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It’s not like Taehyung’s in love with Yoongi, but he very much is.
There are people who are easy to love, and those who aren’t. Some who make love easy, some who make it painful.
Yoongi loves quietly, in soft looks and indulgent questions and food at your doorstep every once in a while. At least, from what Taehyung has observed.
To attempt to put it into words, some people are, heartbreakingly, loveable, but unexplainably cold. Perhaps even thick skinned. It’s been months since Taehyung first saw Yoongi, and his chest has gathered flower petals ever since that day. It waited for the day he finally fell to his demise, at the feet of one Min Yoongi, and began choking him.
But that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? At the hands of Min Yoongi, he’ll be gone for with flowers blocking his throat. By himself... it’s uncertain, really. Taehyung isn’t a pessimist, but he stopped seeing the good in the world at some point.
Like the French, who see the streets beneath the buildings instead of the buildings on top of the streets, dans la rue, they say. Similarly, he thinks he began looking for the good in the bad, instead of the bad in the good.
It’s impossible to express nihilism without sounding sad, but Taehyung isn’t sad.
Not really.
“I’m pressing play now.”
He’s just in love.
“Waiting, Hyung,” Taehyung hums, his cheek pressed flat against the table. It’s cool underneath his cheek, the room warmer in comparison.
Yoongi is so fragile, his small stature and gentle mannerisms and the faint blush on his cheeks due to the cold. The heater is on, yet he insists on bundling up, taking his time as he connects his laptop the speakers.
“This is just a rough draft, yes? Let me know how you feel about it.”
He will, that is precisely why he was invited. To judge, to give an opinion, to be unbiased.
And then the song begins, a violin building up to a grand opening, before the beat changes entirely and Taehyung does not even realise when the song has ended, the chorus spinning in his mind.
The first- only -thought that invades Taehyung’s senses is that, that the production is so... ecstatic.
Like a short lived happiness, but so euphoric that he can’t help but want more. It’s softer than what Yoongi usually makes, less raw, less explicit. Like he’s providing the truth on a platter, giving the bitter dish a sweet side.
It doesn’t take a fool to know that it’s a love song, lofi hip hop with words bleeding into the song wherever appropriate.
“So, how do you like it?”
Taehyung hates it, if he’s being honest.
It’s one thing to be confronted with the thought of failure in every one of Yoongi’s songs, but being unloved is even more terrifying.
He is not worthy of affection, and the cracks in his heart deepen a little more.
The chorus is a repetition of the same words over and over, and they taunt Taehyung.
“I absolutely adore it,” he says, coughs lightly.
“Stop smoking,” Yoongi says offhandedly. “But thanks, I wrote it for someone.”
Is it Jeongguk? Taehyung wonders privately when he’s gathering his things half an hour later. He was supposed to stay for longer, listen a little more, but he’s having difficulty breathing.
It probably isn’t Jeongguk, he thinks when he pulls Yoongi in for a brief hug.
His chin tucks nearly perfectly over Yoongi’s head, and Taehyung refrains from staying for longer. He’s warm and Taehyung’s cold, let him have his excuse for a moment. For a moment longer, because he doesn’t think he’ll be seeing Yoongi very often from the present moment onwards.
“Bye Hyung,” Taehyung mumbles.
For a second, when he pulls back, the two of them dangle between that line again. The line between friendship and something... more. Too intimate for two people who’ve known each other for only a few months, for two people who attempt to avoid each other.
They’re imbalanced on the line between love and indifference, but Taehyung pulls away entirely before they can venture into unexplored territory.
And then he leaves, the studio a mere dot in his vision within a few minutes.
——
“You were supposed to tell him that the song was for him.” Hoseok says, his voice cracking over the line.
Yoongi shrugs, uncaring that Hoseok can’t see him.
“It was supposed to be a birthday gift.”
“He wouldn’t care.”
“It’s mid January, Hoseok.”
“And you wrote him a love song, what’s the matter with you?” Hoseok sounds slightly enraged, but Yoongi knows he’s just hyper. Gets loud when he’s anxious.
The clock ticks, a constant noise in his ear. His leg is bouncing unconsciously, and Yoongi really needs to invest in more chewing gum. The leg bouncing is annoying.
“Exactly.” He fiddles with his sleeves. “It’s not a love song if it’s one sided.”
The mp4 blinks stares at Yoongi with big eyes. He’s probably wrong, Taehyung isn’t incredibly good at hiding his affections, but that statement applies both ways. Taehyung proclaims his love for Namjoon on the daily, so who knows what really goes on behind scenes?
Regardless, all songs produced from fits of emotion and anger are always rather good, and Yoongi is rather proud of his creation. If not for the fact that every single second of it screams Taehyung’s name back at him.
Hoseok speaks not after long.
“You know he could die eventually, right? Hanahaki kills.”
Did the clock stop ticking?
“Then I suppose we just wait till he rids himself of them.”
“You know he won’t, Yoongi. He’ll bear it till it kills him.”
Bullshit.
For the likes of Yoongi, who would let orchids bloom in their own chest?
“If he loved me, then I wouldn’t be vomiting petals either, would I?”