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It isn’t often that Yoongi pays attention to anyone else during performances.
Typically, it is only Yoongi and the piano before him. His fingertips gliding along fragile keys, feet delicately pressing into pedals, the audience holding their breath as he plays the piece that he’s memorized by heart. When he isn’t playing, his hands hover steadily over the piano, soaking in the music around him, waiting for his turn. Waiting for his moment to shine.
There’s a rush in being a pianist in a room of other instrumentalists, Yoongi finds. There’s something exciting about being the one to capture the attention of everyone in the room, creating beauty with his hands, the vibrations filling everyone’s minds. Maybe it’s the attention that Yoongi likes, the awestruck looks when the audience members leave the concert hall, chattering about his hard work.
Did you hear the piano? They’ll often ask each other. The solo was beautiful.
Now, Yoongi has his fair share of humbling experiences. Of men shouting at him in a language he hardly speaks, let alone understands, claiming he missed a note or misplayed a section of the piece. But those are moments to learn, in Yoongi’s opinion. He knows better than to allow someone to dictate how he does his job. He’s been a pianist long enough.
However, lately a certain instrument attends to Yoongi’s curiosity. He knows it’s hardly because of the instrument, but simply the player that mercilessly tugs at his heartstrings.
The sweet sound of a bow gliding along strings, tempo slow. The concentration on the violinist’s face, the furrow of his eyebrows that Yoongi has become so familiar with. Eyes shut, so focused, lips pursed. The way the audience stops and stares at him; the way they usually do with Yoongi. His nimble fingers masterfully pressing the strings, the slight sway of his body as he too, gets lost in the music.
The violin commandeers the room. It begs, and begs, and begs—it cries, “Look at me,” and you have to stop and listen. You breathe with it, let it control your mind. You blink, and your heart skips a beat, and you find the sadness rooted in the music. In the push and pull of that bow, the screams of the strings. Suddenly, you know everything that violin has been through.
Or maybe that’s just Yoongi, when he shuts his eyes and taps his foot to the tempo that his lover follows as he plays that violin. Maybe it’s the man whose hand Yoongi has held countless times now, tracing timeworn fingertips, covered in calluses and fresh blisters. Maybe it’s because he has heard the whine of his lover’s bow gliding along strings in his sleep, waking to darkness and an empty bed, and listening to his favorite person push, push, push until he got to this stage.
But selfishly, Yoongi can’t say the violinist's solos are his favorite—selfishly, he must say the ones he plays with his little violinist are his favorite.
It was Beethoven, the first time. There—Yoongi seated at the piano, and his lover merely a few feet behind him—there, they played an intense and somber piece together. Yoongi’s shoulders were aching when they finally finished, applause drowning out the lingering violin echoes of the final note. When Yoongi looked back at his lover, his eyes glittered and shone, a reflection of stage lights resembling the moon mirroring itself in the ocean.
But moments like these—of the violinist ending the night on his own—Yoongi just watches, just as captivated as the audience. He watches black floppy hair, and nervous shifting feet as his body follows the guide of music. It’s not hard not to fall in the trance of that beauty, lord knows how many minutes or hours Yoongi has lost at the hands of his lover, of his little violinist.
It’s the grin that pulls everything together for Yoongi. Watching the smile stretch over his lover’s face, glistening eyes, accepting his well-deserved praise and applause. It’s the side glance, and wink, that he never fails to send to Yoongi, even on nights where Yoongi is not on stage with their orchestra. Even on those days, Jungkook will smile brightly, and cry just the same, and Yoongi knows it’s for him.
Patiently, Yoongi follows the crowd out of the hall and to the sidewalk. It takes quite some time for people to clear out, then the musicians file out too, carrying their precious instruments. Some greet Yoongi when they see him, and he congratulates them in return, praising them on the performance. He gives them well wishes and returns to his hunt for Jungkook.
But it’s Jungkook who sees him first, anyway.
“Hyung!” he shouts, as soon as he bursts through the door, violin case in tow. Before Yoongi has a chance to thrust the flowers in Jungkook’s arms, he gets squeezed into an adrenaline pumped hug. “Did you see me? I did it, hyung—I actually did it.”
