Work Text:
Amongst the background rumble of plane engines, while everyone’s exhausted and sated with the lingering feeling of performing, Jimin sits in his plane seat, struck with the urge to turn the words and faint melodies that have been floating around in his head for god knows how long into something tangible. The others have long since fallen asleep, and it’s a relief that he’s able to work himself into a comfortable position, pulling one leg up towards him and using it as a makeshift desk. First class is rather roomy, and Jimin’s thankful for the aided leeway it provides for his mind to function, beyond the strained aches and throbs of muscle pain.
He types whatever comes to him, saves melodies by recording his voice and humming into the mic. Every time he shifts positions, a new cluster of words finds itself entered into his notes, until he drifts off.
Namjoon finds Jimin laying on the couch, eyes closed. In front of him is a notepad, covered in neat scribble and the occasional doodle of what seems to be Chimmy’s face. Namjoon leans over the back of the couch, and squints, trying to make out the words. Jimin’s eyes flutter open, and Namjoon twitches.
“Hyung?” he says, blinking the sleep from his eyes.
“Are you writing lyrics?”
Jimin flushes, rosy pink. “Yeah, I’m not quite- I’ll show you when I have something better?”
Namjoon knows the feeling well, of wanting to have something good before showing someone else, before asking for anyone’s opinion on it. “Whatever you like,” he pets Jimin’s hair, smoothing his fingers over the strands, “Our Jiminie is making his own stuff. I’m proud of you.”
Jimin hastily picks up his notepad in response, and scrawls a few more phrases as Namjoon walks away.
At the salon, Jimin waits for the bleach in his roots to work its magic. It burns slightly, but not as much as it seems to be for Namjoon, who sits in the seat beside him, grimace apparent on his features.
“Joon-hyung, can you read this for me?”
He hums and reaches for the notepad Jimin’s been carrying around for the past couple months. Jimin’s heart stutters, riddled with the nerves of showing his heart to someone other than himself. On paper, for another to scrutinize. Jimin distracts himself by watching the grimace gradually fade from Namjoon’s expression. After what feels like forever, Namjoon looks up and smiles.
“Joon?”
Namjoon turns to look at him, beaming serenely. “Jimin, this sounds like you. These lyrics sound like you.”
“Oh I- thanks. Thank you, Joon.”
“Is that what you were working towards?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I flip through this?”
Jimin hesitates. Well, he could use a different lens. Maybe some of the parts he’d discarded in past reviews might have actually been good to someone else. Why not. He nods.
“I think, with care, this’ll turn out to be really good. There’s soul in these lyrics, Jimin.” Namjoon hands back the notebook. “The bit in tiny font on the bottom of the seventh page? That’s a perfect piece right there.”
Jimin looks. It was a small phrase he’d written after a concert, which sounded cliché at the time. Reading it now, it feels full of spark. He grins.
“Thanks, Joon.”
He slips that corner of the seventh page into the back of his phone. It gives off a feeling of good luck, that this song will be complete eventually, no matter how long it may need to refine itself.
He spends a few weeks trying out different sounds and instruments for the instrumental, but ultimately settles on what feels right: a simple acoustic guitar. He downloads an application onto his phone, and taps away at the screen during car trips where nausea doesn’t eat into his chest and dig holes through his stomach. Sometimes it does, and he has to hum what might sound good instead.
Sometimes Namjoon sits next to him, and they mumble under their breaths about what might sound good. Other times, Jimin hums a tune that sounded especially suitable, but he’s forgotten it on the spot. In those situations, Namjoon, who has kept an ear open, hums the melody back to him, catching what might have slipped from his grip otherwise.
Any stress that may have indented itself upon Jimin’s shoulders seems to lighten each time Namjoon provides his input.
They go to Malta to film Bon Voyage. It’s a well needed break from activities, though this is technically part of the schedule in itself.
The first thing he notices upon setting foot in the place is that its sweltering, heat worming its way literally, well, everywhere. He can almost feel the hotplate-of-a-ground through the soles of his sandals, and thanks the ancients for inventing hats to shield himself from the searing rays.
Finding and settling into the house they’re staying at is a fun process. Everyone seems to be yelling all at once, and they pick the rooms each person is to be staying in through a faux blindfold process, where each individual picks a room based on spiritual energy or whatever.
The cameras turn off, and Jimin sits on the floor in the open area, playing back the rough melody and matching it to the drafted lyrics. There is plenty of background noise: Seokjin seems to be in the leftmost room, caught in a scuffle with the youngest, his squeaking laughter and Jeongguk’s shrieks apparent; Namjoon and Yoongi seem to be having a frenzied poetry battle in the room beside, Hoseok playing as acting judge. It sounds like they’re dissing each other’s socks. In an odd moment of silence, the arched second floor doorway creaks open, then clicks shut.
It’s coming together. The times of peace, between back-to-back schedules, had been filled with the actions that were to form this song. Writing, crossing things out, recording. Sometimes making a mess just to have something to work with. What a relief, that he has people around him who he can bounce ideas off of, that he doesn’t have to do this all alone.
On a later day in their free time, without the cameras and staff following them, Namjoon and Jimin walk around the streets of Malta, through the winding streets and alleyways. Without the sun, it cools down significantly, to a far more bearable temperature. They venture to the attractions they’d visited earlier in the day, which feel different with the glitter of the moon instead of the sun. When they lose steam, they sit down at an open-air restaurant, ordering what looks good, Namjoon explaining the dishes on the menu that Jimin doesn’t understand. The candle cups lit on the table are a nice touch.
The food arrives, and they ogle the presentation before digging in.
“I thought I was nearly done with the song, but the more I think about it, the less complete it feels. I was going to release it before the end of the year, but even that feels impossible somehow,” Jimin laughs. He sips his drink through the straw and waits for Namjoon to finish his mouthful.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. Remember, ‘all of this is not a coincidence’? Everything will come together, you just need to do what feels right. If it doesn’t feel complete by the end of the year, there’s no reason why you can’t keep working on it guilt-free until it is done, even if it takes longer. Everything falls into place eventually.”
Namjoon picks up Jimin’s drink and takes a sip. He offers his own to Jimin, who accepts up until the point where he tastes the repulsive texture of mangoes.
Jimin finds himself thinking that Namjoon might be an angel sent from heaven, blessed with the ability to draw stress out of people. He watches him stuff his mouth full of food, stray carrot pieces spilling out, and chuckles to himself.
Yoongi ends up needing to go back home, and Taehyung arrives before he needs to go. Everyone spends that evening on the couch, some of them half on top of each other but all squeezing together on the piece of furniture somehow, talking and then gradually doing their own thing. Jimin scoots onto the floor at some point, having had enough of Taehyung’s toes pressing into his thigh. He sits resting against the bottom of the couch, between Namjoon’s legs. Namjoon’s leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands fiddling with Jimin’s hair and stroking along his shoulders. They further refine the lyrics and attempt to redraft the melody, sending parts to the company’s producers for feedback.
In this moment, Jimin feels content with what he’s doing, where he’s up to, when he might end up.
He taps his fingers on the back of his phone case, where the piece of notebook paper resides.
It’ll all work out.