Chapter Text
Having a soulmate is an inevitable part of life. Having a soulmate mark is also inevitable. Everyone is born with a faded mark somewhere on their body. Some people are born with more than one, some people don’t meet their soulmate or soulmates. Most people have romantic soulmates, far less people have platonic soulmates. There are unfortunate cases when soulmates don’t meet, cases where soulmates aren’t accepted and their marks stay faded or when the bond is one-sided and the marks turn white, contrary to the laws of the universe, and there are some times when the universe gets it wrong, times when one half of a whole dies and your mark turns red. Most people meet and accept their soulmates and both marks turn black.
Whatever way you roll the dice, everyone is born with a mark.
His parents tell him this at a young age, when he’s more curious than most children his age about the faded markings against the left side of his ribcage. The simplistic design of a heartbeat, with a cursive treble cleft woven through the center. There’s a certain way his mother and father explain the concept of soulmate marks, the way it’s told as fact rather than as a story.
They both explain very simply that even though the universe doesn’t get it wrong, people sometimes do. The universe offers soulmates simply as guidelines but not limits, that you’re still free to love who you choose. Later when he eventually sees his father’s white markings and the stark redness of his mother’s, he’ll understand. But not now, not at the tender age of six.
At the time, he simply accepted it, assuming that it really was that simple. His mother assures him he will always be able to find a nice girl no matter what happened.
Later, when he’s eleven, he realizes his parents have a more traditional way of looking at soulmates. They sadly remark on their neighbor’s son and the boy’s romantic soulmate from school, his boyfriend, another boy who’d recently transferred in. When he asks why they seem upset they simply reply that the universe has made a mistake, that boys weren’t meant to love other boys.
He pushed the matter and his father gets upset with him so he learns that his parents are not the ones to take his questions to.
A year later he asks his hyung, his voice quiet as he asks why boys couldn’t like boys. His brother responds with a stony silence and a shake of his head, telling him later not to mention “that kind of thing” again.
It takes him another two years to figure it out. To realize that the world isn’t kind to boys who liked other boys and girls who liked other girls. He learns to keep his mouth shut after a girl in his class arrives covered in bruises, her hands shaking as people whisper cruel words to her about her girlfriend.
He knows he can’t ever speak to anyone about how he’s feeling, that it’s a taboo subject and he starts to keep everything to himself, shutting himself off from everyone else. He searches and searches for an outlet and at fifteen, he finds it.
Music.
He saves and saves for the dingy secondhand laptop and the sound editing software to go with it. One of the speakers is broken but he can create, he can ignore the disapproval from his parents as long as he can spit his lyrics with a fire that he doesn’t even realize he possesses. The bitterness he’s learned to associate with the concept of soulmates keeps him in vehement denial that his passion for music comes from the markings on his ribs. In his mind, they are there simply because of coincidence.
He starts working once he enters high school, he wants to continue doing music and his parent’s support is a thing of fantasy. He slowly gets better at creating music, meeting other artists, because he’s gotten good enough to call himself an artist now, joining showcases at underground performances. After he comes home to his mother’s glare, her instructions to quit “this silly hobby of his” and focus on school, his notebook of lyrics lying crumpled on the table and his laptop missing from his desk, he makes the decision to leave.
As he works through the last two years of school saving and saving to move to Seoul, he becomes the only person in his area not to have met his soulmate. He doesn’t want to, in truth. The idea of love at all becomes a pipe dream, something that will cloud his judgement. Your soulmate’s love whether romantic or not is supposed to be unconditional, but then, so is a parent’s love.
By then he doesn’t have anything to believe in but music. Music is a constant, no matter how he feels; it can be translated into lyrics on a page, notes on a piano, beats on a program. That’s all he really needs.
When he moves to Seoul, it’s heaven and hell rolled into one.
Seoul cares far less about the sexual orientation of it's people compared to his hometown, as much of a relief as it is an annoyance. He works three jobs and makes a name for himself in the underground scene, getting used to less than two hour’s sleep a night. He finally gets it across to enough of the other rappers that he doesn’t actually give a shit whether people think he can make it or not. He meets other people who share his burning passion for music. He ends up at someone else’s apartment more often than not, near dawn. Always inebriated and hazy, grappling with someone who’s name he’s already forgotten, getting lost in ecstasy and soft moans in his ear. After performances, when he’s high off adrenaline, it takes desperate fumbling behind the stage in storage closets and abandoned hallways for him to realize that maybe he’s not the same as everyone else he’s met so far. That it really doesn’t matter to him whether or not the person sucking marks into his neck is a man or woman. He doesn’t come up with a name for it for a long time, choosing to ignore it and lose himself in alcohol and sex until he’s spiraled so far down that it takes months to work his way back up.
He doesn’t do it alone and he learns that recovery isn’t linear.
He has the grades and, finally; the money, so he’s not surprised when his application to university is accepted and he’s leaving the cramped three-room dorm filled with nine other people and moving what little he owns into his very own, albeit cramped and slightly too cold, studio apartment. He breathes a sigh of relief as he unpacks the last box and throws himself unceremoniously onto his shitty mattress, not owning a bed frame yet.
