onto another stand, another photo. Yoongi notices it. He picks up the frame, knowing Jungkook will never touch it himself. It’s the grandpa—or, at least, he tells Yoongi so. Yoongi can never recognise the boy in the photo as the old man he knows now. Next to him is another boy. Yoongi didn’t get to know him.

“They look happy,” Jungkook says.

“They were,” Yoongi says. “Or so the grandpa says.”

“How did they get married? There are matching rings on their ring fingers.”

“In their head.”

Jungkook smiles. Yoongi smiles back at him. There’s a moment of softness stretching between them, a silent understanding. One day we might live in a world they could only dream about. With all the news that’s been going around, as Eunseo promised Yoongi, it seems like love is really going to win this time.

Yoongi puts the photo back. This tender moment between him and Jungkook has passed them by. Has left them with nothing but awkward avoidance of eye contact. 

Yoongi breathes in, getting as much air into his lungs as he can.

“How’s your health?” Jungkook blurts, at the same time as Yoongi asks, “How have you been?”

Communication has never been their strongest point. Yoongi is a bad speaker. Jungkook, apparently, is mortified to ask him questions. They look at each other, their mouths opening and closing again, eyes wide. Neither of them expected the other to speak up.

“The little one,” the grandpa calls, sparing them or maybe ruining something important between them. “Come help me.”

A whisper goes over the house, trying to figure out who the grandpa is referring to.

“It’s Jungkook,” says Yoongi. Instinctively, his hand is on Jungkook’s waist, pushing ever so slightly, barely applying any pressure. “You should…go help him.”

“Oh,” Jungkook says. “Oh, yes. Sure.”

He disappears in the kitchen, and Yoongi returns to the living room. Everyone has already sat down on the chairs. It’s weird to see the European-style table in the grandpa’s house, but all seven of them wouldn’t fit into the table that they usually dine at. Yoongi sits down next to Namjoon, who’s already busy relaying to Seokjin all of his relationship drama from the past month. Hoseok is speaking over him, clapping his hands, and laughing at Jimin’s story about their interview mishaps that happened today. They’re all loud—so loud, everyone is speaking over each other. Yoongi’s heart swells at the sight of them in his home.

The empty seat between Jimin and Taehyung is the only thing getting on his nerves. It’s getting suspicious how much time the grandpa and Jungkook are taking in the kitchen. What are they even doing here? Everything’s ready. The food is all served, and the plates and chopsticks are set.

When Yoongi voices his concern, Seokjin says, “Well, why don’t you go check on them?”

“Is that a challenge?” Yoongi frowns. “Because I can and will go check on them.”

“Go, my boy. Go.”

Yoongi scoffs. He presents Seokjin with a middle finger and pushes himself up. He doesn’t get his vision darkened as it would before, and that is a positive sign to him that the treatment he’s been getting in the hospital has been helpful after all. Perhaps the doctor was right about something when it came to Yoongi’s condition.

Coming to the kitchen’s doorway, Yoongi loses all of his fight immediately. He rests his weight against the arch, watching the grandpa and Jungkook. He hears slow murmurs. Sees Jungkook working on cutting the carrots, the sleeves of his sweater rolled up to his elbows, the grandpa therapist sitting down on the chair next to him, and repeatedly telling him, Be gentle, be understanding, give it time.

“Are you guys done?” Yoongi asks. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

His voice must’ve startled Jungkook—his knife misses, and he hisses, bringing his finger to his mouth.

Something snaps in Yoongi. Immediately, he’s by Jungkook’s side, taking his hand away from his mouth to inspect the wound. The grandpa has just started to rise from his chair, but Yoongi is already on the other side of the kitchen, taking out the first kit from one of the drawers.

“Wash the wound,” he tells Jungkook as he prepares the bandaid, gesturing in the direction of the sink.

“The cut isn’t even that deep,” Jungkook murmurs. Yoongi frowns at him, and it shuts down any complaints from Jungkook.

“C’mere.”

Jungkook extends his hand to Yoongi. Yoongi takes him by the wrist gently, bringing his palm even closer. All of Jungkook’s tattoos are exposed right in front of his face.

“What does this one mean?” Yoongi asks conversationally as he puts on the bandaid on Jungkook’s finger, distracting him from the cut. He checks that the bandage isn’t too tight or too loose and evens out its edges. “Mhm?”

“‘Please, love me.’”

Yoongi’s heart stops.

He looks up from Jungkook’s hand, his fingers still wrapped around his wrist. Jungkook is already looking at him. His face is so close, eyes so big. Gaze so gentle. Yoongi swallows. Jungkook licks his bottom lip. Yoongi follows this motion absentmindedly. Yoongi thinks he’s the first one to start leaning in.

Then, his brain snaps back into its rightful place. What is he doing? The grandpa is right here. What the fuck is he doing? He should know by now that all of his actions have consequences, and usually they’re not in Yoongi’s favour. He breathes out shakily, letting go of Jungkook’s hand. He tries not to think too much about whether his breath reaches Jungkook or not. He pushes away from the sink.

The grandpa isn’t even here, having slipped out earlier. With a speed too incredible for Yoongi not to think he hadn’t planned all of this earlier.

“We should go,” Yoongi says, voice too thick, too deep. He clears his throat. “Everyone’s waiting.” He repeats like a broken machine.

Isn’t that what he is?

“Okay,” Jungkook says. “Okay, let’s go then.”

When Yoongi and Jungkook come out of the kitchen, it feels a bit shameful. Jimin gives him a look that Yoongi ignores. The grandpa fills his rice bowl with various side dishes and paddles to his room, leaving them space to have fun properly, without boring old men—even though everyone begs him to stay.

The first half of the listening party is dedicated to dinner and discussing Yoongi’s health.

“You didn’t tell me you were in the hospital,” Seokjin says.

“It wasn’t that serious,” Yoongi reassures him.

“It absolutely was,” Jimin says. He gets into this absolutely embarrassing story of how Yoongi fainted and they got him into the hospital, and how Yeri had to deal with the press and the fans, reassuring them that the ambulance wasn’t for anyone out of the idols, and how he and Taehyung had to deal with Geunwoo for two days after that. “It was a disaster. Geunwo-ssi refused to believe that we were going to take proper care of Yoongi-hyung. As if his ass ever visits hyung here while we—”

“Jimin,” Yoongi warns him. He doesn’t want to talk about his family. Not tonight. And he doesn’t understand why Jimin is so set on badmouthing them, either. His family isn’t perfect, and he knows it. He knows it too well. There’s no need to keep shoving it in his face.

“Sorry,” Jimin murmurs.

“His ex was also there,” Namjoon adds as he slurps his noodles.

“Who?” Seokjin looks up from his bowl. “This J-something guy?”

“What? You mean Jihun?” Yoongi’s eyes pop out. “No. Why would he even come?”

“I don’t know, you loved him. He seemed to love you very much, too.”

“We were like, twenty. We were just messing around. We had no idea what the word ‘love’ was,” Yoongi says, almost out of breath from how shocked he is that Seokjin even remembers the guy. “It’s been ten years. I don’t even know what he’s doing right now.”

“Oh, I remember him, too!” Hoseok says, Namjoon humming in agreement next to him. “He was totally your type, though. A dreamer.”

Yoongi is too aware of Jungkook silently eating from his bowl to continue this conversation. Usually so bright and energetic, Jungkook didn’t even look up or react once.

Yoongi catches Jimin’s eyes and raises his eyebrows at him, wordlessly communicating with him. He cocks his head slightly in Jungkook’s direction.

“Well, anyway,” Jimin says, catching up onto Yoongi’s hint and redirecting the conversation from Yoongi’s past lovers to where they’ve started. “Now Yoongi-hyung is getting the shots to make up for his deficiency and resting up.”

“Ugh, don’t even mention the injections,” Yoongi winces. It comes out a bit fake. The tone of the previous topic was much more dramatic than the stupid injections, and Yoongi’s never been a good actor to begin with. But he does hate the shots that Dr. Shin makes him take.

“Why? That bad?” Hoseok asks, rubbing Yoongi’s shoulder sympathetically. Yoongi shrugs, shaking his head.

“It’s not the shots themselves. It’s the aftermath. B12 injections often cause nausea,” Taehyung says, voice robotic, like it’s been memorised by him. “It’s one of its side effects. Alongside diarrhoea, headaches, dizziness… Lessened sex-drive, too.”

His last phrase miraculously happens during the time when everyone around the table decides to stop chewing and talking all at once, and it’s heard loud and clear. If Jungkook couldn’t look at Yoongi before, he’s now staring, his mouth half-opened.

“Okay, you walking Naver,” Yoongi flicks Taehyung’s forehead. “How about we don’t discuss any of the side effects that I have?”

Taehyung proceeds to grab some of the clams from a jogaetang bowl and transfer them to Yoongi’s plate. “Eat up,” he says, “they have a lot of the vitamins that you need.”

Yoongi smiles at him gratefully. “Thank you, Taehyung-ah.” Just to show Taehyung how much he appreciates his care, he immediately eats one of the clams, swallowing the hidden embarrassment alongside, too.

The second part of the listening party goes better. Because it’s the part where they finally gather to review what they’ve created. Yoongi brings out the laptop and the speakers from his room, Taehyung passes him the flashdrive, and for forty minutes, they just sit and listen.

For forty minutes, all Yoongi can think about is that one time Namjoon and Jimin holed up in Namjoon’s studio and for two days, nobody could get a hold of them. Right after, Yoongi got a request in his e-mail to re-record ‘Cry-star’ with the 9795. Alongside changed lyrics, it also got a new name: ‘Star-seeding’. The song that initially was about abstract stars, crystals, and the universe being big but hey, we’re together and whatnot, turned into a loneliness anthem.

Yoongi read through the lyrics absentmindedly, but for the rest of that day, he couldn’t stop thinking about the song. Why was it suddenly so familiar, a feeling of dejavu coming out of nowhere?

The next day, Taehyung came inside the recording booth, flashed Yoongi an OK-sign, and sang his heart out with, “On the news, everyone’s talking that the sky is going to cry of stars tonight, and suddenly, I want to lie down and cry, too. Just so the sky wouldn’t feel as lonely as I do.”

On the record, as the song is playing now, he sounds even more magical. Yoongi made sure to do so. Even now, his heart is aching in all the right places.

It’s Jimin’s lyrics from all these years ago. Yoongi remembers the smell of the city he was in but doesn’t remember its name, remembers the exhaustion he felt, how burdensome it was—Cypher’s last tour. He remembers calling Jungkook up, his head a mess. It was the first time that it wasn’t Jungkook’s singing voice that stopped the chants. It was Jungkook himself.

Yoongi should have known back then what all of it meant. But he didn’t. Or maybe he ignored the warning alarm in his head.

These lines—this song—are personal to Yoongi. He has known this song since it was just a sticky note in the budding trainees’ dorms. Jungkook read it for him, and they talked about a meteor shower—the one that they ended up never seeing. That’s how their daily phone calls started.

Boyhood album ended up being not just about three boys growing up. It’s the anthology of their work accumulated throughout these years as they went from budding trainees to rookie idols to global phenomenons. Unlike for the BTS album, where they had arranged everything freshly and written songs specifically for it, they were mostly taking out the songs and melodies they had once written and given up on for Boyhood. They wiped the dust off and breathed new life into them.

That’s what Boyhood is. And the eponymous song—the only song on the album that the 9795 made solely by themselves—is the epitome of what this album is. Love. This album is about love and carrying on. A love for life, for parents, for fans, for friends, for partners, for pets. For everyone that helps you to go on. But most importantly, it’s an album about love for music. The 9795 didn’t show this song to Yoongi, Namjoon, or Hoseok before, having recorded it with Adora, another producer from Black Swan Records. They explained it themselves, citing that they wanted to surprise Cypher and show them how much they had grown musically as they made the album together.

Yoongi closes his eyes, hugging himself. He lets himself feel this song, get lost in it.

“Youth will forgive me for all the mistakes I’ve made, for all the things I didn’t do…” Jungkook’s voice flows through the living room, occupying its spaces, picking at Yoongi’s heart. “...Youth will forgive everything.”

When ‘Boyhood’, the last song on the album, ends, Yoongi opens his eyes and has to blink out the tears from his eyes. They have. They have grown so much.

Nobody shares a word. Instead, Jungkook fills up everyone’s glasses, and they clink them, cheering and thanking everyone for a job well done. They don’t talk about the album for the rest of the evening.

What’s there to talk about if everyone can hear it?

The only argument they hold is about naming Jungkook’s new song that he made in Yoongi’s absence. He calls it ‘Take me as I am’, but Taehyung suggests naming it ‘Take it easy’. Yoongi disagrees and says that ‘Take me easy’ would make more sense.

“It’s not quite the message of the song,” Taehyung disagrees. “The song is more about trying to convince a person to stay. That’s why ‘Take it easy’.”

“But it’s also a song about regrets,” Yoongi says. “At least, that’s how I hear it. It’s a song about regrets that says, But it is what it is. It’s longing, this song. So I just think that ‘Take me easy’ will be better. Because you don’t stay despite the situation. You stay for the person who asks you to. That’s why ‘Take me easy’.”

“Can’t you just let Jungkook decide on the name of his song?” Jimin chimes in, massaging Taehyung’s shoulder or maybe keeping Taehyung from jumping at Yoongi. “Eh, Jungkook-ah? What do you think?”

Taehyung and Yoongi simultaneously turn to Jungkook, looking at him expectantly. Jungkook seems to be very busy attempting to grab the pickled radish from the bowl rather than thinking about the future of his song.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, his chopsticks clanging helplessly as he struggles to pick up the cube of radish. “I like both interpretations. From sunbae and from Taehyungie-hyung.”

Yoongi, tired of watching him battle against the side-dish, grabs the piece of pickled radish that he wanted and puts it into Jungkook’s bowl. Jungkook murmurs a quiet thank you while munching on the food.

Namjoon, who was silently observing the debate, finally chips in. “The chorus has both ‘Take me easy’ and ‘Take it easy’ as the lyrics. What if, as the name of the song, you added some symbol instead of ‘me’ and ‘it’? This way, the listener can define for themselves what the song means for them.”

“What?” Taehyung and Yoongi stir.

Namjoon disappears under the table, surfacing again with his bag in his hands. He finds a notebook and a pen there. He manoeuvres around the table so both Taehyung and Yoongi can see as he writes down, his handwriting messy as always: ‘Take XX easy’. Jungkook leans over Taehyung’s shoulder curiously, peeking at the notebook, too.

Yoongi rubs at his chin. “Nah. The song is more like, ‘Will they-won’t they?’ type of thing. This X just makes me feel like it’s already over.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. He crosses out his first caption. Right under, he writes: ‘Take ?? easy’.

“This is it,” Jungkook snaps his fingers. “Hyungnim! You’re a genius!”

Namjoon smiles warmly at Jungkook. They cheer for finding the perfect title for the track.

It’s past midnight when everyone starts to leave. They get so absorbed in catching up with each other that they wouldn’t even think of saying their goodbyes if not for Hoseok’s girlfriend calling him up. She asks him if he’s going to come home tonight. There’s not a single nagging note in her voice, only worry. She’s nice, Hoseok’s girlfriend. Yoongi really likes her—she treats Hoseok right, and Hoseok seems to be happier next to her, too.

Hoseok puts his hands up in a defensive manner after ending the call. “Sorry, guys. The duty calls.”

“No, you’re right,” Namjoon says, standing up from his seat and stretching. “I’d better get going, too.”

Jimin checks the clock on his phone. “Us, too,” he sighs, unwilling to let go of this evening. “Jungkook?”

At the call of his name, Jungkook turns from where he’s been passionately discussing something with Seokjin. For the past half an hour, they’ve been throwing their hands  into each other’s faces, laughing, drinking, then coming back to talking, as if they couldn’t get enough of each other.

“Uh?” Jungkook says, completely clueless about Hoseok’s phone conversation with his girlfriend, eyes just a little bit glassy.

“Are you going to stay for a little longer, or will you leave with us?” Jimin asks.

Jungkook doesn’t even make it to start thinking about whether he intends to leave or not when Hoseok suddenly scurries off his seat and starts hugging everyone goodbye. His taxi has arrived, he explains between squashing Namjoon and Taehyung, and he doesn’t want to make the driver wait.

“I’ll see you out,” Yoongi says, standing up from the table. “I need a smoke anyway.”

It is under Taehyung’s glare that he gets his coat on and goes out to the porch. Two yellow lights on Hoseok’s taxi cab gleam in an otherwise dark neighbourhood, the clot of dust dancing inside them. Yoongi and Hoseok say goodbye to each other as people who are sure they’ll meet again—quickly and messily, Hoseok apologising mid-way for leaving so abruptly. Yoongi just waves him off.

“Go,” he says, and Hoseok flashes him a bright smile before climbing into the car.

Yoongi lights a cigarette and takes a puff. Finally, some space to think. It’s been a good, but overwhelmingly loud and busy evening.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoon—

Behind Yoongi, the door opens.

A few missed beats, then, “I don’t understand why you’re so set on upsetting Taehyung.”

Yoongi sighs, breathing out a cloud of smoke with that exhale.

“You know he’s the most worried when it comes to your health,” Jungkook continues. His soft steps forward follow. “You could’ve at least waited till we left.”

“He’s not a child, he can live with it. And he’s not my mother. Why would I hide my smoking from him?” Yoongi says.

Jungkook leans against the porch with his elbows. His hands clasp together. Yoongi notices that he’s come out just in a sweater. It makes him annoyed, for some reason.

“Why are you out without a coat? It’s fucking December,” he grumbles. He bites on the end of the cigarette. It keeps smouldering as he takes off his coat and pushes it into Jungkook’s hands. “Put it on.”

Jungkook doesn’t fight him. Wordlessly, he obediently slips into Yoongi’s coat. It’s a little baggy on him in the shoulders and a little too tight in all other parts. The sleeves, originally oversized on Yoongi, fit him perfectly at his wrists.

It’s not the first clothing item Yoongi has given up to him—first was a hoodie Yoongi let him borrow after dance practice as a trainee, second was a jacket that Yoongi pulled over his shoulders when he crashed in Yoongi’s studio as a rookie idol, the third and last time was a jean jacket that Yoongi left in Rome with him after their night together. Jungkook never returned any of them, and Yoongi never asked for them back. It’s so simple. Jungkook looks good in Yoongi’s clothes. Maybe too good, even though the fabric is so much cheaper than what he is used to.

