Chapter Text
“I think about how fragile people are, how anyone can disappear in a second and be gone forever.” ― Matthew Quick
He’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. The way his full lips part, his angelic voice only making his whole face radiant, makes your own lips fall open, and if it wasn’t so dark you might be concerned someone might see you ogling. You’re sure everyone else was, too, though. There was no way no one else was looking at him. Everyone was watching him. If they weren’t watching him, their hearts fluttering at every sound that escaped his lips, then they were looking at his bandmates. They were the most beautiful men you had ever seen. The piano player, his hands seemingly too short to reach the keys properly, the light hitting his earrings and eyes just right every time he swayed. You swore a halo surrounded his head, the way his eyes closed when his ethereal voice hit the microphone, his high notes sending chills down your spine. On the other side of the stage the bass player constantly flipped his hair out of his eyes, his forehead trying to peep through. You wondered if his forehead would blind you too intensely, though, and if he kept it mostly hidden because he knew how beautiful he was. He must know how his voice, as deep as the instrument he played, caused girls to swoon and hold their breaths. His smirk every time he wasn’t singing, his eyes scanning the crowd or lingering on his bandmates, was purely sensual. Even the drummer, clearly the strongest of the four, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows exposing his bulging forearms, his muscles twitching with every downbeat and flick of his wrist, was beautiful in his own way. He had a wild look in his eyes that sent your mind spinning, and his ability to sing, and sing well, while simultaneously drumming proved his amazing skill at multi-tasking. His beauty was unlike the other three, more real than heavenly, but his realness made him seem more attainable, more available, and surely everyone noticed this.
They were talented all on their own, but you were shallow enough, or drunk enough, or tired enough to wonder if their fans followed them because of the way they looked. You were a little ashamed for mocking your friend for so long about her obsession with them. You really regretted not coming with her to a show sooner. You couldn’t wait until their next show.
Much to your relief, you didn’t have to wait long. Apparently they preformed every week at the same club, and even though the last time had left you with a splitting headache—Was it the drinks? The dim lights mixed with occasional flashing ones that would send some people into a seizure? Was it the overwhelming feeling you had after staring at four gorgeous men for over an hour? The way your friend screamed in your ear every time she wanted to tell you anything, the boom of the club reverberating in your heart and making your eardrums almost bleed? Maybe it was the two assholes that had tried to hit on you and her when you just wanted to leave and curl up in your bed? Or the light haze of smoke, either wafting off of people’s clothes or emitting from a machine on the stage?—you immediately said yes when your friend invited you out again, ignoring the way she squealed. She was determined to turn you into a social butterfly. You were determined to remain in your cocoon forever. You were content enough to look at beautiful butterflies swaying on stage as their haunting voices hummed through your body.
You could tell this time was already going to be different. You’d finally listened to your friend tell you as much as she could about the boys. You knew their names, their birthdays, their favorite colors, their favorite songs to perform. You knew their humble beginnings as a band and how they had been friends for years. You knew about the manager that worked for them. And you knew that the latter was there, just a few tables over, hiding partially in a dim corner in all black, his blonde hair lighting him up like a firefly. And you knew he was staring at you. It didn’t make you feel particularly comfortable, and it distracted you from watching the four boys on stage. It even distracted you from listening to your friend, which was hard to do, considering how loud she had to be to be heard over the music. It distracted you enough to turn around somewhere in the middle of the fourth song and stare back at him to make sure you weren’t going crazy. But no, his eyes only narrowed more when he saw your face, and you turned back around again, wondering if he was just looking past you. He could just be watching the band play, but you turned around one more time for good measure, and this time you let your gaze linger. The club was too dark, but you supposed that was on purpose; it made everything more mysterious and suggestive. But he was hard to miss, and his eyes were piercing. Despite how claustrophobic you felt, despite how hot the atmosphere was, you found yourself shivering. Your friend was saying something to you again, and you turned away, grateful for an excuse other than being purely intimidated to stop looking at the guy. You made a mental note to ask your friend about him when you could hear yourself think again.
