Chapter Text
Yoongi has been following him online for a long while now. Ah, what has it been- five months, perhaps more, less? He didn't know, but it felt both like a lifetime and not enough at the same time.
One of - those- internet bloggers who posted about their lives, knowing only how to talk about themselves, thinking the world cared what kind of moss surrounded their thoughts. Except Jeon Jeongguk was different of course (aren't they all? the ones you fall for?). He just got Yoongi, or did Yoongi get him?
There was this comforting aura about the younger and the shit he posted online. Almost too personal, making the older question if it was even his right to read it, to look at the artwork attached. But the posts Jeongguk made were titled by dates, asking to be compared to Yoongi's own thought flow on the same day, and ended with red- red italic thank you for reading, my loves, and Yoongi couldn't say no.
Jeongguk's artwork centred around contrasts- harsh lines meeting soft words, black ink spilt on white paper pages sewed into his hardback journal. The younger seemingly didn't care about aesthetics or rather made his own- a sense of chaos and disruption, a disorder that left Yoongi feeling fragile yet eased him simultaneously.
Yoongi was the type of person to get attached quite easily, develop crushes left and right, and Jeongguk definitely wasn't his first one, nor did he shy away from the fact that he did indeed have feelings for the other. That was why he tagged along for so long, following his social media. A silly crush. Cute. Not that he had anything better to do with his free time.
And that was how it went on for those couple of months. Jeongguk posted about battling whatever demon that lurked in his mind, and then it was Yoongi's turn with eyes wide open in wonder to lurk the same troubled mind. He never spent time crafting comments, mostly leaving a like and closing the site before opening it a moment later to re-read the post over again.
Now that Yoongi thought about it, there was a chance he was simply too focused on the younger, developing similar thought patterns or knowing what to expect from the blogger/artist. Was it intuition? A psychic connection? Yoongi didn't know. But post after post, he noticed Jeongguk spot on starting to mirror his own ideas and thinking. It was beginning to get creepy, yet alarm was not the feeling that overpowered him.
Yoongi was fully aware that everyone had their issues, their aching pains, regrets and whatnot, and knowing that was healing, encouraging even, comforting. But reading the same hurt, the same longing that took shelter in his soul portrayed in someone else's- someone's he cared for- art was unbearable. That was how his innocent crush had got him cornered.
Because no. The kid did not deserve the same sadness that waived Yoongi's cells together, the dark blue loneliness did not belong to him, it just couldn't. Yoongi wouldn't let it happen.
And so one night after Jeongguk had posted yet another scan from his journal- a blue-lined checkered page smeared with black ink with a face (Yoongi guessed Jeongguk's) sketched on top with a white crayon, eyes closed and crying stars- he snapped. The text beneath the picture read:
"These days have been passing uncontrollably, the mornings bleeding together with the nights, and I keep trying to guess if the stars know my name by now, as I'm looking out the window trying to name their family trees.
To be a part of the space is to be partially hidden. Yet here I am, have been pouring out, burning up in flames, turning to ashes, sticking to shoelaces, screaming, hysterically crying and laughing so loud I flush in embarrassment. Oh, I have never wished to stay hidden, be behind the scenes. My secrets are said out loud confidently, nonchalantly, by-the-way here is who I am, don't step on me, please.
To be part of space is not to be hidden. It's to rip yourself open, learning how to speak up only to be never heard."
Yoongi flexed his jaw harshly, not understanding why the same kid who ran a multiple thousand follower site and had his whole life ahead of him would feel this fucking alone and unheard.
"As always, thank you for reading, my loves. - Jeon Jeongguk"
There had to be an email somewhere, right? Yoongi couldn't take this. In a way, he was surprised how Jeongguk's sadness ignited him from within more than his own heavy heart, but he didn't question it, searching through the kid's page for contact info.
He sighed once finding it and quickly entered it into a blank email. The younger's profile picture a sleeping grey dog.
What now? What should he write? Yoongi stared at the white wall illuminated by his table lamp. His mind was completely blank as he let a palm reach out to rub at his forehead, fingers smoothing out the lines of frustration.
After typing and deleting his message a few times, he settled with a very simple, yet kind of melancholic text that stated that he understood. Sadly and regrettably Yoongi understood, which meant the kid had been heard at least by someone, and he wasn't alone. Perhaps the action was silly, but he had felt the need to do it, and he was sure nothing harmful could come of it.
The rest of his night went by relatively calmly, the unconscious picking of the skin around his nails unnoticed by the man. He was about to call it a day and let sleep defeat him, already tucked into his beige bed sheets, a wide variety of pillows scattered around his tired body and one between his arms, when his phone notified of a reply.