Yoongi takes a few steps back from Jungkook. The cigarette’s filter is now too soggy in Yoongi’s mouth, disgusting. Still, he makes another tug, breathing it all out: the nerves, the stress, the B12 injections that sometimes make him feel even worse than before he started taking them, the voices.

“You shouldn’t be standing so close,” Yoongi explains to Jungkook’s unasked question. “Secondhand smoking is a thing.”

“Don’t smoke, then.”

And what does it say about Yoongi when he puts out the cigarette immediately?

Jungkook wraps himself deeper into the coat. Yoongi’s coat. Yoongi doesn’t even feel the cold, even though he’s never been good with it in the first place. He just feels this familiar ache that has always been in him every time he’s with Jungkook, but lately it’s become even stronger. He looks over Jungkook’s knuckles, his nose, his cheek, the messed-up hair that Yoongi wants to fix but doesn’t have the right, doesn’t have the fucking right. He wants to tell Jungkook that he made one of the best albums to exist, or maybe he wants to tell him that he—

“You’re very loved,” Jungkook says, quietly but sternly, cutting Yoongi’s thought process short. “You have so many good friends. Acquaintances. Several best friends. You have your dongsaengs looking up at you. Your ex genuinely loved you. You have so many good people around you.”

Yoongi’s mouth hangs open. If there was something he expected Jungkook to say, it wasn’t this. “Where does it come from?”

“It’s just that you told me you were a terrible person. But how can a terrible person have so many good people gathered around them?”

To this, Yoongi has no answer.

Jungkook looks up at the sky. He seems to get lost in his thoughts, nibbling on his bottom lip before he continues. “And it makes me think that I don’t really have that many people in my life. I look at you, and I really wish to be like you.”

And all Yoongi wants to do is tell him, Take it, take everything that’s mine. Take my hoodie, my jacket, and my coat. Take my friends, take my music, take my whole damn life. For you. I did everything for you.

“I don’t have anyone else,” Jungkook says. “I only have the 9795 and Cypher. That’s it. I try to be friends with idols my age and feel like an outsider each time we meet up. I tried to be friends with the guys from the bar and failed. All of the boyfriends I tried to have—let’s say, I don’t think it was love they wanted from me.”

It’s appalling for Yoongi. How can anyone look at Jungkook and want just a body out of him? This kind boy, loveliest boy, most talented boy. He’s all bright smiles and laughter without holding back, he’s a nose scrunch when he’s happy, he’s eyebrows that frown deeply when enjoying the food. His voice is soft, saccharine, and beautiful. He’s such a unique, special soul.

Idiots. Fucking assholes.

Yoongi has to tell Jungkook now.

He needs him to know that there is one human out there that loves him for who he is: doesn’t love him despite or for something, just loves him. Perhaps a little awkward and cowardly sometimes, but loves him regardless. He needs him to know that there is one human that doesn’t want anything from him—just wants happiness for him, and that’s all.

Yoongi opens his mouth, and no sound comes out. Yoongi opens his mouth, and all he can do is throw his broken heart right onto the porch’s floor.

Yoongi yells at himself, Just fucking say it! Say it, this is it, this is the right time, c’mon, you asshole, you promised.

“You’re very loved, too,” Yoongi says, and this is not it, this is not fucking it. Why can’t he just say it? Why won’t his tongue move in the way that he needs it to? Why are all the wrong sounds and wrong syllables leaving him? “You have the whole world loving you.”

“That’s different. They love me for my talent, not for who I am.”

“Your talent is you,” Yoongi says. “Your music is you.”

Jungkook seems to falter. His eyes shift from the sky onto Yoongi, and he looks at Yoongi with so much surprise before he shakes his head as if getting rid of his words.

“Forget it. We aren’t talking about me. I don’t know why I just told you that,” Jungkook says, collecting himself, with a weak smile on his face. “What I meant was that you have a lot of people caring about you. And for their sake—on their behalf—as someone who used to love you, I ask you to look after yourself and your health.” He adds, “Quit. Quit smoking.”

But Yoongi doesn’t hear him. In his ears, all that echoes is: used to, used to, used to.

It’s too late, Yoongi suddenly realises. Yoongi is too late with his confession.

He should have known, from the way Jungkook held himself in front of him during these months of writing the album. What an idiot Yoongi is. He must’ve freaked Jungkook out when he was putting on a band-aid for him today. Must’ve shocked him when he held his hand in the hospital.

Yoongi should have known. He is always too late. He was too late to make the second album for the 9795. He was too late to protect them when all of these bashing articles came out after their second album failed. He was too late to let Jungkook know.

It’s impossible for love to stay for so long after you’ve been let down so many times. Yoongi should have known.

Still, doesn’t he deserve to make his feelings known at least once? Like Jungkook did?

The rumbling of the car fills the street. Again, the yellow light breaks through the darkness. Yoongi assumes it’s the taxi Jimin ordered.

“Are you leaving with them?” Yoongi asks.

“Why? Would you like me to stay?” Jungkook says.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes, please stay.

“Thought so,” Jungkook says, and this is the first time of the night that Yoongi finally feels the cold rushing up his body.

The door opens again. It’s Jimin and Taehyung, ready to leave. They are so loud against Jungkook and Yoongi’s quiet conversation, it’s almost deafening. They move drunkenly, uncoordinated, laughing, bowing goodbye to the grandpa, waving at Seokjin and Namjoon while screeching, gushing, shaking.

Taehyung throws one arm over Jungkook’s shoulder, another over Yoongi’s. He brings all three of them together with a force Yoongi wouldn’t expect of him. Yoongi stumbles, and it’s too much. Their faces are pressed together. His hand helps steady himself on the small of Jungkook’s back.

“We should do it more often,” Taehyung says. His breath smells more boozed-up than it did ten minutes ago.

“What?” Jungkook snaps, clearly annoyed at the sudden closeness with Yoongi that Taehyung has brought.

“Seven of us. We should do it more often.” Taehyung first kisses Jungkook on his temple, then Yoongi. “I love you guys. Let’s be together for a long, long time.”

Yoongi can’t help himself—he laughs at the absurdity of this situation. Laughs at how much he really loves this genius kid. “Yeah, sure. I love you, too. Very much.” And he gently pulls all three of them apart.

At the yard’s entrance, Jimin is just standing there, his hands in his pockets. He can barely be seen in the gloom of the night, only his lower body is illuminated by the car’s lights. But Jimin’s silhouette reveals his laid-back posture, his head tilted as he observes Yoongi and his bandmates from afar, perhaps a shadow of a smile on his lips, and Yoongi thinks that Jimin looks fond watching them.

Taehyung tugs on Jungkook’s wrist, guiding him to the taxi. Guiding him away from Yoongi. Jungkook’s walk is so solemn and heavy all of a sudden. Maybe he got upset with Taehyung’s clinginess. Maybe he got upset that Yoongi never promised him to quit smoking.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! The car reverses, then makes a U-turn. Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! The cab starts to drive off, and Yoongi picks up his broken heart from the porch’s floor and goes back inside the house. Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Nam—

The car halts.

“Wait! Sunbae!” Jungkook yells, flying out of the car. He jumps over the porch’s staircase. Yoongi startles, his eyes widening. At first, he thinks that Jungkook came back for the coat. But then Jungkook, still wrapped in Yoongi’s coat, says, “Jin-hyung told me that we need another song for the album. 9 songs won’t do.”

“...Okay?”

“So,” Jungkook sucks his breath in, “I wanted to ask you to write me a song.”

And he needed to ask that now? In person? He could’ve just texted Yoongi, but he chose to stop the taxi and say it right to Yoongi’s face.

“What—what kind of a song?” Yoongi says.

“Every time I told you I loved you.”

Blood thumps in Yoongi’s ears. “What?”

“Every time I told you I loved you. How did it make you feel? I need a song like that.”

Yoongi feels all emotion wash away from him. “You want a song like this?”

A pause. Something crosses Jungkook’s features, something like hesitation.

The car honks. If only Yoongi were a violent person, he’d beat up the driver. He’d yell right into his face: Have some fucking respect, we’re in the middle of things right here!

“Yes,” Jungkook says, stirred up by the driver’s impatience. “I’ll do the lyrics. You make an instrumental. Send it through email.”

No, Yoongi thinks. No, I can’t do it. I’ll show myself raw up there.

But it seems so important to Jungkook. And even if he doesn’t love Yoongi anymore, at least he deserves to know. He deserves to know that all the time he loved Yoongi, Yoongi always loved him back. Yoongi always did the things he wanted. Yoongi always made sure he was safe and happy.

So Yoongi says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Jungkook repeats after him. He sounds disbelieving, as if Yoongi didn’t just agree to do what he asked of him. “You’ll do it?”

“I will,” Yoongi says. And when Jungkook still looks at him in disbelief, Yoongi pushes, “I promise. Now go. The driver’s waiting for you. Good night, Jungkook-ah.”

“Good night, sunbaenim.”

There was this second,
Us under the sky, alone, a dim light above our heads
I wanted to ask you to dance with me
There was this second,
I thought you’d say, ‘Yes’

 

— The surprising part about ‘Wait for it’ is the timidity in V’s voice that comes in the second verse after the cockiness of the first one. Almost like shyly forming a question: ‘I’ll wait for as long as you need me to, but tell me right now, after all the struggle, will you tell me the answer I’m hoping to hear? Will you say Yes? You will, won’t you? Can I trust you with my heart?’

It doesn’t go well. The song for Jungkook. It’s almost as if it refuses to be written.

Yoongi sits in front of his computer, red-eyed with heavy eyelids, his chin perched on his fist. He keeps looping the same part of the track. He blinks out of it and opens another file, same name, different sound. He clicks on the space on the keyboard. The track plays.

It doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound fucking right.

Yoongi opens up the next project. He has all of them piled up in one folder—all thirteen tracks, all different variations of how he felt when Jungkook told him he loved him. And none of them sound like they’re supposed to. Yoongi had tried starting this song countless times, but each time it just sounded so fucking wrong.

How did Jungkook’s confessions make him feel?

For starters, it can’t be sad, this song, because Jungkook’s I love yous have never made Yoongi sad. And it shouldn’t be happy, this song, because happiness is just long overdue when it comes to that time at the bus stop, ‘Sunbae, do you wanna know a secret?’ and Jungkook’s disappointed expression as Yoongi tells him that they can’t be together. It can’t be an angry rock song—Yoongi never felt angry at Jungkook’s confessions, only at himself. This song can’t be a ballad, either, because their life is not a tragedy poem, and it can’t be too pop-sounding because their life is not for the radio.

It leaves Yoongi with his chest empty. How hard can it be to write a requested song? He’s written hundreds of them in the past few years for all different kinds of groups, for boybands and for girlbands; so what’s fucking wrong with him now? Besides the voices?

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!  Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi pushes away from the desk. He needs some coffee.

It’s past 1 a.m. All of the coffee shops around the area are closed right now, but they have a coffee machine in the 9795’s lounge room. Requested by the 9795 because they and Cypher had to pull off too many all-nighters in order to finish the album. The coffee from that machine tastes shitty, but that’s what makes it perfect for nights like this.

Yoongi needs his mouth burned.

And maybe a smoke. Maybe he needs to chain smoke at least two cigarettes, too, but he’s been trying to quit and he’s been holding on well. Although now he’s been picking at his nails, and now his thumb on his right hand is just a mess of meat that whines like a bitch. But—he’s not smoking, just like he had promised Jungkook.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi counts the steps to the lounge room from his studio but gives up right after the number reaches eighty-eight. Why are all of the corridors in this company so long? And why does he miss the old company building so much?

In the lounge room, it’s empty. Quiet. Yoongi rummages through one of the drawers and takes out his cup. When he straightens his back, the cup secured, he’s met with Jungkook’s figure in the doorway.

Their eyes widen simultaneously as they both take each other in.

For fuck’s sake.

Jungkook closes the door after himself. It clicks softly into place.

What is even doing here, at 1 a.m.? Definitely wasn’t dancing because he’s not wearing his practice clothes. Most likely, he was holed up in his studio, just like Yoongi, and came to the lounge room to have shitty coffee.

“Do you, um…” Yoongi starts. He awkwardly waves his hand around in the direction of the drawers.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, voice soft, quiet. “Yeah, thank you.”

Yoongi ducks back, taking out Jungkook’s designated cup, too. He passes it to Jungkook blindly, unable to keep eye contact.

“What’s up with your thumb?” Jungkook asks. A frown can be heard in his voice.

“Nothing.” Yoongi dismisses his comment quickly, sternly, so Jungkook wouldn’t think of pushing him on this. He doesn’t want to spend time explaining that he is trying to quit smoking like Jungkook asked him to, and getting rid of the habits requires developing new ones.

They quietly work around each other and meet right at the moment when both of them reach out for the coffee machine. Yoongi lets Jungkook use it first.

Jungkook murmurs thanks and gets his cup under the machine. He opts for Americano. The machine works overwhelmingly loudly in the otherwise silent room.

“My inbox is empty,” Jungkook drops casually.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Yoongi says. He means it. He’s sure Jungkook’s inbox is actually blowing up. Who wouldn’t want to work with the 9795? Who wouldn’t try and dare to steal the stars from under their noses?

Yoongi leans his weight against the drawer—it shakes a little as the machine births the shittiest and most refreshing drink into this world. He crosses his arms. Blinks at the ceiling.

“Did you decide not to make the song after all?” Jungkook asks. Yoongi can barely hear him. “I’d understand if you did.” His fingers tap at the surface as he waits for the coffee. “I just got very angry that night. I didn’t mean to ask you that. I’m sorry.”

Yoongi should ask him what made him angry in the first place. Was he angry at Yoongi? Why? Because he smoked? Or because he couldn’t say it when Jungkook needed it?

They should talk about it. They should talk about why Jungkook keeps crying every time he’s with Yoongi and every time he’s apart from Yoongi. They should talk about how Yoongi’s heart splits in half each time Jungkook cries. They should talk about the past five years, what’s been going on between them, and how Taehyung thinks there’s something precious.

Jungkook scoots over, freeing the space for Yoongi to make his coffee. Yoongi chooses Americano, too. The coffee machine once again works crushingly loudly, and Yoongi finds himself quietly confessing in this noise. “It’s not that. I will make it. It’s just—” The coffee is made, and it’s quiet again, and Yoongi doesn’t know how to go on in this silence.

Jungkook is standing near the table now, stirring his coffee with a metal spoon. It hits the cup’s corners with a distinctive clacking sound. “It’s just…?”

“I don’t know where to start,” Yoongi says in all honesty.

The spoon stops.

“Maybe you need a reminder,” Jungkook says. Carefully. Each word as if weighting a ton. “It’s been more than three years since the last time.”

What reminder? Three years? Since the last time?

But he doesn’t love him. Not anymore. He said, used to love you. Because Yoongi asked him not to love him. Because he was supposed to move on. He’d be right for it.

“Maybe you think it has passed... Maybe you think it went away. Maybe you think I moved on, maybe you think I don’t love you anymore.”

Jungkook takes steps toward him, with barely enough bashfulness in them to be called timid. Their gazes lock, and Jungkook’s eyes say, Stop me.

Yoongi doesn’t. He just stands there with his heart aching, his eyes following Jungkook’s figure.

“But I do.”

Jungkook closes the distance between them and kisses him. Just like that, softly, he presses his lips at the centre of Yoongi’s mouth. His breath is bitter of coffee.

Yoongi wants to draw him in and kiss him back, but all that comes out of him is a gasp so quiet, he doesn’t think Jungkook even hears it, his fingertips barely grazing Jungkook’s back. Yoongi wants to pull him in and kiss him fucking stupid, wants to touch him everywhere, wants for Jungkook to just stay with him like this, without further confession. But he realises that this is not the right moment for this, not the moment to kiss each other like that.

Their first kiss was inexperienced and lousy. Their second kiss was full of lust, sloppy, with too much tongue, too much pent-up anger. Their third kiss was perfect.

Their fourth one is their most heartbreaking one.

“I love you.”

He doesn’t cry this time, nor does he shout it into Yoongi’s face. He says it as a matter of fact—something that can’t be changed.

His first I love you was so pure, so childlike. His second I love you was so angry, trying to prove it to Yoongi. His third I love you is so mature. It’s a promise.

Yoongi thinks they’ve known each other for six years, have been in love with each other for about that time, too, but they only got so little. Four kisses and endless love.

Jungkook doesn’t kiss him again, but he doesn’t pull away either. He stays in Yoongi’s personal space, his lips ghosting over Yoongi’s as he whispers, and it’s sickening.

“I’ve always loved you. From the first moment I saw you, I loved you. I’ve never once stopped loving you. Even when I was angry at you, I loved you. I broke up with all of my boyfriends because I could only think about you. When you told me not to love you, it was the only thing that I couldn’t give to you. You told me not to love you, and I did regardless.”

Silly, silly, silly boy who makes Yoongi feel too much.

How come he loves Yoongi back? What did Yoongi ever do to deserve it?

“There were times I thought I couldn’t love you more, and you proved me wrong each time. Every day that passes, I just love you more and more and more. It just grows in me. In every present day, I always love you more than I loved you yesterday and a little less than I know I’ll love you tomorrow.”

He never confessed to Yoongi like this. He’s never been so raw with Yoongi. Baring his soul open like this, tearing his chest apart. He never said how deep his love went, what kind of dark places it had been shoved to in order to survive, or what it went through in order to be so secure.

“Hm?” Jungkook asks softly, with barely a whisper, looking down at Yoongi with his kind brown gaze. He carefully tucks a strand of Yoongi’s hair behind his ear. “Sunbaenim, how did it make you feel?”

Since when does he know how sexy he is? Since when does he know how to drop his voice like this? Since when does he hold eye contact with Yoongi without shying away from him?

Yoongi misses him right now, a little. Misses him when he was the same height as Yoongi, an awkward duckling who didn’t know his power over Yoongi. Just a boy with a mic in his hand who didn’t know how to control the crowd at his concerts, only knew that he could. Yoongi misses him, but he also wants to stay with him, this adult, mature version of him.

