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Min Yoongi wakes up from unsettling dreams with the premonition that the world will end tonight. It’s not climate destabilization leading to habitat destruction and species extinction. It’s not a nuclear arms race culminating into World War III. It’s not a meteoroid or asteroid colliding with earth. It’s not an alien invasion. It’s not a plague. It’s not A.I.
It’s a whistle.
The kind of whistle that you hear at 4 am when your mind refuses to stay quiet. The kind of whistle that rests in your ear until you wake up. The kind of parasitic whistle that digs a hole in your brain and makes a home there until your own body becomes inhospitable.
It’s a whistle that many have heard before and it’s a whistle that many will hear for the first and last time tonight.
This is not the first time that Yoongi has had a prophetic dream. The details are vague but the outcome is always true. BTS will hold a concert at Jamsil Stadium. BTS will win a daesang. BTS will perform at the Billboard Music Awards. BTS will attend the Grammys. The world will end with a whistle.
His first dream was to go to Seoul. Go to Seoul and success will find you. The dream didn’t tell him it would involve a rift with his parents, multiple part-time jobs, a broken shoulder, a hundred hungry nights, and the dissolution of friendships. But success had found him, the dream never lies.
So Min Yoongi lays in bed, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down. The old knock of his heart pounding against his chest is an unwelcome guest. He waits for it to leave as it always does.
And as one knock departs, he hears another knock on his door.
“Yoongi-hyung!” Jimin calls from the other side of the door. “Are you ready? Everyone’s already left! I stayed to get you because I’m an angel, but we’ve got to go!”
Jimin’s voice cuts through the cloud of his thoughts, grounding him in the present. They have a schedule today, a photoshoot with Singles Magazine. Last night, they all sat in a circle in the living room and discussed the photoshoot over chicken and beer. It had been a grueling day of dance practice, and they were too exhausted to cook. Their new choreography was the most challenging yet. Sweat adhered their clothes to their skin, even after they had changed from their dance clothes back to their street clothes. Despite their fatigue, anticipation for the photoshoot energized their conversation. It was their first Korean magazine photoshoot in years and Singles Magazine had agreed to let Big Hit take the helm for the concept.
“Go ahead without me. I’ll take a taxi,” Yoongi replies, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “I still have to shower.”
Jimin scrunches his nose at Yoongi’s admission. “Okay hyung, I’ll let the others know.”
Yoongi puts his ear to the door and listens to the shuffle of Jimin taking off his slippers and putting on his boots. As soon as he hears the click of the front door closing, he lets go of the breath he’s held onto and collapses on his bed.
He didn’t have much time before a member or manager called again to check up on him. He has to think of his next steps. The world will end tonight, but what can he do? Who can he tell? If he announces this on SNS, fans will think he’s been hacked, that it’s a joke, or worse, a cry for help for his mental health. If he holds a press conference or storms up the Blue House, it would be written off as a scandal: BTS Suga is Insane, BTS Suga has a Nervous Breakdown in Public, Is This What a Global Star Does?
The irony of media outlets calling BTS one of the most influential artists of their generation. For all his accomplishments, he is powerless against prophecy. There’s nothing he could do to change the outcome.
He’s tried before. The day before their O2 show, he woke up with the premonition that Jimin would injure his neck and back. He stuck by Jimin’s side and warned Jimin numerous times not to push himself too hard, but his efforts were in vain. Even worse, in his narrow focus on Jimin, he didn’t pay enough attention to Jungkook. While Jungkook was alone, he injured his heel so badly that he needed stitches. The guilt of London remained with Yoongi like a chronic wound.
Alone in the dorm, Yoongi allows himself to cry again. The realization of everyone’s impending death is overwhelming. He couldn’t breathe, he feels like his heart is going to outrun his body. He holds himself, trembling on his floor. His mind is far away, but this is familiar, he knows this isn’t going to kill him.
Min Yoongi, you’re going to take a deep breath, count to four, and exhale. Just like your therapist instructed. Count to four, inhale. Count to four, exhale. He focuses on his breath as he waits for his heart to stop hammering, as he waits for his head to clear, as he waits for his spirit to return to his body.
It feels like an eternity. He gets up and goes to the bathroom to wash his face with cold water.
As his heartbeat returns to normal, he receives a phone call from Namjoon.
“Jimin told me you asked him to go ahead. How are you feeling? Do you want me to talk to the staff to postpone the photoshoot?” Namjoon asks, his voice gentle and laced with concern.
“No, I’m fine. I’m on my way now.”
Yoongi reassures Namjoon a second time as he wipes his face with a towel. He hangs up the phone and walks to his wardrobe.
