Archive of Our Own ^beta

 “Hey, Yoongi right?”

It’s February.

It’s cold.

Freezing, in fact.

And sometimes, only sometimes Yoongi has this recurring dream where he’s standing in his favourite pair of pair of boxers in his apartment and in front of him stands someone very very attractive; he instinctively freezes, then promptly wets himself in embarrassment with tears pooling in his eyes and his tongue thick with cotton because he just can’t control his bodily functions and wakes up covered in sweat.

But the last time he had that dream he was maybe fifteen with an embarrassing crush on his senior at the time, so that could be the reason why he’s traumatized by this dream.

Regardless, when Yoongi (after what feels like an eternity) decides to surface out his make-shift home studio at the sound of his door-opening. Yoongis’ used to this and comes out disgruntled and vaguely annoyed because it be one of three people; maybe his younger brother if he decides to pop through, maybe his partner in crime/best friend, or even his agent. Stalking out the room absentmindedly muttering how he should really change his passcode, he doesn’t expect an angel standing in his bleak living room, looking curious at the different awards along the walls and cabinets.

And he freezes mid-step.

Because, well, who the fuck is this?

More importantly what the fuck is someone so beautiful with a side-profile like that standing in his space? Yoongi is famous enough to know models sure, but he’s not used to one being here. In his space.

“Um.” He grabs the stranger’s attention who looks just as surprised at Yoongi in nothing but his t-shirt from college, his lucky boxers and a pair of sliders on his feet. “What?”

“Min . . . Yoongi?” He says, voice velvety and soft. “You’re Namjoons’ Min Yoongi or Min Suga?”

“Um. Perhaps.” Yoongi smartly says blinking rapidly, shifting in his sliders. “That is me.”

“I’m Kim Seokjin,” says the man in question. “Namjoon wanted me to drop this off, I hope this is okay.” Kim Seokjin bows politely and Yoongi is still a bit shell-shocked. It would okay if Yoongi didn’t look, well, like him. Run down; eyes heavy with bags; currently standing in his boxers, a loose-fitting t-shirt. When was the last time he slept? Who knows. When was the last time he even showered or used a facemask? Not since . . . three weeks ago. Maybe longer. God, he’s a mess.

“Yes. Hi. Uh, yes. Thank you.” Is all Yoongi can process to say, he bows back – kind rushed and awkward not knowing what to say. Seokjin is firstly, and foremost, beautiful. Not beautiful but fucking breath-taking. He’s all shoulders and lips – big doe eyes and with board fucking shoulders. Yoongi swallows hard trying not to notice all the details about him.

“It’s no problem,” Seokjin says, amused. “I just wanted to stop through since I had a schedule near hear anyway. Nice place, by the way.” Yoongi wants to die. Not die because that might a bit dramatic but something close to death (but not too close.) Maybe have the world he’s in be pulled apart in two pieces so he can fall into the centre of the earth and live there. Sure, he might die but this embarrassment of his apartment – being filled with beer can, take out boxes, dirty clothes and pages from his notebook is even worse.

“Um, sorry I didn’t expect guests.” Is the only intelligent thing he can muster up to say when Seokjin moves his eyes back to Yoongi.

“Namjoon said I should expect the worst,” he extends a white bag filled with food. Even his nails are groomed perfectly, cute evenly with gloss covering them.

“Food?”

“He said and quote, ‘he probably hasn’t left that pigsty of an apartment. Please drop this to him.’ And gave me your passcode.” Right. Yoongi takes the bag with a small smile and wants to curl up and possibly die. Not only does Yoongi look disgusting but he also seems a bit like a hermit, which isn’t too far off the mark. “Please enjoy, he said you’d enjoy some Tteokbokki so I picked up some up for you. And a few side dishes.” Their fingers brush and Yoongi tries not to go red. But it doesn’t work – his face is on fire and he stares at the bag. Looking up, Seokjin has gives a small smile – timidly than anything – and Yoongi goes back down to staring at the bag and his toes.

“T-Thank you.” He coughs out. “Um, I can give you the money to give to Namjoon if you –,”

“– That’s okay!” Seokjin insists. “It’s just Tteokbokki.”

“Right.” Yoongi says, weakly.

“I’ll see myself out,” Seokjin bows and gives a soft wave. “Nice meeting you, Min Yoongi.”

“And you . . .” Yoongi watches how he leaves in quietly and quickly. The room smells like him and Yoongi can’t really remember the last time he saw something so pretty and felt something stir deep inside him, only for a spilt second though.

Walking towards the building through the dimly lit street, Yoongi is met with a few other rappers who pass him with a wry smile with their packs of half smoked cigarettes and joints with enough weed to take out an army. It’s too late to be talking properly or even making whatever kind of small talk, most of the people – like Yoongi – work at night when creativity is flowing out of their every pore. Yoongi smiles back politely as he trudges through warm lobby and up the stairs and ignores the sounds of their hushed mumbles. One thing he hates about this place is the people – pretentious and nit-pickers. One hundred percent clout chasers, Namjoon had once said. He swipes his card, bows at the security guard and climbs the stairs in silent.

It’s not until he’s on the second flight of stairs that he sees their studio.

It’s not much in all honesty; a large room filled with different awards, posters and pictures along the crimson coloured wall. Faulty equipment is one side on the room while the half working or semi working is on the other. The carpet is faded grey, and the actual studio is in one of the many backstreets by a few hole-in-the-wall restaurants they frequent over the years they’ve both been settled here.

In the middle sits the worn away soundboard with the makeshift booth behind it. It’s really not much, but Yoongi always feels a sense of pride whenever he strides into the studio and sees Namjoon already there – usually a coffee is in his hand on a few cans of Redbull are in the trash.

Scrolling idly on his iPad, Namjoon doesn’t even see or hear Yoongi slip into the room. Typical, Yoongi thinks. Dropping his bag onto the small brown couch that resides in the middle, Yoongi makes his way over to Namjoon, eyeing up the laptop screen.

“Is that track almost done?” Yoongi grabs the top of the chair, shaking it. The younger out of the pair jumps, almost dropping the iPad and narrows his eyes at Yoongi. “Sorry. Not.” Yoongi snickers and Namjoon rolls his eyes.

“Fuck you,” Namjoon he says weakly, clutching the tablet against his chest before settling back against the chair. “And yes. Almost. Jackson is coming over to listen to it before we add whatever he decides.” Namjoon hums looking back down at his iPad. “He said he had more inspiration.”

“Oh okay.” Yoongi settles in the chair next to him, staring at the laptop. For a few moments, they sit in comfortable silence. And it’s nice – between Yoongis’ own projects and doing this, it’s been a while since they’ve sat together like this and not been sleep deprived on whatever project they have going on. Things are slow – steady but slow and Yoongi likes it this way.

“Oh, yeah,” Namjoon says, looking up, clicking his tongue. “Sorry about sending Seokjin over. I would’ve dropped the food off myself but Jackson . . .” he trails off. Yoongi is hit with a truck of regret and second-hand embarrassment for himself. God, he doesn’t want to be reminded of it. He’s a grown man, a whole twenty-six with a degree in computer engineering and yet he was stood his in ripped pair of boxers.

