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It started—as many things do—with Park Jimin. “I know a guy,” he’d announced, leaning conspiratorially across the counter of the club with his shot glass poised between forefinger and thumb, voice low in the din of background noise as though sharing a secret. His cheeks were flush from the soju, eyes hazy but narrowed in seriousness, smirk tugging at the corner of his lip like he knew something Yoongi didn’t.
“I’m sure you do,” Yoongi had said, unimpressed with his dramatics. He’d been looking at the stage instead, at the group that had been performing for the last half hour. If mangling an electric keyboard and bass and screaming the same contrived lyrics over and over could be called performing. It was so bad he strangely found himself unable to look away. Like a car wreck on the side of the road.
Jimin frowned at him. Waved his shot glass in his face to catch his attention. “I said, I know a guy,” he said. “Trust me—you’ll want to meet him.”
Yoongi tapped his fingers against the rim of his glass. He’d finished his own drink a while ago, but wasn’t in the mood for a refill. This wasn’t his scene. Wrong side of the stage. Besides, it was much more entertaining to watch Jimin turn redder and redder as the night went on. One more drink and he’d be out on the dance floor, winking at strangers across the room and then stumbling over his own name when they actually approached him. For now, though, Yoongi settled for doing exactly what Jimin wanted: indulging him.
“Why?” Yoongi said, and Jimin wrinkled his nose, considered it.
“You’ll never believe me if I tell you,” Jimin said, “so you gotta see for yourself.” He giggled, like he’d said something particularly clever.
“What,” Yoongi said, flat.
“Make some noise,” the lead performer roared into his microphone on the other side of the club, and the resounding screech of feedback from the speakers cut through the crowd, made Jimin wince. “Ah, hyung, you’re no fun,” he said, pushing at his shoulder. “I’m gonna go dance.”
“Can’t dance to this,” Yoongi said. “Shitty beat.”
Jimin waggled his eyebrows at him. “Watch me,” he said, and drained the rest of his glass, and Yoongi settled into his stool at the bar, proceeded to do exactly just that.
But Jimin had been right. Yoongi didn’t believe Jeon Jeongguk, didn’t believe the shiny line of studs along his ear or the heavy liner ringing his eyes or the self-assured straightness of his spine. “Why do you want to drum for us,” Yoongi said, and the guy cocked his head, as though taking it as a challenge.
“I’m good,” Jeongguk said. “Been drumming since I was a kid, I’ve got a great sense of rhythm, and I’m a really fast learner—you’ll see.” And then he hesitated for the first time, a flash of something softer, less sure in his eyes. Looking every inch his age. “I saw you guys perform,” he admitted, “once, and I never wanted the show to end. You were all so—you looked like you loved it. So much. And I want to be a part of that.”
Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “Really,” he said.
Jeongguk shrugged. “Yeah, and you need a drummer,” he said. The glint was back in his gaze, the air of bravado. “I’m it.”
“Show us, then,” Namjoon said, picking up his bass, and Jeongguk twirled his drumsticks in his hands, smiled.
“Wow,” Hoseok said, after. “The kid’s good.”
“He’s definitely got potential,” Namjoon said, rubbing his chin in consideration. “Did you see how quickly he adapted to us, our different styles? He’s got a knack for this.”
“I don’t like it,” Yoongi muttered, but he knew a lost battle when he saw one. “I don’t believe it, and anyway, this isn’t a done deal, understand—just a trial period of sorts, he’s got to be able to fit in with the rest of the band.”
Outside the window of the studio he could make out Jeongguk leaving, waiting for the crosswalk light to change. As Yoongi watched, Jeongguk tapped his fingers against his jeans, body swaying back and forth to a beat Yoongi could recognize even through the distance and glass between them. It was one of his own. Then the light turned green, and Jeongguk crossed the street, taking the rhythm of Yoongi’s beat with him.
Should’ve known, Yoongi thought with a frown. Things that started with Park Jimin were always bound to be trouble.
