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He looks at the reflection in the bathroom mirror, scrutinizing the person that is supposed to be him. Without his contacts everything is blurred, but with squinted eyes, it’s enough to make out the face that is looking at him from the small spot he has wiped clean of the condensation. The wetness is still clinging to his fingertips, cooling on his skin. 

 

He can see dark brown eyes, a small, round nose, soft lips. He knows that there are supposed to be some small freckles on his skin too, but his eyesight is too bad to make them out. The person is surprisingly good looking if he might say so. Still—

 

He’s not able to put the individual pieces together, can’t see the complete image that makes him him. 

 

Shit, he thinks, touching his nose, his lips, his brow, I really look like a Yoongles.

 

That’s how he reacts every morning when he sees himself in the mirror, even though he knows there must be a reason why his best friend Taehyung calls him Yoongles sometimes. It’s not like he flips him off each time he calls him that, but honestly, Yoongi can count himself very lucky he has a friend like Taehyung. Stupid nicknames aside.

 

Yoongi has been born with prosopagnosia.

 

The only identifier that tells him that it’s really himself he’s looking at is his hair, always dyed in whatever color he feels like. Right now, it’s close to a neon dark blue, slightly washed out. 

 

He learned to live with the disorder, can’t even begin to imagine how it must feel to be able to distinguish people by the appearance of their faces. He tries to hold on to ‘special features’ as he calls them. Crazy hair colors, for example. Moles and freckles, scars, crooked teeth, glasses, and beards (difficult because they are interchangeable). He manages to go by those identifiers, but he still feels most comfortable at home, alone, far away from people.

 

 

 

 

He has high hopes that today is going to change everything, and change he needs. 

 

After battling with himself, looking with dread at his dwindling bank balance, he decided that it was time to apply for a job that is below his qualifications. He would take anything at this point even if it meant that he will have to live through a job interview.

 

It’s something he’s never had to do before, not one company he applied to invited him. He applied everywhere. Every major music company – and an infinite number of smaller ones – in his city. To no avail. To say that the interview is scaring him out of his mind would be an understatement. It’s been too long since he faced another human aside from the guy at the convenience store. He had been homeschooled, then graduated at a distance university where he didn’t even need to show up to pick up his diploma.

 

Master in music production and composition, the diploma says. And look where he is now. Said diploma lies unopened, still in its envelope somewhere on his desk. Buried by sheet music, scribbled notes, and used coffee cups. 

 

He spits the remnants of toothpaste into the sink, rinses his mouth and takes one last look at the person in the mirror before he grabs his phone and keys, and leaves the apartment. 

 

 

 

The music store where the job interview will take place is just around the corner, next to the train station. Yoongi has high hopes that they don’t have many regular customers he’ll have to remember. This close to the train station, there will hopefully be a lot of walk-in customers. At least this is what he’s trying to tell himself to calm his nerves and ease the uncomfortable knot in his stomach as he walks down the street, his white dress shirt - the only one he owns - clinging to his sweaty back.

 

The electronic bell on the door sounds a lot like 'Bohemian Rhapsody,' and it's as clichéd as it can get, but it makes Yoongi smile nevertheless. The man behind the counter has red hair, and it makes Yoongi feel at ease at once. Granted, his blue hair is a tad more extreme than the dark red, but he has learned to not care about the stares it earns him it at all.

 

He has his reasons.

 

“Hi, and welcome to No Strings Attached, I'm Hoseok, how may I help you?” the man says with a very bright smile.

 

Most of the time it's the flaws that make it easier to catalog a new acquaintance, but this man seems to be flawless.

 

Red hair, parted fringe, small dimples directly above the corners of his mouth when he smiles, ears unpierced, straight long nose, heart-shaped lips. Hoseok. It happens almost automatically that Yoongi starts listing the other man's features inside his head. He'll write it down into his ‘people notebook’ once he's back home. That is if he’ll get the job.

 

“Good morning,” Yoongi replies, trying to let his voice sound stable. “I'm Min Yoongi, I'm here for a job interview at ten?”

 

“Ah, yes, Yoongi. Namjoon has mentioned you'd come in today.” He looks up when Yoongi fails to answer.

 

To be honest, he's a little taken aback by how informal Hoseok talks to him.

 

“Oh, we're all on a first-name basis here,” Hoseok replies as if he read Yoongi’s mind.

 

Yoongi has to admit that it doesn't sound too bad. He can't imagine how it’s going to feel calling his boss by his first name, but then again, he has never worked anywhere before, maybe this isn't as unusual as he thinks.

 

“Alright, works for me, Hoseok,” he agrees, hoping that his smile and his nod come across at least half as genuine as he wants them to.

 

He really should have gone out more during the last four years. The only one he's kept contact with is Taehyung, and now Yoongi feels like he’s forgotten how to socialize or talk to people at all.

 

“The boss will be out in a second. Why don’t you have a look at the store while you’re waiting?” Hoseok suggests when Yoongi remains silent.

 

“Sure, thanks,” he hurries to say before another awkward silence gets the chance to build between them.

 

 

Dark, warm colors make him feel welcome at No Strings Attached at once. Polished cherry wood is dominating the shelves and displays, and the wall is faced with roughly cut red sandstone. It isn't the first time he's come to the store as this is where he gets his piano sheet music from all the time. Walking along the aisles, he begins to see it with different eyes already.

 

The walls are mostly covered with guitars, starting left to the entrance from acoustic guitars, to e-guitars, to e-basses. There's a corner with drum sets at the back of the room, and multiple showcases displaying picks, strings, and other gadgets. The backroom is for classical orchestra instruments, including pianos. Yoongi hasn't been in this particular room before, and it's like the Steinbach in the middle of the room is calling to him.

 

Not for Sale , a sign placed on top of the lid of the grand piano says. Yoongi lets his hands hover over the keys. He played a similar instrument once when his dad took him to one of the biggest music stores in the city, and he still remembers how the sound reverberated through his body, remembers the proud look in his father’s eyes.

 

“Go ahead,” a deep voice says, startling him, and when Yoongi looks up, a tall man is standing in the door, smiling encouragingly.

 

Short blond hair, gelled up to reveal an undercut, thick-framed black glasses, plump lips, dimple on his left cheek when he smiles. Again, no flaws. Yoongi sighs inwardly. This is going to be hard. Then the man tilts his head to another angel, and Yoongi can see the smallest of scars on his chin.

 

“Is it really okay?” he asks, pointing at the piano.

 

“Sure, it's been a while since it has been played.”

 

Yoongi is still hesitant when he sits down, the original reason why he came here momentarily pushed to the back of his mind, but once he decides on one of his newly written contemporary pieces, and strikes the first key, he forgets everything around him. It’s easy to forget that his job interview was supposed to start five minutes ago, that this is just a store and not a concert hall. So easy to forget about the mass of rejection slips in their plain, white envelopes, and that he's yet another useless music student ending up in retail.

 

The acoustics of the room aren't the best, but the Steinbach is tuned to perfection, the notes are sounding ethereal, even with the top lid closed. It isn't hard to imagine how it would sound in an orchestra hall, the lid opened, using the architecture of the room to the maximum.

 

Yoongi can almost see the dimly lit walls, the orchestra on his left side, the sounds of the other instruments mingling with the actual tune he’s playing inside his head. He knows no real orchestra will ever play this, but he allows the moment to linger as he's giving way to be swallowed by his imagination.

 

When he opens his eyes after the last note, he has to take three deep breaths to collect himself before he turns back around to face the man at the door.

 

“The job is yours.”

 

It takes a moment for Yoongi to grasp what the man said. What his boss said.

 

“W-what? But how do you know I'm not a total failure in retail? I could scare your customers away.”

 

“That you can learn. Love for music you can't.”

 

He gestures for Yoongi to follow him, but he still sits on the piano chair, unable to think, unable to move.

 

“Let's get your contract ready, you start Monday at nine,” he hears him saying from somewhere in the salesroom. It’s when he finally snaps back to reality, almost knocking the piano chair with how quickly he’s getting up. 

 

“I— Thank you,” he stammers as he hurries after his boss, his heart an arrhythmic mess in his chest. “But there's something you should know about me.”

 

 

 

— 

 

 

 

When Yoongi comes to the store on Monday morning, there's another man behind the counter, who is neither Hoseok nor Namjoon. That is if neither of them has dyed their hair black over the weekend. He’s met with another flawless face; he’ll have to go by the hair colors then.

 

“You must be Yoongi, not too many people walking around with blue hair.” He smiles warmly, as he says it.

 

“Yes, that would be me.”

 

“I'm Seokjin. Just go through to the break room. There's a name tag inside your locker. You can help me unpack today's delivery once you're ready.”

 

Yoongi tries to get back to the salesroom as quickly as he can. He doesn't want to seem tardy or slow. He really needs this job, and the fact that he got it so easily shouldn't keep him from showing that he can do the work he's applied for.

 

Seokjin has already started to cut open the boxes when Yoongi comes back. The delivery consists mostly of accessories and supplies, and they are done with it in under half an hour.

 

“Do you know how to tune a guitar?” Seokjin asks after they've put the empty boxes away. “We tune the display models every week, so they are ready to be used at all times for our customers.”

 

“Yes, sure. Where should I start?”

 

“Over there, with the acoustic guitars. I'll start with the basses, we can meet in the middle.”

 

Yoongi walks to the spot Seokjin has pointed at to get the first guitar from the rack and sits down on one of the rolling step stools to start tuning the instrument.

 

“Uhm, Yoongi,” Seokjin says, his voice unsure, “The chromatic tuners are under the counter.”

 

“I don't need one,” Yoongi says, hoping that he doesn't sound too full of himself.

 

“Don't tell me you have perfect pitch,” Seokjin mutters.

 

“Yeah, well— I might.”

 

“That's amazing!”

 

And yes, maybe it is. Yoongi has always seen it as compensation for his fucked-up brain. Ever since he'd learned how to read sheet music, it has been enough to look at the score to know how the small dots and lines sounded. He’d been surprised when he noticed that he was the only one in his music class who was able to do it. His teacher became aware of it at some point when he'd found him back in the music room during lunch break, hiding from the other children, flipping through the pages of Mozart's The Magic Flute, humming along to the score.