“A heads up would’ve been nice, thanks.” Yoongi huffs out. Even now, almost a day later, the second-hand embarrassment still hasn’t worn off. “I can’t believe I came out in my underwear.”

“I honestly didn’t think you’d be half naked.” Namjoon defends with a wry smile, shrugging. “Plus come on . . . he’s cute right? So, it’s not that much of a feat.” Yoongi glares at Namjoon but his ears burn. Seokjin . . . cute? Yes. No. A bit of both, really. Why was he even thinking about this? He punches Namjoons shoulder.

“Is that your fucked way of introducing us?” Yoongi accuses, eyes narrowing quickly. “You sent him over to my house because you think that I think that he could be attractive?”

“What? No! How did I, or anyone else for that matter, know you’d be in your underwear and t-shirt from university?” Namjoon says quickly before sighing. Okay, that’s true. Yoongi can’t deny that Namjoon has a point there. His lips quirk up. “But, he’s cute right? Your type?” Yoongi rolls his eyes, pushing Namjoons’ chair from the middle and sits in from of the. “Come on! How can you think he’s not a little cute? I’m straight and I can appreciate that he’s an attractive person.” Well, that’s not the point, Yoongi wants to say. He’s supposed to be annoyed that a stranger entered his vicinity when he wasn’t aware.

“Not the point, he’s a stranger. What is he murdered me?”

“Deflection? I’ve won this conversation.”

“What if I was naked? Like my dick out and everything. What if I was jerking off?” Yoongi points out.

“Well, thank God you weren’t. That’s awkward for everyone involved.” Namjoon snickers. Yoongi stares at Namjoon. “I know Seokjin if that makes you feel better. He was a friend from my town and we used hangout all the time before he moved overseas back in middle school and high school.” Namjoon shrugs. “He’s a great guy and insisted he dropped the food to you.”

“Well, that’s nice.” Yoongi blinks.

“Right?” Namjoon smiles. “Anyway, he’s in town and he came through, so it was nice seeing him.” Well, that makes sense. Namjoon doesn’t just trust or open himself to anyone – he’s selective and cautious but not unapproachable. Namjoon has friends but he also has his friends who are his ride or dies, i.e., Yoongi and Jimin.

“That’s good.” Yoongi says.

“But you think he’s cute right?”

Before Yoongi can say a deadpan retort, the door flies open with Jackson striding through, holding iced coffees. He’s dressed head to toe in something designer and Yoongi resists the temptation to roll his eyes.

“Ready boys?” Jackson is hyped up, it’s too late in the night for this. His sweatpants are slung low, his sweatshirt is showing a small patch of skin. “I bought coffee; my hat is backwards and I’m ready to party.” Namjoon is already up off his chair, taking the coffee and talking just as animatedly with Jackson about ad-libs or something along those lines.

Yoongi wants to join but he’s suddenly hit with the memory of Seokjins face; cute plump lips with soft soft eyes looking at him so evenly. Seokjin is cute . . . a little angelic looking more than anything. He can’t remember when he’s had a lingering thought like this. Seokjin makes his stomach feel weird and his head all fuzzy.

Across from the studio sits a tiny night market.

And by tiny, Yoongi means tiny – the few stalls, discoloured, are worked by a few old ladies selling whatever. It’s really not much with the few stalls and a convenience store sat sits comfortably right in the middle. Yoongi has nostalgic memories of sitting in the market with his notebook and favourite pen, scribbling hundreds of lyrics that never see the light of day, and the ones that do are the ones that are decent enough.

Seoul is cold and even though he’s sitting in multiple layers, his fingers are cramping up and all he wants to do is write this bridge without Namjoon and Jackson screaming.

“You again.” Seokjin has this kind of eye smile that makes Yoongis ears burns and his throat dry. He could be a model, Yoongi thinks. He has the height, the face and the smile most importantly. Not that he noticed . . .  well he did but . . . not like that. Seokjins’ bundled up in his thickest coat and a soft pink scarf wrapped his neck. His words are slightly mumbled but not by much.

Seeing a familiar face staring at him, especially a face that haunts his dreams (seriously, Yoongis’ second hand embarrassment will be the death of him) makes him freeze mid-sentence.

“Yes.” He says intelligently. “You again.” Seokjin smiles widely and Yoongi feels a bit like a deer in headlights. He sees the car and could probably run since all his senses are flight right now. However, it’s cold in Seoul and he’s bundled up in his jacket and scarf and running means exercise and where would he even run to? The studio? Where Seokjin would go and see Yoongi?

“Mind if I sit?” Seokjin is already hovering over the stall and saying no would be rude. Plus, there’s not much he’s written besides a list of words that potentially rhyme or has soft rhymes with the word orange.

“Go for it.” Yoongi says and Seokjin settles on the stall. Yoongi knows, more than anyone, how uncomfortable these stalls are it takes him a few moments of shifting on the stall before he sighs and stares at Yoongi belatedly.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” his eyes move to the notebook. “I was just heading through and I thought I’d say hi.” Seokjin explains, albeit lamely. “So . . . hi.”

“Hi.” Yoongi says and he’s trying to hold the amusement from his voice. “I was writing but I feel pretty . . . out of it.” that’s another way to put it. Working on Jacksons’ track feels like a mission with a hundred different ad-libs and three beats mixed into one.

“You find it easier to write in the cold?” Seokjin says, eyebrows quirking up.

“I’m an artist,” Yoongi hums, tapping his pen against the table. “Being in constant pain is what it comes with it.”

“Sounds awful.” Seokjin tuts. “You’ll catch your death.”

“That’s the plan.” Yoongi says and Seokjin leans across the table and flicks his cheek lightly, lips pulling into a pout. Yoongi stiffens. It’s oddly affectionate and Yoongi blinks wildly, trying to recover from it. it wasn’t hard but Seokjin has such soft fingertips and they way he looks so amused and fond.

“I can see Namjoon is really rubbing off you,” Seokjin says, huffing as he settles back on his stall. “I don’t like that kind of talk. Go back to the studio soon, okay? Have some tea”

“Yes dad.” Yoongi deadpans and Seokjin laughs genuinely and Yoongi can’t help but have his lips twitch in a small smile. Seokjin settles down after a few moments and looks away. “What brings you here anyway?” Seokjin looks up before shrugging.

“You know, stuff; secret stuff.” He says, waving his hand around flippantly. “Seoul is pretty. I’ve missed it a little. Is it bad that I kinda wanna stay?”

“You should.” Yoongi says. “Stay.” He adds on. Seokjin bites down on his lip before shaking his head with a soft exhale. “Like you said, Seoul is pretty. And Namjoon probably has a spare room in apartment.”

“That’s true,” he nods. “Plus, I can see you more as well, right?” That catches Yoongi off guard. His pen goes flying onto the ground and it feels like the world stops because – well . . . is Seokjin flirting with him? He’s confident – no, he’s certain, that Seokjin is flirting with him. Yoongi can’t help but taken back. When was the last time someone flirted with him so careless?

“What?” is all he can muster up to say. He wants to maybe question this and say what do you mean I’ll see you more? But it dies in his throat when Seokjin stands up quickly with his cheeks pink and his eyes flickering anywhere else but at him.

“I should go anyway.” Seokjin announces, bowing gingerly. “See you around Yoongi.” And he turns quickly and high-tails it out of there. Exactly like the first time they met.

