Archive of Our Own

When asked, two decades or so ago, where he saw himself in the future, Min Yoongi, then a prickly juvenile, would smirk and answer something along the lines of living on the edge. He could easily predict that no glamorous opportunities awaited him. He had to learn how to claw and kick his way through to make it to another day since he had entered his teens. He would tell himself that he would tough it out, cheat the system, and show everyone, only to be gradually stripped of his foolish beliefs as time passed.

Now, he pats himself on the back. Cat on all fours. All things considered, fast forward, it could've ended far worse than getting caught in a sudden thunderstorm and flash flooding while stuck behind the wheel in a narrow dead-end alleyway in Itaewon. An unfortunate predicament, but he can't risk the water entering the engine, or he will have to foot the bill for the repairs.

The chime of the phone is barely heard over the rolling thunder and merciless pounding of rain on the roof of the cab. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a trip and a cancelled pop up and swipes the notification off the screen. Too bad he is already here.

Letting out a laboured sigh, he rolls his neck and considers taking a nap as things don't seem to be calming down any time soon. As he reclines the seat for comfort, timed with one of the loudest and most ominous cracks comes a sudden knock on the window on the passenger's side.

Yoongi definitely doesn't startle and doesn't hit his bad knee on the dashboard. He also doesn't yelp and clutch at his racing heart. And doesn't instantly think of that one time when he almost died in the abandoned warehouse in the suburbs of Bangkok. It had been the monsoon season, too.

Maybe he would have laughed at the way the man outside jumped, too, if he didn't feel sorry for the drenched guy who looked downright pitiful in the harsh fluorescent glow of streetlights and thunder. Ignoring his basic instincts, Yoongi rolls down the window and is immediately hit by humid wind and the smell of ozone.

"Yes?" he is close to yelling, but he might not be heard otherwise.

"Sorry! Yes, hello!" the guy on the other side stammers and after a split second, puts his head inside. "Are you available? The electricity at the bar got cut off and they kicked us out. In this weather, can you believe this?!" He rambles, his voice rising an octave as he rolls his eyes with indignation.

Yoongi, a little stupefied for multiple reasons, nods dumbly and replies, "Sure. Come on in."

The stranger swiftly retracts, and after a brief moment of hesitation, he shucks off his wet denim jacket in a rush, swings the door open, drops the jacket under the seat, jumps in and closes the door, all in one smooth motion. It all happens so fast that Yoongi, still in initial shock, holds his breath with his mouth agape. If the guy is not right in the head, at least he doesn't appear to be armed and Yoongi had dealt with worse.

"Um," Yoongi starts, distracted by how the other man energetically wipes his face with the front of his equally soaked white T-shirt, a silver of his belly showing. The dull syllable is enough to get the guy's attention, who drops his garment and faces Yoongi. And if it's not an impressive set of eyebrows, Yoongi mentally adds while wilfully ignoring the rest of the man's features that appear to be arranged into something definitely worth ogling.

"We might be stuck for a little longer," Yoongi breaks the brief eye contact and waves his hand to sum up their situation. "But if you don't have anywhere urgent to be at this very moment, I could drive you to your destination in a while. Hopefully."

His, handsome, patron quirks his, full, lips and there's something tired in his voice when he says: "It's okay. I have a whole night. Thank you."

The silence settles around them after that, with only a low rumble echoing now and then, and the ceaseless patter of the heavy rain. The man, seen from Yoongi’s peripheral vision, reaches towards the car door panel and shyly browses through a squeezed pile of tacky leaflets translated into various languages and handy paper maps focused on the top touristy spots. He pulls one that says HANGANG RIVER FERRY CRUISE in six different fonts and smiles to himself.

Usually, Yoongi doesn't force the conversation and he can read the room and his patrons quite well, which turned out to be a valuable skill to have in this line of work (as confirmed and rated in his numerous positive reviews). But he can't help but be curious about this peculiar stranger who now mouths the YUN KI printed in bold on his taxi driver's ID pinned to the main console. Yoongi clears his throat and taps on the steering wheel nonchalantly.

"Are you new to Seoul? I could recommend quite a few spots that you can't find in these," he nods in the general direction of the glossy pamphlets. And he doesn't share those locations with just anyone, but he has an inkling his companion might applaud them.

"Oh! Thank you," the guy replies curtly, and, as if he suddenly made up his mind, adds, "It's been quite some time, but I used to live here. A lot has changed while I was gone, though, so maybe I should take up on your offer one of these days." He smiles politely and then it's quiet again.

The rain seems to be turning into a more forgiving drizzle with thunder lazily but steadily rolling away. Yoongi cranes his neck to check on the clouds gliding across the sky, but the guiding moon stubbornly hides behind them.

"Where do you want me to take you?" Yoongi asks as he thinks the weather might allow them to start moving soon.

The man looks puzzled before his expression turns somewhat shy. "Ah! You mean, right now, yes. Um." He also looks outside as if the stray cumulonimbus might help him remember his destination. "Siheung," he sighs and the unconcealed exhaustion seeps into his soft voice. It's a very nice voice Yoongi's brain supplies unprompted.

"Got it," Yoongi nods and checks their directions.

"Sorry, if it's not too much trouble, could we cross the Banpo bridge instead?" the stranger points at the virtual map. "It is a bit of a detour, but I will pay accordingly, of course."

Yoongi quirks his eyebrow, but he would be lying if he said that it is the most random request he has ever received, so he doesn't question it any further.

"The last show ended four hours ago, though," Yoongi says as he checks the weather once more and turns around to look if nothing is in their way as he prepares to reverse.

"What show?" his patron asks.

"The rainbow fountains on Banpo bridge? I thought that maybe you wanted to see that one," Yoongi muses and fastens his seatbelt and his companion copies him in a second.

"Ah, no. But that's unfortunate all the same. That sounds fun," the guy smiles again and makes himself comfortable when Yoongi starts the engine.

Frankly, Yoongi is not exactly keen on coming to Itaewon — its narrow, cluttered streets, the noisy patrons that often come in inconsiderate pairs — so he usually doesn't frequent the area or declines the requests unless he can tell it's going to be a slow night. He doesn't know what urged him to come here tonight despite the storm warnings and his usual apprehension. At least this late-night ride will make it worth his time, literally, as it's going to be quite a long trip. Maybe he will swing by Incheon, which is nearby.