But when the set ended, you found yourself watching as he took the stage as the boys casually chatted while they packed up their instruments. He, somehow, was even more beautiful underneath the lights, his pale skin almost reflecting back out into the crowd. You really didn’t think it was fair how attractive all of them were, and you gulped visibly when his head turned idly into the crowd and his eyes met yours again. The look only lasted until he blinked, only a few seconds, but it was enough for you to turn and leave the club as quickly as possible, your friend calling after you with a whiney voice.
Much to your annoyance, your friend didn’t know much about the manager apart from his name, Min Yoongi. She mentioned something about him being a rapper at one point, his previous stage name being Suga, and you laughed at the thought. The name was clearly too soft for the way his whole body screamed intensity. But she could rattle off more facts about the band mates. Taehyung, or Tae, once played the saxophone but switched to the bass after he met the others. Jin, the band’s leader, led on the guitar even though he didn’t sing the most. Jimin’s small hands graced the piano, but his voice was the highlight of the group. And Jungkook really was as talented as you had suspected, because while he played the drums for the band, he could play the guitar and piano, too, and he sang in every song. She insisted they had all been born in Korea, but you still thought they must have dropped from the heavens based on their looks and talents. So the next week found you, once again, at the club with your friend. You began to wonder how much you would endure just to see them perform again. You’d endure the impending headache and strange smells. You’d even endure getting hit on by drunk assholes. To a certain extent. Your friend and you always arrived early enough to get a table close to the stage, so tonight was no different. You had purposefully steered her in the opposite direction of last week, wanting to avoid that manager, Yoongi, staring at you again. And so far your plan had worked, because even though you looked around nervously during every song, you hadn’t seen him yet. The band was small enough to not have enough songs to play new ones every week, so you had practically memorized their set list already. You weren’t complaining, however, because each show was a little different. Live performances were just that, live, and no two would ever be the same. You reveled in the fact and let yourself get lost in the moment like you couldn’t get lost in anything else. Your friend was quieter tonight, but you didn’t mind. You checked on her occasionally, knowing she sometimes had the propensity to drink too much, but she just seemed content tonight in staring at the band, or at Jimin, who was clearly her favorite. You sipped your drink slowly, almost more to have something to do with your hands, and you knew the set was almost over when a new song started. It must be almost midnight, then, still early for most club goers, but still late enough for you to be ready to go home soon. You let yourself get engrossed in the song enough to tune everything out.
The ability music had to transport you to another realm made you love it almost as much as you loved reading. The power the words had in letting you imagine yourself in other lands and in other shoes left you tingling, wanting more. You didn’t hate your life. You loved your job, even though you didn’t even need to work. The bookshop you went to everyday was calm and soothing and allowed you to doodle and read if there were no customers around. You loved your apartment, even though you could afford something bigger, you preferred its quaintness. You knew guests sometimes questioned your bed being in the same room as your kitchen, but the loft suited you. Every wall was lined with filled bookshelves and fairy lights, and you’d endure any hipster insults thrown your way. The room was your sanctuary, and you loved holing yourself away from the world wrapped in the comfort of your blankets. And you loved your friends, especially Sun-Hi, who knew when to push you to come out and when to leave you alone or just sit beside you while you read or watched TV. She’d been working in the coffee shop attached to the bookstore for the past two years, and had been your friend for just as long. You sometimes liked to joke about her name sounding like “sunny,” and the English word described her perfectly. And you loved your dog, a Corgi mix of some sort, who loved you like nothing else could or would. Bach had a tendency to make you cry sometimes simply by looking at you, the look in his eyes always so endearing you sometimes wondered what you had done to deserve such a pure-hearted dog.
No, you loved your life, but everyone occasionally wants to be somewhere else. Wants to escape. Wonders what a different world would be like. Wishes to simply disappear, or be somewhere else, to transport themselves in their mind or body. So you read and listened to music and painted or drew, each activity taking you places in your mind, letting you lose yourself for a moment. It was, you knew, sometimes a dangerous or unhealthy activity. Your daydreams sometimes made you so unfocused at work some costumers had complained. Some days you got so engrossed in painting you ignored your phone for hours and worried your friends. If you listened to music and tuned everything else out, like you were right now, you forgot to pay attention to your surroundings, which led to things like missing your train stop or missing the sudden addition of someone’s hand on the small of your back. You weren’t foreign to being hit on, though people usually went for Sun-Hi first and you by proxy. You dressed in jeans to come to the club, every time, without fail, because comfort was your goal, while your friend’s dresses seemed to get shorter each week. You knew you were attractive, and you weren’t averse to flirting with people, but you preferred initiating it, and in no way had you invited this guy to invade your space and intrude on your good time. When you turned to see who was touching you, you tried your hardest not to elbow him away as you did so. You had been called a frigid bitch enough to not want to invite any such words, so you tried to smile sweetly. Your lips were pressed tightly together, though, when you actually recognized him from two weeks ago. You wondered if he remembered you, or if he was just the kind of guy to hit on whoever he could, but when you heard him, his face way too close to yours, you knew he remembered you, too.
