Work Text:
yoongi doesn't know much about art, but he sure as hell could appreciate it.
how could he not, when it stood, lit by lights, right in front of him. body moulding itself into every pulse, every beat of the song. eyes closed, air rippling around him, each move sending a rush of blood to the tips of yoongi's fingers without even knowing that he was doing it.
yoongi thinks he could never be able to describe the arch of hoseok's spine, to describe the way hoseok held the music in his palms, making it bend and twist as if it were obeying him. he doesn't think he can put into words the effect hoseok has on him. each step sending shudders through his rib cage, stealing the breath from his lungs, making his throat close around itself. and yoongi knows that everyone else in the crowd isn't any different.
and then, hoseok looks at him, and the thousands of screaming voices have disappeared, only leaving the sound of yoongi's racing, erratic heartbeat to fill his ears. time ceases to exist and yoongi forgets about breathing, hoseok's eyes boring deep into his. he feels his ears ringing and his mouth dries up,
and suddenly the glass shatters. hoseok's eyes break away from his, and the screams fill his ears again, the music pounding over it all. his mind is words over words and sounds over sounds and he feels the back of his neck heat up with warmth. there is sweat glistening along hoseok's neck and face and the bridge of his nose and yoongi doesn't, yoongi can't think. and hoseok, hoseok looks ethereal, glowing under the lights as he moves like he was made to do this, like there was nothing in the world that could stop him from conducting this orchestra of movements, of steps, of turns. and yoongi, well,
yoongi doesn't know much about art, but he knows that hoseok is the epitome of it.