But the rest of the band turned out to be much less of a problem than Yoongi'd thought. The others accepted Jeongguk like he’d been there from the beginning, and it rubbed Yoongi the wrong way, the idea that the band he’d fought tooth and nail to form had always been incomplete from the start. Or maybe it was the idea that the guy who did complete them was some cocky kid who looked like he was barely out of high school. Either way, Yoongi eyed Jimin pinching Jeongguk’s cheek from across the room and remembered with some resentment how Jimin had tiptoed around him for the first month and a half they’d known each other, until one night at noraebang Yoongi’d gotten too drunk and allowed Hoseok to talk him into belting out a ballad together. “It was like I finally realized you were just like the rest of us,” Jimin told him the next morning. “Totally uncool. All my admiring visions of you popped like a bubble.” “Ah, hyung,” Hoseok said, “you were the one who picked that song, not me. You really don’t remember?” “I hate both of you,” Yoongi had said, popping another painkiller into his mouth, and that had been the end of that.
And then there was Taehyung, who had no such conceptions of restraint in the first place, so by the second day of practice he was already drifting magnetically from his position on the floor over to the drum set, coaxing Jeongguk to talk like getting a clam shell to open up and spit out its pearl. “Back off, Taehyung,” Namjoon said, “you’re scaring the new kid,” and Jeongguk hardened at that, though he didn’t lose the wary hunch of his shoulders, side-eyeing Taehyung like a threat. Of course Taehyung was harmless as all hell, which Jeongguk found out for himself by the end of the first week, when Yoongi walked into practice and found the two of them throwing shrimp crackers at each other from opposite sides of the room and trying to catch them in their mouths. “What is this, kindergarten?” Yoongi said, disgusted. Taehyung shrugged, mouth full, but Jeongguk scrambled to straighten himself up, brushing the crumbs off his shirt. Looking almost sheepish, but something defensive about it, sharp and pointed outward, and Yoongi couldn’t be bothered to deal with that, not when he had a new song buzzing around his brain, a band to pull together, music to make.
Still, though, Seokjin would see reason, Yoongi naively assumed. He was his last hope, and Yoongi was sure he’d understand—Seokjin was their manager. He had to see that this wouldn’t work. Seokjin was always right.
Seokjin peered at him from over the tops of his glasses, clucking his tongue. “I’m your manager,” he said. “This kid’s the best thing that’s happened to this band since Hoseok picked up Park Jimin from who-knows-where. And trust me—I’m always right.”
“But hyung,” Yoongi said, “he doesn’t—there’s just something—he doesn’t fit,” and Seokjin narrowed his eyes at him, then at the practice room where Hoseok had somehow managed to goad Jeongguk into joining him in a ridiculous dance while Namjoon made a valiant effort of waving his arms around in contribution while Jimin fell over himself in laughter and Taehyung was filming the whole thing on his phone.
“If there’s anyone who looks like they don’t fit in this situation,” Seokjin said, “it’s you,” just as Taehyung turned around with his phone to capture Yoongi’s scowl through the doorway of the practice room.
It was like he’d said. Seokjin was always right.
Now that they had a drummer Seokjin started to find them all sorts of gigs, which meant they had to come up with some new material beyond their usual tried-and-true setlist. Practice was hell for a while, Taehyung getting distracted by improvising wildly with new melodies he plucked out on the fly, Yoongi forgetting Namjoon's lyrics, Hoseok forgetting Yoongi's. Even Jeongguk had something to say about it all. “This beat,” he said to Yoongi one day at the end of practice. “It’s kind of—heavy. Messy. Doesn’t flow naturally for me.”
Yoongi raised an eyebrow at him. “I think I know how I want my band’s music to sound, thanks,” he said, and Jeongguk didn’t bristle like Yoongi expected him to, but instead dropped his gaze down, nodded. Slunk out the door after the others. Shit, Yoongi thought, watching him go, and then he stayed at the studio all night sharpening the beat into something cleaner. Jeongguk didn’t mention it to Yoongi the next day, but Yoongi caught the surprised smile on his face. Maybe because he’d been looking for it. When he looked back away Hoseok was making kissy faces at him from across the room. Yoongi picked up a pen and threw it at him. Missed by a mile.
Later that night Namjoon and Yoongi were on their way back to the studio after a late dinner, only to find the lights already on. Hoseok, Yoongi thought, perfecting his performance, or even Seokjin, going through what they’d come up with, but some part of him already knew it would be Jeongguk, drumming his heart out in the practice room, eyes closed and dead to the rest of the world. They watched him for a while from the doorway, not wanting to disturb him, and then Jeongguk clanged a cymbal, let the echo fade out. Opened his mouth and started to sing.
