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You laughed a little as your body bumped against Yoongi’s, the centrifugal force throwing you to the side. He leaned a little into you, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. He gripped the wheel in front of you tightly, his knuckles white from the force of his grip. You didn’t quite care for the rapid spinning, either, so you let him hold it in place. The breeze from the spinning teacup felt nice in the late October Florida heat, and every time you spun to one side of the ride pavilion, you caught a sweet scent from the bakery just across the walkway.
With his world tour over, Yoongi finally had some free time. The band had entered a break period–or, at least, the Bangtan version of a break–and there was nothing official on his schedule for the foreseeable future. About halfway through the tour, you’d asked Yoongi to spend some time with you when it was over, and he’d countered with a vacation. You couldn’t quite remember how you’d both decided on Disney World, only that it took you months to plan on your own while he was away.
And so there you were, spinning around a larger-than-life kettle in a giant, ceramic teacup. Having the time of your life with your boyfriend beside you.
The whimsical orchestral music stopped, and you could feel the teacup start to slow. Over the speakers, Alice bid you goodbye, and when your teacup was fully stopped, you stood. It wasn’t until you were a step or two away from the cup that you realized that Yoongi wasn’t following.
When you turned to him, he was staring at the teapot in the middle of the ride, but his focus was somewhere far away.
“Come on, love,” you said softly, reaching across to take his hand from the wheel in the center. His attention snapped to you, and he nodded.
He swayed slightly as he stepped off the ride, reaching out for you to steady himself. He kept a trembling hand on your arm as you led him out the exit gate.
“You okay?” you asked quietly once the two of you were out of the way. Yoongi hummed and nodded, but then immediately grimaced, regretting the movement. “Why don’t you sit down for a second and get your bearings? I’ll run over to the cafe and grab us some water.”
“No, you don’t have to-” He tried to reach out for you, but you were already too far away.
When you looked back, he had plopped himself onto the retaining wall in front of the hedges, the shade of the big tree above hopefully keeping the sun off him. It was unusual that he was motion sick from just a little spinning, but you’d both woken up congested thanks to the air conditioning in your hotel room, so you weren’t entirely surprised. Maybe he just still wasn’t feeling well. Hopefully the water would help.
You kept an eye on him as you stood in line, watching out of the corner of your eye as he scrolled through his phone. Your own phone vibrated in your pocket, and when you checked the notification, you groaned.
Toss: Min Yoongi sent you ₩13,000!
You tapped into the app and immediately refunded him the money. You knew he didn’t want you to feel like you ever had to spend money on him. But you didn’t mind, and while $7 was a lot for two waters, it wasn’t like you were going to be destitute from it. You weren’t about to make him pay you back when he wasn’t feeling well.
He sighed when you sat down beside him on the wall and pressed a bottle of water into his hands. “Please let me pay you for this.”
You hummed. “You paid for literally everything else. Let me take care of you.”
For a second, you thought he was going to say something, but instead, he just opened the bottle and took a drink. The two of you sat there for a few minutes, watching the people walk past. Or, at least, you people watched. Yoongi’s attention was once again far away, his eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance, looking but not seeing. He spun his ring absently, the silver and gold circlet rotating easily around his index finger, despite the slight tremble still in his hands.
“You good?” you murmured, bumping your shoulder into him gently.
He hummed, and it took him a second, but eventually looked at you. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“You seem a little out of it.”
“Yeah, I… just thinking.”
“We can go back to the room if you aren’t feeling well.” You held out your hand, palm up.
Gently, he took it, lacing his fingers through yours. “I’m okay. Honestly. Let’s keep going.”
There was something about the way he said it, something about the specific way he wouldn’t look at you. You didn’t believe him, but you at least trusted him to tell you if something was seriously wrong. So you allowed him to tug on your hand and lead you through Fantasyland from one side of the park to the other.
It was hard not to pay attention to the Haunted Mansion. Even though the effects inside were 50 years old, they were done so well that they were still fascinating. But your focus was split between the Pepper’s Ghost in the ballroom scene and the man beside you as Yoongi once again gripped your knee. Now, the tremble in his hands was undeniable, and you could feel the irregularity of his breathing in the close proximity.
“What’s wrong?” Your voice was soft as you snaked an arm around his waist.
He shook his head, then grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m fine.”
