Work Text:
When Yoongi woke up, it was still dark out. Moonlight shone in through the window, and he could just barely make out the lights of Gangnam across the river. Even with the curtains barely cracked open, he could tell there weren’t many cars out on the streets. So it was early, then. Certainly earlier than he needed to be awake. One tap to his phone confirmed his suspicions. 4:47 am.
He could go back to sleep if he wanted.
But then a pair of arms tightened around his middle. Disturbed by his movement to check his phone, you snuggled further into his back, a small sigh escaping you in your sleep. You were cozy behind him, your legs tangled with his under the covers. Carefully, he intertwined his fingers with yours, bringing your hand up to gently brush his lips against your knuckles.
You’d made him promise to wake you up. He had to leave early, and you wanted to spend time with him before he went. Tour was supposed to last nine months, but that’s what they’d said the last time. Last tour ended up lasting for over a year, all things told. Yoongi hoped that there wasn’t another six-month tour extension in their future.
He rolled over carefully. It was quite the feat, moving in such a way that he didn’t disturb you or punt Sugar halfway across the bedroom–the cat insisted on sleeping right at Yoongi’s feet, much to Holly’s dismay–but he did it, finally coming face-to-face with your sleeping form.
It was weird. He used to dream of playing to sold out arenas, thousands of fans singing along in a language most of them didn’t understand. But as much as Yoongi was excited to get back out on the road, he had to admit that there was a part of him that just wanted it to be over so he could be home again, wrapped up in your arms, waking up to your bedhead every morning.
Funny. He wasn’t even gone yet, but he knew he would miss this feeling more than anything.
He smirked, brushing a knuckle across your cheek delicately. It still amazed him how full his heart was after two and a half years–full of memories and love and… you . Even the low points, he looked back on fondly because they brought him closer to you.
He kept it all close to his heart. The first night he'd spent with you. THe first song of his that caused you to cry. Your first fight. Your first kiss.
It was your fourth date. You had invited him for a walk along the Han River just after lunch time. The rain had come all of a sudden–it was early in the season for rain–and you’d been caught without an umbrella.
Your laugh was bright and infectious as you ran. Yoongi was hot on your heels, water splashing up from the pavement and soaking his sneakers. His socks were sopping wet, but he didn’t care.
You grabbed his arm as you ran under the awning of a cafe, leading him out of the weather and onto the small dry spot beside the door. When he caught his breath, he was finally able to get a good look at you, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. Your hair was plastered to your head, your jacket soaked through so that it was sticking awkwardly to your arms. You looked like a drowned rat.
Shit, you were the prettiest drowned rat he’d ever seen.
A couple of girls ran toward the cafe, umbrellas in hand, and Yoongi turned his head, tugging his cap lower to cover his eyes better. The last thing he needed right now was for someone to recognize him and cause you grief. But the girls paid no attention to either of you, tugging the door of the cafe open and disappearing inside.
Beside him, you shivered. Even without the rain, it was chilly out, and now you were both soaked to the bone. If the rain would let up, you weren’t that far from his car, you could make a run for it. But with no signs of stopping, Yoongi tugged you closer, a giggle escaping your lips as his arms wrapped around your waist.
You turned in his grasp to face him, and he hoped that you wouldn’t notice the heat in his cheeks.
“Hey,” you said softly, a hand on his chest. You played absently with the strings of his jacket. “Come here often?”
He laughed, tightening his grip on you. “Hi, jagi.”
“Jagi?” You raised an eyebrow. “That’s new.”
“Good new?”
You hummed, nodded an affirmative. “Good new.”
Yoongi stood there for what felt like an eternity, enjoying the warmth of your body against his. His mind had wandered away, lost somewhere in the depth of your eyes. A swarm of butterflies erupted in his stomach, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Could you feel it too? He suspected you could.
They say that everything with mass has a gravitational field, most objects are too small for you to feel it. But in that moment, you were the sun, and Yoongi was just the planets spinning around you, inexplicably drawn into your orbit. Time slowed down as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours for the briefest of moments before he pulled away. He was nervous. He’d never been this nervous to kiss anyone.
But then you pulled him back, your grip on his jacket firm. It was like he was being warmed from the inside as you kissed him, the chill of the rain no longer bothering him. You parted far too soon, your cheeks pink. You shivered once again, and Yoongi enveloped you in a tight hug, allowing you to bury your face in his shoulder. You hummed, content.
Weeks later. You’d come over to the dorm. The guys were out, and Yoongi had taken the opportunity to make you dinner. It was getting late. Outside, the rain lashed the windows, Yoongi could hear it over the movie you were watching.
You turned to look out the window. “Christ, how long is this monsoon supposed to last?”
Yoongi hummed. “At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if it lasted all night.”
