You love him like a plant loves water, like a flower parched for days finally feeling the droplets, filling the cracked ground, bringing life and color into your soul.
You love him like you think he must love the piano.
God does Yoongi love the piano, bordering on obsession, the child protégé turned famous composer often seems like he is one and the same with the expensive, eloquent instrument he plays. Fingers dancing over the keys, bringing new sounds from the familiar tunes of your childhood.
You grew up around the piano, you know it well, you had seen your mother play, your older sister. But when he plays it, it’s something altogether different, precious. A beautiful woman who melts at his touches, drawing sweet soft melodies and deep haunting tunes that leave everyone…including you…entranced.
Yes Yoongi does love the piano, and you love Yoongi. You love the way his nose crinkles when he’s focused, the way his tongue darts to the side of his cheek, the way his long fingers sometimes brush the hair out of your face, his gummy smile, his teasing voice.
There isn’t much you don’t love about him, if you’re being honest. Bordering on obsession, you reasoned, watching him now as his fingers flew over the keys. You were singularly blessed with his company. Your father having discovered him and his talent years ago, back when you were just children.
You grew up together, him blossoming into a star, you content to be the wall flower, to support him as his friend, dreaming that one day he might look at you the way he stared at the sheet music in front of him, his own work, his pride and joy.
“What’s that look for?” He’s all furrowed brow as he stares up at you, but there is an amusement in his voice he always seems to carry, like the world is some inside joke that only he was ever told.
“Just watching the master at work.” You answer, earning an eye roll, he hates it when you praise him like that, finds it artificial.
“The master, huh?” He grabs your wrist, pulling you forward till you find yourself on the bench nearly in his lap, heat flaming your cheeks.
“It’s the Master Pianist Suga.” He spoke, turning to look at you. “The boy genius, the child prodigy, plucked from obscurity by a wealthy benefactor, blessed to spend the rest of his days composing, creating music in the hallowed halls of your father’s house.”
“You don’t sound very happy.” You contend, rising to your feet. “I always thought we were more alike than everyone said. We’re both just caged birds, singing till someone lets us out.”
“Or until we die.” Yoongi lets you pull away from him till you grab his hand, tugging him up. You maintained your silence, content to tug him along, content to have his fingers lace through yours so naturally. “What part of our cage are you taking me to?”
“The outside part.” You don’t bother to slide on shoes, the cool well-tended grass feeling good under your feet. “The sun is setting.”
“Obviously.” His tone isn’t scolding, only dry, walking hand in hand with you. It had always been like this, the casual touches, the understanding that you both understood each other. “Someone might see, you know.”
“Oh who cares?” You shrug, looking up at the darkening sky, clear enough to see the first smattering of stars. “I don’t care.”
“I don’t care either.” His grasp on your hand felt tight, intimate as he sat on the shaded veranda. “and as far as cages go…this one isn’t so terrible. Basic amenities, good food -”
“The grand master pianist Suga admits to enjoying his captivity.” The air felt hot, damp even, bringing beads of sweat to your skin. “ Your cold reputation will be ruined.”
“Its going to rain.” He spoke, rewarded by the first drops landing on the ground. “Summer rains, out of nowhere.”
“How’d you feel it?”
“I just did.”
“What else do you feel Yoongi? Not Suga, Yoongi.” You look at him, fingers still twined with his. “You feel the rain.”
“I feel the rain, I feel – I feel content, for now.” Tugging you closer, you could hear the rain strengthen just in your ear, but it seemed far off, the only sound you actually were hearing the sound of your pounding heart.
“What are you fishing for?” He teased, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You know what I feel, you have for years.”
“But do you know what I feel?”
“My melodies are inspired by your feelings, by my own.” He interrupts, pulling away. “Coming together, sometimes just hearing your voice is enough to inspire the music.” He hummed. “You’re like a piano. Finely tuned, you just need the right person to bring forth your music.”
“And who is that?”
“Its always been me.” His voice was almost smug, eyes boring into yours. “You think I love the piano, but what I actually love is the music I can coax from it. The same music I see in you.”
“I – “ But before you could finish he was kissing you, bringing forth a music in your heart you knew he could hear, music that was just for him.