On his nose, his prescription glasses slid down in the meantime, so he pushes them up — the city lights resembling piercing stars glaring in puddles are going to be a pain in the ass to navigate through — and carefully rolls the car towards Yongsan Park, and then down south. He curses a few times lightly when he almost bumps into trash bins, either haphazardly pushed against the rough walls or displaced by a recent storm, but his peculiar companion doesn't comment on it. Yoongi grits his teeth, bracing for an impending headache, reminding himself it’s a consequence of his job and his own, albeit questionable, decisions.

As expected at this hour and following the unfavourable weather conditions, the traffic is scarce once they reach the main road. Yoongi could count the cars they passed on all his digits combined. Soon, they pass by the last buildings on this side of Han and start crossing the bridge. He spares a glance at his passenger, who seems to be either deeply in thought or completely devoid of it — his zoned-out eyes reflecting the faraway lights of Gangnam, fingers lightly tapping to the rhythm of the lo-fi rock track humming from the car's speakers.

"Do you know any fun facts?" the man suddenly speaks. And Yoongi could swear on his most prised old vinyl collection that he's usually not this jumpy, but every time he allows himself to perceive the guy next to him, his patron seems to sense the attention.

"Off the top of my head? I would have to think," Yoongi replies. Under expectant eyes now focused on him, he draws a blank.

"No fun facts? I thought taxi drivers always had some on hand. Conversational ones at least," the guy sounds mildly unimpressed.

What a cheeky individual. "I'm always open to learning something new," Yoongi nips back.

"Okay, then, do you know that in 2015, a group of researchers discovered an unclassified species of a tiny flapjack octopus somewhere 300 meters deep near Monterey Bay in California?" Yoongi shakes his head, and the guy continues. "It was the size of a fist, resembling a small ghost from Pac-Man! So they thought of calling it Opisthoteuthis adorabilis."

"Adora-what?" A foreign-sounding word tumbles awkwardly from Yoongi's tongue.

"Adorabilis!" the man repeats. "Adorable. Cute." He adds in fluent English.

"Hmmm," Yoongi hums in recognition. "Haven't heard of that. Quite random, I must say."

The guy shrugs, visibly pleased. "Your turn."

“Not much of a fun fact, but a funny anecdote. One late evening in Chiang Mai,” Yoongi says, “I strolled around one of the parks. This happened fifteen or more years ago, back when I still had my hair long, almost reached my shoulders,” he points past his ear and his companion nods curiously. “Well, someone, something, deemed it called for a cut and tangled itself in it. At first, I thought of a ferocious bat, but as I reached to help us both, I pulled an odd-looking bird instead,” he grins.

"Oh man, I would have fainted on the spot!" The guy shivers dramatically and laughs. "Weren't you terrified? I would have cried."

Yoongi deliberately omits that that night he was on the run and hiding in the bushes — cold sweat soaking his back, stench of fear mixing with the lingering smell of sewage and muddy earth — while a bunch of thugs looked for his ass. Albeit intruding, the small creature was the least of his concerns.

"Ah, well. Poor fellow got lost. You can look it up, it was a great-eared nightjar. They look like small dragons, with long ear tufts on top of their heads. Cute, too." Yoongi winces at his clunky pronunciation, but the man doesn't make a quip about it.

"Cute but murderous, this doesn't sound convincing," the stranger concludes. "So what I gather is that you enjoy birdwatching."

"Sometimes. Thailand alone has more than a thousand bird species. There was always something to look at." It's Yoongi's turn to shrug, as he readies himself to get defensive if needed. People can turn mean over the silliest hobbies nowadays.

"Did you live there? Thailand," the guy asks instead.

"I spent some time in Bangkok. Other cities and smaller towns as well." Where I'm most likely still unwelcome. "But it's been forever. If you need recommendations with this too, hit me up." They turn right. "Do you travel a lot? Your English is pretty great." Yoongi tries to reroute their conversation from his bumpy past onto more neutral ground.

"Thank you. Work requirements. Both the language and travelling." His passenger pauses, expression solemn. "But no. Not anymore."

And that curt reply sounds final, tense. Yoongi glances to the side, but the man is already looking out the window, his body language confirming this conversation is over.

"I see," Yoongi mumbles to himself and rolls his slightly stiff shoulders. That brief exchange took quite an unexpected turn, but who would have known it was a touchy thing to ask? Maybe the guy hates his job, and Yoongi, again, is not the one to judge.

When they are about to enter the tunnel, Yoongi peeks again and does a double-take when he notices the man nodding off against the window, his soft breathing leaving misty puffs on the glass. Earlier, Yoongi couldn't quite decipher the harsh shadows playing on the stranger's face, with the flashing thunder and glaring streetlights. But as it kept catching the muted glow of the city, almost serene in the car's confinement, he recognised the ashen marks of exhaustion — familiar like an old acquaintance he doesn't long to see

The navigation shows him that they are not halfway there yet, but Yoongi already considers taking another short detour to give the guy more respite. He discards the thought quickly. That would be a huge overstep on his part — making assumptions about the stranger's life he hasn't even got to know a minuscule part of, and acting on one measly observation. Also, simply creepy. He gives himself a mental slap that sobers him up and he focuses back on the road.

Just because the guy is kind of cute and you have an inkling his soul might be crying for help, it doesn't mean he would appreciate getting kidnapped, even with your pure intentions. Old man but none the wiser.

He nods in silent apology that goes unnoticed — the man is still dozing off, with his dark eyebrows furrowing and the corners of his closed eyes pinched. Yoongi winces in sympathy and sighs.

Past Gwacheon, approaching Anyang in five.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ: .☽ . :ﾟ. ───

When complimented on his exceptionally good memory, always told it’s a blessing, Yoongi would diplomatically give a non-answer while internally grimacing that it is, more often than not, closer to a curse. He had innumerable nights where he would be close to begging to forget the marred, distorted faces of countless people he had stumbled upon at various points in his life, faces of those close to his heart morphing into those of his partners in literal crime, faces that would rip him out of his nightmares into sweat-soaked bedsheets.

A lot of them reside rent-free in his hippocampus with not even a name attached. So when a Seokjin requested a ride with you pops up in his notifications, Yoongi simply starts his car and heads to the 24/7 comic cafe in Hongdae. Only once he gets there, he does a double-take at the odd figure swaying on their heels near the curb.