“Wait!” He’s up quickly with the tiny stall tumbling over behind him but Seokjin walks very fast and his out of his reach by the time he’s around the table. “Seokjin!” He calls out, walking faster, almost breaking out into a run at this point. Seokjin walks faster and jogs across the road as the light turns orange. Yoongi gets to crossing and doesn’t know what he’s doing. The tall, blond haired figure slipls into the crowd and becomes one with mob of people wanting to get home.

Suddenly, Yoongi is hit with this bizarre realization that he’s really chasing someone. It’s winter and Seoul is unforgiving and cold and reminds Yoongi a little of Seokjin.

The time he trudges back to the tiny table surrounded by the aunties, his notebook sits in the same place and his pen is still somewhere on the concrete. Something flickers in his chest and smile blooms across his face. His fingers reach up to touch the place where Seokjin flicked him and he feels a little like a school girl over a crush –

He doesn’t have crush. He drops his arm quickly, heartbeat quickening.

God, what is he thinking?

Grabbing his notebook, he closes it carefully and finds his pen (“thank you auntie” he says to her gently as she hands the damn thing back to him) and settles for the studio.

Yoongi thinks about Seokjin. Not much but he does.

He went back to the studio that night and thought about Seokjin until he fell asleep on the couch, hours later in the early hours of the morning.

It’s just thoughts – you know, fleeting thoughts that pass like the clouds in the sky. He thinks about Seokjins’ eyes, his lips quirking into a smile, the way he leaned forward and Yoongi felt himself hold his own breath for that. He thinks about how it’s been a while since someone’s’ been interested in him or even him having these kinds of thoughts about someone.

Even now, two weeks later, he sits across from his younger brother and they’re talking – or really, Taehyung is talking – and its about something to do with his university course and how maybe getting his masters isn’t the best idea right now and – and Yoongi thinks about Seokjin sitting across from him instead. That be nice; the café is warm, smells like croissants and they’d talk about everything and anything and Seokjin would maybe reach across the table, like last time, and wipe something off his mouth.

“You’re out of it.” Across the table, Taehyung is staring at him uncertainty. The café is getting emptier as the minutes go by with empty cups loitering on every other table. Taehyung scarf sits comfortably around his throat and his deep voice rings though his ears. His fingers slide into the handle of his drink. “Did something happen with Namjoon?” Yoongi shakes his head and stares at his cup. His coffee is probably cold by now and tastes bitter and old.

“Usual shit, different day.”

“Then,” Taehyung says, leaning forward slowly with his eyes narrowing. “Why do you look like that?” Yoongi cocks his head to the side. “I was talking about Ai Weiwei’s’ activism and art for my dissertation and you suddenly looked . . . fond.” Taehyung says, like it’s a fact. And it’s not a fact. He doesn’t look anything.

“Fond.” Yoongi repeats. He didn’t look fond, did he? Grabbing his cup, Yoongi takes a sip of his coffee and winces at the taste. He places it back down and looks out of the window. “Is that so?”

“Yeah! You just look like . . . different, I guess?” Taehyung accuses. “Like, you’re thinking about things.” Yoongi blinks. Taehyung, as much as he hates to admit it, is perceptive as hell. He maybe a handful of years younger than Yoongi but he knows his older brother like the back of his hand. He hates it.

“I just . . .” Yoongi trails off, lowly.

“Are you seeing someone?” Taehyung questions hastily. Yoongi swallows at that because – because it’s not true. He’s not seeing anyone, he’s been single for the last few years since he broke up with Kihyun and he went off overseas to shoot whatever drama or movie he’s doing. But that doesn’t stop him from hesitating and Taehyung pointing the finger at him accusingly. “You are?!”

“God,” Yoongi says quickly, shaking his head. “I’m not, Taehyung. Can you calm down?”

“Liar!” Taehyung accuses. “I know you!” The few patrons in the café turn their head curiously and Yoongi glares at Taehyung. “You’re so seeing someone you, liar.”

“I’m not seeing anyone, you idiot.” Yoongi hisses, ducking his head with embarrassment. God, Taehyung is so animated with his hands and scarf flying everywhere. “God, why are you so fucking loud? What the fuck?”

“But there is someone, right? You’re so defensive.” That’s not right. But it’s not wrong either. “I knew it! You always pull that face, like kinda constipated but also not really.” Taehyung explains and Yoongi, if he could, would love to throw his coffee cup at Taehyungs’ head. He opts for a fierce look that makes Taehyung slump in his seat.

“It’s not like,” Yoongi explains. “It’s just – he’s just a friend.” Yoongi corrects. “Nothing more. Like a friend of a friend. We’ve only spoken a few times, not even that. Stop getting ahead of yourself.”

“Ah, that’s how it all starts.” Taehyung hums happily. “It starts being a friend of a friend. Then changes to something more. Like Eunbi and I.”

“That doesn’t count, you guys were sleeping together for three months and it was pretty clear that you liked her before you even got together.” Yoongi points out. From what he remembers, Eunbi is cute with a short bob and wide eyes. Taehyungs’ type completely and anyone with eyes saw that coming from a mile away.

“Anyway,” Taehyung says, ignoring Yoongi. “What’s wrong in liking someone? Stop being so self-sabotaging and go for it. The worst thing that happens is you get rejected.” Yoongi hates that Taehyung is right. The worst thing that happens is he gets rejected. The best thing? He gets a date and a potential boyfriend.

“Shut up and drink your caramel latte, idiot.” Taehyung grins, taking a long sip from his cup.

It happens like this:

Yoongi finishes the track for Jackson on Monday early morning when the sun appearing from wherever and the bags under his eyes could fit Jackson and his huge personality. It’s nothing more than a hype song with different melodies and beats and it doesn’t sound half bad. Namjoon cries a little because months of work has gone into this and it’s over, like that. Yoongi rubs his back, feeling the same. Being productive is great until you’ve finished the project with nothing else to do.

Days later, a fat cheque comes through the post with an invitation for the launch party for TEAM WANG written in chunky red writing. He throws it somewhere in his living room and forgets about it. He goes back to his bedroom, ignoring the mess in his room and closes the blinds and goes back to sleep.

Yoongi doesn’t answer his texts and watches reruns of whatever there on Netflix with takeout boxes surrounding him slowly.

Have you ever felt so empty that the emptiness inside consumes you and you’re nothing but your own sadness? Getting up, showering, checking your phone – it’s just so overwhelming and too much?

That’s how Yoongi feels.

He just wants to be alone.

Namjoon stands at the end of Yoongis bed, kicking the empty boxes and cans of beer around and he looks ridiculous. On his wrist, he can already see that his watch is dripping with diamonds. A pair of Dita glasses sit on his head with his ears coated in Cartier. He’s even wearing makeup.

“You don’t wear Supreme.” Yoongi comments and Namjoon looks down at his shirt and side-bag before looking back at Yoongi, shrugging. Namjoon, in fairness, isn’t put off by Yoongis’ comment. Their years of friendships have hardened his skin. “You look like Jackson.”

“I probably do,” Namjoon said. “Jackson did say we should dress the part. Team Wang and all that.” Yoongi shakes his head – it’s too early for this, or maybe it’s too late for this. Yoongi isn’t sure, he hasn’t left his apartment in weeks since they made the track.