Whether or not he’s made the right choice, that’s for future-Yoongi to decide.
**
Sanctuary is busy this evening. Yoongi works quickly and quietly, making the orders written on the disposable coffee cups as quickly as he is able. Considering he’s been doing this job for almost three years it doesn’t take him long. He calls out the names as they’re finished, giving a polite, but terse, nod to the people who collect them. This time of day he doesn’t offer his usual barely-there smile, since generally, the people who are here past 11pm aren’t the type to smile back, let alone make eye contact with him.
A very tiny, insignificant part of him is disappointed, most of Yoongi’s human interaction comes from his job these days. Given that he works the evening and night shift at this strange little café, that’s still pretty small. For the most part, he’s grateful. Human interaction isn’t his specialty. His nonexistent social life can attest to that.
The next girl who takes the cup from Yoongi’s hand nearly drops it and he catches her hand quickly, narrowly avoiding spilling scalding hot coffee over her hand. She stutters a thank you and nods gratefully, walking away quickly but not before he catches a glimpse of the stark black markings peeking out from the sleeve of her shirt.
Yoongi sighs, rubbing a thumb against the space between his eyebrows, a headache forming. He notices there aren’t any more disposable cups sliding down the counter from Jeongguk. He brushes his hands together, shaking out the numbness and sliding out from behind the till, moving to the closest table to clear away the clutter left behind consisting of coffee stained cups, plates and empty wrappers. Balancing the dishes with practiced ease, Yoongi heads back to the counter, depositing them into the sink and moving to clear away another table as the equally-silent Jeongguk turns on the faucet and begins to clean.
Yoongi moves around the café soundlessly, cleaning the unoccupied tables and depositing the books left behind onto their bookshelf. There are new books in today, maybe some are actually new ones or maybe some have finally been returned, Yoongi can’t quite remember. It doesn’t really matter anyway; the books are exchanged every day so they might as well be new each time. When the tables have been cleared and wiped down Yoongi folds a few of the blankets, throwing them over the backs of the soft, pastel-colored chairs with practiced ease.
There aren’t many people here, most of them are half-asleep, desperately typing on their laptops or going through textbooks with the last bit of energy gained from too much caffeine. One or two are curled up asleep on their armchairs, college coursework lying forgotten in front of them, blankets pulled up high and soft breaths keeping the peaceful aura of Sanctuary intact.
Yoongi checks his watch, it’s closing in on midnight now. He heads back to the counter, resigning himself to cleaning up the counter until the next person walks in.
Another few people come in and this time Yoongi takes their orders, making them easily as Jeongguk retreats to the back room. He’s just given the last one when the younger man comes back, minus his apron.
‘Are you- Will you be alright tomorrow hyung?’ he asks tentatively.
Yoongi simply nods, ‘go home and get some rest kid, good luck’.
Jeongguk whispers a soft ‘goodnight’ as he pulls the strap of his messenger bag more securely onto his shoulder and leaves the café.
Yoongi sighs after he’s gone, he knows it’s not Jeongguk’s fault that he’s got exams tomorrow but Yoongi wishes he didn’t have to take his shift. In theory, he doesn’t actually have to but he doesn’t want manager-noona to have to close up the café. Yoongi doesn’t have afternoon classes and it means overtime pay so he’s not going to complain.
Not out loud at least.
The next few hours are dull enough that Yoongi pulls out his notebook and scribbles a few lyrics, a few ideas for beats and songs, to take up some of his time. A total of thirteen people come in between midnight and 3am. By the time his watch ticks into closing time, there’s only one person left in the café. Yoongi sighs, closing down the till and walking silently down to the tanned guy sleeping on one of the pastel-blue armchairs at the back.
There are a few torn out pages of a sketchbook in front of him and an art history book. The drawings are good and Yoongi briefly wonders what year this kid is in. Yoongi nudges the man awake, his past awkwardness non-existent these days at having to wake up random strangers, telling him that they’re closing.
The man blinks blearily at him, smudged, messy kohl beneath his eyes, pushing himself to his feet with a noise of complaint. Before Yoongi can move he picks up the discarded blanket, folding it and placing it gently over the back of the chair. Kohl Guy gathers up his pages and shuffles them into a folder in the back of his sketchbook. The art book is snapped closed loudly and Kohl Guy shoots Yoongi an apologetic glance as the noise echoes through the empty café. Kohl Guy moves quickly out of his way and shuffles out the door a few moments later. Yoongi waits until he’s sure Kohl Guy is gone before unfolding the blanket and refolding it himself.
He’s not sure why.
Yoongi double-checks that all the tables are cleaned and all of the fairy lights have been turned off before closing all of the blinds and leaving, locking the door behind him. The cold night air makes his breath visible in front of him and Yoongi pockets the keys, turning his phone back on and grimacing at the three missed calls.
