Archive of Our Own

When Taehyung looks up, he sees more than the sky. 

He sees the swirls of pearl blues, slowly transforming into the turqoises of summer storms. He sees that the night sky is bathed in something deep and looming, evening times that are so blue, they're almost black. Mixed with the indigos and violets of the moon's reappearance.

When Taehyung looks around, he sees more than the trees. 

He sees forest greens, laced with viridescent qualities that sparkle from the dew, gently placed upon them. A world of limes and mints and enchanting, glorious, emerald greens.

When Taehyung looks down, he sees more than the flowers. 

He sees sparkles of dandelion yellows and rosy reds, prickly little periwinkles and dazzling patchy pinks. Auburn oranges like the sunset, fading into existence and gracing the greenery and shrubs with its blessings. 

And when Taehyung looks ahead, he sees more than the future. 

He sees a boy, with curly, sandy blonde hair, sitting atop a small patch of grass, a notebook in his lap, and something round and navy blue in his ears. It is a tiny device, one that Taehyung can not see from afar, but when the easel is set, and the paint brushes are out, Taehyung paints it anyway. 

On paper, the boy is just as he appears. Rounded cheeks, pinkish pouty lips, and a face glazed with the scarlets of anthuriums. His curly hair is glistening unnaturally with peppers of cinnamon and flecks of gold. It makes Taehyung wonder what his natural hair color is like. Perhaps onyx. Like his eyebrows and his long lashes that curl with the wind.

The boy is always comfy looking, wearing either a paperboy hat or a blue beret, clad in an oversized flannel or sweater, always some shade of blue. His shirt is usually so big that he dons sweater paws, draping past his pale, tiny fingers. Taehyung already feels some type of kinship between them, considering the fact that he also has a beret of his own.

His is a deep shade of magenta. 

Taehyung comes to Yeouido Park every day during his lunch break from classes, setting up his easel and canvas, busting out the pack of paint brushes and his dusty, chipped, purple mug of mint tea. He doesn't bother rolling up or buttoning the sleeves of his tan, checkered button down, pulling back the lids of woodsy smelling paints that are naturally made by the artist himself. 

Taehyung used to make a lot of money around here, painting portraits of the people and the tourists that wandered through the park. He was blessed because he enjoyed doing it. It didn't feel like work when he painted the people either there in person or in the pictures they gave him for money. The thrill of a brush between his fingertips, the canary yellow chirping of birds surrounding him and the gray, ashy tint of the wind rustling through the leaves and the trees, his hair.

Taehyung loves to paint. 

But he can't paint random strangers anymore. 

Not when he has finally found his muse. 

The boy is back, draped in oversized denim that makes him look like a child who has trifled with his parents' closet. His cheeks are cradled with a sugary pink due to the cold, and his button nose definitely fits the bill just as much. Taehyung sputters to get out the right brushes and paints, the charcoal staining his fingertips as he begins the boy's outline, his feline-like eyes one of Taehyung's favorite features of the boy's face. His cheeks and his lips are tied for second. Days go by, just like this one, Taehyung arriving at the same time every day for his lunch break, abandoning his food for the comfort of the boy across the way, sitting quietly in the park as he reads and writes. Taehyung most definitely feels like a creep when he thinks too much into it, but he doesn't like to dwell on it, not when it brings him so much joy to see the other. The sensitive part of his heart warns him to stay away so that his brain doesn't interfere, telling him to stop painting.

One day, Taehyung is frazzled, his clothes more wrinkled and strewn about than usual. A professor of his had pulled him to the side after class, trifling with his ideas of what art should and shouldn't be. Taehyung doesn't believe in such semantics. Art can't be put into a box. You can't confine art to one specific construct or political contagion. That is not what art is, nor is it what art was meant to be. 

So Taehyung is running a tad bit late today, and he can only pray that his muse hasn't left yet.

It seems that his wish has come true, as the boy is sitting there, in his usual spot, snacking on pieces of fruit as he reads from his notebook. 

Taehyung's heart sparkles. 

The artist rushes into the permanent spot of flat grass (due to his bottom) that he has made for himself, quickly setting up his easel and his paints. The boy wears a very loose fitting turtleneck today, knitted and speckled with fluffs of outer space. Taehyung can't help but to hum as he paints, looking down at his canvas for a brief moment once he has memorized the boy's pattern of clothing. Once the shapes are all drawn out and ready to be colored through, Taehyung takes his swatch paper, mixing the violet and the cyan to create the perfect swirl of blue that makes up the boy's shoes. 