“Right.” He says and lies back down. “Have a good time.” Namjoon kicks the mattress and Yoongi stares up at the ceiling in defeat. After Seokjin (without permission) entering his apartment, he should’ve changed the locks after that.

“You’re coming.” Namjoon asserts, stern and all. “If I have to look pretentious dripping in brands, so do you. I know you have a pair of kickbacks in your closet. And a Vetements jumper in there as well.” Namjoon says and Yoongi sighs. He doesn’t have any motivation to go out and socialise, even less to get dressed into something that he can’t spill food down.

“I don’t want too.”

“But you need too.” Namjoon argues back. “When was the last time you went out? This place smells like depression and BO, man. You can’t live like this.” He hates Namjoon. If he could, he’d unmeet Namjoon so he wouldn’t have to deal with this right now. “You haven’t showered, you places looks like a frat house.”

“Fuck you.” There’s no venom to his words. “I just want to sleep.” He wants to not feel like this.

“You’ve done that for the last three weeks. We’ve all been worried; I thought you died. I even got Seokjin to text you and –,” that makes Yoongi sit up in his bed. His pillows go flying onto the floor and his face is something mixed with shock and anxiety. Seokjin texted him? He hasn’t checked phone in the last week properly because everything felt so overwhelming and –

“Where’s my phone?” Yoongi throws off his blankets, almost tripping over his own two feet. “Fuck! Where’s my fucking phone, Namjoon?!”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?! Let me call it.” Yoongi hasn’t felt desperate for something in his life.

He stumbles out of his bed, slamming on his hallway as he bare feet slap against the flooring. Everywhere is a mess; his front room smells like somethings died and the amount of bones on the coffee table make him seem like a cannibal. His couch has tissues covering the seats and his kitchen is overflowing with plates and cutlery.

He hears the vibration and moves like lightening to the couch. He throws off the pillows, ignoring the crusty tissues and finds his phone covered in sauce with Namjoons’ ID lighting up his phone. He declines to see strings of text, scrolling down hastily ignoring ones from Namjoon and Taehyung – he sees Seokjins.

‘Hey, hope you’re doing good. Congrats on the track. X’

‘Make sure to drink plenty, Yoongi! (: x’

‘Are you eating okay? X’

‘Make sure to clean up. Clean room is a clear mind x’

Yoongi reads the last one and swallows hard.

‘I’ll see you at Jacksons. Joon said he was picking u up (: x’

That’s the latest one and it was sent a few hours ago.

And he hates this – the feeling of being wanted.

He shouldn’t feel somewhat better that Seokjin was texting him and thinking about him. Sure, he appreciates Namjoon and Taehyung checking up on him. Hell, there’s even a text from Jimin and they haven’t spoken since he went overseas with that dance troop and sent him a congrats message. But Seokjin saying it?

He feels warm.

Like when Seokjin touched his face.

He feels . . . wanted. And maybe it’s his own fault because of the walls he has built up. He’s not good at talking about how he feels and he’s not good with expressing what he wants.

“You found it?!” Namjoon shouts from the bedroom. “Are you coming?”

Taehyungs’ words reply in Yoongis’ mind.

He’s already depressed and sad and nothing could be worse, you know? The worst thing that happens is Seokjin is just playing around with or he’s married. And they stay weird friends who run away from each when one of them flirts with the other.

Yeah, Yoongi could live with that.

He’s lived with worst.

“What time do we leave?”

The launch party is in some club in Gangnam, it doesn’t take them too long to get there – the cabbie gives them a doubtful look as they pull up to see a red carpet outside, the words ‘TEAM WANG’ on a huge banner and a walk-way for those invited. How the hell did the company let Jackson pull this off? It’s a lot – even for Jackson it’s a lot. The banner is coloured red and white and the walkway even has barriers with sponsors.

“Jesus Christ,” Yoongi utters, climbing out of the car. “How much you think he spent on this?”

“Knowing Jackson,” Namjoon thinks, shoving his phone into his pocket. “About forty-five thousand. He said he wanted this to be the party of the year.” With how much security there is, he wouldn’t be surprised. The line of fans and devoted Team Wang that stand around outside is crazy.

“God.” Yoongi mumbles. “Is this what it’s like to be famous?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says laughing. “You ready?” Yoongi shrugs. This is as ready as he’ll ever be, really. They walk through, showing their invites and their let in easily. The entrance is dark and Yoongi can already hear the bass.

Club Octogen, when they go down a flight of stairs, is huge and Yoongi feels a little out of it; everything looks expensive; flashing neon lights, heavy bass music that sounds familiar and the smell of something sweet roams through the air. Even now, as a successful producer, he’s not used to this – the glitz and glam that comes with this lifestyle. So many people, how many does Jackson know?

“This is insane!” Namjoon yells over the music as they push through the mob of people dancing and drinking. “Can you believe Jackson invited this many people!” Yoongi blinks, shaking in his head in disbelief.

“Yeah!” Yoongi yells back, shaking his head. “I really can!” This is a lot. But after working with Jackson for almost a year, this is nothing compared to what he’s been told. This feels too tame. Everyone is already tipsy, getting to that level of drunk of free booze.

“Crazy!” Namjoon yells. Yoongi agrees and follows through. He hasn’t been to anything like this since he first started getting into this field.

Somehow, they get to the VIP section with two bouncers giving them dead stares as Namjoon explains who they are over the music. The booths are upstairs and Yoongi has never been more grateful to sit somewhere and not feel like he’s being groped repeatedly.

It’s too much, everything is overwhelming and makes him want to sleep. Maybe if he wasn’t in this mood, or even in this way, he’d enjoy it more. There’s nothing he loves more than drinking and making friends – that how he’s here now. But god, he wants to climb back under his covers and stay there forever.

“Kim Namjoon and Min Yoongi?” The bouncer yells, pressing down on his earpiece. The other one stares at them both, mumbling into his headset.

“Yes!” Namjoon says, “I’ve been telling you that!” Unimpressed, the bouncer steps aside and lets them up while the other one gives them an apoplectic nod.

Making their way to the VIP booths, a staircase, with soft lightening, is where go up and it’s a lot quieter here; the music plays quietly and the only thing he can hear is soft conversation. Each table is stacked up with expensive bottles that cost as much as his rent and a pictures of Jacksons face. Most people are move between the DJ booth while the others are scattered in booths and by the bar.

Finding the real Jackson wasn’t that hard when he’s sat with a pretty long-haired girl on his lap his hand on her thigh and his face centimetres away from hers with a few other people talking quietly around him.

 When he sees them, he waves wildly and pushes the girl off who frowns but stalks away mumbling something under her breath. Typical Jackson, Yoongi thinks with a smile. He’s dressed pretentiously; some old looking Bape t-shirt, Julius Freyed jeans and a pair of classic Gucci glasses hanging behind his ears. If pretentious had a look, Jackson and the rest of Team Wang would be it. And maybe . . . Namjoon as well.

“You boys made it!” Jackson is drunk – drunk and something else. His eyes are blown wide and his smile looks like it’s stapled onto his face. “I was wondering where the rest of Team Wang would be.” Namjoon rolls his eyes, good naturedly and Yoongi shakes his head.

