Work Text:
Brrrr. Brrrrrrr. Brrrrrrrrr.
”Ugh,” Yoongi groans into his pillow, unintentionally harmonizing with the rather insistent buzzing of his phone.
It’s still dark out, though that might possibly be attributed to the black-out curtains that Yoongi so far hasn’t regretted investing a lot of money into, but the point still stands. Yoongi had been asleep for more than three hours for the first time in as many days. His scalp itches from the greasy feeling of his unwashed hair, and his eyelashes are sticking together with sleep, making it impossible to open his eyes.
Instead, he reaches his arm out, waving it about in the air as if he’ll magically not only hit his bedside table but his phone as well, in time to –
Silence.
Blessed, wonderful silence, Yoongi sighs as he lets his arm drop heavily back onto the bed. His body feels like it’s made of lead, so heavy and he’s so tired, soon he’ll have slipped right back into sleep –
Brrrrrr.
Yoongi lets out a string of curses that will have his mother roll over in her bed and call him later today to check in on him. He works his way closer to his phone to just grab it, fucking hell – who would be calling him at this hour? In the morning?
Kim Taehyung, that’s who.
Aish, what does this brat want now –
“Hyung!” Taehyung cries out before Yoongi has managed to let a single expletive out. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re up already, I need your help –“
“I’m not,” Yoongi interrupts him, huffing and groaning as he tries to turn over onto his side, made all the more difficult by his sheets tangled up and twisted around his legs.
“I made – wait, what? ‘You’re not’ what?”
“Up. I’m not up. Bye, Taehyung.“
“Hyung! No, wait! Please!”
Yoongi sighs but dutifully raises the phone back up to his ear. “What.”
“Okay, hyung, I really, really need your help –“
“If this is about feeding your army of stray cats, then I will hang up.”
“Hyung, no, listen! Well – okay, first of all, It’s not my fault that they apparently can sense some kind of kinship with you that –“
“Hanging up now,” Yoongi warns, but doesn’t move to actually do so.
“Second of all!” Taehyung screams, “do you remember how I’ve been trying to get into the acting-scene lately?”
If Yoongi has been woken up at six in the morning just to hear about Taehyung’s new dream career, he’ll – he’ll –
Well, he doesn’t know what he’ll do, but it won’t be pretty.
To be fair, it’s not as if Taehyung half-asses his dreams – however short-lived they are. He’s an incredibly hard worker, always puts all of his effort in, it’s just… he doesn’t do well with monotony, and there are just so many things in the world to be fascinated by and to try that it’s both difficult to choose and exclude options, and sometimes he just needs a figurative kick in the ass to keep his head on track when he starts to doubt if whatever his latest obsession is worth continuing when it is no longer a ‘new obsession’.
Yoongi had thought Jung Hoseok, Taehyung’s agent/manager/life organizer was going to do that for him, but going off this phone call, Yoongi might have missed a more recent development.
For some reason, Taehyung – despite being talented, friendly, great looks, and fully choosing the film industry as his next career – had not been chosen by the film industry.
He has starred as someone in the crowd in a drama – uncredited, but you could clearly make out his face – he has participated in a few commercials for small brands, and he had been the main character in a story-driven music video whose view-count Yoongi would honestly claim as a travesty, because not only did Taehyung do brilliantly, but the music was also rather well made. Yoongi maybe would have timed the entry of the percussions a bit better, but that’s life and art for you. He had even taken Taehyung out for dinner to fix the wounds of the flop despite definitely not being able to afford it.
“I’ve kind of been having second thoughts if it’s really for me, you know? And so Jimin – lovely baby-Jimin, eye of my heart, the most beautiful pearl in the ocean –“
“Get to the point.”
“So Jiminie and I have taken a small trip to Japan to recoup so I can figure out what I want to do.”
“That’s nice,” Yoongi says, tone not sounding particularly sincere, but Taehyung can’t expect for him to do much at six in the morning. “Hyung wishes you the best, Taehyung-ah, ki wo tsukete –“
“No, hyung, that’s not – Yoongi-yah –“
“Yah!” Yoongi protests, flopping onto his back. He doesn’t have the energy to sit, let alone be properly outraged at Taehyung dropping the honorifics.
“Hyung,” Taehyung hurries to correct. “I swear, I need your help, Hoseokie-hyung is going to kill me.”
Yoongi smacks his lips, fighting off a yawn. “Did you forget to tell him you left the country?”
“Yes,” Taehyung groans. “Well, no – well, technically, it was a rather spur of the moment-decision, so it’s not so much that I forgot as I just didn’t have the time to – anyway, that’s not the point, I need you to call Hoseok and calm him down.”
Yoongi hums. “I rather doubt he’ll take nicely to being ‘calmed down’ if I wake him up now.”
“You won’t be,” Taehyung laughs shakily, “he is definitely up and at ‘em. Particularly at my throat.”
Yoongi manages to narrow his eyes without opening them. It’s a rather impressive feat, enough that he almost wishes Taehyung was facetiming him so he could see just how unimpressed and suspicious Yoongi looks right now. “And why would that be, pray tell?”
“So –“ Taehyung hesitates, which this is so not the time for, “I may have forgotten that hyung landed me a rather elusive audition for JJK’s next movie.”
“So? Can’t you just cancel? If you’re not even sure that you want to act anymore –“
“Hyung!” Taehyung whines.
“Yah, don’t interrupt me, brat –“
“It’s a JJK movie! A GCF production!”
“You’re just shouting letters at me at this point, none of that makes sense to me.”
Yoongi wouldn’t have needed to have picked up his phone to hear the disappointed sigh Taehyung emits, the nerve –
“It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, Hoseok-hyung had to pull a lot of strings and ask for a favor from the Kim Namjoon –“
“Also don’t know him.”
“- and I know it’s important, I do, it’s just – I can’t act right now, hyung, I just can’t. Showing up and doing a bad job is not only going to make me look bad but Hoseok as well, and I don’t want that either! And even if I did want to make it, the flight from Japan is too long –”
“Alright, alright,” Yoongi tries to placate. “If Hoseok calls, I’ll pick up, okay? Just – I know you already feel bad about it, but you need to apologize to him as well, alright? It’s his neck he’s stuck out for you here.”
“I know.” To be fair, Taehyung does sound mildly miserable. “I just had to get out of Seoul, hyung, I had to.”
“Okay, I know,” Yoongi promises. “I’ll pick up if he calls, alright?”
“Alright, hyung – thank you, thank you, thank you, I’ll buy you ramyeon when Jimin and I get back,” and then he hangs up before Yoongi can do it. Honestly, the brat –
Yoongi isn’t going to complain too harshly, though, so he lets his phone thump onto his mattress as he curls up on his side, hands tucked between his knees and he lets the softness of his pillows, the comfortable, familiar weight of his duvet tuck him in gently, the edges of sleep curling around him –
Brrrrr.
“Yah!” Yoongi swears as soon as he picks up the call. “I already promised –“
“Really?” Hoseok sounds amazed, absolutely incredulous, as if what he’s hearing is unbelievable.
Yoongi should have clued into it at this point, but he is exhausted, and he is rather thrown at hearing Hoseok’s voice when he had been expecting Taehyung’s, even possibly Jimin as they seem unable to separate more than two inches from each other.
“I mean, Taehyung did text me that you agreed, but – hyung, thank you! Honestly, this is amazing, I cannot thank you enough!”
“Ummm,” Yoongi draws it out. Taehyung had made him promise to calm Hoseok down so he wouldn’t fly to Japan just to slit his throat. If anything, Hoseok should be calmed down from how giddily relieved he sounds at fuck o’clock in the morning. “What exactly are you talking about?”
“That you’ll take the scoundrel’s place at the audition?”
“What?” Yoongi yells, sitting up straight in his bed, eyes finally opened wide.
“Yeah, I – listen, I’m outside your place now, buzz me in, will you?”
Yoongi literally falls out of bed. He whacks his shoulder – thankfully not his bad one – on the floor whilst simultaneously stubbing his toe against the bedframe. He tries not to swear directly into Hoseok’s ear. Tries to. “It’s broken, broke weeks ago, the front door should just be open.”
“Oh, wow,” Hoseok sounds more worried than taken aback. “That – hyung, please tell me you’re looking into moving soon. At least your front door camera still works –“
“No. It doesn’t.”
Hoseok stays silent. Then, “I’m on my way up.”
Yoongi snorts, curling up on his floor for a few seconds to nurse his bruised and battered body before he gets up to go to the front door hopefully before Hoseok has gotten up the few flights of stairs to Yoongi’s rather dead-beat apartment.
He doesn’t even have the time or energy to pull out the divider that separates his bed from the rest of the apartment, doesn’t even have time to fully open his eyes as he stumbles over to slide out the bolt. He tries not to notice the pile of dishes that had been accumulating in his sink, nor the mess of wires thrown over his couch for his studio equipment.
“Hyung, good morn-“ Hoseok pauses to actually look at him. “Why are you not dressed yet? We need to leave!”
“What do you mean, ‘take his place’?” Yoongi immediately questions, flailing about because he has priorities, and his state of unwashed sloth-ness is not – “Did you bring that coffee for me?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Hoseok frowns, already handing over the coffee for Yoongi to gulp down. “Taehyung texted me you had already agreed to –“
“He asked me to calm you down,” Yoongi does not spill a drop of coffee down his chin, landing on his shirt. Hoseok’s look of disgust can simply be chalked up to his overall appearance at this moment. “He didn’t say shit about going to the audi- hang on, hold the fuck up. Me? You want to send me to a movie audition for the WWE –“
“That’s wrestling, hyung.”
“– ABC –“
“Hyung.”