“You know I can tell when you’re lying.” Gently, you squeezed his side. “Are you okay, at least?”
Yoongi sighed, and for a moment, you thought that maybe he wasn’t going to answer you, or that he was going to brush off your question once again. But then, ever so slightly, he shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
The Doom Buggy you were in dropped backwards down a small hill, the music increasing in tempo slightly as you got closer to the graveyard. He grunted at the motion as the buggy leveled out and spun you around to see the ghosts playing around in the tombstones. His grip on your knee got tighter.
Normally, you would have taken the time to enjoy the animatronic busts and “Grim Grinning Ghosts,” but now, your focus was entirely on Yoongi. Even in the dim light of the ride, he looked pale, and every time the buggy turned or jerked along its path, he let out a small grunt, as if even the smallest of motions made him sick.
Finally, though, your buggy crawled through the tunnel under the small bride doll, and the Ghost Host warned that a ghost would follow you home, signaling the end of the journey. You held tightly onto Yoongi, looping your arm through his as you made your way out of the ride.
“Let’s go back to the room,” you suggested once you were out in the daylight. Yoongi opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off. “We can come back later if you’re feeling better. We have two weeks here. We don’t have to rush things.”
You could tell he wanted to argue, but instead, he quietly nodded, his hand coming up to hold onto yours as you still clutched his bicep, supporting him in case he got dizzy again.
The walk back to your hotel didn’t take long. The path wound through the trees and bushes along the side of the park, past Space Mountain and under the monorail lines. You walked through the sliding glass doors into the circular lobby. The woman at the guest services desk greeted you as you entered, her voice and smile chipper and very much the opposite of the disquiet slowly settling in your stomach.
The longer it went, the more you weren’t sure that it was motion sickness. The teacups, sure. Spinning that much, even without the extra spinning of the wheel, was enough to make anyone feel off. But the Haunted Mansion was barely a ride, and even with the walk through the park and back to the hotel, Yoongi was still a little shaky on his feet. No, you didn’t think this was motion sickness.
This was anxiety.
You’d spoken with Yoongi about his anxiety and OCD before, and you’d seen him hit some low points before, but you’d never seen him like this. Never like this. This had been building for some time now. Maybe since the tour had ended.
The doors of the elevator opened onto the tenth floor. Yoongi winced at the sound. Thankfully, your room was in the central column of the hotel, not too far away from the elevators, and you were at your door in only a few minutes. You used your free hand to scan your wristband and the door unlocked.
“I think I want to lay down,” Yoongi said softly. You held onto him tightly as he kicked off his shoes, afraid he might fall over.
“That’s probably a good idea.” You pushed his hair back from off his forehead, the long strands falling away and framing his face. At least he didn’t have a fever. “How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts,” he admitted, leaning into your touch as you cupped his cheek.
You cooed softly, brushing his hair back once more. You followed him closely into the main bedroom, your hand on his back to steady him just in case he needed you. He eased onto the bed–the sheets were unmade from when you’d woken up, and he slid under them easily. You stood by the edge of the mattress, making sure that he got settled, before leaning down to kiss his forehead.
“Rest well,” you told him softly, caressing his cheek.
“You’re leaving?”
“Do you not want me to?”
Suddenly, he looked sheepish, his eyes refusing to meet yours, his cheeks tinging a slight pink. Three years together and he still wasn’t used to asking for affection. “It’s fine. You don’t have to.”
You hummed and kissed his forehead again. “Of course I’ll stay.”
You grabbed the remote as you passed the television. If he fell asleep, you’d be stuck in bed until he woke up. He was needy when he wasn’t feeling well, and you’d learned during his shoulder recovery and his bout of covid that you were incapable of saying no to him when he got like this.
As soon as you were under the blankets and propped up slightly against the faux leather of the woven headboard, Yoongi was tangling himself with you, his legs slotted between your own, his arms wrapped around you tightly. He buried his face in your chest, practically laying on top of you, and you felt him sigh.
“Comfy?” you asked, amused. He hummed in response. “Try to get some rest.”
You turned on the tv, turning the volume down low enough that it wouldn’t disturb him. Silently, you scrolled through the channels, your other hand dragging lazily up and down Yoongi’s back in an attempt to soothe him to sleep. He relaxed more against you the longer you laid there together, the tension slowly leaving his body as he drifted closer to sleep. He really must not have been feeling well–Yoongi rarely napped.