“We’d never miss this, man.” Namjoon says, clasping his hand in a handshake. “I dragged this guy out with me as well. It wouldn’t be the same without him, you know?” Jackson laughs and Yoongi rolls his eyes. He’s too sober for all of this; for Jackson and his huge personality.

“You look like shit, Yoongi.” Jackson says. “Drink?” He grabs his cup and Yoongi takes the cup with smile.

“Thanks.” He says. “What is it?”

“Rum, I think.” Jackson says with a grin. “Expensive rum.” Yoongi sniffs and winces at the smell. It’s definitely strong, he thinks. That could knock someone out.

“More for us.” Jackson grins and Namjoon fist bumps him. “Anyway, help yourself to whatever. It’s on the companies’ card, not mine.” Before Yoongi can comment, he sees Seokjin and remembers what he came here for with a few people around him. He looks good; hair pushed back, his shirt done up apart from the few buttons at the top and a pair of glasses tucked into them.

He came to see Seokjin. That’s the plan. It’s not a good plan, but it’s something.

Yoongi downs his drinks, ignoring the harsh burn it leaves in throat and how he even gags a little. He hasn’t drunk spirits in a while, god, he’s been drinking nothing but beer and whatever cider he has in the fridge.

“Shots then?” Jackson said and Namjoon is already pouring them up. He looks up to see Seokjin laughing loudly, clapping his hand over the guys shoulder next to him. “Shots?!”

“Definitely shots.”

Yoongi is drunk.

And in his drunkenness, he lost Namjoon and Jackson by their sixth drink.

In all fairness, he hasn’t been drunk for a while but stumbling through the VIP section and saying hi to people – people he didn’t even realise he knew – made him realise he’s gone. What has he even drunk to get to this level? Everything, he thinks. From doing shots with Namjoon and Jackson, they somehow found themselves in the DJ booth standing with Minsik and Jay Park, singing along to Papillion. He should’ve realised he was drunk when we was sat with Jaebum and Changmo, talking about best positions for sex somewhere upstairs.

Yoongi stumbles into a door by the bar to be almost thrown outside in a smoking area on a balcony and relishes the feeling of fresh air against his face. What time was it anyway? Stumbling to lean against a wall, Yoongi slides his hand in his front pocket and pulls out his phone and holds it close to his face to see the numbers just passing two-thirty in the morning. He sighs, and a small smile pulls up on his lips.

Yoongi needed this.

He hasn’t been out in a while, hasn’t done something social in even longer. Maybe it’s how much he’s drunk that’s making him feel like this – you know, nostalgic of some sorts. He wishes he was back in college, back with Kihyun when things felt simpler and his life wasn’t like this.

“I have some water for you,” a soft voice says and turning around, Yoongi sees Seokjin moving through the door with a small smile on his face, pulling Yoongi out of his drunken thoughts. “You look drunk.” Yoongi leans his back against the bricks and waves his hands dismissively and animatedly.

“M’ fine.” Yoongi grunts, shaking his head. “How are you? You look great, you know.” Seokjin smiles and ducks his head. Holding the cup in both hands, fingers curling around the bottom anxiously, Seokjin steps out of the club properly. His shirt looks crumpled and his jeans look like they’ve seen better days.

“How much have you drunk?” Yoongis’ lip curls up. How much hasn’t he drunk would be easier to answer.

“Enough. Everything and anything.” Looking forward, Yoongi realises how pretty Seoul looks right now – the lights and the cars passing by. He can see the entire city from this tiny smoking area. Why does he feel so warm, so fuzzy inside?

“That’s good,” Seokjin says and he’s in front of him, extending the cup. “Drink.” Yoongi does that, downing the entire cup. “You must be thirsty.” When Seokjin moves his hand, Yoongi grabs it quickly. He likes the feelings of Seokjins’ fingers against his own.

“M yeah.” He says. “Where have you been? And how did you even get invited here?” Seokjin looks down at his hand and smiles widely and rearranges their fingers so there interlocked properly.

“I’m filming a drama with my friend Hoseok.” Seokjin hums, “I didn’t want to tell you, because you know – sworn to secrecy but I was filming a drama and I’m done now.” He looks down at their hands. “Is this your way of flirting with me?”

“Is it working?” Yoongi asks dumbly, grinning. Seokjin moves closer, leaning against the wall as well.  He’s so pretty, Yoongi thinks. Pretty and funny. Pretty with soft hands also. “It must be, right?”

“Maybe,” Seokjin hums, looking up. “You’re not very good at flirting.” Yoongi flicks him with his free hand and Seokjin pouts cutely.

“M’ good at everything when I’m drunk.” Yoongi says, wiggling his eyebrows. Seokjin bursts out in laughter. “What? It’s the truth!”

“I bet it is, Yoongi.” Seokjin says. “I bet it is.”

“M’ not lying to you.” Yoongi pouts, grinning.

“You’re funny, Yoongi.” Seokjin says, comfortably letting their hands swing in the air. It feels oddly romantic and affectionate to do this.

They fall into a comfortable silence, both leaning against the wall and Yoongi isn’t like this. He’s so reserved, so quiet about his emotions because there’s no need to put them on blast for the whole world to see. But standing in the darkness with Seokjin and listening to the heavy music behind them makes him feel a bit differently right now.

They barely know each other but . . . this feels easy.

Easy like they were supposed to meet.

Like they were supposed to be here in the first place.

It feels like Seokjin is someone he’s known for the longest time, why is that? Why is holding Seokjins’ hand so easy – like it was supposed to be there in the first place. Why is leaning against the wall, admiring Seokjin as he looks at the view and the stars with awe so easy? Is this what love at first sight is?

Unknowingly, Yoongi takes a step closer – their heads only mere centimetre’s apart – and looks at Seokjin properly and Seokjin has the greatest side profile he’s ever seen. It took him months – months to warm up to Namjoon when they first became friends.

“Yoongi,” Seokjin mumbles, a small nervous twitch of his lips. “What are you doing?” What is he doing? One point they were standing so far away and next, Yoongi wants to be as close to Seokjin as physically possible.

“Don’t know.” Yoongi honestly admits softly. “I don’t know at all.” Seokjin moves his head forward and their noses touch. Yoongi closes his eyes and he’s honestly ready to risk it all. Feeling Seokjins’ warm breath fanning against his lips makes him feel so weak.

“Use your words.” Seokjin whispers.

“I think – no, I want to kiss you.” Yoongi admits finally, hand cupping his jaw. “Is that okay?” Seokjin doesn’t say anything and instead kisses him. It’s nothing deep, just their lips pressing together and it’s honest to god one of the best feeling in the world. Have you ever kissed someone and felt like you’ve been transported to a whole new world? Like nothing matters apart from this moment and only this moment?

It’s nothing more than close mouth pecks that make Yoongi hungrier for Seokjin. He’s insatiable thinking about it all. The arousal inside him is ever growing and Seokjin must feel the same with how he doesn’t think about stopping.

“You’re such a good kisser.” Seokjin utters against Yoongis lips.

“Says you.” Yoongi retorts, smiling wildly.