“Fuck,” Namjoon said in awe. “What do you know, the kid can sing, too.”
Yoongi didn’t know how to say that he somehow wasn’t surprised, so he said nothing at all.
“Why didn’t he tell us,” Namjoon said, “are you thinking what I’m thinking, there’s a million ways this could work—hey, what did we ever do without this guy?”
Yoongi flattened his mouth into a grim line. When they called Jeongguk into the studio to test out some backup vocal recordings even he couldn’t deny it was just what their sound needed, which only made it all the harder to swallow. “See you, hyung,” Jeongguk said on his way out, looking a little starry-eyed from getting to work so closely with Namjoon, and Yoongi only grunted in reply.
“I don’t get your problem with the kid, anyway,” Namjoon said at two AM that night, which was the only time they ever seriously talked about anything, so Yoongi resigned himself to the inescapability of the conversation. “It’s not just unprofessional—it’s kinda rude, hyung. Didn’t peg you as that type of person.”
“What type of person?” Yoongi said. He peered into his coffee cup hopefully, though it had been empty for hours now.
“You know,” Namjoon said. Not looking up from the monitor. “The type to let personal relationships get in the way of work.”
If Yoongi had any coffee, he’d be spitting it out right now. “Personal relationships?” he said. “There’s nothing personal about this. There’s no relationship.”
Namjoon scratched at his jaw. “That’s what I mean,” he said. “You weren’t like this to Jimin when he joined, or even Taehyung. Jeongguk’s good, really good, and it’s not fair to him the way you’re giving him the cold shoulder. I don’t get it. Why don’t you like him?”
He’s too good, Yoongi considered saying, but even he knew how stupid that sounded. He’s not in this for the long run. It’s just a phase—I can tell. He’s gonna back out on us, find some other path, leave us behind. I don’t trust him not to.
“You don’t even know him,” Namjoon said, tired face washed out in the pale glow of the screen, and Yoongi thought, exactly.
When he walked into practice the next day Hoseok did a dramatic double take at his face. “Is this the zombie apocalypse?” he said. “I’m too young to die!”
“Very funny,” Yoongi said, but Jimin was less amused, pursing his lips at him.
“Hyung,” he said, “you’re like a child, you really need to take care of yourself.”
“I have a child,” Yoongi told him seriously. “It’s this band, and if we don’t get through this song once without fucking up I’m gonna go to an early grave. Let’s take it again from the top.”
From the back of the room Jeongguk eyed him nervously, like Yoongi was a lit fuse, ready to blow. Good, Yoongi thought to himself, and didn’t look back at him once the whole session.
The fuse blew one night at a gig for a particularly rowdy crowd, stray hands pounding at the stage, grabbing at their feet when they got too close. Namjoon and Yoongi exchanged concerned glances, but Taehyung looked like he was having the time of his life crooning into his microphone on his knees while Hoseok jumped up and down, slamming on his bass. The energy was unreal, anyhow, Yoongi losing himself in it as the crowd roared back in echo, pulse soaring so high he thought he’d never crash—when he heard a loud boo from his side of the stage, and a plastic water bottle came sailing through the air from the audience, hit Jeongguk straight in the face.
Everything screeched to a stop. Yoongi could see Jimin’s mouth fall open in shock, Namjoon already rushing across the stage to Jeongguk’s side, but everything after that was lost in the commotion of Yoongi vaulting over the keyboard and hurling himself off the stage, grabbing the culprit by the collar of his shirt, the crowd a swelling tide of noise around him.
After, Seokjin paced back and forth in front of him while Yoongi pressed an ice pack to the blooming bruise of his eye. Seokjin had driven Yoongi back home to his apartment from the police station, tight-lipped and silent the whole time, until now. “He’s not pressing charges, but, christ, Yoongi—what the hell were you thinking?” It wasn’t often Seokjin got angry. The last fuck-up they’d had was when Taehyung’d said something dumb in an interview; before that, some of Namjoon’s old lyrics. This was a different category entirely. Yoongi’d blown the word scandal straight out of the water. Yoongi knew it, Seokjin knew it, everyone in the room knew it, so Yoongi didn’t feel like there was any need to elaborate. Clenched his jaw, and crushed the ice harder against his eye.
