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"Yoongi-hyung, do you want to keep him?"
It takes a moment for the question to permeate Yoongi's mind, and another moment to rattle around there, bumping into walls and corridors shaped like neurons and synapses, trying to catch hold and stick. He tries to make sense of the jumble of words directed at him, in a language he understands, but a combination he doesn't.
Do you want to keep him?, Jimin had asked, soft and gentle and careful, like the words could hurt, fingers on an open wound he doesn't even have. It doesn't make any sense. He should be asking do you love him or are you dating or have you kissed yet, anything but do you want to keep him?
Yoongi blinks and scrunches his face up in disdainful confusion. "What are you even talking about?"
Jimin's eyes are sad, the corners narrowing with the worried furrow of his brow. "Seokjin-hyung," he clarifies, still soft, still gentle, and it scraps against Yoongi's ears, raising goosebumps along his skin.
He doesn't need careful words laced delicately together, like the wrong one will knock him down from whatever precipice Jimin thinks he's standing on. He scowls and pokes at Jimin's forehead. "Yah, what kind of question is that?"
Jimin ducks his head away from Yoongi's finger and huffs. He shifts back out of reach of Yoongi and stares at him, mouth pressed together, stubborn and unflinching. His eyes are still sad, even if annoyance is creeping up from the set of his shoulders, working its way to the tilt of his lips.
Yoongi rolls his eyes and returns his attention back to his laptop. He reaches long fingers to his headphones around his neck, tugging them back into place. "We're not like that," he says, the words dry on his tongue. He ignores the uneven jump of his heartrate and focuses back on the song on his screen, a sprawl of thin lines and sharp dips that just won't fit the way he needs them to.
"Okay," Jimin says, right before the music starts flowing through Yoongi's headphones and he can't hear anything else.
Somehow he still hears the silent because you can't, hyung. You can't keep him.
~
He meets Seokjin at the subway station nearest to his studio. It's just past five in the morning and the first train isn't set to depart for another fifteen minutes, enough time to grab a hot cup of coffee that will hopefully keep him alert enough to recognize his stop. Yoongi has a habit of staying all night at the studio, laying down tracks and perfecting already perfect songs, so the early morning train ride isn't new. What is new is the tall, handsome man in a long black coat staring in confusion at the closed gates, his full lips puckered into a frown, his eyes narrowed in mild irritation.
The man glances up and brightens when they lock eyes. Yoongi sighs heavily into his scarf, wrapped tight around the lower half of his face, and stuffs his hands further into his pockets, hoping to walk past the man without any interaction.
"Excuse me," the man says.
Yoongi scowls and comes to a halt. It's too early in the day for this. It's too cold, the wind like knives against his cheeks, cutting at the patch of skin between his eyes. All he wants is hot liquid in his stomach and twelve hours in his bed, and for the beat in his latest song to stop echoing in his ears, syncopating and disappearing before he can grasp it fully, properly. All he wants is to uncover the melody, isolate it, hold it in his hands like gold, smooth and cool and precious. All he wants is for the beat to stop living on potential, to realize its form and shape and bring it into life.
But the man is smiling politely and the station is empty except for them.
"How do you use this?" he asks, slipping a hand out of his pocket and gesturing to the gates. There's a lilt in his voice that Yoongi can't quite place, an accent he hasn't heard, and it's seeping into the beat in his ears.
Yoongi glares at him, eyes narrowed. "What?"
"These things." He taps the gate with a crooked finger.
"You don't know how to use the subway gates," Yoongi says slowly, incredulous.
The man smiles sheepishly and shakes his head. "I've never taken the train before." His smile widens to show a flash of teeth, his head tilting cutely to the side. "Will you help me?"
The air is sharp and cold, knives against his skin. The sky is a gradient of dawn, dark navy of night melting to the emerging sun. The man's eyes sparkle, warm brown and too beautiful for any mere human.