The kiss is broken at the sound of the door opening and people spilling out. Self-conscious, Seokjin ducks his head and lets it rest against Yoongis shoulder. This feels good, he thinks. He’s drunk, and no sense of how long they’ve been standing out here and if he has any regrets about what happened, he’ll think about it tomorrow. Right now, he just wants to stand here with Seokjin by his side.

A month passed, and it was slowly pushing into Spring. February showers moved into warm April territory.

Grey, cloudy skies were being replaced with bright sunny days. Yoongi spent most days on his balcony, writing and recording just for himself. He drank cider and watched the sunset and the stars shine brightly.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened between Seokjin and you,” Yoongi and Namjoon walk around the record store. For as long as he could remember, this has been a tradition of theirs – after projects, graduation, anything that could be celebrated; they’d go to this one beaten up store with everything falling apart and look at what records they don’t have. “But he’s been . . . weird.” Yoongi browses the blues section idly ignoring Namjoon. He wants to have some sort of witty retort but he’s not feeling it.

Because.

Because –

A month passed and how hadn’t spoken to Seokjin after their kiss.

And a month is a long time to forget something that made you feel . . . different.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Yoongi insists, dismissively. He hadn’t meant to avoid Seokjin but . . . but it’s a bit much he thinks. This – everything – he’s not the type to rush into something. They’re not friends, or anything like that.  

“You’re such a liar.” Namjoon accuses. Yoongi holds up a record to inspect it in the light before slipping it back in line with the others and looks at Namjoon across from him. His eyes are narrowed, and his lips are pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. He walks down the aisle, eyes focusing on the 60’s and 90’s inspired posters.

“I’m not going to indulge you in whatever you’re thinking, firstly.” Yoongi firmly says. “Because I know you -,”

“– you know me.” Namjoon repeats, blankly. “Yoongi you’re – fuck, we’re best friends. I consider you like family, but you can’t just kiss someone who’s like family to me also and decide that you don’t want to speak to them again.” Namjoon rants. “That’s shitty.” He’s right. It is shitty. Because they don’t each other, not really and Yoongi thought maybe . . . just maybe it be easier to stay strangers. “I get you have a hard time talking about things,” Namjoon gently says. “But other people have feelings.”

“Yeah.” He says. Because what else can Yoongi say?

A month passed, and he thought about texting Seokjin the night after. He lied in bed, hungover and feeling rougher than rough with thoughts of texting Namjoon for Seokjins’ number. He thought about it the days passing and more days after that.

That night – it replays through his mind.

He felt something – something he never felt with anyone else.

“You can’t keep everyone at arms-length for the rest of your life.” Namjoon says softly. “Not everyone is going to hurt you. He’s not Kihyun.” Yoongi hates this. He hates Namjoon, but not really. No one is like his ex-boyfriend. No one is going to hurt him if he opens up and let’s someone in a little bit. That’s how you get to know people.

But.

“It’s not that easy.”

But –

“I know.”

He can’t.

And he won’t. To have his heart on his sleeve? To let anyone behind those walls of his heart? To have his feelings on blast? He can’t.

“Do we have to talk this?” Yoongi sighs. “I thought we were celebrating Team Wangs’ album dropping today?” Namjoons’ frown turns into a small smile. He knows not to push this, he’s not Jimin or his brother. Namjoon is pragmatic; logical, understanding and caring.

“We are,” Namjoon says, sheepishly holding up the basket of records. “But . . . I worry about you.”

“And I’m worrying about you falling over and breaking them all.” Yoongi says back. Namjoon rolls his eyes. It won’t be the first time that happens, and it wouldn’t be the last, he thinks. The amount of times Namjoons can trip over nothing while walking with bags and bags filled of things.

“Stop deflecting.” Namjoon says. “You really don’t want to talk about this?” Honestly, no. Yoongi doesn’t. His heart and head hurt thinking about it. What does he want? Should he even contact Seokjin after this whole time?

“Froyo?” Yoongi insists, pointing to the cashier, hands full of records.

“Froyo.” Namjoon says back, agreeing.

Yoongi figures that things can’t really go downhill if he’s at a stagnant stop in his life. Nothing can get bad if you’re already as low as you can go. It feels like weeks since he’s left his apartment, the sun shines brighter each and everyday and Yoongi can’t bring himself to do anything than be alone.

And the worse part? He was paying attention; he blindly threw the money on the counter for the beer and chips. He was trudging through the aisles with the bags under his eyes heavy and prominent. The street seemed silent for this time of the night, only passing cars and buses; small clusters of people; street lamps flickering under the moonlight he assumed would his company for his walk back home. He was too busy, too focused on himself on his writing on everything but what’s in front of him.

“Yoongi?” Kihyun stands in front of him, hair pushed back wearing a light-coloured jumper, ripped jeans and a beanie on his head. “Min . . . Yoongi?” He says again, this time he more looks nervous, a tilted smile but his eyes hold something else. The last time Yoongi saw Kihyun was –

It was long ago.

But it doesn’t stop old wounds from being opened.

Because they broke up in Kihyuns apartment, well their apartment at the time. And Kihyun doesn’t even live in this part of Seoul. They lived in the less fancy area, the more sustainable, affordable area. Yoongi had a larger room as his home studio and Kihyun had his own office. It was a tiny house but god it was theirs. And Yoongi thinks about how they broke up – everything was so overwhelming, they were both changing as people.

People change – Yoongi was getting more and more known while Kihyun was leaving the country on whatever business trip. They both became strangers by the end of it. Yoongi can’t remember the last time they kissed, they spent quality time together or even had a meal together.

Because Kihyun does what he does best and forgot Yoongi. Somehow, they become strangers and Christmas didn’t feel right and dinners at his parents house every other weekend became a chore that Yoongi gave up on. Late night trips to the store, sharing a blanket on the couch, watering their plant garden – forgotten just like Yoongi.

“Is it too late to ask you if you want some coffee?” Kihyun had gingerly asked, eyes meeting his and Yoongi thought that honestly – honestly, there are worst things than going for coffee with your ex.  

But.

And there’s always that but.

Yoongi can’t remember the last time he saw Kihyun like this; looking . . . good. He was always attractive, even back in college. Time has been good for – his hair is coloured lighter and the clothes on him make him look like a different person completely.

It was a that long ago.

The convivence stores’ a/c whirls loudly and Yoongi taps his fingers against the table. Kihyun buys the coffee and slides one of the cups to him. He slips into the chair and looks at Yoongi dead on, eyes darting across his face as his tongue darts out of his mouth, licking his lips.

It’s so bright in here, he feels like he’s in a police interview. Yoongi probably looks exactly how he feels. Kihyun takes a loud sip of his drink, letting it sit back on the table with his fingers fiddling with the bright orange cup.

“Funny seeing you here.” Kihyun starts off, small smile playing on his lips. “I didn’t realise you even moved to this part of the city.” Yoongi shrugs, fingers finally curling around the cup. They both hate small talk.

“I did. Only to be closer to Namjoon because, well, you know what he’s like.” Kihyun and Namjoon had been good friends. Not like how Namjoon or Yoongi were but they just got each other. Their platonic relationship was something to be envied. “We have a studio now and well yeah.”

“That’s good.” Kihyun sounds genuinely happy for him. And that irks him. They maybe could’ve been happy together, right?

“What about you? You’re never up late.” Kihyun shakes his head, sipping his coffee.