“If I’d known you were gonna be this stupid I’d never have agreed to be your manager,” Seokjin said, and that stung, a little, or maybe it was just the throb of his black eye. “Violence? And for what? Jeongguk isn’t even hurt—he’s fine, the bottle barely even hit him—”
“It’s not about him,” Yoongi said, “it's about respect, look at me and tell me you wouldn’t have wanted to do the same thing—”
“The only person I want to hit right now is you,” Seokjin said, so cold it doused all the fight out of Yoongi, just like that. “I thought you loved this band more than anything. You almost threw that all out the window.”
“I do,” Yoongi said. It sounded weak even to his ears. “I do, I swear, I just—” He sank into his seat on his bed, defeated. “I don’t know,” he said.
“You’re on edge, that’s what you are,” Seokjin said. “I don’t care what you say—this is unhealthy. The way you’re living right now is unhealthy, and it’s not the dream you wanted for yourself all those years ago. The only person I’m angrier with right now is myself, for letting you get to this point.” His mouth twisted down, unhappy. “Just get some sleep. Take a break from the band from a while—I mean it. If I catch you in that studio anytime during the next week I’m handing in my resignation letter. I’ve already got it typed up. Don’t tempt me.”
“Hyung,” Yoongi managed, when Seokjin was half out the door. “I’m sorry.”
Seokjin’s shoulders went rigid, then slumped. He turned around, met Yoongi’s eye. “Look,” he said, voice gentle, and in a way it was even worse. “You’re my friend, but these days I don’t know what kind of person you’re becoming. I don’t know if all of this is worth it. Worth turning you into this.”
The lump in Yoongi’s throat hurt too badly for him to get any words out, but Seokjin seemed to understand, anyway. Of course he did—he knew him too long not to. Knew him well enough to shut the lights, and close the bedroom door on his way out behind him.
The week of Yoongi’s exile didn’t exactly go off to a shining start. Yoongi spent most of the first day in bed. Winced at the number of notifications on his phone before switching it off. His hands itched to play, to create, to tap out a beat against his covers, but he clenched them into fists instead. It hurt, that something he loved could be turned against him, could be bad for him. He fell back asleep. When he woke up Hoseok was there, sitting by the open window, curtains fluttering in the breeze. Humming slightly to himself.
“That’s a nice song,” Yoongi said. “Where’s it from?”
Hoseok snorted. “You wrote it,” he said, and then, “get up, hyung, I got you soup and you sure as hell can’t drink it lying down.”
They sat together shoulder to shoulder in the mess of Yoongi’s bed, Hoseok running his mouth off about a million different unconnected anecdotes while Yoongi quietly drank his soup and made the occasional grunt of response. The dog Hoseok had seen across the street on the way here that had bounded straight up to him for a petting. His neighbour who watched TV dramas too loudly at night and got him accidentally invested in the storyline. The guy who worked at the GS25 across the street who’d actually recognized him and asked for a photo. All of Hoseok’s calming chatter tilted things right side up for Yoongi somehow, settled everything back into perspective. Ah. Here it was. The world, right where he’d left it.
“How is she, by the way,” Yoongi said, when Hoseok mentioned his sister, and when he brightened a little, so did Yoongi, in the light of it.
“She’s good, did I tell you, she started her new clothing line recently,” Hoseok said, and he had already told Yoongi, had told all of them, but it was nice to hear, again. “What about you, hyung? How are you?”
Yoongi set down his spoon. Took a moment to come up with the truth. “I don’t think I’m very good,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve been for a while.”
“You know, hyung, you really scared us,” Hoseok said.
Yoongi stared down at his hands. “I know,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me—it was stupid, I wasn’t thinking—I’m sorry you guys had to see me like that.”
“I don’t mean that,” Hoseok said. “Okay, I don’t mean just that. I mean—the way you’ve been, lately. Like anything could set you off, and we don’t even know why. That’s the scariest part, I think. I’ve known you so long and I still don’t even know why.”
Yoongi turned to look at him. Head leant back against the wall, eyes soft, dimple of his cheek. He couldn’t understand why on earth Hoseok would even want to. But Hoseok was here, wasn’t he. After all this time. Waiting for an answer. All that was left was giving it to him.