Yoongi knows he promised Yeri he would say it back to Jungkook the next time he confesses. It’s the perfect time to confess. It would be so easy to say: Me too. Just two words, for starters. For cowards like Yoongi.

But Yoongi never specified how exactly he was going to say it back.

“I’ll write it,” Yoongi says, because that’s what musicians do. They make music when they can’t say it out loud. “I’ll write you a song.”

Seasons pass me by
Seasons pass you by
Separately, I hate when they do it

 

— You know from the first note of ‘Seasons pass me by’ that this is, undeniably, a love song. It sounds like one. You hear the cautious tambourine that begins the song, and immediately, there is a throwback to the excitement that you first get when you just start liking a person. This tingling feeling in your body, the spark of electricity that grows over time into a steady, grounded flame.

As the song grows louder, slowly filling with various instruments—an orchestra by the end—you realise: this song is a vow, a declaration of love so strong it transcends seasons and laws of nature, an assertion of love so gentle it exceeds lust and infatuation. This song is a testament of love in its purest form—that kind of love that does not know pride.

SUGA of Cypher, the producer of ‘Seasons pass me by’, has proved his genius with this one yet again.

“Yoongi-ssi?”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Yoongi taps the rhythm of the song with the pen in his fingers. Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Min Yoongi-ssi?”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!  He thinks, Don’t forget to add that layer of drums at the end. Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Yoongi-yah?”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! He can send it to Jungkook at any moment. The song is done. Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Today. He can send it today. Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Is today a good day for Jungkook to know? Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Min PD-nim!” Yeri’s voice snaps him out of his daydreaming. She looks at him with so much concern in her eyes, and Yoongi immediately feels this sting of guilt that he made her worried in the first place.

Everyone in the meeting room is now studying their interaction curiously.

Yeri is standing in front of the TV board with a touch pen in her hand, with Yoongi sitting a whole conference table away from her. She’s wearing an oversized button-up, which is supposed to hide her pregnancy bump but instead makes it way too obvious with how shapeless she appears. Everyone knows, regardless. The dating rumours between them have turned into marriage rumors, then into an unwed situation. And Yoongi, as always, is surprised that, for how big his love for Jungkook is, nobody ever seems to notice it.

He clears his throat, fidgeting in his seat to straighten up. “Sorry.”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

They forgive him because he’s just out of the hospital and he feels unwell every time he gets the shot. Preferential treatment, but it is what it is. It’s not like they’re discussing something important; it’s just a promotion plan for Boyhood. On the board, ‘INNER CHILD’ is written and highlighted, one of the possible names for the 9795’s world tour. The rest of the guys aren’t even here—except Namjoon, who seems to be as clueless as Yoongi about sitting through this meeting—it’s just Yoongi and him against all other creative managers.

Why would Yoongi be here anyway? He should be back at his studio, where he’s at least useful.

“So you’ll do it?” Yeri asks.

“Sorry,” Yoongi says again, twisting the pen between his fingers. What else does he have to do? Wasn’t he done with the 9795? “What… what were we talking about?”

“TXT’s album. Would you be a lead producer on it?”

TXT, Tomorrow by Together, this one boy band he’s been mentoring for a while. He doesn’t have anything against these five boys—they’re young, energetic, hard-working. Yoongi would love to produce for them. It’s just—

“Oh,” he says. “But I wanted to work on my—” Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

“Right,” Yeri says. She rubs her forehead tiredly. “Yeah, sorry, God, it slipped off my mind. Yeah, you should—”

“No, listen, count me in. I’ll lead it, no problem.”

Yeri purses her lips. “I really don’t want to interfere with your project.”

“That’s fine, I can do both.”

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi escapes the meeting feeling suffocated. He thinks he catches Namjoon trying to make him stay to talk, but he stubbornly makes himself go. He’s not in the mood to talk, at least not with words, and he never belonged in the conference room either way.  He’s better at doing something he’s actually good at instead of this. Producing for others, for example.

He gets inside his studio, and only there does he finally feel at peace. With the chants bouncing off the walls, Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! this is the only place he truly feels at home.

He sits down at his desk, turning on the computer. He opens the software app, the project named succinctly ‘jk’, and plays it. He adds that layer of drums that he had been tapping with the pen back in the conference room. He plays it again, then sighs, reclining in his seat.

For this song, first came the melody, then the beats. That night after Jungkook’s third confession, Yoongi was playing nonsense on the piano. Just humming under his breath, playing the scales he was taught by that horrendous witch tutor when he was twelve. Tiredly, without holding his hands properly, as if begging to get a scolding from the past. Then, in one moment, this nonsense formed into something solid, something substantial. The scales changed into independent chord progressions, his hands curling perfectly over the piano keyboard and his back straightening.

Every time I told you I loved you. How did it make you feel?

The same way Jungkook writes his songs, Yoongi writes the melody out of nothing, a secret shared between him and his piano, his first love. It’s not surprising—Jungkook’s love has always felt like music to Yoongi: like Chopin, like A-minor, like rhythm and poetry, like seven octaves and eighty-eight keys. Of course the piano was the first to learn about it.

Yoongi played the piano that night, professing through notation, pleading guilty: Jungkook’s confessions only ever made him feel loved without the burden that usually comes with it.

Normally, when people say, I love you, they want to receive something back. But as Jungkook was confessing to him two weeks ago, Yoongi realised that Jungkook never wanted anything back from Yoongi. He just wanted to let Yoongi know.

When he was twenty, he wanted to share this secret with Yoongi—this secret of his first love—nothing more and nothing less. When he was twenty-three, he wanted to let Yoongi know it didn’t pass like Yoongi told him it would, trying to prove it to him. Two weeks ago, he wanted him to know that he could’ve given up on Yoongi and moved on, but he chose to cultivate this love. He chose Yoongi.

As the seasons passed, he kept choosing Yoongi. Over and over and over, relentlessly. And Yoongi did the same with him. Yoongi knows he did—he realised it while producing for Boyhood.

You see, as Yoongi worked on the songs, they seemed to drag him through his own washing machine, rinsing his feelings out. It made him reflect on everything that happened from the first time he saw Jungkook as he hid himself behind Yeri’s back in Yoongi’s studio, a child who was afraid to look Yoongi in the eyes, until now.

Twenty-four seasons have passed since. Winter winds bloomed into the cherry blossoms of spring; spring’s fresh breeze changed into the heavy, humid air of summer; and summer’s rains turned into autumn's first snow. As seasons were changing, Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! in Yoongi’s head were only getting louder; Yoongi lost his dream, separated himself from this world for a year and a half in hopes to get it back, and then returned and couldn’t find himself, still. He carried on with life mindlessly, just trying to get by, learning how to live next to the chants and with lost dreams. Until Boyhood.

Was it ‘Dreamers’ that told him that even with his dream gone, he could live unashamed? Or was it 'Boyhood' that said he could still be loved despite the voices in his head? Or was it ‘**##%%;!!’, as Taehyung sang in the recording booth, that said all of the concert venues would eventually be empty and it would be okay?

Now that he has Boyhood, Yoongi thinks he’s okay. He really is. He doesn’t know what happened during these three months of writing Boyhood that changed him, or what Boyhood healed inside of him. He doesn’t know.

But what he knows is that life is still going on, music is still there with him, and he produces every day. Isn’t that what he was supposed to be from the start? Wasn’t becoming a producer his initial dream? Wasn’t that what he told Jungkook all these years ago?

I didn’t really want to do it like this. I wanted to be a producer. Just a producer. And they made me dance.

For years, Yoongi thought Cypher held the answers to his ambitions. These days, Yoongi realises that maybe Cypher was simply a detour from his initial goal. Not a mistake, but a wild circuit filled with six years of trying to conquer the world with his best friends. Not a mistake, but a blessing.

Without producing music for Cypher first, Yoongi would never be able to make hits for DREAMERS, nor would he get the lead producer position for TXT. Nothing was worthless. All of the time, blood, sweat, and tears that were put into building up the team weren’t in vain.

And since it wasn’t vain, Yoongi ruined nothing. It’s one of the hardest truths to accept so far, and sometimes Yoongi believes it wholeheartedly and breathes freely, and other times he looks at himself in the mirror and asks his reflection, Why do you keep blaming me for the things I had no control over?

But Yoongi is getting there. Boyhood proved that he doesn’t have to give up on making music with Namjoon and Hoseok. They don’t have to get back together as Cypher on stage to do the thing they love most. They can just lock themselves up in the Genius Lab, grab some iced coffee, and make music all night long, as they used to do.

Yoongi only needs to set the last thing right: he has to own up to this feeling that is so much bigger than his body, than his entire being, and send the song to Jungkook. He’s a smart kid. He’ll listen, and he’ll know.

It’s everything that Yoongi has ever wanted to say but couldn’t. Everything that Yoongi should have said a long time ago but didn’t.

Yoongi prefers not to think about what will happen next. He just hopes for Jungkook’s understanding.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! The chants in his head go to the rhythm of the beats that he had written for this song.

Because when Yoongi thinks of Jungkook, he thinks of the bestowed silence that Jungkook brought to him. He thinks of finding peace.

Yoongi reaches for the keyboard. It’s time. He doesn’t want to delay it any longer. Whatever happens, happens. He opens his inbox. He types in Jungkook’s address, adds the needed file to the e-mail, tries to calm his racing heart down and fails, fails, fails, and then hits Send. He pushes himself away from the desk immediately.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Secretly, he wishes Jungkook would come right away. He wishes to just get it over with, rip off the band-aid and go on. But Jungkook doesn’t come in the ten minutes that Yoongi paces around the studio, and he doesn’t come in the fifteen, either. He doesn’t come even after half an hour passes, and Yoongi decides to give up on waiting for him. He distracts himself with the work he has to do: checking up on the TXT boys, stealing them from the dance instructors to treat them to lunch, and asking them a variety of questions to know what kind of debut album they see for themselves.

What worries them? What makes them happy? Is there a dream inside of them?

Yoongi gets back to his studio late in the evening, later than he had estimated. TXT charmed him in a way they never did while he was mentoring them, and Yoongi saw a different, new side of them. He saw them not as trainees but as artists. They didn’t even notice the sun setting, having started working on the lyrics right there, on the napkins of the restaurant Yoongi had treated them to.

Somehow, it reminded him of his budding trainees.

Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher! Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!

Yoongi spots someone squatting down next to his studio’s door from afar while he’s still walking down the corridor.

The shivers creep up his spine as he takes another mindless step forward, and the chants stop.

Yoongi slows down.

He thinks about running away. He thinks about turning on his heels and just hiding from Jungkook for the rest of his life.

Perhaps Yoongi has been lying to himself the whole day. He can’t do it. After all these years, after Boyhood, after his song confession, he still can’t face Jungkook and admit it aloud.

His plan to run away falls short. While Yoongi is mulling over that idea, it’s too late. Jungkook notices him, too. Yoongi watches him rise to his full height, again in this weightless motion, stomping his aching feet.

How long has he been waiting for Yoongi here? Why didn’t he call? Why—

“Sunbae changed the password,” Jungkook says instead of the greeting. There’s something weird about the tone of his voice—frustration, some irritability. This…is not how Yoongi expected him to feel after the song. But maybe that’s how Yoongi deserves to be treated when confessing through a goddamn song after six years of burning silently as Jungkook repeatedly yelled those three words into his face. “Couldn’t get inside.”

“I had to change it when we moved,” Yoongi says. He tries to type in the pin to the studio as covertly as he can—he still hasn’t changed the passcode from the time Jimin found out it was Jungkook’s birthday, and he’s not sure if Jungkook will be too happy to know. Yoongi licks his mouth, wiping his sweaty, slightly shaking hand on his jeans. “Have you listened to the song I’ve sent you?”

Just like this. Yoongi has to know now. He can’t take it anymore, or his heart will give up.

“What?” Jungkook frowns. “No. I spent the entire day following my schedule.”

Oh.

Jungkook toes off his boots, dropping them at the doorway, and pushes the door open, bulldozing his way inside. He’s definitely annoyed; all of his motions are sharp, jarring, and Yoongi can’t understand what he did so entirely wrong that Jungkook is acting like this with him.

Yoongi takes off his sneakers and places them next to Jungkook’s. He bends slightly and carefully lines their shoes into an even line, grunting as he straightens back up.

“I was following my schedule the whole day,” Jungkook repeats, with his back turned to Yoongi as he walks further into the studio, “and the moment I step inside the company, Namjoon-hyung tells me that you refused to work on your album.”

This? He’s angry about this?

Yoongi closes the door after them timidly. “I didn’t refuse—”

“When will you start doing things for yourself?” Jungkook turns around harshly. Yoongi halts, gaping at him. “You debuted because of Namjoon and Hoseok. You made our first album when you were supposed to work on Cypher’s because you saw us struggling. And even now you’re telling me you’re going to work on TXT’s album instead of yours?”

Yoongi smiles weakly. He takes off his coat, dropping it over his chair. “For that matter, I also worked on Boyhood instead of making my album.”

Jungkook shakes his head like he can’t quite believe what he just heard. Like what Yoongi had just said only proves his point. “Will you ever allow yourself to be selfish? Will you ever do what you want? It’s admirable that you do it, but—” Jungkook stops and looks agonisingly apologetic at Yoongi, as if he knows that his next words will hurt Yoongi.

“But…?” Yoongi prompts.

“Lonely,” Jungkook says. “It must be lonely.”

He’s once again kind to Yoongi, and Yoongi once again doesn’t know how to take it.

“That’s not true,” he says, suddenly growing harsher, too, matching Jungkook’s tone. “It’s not lonely at all.” Can’t you see that I’ve never been lonely, ever since you came into my life? That you’ve always made sure to be next to me? ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about, Jeon Jungkook.”

“I know everything about you, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi tilts his head in a sympathetic manner. “You don’t.” Like saying, You don’t, and it’s okay.

“You love your coffee cold from your friends,” Jungkook blurts. “Your favourite artist is Epik High. You were their biggest fanboy. Your favourite alcoholic drink is whiskey. You like to eat boiled eggs in the morning. You’re both a dog and a cat person. You left your dog behind in Daegu, Holly, and you still want to go back for him. You spent your summer vacations with your grandma, probably why it’s your favourite season. You’re not good with the cold weather. You learned how to play the piano when you were twelve, but the teacher was too strict, so you dropped the classes and taught yourself instead. Making music clears your mind. You never remember the names of your friends’ partners. When you were twenty-four, you gave up on your dream and haven’t forgiven yourself ever since, even though it wasn’t your fault. You’re the most selfless person I know.”

This is almost—a fourth confession.

It dawns on Yoongi, the weight too heavy: even if Jungkook listens to Yoongi’s song, it won’t be enough.

It’ll never be. Yoongi will never live up to all the times Jungkook has confessed to him. He could live for thousands of years, and still he will never be able to match him. He will never be deserving enough for Jungkook.

Yoongi blinks. “Something’s missing.”

“Huh?” Jungkook’s frown grows deeper, and he glares at Yoongi, fed up with him, ready to continue arguing and fighting.

“There’s one thing missing,” Yoongi says. “The one thing you don’t know about me. The one thing I made sure to hide from you. The one thing that makes me the most selfish person in this world.”

“What is it?”

Like ripping off the band-aid, right?

“I love you.”

“I know!”

Yoongi recoils backwards, hitting his back against the desk and almost sweeping his laptop off it.

Jungkook explodes. “I know! I know, so you don’t have to say it first, you don’t have to say it back, you don’t ever have to say it out loud if you don’t want to! I wouldn’t even care because, even without you saying it, I know! But I told you—I told you six years ago that all I want is to be with you! All I need is for you to let me stay beside you a little longer! That’s it!”

But he doesn’t understand. He knows that Yoongi loves him, but he doesn’t understand why Yoongi keeps pushing him away or why, despite everything, Yoongi wouldn’t let them be together. Why he called Jungkook and told him not to love him.

“I wanted you to be happy!” Yoongi defends himself.

“I only feel happy when I’m with you!” Jungkook yells. “Just being in one room with you makes me happy! I feel happy when we meet in the company’s elevators and you smile at me and tell me good morning. I feel happy when we’re all together like this in your studio, making music. I feel happy when we and Cypher go out to eat together, and you and I sit at the same table. I feel happy even when you call me drunk out of your mind, because it means you were thinking about me.” He takes a harsh breath in, like there’s not enough air in his lungs. “I even feel happy when we’re a-arguing like this, because at least—at l-least it means that we’re t-together.”

Shit. He’s crying. As always, Yoongi made him cry, and the tears are escaping him so quickly now. He’s breaking right in front of Yoongi, just like he’s done many times before, because he has always trusted Yoongi to see him like this, at his lowest. He never doubted Yoongi. He never once in his entire life hesitated before handing his heart to Yoongi.

It’s only Yoongi who keeps finding monsters within himself. It’s only Yoongi who keeps thinking of himself as someone untrustworthy with Jungkook’s heart.

No monsters on Earth. Only humans.

Yoongi pushes off the desk and pulls on Jungkook’s wrist. Enough. Enough of this distance. Yoongi will never let him suffer on his own from now on, will never hover over him so awkwardly as he did in Rome. He rests his weight back against the table, cradling Jungkook in his arms, even though he’s so much bigger than Yoongi in fame, body, and soul. Jungkook follows him so easily, fitting himself into Yoongi’s dips and curves, his hands clutching the back of Yoongi’s hoodie.

“Don’t cry,” Yoongi whispers, rubbing his back in a soothing motion. “Don’t cry, Jungkook-ah. Don’t cry, because your sunbae loves you. Your sunbae loves you so much, and you know it.” 

Jungkook presses his forehead against Yoongi’s shoulder and asks, wretchedly angry, “Why? Why can’t we be together? Why?”

Yoongi sighs, his head rolling back slightly. He blinks at the ceiling, his fingers carding through Jungkook’s hair. He tries to collect his thoughts, but only I love you throbs inside his head. There are so many reasons he can’t have Jungkook.

He tucks the stray hair strand behind Jungkook’s ear and then tries distancing Jungkook from his shoulder, but Jungkook only shakes his head violently.

“Look at me, please,” Yoongi says gently, almost tiredly. “Look at me, Jungkook-ah.”

Jungkook sniffles quite aggressively and obediently raises his head.

