Chapter Text
Seokjin warmed his voice up in the booth, while Yoongi fiddled with knobs and spoke with the junior producer. When everything was set, he flipped the switch and spoke into the intercom:
‘Ready when you are, hyung.’
Seokjin nodded. He finished with his scale, then bent over his backpack and fished out a glasses case. He twisted the brim of his ballcap around to the back, put his spectacles on, and the placed the big headphones over his ears. Once so arranged, he gave Yoongi the thumbs up, and the junior producer started playing the backing track. Seokjin lifted his phone up to his face so he could see the lyrics, and then looked through the glass to Yoongi, who counted him in with his right hand.
Seokjin inhaled, and sang:
A scar where there was once an open wound
A blossom where there was once a naked branch
Water where there was once great thirst
Honey where there was once an empty hive
Leafing trees where there was once a desert
A key where there was once a locked door
‘Oh, he’s so good,’ the junior producer gasped, without thinking, and then rushed to explain, ‘I mean, of course, you already know that, sunbaenim, I mean -’
‘No, you’re right,’ Yoongi agreed. He resisted the urge to hit his head against the mixing desk repeatedly, until losing consciousness. ‘He is really, really good.’
Seokjin kept singing, damn him. Was he going to go all the way through in the very first take?
A sigh where there was once a broken cry
Love where once, a heart ached with emptiness
Healing when I thought that all was lost
When I thought that all was lost
When I thought that all was lost
When I thought that all was lost
Seokjin hit the high note at the end of the first chorus, and continued. It wasn’t effortless, the way it once was, Yoongi knew. His tone had gotten rounder over the years; the top and bottom of his range not as easy to reach as they had been, but in exchange there was a maturity and a richness that Yoongi loved.
You, standing at the end of my road
When I thought that all was lost
When I thought that all was lost
When I thought that all was lost
‘Waaah, this is going to be huge,’ Seokjin’s manager crowed, and clasped Yoongi’s shoulder with delight. ‘I think we’ve got a hit on our hands!’
‘Great,’ Yoongi murmured inaudibly.
Seokjin finished the song, and pulled his headphones off. He looked back through the glass, and gave a thumbs up with a questioning look on his face.
‘How did that sound?’ he spoke into the intercom.
The junior producer pressed the button. ‘Sounded amazing, Seokjin-ssi, that was a fantastic first take. We’ll just make a couple of adjustments here and then go ahead for another.’ Yoongi nodded in agreement.
Seokjin bobbed his head. ‘Good, let’s get ready for Take Two, then, eh. Yoongichi, didja catch that? Remember Take Two?’ He warbled, noodling his body around, waiting for the mixing booth signal to go ahead, as if none of the seven of them had ever made that joke in the recording studio before in the ten years since the song had been released. Kim Seokjin on the far side of 40: memory like a steel trap, still happy to try for an easy laugh.
Yoongi scowled and hit the intercom: ‘I caught it, hyung, thanks.’
Seokjin threw him a fingerheart in response, but he managed to ignore it, and kept his face stoic.
He was so fucked.
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Yoongi didn't see his Bangtan brothers that often, except for Namjoon. As seven, they still got together every year to film the Festa Bacchanal and it was usually a blast. Outside of that, there were big differences in how each of them chose to keep in touch with each other (or not) outside of the still-relatively-active-mostly-because-of-dance-line group chat. But that’s how it was with family: you saw some people more than others, and that didn’t necessarily correlate with the depth of emotion you felt for them.
Hoseok was by far the most consistent, not just on social media, but throughout the course of the year - he’d send random photos of things that he said reminded him of Yoongi, and check in more detail about life events, even as he flew all around the globe with work. Thank heaven for Hoseok. JK basically lived on his surfboard in Santa Cruz, and was functionally absent in Yoongi’s day-to-day life. A couple of times a year, though, one of them messaged the other and they’d find a night to overlap in Seoul or LA, to catch up and gorge themselves on lamb skewers. That actually suited Yoongi quite well: Jungkook’s need for raw emotional availability from him was something that Yoongi craved, but could not bear to provide more often than once every few months.
He and Seokjin tried to go on an annual fishing trip together, when the mackerel were running. It was tough, coordinating their schedules, but it felt like an anchor in Yoongi’s year, somehow.
He and Namjoon worked together quite a bit, so the trouble there was that he saw Namjoon in a professional context more than in a personal one, and they’d had to figure out a way to make sure that they still got some friend-time. Namjoon’s partner Miyoung had been crucial for that, actually - one year she bought out a jjimjilbang in Junggok-dong for a day and told them Namjoon wasn’t allowed home until they’d spent at least eight consecutive hours together inside. (They had still talked about work, but not exclusively. Yoongi returned to his flat feeling like he’d been on vacation for a week).
Taehyung and Jimin were attached at the hip, obviously, and he saw them at industry events when he could be bothered to attend. Sometimes they’d all go out drinking afterwards, sometimes not. They were neighbors, after all - living just in the next tower over - and Yoongi always felt like the three of them should hang out more than they did, but schedules were tough, and he wasn’t great at initiating. They were always happy to see him, though, and it was always a relief to find them in a crowd of cheek-kissers and ass-kissers, always good to feel their arms embrace him, to feel their fond gazes on his face, to be called ‘Yoongi-hyung’ with the precise, perfect mix of awe and snark that only they could manage.
Their twenty-year anniversary was coming up fast. They’d all agreed to keep their schedules as clear as possible for that, anticipating a possible concert series, maybe some international dates - but still, he was surprised to realize, when the call from the drama producers came, that he hadn’t been in touch with Jin in a long time.
He opened up kkt, and saw that the last time they’d communicated, just him and Seokjin, had been over eighteen months before. He felt ashamed - there had been no fishing trips, and he hadn’t realized. The last message had been Seokjin wishing Yoongi a happy birthday. He knows I get overwhelmed and can have a hard time responding on my birthday, Yoongi thought, angry with himself for never having acknowledged the message, for never having written back. Doesn’t he? He should.
