Chapter Text
“Holly, sit.” The handle shifts under his hand as Holly obeys the command. “Rest.”
Once Yoongi’s sure Holly is settled near the bench, he winds her leash around the wheel of the piano and replaces her harness with it. Only when he knows she’s comfortable and safe does he begin setting up.
Today is Saturday, the day claims the old piano in the park; a weather-worn upright that could honestly use some intense tuning but still results in larger tips than his usual keyboard. Something about the nostalgia of this old beat-up instrument that usually sits quiet amongst the trees seems to bring out the generosity of Saturday morning strollers.
He gets it. He prefers it as well. It sits off the path, so Holly gets to rest on the soft ground instead of concrete. It’s always shaded as opposed to the sidewalks, where some amount of the warmth from the sun always seems to find them, making him worry for Holly overheating or his own fair skin burning through his sunscreen. If he were honest though, it’s the feeling of the vibrations in his chest, the soft thumps of the hammers pressing on their strings, even the comfort of having the panel to lean into, to partially hide his face and give the illusion of just playing for himself, it all make him hold a soft preference for it. It’s the feeling of his first love. A completely different instrument in an entirely different city, but still just the same as the old second hand one tucked in a corner at home.
He would play it every day but he knows there are plenty of other piano buskers out there who could use the bump in tips and he doesn’t want to pretend to have some sort of claim on it. He was rather put out when he found someone already on it one Saturday this past April, though. There are rules to obey even in the busking world, and a big one is know the players. Yoongi has been around long enough that most everyone knows, this spot is his on Saturdays.
It just doesn't make sense to come here more often anyways. Most days he does just fine in front of the cafe below his apartment. Seokjin, the owner of “Eat Jin” and close friend, has offered to buy a used upright and keep it amongst his patio seating, paying Yoongi an hourly wage in addition to the tips to establish some ambience. But Yoongi compromised with just storing his keyboard down in the storage room instead of lugging it up and down the stairs every day. One day maybe he will let Jin make an honest worker out of him and agree to set hours in trade for a cozier setup. For now he prefers his obligation free lifestyle.
From his little cart he pulls his tip jar and sets it on top of the piano for a moment. Next comes the bright sign he sets next to Holly that asks not to pet her. He gives her some ear scratches and then pulls out her little dog bowl and bottle of water to keep her hydrated.
Lastly he collapses the handle into the crate and flips it over to put his tip jar on top. He ties the little strap he has attached to the jar onto the cart and fingers over the QR code taped on it, feeling the tape beginning to lift up a little. He’s only had problems once with someone making off with his tips. People are generally kind, but it makes him feel better that they would at least look like an ass trying to take his money if they did.
Finally he settles down to play. Something crinkles as he opens the fallboard. After setting it back down and sweeping some fallen autumn leaves off, he opens it again and begins.
He’s only about 30 yards deep into the park. The fence and hedges that block the busy streets from the facsimile of nature do little to block the noise from traffic but soon enough he is lost to that world. Muscle memory takes over. He has a vague setlist. Songs that ebb and flow from melancholy to exuberant. A good mix of classic and modern. A few he composed but most familiar tunes that will convince someone to stop and listen to a memory, a moment that Yoongi hopes brings a smile. Each and every one is an old friend to him that soothes his soul.
After his sixth song he senses someone approach closer than usual. The tags on Holly’s collar jingle from where she had likely been dozing off as she becomes alert to a new friend.
“Excuse me. Do you know Fly me to the Moon?” a deep, velvety voice asks from over his left shoulder.
It’s a voice he has heard many times before. They’ve played together about eight times now, though the last time had been a couple months ago, in the spring. It’s nice to hear he’s around again. Yoongi assumes he must be another busker who passes by Yoongi on his way to his own setup, or perhaps after taking it down. The guy is good, evokes powerful emotions that compliment but don’t overpower Yoongi’s playing. He’s always happy to play with him. Whenever the music stops and Yoongi turns to thank him though, he has already begun walking away and doesn’t say anything else.
“Of course.” His fingers fly over a few of the keys and he pauses waiting for their response.
“That’s it. Can I play my sax with you?” He always asks so softly, so gently.
It makes Yoongi smile. “Let’s do it.”
Later that afternoon, when his wrists and forearms finally demanded he stop, Yoongi makes it into his apartment and drops his keys into the bowl by the door. He takes off Holly’s harness and sends her on her way. Her nails click on the floor as she runs to collapse on her bed. It entertains him that his dog is just as inclined to prefer her bed as he is his.
He washes his hands and splashes water on his face. Something about the fall, as wonderful as the cooler weather is, always makes him feel dusty when he comes in from outside.
Finally falling onto his couch he pulls his jar over to see how much he’s earned. The coins he quickly counts out, coming to about twenty two dollars, a pretty good amount for pocket change. He accesses his venmo app and finds another seventy four dollars have been sent to him through seventeen different transactions. He’s feeling pretty good when he goes to stack up the bills.
One by one he flattens each bill out and uses his phone’s app to identify it. Ones. Fives. The occasional ten get stacked slowly.
-One Hundred-
His fingers stall. He runs the bill through his fingers again, pulling tight so it lays flatter on the table and snaps again.
-One Hundred-
He tries not to get too worked up about it. The app is really great but it can’t identify counterfeit or even sometimes obviously fake bills. He flips it over quickly and scans the other side. Maybe it’s one of those fake bills that will have some church outreach on the back, a bible quote that will never help as much as actual cash would. But again it is identified as a hundred dollar bill.
He pockets it. He’s meeting Joon for dinner later, he’ll have him look it over. As much as he wouldn’t care if he ended up using a counterfeit bill at some big box store, he’d worry the poor cashier would be the one taking the heat and could lose their job for it.
Whether the bill is legit or not, it was a good day. $281. His goal is $150 a day, six days a week. Anything over is added to the next day so sometimes by the end of the month he can take a few days off. Or since Yoongi would rather be making music than anything else anyways, it means he can put a bit more towards savings.
The quarters and nickels get added to his tray and they complete rolls, so he wraps them up and adds them to his bank bag. It’s early in November so he is still earning what he needs for his December bills. Everything but the hundred get thrown in the bag as well and updates his totals on his phone. Once he hits the $1800 for his bills, he’ll just keep the rest in cash for food and fun.
It’s a little past 3:30 when everything is put back and he’s got a couple hours to kill until dinner. He slips his socks off and tips over. He’s stuck in the worst cycle of broken sleep he’s had in a long time. He knows he should really tough it out through the exhaustion, even if he has to call it a stupidly early night with Namjoon. But he just can’t bring himself to care today. Nothing beats a good couch nap in Yoongi’s humble opinion. So despite how ill-advised it is he pulls the blanket from the back of the couch onto his shoulders and closes his eyes. He sets the alarm on his phone. As sleep easily pulls him under, his last coherent thought is that tomorrow’s Yoongi will be more responsible.
“Hyung, hey. How’s it going?”
Yoongi smiles as Namjoon’s heavy hand falls on his shoulder. Yoongi reaches up to touch his friend’s fingers and finds them uncovered and chilled. Joon’s skin, dry and papery thin, slip easily around his knuckles. Yoongi frowns.
“Thought I told you to make sure you are getting home to sleep and to drink more water.”
“Aish, hyung. Are you kettle or pot today?” Namjoon’s voice drops down to his natural register and the vinyl of the booth squeaks under his weight. A soft tap hits the sole of Yoongi's shoe and stays as a solid reminder of his presence. “Deadline is looming. It’ll get better by the end of the week.”
Yoongi hums in response. Namjoon takes the note and carries it into a tune, flowing warmly from deep in his chest as the menu he had picked up is flipped from front to back and back again. Yoongi pushes back on Namjoon’s shoe and waits.
“Hey Hyungs. How’s it going?” There’s a shuffle of feet as Namjoon shifts over to make room for Jungkook, Jin’s step brother and part time evening server. He began working here a few months ago following his release from service and quickly made himself comfortable with Jin’s regulars and friends. He’s waiting until January when the police departments hold their semi-annual hiring process to get on the hire list. Jungkook insists he’ll be on the top of the list and will be hired right away, Jin argues his odds go down with every bowl of ramen he mooches off the cafe and adds to his waistline. Namjoon feels certain ways about all of it.
“Just fine, Kook-ah. You?” Yoongi asks.
A pen taps on the table followed by rapid clicking. “It’s good. Good. Quiet night. Going to make tonight take forever. What should I put in for you?”
They rattle off their orders, the usual despite Namjoon’s show of looking through the menu, and Jungkook takes off to get them in.
“So what's new?” Namjoon tries to shove the menu back in the holder as he asks.
Yoongi pulls up his hoody and fishes for his jean’s pocket. He pulls the hundred out and slides it across the table.
“I don’t know what Big Leon told you but it’s an even thousand if you want me for the whole night.” Namjoon mumbles as the hundred slips out from under Yoongi’s fingers.
“Are you quoting Friends at me right now? That feels like a Friends quote.”
“Joey gives Chandler money. What’s up with this? Do you owe me?”
“No. Got that at the park today. Wanted to see if you thought it looked legit.” Yoongi adjusts his hoodie back over his waist after pulling out his wallet, hoping he can just slide the bill right in there when his friend declares it real.
There’s silence for a moment and Yoongi taps his wallet on his thigh.
“Looks legit to me. Someone must have really appreciated your playing.” Yoongi reaches out and Namjoon hands the bill back.
“Lots of people appreciate my playing. This person just has money to spare to show it.” Yoongi responds. He slides the bill between his fingers a few times. Flips it over and back again. Getting large tips is always a mixed bag of emotions for him. He's not mad at money but it's not normal to tip so much. There are reasons behind it, very few he appreciates. He refuses to think too much about it tonight. There's nothing he can do about it. He tucks it in his wallet.
“Touche.”
“Sodas for you guys.” Yoongi and Namjoon both slide them over to the window as Jungkook sets them down. A bowl is set down as well, it smells heavy of chili and sesame oils. “Hey, do you want to try the ramen I just made? I added a bunch of stuff to the sauce.”
“Yeah! Smells great JK.”
Yoongi suppresses a snort at Namjoon’s enthusiasm and accepts the offered cup.