You huffed, sitting back and snuggling back into his side. “That’s going to suck to drive home in.”
“You could just stay here.” He said it so much more casually than he was feeling.
He felt you shake your head more than he saw it. “That’s okay. I don’t want to impose, and it would be weird if the guys came home to me here.”
“You wouldn’t be imposing on anything. And the others wouldn’t care. They like you. Plus, I’ve put up with them having people over for years now.”
“You have to be up early-”
“I’ll stay up worrying about you.”
You sighed, your head lolling to the side to rest on his shoulder. “Well, when you put it like that…”
The movie ended, and it wasn’t long after that you were sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him do his nighttime skincare routine in the bathroom across the hall. He couldn’t get over how right it seemed to have you there. He’d let you borrow one of his biggest and comfiest t-shirts, and he’d be lying if he said seeing you in his clothes didn’t do something to him.
“Do you need anything else?” he asked, wiping the excess moisturizer off his fingertips and turning off the bathroom light.
You shook your head, but didn’t say anything. He leaned down and kissed your forehead as he passed, and you hummed in response. Yoongi settled into bed then, turning off his bedside lamp and plunging the room into darkness. You scooted slightly closer to him and he seized the opportunity, wrapping his arm around your waist.
“You good?” he asked softly, settling into his pillow.
“Yeah, I…” You rolled over to face him. Your eyes sparkled in the moonlight, he noted briefly, and he could very much get used to that sight. “Just not used to this.”
He had to admit, this was a little weird for him. He hadn’t actually had anyone spend the night in… years. He told you as much, and you visibly relaxed. He held you close, your head resting on his shoulder, and it didn’t take long for you to fall asleep.
When he woke up the next morning, your arms were wrapped around him, face buried between his shoulders, body curled around him like you’d shared a bed hundreds of times. He prayed to whomever was listening that it would continue.
You stirred slightly in his arms, snuggling further into his chest. Somewhere in the house, he could hear Holly wandering around trying to find a comfy spot to lay in. In his sleep, Sugar rolled over onto Yoongi’s feet. The room was starting to lighten as the morning progressed. You would be awake soon, and then, too quickly, he would have to leave.
Something on your nightstand drew his attention. The photo sat in a matte black frame, barely illuminated in the budding sunlight. He knew the picture well. To this day, he wasn’t entirely sure when or how you’d managed to take it. In it, he was kissing your temple. You both looked emotional, but happy. It was one of his favorite memories, one of the first times that he really felt like he was actually a good, supportive boyfriend.
It was mid-afternoon. You’d called him because your brain wouldn’t shut up, pouring lies and overreactions into your thoughts. He could hear the emotion in your voice over the phone, and when he asked what was wrong, at first, you’d told him nothing, but after some time, you confessed that you felt like your intrusive thoughts were ruining your relationship.
He’d left the studio immediately, knocking on your apartment door as soon as he possibly could.
He let himself in when you didn’t answer, and found you in the bedroom, curled up on top of the covers. You had to cancel all of your students’ voice lessons for the day. He laid down next to you and you sought him out, pulling yourself closer, burying your face in his chest. Yoongi held you, listening to you breathe.
“I brought you something,” he said quietly, squeezing you a little bit. You hummed into his shirt–he could barely hear it, but it was an acknowledgement. “It’s some of my music. Do you want to listen to it?” You made another noise that sounded vaguely like an affirmative, and he chuckled. “Okay. Give me a second.”
He pulled up the album on his phone and hit play on track one. Really, there was only one song that he’d wanted to show you, but you had been dropping subtle hints about wanting to listen to his first mixtape for a while. He kept demurring, saying that you’d listen to it together when the time was right.
Well, the time seemed pretty damn right to him.
So he let the tracks play, one after another. Agust D. Give It To Me. 724148. But as 140503 at Dawn was ending, he couldn’t help but to feel a little nervous. He wasn’t ashamed of his music, far from it. But he couldn’t help feeling like maybe… maybe it was a bit much for you right now.
As The Last approached the end of the first verse, your grip on him tightened. For a moment, he thought that you were crying, or at the very least deep in your feelings. But then you pulled away slightly, readjusting how you were laying so that your head was on his shoulder. You took his hand, playing with his fingers as you listened.
You hummed as the beep of the censored line cut through the track, but then you went silent again. You focused on his hand for the rest of the album, nodding occasionally, but otherwise, you were entirely quiet. When the final notes of So Far Away had faded into the silence of your apartment, he reached up, fingers of his free hand carding through your hair.
“What did you think?” he asked softly.
You sighed, but after a moment, you mumbled, “My boyfriend’s so fucking cool.”
He chuckled. “I’m glad you think so.”