“I got back from New York last night. Being a creative director for art has it’s downfalls and that’s jetlag.” Yoongi smiles and he feels weirdly nostalgic. This reminds him of their first ever date; shitty coffee mixed with awkward vibes that make Yoongi feel like he might be sick.

“I’m proud of you.” Yoongi says, sincerely. “That’s been your dream forever.” Kihyun ducks his head in embarrassment.

Silence takes over.

He hates this.

Yoongi hates this with his whole heart.

Because he used to make Kihyun coffee in the morning and kiss the back of his neck. Because Kihyun used to sit on Yoongis lap and talk about everything and anything. Because they used to make love like they had all the time in the world and now – and now, Yoongi wishes he could slip out of here unnoticed and pretend like this coffee between them never happened.

“Are you still single?” it’s not an accusation but it sounds like it.

“I’m married to my music.” Yoongi answers finally, looking up.

“Right.”

“It’s not because of you,” Yoongi quickly insists. “It’s because –,”

“– you keep everyone away.” Kihyun gently states, looking out of the window. “Yoongi, when will you stop this?” Yoongi moves his gaze over to the few employees than shift around the shop floor sluggishly.  “What we had was beautiful, it was the best time of my life. You can’t be stuck where you are. You forget I know what you’re like. I know how you think, and I know how stubborn you are.” Yoongi remembers their break-up being like this. Soft yet firm reminders that Yoongis’ actions affect not just him but everyone else. Kihyun snakes his hand across the table and takes Yoongis.

“Yeah,” He quietly says. “I know. I’m trying.” He squeezes Kihyuns hand and thinks about Seokjin. He thinks about how Seokjin held his hand like the world was going to end and looked at him with eyes that saw the sun for the first time.

“Liar.” Kihyun says, smiling. “I know you.”

“And I know you,” Yoongi retorts. Rolling his eyes, Kihyun looks down at their hands. Yoongi thinks, honestly, if he met Kihyun today he’d probably forget Seokjin. “It’s hard. Things are just . . . hard.”

“It’s harder when you’re alone.” Kihyun says. “But you prefer being alone.” Ouch.

“You left me.” It’s not said unkindly, more factually. Kihyun looks down at their hands. It’s bittersweet, Yoongi thinks. Because they’re both thriving now that they’re not together. That Kihyun is jetting away, living his dream.

“It was mutual.” He says, smiling. “You know it.” Yeah. It was. It was mutual but Yoongi still cried like Kihyun is the one who broke his heart.

“I wish it wasn’t.” Yoongi admits. He’ll always love Kihyun, even as a friend. “Things were simpler when I was with you.”

“Good things have to come to an end for better things to happen.” In some parallel universe, they’re getting together as he thinks about this. Kihyun would lean over across the table and press his lips gently against his own and Yoongi would be suddenly transported back to his college days; juggling his dissertation and going on dates with Kihyun. He’d thinks about how Kihyun was the one making him lunches, pressing ice packs against his head during the summers and wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck in the winter. He’d think about how they got the keys to their tiny house and Kihyun had cried in Yoongis’ arms. He’d think about how he could change, and he’d think they could start off slow.

He could cut Seokjin off and do what he knows.

“I should go though.” Yoongi pulls back his hand and he’s back in reality. He’s back in this convivence store where it’s colder than cold and his jumper sits heavy on his body and his feet are going numb from sitting down for so long. He thinks that maybe, if this was another universe, that be the easiest thing to do.

But nothing is easy in life. Especially things worth fighting for. They both leave the store and Yoongi has the night air slap his face. Jerking his thumb left, he smiles at Kihyun.

“Are you okay to get back to wherever you’re going?” Kihyun nods.

“I will be.” Kihyun says. “You’ll be okay, right?” he’s not talking about the walk home. Because Kihyun has a knack for understanding things that Yoongi doesn’t say.

“I will be.” Yoongi lies. “I’ll see you around.”

“You know,” Jimin says over Facetime when Yoongi is feeling a little more social – when the days stop blurring together and he’s feeling more productive. It’s late in Korea but probably a horrible time in America for Jimin. “It’s okay to like someone.” It’s late and Yoongi is between tracks. His head feels fuzzy and Jimin sits on his bed with his laptop sitting on his lap. Yoongi doesn’t need to ask if Jimin has been texting his brother or even talking to Namjoon but the fact that this comment seemingly comes out of nowhere doesn’t surprise him. Jimin looks at the camera with a soft expression.

Because Namjoon doesn’t push.

He’s just not a pusher.

He waits for you to come to him with your problems, like luggage, and wants to help unpack. Jimin, on the other hand, doesn’t wait. Not saying Jimin isn’t a good friend because – no, Jimin is like a brother to Yoongi. They’ve been through thick and thin together – Jimin just wants to see Yoongi happy and doesn’t back down from anything.

Yoongi freezes, mid slurp of his noodles and looks at Jimin and Jimin shifts on the camera, looking at him expectantly.

“We’re not talking about this.” Yoongi snips, shoving the noodles into his mouth. “We’re not speaking about this. I called you because I wanted to see how you are.” He swallows that hard lump of food.

“I’m great, thanks, Gi. San Fran is sunny and I’m getting hit on constantly by straight guys.” Jimin says easily. “But you can’t avoid talking about this – that being you seeing Kihyun and having a crush on Namjoons’ childhood friend.” Jimin blinks. “You look terrible so we’re talking about this.” Yoongi hate this. Talking about things – talking about things you can’t change or do anything about. He hates it with everything inside of him.

“It was coffee between Kihyun and I. Nothing else.” Yoongi admits lowly. “I didn’t intend to see him. It just happened – I thought he was still in America or Dubai or wherever he decided to fucking go.”

“It was never your fault you guys didn’t work out.” Jimin firmly states. “But we’re not talking about that. Tell me about Seokjin.” Yoongi doesn’t even know this guy properly to give Jimin a real synopsis of him. Staring down into his steaming bowl, he pushes the noodles about idly. 

“We kissed.” Yoongi admits. “It was . . . something. He’s something.” Something good, Yoongi thinks, because sometimes his mind feels like everything is in greyscale. Nothing has colour, everything looks the same and it feels the same. But when he thinks of Seokjin – he’s coloured like the sun and has eyes like the stars. Yoongi feels strangely comfortable thinking about Seokjin.

“Something good?” Jimin prompts.

“Who knows.”

“Yoongi.” His name is spoken with such a defeated tone.

“Jimin.” Yoongi utters back, staring at the camera.

“Stop doing this.” Jimin sighs out and there’s no room to argue.

Yoongi looks up, staring at the phone, mirroring Jimins’ same expression and asks, “Stop doing what?”

“Pushing people away.” It said gently. “Stop it, Yoongi. Not everyone is out to hurt you.” No, not everyone is but it seems that way. When Jimin went overseas with his dance troop that he’d been dreaming of joining, Yoongi felt hurt. Betrayed almost. Because it was Jimin and Namjoon – the three of them throughout high school and university. It was the three of them and nothing was supposed to come between them. Not now, not ever.

And he shouldn’t have felt like that but – god, people don’t mean to hurt him.

But they do. Accidentally or purposely.

“Right.”