“ – movie –“
“No, hyung, of course I don’t want you to go audition for a movie,” Hoseok finally manages to cut him off, pushing past him to fully enter his apartment, headed straight to his closet to sus out what is even wearable. “You have never expressed an interest in movies nor any work associated with them –“
“I wouldn’t mind making a score,” Yoongi mumbles, but that might be the lack of a steady job and money talking. He knows his preferred genre to write and produce within, but it’s not like it hurts to push himself. And there are rap movies being made, or movies that need more of a hip hop track as the theme.
“- I would never ask you to go,” Hoseok finishes without pausing a beat, throwing a pair of skinny jeans onto Yoongi’s unmade bed before trying to tackle the mess of hoodies and shirts. “It’s just that this is a GCF JJK production –“
“L – M – N – O –“
“And I risked my neck getting Kim Namjoon’s – Kim Namjoon! – phone number. Not only will Taehyung never be permitted to work anywhere near the film industry – not just as an actor; near it. No director or producer or anyone else for that matter will pick up the phone when I call about the ‘next big thing’. Seriously, I can’t even remember how many years it’s been since I last saw Namjoon, and I had to just call him up out of the blue to call in a work favor with Jeon Jungkook –“
“Alright,” Yoongi says mildly, holding out one hand as if he can pet Hoseok into a calmer state from the safe albeit meager distance of the opposite side of his flat, carefully sipping the still warm coffee. “You know Taehyung didn’t mean to mess all of that up for you, right? He –“
Hoseok sighs, giving up browsing through what is Yoongi’s laundry and what is clean. He looks tired, just as tired as Yoongi feels. He can’t stop his heart from hurting a little with it. “I know, I know, it’s just – he always does this.”
Yoongi has a hangnail by his thumb that he keeps chewing at when his nerves get the best of him. He kind of wants to chew at it right now, but he shouldn’t. “He’s just trying to figure out what makes him happy.”
“Yeah,” Hoseok doesn’t sound entirely bitter, but it’s still there. “Aren’t we all. But, hyung, I really wasn’t exaggerating,” he looks desperately at Yoongi. “If he doesn’t show up, it’ll cost him any career whatsoever in the entertainment business – unless he starts shelling out millions, maybe billions, of won. He’ll be labelled as unreliable, at best as a diva, but there really isn’t any coming back from blowing off Jeon Jungkook.”
Damn it, Taehyung, Yoongi can’t keep himself from internally swearing.
It’s not like he wants for Taehyung to stick around for something that genuinely makes him wholeheartedly unhappy – Yoongi knows that feeling intimately well, and he wouldn’t wish it upon anyone in the world. But it’s one thing to quit what you thought was your dream, it’s another to leave all the consequences behind for another day and let the repercussions fall onto your friends.
“That’s also why I’m not asking you to audition, hyung,” Hoseok sniffs – not at his laundry – “Min Yoongi is great, but he is no actor.”
Yoongi takes another large gulp of the coffee – it’s probably Hoseok’s, now that he thinks about it, it’s way too sweet for Hoseok to have purposely bought it for him, so if Hoseok is leaving soon, he’ll take the coffee with him –
“It’s why I’m asking for you to go to the audition as Kim Taehyung.”
The coffee spews out of his mouth, splattering onto the floor and walls unflatteringly as Hoseok yells out in alarm, trying to duck behind his bed.
“What?”
“Hyung, just listen!”
“What the fuck, Hoseok!” Yoongi yells, yells louder when the people living above him start banging something onto the floor to get him to shut up. “You literally just said I’m no actor, and now you’re saying you want –“
“Think about it!” Hoseok yells louder, grabbing a stray shoe off the floor to chuck it at the ceiling to get the pounding to stop. “Listen! It’s the end of Taehyung’s career if he pulls a no-show, it’s an entirely different matter if he just doesn’t get the part. Sure, he won’t get his ‘big break’, but that doesn’t really matter if he doesn’t even want to act anymore –”
“But surely they’ve seen his face! Don’t you send in pictures of yourself, and then they call if they want you to go audition? We look nothing alike!”
Hoseok winces guiltily. “Well, Taehyung isn’t exactly known. And they’re seeing, like, hundreds of actors, they’re not going to look up individually who has done what and when –“
“But, but –“ Yoongi flounders.
“Hyung,” Hoseok leans his hands on Yoongi’s bed so he can look directly at him, speaking calmly as if trying to explain something to a child throwing a tantrum. “Listen to me. You’re going to go in, read a few lines off a paper they give you. They might ask you to do it in specific ways – you just need to not try at all, hyung. Sure, it’ll probably get back to Namjoon, but I’ll worry about that when it happens, alright? I just need for you to not be chosen.”
“I –“ Yoongi tries again, not actually certain what he wants to say, so it just hangs in the air as Hoseok nods as if yep, that’s it, then. All agree.
“Now, I’m pretty sure showing up in stained clothes will make you memorable – in a bad way, sure, but they’ll still remember you, which we don’t want – so we’ll have to switch.”
“Switch,” Yoongi repeats absentmindedly, not even remembering to frown at the very bright color of Hoseok’s sweater.
Hoseok eyes him distrustfully. “Unless you’re telling me you managed to do your laundry this weekend?”
Yoongi does not wince at that. He would have done it, it’s just –
Hoseok has already stuffed him inside the sweater before Yoongi manages to look around or protest or merely defend himself. It’s warm and fluffy, and Yoongi feels like a cross between a cloud and a marshmallow in it even as its color is far from white. Not due to the stains marring Yoongi’s clothes, though. Hoseok entirely forgoes putting on anything of Yoongi’s.
“Now!” Hoseok claps his hands together. “What can we do about your hair…”
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
“Yah,” the casting director interrupts almost bewildered at the sight in front of her, “what are you doing?”
Yoongi pulls off the wide-eyed, innocent, who, me? look very well if he says so himself. “I’m… reading my lines.”
She sighs, shaking her head slightly before looking over at her assistant who somehow manages to keep a straight face. “You sure are.”
And Yoongi had been. Monotonously. Without looking up from the sheet of paper they had stuck in his hand that he had been supposed to memorize as soon as it was handed to him.
She leans back in her chair, tapping a pen against the wad of papers on the table in front of her. “Maybe he just needs to warm up a little,” she mutters to her assistant though not quietly enough. “Why don’t we just try again? With more… gusto,” the casting director demands this time.
Yoongi, for some odd reason, immediately wants to yell out ‘cannons!’ even as it would be rather uncalled for. There aren’t any cannons so far, but that is what Yoongi would like to call ‘artistic interpretation’.
He clears his throat, glances down at the paper. Clears his throat, glances up at the casting director who is nodding encouragingly at him. Lowers his paper. Clears his throat. Checks the paper, clears his throat. Looks at the casting director who is looking more and more hopeful. Clears his throat. Clears his throat.
“I sell flowers!”
The hopeful look on the casting director’s face immediately falls flat.
“I have always wanted to do that!” Yoongi continues as if everything was in perfect order and not falling to shambles as he has planned.
He sounds as if he is filming an infomercial. You, too, can own a flower shop! Just call XXX and give away all your life savings! This is not a scam!
Psych, Yoongi is the scam. Hoseok should buy him the biggest meal there is to find in Seoul.
The issue with coming across as a bad actor, Yoongi has found, is the very fine balance between coming across as an asshole – which he cannot do as that would be detrimental to both Taehyung and Hoseok’s careers – and overacting and coming across as fake.
If Yoongi has to say so, going by the tired shakes of their heads when he leaves the audition, he should try out as a line artiste because balance is his forte.
“How did it go, then?” Hoseok asks, nervously tapping away at the steering wheel.
Yoongi might be the best goddamn hyung in the world, but he is still petty, so he lets Hoseok drum away for another couple of seconds as he gets situated in the passenger seat, clicking in the seat belt.
“Well,” he shrugs, “I wouldn’t hire me.”
The air comes whooshing out of Hoseok as he practically deflates from utter relief. “Good enough for me! Where do you want to get lunch?”
Yoongi figures that’s it, then.
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
Yoongi would have figured wrong. It is it – until it isn’t.
It’s not exactly difficult to go back to the everyday hustle and bustle of Yoongi’s life – after all, he has never particularly dreamt about being an actor, so even having tried to audition for what is apparently supposed to be a rather prestige movie, he isn’t bothered that he purposefully threw it.
Instead, he goes back to worrying about when he’ll ever have enough money to eat three meals a day. He writes e-mails, trying to make his music sound attractive in words rather than in audio. He does some last touches to a pop song he had been commissioned for, for an idol group that may not even debut. He considers re-dying his hair – his dark roots starting to show a little too obviously, but no one has returned an e-mail asking for a meeting, so Yoongi doesn’t bother.
It’s… life. It’s Yoongi’s life. Same old.
And then it’s new.
“They want you to come in for a reading!”
Yoongi frowns, leaning back so the steam of his jjigae doesn’t hit him face-first when he lifts the lid awkwardly, trying to make sure his phone doesn’t slip. Hoseok doesn’t sound particularly excited – one might go as far as say he sounds rather angry. Yoongi can clearly picture the downward angle of the frown he’s wearing.
“Is that the next thing Taehyung wants to do? I mean – if it makes him happy, sure, but I don’t really believe in fortune telling and tarot cards –“
“Hyung, no, a reading,” Hoseok emphasizes. “As in regular hangul on paper. They want to test you!”
Well, Yoongi is definitely the one frowning now. “I’ve already learned how to read, though.”
“Well, unlearn it, then,” Hoseok demands, sounding far from amused. “I thought you said the audition was bad?”
“Well, yeah,” Yoongi carefully stirs so the water doesn’t spill over. The rice cooker beeps next to him, but Yoongi lets it sit there. He had bought it second-hand, ensured it was in good working order only for it to undercook the rice every single time, no matter how long he tells it to cook for. “I didn’t want to be there. Nothing says ‘don’t pick me’ as someone who switches from under- to over-engaging no matter what they ask you to do.”
Hoseok groans dramatically. “This is a mess, hyung.”
It is. It really is, Yoongi soon finds out once he has removed everything from the stove and is capable of paying enough attention to what Hoseok is actually saying.