You went silent again, and Yoongi thought that maybe you weren’t going to say anything again. But then you shifted so that your chin was resting on your hand on his chest. For what felt like an eternity, you watched him, eyes flitting around his face, as if you were searching for something.
“You’ve got brain shit going on, too,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper.
Yoongi wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, but he answered anyway. “Since I was a kid. It comes and goes.”
“I’m not usually like this,” you confessed. “I don’t… I’m not used to it being like this.”
“It?”
“Relationships. Dating. Us.” You sighed. “I think it’s going well. And I don’t know. I tend to self-sabotage when I’m in unfamiliar territory.”
“I don’t think you’ve sabotaged anything.” He played with your hair, letting the strands fall through his fingers like water. “You don’t have to go through it alone. If you’re struggling, I want you to feel like you can talk to me about it. Even if it feels silly. Especially if it feels silly.”
You opened your mouth to say something–a protest, maybe–but decided against it. Your eyes glistened in the light of your bedroom, but the tears didn’t fall. Instead, you smiled, pushing yourself up to place a gentle kiss on his lips.
“Thank you.”
He’d been so proud after that day. He was still learning how to be a good boyfriend, how to prioritize someone other than the members and his career. Knowing that he’d helped you, that his struggles had helped you feel better about your own, it warmed him more than any accolade or career goal ever could. But things hadn’t always been that good.
After that, it had taken less than a month for him to fuck things up.
Yoongi felt like shit. He’d been dragged into a surprise meeting, and ever since, he’d had the feeling that something was off. Like he was forgetting something. Something important. But he’d checked his calendar, he’d checked his messages from the other members, all his emails, and nothing. And then, when he knocked on your door and you didn’t answer immediately, he worried that maybe he really had forgotten something.
After a minute, you opened the door. You said nothing in greeting, merely stepped away from the door to let him in and shut it behind him before returning to the living room. He could feel the tension rolling off you in waves, but he wasn’t sure what was wrong.
He slid his shoes off, tucking them close to the wall beside your sneakers–and a pair of heels–and when he joined you in the living room, you had already cocooned yourself into a blanket, your tablet balanced in your lap as you worked on something. He sat beside you and you shifted your weight so that you were leaning more against the arm of the couch.
Ouch.
It hit him as he pulled his phone out, the date glaring up at him. Like lightning, his brain made the connections. The heels in the hall, the fact that you’d done your hair–he could see the product in it despite the fact that you’d clearly done your best to get comfortable–your icy mood. Shit.
“Oh my god, your showcase.” Yoongi looked over at you, eyes wide. How could he have forgotten? “I’m so sorry I missed it. I…” He sighed, gently placing his hand on your leg. “We had a meeting today about the next album. I got too focused on that.”
“It’s okay,” you said, not looking at him. You tapped a couple things on the screen of your tablet. “I get it. You could have just said that you didn’t want to come.”
“That’s not it at all.” He shifted how he was sitting so that he could face you. “I wanted to be there. They just sprung this meeting on us last second, and I-”
“You could have told them no. You could have made them reschedule it. What are they going to do, fire you?” You refused to look at him, but he could tell that you were mad. You scowled at the tablet in your lap.
But you were right.
“I probably could have, yeah,” he said softly, cautiously. “I didn’t think of it. I’m not… entirely used to the work/life balance thing yet. But I should have done what I could to be there.”
You shrugged. “It’s fine. Your career comes first.”
It would have hurt less if you had slapped him. It wasn’t that what you’d said was particularly wrong. It was a fact of life you’d both had to embrace, that his music and his life as BTS member Suga often did come before other things, but he always tried to make up for it, tried to schedule in time specifically for you. It was how you’d said it. Like you’d resigned yourself to it, like you had accepted that you’d never come first in his life. And that fucking sucked. And it hurt. And he had no excuse for it.
“No, I-” You shot him a look that said you knew that you were right, and Yoongi deflated. “Not intentionally. I’m trying. Even with everything going on… it’s hard.”
Silently, you tapped your tablet a few more times. Based on how you were holding it, he was pretty sure you were working, probably on another arrangement for your students. He sighed and leaned back, letting his head fall against the back of the couch.
This showcase had been important to you, but until now, watching you ice him out, he hadn’t realized just how important it had been. But of course it meant a lot. You worked hard to teach your students–vocalists, mostly, though there were a few pianists mixed in–and you worked harder to arrange and transpose songs for them to use for auditions and performances. Of course you would have wanted Yoongi to be at the showcase. You’d probably wanted to show off a little, show him how hard you’d been working.
But that didn’t matter to him. Well, it did. He wanted to be involved in your life. He wanted to see what you were working on. He liked seeing you in your element like that. He knew how hard you worked, knew how much you wanted your students to succeed.