 

His advanced musical education started from there. Music was where he began to feel at home. Music was the place where he could let his feelings run free for the first time in his life. He astounded the adults around him time and again. Sometimes he wasn’t able to understand himself where it was all coming from, it just happened. Apparently, he was what people called a genius, but he has never felt that way.

 

 

He realizes Seokjin is still staring at him, and only when he meets the gaze of his coworker, the black-haired man notices that he's looked at Yoongi in wonder maybe a little too long, clearing his throat as he finally averts his eyes. “I'm sorry, I’ve never met someone who had perfect pitch before.”

 

“It's nothing special. I just know how it’s supposed to sound.”

 

Please don't expect me to explain it to you, Yoongi begs in his mind.

 

Because he can’t.

 

“I'll leave you to it then.” Seokjin smiles as he walks over to the basses, a chromatic tuner in his hand.

 

Yoongi hums, thankfully, picking up where he left off.

 

 

 

Tuning is how he spends the time until lunch break, surrounded by the gentle, pleasing sound of the acoustic guitars. Yoongi gets lost in it, doesn't even realize how the time flies by. He's only vaguely aware of Seokjin serving the incoming customers.

 

E, A, D, G, B, E. Again, and again.

 

 

 

“Hey, Yoongi,” a man greets him, and it pulls him out of his mind, away from the chords and harmonies. Tall, blond hair, undercut, thick lips, dark voice. Namjoon. His boss. “How is it going?”

 

“Great, thank you.”

 

“No tuner, hmm?” Namjoon says. “I knew I was right about you.”

 

Yoongi feels the tips of his ears warming. He's still beyond thankful that Namjoon hired him, but somewhere deep inside him he still thinks he doesn't deserve it.

 

 

 

In the afternoon, Seokjin shows him how to handle the register, and then it's already closing time. Yoongi crosses the street and heads to the convenience store, picking up pre-packed kimbap and cup ramyeon for dinner since he’s simply too tired to cook.

 

Nothing stressful happened at work, but he's not used to standing on his feet for most of the day. Sighing, he lets himself fall into his corner on the couch, which has developed a small Yoongi-shaped imprint over time, and scrolls through his emails while he waits for the ramyeon to soak through.

 

He almost drops his phone when the screen flashes up, showing Taehyung's caller ID. It's a simple picture. The man on the screen is smiling. The most important are the moles, Taehyung's identifiers, the only information that tells him the man on the screen is Taehyung, and not some stranger because every other aspect of the face he doesn't recognize. There's one on the tip of his nose, one below the waterline of his right eye, and one barely visible on his lower lip.

 

“Hey, Tae.”

 

“Yoongles! You sound tired. How was the first day of work?”

 

“Nice.”

 

“Just nice?”

 

“No, I think I really like it there. The people are great. There are only three of them, all of them with different hair colors.”

 

“That's good!”

 

“Makes things a lot easier, yeah.”

 

He misses Taehyung. He misses him so much. The only person who has ever fully understood him with all his quirks and specialties.

 

 

When his younger friend had gotten the opportunity to become the protégé of one of the best photographers in the States three years ago, Yoongi was the last one to hold him back. Taehyung doesn't need to know that he barely left the house after he'd went to see him off at the airport. Taehyung had always been his eyes when they went out there, meeting new people. Yoongi has accepted by now that Taehyung was the one who's held their circle of friends together.

 

Since he's been gone, no one tried to contact him for more than a What's up Yoongi? And that's not what he expects from real friends. He simply doesn't answer their messages anymore. It's easier that way.

 

 

“Why I was calling,” Taehyung continues, “I'm coming home in three weeks, Sunday. Just for ten, fifteen days but I want to see my favorite friend. Make sure you're sparing some time for me, okay?”

 

Taehyung knows very well that there's plenty of time on his schedule, even with the new addition that is his work.

 

“Hm, I'll see if I can fit you in,” he plays along, but his heart is overflowing with joy. Taehyung is coming home. He's coming home! “You know, the couch is still yours if you want to stay here.”

 

“Oh, how I missed that saggy, old thing.”

 

 

 

Yoongi’s noodles are completely slobbery when he finally hangs up, but he slurps them down anyway. Nothing can dampen his mood at the moment. The first day wasn't a total failure, and Taehyung is coming home for a visit.

 

It's for the first time in months, he's falling asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. No staring at the ceiling, no tossing and turning to find a comfortable position on the old mattress. A melody starts forming in his mind, bright and easy, but before he can get a hold of it, he's drifting off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Picking up someone at the airport when you can't recognize their face, isn't one of the easiest things to do. Yoongi scans the face of every man coming from behind the sliding door, but he still misses Taehyung, too overwhelmed by the sheer abundance of people, because suddenly hands are covering his eyes.

 

“Guess who,” Taehyung's deep, soothing voice hums into his ear.

 

Yoongi brushes the hands away, turning around.

 

Mole on the nose, mole below the eye. Taehyung.

 

As if he hadn't known from the unique voice, but it always feels better to double-check. There's a reason he was homeschooled starting from the third year of middle school. It’s a time he doesn't want to think of. Not now. Not when Taehyung is standing in front of him, flashing one of his cheeriest smiles at him, opening his arms for a hug. His light brown hair has grown, hanging messily into his eyes, but it looks good on him.

 

“'S good to see you,” he murmurs into Taehyung's shoulder.

 

Taehyung has always been a hugger. He might be the only person Yoongi has ever been okay with hugging, aside from his parents. So he holds onto him for a few seconds longer than necessary, not caring at all that Taehyung smells of stale plane air and fleetingly of sweat.

 

“Aw, Yoon, don't be shy,” Taehyung says softly, patting Yoongi’s head.

 

Yoongi isn't. He's just really, really glad to see Taehyung after all this time. He can feel his lips forming into a smile, and this is when he finally allows himself to let go. Taehyung’s smile feels like a mirrored image of his own happiness. 

 

 

They weave their way to the train platform, Taehyung telling him all about the travel. He has only brought a small suitcase, but the photo backpack he’s carrying is enormous. Yoongi knows Taehyung could never leave any of his equipment behind. It's as if someone would ask Yoongi to sell his old piano, even though he needs to tune it almost every other month, the keys rattling, the strings delivering the sound poorly. The old instrument is his soul, the only belonging that reminds him of his mother.

 

“Tell me everything about your work, your coworkers. Did you compose anything lately? You need to show me. The snippets you sent me aren't enough. I need to listen to the real sound of my genius friend's work.”

 

“Oh, Tae, shut up. You better show me every single one of your photographs once we get to the apartment.”

 

They’re both laughing, and part of it comes from the relief, the realization that nothing has changed between them.

 

 

 

Yoongi plays two new pieces for Taehyung, and as always, his friend is trying to cover up that he's crying once Yoongi has lifted his hands from the keys.

 

His music seems to have that effect on people, and Yoongi knows that the music companies would see that too if they only listened to it. All he gets on the rejection slips are the usual lines. No experience in the business. Gain experience and apply again in a few years. The USB flash drives remaining untouched.

 

He tries to reign in the toxic thoughts and focuses on the pictures Taehyung's showing him instead. The colors are more pungent, the blacks deeper. He has clearly reached another step in his career. And Yoongi couldn't be prouder.

 

“Now who's the genius here?” he asks, and this time it's Taehyung who's trying to play everything down.

 

 

 

In the morning, Yoongi is looking at his reflection in the mirror, learning how he looks like all over, knowing that when he'll look down and then up, he'll have to re-learn it. The blue is already fading, he’ll have to re-dye soon.

 

Once it happened that he didn't recognize himself in a door mirror. The realization that it was a mirror he was looking at and not another person had scarred him for life. He ended up at Taehyung's. Crying until his voice was nothing more than a whisper.

 

“How am I not even able to recognize myself? How fucked-up can one's brain b-be? I'm damaged, Tae. I'm d-damaged.”

 

All Taehyung did that day, was dragging Yoongi along to the drug store, buying bleach and pink hair dye.

 

“You'll never forget your hair color, right? We'll dye them in whatever color you feel like. You'll be alright, Yoongi. You hear me? You'll be alright.”

 

Sighing at the memory, he leaves the bathroom. Taehyung is already up, handing him a freshly brewed coffee.

 

“Thank you,” Yoongi says. And he means so much more than the coffee.

 

 

 

 

“Morning,” Hoseok yawns when Yoongi arrives at No Strings Attached on this Monday morning.

 

“Morning,” he answers equally tired, although he's had his fill of coffee already. He and Taehyung talked most of the night away, trying to catch up on things that phone calls weren’t able to cover.

 

“Listen, Yoongi,” Hoseok starts, suddenly looking a tad bit more awake. “We wanted to go out on Friday after work, Namjoon, Seokjin, and I. Just for some drinks. It would be awesome if you'd join us.”

 

Yoongi knew this would happen eventually, as he gets along with the three of them astoundingly well.

 

“I have a friend over, but maybe next time?”

 

“He can come too? The more, the merrier!”

 

Yoongi has to laugh, this seems like such a Hoseok thing to say.

 

“I'll ask him.” Yoongi already knows that Taehyung will be all for it, the social butterfly that he is. There’s no way he can back out now. Surprisingly, and contrary to his initial urge to refuse the offer, he feels almost glad about it, maybe even looks forward to going out after such a long time.

 

He starts unpacking the picks which arrived today, sorting them by gauge, material, and then color in the respective displays. It's a calming work, and once again the melody that's been on the edge of his mind during the last few weeks comes to him. It's still too far away to grasp it, only fragments and pieces as if something is still missing.

 

 

 

It's five minutes to the end of his shift when Taehyung comes in to pick him up. He's meeting his parents for dinner, and of course he wants Yoongi to go with him. It’s been way too long since he’s seen the both of them, and it makes him feel guilty. He doesn't know how many times he has declined the offer of Taehyung’s mum to come over for dinner.  