They look each other in the eyes for a long second without moving or saying a word. Yoongi looks up at him, so beautiful, handsome, so familiar in all of the strokes of his face, and suddenly feels his love for Jungkook engulfing him whole, stronger than it’s ever been. Like a wave hitting the shore exceptionally hard.

Jungkook breaks eye contact, looking away to discreetly wipe his cheeks. Yoongi helps him, collecting Jungkook’s tears with the back of his hand. Then he curls the sleeve of his hoodie over his fingers and wipes Jungkook’s nose. There’s no such feeling as disgust, even as the snot is left behind on the material. They’re past that.

Yoongi means to start explaining all the whys. Means to tell Jungkook everything, right from the beginning, but all that comes out once he opens his mouth is, “Can I kiss you?”

Instead of an answer, Jungkook darts forward and kisses him first. Jungkook’s lips are soft; his mouth is warm, wet, and it feels so good pressing against Yoongi’s. Jungkook wraps his hands around Yoongi’s waist, tugging him in, and Yoongi goes after him, his arms winding around Jungkook’s neck. His stomach curls into knots, excited.

The last time they kissed was in the summer. It’s barely a few days away from Christmas now, and Yoongi missed it. Missed this feeling. Missed the way Jungkook’s body felt against his, like they were meant to be like this since the beginning of time. Missed the way Jungkook always tastes so sweet, like winning a once-in-a-lifetime lottery, like a supernova exploding. Like writing one of the best music albums in history.

“I love you,” Jungkook mutters, leaving a trace of gentle kisses on Yoongi’s jaw. “I really do. I love you.”

Yoongi’s heart skips a beat.

Pulling slightly away, he cups Jungkook’s face. “I love you, too,” says Yoongi. Without wavering. Just like this. It’s easy.

It’s so unfairly easy—loving Jungkook, kissing him, touching him. And Yoongi loves him; he loves to love him. Why was he ever so afraid to say it? Now that he’s said it, he’s addicted, and he’ll never get enough of it. Yoongi dives back in and kisses Jungkook again. Jungkook kisses him back eagerly, without holding back. They’re both so desperate to make up for all the time they’ve lost since summer. Yoongi licks into him, pressing them together. Their noses bump awkwardly, but he doesn’t care, and Jungkook doesn’t, either, no one of them cares; he just wants to be closer, wants to be impossibly closer to him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Yoongi whispers right into Jungkook’s mouth; wants to imprint it on him so he won’t doubt it ever again. “Love you so much, I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Wait.” Jungkook breaks the kiss, breathless. Yoongi goes after him, hypnotised, almost blindly, and Jungkook indulges him in a quick peck before halting them both. “No, wait, I don’t—I don’t understand.” A pause. “You love me.”

Yoongi blinks at him. “I do.” He licks his lips and tastes Jungkook on them. He misses his touch already. Always misses him so much. His hands slowly slide off Jungkook’s neck, sagging by his sides uselessly.

“Since when?”

“Since fucking always, Jungkook. Didn’t you tell me you knew?”

“I-I don’t know?” Jungkook stutters. His eyes widen, almost like it’s only now that he is slapped with the realisation: Yoongi has just said it back for the first time. It’s real. “You—you weren’t supposed to confess like that.” Jungkook takes a step back, hands clutching at his head. “I planned it all out, okay? Because you’re not very straightforward with your words but you’re always speaking through music, so I thought, oh, okay, I’ll just ask him to write a song for me. You know, and then I’d listen to your song, and if I heard something like, ‘Oh, this kid is annoying me every time he confesses’, then I promised to myself I’d move on, but I was—I was ninety-nine percent sure you loved me back, so I needed this song mostly as an excuse to finally make us face it? I needed this song to give you room to confess without having to say it out loud, and then I was supposed to tell you that as long as we both love each other, you don’t have to say it or whatever, and then we’d get together, and—and—”

Jungkook’s chest rises and falls in a messy, fucked-up rhythm, his eyes reddening again, getting teary; he tries to breathe in but fails. Yoongi recognises the pattern immediately.

Yoongi rushes to hold his face. “Hey, hey, breathe with me.” He takes a deep breath in, waiting for Jungkook to repeat after him. He counts in his head, and then he exhales, Jungkook following after him. It clears Yoongi’s mind, too; perhaps both of them needed this weight of reality to settle down. Yoongi’s thumb strokes his cheek. “It’s okay. It’s just me. Why did you get so nervous? It’s just me.”

“Because—because you weren’t supposed to confess like that!” Jungkook cries out. “Nothing is going according to my plan. I don’t know what to do!”

The corners of Yoongi’s lips perk up involuntarily at the pout on Jungkook’s face. “Aw. I’m sorry I ruined your plans.”

“I’ll think about forgiving you,” Jungkook mumbles, feigning bitterness, and Yoongi laughs as Jungkook sends him a shy smile in return.

God. It’s so effortless. Teasing Jungkook. Talking to him. Being next to him. It’s easier than with any other person on this planet. How could Yoongi ever think of giving it up?

“Okay, let’s pretend everything went according to your made-up scenario,” Yoongi says. “How was it supposed to end?”

“We were… We were supposed to get together,” Jungkook says, in that tone that implies he doesn’t believe even for a second that Yoongi would ever consider this option a possible outcome. Like he has come to terms with the fact that this world won’t grant his wishes so readily. He’s been through the same situation too many times. He knows how it ends. Knows that his made-up scenario has always been an unrealistic, unachievable wishful thinking.  

But Yoongi—

Yoongi thinks about the Boyhood album.

He thinks about the song he’s made.

He thinks about the boy standing next to the grandpa therapist in the picture.

He thinks about the news, about hope.

He thinks about everything he and Jungkook have been through in these five years.

They have been through Yoongi’s enlistment and the 9795’s lawsuit; through Yoongi’s panic attacks and Jungkook crying in his arms; through the distance stretching between them as Yoongi went on tour with Cypher and then Jungkook went on tour with the 9795. They yelled at each other and shared silence together; they wandered through guilt and bitterness; they pushed through regret and resentment, but they made sure to be there for each other when they needed it. They got hurt a lot, and they will get hurt again, eventually, wronged by the world or by each other, but—

Yoongi knows he’ll handle it. Both of them will. They will come out stronger from this. 

Jungkook said Yoongi makes him happy. Happiness is the only thing Yoongi has ever wanted for Jungkook.

So Yoongi thinks, Fuck it.

Fuck the doubt. Fuck the voices. Fuck their age difference. Fuck this whole fame thing. Fuck it, just fuck it.

“Let’s be together, then,” Yoongi whispers. “If you want to, let’s be together.”

Chapter Text

Fear? Off Safety? Off
Love? On, on, on

— I have a lot of reasons to love ‘**##%%;!!’. Some of them are personal, some are from my professional background as a music critic. But I love it the most for being that one song that signifies the change in the narrator’s mind in Boyhood: having started almost in a vulgar, crude way—the second verse purely consists of cussing out the whole world (‘Fuck all the CDs mom never bought, fuck the Cinetown… Fuck the haters, fuck the maths, fuck the CSAT I never passed, etc.)—the song takes an unexpected turn in its chorus.

This vulgar anger at first is now presented as hidden fear. So the narrator—with the help of Jungkook’s magical voice—lets go of it. They step on the gas pedal, and they choose to love.

“Do you want to change into something comfortable?” is the first thing Yoongi asks of Jungkook as he opens the door to his apartment and holds it for Jungkook to come in.

Jungkook slips inside almost shyly, which doesn’t align with the amount of familiarity with which he moves within the entrance. “Yeah,” he says softly, unzipping his coat at the same time as toeing off his shoes. Yoongi watches his back, the way it curves as he bends down to drop his boots on the shoe rack and then grabs the guest slippers to slide them on. He pads further into the apartment. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Okay.”

Yoongi comes in after Jungkook, the door falling closed. Jungkook waits for him to take off his jacket before he collects it from his hands and hangs both of their coats in the outerwear wardrobe.

It’s too domestic. That’s not how…brand new couples are supposed to be, is it? It’s too calm. As Yoongi picks out his comfiest sweatpants and a t-shirt oversized enough for Jungkook from his closet, all while Jungkook strips out of his jeans and a sweater without any sign of discomfort, it’s too tranquil. Almost awkward with how laid-back they are with each other.

“Something to eat?” Yoongi asks, leaning casually on the dresser, watching Jungkook tug the shirt over his head. It fits him nicely. All of Yoongi’s clothes do.

Jungkook’s eyes are wide, with stars inside. “Ramen?” He doesn’t hold eye contact for long enough.

“Sounds good.”

They pad over to the kitchen. Yoongi’s apartment feels hardly lived in even to him, appearing uninhabited—and it is. Yoongi rarely comes here unless he really has to, preferring to stay with the grandpa. It’s mostly clean, just dusty in some places and too empty in others. But Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind.

Yoongi grabs the pot and some packs of ramen he still has stored while Jungkook inspects his fridge. Yoongi puts the water to boil and then catches himself drifting back to see what Jungkook’s doing. Seems like Yoongi can’t keep his eyes off of him. Not tonight.

Jungkook takes a container out of the fridge. He pulls the lid off and cautiously sniffs at the contents. Unsatisfied with his examination, he takes a small piece of kimchi out of it and chews on it experimentally.

“How is it?” Yoongi asks.

“A bit too sour?” Jungkook says, unaware that right behind him, Yoongi is trying not to go to pieces with the amount of love in his body reserved just for him. “But it hasn’t gone bad yet. It should be fine with ramen.”

“Okay.”

Before Yoongi can get caught with his staring, he turns away and adds the noodles to the boiled water. Jungkook arranges side dishes for them while Yoongi finishes preparing ramen, and then they sit down at the dining table opposite each other and eat the noodles out of one pot without bothering to take out the plates.

It’s so easy. Jungkook is familiar with Yoongi’s apartment, he’s lived here; Yoongi is familiar with Jungkook’s presence, they have spent most of the past five years by each other’s sides. It’s so easy, but at the same time, so…wrong. Both of them simply eat their noodles in silence, only the sounds of slurping filling the room. Their faces meet over the pot and then pull away again.

Yoongi realises that he hates this silence.

For the first time in years, he hates how quiet it is.

In this silence, he starts imagining the worst scenarios. He suddenly fears that the reason behind Jungkook’s mild reactions is because Jungkook is disappointed. Disappointed in Yoongi and how mediocre he is as a person, as an artist, as a boyfriend. He’s afraid that Jungkook will say, It’s a mistake. Afraid that as Jungkook is eating the ramen, so weirdly reticent, he is going through the feeling of odd loss, the one you get when you chase after something for what seems like forever, and then once you get it, it just becomes meaningless. Like, you’ve won the game, now what?

Jungkook’s chopsticks meet the table, clanging.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he announces.

Yoongi looks up at him, his heart sinking. So this is it?

“C’mere,” Jungkook says, and then leans over the table, grabs Yoongi’s face, and kisses him.

Yoongi, startled only for a moment, kisses him back. His fingers ghost over Jungkook’s palms. There is something about desire, want, and the ache to be closer, to finally destroy this distance that existed between them all this time. Jungkook goes after him as if in a trance, almost crawls on top of the table just to keep kissing him. Their breath is disgusting—spicy ramen and too-sour kimchi—but Yoongi thinks he doesn’t care. He wants to taste all of Jungkook. Like this. Human.

Jungkook breaks the kiss with a loud smack, plopping back down on his chair. His mouth is red and plump. Yoongi can’t tell if it’s this way because of the spicy broth of ramen or because of him.

“Drop it,” Jungkook warns Yoongi, pointing at him with the chopsticks before nonchalantly picking up more noodles. “Whatever you were thinking about earlier, drop it right now.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen. “How come you’re so good at reading my thoughts?”

Jungkook shrugs. “You don’t talk. I had to learn to chase you somehow.” He cocks his head, now mixing the noodles in the pot absentmindedly, his gaze fixed on his chopsticks. “I could tell something was happening, but I’m not actually a mind reader. So tell me, what is going on inside your head? Are you planning on running away again? I want to warn you that now that I know you love me for sure, I am not letting you go ever.”

You love me.

Yoongi does. Yoongi loves him so much.

“It’s just…” Yoongi sighs. He puts his chopsticks down, rubs his thighs. “Why won’t you look at me?”

Jungkook hasn’t looked at Yoongi for longer than a second or two since they left the studio, where he had bashfully told Yoongi that he didn’t want to part ways with him and asked him if they could stay together for a little longer. Since Yoongi took the liberty and did something he, perhaps, should have done a long time ago.

Jungkook hasn’t looked at Yoongi properly since Yoongi agreed to take him home.

Jungkook startles. His eyes snap up, meeting Yoongi’s, and then immediately fall back on the table. “I’m—shy.” In front of Yoongi? After everything they have been through? “I could ask you the same thing! Why won’t you look at me?”

Didn’t he feel Yoongi’s gaze following him stubbornly as he moved through Yoongi’s apartment? Didn’t he notice that Yoongi couldn’t stop looking at him? Then Yoongi realises that, of course Jungkook didn’t. That of course Yoongi, as always, made sure Jungkook wouldn’t find out. Old habits die hard, and loving Jungkook in secret, quietly, is one of them.

“This is new,” Yoongi admits carefully. “I’m not… I’m not entirely sure how it should work.”

And what he actually wants to ask of Jungkook is, How do people like you and I do this?

Does Jungkook know? Does he know how people who say, ‘I’ve always loved you, I’ve never once stopped loving you’ to each other step into a casual relationship? Does he know how people who confess through music—because no other human language can hold this amount of love—start dating?

“You should know more about normal relationships than I do, at least,” Jungkook says. His chair screeches as he backs out from the table, grabbing the emptied pot and side-dish plate. “I’ll do the dishes.”

And this is when Yoongi recalls Jungkook’s words from the Boyhood listening party.

All of the boyfriends I tried to have—let’s say, I don’t think it was love they wanted from me.

For years, since the beginning, Yoongi has been so afraid to be a first for Jungkook, only to end up being his first anyway.

But it’s not that Yoongi also knows how to do it. His dating life wasn’t that great, either; too much guilt accumulated. He and his past boyfriends were awkward. They would go out for drinks and pretend to be friends. They would go out to take a walk by the Han River and pretend to be friends. They would go to IKEA and pretend to be friends—no one should know they were there to shop together for their shared apartment.

Even when renting an apartment with Jihun, they made sure to choose the one with two bedrooms and lied to their estate agent that they were just very good friends who couldn’t afford to live on their own. They would pretend so much outside their little bubble, that eventually that little friendly act would always infiltrate into their home, too, and ruin the relationship by the end of it.

Yoongi loved all of his ex-boyfriends moderately, and sharing an unfulfilling life with them was fine with him. But with Jungkook, sometimes it seems like the word ‘love’ itself will never be enough, and Yoongi, quite frankly, wants to make it count.

“Kook,” he calls out hoarsely, almost apologetically.

“What?” Jungkook grumbles from where he has dumped the dishes into the sink, seemingly getting ready to put his hurt feelings into washing them out.

“I haven’t ever loved anyone like I love you. I have no idea.”

Jungkook freezes, his hands slumping down from the sink. He just stands there, Yoongi’s dream come true. Stands there in Yoongi’s clothes, in Yoongi’s apartment, in Yoongi’s heart. His mouth hangs slightly open before he collects himself and transforms into a boy Yoongi has known for years. Easy to be teased, eager to tease. Bratty. Lovely. “Huh. You really love me that much?”

Yoongi loves him more than Jungkook could ever imagine.

Yoongi shakes his head, laughing a little, and stands. “You really should listen to the song I’ve sent you.”

“I will,” Jungkook says sternly, like a promise. “Tomorrow?”

Yoongi smiles at him softly. “Whenever you want.” He grabs their glasses and the crumpled tissues left on the table. He passes the glasses to Jungkook and throws the tissues into the bin.

He hovers over Jungkook awkwardly after that, unsure of what he should do now. Jungkook turns on the water, and Yoongi can only think about how badly he wants—

Fuck it.

Yoongi hugs him from behind, his hands locked over Jungkook’s stomach. Jungkook stills in his hold and then thaws, melting into Yoongi. The water stops running, and Yoongi presses his cheek against his shoulder, and for a few seconds, he just counts Jungkook’s heartbeat. How strong it is.

Yoongi kisses him on the shoulder blade, the material of the shirt receiving the touch more than Jungkook himself. Yoongi goes a little higher, to this spot where his neck meets his shoulder. Jungkook’s skin there erupts with goosebumps. “Leave the dishes,” Yoongi whispers. “Don’t bother. I’ll do them tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Jungkook whispers back, his fingertips dancing on Yoongi’s knuckles.

“Do you want to watch something, maybe?”

Instead of an answer, Jungkook turns around and kisses Yoongi. No fire. Just familiarity. Just a lot of familiar ache in Yoongi. Just one gentle brush of their lips.

Yoongi takes it as a yes.

They settle on the sofa in the living room. Yoongi apologises ten times that he doesn’t have any snacks, and Jungkook reassures him eleven times that it’s okay, it’s for the better, he has to be dieting anyway.

“Look,” Jungkook gives up eventually, “if you’re so worried, then let’s go to the grocery store tomorrow, okay? Let’s buy all this stuff you think your apartment is short on.”

“...Together? Will you have time for that?”

“Together. I’ll make sure to carve some time out of my schedule for my,” Jungkook’s voice drops, “boyfriend.”

On the sofa, Yoongi and Jungkook are sitting at least one person apart, but Yoongi’s suddenly falling, bumping right into Jungkook’s shoulder, laughing and embracing him at an awkward angle, sick and tired of their distance. “You’re such a dork, you know that?”

Jungkook shakes with his laughter, too; Yoongi feels it vibrating in his chest. He feels too much. Everything is too much today. Completing the song and being assigned as a lead producer for TXT’s debut; saying ‘I love you’ right into Jungkook’s face and getting a heartbroken yet stern ‘I know’; mastering up the courage to say ‘Let’s be together’ and taking Jungkook home. Being with Jungkook alone, undisturbed, with both of their feelings known and expressed.

