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“okay, i just need to check with one of the producers about what time they need to come in tomorrow, and then we can go—oh,” jeongguk’s voice trails off as he turns around to see his husband sitting at the keyboard against one wall of the studio, trailing his fingers over the smooth keys. “are you listening?”
“huh?” asks yoongi, turning to look at jeongguk with widened eyes, as though he’s been caught in the act of… something. “what? yeah. yes. i agree.”
jeongguk huffs out an exasperated laugh, setting down his backpack once more so he can join yoongi by the keyboard. “you and pianos, hyung,” he says. “i don’t know why i ever think i can have an intelligent conversation with you with one of these around.”
“sorry, baby,” says yoongi, having the good sense to sound somewhat ashamed. he reaches for jeongguk’s hand, pressing a kiss to its back. “i really was listening, i promise. i just got a little distracted.”
“do you want to play something?”
“oh… no, it’s okay. you have to talk to the producers, right?”
secretly, jeongguk is pleased that yoongi was listening, even distracted by a piano. even then, he glances at the door and then back again before grinning smugly—the kind of grin he often saves for when he’s roping yoongi into something neither of them should be doing, like trying to break the penguins out of the coex aquarium, and then slides onto the piano bench with yoongi, nudging him to scooch over.
“we have time,” he says. “i’m the superstar here, so they can wait for me.” yoongi raises a dubious brow, but it’s mostly true. his manager once had a conversation with jeongguk about having to adhere to the official schedule, but his producers can wait a few extra minutes if it means getting to share this with yoongi.
it’s not often that he does—get to share this part of his life with yoongi, that is. his company isn’t fond of yoongi being in the building at all, let alone in jeongguk’s studio, with all of its expensive equipment and deep dark secrets for jeongguk’s success. although they’ve been together for years now, first dating and now married, before jeongguk’s success was nothing more than just a pipedream for a boy with a big voice who put his blood, sweat, and tears into each and every day to have just a chance at making this kind of music, yoongi isn’t privy to the behind the scenes of jeongguk’s music career any more than most average fans.
it’s been a lot for either of them to deal with; jeongguk is at the studio, practicing somewhere, or performing day in and day out, and he wouldn’t have blamed yoongi if he decided he wasn’t cut out to be with someone who couldn’t be with him most of the time and who, during the time they can be together, is often too tired and anxious to do more than cuddle on the sofa while watching a comfort movie.
but yoongi is kind. yoongi is infinitely patient and gentle and he loves jeongguk, and he takes whatever jeongguk is willing to give him—in time, in affection, in attention. he knows that jeongguk dreamed of becoming a successful idol since he was just a little boy, and now that his dream is becoming a reality, he’s told jeongguk time and time again that he could never stand in the way of that process. one day, they’ll have all the time in the world to be together. and in the meantime, he’s just happy to tag along when jeongguk wants to be rebellious enough to sneak yoongi into the company building and then glare at anyone who tries to take him away.
he’s my emotional support anime boy, he’d told the manager that tried to stop them as jeongguk hurriedly shoved yoongi into his studio just a few hours ago, and yoongi probably didn’t have the heart to ask what that actually meant. or tell jeongguk that he wasn’t an anime boy, no matter how jeongguk liked to make yoongi cosplay with him for the fans, hyung, they go wild for it!
all of this is to say: jeongguk wants to share everything with yoongi, including each and every rung on the ladder to his world domination as a singer. he’s probably only halfway there at this point, with several successful albums and one successful world tour under his belt, but there’s more. there’s always more. he’s in the middle of recording his next album, which has been hectic and stressful amid awards season, and this—a moment alone at a piano with min yoongi—is something jeongguk didn’t know he needed until now.
so he reaches over and turns on the keyboard, grinning at yoongi as he nudges him again. “go on,” he says. “play me something, piano man.”