But Taehyung makes one fatal mistake. 

The boy's skin is usually a very pale peach, but today, with the sun out and casting its shadows of bronze and gold, Taehyung doesn't have the right shade of blush!

He looks up to see if he can match his paints to the roses that pool in the boy's cheeks when suddenly, an empty spot lies in his wake. 

Taehyung frowns, his sharp brows furrowing as he looks back down at his artwork, and then back up again, as if the empty space is all an illusion and the boy will blink right back into the spot that he most recently occupied. 

Taehyung's teeth worry the flesh of his bottom lip, his eyes scanning the page of his canvas as a deep sigh wracks through his body. He's about to pack up when a voice nearly startles him out of his skin. 

"You've been painting me." 

Taehyung most definitely squeals like a small child, knocking his canvas and his paints over in the process. He scrambles to collect himself and his gatherings as quick as he can, before the green below can become drenched with the muddy colors of his paints mixing. He manages to fix everything in time, although now, he can probably never return to this park again. 

Taehyung looks up, his heart leaping into his throat, a hand slapping over his mouth to trap in a gasp. 

"I-I... I―" 

"It's okay. I'm not mad. A little weirded out, yes, but not mad." The boy says, and damn, is his voice deeper than Taehyung could have ever imagined. 

His voice is dusky and gravelly, but his tone is as deep and blue as the sea. Taehyung hears a vast ocean of aquamarine, encapsulating the moon and the stars and the planets when he speaks. The boy looks down on him, his lips pouted and pursed, due to the angle of his chin. Taehyung is utterly speechless, for the first time in his life, his eyes wide as he stares up at the boy whom has taken up a solid part of his heart. 

"I'm.... I... I'm sorry." 

The boy snorts, his lips curling as he plops down beside Taehyung in the dry, crusty grass. 

"I said I'm not mad." He repeats, his eyes trained on the canvas below, now sprinkled with browns and purples from the dirt and the mud and the paints. It is then that Taehyung notices, that the boy doesn't just speak with his mouth. He speaks with his hands too. With nearly every word, the boy's hands paint a pretty picture of his words, moving and dancing with such purposeful and fluid motion. 

"This is good." He says simply. "You paint nice. I am not this soft, but you make me look, soft." 

Taehyung's throat is dry. He can't bring himself to utter a word as he sits there, stricken with an unknown sense of terror. It was like his muse was never actually a real person, but a spirit, come to haunt him in the daytime. 

"Uh..." 

"My name is Min Yoongi. See? Now you have a name to the face." He says, his hands seemingly spelling out the characters of his name. 

Yoongi.

Yoongi. 

When Taehyung hears that name, Yoongi, Taehyung hears, cerulean. Faint trickles of cerulean, flood his eardrums, whirling around him like he's the eye of a tornado. 

And when Yoongi talks, Taehyung hears traces of cornflower, his pouty lips pursing and the rip in his jeans revealing the chestnuts of red that pepper them. Yoongi's words are a bit rounded at the edges, as if the syllables fit a little differently in his mouth than most people. Perhaps it has something to do with the movement of his hands, or, KSL as Taehyung has heard. 

Taehyung really loves that.

"Yoongi…"

The boy, Yoongi, nods. 

"Yoongi?" Taehyung asks. Yoongi nods, again. 

"Yeah." 

"Yoongi." 

"Yep." 

"Yoongi." 

"Yes that's my name don't wear it out." 

Taehyung's lips pull back, the natural smile of his shaped exactly like a box. 

"Are you gonna tell me your name now? Or are you going to keep saying mine like a mantra?" 

Taehyung giggles maniacally, completely aware of how foolish he must seem right now.

”I’m... I’m Kim Taehyung...”

Yoongi gives a single nod, his eyes raking over Taehyung’s messy, raggedy appearance with caution.

”Okay Taehyung, how old are you?” 

Taehyung gulps, noticing how it looks when Yoongi spells out his name with his hands.

“Twenty. You?”

Yoongi presses his lips together, the expression only puffing out his cheeks even more, making Taehyung want to trace the outline of them into his brain, so that he can remember the way they look forever.

”I’m twenty-three. Hyung it is.” 

Taehyung nods dumbly, his jaw dropped and his mouth agape.

”Okay... h-hyung...”