But sure enough, after a few minutes, you peeked down and his eyes were closed, his face fully relaxed as he snored softly against you. You threaded your hand in his hair, scratching gently at his scalp, and pressed a kiss onto the top of his head.
Your focus shifted around the room, your hand mindlessly carding through his hair. The black tresses were surprisingly soft–he spent so much time frying the shit out of his hair with bleach and dyes, you were always amazed by how healthy his hair was. Outside, a bird flew past the sliding glass door that led out onto the balcony.
The room you were staying in was gorgeous. Decorated in Warhol-style pop art of Mickey and the other classic Disney characters, the whole suite was two bedrooms. It had seemed unnecessary at first, but then Yoongi had insisted on bringing his equipment to finish up a project that was due in two days, and it had a small kitchen and living room area that you literally never planned on using. But the main bathroom had a jacuzzi tub big enough for three people, and the balconies and windows all had the most amazing view of the Magic Kingdom, overlooking Space Mountain and Tomorrowland, with the castle in the near distance.
After only an hour, Yoongi began to stir. You’d turned on the movie Ratatouille only a few minutes before, and Remy and Emile had just entered the old woman’s kitchen when he tightened his arms around your middle. He nuzzled his face further into your chest, stretching a little. You huffed out a laugh, your fingers carding gently through his hair.
He made no attempt to move, though, so you continued to silently watch the movie. Using his cookbook as a raft, the grey rat floated through the sewers, eventually coming to a stop. The depressed and battered rat flipped through the book, and eventually, his hallucination of Gusteau the chef encouraged him to leave the sewer.
“If you focus on what you’ve left behind,” the chef said sagely, “you’ll never be able to see what lies ahead.”
Yoongi shifted so that his face was shoved entirely into your chest and groaned.
You continued to play with his hair, both amused and a little concerned by his reaction. “Is this unsatisfactory for you?”
For a while, he was silent, but then he sighed–you could feel the great exhale more than see or hear it. His response, whatever it was, was muffled and incoherent. Gently, you coaxed him to turn his head so that he wasn’t so buried.
“I feel like I’m drowning,” he murmured, arms tightening around your middle again.
You hummed, tucking his hair behind his ear, smoothing it out gently before stroking his cheek with your thumb. “What’s wrong, love?” Yoongi wasn’t one to over dramatize his feelings. Often, he was blunt, to the point. Sure, he sometimes turned to metaphors when they were effective, but he rarely had a flair for the overdramatic. So when he spoke like he was now, you paid close attention and you asked questions.
He sighed. “I have free time.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“For a decade, I was so busy I didn’t know what day it was most of the time.” His voice was quiet, like if he spoke any louder, the wrong people would hear and he would get in trouble. “I got so used to that constant going. Practice and studio time and meetings and touring and writing and traveling and promotions and interviews. Year after year after year. Fitting in study time and time to go to the gym and learning guitar and personal projects. And then trying to fit us in, and making sure I had enough time for you–and I love making time for you,” he clarified, looking up at you slightly to make sure you knew he was serious, “but it was just one more thing. And I managed. I think I managed well. But now…”
He didn’t need to finish his sentence. You knew what he was going to say. Now, he didn’t have to worry about most of those things. Now, they were on a break. The group had splintered into different directions.
Namjoon was moving to London for six months to support his girlfriend while she took an internship. Jin was working with an indie studio to make a video game. Hobi was choreographing for some of the new idol groups at their company. Jimin and Taehyung were traveling the world. And Jungkook was doing… Jungkook things. You weren’t really sure. But the kid insisted that it was something very big and very exciting, and he seemed happy, so you were proud of him, regardless. They were all working on individual albums and personal projects. But aside from the occasional text or dinner, they hardly saw each other.
For a long while, you were silent, the only sound in the room being the movie continuing to play. Selfishly, you were a little glad that Yoongi’s schedule was finally calming down. In the three years you’d been together, you’d barely been able to spend full weekends together. Now, not only was he mostly working from his home studio, he had time to actually go on vacation.
“You know,” you said softly, brushing your thumb against his cheekbone. “Before your shoulder surgery, most of the time we spent together was between 8pm and 3am.”
“Yeah?”