Yoongi was picked. Out of hundreds of auditions, Yoongi went through.
He stares despondently out his window at the brick wall his apartment faces. Shit.
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
A reading, Yoongi finds out, can occur when the casting is either fully or partially complete. In this case, it is where he hasn’t actually gotten the role yet, which is great for Yoongi. Less so for all the other poor sods who are trying out for the same role as Yoongi. The nerves are high in the room, and whilst Yoongi isn’t actually invested in any of this, he is still affected by the nervous energy.
He already doesn’t like crowds; he doesn’t need this as well.
He almost texts Hoseok just to pass the time, but he had been on the phone with Taehyung and Jimin and will probably remain so in his car until Yoongi comes back out to tell him the good news that he didn’t get the part.
Members of the staff are running around, some providing scripts for all the people waiting. Yoongi gets a wad of papers shoved in his hands. He flips through the pages though he doesn’t bother taking it in or memorizing any of the lines as all the others there are doing.
“Kim Taehyung?” someone asks from behind.
Shit, is it his turn already? He isn’t ready – he isn’t trying to be ready, but he isn’t ready. With the way staff is still running around, he hadn’t thought they were ready either! It still looked like they were setting up the room, why would they –
Oh, no. It’s someone who knows Taehyung already, it must be. Yoongi’s cover is blown, everyone is about to know that Kim Taehyung isn’t actually Kim Taehyung, but the actual Kim Taehyung’s reputation will be the one damaged, and Yoongi –
“Hoseok let me know you were coming?” A tall, beefy-looking man steps out in front of Yoongi, dimples popping up from the friendly smile the guy gives him. “I’m Kim Namjoon.”
“Nice to meet you,” Yoongi bows politely. “I know it was all rather last minute that Hoseok contacted you, so thank you –“
“No worries!” Namjoon waves him off, looking a little embarrassed at the gratitude. “It was really nice to hear from him again. I’ve thought about him from time to time, but I didn’t have his number.”
Oh? Yoongi quirks an eyebrow at the new information. He knew that Hoseok had managed to pull a favor from Namjoon, but he hadn’t bothered to ask why Namjoon would be willing to do a favor for Hoseok.
“Where’s Jimin?”
“Uh –” Yoongi stares at Namjoon in shock. How the hell does he know about Jimin, has he already met Jimin? Is that why it was so easy for Hoseok to get the favor from Namjoon, because he has already heard from Jimin how amazing Taehyung is at acting?
The ruse is up, Yoongi is doomed –
“Well, Hoseok made it sound like the two of you are conjoined by the hip,” Namjoon frowns, confused.
“Oh!” Yoongi repeats, heart slowly calming down from the hammering pace he had worked himself up to. “Yes, Jimin! We’re two sides of the same coin, sometimes even the same side of the same coin with how close we are!”
Namjoon blinks. “Right.”
Yoongi nods enthusiastically. Maybe if he just does this enough, Namjoon will be convinced.
“So where is he?”
“On vacation,” Yoongi replies before he can think. Shit. “His mom is sick.”
Namjoon just looks worried now, no, this is all going wrong! Yoongi knew he wasn’t much of an actor, but he had thought he was better at improv.
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do –“
“Oh, no!” Yoongi waves him off. “It’s not that serious, just a… a bad…” what non-serious ailments exist? “A bad hip. She wanted to redo the garden, but she can’t do it, so Jimin has gone back to Busan to help out.”
At least Namjoon looks far less worried now. And then he looks pleasantly surprised as he spots something above and beyond Yoongi’s head. “Taehyung-ssi,” Namjoon pulls Yoongi by the elbow across the room, weaving through more people than Yoongi feels comfortable being around, “I want you to meet your maybe-future co-star, Kim Seokjin.”
Holy fuck.
Yoongi actually stops walking, but Namjoon is either so buff or so unaware of his surroundings that he just continues to drag Yoongi towards the very broad back, broad set of shoulders, impeccably tailored shirt. Towards whom Yoongi now knows to be Kim Seokjin; no. 1 visual and vocal in the idol industry. The face of South Korea. Someone Yoongi wasn’t even able of dreaming to produce for, and yet here he was, pretending to be Taehyung and about to shake the guy’s hand.
What the fuck.
“Hyung!” Namjoon calls out despite them being right behind Kim Seokjin.
Who, naturally, jumps slightly, startled at the sudden noise behind him, though Yoongi barely glimpses a second of him slipping before Kim Seokjin is smiling brightly at Namjoon and politely at Yoongi.
“Namjoon-ah!” He matches Namjoon’s tone and volume, laughing brightly. “There you are! I was wondering where you were hiding –“
“Not hiding, hyung,” Namjoon corrects fondly. The atmosphere the two create is almost pleasant enough that Yoongi’s hackles are slowly lowered, at least until Namjoon decides to be a traitor and pulls Yoongi in front of him, right in the narrow space between Kim Seokjin and Kim Namjoon.
Yoongi is dying.
“This is Kim Taehyung,” Namjoon introduces brightly, shaking Yoongi a little.
It helps, enough that Yoongi remembers to bow, which Seokjin mirrors, but –
Something is wrong. Seokjin is frowning at him, just slightly.
“I’m Kim Taehyung,” Yoongi introduces himself unnecessarily. “Please take care of me.”
“Um –“ Seokjin starts, the end hanging in the air as he looks confusedly between Yoongi and Namjoon.
“Taehyung-ssi is trying out for the role of Minju,” Namjoon continues like nothing has happened. Maybe nothing has happened? Maybe Seokjin acts like that with everyone he hasn’t met before, at least people who aren’t introduced as fans? Maybe Yoongi is just going crazy.
“Oh!” Seokjin shakes his head a few times. “Well, that will certainly be interesting.”
Now Yoongi frowns. It will be interesting –
Oh, he suddenly realizes. Seokjin has already gotten the part, so maybe they’ve warned him about who to look out for? In a bad way, Yoongi hopes. It could still be a fluke that he is even here after all.
People around them start bustling, and it has Namjoon stifling a mild swearword to not offend either of them. “Ah, hyung, you should probably –“
“We both should, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin corrects, already pulling back and heading towards the big door all the staff members had been rushing in and out of all morning. But he’s not in such a hurry that he doesn’t hold eye contact with Yoongi, an amused look on his face that has Yoongi’s nerves flaring up. “I’ll be looking forward to meeting you again, Kim Taehyung.”
He shouldn’t, Yoongi internally mutters to himself. There won’t be anything to look forward to. At least Yoongi’s own career isn’t going so well that he ever has to worry about Kim Seokjin meeting or recognizing him for the absolutely terrible piece of work he is about to do.
In front of not only Kim Seokjin and Kim Namjoon, but the casting director he auditioned for, JJK the director who has both Hoseok and Taehyung quaking. And a lot of other staff members Yoongi frankly has no idea what are actually doing.
JJK is a lot younger than Yoongi imagined him to be, despite Hoseok already having told him he is younger than Taehyung. His chair is slightly bigger than the rest, and he sits there in an all-black outfit, a bucket hat shielding most of his face. He has tattoos and an eyebrow piercing, and yet his hair curls softly by his fringe and his eyes are wide and round and innocent. He is attentive and clearly a capable artist and creator.
And Yoongi respects that. He also feels bad he is about to waste this man’s time, though not as bad as he feels for Kim Seokjin, who is honestly doing quite a good job of covering up how exhausting some of the readings have apparently been. Yoongi is, after all, about to make it much worse.
“It’s their loss,” Yoongi reads, not even bothering to sound remotely sympathetic despite the directions clearly telling him to. “If they can’t see how amazing you are, then – Do people actually say things like this in real life?”
Seokjin blinks at him, looking slightly startled at being brought out of the ‘acting-space’ so abruptly. Yoongi does almost feel sympathetic towards him – he hasn’t asked to be part of Yoongi’s scam of a life as an actor.
“Taehyung-ssi, please stick to the script,” he is asked by the exasperated casting director who clearly remembers how unimpressed she was with him at the audition. How the hell Yoongi went through, then…
“Right, yes, sorry,” Yoongi apologizes. He is fairly certain the author is present as well, going by the person glaring at him from the corner of the room. “It’s their loss. If they can’t see how amazing you are, then they can go fu-“
“Taehyung-ssi! The script!” He is interrupted once again, though she is cut off by JJK by the slight raise of his hand.
It is dead silent as the room awaits Jeon Jungkook’s directions. Yoongi almost regrets going along with this shit-show. “Why don’t we try a different scene? You’ve practically given them the entire script anyway.”
“Director-nim,” the casting director shifts nervously on her feet. “The driving force of the movie is the romance. We need to make sure that there is chemistry –“
“In that case, I sincerely doubt this is the only scene to show off the ‘romance’. Let’s try… act 2, scene 4. Seokjin, right at your outburst, if you will.”
“Yes, Director-nim,” Seokjin hurries to agree politely. Yoongi hopes he’s a better actor than that, though, because he doesn’t manage to hide the amused look that has been there since Yoongi started reading his part.
Yoongi also finds himself needing to bite back his words, because Seokjin is good.
It happens like a switch – one second Kim Seokjin, the Idol is standing in front of Yoongi, and the next it is Kang Yeongjun, the Banker struggling to find joy in his life.
Yoongi will repeat himself; Seokjin does not deserve the frankly less than stellar performance Yoongi is about to give, especially after that outburst he has pulled off, actually panting and face wrinkled up in faux frustration.
Their eyes meet. Yoongi stares mesmerized, waiting to see what Seokjin will do next.
Oh, right, nothing. It’s Yoongi’s turn.
Do you want to come home with me? It says he has to ask sweetly, softly, caringly.
“Come home with me,” Yoongi demands harshly.
He relishes in the frustrated sigh the casting director lets out but remains nonplussed by the amused look in Seokjin’s eyes returning once again despite him still being fully emerged with Yeongjun.