“you know i’m not that great,” says yoongi.
jeongguk scoffs. “says the man with a grade eight certification and a minor in music theory who could be a professional pianist if he so chooses to.”
yoongi looks at him with another raised brow. “damn, you seem to know a lot about me,” he says. “fan behaviour.”
with a roll of his eyes, jeongguk grabs yoongi’s hands and places them on the keys for him. “don’t be obtuse, hyung. if you want to play, then play.” they have a keyboard at home, although jeongguk doesn’t know how often yoongi plays anymore; it was once his biggest passion, at least back in high school and even in the early days of university. but pursuing music was never yoongi’s true aim; he’s claimed as much every time jeongguk asks why he never did try to become a pianist beyond lessons and exams.
because jeongguk knows what a wonderful pianist yoongi is. he could be a professional if he wanted. sometimes jeongguk wonders if there’s something else holding him back.
but anyway—yoongi finally does play, taking a brief pause to choose what tune he wants to serenade jeongguk with. within only a few bars, jeongguk recognizes the melody that yoongi is delicately pulling from the keys with deft and skilled fingers: yoongi’s favourite song of jeongguk’s, a song about a love that waits and never wavers, a love that never asks for more than it can handle, a love that refuses to bend to what the world wants of it. jeongguk wrote that song about yoongi two years ago, when his music career first started taking off and he panicked that yoongi would leave him because of it, but yoongi sat him down and told him in no short terms that there was no world in which yoongi didn’t love jeongguk with an all-encompassing love, that there was nowhere yoongi could go that would make any sense without jeongguk. that when they started dating shortly after jeongguk dropped out of university to pursue music in the first place, he’d made a promise that they would stick it out through thick and thin, and then made that promise into their wedding vows when they got married just over a year ago.
back then, when they’d made that promise, they’d only been thinking of the rough parts—failure, no one wanting to sign jeongguk, no one wanting to buy his songs. somehow, it seemed easier to stay true to that promise when it was hard, when they only had each other. but success is a different kind of beast, and in an anxious fit, jeongguk had convinced himself that maybe yoongi wouldn’t love him anymore if he got too busy with music to go on all of the same dates.
but, well. here they are. when yoongi reaches the chorus, jeongguk starts singing quietly, grinning to himself as he hears yoongi humming along in harmony.
he looks happy like this—sitting at a piano, his fingers light over the keys. jeongguk always thought yoongi looked happiest at a piano. it’s how they became friends in the first place—over music. swapping favourite songs and obscure artists, sharing one headphone each on the subway and then comparing notes about new albums afterwards, hunting for rare vinyl despite neither of them owning a record player.
back then—as teenagers—they were both so passionate about music. and jeongguk will always be proud of yoongi, no matter what choices he makes. yoongi is an architect and he loves it, and jeongguk knows he loves it. but… it’s not music. a keyboard in their shared apartment can’t possibly be enough.
so when the last notes of the song fade out and yoongi’s hands are paused over the keyboard, jeongguk asks, “why did you give up music?”
the silence is almost frightening.
“oh my god,” says jeongguk immediately. “sorry. that was totally out of line.” but yoongi has never really spoken at length about it—about the shift of his priorities, although jeongguk can guess how it went: my parents didn’t support me, i realized it would be too difficult to provide for myself, i wasn’t good enough.
except yoongi doesn’t get upset at him, and he doesn’t say any of those things. he just presses down on middle c, the note clear and concise in the studio. “i was afraid of what would happen if i tried,” he says, surprising jeongguk with his honesty.
jeongguk holds his breath, afraid to respond and ruin something. so he waits, and eventually, yoongi continues. “i did love music with my whole heart. i still do.” he drops his hand from the piano, instead taking hold of jeongguk’s again. he begins tracing over the back of jeongguk’s hand—his knuckles, his veins—as though distracting himself from the vulnerability of his words. “when i was little, i used to dream about becoming a concert pianist, or maybe the pianist in a famous band that traveled the world and performed in all of these amazing countries. for a long time, i did want that.”
he tilts his head a little, pressing on the beauty marks on the back of jeongguk’s hand. “you know when you have a passion that you love, especially if it’s a creative passion?” he asks. “and you love doing it all the time, and it makes you happy, but then there’s this voice in the back of your mind that tells you… actually, this passion and hobby of yours is only worth something if you can sell it. the world tells you that you have to commodify yourself and your talents and your hobbies in order for them to mean something, or to be worth your time. but then when you start doing it, commodifying your passion takes all of the joy of it.”
yoongi finally looks up at him, and even though he’s talking about something sad, there’s a gentle smile on his face. “i loved music, and making music, and playing the piano. but i was afraid that if i turned it into my job instead of just my hobby, i would start to hate it. that the stress of trying to be successful would make me resent music, and i would lose everything that made music such a gift to me in the first place.”
