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The lull after a concert always left a sense of emptiness in Hoseok’s heart, that side of him that loved the stage reaching out, somehow seeking another second of that rush he had come to adore as a performer.
The show was over. The massive Prudential Center had drained of the crush of fans. The deafening cheers had bled to silence and the venue’s house lights had now replaced the glow of the Rainbow Ocean. Hoseok could feel the the adrenaline of the show finally beginning to wane, but he still felt that wired high springing through his muscles, almost as if the energy of the fans somehow found its way directly into his veins.
The vast domed arena was now empty save for a few security and maintenance personnel milling around out amongst the seats and, of course, Hoseok himself where he paced alone up the long catwalk from the main stage to the smaller extended stage. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jacket, expression undeniably fond, yet pensive, as he approached the pit. He came to a stop, pausing before he turned a small circle, allowing his feet to trail the stage almost lazily as he looped, taking in one last grand sweep of the dome.
The aftermath of a performance always weighed heavily on his chest, a dark cloud seeming to settle in place of that light, effortless air that seemed to fill his lungs when he performed. It was almost like an uncharacteristic rush of depression, the result of the end of such a manic high.
If he closed his eyes, and in that moment he did, it was almost as if he could still hear the roar of voices, the addictive swell of cheers. He could imagine the crush of bodies beyond the barricade. He could hear the chanted names of him and his brothers. He could transport himself mentally back to the grandeur of the performances of their title tracks. He could re-live that odd, indescribable intimacy shared between himself and twenty thousand other human beings when he performed his own solo. For the moment, that memory would tide him over.
At least until the next show.
And thank god there would be a next show.
It was almost an addiction, that thrill that came with the stage, that ability to be so authentic and vulnerable and open… yet oddly bulletproof beneath the spotlights. A sacred, shared moment between souls both onstage and off. They all felt it, all sought it. It was impossible not to.
The others were backstage, resting, changing, preparing to head back to the hotel, but for some reason Hoseok couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet. That was how he found himself in his current position, unable to resist one final look at the venue.
The fact that he found himself here after all of these years caused a swell of pride in his chest. He felt reluctant to board the van and leave it behind.
Tear-down was set to begin soon and after countless shows, Hoseok knew that come morning it would be like their tour had never even stopped there, the arena cleared out and ready to be converted for a new event the next day. Soon this would all simply exist in memories: the memories of those who had paced the stage and the memories of the fans who had experienced it at their sides.
Really, that’s what this all boiled down to, he supposed.
Making memories.
Making memories that were so absolutely extravagant and beautiful that more often than not, Hoseok felt they had been nothing more than vivid, perfect dreams.
This had to be a dream.
But if it was, was it truly possible to dream of soaring to such unimaginable heights? Was it possible to even find this kind of success even in the depths of his imagination?
He couldn’t remember having ever dared to dream quite this big.
“Hobi.”
Hoseok hadn’t even heard the approach of footsteps and peered over his shoulder, unable to bite back a smile at the approaching figure of Yoongi. The older man had changed as well, black snapback now pulled low over his face, shading his eyes from the blinding stage lights still lit above their heads.
“What are you doing out here? We’re all loading up to go back to the hotel.”
Hobi flashed an apologetic smile his way, watching as he came to a stop a few feet away, taking a moment to also peer around the now-empty stadium. It looked so different this way, void of fans and house lights raised.
It felt empty.
“Sorry, Hyung,” he apologized before his eyes ran back along the thousands of empty seats. He fell silent for a moment, taking a deep, steady breath of air, trying to convince himself to turn and begin the walk towards backstage. He couldn’t bring his feet to move and Yoongi didn’t attempt to hurry him along, falling silent as he took his own moment to simply take in the surroundings.
“…Sometimes I just can’t believe we made it this far,” Hoseok suddenly breathed out, words a rush. As the air left his lungs, heavy, he closed his eyes, tilting his head back. He paused for a moment again, as if bracing himself for something, welcoming a crippling rush of reality that never actually hit. In these moments he couldn’t help but feel as if he would, at absolutely any moment, wake from this most perfect dream.
Yet he never did.
No matter how good things got, no matter how many times he swore that things couldn’t possibly improve, they somehow did. Sure, there were struggles, but there was something about their present that seemed to be a constant, unending trend upwards.
The pain and conflict they had felt in the past several years had indeed been the discomfort of their sprouting wings breaking free, seemingly endless growing pains that had indeed paid off.
Hoseok paused a moment to take in the warmth of the stage lights on his face, arms slowly fanning out at his sides in a wide, contented stretch before he looked back at Yoongi. His grin shone more brightly than the spotlights above ever could.
“It’s like a dream, you know?” he continued when the fellow rapper didn’t say anything, stretching a bit more before he let his arms swing back to his sides. He turned to face him, steps a bit lazy as he took in the evident exhaustion on Yoongi’s face. The very same exhaustion that Hoseok himself was beginning to feel eat through that waning concert-induced adrenaline.
Yoongi simply shrugged, appearing thoughtful for a second before he too tipped his head back, staring up at the distant ceiling, blinking a few times as if seeking out what Hobi had been looking at just moments before. Logically, there was nothing there, but he paused, almost as if he caught sight of the concept of what it was.
The sky.
That’s where they were now, even in this moment where their feet physically found only the Earth. They were all so much higher than anyone, even they, had ever expected.
And there was still space yet to fly.
There was only up.
The stage lights washed over Yoongi, paling his skin, bleaching out the dark shadows etched under his eyes in the process, the glare lighting his dark eyes. A beat passed before his heavy eyelids suddenly closed and his head tilted to the side, expression oddly at peace. He ran his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully before he frowned, eyes clenching, brow furrowing, a quiet, private swell of emotion witnessed only by spotlights, his bandmate, and the empty arena.
Finally, Yoongi sighed, eyes fluttering back open. He blinked a few times, not even bothering to glance away or hide the faint shine that now lit the corners of his eyes. He paused for a second, dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve, nodded, then peered back over at Hoseok.
“…I know what you mean,” he confirmed quietly, voice low, little more than a faint rumble that quickly died in the cavernous arena. His hands found his pockets as his eyes trained on the younger man. A moment passed, the pair of them oddly comfortable in the silence before Hoseok spoke again, voice little more a whisper for fear of shattering the peace of the moment.
“…Think we’ll ever wake up from this?”
Yoongi seemed to think the words over carefully, head tipping slightly to the side as he processed the question.
“I used to,” he admitted, eyes yet again scanning the empty arena, face momentarily betraying the absolute disbelief that even he felt standing in the center of such an immense arena in a foreign country, the ghosts of cheers still seeming to echo from the rafters. Another second elapsed before he suddenly chuckled soundlessly.
“I used to think that one day I’d suddenly open my eyes and it would be the day before debut again,” Yoongi found himself confiding, the first time he had spoken the words to the open air. It seemed a bit of an odd concept, this intimate confession in the echoing hollow of a stadium, but in the presence of Hoseok it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
“And what about now?”
Yoongi pouched his tongue in his cheek for a second before he smiled again, the expression a bit more reassuring. He crossed over to him, swinging a brotherly arm over his shoulders.
“…No, Hobi. I don’t think we will,” he answered, voice sounding a bit stronger, a bit more sure, “I think we’re very much awake.”