Knowing it’s probably a mistake in the long run and will earn him an earful tomorrow, he ignores them, continuing his walk home along the frozen streets of Seoul. Yoongi’s only halfway there when there’s an ominous rumble in the sky and he doesn’t get another ten feet before the sky opens and rain doesn’t just fall from the sky, it pours.
By the time Yoongi reaches his little studio apartment he’s soaked and shivering violently. He darts across the open plan kitchen slash living room to the tiny laundry room, immediately dumping his clothes into the dryer, pulling a towel down from the shelf as he hangs his shoes over the sink. Thankfully it’s late which means there’s an abundance of hot water he doesn’t have to share with the rest of the building.
Afterwards he towels his hair dry, changing into the warmest pajamas he owns because even after a hot shower, a luxury he only gets a few times a month, he still feels chills crawling up his spine. Yoongi crawls beneath his duvet, curling up into a ball and clenching his entire body to stop shivering. He barely remembers to set his alarm before drifting into a restless sleep.
Min Yoongi does not get sick.
Even with a cold sweat, slightly shaky limbs, an uncomfortable headache and a thermometer reading 100.3°F it’s not enough to convince him. So of course, Yoongi downs a coffee from his cheap coffee machine that he doesn’t even bother adding sugar to anymore, pulls a beanie over his head, stuffs his feet into his still slightly-damp shoes and promptly, leaves for morning classes.
As his professor drones on about the different types of programming techniques Yoongi idly fidgets with the ends of his sleeves, pulling at a loose thread and trying desperately to pay attention. He knows his Computer Science class is going to get a final on this in a few weeks and he tries to take notes but his hands are shaking too much for it to be legible so Yoongi stops writing and rests his chin on his hand, electing to just read up on it in his own time later, sighing and wishing he’d opted out of morning classes at the start of the semester.
Whatever focus he manages to muster up gets him through the next few hours and he arrives at work at 4pm, ready (not really) to take Jeongguk’s shift. The other two employees who work there in the morning leave twenty minutes after he gets there with words of sympathy as they leave him to face a café full of people for the next seven hours.
If manager-noona wasn't coming out every now and then to help where she can, he's convinced he'd drop dead.
The only thing he feels grateful for right now is the fact that he’s not closing tonight as Jeongguk and one of the other employees are taking the night shift this time. That and the fact that most people who come in are as overworked as he is and don’t give him any trouble.
Yoongi’s just thinking of pulling out his notebook to do some writing around 6, when the two people he honestly doesn’t want to see right now walk through the door.
‘You look like hell’ are the first words out of Namjoon’s mouth when the rapper sees him.
Standing beside him, Hoseok looks appalled at the paleness of Yoongi’s skin and Yoongi musters up the energy to glare at Namjoon as he continues making his next order.
‘Good evening to you too asshole’ he mutters under his breath, moving aside to hand over his last order, for the moment before wiping down the machines.
‘Tell me you didn’t take an extra shift today while you’re sick’ Hoseok’s voice is disapproving and Yoongi huffs.
‘I didn’t take an extra shift today while I’m sick’ Yoongi’s voice is monotonous, ‘I’m not sick’.
Namjoon frowns.
Yoongi shakes his head, immediately regretting it as his vision swims momentarily. He stays steady through sheer force of will and moves out from behind the counter to clear off a few unoccupied tables. He ignores the concerned look that Namjoon and Hoseok exchange as he walks back, washing the dishes quickly and moving back to the till.
They know by now that even if they’re right and Yoongi knows they’re right, he’s still not going to admit it and he’s definitely not going to go home.
Yoongi has known them both for almost five years, having met them at the Raven while he was performing there, a club that showcased underground rappers frequently. Their performances had knocked the breath from his lungs, it had only been when he’d met them that he’d finally found someone who had the same level of passion for music as he did. Up until then, all he’d seen was viscous, a bloodthirsty urge to simply beat others for the sake of it but not because of a love for music, it was simply the need to be better.
Yoongi liked to win, but not for the sake of winning. Yoongi liked to win because it proved that his passion for music wasn’t misplaced. It proved his parents wrong. For weeks, he’d watched Namjoon and Hoseok’s performances and they’d watched his. In the end before he could even think of mustering up the courage to even try and approach them, they’d come to him.
After that, collaborations were a common occurrence. Yoongi honestly wasn’t sure when they crossed a line from being fellow rappers to friends and he didn’t care. Once they performed Cypher part 1, it seemed there was no going back. Namjoon and Hoseok understood him, Hoseok being the only other person he’s ever met to have not met his soulmate yet, being 18 when they’d met.
Namjoon, at the time, had been the same.
Hoseok offers mindless chatter and Yoongi is grateful, he’s not in the mood for intricate talk and Hoseok knows when Yoongi needs to listen without having to respond. Namjoon berates him for ignoring their calls yesterday like Yoongi knew he would and asks for a mocha and Yoongi smirks, showing him that he’s already started making it.
It’s not like he’s distracted enough to forget Namjoon’s typical order. Sometimes if he sees the bags under Namjoon’s eyes are darker than usual he’ll make something else like an americano or a cappuccino. If he’s also unsteady on his feet he’ll add an extra shot of espresso but it seems last night; Namjoon actually slept more than usual.