That’s how their first conversation goes. Yoongi stays to watch Taehyung paint for a little while longer, and then he leaves, wishing him farewell before heading back to God knows where. Taehyung couldn’t believe a thing that had transpired. When he returns back to the dorms, he replays their interaction over and over again in his head, relishing in the colors that the conversation grants him. His roommate, Jimin, eyes him like he’s a crazy person that has stumbled inside the room in a drunken haze.

Taehyung even dreams of Yoongi in his sleep.

The next day, Yoongi cuts right to the chase. 

As soon as his eyes find Taehyung’s, he gives the younger man a small smile before walking towards him and sitting down.

Funny enough, they don't really speak. Taehyung paints the world around them, and Yoongi writes how the world should be in his book.

Taehyung can make out the staffs of music against ivory, but he doesn't know exactly what Yoongi is writing. 

"Hyung?" 

"Hmm?" Yoongi hums, his pencil scraping against the pad of paper as the lines and droplets of led take up space. 

"What is it that you write? In your notebook?" 

Yoongi looks up, his hand stilling as he blinks up at Taehyung with his calculating, gleaming eyes. He puts down the pencil to sign as he speaks. 

"I'm a music ed major, so this is my theory work." 

Taehyung nods in understanding, watching as Yoongi gets back to his work. 

"You play an instrument?" Taehyung implores, his heart fluttering as he takes a break from his painting, leaning forward with his messy hands against his chin, most definitely smearing purple against his skin. 

Yoongi nods, abandoning his work for a short while. 

"I play piano." 

Taehyung's smile is so wide that it threatens to split his face in two. He likes what the word piano looks like in KSL. 

"Wow, that's so cool! You must be amazing! What is it that you like to play?" 

Taehyung's words bring forth a fuzzy heat to Yoongi's cheeks, the older of the two sort of curling in on himself, as if he isn't accustomed to such compliments. 

"I study classical music." 

"Oh so you're like... a Korean Beethoven huh!" 

Taehyung has never been really good with words. He is more than known to run off at the mouth and say things that have the potential to offend. 

But if Yoongi is offended, he definitely doesn't show it. Instead, he just laughs. 

And shit. 

Taehyung's senses explode with every sense of the word color. Yoongi's pitch of laughter is nothing but sunshine and amber and apricots, the ripples of his shrill giggles are begonia and azaleas and all sorts of amethysts, just like the color of his gums that show when he laughs this hard. With Yoongi's laughter comes a wheezy breath so strong, that Yoongi has to hold onto his quaking belly. Soon enough, Taehyung has joined in and the two look like absolute buffoons, attracting the unwanted glares of strangers who pass them by. 

Once their conjoined laughter has died down, Taehyung's stomach aches and his heart has rattled all of his weary, twenty-year old bones. He regains control of his breathing, paint smearing against his shirt and his corduroys as he smooths down the wrinkles of his clothes, a way to ground himself, the pressure calming his jittery nerves. Yoongi watches on, his smile still evident. 

"I have to go soon and practice for this recital but, maybe I will see you here, tomorrow?" 

Taehyung keens, leaning forward on the balls of his feet as he wraps his arms around his knees. 

"Yeah, I'd like that. A lot." 

Yoongi nods, opening his book and beginning to write again. Taehyung picks up his brushes and continues to paint. 

The silence is overwhelming but welcome, all the same. 

Taehyung should have been able to guess that he and Yoongi attended the same University. He has no clue why he had never seen the other roaming the halls or in the coffee shops of free periods, but he realizes that different majors call for different departments, which means different buildings and class settings. 

The park is a comfortable distance from their school, and their time at lunch has become a recurring thing. The silence that envelops them is normal and comfortable, but Taehyung's curiosity always happens to get the best of him in all the worst ways. 

Yoongi has a habit of looking at Taehyung's lips when he speaks. He can't help but to feel a little self-conscious, but he knows that it probably has a correlation to the device in Yoongi's ears. 

Taehyung only wishes he were better with his words. 

"Why do you look at my lips hyung?" 

Yoongi's body stiffens, his pupils go wide as he looks up, his cheeks appearing a lot warmer than before. 

"I? Oh... I... it helps when you... talk... It helps to understand." He speaks as he signs.

"Oh! I can move my mouth a little more? You know, if it helps." Taehyung says with a bright smile, having the best of intentions even if his proposal can be seen as demeaning. This makes Yoongi snort. 

"You don't have to do that Taehyung-ah. I can understand you just fine. I'm not completely deaf, you know." 

Taehyung's lips make an o shape, a twinge of pain in his chest upon offending the other. 