“And I’m so proud of you, darling.” Yoongi smiles and puts his arm around Jungkook’s back, rubbing it. He pulls away first, holding out his small bouquet. God knows why, but it cost him too damn much. Either way, it’s beyond worth it when Jungkook beams back at him. “You worked hard for this, Jungkook-ah.”
Even in the dim street light above them, Jungkook blushes and accepts the flowers. “Thank you, hyung,” he murmurs, suddenly shy as he gently strokes the petals. He lifts the bouquet to his nose, sniffing it as Yoongi clasps his hands behind his back nervously. “My first major solo performance and my boyfriend brings me flowers after the concert.”
Yoongi snorts, drops his arms from behind him to instead fold them over his chest. “I’ve done this since we started dating, you ass.”
“Hyung!”
“I’m just teasing,” Yoongi says, biting the inside of his cheek in an impossible attempt to contain his smile. “Let’s go home. I cooked after you left earlier.”
Jungkook happily links their arms as they go on their way to the parking lot, awkwardly carrying his violin case and the bouquet. To ease the burden, Yoongi takes the violin case in his free hand, leading Jungkook back his car.
They don’t live too far from the concert hall. It’s a twenty minute drive away, but traffic after a concert is always a hellish nightmare. Yoongi always plays something different in the car—they’re constantly engulfed by classical music that he and Jungkook agree on not listening unless they really want to, or they have to in order to learn a new piece.
Tonight, he plays music from back home, because he knows Jungkook loves that when he’s homesick. (And he’s always, always homesick after playing at an event.) They mumble the lyrics together, holding hands over the center console, and Jungkook giggles any time Yoongi’s voice happens to crack.
It takes almost forty minutes to reach their house. It’s nothing too special, only a one story with two bedrooms. Half the living room is overtaken by a piano Yoongi uses to practice on, too. But it’s still their home, in a way. It’s the place where Yoongi and Jungkook can be themselves with each other, can both wallow and hope; their home away from home.
Yoongi shoves the door open with his shoulder, grunting as the stubborn wood scrapes against the doorframe, and he nearly faceplants into the floor before Jungkook catches him. He finds his balance again, toes off his shoes, and tucks Jungkook’s violin in its spot beside the piano. Yoongi slides his hand along the edge of the instrument, tilting his head as fingerprints are left in his wake.
“Hyung, let’s eat. I’m hungry,” Jungkook says from their bedroom, already shrugging off his tuxedo coat, sliding it on a hanger.
Yoongi’s heart skips a beat as he admires Jungkook rolling up the sleeves of his button up. His sun kissed skin, stark against the crisp white shirt. Yoongi joins him, reaching for the bowtie still sitting snugly around Jungkook’s neck. He deftly removes it and places it on their bed, slowly unbuttoning Jungkook’s shirt for him.
“I can do it myself just fine,” Jungkook mutters, pouting as Yoongi pushes the shirt off his shoulders. “I understand if you just want to see me naked.”
“Yah!” Yoongi begins to feel his face heat up, letting Jungkook do the same to his own shirt. His breath stutters as if it’s the first time Jungkook has touched him, his hands sliding down the center of Yoongi’s chest. He pulls Yoongi forward by his waist and plants a chaste, warm kiss on his lips. “You’re no better, Jeon Jungkook.”
Jungkook just smirks, bites Yoongi’s bottom lip for a moment, then withdraws from Yoongi’s grasp completely. He finishes changing back into his pajamas, and Yoongi follows suit after dazedly watching his lover get dressed.
They share dinner in relative silence. Yoongi doesn’t mind the quiet when it’s with Jungkook. So much of their life is surrounded by music and noise—with Jungkook, they are allowed to soak in the silence comfortably. They can sit side-by-side at their kitchen table, elbows bumping, sharing the final meal of the day, and leave it at that. Nothing more, nothing less.
After dinner and a lazy clean up, Yoongi uncorks a bottle of red wine to pour them two glasses before retreating to the couch. Jungkook sips his wine after settling under a throw blanket, droopy eyes meeting Yoongi’s. He swears by his damn piano that Jungkook’s eyes will always be this starry.
“The wine’s bitter,” Jungkook complains, smacking his lips.