He meets Seokjin at the subway station nearest his studio, when it's not quite night and it's not quite day, and a song starts to play in his ears, lilting and unfamiliar like an accent he cannot place.
~
There's something ethereal about Seokjin. The way hair shines even in the dim light of Yoongi's studio, head dipped low over his cell phone waiting for Yoongi to finish up. The way his eyes glow when he bites into something particularly tasty, sugar lingering on his tongue for a moment before he swallows. The lilt in his voice, that almost music that seeds a hundred melodies in Yoongi's mind, that accent he still cannot place.
He asks Seokjin to sing for him one day when Seokjin is waiting for him on the couch in his studio.
Seokjin looks up from his phone and shakes his head. "I don't sing," he says, the lilt in his voice belying his answer.
"I think you'd sound really good," Yoongi urges, shifting his chair closer to the couch. "I'm not going to put you on the track, if that's what you're worried about."
Seokjin smiles. "I don't sing," he repeats, gentle but firm like the press of his fingers against Yoongi's shoulders last night. It grates against Yoongi's nerves, sends his blood pulsing and his lip curling. He doesn't want Seokjin to be gentle, he doesn't need softness and lackadaisical idleness in his life. He wants urgency and passion and ambition, and everything opposite of Seokjin with soft smiles and gentle lilting voice and a large, unconcerned question mark hovering over his future.
"It doesn't matter what you sound like, I just want to hear it," Yoongi prods, because that's what he does. He pokes and prods at something until it shapes into what he wants it to be. He bends everything around him to his will and if he can't, he leaves it behind. He should be able to bend Seokjin too. He should be able to, soft Seokjin, mouldable Seokjin, kind Seokjin, stubborn, ethereal, other-worldly Seokjin with the lilting voice that plants melodies and is everything Yoongi never wanted.
Seokjin pauses, stares at Yoongi for long moments, considering. His lips purse in thought, his eyes narrow. "One day, I'll sing for you," he says, a smile spreading on his lips, not quite happy and not quite sad. Just a smile, a curve of lips on a handsome face. "I'll gift you a song."
Seokjin returns to his phone, and Yoongi wonders why his throat feels thick when he swallows. He wonders why his fingers twitch like they dropped something precious he didn't even know he was holding.
~
"Do you want to keep him?"
The question bounces around Yoongi's mind and grabs hold to the memory of Jimin's exact words. Yoongi narrows his eyes and stares at Jungkook, but the words aren't soft and careful, and his eyes aren't sad. Jungkook asks in hushed excitement, eagerness concealed in an unnatural deepening of his voice. His eyes are wide and probing and hopeful, nearly childlike.
Yoongi scoffs and points to Jungkook's food, grabbing a cup of water. "Stop asking silly questions and eat the food I'm paying for."
Jungkook clicks his chopsticks together and continues to stare at Yoongi with large eyes. "You could, hyung. You could keep him." He leans forward eagerly. "You're the only one who can."
Yoongi scowls. "If you aren't going to eat, we might as well leave."
Jungkook sighs and frowns at his plate. "Fine, I'm eating."
Yoongi settles back in his chair, sets his glass back on the table, watches condensation gather around the bottom of the cup and drip down onto the table. He thinks it looks like a miniature sea, and rolls his eyes at the simile.
~
Yoongi kisses Seokjin, sometimes rough, sometimes lazy, sometimes like he's running out of time, anxiety metallic on his tongue. Yoongi kisses Seokjin with hands on his hips, with hands on his chest, with hands in his hair and around his neck and over every patch of skin he can reach. Yoongi kisses Seokjin like rain, soft and cool, like fire, wild and quick, like dawn, comforting and warm.
Seokjin always kisses Yoongi the same way, thoroughly and detailed, like he's trying to commit it to memory. Like every hitch of Yoongi's breath is recorded for replay, like every twitch of his fingertips against Seokjin's skin is documented, categorized, filed away. Seokjin runs his thumb over Yoongi's cheeks, a slow caress that mimics his lips and tongue. Seokjin kisses Yoongi like he's trying to savor him, trying to draw out the pleasure for as long as possible, until it lingers between their mingled breath when they part.