Yoongi goes into automatic mode as Namjoon and Hoseok chat aimlessly, Namjoon simultaneously scribbling down notes in the margins of his economy textbook. Yoongi’s ankles click almost painfully as he walks down to clear tables frequently. The two rappers leave after about an hour, Namjoon threatening to make him soup if he doesn’t rest.
It’s at 8:43pm when Yoongi gets the literal worst news of the week.
His manager apologizes furiously but it seems one of the employees isn’t going to make it in for the night shift until 1am and Jeongguk hasn’t been working here long enough to man the place by himself for two hours. Yoongi barely restrains himself from just dropping to the floor in exhaustion and plasters on a neutral expression as he assures her that it’s really fine, he can work an extra two hours.
Manager-noona promises to double his overtime this week and leaves with a disapproving shake of her head and an apologetic grimace thrown in Yoongi’s direction.
Yoongi downs the last of his water along with two painkillers. He had just over an hour left and now he’s got three. He texts Namjoon, saying he won’t be able to make it to his and Seokjin’s apartment tonight.
Joonie:
Hyung
Please tell me it’s because you’ve decided to rest
And not because you’re doing overtime again
If you are
I’m actually going to throttle you
Yoongi:
im still your hyung you know
and i know its not ideal but i dont have much of a choice here joon
Joonie:
Yoongi…
You better take off work tomorrow
I don’t care if the damn sky is falling
You need to rest
Yoongi locks his phone, pocketing it and returning to work. He knows he should call in sick to work tomorrow, he also knows he’s not going to. Begrudgingly, he flattens down his apron and continues his shift.
**
Yoongi sways dangerously, black spots dancing in his vision as the cup he was holding slips from his grasp and shatters loudly against the hardwood floor. One or two heads turn in his direction but almost immediately turn back to laptops or textbooks as Yoongi’s head hangs, his knuckles white as he holds the edge of the counter in a vice-like grip.
‘Hyung!’
Jeongguk’s hand closes around his arm and Yoongi violently flinches away, nearly losing his balance again as Jeongguk’s face goes blank.
‘Don’t touch me’ Yoongi growls.
He almost immediately regrets it as Jeongguk’s face falls slightly.
‘Hyung I-‘
‘Sorry’ Yoongi says through gritted teeth, ‘I’m fine’.
‘Hyung there’s only half an hour until Jiyeon-noona gets here, I can handle the place until then’ Jeongguk whole expression screams concern and Yoongi sighs.
‘There’s also only half an hour until I can go home Jeongguk-ah, really I’ll be fine’ Yoongi moves away to get the dustpan, bending down to clean up the broken pieces while simultaneously trying not to collapse forward into them. He manages until just the very last piece when he slips forward and his hand lands on the edge of the broken piece, slicing into the palm of his hand.
A curse escapes his lips as Jeongguk drops to the floor, tissue already in hand to hold gently over the wound. Yoongi takes it from him and asks him to get a band-aid from the back. Yoongi holds the tissue over his cut as he toes the last broken piece into the dustpan, picking it up with his good hand and throwing the broken mug into the trash.
Yoongi can feel Jeongguk’s gaze on him for the next half hour, band-aid firmly holding his hand together. He sighs heavily as he finally takes off his apron, Jiyeon arriving and apologizing profusely as she takes in what must be Yoongi’s haggard condition.
He sees her swollen eyes and that her hair’s been scraped back into a messy ponytail unlike its usual careful styling and waves her off, simply asking her to please not do it again.
As he goes to his locker and retrieves his coat and beanie manager-noona arrives, asking if he’s alright.
‘I’ll replace the cup Sohyun-nim-‘ Yoongi begins.
‘No no, Yoongi-chi don’t worry about that please’ Sohyun shakes her head, ‘I just wanted to make sure you were alright, you seemed sick today and I know it was unfair of me to ask you to stay late when you weren’t feeling well’.
Yoongi adjusts his jacket, pulling his beanie down self-consciously, ‘honestly I really don’t mind, Jiyeon-ah seemed stressed when she arrived and the mock trials are going on for the law majors so it’s busier than usual’.
‘If you need to take tomorrow off Jisoo is available’.
Yoongi knows he should accept, he knows he should but the next words coming out of his mouth are the exact opposite.
Sohyun seems surprised by Yoongi’s refusal, ‘only if you’re sure Yoongi-chi, I don’t want you to think you have to come in even if you’re sick’.
Honestly, Yoongi doesn’t know what he did to deserve a manager like Sohyun but right now he just wants to go home.
‘I’m sure Sohyun-nim’ Yoongi’s hand fists into the back of his jacket in an effort to stay steady as Sohyun reluctantly nods and tells Yoongi he can go.
Yoongi leaves through the back door, not wanting to see Jeongguk’s concerned face. He checks his watch and sees that it’s a little after 1. He knows, he knows it’s such a bad idea. Instead of turning left to go back to his apartment he heads the other direction towards the university studios.
