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When it came to Min Yoongi, Seokjin had learned a long time ago that silence was just as important as noise. There was a difference between his content silence, and his thoughtful silence; the silence when he was trying to act cool but was really just suppressing a big, dumb smile, and the one where he was biting his tongue, holding himself back from giving someone a piece of his mind.
This one, however… this current silence was one that Seokjin himself didn't see often, and was the one that never sat right with him and worried him the most.
“Yoongi, what’s wrong?” Seokjin finally asked, tone full of concern. He had just about had enough of watching from afar as Yoongi sat unmoving (and, for the most part, unblinkingly) on the couch, turning the glass trophy again and again in his hands.
But Seokjin kept on watching, as Yoongi’s heavy -lidded eyes raised slowly and panned across the room, realizing for the first time that it had been entirely vacated, save for the one man sitting on a makeup chair directly opposite him.
“Where is everyone?” Yoongi wondered out loud.
“They went to the other room to get dinner, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin explained slowly and cautiously. “They tried to get you to come with but you wouldn't snap out of your trance.”
The frown that had been tugging on the corners of Yoongi’s lips solidified itself into a firm scowl.
“I’m not in a trance.”
Seokjin sighed. “Yoongi. You’ve been staring at that trophy for 17 whole minutes.”
It was as if he had suddenly become conscious of the weight between his fingers again, and he pulled his attention away from his concerned bandmate to give the smooth glass column another twirl.
Another first place trophy. Another one to add to the already-massive collection. Another piece to put up on the shelf. He wondered if he would ever get sick of the feeling.
He wondered if he was starting to feel that way now.
“You're doing it again.”
“Huh?” Yoongi glanced up at the sudden interruption of his thoughts, only to find himself looking up into the depth of worry that was his Jin-hyung’s face. Seokjin, who had somehow managed to scoot himself closer in the short amount of time that Yoongi had been distracted - the lines across his furrowed brow a testament to his concern for his friend.
A concern that was by no means unfounded.
Yoongi himself might hold the belief that he had an impenetrable countenance; that the control he held over how much he displayed his emotions was bulletproof. But Seokjin had been by his side long enough to be able to sense the nuances of Yoongi’s feelings far better than Yoongi would be willing to admit, and everything about how Yoongi was acting was screaming at Seokjin’s brain that he was not okay.
“You’ve been so out of it since comeback started -”
“I haven't.”
“- and I noticed you’ve been hanging back a lot -”
“I’m just tired,” Yoongi grumbled, eyes darting back to his hands.
“- and you keep staring at that damn trophy for some reason!” Seokjin cried out in exasperation, gesturing towards the offending item that had once again captured Yoongi's gaze.
“It's an interesting trophy,” Yoongi replied flatly.
“It's really not.”
“It's different.”
“We literally have twelve of those exact ones at home,” Seokjin countered, crossing his arms across his chest with a huff.
But Yoongi only looked down mutely, unwilling to resume eye contact with the only other person in the room. He frowned again, contemplating the heft of the trophy between his fingers, tossing it up slightly only for it to fall back heavily into the palm of his hand.
“It feels different for me.”
Seokjin let his gaze rake across Yoongi’s uncharacteristically dull expression, and the feeling that something was not quite right came flooding over him once more.
Yoongi may be lethargic at times. He had his days where his movements were painfully slow, finding Seokjin tutting impatiently as Yoongi’s socked feet dragged against the floor tiles like a despondent slug, leaving a slimy trail of a bad mood wherever he went. But that didn't make him dull.
Min Yoongi was not dull - never dull.
Which was exactly why the weighted silence - of something, if only Seokjin understood what - between them felt suffocating almost. But Yoongi was frustratingly closed off again, and Seokjin could feel him folding in within himself, simmering in whatever emotional turmoil he was certain to be having instead of using Seokjin, who was always, always right there with his arms open.
So if Yoongi wasn't going to come to him, then he was going to go to Yoongi.
Stepping tentatively towards the younger member, Seokjin’s voice softened into a soothing whisper, holding out an outstretched hand as an offer of friendship, comfort, or whatever else Yoongi needed it to be.
“If there is something bothering you…” he trailed off, willing Yoongi to look up until he did, and at long last, they locked eyes. It was at that point that Seokjin’s words faltered, the nothingness reflected in Yoongi’s steady pupils a feeling so foreign that it threw him off completely.
Yoongi’s eyes that were always sharp, bright with a fire that burned within him. So why, at this moment, did he feel nothing?
“Hey…” the syllable falling from Seokjin’s lips in a soft, almost bewildered gasp, unnerved by the thought that this Yoongi was not the same one that he had grown accustomed to over the years; unsettled by the fact that they were an arm’s length apart from each other at best, yet the distance felt like they were on opposite ends of the ocean.