"same goes for you then :)"
That fucking kid. Yoongi closed his eyes as a blush spread to his cheeks, heating up his face. He turned off his phone, tossing it further aside on the bed and turned to sleep on his other hip, his eyebrows furrowed and jaw tensed.
Jeon Jeongguk might finally be the death of him, and he didn't even know how the kid looked like or how old he was, just that he attended the university of arts on the other side of the same city Yoongi lived in, and that for some reason he was sad the exact way Yoongi was.
When observed by a glance, Yoongi's life didn't seem dull or even close to ordinary. His lifestyle, without a doubt, could be categorised into one which conveyed excitement or newness of any sorts. On top of that, the company he worked at and had been working at for years now paid well- shit- it paid pretty damn well.
When he was around ten years old, he had picked up a pen and a paper, and- at least so it felt- hasn't let them down even till this day. A dream job, his parent's had shouted in celebration, and he had cried tears of joy once getting it, but all things lose colour once left out in the sun for too long.
Ghostwriting lyrics, letting artists take claim of them, then editing their songs for a smoother sound was fun, truly, it was, and he loved his job, loved voices on the radio singing about his feelings. It was quite an experience. He just- felt void? Lonely? And if he let himself admit it- overlooked, underappreciated. These days, he felt bored, uninterested.
Yoongi spent most of his days at home, responding to emails, writing lyrics, sometimes driving to the company building to help out on the spot. He met quite a lot of artists, musicians in his daily life, had worked on sets, attended concerts- it sounds exciting, right? Incredible even.
Incredible standing to the side. Incredible watching the lights shine on someone else. Incredible waiting in traffic for two hours just to have some brat take claim of his thoughts incorporated into a song. Incredible not having time for a successful private life.
Yoongi wore those nice leather shoes and had his suits tailored for him. His shirts were silk, and the watch on his wrist cost more than somebody's rent, he was sure of it, but it didn't make him happy. The designer cup holders didn't make him smile, and neither did the friends he had lost when they got intimidated by his new profession.
Perhaps it was Yoongi's damn fault for being so idealistic- a hopeless romantic lost between paychecks. Perhaps if he pushed a bit more, he could slip back into the enjoyment of it all, but there was also a chance that by doing so, the unfavourable aspects would strike back with the same resistance. So he let the flow of life carry him on, and somehow in between the cracks of routine, Jeongguk had slid in, relieving it all.
A few days went by until Yoongi got a new notification signalling that the younger had posted yet another piece of his mind. He sunk into his kitchen chair, right foot resting on the other's knee, opening up the site with anticipation. The dishes in the sink could wait.
This time there wasn't any text, but the artwork that awaited him screamed words left unsaid, harsh dark lines with obvious force dragged across a light brown crumpled paper. There were rips on the edges and spots all over that seemed to be smudges of water drops. Was it distress or anger the younger had illustrated? Yoongi didn't want to guess, letting his head fall back against the headrest, looking up at the ceiling.
Although his day had gone by peacefully- it still saddened him, knowing the latter somewhere across the city had felt that way.
He wondered if perhaps he should get a dog, a living being that he could look after, share his love and caring nature with. He loved them wholeheartedly- dogs-, but puppies required training, and they chewed on whatever they could get their paws on, which made Yoongi reconsider. Maybe a cat? Ah, but cats didn't usually enjoy being cuddled, and that was his main desire.
Yoongi figured emailing Jeongguk gave him some sort of a thrill. He used his anonymous email, so the younger couldn't track him, find out who he was. They were strangers, yet he knew what colour were the deepest chambers of Jeongguk's heart, and could talk above surface level with him.
Yoongi:
"The guy on the news who looks a bit like a frog said it was gonna pour today, but it didn't. Now I'm thinking, maybe he was referring to you coming undone. Sorry, that was really corny, I'm just trying to find reasons to message you. Whatever you're going through, one day you're gonna look back at it, and it might still feel shit to think about, but it won't feel as important anymore. You're going to be okay, kid."
Yoongi cringed at himself while standing up to wash the dishes. He was too old for this- whatever this was- crushing on a kid like Jeongguk. He could download a dating app to ease the need for company, but the deep perplexing fear of coming across familiar faces was too bold. He would rather keep waiting for the universe to supply him with an outcome than trying to play a regular game of love and heartbreak, which he seemed to not know the rules of.