Yoongi feels too much, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. He just knows that holding Jungkook is nice and grounding, and right, like nothing else matters at this moment. Jungkook’s hands on him feel right, too—good, warm—the way he just keeps his nose buried somewhere in Yoongi’s neck, breathing quietly. Yoongi gives one last soothing rub on his back and begins to untangle them.

Jungkook clings to him harder, protesting. “No, please. Let’s stay like this.”

Clingy. Needy. Lovely. Yoongi’s.

Yoongi laughs again. “Let’s just get a bit more comfortable, okay?”

Manoeuvring doesn’t take that long: like missing puzzle pieces, they fit. Yoongi’s tucked into Jungkook, his back against Jungkook’s chest, secured and locked with Jungkook’s arm over his stomach. Yoongi finds the TV remote somewhere under the cushions. The TV turns on at the sports channel, and there’s some basketball game with teams that Yoongi doesn’t quite recognise.

“No-o-o,” Jungkook whines, fighting the remote out of Yoongi’s hands that Yoongi would have given to him only if he asked. “No, let’s watch this one TV show. I don’t remember its name, but Seokjin-hyung said it’s fun? I think today they should re-run the first episode.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything—just melts completely into Jungkook, the lullaby of his steady heartbeat. Jungkook finds the needed channel, grumbling that they have missed half of the episode already. Next, he’s pouting that he doesn’t understand a single thing about the plot and keeps asking Yoongi about the characters, and then sighs disappointedly when Yoongi patiently explains to him that he doesn’t understand anything either because both of them are watching the show for the first time.

By the time they air the second episode, Jungkook has Naver-ed everything that he missed and is so enthusiastic about the action unravelling on the screen that his mouth just won’t close even for a second. He gasps, huffs, and snorts, he comments on the actors’ skills and stylists’ clothes of choice, he speculates about what will happen in the next second. Yoongi believes it is love—to find adorable everything that you would normally find annoying.

Over the course of the episode, Jungkook quiets down. His heartbeat calms down, and instead of gasping, he’s puffing and sniffling. Only his occasional yawns tell Yoongi that Jungkook is still awake. But when Yoongi finally looks up at Jungkook, he finds him watching the TV with his eyes closed.

“Don’t fall asleep here,” Yoongi says, poking him. “Let’s go to bed if you’re sleepy.”

“Mhm.”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi says. He tries to sound serious. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Uh-uh. Okay. Good.” Jungkook makes no move to stand up—probably because Yoongi’s weight is pinning him down. Yoongi feels comfortable and warm by Jungkook’s side, and he doesn’t want to go back to this hostile, cold world. But…

It’s late. Jungkook has an early schedule tomorrow. They lied to Jinsoo that Jungkook would stay over at Yoongi’s because they needed to work on a song, and Jinsoo promised to arrange for Jungkook to be picked up from Yoongi’s place. Being picked up from Yoongi’s place means having an alarm even earlier than usual, but Jungkook said he doesn’t care.

Yoongi pushes on the sofa, rising to his height. Jungkook transforms into a goo, lying down right on the sofa. Yoongi really needs to get him to bed.

“Hyung,” Jungkook calls for him, quietly, just a whisper.

“Yeah?” Yoongi whips around.

“Kiss me.” A pause. Yoongi blinks. “Please.”

Yoongi rushes forward and kisses him. Jungkook laughs into this kiss, his hands settling gently on Yoongi’s cheeks as he guides them into something more steady.

Yoongi thinks he wants to stay. Like this.

But what he does is break them apart. “I’ll go find a spare toothbrush for you.” He pats Jungkook’s thigh. “Don’t fall asleep here. I won’t be able to carry you bridal style into bed.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue, sprawling on the sofa like a starfish. “That’s disappointing.”

They shuffle around each other in the apartment, getting ready to sleep. Yoongi goes into the bathroom, washes up, and finds the unpacked toothbrush for Jungkook as well as spare towels. Then he rotates with a half-asleep Jungkook. The bathroom door clicks shut, and Yoongi hears Jungkook running the shower. As Jungkook takes a shower, Yoongi does the piled-up dishes, fixes the pillows on the sofa in the living room, and turns off the light in the rest of the apartment. He even gets to scroll through his feed on his phone for a solid ten minutes before Jungkook climbs into bed next to him, his hair only mildly dry. He has brought the smell of Yoongi’s shampoo to the bed, the smell of Yoongi’s body wash.

“Good night,” Jungkook murmurs, getting under the covers. He likes the side of the bed that’s further from the door; Yoongi remembers it from the two times they have shared a bed already and has left that space empty for him on purpose.

“Sleep well,” Yoongi nods. He places his phone on the bedside table—he’s not drowsy enough yet to sleep, but he doesn’t want to disturb Jungkook with the light from his phone.

“I like saying good night to you,” Jungkook blurts, blinking at the ceiling from where he lies on his back. There is clearly not an ounce of previous sleepiness in him, all washed away in the shower. He shuffles under the covers, shifting onto his side. The next time he speaks, his voice is a bit lower, quieter, matching the cosy atmosphere around them. “When Cypher was on tour the last time, we’d call each other every night, and I’d get to tell you that. I was so happy every time.”

So it’s that kind of night. That kind of night where they share things they would never disclose in the daylight.

“Me too,” Yoongi admits with a sigh. He turns to his side, too, facing Jungkook. He’s met with Jungkook’s wide eyes, focused on him—too much trust in them, too much love. Yoongi sneaks his palms under his cheek, getting more comfortable, and then he continues, a little unsure. “I was very happy, too. I think I hit my rock bottom back then, on our last tour… And talking to you… It really helped.”

“Really?”

Yoongi nods, the motion coming out more like him rubbing his cheek against the pillow. He feels Jungkook studying his face, even though it’s too dark with the curtains shut and not a single light on.

“Do I stop the chants?” Jungkook breaks the silence.

Yoongi smiles. “Don’t you know?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Told me you knew everything about me,” Yoongi teases, no bite in his voice.

“I want to learn everything from you now. With your own words.”

That’s fair. And if they want to be together, Yoongi has to start talking. It’s hard but necessary.

Offering his heart to Jungkook is like this:

“It started when I was twenty-two or twenty-three. I didn’t notice the exact time the chants stayed because we were always so busy. ABC Entertainment really struggled, and we were constantly trying to make ends meet. But it’s just… One day I returned to my empty apartment from recording, and I realised that the chants had stayed. And then they just never left.” Yoongi makes a similar chant gesture with his hand, as if holding on to the lightstick. “In my head, they go like this, ‘Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!’ There’s music sometimes, too. Cypher’s songs. My unreleased tracks. Stuff like that. A whole concert.”

Yoongi tells Jungkook how he tried so many times to make it work. He tried to drown out the chants with work, people, alcohol… pills. But it never worked. Nothing would shut them up. Until—

“Yeri walked you, Tae, and Jimin inside my studio. I asked you all to sing, remember? But it was only when you sang that the chants stopped.” Yoongi bites his bottom lip when he realises that it has started trembling too much. “When we started the introductory programme, you were always so quiet. Like you knew.”

He thinks it’s the way his voice suddenly drops into a hushed whisper on the last word that betrays him.

“Oh no,” Jungkook says, lifting up on his elbow, his shadow towering over Yoongi now, fretting around him. “Oh no, oh no, oh no. Don’t cry. Min Yoongi, don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Why are you crying? Because I knew? I didn’t, so don’t worry about that. I just had the biggest crush on you and was shy in front of you, so don’t worry, okay? Don’t cry.”

Yoongi doesn’t know why he’s crying. He just feels a little overwhelmed. He means to laugh at the absurdity of this situation, but somehow, the more he laughs, the more he cries. He must be a delight to see in his hysteria, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind it, wiping Yoongi’s tears away, kissing him repeatedly on his temple to reassure him that it’s okay, he’s here.

“Now you know how I feel every time you cry,” Yoongi tries to joke, but it falls flat because of Jungkook’s next words, said too gently, too lovingly, too seriously.

“It breaks my heart.” Jungkook wipes Yoongi’s cheeks with the back of his hand for the last time, having made sure Yoongi’s tears stopped. “So don’t cry, hyung.”

Yoongi gives him a nod and then just stays silent, trying to calm himself down after an unexpected burst of emotions. Jungkook’s fingers run through his hair, and he checks on Yoongi one more time before resting his head back on the pillow.

It’s shameful and awkward to go on like nothing has happened, but Yoongi figures from Jungkook’s shallow breathing that he’s waiting for Yoongi to give him a sign he’s ready to talk more.

“So there’s that,” Yoongi says, his voice gruff. “When you’re next to me, I don’t hear them. But when we’re apart, they always make sure to come back. Sometimes they hurt, sometimes they don’t. Even before you, I figured that I had to start to learn how to live with the chants. That they would just never stop. Now that I’m almost thirty, I think I’m used to them. It would be lonely without them.”

“You don’t have to. You don’t have to learn how to live with them,” Jungkook says sternly. “Because eventually, I’ll learn how to take care of you. I’ll learn your diet like Taehyungie-hyung did. I’ll learn more about the chants like Namjoon-hyung and Hobi-hyung. I’ll learn about your good days and bad days, like Jimin-hyung. But you have to give me time. I told you before that I was a slow learner, and I still am.”

He’s already Yoongi’s biggest blessing, and he’s trying to be even more than that.

And because Yoongi wants to start learning something new, too, he says, “You don’t have to be quick in everything.” He wants to start learning how to tell Jungkook things he always wanted to tell him but couldn’t.

Jungkook’s scoff dies, gets swallowed by the lateness of their conversation and the tiredness of everything that has happened on that day. Yoongi thinks they both start to drift off to sleep a little, eyes falling closed, but then remembers the important thing he has wanted to ask Jungkook.

“Do you like saying good morning, too?”

“No,” Jungkook mumbles into his pillow. “I like being told good morning. That’s different.”

“Okay,” Yoongi says, satisfied with the answer.

In one swift motion, Jungkook climbs on top of him, like he wasn’t one foot into dreamland a second earlier. His weight is both unfamiliar and comforting. Yoongi looks up at Jungkook in surprise, meeting his fierce stare.

“If you’re so interested in how to love me, I’ll tell you,” Jungkook says. “I need to be hugged three times a day and kissed ten times. Minimum. I want us to eat lunch together whenever it’s possible, and I need you to text me at least once a day just so I know you’re alive, otherwise, I’ll come to your studio and check.”

“Wow,” Yoongi says dryly. His hands settle on Jungkook’s hips and rub a small circle there. “Wouldn’t wish Jeon Jungkook visiting your studio upon anyone, to be honest.”

Jungkook scowls at him, then immediately transforms back into the loving, drowsy kitten, probably calmed by the monotonous rubs Yoongi’s giving him.  “I know I told you you wouldn’t ever have to say it… But can you say it again? Just one more time?”

It’s a question both out of the blue and not.

Of course he wants to hear Yoongi say it again. They are in one bed, and everything has been going so well today. He and Yoongi both know how things usually end for them. They know, and Yoongi has to admit he’s scared that at any given moment, something will go wrong again. That he will just fuck everything up as he usually does.

Normal couples say ‘I love you’ without batting an eye. Why do Yoongi and Jungkook always have to fight the whole world for it? Why does Jungkook have to plead to hear it from Yoongi?

It’s so wrong. Yoongi has done him so wrong so many times, and he suddenly wants to cry again—this time because of how unfair he was to Jungkook.

“Jungkook, it’s not an excuse,” Yoongi starts carefully, his hands sliding off Jungkook. “And it won’t make up for how much I hurt you—”

Jungkook shuts him up by crashing their mouths together. The kiss is wet and clumsy, too abrupt, Yoongi was in the middle of talking. But Jungkook kisses him again and again and again, whispering in between, like he wants Yoongi to memorise it all and never doubt himself again. “You never hurt me, I promise, you never did, you were just protecting me, I know it now—”

Yoongi distances them gently. Jungkook frowns. Yoongi keeps his hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly. He looks at Jungkook and wants him to understand.

“This won’t make up for it. Ever. But still, I want you to know that when I told you we couldn’t be together. Or when I told you it would pass. Or when I just stayed silent the last time. There was never—never!—not even once, anything about me not loving you. I never said I didn’t love you, Jeon Jungkook. There was a strict rule I had with myself. I never lied to you.”

“I know, hyung,” Jungkook says, almost as if heartbroken that Yoongi can’t understand him. Can’t grasp the very fact that Jungkook had heard all of the things Yoongi left unsaid all along. He shakes his head. “Of course I know. I know, I know, I know, so please, just one more time.”

Okay.

“I’ll say it as many times as you want now. So don’t worry about that,” Yoongi tells him. “I love you, Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook grins. He’s just a boy Yoongi fell in love with six years ago. “I love you, too.” He seems to like it—saying ‘I love you’ back. He rolls off Yoongi, but this time he never actually scatters away. They’re sharing a pillow now, their breaths brushing each other’s chins. “You know,” Jungkook says, and it seems like they will never get enough of each other, will never get enough of this night. “If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.”

Yoongi kisses his forehead. “It’s not. So go to sleep and wake up tomorrow. Tell me ‘Good night’ now, and I’ll tell you ‘Good morning’ later.”

“I like it,” Jungkook says, closing his eyes. “I like it very much.”

Don’t give up
Don’t give it up
For today, just for today
Don’t give it up

 

— ‘Dreamers’ is a catchy song. It has been a week since Boyhood’s release and much longer since I heard the song for the first time, and I find myself humming the chorus all the same and feeling uplifted immediately after.

The 9795 knew what they were doing when they went for this hook: it gives hope and courage in the most sweetly artful way possible. Listen to this song daily, and the lyric ‘just for today’ will transform into a string of days of perseverance.

“Good morning,” Yoongi says as he rests his temple against the doorframe.

The 9795 whip their heads around from their makeup chairs, stirring up the stylists fretting around them.

“Morning,” Jimin yawns.

Taehyung either waves at him or flips him off, Yoongi can’t be quite sure. The makeup artists bow to Yoongi, acknowledging him; he nods his head back.

“Good morning, sunbaenim,” Jungkook says, and Yoongi sends him a reassuring smile. Just like every morning for the last few weeks when they have to pretend like they hadn’t parted just an hour earlier at Yoongi’s apartment door; have to pretend like Yoongi hadn’t woken Jungkook up by annoying him as he kissed him all over his face. (Works better on Jungkook than an alarm, though—he isn’t as grumpy, and it leaves him red and flustered, which Yoongi likes to see on him).

Yoongi pushes himself off to walk further inside the makeup room. He reveals the cup holder in his hand. “I brought coffee.”

Taehyung groans—Yoongi assumes—in his immense gratitude for him. “I was dying, thank God.”

“Yoongi brought you coffee, not some deity,” Jinsoo chimes in, walking into the makeup room in what Yoongi calls his manager mode. When he’s like this, he’s too energetic, moves and talks too quickly. “And,” Jinsoo adds, taking the final form of his manager mode where he stands with his hands on his hips, legs wide, “if you wanted coffee, you, you know, could’ve asked your manager to bring you some? I can’t read your thoughts, mind you.”

“But it’s not the same!” Taehyung argues, his eyes closed as the makeup artist applies eyeshadow to his lids. “Asking you for coffee makes me feel like a celebrity.”

“You are a celebrity,” Yoongi deadpans, distributing the coffee cups around the room.

“It makes me feel like a celebrity, but in a bad way, you know?”

Yoongi wouldn’t know. He’s never even come close to celebrity status. He’s always been just this one mediocre rapper from the barely known rap group Cypher. How would he know how it feels to be a celebrity—in a good or bad way, it doesn’t matter. He’s too busy passing the cup to Jungkook to listen to Taehyung blabber about fame anyway, too busy pretending to brush his fingers against Jungkook’s knuckles accidentally, too busy sending a tiny wink to him and pulling away from him immediately after that.

“Do you guys have a lot going on today?” Yoongi asks, stepping back, the cup holder in his hand now empty and useless. His eyes meet Jungkook’s in the mirror, already looking at him, and Yoongi tilts his head at him playfully, quirking his eyebrow.

“Not much,” Jimin says, which in the 9795’s language means that they will work till the sun sets, but they’ll manage to get some sleep. “Fittings for the awards ceremony’s red carpet, rehearsing our performance for the awards ceremony...Kind of everything relating to that.”

“You and I have to do a live stream at lunch break, too,” Taehyung reminds him.

“Oh shit, I forgot about that—”

“I mean, it was you who booked it like, five days ago?”

“No, absolutely, I want to do it with you. I bought these Lego Friends for us to make!”

“What are you doing today, sunbae?” Jungkook jumps in. He sounds impatient, eager to know about Yoongi’s day, not caring a single bit about any pains in his own schedule.

“I just need to go over some stuff with TXT and I’ll be done for the day,” Yoongi shrugs. If there’s anyone in this room who actually doesn’t have much going on, it’s him. In the mirror, Jungkook looks at him with hope to his silent question. Yoongi doesn’t have to be asked twice. “If you want to, we can go over your song at lunch break while your bandmates are talking with your fans.”

He sees Jungkook fighting the smile off his face, the stylist struggling to apply the lip tint for him. “Sure,” Jungkook says. “I’d like that.”

A few weeks into his relationship with Jungkook, it’s all a bit new, and like nothing has changed at the same time.

Yoongi loves him and takes care of him all the same. He brings iced coffee to Taehyung and Jimin and a hot one for Jungkook. He has trouble looking away from him, as always.

But there are other things—new things. Things like sneaking around and stealing kisses while nobody’s around. Holding hands behind their backs while pretending to just casually be standing next to each other. It includes finding excuses to see each other in the company building. The song excuse is their most used one, and it’s starting to run thin, but so far it’s also their most believable one. In the past few weeks, they’ve used it so much, Jungkook should have a whole new album composed by now.

All of the new things came in this clumsy, almost graceless, flustering manner initially. Their first kisses, now that they didn’t have to count them, were so shy. They went on a date once when Jungkook had a day off to this one nice BBQ restaurant, and they both could barely speak to each other without blushing furiously each time their eyes met over the table. Or that weirdly warm day in Seoul that felt like spring in January, when Jungkook treated them to a late-night ice cream and they were at the secluded bench in the park; ; Yoongi wanted to hold Jungkook’s hand, and Jungkook thought that Yoongi’s pinky hesitantly hooking around Jungkook’s meant that he wanted to try Jungkook’s ice cream. Jungkook was so eager to share his ice cream that it ended up smashing right on Yoongi’s t-shirt as they both moved, uncoordinated with each other.