“Right,” JJK says once the scene finishes, Yeongjun, still flabbergasted by the offer, agreeing to go home with Minju. He checks something written on a pad of papers. “Kim Taehyung.”
“Right!” the casting director repeats louder, clapping her hands to cover up how exhausted she sounds. “Well, we will be in contact if you get the role –“
“No need,” JJK interrupts her.
Everyone freezes. Not just the casting director in the middle of her movement of gesturing Yoongi to leave. Not just the assistant director by Jeon Jungkook’s side who clearly doesn’t know what is going on either. Not just Namjoon who had looked appropriately horrified by the trainwreck Yoongi has been causing that he inadvertently made possible. Not just Yoongi who feels like his insides have been punched all the way outside his body.
This is awful. This is genuinely, actually awful, and Yoongi doesn’t even care about this role. He is working towards being rejected, though he supposes it’s never really a pleasant experience. Not when it’s so easy to not see himself as Kim Taehyung, the Actor who didn’t get the part, but Min Yoongi the Producer whose songs are never listened to.
“He doesn’t fit the description,” Jungkook points out bluntly. “It says ‘a dreamy guy who will make the audience’s hearts flutter’. Not ‘surly-looking gnome’.”
“Thank you, Director-nim,” Yoongi bows politely. “I’ll leave first.”
“Wait a minute,” Jungkook holds up one finger, not exactly pointing at Yoongi, but making it rather clear it is him he’s ordering to stay.
Yoongi reluctantly obeys. Do it for Taehyung, you are the best hyung ever, and you’ll make him bow when he comes back from frolicking with Jimin –
Jeon Jungkook’s stare is cold and calculative which is an impressive feat considering the large doe-eyes. Yoongi can’t help but straighten his back in a reflex he thought he had forgotten back in high school, but apparently when being faced by a film director younger – and by far more successful – than Yoongi, it feels impossible to not remember, feels impossible to swallow, to not bow his head in respect. Yoongi doesn’t even know why he’s still here, why Jungkook hasn’t told him to just get lost already – he’s obviously going to do it any second now –
“I love it.”
“Huh?” the casting director screeches, her heels clicking as she whirls around to gape at Jungkook. “B-but, sir, it’s clear that he doesn’t fit the typical love interest in –“
Jungkook sticks out his tongue and makes fart noises. Yoongi gapes at him, as does everyone else in the room, staring at the award-winning film director –
“I’m not here to be mainstream,” Jeon says the word like he’s cursing upon the devil. “If that’s what you want, go hire literally any director. I won’t be putting my name on a movie people might as well have seen before. He –“ he points directly at Yoongi, who immediately straightens his back once again when under the scrutiny of the people here, “will be perfect.”
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
“You were not supposed to get the part!” Hoseok screams when they’re far enough away that there’s no risk of anyone important overhearing them. “Hyung! Yoongi!”
“I did everything you told me to!” Yoongi promises, holding up his fingers so he can count. “I barely pronounced the words right, I kept the Daegu dialect, I physically attempted to leave before I had been properly dismissed, I didn’t make heart-eyes at Kim Seokjin –“
“Kim Seokjin?” Jimin pipes up over the Bluetooth, voice tinny through the car’s speakers, whereas Taehyung has been suspiciously quiet since Yoongi returned with the bad news. “Holy shit, is that who will be playing the main lead? Oh, I just love his newest single – hyung, do you think you could get me an autograph?”
“An autograph!“ Hoseok splutters, face going a little bit purple, but Jimin keeps talking before Yoongi can try to calm everyone down.
“I’m so relieved it won’t actually be Taehyung playing the part. What would I do? I’m no match for Kim Seokjin –“
“Jimin,” Taehyung interrupts, “you know that in my heart, eyes, and soul, no one will ever be a match for you, not even Kim Seokjin. You’re so beautiful, and I love you so much –“
“Could we maybe focus?” Hoseok screeches.
Yoongi physically curls in on himself at the volume. “I’m sorry, okay? Hyung is sorry. I really did my best to not get the role –“ He stops himself once Hoseok’s sighing reaches an entirely new level of sighing that even Yoongi hadn’t been aware of existed.
“Wow, hear that, Taehyung?” Something spiteful shines through in Hoseok’s tone that has Yoongi feeling worse about this entire thing, foreboding of what else Hoseok is about to spew out of anger. “Hyung is apologizing. Isn’t that funny? When, in fact, if you had just –“
“Hyung, that’s not fair –“ Jimin tries, but Hoseok isn’t about to stop.
“You’re not stupid, Taehyung, so that must mean you knew what consequences your actions would have, not just for yourself but for me as well, and yet you went ahead and did it anyway –“
“Hyung-nim,” Taehyung interrupts, voice sounding thicker than usual, “I can only deeply apologize for the mess my carelessness has created –“
“Baby, no –“
“Alright, let’s not do this,” Yoongi mediates when he sees Hoseok gear himself up for another rant. “Let’s not point fingers and play the blame game, okay? Let’s just – let’s figure out what we have to work with, and then we’ll go from there.”
Hoseok angrily taps his fingers against the steering wheel, muttering a few curses about the asshole in front of them driving at the speed limit. So long as he isn’t cursing at Taehyung, Yoongi doesn’t care.
“Alright, hyung, let’s go!” he can’t remember hearing Hoseok pull off as scathing a tone as this one. “Kim Taehyung was just officially casted as the romantic lead in the next GCF productions directed by JJK. Except, he wasn’t – you were whilst pretending to be Kim Taehyung.” He taps a few more times at the steering wheel as if he’s banging on a drum set. “What do you make of that?”
“Right,” Yoongi tries to think. “Can’t I just withdraw?” he asks. “That’s a thing, right? Tell them there’s a scheduling conflict.”
Hoseok looks at him like he has grown three separate heads and none of them are speaking Korean. “You don’t withdraw from a GCF production! And they will know there aren’t any scheduling conflicts, hyung, they always know.”
“Okay!” he holds his hands out as if placating a wild animal. He sort of wishes he was the one in Japan right now if he is being honest. “Then, let’s –“
Yoongi wracks his brain, trying to come up with something, anything, that resembles a solution. But what can they even feasibly do? Come clean and make them actually cast Taehyung? There’s no way they would agree, not only because Taehyung has never actually auditioned, they would probably blacklist Hoseok for some type of fraud. Which leaves pretending to suffer from a sudden ailment that makes it impossible for Yoongi to take part in the film.
But if JJK is as interested in having Yoongi play the part as it had seemed, would he seriously pause the production just to wait for Yoongi to recover? Surely not. Although…
No matter, Yoongi isn’t going to risk it, not when it would require faking an official doctor’s note, let alone making it impossible to wander around the business world of entertainment as Min Yoongi, even as he doesn’t usually dabble in film scores or has ever set foot at GCF HQ.
Yoongi can’t believe he’s about to do this.
“Let’s just do it, then.”
Hoseok slams on the breaks, glancing wildly between the road and Yoongi. Jimin and Taehyung sound like they are the breaks.
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Listen!” Yoongi pleads, holding his hands up in peace and possibly to prevent the ass-whooping Hoseok looks like he is mere seconds away from giving him. Car horns sound next to them as disgruntled drivers whiz past them. “From the sound of it, the only way to get out of the project would be to come clean – now!” he hurries when Hoseok opens his mouth to interject, “- I know why that isn’t a good idea for Taehyung or for you. It won’t be all rainbow and sunshine for me either – I may write my music as Suga, but I sign the contracts as Min Yoongi. It wouldn’t be long before I would be blacklisted along with the both of you.”
Hoseok deflates in his seat though he still looks more cross than ever, the corners of his mouth turned downward in an upside-down ‘v’.
“Are you aware of what it actually implies?” Hoseok crosses his arms over his chest, but he at least sounds a lot calmer. Calm enough that Jimin apparently dares to breathe again. “You may have somehow caught JJK’s eye and gotten through, but, hyung, you are no actor. It isn’t as simple as memorizing lines or looking good.”
“I know that,” Yoongi tries not to sound wounded at Hoseok basically deeming him too shallow to properly grasp the concept and art of acting. But he still feels it. “Hob-ah, of course I know that. But if this is what needs to be done then I will do it.”
Hoseok sighs loudly, frustrated. “Hyung, you need to think long term. This is a GCF production directed by JJK – the founder of GCF – not only will everyone in South Korea be buying a ticket to go see it, but they will also talk about it, and they will be talking about you. And unless your acting skills are on par, they’re not going to be saying terribly nice things –“
“To be fair, everyone is probably going to be talking about Kim Seokjin,” Jimin quietly interjects, clearly uncertain whether it’s a good idea to say anything at all or just keep quiet.
And he is in Japan. Yoongi is sitting right next to Hoseok.
Thankfully, Hoseok appears too tired to work himself up over it. “My point is,” he sighs, levelling Yoongi with a far too serious look. “They are going to know your face, but they will be calling you ‘Kim Taehyung’. And we run a serious risk of them figuring out that the Kim Taehyung they know didn’t actually exist prior to the auditions.”
Yoongi can’t hold back the wince. Yeah, that one is pretty bad – especially if this movie is an ABC DEFG directed-slash-produced film, he is bound to get some unwanted attention.
“It’s not like I really go anywhere, anyway,” Yoongi hides himself away in his jacket a little, cheeks going pink. He has worked to get out there, both as a producer and a rapper. Some might recognize his face, but they would recognize him as either Suga or Agust D, not as Min Yoongi. Because no one knows Min Yoongi.
Not that they know Suga or Agust D either, Yoongi grumbles quietly to himself.
The tired look in Hoseok’s eyes turns pained, so Yoongi hurries to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Look, I’ll be a one-hit-wonder and then fade into oblivion. People are going to talk about ‘Kim Taehyung’ – good or bad – whilst the movie is being shown, and that will be it.”
Hoseok narrows his eyes at him. “And if the real Kim Taehyung wants to return to being an actor?”