"Ah, sorry. That blue thing in your ears helps?" 

Yoongi chuckles. 

"Have you never seen a cochlear before?" 

Taehyung shrugs. "I think so, I've just never known what it was I guess." 

Yoongi nods, tapping at the aid with his forefinger. "It kind of... makes the world around me, louder, like, easier to hear. Like I'm in water without it, but when I have it, things become a bit... clearer to hear." 

Taehyung hums, his chin resting on his knees, fascinated and enthralled. 

"Wow..." 

Taehyung doesn't realize that his excitement about the subject could be seen as insensitive, but he's never been one for social cues. 

"So, why do you sign if you can understand me? Ow." 

Taehyung's hands immediately come to cover his nose, which has just been flicked, by Min Yoongi himself. Not hard enough to really hurt him though.

"Just because I can somewhat hear you, doesn't mean that I shouldn't sign. That's how I learned to communicate." 

Taehyung sniffles, rubbing at the bridge of his nose with a pinched expression. 

"I'm sorry. That was very rude of me."

Yoongi's frown softens as he looks a bit guilty.

"It's okay. I know you didn't mean it like how other people might."

Other people? Taehyung wonders what Yoongi means by that, but he doesn't question it.

"Can you show me?" 

Yoongi raises a brow. 

"Show you... what?" 

"Some sign language." 

"Uh... okay." 

Yoongi makes a show of his hands, moving them with haste but also with intention, and a bit harsher than what Taehyung has seen before. Taehyung just sits there, in awe. 

"That's so cool... what did you say?" 

Yoongi snorts, looking back at his book and picking up his pencil. "That's for me to know, and for you to find out." 

Taehyung gasps, totally played. "What?! That's not fair hyung!"

Yoongi giggles. "You told me to show you, not tell you." 

Taehyung crosses his arms, his lips set in a deep pout. 

"You knew what I meant." 

Yoongi teases him with a playful pout. "Ahhh, you're so cute when you pout. Come, paint some more. You are happier when you paint." 

Taehyung scoffs before swatting at Yoongi's arm, the pace of his heart ramping up at the thought of being called cute, even when he knows that Yoongi is just teasing. 

For some reason, Taehyung wished he had meant it. 

Even so, he follows Yoongi's orders and begins to paint once more. The leaves are still orange, and Taehyung doesn't want to miss that. 

Upon learning that Yoongi was born with impaired hearing, Taehyung tells Yoongi about his synesthesia.

Yoongi thinks that Taehyung is playing a trick on him. 

”Syne-what? You hear colors?”

Taehyungs nods, a chuckle buried deep in his throat as he paints a hydrangea near his foot that has spouted from the depths of hell. The word synesthesia looks a bit different in KSL than all the rest. 

”Yeah, I mean, kind of? Like, when people talk and stuff, the colors kind of... filter in and out of my brain... like... tidal waves... on the shore. Like, the shore is my brain, and the colors, are the water. Does that make sense?”

Yoongi nods, flipping through Taehyung’s collection of sketchbooks and paint pads. 

“What does my voice sound like?” Yoongi murmurs, his voice low and teal.

Taehyung hums in thought, dipping the used paint brush into the water, draining the bristles of their temporary color.

”When you talk... I hear... the sky. But the sky when it’s dark, like in the nighttime? And the stars are out and the moon is full, and it’s warm. Like a summer night. It’s warm and humid but the nice kind of humid where you can still be comfortable? And your skin isn’t sticky from the sweat. There’s still a breeze so it’s nice, and you can breathe easy. And even though it’s dark... the sky still looks... blue. Just... blue.”

Yoongi's lips are pursed as he takes in this information, something slight sparkling in his onyx colored eyes. 

"You hear that... every time I speak?" 

Taehyung beams with a nod.

"Most of the time, yes. Sometimes it changes, like, when you get snippy with me, I hear flakes of red, and when you laugh, I see an explosion of all sorts of colors. I really like when you laugh hyung. It's nice to see." 

Yoongi starts choking for some reason, a hand on his chest and his eyes screwed shut. Taehyung stops painting for a moment, considering if he should hand Yoongi a glass of water but, the only one he has is a brown color due to all the paints mixed in with it. 

"That's weird. You're... you're weird." Yoongi murmurs once he has recovered, eyes on his pages. 

Taehyung giggles, resuming his paintwork. 

"Yeah. I get that a lot." 