“Back again, I see. Is it the atmosphere or the company?”
“The band,” you said bluntly. “And my friend.” You looked at Sun-Hi beside you and almost rolled your eyes at the way she was now talking to some guy, her hand on his shoulder. The guy’s hand on your back actually curled into your shirt a bit, so you faced him again with another fake smile.
“It seems she’s busy now. I may not be the band, but I promise I’m good company.”
“I’m sure you are,” you said, and the guy smiled, “but we’re leaving after this song.”
“Are you sure?” he said, and while he didn’t sound threatening, your blood started to boil a bit. You wanted your bed more than you wanted to see the end of the set, so you nodded intensely, hoping your exaggerated movement was visible enough in the dark. He didn’t let go of you, though, so you brought your hand up to push on his chest slightly.
“I’m sure. Thanks anyway.”
“Maybe you’ll change your mind next week,” the guy said, and you realized you heard him well enough because the music had stopped. Someone was talking in the mic—Jin, by the way you could hear the smile in his voice—but someone interrupted him, his voice louder, and you tore your eyes away from the jerk in front of you toward the stage.
“We’ll be sticking around to meet you all tonight, so please grab another drink!” The deep voice was none other than Tae’s, and you watched curiously as his bandmates looked at him, their faces confused, and you were confused, too, because Tae was looking at you when he practically shouted into the microphone. Or he was looking at the guy clinging to you, because his arm faltered before falling away. He muttered something under his breath before walking away, and you were distracted by the way Sun-Hi was practically scream whispering beside you.
“Oh my God, I’m going to meet Jimin.” You laughed easily, finally free of the guy beside you, happy for your friend. You could endure a few more minutes if she was happy. The four boys were sitting on the edge of the stage, their legs swinging over the side already talking to a few people, and suddenly Sun-Hi was frozen.
“Seriously?” you said, rolling your eyes and grabbing her elbow. You led her immediately to Jimin, who was sitting on the end of the line and stuck your hand out. “Hi, I’m Y/N. This is Sun-Hi. She’s literally your biggest fan.” Your friend hissed in embarrassment, her eyes on her shoes, but she looked up when Jimin took your hand, a light laugh escaping his lips. Sun-Hi literally gasped, and you couldn’t really blame her. He looked more like an angel up close, and his voice sounded younger than when he sang.
“It’s nice to meet you. I didn’t know I had fans. I’m Jimin.” Sun-Hi muttered something under her breath, taking his hand gently. They were soft, you had noticed, and you looked lovingly at your friend, excited to tease her endlessly later about how weird she was acting.
“Of course we have fans,” the boy said next to Jimin, and you took a few steps closer to him. The man exuded charm, and he smelled amazing. The few beads of sweat on his forehead only made him shine, his smile warm and welcoming. “I recognize you,” he said to Sun-Hi, and she almost melted again. “I’m Jin,” he said, shaking both of your hands. “Thank you for always coming to our shows.” Another mumble from Sun-Hi, and you laughed this time.
“She’s usually not like this,” you assured him, but he only smiled wider and winked. You actually grabbed her elbow again to move down the line, and you smiled at Taehyung.
“Are you okay?” he asked before you could say anything.
“Totally. Thank you. You didn’t do this just because of us, did you?”
“Of course!” the boy said proudly. “The guy seemed like he couldn’t take a hint.”
“You’re very observant,” you sighed, shaking his hand. “Anyway, I’m Y/N. This is Sun-Hi. I really like your music. She’s been listening to you forever, though, so I have her to thank.”