So at their first production meeting for the song (five people around a tiny table in the smallest conference room (but with the best view) that HYBE had to offer) Yoongi apologized for leaving Seokjin on read. Seokjin was gracious about it, of course: ‘It’s in the past, Yoongiyah’ - and his graciousness shouldn’t have irritated Yoongi, either, but it did. So much for personal growth.
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There was a night, before his first solo tour, before they all enlisted - one of their strange US concert dates, maybe, or was it Busan? Or even before that, one of the tours before the cancelled tour? He couldn’t remember, anymore. Regardless. There was a night in Chapter One when Seokjin made a move on him.
His timing was atrocious: it was very late, and Yoongi had just gotten out of a relationship, one that he actually believed could have become something.
A hotel hallway, low lights, pajamas, Seokjin’s face in his doorway, his hair long and soft and wavy. Seokjin was drunk, Yoongi thought. He must have been drunk. His arms were around Yoongi, and he was laughing - Yoongi couldn’t remember how they’d gotten there, had he been trying to get Seokjin to go to sleep? - Seokjin leaned in for a kiss, eyes closed, and Yoongi instinctively drew back, out of reach, without thinking. Seokjin’s beautiful brows knit together when he wasn’t met - he was stunned, astonished. His eyes opened and focused, his expression turned jokey: ‘Yoongiyah! Don’t try to tell me you never thought about …’ he trailed off when he realized that Yoongi wasn’t going to follow him, wasn’t going to agree.
He closed his eyes again, shook his head, emptied his face. ‘No. No, of course not. Sorry.’ Suddenly sober then, he dropped his arms and turned away. Seokjin was always too quick for him, even when drunk. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered one more time, before closing his door.
Yoongi hadn’t said a word; he’d been taken by surprise, hadn’t even had time to formulate an answer, just knew that he didn’t want that to be their first kiss. Neither of them had mentioned it the next morning, and the world kept turning.
Yoongi could have convinced himself that he’d imagined the whole thing, but Seokjin didn’t touch him off-camera for a year after that, so he knew it was real. He knew Seokjin remembered, and he hated himself for not clarifying his reluctance in the heat of the moment, or the next day.
The thing was: of course he had thought about it, about being intimate with Seokjin. He had thought about it, and he had wanted it, and he had been scared of what wanting it meant, and scared about the consequence of getting what he wanted, and he’d been cycling through all of those feelings for years and years. Seokjin’s lean-in caught him in a moment when he hadn’t been scared but he hadn’t been looking for it, either. Seokjin misread his surprise as hesitancy, and backed off. Yoongi had never revisited the topic.
At some point later on, they went fishing, the two of them. Yoongi caught a mackerel after many long, boring hours out on the water. Seokjin hugged him congratulations, instinctive, without a care, and then it was over, back to normal. Yoongi cried with the relief of it, wedged into the tiny head of the rented fishing boat. He blamed his wet eyes on the wind.
________________________________
His manager had forwarded the request on to him: Seokjin was filming a drama and wanted to sing the title song. Wanted Yoongi to produce the title song. He hadn’t thought twice about it; as with 99.7% of all Bangtan-related matters in his life, his first answer was yes.
After he figured out that he hadn’t responded to Seokjin’s message, he realized that Seokjin had reached out about the song initially through intermediaries - his team to Yoongi’s team - instead of member to member, brother to brother, and that stung, a little bit. But he supposed it was deserved.
They scheduled the second meeting six weeks after the first. The whirlwind of his life twisted and roiled and then it seemed that all of a sudden he was back in that room with Seokjin and their managers and a junior producer who was shadowing Yoongi for a few months.
He hadn’t seen Seokjin since that first meeting in the same tiny room, and it felt wrong.
‘I’ve got some lyrics,’ Seokjin offered, ‘And I’ve got some ideas about tone.’
‘That’s all helpful,’ Yoongi nodded. They knew how to be supportive in meetings with other people.
‘Shall we book some studio time?’ Seokjin’s manager asked. ‘We’ve only got a couple of tight windows for this because Seokjin-ssi has to film on location for the drama on Jeju and KL within the next few months.’
Yoongi wasn’t ready to work on the song in the studio. He had barely even thought about the song since their first meeting, if he was being honest with himself.
‘Sure,’ he agreed, turning to his manager. ‘Towards the end of next week?’
‘What about sooner?’
Everyone’s eyes turned to Seokjin, who shrugged after asking the question. ‘We don’t really have a melody yet, or a beat. I think we might need to work some more stuff out before we lay anything down.’
‘Dinner?’ The invitation spurted out of him, unconscious. He missed Seokjin. ‘We could talk through some things. Before we go to the studio.’
‘I’m free tomorrow night,’ Seokjin said, eyes friendly. ‘Do you still live -’
‘Yeah, same place,’ Yoongi replied. ‘I’ll order in. Mulhwe?’
Seokjin’s gaze flickered. ‘Sure.’
________________________________
Before his shoulder accident, there had been a guy. Counter staff at one of the places Yoongi consistently picked food delivery up from - had it been chicken, or noodles? He couldn’t remember anymore. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that every time he picked up from that place, and the guy was working, when he’d push the bag of food across the counter, he’d find a way to brush his thumb across Yoongi’s wrist or hand.
It was one of those things that could have been awkward, or at worst, very uncomfortable - but the guy was cute, in a gangly, dorky way, and didn’t give off sleaze vibes at all. The first time it happened, Yoongi thought it was an accident. The second time it happened, Yoongi looked at him, sharp, ready to fight, but the guy let a hint of an uncertain smile cross his face, as if he was ready to back off, and it disarmed Yoongi completely.
So, the third time it happened, Yoongi smiled back.
After that, they’d chat, very briefly and occasionally, nothing more than weather talk or work talk, if there were a few minutes to spare. The guy had beautiful eyelashes; he would glance at Yoongi through them, and Yoongi imagined being the kind of person who would reach out to touch someone he didn’t know. Imagined possessing that kind of courage.