But it’s been getting better. They have been learning how to love without hiding their feelings from each other. It’s been—good. Too good to be true, Yoongi’d say, as Jungkook now makes silly faces at him in the mirror.

“Yoongi-yah,” Jinsoo calls, taking Yoongi by his elbow and pulling him out of his perfect little world of Jungkook. “Would you mind stepping outside with me?”

“Me?” Yoongi points at himself. He sends a glance to Jungkook, but Jungkook seems to be as clueless as he is. Yoongi tears his gaze away, shifting it to Jinsoo. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

He walks out after Jinsoo almost timidly, like a child ready for a scolding. Rationally, he doubts that Jinsoo has any power over him. But Jinsoo is a hyung Yoongi respects, and his opinion matters to Yoongi. Yoongi doesn’t know what Jinsoo could potentially have to say to him that would require a private conversation, but he assumes it can’t be anything good.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseok MinYoongi Cypher Kim Namjoon Jung  Hoseok Min Yoongi—)

Yoongi is sweating and ready to throw up by the time they sit down at the cafeteria’s table. It’s too early for lunch, and they don’t serve breakfast here, so the place is completely empty with the exception of the cook ahjummas yelling at each other as they prepare food for the future hungry workers of Black Swan. In this barrenness, the chants are exceptionally loud, stomach-churning.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoon—)

“How is it going with Jungkook?” Jinsoo asks, carefully placing the leather backpack that he always carries beside his chair’s legs.

Yoongi remembers to remain composed, even though he feels like his jaw is about to hit the floor. He thinks he deserves an Oscar for the confusion that he manages to bring out of himself. Oh, he’s a natural. “Hm? What do you mean, hyung?”

Jinsoo doesn’t look so impressed. “You don’t think I’m stupid, do you?”

“No, hyung. In fact, I think you’re a very intelligent man.”

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongi Cypher)

“Well, thank you.” Jinsoo clasps his hands together. This is awkward for both of them. “Then you didn’t expect me not to know that you guys have started a relationship, right? Because it’s me who drives him to your apartment every time after work, and… Believe me, I’ve done the same thing for our Taehyung and Jimin once, and we all know what it led to.”

Of course.

Yet another new and exciting thing: regular sleepovers. Yoongi doesn’t remember the last time he went to sleep, and Jungkook didn’t end up snoring next to him. Sure, sometimes he still goes to bed alone—but then he wakes up to the sound of his apartment door opening and lies wide awake, listening to Jungkook shuffling around ‘quietly’ (Jungkook’s words) as he prepares for sleep, waiting for Jungkook to crawl into bed, cuddle Yoongi (Yoongi pretends to dislike it), whisper some sweet nothings into Yoongi’s temple, and tell Yoongi about his day. Or sometimes Yoongi still wakes up alone, Jungkook having lept off to his schedule so early in the morning that Yoongi didn’t even hear his alarm going off. But most of the nights in the past few weeks of their relationship, they have spent together, dreaming next to each other.

Their sleepovers mostly happen at Yoongi’s because, for whatever reason, Jungkook is in love with Yoongi’s apartment. Yoongi stayed over at his place a couple of times, too, wanting to make life for Jungkook a little easier, but Jungkook insisted he didn’t mind waking up earlier as long as they slept at Yoongi’s. They crashed the grandpa’s home the other time, too: Yoongi was afraid the grandpa was offended by how quickly Yoongi moved out, leaving him alone again. But the grandpa reassured him over a warm dinner that he was happy that Yoongi had started to regain his independence.

“You’re healing, and you want your own space. It’s good,” is what he had told Yoongi the other day. “I was glad to be able to provide you with a safe space, and this home will always remain your safety zone. But you’re moving along in life. You’re starting to feel roots again. You’re building a home for yourself.” The grandpa glanced in the direction of Jungkook and Yeri in the kitchen. They were supposed to be washing the dishes, but the water wasn’t running. Instead, Jungkook held his hand on Yeri’s belly, mouth parted in wonder, Yeri laughing quietly, warmly about it. “You’re building a home for yourself with someone you love.”

Healing is an unknown word, and Yoongi’s not so sure he’s ready to learn it. But Yoongi knows there is a truth to the grandpa’s words: everyone has been commenting that he looks healthier. Maybe it’s the supplements that he’s taking according to his doctor’s prescription. Or maybe it’s that he’s quit smoking so that he looks healthier. Or Jungkook taking care of Yoongi like he promised to: bringing bunny smiles into his mornings, eating with him every day, providing a night of sleep without the chants.  Maybe it’s a combination of everything, even, but—

“You’re both glowing these days,” Jinsoo says gently, so gently. “It’s hard not to notice.”

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi CypherKim NamjoonJung Hoseok—)

“It’s not a bad thing,” Jinsoo says, like he’s trying to prove something to Yoongi. “And I’m happy. For both of you. For all of you.”

Yoongi purses his lips, nodding in this half-embarrassed manner. He doesn’t think there’s any point in trying to deny the obvious. “I know. I appreciate it. Thank you.” A smile breaks from him, a shy, hesitant one, betraying the unsaid I’m happy, too.

“Then why keep it a secret? You know everyone will be very happy for you too.”

Mostly because Yoongi does not know how to break it to their friends.

He doesn’t want to make it a big deal; doesn’t want to gather everyone around and make a whole dramatic speech about how finally, after six years, he and Jungkook have come together. He doesn’t want to answer embarrassing questions, doesn’t want to hear their friendly teasing, doesn’t want anyone cooing at them, or worse. But he doesn’t want to downplay it either; doesn’t want anyone to think that he takes his relationship with Jungkook for granted. Jungkook is slotting into his life through all its fractures and holes, filling them up, covering them with another layer of paint, and he makes it seem like Yoongi has never been cracked open, and Yoongi is thankful. He wishes he brought at least a third of the joy into Jungkook’s life that Jungkook has brought into his.

There’s also another thing. A tiny detail, a small reason why Yoongi asked Jungkook that they keep it a secret for now: while it’s just the two of them, it’s for them to keep. It’s not too real yet. And Yoongi is afraid of it becoming palpable—because once it is, perhaps, Jungkook will feel the weight of Yoongi’s burden, will realise that it’s not worth it to put up with him.

“I guess I just want to keep this happiness to myself a little longer,” Yoongi says. “So would you mind not telling anyone yet?”

Jinsoo nods like he understands, and Yoongi immediately feels bad about lying to him. “Of course. Don’t even worry about it. But don’t overthink it, either, okay? There’s no shame in love.”

Only a man who has only loved women in his life could ever say something like this.

Maybe the correct way to say it would be, There should be no shame in love. But there is. There’s so much of it, Yoongi wonders sometimes how Jungkook does it—moves and breathes and walks this earth weightlessly, standing up without grunting, rolling out of bed without pushing, living like there is no deadweight inside his ribcage, locked on his heart.

Yoongi has always felt so heavy. Shame has always been a significant part of him.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi CypherKim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi CypherKim Namjoon Jung—)

“Actually, this wasn’t the reason why I brought you here,” Jinsoo suddenly announces.

Yoongi tilts his head in question. Whatever that is, Jinsoo seems not to know how to talk about it, and it starts making Yoongi nervous. He sits up straighter in his chair.

“I overheard the kids talking the other day,” Jinsoo says finally. “They were talking about you. How you dodged working on your music to produce their Boyhood album and now the debut album for TXT.”

Oh, that’s what this is about. Yoongi smiles, mustering up the remaining acting talent in him. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s nothing much. As you know, I’m Adora’s brother,” Yoongi says, using one of his favourite Jinsoo assumptions about himself, “so producing runs in the family. The 9795 are just excited about me taking on a new milestone and stepping into the music industry as an artist—”

“I know who you are, Suga-ssi,” Jinsoo cuts him off softly, his voice the way one would talk to a child.

No, Yoongi thinks.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi CypherKim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi CypherKimNamjoonJung—)

“I’ve always known.”

No. No. No.

There is no way.

Jinsoo? This man who told Yoongi at their first meeting that he recognised Yoongi—recognised him as the son of the cafeteria’s cook?

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi KimNamjoo—)

Jinsoo ducks under the table, rummaging through his backpack. When he resurfaces, Cypher’s second album is in his hands. Their hit album, Yoongi’d say. It was the one that brought them from only five people in the audience to a bigger concert hall.

Jinsoo picks at the corner of the album box, a small, almost embarrassed smile set in the corners of his mouth. “My son… He’s a very big fan. Has always been. His room is covered in Cypher’s posters. His first concert was Cypher. I didn’t approve—you guys were swearing too much for a twelve-year-old to take in, no offence—”

“None taken,” Yoongi says mechanically, still trying to process the fact that Jinsoo knows who he really is. Has always known.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min YoongiCypherCypherCypher—KimNamjon)

“But I wanted to make him happy, so we went to your concert together.”

Is that what fathers do, Yoongi wonders? Try to make their children happy?

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi)

“I didn’t mean to work for ABC Entertainment, I want you to know that,” Jinsoo continues. “I didn’t want to exploit my position or anything like that. It’s just that I happened to be offered to manage some newly debuted group there. We really struggled with money back then, so I took the offer. I promised myself that I wouldn’t let fatherhood come before my professionalism. It was going well. I was assigned a manager for the 9795 and didn’t have any interaction with Cypher. Well, until you came back from the military and demanded me to take you to the schedule with the 9795.”

Yoongi remembers it. He was trying to spy on the 9795, and their manager turned him down so harshly. He thought that Yoongi was some stranger, so why would he have allowed him to be on a shoot for the 9795? Yoongi felt like he deserved it, back then, this nonrecognition.

“Now you understand why I protested,” Jinsoo says. “I remember someone from the 9795 saying, ‘Do you even know who he is?’ I knew perfectly well. You were my son’s idol.”

Yoongi doesn’t know what the grimace on his own face means, but maybe it’s a smile. A tight smile, because if he were to show all of the emotions that are going through his chest right now, he’d explode. He’d go to pieces.

“I pretended not to know you, but I swear that every one of our interactions was genuine. I really, really loved getting to know you.” Jinsoo’s index finger pokes into Yoongi’s chest. Where his heart is. “Real you. Not Suga from Cypher.”

Yoongi tries to push Jinsoo away playfully. “Aish—” He doesn’t like this fatherly talk. He wasn’t raised with it; it’s unknown, unlearned, too unfamiliar.

“You’re such a great person,” Jinsoo says, and when he notices Yoongi grimace again, he pushes, “I mean it. You’re a smart young man. You’re kind and generous and caring. More so, you’re one of the most talented musicians I know. And I work with the biggest band in the world.”

Yoongi can’t understand why Jinsoo is telling him any of this; why there is a Cypher album that he laid out on the table. 

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoon Jung  HoseokMinYoongi—)

“You produce good music, don’t get me wrong,” Jinsoo says. “But I really miss your voice. I don’t know how appropriate it is, but when I heard the 9795 talk about you, I thought that maybe you needed to hear this. I didn’t want to bring it up, but now I think that maybe it was time for you to know.”

Jinsoo slides the album across the table to Yoongi. Yoongi stares at it. Jinsoo rummages again through his backpack and then hands him a black Sharpie.

Yoongi takes it in. It’s so unfamiliar, its shape. “What’s your son’s name?” he asks. His voice is dull.

“Suho. Oh Suho.”

Yoongi signs the album almost like a reflex. He thought he’d forget how to do this now that it had been six years since he gave one for the last time, but it comes naturally.

Yoongi gives the album back to Jinsoo.

“Thank you.” Jinsoo looks at his watch, a sign that is so easy to interpret. He has to go, he can’t just spend the rest of his day with Yoongi, teaching him how normal families communicate. The 9795 must be done with their makeup, and they still have a whole day ahead of them. Yoongi doesn’t want to hold him back, but he also wishes Jinsoo could stay.

He watches Jinsoo gather his things and feels like a lost puppy. He can’t really tell if this weird black hole in his chest, the one that has been here for all these six years, has shrunk—as Jinsoo most likely intended with his words—or grown twice as large.

Yoongi is just so so tired. Suddenly he understands why Jungkook cried back then when his confession didn’t go as he planned. Jinsoo’s revelation was not in Yoongi’s plans, either. He was supposed to continue working on TXT’s album diligently and then move on to another project that Yeri would assign him, and so on.

But now that Jinsoo, apparently, has always known who Yoongi is, it feels like Yoongi’s whole world as he knows it is crumbling, and Yoongi can’t hold it in his hands for long enough. It keeps slipping away from him.

Jinsoo squeezes Yoongi’s shoulder on his way out. “Think about what I said, kiddo.”

Yoongi nods dumbly, spacing out at the table. He thinks about everything and nothing at once. He thinks about the stain from some broth left on the table, and he thinks about his goodbye songs that he had been working on before Taehyung asked him to co-write Boyhood. He hears Jinsoo’s boots clanking against the otherwise silent cafeteria floors, the cook ahjummas calmed down, but he also hears the voices chanting in his head.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi CypherKim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Cypher! Cyp—Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher—KimNamjoon—JungHoseok-MinYoongi—)

The sound of Jinsoo’s boots stops. “Yoongi-yah?” Jinsoo calls out.

Yoongi lifts his head. “Yeah?”

“I want to take my son to your concert at least one more time in my life.”

Yoongi seems unable to shake off Jinsoo’s words for the rest of the day.

Jungkook arrives at his apartment right after his schedule—late for ordinary people, quite early for people of his profession. He turns off the chants in Yoongi’s head like one would lower down the music in the car as he pecks Yoongi hello. He eats the dinner that Yoongi left for him, washes up, and changes into his comfortable clothes. Even though sometimes it feels like half of Jungkook’s wardrobe has been moved into Yoongi’s place, Jungkook’s definition of ‘comfortable clothes’ still always includes at least one item from Yoongi’s drawer. Yoongi never comments on it, and Jungkook never makes a big deal out of it either; the same way they never talk about where Yoongi’s hoodie, jean jacket, and coat that Yoongi lent Jungkook disappeared to.

Even now, Jungkook is wearing Yoongi’s shorts. They’re too short on him, exposing most of his thighs as he curls up against Yoongi’s side on the sofa. For an entire evening, he’s humming songs into Yoongi’s neck, occasionally switching it to kissing him there or laughing uncontrollably at something on the TV, shaking like an earthquake against Yoongi’s ribcage. Yoongi keeps drawing little shapes on Jungkook’s exposed skin with his finger, lost in his own thoughts, the conversation with Jinsoo still standing right in front of his eyes.

And of course, Jungkook notices.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft, squeezing Yoongi’s hand lightly. Yoongi means to take his hand away, but Jungkook doesn’t let him, pressing it back to his thigh. “Is everything okay? You seem to be in your head a little today.”

A pause.

“It’s just…” Yoongi sighs. He contemplates whether he should just brush it off and get over it on his own or if he should let his boyfriend in, introduce him to the rest of the chaos in his head. Somehow—maybe it’s about how gently Jungkook is gazing at him—Yoongi finds himself saying, “There’s something that Jinsoo-hyung told me, and I don’t know how to feel about it.”

Jungkook chews on his bottom lip. He looks unsure. “Well, do you… Do you maybe wanna talk about it?”

Because that’s what normal people do. They talk about their feelings. It’s healthy.

Yoongi nods.

“Oh,” Jungkook says, like he didn’t quite expect this. “Okay.” He untangles from Yoongi, sitting up straighter on the couch. He makes sure to face Yoongi, his whole body screaming: Whatever this is, I want to be here for you. I’ll be here for you, you can tell me anything, and we’ll go through this together.

Yoongi mirrors his pose, trying to collect his own thoughts into a comprehensive sentence. “Jinsoo-hyung, he just… Um, I guess he kind of tried to encourage me to work on my album?”

“Okay,” Jungkook nods. He seems to be waiting for something else, but since Yoongi just keeps silent, he asks, “Did it work? His encouragement?”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe.”

“That’s okay,” Jungkook says softly. That’s okay to feel confused.

Yoongi thinks about how easy it was to sign the album. Easier than breathing, really. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine Suho’s room so vividly, full of Cypher’s posters, too.

I want to take my son to your concert at least one more time in my life.

Yoongi wants to step on stage at least one more time in his life, too.

“You told me the same thing,” Yoongi says eventually. “About the album. You told me you’d want to listen to it.”

“Yes, I did. And I still stand by my words.”

“And it’s just that I feel like you guys don’t understand,” Yoongi says, his voice growing momentum out of nowhere, finding solid ground. “It’s not that I don’t want to work on my album. It’s just that I think I’m better off doing other things. I can’t physically lead TXT’s album and produce mine at the same time. I wish I could, but I can’t. I think if I were to do mine, I’d have to dig deep, and it’s…”

“Too much workload?” Jungkook says sympathetically, rubbing Yoongi’s knee in an attempt to soothe.

“Yeah,” Yoongi breathes. Jungkook understands him. It feels nice.

It feels nice to let go of all of the thoughts that have been decomposing in his head for the whole day, too; feels nice to let them out just like this, in the open, feels nice to be heard. Yoongi and the grandpa therapist also do this, but most of the time, Yoongi always ends up feeling more burdened—maybe because of the follow-up questions that the grandpa seems to feed him. All these questions that only force Yoongi to go deeper into himself until he implodes.

But with Jungkook, talking to him is like resurfacing after being underwater for too long.

“Maybe it’s not my place to give advice,” Jungkook says slowly, carefully. Yoongi nods at him a couple of times, encouraging him to speak up. He wants to know what Jungkook’s advice would be. “But… Why don’t you ask Namjoon-hyung and Hoseok-hyung for help?”

Yoongi shakes his head. It’s not an option. “They’re busy, too. They’re leading some projects in the company as well.”

“What about Adora PD-nim? Pdogg PD-nim? Slow Rabbit PD-nim? You could ask each one of them to work on one song, and then TXT’s album would be like the Avengers of Black Swan. I could help, too. We could ask Tae and Jimin. I don’t think they’d refuse.”

If Yoongi allows himself to dream about it, it could actually work. It’d ease the workload enough for him to start scribbling here and there for his own album, but he’d still have time to work with TXT and supervise the work of the rest of the producers. He’d still be leading the project, just in a slightly different way than he usually does it.

