Work Text:
outside, the temperature continues to drop, the soft whistling of the wind and light grazes of thin branches doing little to nothing to create a clatter that would disrupt the contented torpor of residents.
inside a certain min yoongi’s room, the story is absolutely different.
a body hidden underneath a pile of blankets in hopes of preventing the cold from crawling under his skin, above his head lies a pillow, the heel of his hand digging against the cushion as it gets pressed deeper against the pale boy’s facade as his face twists into one that is a fusion of weariness and exasperation.
there is a brassy noise; the melody far from smooth and coming in broken parts, like a baby elephant who had just discovered how to produce various noises using its trunk. said baby elephant resides down the hall, in the room athwart yoongi’s.
every now and then, the silence would be pierced by the sudden blaring of the brass instrument, the walls too thin, unable to block the sound waves and allow yoongi to drift off into a serene sleep. his rising vexation remains suppressed, brows drawn together as he compels himself to tune out the noise.
It works all the time; his mind accepts the simulated silence and puts him to sleep.
but it is 2 hours past midnight and work has drained the life out of him only further intensifying his desire for a good night’s sleep. a need so strong that yoongi has become desperate enough that he yanks all 3 layers of blanket off of his body and drags his feet all the way to the doorstep of his neighbor’s. knuckles bang against the wooden frame of the door one, two, three times. an immediate response comes in the form of the racket dying down and a shuffling sounds and then -- holy shit .
standing before him is the guy who has been making each night a living hell, the same person creating such a clamor late at night, and god, God , he’s fucking ethereal .
though, in his defense, yoongi didn’t know what he was expecting. maybe a gangly person with braces and eruptive acne on dry skin, glasses hanging by the end of his nose? perhaps a dumb jock who needed to learn an instrument to pull his grades up but is clearly struggling (if the noise at night isn’t enough proof)?
either way, yoongi wasn’t expecting a gorgeous guy with tousled brown hair whose skin is a beautiful shade of tan and collarbones on display all thanks to the too loose t-shirt he’s sporting. the sight of him instantly makes yoongi’s throat go dry and the sleep within his system suddenly dissipates, the cold no longer tickling his skin as warmth takes over.
“ -- yes, can i help you with something?” his neighbor’s voice is as deep as the fucking marianas trench and yoongi is so fucking done for tonight.
“ uhm, the… noise - “
“wait, you can hear it? fuck, my friend said the walls are too thick and that i could play to my heart’s content… i - he stood outside the apartment once and-- “ yoongi’s eyes settle on his neighbor’s lip, a bad idea, he thinks, as lascivious thoughts plague his mind. “Jimin that asshole, he fooled me.”
“yep, “ he swallows down the lump on his throat, dragging his gaze away from the tall young man before him. “it’s actually the opposite, the walls are really thin and i can hear you playing every night. “
a frown appears on sun-kissed skin and soft features, and that has yoongi refusing to believe that the unsettling feeling within his stomach has something to do with guilt. “oh no, i’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to… i really thought,“ with slumped shoulders, knitted brows, and a small pout, his neighbor leans against the door frame, head touching the wooden edge of the structure as a deep, heavy sigh is produced. “ah, now i feel bad. nobody came to tell me so i thought no one could hear it.” his body turns a little, eyes shut tight, head still glued to the door as a long whine is released, and yoongi thinks he can hear a muffled ‘ i’ll kill jiminie .’ another sigh parts soft, pink lips and then one eye opens, a hint of hesitancy and embarrassment looming. this time, the young man stands tall, a hand scratching the back of his head, a gesture that makes only ends up revealing more skin as his shirt falls off his shoulder. “sorry again, uh…”
a buffering moment, as yoongi got too caught up in his own lewd thoughts and lustful desires. it’s been a really long day. another second passes before he realizes his neighbor is waiting for a name. “yoongi. min yoongi.”
“sorry again, yoongi-ssi. don’t worry though! you won’t ever hear me play the saxophone in the middle of the night again.” accompanying his statement is a smile that reaches his eyes, wrinkles forming at the process. “I’m taehyung by the way, kim taehyung.“ there’s no chance for yoongi to even respond (even if he doesn’t even know what to say to that: nice to meet you? hi? you’re really hot but please let me sleep? the list is endless, but he doesn’t delve on that) as taehyung speaks up again. “anyway, i’m sure you’re dying to go back to sleep,” yoongi wants to laugh at that. moments ago he would’ve easily agreed but now? Now he would rather sleep with taehyung in his bed and do things he’d rather not think about to him. “-- i’m sorry again but thanks for telling me.” yoongi misses the middle of the sentence but he’s certain it has something to do about him going back to his room and sleeping in peace, blah blah blah.
“it’s … fine, at least now you know,” is his only response to taehyung, accompanied by a wave of his hand as he stands awkwardly outside the hall wearing a baggy t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. the wind has died down, yoongi doesn’t know when exactly it stopped but quietness now spreads throughout the building. There’s radio silence. “uhm, i should…” he points a finger towards his place, and taehyung only gives him a smile and a nod.
it is when yoongi is about to close the door that he steals one last glance at taehyung, hand frozen around the knob. quietly, he utters ‘ good night, taehyung ’ and prays that it’s audible, or maybe inaudible because they already said their farewells and it’s their first time meeting each other, there’s no need for soft goodbyes or farewells. jesus, they might never even speak to each other again after tonight.
but taehyung turns to spare a glance at him, door nearly closed when a grin erupts. his mess of a hair poking past the doorframe along with half of his face and he gives one last smile. a cheery ‘good night, yoongi-ssi!’ and then the door closes softly, the twisting of locks heard.
the stars are still out, it’s dead silent, and yoongi is facing nothing but the narrow and empty hallway.
yoongi sleeps peacefully that night; images of warm smiles, and sounds of brass instruments, a low melodious laughter invading his dreams.
the next morning, when the sun’s light washes over the city and yoongi is able to will himself out of the bed, he opens the door to get his morning paper, a daily routine ever since he’s lived in the place, he is greeted by a cup of store bought coffee and a post-it note stuck on the coffee collar.
to make up for all those lost hours no thanks to my horrible musical skills
the loud saxophonist next door,
Taehyung <3
ps. i didn’t know what coffee to buy TT_TT i hope you like it~
the aroma of coffee fills his senses, a fluttering sensation stirs his insides as he recalls the image of taehyung, of beauty entrapped in a teenager’s body. he doesn’t realize he’s smiling to himself, but he lets the grin stay on his face as he returns inside.
maybe, just maybe, he’d let taehyung play the saxophone at night. when the city is dead, and car horns can no longer be heard, when there’s no other sound to interrupt his sleep. maybe the sound of a saxophone can stop being a disruption, and instead be a lullaby.