Curious, Yoongi takes a sip and wrinkles his nose at the unfamiliar taste. “Sorry, Jungkook-ah. Hyung thought he bought your favorite,” he says disappointedly. Jungkook tends to like his wine on the sweet, slightly tangy side. The bitterness is hardly a reward after the undoubtedly long day Jungkook has had.
“What was your favorite part tonight?” Jungkook asks, waiting gaze, eyes wide. He does this after every concert, questioning Yoongi as if he doesn’t already know the answer. At this point, Yoongi’s convinced that Jungkook simply wants to hear it every time.
So Yoongi indulges. “Yours,” he whispers into the space between them, his hand sliding to join Jungkook’s empty one in his lap. “But… specifically, the end. You know me. It’s always the end. When you finish off so intensely that it makes you cry.” His thumb rubs over Jungkook’s knuckles. “When you can see how much you’re pouring into the performance, the song, the concentration. The effort it must have taken, Jungkook-ah. I’m proud of you.”
“Wow,” Jungkook says, drinking more wine despite his earlier complaints. “Twice in one night? Did I wow you that badly, hyung?”
“Of course, darling.” Yoongi chuckles low at the memory. He watches Jungkook’s expression shift to brief surprise. “You wow’d me the very moment you walked into that first rehearsal.”
Jungkook sets down his wine, squeezing Yoongi’s hand. “All those years ago?” he asks, scoffing. Despite that, Yoongi smiles. “Don’t lie to me, hyung. I know you thought I was just some dumb kid.”
“I never said anything like that,” Yoongi denies, although it’s true that he was hesitant about someone so young joining their ensemble.
But the moment Jungkook’s bow greeted the strings of his violin that day, Yoongi knew—he knew exactly why the conductor had chosen him. From that day, Yoongi knew what a treasure Jungkook was. It’s only now that he truly knows the kind of treasure Jungkook has become in his life.
While everyone was packing up after rehearsal, Yoongi approached Jungkook. He didn’t have to pack up much other than his sheet music, but it perplexed Yoongi how Jungkook stayed seated, his fingers skimming over the sheet music on the stand. When he introduced himself, Yoongi immediately recognized his name as Korean, and felt an invisible connection because of it.
Still, when Yoongi halted in front of Jungkook’s music stand, he tentatively asked, “Are you Korean?”
Jungkook had a knee-jerk reaction—Yoongi still makes fun of him for it—flinching so hard he smacked himself in the face with his bow. It was hard not to laugh, but Yoongi kept his composure, he didn’t want to make Jungkook feel unwelcome.
“Uh, y-yes,” Jungkook responded, in Korean, and bowed his head politely. “You are too?”
By habit, Yoongi held out his hand for a shake. “Min Yoongi,” he said, and Jungkook shook his hand once he finally tucked his violin in its case. “Pianist.”
“I heard,” Jungkook answered, and smiled in this excited, almost childish way. Yoongi figured Jungkook couldn’t be over twenty-three years old, not with the naivety and innocence in his eyes. “You’re really good.”
“I could say the same about you.” Jungkook’s grin grew wider, a little shy, and Yoongi took the chance to send one back. “If you ever need anything, just… Let me know, okay?” Jungkook nodded his head enthusiastically, and Yoongi went on his way.
“You treated me like a baby,” Jungkook says with a pout, elbowing Yoongi gently in the ribs.
Yoongi shrugs and takes a gulp of his wine, setting it on the coffee table. “What can I say?” he asks with a smirk. “You are a baby.”
“Hyung.”
“I’m not sorry for telling the truth.”
Jungkook sighs and leans closer, pressing his mouth to the side of Yoongi’s head. “I love you,” he mutters, and Yoongi’s face grows hot, smacking Jungkook’s arm bashfully. “I think you should play something for me. You know, in honor of tonight.”
“How could I say no to tonight’s star?” Yoongi pushes himself up, and pauses when he’s standing in front of the couch.
Before he goes to the piano, he leans over Jungkook, lifting his chin with his right hand, and kisses him. The kiss is slow and steady. Jungkook’s mouth is warm, tastes of the wine they’ve been sipping on the last few minutes. Yoongi pulls back and brushes his nose against Jungkook’s, watching his lover laugh breathlessly and scrunch up his nose.