If there had been more room in his life - if there had been any room at all for anything other than training and work and pathetic amounts of sleep, really, Yoongi would have asked him for a drink. Maybe scrawled a note to him with his number. Tried to learn his name. As it was, every time he got told to pick up from that restaurant, his stomach would flip with anticipation, and if he got there and the guy wasn’t working, he’d feel disappointed.
After the injury, and the recovery, Yoongi didn’t think about him for a few months. He went back to the place, at some point, but the guy wasn’t there, and how could he have asked? What would he have said?
Yoongi remembered his face sometimes, his cheekbones scattered with tiny acne scars, the dark slash of his eyebrows. Felt his touch, featherlight, along the inside of his wrist. Yearned to be young in that way, again.
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He ordered a few other things besides mulhwe, too, just to be on the safe side.
Seokjin brought three glass bottles of traditional alcohol from his newest branded range, and three plastic bottles of burdock tea from the nearest GS-25.
He leaned up against his kitchen cabinet while Yoongi got out plates and glasses and poured a pitcher of water. The silver at his temples looked good. The solidity he’d gained while in service had stayed over the years. He wasn’t a scarecrow any more; he hadn’t been in a long time. It suited him.
‘Good to see you like this, Yoongiyah. You doing okay?’
‘M fine,’ Yoongi said, voice muffled as he pulled the food out of the bags. ‘Good to see you, too.’ They sat down on floor cushions. Yoongi poured the first drink.
‘You’ve been well?’
‘I’ve been well,’ Seokjin replied. He picked up his glass and they toasted each other.
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Yoongi had been in a few serious relationships over the years. He hadn’t ever wanted to get married - too much fuss - and he’d never dated anyone who had wanted that, either. He’d been with his most recent partner, Seungmin, for nearly two years - before they’d called it quits. Well, before Seungmin had called it quits.
‘You want me to be different,’ Seungmin told him, and Yoongi couldn’t even lie and couldn't tell him he was wrong. ‘You want me to be a different person. You always have.’
‘You’re perfect just the way you are,’ Yoongi said, dully, because that was true, and because it was the right thing to say.
‘Yes, I am,’ Seungmin replied, ‘But I’m not perfect for you.’
‘No one’s perfect for me,’ Yoongi protested, even though his heart wasn’t in it. ‘No one is perfect for anyone, we’ve all gotta work for it.’
Seungmin paused while packing his suitcase. ‘Hyung. We’ve been working for it almost as long as we’ve been together. Do you want to keep working for it? Really? Do you think that working for it even more than we already have would make it better, or significantly different?’
Yoongi shook his head, and felt like a horrible, horrible person.
‘I’m sorry,’ he choked out.
‘I’m sorry, too,’ Seungmin assented, but he didn’t come over and hug Yoongi, didn’t try to make it easier.
‘I’m sorry I - I’m sorry I - I’m sorry I wasted your time,’ Yoongi keened, guilt roaring up in him. ‘I’m sorry I wasted your life.’
Seungmin smiled, ruefully and calmly. ‘Ah, Yooniah, no. You weren’t in charge of my life. You didn’t waste my time. I did that all on my own.’
‘I loved you,’ Yoongi sputtered, not even sure if it was true. What did love mean? The only people he ever felt like he properly knew how to love were his family - because he’d never even thought about it - and his brothers, a cellular attachment forged through hormones and fire, through hours of green room boredom, through plague and adulation and kinesio tape and meetings. So many goddamn meetings.
‘Did you?’ Seungmin asked, angry-gentle.
Seungmin moved to Busan and Yoongi never saw him again.
Taehyung and Jimin and his managers waited for a couple of months and then tried to set him up a few times. Each person was nice and smart and good-looking, and Yoongi nitpicked every single nonexistent flaw out of them, and then hated himself, and so they stopped.
A year went by, then two.
‘You’re living like a monk right now, hyung,’ Jungkook said to him one night in the private room of a restaurant, meat sizzling on the grill. ‘Is that what you want?’
What Yoongi didn’t want was to talk about it. He didn’t feel alone - he saw his friends, he saw his brothers, he saw his parents, he loved his work, and he loved being able to go to LA at the drop of a hat, especially now that Incheon had finally built a private terminal. He jerked off when he needed the release. He was thinking about getting another dog, or maybe buying a summer house somewhere down south where he could dig in the dirt and then pay someone to keep the plants going in his absence. He could start a small-batch artisan marmalade label (‘Jams by SUGA’).
He flipped the meat. ‘A lot of monks lead really great, fulfilling lives, Kook-ah.’
Jungkook rolled his big brown eyes at Yoongi. ‘Sure, hyung.’ He looked concerned and a little sad, and Yoongi knew he was worried, and also trying to not be pushy. ‘Sure.’
They dropped the subject.
________________________________
By the time Seokjin came back from filming in Jeju the next month, Yoongi had a beat, lyrics that incorporated Seokjin’s own, and a rough vocal guide he’d gotten one of the kids to lay down.
He played it for Seokjin in the Genius Lab, just to get a first reaction.
Seokjin clapped and hollered when the song ended. ‘That’s it, Yoongichi! Yes!’
Yoongi smiled, satisfied. He’d had a good feeling about what he played; if Seokjin liked it, that meant the writing - the most difficult part - was done. ‘Excellent.’
‘When can we record? Tomorrow?’
He shook his head. ‘You can record tomorrow, but I’ve got meetings all day with this new girl group - I can’t get into the studio until Friday.’
‘No, I can wait until Friday. I’d rather wait, and record with you, anyway.’
Yoongi nodded. That was normal. They all preferred to be with each other, when they could. Wasn’t that why Seokjin’s team had asked him for help in the first place?
‘Let’s celebrate!’ Seokjin pulled out his phone. ‘I’ll see if any of the Seoul-based babies want to come out tonight.’
But none of the babies could come out, and so it ended up just being the two of them in a dark corner of a bar. No one saw them. Their server was stern and very good at their job, consistently bringing a full bottle just as they poured a penultimate drink from the open one on the table.