 

“So this is the grand piano you can't shut up about?” Taehyung asks, letting his hand hover over the precious instrument when Yoongi gives him the tour after he's introduced him to Seokjin and Hoseok. Namjoon is working in his office in the back of the store today.

 

Namjoon has told him, he can play it whenever he wants to, but he's still hesitant, hasn't dared to play again since the infamous ‘job interview.’

 

“Hah, finally I get to hear you too,” Seokjin, who has followed them through the store, says, far too excited.

 

Yoongi realizes he has no chance of backing out now, so he sits down on the piano stool, adjusting it slightly to his height.

 

“Play the first one you showed me yesterday,” Taehyung suggests.

 

And once his fingertips touch the first key, he's gone. There's something almost magical about it, and Yoongi realizes it's the sound he hears whenever the new melody takes hold of him. Maybe he can ask Namjoon if he can record some of his pieces here at the store.

 

When he opens his eyes again, the others are applauding. Namjoon and Hoseok have joined them, and Seokjin's eyes are suspiciously moist.

 

“Please don't,” he whispers, squirming on the seat.

 

“Honor to whom honor is due,” Namjoon says softly.

 

Yoongi can see Taehyung spinning around at the sound of the voice, eyeing the newcomer, who is Yoongi's boss, for a second too long.

 

Oh no.

 

“This is Taehyung, Yoongi's friend,” he can hear Hoseok say.

 

“Nice to meet you,” Namjoon says, after clearing his throat. “I'm Kim Namjoon, the owner.”

 

Taehyung says nothing, as he shakes Namjoon's hand and Yoongi knows it's already too late by the look in his friend’s eyes.

 

“So, has Hoseok asked you about Friday already?” Namjoon asks Yoongi when he's finally let go of Taehyung's hand.

 

“Yes, thanks for the invitation, I wanted to check in with Taehyung first, though.”

 

“Oh, he's very much welcome,” Namjoon says with an unmistakably fake nonchalance before Yoongi can elaborate further.

 

He has to blink once or twice. Apparently, the interest is mutual. Who would have thought? Yoongi smiles to himself, while Taehyung is already planning out the details with Namjoon. Sure he has time, sure they will come. Seven p.m.? Perfect.

 

Yoongi sighs. Taehyung has always been exactly like this. He would see someone he likes and fall in love with them instantly. There's no in-between.

 

On the whole way to Taehyung's parents' house, Yoongi has to listen to Taehyung's never-ending blabber about Namjoon, and how amazing he looks, how great his voice sounds, how well defined his upper body looks— He doesn't stop.

 

It isn't beyond Yoongi to discern if someone is good looking, but he can't make a connection to Namjoon's face. All he has to hold onto are the identifiers he saved somewhere in another corner of his brain.

 

“Do you think he's into guys, Yoon?” he asks eventually.

 

“You know he's my boss.”

 

“I know. I'm sorry.”

 

“But—”

 

Taehyung looks at him expectantly.

 

“I mean, I've seen how he looked at you earlier. And he seemed to like the idea that you'll join us on Friday very much.”

 

“God, yes,” Taehyung breathes, throwing his fist into the air.

 

Taehyung seems to have forgotten that he's only here for a few days. And somehow Yoongi doesn't want to remind him of it. There’s too much happiness in his best friend’s eyes at the moment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Is it too much?” Taehyung asks.

 

Yoongi's living room has been turned into a freaking mess. Not that it hasn't been in a worrying state before, but now it seems like Taehyung's suitcase has exploded all over his furniture and the floor. Yoongi wonders how the heap of clothes has fit into the tiny carry-on. There are clothes everywhere. On the coffee table, on the couch, hanging from the frame of his piano, from the music stand, from the kitchen counter. Everywhere.

 

But Taehyung seems to be unfazed by it all, scrutinizing himself in the mirror, turning left and right to get the whole picture. He's wearing tight leather pants and a loose, light blue shirt with a kingsnake application on the collar. Yoongi doesn't know much about fashion, but he's listened to enough of Taehyung's rambles to know it's Gucci.

 

“You look great. Can we leave now? I don't want to be late to the first get together with them.”

 

He has opted for a white t-shirt with a wider collar, tugged into simple black skinny jeans, and a suit jacket. They are just going for drinks, and to be honest, he doesn't own anything else that would be suitable for going out on a Friday night.

 

What's important is that he has re-dyed his hair, and the blue is enough, it's almost glowing by itself, vibrant and deep; he definitely doesn't need another color on him.

 

“Yeah, sure, I guess this has to do. You look good too, Yoon.”

 

 

 

 

Yoongi is relieved that they've decided to meet in front of the store. It's drizzling and windy, and the brief walk is enough to cover their clothes with a small layer of moisture. They climb into Seokjin's Toyota Aygo, Hoseok riding shotgun while Namjoon, Taehyung, and Yoongi are trying to squeeze themselves into the back seat. Taehyung is taking the middle, and Yoongi knows he doesn't mind the narrowness at all, sees how he presses his thigh against Namjoon's. Namjoon doesn't even try to make more space for him while the two of them talk about the song that's playing on the radio.

 

Yoongi spaces out, head leaning against the windowpane. The city lights sparkle in the droplets of the accumulated drizzle.

 

He's really going out. With friends, if he might call his colleagues that already. Leaving his house for something other than work or grocery shopping. And he feels good. Feels content in their small group.

 

It's the first time he has given into telling somebody about his condition as he has always tried to keep it a secret, ever since the cruelness of the children in middle school. Now, he feels oddly reassured by the mere fact that they won't get angry at him, should he ignore them, because they know. They know, and Yoongi is sure that they are the kind of people who will help him out without laughing at him.

 

 

 

 

“Maybe we should have asked you this before – uhm – like five seconds before we go in, but—” Hoseok hesitates as they all get out of the car. “We hope it's okay for you guys that this is a gay-friendly bar.”

 

Yoongi almost laughs hysterically at that. For the first time in his life, it's as if everything falls into place. He's got a fantastic job, in which yes, he is a little under-challenged, but it doesn't change the fact that he loves to work there, mostly because of his coworkers. Taehyung is back, if only for a brief time. And now his already perfect coworkers are asking him if going to a gay bar will work for him. In contrary to his prosopagnosia, he has never tried to keep it a secret that he's gay, it simply hasn’t come up in their conversations yet.

 

He realizes he's smirking when he looks at Taehyung. It's a shy smirk, okay. Taehyung's eyes are bright, full of amusement, and it would be an understatement to say the other three men look baffled when they simultaneously start laughing.

 

“Ah, this is perfect,” Taehyung laughs, gasping for breath. “I'm pan, Yoongi is gay. So. No. No problem at all.”

 

Relief spreads over Hoseok's face, and Yoongi can hear Namjoon chuckle in the semi-darkness of the parking lot. Their conversation is light when they walk to the entrance together. Yoongi learns that Hoseok is gay too, Namjoon is bi, and Seokjin has a girlfriend but loves the atmosphere of the bar.

 

“Oh, you should see Seokjin leading guys on when he feels like it. He's an amazing flirt,” Hoseok grins. “He knows it's unfair, but some of the guys who come here, don't deserve any better.”

 

“Can't wait to see that,” Taehyung laughs.

 

“Don't get too excited yet, he needs at least three beers to get into the mood,” Namjoon reveals as he holds the door for Taehyung.

 

 

 

“You okay, Yoon?” Taehyung asks him when they settle into a booth at the far end of the room, knowing that Yoongi has his problems with crowded places. 

 

He nods to let Taehyung know he’s fine, more than fine really, and he isn't even surprised when Namjoon quite naturally takes the place next to Taehyung.

 

“Yeah, I'm fine. And forget about what I said. Please don't feel like you have to hold back just because he's my boss,” he says quietly so only Taehyung can hear him.

 

The bar is relatively small but still has enough room to fit a dance floor in the middle. It's empty now, they are early for a Friday night. After they've ordered their drinks, the place starts to fill, and soon enough there are no empty booths left, and people start gathering around the bar.

 

Yoongi takes it all in. He expected to feel anxious, uncomfortable, but no one expects anything from him other than being here. It's enough to make him realize he has missed this. Missed going out and enjoy himself for a few hours. Do something else than sitting in front of his piano all evening, playing around with melodies and chords, just to go to sleep a few hours into the night, disappointed because nothing fell into place. Or the complete contrary, which often leads to him getting ripped out of his workflow by his alarm without getting any sleep at all.

 

Hoseok leaves them to head to the dance floor as soon as it starts filling with other dancing people.

 

“Isn't that Guk at the bar?” Seokjin asks Namjoon at one point.

 

“Yeah, I guess he's back from Australia then, hmm? Didn't even bother to tell us, that little rascal,” Namjoon says, but there's a fond smile on his lips. “I'm gonna go get him.”

 

Namjoon leaves their table and soon comes back, two other men trailing behind him. One of them is almost as tall as Namjoon, muscular, bunny teeth showing when he smiles, brown hair, small scar on his cheek. Namjoon introduces him as Jeon Jeongguk. He lets himself fall on the chair between Namjoon and Seokjin, and Yoongi finally gets a clear view of the other man who came to the table with them.

 

Even features, blond, tousled hair, falling just barely over his eyebrows, simple silver earrings in his lobes, one helix piercing on his left ear, beautifully shaped dark brown eyes, why is he even looking at the eyes, he usually tries to avoid them, but they are awake and bright, cute nose, and those lips, those lips, those—

 

“That's Yoongi,” he hears Namjoon say, and suddenly the eyes are on him, the lips morphing into a dazzling smile, revealing the cutest crooked tooth Yoongi has ever seen.

 

His heart is racing when he stutters a very eloquent, “H-hi.” Maybe he's smiling. Maybe he's staring like a deer in the headlights. He's not sure what's happening to him, but the only thought on his mind is that he doesn't want to forget this face, doesn't want it to fall into nothingness once the other man looks away. He tries to cling to other identifiers. The tooth is a good start, but the rest of the face is so perfect, he can't, he must, he needs to remember.