They paint and they write and the wind has turned a shade of silver, but then Yoongi speaks up when it's time to go, looking almost guilty. 

"When I said you were weird... I meant that... I meant that in a good way. Not a bad way." 

Taehyung's ears perk up at this, his brows furrowed and a spot of green on the swell of his cheek. Yoongi doesn't know how it got there, but he does take this time to thumb it away with his finger. Taehyung sneezes, the gesture igniting a swirl of pollen against his nostrils. 

"I didn't think you meant it to hurt me, like when I asked why you sign when you can speak. You know my heart, and you won't hurt me. You wouldn't hurt me, right Hyungie?" 

Yoongi's gaze softens shortly before his eyes crinkle, his gums, aglow.

"No Tae. I would never hurt you." 

That's how the nicknames begin. 

"You want me to paint the sun again hyung?" 

"Yes Taehyungie." 

"How about the sky?"

"Of course Tae-ah."

"And the moon?" 

"Yes please my dear TaeTae." 

And Taehyung knows he's just teasing, but it doesn't make Taehyung's heart flutter any less. It's sometimes easy to pretend that there is more going on between them when Yoongi's words are so sweet and saccharine, like honey sprinkled nuts and hot chocolate, drizzled with caramel.

Taehyung just really likes it when Yoongi, talks. 

One day Yoongi comes to the park, and it looks like he's been crying. His cheeks are splotchy and red and stained with tracks of tears.

He doesn't say anything as he dumps his things. Instead, he plops to the ground before leaning his body against Taehyung. He tilts his head so that it rests against Taehyung's shoulder, and Taehyung wants to say something. He really, truly, does.

But something tells him that his silence would be more helpful right now. 

So Taehyung abandons his art for the time being, interlacing his fingers with Yoongi's because he has a feeling that the other needs something stronger than words. Something more empowering, like the warmth of soft, smooth skin, holding him up and lifting him high. It seems that Yoongi is okay with this too, as he sniffles, chewing his bottom lip as to clamp in a sob. He buries his face into Taehyung's shoulder blade, the painter himself turning and enveloping Yoongi into a deep, warm hug. 

Taehyung shushes him, pulling him close and rubbing circles in his back.

"Don't cry hyungie, please don't cry." 

Taehyung's shirt soon grows wet, Yoongi's curls tickling his chin as the older boy cries. 

Yoongi's cries are dark and hollow, bottomless and never ending, devoid of color and tearing at the edges of Taehyung's heart. He hates this. God, he really, really hates this. He doesn't know why Yoongi is crying but he desperately wants it to stop. 

Please, make it stop. 

They stay like that through the end of their lunch break and they miss their first classes back, but when Yoongi has recovered, he wipes at his chubby cheeks, avoiding all sense of Taehyung's eyes. 

"I'm sorry Tae-ah." 

"Do not be sorry, precious Hyung. I just want to make sure you're okay?" 

Yoongi sniffles, gathering his things and allowing Taehyung to help him stand. 

He kisses Taehyung's cheek. 

"I have to go. Goodbye Taehyung." He signs. 

Since then, Yoongi doesn't really keep his hands to himself. 

When Yoongi comes to visit, he grabs at Taehyung's hands and his arms, looping them together and leaning against him. Taehyung really likes it. He does.

They've exchanged numbers and with the numbers comes funny pictures and memes and Taehyung feels like a creep but, whenever Yoongi sends him a picture of his face, he can't help but to save it to his camera roll. He would rather die than let anyone else see them, because when Yoongi sends him little pictures and videos and audio clips of his gravelly voice in the mornings, Taehyung counts them as priceless little treasures, solely and perfectly for him. 

They are back in the park. Taehyung is painting and Yoongi is writing, and their shoulders are a lot closer now than they ever were before. Like as soon as Yoongi sits down, personal space is no longer a factor. The older boy speaks up.  

"Do you remember when I cried?" 

Taehyung nods, solemnly, not really wanting to think back to that day.

"Yeah." 

Yoongi takes in a deep breath, signing slowly as he speaks.

"I cried because... because I teach music to these kids, through the music department. I had found out that... that the school is cutting the funding for the program." 

The burning fire of anger in Taehyung's stomach burns brighter, into pure, unadulterated fury. It is as quick as it is violent. 

"How, how can they do that?! That's not fair hyung―"

"I know Taehyungie, I know. That's why I was so sad. I was sad because those kids come from low income families like... like myself. And all they want to do is play music. Now, they can't." 