He’s still in his pajamas, he has to pick an outfit for today, the last one he’ll ever wear. He tries to banish the thought, not to overthink his choice. Yoongi’s hand hovers briefly over the BAPE denim jacket with shark embellishments on the sleeves. The black one to match Namjoon’s blue jacket. But decides against it. It doesn’t have to be a special outfit, just a simple one that won’t draw attention. He settles on a beige Fear of God t-shirt and black jeans. An outfit that he’s worn so many times the boys teased that he was becoming a manhwa character. He smiles forlornly at the memory.
—
Once he’s in the taxi, he calls his parents’ home number. His father picks up.
“So you can pick up the phone! It’s been so long since you’ve called back, I thought you’d lost it. I know you’re busy, but you should spare some time to call us. I’ve talked with the other parents and Seokjin calls his eomeonim every day.”
“I’m sorry abeoji, I should’ve called more often,” Yoongi says. “Are hyung and eomeoni home?”
“They just left to walk Holly. Did you have something you need to talk to them about?”
“No, no, I just wanted to ask how you’ve been.”
“Blood pressure’s better, I’ve been following the doctor’s diet suggestions. My back’s still bad. Your eomeoni’s bought me this electronic massager that’s supposed to help, but so far, I haven’t seen any results.”
“I’ll buy you a massage chair,” Yoongi offers.
“No, massage chairs are too expensive nowadays. Save your money to buy something more important.”
Yoongi laughs. “I can afford to buy you a massage chair. And my company’s about to sign a contract with Bodyfriend. I can get it at a discounted price or negotiate to get a free model.”
“That’s okay. I’ll keep using this massager to placate your eomeoni. Are you home now?”
“I’m on my way to a photoshoot.”
“Okay. I won’t keep you. Your eomeoni’s made some cabbage kimchi and braised short ribs. She said she’s going to come by your dorm tonight to drop them off.”
Yoongi deliberates on whether he should tell his father the truth, that there won’t be a tonight for him to come home to. He’d never told him about his prophetic dreams before. Yoongi’s father was his role model in childhood, an adversary in teenagehood, and a mentor in adulthood. Through the years their relationship had evolved, severed, and repaired. Telling his father about this hidden part of himself now feels like unloading an unnecessary burden onto him.
“I finish late tonight,” Yoongi says instead.
“That’s fine. She knows the passcode. Will you call again tomorrow?”
Yoongi frowns at the question. “I’m very busy this week,” he responds. Yesterday it wasn’t a lie, but today it masks the truth.
His father sighs on the other end of the line, disappointed in his response.
“But I can call you tomorrow morning before my next schedule,” he adds.
“Okay, Songwol. Good luck on today’s photoshoot, send me photos so I can see your face.”
“I will abeoji.” Before his father hangs up, Yoongi musters up his nerve and says one last thing, “I don’t say this often enough, but I love you.”
“Thank you Songwol,” his father’s voice catches, “I love you too.”
“Please let eomeoni and hyung know that I love them too.”
“I will. Take care of yourself Yoongi.”
—
As soon as he arrives on the set, Yoongi apologizes to the Singles Magazine staff, coordis, managers, and other members for being late. Some of the members had already finished their photoshoots. Yoongi still had his individual shoot, group photoshoot, and interview left.
As a make-up artist applies foundation to his face, Yoongi browses Naver for news articles on his phone. There’s nothing on the impending apocalypse. Not that he expected anything. In his dream, it happened without warning.
On the floor of the set, Seokjin, Jimin, and Jungkook had made a game out of tossing bottle caps. The Bangtan Bomb noona runs from the other side of the room to capture the incident. Taehyung and Hoseok sit side by side on a couch, laughing at a video on Taehyung’s phone. Namjoon reads Kim Whanki’s biography on a chair close to the laughing duo. Yoongi’s heart clenches with an unbearable fondness as he watches his members. They wouldn’t be this carefree if they knew. The days leading up to a comeback are always filled with anxiety and the weight of their own expectations. It’s early now so the tension hasn’t set in yet.
He had decided in the car not to tell them about his dream. Even if they’ve been together for years, they still have their own secrets, things that they don’t understand about one another but accepted anyway.
They’ve talked about it before, playfully, what they’d do if there’s an apocalypse. There was no question that they’d be together. Ever since Seokjin had started watching The Walking Dead, a zombie apocalypse was the most popular scenario discussed among the team. They had joked that Yoongi would be the most likely to survive because of his random snippets of knowledge on wilderness and disaster survival. But they’d pledged they would go down fighting in a blaze of glory. Reality is less theatrical. They’d never imagined that the world would end not with a bang, but a whistle.
Luckily, his melancholy mood suits the theme of the photoshoot. He channels his angst into his poses and expressions to portray a punk rocker. He reviews his shots when he’s finished. They turned out well and he sends some of them to his father in their family group chat.