Yoongi settles at the piano, his back to Jungkook now, lifting the cover from the keys. He pulls up the sleeves of his pajama shirt and ghosts his fingers over the keys, trying to decide what to play. Once he chooses a piece, he places his hands over the keys and takes a deep breath. Behind him the floorboards creak, and he glances over his shoulder to see Jungkook coming to sit beside him.
He returns to the piano and begins to play. The music flows out of his fingertips with practiced ease. Yoongi shuts his eyes and feels the warmth of Jungkook’s shoulder pressed against his. Listening to Jungkook’s soft humming beneath the piano notes ringing into their living room, lets his bare feet press the cool pedals at the base of the piano.
This sense of comfort rushes over Yoongi’s soul, skin tingling whenever his elbow bumps into Jungkook’s. His fingers slip and he stumbles over the notes whenever it happens, but he doesn’t mind it for a second, not when it makes Jungkook throw his head back and laugh. When Yoongi reopens his eyes, he watches Jungkook as he plays, admiring his beauty. A beauty, all around, that could never compare to that of music.
Before he can get a sense of what he’s doing, Yoongi’s fingers slip from the piano, and he abruptly stops playing to lean in and kiss Jungkook again. It’s the same as before; this safety and ease rooted in the way Jungkook kisses him back, his hand sliding along Yoongi’s back to turn their bodies towards each other. Yoongi tilts his head to the side, stretching his neck as Jungkook leaves honeyed kisses along his skin.
“Why’s it always Mozart?” Jungkook asks, and Yoongi laughs at that, carding his fingers through Jungkook’s dark hair. “Have some diversity, hyung.”
Yoongi lifts Jungkook’s chin, bringing him back to eye level. “Well, he wrote a lot of piano sonatas,” he murmurs, laughing when Jungkook kisses him on the lips again.
“Yeah, but,” Jungkook says, speaking with his mouth still pressed against Yoongi’s. He swallows Jungkook’s words, his voice vibrating against his lips, breath tickling his nose. “So did Beethoven? He’s written the most, hasn't he?”
“Mmh—” Yoongi tries to respond but Jungkook doesn’t let him, pushing his tongue into Yoongi’s mouth. And he entertains Jungkook, kissing him with the same effort, the same affection pouring out of him. But he draws back, putting his hand between him and Jungkook’s mouth to stop him from following. “If you want to get into that, then there’s countless other composers who have amazing sonatas for the piano.”
Jungkook groans and drops his head onto Yoongi’s shoulder. “I regret asking you to play,” he mutters, and Yoongi rolls his eyes, pinching Jungkook through his shirt. “Should have known you’d argue with me over who has the best sonatas.”
“Hm. I like Chopin, in that case,” Yoongi murmurs, earning himself another groan from Jungkook. His head rolls from Yoongi’s shoulder and right into his lap.
Yoongi stares at him, and he looks as delicate as one of the strings on his violin. There’s a softness to his expression, the star-filled doe eyes that stare back at him. His eyebrows, normally pinched in a focused scowl during rehearsal or performances, are relaxed and free of stress. Still, Yoongi habitually rubs his thumb over the space between them, so used to having to smooth it out.
It was difficult to not fall in love with Jungkook. From his eyes, to his smile, to his laughter. His ability to pick up on a piece so quickly, replicating the notes perfectly with his violin. With the gift of not only talent with his hands, but with his voice, crooning notes of Korean pop songs on their days off. The genuinity of every caring question, being there for Yoongi every step of the way.
Well, it’s not like Yoongi stopped himself from doing so. It happened so simply; a night in the countryside, with his hand sitting in Jungkook’s. They took the night off to get away from the hectic stride of city life, a brief escape with only Yoongi’s car and tupperwares full of home cooked Korean food.
And they sat there, on top of Yoongi’s car, somewhere on the outskirts of London, sharing stories of their childhood, of their families and friends who live back home. Those people they left behind to pursue a life of music—the people they care for the most, and who support them from afar, regardless of how much they yearn to return to them.
