Chapter Text
“It’s so fascinating.”
Seokjin blinks. “Pardon me?”
He instantly regrets it when the man he was addressing startles, as if only just now registering Seokjin’s presence. Of course he was just talking to himself, dammit. The guy hasn’t said a word to Seokjin, aside from ordering and receiving his drink with his eyes barely torn off the stage, for the past three—four?—consecutive Friday nights he had been here, so why would he start now?
For a moment, the man just stares at Seokjin, like he’s stunned into speechlessness. Seokjin holds his ground and firmly resists the urge to shrink in on himself, but he’s certain the color of his ears is currently betraying him. Sure, Seokjin, just bask in the awkward silence, it’s not like they expect bartenders to have basic social skills or anything.
“Excuse me,” he forces out a chuckle, aiming for good-natured rather than nervous. “Thought you were finally looking for a conversation partner after all this time.”
“No, no, it’s okay! I wouldn’t mind one, actually,” the man says, only falters for the slightest bit before flashing a smile like he’s holding out a peace offer. A dimple makes itself known. “I was just saying it’s fascinating how much music can say without really saying.”
He turns his head, eyes landing on the stage across the room. They’re in a lull between songs, as Hoseok—in full performance gear, baggy T-shirt and black nail polish and everything—hovers by the brink of the elevated platform, chugging down gulps of water. With the mood lighting turned off for the moment and the brimming energy among the audience steadily dispersing, the performance area is looking more like its humble self—a bit too crude and shabby for Seokjin’s liking. He’s been meaning to renovate, glam things up a little, but—well, hosting gigs for fresh, essentially no-name musicians hasn’t exactly been flooding them with cash.
Dimpled guy doesn’t seem to mind—or pay any notice, for that matter. His eyes gleam lightly as his gaze lingers on Hoseok’s lean figure, contemplative. His lips press together gently, as if musing on the lingering aftertaste of the show that just went down.
“So what does his music say?” Seokjin can’t help but ask.
Dimpled guy doesn’t answer immediately; he puts his elbows on the counter, leans his chin on his clasped hands. When he speaks, though, there’s a quiet conviction to his voice.
“That he’s in love.”
Seokjin’s eyes widen. On stage, Hoseok has straightened up and is now addressing the crowd in that bright, energetic way of his, holding the whole room's attention in his palm with such seasoned ease. There’s a glow to him that’s more than just his stage presence, a subtle simmer of something behind his big, wide smile, all crescent eyes and heart-shaped mouth. Seokjin wonders if it’s because he sees a certain someone in the crowd.
Dimpled guy isn’t looking at Hoseok, though. He's peering at Seokjin’s shocked expression from behind his hands, another smile tugging at his lips, part amused and part shy.
“You can tell just from his music?” Seokjin says, incredulous. He’s probably giving away too much—to a total stranger, nonetheless—but that’s the thing. Sure, Seokjin can pick it up on Hoseok, but that’s because they have known each other since high school, and because Seokjin’s supposedly the only one who knows about this thing. Despite his onstage persona, Hoseok’s decidedly not the type to personally spread his own gossip around the block, and he had only confided in Seokjin after Seokjin teased him mercilessly for a month straight.
Dimpled guy glances over to the stage again. “Oh, well, part of it is the music, and part of it is the way he performs it, you know? The way a love song is performed… it makes all the difference.”
Who are you? Seokjin wants to say. Instead, he quips: “what, speaking from experience?”
Dimpled guy snorts around a laugh. “Oh, I—no, I haven’t been on stage in forever.”
“Retired, huh? So now you just come to other people’s gigs and… what? Judge them full-time?”
The joke didn’t land the way Seokjin had imagined. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it, yeah,” dimpled guy shrugs.
Understanding washes over Seokjin. “You’re a critic?”
“Aspiring. I’ve had a few pieces published here and there, but they’re mostly just on my blog.” Dimpled guy rubs the back of his nape, a little abashed.