Yoongi’s energy is low after being in front of the camera for an extended period. He squats in a corner of the room as Taehyung walks onto the set to commence his individual shoot. Hoseok struts up to Yoongi and puts his hands on his shoulder.
“Ba ba ba ba your Hobi charger is here,” he says cheerfully. At work, Hoseok acts as if he’s impervious to fatigue, but it’s only a front he puts on to be the mental carer for his members.
Yoongi smiles at the gesture and springs up dramatically. “Thank you Hobi.”
When they finish their group photoshoot, the members sit in a row in front of the Singles Magazine journalist who asks them about their upcoming comeback. Namjoon takes the lead to respond to questions about their concept. This time it’s inspired by the Joseon Punk movement of the 1990s. The Joseon Punk movement was a vehicle for youth to express angst about growing up in South Korean society. Their group identity has always stood for protecting youth against prejudice and oppression, so they wanted to incorporate elements of Joseon Punk into this comeback.
As Namjoon responds to the interview questions with practiced professionalism, Yoongi gazes upon him, lost in thought. He keeps cycling back to an interview from their promotions in China a few years ago; when the interviewer asked the members who they would spend their last day on earth with. Namjoon had answered that he would spend it with Yoongi because there’s a lot of things they haven’t said to each other. What did Namjoon mean by this? He had never been able to figure it out.
Yoongi has a mental list, of petty things he should’ve let go of years ago, of praise that he wanted to give but the timing wasn’t right, of small things like book or album recommendations that slipped his mind in the grind of everyday operations. He also has a big unspoken thing, perhaps Namjoon had meant that. He isn’t an idiot or at least he hopes that he isn’t. He’s noticed the lingering looks, the touches that stayed for a second too long, the longing for something more.
They’d never verbalize this, not when they’re still idols. Not for the sake of scandal that could jeopardize both their jobs and goals. But Yoongi believes it’s there. He used to daydream that maybe after their contracts end, and they’re no longer idols, he’d ask Namjoon out. He’d invite him out to a drink, confess, and his feelings would be reciprocated. But this daydream never appeared in his night dreams. It was less of a prediction and more of a wish.
“…Suga-ssi?” the journalist asks. He’d only caught the tail end of her question.
It’s silent for a beat before Seokjin rescues him by breaking out a joke about his listening skills. Everyone laughs, cutting the awkwardness. Yoongi asks the journalist to repeat her question.
The journalist repeats her question about the songs that he’s produced for the upcoming album. Normally, he’d be excited to answer music-related questions, but his response feels hollow today. No one will hear his music tomorrow.
The journalist moves on to ask Jungkook about his involvement on the album. Namjoon throws a glance at Yoongi, his eyes questioning. Namjoon has become attuned to the subtle differences in Yoongi’s voice through their years of living together, he could tell something is wrong. Yoongi shakes his head and smiles. He’ll talk to Namjoon tonight. He didn’t have the benefit of years to craft his confession anymore. Even if he’s misread everything, he didn’t want it all to end without Namjoon knowing how he felt.
When the interview ends, and they’ve changed out of their anthemic t-shirts, spikey boots and chokers, their managers corral them to the exit, to be driven to their schedule. This will be the last time they’re in the same room again. Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jungkook were scheduled for recording sessions at Big Hit. Hoseok, Seokjin, Jimin, and Taehyung had other schedules outside of Big Hit headquarters.
Yoongi stops the members from leaving and hugs each one individually, leading to some bemused reactions.
“Is this a mission?” Taehyung whispers as Yoongi puts tentative arms around his waist.
“Yes, don’t tell anyone and I’ll share the prize with you,” Yoongi whispers back, holding on tightly.
Taehyung grins and returns the snug embrace. Then he impishly hugs every member to throw suspicion off Yoongi.
When he gets to Jimin, he smirks, communicating in 95z telepathy. A mischievous smile appears on Jimin’s face and he also hugs every member.
“Yah, is this a game?” Seokjin complains after getting hugged for the third time.
“Yes! You’re next!” Jimin says before running away from Seokjin. Seokjin chases after him, laughing along the way.
The Singles Magazine staff are amused by their interactions, but BTS’ managers didn’t blink an eye. They shout at the members to finish quickly so they can move onto their next schedule.
—
Yoongi waits outside Rkive studio for Namjoon to finish his livestream with Jungkook. Yoongi finished his recording session later than Namjoon and Jungkook, and he mulls over if he should barge in to join them on the livestream. He decides against it and watches them on v app instead. He chuckles as Namjoon tries his best not to say any spoilers about the album, but he lets out a few anyway. Detective ARMYs would probably figure it out, but it won’t matter anymore.
Yoongi tweets a sappy message about his appreciation for ARMY with an old bed selca and group picture. The fans go wild. Within minutes, hundreds of thousands of tweets with translations, supportive messages, and reactionary gifs filter in. Some speculate that his words are a hint for the comeback. Yoongi logs out of Twitter, the tweet will be his bittersweet goodbye message.