They both got drunk. Seokjin had an apartment nearby, and wanted to walk home, get some fresh air. Yoongi knew he needed to call a car, but he didn’t want the night to end. It was just - it was so nice, being with Seokjin again. Being the Yoongi that Seokjin knew.
He started walking along with Seokjin, their security trailing discreetly behind them. They laughed and joked and then they stood at the huge plate glass entrance of Seokjin’s building and Yoongi didn’t even ask. He just went in the elevator with Seokjin, waving goodbye to his bodyguard, and then he was in Seokjin’s apartment, his new apartment that he’d actually had for over five years, but Yoongi had never been inside it before.
His drunken fingers were a little clumsy, so it took him a few minutes to unlace his shoes in the entryway. Seokjin shucked off his oxfords and slipped on his indoor slides, and went on ahead of him, bustling through to the kitchen, turning on the lights.
On the low shelf, he saw a pair of blue and white slippers shaped like fish, and it stopped him. Were they actually -
‘Hey, hyung,’ he called out. Seokjin’s face popped into the corridor. He held up a slipper.
‘Are these the same ones I -’
Seokjin’s ears turned red faster than Yoongi had seen in a long time.
‘No, those, ah, those bit the dust a few years ago. But I had someone find me replacements from the same company.’
‘Ah,’ he acknowledged.
Seokjin’s face disappeared again as his voice echoed down the hall: ‘Feel free to wear them, they are super comfy!’
‘I don’t think they’ll fit -’ he tried them on anyway, and they didn’t. But it made him think about it, that year he’d bought the slippers as a joke for Seokjin’s birthday, the first year he came home from service. Yoongi had gone in by then, of course. He’d written a maudlin note while he was on leave, he remembered, something about wanting his hyung’s feet to always be dry and safe and warm, now that he was back, and he’d asked his assistant to send them off together. He’d loved the cleverness of them, the way the toes poked out from the mouth of the fish, the slight ugliness of the printed graphic.
He’d always known that Seokjin was sentimental - he was, too - but seeing the slippers made him happy in a way that he hadn’t felt happy in a long time. Seokjin liked his gift enough to buy himself another pair, years later. Maybe Seokjin even thought of him, his good friend and forever roommate Yoongi, whenever he saw them.
He shuffled into a pair of generic beige guest slippers instead, and went to join Seokjin.
The kitchen was huge, with blue-fronted cabinets stretching almost into the distance, and at least three sinks. One rested along the edge of a central island, topped with pink marble, that kept two wine fridges tucked underneath it. There were a few sturdy stools, with backs, covered in dark blue leather, scattered around the extended counter’s edge. Big as it was, though, it had clearly been designed to be used, with one of the sinks facing a wall of windows, and a rice cooker out on the countertop, not hidden away.
‘Are you hungry?’ Seokjin’s head was buried in the double-wide fridge. ‘I can make rice. Do you want some fruit or something crunchy? Or crunchy fruit? There’s probably grapes, we should eat something -’
Yoongi wanted salty, savory, slurpy. ‘Is there ramyeon?’
Seokjin laughed. ‘Is there ramyeon, he asks. Is there ramyeon? Is there ramyeon? Who do you take me for, Yoongichi? Have you met me?’ He shook his head, pained, and pointed to a narrow cabinet door. ‘Open that up, and tell me what you find.’
Yoongi walked over and opened the door. A narrow open compartment, nearly the width of the opening, pushed itself out about five centimeters. Was it on hydraulics?
‘Pull gently the rest of the way,’ Seokjin told him.
He pulled, and then his jaw dropped. The compartment had five shelves and each one was stuffed full with a different kind of ramyeon, a gorgeous display of multicolored plastic abundance. Yoongi felt his jaw drop. A compartment just for ramyeon. Why had he never thought of this?
‘Wow, this is - this is genius, Jin-hyung.’
‘Well, I try. Hopefully there’s one in there that you like,’ Seokjin said, eyes mirthful. ‘I tell people I had it installed for when my nephews come to stay, but really I just thought it was hilarious. And, obviously, useful.’
‘Can we share one? I’m not sure I want to eat a whole one this late at night -’
‘Well, that’s a lie and we both know it, but if it’ll make you feel better to only start with one, sure, we can start with one.’ Seokjin hopped off his stool and went over to fill the electric kettle.
They ate sitting next to each other on the blue stools, slurping out of the same bowl.
Yoongi felt the intervening years evaporate. All of a sudden, he was back in Nonhyeon-dong, scared shitless yet full of bravado, carefully dividing food with the oldest so that there was enough for everyone to have at least some, sweaty and tired and unsure about himself.
He looked over at Seokjin, and the elegant pale strands at his temples reminded Yoongi that he was in 2032, not 2012. Seokjin, who in those days had also been sweaty and tired and unsure of himself, maybe even more so than Yoongi. He’d been scouted, after all; he hadn’t pursued this life the way that Yoongi had. He’d never danced before, never really sung before. He was studying full-time at Konkuk, a youngest brother fake-it-til-you-make-it-ing into being the best mathyung for the rest of them, and Yoongi knew there were nights when Seokjin wondered if the unknown future was worth the present pain, because they all did.
Yoongi shook his head to make the memories dissipate.
‘Started from the bottom, now we here,’ Yoongi sang, the melody familiar even if the English consonants were clunky in his mouth from disuse. Seokjin smiled. He took a sip of water, and his throat rippled. He played along, like he always did.
‘Now we here … drunk and eating midnight instant noodles.’
‘In your penthouse.’
Seokjin waggled a finger and smirked.
‘In one of my penthouses.’
They grinned at each other, satisfied.
‘Thanks,’ Yoongi said, clinking their water bottles together.
‘Yah, hyung will always feed you,’ Seokjin admonished. ‘My bougie ramyeon cabinet is your bougie ramyeon cabinet, Yoongichi, never doubt.’
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Then, it was mackerel season, and since they were ahead of schedule with the song, they rented a boat, the day before Seokjin had to leave for filming.
Out on the water, Seokjin caught fish after fish.
‘Waaah, Yoongiyah, my good luck charm!’ he exclaimed.
