Chapter Text
Min Yoongi was having a bad day.
This wasn’t uncommon. He hadn’t exactly lived a charmed life. Oh, it was good now, with the money and the fame and the celebrity status, but even that came with its own brand of darkness.
Granted, his problem today was probably a problem most people would wish to have.
What happened was that Jungkook and Namjoon crashed his car. His black Hyundai Palisade, yes, that car. Jungkook had borrowed it earlier that afternoon to do a quick errand, and Yoongi, who was attempting to write a new song in his studio, tossed him the keys and waved him off impatiently.
If he had known that Jungkook would impulsively try to teach Namjoon how to drive in a grocery store parking lot, he would have said no.
Anyway, Namjoon crashed the car against the wall of the store building, which led him to paying for property damage. The damage to the actual car wasn’t that bad, but the side mirror next to the driver’s seat was ripped right off, so there was no driving to be done with that. They ended up having it towed.
Yoongi found all this out in the evening, when Jungkook and Namjoon finally mustered up the courage to crawl back into his studio and report the news.
“You better pay for the repairs,” was all Yoongi could say in the end. What was he supposed to do? Snap and yell? It was done. And in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t really that important.
“I will,” Namjoon said quickly. “I’m really sorry, hyungnim.”
“Whatever.” Yoongi waved his hand at them again. “Now go away. I’m in the zone. I’m making progress with this.”
Jungkook’s eyes lit up. “Really, Yoongi-hyung?”
“Sure,” Yoongi said vaguely. “So go.”
“Okay, but it’s late,” Jungkook said worriedly. “That can wait until tomorrow, can’t it?”
“Maybe, but it doesn’t have to. And it’s not that late.” A glance at the clock hanging on one side of the wall told Yoongi that it was half past 7 p.m.
“If you say so. I’ll get going, then.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I’ll go home, too,” Namjoon said. “Don’t stay here too late, hyung. The company drivers will only be here until, like, 8 p.m.”
“I know. I’ll be fine.
“Alright. Good luck. If you need anything, let me know, okay? I’m always willing to help you, you know that.” Namjoon looked irritatingly sincere.
“Yeah,” Yoongi muttered, stomach twisting with what felt like anxiety. “I know.”
With a final mutter of apologies and goodbyes, Namjoon and Jungkook left him to it.
Yoongi sighed when they left, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
The problem was that he lied. He wasn’t making progress with the song. The whole day, he took turns between poring over it and experimenting with beats trying to spark something. An idea, an inspiration, anything.
Blank.
And he wasted hour after hour this way.
I lost it, he thought, not for the first time. My passion, my genius, my words. All gone, burnt to a crisp.
It was known to happen, right? He’d been working nonstop since 2012, making a name for himself, first as an underground rapper with the alias ‘Agust D,’ and later, when he became mainstream and his network broadened, as a producer. In that period of time, he’d created numerous hits, released seven albums under his name, crossed into the global music market, and achieved impressive success.
The problem was that for the past three years, he hadn’t released any new music of his own at all. His momentum was halted, his progress cut short. Seven years of tirelessly streaking across the sky, only for him to splutter out of flames.
And then three years of darkness.
During this weird limbo, he dipped his toes into other ventures: starring in a limited reality TV show that his agency co-produced, designing merchandise for his fans, and accepting gigs for OSTs and ringtones. Just cold, heartless production work. And those all raked in enough money that his hiatus didn’t really impact him or the company negatively, but Yoongi was starting to feel the pressure — both from the outside world and within himself.
He needed to get back into music. Real music, his music. He needed to bring back Agust D.
But he just couldn’t seem to find him.
There’s no point beating my brain like this, he eventually decided. He turned off his equipment and stretched on the chair, his back cracking. God how long had he been sitting there? He checked the clock again, surprised that it was close to midnight. He vaguely remembered dismissing his staff and telling his manager to go to sleep and that he’d be fine, that he was writing. Another lie.
Did he really spend 12 hours in his studio with nothing to show for it?
With a sigh, Yoongi got up, shaking his left leg, which had fallen asleep. It wasn’t until he’d picked up his wallet and phone and stepped out of his studio that he remembered — he didn’t have a car.
Frustration simmered in his gut as he strolled down the hallways of HYBE. There were no longer any people in the conference rooms and studios; the only staff around were from housekeeping and security. They bowed at him as he passed.
No more drivers, then, he thought. I have to find my own way home.
The quickest way was via cab; it would take all of five minutes to travel from the office to his unit in Hannam the Hill.
But as he stood there right outside the doors of HYBE, he found that he didn’t want to go home to his very fancy and very empty apartment. Not yet.
It was the tail-end of winter, with spring waiting for its chance to bloom. Yoongi tightened his black coat around himself in an effort to ward off the February cold.