"Good evening, Yoongi-ssi. Fancy meeting you again at this ungodly hour," the man, Seokjin, says as he opens the door on the passenger side.

See, this is a face Yoongi surely hadn't forgotten and, if he were completely honest, couldn't even if he tried.

"Good evening, Seokjin-ssi," he greets back while Seokjin looks at him curiously — maybe he noticed Yoongi knows his name this time. "Are you calling my graveyard shifts sacrilegious?"

"I wouldn't dare." Seokjin's expression turns serious, but Yoongi sees mirth shimmering in his eyes. "Thank you for your hard work," he adds.

"Ah, don't mention it," Yoongi scratches behind his ear, suddenly shy for no reason. "Where to?"

"Siheung, like last time, if you remember." Yoongi does, but doesn't confirm. "Sorry for taking a nap back then," Yoongi remembers that, too. And how he parked under the new residential towers there. And how he debated for 10 minutes whether to wake Seokjin up or not. In the end, that wasn't necessary, but he still lied when Seokjin asked if it had been long since they arrived.

"Don't worry about it. It's not on the list of banned activities that could get you blacklisted," Yoongi snorts.

"You have a list?"

"Several. One for couples, one for rude solo travellers, one for tourists. In seven languages," Yoongi counts on his fingers. "They are in the glove box, if you are curious."

Seokjin reaches out, then hesitates, and pulls his hand back. "I'm scared of what I'm going to see and what cannot be unseen."

"Wise. Especially the one for couples is not for the faint of heart. What is listed there is based on true events."

"You would expect people to have at least a bit of decorum in such cramped space," Seokjin laughs in disbelief.

"You would be surprised, Seokjin-ssi", Yoongi murmurs archly. He fastens his seatbelt, preparing to drive off, and Seokjin does the same.

They head towards the Yanghwa Bridge and pass through streets that are mostly devoid of traffic. Perks of 3 AM shifts.

"Not all of them are terrible, obviously," Yoongi continues once he changes the line that would take them towards Gwangmyeong. "Sometimes they treat it like a confessional booth or a one-sided therapy session. They don't even ask for advice or a solution. People open up in the middle of the night, squeezed in the backseat there — they might never meet me again, so they make use of it."

"You should charge extra," Seokjin hums.

"I like them, the stories. You get enwrapped in your own orbit — they sober you up. Remind you of your place in the universe."

"Do you have a favourite one? The one that had moved you."

Yoongi thinks for a few seconds before he picks one of the hundreds, if not thousands, at this point.

"You know, maybe it's a story like many others, but I drove this auntie to the airport a couple of years ago," Yoongi starts. "We got stuck in the traffic in Yongsan-gu, with plenty of time to spare, because she was one of those anxious travellers. As the good and hospitable driver that I am, I started the typical small talk," he smiles at Seokjin, who nods in recognition. "If she enjoyed her time in Seoul and the like. You could never tell she wasn't a local until she spoke — fluent but with a noticeable accent."

They change lanes, and Yoongi checks on Seokjin, who does not look back but is not dozing off either, so Yoongi continues.

"The lady came from Seattle looking for the traces of her blood family. Stuck in between, she had begun the search in her teens, despite her adoptive parents' initial hesitation. She would sneak out and meddle with the local diaspora, learn the language and history. She started sending letters without any clue or precise direction — even the orphanage she was adopted from got wiped out from the archives, apparently." Yoongi pauses.

"No one cared to cooperate, I assume," Seokjin murmurs, and Yoongi nods. "A part of the history many would have loved to bury."

"She never gave up, though — even after becoming a mother herself. Connected with other adoptees in Sweden and other parts of the western world. After almost 60 years of unsuccessful attempts to find even one reliable hint, she got an email with an invitation from one of the SNU's professors who conducted a study on cases like hers. So she flew across the globe. For the first time alone. Once she got here, she went to the University straight from Incheon." Yoongi grabs his tumbler and takes a sip of the still-warm coffee he made five hours ago. Seokjin looks straight ahead, seemingly lost in thoughts, but still very present and paying attention.

"And then she said to me: you know, Yoongi-ssi, on my way there, I thought that maybe I could find the missing piece shaped like home. But those buildings, people I passed, they haven't called back to me. Not when I climbed the steep hills and countless stairs. And as I was about to push the door, I realised that maybe some doors are never meant to be open, that parts of one's history are written but not always meant to be deciphered. How would that have changed me as a person? Maybe for the better, but I am too old for the revolution, Yoongi-ssi. It was and wasn't the closure I needed, but nevertheless the one I chose for myself. So while sitting on said stairs, I first cried like the little girl that finally learnt how to give up, then wrote an apology email, and then called for you to drive me back."

"That was a brave thing to do, from start to finish. To take the journey and come to a liberating conclusion," Seokjin finally speaks, voice filled with admiration.

Yoongi nods. "We exchanged addresses and send each other letters and postcards sometimes. She has a granddaughter now, and they all plan to come to Seoul sometime soon," Yoongi grins, and Seokjin smiles back then speaks again.

"I get this part of your job, you know. I used to work with and around people as well. We are all fascinating creatures even at our most boring."

Yoongi's mouth forms into a small "O". Not out of shock, but definitely a little surprise. Truthfully, the theories on what Seokjin's profession is did cross his mind a few times. Some kind of celebrity would be the most obvious, but Yoongi had a feeling he would have seen Seokjin's face online already, with how certain friends of his have made it their life's mission to keep him updated on all hot men in media and adjacent. The second clue would be, with how they always meet at the darkest hours, that Seokjin is simply unemployed — maybe he had won a lotto and now enjoys the well-past-midnight drives across the Seoul metropolitan area. The third — a chaebol who wanted a taste of a commoner's life. If Yoongi makes sure they are not being followed by an inconspicuous black SUV, well, it's only between him and his imagination. Before he can recall more of his bizarre ideas, Seokjin, as if sensing Yoongi's ridiculous internal debate, adds: "Quite similar. A taxi across the ocean, if you will."

"Huh?" Why is this guy so cryptic? is what Yoongi wants to really ask. "If you say so."