“Oh, thank you for bringing your friend,” Jin said, still watching the two of you. You hummed and bowed your head at the pair before walking to the last boy. The eager drummer seemed to have boundless energy, his legs swinging as he drummed his fingers on the side of the stage.
“Hi, hi,” he said, his head bobbing. He didn’t extend his hand, so you didn’t either, but he was full of smiles. “I’m Jungkook.”
“Y/N. Sun-Hi.”
“Hi,” Sun-Hi finally said, and you stifled a laugh again.
“So you like our music, huh?” the boy said, and up close you realized how his muscular body contrasted oddly with his soft face.
“Of course! My favorite song—” and Sun-Hi was off. You almost felt bad for the poor boy, but he didn’t seem to mind. Tae sitting beside him was listening attentively, too, smiling at Sun-Hi’s obvious love of their music. It was endearing, truly. Anyone who was passionate about something exuded confidence, and Sun-Hi was finally being herself. You didn’t question why she was more comfortable talking to Jungkook than Jimin, but you found your eyes wandering a bit as she rambled on and on. The club was anything but quiet, even though not many people were crowding the stage, more content to nurse their drinks at the bar or talk to whoever they were with, and the lights were still dim, but you found yourself watching the slim frame on the stage slowly curling up chords and putting instruments in cases. He had a look in his eyes, a far-away look as he worked, his face almost dull, like he was just going through the motions, his hands experienced enough to work without much thought. He didn’t look as intimidating today with his shoulders a bit hunched and an earring dangling from one of his ears. A star.
“What’s with your manager?” you heard yourself say, and Jungkook, Tae, and Sun-Hi all stopped talking to look at you. Jin and Jimin seemed to be watching, you, too, and suddenly your face felt flushed. “Uh, his name’s Yoongi, right?”
“Yeah,” Tae said slowly.
“He’s the best manager you could ask for,” Jin added tactfully.
“Even if he’s a jerk most of the time,” Jungkook added.
“Yeah, he seems to have that vibe,” you muttered, and then bit your bottom lip as you watched him.
“He’s totally single,” Tae said, and he winced when Jin elbowed him. You heard him, even though you didn’t really care. You did care, however, at the way Yoongi was suddenly looking at you. You knew that look. It was on your face at least once a day. It was like he was staring past you. Like he wanted to be somewhere else. You felt sad, and then he smiled at you. It was a tiny smile, only one side of his mouth curling, but it was a smile nonetheless. An exhausted, almost hopeless smile, and your heart clenched.
“He’s single for a reason,” Jimin said. “So I wouldn’t bother wasting my time on him.”
“You’re one to talk,” Tae said, only to groan as Jin elbowed him again.
“Well, we’d better help him pack up,” the guitarist said, standing up. “It was nice to meet you. Hopefully we’ll see you again soon.”
“Oh, we’ll be back next week,” Sun-Hi said, finally throwing her smile at Jimin. The young boy actually ducked his head, but he smiled, too, and you all said your farewells. With one last glance at Yoongi, who was concentrating again on urging the boys to hurry up, you dragged Sun-Hi out of the crowded club.
You couldn’t help it. You heard what Jimin said, but you wanted to waste all the time you could on Min Yoongi.
You blamed your active imagination. You spent the next week thinking way too much about Min Yoongi. What his hands looked like. What he looked like under all of those black clothes. Why his hair was blonde. Why he wore only one earring, and a star one at that. Why he looked at you so intensely one week and then smiled at you the next. Why he was single. What made him decide to be a manager. What his voice sounded like. That was always the hardest part to imagine. Voices were always the first thing to go when you start to forget someone, you realized, and they were the hardest to make up. You never would have imagined Tae’s voice, for instance, to be so deep, or for Jungkook’s speaking voice to be filled with such a teasing tone. You couldn’t imagine what Yoongi sounded like, and it bothered you for a week. It bothered you enough for you to actively look for him the next week, Sun-Hi by your side already waving at Jimin. The boy on the piano actually waved back, and the rest smiled over at your table. You felt glad that they had actually remembered you both, but you just wanted to find Yoongi. It didn’t take you long to spot him, his almost all-black form merging into his corner. He was busy staring down at the table in front of him, scribbling on some papers. You gave Sun-Hi’s elbow a quick squeeze.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t faint over Jimin while I’m gone.”
