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The clear blue expanse of the sky pulled smoothly across the world like cellophane.
This is Taehyung’s first, and perpetually his last, memory of his home town. As he lays there with sun-warmed metal pressing into his back, the rest of them brush past him like blades of grass caressing his fingertips. They start at the completely cloudless sky void of the harsh bite of a too-strong sun. Then comes the warm breeze rolling down the hills to meet the freshness of the air by the river banks; the sound of someone’s tinkling laugh just beyond the shadow of the magnolia trees; the steely sound of a train rolling over the metro tracks; and lazy afternoons spent lying on a seesaw in the park just around the corner from his old home as he watches the sun lolling on the horizon’s edge.
Taehyung’s first recollections are born of this city, in its feeling of eternal summer and its calm horizons. Though he spent so little time here, its essence remains a formative presence in his mind. Coming to this park every few years is like watching a ship come to rest in its home port after a weary journey. The humid air clings to him like a comforting embrace even as strange winds bear down on him from the far corners of the earth. He has a short break this time around – just a day or so – before the daily grind begins again. Touring and interviewing and stopping in whichever studios they can manage along the way to record for future projects. It’s the moment just before the wild rush of the world moving ceaselessly on, and Taehyung being ripped away by its currents. At times, all that movement feels like drowning. When that feeling starts up, that crushing weight in his lungs and that desperate need to gasp for breath, he finds himself right back here staring up at the sky and trying to press the image of that perpetual blueness into the backs of his eyelids.
The park, including Taehyung’s preferred resting spot, is designed as a sort of homage to contemporary minimalism - that’s what his sister had said to him when it was first installed so many years ago during one of the autumns between their visits. When they had come back that summer, as they were wont to do when a new and frightening phase of life loomed over them, they had stumbled upon this pseudo-chic replacement of their childhood swing sets and sandboxes. As for the seesaw, rather than the handlebar sporting model of his earlier childhood, it was a smooth metal bench painted acid green and pivoting on a dome reminiscent of a halved barrel. The whole park had been rebuilt that way, sleek and seamless like a retroactive look at the future. These days, the seesaw, like so many of the other playground haunts, has become a favorite of the local skateboarders, giving them ample ground to reign over. They’re absent today, as if a rogue wind has blown them away just in time for Taehyung’s customary visit. Thus, Taehyung finds himself alone in this Jetsonian caricature of a playground, with all things silent aside from his own compulsive humming as he traces patterns into the air.
It’s lying there on that old seesaw, the green paint still fresh as a spring bloom and the sky that deep cerulean that curves down to meet the tips of his reaching fingers, that he first feels the swooping in his stomach like piano strings being pulled taut. Part of that feeling comes from the sudden upward jerk of the seesaw as someone eases themselves onto the other end. They’ve clearly pressed into it more swiftly than intended, half falling so that the sudden impact forces Taehyung’s half up and the world tilts momentarily upside down as he slides towards the center pivot headfirst. Then, as if the structure is gathering its bearings, Taehyung’s side of the bench tilts back towards the ground and stops just short of hitting the dirt again.
When the fluttering feeling lingers, he knows that it also comes from the awareness of the weight still present on the other half of the seesaw. His companion is lighter, lifted higher up into the air than Taehyung himself. There is a familiar warmth radiating from the man, a scent carrying on the breeze that makes Taehyung feels like he’s lost deep in the forest, like he’s lying on the mossy ground and listening to the dulcet hooting of a dusk owl. It’s a presence he knows all too well and one that stills the world around him.