"Yah, I saw you roll your eyes there!" Seokjin cackles, then follows up, "I used to work on a cruise ship. Here, your head can stop steaming now," he smirks, and it shouldn't be this attractive.

"Mopping the deck," Yoongi can't help but be a little annoying as payback.

"Excuse me, what is this poor service all of a sudden?!" Seokjin laughs again in faux-offence. "I was the first mate."

Still firmly gripping the steering wheel, Yoongi whips his head. "Seriously? That sounds impressive. Unless you are bullshitting me."

"We are too early in this relationship for me to lie for fun, Yoongi-ssi."

What the hell. Yoongi can feel the blush creeping up his neck for reasons mind-boggling to him. He needs to calm down.

"Cool. I mean, your job." Nice save.

"Well, not mine anymore. So." Seokjin slaps his knees lightly and shrugs. "This uncle is now uncool."

"Oh," Yoongi itches to ask about the whys and how comes, but doesn't want to push his luck and sour the mood. It's probably too soon in their relationship to open the confessional booth, too. "So what are you doing now, if you don't mind me asking?"

"International trade. Nothing extraordinary, but the pay is better, believe it or not, and I can use some of my skills." Seokjin appears to appreciate the change of topic and his shoulders relax. "How long have you been a cab driver?"

"A while. Almost ten years now," Yoongi scratches his chin in thought and feels he missed a patch while shaving this afternoon. "Used to do this and that before I landed this one. Amongst others, I also appreciate the flexibility. Tight schedules stress me out."

Calling Seokjin "cryptic" might have been hypocritical of him, as he should recognise that sometimes knowing less about a person is better for both parties involved, especially in a noncommittal setting like theirs.

"I can tell that you enjoy it, which is admirable. Driving around Seoul in rush hour can be quite a feat, and I, for one, promised my cardiologist I would avoid high-risk activities," Seokjin says and massages his chest.

"See, Seokjin-ssi, you asked why the graveyard shift. Now you know one of the reasons."

Gwangmyeong cave would be somewhere on their left.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ: .☽ . :ﾟ. ───

When confronted about why it always takes him so long to pick up his own phone, Yoongi, depending on who was a prick about it, would shoot back that whatever is oh-so-urgent could most of the time have been a text.

The truth is, said phone usually was set on mute — Yoongi would separate from it only for sleep, which wasn't that many hours ("Arguable", says the annoying voice in his head, that sounds suspiciously like both of his friends combined). Falling asleep when the rest of the city starts to wake up, he doesn't need extra distractions. And if it stays that way for the rest of his day, well, a habit at this point.

If someone were to dig deeper, six feet under Min Yoongi's excuses, they would find the remnants of old anxiety, which would sometimes crawl up, starting at a singular ring. One call was just it — a call. Two — be on standby. Three — await further instructions. Four — good to go. Five — run. Ten — your grandmother had passed while you were stranded drifting somewhere on Chao Phraya.

Luckily, his work phone chimes with unambiguous notifications. When the newest one pops up, he is parked in Bomung-dong consuming a hefty portion of tteokbokki. A request near the Gyeongdong Market. After swallowing his last rice cake, Yoongi turns the car around and heads east.

After having a few rides together in the span of a couple of months, he hasn't encountered Seokjin in several weeks, so it's a surprise to see him propped against a rough brick wall, with his head hung low and a rustling plastic bag in one of his hands. Seokjin barely lifts his eyes when Yoongi pulls up and faintly nods back in a greeting.

Odd. When the rear door opened, Yoongi assumed that Seokjin had left his bags there and would join him at the front like usual. But not tonight, apparently. He glances in the rear-view mirror to confirm that Seokjin placed himself there and turned away without meeting Yoongi's eyes.

Well, okay then. It's not like he can or would want to enforce one's seating preferences. Not a thing he gets paid for. Without a word, only with a slight eyebrow lift, he starts the car and drives them towards Gosanja Bridge.

Every now and then, he checks on Seokjin who hasn't moved an inch but still appears to be awake. The city's bright neon lights glide across his features and paint them in various colours, even though the canvas is positively ashen and almost sickly-looking. Yoongi itches to ask, if everything's okay, it would be only polite.

After the few rides they shared, he has a general idea of who and how Seokjin is as a person, and he can admit he quite likes the guy. Wouldn't mind grabbing a drink or two when they are both off work, that is. But maybe it's only one-sided, and his well-placed concern would be an overstep instead, especially as the most noise Seokjin has made so far was a heavy sigh. So Yoongi keeps the question to himself. As frustrating as it might seem, it's the tactic that works best with Seokjin, who opens up on his own terms and drops the little grains of personal information that have to suffice like a whole bowl of rice. And it is fine.

They pass by Gocheok Sky Dome when Seokjin finally asks, voice rough and croaky: "Could we go to Ansan?"

"Ansan?" Yoongi parrots to make sure he heard him right.

"Ansan. Daebu Island. Disregard if it's too far out of the area you cover, sorry."

Yoongi looks at the time and scratches his ear in thought. Daebu Island is quite far out there indeed.

"Depends. Promise you won't do anything that makes me regret this trip," he tries for a joke, but the lingering worry is still there.

"Give me your brackets. I don't like making promises I can't keep," Seokjin tries for a smile that is closer to a grimace, but Yoongi takes it.

"For starters, no jumping into the sea. I don't like water."

"Ah, you are not fun, Yoongi-ssi. Okay, I promise, no funny business. Let's go to the beach."

"No running into the sea either."

"Aye," Seokjin nods and that's the end of their short exchange until they are past Siheon and on their right, the cranes at the Incheon port loom over the dark horizon.

"When I was a kid," Seokjin starts, "I would fill the tub at home or an old, rusty basin in my grandparents' garden with water and make boats out of anything that would float. I would have those tiny, self-assembled models, posters, random memorabilia, you name it. My maternal grandmother was from Geoje and she used to tell me: Seokjin-ah, the sea always calls for her kin. And so I thought, I had a blessing, a clear path for a dream to become reality. I wasn't passionate about anything else in my life, so why not?"

Soon enough, they reach the Bangameori Beach — completely void at this hour, with only the wind rattling around the closed-for-the-night booths and food stands. Yoongi parks the car and starts looking for a pack of cigarettes he keeps stashed somewhere for recreational use. Salty air always stirs up the unhealthy cravings in him. With a triumphant "aha", he puts his hand on a door handle, but Seokjin stops him.