“I really wanted you there.” Your voice was so soft, he had to strain to hear what you were saying. “I wanted you to see everything I’ve been working on. I wanted you to be proud of me. I’ve never wanted anyone to be proud of me–well, except for my parents, I guess. I even had the venue staff reserve you a seat in the back so no one would see you. God, I feel so dumb.”
“But I am proud of you,” Yoongi said softly, his focus on his hands in his lap.
“What?” When you looked up at him, your eyes were shiny, and a little part of Yoongi crumbled. The last thing he wanted to do was make you cry.
“I’m proud of you,” he repeated. “I mean, I’d probably still be proud of you even if you were a walking trash fire, but you’re not. You’re so dedicated and creative and talented.” He sighed. “I really am sorry that I forgot about today. I should have been there for you. It won’t happen again.”
You frowned, and for a moment, said nothing. He could see the gears turning in your mind as you thought. When you finally spoke, your voice cracked. “I don’t know if I believe that.”
Yoongi couldn’t blame you. You had no reason to believe him. Quietly, he nodded. He wasn’t entirely sure what came next. But you hadn’t kicked him out yet, so he supposed it wasn’t entirely unfixable. He settled back into your couch, his focus shifting from you to the show you’d been watching on tv. He hadn’t even realized that the tv was on until now.
When he pulled out his phone, a calendar notification caught his eye, reminding him to send an email to his management team. But that gave him an idea.
“Do you use Google Calendar?”
It wasn’t even a real fight—more a misunderstanding—but it hurt Yoongi more than if you’d screamed at him. To see the disappointment in your eyes, to hear how sad you’d been… he was mad at himself more than anything. He’d been careless. He still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d forgotten about your showcase in the first place.
But that was over two years ago. The Google Calendar solution he’d proposed had become an integral part of your relationship, your shared calendar now littered with event invites and tasks from each other. It was simple, it was a little stupid, but it worked, and Yoongi wasn’t about to argue with that.
“It’s weird that you stare at me while I sleep. Do you do that all the time or…?” Your groggy voice startled Yoongi out of his thoughts.
He offered you a small smile, but you frowned, raising an eyebrow in tired confusion.
“What’s wrong, honey boy?” you asked quietly, a hand emerging from the blankets to cup his cheek. Gently, your thumb stroked against his cheek. The tenderness of it warmed him from the inside.
“Just thinking.” He tightened his arms around you, holding you close.
You hummed. “About what? How much you love me?”
By your tone, it was clear that you were teasing him, but he smiled and simply said, “Yeah.”
“You shouldn’t lie to me this early in the morning.” But despite your words, you were smiling, and you leaned up and kissed him gently. You hummed as you pulled away and nuzzled your face into his shoulder. “Yongi will not be this good at cuddling.”
He snorted out a laugh, kissing the top of your head. When he’d gotten you the pillowcase of himself for your birthday, he’d intended it to be a joke. A body pillow that looked like him for when you got lonely. Hilarious. But then you’d fallen in love with the printing defects on it and named it Yongi. Apparently, you had full intentions of using it while he was away.
“It’ll only be a few months,” he said softly, dragging his fingertips up and down your bare arm. But even he didn’t believe himself. You both knew he had no real idea of when he’d be home.
“You’ll have fun.” Thankfully, you sounded more sure than he did. “We’ll be okay. Holly and Shug and I.” From the foot of the bed, Sugar let out a small mew and a yawn. You let out an empty chuckle. “See? Shug agrees.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” he admitted, only half-joking.
This was the longest he would be away from you, and honestly, he was worried about how well he was going to cope. Really, he was worried about all of the members. Almost all of them had someone to come home to. The past few years had been good to them, it would be hard to be away for so long. But you seemed confident, and you seemed to be okay with it, which helped.
You hummed in response, giving his waist a little squeeze. “You’ll be okay, honey boy. And if you’re not, I’m just a phone call away.”
Yoongi appreciated that you were so calm about everything. He knew this couldn’t be easy on you, either, but you were keeping it together. Though whether that was natural, or whether you were doing it for his sake, he couldn’t quite tell. Probably a little of both.
He placed a gentle kiss to the side of your head and mumbled into your hair. “I love you, you know that?”
“You know, I have heard that from time to time.” He could feel you smile against him. “I love you, too.”
Yoongi sighed and relaxed, holding you close. In a few hours, he would be on a plane, flying to some far-off city for their first arena show of the tour. But for now, he would lay in bed with you and watch the sunrise out the window, his cat lounging lazily at his feet. He did his best to commit this feeling to memory so that, in a few months, when he was in a hotel room missing you like crazy, he could think back and maybe conjure up some of the love he was feeling now.