“Whatever,” she grinned as you walked across the room. There were plenty of bodies to dodge, as even at eleven the club was packed. You apologized as you pushed past another person, only to find yourself standing at Yoongi’s table. The man didn’t even look up, the pen in his hand moving fast. His hands were long and thin, his veins visible even in the dark, and his earring swayed as his body moved with every stroke he made.
“Hi,” you finally said.
“Not interested,” he said, not even looking up, and his voice was deeper than you expected. More gravelly. Lazy. Uninterested. Slightly annoyed.
“I was just wondering, if you’re a jerk most of the time, what are you the rest of the time?”
“What?” he said, his hands stilling. His eyes rose slowly, and you saw his jaw working, clenching. His eyes were intense, even more so at such a close distance, but you had only gotten three words out of him so far, and that wasn’t enough.
“Just wondering what you’re like behind all of this,” you said, spinning your finger in the air in front of him.
“Why?” he said, his eyes narrowing. He really wasn’t giving you anything to work with.
“Because if I don’t find out, I’m going to keep imaging things for you. And you probably don’t want me doing that.”
“Oh?” He almost smirked, you saw it before he stopped.
“Oh, yeah. My most recent thought is you’re secretly in love with one of the guys. But you’re a good manager, so you can’t do anything about it. But it’s making you all repressed and angry, so you scowl all the time.”
“I do not scowl all the time.”
“But the unrequited love part is true?” you said, leaning on the table now, your arms crossed.
“You can imagine what you like.”
“Really?” you said, honestly surprised. You couldn’t remember a time anyone had told you that before. Everyone was always so concerned with preserving their image. He only shrugged, so you took a deep breath. “Okay, I imagine you’re hiding at least one tattoo under all of those clothes. It’s probably a flower. You’re slightly embarrassed about it, or pretend to be, but it represents your undying passion for this girl you once loved. No, still love. She always made you pancakes in the morning, even though you don’t even like pancakes, but she’d cut strawberries into the shape of a flower, and you can’t even look at them without thinking of her now. But she left you, and you’ve worn black for years now in mourning. You pour yourself into work, even if it’s just to promote these guys, because you welcome the distraction. And you really miss her, and nothing can replace her, but sometimes you just need something, need someone, so you take what you can get, and it’s always your eyes that draw them in. You stare intensely so no one knows how fragile you are inside, and you grip onto them as you make love because you secretly don’t want them to leave you. But they always do in the morning, or as soon as you’re done, and not even your moans and pleadings can make them stay long enough to make you pancakes.”
“Is that it?” he said, a slight tone of amusement in his voice.
“No, definitely not, but that’s all I’ve got for now,” you said, eyeing his blonde hair and his dangling earring and his long fingers. There was definitely more there you could imagine.
“Is that why you’re over here?”
“Is what why?”
“My eyes. Did they draw you in?” You had to lick your lips before answering, your face flushing as you heard the flirtatious tone in his voice.
“Yeah,” you said lamely, suddenly unable to flirt back. He scoffed at that, and his face hardened again.
“Your imagination needs some work, but it’s a little impressive that you got one thing right.”
“Oh? What’s that.”
“I don’t like pancakes.” You nodded dumbly at that, suddenly fumbling under his gaze, and returned to Sun-Hi without saying anything else, a little rattled. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting. You wanted to hear his voice, so you had, but part of you still wasn’t satisfied. Because he was looking at you again tonight. Every time you turned around or went to get another drink he was standing there watching you. His gaze was softer than before, put focused, and it unnerved you a bit. You tried to lose yourself in the music and clap loudly with Sun-Hi. The hour rushed by, then, and you had had more to drink than usual, so you felt flushed, but happy, but you still wanted to sleep soon, and you listened intently as Jin said their farewells, thanking everyone for coming. While you and Sun-Hi clapped, you felt a hand on the small of your back, and you groaned, hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t the same asshole from last time who clearly couldn’t take a hint, but your body stiffened immediately when you felt a chin on your shoulder. A low voice you still weren’t used to hearing whispered,
“I am fragile,” and the confession, more than the breath on your neck, made you shiver. He was gone before you could blink, nothing left beside you but a burst of cold air.
Your bed was freezing that night, and no amount of blankets could keep you warm.