“oh,” says jeongguk. “you never told me that.”
“it’s a little embarrassing, isn’t it?” asks yoongi. “sometimes i think i just took the coward’s way out. i can’t fail if i don’t even try in the first place, you know? and i still love music and playing the piano, so i guess i did save myself from the pain of seeing it turn into some capitalist monster in front of my eyes, but then…” he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “then i see you performing and singing and… i see how much you love it. how you turned your passion for music into your career and you didn’t end up resenting it. and i would never, ever blame you for it, but it makes me feel a little envious.”
“oh, hyung,” says jeongguk, pulling his hand from yoongi’s so that he can instead wrap both arms around him and hug him tightly. he presses his lips to yoongi’s temple in a kiss. “i’m sorry. i don’t want to make you feel that way.”
“it’s not your fault, jeongguk-ah,” says yoongi, voice slightly muffled from the embrace, but he holds jeongguk in return. “it’s my fault for being afraid.”
“you were cautious,” says jeongguk, “and rightfully so. you might have ended up hating music. not every story is a success. and i’m really lucky to have the success i do, anyway. most people like me have to give it up because they don’t make any money, anyway. and i’d probably resent music for a while if that happened to me.”
there were a few times where jeongguk was on the verge of that already—before this company signed him, before he gained enough fame on the internet to somehow propel him to success in the real world. there were hard days. hard months. but yoongi was always there, supporting him nonetheless.
the very thought of those early days brings tears to jeongguk’s eyes, and he holds yoongi a little tighter. “it’s not too late, you know,” he says. “if you want to try it… you could try writing music on your own.”
at first, yoongi doesn’t say anything.
worried he’s somehow hit an unknown nerve, jeongguk presses on before yoongi can say anything. “i mean, you don’t have to,” he says. “but if you regret never pursuing it, it’s not like there’s a time limit on when people can make music. you know, lenoard cohen didn’t start making music until his thirties so you’ve even got him beat if you start now and maybe you don’t want to anymore, which is totally fine, but if you’re thinking about it all, i want to give you so much encouragement. i’m much better at lyrics than the actual music myself, but i do know a thing or two so i could help you or, you know, i have all of these awesome producers that i could bully into helping you, too, or—”
“jeongguk,” says yoongi, and jeongguk physically startles when he feels yoongi pinching his side. finally, he lets yoongi go and looks at him, and yoongi is… smiling? “take a deep breath. you’re rambling.”
“ah,” says jeongguk. “i am.”
yoongi leans over and presses a kiss to jeongguk’s cheek. “it’s very thoughtful of you, though,” he says. “i appreciate the support and… as much as i don’t want you to bully your producers, i’m grateful that you’d go that far for me. but…” jeongguk frowns, feeling now as though he’s overstepped a boundary when yoongi trails off.
of course yoongi could have written music before now if he wanted to. he’s almost thirty, for god’s sake. he’s been a music fanatic for his entire life, and he’s been an amazing pianist since he was barely old enough to sit at a piano, let alone play one. the last thing he likely needs is his successful idol husband telling him that he can just write music as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.
but yoongi doesn’t say that either. “i actually… might have a few songs in a notebook somewhere,” he admits.
jeongguk’s eyes widen.
“they’re not anything serious!” yoongi quickly adds. “and they’re not finished at all, more like… ideas. or half ideas. that i’ve had over the years, because you’re right—i love music. that urge to create music never went away even if i was afraid of what would happen if i tried. so i guess i could… take those out and work on them.”
the smile yoongi gets in response is huge and proud and teary, and jeongguk immediately pulls yoongi in for another hug, peppering kisses wherever he can reach on yoongi’s head. “that’s so—oh my god, hyung, that’s amazing!” he says. “you know i’ll support you every step of the way. if you want to write or if you decide not to, or if you want to try and be a pianist, or if you want to release stuff, or if you never want to touch another piano again—”
“jeongguk, don’t be ridiculous. also, i’m—stop smothering me!” he succeeds in pushing jeongguk off of him, but jeongguk can’t stop smiling. he’s always been proud of yoongi for pursuing a career he’s passionate in, because he does love architecture (if his nerding out about doorways and windows every time they go anywhere has anything to say about it), but it was music that brought them together in the first place. jeongguk can’t help but feel this is what they’re both supposed to be doing, success or not.
then jeongguk’s face falls as he gasps. “oh my god, hyung,” he says, and yoongi makes a face, already afraid of whatever jeongguk is going to suggest, because it’s usually ridiculous—“what if you wrote music for me?”
yoongi’s expression freezes, and then melts into something soft. “what if i wrote music for you?”
jeongguk gasps again, grabbing yoongi’s face with both hands. “oh my god, we’d be such a power couple. we’d be unstoppable. you could come on tour with me and play in my band and we could make out in front of everyone and social media would implode.”