Taehyung drops his brushes, his lips pursed into a deep pout, his eyes trained on the grass in thought. 

"I don't... I don't know, I wish there was something that we could do." 

Taehyung isn't really thinking when he says we, but that is what he and Yoongi have become. A pair. 

Yoongi sighs, his hand slinking slowly into Taehyung's, their fingers threaded and unable to detach from one another. The wind and the sun brings them closer. 

"Me too Taehyungie. Me too." 

Neither of them speaks after that, their chests heavy with hurt. They go back to their daily tasks, painting and writing, writing and painting. It isn't until Yoongi is packing up, that he says one last thing, signing so quickly that Taehyung doesn't know what to focus on. 

"There is this end of the year recital that the music department hosts. The top three performers get to go to Europe. It's open to the public. Each performer is allowed to invite two people but, I don't really know anyone else, besides you. You can come if you want, and if you want you can bring a friend. It's the department's last chance at trying to raise enough money to keep the training programs. If they see that enough people are willing to come and support, then maybe―"

Taehyung is a little embarrassed by how quickly he says yes, and upon his acceptance to the invitation, Yoongi giggles, droplets of rainbow sparkles fogging up the corners of Taehyung's vision. 

Yoongi kisses his cheek, a constant recurrence to signify his leaving. 

"Bye Taehyungie." 

Taehyung wants to give something back. He just doesn't know what yet. 

"Goodbye Hyung." 

Taehyung decides to bring Jimin to the recital, who, clowns him for buying a huge bouquet of flowers that has absolutely no uniformity whatsoever. He wishes that he could say he picked a certain rose or daisy because of their transcendent meanings, but no. He just really liked the different colors. 

Yoongi isn't able to see them before the show, but with Taehyung's text of good luck hyungie, comes a slew of emojis from Yoongi's end. 

Yoongi is one of the last to perform. Before him come artists that Taehyung has only heard about from pianist himself. Taehyung remembers Hoseok, who plays the cello, Namjoon, who plays the violin, Seokjin, who plays the harp, and Jeongguk, who studies in classical voice. Jimin is quite smitten, growing especially quiet when Hoseok and Jeongguk join each other for a duo performance. 

And then there's Yoongi.

Yoongi is introduced by a professor as he comes to sit at the bench, clad in a suit and tie. There have been countless performers tonight but for Taehyung, Yoongi is the only one in the room. 

Yoongi's hair is perfectly quaffed, parted neatly to the side, tucked tightly behind his cute little ears, a hint of navy blue visible. Taehyung feels a little queasy for some reason, his excitement laced with nervous energy that imitates the feeling of butterflies, fluttering around all crazy in his stomach. 

Yoongi places his fingers along the keys of the piano. Taehyung sucks in a breath. 

Music, colors, floods and floods of colors rush against Taehyung's being like a tsunami, dousing his hair and his skin, drenching his organs and the ribs that encase them. Taehyung finds it nearly impossible to breathe as Yoongi's music take his soul as hostage, fueling his blood and flowing through his veins like sugar cane. Taehyung thought Yoongi's laugh was magical. 

But Yoongi's music makes Taehyung's world a kaleidescope of color. 

Taehyung and Jimin wait by the stage door, Taehyung nearly standing in front of it, swatting Jimin's hand when the other tries to pull him back a bit. 

He wants to make sure he's the first person that Yoongi sees. 

The performers start to trickle out, mindless chatter and small talk coloring Taehyung's vision with different shades of tans and browns. The colors are dull when Taehyung isn't paying attention to them, especially when there is only one voice that he wants to hear. 

But as soon as the door opens, and Taehyung sees a hint of that familiar face that he's even seen in his dreams, he's off an running. 

"Hyung!"

Taehyung collects Yoongi into his arms, spinning on his heels with the other yelping and laughing in his ears. Yoongi slaps his hands against Taehyung's chest, his smile so wide that his gums are apparent. 

"Taehyung-ah, put me down." 

Taehyung does that but, he does it slowly, allowing Yoongi to slip from his arms, his smile uncontrollable, the other's face seeming so... 

Close. 

The tips of their noses are nearly touching, as Yoongi braces his hands against Taehyung's biceps. Their bodies still, Taehyung's hands settling on the shorter boy's hips as the plastic wrap of the bouquet cracks and crinkles in his hands. 

Ah. 

"Hyung-ah, these, these are for you." 

Yoongi raises a brow in question before looking down at the bouquet, that is now, a little tattered and withered. Taehyung can't help but to hiss through his teeth, not realizing how hard he had been squeezing the flowers during Yoongi's performance. 