Yoongi levels Hoseok with a look. “Yeah, because there’s a real shortage of ‘Kim’s in South Korea. And ‘Taehyung’ is such a rare name.”
“Yah!” Hoseok protests, but it’s half-hearted at best. Because he is too busy thinking.
He is thinking. Yoongi can see it, and Jimin and Taehyung can probably feel it as they have both gone suspiciously quiet on their end of the line.
Hoseok’s fingers tap against the steering wheel in a beat Yoongi can’t place. Frantically, considering how bad an idea this is kind of beat, probably.
He sighs, then finally concedes. “Alright. But – hyung!” he says louder to overpower to surprised outbursts of Jimin and Taehyung. “I’m serious, you don’t have to feel like you have to take responsibility for Taehyung’s and my fuck ups, okay? Okay? If you do not want to do this, then we do not do this. I know this will take away a lot of your time from producing, and I just – hyung.”
Yoongi suddenly can’t look up from his lap. More like he can’t actually face Hoseok.
To be fair, yes, he knows filming a movie is going to keep him incredibly busy, he has no disillusions about the film industry being a place of tranquility. There won’t be enough hours in the day for Yoongi to hone his own craft. And Hoseok means well by pointing it out, he does, but –
But Yoongi can’t look at him. Can’t tell him that he can’t afford to only be a producer for much longer. That Yoongi may have chosen music, but music hasn’t chosen him back.
“I’ll do it,” he promises instead.
For how weary Hoseok is about the entire thing, once he drops Yoongi off it’s impossible to hide that he is also relieved.
So now comes the other part.
Taehyung had been quiet throughout most of the car ride. It had been easy enough to hide underneath all the craziness going on, but Yoongi had noticed. And as he trudges up the stairs, entering his apartment, Yoongi holds out his empty wrist to time it. “Three… two… one –“
The phone rings, Taehyung’s name flashing. “Hi, hyung.”
Oh no, Yoongi silently bemoans to himself as he kicks his shoes off. Taehyung sounds miserable, but the type of miserable where he’s – badly – attempting to hide it from the people around him. A miserable Taehyung means a pouty Yoongi.
“Hi, Taehyung-ah,” he says not too softly in case Taehyung picks up on it and gets defensive, refuses to talk about what’s bothering him even as Yoongi can probably tell. “Why am I not getting a hi from Jiminie as well?”
“He isn’t here.”
Yoongi frowns. “You lost him? We were just on the phone together. How did you manage to lose Jimin?”
“I went to the bathroom,” Taehyung admits, not sounding any less miserable.
Yoongi clicks with his tongue and turns his back on the mess that is his improvised bedroom to make a cup of iced coffee instead. Or, he would have, had his freezer not broken sometime between him leaving and coming back to the apartment. Damn it. “You should turn on the shower, then, or else he’ll wonder what you’re doing out there.”
Taehyung makes a rejecting noise. “No. If I turn on the shower he’ll come running and ask why I didn’t ask if he wanted to take one with me.”
These two, Yoongi sighs internally.
“I feel so bad, hyung,” Taehyung admits. His voice sounds thick, and Yoongi desperately hopes he isn’t about to start crying.
Yoongi never deals well with crying people, not when he isn’t physically there to hold their hand. He can’t take Taehyung crying. He’ll have to tell Jimin, and then Jimin will start to cry because his soulmate is crying and soulmates should never cry alone, and Yoongi isn’t there to hold Jimin’s hand either, and –
“Taehyung-ah, are you happy?”
“I shouldn’t have done this to you and Hobi-hyu- huh?” Yoongi can picture the way his eyes will have widened in shock at the question. “Hyung? What are you –“
“Are you happy?” Yoongi repeats when it becomes apparent Taehyung isn’t sure what to say. “Forget about me doing the film and everything with Hoseok, are you happy? Are you relieved you don’t have to go to any auditions? Are you alright with not being on set or on a stage? Can you abstract from the feeling of being on holiday with Jimin and genuinely say that you are happy where you are in life?”
It's quiet on the other end of the line as Taehyung thinks, so Yoongi makes sure to keep quiet on his as well. If Taehyung needs time to think, Yoongi will give him time.
“Yes, hyung,” Taehyung finally admits though slightly dejectedly. “I am happy.”
Yoongi exhales loudly in relief. “Alright. Then – you make sure to remember both feelings, alright? Your happiness and your guilt. It’s alright to change your mind about what you want to do, but remember you don’t have to do it alone. I’m glad you have Jimin, but remember the rest of us want the best for you as well, okay? No matter what you decide that is.”
“You, too, hyung,” Taehyung sighs, though slightly happier. “You, too.”
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
Yoongi can do this. He is a strong, independent man, and he can do this. He has pretended to like people as Min Yoongi several times, there is no reason why he shouldn’t be able to do the same whilst pretending to be Kim Taehyung who is pretending to be Choi Minju, the Florist.
He can do this.
“I can’t do this!” Yoongi despairs when Hoseok actually walks around to open the car door for him. He stares up at him pleadingly. “Hob-ah, I’m not kidding, I can’t do this.”
“Do it anyway!” Hoseok says unapologetically. So he is still slightly pissed off at the entire thing, which means he is snappy with both him and Taehyung, but Yoongi can’t really see past how badly he cannot do this.
“Can’t you come with me?” he feels like a child begging his mother to not leave right away when dropping him off at kindergarten.
Hoseok admittedly looks mildly sorry for him, but clearly not enough to actually stay. “I can’t, I have very important plans.”
Yoongi frowns. “What plans? Your one and only client is in Japa-“
“Is about to do his very best at this very big role!” Hoseok hurriedly interrupts, nervously glancing to his side despite no one being nearby.
Or so Yoongi had thought.
“That’s right!” Kim Namjoon pops up out of seemingly nowhere. His clothes are a lot less formal than they had been at the reading, but he still manages to look more put together than Yoongi does. He hopes no one else have bothered as much as Namjoon has, or Yoongi is going to stand out for just another wrong reason. Namjoon turns towards Hoseok. “Are you ready?”
Yoongi opens his mouth to answer, except Hoseok answers first, brightly smiling “Uh-huh,” cheeks flushed slightly pink as he glances towards Yoongi out of the corner of his eyes, and –
Oh. Oh.
Yoongi levels a very pointed look at Hoseok, who exceeds himself in avoiding acknowledging Yoongi’s existence.
“As soon as Taehyung-ah gets out of the car.”
So that’s how it is, Yoongi slowly steps out of the car, bowing politely at Namjoon as he takes his place.
“’Very important plans’,” he quotes back at Hoseok, whose cheeks go even redder, once Hoseok shuts the car door for Namjoon.
“It’s just been a while since we last met, and – you know what? I don’t have to explain myself,” Hoseok stutters, pointing towards the building. “Get in there!”
Yoongi crosses his arms and resolutely remains in place. Hoseok huffs, walks around him, gets in the car, pointedly ignoring the stare Yoongi fixes at the both of them.
Namjoon, either unaware or he just doesn’t care, smiles and waves as they drive away.
Traitors. Both of them. Leaving Yoongi here to walk into this scary building all on his own with these scary people –
“Kim Taehyung!”
Yoongi startles, looking around wide-eyed. Why is Taehyung here? He needs to leave, now, before someone finds out about –
“Yah, Taehyung-ah!” the same voice, Jeon Jungkook, repeats waving at him as he walks closer.
Oh, right. Yoongi is Taehyung. Shit, he probably should have practiced this with Hoseok.
He frowns as Jungkook comes closer. “I’m older than you,” and then he promptly freezes in mortification. He did not just say that, not to the director. He needs to get out of the mindset of being unlikable. He got the part, now he needs to keep his job.
One pierced eyebrow raises amusedly whilst Yoongi feels smaller and smaller with each millimeter. “As is Seokjin-ah. I won’t be referring to him as hyung, either.”
“And he is a brat about it, too,” Seokjin pops up behind Jungkook, wearing a cap and big shades. Yoongi hadn’t even seen him. “And after everything I have done for him. I practically raised you, breaking my bank account with all the meals I paid for –“
“Wow,” Jungkook deadpans. “I can’t believe Kim Seokjin is a diva to work with.”
“Yah,” Seokjin chides halfheartedly, the corner of his mouth twitching in effort to not laugh.
“You – uh –“ Yoongi nearly kicks himself when both their attentions snap onto him. “You know each other?”
Seokjin’s face is carefully neutral, but Jungkook’s is narrowed in suspicion. “He got the part all on his own. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
Yoongi’s eyes widen impossibly further, hands waving frantically. “No – no, I – of course he didn’t, I didn’t, I mean – I wasn’t even thinking about it like that –“
“I know,” Jungkook cuts off his rambling, looking amused once again if a little shy. “You’re a good one, I can tell. Shall we?” he heads off towards the building without waiting for Yoongi or Seokjin.
“Actually!” Yoongi hurries to catch up. “About that – I was wondering why you, uh – I mean, why me –“
“Why I chose you?” Yoongi nods. “I am not unaware of my status and the prestige I have earned as a director, Taehyung-ssi. I am not trying to be boastful when I say people want to be a part of my movies in any capacity whatsoever, nor that I’ve never been offered money under the table, so to say, to give a part to someone wishing for their big break.”
Seokjin trails after them a few paces back. Yoongi can’t tell if he wishes he would just join them so he doesn’t feel as alone with Jeon Jungkook, who suddenly isn’t Kim Seokjin’s dongsaeng but is JJK the Director.
“Korean cinema excels in many ways, but it, too, like any other business is looking for profit, and so once a film becomes a hit others will try to mimic, leading to the development of tropes featuring the same character dynamics just slightly shifted to not be a complete copy. It leads to repetitive work, and, worse, it shifts the public’s perception of what the world is like and what society expects of them.”