They took it all back in a cooler, and spent the rest of the afternoon together, going house to house for the rest of the Seoul-based members, dropping off their marine delicacies to share, as per their discontinuous tradition.
At some point over the last twenty-odd years, they’d all learnt to read each other pretty well, Yoongi knew. Sure, there were some more nebulous spots, there always were. Mostly, though, they could feel what was going on with each other, even if they didn’t articulate it.
So he noticed, as they dropped off the fish, the way that the members noticed them, the way they gave him and Seokjin space. It made him ache. It was attentive, this space, quiet, and expectant, and terrifying. It wasn’t the kind of space they’d given him when he’d told them Seungmin was moving in with him, or when he’d told them Seungmin had broken up with him. It was - it was gentle, and excited, and tender. He hadn’t noticed it ever before, after any of their other fishing trips, when they’d brought the cooler around. Hell, the last time they’d gone fishing, the only other member in Seoul at the time had been Namjoon. And now, as then, Miyoung was particularly enthused, joking that it had been so long since she’d had fresh mackerel, she wouldn’t share any of it with her husband.
Back at Seokjin’s, their cooler empty, Yoongi felt tired and also buzzed.
‘I should go home,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a long studio day tomorrow with that new girl group.’ It wasn’t completely not-true. He did have studio time booked with them, but not until the afternoon. He needed a break, though, from Seokjin’s smile and eyes and shoulders and laughter and gentleness. Seokjin had started seeing him again, all of him, since they’d begun working on the song, seeing him in a way that Yoongi hadn’t really let anyone see him since before Seungmin. It made Yoongi confused: wanting to be seen so terribly much, and also wanting to be left alone, unseen and unknown and safe.
Seokjin tilted his head. They stood just inside his front door, Yoongi still in his outside shoes.
‘You sure? It’s still pretty early. We could order something -’
Yoongi couldn’t think of the last time he’d spent this much time with one other person and not needed to claw his eyes out. Had Seokjin noticed it, too, the space they'd been given? The attention?
He knew he should go. The way Taehyung had looked at the two of them holding the cooler, his artist’s gaze assessing, and then satisfied as if something off-balance had been righted - it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real, what Yoongi had seen in Tae's gaze. Could it?
He stayed.
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‘Are you going to Jackson’s party tonight?’ Seokjin asked through the intercom of the recording booth. It was just the two of them, and they were nearly done with recording, only laying down some ad-libs and filler in case it was needed in post-production, since Seokjin was leaving Seoul early next week for a while.
Yoongi snorted and pressed the button: ‘The ‘Grown and Sexy’ party on the roof? No.’
‘Come on now, Yoongichi, are you not also grown and sexy?’
Yoongi didn’t shake his head no, but he didn’t say anything, either.
‘Or is it that you don’t want to celebrate our illustrious colleague’s birthday?’ Seokjin’s fake frown was really quite something. ‘Tut, tut, Yoongichi, sucking a man’s dick once and him not calling you afterwards isn’t grounds for years of belligerence. Surely you know that by now.’
‘He still should have called you, hyung.’
‘It wasn’t that kind of thing. You know that. You were there -’
‘I wasn’t there.’
Seokjin rolled his eyes. ‘You were there! Not in the same room, obviously, but - at that - whatever it was. What was it?’
Yoongi didn’t remember, either. ‘Some awards ceremony.’ What he remembered was how Seokjin looked in the car afterwards, heading home from the venue: disheveled, triumphant, everything that Yoongi wanted for himself.
‘Anyway, to answer your question, no, I wasn’t planning on going.’
Seokjin tilted his head, eyes kind. ‘Any room for persuasion in that dismissal?’
Most of the time, now, Seokjin would check before starting to tease. Yoongi both appreciated it, and also missed the way Seokjin would take something from 0 to 120 with no warning or provocation.
Yoongi considered. ‘Maybe.’
‘If we went together and I promised that you wouldn’t have to talk to anyone you didn’t want to talk to?’
‘That’s … you can’t really do that at those kinds of parties. You kind of have to talk to everyone. That’s why they’re so exhausting.’
‘I know,’ Seokjin admitted, ‘I was just hoping to persuade you. I usually avoid them, too, but I think I really have to go to this one and show myself - there’s a part I want in a new drama and it would be good to remind the casting director that my face is still as beautiful as it always has been.’ He sighed dramatically, and held up his hand to make a flower-aegyo that Yoongi resolutely ignored.
‘I thought it could be fun to go together. But it’s really okay, Yoongi, I don’t mind showing up on my own.’ His gaze extended out into the middle distance. ‘All alone, on my own, without any of my brothers, just like the orphaned lamb at night, out in the fields with only the light of the faraway moon to keep him company.’ He sighed again, and looked directly at Yoongi. ‘Baa, baa.’
Yoongi closed his eyes and accepted his defeat.
________________________________
Back in the early days, they would sneak away from the dorms and go drinking sometimes, him and Seokjin and, when he was feeling particularly Rap-Monster-y, Namjoon. They met with people from their lives Before BigHit, or with ex-trainees; sometimes Seokjin’s brother would come, and bring friends. Seokjin, even then, knew his limits when it came to alcohol, and was often one of the first to leave (‘I need to go make lunch for Jungkookie.’)
Yoongi was still learning, though. He’d stay out too late and drink too much and he’d stagger home and into their shared room, where there would be a bottle of water and hangover remedy and an empty bin next to his bed, all placed there strategically by his forever roommate.
‘Love you, hyung,’ he’d wheeze out, flopping down on the bed fully dressed. ‘Thank you for taking care of me.’
Seokjin’s body was always turned towards the wall when Yoongi came through the door, but he was never asleep. ‘Brush your teeth before you pass out, Yoon.’
Sometimes, in those days, Yoongi would dream that instead of flopping down on his own bed, he’d have the courage to flop down next to Seokjin. He’d drop onto the tiny sliver of mattress left behind Seokjin’s body, wriggle his way under the covers. Dream-Seokjin would turn around and open his arms to Yoongi and whisper, ‘Ah, welcome back, I was waiting for you,’ and snuggle him close. Yoongi would look into Dream-Seokjin’s eyes and see an invitation there. He’d lean forward, kiss those lips that he was always watching, and Seokjin would meet him with a whimper of relief, his mouth warm and soft and sweet.