"You sure this won't cause problems for you?" He circles the back of Yoongi's head, a running taximeter, rustling trees planted next to their parking spot, and waves crashing against the shore in one broad motion.

Yoongi shrugs. "I have had impeccable rep so far. As long as you pay and don't write up a complaint, no one's going to give a fuck, trust," he turns to Seokjin with a reassuring smile on his face, but only gets a sceptical look in response. Nevertheless, his companion still unbuckles his seatbelt and leaves without another word, and Yoongi follows after him.

They descend the stairs leading to the beach, and soon their familiar mutual silence is only disturbed by the blowing wind and rolling waves. Yoongi pulls the pack of cigs from his pocket and offers Seokjin one, who hesitates for a split second before taking it. He rolls it tentatively between his thumb and pointer finger, and only then does Yoongi notice their unique shape for the first time.

Lighting the cigarette turns out to be tricky and they circle to shield the flame and protect it from dying ("Seokjin-ssi, stop snorting, you are making this worse." "Yoongi-ssi, maybe you are just bad at this."). Yoongi's turn is easier, as he simply puts his to the one hanging from Seokjin's lips before he can think against it.

He really should ask Seokjin to grab a drink with him sometime soon.

While Yoongi is still distracted by his own thoughts, Seokjin takes a deep drag and coughs hoarsely. "Ugh, I haven't done this since I graduated."

"Busan?" Yoongi guesses, and Seokjin nods in confirmation.

"I enlisted in the Navy as soon as I could to be done with enlistment, then applied to the Korea Maritime University there."

"I bet you never forgot your first cruise," Yoongi inquires.

"Japan, almost twenty years ago, March. It was sakura season when we arrived. I started as the third-mate and barely spent time on the upper deck, but they allowed us a short break to see the cherry blossom festival," Seokjin smiles wistfully. "I worked locally for a few years before I applied abroad and got hired in the United States."

Yoongi whistles, impressed yet again. "The ocean is the limit, or something."

"Exactly," Seokjin taps his cigarette and follows how the ash fizzles out and gets carried away by the wind. They stay still for a short moment while Yoongi quietly studies Seokjin's profile. They are outside, so technically, his cab rules don't apply at the beach; he can be nosy. Their destination appears not to be that random, either. He can tell that something has been eating at Seokjin's guts since the moment he picked him up earlier tonight. If not for far longer, if Yoongi's observations are correct. And he would be lying, saying the curiosity hadn't been killing him. He's not sure if he can help, but he is here to listen. It's five against zero.

"So, I know how you got the job. Tell me how you lost it."

After the final drag of his cigarette, Seokjin takes a long exhale and digs his heels deeper into the sand. His eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw is tight, and Yoongi prepares himself to be told to fuck off eventually.

"I didn't go to the US alone. It was Jeongguk's idea," Seokjin starts instead. Yoongi sees how he seems to be recollecting and rearranging his thoughts, like a person who had dissected the story over and over, and over again, but at the same time hadn't shared it with anyone in forever. "We first met back in Busan, when he was still a freshman. A very talented mechanic, that guy. One would argue his fixation with ships was even worse than mine," Seokjin shakes his head and his expression turns fond.

"I'm quite a coward when I'm by myself, so we were each other's catalysts." He fiddles with the butt of his cigarette and Yoongi helpfully reaches out with a metal tin he grabbed together with the pack, in case there was no trash bin where they stood.

"So you had a friend there. Must have made things easier," Yoongi supplies gently, no pushing.

Seokjin nods in affirmation. "It did. A piece of home on the wide ocean. And then there was an accident. A preventable accident. It was its anniversary a couple of days ago, if you can call it that," he chuckles bitterly.

"I was the first mate then, so everything had to go through me first. We were still docked at the harbour when I received the report that the pumps' control panels were malfunctioning and the best course of action would have been to postpone the departure, which I forwarded to the captain. But because of the storms and strong currents, we were already behind schedule, so the cruise line sent their own guy to dismiss our arguments and commanded us to sail out."

Yoongi has figured out the ending to this story, but allows Seokjin to go on and let it all out.

"So we did. About one hour later, one of the panels blew up causing a fire, which we barely contained before everyone got evacuated. Luckily, no one died, but several crew members got harmed — including Jeongguk." Seokjin stretches his arms before him and then Yoongi spots a long-healed scar that runs through the half of Seokjin's left hand and hides up behind the rolled cuffs of his jacket. "He ended up with a spinal injury. It's been six years and the guilt is still eating me alive." Seokjin hangs his head low.

"I couldn't do it. I couldn't look at myself in the uniform. I had to quit for good. I had to let go of my dream that my entire life got shaped around, but in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't even matter that much, does it? The emptiness stays with you for a long time. I could never get used to it."

"Letting go is a brave thing in itself. You said so yourself that one time, remember? Even if it wasn't exactly on your terms." Yoongi wants to reach out and pat Seokjin's back, but his palm drops and dwindles awkwardly. He's never been good at physical affection. "Was there anything else you could have done? From what you have just told me, it seems like there wasn't, and I'm sure everyone involved feels the same."

"The crew, me included, had been advised to take it to court. But that hadn't cleaned my conscience, nor did the years of therapy. I haven't talked to Jeongguk since."

"Yikes. Poor guy, not even a word of consolation. You just dipped." Yoongi shakes his head in disapproval, goes for a lighter reply.

"Yah, Yoongi-ssi! And what would you have done, oh the great advisor?"

"Sent a bouquet at least."

"You are so full of shit, I can't believe it," Seokjin laughs and it takes some of his stiffness away. They still stare into the faraway deep blue, when Seokjin shifts. "Have you ever had a dream?" He faces Yoongi with an expectant look. So now it's his turn to reflect and uncover the buried pieces of himself. It's only fair.

The fleeting snapshots of the old brown piano in his neighbours' house back in Daegu flash behind his eyelids. Its twinkling melodies floated with the muggy August air thirty years ago. The dull thud of the wooden body getting hauled on the rusty truck. The music turned into crashing glass bottles, then silence.

"In more ways than one, I couldn't afford to have the ones I wanted to have," is all Yoongi says. It's hard to admit he might not be able to bear more letdowns.