“Yoongi, the hardest pill to swallow is that the more you push people away, the sadder you’ll get.” He hates Jimin. Not really, but his heart is aching and Yoongi hasn’t been able to have a peaceful sleep for such a long time. “Just let him in.”

He hates this.

Yoongi hates this so much.

He hates disappointing people, he hates making people worry about him, he hates it all. Letting someone in is hard, he wants to cry out. Letting someone in is scary, and Yoongi doesn’t want to be afraid.

“Who are these straight boys that keep hitting on you?” Yoongi changes the subject easily and Jimin looks like he wants to say something, maybe even argue with him, but he doesn’t.

Yoongi is glad.

It happens like this:

Yoongi gets out of bed the following morning to Jimin and his late nigh conversation. The sun is shining, and he feels good. Better than he has in the last few weeks, hauled up in his house like a hermit. He feels good enough that he makes himself breakfast, watches I Live Alone for a better part of the morning and cleans his apartment little as well. Hell, Yoongi even gets in the shower.

He leaves his apartment in a pair of shorts and a short-sleeved t-shirt in a good mood. His headphones blast out Verbal Jint and there’s a small bounce in his step. The bus ride there is fine and Yoongi thinks that this afternoon is going to be a good one.

Then, like most things in Yoongis’ life, it goes downhill.

Kim Seokjin, the star of Yoongis’ midnight dreams and recent thoughts, stands in the lobby of their studio hugging someone else. But it feels a little intimate to call it just a normal hug – their arms are curled around one another like a snakes with its prey.

Life is unfair, Yoongi thinks. He never ran the metaphorical marathon for Seokjins’ heart but he’s pretty fucking pissed he wasn’t even given a chance.

And They don’t see Yoongi standing mere feet away, looking through the glass with eyes heavy and his heart breaking into a billion tiny pieces that can never be put together. They don’t see how Yoongi looks so emotionless, how that small smile is replaced with something crestfallen and depressed.

It’s fine.

It’s fine, really.

But –

Yoongi tries not to let it get to him because what did he expect? Nothing waits forever – even the prettiest of flowers wilt when you leave them unattended. He hates this. He hates how everyone was right – how pushing people away doesn’t help you establish relationships.

And this is a bit weird now – because Seokjin and mystery man are still talking, holding arms, looking deep into each other’s eyes and Yoongi can’t look away. The worst part? Yoongi can’t even bring himself to hate this guy, he really wishes he could be in his shoes. He wants to hug Seokjin – he wants to go back in time when he was drunk, feeling Seokjins’ lips against his own.

“Why are you touching your lips with your fingers?” Namjoon scares the hell out of him. He holds a plastic bag filled with food and an ice pop in his other hand. He looks so smug and Yoongi wish he could feel like that right about now.

 “I wasn’t – I thought you were upstairs anyway.” Yoongi grumbles, finally turning to face Namjoon properly. If he keeps staring at Seokjin, he’ll hurt himself more than he already has. “We have a new client, remember?” Namjoon grins.

“Yeah, he’s with Seokjin. His name is Jungkook.” Namjoon turns his head and extends his arm. “Yeah! They’re over in the lobby. You’re coming, right?” Yoongi wants to hate Jungkook. Because –

Because fuck this guy. But not really, you know? Namjoon is the first into the lobby and Yoongi can’t help but trail behind listlessly because –

They’re strangers, Seokjin and Yoongi. Nothing more, nothing less. They just happened to meet, and they happened to kiss. Seokjin just happens to be Namjoons friend and so does Yoongi. It doesn’t mean everything but then again . . . it means everything.

The lobby is cool from the A/C as they both enter and Seokjin stares at Yoongi like Yoongi should be the first to speak, push the elephant out of the room. But he can’t. Saying something, saying anything doesn’t seem like a good idea when Seokjin has fire in his eyes. Yoongi, instead, focuses on Namjoon.

“You’re here!” Namjoon is clapping his hand over Jungkooks shoulder. “I’m really glad you’re here, Jungkook. Thanks for bringing him here, Jin.” Seokjins eyes move to Namjoon and he smiles. It’s wide and it’s soft.

“You know it’s no problem.” Seokjin says easily. “I’m glad I’ve run into you anyway, you need to treat my Jungkook well.” Yoongi scoffs. He doesn’t mean to, you know? It comes out naturally and they all look at Yoongi like he’s fucking crazy and honestly, that’s how he feels. “Problem?” He thinks about Seokjin kissed him, how Seokjin flicked him, how Seokjin made it seem so easy to let him in. Yoongi thinks about how Seokjin has this aura about him that makes him seem so approachable.

“There’s none.” Yoongi doesn’t want to think about it anymore. “We should go up though.” Namjoon gives a weird look and so does Jungkook.

“Right, we should.” Namjoon agrees. “Are you sticking around, Jin?”

“I don’t think that be a good idea.” Seokjin retorts, not looking at Yoongi. “Do your best, okay, Jungkook?” Jungkook nods, awkwardly at that and Seokjin gives a small wave to Namjoon and doesn’t bother even bat his eyes in the direction of Yoongi.

And Yoongi –

He’s fine.

Not really.

Not all, actually.

Because he pushed Seokjin away, he now has no one. And they’re not really friends but – but there was a connection between them. When Seokjin was around, Yoongi never really felt so guarded before. He felt okay.

He felt . . . a little invincible.

“I need to go.”

And it feels like that night back in winter, but Yoongi is the one running this time. He ignores the way Namjoon yells his name. He doesn’t look back as he pushes open the doors, sprinting down the narrow road. When Seokjin was around him, he felt good. All those thoughts, indulging himself of what could be? He wants that in real life. No one means to hurt him, they don’t. Not Jimin and not Kihyun. Not anyone.

He sees Seokjins’ head in the crowd and makes a beeline, pushing through the mob of people in the

He doesn’t stop to think – he runs towards Seokjin, grabbing his arm and turn him around.

“Yoongi?!” Seokjin says, startled. They’re standing in the middle of the busy street and Yoongi is panting. Is this what liking someone feels like? You feel so open and on display, so . . . vulnerable. “What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi pants. “I’m sorry I never texted you after I kissed you and I’m sorry for pushing you away and I’m sorry for a hundred million things that might happen in the future but I –,” Yoongi shakes his head, grabbing Seokjins hand. “I felt something when I was with you. And I want to keep feeling that with you for as long as possible.” Seokjin looks down at his hand and Yoongi thinks, for a spilt second, that he might shake off Yoongis’ hand.

But he doesn’t.

He moves his hand and laces their fingers together properly. Looking up, Seokjin is smiling and his eyes hold something that can’t be explained.

“I’m mad at you, Min Yoongi.” Seokjin states, biting his lip. “You took this long to come and find me. And you hurt my feelings.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” Yoongi breathes out, a small smile taking over his face. “However, you want me to, I’ll do it.” it doesn’t feel like their standing on a crowded sidewalk with people side-eyeing them, pushing into them either. It doesn’t feel like it’s the start of summer with the cherry blooms flying everywhere.

“Well,” Seokjin says, swinging their hands together. “We should get to know each other properly.” Seokjin tugs his hand, taking a step. “My name is Kim Seokjin. You?” Yoongi takes a step and feels his heart bloom.

“My name is Min Yoongi. It’s great to meet you.”