“I’d get back to my apartment around 3:30 and I’d have to be ready for my first voice student at 10. But I’d lay in bed and I’d text you for as long as it took to make sure you weren’t going to spend the night in your studio.” You smiled at the memory. You’d spent months with that routine, even before you’d started dating, back when you were still just two oblivious friends with unrelenting crushes. You were glad that your relationship had moved past that stage, but there was something so lovely about how smitten you were with him, even from the beginning.
“Sometimes you did not succeed.”
You hummed, making a wishy-washy sound as if you were debating him. “I had a 95% success rate.”
“Probably closer to 85,” he admitted, snorting out a laugh.
“Have you met your stubborn ass? I call that a win either way.”
He laughed in earnest then, the sound like warm honey as he turned his head, burying his face back into your chest. After a moment, he calmed down, and once again, the room was enveloped in silence save for the movie. You could tell that the conversation wasn’t over, but you also didn’t want to rush his thoughts, so you stayed quiet. Gently, you traced shapes into the softly defined planes of Yoongi’s back, decorating his t-shirt with imaginary hearts and flowers and little ‘I love you’s. He sighed, and you felt the tension melting out of his muscles under your fingertips.
“I don’t remember how to not be Min Suga,” Yoongi confessed finally, his arms tightening around you briefly as he readjusted his weight.
“Is he really that different from Min Yoongi?”
“You know what I mean.” You could hear the frown in his voice, even if you couldn’t see his face. “Where does Suga end and Yoongi begin?”
“Does it matter?” He scoffed. “No, I’m serious. We all have stage personas. You get up on stage and you’re someone with larger than life confidence and swagger. I get up on stage and I’m able to play the piano.”
“But you can play the piano.”
“And you’re cool as fuck. I never said your stage persona had to be a lie.” You poked his cheek. “You know that they’ll follow you, no matter what you do, right?”
He turned his head ever so slightly so that he could look at you. And when he spoke, his voice was soft. “You think?”
“Yeah, of course. They like the Bangtan brand, but they also love you guys as individuals. Maybe not all of them. Maybe you won’t get a solo Grammy nom or whatever. But god there are so many people out there waiting to see what you do next. You really should look at Twitter every once in a while.” You pinched his cheek gently, teasing him.
“Maybe the break is good,” he conceded.
“It’s good for a lot of reasons.” You brushed his hair off his forehead. “Especially if it gets you to stop working like you’re running out of time. It’s not sustainable.”
“I’m starting to feel that.”
“You still have that thing to finish for Tablo, right?”
He nodded against you. “I just have to finish up some of the mix and send it to them for mastering.”
You hummed. You’d been thinking for a while that Yoongi needed a break. He’d been less satisfied with his work recently, asking you to listen to things far more often than he ever had before. When he’d first gotten home from the tour, you’d been so worried about him–he had looked exhausted, complete with dark circles and sallow skin. Things had gotten slightly better since then, Yoongi had gotten some rest in the weeks after the tour, but you could tell that there was still some bone-deep exhaustion lingering in him.
“I know you brought all your things,” you started, unsure of how he would take what you were going to say next, “but why don’t you finish up what you need to and then just treat this like a real vacation? Take a break for a bit? I can slim down our plans a bit. We can just relax for two weeks, and-”
“This is your vacation, too. I don’t want you to not get to do the things you want just because I have brain shit going on.”
“I’m just happy you’re here.” It was true. It had killed you to not be able to spend time with him while he was on tour. He was your favorite person, the one person who knew you better than you knew yourself. He took care of you, just as much as you took care of him. You probably would have gone to the moon if it meant you got to hang out with him.
“Have you always been this cheesy?” Yoongi groaned, but his shoulders shook with a laugh. But then, he was serious again, rolling onto his side and completely off of you. His arms stayed clasped around your middle, and he leaned in to kiss your shoulder. “Don’t cancel too much for my sake, jagi. We can still have fun.”
You flipped onto your side, finally able to look at him. He still looked tired, but he didn’t seem to be as shaky anymore, and his headache must have gone away, because he seemed to be less sensitive to sound and movement. You reached out, cupping his cheek. He leaned into your touch, turning his head slightly to kiss the heel of your palm.
“I love you,” he said softly, and when his brown eyes met yours, they were dripping with affection. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“Always.”