"And now?"

"The young me was so fixated on the dreams from the past and potential future, that he made choices in his then-present that put him in jail for three years. I try not to do that now, I keep things simple." Yoongi blurts out. He blames his sudden openness on the faint colours of the rising sun that always make him slightly emotional — the new beginning and whatnot. He waits for Seokjin to request a different driver to take him home.

"I wish I could tell the younger you to hold on. And that he's going to grow into a pretty good guy, regardless of his dire circumstances," Seokjin says. No words of condemnation or, even worse, pity.

"Thank you," Yoongi croaks out, his throat scratchy. He craves another cigarette even if it gets harder to breathe.

The sky is getting brighter by the minute, but neither of them seems to be in a rush, both mulling over their abiding inner turmoils or thinking nothing at all.

"Have you ever been fishing?" Seokjin asks out of nowhere, then points at the first lone fishing boat closing on the horizon, when Yoongi looks at him, confounded.

"I tried to catch some in the river, with not much success. But out in the open sea? I can't say I have," Yoongi answers, trailing after the disappearing boat.

"We should go. I think you would like it," Seokjin smiles at him, soft shadows brushing under his tired eye bags and around the wrinkles, muted rays of sunshine sparkling in his dark eyes. "Let me know your next day off, and we can coordinate. We will make it happen."

"Sure," Yoongi smiles back, if not a little stupefied, if not a lot charmed. Pretty boys always meant trouble for him. "It's a date. I could take you drifting for the next one, fast and furious style."

Seokjin laugh heartily and shakes his head, and Yoongi notices the tips of his ears turning pink. "I think we should start heading back. I don't start work until later, but I bet I look like shit. My insomnia has been kicking my ass lately," Seokjin yawns, his jaw almost out of its hinges.

"Oh?" So his hunch, when they first met and when they kept meeting, and Seokjin inevitably would have fallen asleep several times, was correct. He would have recognised that red tint in bloodshot eyes and exhausted, slouched posture everywhere — it's been his reflection far too many times.

"I'm trying to get off the meds. Late-night rides help me sleep, and so do 24/7 comic book cafes." Once they climb the stairs, the nearby clatter of the booths getting ready to open can be heard, sellers sweeping their front porches and setting up signs.

"You are welcome. I hope my service has been satisfying. What have you been reading?" Yoongi asks.

"One piece. Although, I doubt I will ever catch up."

"Can't say I didn't see this one coming."

Before they climb into the car, they dust the sand from their pants and shoes. Yoongi grimaces at how it is going to be a pain to vacuum, still. Opening the door on the passenger side, Seokjin pauses and looks at Yoongi once again, "Thank you, too. And for the extra service."

"Don't mention it. I will ask for extra sashimi and English lessons in return." They fasten their seatbelts.

By the time they get to Siheung, the sun is up.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ: .☽ . :ﾟ. ───

When teased, often with an underlying concern, if one of these days he's planning on driving off and joining a secluded monastery in the mountains to continue his solitary lifestyle, Yoongi would respond that he knows a guy who had considered doing just that when his exceptionally oblivious then-crush of ten years started dating someone else.

(But it's as far as Yoongi's going to air his former pro bono lawyers' business. He still owes them a big one.)

Three years of living in confinement, albeit involuntarily, is enough for this lifetime. Besides, he enjoys modern civilisation far too much. His weekly TV shows and takeouts. The silly cat videos — the true staple of pop culture. Medicine that helps with his anxiety attacks. Video calls with his mother.

He also has plenty of friends, his circle of associates wide. It's just that his social battery depletes fast with how much social interaction his job requires of him, and crowded parties have never been his thing. Nothing's wrong with being a homebody.

Friday evening finds him in Myeongdong, and while it's not Itaewon, Hongdae or pretentious Gangnam, he pulls out the do-not-dos lists just in case and places them within his reach. Yoongi circles one of the popular jazz bars, its patrons spilling on the street with ruckus and laughter, when a request pops up.

"Yoongi-ssi, what a coincidence!" says a familiar voice loudly and with a tipsy slurring.

"Hello, Seokjin-ssi. I see you had a fun evening," Yoongi smirks

"Hyung, who's this?" comes a deep voice from somewhere behind Seokjin and Yoongi feels the list dedicated to couples burning a hole in his dashboard. Maybe he should have shuffled it at the bottom of the pile to not attract bad luck. The mysterious man leans forward and Yoongi is surprised to see another beautiful face, this one with still-boyish features in contrast to the warm baritone, peaking out next to Seokjin, who explains that Yoongi is here to take them home.

"Is he your chauffeur?" the guy hanging off Seokjin's arm asks and sways on his long legs to take a better look at unimpressed Yoongi.

"No, I'm not," Yoongi answers in time with Seokjin's: "I ordered a taxi for us, Taehyung-ah, be reasonable." They circle the car and Seokjin, albeit not without struggling, deposits his friend, Taehyung, in the back seat while he sits behind Yoongi.

"Where to?" Yoongi asks when Taehyung stops complimenting the smell and promises to warn everyone if he gets sick.

"Jimin's. I want to see my Jiminie, I miss him so much." Taehyung's words are watery and his lips wobble. Yoongi momentarily panics until, in the rear-view mirror, he meets the reflection of Seokjin rolling his eyes.

"Suwon, please and thank you," Seokjin sends him a soft smile and then reaches over his friend to check if his seatbelt is in place and murmurs something and receives a meek nod. It appears that the couple's list won't be necessary, Yoongi concludes and they take off south.

Even after they started opening up more to each other, usually his rides with Seokjin are limited to short conversations and brief exchanges when one of them thinks of something he deems worth sharing — a new fun fact, the commentary on the episode of the drama both of them are watching, Yoongi's passenger gossip, Seokjin's latest catch. So it's a new experience for Yoongi to be on the receiving end of Taehyung's onslaught of various questions.

"I see you know each other," Taehyung drapes himself over the seat in front of him and winks at Yoongi. "Sooooo, how did you two meet?"

Seokjin groans. "I've had him for a whole evening. It's your turn to entertain, Yoongi-ssi."

Yoongi chuckles and takes pity on Seokjin, who, regardless of his exhaustion, looks content with his friend by his side.