It was hearing Jungkook say, “I don’t miss home so much anymore,” with his palm sitting in Yoongi’s, and a smile gracing his lips. It was the way he turned to Yoongi, eyes twinkling in the darkness of the night, and said, “Not when I have a piece of my home here with me.”
Yoongi smiles down at Jungkook now, the same twinkling and bright look in his eyes. He looks at him and says, “I’m so in love with you,” with a twist inside his chest. He adores Jungkook, more than anyone—anything—in this world. More than his piano, more the music itself.
Music is everything and more now that Jungkook is with him.
“You want me to play anything else?” Yoongi asks when Jungkook doesn’t answer, leaving one final brush of his thumb against the apples of his cheeks.
Jungkook wiggles his body to get comfortable half-lying on the piano bench, his head still resting in Yoongi’s lap. “Hm. Maybe something modern?” He pauses and taps his chin. “Have you written anything recently?”
“I fine-tuned the one I showed you last time,” Yoongi says, shrugging. “It’s still not perfect, but at this rate, I don’t think it ever will be.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to show me until you want to,” Jungkook says, sliding his finger along the back of Yoongi’s arm. He smiles and Yoongi nods gratefully, although it doesn’t give him an answer on what he should play next.
Jungkook taps his chin again, making another thinking noise. “Maybe play something from Ghibli?” he suggests, and a smile slowly curls onto Yoongi’s mouth—he understands the silent question.
“You can just tell me you want me to play Merry-Go-Round of Life for you,” Yoongi teases and sits his hands on the piano again, playing the opening notes.
When he glances down at Jungkook, he’s met with a pleased expression, head swaying along to the tune with his eyes closed. As Yoongi continues to play, he almost wishes Jungkook were playing the violin along with him, but understands that after the kind of stressful day he’s had, Jungkook only wants to listen.
The song is short, so Yoongi lets his hands fall back to Jungkook’s face when he’s finished. He trails the tips of his fingers along the slope of his nose, the slight curve of his lips, the cut of his jaw. Jungkook’s eyes are still shut at first, but he slowly flutters them open to reveal warm brown eyes. He pouts as Yoongi brushes his thumb over his cheek.
“What is it?” Yoongi whispers softly. There’s a siren that rushes past their house, but Yoongi keeps his eyes on Jungkook—on his lover. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I don’t know,” Jungkook answers, and breaks into the softest smile, dimple appearing on his cheek. “I just like looking at you.”
Yoongi brushes his index finger over the tip of his nose. “You’re such a sap,” he says, and Jungkook laughs, tilting his head back for a second. His eyes are quick to return to Yoongi’s face. “I like looking at you too, darling.”
“Play more for me,” Jungkook says, and Yoongi does.
He plays until his fingers are aching and sore, until the night around them is silent and steady without the piano, until the moonlight is falling over Jungkook’s sleeping face. Yoongi is too afraid to move at first, not wanting to disrupt the rest of his little violinist. Eventually, he realizes that Jungkook is going to hurt his back if he keeps sleeping here.
“Hey,” Yoongi mumbles, shaking Jungkook’s shoulders. He didn’t even realize it at first, but his legs are numb from being trapped underneath Jungkook’s weight. “Let’s move to bed, hm? Darling.”
Jungkook flutters his eyes a couple of times, lifting his arms a little for a stretch. Yoongi guides him to slowly sit up, shuts the cover for the piano, pulling Jungkook’s arm towards their bedroom. He stumbles after Yoongi, clutching his waist. He helps Jungkook brush his teeth before tucking him into bed with a kiss to his forehead.
Yoongi returns to the living room to put away the wine and their glasses, and places the flowers he bought for Jungkook in a vase to set in the center of their kitchen table. He washes up too, glancing at Jungkook in the bedroom every few seconds. He’s already fast asleep again. Yoongi doesn’t blame him, not when he’s been working so hard over the last couple of months.
As he climbs into bed, he takes a moment to admire the look of peace on Jungkook’s face. The way his mouth is parted, breathing softly. He curls up to Jungkook’s chest and places his head in the crook of his neck. Jungkook shuffles and throws one arm around him, pulling him closer. His heartbeat is slow, steady—anchoring Yoongi to him.
Yoongi shuts his eyes, breathes in the sweet vanilla scent clinging to his lover's skin, and feels at home.