There were coffee prints inside all of his cups, and at the back of Yoongi's mind, as he scrubbed them clean, he could remember that somewhere in the world it didn't matter- the circular stains. That people left them there, and nobody bat an eye, even in cafes- or maybe those were teacups, he couldn't remember- but the point was that Yoongi cared. He cared about the stupid stains and the stupid work taking over his life, and this emotionally distressed artist at least five years younger than him being way too vulnerable online. And if talking to him brought Yoongi pleasure, then so be it.
A beep. Yoongi checked his phone, unlocking it with soap bubbles in between his fingers.
"Might start watching the news now. (To see the frog guy, not because of the predictions). Thank you."
Yoongi chuckled, then sighed. He was supposed to make the younger feel better, not the opposite.
Yoongi:
"Wouldn't have taken you as one of those frog fanatics, but I guess it's a trend between artists nowadays. Still, the man's not that cute, I guess I should have referred to him as a toad instead."
He clicked send and bit his cheek, trying to stop the smile from spreading wider. Who in their right mind washed the dishes while beaming with joy?
It took about twenty minutes for Yoongi to finish up his housework, spacing out while looking at his now wrinkled fingertips, and around ten more for another beep to signal a response.
":D"
Then another.
"I just wanted to see for the experience."
Yoongi found himself letting out a breathy laugh. At least the younger seemed to be in a better mood.
***
It was a Sunday afternoon when Yoongi finally got to eat his first meal of the day. Not counting the four coffee cups he had drowned until this moment. A cold fucking takeaway box of noodles. It wasn't bad, truth be told, the noodles were bomb- Yoongi was just angry.
He had spent the last three days from sunrise till sunset at the studio, gears in his mind spinning wild with Hoseok by his side. He- crunched over a small glass table, tapping a beat of frustration against it, trying to finish the lyrics for some brat who wasn't even interested enough to check on the progress. Yoongi had to guess what he wanted.
Hoseok- playing with recordings of instrumentals and samples on his laptop. Whatever it truly was he was making, Hoseok called it 'cosmic funk reborn'. It didn't sound bad, Yoongi was simply confused why the latter was crafting it so carefully in the first place, as it had no relation to their work, but Hoseok wasn't eager to explain. Sometimes he would leave Yoongi alone to run some quick errands, that was when Yoongi got the most suspicious.
The latter wasn't necessarily needed for the project Yoongi was working on, but he appreciated the never stopping energy that seemed to flow out of the guy. And he was in need of anything that would keep him going. Hoseok was a social creature, Yoongi didn't need to beg Hoseok to let him mop in his studio. A good guy he had met through the company.
This- brat-, however, was insufferable. A global artist, a superstar, a grand performer. Yeah right, Yoongi scoffed. The brat had never even written his own stuff, never even cared enough to lift a finger, just smiled for the cameras while getting praised for the four-chord songs he could strum on his guitar. Smiled when praised for Yoongi's lyrics.
Don't misunderstand, there were also lovely artists in the industry, people who made each experience feel pleasant and created a lovely atmosphere in their working space. Some even brought snacks, some had cute pets whose noses Yoongi loved to bop, some simply had enough decency to understand the concept of manners and mutual respect. This brat, though? Far from it.
Yoongi wasn't having a good day. He was tired, grumpy and in need to throw a punch or two, not mentioning the abyss behind his closed eyelids where creativity and inspiration were supposed to flow. The lyrics were due mid-next week, and the sum he was offered wasn't modest, as the artist was well-known. He couldn't mess this one up.
Hoseok had left him an hour ago, stating that he'll be back soon. No keys to his car, no wallet, just plainly walked out with a grin on his face. Which was weird, utterly fishy, but Yoongi let it slide, not wanting to pry into his private life. But when Hoseok walked back into the studio, a red fluffy pouch hanging across his chest by a golden chain- that hadn't been there before- and his dark hair a mess, Yoongi raised his eyebrows.
Hoseok stopped on the other side of the glass table, looking down at his colleague currently in a trance, oozing with irritation. "You don't look that good," he admitted while scratching at the back of his neck.
All Yoongi could manage was a groan, throwing the pen on the glass table with annoyance and leaning back against the couch he was sat on. "Don't even start. Don't wanna hear it."
Hoseok laughed, "You should go out more, have some fun."
"I need to send in these lyrics, or else I'm going to go broke," Yoongi sighed, once again reaching out to rub the stress lines he knew were showing on his forehead. A habit of insecurity, perhaps.
"We both know that's not true," Hoseok dismissed before taking a look at his bright yellow wristwatch. "Now get out of my studio before you mould into my furniture, I'm closing this place for tonight."
Yoongi raised himself, reaching out for the pen he had thrown a moment earlier, "I thought you loved me, guess I was wrong."