"We met like this," Yoongi waves his hand. "He barged in in the middle of the thunderstorm, drenched and distressed. I felt bad, I worried that denying him would be a bad omen."

"So you took me in because you are superstitious?" Seokjin asks.

"Precisely."

"How romantic," Taehyung drawls, and Yoongi hears a warning hush that gets ignored. "Seokjin-hyung and I met on the cruise!"

"Oh? Were you one of the mates as well, Taehyung-ssi?"

"I am a charmer, I enchant the crowd," Taehyung whispers conspiratorially..

"He's a jazz singer," Seokjin clarifies. "He had his residency at the lounge bar."

Yoongi hums appreciatively, and Taehyung interjects, "Hyung, you sang too! Yoongi-ssi, you should've seen him, he was the passengers' sweetheart! The humble but witty gentleman! Tell him how many proposals you received, daughters and sons!"

"You sing?" Yoongi asks and admires Seokjin, who gets more and more pink with every compliment that Taehyung roars in his direction. "I had no idea it was one of the job requirements for the first mate."

"I don't. And it wasn't. I lost a bet once, and the rest is history," Seokjin doesn't meet his eyes in the mirror.

"He did sing! He does! He is so good! Don't shush me, hyung, I'm your biggest fan." Taehyung grabs Seokjin's hand and brings it to his heart. "I really thought I got myself competition there. Do you sing, Yoongi-ssi?"

"Maybe I could rap, on a good day. I used to play the piano, though." Yoongi's answer earns him an enthusiastic gasp from Taehyung and an astonished look from Seokjin. "I tried to, at least."

"That's so cool, isn't it, hyung? You always wanted to learn, maybe Yoongi-ssi could give you lessons." Tahyung lets go of the seat and plasters himself to Seokjin's side again, who soothes his dishevelled mop of hair, and agrees with no intention of executing his friend's idea.

"I will add it to the list of our plans we can't seem to fulfil because of our schedules and mutual fear of commitment," Yoongi jokes. He catches a glimpse of Seokjin and holds his gaze for a second longer in hopes that it conveys what he truly means — if Seokjin wanted, he would like to.

Their conversation must have finally tired out Taehyung, who's now snoozing peacefully attached to Seokjin like a drunken barnacle, his soft snoring accompanied by the quiet music playing from the car's speakers. Both of them look like they were taken straight out of the movie — hair alluringly swept to the side, neon lights of Gangnam dyeing them in reds, greens and purples, jumping off of their leather jackets and silk scarves. Yoongi probably wouldn't even be mentioned in the credits. He sighs to himself and focuses on the road.

In about another half hour or so, they make it to one of the newest neighbourhoods in Suwon, standing tall near the lakes. Seokjin directs them to the parking spot, then gently wakes Taehyung when they stop. There's a bit of shuffling and groaning before the door opens, and Seokjin attempts to drag his friend out when another guy approaches them, his mule sandals shuffling on the pavement.

"Yah, Jimin-ah! Are you not going to help me?" Seokjin squawks indignantly and then turns to Yoongi. "Wait for me."

Jimin giggles menacingly as he slowly reaches the car. "I haven't been invited!"

"You have been! You told me that Taehyung and I should catch up like in the good old times! Don't twist it, evil man," Seokjin huffs and puffs, and Jimin takes pity on him as he wraps one of Taehyung's arms over his shoulders and they lift him on three. Yoongi rolls down his window to let in more fresh air, get rid of the smell of stale alcohol, and observe how the trio carefully manoeuvre to reach the entrance. Which is a comedic sight in itself.

He can't hear them clearly, but it's new to see Seokjin so animated with his other friend laughing heartily at their antics — their steps and tempo mismatched, with Taehyung a dead weight hanging off their shoulders. When they stop, Taehyung is deposited into Jimin's arms, whose knees buckle with the extra mass, but he regains his balance swiftly, his slender body surprisingly strong and agile. Yoongi notices the way Jimin inches closer and closer to Seokjin while their chit-chat. Squinting briefly, Yoongi felt sure that Jimin had suddenly turned towards the car, winked at him, then leaned on Seokjin and murmured something in his ear. Yoongi can't hear well from where he is seated either, but whatever Jimin told Seokjin made him turn briefly, too, then slap Jimin on his arm. As Yoongi doesn't like to be part of a conversation he's not technically, physically present for, he rolls his window back and waits for Seokjin in hiding.

Not long has passed until Seokjin comes back and sits in front this time.

"Jimin asked to relay a thank you for bringing Taehyung back safely," he says, not turning to Yoongi.

"Of course, no problem," Yoongi replies, looking straight ahead as well. He likes the colour of the bricks they used for the cladding on these buildings. He wonders where he would be now if he had decided to become an architect like he had fantasised in second grade. Hopefully not stuck with a guy in silence that used to be comfortable, but, for some enigmatic reason, is awkward now.

As Yoongi moves to start the engine, Seokjin reaches towards him at the same moment. The grip he has on Yoongi's wrist is not strong, and Yoongi could snatch his hand back if he wanted. Maybe if he wasn't stupefied by this unexpected gesture. It's not that it's the first time they have touched — Seokjin has a habit of nudging others when he's the only one laughing at the joke he made — but it's the first one that feels. What exactly? Yoongi doesn't know.

Before he has a chance to dissect his newfound befuddlement, Seokjin speaks again.

"Jimin asked if I wanted to have a threesome with them. When I politely declined, he asked if maybe you would be interested, but then who would take me home, right? So I said no. I'm sorry, maybe I ruined your night just now," he rambles on, and Yoongi questions if it's Seokjin or alcohol in Seokjin speaking.

He chokes out a laugh, almost hysterical. "Seokjin-ssi, what are you talking about?"

"I don't know," Seokjin laughs too, then bites his lips. His hand didn't move an inch, the zigzag of his scar pale. Yoongi is mesmerised. "He also said you looked jealous."

"Jealous." Okay, now there's one more thing Yoongi needs to address internally, but it's like he's running out of time here; he needs to stay present.

"Mhm," Seokjin nods. "Yoongi-ssi, when were you born?"

"Uh. 1993. March," Yoongi answers truthfully.