Yoongi doesn’t think Yeri would be against it if he brought it up, nor would other producers refuse to work on one song for the new TXT album. But the 9795? Considering how busy they are? How can Yoongi ask that of them when they have just finished working on their own album?

“Would you actually do it?” Yoongi asks.

“Of course,” Jungkook says unfalteringly. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

Warmth spreads in Yoongi’s chest. He smiles. “Team.”

They high-five each other.

Jungkook catches his fingers, intertwining them with his. He’s suddenly pushing Yoongi into the sofa’s corner, and he’s kissing him a little too delicately than Yoongi would like him to. Like he’s afraid Yoongi is going to break under him. Yoongi reaches for his waist, tugging him in. Somehow, he kisses Jungkook back exactly the same way—maybe Yoongi’s afraid he’ll break under Jungkook, too. He’s been feeling so frail lately, ever since he and Jungkook got together. He’s been feeling a little split open.

“I love you,” Yoongi says somewhere in between their small gasps, tongues brushing, lips sliding together. It’s the first time he says it since Jungkook told him that he would never have to say it again, and it comes so easily, with a little to no surprise, without feeling tongue-tied. It comes like all other things in life that don’t require any kind of proof. It feels right to say it.

Finally, it feels right.

“I love you too,” Jungkook breathes.

He says it back so easily, and Yoongi thinks that just for that, he falls slightly deeper for him.

“Forget what I’ve said,” Jungkook whispers, kissing along Yoongi’s upper lip. “I want to hear you say it again and again and again.”  He’s standing on his knees on the sofa, halfway into Yoongi’s lap. When he breaks away, he’s towering over Yoongi, his fingertips on Yoongi’s cheeks, his touch featherlight. His gaze is full of warmth and love. “Is that okay?” Is that not too much to ask? “You don’t have to say it, but—”

Yoongi presses him closer to himself, flattening his hand on Jungkook’s back. “Told you. Gonna say it as many times as you want me to.”

Maybe it’s the moment that Jungkook falls slightly deeper for him, too—because in the next second, Jungkook leans down and presses a kiss onto Yoongi’s forehead, and somehow, it feels so much more intimate than anything that they have ever shared before.

“How do you feel?” Jungkook asks quietly. “After you’ve just told me everything?”

And with unhidden surprise, Yoongi says, “Lighter.”

“Good.” Jungkook presses another kiss, this time right in the centre of Yoongi’s mouth. His thumb strokes Yoongi’s cheek. “We can talk whenever there’s something on your mind again. Okay?”

Yoongi squeezes his waist. “Okay. Thank you, sweetheart.” For a moment, Jungkook goes rigid in his hold. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s—nothing,” Jungkook says. “Don’t worry about it.”

Yoongi believes him, and he lets it go.

But the next few days are…weird, at the very least.

Yoongi buys Jungkook’s favourite snacks and when Jungkook comes home—comes to Yoongi’s apartment—they sit down with them in the living room as the TV plays a new episode  Yoongi snatches the Pocky box, tears the package open, bites on one stick, and offers the other to Jungkook. Jungkook munches on it next to him, their thighs pressed together, eerily hushed, even though normally he loves to comment on everything that is going on on the screen.

“Sweet,” Yoongi murmurs to fill this silence.

Jungkook almost physically flinches. “What?”

Yoongi blinks at him. He shows him the Pocky stick. “The flavour. It’s too sweet.”

“Oh,” Jungkook says, deflating. “Right.”

They go have a drink at the convenience store nearby Yoongi’s apartment complex as usual, one of their favourite night activities when they have too much energy left to waste. There’s something about the moonlight dancing on Jungkook’s face, the harsh lights of the street reflecting the stripes of his sneakers, the beanie that Jungkook stole from Yoongi on his head, his hair underneath it a perfect mess.

Usually they have so much fun together, laughing and speaking out of turn, too excited to talk to each other, that Yoongi worries that his neighbours are going to file a noise complaint. But that day Jungkook is so quiet and focused. He doesn’t touch his drink and he keeps sneaking glances at Yoongi, chewing on his bottom lip in the way that he often does when he thinks too much about something, that they end up going back home even before the sun is set.

Jungkook visits Yoongi at the studio, and Yoongi, as always, lets him have his producer chair while switching to the sofa. Usually it gets Jungkook excited, and he swirls in the chair like a little kid while telling Yoongi everything about his day so far. But on this day, he just looks a little lost, a little disappointed. He stands in the middle of the room, disoriented, and Yoongi has to tug on his jeans, partially playful, partially worried, to get his attention.

“Did something happen?” Yoongi asks.

“No,” Jungkook says, with this round sound to his words. “No, it’s all good.”

Yoongi puts up a fake act of broadening his shoulders. “Did your boyfriend do something wrong? Want me to beat him up?”

Jungkook’s mouth twitches in amusement. Yoongi considers it a win. “No. My boyfriend is perfect. I’m in a very happy relationship, in fact.”

Yoongi sighs. “It’s always the cute ones.”

Jungkook grins at him, and Yoongi’s heart swells.

That’s the problem. Jungkook doesn’t seem upset or angry with Yoongi. But there is something off. It feels like Jungkook doesn’t want to bother Yoongi with it, and Yoongi just goes along because he’s too afraid to ask or pressure Jungkook to answer. Afraid to ruin it. Everything.

A few days later, it feels like Jungkook has gotten his problem solved without Yoongi’s intermission. This weirdness leaves them; Jungkook is once again talkative and cheerful, and Yoongi breathes slightly easier with that knowledge.

Yoongi is getting lunch with Yeri at the cafeteria when his phone pings with a new notification. From the corner of his eye, he catches Jungkook’s name.

“Sorry,” Yoongi apologises, interrupting her stream of consciousness on the sales of DREAMERS’ older albums. He looks at her sheepishly. “I really have to answer it.”

“Oh,” Yeri says. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Hold that thought.”

“Okay, okay.”

Yoongi opens his phone. He barely keeps himself from smiling too wide at Jungkook’s message. He quickly types his answer.

The 9795 Jeon Jungkook

hey

do u like me?

Me

i love you

The 9795 Jeon Jungkook

how much

Adorable.

Me

a lot

The 9795 Jeon Jungkook

okay …

Yoongi is well aware of Yeri studying him curiously, all while pretending that she’s very busy eating her stew.

Me

i love you very very very very much

The 9795 Jeon Jungkook

well if you love me that much then you can have this :)

[Attached image]

The air gets beaten out of Yoongi’s lungs. He closes his phone quickly, praying that nobody around him saw it. That Yeri didn’t see it.

He kind of wants to see it again and check to see if he didn’t just imagine that photo.

“Are you done?” Yeri muses.

“Just one second,” Yoongi says, voice hoarse.

Jeon Jungkook. Fucking Jeon Jungkook. This menace. He knows it’s lunch time. He knows that if they aren’t eating together, then Yoongi is getting lunch with Yeri.

This time, when he opens his phone, he tries to at least cover the screen with his fingers. He makes sure that yes, that picture wasn’t just his hallucination from the limited sex life that he has been leading for the past few years, along with gaining a hot boyfriend in the last month.

Me

👍

The 9795 Jeon Jungkook

that’s it? :(

Me

um

nice briefs

calvin klein

The 9795 Jeon Jungkook

thanks

Me

no problem

Yoongi thinks he handles the situation perfectly and, proud of himself, closes the phone and encourages Yeri to continue. It’s not until the evening when his studio door flies open—Yoongi has changed the passcode to the date when he and Jungkook officially started dating—that he realises that maybe it wasn’t the reaction that Jungkook expected from him.

“Min Yoongi!” Jungkook yells the moment the door falls shut behind him. “We seriously have to at least tell Jimin about our relationship!” He stomps further into the studio. He’s in his practise clothes, his hair wet, the bag thrown over his shoulder. “I refuse to live like this!”

Yoongi turns around on the chair, distracted from replying to the work emails. He blinks at Jungkook. “We tell Jimin about it, and then Taehyung knows, and if Taehyung knows, then Hobi knows, and if Hobi knows, then his girlfriend knows, and if his girlfriend knows, then she tells it to Seokjin-hyung’s boyfriend. The only ones who don’t end up knowing are Namjoon and Seokjin-hyung, so I don’t quite see the point. We’ve been through this already.”

“But!” Jungkook protests, falling down onto the couch in a dramatic manner, his bag hitting the floor. “Jimin-hyung always gave me the best advice on you! And I miss talking to him about you!”

Yoongi can’t understand where it’s coming from. Why would Jungkook suddenly need advice about him from Jimin? But he also knows that Jimin and Jungkook have always been close, and keeping secrets from each other isn’t something they’re used to, so he says, “I’m sorry.” He tentatively switches from his chair to the sofa, and Jungkook lays his head on his lap, curling into a ball.

Closer. He always wants to be closer to Yoongi.

Yoongi runs his fingers through Jungkook’s hair. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, this time a bit quieter, to make peace. “Let’s tell them soon, okay?”

“No,” Jungkook says, the fight in his voice gone. Neither he nor Yoongi can stay angry with each other for long. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurry you. Take your time. We can grow old together and still not tell anyone. It’s okay.”

Yoongi smiles. “Let’s not take it to this extreme. We’ll tell them soon. But while we haven’t, maybe you could talk about me to me, you know? That’d be nice.”

“I know,” Jungkook whispers. He covers his eyes with his arm and croaks again, “I know.”

Yoongi brushes the hair out of his eyes. Jungkook just lays there in his lap, breathing tiredly. Yoongi thinks he might be too exhausted from the day to talk any of it out, but he also thinks that in the past years, they stayed silent too many times when they should have forced all these heavy words out of themselves.

“So what’s wrong?” Yoongi murmurs softly when he believes he has given Jungkook enough time to gather his thoughts. “I’ll try to fix it or make it up to you.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Jungkook reassures him immediately. He mulls over something again, then pushes out, “I’ve sent you my photo today.”

Yoongi’s mind helpfully provides the image. He swallows. “Yes.”

Another pause. Yoongi’s heart beats nervously.

“I guess I was expecting a specific reaction from you, but you gave me a completely different one,” Jungkook admits. “But now that I think about it, that was very on brand of you.”

Fuck. And here Yoongi is, thinking he had handled that perfectly.

“What kind of reaction did you want?” He asks it carefully, but Jungkook jerks in such an embarrassed manner that Yoongi knows not a single word will leave him now. Yoongi tries to move Jungkook’s arm away from his face so they can look each other in the eyes, at least. “Hey, it’s okay. You know you can tell me anything, right? I wouldn’t judge.”

Jungkook lifts himself from Yoongi’s lap, furious all of a sudden. He’s pouting and glaring at Yoongi at the same time. “I wanted you to tell me nice things! Not—send me a fucking thumbs-up emoji!”

Yoongi’s eyes widen. He has this thought running through his mind that if somebody told him two months ago that Jeon Jungkook and he would be navigating an argument about proper reaction to the nudes, he’d laugh right at the person’s face. But he’s so taken aback that he can’t help defending himself. “Well, it left me speechless! I’m sorry you’re so fucking hot I didn’t have any proper thoughts to share!”

“Exactly!” Jungkook says. “There aren’t supposed to be any proper thoughts!”

“I don’t get it. Did you expect me to sext you in the middle of my lunchtime with Yeri?”

“Well, not in the middle, but maybe after.”

This. This makes Yoongi halt in a stupor. “I’m really confused right now,” he admits. “You told me that all of your boyfriends before only wanted one thing from you. So I didn’t… I don’t wanna be like that.”

Yoongi’s words quiet Jungkook. His mouth opens slightly, like there’s another handful of words that he can tell Yoongi, but then he decides against it.

In the past month, they have talked a lot. They had all the time in the world to talk about all of the things they had kept private before, exchanging whispers between the bedsheets in the late nights, chatting lowly during breakfasts, going on dates, and talking, talking, talking, their mouths refusing to shut.

Yoongi’s chants. Jungkook’s never-ending fears and anxiety about his career. The lawsuit. The real reason why Yoongi sued Yeri’s father. That exhaustion that Jungkook and the rest of the 9795 carried as rookie idols. How overworked they really were. How there was this thought to just quit, disappear, cease in existence.

They also talked about Jungkook’s dating life. At twenty, he was young and naive and thought all of the guys Yoongi’s age were like him. He searched for Yoongi in them, thinking they could replace him. He wanted to prove to himself—wanted to prove to Yoongi, who wasn’t even physically there at the time—that he could handle a relationship with the guy four years older than him just fine.

Turned out he could—but at what cost?

It’s true that all of the twenty-four-year-old guys are the same. They only have one thing on their minds. It’s just that some twenty-four-year-olds are better at keeping their monsters at bay than others. Some twenty-four-year-olds still have enough dignity left to guide the hands of twenty-year-old boys away.

And now, six years later, Yoongi is afraid to hurt something that was broken a long time ago inside Jungkook. Jungkook said it had healed. But Yoongi knows better than anyone else that some scars, albeit mended, are so easy to tear again. And it’s always going to hurt more the second time.

“Why are you like this, Min Yoongi?” Jungkook asks, shifting to sit on Yoongi’s lap in one smooth motion. He cups Yoongi’s face. “Why are you so fucking perfect?”

Yoongi reluctantly wraps his arms around Jungkook’s waist. He means to answer him, means to tell him he’s not perfect. He’s not perfect at all. He’s probably the most defective, dysfunctional, blemished human being. But Jungkook doesn’t let him—his mouth covers Yoongi’s.

It feels like the biggest prize to have Jungkook hand himself like this to Yoongi, despite Yoongi’s atrociousness. He’s heavy, but Yoongi welcomes his weight. When licking into Yoongi, he tastes a little like exhaustion from dance practice and the rotten sweat of fame, but Yoongi only kisses him harder because of this.

Jungkook’s hands slide down to Yoongi’s neck. He makes Yoongi look up at him, and yet again, Yoongi is hit with the amount of love one’s gaze can hold. “I know you’re not like that. I want you to want me.”

“Always,” Yoongi says, breathless, mesmerised by him, the stars inside him. “Always want you.”

Jungkook kisses Yoongi again; it’s so impatient, hurried, like both of them are late to something and they have to make up for the things that they’ve lost. Yoongi doesn’t know what Jungkook thinks they are late for, but he makes sure to follow him in this hurry as he kisses him back. His heart races, the fog taking over his mind, and he presses them closer, his hand flattening on Jungkook’s back, drawing him in. 

Jungkook’s hands swoosh Yoongi’s hair back, tugging on it slightly. A small gasp escapes Yoongi; Jungkook catches it with his mouth, doesn’t let the studio, the world, or anyone else have it but him. “I like how long hair looks on you.”

“I like you,” Yoongi says.

“I love you.”

“I love you more,” Yoongi counters, and Jungkook grunts something inexplicable, biting Yoongi’s bottom lip for this.

“If you’re gonna be a sweet talker…” Jungkook’s mouth travels down Yoongi’s neck, open and wet. His teeth graze the skin—Yoongi wants to warn him not to leave marks—but then Jungkook only kisses the spot. “Then call me something sweet.”

Yoongi obeys. “Honey.”

“Not that. Sweeter.”

“Baby.”

“Not that, not that—the one you called me earlier. Call me something sweet, hyung.”

Yoongi stops. His head leans back against the sofa’s headrest to look up at Jungkook. He seems to be holding his breath, waiting for Yoongi to catch up. And finally, it dawns on Yoongi.

What Jungkook has tried to ask of him in the past few days.

“Sweetheart?” Yoongi feels Jungkook squirm at this in his lap, and it makes him smile. He kisses Jungkook on the cheek multiple times. “You are,” he says, his grin imprinting on Jungkook’s face. “Very sweet.”

“I like it,” Jungkook admits, almost shyly, his fingers fumbling with the hem of Yoongi’s sweater. “I like it so much when you call me that.”

The act of timidity turns into coyness, with Jungkook’s hand sneaking under the sweater. His fingertips run over Yoongi’s stomach, higher, leaving a trace of brief, unsatisfying touches. Yoongi finds himself craving more, completely gone at the simplest brush.

“You know,” Jungkook whispers into Yoongi’s ear. It’s too hot, the way his breath reflects on Yoongi’s neck, too stuffy in this room. “I still have unfinished business from some years ago.”

The restaurant. Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! “Min Yoongi!” Jungkook called out. The restroom. There was a hickey on Jungkook’s neck. There was Jungkook’s boyfriend standing outside the restroom—the one who left that mark. Yoongi was angry, jealous. Livid. Jungkook told him it didn’t mean anything. Yoongi told him to prove it.

Jungkook got on his knees. He began fumbling with Yoongi’s zipper the same way he had just fumbled with the hem of Yoongi’s sweater, and he was looking up at Yoongi with the same lustful, aroused eyes he’s looking at Yoongi with right now.

It snapped Yoongi back into reality back then, and it snaps him back into reality now. The fog in Yoongi’s mind clears.

Fuck.

What are they doing here, in Yoongi’s studio, rubbing against each other like teenagers who have never been touched before? They have shared so many moments in this place. Jungkook confessed for the first time in the studio similar to this. Yoongi said he loved him back for the first time here. This place—it’s sacred, almost holy.

“Not here,” Yoongi breathes, catching Jungkook’s fingers. Their laced hands rest over Yoongi’s heart. It’s beating so rapidly. Yoongi tries to calm it down. “Not here, okay?”

Jungkook doesn’t want to stop. Yoongi can see it in his eyes. But he also doesn’t want to argue with Yoongi. “But we can continue this somewhere else?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi’s voice is so wrecked, and he knows that Jungkook can hear it; knows that Jungkook is perfectly aware of his power over Yoongi; knows that Jungkook knows that if only he said one word, Yoongi would not be able to resist him. So he pleads, “Just—not here.”

Jungkook still doesn’t seem entirely on board with his idea. That’s right, they have shared so many moments here; so many important things between them have been exchanged, sung, and laid raw in here. Why not add another one? Just as intimate as all the times they made music here together?

Yoongi cups his cheek and presses their lips together, gently and delicately, so unlike their previously shared ones, which were burning and sloppy. He breaks away, his thumb caressing Jungkook’s smooth skin. “Okay? Can we put it off for a bit, sweetheart?”