“Wait, seriously? I would never have pegged you for one.”
“Why?”
“Because all music critics are assholes,” Seokjin says unthinkingly, and only realizes his mistake when the guy’s face falls ever so slightly. “Or—or maybe not all. Just all the ones I have met here. I mean, you don’t seem like one of them…” Seokjin pauses to think, “well, actually—saying something obscure about Hobi being in love just from watching him perform for thirty minutes? That’s pretty pretentious.”
It was said in good humor, but—Seokjin realizes belatedly—that kind of easy jab only works between people who’ve known each other for longer than a meager five minutes. As it is, he probably just came across as rude—and not even thirty seconds after the asshole comment too.
He glances over to the guy with a wince, bracing himself for a look of irritation, incredulity, or worse, hurt—but the guy just looks… sheepish. Just ducks his head and huffs out a small, embarrassed laugh, self-conscious from Seokjin’s remark. “It is, huh? Sorry I ruined the last shot at salvaging our reputation.”
Seokjin stares a little. Wonders why there’s suddenly a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, amused and fond. “Don’t worry. As long as you keep coming back, you still have a chance to win me over.”
Win my opinion over, was what he meant to say, but apparently his mouth had other ideas. What’s the deal with him tonight? There’s something about the guy that makes Seokjin’s brain-to-mouth filter malfunction.
It just feels… okay. It feels okay to be a little too honest, in the presence of those warm, curious eyes, that open, attentive face. Those dimples.
He ventures a look, again, to gauge how much damage his unplanned, out-of-blue flirting had done. But the guy is looking at him too, and their equally tentative gazes meet halfway. There’s only a brief pause before they simultaneously break into giggles at their combined awkwardness.
“I’m serious,” Seokjin says after he recovers, mirth in his voice still, “you can start working on that with your review for Hobi. I’m obliged to threaten you to only write good things or risk getting blacklisted.”
“Hmm. I’m starting to see why a critic might have a rough time here,” the guy says, faux-serious, struggling to keep a grin off his face.
“Hey, I hand-picked all the performers, okay? It would be like insulting my taste if you say anything bad about them.”
The guy blinks, pauses. “Wait, you’re the one who puts the gigs together?”
His expression makes Seokjin wonder if he had finally said something right for once. He holds his hand out in lieu of an answer. “Kim Seokjin. Jin is fine. I’d say it’s a pleasure, but—well, you’re still on probation.”
The guy snickers. Okay, they’ve definitely progressed to the easy jab stage. “Kim Namjoon,” the guy—Namjoon—says, wrapping a large, warm hand around Seokjin’s and shaking it firmly, eyes crinkling, “I’ll work hard on fixing my first impression, Jin-ssi. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing other around for a while.”
Just like that, the rest of the evening passes in a blur. Hoseok made the crowd roar and howl, finishing his set with a flourish before exiting the stage with all the giddiness of a show well done. It’s dim, but Seokjin thinks he sees a familiar figure sneaking into the backstage soon after. Ah, is this the night where it finally happens? Hoseok probably won’t have time to chat with him after all, huh?
But that’s okay; Seokjin busies himself with other things after he finishes up with his shift. Such as looking up Kim Namjoon online. Just to hold him to his words about the review, of course.
J-Hope live at Epiphany: Declarations of love, big and small
By Kim Namjoon
A year after the promising debut of Hope World, J-Hope returns to the live music scene with his second album, Jack in the Box. Venturing into darker corners of his mind with a grimly, harsh punk sound, the singer delivers a powerful stage persona where he embodies the deadly sins that are unleashed onto the world from Pandora’s Box, punctuating each song with unrelenting heavy bass and scratchy, angry vocals.
