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There's a song writing itself at the center of Taehyung's chest, banging loudly against his ribs with no real way of getting out. Somewhere deep down, he knows this song is not his own, it's not the kind that's expected of him. And yet, the insistent thrumming makes him itch to reach for his guitar and push it out into the world.
“It’s good to be back,” Jimin says, watching plumes of smoke swirl up and away. Gig nights like these, he follows Taehyung outside for a smoke or two, says he does it to keep an eye on him.
Taehyung hums affirmatively: it’s good to be back.
The Old Warehouse is busted concrete and metal sheets hosting a chaos of throbbing speakers and smoke machines, a battered-looking thing with a core of pure fire. The best kind of onslaught. The first time Baepsae—Taehyung and Jimin's garage-inspired, blues-rock quartet—ever had the chance to hit the main stage marks also the first time Taehyung's ever been able to place a feeling on the word belonging.
Being back home for the annual Battle of the Bands is usually enough to hype Taehyung up to nuclear levels. By now, Baepsae has seen enough success to play bigger venues: top-of-the-line stages with pyrotechnics all around and yet, nothing compares to coming back to the womb that gave life to them.
“Hey, maybe they won’t make it in time for soundcheck?” Jimin wonders, handing Taehyung back his lighter. “Might be good for us.”
They refers to Dyonisus, an overachieving old-school glam rock revival trio, and Baepsae’s greatest competition as of forever.
Anyone with rudimentary knowledge of the two local bands would tell you the same thing: they hate each other. A rivalry for the ages, deeply rooted and starting with the ongoing war between Taehyung and Seokjin—their respective lead singers. Rumour has it members of both bands declared—and that’s probably the only thing they’ll ever agree on—that leaving the two in a room alone for too long should be considered a lively fire hazard and avoided at all cost. An official decree of sorts.
Taehyung props a cigarette between his lips and fishes into the back pocket of his distressed jeans for his cellphone. “They have to get here on time. We can't win by forfeit; that's just sad," he says while typing a quick where r u? and shutting off his screen before Jimin can glance over.
“We can’t win, point," Jimin grumbles, combat boots scraping against the beat-up asphalt of the parking lot as he pushes himself off the graffiti-covered wall. "Isn't that the whole thing?"
"Right," Taehyung agrees when in fact, he just wonders if Seokjin ran into trouble with his shitty tour van. The thing is ancient, leaking and loud, but Seokjin stubbornly hangs on to it for some reason.
Thing is, ask anyone and they’ll tell you the two local bands’ epic rivalry starts with their lead singers and they wouldn’t be wrong. Taehyung and Seokjin have earned a reputation for hosting explosive displays of animosity, shamelessly public and oftentimes absolutely over-the-top. It’s expected of them at this point. Part of the show, some might say.
But that’s all it has been between them for a while now; a show.
Because if Taehyung and Seokjin started secretly dating somewhere amidst all that inflated rivalry, then it's nobody's business but their own, right?
A quick look confirms Seokjin hasn't seen his message yet, so Taehyung pockets his phone back, using both hands to light his cigarette against the cold wind of December.
"We could always sabotage them," Jimin says, biting into a smile speaking of the kind of trouble Taehyung enjoys way too much. "Our fans love it when we do."
“I promised Noona I would be a good boy this year,” Taehyung says.
Jimin rolls his eyes in response, smoke escaping the corner of his lips. “You promise her that every year.”
It's not that Taehyung doesn't enjoy a good prank. He's all about sneaking into the other band's dressing room to detune all four of Yoongi's guitars and live-stream him swear and curse like an angry old man as he realizes it mere seconds before it's Dyonisus’ turn to take the stage. “It’s got us disqualified the last time,” he reminds Jimin.
“Pfft. Who cares? It’s not like we’ve ever won before.”
Jimin’s got a point. But before Taehyung can concede him anything, a familiar zebra-patterned Ford Econoline rolls around the corner in a screeching of tires and stops right in front of them.
“Oh, look who’s decided to show up,” Taehyung exclaims as the side door slides open to reveal a mean-looking Yoongi, same-old leather jacket engulfing him whole. “It’s the ajumma squad!”
“You won’t sound so cocky once we wipe the beer-stained floor with your faces again this year,” Yoongi warns in a grunt.
“For that, you’ll have to move your asses. You’re late for soundcheck,” Jimin informs him bluntly. “Noona’s not happy.”
“Jin had a hair crisis,” Namjoon supplies as he gets down from the passenger seat. Always the most reasonable of the three.
“Bullshit,” Seokjin calls over the squeaking sound of the driver’s door, the racket reminding Taehyung of his promise to take a look at it. “Wait ’till she sees how good I look. All will be forgiven.”