Yoongi giggles melodically, his cheeks tinged pink, pinker than usual, if Taehyung might add. Perhaps it's the exhilaration after such a breathtaking performance, but Taehyung can't help the swell of pride within. 

"Thank you, Tae." 

Taehyung nods, ducking his head in embarrassment. 

Once Yoongi's friends come out, they talk for hours. Jimin is a bumbling mess when it comes to Hoseok and Jeongguk, and it seems like those two are no better when it comes to the spicy enigma that is Park Jimin. Namjoon and Seokjin are a flurry of hand holding and mindless touches, smiles and laughter. Taehyung finds it adorable but, also somewhat... bothersome. 

Taehyung rarely gets jealous but he doesn't think there is a better word for what he is feeling. 

Thank goodness he is too enthralled with Yoongi to be bothered. 

Once they are kicked out of the venue for unintentional loitering, they find a hole in the wall ramen place that is still open and bustling. The boys fill their bellies with noodles and cheap liquor, the alcohol works as energy, causing their laughter to be maniacal and without purpose. 

Taehyung and Yoongi can't keep their hands to themselves, and they don't mean to do it. It just comes so natural to them now. Taehyung is laughing his face off, cackling with no remorse and grabbing at Yoongi's hands, squeezing his fingers and entangling their arms. Yoongi is chuckling in Taehyung's chest, a hand covering his own face as his cheeks burn bright red. However, the heat within the establishment becomes too much, and Yoongi complains about the feeling of his suit jacket, the fabric tight against his already clammy and sweaty skin. Taehyung takes hold of his hand, pulling him outside and cutting the corner of the restaurant, people of all creeds, giddy and drunk with more than alcohol.

Maybe love, or at least, something akin to it. 

Yoongi can't stop laughing and the color is so thick that it's hard for Taehyung to see the world around him. 

All he sees is Yoongi. 

"You're so warm." Yoongi mumbles against the skin off Taehyung's cheek, falling into the taller boy's front side, his hands curling against Taehyung's chest as their bodies melt and mold. 

"Like, my body temperature?" Taehyung teases, holding Yoongi up by the perch of his waist, never pushing him away, only keeping him upright. Yoongi's lips graze against Taehyung's ear, the sensation sending a shiver down the artist's spine. 

"No, no Tae-ah, you are warm. You are warm and when you speak, I feel sunshine and rainbows and sometimes, you know, when the moon is in the right place? You can see the stars, even when it's light out, when day breaks, that's what I feel when I'm with you. I feel the horizon and the sun and the stars too, all at the same time." 

Taehyung swears he's in love. 

He swears he's in love when Yoongi laughs, when Yoongi speaks. He sees his love when Yoongi's eyes crinkle like that, when his cat like eyes trace over every aspect of Taehyung's face as he tries to decipher his thoughts through every change of his facial expression. He sees love when it takes a moment for Yoongi to get his words together, or when he's mulling over something that Taehyung has said, because even though he is quiet more often than not, Taehyung knows he is listening. 

Taehyung tightens his grip on Yoongi's waist, his eyes stinging with unshed tears, his stomach swirling in his demise. He feels a little nauseous but he also feels really good, on the brink of something marvelous, every touch that Yoongi grants him giving him more than this life could offer. Yoongi looks up at him when he's been quiet for too long, and the sudden move was a dreadful mistake. 

Yoongi's teeth gleam when he smiles, raising his hands from Taehyung's shoulders as he starts to move them, slowly. Signing. It's familiar to Taehyung, the taller of the two squinting at Yoongi's thin, pale fingers. 

"Hyung... you know I can't sign... tell me... tell me what it means..." 

Yoongi giggles. 

"Can I show you instead?" 

Taehyung's brows raise, his heart stilling in his chest as he finally understands what Yoongi is asking him. 

"Oh uh sure I―mmph!" 

The sensation of Yoongi's lips against his own is otherworldly. Yoongi's lips are just as plush as Taehyung could have ever imagined, soft and warm and making his own lips tingle with joy. Yoongi's mouth tastes like sweet soju, their tongues melding slowly as their lips overlap and melt together like hot, sugary taffy. Yoongi grabs fistfuls of Taehyung's shirt, wrenching him closer as the kiss becomes more and more bruising, their teeth scraping as a moan buries itself heavily in the base of Taehyung's throat.