“i think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself.”
“but wouldn’t it amazing?” jeongguk grins. “if you did—i mean, in any capacity. we could make music together, hyung. like we used to talk about.” it’s a distant memory now, for a man in his late-twenties who frequently likes to joke that he’s already on the hill and won’t last much longer with the kind of knees he’s got, but he’s sure yoongi remembers just as jeongguk does. between all of those shared albums and swapped music analysis of their teenage years, there was the unspoken promise that one day, they would do this together. they could make music together, and they would bring others together, and somewhere out there, there would be two young boys sharing one headphone each, listening to their songs and shyly letting their hands slide closer and closer on the subway while the lyrics told of love that lasts lifetimes.
they talked about it once, the night jeongguk finally decided to drop out of university to pursue music as a career. they’d both gotten drunk—out of both celebration and mourning—and jeongguk let his imagination go wild for what he wanted his future to look like. he’d monologued about sold out stadium tours and shelves overflowing with daesangs and having tea with the queen of england, and when he’d exhausted himself, collapsing onto the floor with yoongi at his side, the silence had descended upon them for a time.
and then yoongi had said, what if we did it together? what if we made music together?
jeongguk doesn’t remember much of the conversation, the details smoothed over by the alcohol. but he remembers the look in yoongi’s eyes as they had talked about it, the way they had shone. he’s never seen yoongi’s eyes quite like that since, but now—now. he sees just a spark of it as they look at each other in jeongguk’s studio and he can tell. he can tell yoongi is thinking about it.
he can tell yoongi wants it.
“hyung,” jeongguk says, letting himself become serious, putting aside his own hopes and excitement. “if you’re happy, i’m happy. if you just want to play the piano for fun and dance around the kitchen singing terrible karaoke songs and let that be all you do with music, that’s okay. i’ll support you. but if you want to try making music… i’m here every step of the way. you were here for me when i decided to pursue music, and you never gave up on me no matter how hopeless it seemed at times. i’m not going anywhere when it’s your turn. it’s up to you, but if you want to… we can do it. together.”
it might be the low lighting in the studio, but jeongguk thinks yoongi’s eyes might be wet. he wonders how yoongi must have felt all these years, struggling between his desire to make music and his fear of hating his very passion. struggling silently, because he was embarrassed of his own fear and didn’t want to trouble jeongguk, who had taken the risk and been rewarded for it. he wonders how alone yoongi must have felt in that fear and that uncertainty—and he makes a promise to himself that he’ll never allow yoongi to feel that loneliness again.
“i know how scary it is,” he adds. “i’ve been there. i know that fear you talk about. because you’re right—it’s not easy. sometimes i hate music, even though i’m successful. that tension you talk about never really goes away, if you make lots of money with music and get to tour the world. but that just means you’re not alone in your fear. i’m here, too. so we can figure it out together. okay?”
this time, yoongi’s lips pull into a grin, and when he leans forward to press their foreheads together, jeongguk closes his eyes. “jeongguk-ah,” he says. “i’ve been writing music about you in my head since the day i first met you. it would be an honor to write music for you outside of my head, too.” jeongguk can’t help but giggle, and then yoongi tilts his head and presses their lips together in a soft kiss. “thank you. for your support and your love and—your confidence in me. for everything. i love you.”
jeongguk kisses yoongi back a little harder, grinning when he says, “but if you write a shit song, i’m not going to put it on my album just because you’re my husband.”
“what kind of support is that?”
“realistic support! i’m an international superstar, hyung. i have standards.”
“oh my god—” but yoongi is laughing, and jeongguk is laughing with him, and even as they laugh and kiss and joke about what their future together in music might look like, jeongguk can’t help thinking that they could never make a bad song together.
their entire life together is a song, after all, and it’s the most beautiful one jeongguk has ever had the fortune of singing.