Honestly, it’s a little weird hearing the same sentiment of what Yoongi has been spewing out in his songs for years now with a different voice and perspective. Yoongi may not be into films nor particularly want to be an actor, but he can see why JJK is as renowned and respected as he is.
“I have vetted through many auditions. For this movie alone, you were far from the only one reading lines from a piece of paper to me. Now, they may not have deviated as much as you,” he gives Yoongi a pointed look, and he can’t help but feel how the heat shoots up in his cheeks, “but in the end, the words aren’t what really matters. I saw the same performance again, and again, and I might as well have rearranged the scenes of any movie filmed within the past decade. You, Taehyung-ah, gave me something no one else did. You read the situation between the two characters. You understood that what Yeongjun needs isn’t a soft-spoken, kind soul, but someone willing to take him by the hand and physically drag him out of his funk, someone who will scream at the world for him and with him when it is beyond unfair. You read, you saw, you understood. You acted.”
He quickens his pace, or Yoongi realizes he is the one to slow down. Either way, JJK leaves him behind in front of the entrance, Yoongi staring at his back clad in a leather jacket.
If only Jeon Jungkook really knew just how much Yoongi had ‘acted’.
“He used to work part-time for Big Hit before GCF took off,” Seokjin startles him. When Yoongi turns to face him, his face is fixed in a pleasant smile but there is a small hint of tension to his shoulders. “I originally signed on to be an actor before they moved me to be a trainee. He did some of my camerawork, that’s how we met. I auditioned just like everyone else.”
Yoongi’s cheeks redden even further in shame. “I really wasn’t saying or thinking that you hadn’t gotten the role honestly.”
Honestly, if one of them isn’t deserving of the role, it’s Yoongi.
Still, a little something drops from Seokjin’s stance, a small relief. “Good,” he smiles more pleasantly now. “Starting off the workshop believing only one of us can act would probably make things really awkward.”
If only he knew, Yoongi laments. Only one of them can act after all. “Seokjin-ssi –“ Yoongi starts, but Seokjin cuts him off.
“Just call me hyung,” he allows brightly. “It’ll be better to not keep up a shield of formality from the get-go.”
The tips of Yoongi’s shoes are pressed together shyly. “Jin-hyungie,” he mutters carefully, feeling his cheeks flush when Seokjin beams at him.
“Yes,” he agrees. “Just like that, jagiya.”
“Oh!” Yoongi’s entire body locks up in shock, cheeks pinkening as he gapes at Seokjin. “I – uh –“
“Do you think it fits? I think it fits quite perfectly.” Seokjin looks as suave as ever when Yoongi is losing his damn mind, flustering all over the place. “I also thought about ‘yeobo’, or the English ‘baby’, but I don’t think Yeongjun would call Minju either.”
Oh. Yoongi is an idiot. Though, now that he dares to actually look at Seokjin, beyond the cool exterior his ears are flaming red.
Yoongi frowns. “I don’t recall Yeongjun ever using a pet name with Minju?”
Seokjin shakes his head. “No, but – it’s like what Jungkook said to you. This is the first time that Yeongjun ever experiences someone willing to fight for him. Yeongjun is handsome, but he isn’t well-spoken or very social. He doesn’t have anyone in his life, and certainly not anyone who is outright pursuing him. I think that privately, just to himself, because he has such a difficult time expressing himself truly, that’s what he calls Minju. In the little moments just for the two of them.”
Oh, Yoongi repeats just to himself.
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
Trudging through the streets on a day like this is probably the worst idea Yeongjun has ever had. The shops are nice enough, but the world outside seems to reflect his state of mind and life far better.
Rainy. Dreary. Grey. Cold. Wet.
Yeongjun is soaked. He hadn’t brought an umbrella to work, had had to pop into the mart to purchase one from the entirely too happy owner – it had taken nearly twenty minutes before he had mustered up the will to move and do something about the situation. Mainly to not add to his soaked state. It isn’t windy enough to warrant not using an umbrella, but Yeongjun still only bothers to hold it sloppily.
What a day to leave work early. He hasn’t left early ever since he got the job at MG Bank some years ago, so naturally the weather had changed as if by fate to reflect his dull state of being.
Yeongjun’s life is monotonous, colorless, and most of all lifeless. And it is slowly killing him, bleeding him dry, and he is doing nothing to stop it from happening.
A delivery man with blond hair nearly bumps into him as he walks out from behind the bakery. He bows and apologizes, barely giving Yeongjun the chance to really look at him before he scuttles away. Not everyone is so desperate to feel something they are willing to stand in the rain rather than go home. The young policeman directing people with a light stick seems to share the same sentiment. As does the mechanic kneeling by a car pulled over, seemingly doing more harm than good with his clumsy attempts at fixing whatever is wrong.
The baker comes out from the front door, coat haphazardly pulled on over his uniform, hand wrapped in clear gauze revealing a nasty burn mark. He locks up the shop despite the hour being too early to warrant a closed bakery.
He notices Yeongjun staring, waves his injured hand at him. “Sorry, we’re closed. Had a nasty mishap with a new oven.”
“Oh!” Yeongjun stammers, ashamed of having been staring. “Do you need help getting to the hospital?”
The baker declines. “I know burns like the back of my hand,” he jokes. “This one will scar no matter how quickly I get there. Besides, I’ve got a ride.” He bows politely, then walks in the same direction as the delivery guy had.
It is what draws Yeongjun’s attention to the shop a few doors down from the bakery. The flower shop.
Yeongjun has never had a particular attraction to or affinity for plants, having spent most of his life in surroundings without them, mainly inside his house or the office. He likes the look of them fine enough, the shops as well. They’re pretty and colorful and this one is no exception.
The umbrella dips a bit to the side, startling Yeongjun out of his trance when ice-cold water manages to drip down the collar of his coat, rolling down his shoulder and back. He frantically tries to right himself, stumbling closer to the shop in the process. Next thing he knows, the delivery guy bumps into him again, though he doesn’t bother apologizing this time. Just hurries past to get to his truck parked at the end of the street. Yeongjun can’t see the baker anymore.
He stares straight once again, right through the window of the flower shop.
The lights are turned on, casting a warm yellow light inside and onto the dark street outside. The hanging plants create shadows on the pavement, swinging around as if twisting closer to him, crawling up his legs and pulling him closer.
Closer. He should – well, he shouldn’t. But he could. Just for a bit.
When he enters the flower shop, the smell is the first noticeable thing. The next is the florist.
Smaller than Yeongjun, hair bleached all the way to white, wearing a white fluffy sweater and an apron. He stands at the large table in the middle of the room, expertly weaving leaves and flowers together to a bouquet that Yeongjun figures would hurt anyone’s wallet to just look at.
“Looking fancy!” the florist calls out, looking down at the dark grey suit Yeongjun might as well be wearing every single day with how little variety there is in his closet. “Got a hot date to bring flowers to?”
Yeongjun flushes at the forwardness. “No, I – just work. I work at the bank,” he explains, then feels stupid for elaborating.
Why would the florist care where he works? He wouldn’t, he doesn’t. He looks completely indifferent, though there’s a slight tilt to his head.
“You’re leaving work late,” the florist makes for light conversation.
Yeongjun laughs humorlessly. “Early, actually. The sun hasn’t even set yet,” though you can’t see that for all the clouds.
The florist whistles impressed. “Your bosses must love you. Does everyone stay that late?” his tone turns playful. “Or is it for all the parties?”
The snort that leaves Yeongjun is unprofessional and involuntary, both at the thought of his bosses loving him and at him attending a party of any sort. His bosses don’t know he exists, and the last time he attended a party that wasn’t held by his own mother before she passed would probably be back during school. “No – I mean, some who work in international trade stay that long, sure, but – no. I just – I like it at that time. It’s quiet.” He can feel his ears turning red at the feeling of oversharing, of this strange florist knowing something personal about him. He isn’t sure he feels comfortable with that.
The florist doesn’t look perturbed. He continues arranging the bouquet like this is nothing out of his ordinary workday.
Maybe people have a habit of coming in here and telling him about themselves. Yeongjun can see the comfort of the clean space, plants surrounding them giving the illusion of being able to hide. Hide away with someone.
Yeongjun’s heart aches.
“And you like that?” the florist looks up at him. His overall appearance is soft and fluffy with the white hair and sweater, but there is a daring to his eyes that has Yeongjun feeling hot. “The quiet, I mean?”
He shrugs. “I suppose. I mean, yeah. Sure.” He bites his lower lip. “Sometimes.” Maybe not as much as he used to.
The florist looks at him, impassively, knowingly. “Would you like something loud, then?”
Yeongjun blinks. If this was all a selling strategy, this man knows his business. “What do you mean?”
The florist ties a ribbon around the bouquet, being careful when he lets go so it holds its shape without his grip. Once he is certain he can leave his station, he points at something behind Yeongjun, to the orchids in various colors and sizes lined up on the shelf.
“They’re great for the workspace,” the florist continues to sell. He’s standing next to Yeongjun now, feeling warm and dry, or at least Yeongjun’s mouth does. “Their pollen is sticky, so it shouldn’t be a bother. But they can be quite… loud,” he curls his fingers delicately around the flower of a deep magenta stalk hanging towards them. The florist looks up at him from underneath his eyelashes. “In many ways. They represent luxury, you know.”
Yeongjun clears his throat, subtly trying to smack his tongue against the roof of his mouth to make his mouth unstick. “I thought they symbolized love.”
The florist blinks up at him, eyes a little wide, jaw a little slack like he didn’t expect for this to happen – whatever this is. “I, um – I suppose so, yes. They do that as well.” He inhales through his teeth, creating a small sound in the process. “Or you could go with a white one. Innocence.”
Yeongjun’s ears color almost as red as the flower the florist is still caressing. Even when he pulls his hand back it’s all Yeongjun can see. All he wants to see.
“I’ll take that one,” leaves his mouth without his permission, head nodding towards the one the florist had touched.