It felt so real, that dream. Sometimes, in the mornings after he’d had it, he would be awake before Seokjin, before they needed to rush through showering and make breakfast for the babies. He would give himself a few minutes just to look. Just to see his hyung’s beautiful face, smiling gently in dreamland, his knobbly hands clasped around a pillow, or later on, an RJ. He never let himself stare for too long; it made him feel yucky to stare for too long, but if he timed it right, it felt like the best gift he’d ever managed to give himself.
________________________________
Jackson’s party was on a gorgeous roofdeck seventy stories up, looking out over the undulating, eternally grey river. The sunset cast golden beams over the attendees, beautiful industry people all.
The birthday boy stood near the entry arch, made of draping ferns and plum blossom, with a flute of champagne in his hand. He wore a perfectly tailored crimson suit, the jacket open and no shirt underneath, abs still washboard-cut. Yoongi sensed Seokjin’s eye roll, even though he didn’t see it.
They all hugged, careful not to disturb each other’s makeup. Jackson seemed a little wasted already in his characteristically delightful, chummy way. ‘Damn, it’s been way too long! Whoop! Bangtan Bangtan!' He drew them to each side of him to pose for the photographers and Yoongi saw Seokjin make a fingerheart out of the corner of his eye. 'So glad you could make it, fellas! Grown and sexy, right? Grown and sexy! Get a drink and enjoy!’ He slapped Yoongi on the back a bit too heartily.
Then they were free.
‘He’s not even forty yet,’ Seokjin grumbled as they walked away, so low that Yoongi almost missed the comment. ‘Well, one down, anyway - that leaves, what? Two hundred and … forty? fifty? people to go.’
‘No way, hyung, we’re gonna leave right after whatever the big moment is. If we don’t get to everybody before then, that’s their problem.’
‘Oh, you know how I like it when you take control, Yoongichi.’ Seokjin fluttered his eyelashes and Yoongi felt a little insane.
He leant over and murmured in Yoongi’s ear, ‘I see that director, I’m gonna go have a quick chat with him, okay? Do you want to come?’
Yoongi shook his head. ‘I’m gonna go to the bar. I’ll find you later.’
‘Sounds good. Remember, Yooniah - grown and sexy!’
‘Sure.’
‘Say it back.’
‘No.’
‘Say it back. Grown and sexy.’ He bopped Yoongi on the arm.
‘Ugh.’
‘Be my good luck charm, Yoon, say it back, you know I hate feeling nervous.’ Seokjin looked over his shoulder, judging his timing to approach the director.
He gave in. ‘Grown and sexy, hyung.’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Seokjin put his hand up for a dap and then immediately lowered it when he saw the look on Yoongi’s face. ‘Okay, well, see you in a bit.’
At the bar, some gorgeous young caterpillars approached Yoongi, asking about working together, but mostly laughing and flirting with each other. He was polite, and tried to stay engaged; they left relatively quickly though, once it was clear that he wasn’t really in the mood to talk.
He smelt Taehyung before he saw him: fragrant, expensive spices and a delicate jasmine. He felt Taehyung’s arms around his waist from behind, felt his chin land on his right shoulder, and let himself relax for a moment.
‘Yoongi-hyung.’ Tae’s deep voice.
‘Hi, Tae-ah.’ Tae released him and he turned around.
‘Grown and sexy, huh?’ Taehyung wore an emerald green double-breasted suit with no shirt underneath (where had all the shirts gone?, Yoongi wondered), his collarbones sharp under a delicate gold and diamond chain. ‘You’re looking good.’
Yoongi had dressed himself: cream-colored trousers, one of his thick chain necklaces, a deconstructed linen button down in a very pale green, chunky shoes. His hair curled down to his shoulders, but mostly because he just couldn’t be bothered asking his stylist to make him an appointment, or cut it. He felt comfortable, which was the most important thing, but he didn’t feel that sexy. ‘Sure,’ he acknowledged. ‘Where’s Jiminie?’
Tae jerked his head back. ‘He’s talking with some dancers over there. Good to see you, hyung! Didn’t know you were coming to this.’
‘I came with Seokjinie,’ Yoongi said, without thinking.
‘Ooooh, Jin-hyung is here, too?’
‘Yeah, he’s -’ Yoongi looked over in the direction Seokjin had gone, but didn’t see him. ‘He’s around here, somewhere. There was someone he wanted to speak with, a director.’
Taehyung nodded. ‘Gotcha.’ He grabbed two flutes of sparkling wine off a passing tray and offered one to Yoongi. ‘You want?’
Yoongi took the bubbles. ‘Thanks.’ He’d switch to whiskey later.
They leaned with their backs to the bar and looked out over the rooftops of Seoul, glorious and rose-tipped in the fading rays of the sun.
‘How’s the collab song going? For the drama?’ Taehyung asked.
‘Good.’ Yoongi answered. ‘Working with hyung has been really fun.’
‘What’s the song about?’
‘What is every song about, Tae-ah.’
‘Ah. Love.’
‘Love.’ Taehyung’s eyes crinkled as he knocked back the rest of the wine. ‘Never gets old, does it? Writing about it, singing about it, feeling it.’
‘Sure, Tae.’
‘When’s the last time you were in love, hyung?’
Yoongi stayed silent but felt the confession crawling up through his chest and knew it was only a matter of time. He ached with the need to tell someone and Taehyung’s eyes were so kind.
‘Ouch, that long, huh?’ Taehyung took another two flutes from another passing tray. ‘Bottoms up, hyung, grown and sexy, grown and sexy.’
‘It’s complicated.’ Yoongi took a sip.
‘Complicated,’ Taehyung repeated.
Yoongi closed his eyes and dove off the cliff.
‘I’m … ‘m in love. With Jin-hyung. Now.’ He swallowed the rest of the wine.