“Oh Yoongi hyung, you’re still here,” Namjoon remarks as he exits Rkive.
“Yeah. It’s late, want to grab dinner?”
“Can I come too?” Jungkook asks brightly as he pops his head out from the doorframe.
“Maybe another day Jungkook,” Yoongi says as nonchalantly as he can, hoping that Jungkook will not pick up the edge of desperation in his voice. “I have something to discuss with Namjoonie.”
“Okay!” Jungkook replies cheerfully. “Let’s invite Hobi-hyung next time too. There's a Chinese hot pot restaurant that he wanted to show you.”
At the mention of hot pot, Yoongi’s face falls. He had asked them to go for months, but they’ve never appeased him.
“What’s wrong hyung? I thought you’d be excited.”
“I am Jungkook-ah…I’m just a bit tired of hot pot now, but we can go if you want to.” Yoongi grins, his mouth feels like plastic.
“No!” Jungkook says as he grabs Yoongi’s hands. “We can find another place. Let’s talk on the group chat tonight!”
“Okay, Jungkook.”
Jungkook waves with his entire body as he departs, bursting with more energy than anyone should have after a long day of work. Left alone with Yoongi, Namjoon agrees to dinner, detecting the weight behind Yoongi’s words. Yoongi clutches his hand as they head outside.
—
Yoongi and Namjoon enter a tented street food stall near Jongno 3-ga station. They order chicken skewers, gopchang, a bowl of odeng soup, and grab 4 bottles of soju from the fridge. The stall is mostly empty aside from two tables occupied by middle-aged men, so they didn’t worry about being recognized.
Once their order is ready, they take their food and soju to an available table and sit on the stools. They pour each other a glass of soju, click their glasses, and down the shot.
“When we were trainees, I was jealous that your parents supported your dreams,” Yoongi starts.
“Your parents support your dreams.”
“They do now, now that it’s no longer a goose dream. But your parents came by the dorm the first week that I moved in.”
“They didn’t always support my dreams. When I was in my first year of middle school, I wanted to be a microphone checker.”
A smile quirks on Yoongi’s lips. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, my parents wanted me to go into law. Then in second year, we met halfway and I agreed to be an analyst. Third year is when I finally wore them down and they let me pursue my dream to be a rapper.”
Namjoon laughs fondly at the memory and Yoongi, caught in his orbit, laughs alongside him. He takes this opportunity to memorize the lines of Namjoon’s face. He’s seen this face so frequently that it’s become an abstract concept, familiar yet ever-changing. It’s more defined now than it was 10 years ago.
Namjoon’s hot breath mixes with the cold night air to create puffs of clouds as he opens his mouth to take a bite of gopchang.
They sit in cozy silence while Yoongi gathers his thoughts. Namjoon knows that he’s staring, but he’s not one to point it out. He pours Yoongi and himself another glass of soju and looks away while he drinks his glass, bashful under Yoongi’s gaze.
“Namjoon-ah, you know you’re one of my favorite people—”
“Ah hyung, all of a sudden?” Namjoon covers his face in embarrassment.
“When you stole my food after my appendicitis surgery and lied about it, I thought you were really cute.” Yoongi scratches the back of his ear.
“I remember, you said that before on a radio show.” Namjoon’s face is a little pink and warm from the alcohol and conversation.
“I think that’s when I knew.”
“Knew what?” Namjoon asks.
He looks at Namjoon, and he still sees the boy who he ate ramyun with late at night as they watched MAMA performances, envisioning that it would one day be them. He looks at Namjoon, and he sees the man he’s grown to respect; a leader, a musician, and a friend. His heart swells with ineffable affection and sadness.
“That I loved you. Namjoon-ah, I love you.”
“Ah hyung, you’re so sentimental when you’re drunk. I love you too.” Namjoon grins. His sincerity feels like a punch to Yoongi’s throat, it always does.
Yoongi folds his hand over Namjoon’s, lightly caressing the skin underneath with his thumb.
“No Namjoon, not like that. I’m in love with you,” he admits in a soft voice, pausing for a moment to observe Namjoon’s stunned expression. “I don’t need a response from you, I just wanted you to know.”
He feels lighter from his confession, like the world has finally been lifted from his shoulders. As soon as the words left his mouth, a sense of déjà vu surges through him like an electric current.
He looks at his surroundings. The plastic covering of the tent crackles as it’s blown by the wind. The fatty tissue of the meat sizzles as the food stall owner tosses it onto the grill. The middle-aged men’s voices are loud and boisterous as they recount their glory days. In the distance, cars honk and hum as they slosh through traffic.
Yoongi looks at Namjoon again, his mouth is moving but all Yoongi hears is a whistle.