“I got caught up in myself,” Yoongi said. “The music, the ambition, the pride, all of it. Couldn’t see anything else past it. And I—I was frustrated, I let it all build up inside me, I lost track of everything around me. I didn’t... I messed up. That’s all. I really messed up.”
Hoseok hummed a little, again. “Thank you for telling me, hyung,” he said, and then, “you did mess up. But now you can fix it.”
Yoongi ran his tongue over his lips. “Yeah?” he said, a little hoarse. “You think I can?”
“I know you can,” Hoseok said. “Besides, I’ll be here to help you do it, won’t I?”
Later when Hoseok was leaving, Yoongi said, “Leave the window open,” and Hoseok smiled at him, sure as the breeze of fresh air he’d left behind.
The next day it was Namjoon, and they mostly sat in silence together, Yoongi playing computer games while Namjoon read a book by the window. It felt comfortable, kind of like old times, and Namjoon placed a heavy hand on his shoulder before leaving, and Yoongi knew what it meant, accepted its weight. Then came Jimin who dragged Yoongi out of his bedroom into his living room, pushed the dilapidated old couch and table out of the way to clear up a space on the floor, and asked him for critique on his new dance routine.
“I’m the last person you want to ask for dance advice,” Yoongi said, settling into his perch on the arm of the couch.
“You’re right,” Jimin said, “I already asked everyone else. You’re the last one. I gotta get your input too, just so it’s complete. C’mon, help me.”
Yoongi narrowed his eyes at him, but Jimin just pressed play on his phone, turned up the volume.
“Hmm,” Yoongi said after he’d finished, “I don’t think I fully caught it the first time. Can you do it again?”
“Just gotta get a clearer vision of it in my head,” Yoongi said again after the second time. “Can you do it again?”
“I’m not sure I caught all of it—” Yoongi began, and Jimin rolled over on the floor, sprawled into a starfish, groaning.
“Hyung, you’re so mean,” Jimin grumbled. “Honestly, I don’t know why I even came to you, should’ve known better.”
“You should have,” Yoongi agreed. In truth he’d only asked Jimin to dance again and again so that he could keep watching, but he was pretty sure Jimin already knew that anyway. They rested in silence for a while, Yoongi on the couch, Jimin on the floor.
“Hyung,” Jimin said, into the carpet. “Was it because of Jeonggukie? Because I brought him into the band?”
Yoongi closed his eyes briefly. “No,” he said. “None of this is his fault. It’s my problem.”
Jimin peeked an unconvinced eye at him. “Uh-huh,” he said. “’Cause Jeonggukie thinks it’s his fault, you know.”
Yoongi clenched his eyes shut, a little longer this time. “God,” he said. “God, I really messed up, didn’t I, Jiminnie?”
“That’s what I tried to tell Jeonggukie,” Jimin said. “I don’t think he believed me.”
“He doesn’t know,” Yoongi said. His mouth tasted like lead. “He doesn’t know me. What I’m really like.”
Jimin was quiet for a moment. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” he said.
Yoongi thought about it. “It’s been a while since I met someone new,” he admitted. “Even Taehyung was almost a year ago, already. Think maybe I forgot how.”
“Hyung,” Jimin said, “you can really be ridiculous sometimes, has anyone ever told you that? You don’t just forget things like this. You don’t.” He paused. “There’s only one really important thing, anyway. You just have to be kind.”
Yoongi felt the crack of it all the way down to his heart. He thought maybe it was a good thing. It meant he still had it in there somewhere.
“Hey,” Yoongi said, after a while. “You think you could run through it again? Just one more time?”
Jimin shot him a grin. “Always,” he said, already getting up from the floor.
Last on the list was Taehyung, who showed up at the end of the week and didn’t move to enter when Yoongi opened the door for him. “C’mon, hyung,” he said, tilting his head at the hallway outside, “let’s go,” and Yoongi looked at the stubborn set of his face and knew better than to argue.
Outside the sky seemed on the verge of rain, but Taehyung didn’t look worried, though neither of them had an umbrella. The streets were almost emptied, and as they walked Taehyung pointed out a cool-looking building, a flower in someone’s windowboxes, a funny-shaped cloud in the sky. The air was cool and crisp. Yoongi realized he was hungry. The sharp pang of it was a surprise, a reminder he was still alive, a part of this world.