‘Right now?’ A huge, boxy, hopeful smile bloomed on Taehyung’s face. ‘With our Jin-hyung?’
‘Right now.’ His entire body was zinging. ‘Our Jin-hyung.’ Oh, gods.
Taehyung drained his glass and turned around to place it on the bar. He faced Yoongi, pleased, debonair. ‘So what’s complicated?’
Just then, Seokjin appeared in Yoongi’s field of vision, laughing and attentive as he and the director walked along the edge of the parapet, about ten meters away. He wore a formal silk matching set, patterned in pink and black hexagons, the cut of his trousers leaving very little to the imagination. His hair was styled back from his forehead and he looked beautiful and elegant and Yoongi knew it wasn’t for him, and never would be.
He turned away, and faced the bar.
‘What’s complicated, Tae, is that I missed my chance.’
Taehyung snorted. ‘That’s a load of bullshit if I ever heard it.’
‘It’s true.’
‘No, it’s definitely not true.’
‘What’s definitely not true?’ Jimin appeared, kissing Taehyung’s cheek, embracing Yoongi. He was elegant in a long, sleeveless silver and green tunic over silver leggings.
Shit, Yoongi spiraled, as he greeted Jimin. Shit, shit, shit. Taehyung will tell Jimin and Jimin will tell Hobah and Hobah will tell Jungkook and JK will tell Namjoon and Namjoon will tell Seokjin and I’m just going to have to live out the rest of my life on this goddamn rooftop so that I never have to speak with anyone I know ever again and they’re gonna make me throw my shirt away in order to join their cult.
Taehyung’s answer surprised him, though. Had everyone’s personality changed and Yoongi just hadn’t noticed? Was he the only one who hadn’t changed?
‘Yoongi-hyung’s assessment of a personal situation,’ he replied to Jimin, with a peck to his temple. ‘I disagree.’
‘Well, I’m sure you’re right and Yoongi-hyung is wrong,’ Jimin grinned. At least he hadn’t changed. ‘So whatever you think is true, it’s not ,’ he stuck his tongue out at Yoongi.
‘Ugh,’ Yoongi said. ‘No respect.’
‘Ha!’ Jimin trilled. ‘I’m gonna check in with Soyoon-ssi,’ Jimin said, grabbing a drink from another tray. ‘See you in a bit, grown and sexy lover. See you in a bit, grown and sexy hyung.’
‘Sure,’ Yoongi saluted with his flute.
‘Bye, baby,’ Taehyung blew him a kiss, and turned his attention back to Yoongi, who realized he should have escaped when Taehyung was distracted by Jimin.
‘Here’s the thing, Yoongi-ssi,’ Taehyung started, sipping more champagne. ‘Here’s the thing about knowing people for a really long time. You get more than one chance.’
‘No. Not with him.’ He shook his head.
Taehyung’s eye roll was visible from space. ‘So when was this mythical chance that you speak of?’
Yoongi shook his head, silent. He regretted telling Taehyung. He should have known better.
‘Was it more than ten years ago?’
Yoongi stayed silent.
‘More than fifteen? Come on, hyung, play along, I don’t really want to be here either, I just started painting a new series and all I want to do is stay in the studio, but Mimi’s been choreographing with these new dancers and -’
‘Ooh, tell hyung about your new series -’
‘No! No deflecting! No! We are talking about you!’ Taehyung reached out and grabbed two more full flutes, then necked one. Damn, they are not fucking around with the alcohol distribution, Yoongi thought. These babies are gonna be puking off the deck.
‘Tae. No.’
Taehyung placed the empty glass on the counter. ‘Listen, you may think that I don’t know about this, just because I’ve been with my soulmate since we were young and dumb, and I get that. I get it. But. But! I know people, hyung. And I know - I know hearts.’
‘Tae,’ he tried, but Taehyung was tipsy and off to the races.
‘Shhhh, and I know that whatever happened with you two a decade ago, or two decades ago, hyung, I’m sure that it hurt, but hyung, hyung, our cells completely renew themselves every seven years, did you know that? So that means that whatever happened, whatever it was, hyung, it was - you were - different people. Literally. Cellularly. That was like, two or three Yoongi’s ago. Two or three Seokjin’s ago. Depending on how you count it. So you’ve definitely got more chances, hyung, okay?’ His voice was low and fierce.
‘Tae, I -’
‘I dare you,’ Taehyung stage-whispered. ‘I double-Daegu-diggity-dare you to do something about it.’
Yoongi clenched his hand into a fist. If he hadn’t had five (possibly six) flutes of champagne in twenty minutes, he might have resisted the manipulation, or been stronger; if he hadn’t spent the past six months in varying states of anguish, if he hadn’t if he hadn’t if he hadn’t if he hadn’t - if he hadn’t, he might have made a different decision - but as it was, Taehyung’s dare went straight into his core and lit a fire there.
He glared over at his brother, who had the audacity to wink at him over the rim of his glass, as he tipped the last few drops of liquid down his throat.
‘Fuck you and this adolescent bullshit dare.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Taehyung replied, setting the flute down on the bar. ‘Now, go.’
He set his empty glass down on the bar and left in search of Seokjin. Taehyung smiled.
________________________________
Seokjin was surrounded by admirers, of course, and Yoongi lurked, scowling, around the outside of the circle for a few minutes, until Seokjin caught his eye and excused himself.
‘What’s up, Yooniah? I can see that frown from across the rooftop!’
Yoongi flushed, and tried to rearrange his features into those more befitting a confession decades in the making. ‘Hyung, I need to -’
‘THANK YOU FOR COMING, EVERYONE!’ Jackson’s voice boomed out through the speakers.
Yoongi swore, and stopped talking. He refused to compete with Jackson Fucking Wang, of all the goddamn people on the planet, for Seokjin’s attention.
Seokjin pushed them both closer to the small platform where Jackson was standing in front of a bright orange and white neon sign, pulsing ‘GROWN’ and then ‘&’ and then ‘SEXY’ and then the three together at once, and then starting the cycle over again.