’Talk to me,’ he pleaded, hoping that the magic that was their mental telepathy would come through and make up for the shortcomings of his words.
But all he got in response was the sudden weight of the glass trophy being deposited into his upturned palm - the heavy, clunking thing - as Yoongi let out a sharp exhale, breaking their shared gaze. Instantly, the connection was gone and Yoongi had retreated back into himself.
“I don't know what's wrong. Just leave me alone, hyung.”
When it came to times like this, Seokjin was well aware of his place. Yoongi was not unlike himself - they were both men who valued their space, coveted the rare moments they had to themselves as opportunities for introspection.
Yoongi clearly needed to figure out what it was that was the matter on his own, and Seokjin would like to think that he was capable of being obliging occasionally.
So he did what he felt he needed to do.
He stepped back.
But just because he was willing not to push it, didn't mean he had stopped seeing things.
Seokjin saw when Yoongi spaced out before rehearsals. He saw when Yoongi stayed passive during interviews, letting the other six members take the brunt of the questions, while he remained sullen and withdrawn. Saw the way Yoongi bit his nails, picked the skin on his fingers until they bled, forced all of his smiles.
He even saw that he was not alone in worrying, as he watched Jungkook fussing over his second-oldest hyung more than usual - checking on Yoongi’s expressions, massaging his neck - and Hoseok always hovering just close enough to stay vigil, but not so near that it became smothering.
Too many days passed by in the same manner, and Seokjin felt increasingly helpless. Because Yoongi - perhaps in his own twisted way, driven purely by his subconscious - had been reaching out to him, and only him.
It was just like Yoongi not to want to say anything, but it was painfully obvious in the way he kept stealing glances at Seokjin almost longingly, looking away the moment Seokjin caught his eyes but not before the eldest could sense the lingering emotion behind them - and it was all sad, sad, sad.
It was a silent cry for help, if Seokjin ever saw one. This was Yoongi’s way of tugging at his end of the string that was their special bond - the one they both felt so keenly, that kept each other's hearts and minds at ease by no other means except knowing that the other was always close by.
But no matter how much Seokjin could feel the desperate tug, he could do nothing if Yoongi himself refused to acknowledge it. And belligerently refuse he did, constantly pulling away from anybody that tried to broach the topic, insisting that he was ‘fine, completely fine.’
When the reality was far from that. Because for the first time in a very long time, Yoongi felt empty.
He didn't think it was right to feel that way. Not after the resounding global success of their most recent album, not after hearing his name being chanted like a prayer by record-breaking hoards of people, not when he knew in the back of his mind that he could choose not to work another day and he would still be set for life.
And yet the feeling was there. Eating away at his soul like an ugly and insatiable worm.
The weight of their recent trophies felt heavy upon his increasingly-bony shoulders, and he had never felt more distant from the life that he had once been so desperate to have. All of a sudden, there was a disconnect. Between him and the screaming crowds. Him and this industry. Him and his music.
It was the music that killed him.
For as long as he could remember, music had been his lifeline, the only thing that kept his blood flowing and his heart beating. It didn't matter to him how much money he had; if Yoongi didn't have his music, then he may as well have nothing.
Which is why he couldn't help but wonder if, by some cruel twist of irony, in the moment he felt most distant from his music also happened to be the one where he was being forcibly cut off from it.
“Yoongichi?” Seokjin froze mid-step, the paper bag containing two containers of jjajangmyeon in his left hand swinging from the inertia. “What are you doing on the floor?”
Seokjin had turned a corner into the long corridor of their office building, only to find a haggard-looking Yoongi, rocking gently back and forth with his arms wrapped around his curled-up knees on the floor across from the door of the Genius Lab. He had his back against the wall but his fingers were raised up against his bottom lip, and Seokjin could see Yoongi biting down anxiously into the nail of his thumb.
It broke his heart to see Yoongi like this; staring emptily at the (un)welcome mat that decorated the entrance to his studio - usually a bit of a laugh amongst the members and staff, but now a bitter cartoon image, mocking Yoongi with its taunting, narrow-eyed smile and two extended middle fingers. Laughing in his sorry face.
Fuck you, Min Yoongi.
“I forgot the passcode to my studio,” Yoongi said with a laugh, something that Seokjin might have appreciated coming out of Yoongi, had it not sounded so harsh, strangled and wrong. Yoongi looked up at Seokjin through the dark strands that lay messily against his forehead - ‘so long now,’ Seokjin noted - and broke out into a maniacal grin that was half amusement and half crazed.
“Funny, isn't it? Forgetting the passcode to my own studio?” he laughed madly again, causing Seokjin’s brow to furrow fiercely in concern. Suddenly, Yoongi’s expression darkened and his face collapsed into his kneecaps, fingers grasping much too tightly at his hair, almost to the point of ripping them at the roots.
“Stupid, fucking stupid - fucking stupid, stupid -”
“Yoongi!” Seokjin cried out, bolting forward and dropping to his knees as quickly as his body could carry him. Tossing the bag of food aside, he gently pried Yoongi’s fingers away from his own scalp and enveloped the trembling younger man in his long arms.
“Yah, I’m worried about you,” he whispered, clutching onto his friend tightly, as if he were afraid that Yoongi would break apart further if he ever so much as attempted to let go.
Yoongi responded in kind, wrenching his eyes shut as tight as they would go and pressing his face against Seokjin’s collarbones, wanting nothing more than to let his hyung hold him.
“I know,” he replied, lips moving against the fabric of Seokjin’s thin white t-shirt. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I just wish you would tell me what's going on though…” Seokjin sighed, his own fingers brushing gently against Yoongi’s nape in an effort to soothe him. “Maybe I could help.”
“The problem is that I don't really know what’s going on, hyung. I’m just… sad,” Yoongi whimpered softly, giving one last tight clutch around Seokjin's t-shirt before shrugging his way out of Seokjin’s grasp and falling back into his former position. Seokjin followed suit, and now both of them were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with their knees to their chests, staring down at the little electronic panel to the right of the infuriatingly locked door.
“Then maybe - maybe we can take care of things one at a time, yeah?” Seokjin suggested with a small smile. His hand snaked wordlessly towards Yoongi’s, digits wrapping around Yoongi’s nail-bitten thumb and squeezing lightly as if to say this: ’I’ve got you.’
They don't address it.
Not when Seokjin failed to let go, even as his free hand rummaged around in his pocket for his phone, and he spoke calmly and clearly into the speaker (‘That’s right, noona, we can't get the door open. Yes, could you please send a technician down to Yoongi’s studio immediately? Thank you, we’ll be waiting outside.’) and not even when Seokjin pulled out the two packs of noodles from the neglected paper bag and handed one to Yoongi.
“That’s one problem solved. Now we fix the fact that you haven't eaten all day - don't - even lie to me, I know you wouldn't have eaten in this state,” Seokjin lifted his finger in warning the second Yoongi opened his mouth to protest. The latter immediately clamped his mouth shut with a pout that Seokjin pretended not to see as he busied himself.
“While we're waiting for the technician, care for some jjajangmyeon? I was going to eat with Namjoon but, eh, whatever. I’ll text him. He can handle his own lunch,” Seokjin offered with a chuckle, passing on a pair of chopsticks over to Yoongi’s side.
The rapper raised his eyebrows as Seokjin finally broke his hold on Yoongi’s thumb in favour of peeling open the lid of his noodle container.
“Namjoon? Why didn't you ask me?” Yoongi asked quietly, the tone in his voice wavering between half-hearted jest and perhaps a tinge of genuine hurt.
“Because,” Seokjin began gently, twisting at the waist so he could reach over to Yoongi, in the mood to fuss over his bandmate by tearing away his chopstick wrapper and laying a pile of napkins by his side. “Every time I tried to talk to you, you would tell me to go away, Yoongi-yah… As concerned as I was - still am, if we're being honest - I was afraid I was just going to be bothering you.”
Yoongi nibbled on the end of his chopstick thoughtfully. “You’re never bothersome. I like having you around,” he finally answered lowly, a gradual warmth building up to his cheeks. “You make me feel… better.”
“I know,” Seokjin grinned cheekily, nudging Yoongi’s shoulder with his broader one softly. “It's just a matter of getting you to admit it,” to which Yoongi responded with a bashful grumble and proceeded to bury his face in the warm steam of the noodles while Seokjin let out a tiny, tinkling laugh.
For a few seconds, they sat together quietly in what seemed to be a moment of calm, but their minds were still racing with thoughts of worry and anxiety and every emotion in between.
Seokjin was the one to break the silence, a dead serious spark in his eye when he turned to face Yoongi. “You might forget things sometimes, and that’s ok. You're human too, even if you are an extraordinary one,” Seokjin said. “But if there was just one thing that you should always remember, it’s that I’m right here whenever you need me, yeah?”
Yoongi’s head dipped down slightly and he nodded. Barely visible, but an acknowledgement of Seokjin's earnest words nonetheless.
“Ok hyung,” he murmured. “Whenever I need you.”
The corners of Seokjin's lips tugged into a little smile of satisfaction. He hoped this meant that Yoongi understood that he meant it, truly meant it.
“That's right. Whenever you need me.”
---
It didn't take long for Yoongi to cash in on that promise. 11.30 at night and Seokjin had just about finished his nightly skincare regimen when he heard three soft raps on his bedroom door.
