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Yoongi puts his school ID back in his wallet and safely tucks it in the back pocket of his pants. The bus ticket in his hand is a bit crumpled from being held on for too long, and he smooths the small piece of paper in his hands, a small smile forming on his lips when he sees the destination printed on it. Dobong-gu. Home. He hasn’t heard of that place in a while. It feels so far away, and yet, with one flimsy piece of paper, he’s going home.
His home isn’t that far from his school—the whole trip would probably take a bit more than an hour tops, but still, he feels jittery. It’s probably because he hasn’t been home in a long time, what with his academic life and part-time work taking a toll on him. Besides, it’s not like the bus fare is cheap.
He folds the ticket and tucks it safely in the breast pocket of his favorite denim jacket for keepsakes, so well-worn that the dark blue color it used to have is already fading into a shade of dirty white.
(Seokjin had told him once to throw it away because it was too worn-out already, but Yoongi would have none of it.
“It just looks like this because it’s well-loved.” Seokjin hadn’t said anything after that, but the look he gives Yoongi tells him that he has something on his mind—like he knows more than what he’s just letting on).
He adjusts his bag so that it’s placed comfortably on top of his thighs, and he rummages around until he finds what he’s looking for: a MyMy that’s seen better days (the very same one that Hoseok, Jimin and Taehyung got as a prize when they placed first in the talent contest Ssangmundong High School had during their annual field trip, but had given to him instead as a sort of replacement for the Kodak camera that Taehyung lost), his earphones whose black overcoat painting is already peeling off, and a cassette tape.
There’s a date written on the cassette tape’s case in Taehyung’s undecipherable handwriting, but Yoongi’s known him for so long and had seen his handwriting so many times when he tried to help him pass his history classes that Yoongi doesn’t have that much of a hard time trying to red it.
12.05.1989, it read. The day after Seokjin’s birthday. But he’d only gotten the package it over five days later.
There’s also a valiant (but poor) attempt to draw a cat on it, and Yoongi remembers how Taehyung always told him that he looked like a cat, mostly when they were younger. Yoongi used to protest then, because Taehyung would pinch his cheeks and say “hyung is like a cute cat! And you always sleep and glare at people. Isn’t it fitting?” But as time passed, it failed to bring the initial annoyance that it gave Yoongi and sent butterflies to his stomach instead.
Yoongi grins, taking the tape out of its case and slotting it in the cassette player. He unwinds his earphones from being tangled up in his bag and plugs it in the cassette tape, all the while trying to guess what Taehyung has recorded.
Before he’s moved out of their small neighbourhood in favour of staying in the dormitory near his university, Taehyung had promised him that he’d write letters to Yoongi every single day. But then a few days after receiving his first later from Taehyung on the first week of classes, he’s received a package containing a cassette tape instead. “It’s better like this, right hyung? Feels more personal than just a letter. It’s like I’m still talking to you since you don’t always say anything in reply to whatever I say.” A laugh. “Except you’re not really here and it’s not as warm.” Yoongi’s breath hitches in his throat, remembering how Taehyung used to snuggle up to him in the middle of tutoring and say that he was warm and smelled nice. And Yoongi would always tell him to concentrate on the material they’re reviewing, making Taehyung pout because he couldn’t understand a single thing that Yoongi said.
Yoongi had told him then that they should probably stop tutoring, since Taehyung wasn’t learning anything anyway and the payment that Taehyung’s mom gives him for his tutoring is probably going to waste, but Taehyung didn’t want to, saying that he liked hearing Yoongi’s voice. “And I could keep you to myself.” He added in a soft voice, and although Yoongi had heard, he hadn’t said anything about it. Not because he didn’t feel anything for Taehyung, but because he was a coward, in more ways than one.
It took a few more weeks passing by and a few more tapes received from Taehyung before Yoongi sent back a cassette tape in reply, and when he did, all that it contained was a single song—a piano piece that Yoongi had started composing in the first few weeks of school, fuelled by homesickness and the feeling that life’s moving on too fast for him to settle down and take the time to look back. He didn’t have a name for it back then, attaching a note asking Taehyung to give the song a title. And when Taehyung sent another cassette tape, Yoongi knew what it should be called.