"I'm doing this because I love you, Yoongi," Hoseok came closer, pressing a sturdy hand on the latter's shoulder. "And because I love my couch. Don't want it to dip in from your unmoving ass."
Maybe Yoongi was feeling petty, maybe it was the exhaustion, but "Everything sucks," came out of his mouth as he was getting up and stretching his arms. "You know that feeling when you think everything is going great and that you're on top of the world only to realise that you were in this odd auto mode the whole time? Working, being productive, keeping in contact with family, whatever-," he whined, "but because you are supposed to, not because you want to? No- I mean, not that I don't want to do this, not that I don't love my relatives, it's just the routine, I guess."
Yoongi took a deep breath, his insides clutching. Hoseok was eyeing his watch again, Yoongi thought maybe he had to be somewhere, but it was a Sunday afternoon, so he figured probably not.
He and Hoseok weren't close friends, they simply worked together sometimes. A business relation, colleagues. Yoongi knew he was overstepping some invisible boundaries, mixing private life with work, asking from Hoseok something the other couldn't give. Or didn't want to give. Yoongi couldn't blame him anyway, they were adults, each with their own problems.
"But I've made this routine, I chose it. How can something I've made for myself from what I love most make me feel so- robotic? Undead?" He complained, tired.
Hoseok laughed again, uneasy, and that was when Yoongi heard a knock on the door.
"Listen," Hoseok picked up Yoongi's messenger bag and shoved it lightly into the latter's hands, "You're not a competition dog, you can't live on these small pleasures here and there- a bonus in payment or whatever- as I already said, get out more, Yoongi. It won't harm anybody.
"But this job is fun, I just- I think I need a good nap," he sighed, trying to minimise the impact of the words he had spoken a minute ago. This couldn't be good for his reputation.
Hoseok handed him his coat, smiling apologetically, which made Yoongi lower his eyes to the floor. "Of course it's fun, but don't forget about all the other things in this life that have the potential of spicing up your life, as well."
Another knock on the door and a soft voice called out in question. Someone was outside the studio, waiting for the other man. He got the point, he had to leave.
And as he did, he saw a staff girl way below his shoulder height awkwardly bowing her head and sneaking into the studio Yoongi had just come out of.
-oh
Was- was Hoseok having an affair with a staff member? That... that would explain a few details here and there.
Now Yoongi felt embarrassed, not getting the hints that the other had provided, asking him to leave. He felt embarrassed about spilling Hoseok his burdensome thoughts. Not that the other man didn't care about him, Hoseok was a nice guy, it just wasn't the right time to do so. It felt too vulnerable to lose ground beside a person who was standing tall, looking ahead.
Around three years into his career- that was when it all started becoming dull, the high lessening. Music and writing had been Yoongi's emotional outlets, his way of survival, a speck of this world that he cherished most deeply, but it was hard to maintain the mindset when he had to sell it, shift his insides to please someone else.
That was how he had found another way of easing his mind all of those years ago. It was- it was a bit funny, no, well- maybe to others. It was precious to Yoongi, though.
He had a spare room in his apartment- for guests- where his parents or brother stayed when they came to visit from across the country. All of them, including Yoongi, grew up in a more rural environment, but while Yoongi had been impatient to escape it, his family weren't interested in moving at all.
The room was simple, a queen-sized bed draped in white sheets, a Brazilian cheery wood dresser with a matching bedside table and a fluffy rug pulled and crumpled into a corner. In the middle, on the floor, Yoongi's joy and pleasure.
He sat down on the floor, not concerned that the lights in the room were out, darkness enveloping him from all sides. After a bit of tumbling around with his phone's flashlight, he found the tiny remote control and pressed the button igniting the start.
It started off slowly, it always did. And the noises drilled at his head, but somehow it still managed to relax him. Yoongi had spent months upon months on this, and it still wasn't finished, he guessed it would never be, but maybe that was why he loved it so much. This- hobby of his.
There were aspects in his life that he couldn't control, like the fate of his lyrics, the emotions that went into them, how others saw him and judged him by his actions. He couldn't control his heart and how it lost its rhythm for every little trouble he encountered.
He could, however, control this.
Palm-sized metal train models driving on miniature railroads he had set up himself. Once the warmup had ended, three models- blue, black and red- sprung into action, their headlights reminding Yoongi of fireflies. Metallic, buzzing lightning bugs circling him in the dark, disappearing under the bed, then reappearing on the other side of the room, heading back his way.
He reached inside the dresser and pulled out a box of unused tracks, picking them out and one by one placing them in a new railroad system, while the three, already set up trains, kept driving around.
