Chapter Text
Brim·bo·ri·um
/brɪmˈboːri̯ʊm,Brimbórium/
Neuter noun
colloquial, derogatory
- something that is perceived as unnecessary fuss
- chaotic noise
He was sitting in the back of a black van on his way back from a successful interview to promote his soon-to-be solo tour, watching Seoul slide by in flashes of neon. The rain from earlier still clung to the pavement, making the streets shimmer under the fluorescent signs. A delivery driver sped past, the back wheel splashing water against the curb. He watched the reflection of a young couple crossing the still busy street hand in hand, their laughter cutting through the thick hum of the city. It was strange how ordinary joy could sound so loud when your own life was lived in whispers and spotlights.
The window was opened just enough no one could see in but the loud city noise had the chance to slip into the otherwise quiet car. On days like these the only thing that kept him from spiraling into a unhealthy head-space was the noise from outside. Just a few months ago he would have been able to say his friends noise was enough to drown out any lingering doubts in his mind, but they hadn’t talked, hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. He had to find something different to distract himself from feeling lonely, even when standing in a filled-out stadium. Ever since Jin had started his military service things between all of them had quieted down. He wasn’t used to going days on end without them. When had been the last time he had been alone for so long?
Sometimes he caught himself opening the group chat just to scroll through old messages filled with jokes, blurry photos, or voice notes from late nights on tour. He would start to type something, then stop. What could he even say? “I miss you”? “Are we okay?” It all felt too heavy. He’d told himself that silence meant everyone was busy, but lately, it started to sound like forgetting.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and for a hopeful second he thought that maybe it was one of the boys. It wasn’t. Instead, he found a message from his manager.
Manager-nim: Did you approve this release??
He frowned, thumb hovering over the link. He went through every second of every hour for the past three days of press-tour and tried to figure out what could have possibly been released.
The streaming app opened with a soft chime. The song that opened was a new upload
BTS (unreleased) – Brimborium.
For a second, he thought maybe it was a fan remix. People did that all the time leaked demos, spliced vocals, things that sounded real enough to stir trouble.
But when the first few notes played, he froze. His heart stopped, or maybe it beat so fast it felt like it stopped.
A stripped guitar riff.
A shaky inhale.
Then his own voice, unmistakably his, singing a line he didn’t remember recording.
He leaned forward instinctively, as if getting closer to the sound would make it make sense, would make him remember. The vocals weren’t perfectly in sync, breaths too audible, the kind of raw takes they’d usually scrap. Still, the way their voices blended, messy, unguarded, tugged at his very soul. He tried to place the timeline. The tone of Namjoon’s voice felt like the Map of the Soul era, but the melody had the warmth of Love Yourself. It was as though the years had bled together into one long exhale he’d forgotten to take.
The melody, the soft hum, the pause felt all too familiar.
“We built our house on sound and silence
now the walls hum even when we’re gone.”
The production was rough, unfinished, just a few instruments, uneven levels, but the emotion was there, raw and exposed. It sent a chill trough him. It felt like them. The them they used to be before billboards and sold-out tours.
He liked to think back to their early dorm days, sure they had been messy and exhausting, but it had also been the time they had learned to know each other. It reminded him of family, home and comfort. Now he remembered one particular winter night in the old dorm, seven of them squeezed into a room meant for three. Someone had started humming, he couldn’t remember who, and the others had joined in without thinking. No mics, no rehearsals, just the hum of shared exhaustion and comfort. Back then, music wasn’t a product. It was the only language they had to tell each other they were still okay.
It felt personal and he was a little embarrassed to think others could hear it all over the world.
The harmonies that followed… those were real too. Namjoon’s soft murmur, Jimin’s high note trembling on the edge of breaking, Yoongi’s voice almost like a whisper.
Even if he didn’t remember ever recording anything like this, it wasn’t a remix.
It was them.
By the time he reached the hotel, his chest felt tighter. Tears were pricking his eyes even though there was no real reason for them too. But he felt raw, his chest sliced open, heart out for everyone to see. He hurried into the safety of his hotel room as fast as he could trying desperately to not talk to any of the staff for fear of breaking out in tears.
He had replayed the track three times in the van, each time noticing something new. A piano line with a voice so soft, unknown in its intensity yet so familiar - clearly Taehyung, a laugh buried deep in the outro that could’ve been Seokjin.
But the last few seconds were what unsettled him the most.
A voice, low, tired, that he couldn’t figure out which one of them it was, saying
“Let’s not tell anyone about this one.”
Then silence.
He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the dark window where his own reflection blinked back at him.
He couldn’t remember when they’d said that. Couldn’t even place what era the recording might’ve come from. It was like someone had pulled a memory from the fog and thrown it into the world without asking.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard of his too bright phone screen.
The group chat had been quiet since they all left for the hiatus. But this was a chance to maybe, just maybe bring it back to life, he feared not taking the chance would mean not getting any more in the future.
Jungkook: Did someone leak a demo?
Yoongi: What demo?
Namjoon: ???
Jimin: What are you talking about?
Jungkook: look up Brimborium. It’s everywhere.
A pause. Then Namjoon again.
Namjoon: Don’t mention it to anyone. Don’t share it anywhere.
Jimin: Hyung, it already has 3 million views.
Yoongi: I’ve never heard this version. Who mixed it?
Namjoon: No idea. But it’s definitely us.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Finally, a new message from Seokjin — his first in weeks.
Seokjin: Looks like someone found the noise we tried to bury.
That night, Jungkook couldn’t sleep.
He played the song one last time through his earbuds, even though his label had already asked everyone to stay silent until they figured out what was happening.
The chorus hit different now:
If the world forgets our names
will the echo still be ours?
Somewhere between the lines, he could hear all of them, the years of laughter, exhaustion, and arguments that no one outside the seven of them would ever understand.
His thumb hovered over Jimin’s contact, then Taehyung’s. He thought about calling any of them. He wanted to ask, Do you remember this? but the words stayed locked in his throat. The truth was, he wasn’t sure if he wanted an answer. Because if they didn’t remember, it meant the song had existed somewhere beyond them, a ghost of what they used to be. And if they did… it meant someone had chosen to let that ghost out.
He stared out of the window into the dark night sky, phone screen dimming.
Where did this come from?
The question hung there, unanswered.
Outside, the city hummed with its own kind of Brimborium, endless, restless noise, while seven people in different places stared at the same upload, wondering what they’d lost.
The next morning he was woken up by his phone steadily buzzing on the bedside table.