Truly a sight to behold, Seokjin appears with all of his usual charm. One hand sweeping back freshly-bleached platinum hair over a neat undercut, dark eyeliner expertly smudge to look just the right kind of indecent. Taehyung adores when Seokjin goes for what he calls the just-got-laid-backstage look, the thought of adding a couple hickeys of his own to complete the look coming to mind.
“At best she might take pity on you,” Taehyung says with a shrug, and Seokjin’s eyes narrow in his direction. “Now that you look like you’ve slept in the trash.”
“Kim,” he greets flatly.
“Kim,” Taehyung greets back, more amused than annoyed.
The tension is same as it’s always been; an electric arc connecting them. In any case, the others were not wrong about them being a fire hazard. Then Seokjin gives him a subtle wink as he slings his bass guitar over his shoulder, and Taehyung recalls the soft morning light stirring him out of sleep to the sight of a similar smile.
“I’m afraid I can’t take comments from someone with a calf tattoo of a blender catching fire,” Seokjin tells Taehyung, expertly faking disgust.
Amused to no end, Taehyung knows he should reply with a personal strike of his own, maybe comment on Seokjin’s well-known tendency to abuse body glitters or something. “Oh, you wound me,” he says instead, one hand on his heart. A weak comeback Jimin seems to notice.
Keeping their relationship a secret has worked like a charm all year—mainly because Jimin has kept his prying nose out of it for the most part. It's not like Taehyung owes anyone anything, but he’s come to appreciate the intimacy the secrecy procures them. Not having to deal with the teasing the other members would certainly assault them with. Not having to explain themselves to their fans, not having to face their expectations or preconceived ideas of how their rivals-to-lovers storyline should unfold.
Of course, scheduling is sometimes hard, and lying is sometimes worse, but who said this was supposed to be easy anyway?
"Do you need help with that drum set, Grandpa?" Jimin teases as Namjoon struggles to gather all of his customized drum parts from the back of the van.
“Why don’t you just go look for me inside your asshole, Park,” Yoongi replies for him, coming to Namjoon’s rescue by snatching the snare drum case from the ground before hurrying through the backdoor.
On his way to the door, Seokjin does something slightly incriminating and throws his keys at Taehyung saying, "Make yourself useful and go park the van, Darling," with the utmost condescending little tone, then pats his cheek twice for good measure before hightailing.
The door slams close to Jimin's unimpressed expression. "What just happened?"
Taehyung shrugs through a smoky exhale, stubbing out his cigarette against the wall. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Jimin echoes in disbelief. “Tell me you’re planning on crashing his van or something?”
Taehyung shakes his head with a laugh. “We’re not doing that.”
“Hide his keys at least?”
“No.”
"Tae, they win every year," Jimin insists, intensified enunciation verging on patronizing.
“I know.”
“Every single year.”
“I said, I know.”
“What’s happening to you? Where’s my Terrible Taetae? Are you suddenly going soft on Jin because you finally got into his pants after the show last year?” Jimin springs on him suddenly, sly little eye monitoring Taehyung’s every movement. “Is that what this is about?”
“We didn’t fuck.” A lie.
Jimin gives him a suspicious squint. “Jungkookie saw you two make out behind the staircase, Tae.”
"Oversight on my part," Taehyung explains, rolling the sparkwheel of his lighter under his thumb as a nervous habit. "Blame it on hard liquor. Meant nothing. He kisses like a vacuum cleaner anyway." Also a lie. And not a well-crafted one at that. "Let's go back to the dressing room and go over the setlist again with JK and Hobi," he suggests before he's called out on all his bullshit.
Surprisingly, Jimin lets him get away with it. "Should've fucked," he says instead before stubbing out his cigarette against the sole of his boot. "Everyone knows bassists are good lays."
Taehyung snorts. “Biased much?”
“Extremely,” Jimin confirms. “Doesn’t mean it’s not real.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Oh, aren’t you gonna park the van, Mr. Valet?” he adds mockingly when Taehyung pulls the backdoor open.
“Of course not.”
He’ll do it later. Maybe also do a quick checkup to make sure the thing is safe enough for the ride back.
***
The Old Warehouse’s backstage area is woven like the mythic tomb of some long-lost Pharaoh, dark maze of hallways and doors; the kind of blur Taehyung has long stopped trying to demystify. Behind the staircase leading to the main stage is a row of public phones covered in brand stickers, long obsolete and so perfect for creating the illusion of intimacy.
That’s where Taehyung waits for Dyonisus to finish their soundcheck, one foot propped against the wall to balance an acoustic guitar on his thigh. He strums through a few chords mindlessly, trying it out, letting the strings guide him through the melody that refuses to leave his chest.
“Do I know this song?” Seokjin wonders out loud. He’s leaning against the staircase railings, arms crossed over his chest. How long has he been there? Taehyung can’t tell. “I swear I’ve heard you play this riff before.”