 

Calm down, Yoongi. Fuck. He realizes his breathing is going way too fast to do anything for his oxygen supply, his mind launching into overdrive. Freckle on the forehead. Angel's hair. Knitted beige pullover. This has to do. It has to be enough for the moment.

 

“Hey, I'm Park Jimin.” Suddenly he's next to Yoongi, sitting down on the free space Hoseok has left on the bench.

 

His voice is bright, so bright, and somehow soothing between all the noise around them. Ethereal. A voice he hasn’t heard before. A voice he’ll be able to recognize anywhere.

 

Suddenly, the melody inside his mind is back, forcing himself on Yoongi, filling out his mind until he feels like he's bursting with it. He needs to get it down, needs something, a pen, paper. He grabs one of the paper napkins from the middle of the table.

 

“Tae, pen. Please?” He knows he sounds strange, urging, knowing that in the black hole of Taehyung's man purse there has to be at least something close to a pen. He almost rips it out of Taehyung's hand when he finally gets it out of his bag. And then it's him and the score, and when he looks up again, everyone on the table is staring at him. Fuck.

 

He’s looking to his right.

 

Beautiful, bright eyes are staring at him. Jimin.

 

Yoongi only knows this because he's introduced himself before, and he shudders slightly when he takes in his face all over again, remembers how he thought to himself only minutes ago that he never wants to forget what he looks like. 

 

Of course the brief moment he spent scribbling down the main theme was enough to delete all recognizable aspects of Jimin’s face. He learns it all over, is mesmerized by the other man’s beauty all over. It takes a while until he finally snaps out of it, knowing perfectly well that he’s been staring back a few seconds too long.

 

“Oh god, I'm so sorry, I didn't want to ignore you, I just— Nice to meet you,” he ends his already awkward sentence because at least he can remember that he didn't say it before when the angel next to him told him his name.

 

“When inspiration strikes, you gotta act on it. Right, Yoon?” Taehyung helps, and Yoongi has never been so grateful for having him as his friend.

 

“Ah, you must be the genius that started working at No Strings Attached recently, right?” Jimin asks.

 

Yoongi wants to beg him to keep talking, and quickly forget about the whole genius thing.

 

“I wouldn't call myself a genius, but yes, I'm working there.” He feels a blush creeping up from his neck to his cheeks.

 

“Oh Yoongi, don't be so modest,” Seokjin laughs, telling Jimin about the tuning incident. His favorite story lately.

 

“So you don't like being called a genius?” Jimin asks quietly after Seokjin’s finished.

 

“No, it makes me uncomfortable. Somehow. I've never seen myself as one.”

 

“Okay, I won't call you that if you don't like it then.”

 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. He knows it's almost inaudible, but Jimin must have heard him anyway, nodding affirmatively before he smiles again, his eyes morphing into small crescents. Yoongi doesn't want to look away, doesn't want to be blinded, only to learn how to see again.

 

 

“I love your hair, by the way. Can I touch it?”

 

“It just feels like hair, but go ahead,” Yoongi says, smiling at the sudden change of topic.

 

Jimin reaches up to touch Yoongi’s hair hesitantly, then starts playing with the strands on the back of his head. “The color is amazing. It's so well done.”

 

“Taehyung did it for me this time, I mess it up more often than not when I'm doing it by myself.”

 

“Yeah, it's not that easy, especially on the back of the head, right? I tried pink once and failed terribly, so I decided to stick with the blond.”

 

“It suits you,” Yoongi says, and he can see Taehyung's head whipping around at that. Jimin's hand is still in his hair, sending small shocks down his spine whenever the tips of his fingers touch his scalp. Yoongi almost sighs, disappointed, when he draws back his hand, letting it rest on the table. It's small, several silver rings in different designs are adorning the short fingers. Another identifier.

 

“Thank you, it's a pain in the ass to maintain, but you'll know all about this.”

 

“I might have an idea, yes,” Yoongi chuckles.

 

 

 

Talking to Jimin comes naturally to him. It's a comfort he's only experienced with Taehyung so far. He tells him about his first weeks of work at No Strings Attached, small things of his everyday life, and Jimin tells him about his in return. Yoongi forgets everything around him, only focuses on Jimin, astounded that he isn't taken aback by his previous episode of ‘inspiration.’

 

“So you’re a dancer? I don't want to hold you back then if you want to head out to the dance floor,” Yoongi asks, trying to give Jimin a chance to back out.

 

“I'm perfectly fine here,” Jimin says, his hand touching Yoongi's knee for a fraction of a second, but it's enough for Yoongi's stomach to feel like a swarm of butterflies is wrecking through it.

 

“Yeah, me too,” he breathes.

 

He has never felt this way before.

 

Has never allowed himself to feel this way.

 

Has never even considered that it would be possible for him to—

 

“Yoon?”

 

“Yoongi?”

 

Taehyung's voice startles him, pulls him out of the bubble he hadn't realized he was in.

 

“Y-yeah?”

 

“We're ready to leave, you coming?”

 

“I—”

 

“Or you can stay, if you want,” Taehyung says with a wink, and Yoongi tries very hard to not kick his friend under the table, but his foot slips anyway.

 

“Ow, what was that for?”

 

“That,” he grumbles, “You know perfectly well.”

 

Jimin laughs softly.

 

C - C - D - C - G - E.

 

Stop it, brain.

 

“I can drive you home if you want, hyung,” Jimin says, sitting down next to him again after he’s hugged his friend goodbye. Hyung.

 

Relief is flooding Yoongi’s veins so forcefully he almost sighs loudly. Jimin wants him to stay. Jimin wants to spend more time with him.

 

“Will you be alright?” Taehyung asks quietly. He must have noticed that he hasn't told Jimin about his fucked-up brain yet.

 

“Go, have fun yourself,” is all he says.

 

And this time it's Namjoon who chuckles quietly, and Taehyung's tips of the ears that are flushing.

 

 

The others all wave and shout their goodbyes over the music which is turned up now. Or maybe it's just that Yoongi has had other things to concentrate on before.

 

“Do you want to stay here, or do you want to go somewhere else?” Jimin asks once they are alone on their table. “Somewhere quiet maybe, where we could talk more?”

 

Yoongi nods, relieved. It's getting a little too loud, a little too crowded in the bar, and only when they step outside, and he feels the soothing night air on his skin, he can breathe freely again. The drizzle has stopped, he can even make out some stars on the black canopy of the sky, mere shadows, but they are still there. Jimin stops next to him, following his gaze up to the sky. He’s almost the same height as Yoongi, maybe a few millimeters taller.

 

He tries to find out how they ended up here, alone, looking up at the sky, but his mind is blank from the moment Jimin sat down next to him on the bench. Yoongi looks at Jimin again, who is momentarily captured by the sight of the cleared-up sky, his head leaned back, his lips slightly parted in wonder.

 

For the first time in his life, Yoongi doesn't get tired of learning about somebody’s facial features all over again. It's almost magical how Jimin's beauty takes his breath away every time he looks at him.

 

There's something youthful and refreshing about him. Something new. Something unknown.

 

He wants to reach out, feel along the contours of his face, wants his fingers to touch the shape of his lips, wants to explore the softness under his fingertips. He's almost sure it could help him memorizing Jimin's features. He hates himself for the thought that this would be something he would be allowed to do if he was blind, something no one would give him grief for. Facial blindness is a condition not everybody knows about. And he's not ready to lay the truth of him being damaged like this down in front of Jimin. They've known each other for how long? Two hours? Max? Yoongi doesn't want to scare him away.

 

“Hyung,” Jimin says softly, and Yoongi looks up at his eyes, only to find Jimin looking at him, and no longer up to the stars. “See something you like?”

 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to stare at you.”

 

“It's fine, you know. You're the brains. I'm the pretty one. I can deal with that.”

 

“Did you really just—”

 

“Ah, hyung. No! I didn’t mean to say you’re not pretty. You are! I meant when it comes to brains, maybe I’m the one who’s lacking and—”

 

“Jimin, stop, you’re rambling,” Yoongi laughs. Laughs loudly, without a care, and the sound of Jimin joining him in his hysterics might be the most beautiful thing he's ever heard.

 

Because Jimin is not laughing at him. He's laughing with him.

 

 

 

 

They sit in the car for what feels like hours, even after Jimin has parked in front of Yoongi's apartment building. Yoongi has taken over the aux, showing Jimin some of his pieces, as he tries desperately not to feel shy about the fact that he's looking at Jimin again, taking in his reactions, the smallest movement when his eyes are suddenly getting shiny, the slightest quiver of his lips, the fractured motion of his eyebrows.

 

“Ah, hyung. If I'd known this would make me cry—,” Jimin complains, almost angrily wiping at the tears on his flushed cheeks.

 

“It was you who wanted to listen to it so badly, you know.”

 

“I know,” Jimin sniffles.

 

Yoongi gives him time to recollect himself.

 

“I'd like to try dancing to your music. Maybe you can send me those tracks sometime soon?”

 

“Only if I can watch you dance someday.” Yoongi is only vaguely aware that he worries his lips as he waits for Jimin's answer.

 

“I'd like that.” He takes Yoongi's phone from his hands, and types in his number. “I'd like that a lot.”

 

Yoongi has never felt so alive.

 

 

 

Usually, a person's identifiers take up four to five lines of his notebook. For Jimin it's a whole page. And when Yoongi finally falls asleep around four in the morning, his journal is lying next to his head, still opened on Jimin's page.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The couch is empty when Yoongi pads into the living room around nine the next morning, desperately trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. It's his Saturday off, gladly. Hoseok and Seokjin are the unlucky ones today, which only makes it understandable why they left early on the day before.

 

Namjoon doesn't need to work today either, and Yoongi has a tiny, little, extremely big idea where his so-called best friend has spent the night. And indeed, there's a message on his phone.

 

Tae (3:14 am): With Namjoon. Not home until... We'll see how long it'll take for him to get sick of me.

 

Well, even Taehyung has his little moments of insecurity, but Yoongi is sure this one is unfounded.