“I like this place,” Taehyung said when they came to a bench by the park, grass under their feet, trees around them. Here they had a perfect view of the pathway, of the people who strolled past them in brightly coloured jackets. “It’s really peaceful. Sometimes I sit here and make up stories about all the strangers who pass by.”
Yoongi gave them a considering glance. “That guy,” he said. “With the blue headphones.”
“University student,” Taehyung said without skipping a beat. “On a sports scholarship, for swimming. Really scared of asking out this girl in his class, but he likes to daydream about it sometimes, the two of them together, holding hands.”
Yoongi wrinkled his nose. “Really?” he said. “I was thinking, more like—architecture student, or something. Works part time at a chicken restaurant. Secretly loves pop music but tells all his friends he likes hip-hop.”
Taehyung stared at him. “Hyung, you’ve got a real knack for this,” he said. “What about the woman with the grey scarf?”
“Businesswoman,” Yoongi said. “She likes listening to whatever’s on the radio, but tells her coworkers she likes classical music. Addicted to crime dramas. Doesn’t like spicy food.”
“Huh,” said Taehyung, nodding along. “What about that guy over there?”
Yoongi squinted at the figure approaching in the distance. “You did not,” he said.
“I did,” Taehyung said sagely. “Here, I’ll start. University student, studying contemporary music. Only owns white T-shirts in his closet. Stupidly good at computer games, but also at, like, everything. Got a thing for lamb skewers. Okay, your turn.”
Jeongguk was almost in earshot, now. Yoongi let go of his breath, then reeled it back in. “Think he’s the drummer of our band,” he said, and Taehyung grinned at him, gave him a two-fingered salute as he got up off the bench and walked away.
“Hey,” Jeongguk said in greeting, slipping onto the bench next to him, but there was something nervous to the nod of his head. “How are you?”
Yoongi considered it. “I’m okay,” he said. “How have you been doing?”
Jeongguk nodded again, a jerky movement of his head. “Fine, yeah,” he said, and then there was an awful long pause, and then—“I’m quitting the band.”
Yoongi’s heart sank down into the pit of his stomach. “What?” he said. “You’re quitting? Why the hell?”
Jeongguk stuck out his jaw. “I think it’s best for everyone,” he said, “I’m not really fitting in with the rest of the band—”
“Bullshit,” Yoongi said, and just like that Jeongguk deflated.
“That’s why,” he said, voice small. “I know you don’t like me, but—I thought we could work through it, but it’s not—it didn’t work out—”
“Jeongguk,” Yoongi said, as gently as he could bear. “None of this is your fault. It’s my own problem, and I’m sorry I made you feel responsible for it.”
“But—”
“And I’m sorry for the way I treated you,” Yoongi said, and Jeongguk fell silent. Shot him a curious look.
“Why did you?” Jeongguk said. “Treat me like that. I couldn’t understand—I tried really hard to get you to like me, you know, I don’t know where I went wrong—”
“The band,” Yoongi burst out. “I’ve dreamed of it since I was a kid, and that dream was all I had, and then I worked hard enough to turn that dream real, got lucky enough to meet people who understood how much it means to me. Because it means everything to me. And then—”
“And then I came along,” Jeongguk said.
“You were too good to be true,” Yoongi said, and Jeongguk was staring at him, now, but Yoongi had to keep going. “I didn’t trust you—how easily you came into this, how perfectly you fit. You said you wanted to be a part of this, a part of what I’d made, but I hadn’t seen you work for it. I didn’t know you. And this was my band, this band I built up from nothing but a dream, and I didn’t trust you enough to not leave it.”
Jeongguk was quiet. Yoongi felt empty, but still searched for the words left inside of him, wrenched them up and out into the light. “And this band means everything to me,” he said, “meant everything to me, but now I’m thinking—maybe the world’s bigger than it. Maybe the world’s bigger than just a dream.” He cast a sideways glance at Jeongguk, quirked the corner of his mouth upward. “D’you think?”
“You know,” said Jeongguk. “When I said I saw you guys perform, saw how much you loved it. I was talking about Namjoon, mainly. He was the one who really inspired me.”
“Huh,” Yoongi said. “I can definitely believe that.”