[…]
But at the end of the day, hope and love sit at the center of J-Hope’s music the way they sit at the bottom of Pandora's box, which is why the set list—covering his earlier tracks too—still feels cohesive and distinctly him despite the major shift in musicality. “= (Equal Sign)” marked a turning point where the tone of the show shifted from a personal introspection to a collective celebration—of love, leading up to the song—one of his older ones—that had impressed the most for the night, “Just Dance”. An airy, lithe track that teases with electronic impressions, it is perhaps a testament to the claim that a set list at Epiphany isn’t truly complete without a love song. J-Hope’s performance was mesmerizing in how he moved with a bounce, supplementing the music with thrumming emotions—an excitement, an affection that could quite not be held in. When he sang, “hey, dance with me, dance with me”—the stage seemed overflowing with the incredible energy, the performance turned into both a confession and an invitation.
It is perhaps a feeling we are all familiar with—of when meeting someone’s eyes for the first time and immediately feeling a connection. Of dancing around each other with the particular brand of uncertainty and awkwardness found between strangers, only for them to be quickly superceded by the excitement of falling in steps with each other, moving in a sense of sync that’s uncovered with giddiness. Of love, in its first tender tendrils; not quite love yet—but it will be, in due time.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
“You literally see me here all the time, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says without looking up. He only raises his head when there’s no reply—to the amused look of one Kim Namjoon. Next to Namjoon, Yoongi gives him a particularly unimpressed glare.
“I think Yoongi-hyung was talking to me,” Namjoon says, the corner of his mouth quirking up, teasing. Seokjin huffs indignantly.
“Why would he be talking to you? He—wait, Yoongi-hyung? We’ve been talking for the past three Friday nights and you don’t even call me hyung! Why am I still Jin-ssi?”
If Seokjin didn’t know better, he would have thought Namjoon blushed a little. Must be the lighting. “I thought—uh. I didn’t know I could?”
“Why not? Call me hyung, Namjoon-ah.”
“Okay,” Namjoon says, hesitant like he’s feeling out the syllables. “Um. Jin-hyung?”
It sounds good in Namjoon’s voice. “There you go,” Seokjin says, grinning.
“As much as it’s been a pleasure getting ignored by both of you, I’m gonna get going now,” Yoongi says, flatly.
“No, no! I’m sorry,” Namjoon startles, looking genuinely apologetic, a hand flying out to clasp Yoongi’s shoulder to stop him from actually leaving. “I’m really excited for your performance tonight, hyung.”
“You two know each other, huh?” Seokjin muses, “Befriending a critic behind my back, Yoongi? I thought you were better than this. Although—getting your critic friend to come to your show so he can only write good things about you? That I approve.”
Yoongi just grunts. Seokjin frowns. He’s known Yoongi long enough to be able to tell his long-suffering face and actually pissed face and running-on-three-hours-of-sleep face apart, and the one he’s wearing right now looks like none of them. He looks weary. Bone-tired and… hurt, almost.
“Yoongi-chi,” he says, sobering up, “everything alright? You look…”
“I’m fine,” Yoongi says, stiff, “hey, do you know if J-Hope’s here?”
“Hobi? I’m not sure. Why? Did something—”
“No reason,” Yoongi cuts him off stubbornly, turns on his heels just as Seokjin opens his mouth to say more, “I really gotta go. Want me to miss my show?”
“Well, no, but—”
But Yoongi is already walking away, disappearing off to the backstage.
“That was weird,” Namjoon says, a worried little crease between his brows, “maybe I should go check on him. I’ll—”
He moves to stand up. “No, wait,” Seokjin says, before he can stop himself.
Namjoon looks at him, confused. Seokjin inhales, considers the situation in his mind. So Namjoon knows Yoongi—they seem pretty close, even, with the way Namjoon’s concerned for him. Maybe Namjoon can give Seokjin some perspective on the whole thing. But then, if Namjoon doesn’t know about it in the first place, it feels wrong to tell him without Yoongi’s consent.