"Ah, I see. We are not getting any younger," Seokjin sums up sagely, and Yoongi doesn't get an opportunity to agree with this statement as Seokjin turns abruptly in his seat and closes the distance. Within the reach, they see each other's silver hairs and greying temples, smile lines and wrinkles where their skin has thinned under the eyes. Seokjin smells faintly of good cologne and sweet alcohol, pink flush high on his cheeks. Yoongi never doubted that people were lining up to get his attention. Yoongi doubts he has it in him to be immune to this charm either. So when Seokjin asks if it's okay, he simply nods.

He can't say he saw it coming. Not the overwhelming fireworks, but warm, sizzling sparkles that turn his mind pleasantly blank. He won't lie that there hadn't been nights when he spared a thought or two that crossed into fantasy territory. But it was bound to happen when his moments of loneliness made him latch so easily on genuine kindness.

At this second, he feels hair product sticking to the pads of his fingers instead, tastes ripe apples and peach on his tongue. Seokjin's plum lips fit with his even when not completely in sync as they begin to learn each other.

"This hyung has always thought you were cute, Yoongi-yah," Seokjin murmurs and leaves a trail of soft pecks under Yoongi's jaw, down his throat. "Your button nose and furrowed eyebrows. A disgruntled cat," he giggles.

"Hyung-" And if Yoongi whines at the sudden drop of formalities and dumb compliments, well, he can only count on Seokjin's short memory. To overwrite the blunder, he lifts Seokjin's face back up and deepens the kiss.

Hopefully, Jimin and his neighbours enjoy the CCTV footage, and no one calls the authorities on them. Yoongi can't afford to lose his license at the moment.

After some odd minutes, they part and get ready to leave. Yoongi feels blissfully giddy, his expression mirroring Seokjin's gleeful smile.

The road to Siheung has never felt so short.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ: .☽ . :ﾟ. ───

Yoongi is not sure how much he knows about Seokjin or how much of what has been shared with him is factually correct. During the first few of their late-night drives, he would flood Yoongi with marine-life trivia while tactfully shielding any soft parts of himself he might've accidentally exposed. But Yoongi has never found their exchanges tiring or frustrating. On the contrary, he quite enjoyed the riddles and puzzles that were Kim Seokjin, connecting the bits and filling the information gaps with his sometimes silly assumptions.

With time, both of them would open up more, peeking into the cracks of their unevenly bricked walls, slowly dismantling them piece by piece.

There would be things that would remind him of Seokjin, anecdotes he mentioned in passing now connected to Yoongi's mundane daily errands.

The small white dog he spotted on his walk to the store could have been similar to the one Seokjin had in his childhood — he was a picky eater, but would bite at Seokjin's ankles sometimes. He always slept by Seokjin's bed, even in his old age, and when Seokjin was already out on the broad seas and not snuggled under the covers next to him.

Oftentimes, at roughly 5 AM, Yoongi would swing by one of Seoul's markets to select the perfect fish for dinner, based on introductions to Seokjin's favourite vendors, who at this point treated him like one of the most trusted clients and shared the newest gossip with him on top of the highest quality products.

The freshest batch of strawberries in February. The pastel-coloured sweaters that other patrons would wear. Passing by the game arcades, picking up students from the comic book stores and libraries. Snowy days in early December. That one ballad, when he first heard Seokjin sing, voice pulling at the strings of his heart and squeezing his lungs. He could vouch for Taehyung's praises now. The stars they can't see on Seoul's light-polluted sky, but Seokjin promised are out there as he mapped the constellations with his crooked finger, the ones they might see while fishing on the boat.

Much about Seokjin is still a mystery. What is his favourite mulhwe place, and if it's one of Yoongi's recommendations? Which animated movies had made him cry? If his elbow tends to hurt when it's about to rain? Would he enjoy a box of Jeju's finest tangerines and hallabongs?

What are his biggest fears, the ones that show their teeth when he's at his most tired, unable to sleep? What could be the lighthouse, something for him to look forward to, what would stop him from crashing against the shore?

If his heart beat a little faster seeing Yoongi's name appear on his screen, hoping it would be the one who had remembered all Seokjin's fish puns and kissed him on the front seat of his taxi.

His whereabouts. I will get back to you marked as "received" on his personal phone.

Yoongi hasn't seen him in six months.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ: .☽ . :ﾟ. ───

In his case, working 9-5 means Yoongi gets to pick up breakfast for dinner, nurses his first decaf of the evening when others start to open soju bottles for their team integration meetings they were pressured to attend. Smoothly cruising on the empty lane out of central Seoul, with the traffic growing hectic on the opposite side. It means supplementing vitamin D all year long while his physician pleads with him to expose his pale limbs to the natural source once in a while. Birds chirping at early dawn signal time for the last pickups of the night, as if keeping watch on him and keeping his self-imposed schedule in check.

He catches himself growing tired of this more often. He misses the romantic pink of fresh blooms in March, the vibrant green of trees in April at midday. The excited barking of dogs in the park, the buzz of bees at the rose garden. But maybe, considering his record that still looms over him and could be a permanent blemish on his resume, it's as good as he's allowed to get.

It's quarter to five when he drops off the last patron, a young intern, at Samsung Town, and his personal phone chimes with a text. His heart rate spikes, all dark-coloured scenarios flashing before his eyes. Then he sees the name of the sender, and words that hit him with a wave of relief. Yoongi almost slams his forehead against the steering wheel.

7.30 train from Busan, pick me up at Suseo

It will be triple the rate plus overtime charge.

Thank you for your patronage.

please

double the overtime charge.

Because Yoongi, deep down, is a fool, he waits. He had let go of or been let go by many people in his life, but this one, he feels, is a persistent one. And he, too, wouldn't be opposed to annoying that guy some more.

Seokjin in the morning sun is a sight to behold — still the same broad frame with a slight slouch when he forgets to straighten his back, but so different from his tired self illuminated by artificial whites and yellows. His hair hasn't been cut in weeks. There's a healthy pink tint to his cheeks and a spark in his eyes that Yoongi is sure has been amiss for a long time.

His heavy suitcase clatters on the pavement as he hurries to Yoongi, who stands propped against his car, squinting and faking nonchalance. When they face each other, Seokjin grabs Yoongi's clammy hands, and whatever snarky comment Yoongi had thought of earlier gets stuck to the back of his tongue.

"Yoongi-yah!" Seokjin beams. "I have a plan! Tell me, where do you see yourself in a decade?"