He stilled for a moment, arm suspended mid-movement as he perked up his ears to listen more attentively. The room remained silent and Seokjin half thought that he must have imagined the sound. That is, until it came again, sharper this time; louder.
Knock, knock, knock.
There it was again, sending Seokjin scrambling out of his chair and towards the source of the noise.
The door swung open and Seokjin’s eyes widened in surprise when it revealed a pajama-clad Yoongi, shuffling his bare feet before him. Seokjin didn't mention the mysteriously bloodshot eyes, or the way the soft cotton of Yoongi’s pajama bottoms were balled up tightly in his fists - he only watched and listened when Yoongi’s eyes darted off to the side and he spoke in a small voice.
“Hyung.”
“Yeah?”
“I -” Yoongi faltered, but Seokjin didn't have to hear the rest of the sentence because suddenly, those piercing but sullen dark eyes were back on him and he just knew the words, because he knew Yoongi and he knew how hard it had to be for him to admit it to himself, much less out loud. Yoongi, who always had a problem asking for help because all his life, he had been carrying the weight of his burdens squarely upon his own shoulders alone.
They may no longer be roommates but their minds still ticked the same way, and they’d never once lost that telepathic connection.
I need you.
That was what Yoongi wanted to say. But he found it too embarrassing, and it was as difficult as it was unnecessary to say out loud, because Seokjin already knew.
Seokjin blinked twice but his grip around the doorknob tightened, pulling the door open wider, and he was already stepping backwards to welcome Yoongi into his space without so much of a second thought.
The latch clicked behind them after Yoongi padded in, standing awkwardly with his toes curling into Seokjin’s high pile carpet.
It still needed getting used to - the fact that Yoongi was in Seokjin’s room but it wasn't also simultaneously his room. Everything was familiar, yet so foreign. The dissonance was weird, and for once, Yoongi felt out of place because it made him remember that Seokjin’s room wasn't theirs.
But it didn't matter. He didn't come here to think about rooms. He came because of the person in it.
The man himself cleared his throat with evident uncertainty. “Um. Do you wanna... talk about it?” Seokjin asked, scratching the back of his neck.
“Not really,” Yoongi admitted. He could see the frustration bloom in Seokjin’s frown and he felt a little guilty for it, but not enough to relent. Maybe later, if Seokjin managed to weaken his defenses a little more as he always somehow managed to do. Just… not now.
Seokjin sighed. “Then do you, uh, wanna watch a movie or something?” he suggested weakly.
“Ok,” Yoongi agreed with a shrug.
As if by muscle memory - they have done this countless of times before - they both found themselves crawling against Seokjin’s smooth silk sheets. There was plenty of space for the two of them (the thing about living in luxury was that they could afford to get king sized beds just ‘cause - despite them all being despondently single), so there was technically no reason for Yoongi to be so close to his hyung.
But just as instinctive as it was for Seokjin to put on ‘Tazza’, it was equally instinctive for Yoongi to snuggle up against Seokjin’s side.
They were quiet, the way they always were during their movie nights. But this time, Seokjin was almost certain that Yoongi’s heart wasn't in it, that he was just staring blankly at the TV screen, letting his body sink further and further until his head was resting fully on Seokjin’s shoulder. Yoongi's favourite film was just a shallow, see-through excuse for him to spend time in Seokjin's warmth.
Even if this small gesture didn't help answer his questions or solve Yoongi’s problems, there was the comfort in knowing that it perhaps made his night a little easier. So Seokjin didn't mind; just kept Yoongi close as their eyelids slowly felt heavier in spite of the movie that played on. But before they could fall asleep, Seokjin just wanted to know something.
“How long had you been sitting out there? Before I found you?” he asked softly, leaning to the side so that their heads were touching.
“Two hours,” Yoong frowned. “But I hadn't been able to get into my studio for four days.”
Seokjin gawked. “Four days?! Jesus, Yoon, how did you manage to last this long without being in your studio? Your whole life is in there.”
“I know. I thought I'd remember eventually. But I just - I couldn't, hyung,” Yoongi clawed at his cheeks in frustration. “And the weird thing is, I was almost fine with it. Almost like I didn't want to work on my music. What's wrong with me, Seokjin-hyung?”
Silence.
“You're in a rut, I think,” Seokjin answered thoughtfully, after a while. “But we’ll fix it. We always do.”
Yoongi only hummed in reply. A rustle of the sheets later, and Seokjin found Yoongi having re-positioned himself, cheek against chest, ear pressed up right against his sternum, where surely, surely he could hear the overly-loud pounding of Seokjin’s beating heart.
Seokjin was too afraid to move, out of fear that somehow his heart would race even faster than it already was and give him away too soon. Afraid that if he did, then Yoongi would remove himself entirely and he would have to go through the whole night knowing that Yoongi was right there but just out of his reach.
So he stayed still and prayed that Yoongi wouldn't notice the hammering heartbeat, until he could hear Yoongi’s breath steadying into a regular pattern of gentle inhalations and warm breaths against the open collar of his shirt.
It was only then that the eldest member let his eyes wander over the slopes of Yoongi’s face and he let out a long, heavy sigh, causing the dark eyelashes to flutter against Yoongi’s skin.
It drew his attention to the sunken circles underneath Yoongi’s eyes. They were too dark, Seokjin realized. His eyelids a little red from the obvious crying. His pale skin still smooth and flawless as ever, but it was pulled too taut against his cheekbones, jawline too sharp - a far cry from the chubby-cheeked and gummy-smiled steamed dumpling that had been their Yoongi a mere few months ago.
He was suddenly so thin, so small, so withered. Like all the life had been sucked out of his bones. Almost as if he could snap like a twig between Seokjin’s sturdy arms.
The sight made Seokjin’s heart ache painfully, made him wonder how it got to the point where his strong-headed friend who always had something to say had become so withdrawn deep into himself that even Seokjin - his confidant, his pillar of support - was having trouble getting a concrete hold of him.
But Yoongi was asleep now. Calmly resting against the rise and fall of his chest. And Seokjin allowed himself the luxury of feeling Yoongi's fragile features under his fingertips, tracing the bone structure and the outline of his soft lips; burning them into his memory.
“Why are you sad?” he pondered, gently thumbing Yoongi’s cheeks and smearing away the dried-out tear tracks.
Knowing that he would not be getting an answer, Seokjin merely settled for gazing fondly upon the younger man, increasingly taken in by the tender, understated beauty. Until the only thought that played repeatedly in his mind, as he gazed with his eyes blown-out wide and full of love, was how beautiful his Yoongi was.
Without thinking, he found himself leaning forward until his lips made contact with Yoongi’s cool skin and he pressed a small, fluttering kiss against Yoongi’s forehead.
“I just want you to be happy,” he whispered, drawing back with a sigh and letting his head fall back onto his pillow.
The simple wish stayed as a recurring thought, hanging in the air above them as he let sleep take over.
---
Yoongi sat cross-legged on the bed beside the sleeping figure of Seokjin, whose lips were set into a deep pout - his signature look persisting even as he was lost to slumber. Yoongi watched with fascination as Seokjin’s eyelids twitched under the early morning light streaming in through the window. It was only five in the morning, but at this time of year, the sun rose at truly ridiculous hours.
He had a secret: he hadn't fallen asleep last night. At least, not at the time that Seokjin had believed him to. He had been tired out, on the cusp of falling asleep.
But just awake enough to register the gentle caress on his skin, the whispered words and the feel of warm lips against his forehead.
Yoongi guessed a part of him wasn't terribly surprised. He always sort of… knew? That maybe his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, and that Seokjin really did look at him just a little bit differently than he did the other guys. Suspected that behind all their endless banter was an emotion that went beyond a usual friendship, akin to how a kid would tease their crush because they didn't know how else to address how they felt.
The other part, however, the part that was hopelessly in love and genuinely afraid to be - that part was making him break out into a cold sweat even as he sat there motionless on their shared side of the bed.
“Oh, Yoongi-yah… you're awake...?” he heard a gravelly voice ask, snapping Yoongi out of his thoughts and back to reality, which happened to be Seokjin stretching out his long limbs, still heavy from sleep.
“Mm,” Yoongi mumbled, ignoring the loud rushing of blood in his ears. “ ‘S five-thirty though. You should go back to bed, hyung.”
“And you’re not going to...?” Seokjin frowned, blinking slowly and sitting up.
“I can't sleep,” Yoongi said truthfully.
“Then I can’t either,” Seokjin declared groggily, slithering out from under the covers. Yoongi watched him curiously, until Seokjin beckoned him with a tilt of the head. “Mm, c’mon... Breakfast time.”
“It’s too early and you're half asleep,” Yoongi pointed out.
“Beats sitting around staring at each other,” Seokjin insisted, even if doing that sounded like a substantially better idea to Yoongi. He held out a hand and yanked Yoongi out of bed. “I'll heat up the leftovers,” he continued with a yawn, steering himself out into the kitchen with Yoongi following behind sluggishly like a zombie.
In a matter of minutes, the table was set with two servings of microwaved rice, cold seasoned tofu and a few other side dishes left over from what Yoongi assumed was the other members’ dinner last night (he hadn't joined in).
But Yoongi wasn't in the mood. It was too early for food - although he suspected that it could be noon and he could be starving, and he would still not be in the mood. As much as he appreciated Seokjin's efforts to cheer him up - and he did; he loved the man - nothing was working to bring him out of his slump.
He hung his head and toyed with his food, pushing them every which way except into his mouth.
Across the table, Seokjin was also failing to eat. He was too preoccupied with the sorry state of his fellow bandmate that for once, he wasn't shoveling food down his throat with gusto. He watched in exasperation as Yoongi stayed mum, staring forlornly at the same piece of meat that he repeatedly shoved around his plate. This would not do.
Putting down his cutlery with a clatter, Seokjin let out a sigh. “That’s it. That’s enough. Put on your coat, we’re going somewhere.”
Yoongi looked up at his friend in confusion. “What, why? I don’t want to, hyung, I’m tired,” he croaked, feeling the back of his eyes begin to sting.
It was weak, he knew. It wasn't like him to want to burst into tears over nothing like this, but he was just so exhausted. He didn't want to go anywhere. He didn't want to do anything. He just wanted to go back to sleep.
“I’m so tired…” he repeated weakly.
Seokjin heard his plea but he stepped closer anyway, enveloping Yoongi's hands in his. “I know you are, Yoon. I - I’m not going to make you climb Achasan or anything like that, if that's what you're worried about,” he gulped, laughing forcedly. His hands had started to shake. But he bit his lip and pressed on, squeezing Yoongi's hands tightly in determination. “I really think this might help. At least a little.”
Seeing the earnestness in Seokjin's face made Yoongi feel like he had no other choice but to oblige. He couldn't say no to the only person who was trying his utmost best to help him, especially not if that person was Kim Seokjin.
So he gave in, put on a coat and allowed Seokjin to deposit his listless body onto the passenger’s seat of his (secret, nondescript) sedan - the one his hyung used to drive around aimlessly, during those times where he just needed to not be Jin from BTS for a few hours…
It wasn't a long drive; fifteen minutes tops, until they were pulling into a street that Yoongi found all too familiar, and he furrowed his eyebrows, perplexed.
“Hyung, why are we here?” he frowned, as the house that used to be their old dorm came into view at the end of the street.
Seokjin let out a small smile as he brought the car to a stop, his features clouded over with what Yoongi could see was overwhelming sentiment. “I thought it would be good to reminisce. We had a lot of good times here,” he mused, as the pair got out of the car and walked over to a park bench that sat in full view of their beloved old house.
The area was deserted - unsurprisingly so, since it was so early in the morning - and Yoongi and Seokjin suddenly remembered how much of a luxury this was; to be able to share a moment of privacy while they were out in the open. If there was anything that they missed from their old lives, it had to be this.
They sat side by side, Seokjin in his fluffy brown jumper; Yoongi in his long black coat, looking out at the small building that held so many precious memories.
“Remember when we used to room together? And we never really talked much - just sat on our opposite sides of the room doing our own thing? We were both pretty quiet but you made these little noises when you worked, like tapping your fingers on the desk, and pressing the keys on your mixer. I actually found them comforting,” Seokjin admitted with a chuckle. “It felt nice, knowing that you were there…”
“I probably hummed a lot too,” Yoongi mumbled thoughtfully, recalling all those times where he had sat in front of his laptop, closing his eyes and letting himself feel the music.
“You did!” Seokjin chimed in happily, his face lighting up at the memory. “I liked it. Your voice is very calming.”
Their gazes fell upon the windows on the second floor, the ones that used to be the windows to their bedroom. Yoongi could picture the scenes so clearly in his mind: the little nook by the windows on Seokjin's side of the room… easy Sunday mornings where he lay curled up on his bed, secretly watching as Seokjin strummed his guitar while sitting by the light, still in his pastel pajamas…
Between the two of them, there was never a shortage of beautiful moments, filled with gentle music in the air that was buzzing with the undercurrent of wanting it - their dreams, their passions - so fucking bad.
The violent shuddering of Yoongi's frame came out of nowhere, a wave of emotion bubbling over and spilling out in the form of hot tears and a frustrated sigh. The sudden sound broke Seokjin out of his own nostalgic daze, and almost automatically, his body moved to draw his smaller friend into a warm hug. He didn't have to speak; just wrapped Yoongi up in his arms and rubbed his back comfortingly while he finally allowed his feelings to come to a head.
The tears ceased just as quickly as they arrived, but left damp spots against Seokjin’s jumper as evidence. There was no shame in a good cry sometimes, and Seokjin knew that Yoongi rarely let himself be vulnerable enough to break down in front of anybody else. It was probably a good thing, necessary for him to let go of all his pent up feelings.
So Seokjin held him, for as long as he felt Yoongi needed to be held, until their grips began to loosen and they fell back to sitting side by side. Yoongi's eyes darted towards the ground in embarrassment but Seokjin kept a sturdy hand against his shoulder, squeezing it in a show of support.
“You’re very happy this comeback,” Yoongi murmured once his crying had subsided. It wasn't a question. It was a statement.
“I am,” Seokjin agreed quietly. “And I think you know why.”
Yoongi tilted his chin back to look up at his hyung questioningly, urging him to explain it himself. Seokjin obliged.
“I’ve always been in this for the long haul, you know this,” Seokjin started. “I wanted so badly to be good at singing and dancing. I’ve been trying so hard all these years, Yoongichi... but it never felt like people thought I was doing enough. But this time…they’re letting me sing - really sing - and it’s like, I’m finally being noticed for what I can do, you know?”
He broke out into a wistful smile before continuing. “Of course, there is always room for improvement. But I feel like - I feel like for once, I’m allowed to fulfill some of my potential.”
“But you!” he turned to Yoongi, gathering Yoongi’s hands in his and squeezing them tightly in earnest. “You’re different from me, Yoongi. You’ve always been someone who exceeded your potential. You’ve outdone yourself, year after year, comeback after comeback… and I think that’s part of the problem, isn't it?”
Sullen, Yoongi nodded. His tears had stopped flowing and his voice was croaky as a toad, but finally, finally he understood why he had been feeling so hollow.
“We did so well this past year.. Everything we’ve dreamed of, all of our ridiculous unattainable goals - we’ve reached them all. We’ve surpassed them. And I know -” he paused, getting a little choked up again at the thought. “I know I should be happy. Fuck that, I should be ecstatic! But I can't help feel like… like I’m empty.”
“Because once we’ve achieved our wildest dreams, then what else is left for us to do, right?”
“Exactly,” Yoongi whispered. He kicked at the ground with the tip of his shoe. “Do you remember our first daesang?”
“How could I ever forget?” Seokjin’s lip curled into a half-smile as he remembered that special night.
Yoongi could remember it clearly too. It was one of his fondest memories as a member of Bangtan. That night… it was something so monumental for the seven of them, for him especially. It was the first time he had ever felt that he was being rewarded for all the years of hard work and suffering. It had meant the world to him, at that moment.
“I couldn't stop crying when we won. None of us could. Because it felt so important back then - like it meant something. But now… awards don't make me tear up anymore. They don't move me the way it used to. And it makes me wonder if everything we've worked so fucking hard towards was just… shallow,” he ended with a frown. “And I feel like such a dick to say it - because I’m always so grateful for everything we have, really - but it’s almost like I’m desensitized. It doesn't feel special to win anymore.”
Seokjin listened quietly, staring up at the brick of their old dorm and just trying to process everything that Yoongi was feeling. Feelings that he himself had definitely experienced before. “We have everything we’ve ever wanted…”
“And I’m scared, hyung. I’m so fucking scared, hyung,” Yoongi croaked.
The burn at the back of his eyes resurfaced, the quiver of his bottom lip becoming more pronounced and he feared he would burst into a set of ugly tears once again. But the arm across his shoulders tightened protectively, a reminder that he wasn't alone.
“What are you scared of, Yoongi?” came Seokjin’s voice, smooth and calming. His question was without judgement - a pure, genuine desire to know, so that he could help Yoongi get rid of all the pain that he was feeling.
And despite being so overwhelmed in that moment, Yoongi couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over him.
Because Seokjin was there. Grounding him. Staying by his side like he always has been.
“I’m scared I’m starting to lose my love for music.”
Seokjin let in a sharp inhale. “Oh, Yoongi…”
“Music is the one thing that's ever been bigger than all of this - the fame, the money, the recognition,” Yoongi sighed. “I wanted to make music because it made me happy. But it hasn't made me happy in a while.”
“Why not?” Seokjin hummed. His fingers subconsciously rubbed lines into the crook of Yoongi’s neck in an effort to calm him, and the younger man found himself leaning into the comforting touch.
He continued shakily. “I don't know who or what I’m writing for anymore. So much has changed in the past five years, hyungie. Our audience.Us. The songs we made five years ago are nothing like the ones we make today. I used to pour my whole soul out into writing those songs. Everything - every struggle, every pain. But I’ve overcome almost all of them now, and suddenly, I don't know what to write about anymore. So I write about things that aren't necessarily things I feel strongly about.”