Yoongi wishes Seokjin would kiss him with reckless abandon, quick and hard and promising more. Maybe then his kisses wouldn't taste so much like a farewell he hasn't said yet.
~
Yoongi comes home one day to find Seokjin and Jimin talking in the kitchen. Seokjin is peeling an apple and smiling encouragingly at Jimin. What strikes Yoongi is the bright excitement in his eyes, how Seokjin almost seems to sparkle and radiate.
Jimin says something slowly, stumbling over the words, pushing them out unnaturally. His skin is flushed, his eyes are wide, looking at Seokjin for approval. Yoongi cannot make out any sense of the words. They sound Korean, they have the form of it, but the accent is too thick, thicker than Jimin's usual Busan cadence.
Seokjin replies back, slowly, a warm smile over his lips. His voice is clear and rhythmic and Yoongi can hear a hundred melodies start and stop and start again.
Yoongi slings his bag down and walks into the kitchen, kissing Seokjin lightly on the cheek and nodding at Jimin. "What language is that?" he asks, a little more than curious, almost desperate to know.
Jimin's eyes widen and he looks at Seokjin for guidance.
"It's Korean," Seokjin says easily, voice still holding remnants of melodies, like his mouth hasn't been fully cleansed yet. He offers an apple slice to Yoongi.
Yoongi frowns. "It didn't sound Korean. I couldn't understand it at all."
"It's a dialect," Jimin offers, stealing the next apple slice before Seokjin could offer it to anyone. "I used to know a bit of it growing up in Busan."
"It was so nice to hear. Thank you, Jimin," Seokjin says, sighing. "You did well."
Jimin blushes and shakes his head. "I really didn't. But thanks, hyung."
Yoongi is still frowning at them, his fingers twitching again like he's losing something, missing something important.
~
Seokjin talks about his family sometimes. It's always back there and far away and it's a small town, you wouldn't know it.
Seokjin doesn't talk about his future. When Yoongi asks, it's always I'll figure it out as it happens and I'm happy as I am now. It frustrates Yoongi, who has goals and smaller goals and is working day and night to achieve them. It frustrates Yoongi because he has a future and Seokjin doesn't and he doesn't know where that leaves them.
Do you want to keep him? He doesn't even know Seokjin. He knows parts of him. The soft texture of his hair when Yoongi kisses him. His breathless sighs when Yoongi holds him, takes him to bed. His voice and that accent Yoongi cannot place, a hundred melodies he never heard.
He asks Seokjin why he came to Seoul, what he was searching for, why he left his family and his home and showed up one cold winter morning between night and day.
Seokjin looks at him for a long moment, his eyes flickering before a cheesy smile overtakes his lips. "To find you, silly."
Yoongi scowls at him and Seokjin continues to smile and he has a sinking feeling it was closer to the truth than he wants to believe.
~
Seokjin asks Yoongi to go to the sea. It's still winter, February winds sharp like knives against their skin, but Seokjin rarely asks for anything. Yoongi bundles up in a thick coat and they make the long drive to the beach.
The moment they see the water, Seokjin cannot contain his excitement. He runs along the sand, grinning wildly. "Wah, it's the sea!" he shouts, turning around to look at Yoongi. He laughs, rolling and delighted. "It's the sea, Yoongi."
Yoongi smiles indulgently, hands stuffed deep into his pockets for whatever warmth he can find. "Wah, it's the sea," he says back, decidedly less enthusiastic.
Seokjin just laughs more and runs again, kicking up sand and acting like an excitable child.
Yoongi has never seen him like this before. Seokjin is happy and joyful and carefree. He wishes he had taken him sooner.
They spend hours there, walking along the shore, Seokjin playfully throwing sand in Yoongi's direction, running away from the chasing waves.