“Then I got to know you guys a little better, and it was kind of scary, the other side of it. You worked like you were in a frenzy, and sometimes none of you guys even talked to each other, and maybe you’re right, you know. Maybe this isn’t the long run, for me.” He shrugged. “But I don’t give up easy. I wanted to show you that. You never let me.”
“I didn’t,” Yoongi said with a nod. “But—I’m offering you the chance to, now. I’m sorry I didn’t, before.”
Jeongguk was studying him. Yoongi let him.
“You love a thing to the end,” Jeongguk said.
“You could say that.”
“I wanna know,” Jeongguk said. Gleam in his eye. “A love like that. I wanna know. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to know.”
“It’s not necessarily a good thing,” Yoongi said.
“If you’re in it alone,” Jeongguk agreed.
Yoongi shot him a look. “You’re really not much of a quitter, are you,” he said.
“No, I’m not,” Jeongguk said, with something like a grin. "Today was my first time, and I didn't even succeed."
“Tell you what you are, though,” Yoongi said. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to this band since Hoseok picked up Park Jimin from who-knows-where. It’s true, you know—Seokjin said it himself, first day he saw you.”
“Huh,” said Jeongguk, eyes wide, and that was something too, the way he never stopped being surprised by praise, even though he had to receive so much of it all the time. Smile playing at his mouth. “Seokjin-hyung’s always right, isn’t he?”
“You were right, kid,” Yoongi said, “you really do learn things fast.”
Just then Yoongi’s stomach rumbled. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Jeongguk started to laugh. The sound of it startling the air. It was the first time Yoongi’d really thought about music all week, and now that he’d thought of it, he couldn’t wait to get back to it.
“I heard you like lamb skewers, huh,” Yoongi said, and Jeongguk’s eyes lit up. There it was, he thought. Trouble.
Later, a long, long time later, Seokjin dropped by the recording studio during lunch break to drop off a stack of magazines. Their first feature. “I’m mailing copies to all your family members,” he said. “Friends. Acquaintances. Doctors, dentists, neighbours. The guy who delivers your pizza. The world has got to know.”
“Don’t forget to keep one for yourself, too,” Yoongi said in amusement.
“It’s already up on my refrigerator,” Seokjin said. “I feel like a proud parent.” Then he caught sight of Taehyung accidentally dropping his slice of pizza on the floor on the other side of the room, and made a face. “Thank god I’m not actually one. Gotta go—I’ve got packages to send.”
"Wait, hyung," Hoseok said, "have some pizza," and Seokjin dramatically clutched his chest in gratitude, as though he'd thought they'd never ask.
Their photo spread was near the end of the magazine. Half of Namjoon’s face in shadow, microphone raised to his lips. Jimin, shining in one of his guitar solos. Jeongguk from his spot behind the drums, eyes closed, hands a blur, and Yoongi couldn’t stop staring at the picture, at the bared column of Jeongguk’s throat, the line of his lashes against his cheeks. Struck gold by the lightning of the spotlight.
“Wow,” Jeongguk said, “I look really cool, don’t I?”
“You’re chewing with your mouth open,” Yoongi told him.
Below the photos was the interview they’d given, though most of it had been cut. What was left were snippets: Namjoon explaining their background and history of formation, Yoongi explaining their vision, Hoseok listing musical influences and inspirations, Jimin sharing the best part of being in a band (being on stage), Taehyung’s favourite part of performing (getting to interact with fans), Jeongguk retelling how he’d entered the group. It’s simple, really, he’d said. It started with Park Jimin.
Then Yoongi got to the last question: So why do you do this, anyway? Yoongi’s answer was first, front and centre: Because I need it. Jeongguk’s answer was last, after all the rest, short and sweet as an afterthought: Because I love it.
“I told you, didn’t I?” Jimin said from somewhere above him. “You had to look and see for yourself.”
Yoongi looked. He was on the floor of the practice room poring over the magazine, Jimin reading over his shoulder, Jungkook next to him stuffing his face with pizza. Hoseok was pointing out one of the photographs to Seokjin, saying something about a website, and Seokjin had a faraway look in his eyes, like he was already making it in his mind. Across the room, Taehyung had brought out his saxophone and blew a single short note, as though in anticipation for something more to come, and Namjoon narrowed his eyes in consideration, leaned back in his chair, nodded for him to continue. Outside the window, the crosswalk light turned green.
"I believe it," Yoongi said.