“It sounds a bit like longing. Do you miss home?” Taehyung had asked, and then, in a hesitant voice, he adds, “It sounds like a song that you’d play for your first love.”
In the last tape that Taehyung sent him, the younger boy talked about Park Jinyoung, asking if Yoongi remembered him from the dance contest Hoseok once participated in. Yoongi remembered it, of course: it was around the same time the National Singing Competition was held in Dobong-gu and Seokjin’s, Taehyung’s and Hoseok’s moms participated in it but passed it off as a joke when they didn’t even get past the auditions. Hoseok lost in the dance contest, ending up in a close second to Park Jinyoung.
“Who would have thought that he’d be a celebrity now, huh?” Taehyung had laughed. “Man, I knew I should’ve gotten his autograph that time.” He sounded wistful, like he was recalling the events that day—how widely Hoseok had smiled when he came in second, always having to be content with winning third place and saying that he’ll do better soon. Yoongi had been proud of him, of course—Hoseok had gotten a bit discouraged with never winning first place, but Yoongi knows that Hoseok’s not the type to give up just yet, and he suggested that Hoseok joined at least one more contest before deciding what he should do next. He’s glad that Hoseok hadn’t given up right away—if he did, he would probably not have gotten the will to take up dancing as his major; if he did, then he wouldn’t have been able to become a part-time choreographer for the high schools in Ssangmun-dong that were looking for one; if he did, then Yoongi knows he probably wouldn’t have been as happy as he is now.
Then, in a more serious tone, he adds, “I wonder whether Hoseok hyung would have been in his place if he was the one who placed first that time.” Yoongi hadn’t said anything then—he knows that it’s useless to think of what could have been now that the time has passed, but Taehyung brushed off the topic already before he could even think up of a reply, moving on to talk about the things happening in his own school.
Yoongi hits play, and the first thing he hears is the static in the background before it registers that Taehyung’s mumbling something under his breath—something along the lines of wondering if the recorder is on. His voice perks up after a few moments of shuffling, and then he’s talking. “Hyung, I can’t believe you missed out again on Seokjin hyung’s birthday!”
Yoongi shrugs, as if Taehyung is physically present, talking to him. He knows he isn’t here, but it feels like it anyway. Taehyung does, after all, have a way of making his presence known the way he he’s great at making his absence completely felt. “Oh wait, he doesn’t even come back here to celebrate his birthday. My bad.” Yoongi stifles a snort. Seokjin rarely ever went home, and although he really isn’t in the position to tell Seokjin to at least come home sometimes because he’s sorely missed (they all miss him, but he’s not a fool to think that Jimin doesn’t miss Seokjin more than they do when his eyes completely zero in on Seokjin all the time, like everything has fallen into place. Jimin’s pining was obvious that way) since he’s rarely gone home himself, he knows their situation is different—he doesn’t get to go home a lot because he needs to work part-time as a delivery boy for the jajjangmyeon place near his university since he really needs the money, while Seokjin could have gone home every day and it wouldn’t have made a difference in their bank account statements since they’re rich anyway.
“But hyung! You’re coming back in a few days, right?” Taehyung clears his throat and lowers his voice into what he thinks is an equivalent to Yoongi’s low, raspy voice, and pretends to be Yoongi so that he’s answering his own question with a yes. “Ah, I knew it! I knew you can’t resist me. You should get back before the shop closes. I’ll welcome you back to the neighbourhood with open arms!”
Bonghwangdang. Yoongi still recalls clearly the diamond logo smack in the middle of the sign on top of the clock and jewelry shop that Jungkook’s father owns, glowing a bright, neon red when Mr. Jeon turns it on every 6PM. He still remembers how Taehyung would sit on the bench in front of the shop and eat ice cream, and how, whenever he’s passing by after spending three excruciatingly long hours in the study hall when he was in his senior year of high school, Taehyung would always be there, legs swinging as he licks on the ice cream. Taehyung would perk up when he notices that Yoongi is there, and he would stand up and greet Yoongi with a grin.