 

He goes into his contacts to make sure last night wasn't just a dream, and indeed. There's a new entry which says Park Jiminie. It's a good thing Yoongi is at home because he's grinning like an actual madman at his phone. Jiminie. Who calls himself by his nickname?

 

Crap. It's way too cute.

 

Yoongi lets his thoughts wander back to the night before, how Jimin has gotten out of his car to walk Yoongi the two meters to the door to tell him goodnight. He opens a new chat window and starts typing.

 

What he wants to write is something close to: Hope you got home alright. I had fun yesterday evening. I want to see you again. When can I see you again? When can I see you dance? I already miss your voice, I miss rediscovering your face every time I look at you. I remember you have very nice lips, and I really want to see them again. Because I can't recall them in my mind, and it's a shame because they seemed so kissable to me.

 

What he actually writes is:

Yoongi (9:25 am): Hope you got home alright. I had fun yesterday evening.

 

He puts the phone on top of his piano and gets a round of laundry started. Thankfully, he remembers to remove the paper napkin with the almost unreadable score from the back pocket of his jeans before he puts them into the washing machine. He takes it back with him to the piano and tries to make out the chords. Most of it is still in his head. His phone chimes when he has put the first measure down.

 

Jimin (9:30 am): You're already awake? Yeah, I wish the streets were always this empty. I was home in no time. I had fun, too!!!

Three exclamation marks.

 

Yoongi (9:32 am): Did I wake you? I'm sorry if I did.

 

Jimin (9:33 am): Nah, just lazing around in my bed, hiding from the world.

 

Yoongi smiles, imagining how Jimin lies in his bed, his hair a mess, holding up the phone over his head. It must be an endearing sight.

 

To be honest, Yoongi doesn't know what to answer. He has never dated before. Has never even tried flirting. One-night stands he counts himself guilty for. It was mostly Taehyung who had hooked him up with distant acquaintances. Casual nights, with people Yoongi didn't need or want to remember, but since Taehyung left, there’s been no one.

 

Well, it's hard to find hook-ups if you're staying in your apartment for most of the year.

 

But with Jimin? Yoongi already knows it's different. Or maybe he's telling himself that, because he really, really wants this to work. He wants to get to know the man with the angelic voice, with the positive body posture. The way Jimin holds himself is something Yoongi has never seen before. It must be a dancer thing.

 

Yoongi (9:40 am): Hiding from the world sounds great. It's something I'm very good at, too.

 

Jimin (9:41 am): Ha! Knew you were a vampire.

 

Yoongi (9:41 am): Vampire??

 

Jimin (9:42 am): You're so pale.

 

Yoongi has always been pale as he liked to stay in his house. Always liked the inside more, because it meant he wasn’t in danger to ignore people and make them feel bad. It’s not like he wants to stay inside per se. He likes being outside, likes a gentle breeze and warm sunshine on his skin. It simply felt wrong, doing it alone. Sitting by himself on a park bench is not how he imagines a perfect day to be.

 

Jimin (9:44 am): Sorry, hyung. I didn't want to offend you? It’s not a bad thing at all that you’re pale. 

 

Yoongi (9:45 am): You didn't. It just made me think.

 

Jimin (9:45 am): OK, good. I need to go to practice now, I'll see you later?

 

Yoongi (9:46 am): Gotta work on my music, too. See you. Have a nice day.

 

 

 

When Yoongi had written 'See you,' he didn’t imagine he'd really see Jimin later that day. Somehow Taehyung and Namjoon have planned a picnic for everyone to celebrate Jeongguk's homecoming from his year abroad.

 

So he finds himself walking to the nearby park, a six-pack of beer in his hand, looking for a group consisting of only men, most of them with colored hair, near a fountain. He'll be able to do that, right?

 

But he's lost. Utterly and truly lost.

 

The park is packed with groups, sitting on blankets, and the last thing Yoongi wants to do is come close to anyone he doesn't know and stare at them, searching for identifiers, searching for his friends.

 

He has no problem connecting people with places, but finding and identifying them out of their usual habitat? It’s almost impossible.

 

“Yoongi-hyung,” someone calls. 

 

It's Jimin. It's Jimin's voice coming from somewhere left of Yoongi, shining like a beacon in the darkness. And when he turns a man is waving at him, jumping up and down to be seen. He’s wearing a knitted pullover again, light blue this time, the long sleeves swallowing his small hands.

 

Yoongi weaves his way through the crowd, finding that there's a place saved for him on the blanket when he reaches the group, and it’s between Taehyung and Jimin. Taehyung leans comfortably against Namjoon's shoulder, smiling up at him. Oh, Yoongi is sure he'll make Taehyung spill the beans once he's alone with him.

 

Jimin pats the blanket next to him, and as soon as Yoongi sits down, a grilled corn cob is shoved into his hands. He's oddly happy just sitting there, nibbling on the cob, surrounded by friends. Because he’s getting more content of this day by day. Those are his friends, and applying to No Strings Attached might have been the best decision he’s ever made in his life.

 

It's a beautiful evening. The sun has set, leaving a subtle glow, warm colors, the slightest breeze waving over his skin. It isn't uncomfortably hot, but the heat of day lingers, stays close to the ground. Kept by the trees which surround the clearing, some of the leaves already colored in various shades of orange and red, kept by the people who are crowding the place, kept by Yoongi's own, fast-beating heart.

 

It flutters like the wings of a butterfly whenever his and Jimin’s legs or arms brush against each other. And it happens quite often with how close they are all sitting together on the blanket. Sometimes he can feel Jimin looking at him, and more often than not he loses the fight against himself not to look back, not to look up, not to hold the gaze for a few seconds before he refocuses on the food on his plate.

 

The spontaneity of the meet-up hasn't even given him time to be scared beforehand. And now that he's here, knowing that the circle of people whose faces he has to remember is limited to the four square meters of the blanket they're sitting on, it isn't that bad. It isn't scary at all.

 

For a while, all he does is eat and listen to the conversation around him. Jimin is asking Jeongguk all kinds of questions about his year abroad in Australia, and soon all of them are listening to the stories the youngest of the group has to tell.

 

Going abroad is something Yoongi’s never even thought about. Those years abroad are something made for socializing, for meeting new people, building connections. Something that's hell for prosopagnosic people like him, simply put. He wants to travel farther than just the next bigger city someday. He's always seen himself doing it with Taehyung by his side, knowing, that with his best friend it would be easy to conquer the world.

 

“Jimin-ah?” he asks later when the light of the day is completely gone and the park is only illuminated by the underwater lights of the fountain and the distant street lamps. “Can we drive around with your car again later?” Initially, he wanted to phrase this differently, but his tongue decided for him to put it this way.

 

“Sure.” It's dark, but Yoongi can still see Jimin’s eyes lighting up at his question. “I'd love to listen to your music again. It's so calming, it makes one forget about the world. Like being out in the open, but hiding from everything nevertheless.”

 

“That's definitely one way to put it,” Taehyung agrees. “Yoon's music does that to you. Calm you down. Make you feel.”

 

“I'm sitting right here, Tae.”

 

Taehyung all but grins, stuffing his mouth with marshmallows, throwing the last one at Jeongguk’s gaping mouth before he helps Namjoon lighting candles in painted jelly jars.

 

“It does,” Jimin says softly after a small pause, shuffling to his side, and then he lays his head down just above Yoongi's knee, looking up at him. “Make you feel, you know?”

 

Yoongi wants to ask, wants to know how his music makes Jimin feel, but he's finding himself unable to speak, entranced by Jimin's proximity, tempted to let his fingers run through the soft-looking blond locks. He smiles at the angel in his lap, forming a Thank you with his lips. Jimin shakes his head, his eyes morphing into crescents again, and Yoongi watches his hand act on his own, as it finds its way to Jimin's crown, starting to play with his hair. Jimin's gaze flies up to him for a second before he quickly averts it between two shaky blinks of his eyes.

 

It's the first time Jimin gets shy around him. Yoongi can't deny that the subtle pinkness on Jimin's cheeks is oddly satisfying, telling him it's okay what he's doing, telling him that it was possibly even what Jimin has expected of him. It doesn't matter that his leg starts feeling numb soon, it doesn't matter that it's getting colder. There's only him and Jimin, and the hum of a newly found melody on Yoongi's lips.

 

Seokjin and Hoseok are the first ones to say goodbye this night, both looking exhausted from the day at work. Jeongguk leaves only minutes after, thanking Namjoon for the amazing homecoming picnic.

 

Silence settles between them once Jeongguk left. It's a comfortable one. Yoongi varies between looking at the flickering lights in the old chars, and the reflection of them in Jimin's eyes.

 

Soon enough, he realizes why Namjoon and Taehyung aren’t talking anymore. They are sitting very close to each other, their lips touching, and Yoongi doesn't want to intrude, doesn't want them to feel uncomfortable, so he quickly looks away again, tapping Jimin gently on his shoulder.

 

“We should go,” he whispers, “give them some space.”

 

He doesn't know how they manage, but they get up and away without interrupting their friends.

 

 

 

“Didn't you tell me Taehyung is only here for a few days?” Jimin wonders while they are walking back to the street. “Don't get me wrong— Namjoon is such a wonderful person, but he gives more than he takes. He's done a lot more for me than I can ever pay him back. I just don't want him to get hurt.”

 

“Taehyung isn't like that. He wouldn't kiss Namjoon if it didn't mean anything to him. He's quick with his decisions. Sometimes a little too quick, but if he does something, he means it.”

 

Jimin sighs softly. “I hope they can find a way to figure it out then.”

 

“Yeah, I hope so, too because I don’t want Tae to get hurt either.”

 

 

Jimin's car is already familiar to Yoongi when they sit down again, it smells of Jimin, smells of sunshine and summer meadows.

 

“The night is way too nice to spend it inside the car,” Jimin says when he puts the key in the ignition. “It might be the last summer night before autumn starts for real.”

 

Yoongi wonders how Jimin is not sick of spending time with him yet. He knows he's not the most pleasurable of people to hang out with, as he prefers to listen, not talk. Especially when it's Jimin's voice he gets to listen to.

 

 “We should make use of it then,” Yoongi suggests.