“Who am I writing for? It used to be for me, and the kids out there who were like me. But now… I keep thinking if this what people want to hear. If it’ll be popular. Not because it's what I want to create. I just making music to keep up with what people want? Because it's my job?” He buried his head in his hands and sighed again. “Sometimes I just want to go back. Sure, it might have been harder back then, and we might have struggled, but I felt so alive. I felt like I was living. And for some weird reason, I was really happy. Now… I don't even know if this is the right direction we ought to be going in anymore…”
“Yoongi,” Seokjin called out quietly. His slim fingers reached out to cup Yoongi’s chin, bringing it upwards so that Yoongi would look him in the eyes and see that he understood exactly how he was feeling.
“Change isn't something you can stop from happening,” Seokjin explained gently. “I know it doesn't always seem like a good thing, but it means that we're growing, Yoon-ah… And maybe we stumble a bit here and there. That’s normal; it’s part of the process. Sure, everyone has crazy high expectations of us. But that doesn't mean we're going to hit it right on the mark every single time… We're allowed to experiment, we’re allowed to make mistakes - that’s how we know what works for us and what doesn't, and that's how we develop and improve.”
Yoongi’s eyes were blown out wide, taking in every word that his hyung was saying. “You're right…” he agreed solemnly. “I’m being silly -”
“You aren't,” Seokjin interjected firmly. “It’s never silly to feel the way you feel. Heck, I’ve felt exactly the way you have, Yoongi. Maybe not to the same extent, but I understand.”
“And maybe - maybe your heart isn't in it now. But that only means you're being given a chance to find something in the future that does make you feel something, Yoongi!” Seokjin said excitedly, a grin blooming on his handsome face. He pulled Yoongi closer and pressed a palm against Yoongi’s neck, where he could feel the quick beating of Yoongi’s pulse, his thumb stroking Yoongi’s jaw fondly. “Find something that gets your blood pounding, Yoongi! Something real, that makes you feel like you're living again! And write about that. If it's honest and it's from your heart, there’s bound to be someone out there who will understand and appreciate and love you.”
Yoongi’s own hand found its way up to clasp itself around Seokjin’s, causing the elder man to break out into a bigger smile. As Yoongi gazed up into Seokjin's determined and hopeful eyes, he became vaguely aware of the irony of Seokjin's words, as his heartbeat doubled beneath their interlocked hands.
“Even if that someone is only me,” Seokjin breathed with a laugh.
And then suddenly, Yoongi felt unbelievably lucky. Lucky that it was Seokjin whom he had poured his heart out to, because if there was anybody who could speak some sense into Yoongi, it was him.
Yes, he was still afraid. Yes, the anxieties he had about their career and their music were still there, constantly gnawing at the back of his mind. They wouldn't go away so easily, but he hoped they would fade away with time, perhaps distracted by things in the present that were more important. More positive.
Because change could be good sometimes.
“Thank you,” Yoongi mumbled lowly. “Thanks for still being here even when I kept pushing you away. I know just talking about it won't make my troubles disappear, but like I said. You make me feel better. So thanks.” There was a flush creeping up his neck, and his hand automatically flew to his nape to scratch at it nervously, but Seokjin only chuckled softly.
“You’re welcome, Yoongi,” Seokjin smiled fondly, ruffling the younger man’s hair. “Whenever you need me, remember?”
“I remember,” Yoongi smiled back. And it was a real smile too. His eyes were red and puffy and his skin was blotchy, and maybe it wasn't his prettiest smile. But it was real.
They sat together in silence for a few minutes, the aftermath of Yoongi’s emotional breakdown still too-fresh and weighing heavy in the air. But at least their shoulders were lighter, free from the unspoken burdens that Yoongi had been carrying with him these past weeks.
Finally, Seokjin swung their interlocked hands (they’d both forgotten to let go) and said with a sigh. “Guess we have to start heading home now, huh?”
Right.
Home. Back to real life again.
This morning might have felt like a dream, but reality still awaited them. They had a schedule to keep to. In about five hours, they would be back in front of the cameras again as Jin and Suga, and everything that had just happened would only be another secret moment.
“Right. Let’s go then.”
They headed back into the car, Seokjin back behind the steering wheel and Yoongi slumped into the passenger’s seat. The engine was started. They were ready to go.
---
Jimin sidled up against Seokjin’s arm at the corner of the stage during their scheduled fan meeting, his eyes trained on their fellow bandmates. “Hyung-ah. Is it just me or does Yoongi-hyung seem slightly happier today?”
Seokjin followed Jimin’s gaze and caught sight of the tail-end of a bright gummy smile as Taehyung ribbed Yoongi about something. His own lips curving up into a tiny grin, Seokjin nodded and replied, “He does, doesn't he?”
At that moment, Yoongi turned in his spot and their eyes met. And even though his skin was still sullen and his face a little too gaunt for their liking, Seokjin thought that he spotted the hint of a spark back in Yoongi's eye.
And as they shared a secret smile on stage, in front of hundreds of fans, Seokjin knew Yoongi was going to be alright.