He spends the next hour in an exhausted haze and manages to finish one of his tracks for his upcoming performance in a few weeks along with his music assignment for professor Seong. Yoongi saves his work, despite knowing that in a few days he’ll likely get frustrated and delete the whole track altogether. He sighs heavily and leans back in his chair, panting slightly.
He doesn’t even realize he’s falling asleep until he’s already out cold.
**
Pain.
Pain is a relative term and yet, somehow, perfectly describes every sensation coursing through Yoongi’s body right now. There’s a sharp pain right behind his eyes and as soon as he opens them, he wants to go right back to sleep. His back aches from sleeping hunched over the desk and his alarm is ringing beside him. He switches it off, blearily realizing he’s still feverish as he wipes the sheen from his forehead.
Yoongi has enough time to get home, wash his hair, change and go straight back into work.
God he doesn’t want to. He really doesn’t want to. But that’s life he supposes, as he pulls himself through the door behind the counter later, pulling his apron on and shooting Jeongguk a glare as the other man frowns worriedly at the paleness of Yoongi’s skin.
‘I’m fine Jeon’ Yoongi sighs, heading out to open up, swallowing two painkillers dry as he does.
Jeongguk says nothing but Yoongi knows he disagrees.
It’s nearing 9am when Seokjin arrives and the moment he sees Yoongi his features darken and given the pink beanie and fluffy white scarf he’s wearing, it would almost be comical if Yoongi was up to feeling any scrap of emotion right now.
‘Yoongi you’re an idiot you know that’ Seokjin chides, eyebrows pulling together as he reaches over to feel Yoongi’s forehead.
Yoongi veers out of range as he continues making the next order, knowing if Seokjin even gets close to the furnace that is Yoongi’s skin, he’ll never hear the end of it, ‘please hyung, I can handle it okay, it’s a Sunday, there’s not usually too many people’.
‘I don’t care Yoongi-ah’ Seokjin sighs, ‘you really don’t listen, do you?’
Yoongi knows Seokjin means well, he knows, but he can’t help the flash of irritation that courses through him.
Yoongi has known Seokjin for almost two years but he hasn’t actually had much one-on-on interaction with the man. When he first met him, he was unsure as to why Namjoon felt it so important to introduce Seokjin to himself and Hoseok.
Then he saw Namjoon’s mark, the intertwined tulips on his wrist, color dark and obvious and he got it. He got the reason Namjoon looked at Seokjin the way he did.
They were soulmates.
The man is possibly the purest soul Yoongi has ever met in his life. He’s kind, possibly too much so, likes cooking and drama and pink, moved here from Anyang six years ago and currently holds a rather impressive drama and theater degree and is in the process of getting a culinary arts degree. Seokjin makes the best home-brewed coffee Yoongi has ever tasted in his life and yet, somehow, doesn’t actually drink coffee.
Seokjin is the perfect companion to Namjoon, the ideal A to Namjoon’s B. Namjoon who looks like he could kill you but is actually the softest person alive, the genius kid who does Philosophy, Politics in Economy and English language all at once? The guy who will drink any and every kind of coffee except black and left Ilsan to come to Seoul. The best rapper Yoongi’s heard in years with lyrics that now define him, music that holds all the emotion of the younger man in the simplest of compositions.
They’re perfect for each other which would be great if they could just fucking accept that.
See Yoongi’s been dealing with this for two years now, this constant swaying back and forth between platonic and romantic and honestly, Yoongi’s pretty sure even Namjoon and Seokjin have no idea where they lie on the sliding scale that connect romantic soulmates and platonic ones.
It’s frustrating to say the least.
‘Jin-hyung’ Yoongi’s tone is a warning and Seokjin, despite being Yoongi’s elder, knows when to stop.
‘I swear, you’re even worse than Joon sometimes Yoongi-ah’ Seokjin sighs.
That’s one’s a toss up to be honest. Yoongi and Namjoon share that penchant of “not really knowing when the fuck to quit”. Between the two of them, they’re still nowhere near the picture of health.
Yoongi lazily rolls his eyes as he asks if Seokjin wants anything. As he gets the expected response, a chai latte of course, he goes about making it, talking quietly with Seokjin so as to not aggravate his headache.
‘You know you could have taken the day off Yoongi, it’s not going to kill you to rest a little’ Seokjin says gently, finishing off his drink later, having been silent for a few minutes as Yoongi took and made orders for other customers.
Yoongi hesitates, ‘I know’.
‘So then why?’
‘I…’ Yoongi pauses in cleaning the dishes at the sink, ‘I’m late on rent hyung, if I don’t get it in by Thursday my landlord’s gonna kick me out’.
‘Yoongi’ Seokjin puts his cup down, pausing to choose his next words with care, ‘you have friends Yoongi, if you’re stuck for rent you know we can help’.
‘I don’t need help’ Yoongi snaps, scrubbing the plate in his hands with a little more force than necessary.
‘Maybe’ Seokjin replies patiently, ‘maybe you do and maybe you don’t. All I’m saying is that you’re not alone here’.
Yoongi stays silent, listening out for the telltale ring of the bell over the door that signals another customer. After a few minutes, he’s dimly aware of Seokjin picking up his coat and leaving and he deflates. He knows he’s being harsh but it’s like he’s not in control of himself today, he’s exhausted and run down and incredibly overworked but there’s not a whole lot he can do about it. He’d rather be in horrible condition next week in his apartment than being healthy but without a place to live.
Throughout the day he gets numerous worried looks and a few apprehensive ones from the people he serves. Yoongi practically drenches his hands in sanitizer to be safe and tries not to look as sick as he probably is at this stage.
But of course, he slips up.
He turns away from the counter too fast and almost immediately his vision darkens and he can feel his legs just give up. Yoongi’s hands go out in a feeble attempt to catch himself on something, anything really, when a pair of strong arms, stronger arms than he’s expecting, catch him.
It takes a few moments for Yoongi to realize that he is not, in fact, going to hit the hardwood floor and when he does realize this, he raises his head and meets the dark eyes of none other than Jeon freaking Jeongguk.
‘You need to go home Yoongi’ Jeongguk practically whispers when he gets him to sit down behind the counter, thrusting a bottle of water into his hands.
‘Yah’ Yoongi drawls, taking a large gulp of water, ‘I’m still your hyung brat, I just turned around too fast’.
‘Yoongi-hyung please’ Jeongguk keeps his voice low, almost as if he can tell that Yoongi’s headache is still very much present.
‘I’ve got three hours left in my shift Jeongguk’ Yoongi sighs, leaning forward to lower his head to almost touch his knees.
‘Fifteen minutes break then’ Jeongguk says, 'I won't take no for an answer hyung'.
Yoongi looks up slowly, Jeongguk looks sad but determined, ‘fine’.
And Jeongguk leave him to sit, going back to the counter and continuing to take orders and make them. Yoongi allows himself the fifteen minutes and finishes off the water, downing another two painkillers, probably sooner than he should but feeling a little bit better if he’s being completely honest. The next three hours are easier, he’s hydrated and there’s not too many people here today. Jeongguk keeps a watchful gaze on him though and while it’s vaguely annoying, Yoongi is grateful.
When Yoongi’s shift ends he unties his apron and murmurs a ‘thank you’ to Jeongguk, who nods wordlessly and gives him the barest of smiles. He pulls his jacket out of his locker and begins the walk home. The fresh air seems to help a bit and Yoongi doesn’t feel as overheated as he did earlier, his hands are no longer shaking and he’s not quite as unsteady. It seems a quick break and a bottle of water is something he should do more often.
His phone buzzes in his pocket and he answers the call.
‘Yoongi-ah’.
‘Myungsoo-nim’ Yoongi replies, ‘how can I help?’
‘Listen, I know you’re not on the schedule tonight but I’ve got some extra work if you want to take a shift. There’s a group coming in and I’ll double your usual pay’.
And Yoongi thinks he can, he feels much better and he could use some extra money right about now.
‘Of course, what time?’ Yoongi says, checking his watch, it’s 6pm now.
‘Can you come in at 10pm?’
10pm. He’s got time to go home and nap and shower, maybe eat something and then head in.
‘I can’.
**
A headache is definitely one way to amplify sound and Yoongi finds that out the hard way as he finishes up his shift at the bar. His ears are ringing and there’s a sharp, throbbing pain at the base of his skull and his breathing is definitely not right. He’s also pissed because some drunk asshole spilled his cocktail all over Yoongi’s shirt and now he smells like vodka and cranberry juice and feels vaguely nauseated.
It’s nearing 3am when his shift finally finishes and though Yoongi feels worse than he has all week, part of him is glad he worked tonight because with this overtime, he’s got almost enough to pay rent for this month.
The other part, the part that makes itself known when he gets outside, is the park that hates him right now. You’d almost think he himself had been drinking with the way he stumbles and barely catches himself against a lamppost. He rummages around in his bag for a few moments before realizing he’s out of painkillers.
Yoongi curses, trying to blink away the black spots in his vision. He raises a hand to wipe at his face, his hand coming away damp with sweat and he grimaces, he’d thought his fever had broken earlier but evidently not.
There’s no way he can get home like this.
Hating having to do this, Yoongi pulls out his phone hesitating as his thumb hovers over the call button. His legs tremble and he sucks in a sharp breath at the pain from his headache as he presses the call icon.
It rings, once, twice, three times before it’s picked up and a sleepy voice answers from the other end.
‘Yoongi? What’re you callin’ for its 4am?’ Hoseok’s voice is thick with the Gwangju accent he usually suppresses. He sounds tired and Yoongi inwardly curses himself for making his friend do this.
‘Hobi, I need your help’ Yoongi admits, running a hand through his hair.
‘What is it?’ Hoseok’s instantly awake and Yoongi already feels guilty for making him worry.
‘I need you to pick me up’.
‘What?’ there’s the muffled sound of Hoseok throwing the covers off himself and a rustling noise as he presumably pulls on jeans, ‘where the hell are you? I thought you weren’t working tonight’.
Yoongi grits his teeth at another wave of pain, ‘please Seok, can you just come get me’.
‘Of course, Yoongi, where are you?’
Yoongi doesn’t even comment on the lack of honorifics and tells him the street name. Hoseok promises to be there as soon as he can and hangs up. Yoongi drags himself over to a bench and sits down heavily, letting his head fall forward into his hands as he clenches his jaw, the headache worsening each minute. It’s not even ten minutes when Yoongi lets out a muffled whine, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he fights to stay quiet. His vision blurs and he suddenly becomes distantly aware of Hoseok’s hand on his back.
‘Hobi?’ Yoongi rasps.
‘What happened? Why are you out here?’ Hoseok pulls him closer and practically carries him to his car, depositing him gently into the passenger seat.
‘Myungsoo-nim called, offered some well-paid overtime’ Yoongi’s voice is thrashed from having to shout above the noise of the nightclub and he closes his eyes against another stab of pain.
‘Fucking hell Yoongi-hyung’ Hoseok sighs heavily, Yoongi knows he’s pissed because Hoseok doesn’t usually curse, ‘you can’t keep doing this. You’re not a machine! Your body needs to rest, if you need rent that badly I’ll freaking give you the money just stop doing this to yourself’.
Yoongi says nothing. He doesn’t know, honestly, if he’s too proud or too insecure to ask for help. Probably a bit of both.
‘Sorry’ he whispers.
‘Don’t apologize’ Hoseok replies softly, ‘I just wish you wouldn’t do this. I- We hate seeing you like this’.
The rest of the ride passes in blissful silence and as Hoseok pulls into his apartment parking lot he stops Yoongi as he moves to unbuckle his belt.
‘Listen, I just want to make sure you get up okay’.
And Yoongi lets him, because it’s the least he could do right now. If he doesn’t he knows Hoseok isn’t going to get any sleep tonight. Hoseok carries him up the last flight of steps because Yoongi’s legs aren’t cooperating with him and the elevator doesn’t work. Once they get to the apartment door Yoongi unlocks it, flicking on the lights inside and toeing off his boots with one had supporting himself against the wall.
‘I’m sorry for making you drive out Hobi’ Yoongi grates out, trying to smooth his voice out a little, he doesn’t want to worry Hoseok even more.
‘Yoongi’ Hoseok grimaces, ‘I’m really glad you called okay. I’d be way more pissed if I knew you’d walked home in your condition’.
‘I’m still sorry’.
‘Yeah’ Hoseok gives him a wan smile, ‘I know. Come on, let’s get you off to bed’.
Hoseok helps him get his vodka-soaked shirt over his head and his jeans off, Yoongi’s limbs too stiff to do it himself. His face burns with shame at what he’s managed to do to himself, even though he’s not even the one who was even drinking, but Hoseok remains impassive, his movements ever so gentle as he eases Yoongi’s sleep shirt over his head.
‘Yoongi, I meant what I said in the car, I can help with rent. I won’t hesitate, you know none of us will’ Hoseok’s words are gentle and his hands brushes up Yoongi’s too-skinny arm worriedly.
‘I can manage. I’ve got one more shift tomorrow and then I can afford to take a few days off. I can pay my landlord and take a day or two I promise this time Hobi’.
Hoseok sighs, defeated, ‘I know you can manage Yoongi-hyung that's the problem. God, you’d carry the weight of the world, wouldn’t you?’
Hoseok brushes his sweaty bangs away from his forehead, ‘I’m just saying you don’t have to. Me? Namjoon and Jin-hyung? We’re one phone call away Yoongi, please don’t forget that’.
‘I know Seok’ Yoongi whispers.
Yoongi can see the way his eyes flit over to the prescription bottles next to the lamp, more pills in them than there should be, but he says nothing. Neither of them do. Hoseok kisses his head before he leaves, closing the bedroom door and then the apartment door soundlessly and Yoongi falls into a restless haze.
**
Yoongi skips his morning classes. It’s not intentional but it happens anyway. He spent most of the night tossing and turning, suffering through hazy, yet all-too vivid fever dreams and he doesn’t want his own company right now let alone anyone else’s. He wakes up around 11am, belatedly realizing he’s missed most of his music lecture.
So, he skips his morning classes, sends in his assignment via email, not caring that he’ll be docked a few points for handing it in late, eats toast because that’s really all he can manage and has a lukewarm shower before heading in to work.
It’s thankfully not busy today and Yoongi ignores Jeongguk altogether today because he’s really not in the mood and silently takes his place making the orders up today. When he calls out the first order it garners him a sharp glance from Jeongguk at his thrashed voice.
Jeongguk doesn’t mention it and Yoongi, obviously, doesn’t bring it up either. Only when Namjoon arrives that afternoon, his expression is possibly the coldest fury Yoongi’s ever seen.
‘Really?!’ Namjoon says, his voice low.