Yoongi has seen massive layouts online, other people placing their sets in specific settings, building sceneries for them- DIY forests with fake snow, beaches with lounge chairs made out of toothpicks and cocktail umbrella parasols. Rubber figurines the size of coins with funky hats and overalls set as passengers waiting on wooden platforms. They all looked amazing, leaving Yoongi mesmerised by such detail, but that didn't mean his uncomplicated, amateur fireflies weren't special.
The blue one was his oldest model. He had bought it on impulse one day roaming the city, looking for a Christmas present for his brother. It was the smallest of his trains, only having a locomotive and a single freight car. But the blue reminded him of the sea in evenings when it was warmer than cool-toned. Not like those baby blues, but greener, more hushed and welcoming.
The black train was his longest one, having four wagons, oftentimes accidentally throwing itself sideways off the tracks if Yoongi made the turns too sharp. The locomotive's headlights were the brightest, but it was also the loudest of them all. Its metal shining, glossed and chic, and its roof painted with sakura blossoms, a few on each car.
The red model was his prized possession- the newest purchase sent from France, costing around four grand. It was a replica of a vintage train from the 1850s with a beautiful steam engine and two passenger cars. The metal painted in wine red with gold lettering on the sides, indicating its origin.
With a look of delight, Yoongi once more found his phone in the dark. He rose to his feet and recorded the scene in front of him for a couple of seconds before attaching the file to an email and pressing send. He lazily let himself fall down onto the neatly made bed, overlooking his fresh creation from above.
He has extended the red model's railroad. The miniature tracks now going in another small loop before allowing the metallic firefly to disappear underneath the bed, where Yoongi could practically feel its buzz.
Yoongi rested his head on a makeshift pillow made of his upper arm, laying down on his side.
His hobby wasn't an open topic, he didn't gush over it to everyone and anyone, so showing it off even if a tiny bit, made him nervous. He guessed that once he got used to his emotions providing the main income, other- unexpected- parts of his life took that place. It was what kept him sane.
His parents had thought it was odd but - cute-, which had made Yoongi annoyed. His models were not - cute- they were luxurious and crafted with high effort, but their reaction was understandable. Not everyone could see what Yoongi saw. His brother had just shrugged, not caring much, which was also- understandable. They respected the railroads, not stepping onto them whenever visiting, and Yoongi was okay with just that.
There wasn't much about his hobby, he simply bought pieces and put them together, letting the trains run around the tracks, but he had grown quite fond of it.
After a moment, his phone lit up, vibrating under Yoongi's body where he had unintentionally lied on top of it. He opened the response already smiling.
"That's fucking cool!! What is that??"
Yoongi extended his arm, snapping a picture with the flashlight on, the models reflecting light in various colours.
Yoongi:
"My models. Nothing incredible, but they're still dear to me."
From then on, the emails came in quicker, a minute or two separating the flow of their conversation, and Yoongi felt his body slowly come back alive.
"You make these????"
Yoongi sensed his face heating up, adoring the way the younger reacted.
Yoongi:
"No! Just set them up and watch them drive around. It's comforting, relaxes me. Have you ever played with models before? Also, how are you today?"
Was this too much? It wasn't, right?
":D no, I haven't, but yours look lovely.
I'm fine, no pouring today, thanks. Why are/were you stressed?"
Yoongi rolled on his other side, eyes squinted, his phone's screen close to touching his nose. He opened and closed Jeongguk's profile, eyeing the picture the boy used while coming up with a reply that didn't reveal too much.
Yoongi:
"Creative block and a deadline I need to conquer."
Yoongi:
"Btw, is that your dog in the pfp?"
"Creative blocks suck as much as deadlines, good luck! I suppose you already know what happens with my projects whenever they don't go as I'd like them to, or my brain doesn't flow the direction I push it to. It all ends up either in the trash or on my blog.
Family dog :D"
Yoongi:
"Cute family dog. And your art is wonderful, don't dare to throw it out."
"You know, I usually get messages of people asking me for commissions or telling me their sad life stories after seeing what I post, but I've never had anyone try to hype me up :D"
Yoongi bit his cheek, letting his fingers slide across the screen.
Yoongi:
"They should start doing that then, you're adorable."
This time Jeonggukk's reply took a bit longer, three to four minutes, and Yoongi was starting to regret his message. Because it was weird, wasn't it? The boy didn't even know his full name, his age, what were his intentions. (What were his intentions? Fun? Time wasting?)
"Are you flirting with me through emails??? :D"
Yoongi closed his eyes, turning to lay on his stomach. Today had been way too long and tiresome, he wasn't ready for such confrontation.
Yoongi:
"Goodnight, Jeongguk..."