They huddle together on the sand under a blanket when the sun starts to sink and the sky turns a vibrant pink. Yoongi tucks his head against Seokjin's shoulder, eyes blinking heavily. The wind is still harsh against his exposed skin, but Seokjin is warm.
Seokjin stares at the sea, watching the waves, a nostalgic smile on his lips. "Yoongi," he says.
"Hmm."
Seokjin readjusts and wraps his arm tighter around Yoongi's waist. "Do you want to keep me?"
Yoongi freezes. His mouth is dry, his heart is in his throat. He blinks and straightens, pulling away from Seokjin to stare at him. "You can't keep people," he finally says, slowly, testing the response.
Seokjin is still staring at the sea, the waves, the distant horizon that seems so far. "I'm not saying you can keep me. I just want to know if you want to."
Yoongi blinks and frowns, stares down at his hands buried in the sand. He doesn't even know Seokjin. He doesn't know where Seokjin is from, doesn't know his family, doesn't know the sound of his voice as he sings his favorite song. There's so much Yoongi doesn't know about Seokjin, so much he thinks he should. "I don't know," he answers, regretting the words even before they leave his tongue.
Seokjin smiles, not quite sad and not quite happy, just a smile on a handsome face. He pulls Yoongi back against him, reaching up a hand to return Yoongi's head onto his shoulder. "It's okay, Yoongi. Thank you for being honest. That's all I needed to know." He presses a firm kiss to Yoongi's crown.
Yoongi doesn't notice it at first, too busy watching the sun disappear and the navy of night bleed through the pinks and purples in the sky. Seokjin starts to sing, quietly at first, growing stronger with each breath. It's a slow and dreamy song, a melody that sounds just like Seokjin, heavenly and ethereal and not part of this life. Yoongi is sure he's never heard anything so beautiful, cannot remember his heart stopping and restarting with any other music.
When Seokjin finishes, the sky is painted with the colors of dusk, pink and navy and violet in-betweens. Yoongi kisses him, pressing up almost desperately against his lips, the taste of salt heavy on his tongue. Yoongi kisses Seokjin when it's not quite day and it's not quite night, and a song playing softly through his ears, a melody he knows he'll never hear again.
~
A few weeks later, Seokjin disappears. Yoongi wishes he could be surprised. He wishes he could say he hadn't expected it, wishes he could look for him, search through towns and buildings and fields. He knows it's useless. Seokjin is gone and he let him go.
Do you want to keep him? He didn't know. He didn't know until it was too late and Seokjin slipped through his fingers like water.
He asks Jimin about it. Jimin smiles sadly at him. "Seokjin-hyung went back to the see," he says. "Seokjin-hyung went back home."
"Did you always know?"
Another sad smile. "I'm from Busan. I can recognize the sea when I see it."
"Could I have kept him? If I had wanted to?"
"I don't know. I've never seen it happen."
Yoongi should have known from the start. Seokjin was always ethereal, other worldly. Seokjin that didn't know how to ride the subway, Seokjin with the family far away, in a place Yoongi wouldn't know. Seokjin with the lilting voice and an accent he couldn't place.
Yoongi plays Seokjin's melody in his head, over and over. He writes a hundred songs, trying to find the same note, the same chord, the same breathy heavenly tune that stopped and restarted his heart. It's never quite the same, so he writes a hundred more.
He visits the sea often, in the warm spring with the seagulls to keep him company. In the too hot summer, the playful cries of children mingling with the melodies in his blood. In the sinking autumn, the wind like a sigh against his skin. He visits often and talks to Seokjin, hopes he can hear him over that too far distant horizon. He doesn't say he loves Seokjin, and he doesn't say he misses him, but that doesn't make the sentiments false. He's waiting. Waiting for the day he can replicate Seokjin's song, and call him out of the sea.
Waiting for the day he can take Seokjin back into his arms, and ask to keep him there.