 

“I know the perfect place,” Jimin says, his voice ringing with excitement.

 

 

It’s how they end up at the bridge overlooking the harbor. It's a breathtaking sight, and once Jimin gets up on the hood of the car, Yoongi knows what his plan is, and it's absolutely perfect.

 

They are huddled together under Yoongi's leather jacket, leaning against the windshield, the engine cover still heated enough to warm them from below. Yoongi has left his phone inside the car, connected to the radio, his music is surrounding them, and if it sounds vain that this might be the perfect soundtrack for this night, he doesn't care.

 

“I like spending time with you, Yoongi,” Jimin speaks up after a while. His voice is hushed as if he wanted to get this out quickly. “You are like your music. Calming. Different.”

 

“I like spending time with you too.”

 

This would be the perfect moment to tell Jimin about his disorder. Then Jimin reaches out for his hand, lacing their fingers together, and the thoughts are wiped from his mind.

 

“Is this okay?” Jimin asks, and Yoongi can do nothing more than nod.

 

It isn't just okay. It's perfect.

 

Everything seems to be perfect when it comes to Jimin.

 

Jimin seems to notice that Yoongi is unable to talk for the moment, and so they all but sit there, looking at the port coming to life in the early morning hours. The cargo ships are being loaded, the massive cranes seem to be moving effortlessly, despite the weight they are carrying. It's almost as if they are moving to the slow sounds of his music.

 

Maybe he can do this too. Move. Move on. Live his life, despite the weight that keeps pressing down on him.

 

Jimin came into his life out of nowhere. And Yoongi wants him to stay.

 

He squeezes the small hand in his gently, to let Jimin know that he's still here, maybe to anchor himself more to the thought.

 

He's here. He's living.

 

 

 

“I'm sorry I didn't talk more today,” Yoongi apologizes when Jimin walks him to his door. The sky is already a faint orange, telling that the night is ending.

 

“Your music spoke for you today, hyung. And we'll have plenty of time to talk next time, don't you think?”

 

“Next time,” Yoongi echoes.

 

“That is if you want there to be a next time,” Jimin suddenly sounds insecure, and Yoongi would do anything to make the uncertainty in Jimin’s voice disappear.

 

“Of course. Of course I want to see you again.”

 

He doesn't really know how it happens, but he's lifting Jimin's hand to his mouth, pressing his lips on his knuckles for just a fraction of a second before he realizes what he's doing.

 

“Was that the Min Yoongi version of a goodnight kiss?” Jimin asks, the sides of his neck slightly flushed.

 

“Maybe,” is all Yoongi can get out. “Goodnight, Jimin.”

 

He has to go. Has to leave because otherwise, he might be in danger to ask Jimin to come up with him so he can kiss him properly. He knows Jimin's lips are kissable, even though he can't recall the real image of them, now that he's not facing him anymore. Jimin's face is already blurred, unrecognizable. Still, Yoongi remembers because it's the first bullet point he wrote in his notebook yesterday, right under Jimin's name.

 

It's not surprising that Taehyung still hasn't come back to the apartment. Yoongi lets himself fall on the empty couch. His whole body is brimming with an excitement he has only felt while composing before. He gets up, makes himself a cup of coffee, and sits down at his piano. Sleep is something that won't happen anyway, the sun is almost up, and his head is bursting with ideas, melodies, and harmonies.

 

 

 

 

The afternoon sun is seeping through the blinds of his bedroom when he can hear someone come into the apartment.

 

“Tae, is that you?” he calls, his voice thick with sleep. A look at his watch tells him he's been asleep for roughly two hours. He should get up. Otherwise, he won't be able to sleep tonight. And to be honest, he finally wants to hear from Taehyung what he's already suspecting.

 

The door of his bedroom creaks open and the man at the door is wearing an unfamiliar oversized zip hoodie. It suddenly reminds him of the fact that he must have forgotten his leather jacket in Jimin's car.

 

“Morning, Yoon.”

 

Yoongi knows it's Taehyung from his voice, but other than that he could be anybody.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Didn't know if you were hiding Jimin under your covers,” his friend says as he sits down on the edge of Yoongi's bed.

 

“Tae. I'm not as quick as you are.”

 

Taehyung sighs, gesturing for Yoongi to make some space for him. “He makes me want to stay longer.”

 

“Did you tell him you're only visiting?”

 

“I couldn't. He’s so sweet, and gentle and—,” Taehyung’s voice trails off.

 

“Tae,” Yoongi sighs. One of them will be hurt at the end with how things are at the moment, and Yoongi isn't sure who.

 

“I'll tell him. Eventually.”

 

“You need to tell him now.”

 

“I know, okay? I'm not an asshole,” Taehyung says, letting himself fall backward, claiming one of Yoongi’s many pillows.

 

“I didn't say that, Tae.”

 

Taehyung hums, snuggling up to him.

 

“Sleep. Sleep sounds good. I didn't sleep at all last night.”

 

“Thank you for telling me about my boss' nightly activities.”

 

“Oh Yoongles, if only you knew.”

 

“Out of my bed, Kim.”

 

“Whatever you say, Min.” Taehyung laughs, climbing out of his bed before Yoongi can kick him in the ass.

 

 

 

 

Yoongi's chat with Jimin is showing ten new messages when he gets into the break room to eat lunch. It's just random talk. A good morning, followed by Jimin rambling about his history of dance teacher, his schedule, college as such, the weather which has indeed become much colder compared to the weekend. Plus, there's a selca. Yoongi needs to make sure first, but it's easy because Jimin's fringe is parted today, clearly showing the small freckle on his forehead, and he's smiling, showing his cute crooked tooth. It's only when Yoongi takes a close look that he realizes Jimin. is. wearing. his. leather jacket.

 

His stomach is overrun by butterflies. Helplessly, he lets his head sink against the cool metal of his locker. He finally has a picture of Jimin, something to recall his face at least for a few seconds before it vanishes into the void again, but it's something to hold on to.

 

New jacket? he writes, Looking good. ;)

 

Jimin doesn't need to know that he changes his lock screen picture for the first time ever since he bought the phone.

 

 

 

He spends the evening with Namjoon and Taehyung but leaves when Taehyung finally admits to Namjoon that he won’t be here forever. They will figure it out, they will be okay. He knows from the look on Namjoon’s face, glad that he’s at least able to read emotions. 

 

He feels light and happy for his friends when he comes back home. Sure, he has been looking forward to spending time with Taehyung, but his friend falling in love is an even better outcome.

 

Yoongi doesn't think anything of it when Jimin isn't writing back after his message came through on Monday. When Tuesday goes by, and there's still nothing, there's this unsettling tightening in his chest. Wednesday isn't any different. That's when Yoongi decides to call him, ask if he's alright. 

 

After two rings his call goes to voicemail.

 

He tries again.

 

It's only after the third time that Jimin picks up.

 

“What,” Jimin snaps. And there's something unforgiving in his voice. Something hurting.

 

“Jimin. What did I do?”

 

“How about you ignored me for two days in a row?”

 

“What? I didn't? I answered your last message.”

 

“I came to the store, hyung. Waited for you after your shift.”

 

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Oh no. No, please.

 

Now he'll have to explain, now he'll have to strip bare in front of Jimin.

 

“You looked right through me.”

 

“Jimin. I can explain it. I—”

 

“I'm not sure I want to hear it.”

 

“It's not what you think it— Can you come over? I don't want to explain this to you over the phone.” His heart hurts so bad when he imagines Jimin waiting for him in front of the store. The problem is that he didn’t expect him there. He would have just been another passer-by on the sidewalk, maybe waving at someone behind Yoongi. Without the knowledge that he would wait for him, Yoongi is lost.

 

“Now you have time for me, Min Yoongi?”

 

“Jimin, please.” His voice is rough, his throat hurts from the tears that suddenly burn at the back of his eyes.

 

“I'm still at practice, it's going to be late.”

 

“Doesn't matter. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”

 

“Okay,” Jimin says, and then he hangs up.

 

 

 

Yoongi spends the next two hours cleaning the apartment the best he can. Taehyung is at Namjoon's again, but somehow Yoongi really wishes his friend was here to support him, tell him that everything would be alright.

 

Although he's waiting for it, he jolts when the doorbell buzzes. The building is too old to have an intercom installed, so he runs down the two flights of stairs to open the door for Jimin.

 

It could be anybody standing in front of his door. He's wearing a snapback and a scarf over his tracksuit, and only when Yoongi looks down at his hands, and sees the rings with their familiar designs, he can be sure it's Jimin he's opening the door for. Yoongi can still feel the shadow of a touch, remembers the coldness of the silver against his own skin.

 

His jacket is in Jimin’s hands, but he doesn’t take it when Jimin wants to shove it into his arms. He doesn’t want it. Not now.

 

Jimin follows him up to the apartment without a word, sitting down on the couch, putting the jacket on the armrest.

 

“Do you want anything to drink?”

 

“I'm fine.”

 

Yoongi sits down on his piano stool so he can face Jimin while he's talking to him. His skin is crawling. He’d hoped he didn’t need to tell him, but he has been so stupid. How could he ever have thought it would work without telling him?

 

 

 

“Have you heard of face blindness before? It's called prosopagnosia,” he starts. He's talking slowly, hesitantly.

 

“What is this, a stupid joke? I didn't come here so you could make fun of me.” There’s still the cruel unforgiveness in Jimin’s voice.

 

“I'm not joking, Jimin. I'm face blind. And I know it was a shit move that I didn't tell you about it before. I should have. But I was scared you wouldn't want to get to know me then. Am I right when I’m saying you were wearing the scarf and the snapback too when you waited for me?”

 

Jimin keeps the silence between them for quite some time, doesn’t answer his question, and Yoongi can see realization trickling in.

 

“So— you can't—” Jimin stops, apparently searching for words.

 

“I can't recognize people by their facial features,” Yoongi clarifies.

 

“I'm not sure I understand.”

 

“I can see faces. I just can't connect them with the person they belong to. I can’t remember them.”

 

“B-but what do you see when you think about me then?”