It’s silly, really, because surely this man has touched all of the plants in here, it’s his shop. If anything, it will be a distraction when he places the pot on his work desk, when he stares at it throughout his workday, imagining the slow circles, the flick of a wrist, a bitten down thumb but long, smooth fingers –
“You sure?” the florist teases when Yeongjun apparently hasn’t responded to anything the past minute. “We can find something else if you’d like –“
“No,” he objects, shifting around to bring out his wallet. He has the money that’s for certain, never having splurged on himself or spent any money beyond the bare necessities. “I want it.”
The florist shrugs, bringing the plant down from the shelf and bringing it with them to the cashier. “If you’re sure,” he repeats, accepting the payment. “I don’t think I have a box big enough – come help me, we’ll figure something out –“
Yeongjun helps him bag the flower up, careful of any delicate parts. His ears feel permanently scorching whenever he accidentally brushes his hands against the florist’s hands. He doesn’t dare look up at him, fearing the state of his face if he does so.
He is in such a hurry to get out that he doesn’t wait to open his umbrella. The orchid might get wet, but not as much as he already is. The rain is still going heavy as if the reprieve Yeongjun had experienced inside the flower shop was an illusion, a visit to another world that he can’t return to –
“Wait up!” someone calls from behind him.
Yeongjun doesn’t pause, there is no reason to believe anyone is calling out for him after all, but then a hand gently grabs onto his coat.
“Wait!” the florist pants. His hair is too white to darken in the rain, but the ends are frizzing, curling up gently. He holds out Yeongjun’s wallet. That he had left by the counter. Like an idiot. “I was afraid I was too slow.”
“Oh!” Yeongjun frantically and clumsily tries to shift the flower into one hand so he can grab his wallet and put it away in his coat with the other, which doesn’t work. But the florist is nice enough to not laugh at him or point it out. “Thank you –“
“Minju,” the florist, Minju, fills in.
His eyes are captivating, but Yeongjun can’t let himself be absorbed. He doesn’t have room in his life, he has – he has work that he needs to do, and he has an orchid, and. He tries to keep his gaze on the ground, but it is impossible. “Minju-ssi.”
Minju smirks – at him, at his tone, Yeongjun can’t tell. His knees feel weak. “Don’t be a stranger, Yeongjun-ssi.”
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
Theoretically, Yoongi knew that movies weren’t shot in sequence.
Theoretically, he knew. In practice, he was rather unprepared.
It’s a flurry of arms and movements, a few random objects placed as decor go flying once knocked into. One broad shoulder accidentally bumps into the door frame before he is pressed up against the wall, wide-eyed and slack mouthed. It’s the grin of a predator that holds him still more than physical strength – he is taller, bigger, broader, but the other’s presence is so big and over all-encompassing he can’t possibly move, pinned in place.
“Let’s see how we can get you to relax,” the sly grin promises before he sinks down onto his knees, confidently starting on the buckles of the belt –
“Cut!” Jungkook yells, and the hustling and bustling from behind the scenes start up again. Seokjin immediately takes a few steps to the side from Yoongi, ears still flaming red, to let Yoongi get up from the floor. Two men come in to reset the props he and Seokjin had knocked over accidentally, not even bothering to look at them as they do so.
Jungkook, however, hasn’t taken his eyes off either of them.
“Tell me,” Jungkook enquires, “is Minju a shy man?”
No one replies. It takes Seokjin nudging him with his elbow to make Yoongi realize that, oh, he is supposed to answer.
“Uh – no?”
Jungkook doesn’t exactly look impressed at being answered with a question, but he lets it go. “Then tell me, is Kim Taehyung a shy man?”
Yoongi almost replies with a ‘no’, because he so far whilst knowing Taehyung has never met anyone who would describe the boy as ‘shy’, and he wouldn’t exactly know Jimin in as many explicit details as he does if Taehyung had any sort of filter, but he catches himself with his mouth hanging open as he realizes what Jungkook just asked. Yoongi’s heart stops beating right then and there as he stares at Jungkook with wide, terrified eyes. He knows, Yoongi has been found out, Jeon Jungkook is about to reveal that he is in fact not Kim Taehyung, and –
“Taehyung-ah, I asked you a –“
Right. Yoongi needs to practice this – as well as his kissing if he wants to avoid another public scolding like this.
“I’m sorry, director-nim,” Yoongi bows politely though awkwardly. “I’ll work harder.”
He ignores the snort of the prop team coming from behind him.
“Maybe we should try something else?” the assistant director leans closer to Jungkook, lowering his voice as if they’re having a private conversation though very publicly. “Taehyung clearly isn’t comfortable with the kissing, and it shows. It doesn’t look good on camera,” he scratches at his beard. “What if we had them switch around? Seokjin could press Taehyung up against the wall instead –“
“No, no,” Jungkook immediately objects, waving away the assistant director. “It’s about the juxtaposition, of being in charge whilst in a typically submissive position – yes, he is a bit shy, I’ll give you that, but the problem is already before he goes down on his knees.”
Yoongi is currently standing on his feet, but he might as well be kneeling from how small he feels.
He doesn’t know why he’s like this. This isn’t the first time he has kissed someone, and not the first time he has kissed a boy. Kim Seokjin may be the prettiest person he has ever kissed, but Yoongi doesn’t think he is so shallow to be intimidated by such a fact. Is he also the best kisser he has kissed? Yes. But Yoongi isn’t really kissing Kim Seokjin. He is kissing Kang Yeongjun.
He can tell the difference. Even if he can’t act the difference between Min Yoongi and Choi Minju.
Yoongi has written songs and rapped about how good he is with his tongue, about how he can make anyone come. Seduction isn’t a foreign concept to him, nor is selling himself as sexy to a crowd – or in this case a camera.
“Hey,” Seokjin whispers, catching Yoongi’s attention but quiet enough to not catch Jungkook’s. Not that it would matter – they’re not being addressed anymore. “It’s alright. Don’t feel bad.”
Yoongi almost snorts, but that would probably be rude to Seokjin. It’s not his fault Yoongi isn’t an actor, that these are the circumstances he has to act under.
“I’m serious!” Seokjin gets a little louder, cheeks stretched in a smile a little too cheerful to be what he’s actually feeling.
Yoongi knows from the PowerPoint presentation Hoseok and the Troublesome Duo had set up concerning the people Yoongi would be spending the next couple of months with that Seokjin is the youngest in his family. Despite that, Yoongi finds he actually makes for a great hyung.
“Kissing scenes are awkward for everyone, okay? You’re trying to show something incredibly intimate, but at the same time you have about thirty people watching what you’re doing in close up, or someone is shoving a camera or a light or a boom operator in your face.” His ears color red endearingly. “And – uh – it doesn’t exactly help that for a kiss scene, this one is, um, it is rather raunchy.”
This time Yoongi does snort. “Raunchy. Sure thing, ahjussi.”
“Yah!” Seokjin protests, but he doesn’t really mean it. And it has done the trick either way – they’re laughing now.
Yoongi still feels his stomach twisting up uncomfortably from nerves. He also can’t quite look at Kim Seokjin, because it doesn’t matter that he was pretending to be Yeongjun and Yoongi was pretending to be Minju. He just kissed Kim Seokjin. Even if the novelty has worn off after he has spent the majority of the day kissing Kim Seokjin, Yoongi still feels shy.
They’re both brought out of it forcedly when one of the stylist steps closer, fixing how their lips are supposed to look.
Though Yoongi still doesn’t quite know what to think about – everything, really; him being here, him acting – he is coming to find that he’s glad he’s doing it with Seokjin.
“Try drawing on your personal experiences,” Seokjin suggests, though he quickly turns red and looks slightly ashamed. “Not that I’m saying you usually do this in real life, I –“
Yoongi isn’t the type to go to a club, doesn’t go dancing, doesn’t go flirting. He’s too shy to just go up to someone and tell them he wants to suck them off.
In real life, Yoongi isn’t Kim Taehyung, the Actor. He is Min Yoongi, Rapper and Producer. He may not know acting, may barely show emotion most of the time, but he knows music. He knows seduction.
“If I just go for you, could you…” Yoongi refuses to meet Seokjin’s eyes, feeling the way his cheeks burn brightly.
Seokjin looks positively nonplussed. “Could I what?”
Yoongi lets himself be malleable as the stylist pokes at him with a brush – why would you need a brush for your lips – shyly trying to not twist up his outfit. “Bend down a little,” he whispers. “I can’t reach.”
“Oh!” Seokjin flounders, ears turning red again. “Yeah, of course! I’m so sorry, I didn’t even –“
“Oh, honey, just grab onto his shoulders,” the stylist says, smirking at Seokjin, using the hand not currently holding a brush to squeeze said shoulders. “They are, after all, very impressive.”
Seokjin guffaws as Yoongi gapes at the woman.
“Alright, everyone clear?” Jungkook calls out. “Quiet on set. Taehyung-ah, let’s see some confidence. And – action!”
At the end of the day, Yoongi can’t even breathe out the sigh that has been building its way up in his lungs for the past however many hours. It has grown too big and now it is forever stuck inside of him, leaving him feeling breathless yet too full.
His lips hurt. His calves hurt from stretching up to reach Seokjin. His hip and shoulder hurt from whenever they had accidentally bumped into the set. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he had to travel for two hours to even get to Namyangju, the set had to hurt him as well.
And he feels bad about it.
Not about bumping into the set – well, a little bit for the props team that had to keep resetting everything, but Yoongi is thinking broader than that. As in he feels bad about everything.
They went overtime before Jungkook called it a day, and Yoongi isn’t sure if he did it simply to go home or because Yoongi actually managed to deliver something usable. Maybe he doesn’t really want to know. He feels bad enough – for Jungkook who will probably get shit for hiring the one guy who couldn’t even read the script properly at the audition – what were you thinking, Jungkook-ssi – for the crew, for Seokjin.