Namjoon sees through Seokjin's squirming before Seokjin can think of something appropriate to say. “You know what’s bothering him,” he says. It’s not a question.
“I… kind of.” Seokjin concedes. “But it’s—well, it’s not like a secret or anything. I’m just not sure he would appreciate me gossiping about it behind his back.”
Namjoon nods slowly, sitting back down. “No, that’s fair. You don’t have to tell me. I’m just… Is there anything I can do to help?”
Seokjin smiles a little at how earnest he sounds, despite getting gate-kept by Seokjin. “Ah, I don’t know how much help we would be.”
That seems to have struck something in Namjoon—Seokjin watches, in equal parts dread and fascination, as he figures it out in real time. “So it’s about someone,” Namjoon says, “it’s—wait. He asked if J-Hope was here. He—oh my god. But J-Hope is in love with someone! Is it a love triangle? Is that why—”
“It’s not a love triangle. It's—” Oh, screw it. Namjoon’s already halfway there on his own, and Yoongi kind of brought this onto himself anyway. “They like each other. Yoongi’s just being stupid about it.”
“Oh,” Namjoon says, blinking like a particularly slow owl. “Wow. That’s… better than a love triangle, I guess. Do you think they’re gonna work it out?”
“I thought they were getting there a few weeks ago, but apparently not.” Seokjin sighs. “You have no idea how frustrating it is to watch. They like each other already! What could possibly be the problem? Unless I’m mistaken about that, but I really don’t think I am.”
Namjoon doesn’t immediately sympathize with him like Seokjin had imagined; he rests his chin on a hand, contemplative. There’s a commotion on the other side of the room, punctuated by a few stray shouts—Yoongi’s probably getting ready to go on stage.
“Well, sometimes it takes more than just liking each other. Maybe they do, but it could be imbalanced. Like a crooked back and forth.”
Seokjin narrows his eyes. “You’re talking in riddles again, Namjoon-ah.”
Namjoon smiles that bashful smile that he does every time Seokjin calls him out like this. It’s infuriatingly endearing, in Seokjin’s opinion. “Sorry. I just mean—all relationships are essentially back-and-forth's, you know? Like—this conversation we’re having right now. It’s nice because there's a nice back and forth. Like a dance or a ping-pong game. You match each other’s pace, and you receive and give back. But if the balance is off somehow, it can be difficult to get on the same page despite sharing the same feelings. Almost like a…” He blinks once, as if recalling something. “Like a seesaw.”
There’s something to Namjoon’s words that, for some reason, makes Seokjin feel inexplicably nervous about unpacking in the moment. So he veers away from it and resorts to some safe, familiar banter. “Are you sure you’re not a couples counsellor disguised as a music critic?”
“Ah, I don’t know if I’d be any good at that. I’m really bad at giving relationship advice.” Namjoon says, allowing the change in topic easily. It is nice, Seokjin thinks. Like a very pleasant ping-pong game, the way Namjoon graciously moves to return Seokjin’s slightly wobbly serve.
“You did pick up on Hobi’s crush without even having spoken to him, though. Maybe just do your thing again and see what you can get out of Yoongi’s performance, so we can finally help them pull their heads out of their asses.”
Namjoon opens his mouth, presumably to protest that he isn’t some sort of live music romance psychic—but then the first note of Yoongi’s guitar riff blazes through the air, and the entire bar goes wild. Namjoon’s attention shifts, too, drawn to the music.
It’s always kind of mesmerizing to see how much Namjoon gets transfixed on the performances, the way his body leans closer toward the stage incrementally like he’s not even aware of it. Seokjin loves live shows too—it’s why he hosts them in the first place—but Namjoon watches them with a single-minded reverence, eyes shining and profile silhouetted by the prismatic flicker of stage lights.
If Seokjin spends longer than he would like to admit with his eyes on Namjoon rather than the stage, no one but himself needs to know.
SUGA live at Epiphany: Personal history, revisited
By Kim Namjoon
At his much-anticipated live show at Epiphany last week, SUGA presented a surprisingly somber iteration of his musical identity. Despite being best known for the brash, unapologetic rage of songs like “Give It to Me” and “Daechwita”, SUGA reminded us with this show that his stylistic versatility and complex, introspective lyricism are where his creative genius truly lies. In true rock-’n-roll fashion, he disregarded any expectations and cultivated a set list that was strung together by nothing but his personal narrative, his musings, reflections, and regrets.
[…]
The show closed with a track we haven’t heard from him in a while: “Seesaw”. For all its oscillatory grooves and poppy electric guitar, the song sounded raw and intimate with the singer’s sobered murmurs. It’s reminiscent of a dance—albeit a bitter, heartbroken one—in both arrangement and lyrical metaphor: the feeling of going around in circles without ever getting closer. But despite its heaviness, SUGA delivered the song with a silent, resilient determination, amplified by the swaying, ethereal backup vocals, the repeated outro of “hol’ up, hol’ up” like a plea, a stubborn flicker of flame in the ashes. For all the talk of “getting off this seesaw”, he lingers.
At the end of the day, that’s what matters—staying. To have someone’s company and to cherish the memory of it, even if it makes for sorrow and heartache down the road. Because as much as we are governed by our foolishness, cowardice, and other insurmountable weaknesses as human beings—ultimately, we are creatures of love.
“Hi, hyung. Oh, sorry, am I intruding?”
“Nah, He’s just sulking by himself,” Seokjin gestures for Namjoon to sit down as he moves to start on Namjoon’s drink order, which he knows by heart at this point. “Right, Jwe-hope?”
Hoseok makes a vague noise from where he’s slumped on the counter with his face buried in his arms, before straightening up with some difficulty. He rubs a hand over his flushed face, blinks up at the other man, and holds out a hand that wavers slightly. “You must be Namjoon, right? I read your review. I know Jin-hyung must have given you his gig host shovel talk but still. Thanks, man.”
Namjoon shakes his hand, politely half-bows. “It’s an honor. I really enjoyed your show.”
“Alright, I’m cutting you off,” Seokjin says as he places Namjoon’s drink down in front of him, then takes Hoseok’s empty glass away and refills it with water. Hoseok groan-whines.
“Nooo, hyung, c’mon, what if Yoongi-hyung shows up? I can’t see him sober.”
“First off, that’s not a word I would use to describe your current state. Secondly, maybe you should? You two gotta talk at some point.”
“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” Hoseok mumbles, a wobble to his voice, head dipping again. “I—I think I messed up, hyung.”
Namjoon looks at him, shifts in his seat uncertainly. “Uh, if you two want to talk in private, I can—”
“It’s fine, he won’t judge,” Seokjin tells Hoseok, “Namjoon here gives great relationship advice, actually.”
“I do not,” Namjoon says, slightly horrified. Seokjin ignores him and leans forward, puts an encouraging hand on Hoseok’s shoulder. Hoseok swallows, looking sad and pensive with his glassy eyes.
“I just—We’re not even together yet, and I already hurt him. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Maybe…” He huffs out a humorless laugh that cracks halfway. “Maybe he’s right to push me away.”
“Hey, none of that,” Seokjin chastises, mild but firm. “How is it gonna work if you don’t even have faith in yourself? I don’t know exactly what happened between you two, but Yoongi cares about you. Yes, maybe you said or did something wrong, and maybe he needs some time, but I don’t think he wants to push you away. You just have to talk to him. Apologize and be honest, even though it’s hard. Tell him how you really feel and be who you really are, and trust that’s enough, you know?”
Hoseok stays silent for a long while. Eventually raises a hand and puts it on Seokjin’s that’s still on his shoulder, squeezing as he works through a quiet sniffle. “You’re right. I’ll… I’ll go find him and talk to him. Thanks, hyung.”
Seokjin affects reluctance as Hoseok stands up and pulls him into a clumsy, drunken hug, but rubs Hoseok’s back soothingly nonetheless. “Just stop making hyung suffer by proxy, okay? Now go.”
He only registers Namjoon’s gaze, weighty and lingering, after sending Hoseok off.
“Wow,” Namjoon says, “that was…”
“Aish, stop it,” Seokjin moves to turn around, embarrassment already creeping up his neck. “I know that probably sounded silly, I was just trying to—”
A hand wraps around his wrist before he can make his escape. Seokjin looks up in surprise, meeting Namjoon’s genuine eyes. “That was really well said.” Namjoon says, with so much sincerity that it makes the back of Seokjin’s nape prickle with heat for an entirely different reason than a second ago. Namjoon smiles, as if noticing his squirming and trying to ease it. “You’ll make a much better couples counsellor than I do.”
“We should team up,” Seokjin mutters, just saying whatever comes to his mind to make Namjoon stop looking at him like that. “With your mind-reading skills and my wisdom? We’ll wipe out bad relationships from the Earth.”
Namjoon full-on beams at that. God, Seokjin is so screwed. “Sounds like a pretty great team to me.”
The universe must have taken pity on Seokjin, because that’s when sounds of cheering echo across the bar. They both turn their heads to the stage to see someone—clad in all black with combat boots and messy hair, a rogue, boyish look—hovering by the standing mic, clearing his throat. (Seokjin takes the chance to discreetly extricate his wrist from Namjoon’s hold before he could spontaneously burst into flames.)
Namjoon’s attention briefly returns to Seokjin, seeming to want to say more, but Seokjin waves a hand in his face to shut him up. “Wait, shush! He’s up.”
“Huh? Who—”
Namjoon’s words die on his tongue as the boy on stage opens his mouth and starts singing.
Seokjin leans back, allowing himself a proud little smirk. He knows the kid’s good, of course, but there’s something so satisfying about watching Namjoon rendered speechless by the performance, mouth hanging open just a little as he takes it in.
An entranced hush takes hold of the crowd as the song unravels. No matter how many times Seokjin has heard it, it always feels a little magical how that familiar voice wraps itself around the melody and delivers it with such passion and clarity.
The stunned silence stretches on for a few beats, after the final note has tapered off. Seokjin was ready to holler in support despite the embarrassment when someone wolf-whistles—and that finally triggers thunderous cheers and applause to break out. The boy on stage breaks into a smile, sheepish but radiant, bowing deeply.
“That’s Jungkookie,” Seokjin says—brags, really, “he’s pretty amazing, isn’t he? I’m so glad I finally convinced him to go up there. What do you think?”
“I think… I’ll have to do a special feature on tonight just to write about him,” Namjoon says, blinking as if still recovering from what has just transpired. “Although… Ah, is it weird if I say this?” He pauses, licks his lips. There’s that shy grin again, with the dimples. “I think he’s in love with someone, too.”
Open mic night at Epiphany saw fresh talents, impressive debuts
By Kim Namjoon
[…]
The most memorable stage of the night goes to Jeon Jungkook, who made a stunning debut as a live music performer with a few covers and a self-composed song titled “Euphoria”. Despite being a new face, Jungkook commanded the entire bar’s attention with incredible vocal skills, stage presence, and most importantly, a heartfelt performance. Namely, “Euphoria” shined like a raw gem on the stage, a perfect encapsulation of the feeling of being in love. When he sang “following this clarity, take my hands now, you’re the cause of my euphoria,” it’s a truth made plain and simple: What’s love but pure bliss, a dear moment in time where you look at someone and feel your souls touch, where the tender revelation of it descends upon you with absolute certainty that you, impossibly, trust that they feel it too?
If you have ever been in love—if you are in love in this very moment—this performance is something you will recognize, something that will ring true to your heart. A sweet, candid disclosure, one lover to another.