“I’m… trying something new,” Taehyung says, and it seems to catch Seokjin’s attention.
“Oh?”
“You’re gorgeous, by the way,” Taehyung adds, dodging Seokjin’s curiosity. “Thought I should mention.”
Seokjin raises an eyebrow, uncrosses his arms, moves closer. “Thought you said I looked like trash.”
“Hmm, not what I said,” Taehyung argues with a shake of his head. “I love it when you go blond. You know that.”
“Felt like blond tonight,” Seokjin explains with a nod. “What’s this mysterious song about?”
Taehyung props the guitar against the wall, frees his arms to receive Seokjin in between them. “I don’t know yet.”
“No?” Seokjin bites his lower lip, plays with the worn collar of Taehyung’s ratty Kiss t-shirt. "Another banger, I hope," he teases and Taehyung rolls his eyes.
It's not uncommon for them to argue over musical preferences. Seokjin likes to sing about love and does so expertly: piercing high notes speaking of heartache, shamelessly ripping himself open on stage for everyone to see. It's fascinating to watch. A perfect contrast to Taehyung's smooth nonsense.
"It's okay to be scared," Taehyung tells him, diving in to kiss the side of his jaw. "I have very intimidating songwriting skills."
Sputtering laughter comes out of Seokjin. “There’s a song of yours that’s about a banana,” he points out.
“It’s a metaphorical banana,” Taehyung mumbles against the skin of his neck. “You’ll never get it.”
"It's cute that you think you can still win against us," Seokjin says, scratchy fingertips hardened by an abuse of strings threading through the hair at the back of Taehyung's neck. "I love that in you. So… optimistic." He pulls Taehyung's head back with the grip on his hair, stopping him just short of acting on his hickey fantasy. "Are you planning one of your abominable tricks? Maybe superglue a bright pink dildo to the neck of my bass again?"
Taehyung sighs with a good dose of nostalgia. “Oh, that was a good one, wasn’t it?” He remembers Seokjin being forced to play an entire set with the thing wobbling about on top of his bass. “Good times.”
"For you, maybe," Seokjin replies but he's smiling softly, endeared, and Taehyung steals a quick kiss. Just a gentle press of lips on lips then stays the closest Seokjin allows him to be, losing himself a little in each breath, overwhelmed by the rhythmic pounding of his own heart.
The song Taehyung so desperately wants to get out echoes through him so clearly like this, loud enough to make him tremble at his core. And he should've seen it coming because there's always been a chorus at the tip of Seokjin's fingers, a bridge at the corner of his smile.
“You’re in your head tonight,” Seokjin points out with a little frown.
“You’re the second person to tell me that,” Taehyung replies. “I feel fine.” He shrugs. “I may have chilled out on the competitive front this year.”
“Yeah?” A knowing smile graces Seokjin’s features. “And why is that?”
Taehyung doesn’t answer. “I think Jimin is onto us,” he warns instead. “He definitely knows we’re fucking. I can’t lie to him for shit.”
“So crude.” Seokjin laughs. “Does he also know I’m in love with you?”
Breath catching in his throat, Taehyung puts enough distance between them to look into Seokjin’s assertive eyes. There’s a challenge in those eyes. Challenge meant for Jimin or for Taehyung? Hard to say.
“Odds are fifty-fifty,” Taehyung jokes.
“Well, I guess we’re not being very subtle about it.” The way Seokjin says this speaks of an inevitability. There’s no way they’re ever letting go of each other now.
The first impression Taehyung ever got of Seokjin was while rummaging through the wallet he’d pickpocketed from him. Inside he found a gift card for Euphoria Tattoo Shop, a glittery pink guitar pick, a candy cane flavoured condom, a crumpled ramyeon powder paquet—extra spicy—and a disconcerting amount of pictures of his Seokjin’s own face. Didn’t take long for him to return it all, somewhere between disappointed and entertained, only for Seokjin to tell him to keep the condom and the “snack”—meaning his face—with a signature little pat on the cheek.
Easy to pitch the pillars for a steady rivalry right there. Easy to build on it until it stands proud between them. Easy to identify to it, let it become a part of what they are. But also weirdly easy for Taehyung to take a good swing at it and make it crumble into dust. It just took a stolen kiss behind a staircase and enough guts not to run away from it.
Taehyung nods, spurred on by an entirely new feeling. “I have a song to work on,” he says. “See you on the battlefield, Babe.”
***
When it comes down to it, the Old Warehouse’s Battle of the Bands is pretty straightforward; the main stage is split into halves allowing both bands their spaces, and the whole thing takes place over three rounds. Each band plays a small set in turn, and the crowd decides on the winner of each round by cheers. The ultimate winner gets to come back for an encore.