Yoongi offers no greeting aside from extending his hand towards Taehyung, stopping so that his fingers rest a few centimeters from Taehyung’s right ear. Music filters into Taehyung’s consciousness, an electric buzz at first and then the clearness of a voice singing soft and low. It’s a ballad Taehyung had mentioned to Yoongi years ago, one that always fills him with a calmness like the rhythmic ebb and flow of seawater. Taehyung takes the bud of the headphones from Yoongi’s outstretched hand, places it in his ear and closes his eyes as he hums the melody. Yoongi listens silently and their hands seem to dance around each other as if unsure whether they should come to rest where they are. Finally, it’s Yoongi’s hand that lurches forward to close the distance. He wraps two fingers around Taehyung’s pinky tentatively and Taehyung’s breath wavers just for a moment. The song changes into something lower, slightly rough around the edges. It’s a demo version of First Love, the one that Taehyung had so admired when Yoongi had first showed it to him and which he still insists on hearing every once in a while. Taehyung smiles and takes Yoongi’s hand fully in his own, giving it a knowing squeeze. Yoongi seems to take this as an encouragement as he clears his throat to speak.
“I thought I’d stop by your part of town as a surprise,” he begins, but Taehyung is speaking at the same time.
“What are you doing here – oh,” Taehyung finishes. He can picture Yoongi opening his mouth and closing it just as quickly, taking a nervous little gulp of air like a wayward koi. He tries not to laugh and feels the sound leave him as a huff of air instead.
“I stopped by your hotel first,” Yoongi continues. “And your sister said you would probably be here.” Taehyung murmurs out an affirmation that’s half lost to the sounds of approaching night coming to life in the sunset. Yoongi pauses for a long moment before continuing. “Are you ready to go back to Seoul tomorrow?”
“Are you?” Taehyung says and allows himself a single laugh at the miserable sound of his own voice.
“I want to know if you are,” Yoongi answers. “Are you okay? It’s not like you to be so quiet. Even Jimin had to ask me if I’d heard from you today.”
“I just…” Taehyung trails off, the bitter bite of embarrassment coloring his cheeks red.
“You don’t have to say yes,” Yoongi says. “Sometimes it’s good to say what’s on your mind out loud. Especially to me.” Taehyung’s grip on Yoongi’s hand tightens, but its more out of an instinctual yearning for his comforting aura than anything else. He breathes deeply again so that the sticky summer air coats his lungs like its preparing them for the words he wants to say.
“I told you once how I visit here whenever I feel like life’s about to… well, change,” Taehyung begins. “I feel that again – that pressure building. Like a headache that doesn’t end. When we start promotions this week, I… well, I just feel it. It’ll be different. Bigger than before.”
“I think you’re right,” Yoongi whispers back.
“It scares me,” Taehyung finishes.
“I think that’s a fear we can all share with you,” Yoongi says. There’s a smile building in one corner of his mouth and Taehyung can hear it in his words. “It’s all going to move quick after this. But we’re here with you. I’m here with you. And…” He stops then as if considering his words carefully. “And this place is with you, always. That feeling you get like you’re at home, it’s in you. I’ll remind you if you forget.” He takes their twined hands then and bops them against Taehyung’s head playfully. Taehyung can’t help but snicker, knowing that if he were to look at Yoongi now, there would be a rosy glow about him that he would insist on denying.
“You and me and our seesaw playlist,” Taehyung mumbles back and it’s Yoongi who’s laughing now, a sound that winds into the crescendo of notes from the next song to blast over the headphones. It’s bright and quick and makes Taehyung carefully consider the way the sun is winking out of existence along the darkening horizon as they rest in the park. “I don’t feel ready tonight. But I’ll be ready tomorrow.”
“I know you will,” Yoongi says, ruffling Taehyung’s hair with his spare hand. He lets it linger, lets his fingers twist the dark locks. There’s a peacefulness here, in this moment that exists outside of time, exists only in the space between them. There’s a feeling of being bathed in golden light. Lying on a seesaw with Yoongi’s faith spreading out to catch his spiraling thoughts brings on this singular image. The burning sunset over a great crystal sea spreading out before them both - before them all - with the promise of endless depths to explore. Laughter, tears, challenges hidden in the whirling waters. Yoongi’s hand in his through the days and nights of long practices and trying promotions. And above all: love, love, love.