And then, impulsively, he started to walk towards the nearest train station.
When was the last time he’d ridden the train to get around Seoul? Maybe 2017. That was when he really began getting widespread recognition for his music. And then it was a whirlwind from there.
Looking back, it was like things just started happening so fast, overnight. He barely had time to catch his breath; next thing he knew he was doing talk shows in America, performing on stages around the world.
And now the world had barely heard from him in three years. That was enough time to more or less return to being anonymous, right? At the very least, he could ride the train without causing a commotion.
So that was what he did. He needed a change of pace anyway. Jungkook and Namjoon rattled his monotonous life when they ruined his car; Yoongi was taking it further and shaking it up all the way through. Perhaps he’d been too high up in the clouds after he shot to fame. He needed to ground himself again and remember what the real world was like.
Maybe this way, he’d find the inspiration he needed.
It was 12:30 a.m. by the time he got to the platform, and that was just in time to catch the last train to the direction he was headed. His stop was three stations away, and the whole ride would take only six minutes. From there, he’d have to walk around 20 minutes to get to Hannam.
Not really ideal, but he chose this, and he was following through.
As he waited for the train, he further lowered his bucket hat and watched people from under it. There were a lot of salarymen in suits, and women in long skirts. They were all minding their own business, either talking on the phone or typing on it. Some were listening to music, some were reading.
Just living.
Wind fluttered past Yoongi’s face as the train zoomed into the tunnel, slowing to a stop in front of them. The doors opened with a sigh, and Yoongi shuffled inside, suitcases bumping him, shoulders brushing past him.
There weren’t that many people, so all passengers were able to take a seat. Some opted to stand, maybe because they were getting off at the next stop, maybe because they were afraid to fall asleep, who knew. How was Yoongi supposed to know the stories of the people who rode the train? Thousands pass through these carriages daily. How many of them spoke to one another? How many of them ever saw each other again?
Something about that is beautiful, Yoongi mused. His fingers itched, so he pulled out his phone from his coat pocket and wrote that on his notes app.
Just as he was locking his phone, a sound close to his ear made him jump. A loud feminine laugh, not from the man sitting beside him, but from the phone he was holding.
Annoyed and confused, Yoongi whipped his head to the side to stare. A white mask was covering the entire lower half of the man’s face, so Yoongi couldn’t really make out features except for thick, arched eyebrows, pale skin, and black hair. He was wearing a gray trenchcoat, plain and simple and overall nothing special.
But something did stand out — the fact that the man seemed to have a habit of watching videos with volume on full blast, regardless of whether or not he was in public.
How rude.
The person in the video was still giggling. The man was watching said video, and based on the lines around his eyes, he was smiling. Yoogi was glaring.
After some time, the man seemed to pick up on Yoongi’s bad mood. He lifted his chin and turned his head to face him curiously.
Yoongi was accosted by the sight of almond-shaped brown eyes. His irritation paused itself.
Just as he was wondering if he should snap ‘Turn it down,’ the man’s eyes crinkled again and then…
And then he tilted his phone so he could show his screen to Yoongi.
Perplexed, Yoongi looked down to check. The video was about a cat batting a ball of yarn being dangled by its owner, who was off screen. Based on the hand that popped into the frame every once in a while, the owner was a woman, and was the one giggling like there was no tomorrow.
Just like that, Yoongi’s irritation disappeared. He was still perplexed, but the next video started playing automatically, and this time there were two cats. What was he supposed to do? Look away?
The man made himself comfortable beside Yoongi, and then, for no reason whatsoever, the two of them spent the rest of the ride watching cat videos together.
Yoongi remained bemused as this was happening, but he found no harm in it, so he let it happen. He liked cats. This wasn’t wrong, just incredibly weird.
When he approached his stop, he looked up to double-check that yes, he needed to get off on this station. He felt rather bereft as he straightened on his seat, letting his body language speak for him.
The man seemed to understand: he took his phone back and nodded at Yoongi. He blinked twice, hard, and Yoongi wondered if that was a reflexive habit of sorts, or if he got something in his eyes.
But Yoongi didn’t bother asking. Why would he? He was never going to see this stranger again. This stranger, with the brown eyes, and the face mask, and the gray trenchcoat, and the cat videos, was just a ship sailing past him in the night.
So Yoongi didn’t even bother to say goodbye. When the doors opened, he stood up and walked past them.
And he didn’t look back.
The rest of the walk back home, however, was spent thinking about that train ride. That impulsive train ride, which he ended up going on because of a random string of events.
Six minutes. It was only six minutes. But it led to such a strange and unexpected interaction that Yoongi couldn’t stop thinking about it. Who else in the world could say they had the exact same experience as him?
Just six minutes and that was long enough for Yoongi’s world to start shifting.