‘WHEN WE PLANNED THIS GATHERING, I KNEW I WANTED ONLY MY MOST FAVORITE, MOST IMPORTANT PEOPLE HERE TO CELEBRATE ME, SO CONGRATULATIONS ON MAKING THE CUT!’ Jackson continued, to a murmur of appreciation from the crowd, who knew it was bullshit but enjoyed hearing it, anyway. ‘PLEASE REMEMBER TO USE THE PARTY HASHTAGS ON ALL OF YOUR SOCIALS! GROWN AND SEXY, BABY! GROWN AND SEXY!’
There was rustling as those who weren’t posting took their phones out to show that they were posting, and as those who were already posting continued to do so.
‘DON’T FORGET THAT FASHION WANG’S NEW LINE WILL BE RELEASED SOON, AND YOU CAN MEET THE CLOTHES TONIGHT, ON OUR WONDERFUL, GROWN AND SEXY MODELS, YEAH!!’ Jackson pumped his fist and the models, dressed in shades of orange and cream and white, all waved their hands and squealed.
‘I ALSO HAVE A POPPIN’ FRESH SONG COMING OUT NEXT WEEK, AND YOU’RE GOING TO LISTEN TO IT FOR THE FIRST TIME, TONIGHT! IT’S A SPECIAL BIRTHDAY GIFT, FROM ME TO YOU!’ This was met with polite enthusiasm and applause.
‘SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, HERE WE GO!’ Jackson gave the thumbs up to the DJ and the bass notes thumped. Yoongi’s chest cavity vibrated and his body filled with rage and confusion. How was he supposed to -
Seokjin swayed behind him, gyrating to the beat. The models joined Jackson on the platform and they danced around him as he bopped and sang.
Yoongi realized that his moment was lost. He needed to find a new moment. His neurons fought against the tide of sparkling wine, trying to connect to each other and formulate a plan.
Eventually, the song ended and the crowd dispersed again, after applauding Jackson once more. Seokjin made small talk with the people around them.
‘Well, that was certainly a thing that happened!’ Seokjin murmured into his ear. In his attempt at planning, he hadn’t noticed that Seokjin had stayed so close. ‘You ready to split? We can find the other members or -’ this last phrase coming in very very soft and low, ‘or we can just ghost. Whatever you want.’
‘Let’s go,’ Yoongi said, mouth dry. ‘I’m ready, too.’
They walked swiftly to the elevator area. Yoongi checked that his manager had gotten his message, and exhaled. Was he really going to do this? He had to. If he didn’t - he knew that if he didn’t, he’d never be able to live with himself. Let alone withstand the ribbing from Taehyung.
There wasn’t anyone else waiting, thankfully. He pressed the button to call the elevator.
Once the doors closed and they were on their way down to the subterranean parking garage, Yoongi exhaled, deep, and took Seokjin’s hand. He kept his gaze straight ahead, glued to where the numbers clicked down. He knew he couldn’t say what he needed to say and look at Seokjin at the same time.
‘Yoon? What -’
‘I love you, hyung.’
Floor 65.
‘I love you, too, Yoongi, what -’
‘No, I mean. I love you. Like, as a person.’ He kept his eyes on the digits, descending, descending. Seokjin squeezed his hand, hard.
Floor 60.
‘As a - as a person?’
‘Like - like - as a man. Seokjin, you’re a man, and I’m a - I’m a man, and I think - I think I didn’t realize it but I’ve been in love with you since, ah, since always. And I didn’t kiss you back, that time, I know, but it wasn’t because I didn’t want to.’
Floor 43.
‘And maybe I should have kissed you back, but if I had, I don’t know if we’d be here, and I - I want to be here. Even if - I just want to ask - if you don’t, if you don’t, if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. More than okay. I mean, I’m assuming that you don’t. And that’s okay. I needed to tell you, Tae made me tell you. But just - ‘
Floor 27. They were almost there. He was proud of timing this drunken, messy babble as well as he had. Seokjin was uncharacteristically silent, his hand still in Yoongi’s, still clasping very strongly.
‘But just, if you don’t, and I’m assuming you don’t, and that’s okay - if you don’t - just - let’s never talk about this again. We can just pretend that this never happened, okay? I need you to pretend that it never happened.’
Floor 11.
‘I love you and I’ll always love you and I don’t need you to love me back. Not this way, anyway. I mean, I know you’ll always love me, just not - anyway - I’m - I have a car waiting - so - I’m just gonna go, okay. And like I said, if you don’t feel the same way, that’s okay, and the next time we see each other, it’ll be like we just went to Jackson’s dumbass party and then left on our own and nothing ever happened. Ok? Ok, hyung?’
The elevator didn’t stop at the lobby level, it went down, down.
Seokjin still held his hand, so tight it almost hurt, but Yoongi couldn’t look at him.
Floor P4.
‘Thanks for listening, hyung.’
The doors opened, and Yoongi let go of Seokjin’s hand, and used his airport walk to get away fast - he’d left it all out there, in the elevator.
He didn’t look back, his entire body alight with adrenaline and relief and excitement and dread.
He got in the car and was in his Hannam flat within forty-five minutes.
He took a hangover remedy, one of Jungkook’s branded ones (they worked better than his own, he was sorry to say, but he’d never tell). He got out the whiskey he drank when he needed to get really drunk, and he put on comfy clothes and his best self-pity playlist, and he settled in for a long session.
He’d been home for about an hour when his buzzer rang.
It was Seokjin, of course, Seokjin in a dark gray tracksuit and pink rubber slides, his face wiped clean of makeup, his hair damp under a logoless pink baseball cap. He held a box of strawberries, and his eyes were bright when Yoongi glanced quickly across his countenance.
All of the dread that Yoongi’s whiskey intake had been successfully fending off curled right back into his guts and he trembled. He tried to focus, tried to take a breath. Seokjin, at his door -
Seokjin shoved the box of strawberries at Yoongi as he toed off his slides and put guest slippers on.
‘I - I - I brought fruit. Is that the right thing to do? I didn’t know if that was the right thing to do.’