‘Not now’ Yoongi rasps, ‘I’m working today and that’s it’.
‘Like I haven’t heard that before’ Namjoon’s voice is cold but Yoongi’s known him long enough to hear the undertones of blatant worry and he hates himself for putting them there.
‘Talk to Hoseok’ Yoongi says, moving past Namjoon to clear some of the tables.
‘I did, he told me what happened last night’ Namjoon follows him as he crosses to empty tables.
Even though he’s clearly pissed off at Yoongi, Namjoon still helps clear the tables, not touching anything breakable.
‘Please talk to me Yoongi-hyung’ Namjoon grimaces.
‘You want me to talk right now?’ Yoongi croaks, giving a hoarse chuckle.
‘Yoongi…’ Namjoon starts.
‘Please Joon, I just have to finish my shift today and then I can pay rent, I was at the King’s Court last night and I got double my usual pay there so I can-‘
‘Hoseok told me you could barely walk Yoongi, you can’t keep doing this’ Namjoon snaps, ‘you want to spiral down again? You’ve been acting off for weeks and I know you're not taking your meds’.
Yoongi says nothing, moves to the next table and grits his teeth.
‘Look I’m not here to lecture-‘
‘Well that’s exactly what you’re doing Joon’ Yoongi sighs, the fight leaving him.
‘I’m sorry I’m just’ Namjoon runs a hand through his hair, ‘we’re worried about you okay? I’m worried about you. I don’t want a repeat of what happened last year it hurt so much to see you like that’.
Yoongi sighs, hesitating slightly as he picks up another cup. He feels hot, uncomfortably so and his heartbeat is thumping harshly against his ribcage. He hears Namjoon take a deep breath and turns to tell him not to start some big speech when his vision goes dark and he feels himself falling.
The cups and plates in his hands fall to the ground with a crash and he’s half aware of Namjoon cursing as Yoongi just drops to the floor. He feels like a rag-doll, his limbs like rubber and his words get caught in his throat. He’s turned onto his back and he realizes his eyes are closed.
‘Yoon….. open…..’
His breathing stutters and his fingertips feel numb as he cracks his eyes open, flinching at the bright lights. He dimly sees not only Namjoon's worried face, but Jeongguk's as well.
Great.
‘Can you hear me?’
‘Joon’ Yoongi mumbles, his tongue heavy in his mouth.
‘Shit, please don’t do that again’ Jeongguk sounds close to tears and Yoongi feels guilt clog up his throat.
‘One-time show’ Yoongi finds himself murmuring, it earns him a sarcastic laugh from Namjoon as he’s easily lifted up into the younger rapper’s arms.
‘Yoongi you’re…’ Namjoon trails off, his mouth turning down at the edges.
Yoongi’s head lolls slightly, he leans into Namjoon’s chest, his own chest feeling like it’s going to break with the slightest tap. Belatedly he notices he’s being carried into manager-noona’s office and inwardly facepalms.
Of course, Sohyun-nim, being the actual responsible adult unlike Yoongi, immediately sends Yoongi home as she takes in the pale pallor of his skin, the sheen on his forehead and the feverish glaze over his eyes.
Namjoon calls Seokjin because neither of them are going to drive Yoongi back to his apartment. Yoongi’s reason is obvious and honestly, even if Namjoon had a license, Yoongi wouldn’t trust him near a car let alone driving one.
Seokjin arrives in ten minutes which is enough time for Yoongi to pull himself together slightly and wipe the sweat from the back of his neck. Seokjin is wearing a fluffy blue sweater today but it takes absolutely nothing away from the icy glare he throws Yoongi when he arrives.
‘You’re a fucking idiot' Seokjin scowls, grimacing at the beads of sweat on Yoongi’s brow, 'and I’m making you soup’
‘That’s acceptable’ Yoongi rasps, pushing himself carefully to his feet.
Seokjin leads him outside and, once again following his track record of "Worst Luck Imaginable™", Yoongi is hit with two things.
Namely; holy shit he really is sick.
The second, and far more obvious to him at this time, is a person.
Yoongi’s breath is completely knocked out of him at the collision and he tumbles none too gracefully to the ground, his head knocking against the sidewalk with a thunking noise that is worryingly loud. He can feel blood trickling from his head and from his shoulder where his oversized hoodie slipped down. He struggles to take in a full breath, winded.
He can hear Seokjin cursing as the elder frantically pulls out his phone. Really though he doesn’t quite understand why it’s such a big deal. Yeah, he’s bleeding. Yes, his breathing also kind of sounds like someone rattling a cage right now and he feels vaguely like he’s going to throw up but what’s far more important is the other person leaning over him with the most terrified expression Yoongi’s ever seen.
Sharp jawline, puffed out cheeks from the cold, wide eyes and obscenely bright red soft soft soft looking hair framing his face, the man above Yoongi freezes in place as their eyes meet, something akin to electricity jolting his heart.
As Yoongi’s eyes roll back into his head he’s distinctly aware that this was not how he ever imagined he would meet his soulmate.