Jungkook groans. He hides his face in Yoongi’s shoulder and sighs. His whole chest contracts against Yoongi’s with deeply settled disappointment. The kiss and the pet name combination seem to work, however—Jungkook slides off his lap. Even though it’s more like an unsaid, ‘Fine,’ with an eye roll, Yoongi takes it as a yes, with Jungkook agreeing that they have been heading in a direction a bit inappropriate for the studio with expensive musical equipment.

Jungkook scoots away from him, and this is when Yoongi notices the state he’s in: his hair a crow’s nest, face flushed, lips swollen.

“Oh my,” Yoongi laughs, reaching out to at least try to fix Jungkook’s hair into something more company-building appropriate. “No more making out in the studio.”

“Your fault,” Jungkook scoffs, but still, he lets Yoongi style his hair.

Yoongi steals another—the last one, he promises to himself—kiss from him just because he’s so cute and lovely and sweet and Yoongi’s.

“Can’t believe my cockblocker is my own boyfriend,” Jungkook grumbles. Yoongi gives him a smile that he would describe as ‘Huh, what a shame’, and Jungkook playfully pushes his knee away. “Can I sleep over at my boyfriend’s tonight, at least? I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

He asks it so politely, like he didn’t spend most of his nights at Yoongi’s apartment in the last month. Asks it like he isn’t upset with Yoongi in the slightest for their failed sexting or for turning him down in the middle of things heating up between them.

The biggest problem with Jungkook, Yoongi thinks, is that he always makes it seem like loving Yoongi is easy. Yoongi has always felt like he was hard to deal with, in friendships and in romantic relationships, with his inability to open up, resistance, and moodiness. Yoongi has always felt too heavy to be loved.

Too talkative after sex. Too silent during arguments. Too clingy. Too distant. Too noisy. Too quiet. Takes too much of the blanket at night. Drinks too much and then says too much shit that he regrets too late. Eats too much. Dreams too much. Talks too much about music. Thinks too much about the future. Too pessimistic. Too optimistic. Too bubbly. Too broody. There’s always ‘too’ added to him.

Yoongi is always, always too much to handle. Has always been this way.

But Jungkook always acts like it’s the easiest task he’s ever done. Like loving Yoongi is the easiest thing he’s ever been asked to do.

Yoongi’s smile morphs into something softer. “Sure.  Why do you like staying over at mine so much, though? Don’t you miss your own bed?”

“Because it’s yours,” Jungkook says, dumbfounded, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You see? Like it’s easy.

Wait for it and work for it (baby)
Wait for it and work for it (darling)

 

—  Some of my colleagues mentioned that they thought ‘Wait for it’ was almost hypersexual. I would disagree: this song is heavy and sensual, but it is also extremely tender, almost delicate, in the way it handles such a topic. There is something intimate about waiting for someone, I believe. Something that goes deeper, beyond flesh.

“Hyung? Are you awake?”

It’s the middle of the night, or so Yoongi thinks as Jungkook’s voice reaches through the dream’s veil. When he opens his eyes, he instantly regrets it, so he closes them again.

“No,” Yoongi grunts into his pillow, hugging himself under the blanket. All of his ex-boyfriends were right. He does steal it. “And you shouldn’t be, either.”

A pause. Yoongi must drift off to sleep again, because the next time he hears Jungkook’s voice, it’s as if it drags him out of a tenacious grip.

“Hyung,” Jungkook repeats.

Yoongi’s mind finally registers how unusual this situation is. Jungkook has never woken him up before. He doesn’t have a habit of waking up in the middle of the night, nor does he struggle with insomnia. If he’s out, then nothing can wake him up well until his alarm rings—or Yoongi starts pestering him with kisses, which is also an alarm on its own.

Yoongi rubs his eyes. Yawns. “What’s ‘p?”

“I can’t sleep.”

Yoongi groans. For fuck’s sake. Not good. Jungkook has a flight to New York tomorrow—or technically, probably today already—to film a music video for Dreamers, the title track for the Boyhood album. Jungkook has to be up in a couple of hours, preferably well-rested and put together.

Yoongi really doesn’t want to move. But he loves Jungkook—at least in all other hours that don’t involve him shaking Yoongi up in the night—and Jungkook, unlike anyone else, has never accused Yoongi of stealing the blanket, so Yoongi pushes himself up.

“Do you want me to make some herbal tea for you? I think I have something left from my insomnia days.”

“No, I want—”

Jungkook shuffles around in bed, finally facing Yoongi. For a second, they just observe each other in the dimly lit room, getting used to the darkness and making out each other’s silhouettes in it. And then Jungkook darts forward and kisses Yoongi on the cheek. His hand presses on Yoongi’s chest, fingers caught on the t-shirt he sleeps in, laying him back down. Then Jungkook is staring at Yoongi, expecting a reaction from him.

Yoongi takes the hint: he cups Jungkook’s cheek and brings their mouths together. Their kiss is soft and sleepy and warm, so warm, their lips barely moving. Yoongi is still half-asleep, the dream clinging to him slightly harder than Jungkook.

Jungkook’s tongue brushes Yoongi’s. It’s musky, not quite morning breath, but not the mint of the toothpaste, either; human, human, human. The blanket Yoongi stole from him got tossed somewhere, and it’s just Jungkook covering him now. He’s so hot—a heater in human form—he’s everywhere, and Yoongi feels so pliant under him, like putty. Jungkook’s mouth goes lower, onto Yoongi’s throat, kisses him through his t-shirt on his chest, on his stomach—

“Before I leave,” Jungkook breathes.

Yoongi curls his fingers around Jungkook’s shoulders. “Jungkook. Jungkook-ah. Baby.”

“We’re not in the studio now, are we?”

They aren’t. But—Jungkook is thick and hot against Yoongi’s thigh, so easy to wind up. And Yoongi is supposed to be, too, but there’s only this longing for Jungkook—to have more of him—and nauseating emptiness instead of the coil in his stomach.

“Don’t you,” Jungkook asks, voice quiet. He swallows the last words, almost like he’s afraid of the answer Yoongi will give him. “Do you not—” Want me? Do you not want me?

That’s such a ridiculous thought. Of course Yoongi wants him. He wants him so much, it aches everywhere. He has never wanted anyone else in this world as much as he wants him. Has always wanted him.

But there’s still something that doesn’t let Yoongi enjoy this intimacy as much as Jungkook does. That still makes him want to stop because it feels sickening, too shitty, reminding Yoongi: You are a foul being. Don’t forget it.

It gets silent for a moment. Then, the shadow of understanding crosses over Jungkook’s features, and he sits back on his heels, blinking at Yoongi. “It’s not just about the studio, is it?” he asks. “Is it true what Taehyung said? At the listening party? About—”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi sighs, letting his head hit the pillow.

He really does not know. He doesn’t know if it’s just a side effect of injections or something entirely different.

What he knows is that the last person he had regular sex with was Minjae. After him, he slept with some people here and there because Namjoon told him it would fix his loneliness. But mostly, Yoongi never even wanted it anymore. There was too much in him already: self-hatred and disappointment, and the chants, the goddamn chants. There was nothing left for actual, non-abstract wants. He didn’t even notice this part of him had left until he and Jungkook got together. Before, Yoongi was too busy pushing him away to pay attention to this part of himself.

And now Jungkook has him, but Yoongi keeps rejecting him, still. Because depression has had him for longer.

“It’s okay,” says Jungkook, lying down on his side. “It’s okay. We don’t have to.”

He’s so understanding about it. Loves Yoongi far too much for his own good, probably.

“I didn’t know,” Jungkook croaks so suddenly, it cuts the air. “I’m sorry I keep pushing. I didn’t know. I didn’t know, hyung, or I’d never— You know, I’d never—”

He sounds panicked, ashamed. Of his own wishes and desires, and Yoongi can’t let him feel this way. Because he’s always wanted Jungkook, even when he was twenty, with his eyes too big and too trusting in this world, in Yoongi. There was a craving, a certain hunger that had been awakened in Yoongi’s twenty-four-year-old body and had been left unsatisfied since then.

It’s been aching for so long: to have Jungkook under him, on top of him, on the fours, on the knees, bent over, bent in half, on this side, like this, like that, fast, slow, rough, sweet, and thousands of times more. Jungkook’s so-called pushy desire is almost nothing compared to the monster inside Yoongi.

“Shh. Of course I know.” Yoongi snuggles closer to him, lifting himself by the elbow. He rubs Jungkook’s side, then goes lower, to his hip. Jungkook frowns at his antics but doesn’t stop him. He follows Yoongi and kisses him back obediently as Yoongi’s hand slides lower to his butt, pulling him back in. “Let me take care of you.”

Jungkook makes a protesting sound that resembles a needy whine too much.

“Please?” Yoongi kisses along his jaw. “Wanna make you feel good. Before you leave.”

Again, Jungkook bucks his hips, the burning desire in him consuming the half-hearted protest. They’re both so weak for each other. That’s the worst part.

“What am I gonna do without you for a whole week? I’ll miss you too much.” Yoongi talks conversationally, so casually, as he roams Jungkook’s body. Like his hands aren’t shaking at the proximity, at the exposure, as he hikes up Jungkook’s shirt. He needs to do it right, needs Jungkook unbroken by all of the regrets stored in the cracks of Yoongi’s hands as he pulls down Jungkook’s shorts. “Mouth or hands?”

Jungkook’s chest rises and falls. It seems like he needs a good second before he can arrange a thought. “Don’t—I don’t know.”

“Let’s start small.” Start—a word implying that they’ll do it again, that it’s the first but not the last time.

Jungkook keeps his eyes open wide and focused on Yoongi. Like he wants Yoongi to see, wants Yoongi to watch him get ruined as Yoongi touches him for the first time. He shivers, hissing and jolting, the touch too rough, too dry, but doesn’t take his eyes off of Yoongi.

And at this moment, as Jungkook’s eyes peer into him and Yoongi feels transfixed by his dark gaze, learning how to touch Jungkook blindly, Yoongi thinks he sees a flash of twenty-year-old Jungkook. Like someone cruel performed time-travel on them in that second, showing them how they could’ve been in another universe, another life: just as incredibly in love, only younger when Yoongi gets his hands on Jungkook for the first time. Hungrier, hornier, less messed up, less knowledgeable about the challenges that are awaiting them in the future.

Yoongi wonders if those challenges made them more resilient or fragile. But in that moment, in that second, both in this and in that universe, they don’t mean anything, their trials.

It’s just a night. A night where it’s impossible to tell the exact year. Is it 2023 or 2017? Does Jungkook have to film a music video for his debut or for his comeback in the morning? Does it matter?

But then Jungkook moves to hide his face in Yoongi’s neck, drowning out his noises with his skin, and the illusion is gone. Gone like Jungkook is, reduced to a panting mess.

“Sound so beautiful,” Yoongi says. Jungkook is so responsive, like a piano under Yoongi’s touch, so vocal. Doesn’t need to be told—Yoongi skims and presses, and Jungkook blooms. It seems like there’s too much that has been pent up in him. Yoongi kisses off his frown, snaps his wrist faster. “Don’t worry about anything. Let go.”

“Hyunghyungsunbaehyunghyung—”

“I got you, I got you, don’t hold back.”

It takes so little. A stroke, two. Yoongi says Jungkook looks beautiful. Jungkook draws him in by the shoulder, kisses all of his gasps into Yoongi’s mouth. Another couple of strokes. Jungkook tells him he’s close. Yoongi encourages him to finish. Jungkook’s grip on his shoulder tightens; it hurts, and he will leave little crescents behind. Jungkook moans.

And then it’s over.

Yoongi reaches for the bedside table’s drawer, grabbing the wet wipes there with his spare hand.

“I… I don't like wet wipes,” Jungkook says, voice unrecognisable now that he can form sentences instead of senseless moans. He rolls over on his back. Blinks at the ceiling. Answers the unasked with, “They feel sticky.”

“Do you want me to run a shower for you?”

Jungkook shakes his head, his eyes already closed. “I’m too tired.”

“A towel? I can bring you a towel? How does it sound?”

Jungkook waves his hand. Yoongi actually finds himself grateful for the escape that this sudden post-orgasm petulance in Jungkook allows. He stumbles into the bathroom, his legs weak, catching himself by the sink.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min YoongiCypherCypher Cypher —KimNamjoon—)

He looks at himself in the mirror, almost in horror. He feels nauseous now that he isn’t so focused on taking care of Jungkook, feels spit out, dirty, like a monster.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi—)

He runs the water in an attempt to wash off the feeling of Jungkook in his hand and fails, albeit his skin is now all clean. He wants to rinse off the way Jungkook panted and suddenly looked so much like his twenty-year-old self, the way he breathed ‘Sunbae’ into Yoongi’s neck.

Is this how they would’ve ended up if only Yoongi had taken him home from that bus stop all these years ago?

And why does Yoongi keep feeling like there’s something wrong with it? Like it’s not his to have—Jungkook isn’t?

His reflection is staring right back at him. It knows. It knows why.

Yoongi wants to ask the mirror, ‘Why? Why won’t you love me?’. Wants to bang his head against the glass and shatter it to pieces.

(Kim Namjoon! Jung Hoseok! Min Yoongi! Cypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!—)

He grabs the towel and calmly wets it instead. He comes back to the bedroom—Jungkook is already sound asleep. He stirs as Yoongi wipes his stomach, even though Yoongi has tried to do it gently, avoiding disturbing him. 

“I love you,” Jungkook says, but it’s more like he said it in his sleep, didn’t even notice how it fell off his tongue.

It makes Yoongi smile, but it’s heavy, this smile, and its absence is felt once it slides off his face. He tosses the towel into the laundry pile and then climbs back onto the bed.

He sits at the headrest, knees hugged close to his chest. He watches Jungkook’s back rise and fall. Jungkook is here, but he’s also not, and the chants are also here but not at the same time, more like a faint migraine than anything else.

(KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypher!KimNamjoonJungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoon JungHoseokMinYoongi)

For how much longer can Jungkook love someone as broken as him? For how much longer can Jungkook stay happy with him? How many ‘It’s okay’ does Jungkook have left in him? 

“I can hear you thinking,” Jungkook murmurs, and Yoongi’s heart skips in surprise that he’s still awake. “Whatever that is, I don’t like it.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking about,” Yoongi argues. “What if I’m thinking about buying a Porsche?”

Jungkook snorts sleepily. “Uh-uh. Like I’m going to believe that you’re going to invest in a non-Korean car brand.” He turns onto his side, facing Yoongi. He studies Yoongi, and Yoongi yet again wonders who and what he sees in him that makes him open his arms and say so warmly, “C’mere.”

Yoongi pauses. He’s not really sure why. Maybe it’s because usually it’s him who comforts Jungkook, who shields him from life's grievances. He’s not the type to be coddled.

Still, he wants to be. Just once.

Yoongi goes as if hypnotised. Jungkook embraces him tightly, kissing him on the temple. He’s warm and big and soft and patient and has a heart that could probably fit more than seven infinite universes, and he loves Yoongi—chose to—and Yoongi immediately feels guilty for his thoughts earlier.

“What were you thinking about?” Jungkook asks, pressing his cheek against Yoongi’s temple.

“Buying a Porsche Cayenne.”

“Min Yoongi,” Jungkook warns. “I’m gonna buy you a Porsche Cayenne if you don’t tell me what you were actually thinking about.”

Now this is a real threat.

Yoongi sighs. Talking is healthy, he reminds himself. Honesty is important. He can’t let his thoughts decompose in his head.

“I was just wondering how tiring it must be for you to love someone like me.” I was thinking how tiring it is for you to love me.

“Do you want me to answer your question? I can tell you.”

No. No, Yoongi doesn’t want to know how tiring it is. If he hears the confirmation from Jungkook, he might as well stand up, gather his things and leave, isolating himself from the rest of this world so nobody will ever have to love him again. Nobody will ever have to take on this burden—

“It’s not tiring at all.”

Even if Jungkook lies, it’s so pretty. Leaves Yoongi’s chest slightly lighter.

“Listen to me, okay?” Jungkook says. “I have very limited knowledge of what you’re going through. I know I will never truly understand how tough it is for you. But I promise you, I am going to love you through it. That’s the only thing I can do, but I promise you I’ll put my all into it. I’ll do it wholeheartedly and without hesitation. Like I’ve always done.” Yoongi feels him chewing on his bottom lip, gathering his thoughts, before he continues, quieter than before. “You worry about a lot of things. I worry, too. I think… I think it would be nice for both of us if we could worry about one thing less. Our love. Let’s not doubt it.”

He’s all grown up. He’s all grown up and he’s talking elegantly and he chooses mature vocabulary and Yoongi—

Yoongi is so tired. During the daytime, Yoongi genuinely believes that everything is getting better for him. Then the moon rises and darkness falls, and everything comes back to his mind anxiously spinning around.

He thought he’d been getting better now that he was in a relationship with Jungkook, but it turns out it’s more like one step forward and two steps back. It’s always like this. Jungkook’s love doesn’t hold all of the answers. But what Jungkook does is hold Yoongi with love, and maybe, as of now, that’s enough.

Yoongi buries his face in Jungkook’s chest. “Okay. Let’s do that.”

Jungkook places his chin on top of his head and cradles Yoongi even tighter. He sings him a song—a lullaby.

(Kim Namjoon Jung Hoseok Min Yoongi Cypher! Kim Namjoon JungHoseokMinYoongiCypherKimNamjoon—)

Despite Jungkook’s presence—despite his singing—Yoongi’s head is a concert. A concert that hasn’t stopped since Yoongi was twenty-three and stepped off the Cypher’s performance stage.

The voices are only a slight inconvenience. Yoongi has had it worse. But still, he whispers, “The chants…”

He doesn’t even have the energy to finish his thought.

“Does it hurt again, baby?”

“No, not really, just…” He just wants to be taken care of for a little longer.

Without panicking, without any additional noise, Jungkook first gently tucks the hair strand behind Yoongi’s ear and then covers the shell with his palm.

The world goes quiet.

And in this silence, Yoongi sees it clearly. He really needs his goodbye album, doesn’t he? He will never be able to let anything go if he just keeps postponing working on it. The concert will never stop until the last song plays.