And he would always, always have an ice cream bar with him (banana-flavored, because he knows that Yoongi hates the red bean one), and although it’s already melted a bit, Yoongi always took it from him with a soft thanks (much unlike his usual, gruff ones). Sometimes, he gives Taehyung a pat on the head, and when he noticed how bigger Taehyung’s smile got whenever he did that, he tried doing it more often. (Sometimes, even when the situation didn’t require it that he felt ridiculous. Jungkook had given him judging stares and Hoseok’s knowing ones seem to pierce him like needles, but still, he doesn’t say anything, and they don’t ask him anything, either)
The thought of Taehyung being the first person to welcome him back sends tingles to his skin, and he already feels warm, as if the warmth from Taehyung’s skin from all those times that Taehyung had snuggled up to him hasn’t really worn off.
Before Yoongi could stop himself, he’s already grinning, like a fool laughing about everything and nothing at all. He wants to smother it down (because god dammit, Min Yoongi does not smile like a love sick fool! This is so not hip hop), but in a bus full of people busy with their own lives, carrying on with the hustle and bustle of life in the city, he lets himself be.
“By the way, hyung! I adopted a cat!” Taehyung says, words excitedly rushing out of his mouth that Yoongi could already picture him jumping up and down in his seat. “Jungkookie saw her on the streets and she kept following him, but when he tried to lift her up, she scratched him. But he didn’t want to just leave her there because she looked like she was hungry so he asked me to go take a look at the cat. And the cat loved me right away, hyung! You should have seen the look on Jungkookie’s face when the cat practically jumped into my arms. It was hilarious.”
The same way as people would easily fall in love with you, Taehyung. Yoongi thinks, and he looks out the window, mulling over how strange it is that he hadn’t made his move yet, knowing how long he’s acknowledge the fact that he liked Taehyung. If Yoongi read through everything that Taehyung did or said, he would dare say that Taehyung probably liked him back. But the fear of getting rejected is still nagging at him, the dark cloud of thought that Taehyung would probably find some fault in him and that they’d break up sooner or later if they did get together looming at him, like the presence of impending doom.
(It’s not like he hasn’t talked about it with someone. Around the time the semester was about to end, he’d met up with Seokjin on accident, when he was doing deliveries. They’d gotten a hold of each other’s telephone numbers and met up for lunch, trying to catch up with each other. Yoongi doesn’t remember much about how the flow over their conversation went from their own university life to Seokjin not dating anyone even when he’d mentioned to Yoongi that there were a few boys and girls that tried to hit on him, but this, Yoongi was sure of: when he’d told Seokjin that he knew that Seokjin liked Jimin and Jimin liked him back, Seokjin brushed away the topic, saying it was not the right time for them.
“Well then, that’s your answer.” Yoongi said, crossing his arms over his chest, looking at Seokjin smugly.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not dating not because you don’t like the people hitting on you—it’s because you’re still waiting for the ‘proper timing’ or whatever it is that’s stopping you from getting together with Jimin.”
Seokjin had that look on his face again where his eyes were narrowed and the corners of his lips turning down a bit in dissatisfaction, and Yoongi remembers that as the look Seokjin has whenever he knew something but kept it to himself, only to have someone repeat it to his face. When he scoffed, he sounded like there was resentment there—not for Yoongi, but for the fact that Yoongi was right. “I could say the same thing to you, though. When are you going to ask Taehyung out?”
Yoongi didn’t have an answer for that, and he waved Seokjin off, telling the older that he’ll stuff his face with kimchi if he doesn’t stop looking so smug.)
“She has white fur and likes to sleep a lot. And she likes glaring at people a lot too! But she’s a complete softie once she knows you can be trusted.” Taehyung says, and he sounds so fond of that darned cat that Yoongi feels a bit of jealousy flare up in his heart even though he knows it’s just a cat. “Jungkookie said he wanted to name her ‘Snow’ because of her fur, and Jiminnie suggested I name her ‘Marshmallow’ because she looks like one of those. Namjoon suggested we name her ‘Ice cap’ and I will never forgive him for trying to name her such a ridiculous name.” Yoongi doesn’t catch himself smiling until he sees his reflection in the bus window, and he stops, smile faltering just a little.
(“Keep smiling, you’ll attract all the good energy that way,” was what his grandmother used to tell him back when he was younger—back when she was still alive. He’d tried smiling a lot then, but the stretch of his facial muscles never did feel right on his face, and as he grew up, he knew that things would get fucked up anyway no matter how hard he tried smiling, so he dropped it all off.