Taehyung falls back against the force of Yoongi's body, leaning against the wall as he digs his fingers into Yoongi's hips. Taehyung's hands explore the soft skin of Yoongi's stomach, licking into the other's mouth hungrily, starved for the pianist's taste and touch. Yoongi's hands drag upward, cupping Taehyung's cheeks and nibbling at his lips, slowly but surely, each bite causing the skin there to grow red and tender. Yoongi's fingers card through Taehyung's hair and scratch at his nape, the two of them swallowing each others moans and hasty breaths. Their teeth scrape and their lips smack, the wind instantly cooling their abused lips and damp skin. The kiss is kind of a mess, all fumbly and uncoordinated but it’s the best damn kiss Taehyung has ever experienced, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

But Yoongi pulls away all too soon, his breaths heavy in his chest. Taehyung's heart is in his throat, his vision foggy, tears nearly frozen on his lashes from having his eyes closed for so long. His lips still tingle but he so desperately wants to kiss Yoongi again. 

But Yoongi pulls away, jumping back an impressive distance, his eyes flitting around every spot of the sidewalk, avoiding all essence of Taehyung's gaze. 

"Let's go back inside. I think I want to go soon." 

Yoongi doesn't come to the park the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. 

Taehyung doesn’t stop painting but with every day that passes, he paints less and less. He tries to replay every memory of his time with Yoongi in his mind. Was there something that he did or, said? To have made Yoongi want to avoid him for days on end, to ignore his texts and his phone calls? 

Taehyung knows he's being dramatic, but what can he say. It's his forte. 

With the loss of Yoongi comes a loss of color. The sounds that filter in and out of Taehyung's mind have become dull, mere pastels of what they used to be. Taehyung's heart splinters at the thought of never seeing Yoongi again, but from what it seems like, his fears just might become a reality. 

Taehyung stares at the blank easel, his arms to weak to even grab a brush, let alone paint. His chest aches, the pain nearly unbearable, his vision hazy from all the hot tears. He has no idea why he would even come to the park in the first place. His heart just isn't... in it anymore. 

He's never felt this heartbroken before, not when his parents told him that they wouldn't support him and his dreams if he pursued art, not when Seojoon broke up with him on his birthday, no, not even then. 

And it is cruel, for his brain to play tricks on him when his heart is hurting so much, but he swears that he sees Yoongi across the park, walking towards him.

No, running. 

"H-Hyung?" 

"Tae!"

Nope, not a dream. Not a hallucination. It can't be when Yoongi comes barreling into his arms with no sense of caution whatsoever. With a heavy oof, Taehyung comes crashing down, tumbling into the grass. Yoongi giggles, his hands cupping Taehyung's cheek as he gentls asks for permission. Taehyung nods quickly, before Yoongi's lips slam into his own, the older giggling into the kiss.

Taehyung's heart swells.

There it is, again, the color, seeping into his skin and his blood and all over his body, melting into his reality once again. 

Their lips smack as they pull away. Taehyung's lips feel swollen, his hair all in disarray, his eyes wide and glistening in shock. 

Yoongi has a few things to say. 

"I'm so, so, so sorry Taehyungie. When we kissed I... I freaked out. I had started liking you so long ago and when I kissed you, I was afraid that I had messed everything up." Yoongi licks at his chapped lips and Taehyung still can't manage to breathe. 

"But then I saw your messages and all your calls and... I knew you felt the same. I knew it, and I couldn't let you go. I'm so sorry that I left you but I just... I had to know... I had to be sure that you felt the same." 

Taehyung still can't even breathe, let alone think. He wishes he could say something, anything, to make Yoongi understand.

But actions do speak louder than words. 

Taehyung had a lot of time on his hands when Yoongi was gone, and even if he didn't know how to use it properly, he managed to do some things. 

Taehyung maneuvers his body from underneath Yoongi's, making a show of his hands before moving them, slowly and without certainty. 

Yoongi starts to weep. 

"Since you never told me what you signed, I did a lot of research and figured it out myself." 

Yoongi places a hand over his trembling lips, a feeble attempt to clamp in his own gut wrenching sobs. 

I love you. Taehyung signs. 

And Yoongi signs back. 

I love you too. 

Yoongi throws his arms around Taehyung’s neck, kissing him senseless and knocking the very breath out of him, literally. Taehyung kisses back with fierce tenacity and a full heart. 

Taehyung had always been able to hear colors, but what he didn’t know, was that Min Yoongi would be the most beautiful color of them all.