A coin toss decides who’s opening, and Seokjin gives him a satisfied smirk when Dyonisus wins. “Don’t you get tired of losing?” he teases, but it’s just them and the show host backstage—the other members already behind their instruments on the dark stage—so there’s no need for Taehyung to give into the sore loser act.
Seokjin has the cocky expression on his face he reserves only for Taehyung, his bass slung across wide shoulders, ready to be played, the strap recently put together with duct tape where Taehyung’s dog nibbled on the leather a few weeks back, and Taehyung can only manage a warm smile in return.
“Remember to play fair, boys,” the host tells them, but she’s intently searching Taehyung’s eyes for confirmation.
"Sure." He shrugs. People don't seem to realize most of the shit he does is not planned. Taehyung is very much in tune with his inner follow-your-guts type and he'll stay that way until death does him part.
Seokjin jumps on stage for his first set, and the crowd lights up with an intensity rivalling a solar explosion—as expected.
Taehyung waits backstage for Baepsae’s turn, excitement running through him in steady waves, a blur of Seokjin’s songs he knows by heart. When it’s finally time for him to take the stage, the lights on Dyonisus' side dim and the crowd chatters in anticipation. Taehyung shuffles his way on stage barefoot—as he does—passing Jungkook sitting behind the drum, electric blue hair tied up in a bun and restless legs swinging frantically. Hoseok plugs in his neon green Gibson Les Paul and works his way through a distorted sound that makes the crowd shout and whistle in the dark. It's Jimin, all confidence behind his bass who gives the cue and the stage lights flash brightly. The crowd roars back to life.
As per Hoseok’s demand, they start off with a set of classics, try to make good use of nostalgic fans. It works to some degree, but not enough for them to win the first round, unfortunately.
Jungkook likes to comfort himself by saying Dyonisus only wins because of Seokjin’s fangirls, the high-pitched squeals sounding notably louder than anything else. Hoseok says it’s because the other band has made a deal with the devil himself, selling their souls to some good old-fashioned rock and roll higher power.
"You know what to do, Tae," Jimin tells him between sets. "You know what they want."
The crowd expects Taehyung to go all out, and he decides to give it to them during the second round. He jumps straight into the forming moshpit to wrestle with them during one of Hoseok’s solos, then climbs up on a speaker to extend his mic above the crowd, letting them holler the lyrics in his stead.
It works. When the show host climbs back on stage to confirm their win, Taehyung pulls his pants down a tiny bit to moon the other band in defiance under a carol of whistles and one guy shouting an explosive, “Yeah!” above them all.
Third round and Dyonisus starts off strong with their greatest hits. No need to deny the huge ravine Baepsae will have to climb out of if they want to measure up to them after that. The crowd loves it a bit too much when Seokjin abandons his bass to go hang off Yoongi’s shoulder. It’s a classic.
When the time comes for Baepsae’s last set, Taehyung makes up his mind. They barrel through the first two songs with a desperate energy, then he sends Jimin a look before he addresses the crowd. "We have one last song for you tonight." An anticipated mix of boos and cheers rings through the crowd. "We were originally gonna do the Banana Song, but I'm thinking—" He interrupts himself, sends a pointed look to the other members of his band. "I could try something new?"
Taehyung waits for an approbation both from the crowd and his band before he allows himself to reach for his acoustic guitar. Jimin shoulders off his bass and places it on a stand before sitting down, cross-legged, on the stage, Hoseok tips him an imaginary hat, and Jungkook gives him a thumbs up from behind the drum set.
“Baepsae has the reputation of making the ground shake," Taehyung says to the crowd while going through some last-minute tuning. "We're loud, confident even through repeated defeats. We think ourselves fearless." He huffs a laugh. "Yet, do you know what we've never tried before?" Taehyung sends a quick glance to the other side of the stage and sees Seokjin looking back at him with full-on curious mode activated. "A love song," he says then lets his fingers form the chords they so desperately want to play.
The lyrics to this song, Taehyung has been steadily writing them all year long. They speak of a shared love for broken and outworn things, of stubbornness and playfulness, of a spellbinding voice and soft morning lights. They tell a story of candy cane and rough fingers, of a rivalry deeply rooted, stemming from a mild clash in musical taste and fueled by expectations, and of all the things to come now that they can rebuild on an even steadier foundation.
It all sounds like a confession, like a promise. Taehyung drags the last chords home with eyes closed and a smile playing across his lips.
Once the acoustic ballad is over, the crowd stands silent for a second too long. A collective hush.
But then again… the song was not meant for them.
Taehyung opens his eyes to the sight of Seokjin crossing the stage towards him, same challenge in his beautiful eyes, clearly meant just for him this time. He drops his guitar and meets him halfway, crashing their mouths in a cinema-worthy kiss under the roaring thunder of a happily surprised crowd.
“Now, they all know I’m in love with you,” Taehyung tells Seokjin softly and it makes him laugh, open and satisfied.
It sounds like a win.