Now though, he lets himself smile, and it feels right. Like things are falling into place—like he’s finally found himself a home to go back to.)
“I wanted to name her ‘Emerald’ because her eyes are totally green, but Hoseok hyung said I should go with the first name I thought of because it was cuter. So I called her ‘Sugar’.” Taehyung sounds proud of himself for coming up with that. “It’s a nice name, don’t you think? And it’s kind of close to ‘Suga’. Get it, an abbreviation for ‘shooting guard’? Ha, I know, I still remember that you’re always the shooting guard whenever we played basketball.”
Yoongi feels like he’s getting constipated. But if Namjoon were here, he knows that the only explanation the younger has for this phenomenon is this: that he’s touched. “Just because you’re feeling a fluttering in your stomach doesn’t mean you’re constipated like your emotions, hyung. It might mean, let’s say,” Namjoon would probably cock an eyebrow at him, a sign that he’s already catching up but isn’t letting on. “that you’re in love.”
“She kind of reminds me of you, hyung. Look, you’re both pale as fuck, and sleep a lot, and glare a lot. And you’re both cute!”
“No I’m not.” Yoongi mumbles to himself, sniffing.
“I like cute cats. Maybe that’s why I liked you around? Because you’re a lot like a cat?” Taehyung laughs, and Min Yoongi pouts. He literally pouts. Min Yoongi does not fucking pout. He is not a goddamned child. He glares at his reflection in the window, but his pout only deepens, like a petulant child’s. He tugs his jacket closer around himself, and the action brings comfort to him, the material enveloping him in warmth. It smells faintly of the perfume that Taehyung sprayed on it to hide the fact that he just bought it a few minutes before they had to give out gifts for their Secret Santa even when it’s been a year since that time and Yoongi had it washed several times already.
(The Secret Santa setup was a thing that Seokjung, Seokjin’s older brother had started, gathering around the neighbourhood kids so he could get his hands on a puppy without having the pain of asking his parents for money or working his ass off to buy one. But it had ended in a disappointment for him because it was Hyemin who ended up being his Secret Santa, and everyone knows that Namjoon’s younger sister is as practical as him. So instead of hugging a poodle whenever he came home, he sniffed in agony over the stuffed toy equivalent of what’s supposed to be a Siberian Husky)
It kind of makes Yoongi feel nostalgic—of home; of his friends; of their youth; of the way Taehyung always smiled at him, like a warm summer’s day; of the way Taehyung touched his wrist lightly, like a gentle breeze passing through a meadow.
“But don’t worry hyung, I like you more.” Taehyung says, and Yoongi could hear the shy smile in his voice; could practically see him blushing in the middle of that sudden confession. He feels his heart practically stop to skip a beat, before starting to beat faster than the proper circadian rhythm he remembers learning about.
Taehyung likes him. Taehyung likes him, just practically confessed to him that he likes him, and he shouldn’t just be sitting here, fidgeting in his seat and wishing that the ride home was faster. He should be out there, giving himself a chance—giving them a chance. Fuck being scared of risks and all that. If it took him years of indecisiveness to mull over the fact that he liked Taehyung, he shouldn’t be doing that now, when Taehyung himself was the one opening doors for him that he left half-open, too afraid to take a peek.
“I miss you. So much.” Taehyung says, and he sounds wistful. “I miss you too. So much.” Yoongi murmurs to himself, cheesy smile forming on his face.
“Anyway,” Taehyung clears his throat, suddenly going back to being casual, as if he hadn’t dropped a bomb in there and left Yoongi reeling. “See you when you get back!”
The play button pops back up, signalling that the tape has reached its end, and Yoongi stares at the cassette player in his hands—this little rectangular, black thing that had played out Taehyung’s voice and let him hear out Taehyung’s confession for him. Suddenly, he’s grateful that he accepted the thing even when he told Taehyung that he shouldn’t have bothered with trying to pay him back for the lost camera.
He looks back out the window again, letting the familiar buildings slip past his vision. Their little neighborhood of Ssangmun-dong somewhere in Dobong-gu, has never felt so far away and so out of reach, but he knows that when he gets back, Taehyung will be waiting for him, with a hug prepared in his arms. And maybe an ice cream bar in his hands, too, and a hidden kiss somewhere, in the corner of his lips.