Seokjin’s lips had looked just as swollen as Yoongi’s feel. He had also winced when he had straightened his back out, neck probably hurting as well from bending down to make it easier for Yoongi.
Who had still managed to fuck it all up.
And Seokjin doesn’t even give him any shit for it – he smiles, says well done, jagiya. He’s also quick to take a moment to himself – not that Yoongi blames him for it. He needs a moment to himself, too, needs a moment away from himself.
The studio is nearly empty by now, very few bothering to straggle behind when it had already gotten so late. But Yoongi still makes sure to hide away in the wardrobe a little longer than necessary. He keeps putting his jacket on, taking it off, checking the pockets, putting it on and checking the pockets, over and over. If someone was actually paying attention, they probably would have contacted HR for an evaluation.
Why a romantic movie? Yoongi laments. There are so many other genres in the world that Jungkook could have chosen – horror being an obvious one. Angst and tragedy. Yoongi could have just shown up in his normal clothes for all of those, no need for the fluffy sweater or soft curls or the occasional flower in his hair.
“Jagiya.”
Yoongi startles so badly his phone goes flying out of his pocket – in his trousers which he hadn’t even been checking – even as he already knows it’s Seokjin.
No one else has made it a point to call him that after all.
“Hyung!” he can’t tell if it comes out chastising or relieved or ashamed or something else entirely. Seokjin looks tired. He doesn’t manage to hide away the sadness that hits when he hears Yoongi’s tone of voice quickly enough.
It’s almost a pitying look that comes across Seokjin’s face before he hides that away as well. “Are you okay?” Jin winces, regretting asking it that way.
Yoongi feels how his face flushes hot. He doesn’t know – he – he didn’t have any expectations of himself going into this, he isn’t an actor. He knows Jungkook had, the crew who wasn’t part of the auditions probably had as well. But ever since the workshops, Seokjin had been more of a guide than a coworker, as if he could tell that Yoongi wasn’t entirely comfortable here, doing this.
He bows.
It startles Seokjin who had clearly not been expecting an apology, or maybe just an apology to that degree.
“I’m sorry for my –“ he starts, but Seokjin cuts him off frantically.
“No!” he waves his hands as he starts towards Yoongi as if his physical presence will be enough to halter the apology from making its way out of Yoongi’s mouth. “No, no, no. No need for that.”
“But, hyung –“
“No,” Seokjin says firmly, voice slipping into something deeper that has Yoongi’s mouth clamping shut as he stares wide-eyed up at his hyung. “None of that, jagiya.”
Yoongi’s mouth goes terribly dry. He tries to lick his lips, but it just hurts. It hurts because he has spent the entire day desperately kissing Kim Seokjin. “Um –“
“Today was a little rough,” Seokjin interrupts him again. “Some days are like that. It’s okay. I know you did the best you could, so I am satisfied. Jungkook was satisfied as well, otherwise he wouldn’t have called cut if he didn’t think he had the scene he wants.”
Logically, Yoongi knows this. JJK isn’t known for shoddy films, he wouldn’t have risen so quickly in rank if that were the case.
But that does little to help when Yoongi remembers how he had felt when filming this scene.
“Is your manager here to pick you up? Hoseok, was it?”
Yoongi nods stiffly, not quite meeting Seokjin’s eyes.
“Namjoon has been running his mouth about him ever since he called about the audition,” Seokjin reveals as if Yoongi hadn’t already come to the conclusion that something was definitely brewing between those two. “Let’s go save the crew from any other indecency today.”
Pink flares into Yoongi’s cheeks when he realizes that they were the indecency the crew was exposed to all day. But he manages to nod, scuttling away as he tries to hide in his jacket, Seokjin at his heels when they pass by loud voices in the kitchen.
Yoongi slows down involuntarily – he had thought all the crew would have gone home by now, but he sees two men from the props department.
“And I thought the problem was going to be Kim Seokjin,” the guy says, taking a bottle of something out of the fridge rather than actually do his job putting away the rest of the props. “Just a pretty face to get the movie to sell.”
The other guy snorts. “I wonder what Taehyung had to do to land the role,” he lewdly sticks his tongue into his cheek, causing an uproar of a laughter from the other guy.
“Jagiya,” Seokjin curls his hand around Yoongi’s elbow. “Let’s go.”
“Hyung –“
“Let’s go,” he repeats firmly, not letting go of Yoongi as he starts walking, conveniently dragging Yoongi along. At least until they’re at the entrance of the warehouse turned into their filmset. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. It can’t have been easy to hear someone speak like that about you.”
“Sorry –“ Yoongi sputters, thoughts jumbled in complete outrage. “You are sorry? You should be the last person to be sorry – wait, what did you say?”
Seokjin’s face is carefully blank. “Just know that anyone who is worth something won’t ever think like that about you. I know you earned your spot here –“
“I don’t care,” Yoongi objects, knowing he shouldn’t cut his hyung off like that, but he doesn’t care. He used to do a line of rap battles in one night, he has heard every single insult that exists. They don’t face him. “That’s not why I’m angry – they shouldn’t say such things about you.”
Seokjin shrugs. “It’s okay. It’s not like I haven’t heard it before.”
Yoongi gapes. “That – that’s bullshit!”
Seokjin startles, gaping at Yoongi wide-eyed at the string of expletives Yoongi manages to conjure up on the spot. “Jagiya, I – if anything I’m slightly surprised. They were far meaner towards you than –“
“Oh, who cares about that!” Yoongi waves his concerns away with his hand as if they were physically tangent. “My acting is shoddy at best, no harm in pointing out the truth. You, however –“
Seokjin carefully curls his fingers around Yoongi’s wrist, both to get him to stop waving his hand about and to stop his tirade.
Yoongi doesn’t, though. Stop talking. He only pauses so he can look Seokjin in the eye, make sure he sees that he is being honest.
“If anyone deserves to be in front of the camera, it’s you, hyung, and not just for your music.”
The tips of Seokjin’s ears are flaming red, but Yoongi’s entire being feels too red and hot with anger to fully appreciate the sight.
Yoongi is a calm person – he doesn’t explode when he gets angry, but this is the closest he has ever felt to it. The unfairness of how Seokjin is treated just because he is an idol before he got to be an actor. Why can’t people just realize that he is brilliant as both?
He doesn’t storm out of the building, but it feels close enough. It takes a beat before he hears Seokjin’s footsteps from behind him, but at that point he has already scoped out where Hoseok’s car is and is headed towards him determinedly, mind made up despite how exhausting he knows his decision will prove to be.
“Hoseok!” Yoongi calls out across the lot, startling both Hoseok and anyone else in their near vicinity.
Maybe he should care, but Yoongi doesn’t. He is angry, and his anger doesn’t lessen as he quickly stomps over to Hoseok.
“I need you to teach me how to act,” he demands quietly, making sure to say it before Seokjin catches up or anyone else comes close enough to hear.
“What?” Hoseok stares at him wide-eyed. “What’s going on?”
“Jagiya,” Seokjin finally catches up. “Please, don’t, it’s not –“
“It is,” Yoongi interrupts angrily, not even bothering to feel bad about cutting off his hyung. “Hyung, it is that bad. They shouldn’t be talking like that about you –“
“Who is talking about who –“ Hoseok starts, but he is interrupted by Namjoon who is frowning already from the get go.
“What is going on over here?”
“Nothing!” Seokjin immediately tries to wave them all off, pulling Yoongi back, but Yoongi isn’t having it.
“Talking meanly behind someone’s back constitutes as bullying. Now, I don’t know how HR works on an acting-set, but you’ll be damn certain I’ll figure it out or get Hoseok to help –“
“I get that you’re angry, but you should remember how you speak,” Namjoon cuts him off.
Yoongi gapes at him. When it’s clear he does not know what Namjoon is talking about, Namjoon sighs but inclines his head towards Hoseok, who, when Yoongi looks over to check, looks just as confused as Yoongi feels.
Namjoon sighs impossibly deeper. “He is still your hyung, Taehyung-ah.”
Yoongi’s mouth opens in a perfect ‘o’. Hoseok is so paying him back for this.
“Right,” he bites out through his teeth. “Sorry, hyung.”
“Yes, Taehyung-ah,” Hoseok gloats, “respect your hyung.”
For some reason, Seokjin snorts lightly in the background, trying to cover it up with a cough when Yoongi glares over at him.
“Now, what is this about bullying?” Namjoon frowns, eyebrows drawn together in worry as he looks between Yoongi and Seokjin. “Any untowardness is not tolerated –“
“Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin interrupts before Yoongi can start again. “It’s just the usual talk. They just drew jagi in as well after what happened today.”
Hoseok’s frown now deepens as Namjoon’s clears up, though a well-known tiredness and displeasure replaces it. “What happened today?”
“It’s not okay, hyung,” Namjoon repeats what Yoongi had said earlier.
“It isn’t,” Yoongi agrees, puffing at Seokjin lightly with his elbow before opening the passenger door of Hoseok’s car, getting in. “But don’t worry. I’m going to fix it.”
“You’re what?” Namjoon gapes as Seokjin looks increasingly worried.
“Jagiya –“
Yoongi can’t convince anyone else what to think or do – if he could, then he would be a successful, highly acclaimed producer with a multitude of mixtapes released. He can’t even start a rumor that Seokjin is the best actor to ever exist, because the only people he knows are Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung, and one of those he is currently pretending to be.
No, what Yoongi plans on doing is something he excels at.
He is going to prove them wrong.
“I’ll take care of it,” Hoseok promises frantically as he hurries to the driver’s side. “Hyung, what are you –“ he starts once all the doors are securely shut and they’re certain neither Namjoon nor Seokjin will hear.
“Just drive,” Yoongi interrupts. “I need your help with it anyway.”
“With what?”
Yoongi fixes a hard stare on Hoseok, telling him how serious he is about the next sentence that he had previously never thought would leave his mouth. “You’re going to teach me how to be an actor.”
“Hyung.”
“Min Yoongi does not do a job half-assed,” