Work Text:
"Yoongi"
He opened his eyes with a struggle and felt some wetness in the corner of his mouth. Was he drooling? His neck was hurting and it cracked painfully as he sat up straight in his chair. Grunting and grumbling he wiped his face, realizing he fell asleep at his workplace. Again.
After a brief attempt of stretching Yoongi looked around the studio. The quiet whirring of his beloved equipment was calming, reminding it was his second home. He mentally patted himself on the back for making the interior kind of neutral. Dark grey floor with a soft carpet, monochrome walls and black leather couches where he could take a nap when he needed an urgent recharge. He didn't want to imagine how sick he would be feeling from seeing it all day to day if it was any more colourful.
The track was coming together nicely. If he had the energy he would write another dozen of songs, only he was exhausted, always existing on the brink of sanity. His job, his career was definitely worth it but from time to time he wished he could fall into a time loop to just be able to have that rest.
"Yoongi"
That voice, ever so sweet and so sad. Soft spoken, beautiful, high, evoking such strong longing inside Yoongi. It was heartbreaking. As if it wasnt a random ghost but a part of his own soul that was constantly grieving.
The voice was so pleading, sometimes too quiet to understand but always existing on the brink of his hearing. He always heard it. Always felt someone else's presence next to him. His only experience in trying to deal with it was unsuccessful.
His relatives suggested going to a shaman and after three days in her hanok where Yoongi was meditating and drinking tea she announced that there were no dead beings that were haunting him. And that noone is given the weight heavier than he is able to bear. Whatever it meant.
Meanwhile the voice continued following him everywhere. To the important meetings. To dance practice rooms and language lessons. To random beds he was quick to escape. To luxurious spas where he tried to scrub off the mental dirt of everyday struggles.
With years he has learnt to ignore its existence, especially in public. Sometimes Yoongi got angry, swore at it, tried taking medicine and nothing worked. He tried to remember when it all started but the beginning of his career was so intense, his memories became hazy. He had so much on his hands and so much anguish on his heart, he didn't care about the mumbling he heard from time to time.
The entity seemed to feel when he was on edge so they kept quiet when Yoongi really needed it. The fear of the supernatural was long gone. What was left was only sadness, the sorrowful feeling that dragged after the tone of the voice like a black mourning veil. Like maybe that person that followed the emperor and kept whispering "Memento mori".
It felt eery, chilling to the bones like autumn rains and at the same time warm like the spot right next to the fireplace. After a thorough walk down the memory lane the composer remembered he started hearing the entity after he moved to one of his new flats then. This one, to be exact. But he had no clue what could have been the catalyst. A careful checkup of the apartment brought no results. The history was pristine clean.
"Yoongi"
- Yes? - he responded, not really hoping for the answer.
The entity wasn't very talkative. They preferred to whine rather than communicate with him. Maybe they simply weren't able to.
Work has become so bland recently. He was ready to climb the walls, stamping songs that turned out successful but that contained not even half of his soul inside. Anything that felt remotely right was a very lengthy creating process. He was drowning in despair and the voice has become his only distraction, however unpleasant.
"Why?"
"Why did you?.."
Travelling didn't help. Yoongi took a break from composing and writing lyrics and went to the countryside. The nature, long hikes and calm evenings by the lake brought him temporary relief. He watched the flames of the bonfire and was hit by the feeling of deep sadness. The spot next to him felt so overwhelmingly empty.
A week in a five star healing resort too was only a partial success. The voice was still present and Yoongi has learnt to live with it like he was now used to living with permanent feeling of exhaustion. It has become a part of him like a tattoo.
With all his achievements and success he felt like an unfinished puzzle with pieces missing. And he didn't know where to look for them.
Moving didn't help either. The only positive side to his new apartment was the fact that his personal musical project was now thriving. Maybe it only needed a change of atmosphere. More softer shapes, more pastel yellow tones.
- Do you think I'll be able to release it soon? - he said into the emptiness of the room.
"...Leave me there?"
He felt guilty for not understanding what they wanted.
The therapist resolved all his issues except this one. He kept it as his dear secret, not wanting to end up in a ward for simply a voice who was mostly harmless.
Yoongi followed his schedule, his established routine. He met people, recorded raps, attended meetings and had his photo taken with the voice always present.
"Yoongi"
Sometimes he talked to the entity that haunted him. He told them all his feelings and all his fears. Shared his frustrations about music and failed relationships. They were the witness to all his downfalls and flights to the top.
Sometimes he felt grateful he wasn't alone.
That sensation didn't allow him to just stop what he was doing, prompted him to move further, try harder. He spent his late evenings with a whiskey glass in his hands, savoring the taste while half laying on the sofa, staring into the lights of the city that refused to go to sleep. Melodies and words drifted through his mind one after another and he transfered them onto the pages of the notebook, filling one after another.
"Please, Yoongi"
Sometimes he wanted to help the entity but he just didn't know how. No matter whether he walked to the convenience store after the gym or was in Paris drinking champagne after a fashion show, dressed in such finery a young him could never have imagined such outcome of his childhood dreams, he heard those pleas. He had no idea, not a single clue except that the person was lost somewhere.
"I'm cold"
Yoongi laid in his bed in his own apartment. He has just landed an hour ago. The trip to Europe was long and exhausting. Here, in his city, the voice became more clear. He listened to it on the brink of sleeping, feeling a hole in his chest, feeling empty and robbed for no reason.
Was he maybe imagining it?
Minutes were flying by. Hours, days and months later his project was out and was received greatly. Life never stood in place for him, moving forward. The only thing that never changed was that soft voice.
- What is it that you want from me? - he asked yet again tiredly.
"Take me back"
- I can't even see you. You're already here aren't you? Where should I take you? And aren't you living with me every moment of my life already?
After a while the composer that was slumped in bed almost dozing off received one of the rare direct answers.
"You're too far"
His schedule was packed recently. He was offered a holiday that he rarely took, wired with inspiration and the desperate need to reach his goals. Yoongi decided to take it soon.
The conference was over. He happened to sit among the important people of the company he made a deal with. When everyone was free to go he hurried towards his van, briefly scanning the crowd. Faces upon faces, the whole sea of them.
- Are you still here?
"I can't reach you"
"Yoongi"
A family matter brought him outside of the capital that so coincidentally happened during his time off. He preferred not to travel anywhere close to the people who never supported him. As one gets older more often than not they learn to forgive. And Yoongi, with slight pain in his heart, forgave. But never forgotten.
On the way back he noticed that the road felt nostalgic and instead of following his plan he got another ticket. He travelled further by train, rocking on the rails and reminiscing the past. He headed to the fields and the mountains, to the rural surroundings. To the city he hasn't visited in years.
"Yoongi"
"Let me see you"
The voice sounded so much clearer here. Before it sounded like through a layer of glass and now Yoongi was shivering because it felt like the person speaking was standing right next to him. He kept looking around, unrecognized, unnoticed.
He used to travel here before he moved to the capital, even lived here for a while. Any city felt way too small, to stuffy for his ambitions. And he mercilessly left whatever he had in those smaller cities, forgot and erased everything that wasn't important. The only thing that mattered was his debut. And now, a decade later... what was the point in dwelling on something he couldn't change?
"Just once again"
"Yoongi"
He walked through the streets he vaguely had recollections of. The museums, the cafes, the historical buildings. His feet brought him close to one if them.
It was a theatre. Yoongi came up to the poster announcing the performance of a local dance group. The faces of the dancers were hidden behind the masks. From the provided information he gathered it was a charity event for an organization aimed toward helping talented children with disabilities.
"You're here"
He felt as if the words were said right into his lips.
He remembered that feeling. There was someone in his previous life, before his debut. Someone precious that he left behind and didn't want to think about. In that period of life he thought he needed to cut everything and everyone who might possibly interfere with his career.
The voice that was with him for over a decade keep quiet.
- Just who are you?
The composer immediately purchased a ticket. It felt right, as if some premonition led him to do it. He wanted to see the performance, wanted to see if the voice would say anything to him then.
Working in entertainment company and being in the business he has seen many beautiful and breathtaking performances. But this dance, it was astonishing, it was mesmerizing. The dancer were graceful, enchanting, it was impossible to take his eyes off each and every one of them.
There was one dancer who kept attracting his attention more often. He was in the front line, performing solo several times through the night. He was like a rare bird, defying gravity, soaring high in his movements. It felt as if he was leading the music and not the other way around.
When the curtain fell Yoongi realised to his surprise his face was wet with tears. All this performance felt nostalgic, felt like something he wanted to catch but was only able to glide the tips of his fingers against it.
The dancers were standing backstage, each holding at least a couple of beautiful blooming bouquets, surrounded by their friends, family and loved ones. Yoongi came closer, feeling stupid for not having any flowers on him.
He looked into each of the uncovered faces, hoping, searching. Yoongi heard a familiar name.
Park Jimin.
One of the dancers finally took off his mask and Yoongi's breath got stuck in his throat.
The gorgeous dancer with familiar features turned his face to him. His lips trembled into a resemblance of a smile.
"Hyung?"