 

“Your voice. It's always your voice. The feeling of your tiny hands in mine, the softness of your hair, your posture, the way you walk, your scent. There's so much more to you than the eye can see, Jimin. It's only the image of your face that doesn't last.”

 

“S-so if you'd close your eyes and look at me again right now, you wouldn't know it is me?”

 

“I would because I know I let you into the apartment. I know we're talking. I know all of this intellectually. But I'd need to convince my brain once over that it is you, yes.”

 

“I'm so sorry.”

 

Yoongi's head snaps up. “What?”

 

“I'm so sorry for not wanting to listen to you, for not believing you.” Jimin gets up from the couch, leaving the hat and scarf there as he walks towards him. “I'm sorry, Yoongi.”

 

“You couldn't have known.”

 

Jimin takes his hands in his as he kneels in front of him.“You said you remembered the feeling of the touch when we held hands?”

 

“Y-yes.” Yoongi's voice falters, so incredibly relieved to be able to hold Jimin's hands in his, feel his chubby fingers clasping around his own.

 

“Would it be of any help if you touched my face?”

 

“It could be. I haven't tried it before. There was never someone I wanted to be as close to, no one I wanted to remember like this.”

 

“Yoongi.”

 

It's just his name, but it's also Jimin’s plea to trust him. He lets his eyes flutter closed, allows Jimin to guide him to his face.

 

Jimin lets go of his hands when he has placed them near his forehead, and Yoongi can feel how he rests his own hands on his knees. Yoongi strokes Jimin's fringe back as gently as he can. He lets his fingertips wander over Jimin's clear skin. It's damp close to the hairline. His fingers follow the lines of the velvety eyebrows, he tries to find the freckle on his forehead, wants to know if he'll be able to feel it.

 

And there it is. The smallest bump on the otherwise perfect skin. Satisfied, Yoongi lets out the breath he hadn't realized he's been holding.

 

He should feel anxious, being blinded like this. But he can see Jimin with his hands, can see him more clearly than he ever has by looking at him.

 

Very carefully, he caresses over the thin skin of Jimin's eyelids, smiles at the tickle of his short eyelashes. He can feel Jimin scrunching up his nose when he touches the bridge of it, fascinated by the wrinkles which are forming between his eyes. Jimin's cheeks are like peaches to his touch, rounded and soft. So very soft. It's where he hesitates, remembering what wrote in his notebook. Kissable lips.

 

Yoongi cups Jimin's left cheek with his right hand, lets his thumb run over the arch of his eyebrow once more. Jimin leans into the touch, his cheeks feeling a little warmer than a few seconds ago. His fingers find their way under Jimin's chin, tilting his head up just a fraction, and then he finally allows himself to let his thumb brush over Jimin's lips.

 

Jimin shudders at the touch, his breath stuttering. Yoongi takes his time, lets his finger explore the upper lip, following the contour of the arc before he lets it rest on the lower lip, trying to memorize every millimeter of the unbelievably soft skin.

 

“Yoongi,” Jimin breathes, and Yoongi can feel his warm breath on the skin of his hand.

 

One of the hands on his knees lift, and then he can feel it caressing his own cheek.

 

“Yoongi.”

 

The distance between them dwindles until it's gone until it's given way to proximity, given way to tender touches and longing sighs.

 

Yoongi takes his time to re-explore the soft skin he has memorized with the touch of his fingertips. It doesn't compare to what he felt before. Nothing can compare to the way Jimin's lips feel on his, warm, moist from the mingle of their quickening breathing.

 

Jimin's other hand has taken hold of his hip, clasping the fabric of his shirt. He must be uncomfortable, still kneeling on the hardwood floor after such a long time.

 

“C'mere,” Yoongi whispers against Jimin's lips, and when he opens his eyes, Jimin is standing up. He guides him to sit down on his lap, both legs on Yoongi's left side. Their gazes meet for a second, Jimin's Adam's apple moving with a heavy swallow.

 

This time, it's Jimin who claims Yoongi's lips all over again, the press against his more urgent, Yoongi gives into it, and when Jimin's tongue slides over his closed lips, he doesn't hesitate, lets Jimin in, lets himself drown in Jimin's taste, and he tastes like he smells; of sunshine and summer meadows, of light and lemon melissa.

 

Yoongi can feel a small warm hand burying itself into his hair, while the other cups his jaw, tilting his head to the side.

 

It's been so long since he's kissed someone.

 

It's the first time he kisses someone and means it.

 

He lets Jimin set the pace, tightens his hold on his waist, pulls him even closer.

 

Sometimes , he thinks as Jimin lets their tongues slide together languidly, sometimes, you don't know what you need until you experience it. Until it comes to meet you .

 

His hands start to explore further, taking in the smooth planes of Jimin's chest. When he presses his hand close enough, he can feel the erratic heartbeat under his fingertips, and Jimin's heart is beating as fast as his. He lets his hand stay there, takes in the rhythm.

 

Shortness of breath is the only reason they're parting. They're both breathing heavily, their gazes full of wonder of what has just happened.

 

“Thank you,” Yoongi whispers before he lets his head sink down at Jimin's chest to listen to his heartbeat calming down. “Thank you for letting me touch you like this.”

 

Jimin shakes his head, his hand alternating between tracing random patterns on the back of his neck and playing with his hair.

 

“Let me show you something,” Yoongi says after another eternity of them taking one another in, another eternity of soft touches, and sweet words. He turns them around on the stool and opens the lid of his old piano. “The sound isn't the best, but it was my mother's.”

 

“Was?” Jimin asks, and Yoongi's heart clenches. There aren't many people who know. Taehyung. Taehyung's parents where he has lived for four years until he came of age.

 

“My parents died in a car accident. We were driving home from the hospital where I was being tested for prosopagnosia. I lived, and they died. Because of me, because of my deranged brain.”

 

“Oh, Yoongi.”

 

“Please don't tell me it wasn't my fault because it was. We wouldn't have been on that road if it wasn't for me.”

 

Jimin says nothing, just presses a kiss on the crown of his head. And it's enough. It's all he needs.

 

 

 

He has never played with someone sitting on his lap before, but he wants Jimin to stay, stay right here while he plays the piece of music that has only been completed because of him.

 

It sounds like the patter of rain, the howl of the wind until the sun breaks through. It's when it changes from minor to major, from loneliness to Jimin.

 

 

“I don't know how you do this. I feel all those things when I listen to your music. It reaches so deep.” Jimin says, his voice thick with emotion when Yoongi has played the final note.

 

“This piece? It's all you. I can't remember your face. I won't ever be able to recall your perfect face. But your soul, I can see. I can see you with my music.”

 

It's the first time he's able to put his thoughts into words like this. He realizes that everything he's written before has been the soul of his parents, the soul of Taehyung, and suddenly Yoongi's holding onto Jimin as if he's afraid he would vanish with the next blink of his eyes. Tears are accumulating, overflowing, but Jimin is there, enduring his sobs, biding his tears.

 

“I'm here, Yoongi. You're okay. I'm here.” Jimin leads them gently to the couch, letting Yoongi rest his head on his shoulder, and Yoongi buries himself there because Jimin’s scent makes everything so much better.

 

“Please stay,” Yoongi whispers, “I don't know why you'd want to be with someone who won't even recognize you in the morning, but please stay.”

 

He isn’t sure if he means this night or his life.

 

 

 

When morning comes, Jimin is still there, lying next to him in his narrow bed. Shadows are playing over his lithe body. There's something yellow in his hand, and when Yoongi opens his fingers carefully, he sees it's a piece of paper.

 

 

Morning. ♡ It’s me. Jimin. Your boyfriend.

 

 

It’s one of the cutest things Yoongi has ever seen, and nothing is keeping his mouth from forming into a smile. He looks down but only sees a mop of tousled blond hair.

 

He’s feeling warm, cared for, he wants to chase this feeling, wants to hold onto it. There's something about the weight on his chest, the small hand that clutches the hem of his sleeping shirt, the scarcely perceptible movement of the curled-up body against him. It's foreign, yet already laced with a comfortable familiarity.

 

A look at his watch tells him, he needs to get up in about ten minutes if he doesn't want to be late for work. He doesn't want to wake Jimin up, wants to stay here in their warmth, in their bubble. Before he can think about how he can rouse Jimin gently from his sleep, his door flies open. It can only be Taehyung since he's the only one with a key, and a burglar wouldn't be that obvious.

 

“Shit, Tae, can't you knock??”

 

“Oh. Oh. I'm sorry, I'm, I'll leave you to it.” Carefully, his friend closes the door behind him on his way out.

 

“W-what was that?” Jimin asks, stretching his arms and legs before he returns to his previous position.

 

“Just Taehyung, thinking I was alone.”

 

“I thought he was at Namjoon's?”

 

“He comes back here when Namjoon goes down to the shop for work.”

 

“Oh, right. Work. I guess we'll have to get up soon, hm?”

 

Yoongi loves how this isn't awkward. Loves how they’re falling into this as if they'd been waking up next to each other for ages.

 

“Just a few more minutes.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Jimin mumbles, lacing his fingers with Yoongi's, and Yoongi is still holding the yellow note in his hands.

 

“Oh, you found it,” Jimin giggles.

 

“Boyfriend, hmm?” Yoongi asks softly, and Jimin turns around in his arms, facing him. He's beautiful, his boyfriend is so damn beautiful. Even in the morning, with his eyes a little puffy, his cheeks still flushed from sleep. He’s beautiful.

 

“Yes,” is all Jimin says, before he kisses him. It’s a lazy kiss, nothing but their lips moving slowly against one another, but it means everything.

 

“How are you feeling?” Jimin asks when they break away from each other at the sound of Yoongi's alarm.

 

“Better.”

 

“That's a start.”

 

“I think with you I can do it. Go out more. Try to live.”

 

And Jimin's encouraging smile is the only thing that matters at this moment.

 

 

 

 

As rushed as everything started with them, as slowly they’re taking it now.

 

When Jimin hears that Yoongi hasn't dated before, he starts taking him out on all kinds of dates one can think of, as if he wants to make up for everything Yoongi has missed out on.

 

Between all the dates and work, Yoongi starts sending out applications once again. He's added some more songs, new songs. Not all of them are about sunshine and hope, some of them are about remembering and coping.

 

 

The day comes, on which Yoongi sees Jimin dance for the first time. He picks him up from practice, something that fills him with fear. What if he can't tell him apart from the other dancers? What if Jimin notices? What if he drowns in the similarities of lean, trained bodies, and elegant body postures? What if everything goes to hell because of him?

 

But his worries are proven irrelevant.

 

Not only because Jimin is the only blond in the room, his hair sticking to his forehead, moist with the sweat of the exertion. It’s because of how he moves, how he smiles when he turns, everything about him seems effortless and perfect, and so very Jimin, Yoongi doesn't need to look for the other identifiers. He simply knows.

 

“Yoongi,” Jimin comes flying to him, kissing him hello before he turns them around to his dancer friends. “That's Yoongi, my boyfriend, and he'll take me out on a date now, so if you'll please excuse us?”

 

Yoongi can't say anything before Jimin pulls him out of the training area, to the changing room. He sits down on one of the benches, waiting for Jimin to get out of the shower, trying to think of words that can describe what he felt when he saw him dance.

 

But none of them seem to be enough.

 

 

 

“I'm having a dance recital next week,” Jimin says while they’re walking from the cinema back to No Strings Attached where they'll meet the others. 

 

It’s a Friday, and according to everyone else, it’s about time they go to the bar again. They've seen an animated movie because Jimin knows by now that Yoongi is truly and utterly lost when it comes to movies with real actors. Especially crime, or action, in which all the characters look the same to him, and he never knows if he's looking at the bad guy or the hero, and the last thing he wants to do is ask Jimin all the time who is who.

 

“Would you like to come?” Jimin adds when Yoongi doesn’t say anything.

 

“To see you dance? Of course, have you seen yourself dance? There's no way I'd miss that.”

 

“Thank you, hyung.” He sounds genuine and humble, and Yoongi thinks that Jimin maybe really doesn't know how absolutely mesmerizing he looks when he dances.

 

“You don't need to thank me for that, sunshine,” he mumbles. Only when Jimin doesn't reply, just squeezes his hand, and he hears the stifled laughter of his friends, he realizes that they've already reached the store, but for the moment the five men waiting for them had been random people on the sidewalk.

 

“God, you two are so sickeningly sweet,” Hoseok laughs.

 

“Yeah, and what about them?” Jimin mutters defensively, pointing to Namjoon who has Taehyung caged against Seokjin's car, kissing him, ignoring what's going on around them.

 

“Same, but worse,” Seokjin exclaims, “Stop desecrating my car at once!”

 

They all laugh, people are looking at them for the ruckus they make, but they couldn't care less.

 

Namjoon and Taehyung are taking the back seat in Jimin’s car because the others are all refusing to ride with ‘the couples.’

 

 

 

They manage to secure one of the tables, and when they all got their drinks, Taehyung speaks up. Yoongi already knows what he’s going to say, Taehyung has told Jimin and him this morning. The two planned weeks his friend wanted to stay, turned into six, and he has to go back at some point.

 

“I just wanted to tell you all that I'm leaving next week on Saturday. I don't really want to leave, but my boss wants me back, and I'm already sorry that you'll have to endure your boss’ whining once I'm gone, but I wanted to thank you all for the great time I had here, and I'll definitely come back soon. Drinks are on me today.”

 

The mood is chastened after that, but Taehyung asks them all to cheer up, bringing shots to the table. Getting drunk isn’t something Yoongi likes. It clouds his senses even more than usual, and the last thing he wants is not to be able to recognize Jimin at all.

 

At the end of the night, he and Seokjin are the only ones who are still sober.

 

He takes Taehyung and Namjoon home first before he drives to Jimin's apartment, getting his boyfriend safely into his bed, helps him out of his jeans, leaving ibuprofen and a glass of water on his nightstand.

 

“I'll see you tomorrow,” Yoongi says after leaving a peck on Jimin’s lips that still taste of the fruity cocktail he had.

 

“Can't you stay?” Jimin slurs, half asleep already.

 

Yoongi really wants to, but he longs to get home, sit down at his piano and get the sadness out that Taehyung's upcoming farewell has evoked in him.

 

“I'd like to, but I need to work on my music tonight.”

 

“Alright, love you.”

 

Yoongi isn't sure if Jimin is aware of what he has said. He stays on the edge of Jimin's bed for a few more minutes, watching his sleeping figure. Gently, he strokes back the fringe from Jimin's forehead, leaving a kiss on the freckle there.

 

“Love you too, even if you won't remember it in the morning.”

 

He takes the night bus back to his apartment so Jimin won't get a shock in the morning, thinking that someone has stolen his car. The night is cold, autumn is morphing into winter, and Yoongi already misses the long walks in the park, Jimin's sweater paw swallowing both of their hands to keep them warm.

 

Jimin has become a constant in his life he'd never thought he needed. Balancing out their schedules, slotting in some alone time for himself without giving Jimin the feeling that he didn't want to see him, had been hard at first, but nothing fills him with more happiness than waking up next to Jimin.

 

His mind has never been filled with so many melodies, so much sunshine.

 

The slurred love you still resonates in his ears, because even though Jimin was drunk, he still said it. In Yoongi's head, he's already in his apartment, opening the lid of the piano, testing out the harmonies that want to overflow.

 

He rushes up the two flights of stairs, his hand on the piano lid when he sees he has a new message on his answering machine. Not many people know the number of his landline, but he put it down in his applications because it seemed more professional than just a mobile phone number to him.

 

Hesitantly, he presses the blinking button.

 

“Good evening, Min Yoongi-ssi. This is Han Kyuseong from Celestial Music. We received your application, and we'd like to meet you and talk with you about your music. We hope you can come in on Friday next week, at three p.m. We're looking forward to meeting you.”

 

Yoongi blinks, his heart beating violently, as he plays the message once again. He's sent out over eighty applications, and finally, someone has listened to his music.

 

Celestial, he thinks. It's one of the better labels. They are big in the advertisement industry but work with artists, and moviemakers as well.

 

His first thought is to call Jimin and tell him the news, but that will have to wait until the morning.

 

Someone is giving him a chance. And then he realizes Jimin's recital is on Friday, at five p.m. Yoongi's euphoria falters, remembering how his eyes sparkled with excitement when Yoongi said he would come.

 

The last thing Yoongi wants to do is disappoint Jimin in something so important to him, but he can't skip the interview. He has one week to figure out how he can get as fast as possible from his interview to Jimin's college. For now, he lets himself drown in the music that has threatened to overwhelm him all night.

 

 

 

 

Shit, the bouquet.

 

“I forgot something, I'll be down again in a second.”

 

He hasn't told Jimin about the interview, as he didn't want him to worry about anything else. He's got enough on his plate with the recital.

 

“Hurry, Yoongi,” Seokjin urges.

 

Yoongi is beyond thankful that Seokjin has offered to drive him, wait in front of the building he has the interview at, and get them to the recital as fast as possible, even though it could mean they're losing Yoongi at No Strings Attached. Although he’s leaving Yoongi is sure he'll never lose them as friends.

 

He grabs the flowers from his sink and runs down the stairs again, trying not to get any of the water on his rented suit while he wraps a paper towel around the stems.

 

His stomach clenches with fear. Two times he's close to letting Seokjin stop the car because he feels like he's going to throw up. It's the fear of the unknown that gets to him. This is his first real job interview, after all. And this time it won't be as easy as playing the piano for fun.

 

“Goodbye, Seokjin,” he says when he leaves the car, “Just in case I'm not coming back, it was nice knowing you.”

 

“Go, nail it. I'll see you in a few.”

 

 

 

 

When he sits down in the car again about an hour later, he feels dazed.

 

“Just drive,” he says, at least he still remembers he's got somewhere else to be. Even if they are going to be terribly late. He's been in there for over an hour, and he hasn't even realized. Everything has rushed by him. The questions, the time he spent playing one of his pieces for them, so they could see it was really him who recorded and made his own music.

 

“I'm almost afraid to ask, with the way you're looking,” Seokjin says after a while.

 

“I made it. I got the job, but will you please drive now??”

 

He can't miss Jimin's performance, he can't.

 

“I knew it!!” Seokjin yells.

 

“Sorry, I didn't want to snap at you,” Yoongi apologizes at some point.

 

“It's alright, Yoongi.” He laughs, “It's good to have priorities."

 

But Yoongi is already back to checking his phone every five seconds. He asked Taehyung to tell him when Jimin gets on stage, but there's been no message yet.

 

Yoongi lets his head sink back against the headrest, and closes his eyes. He's fine with getting into a car, but freeways still scare him. It still reminds him of that day twelve years ago, will always remind him of that day.

 

But then they are leaving the freeway again, and just when they pull into the parking lot, Yoongi's phone buzzes with Taehyung's message.

 

“Go, get out! I'll find a spot,” Seokjin says, stopping so Yoongi can leave the car. He grabs the bouquet from the backseat and runs towards the entrance, down the hallway leading to the auditorium.

 

Then he's inside, and it's his music, the sound of his mother's piano resounding through the large room. It's Jimin's song. The one about rain and storm chased away by the sun.

 

The embodiment of sunshine, his sunshine is dancing on the stage, his body expressing all the emotions Yoongi has tried to convey with his song. And it's for everyone to see that Jimin has understood every single one of his feelings perfectly. It's as if his music comes to life.

 

Jimin, he realizes when he comes running to him, throwing himself into Yoongi’s arms after his performance, his energy and scent engulfing him, Jimin is all he needs in his life. He makes Yoongi forget that he got a real job, he makes him forget that there’s a farewell waiting for him at the end of the next day.

 

Jimin soothes his soul, gives him the strength he never thought he’d be able to muster.

 

“You’re here.”

 

And Yoongi knows he doesn’t need to fear not recognizing Jimin in a crowd anymore.

 

Because Jimin will always find him.

 

“I’m here.”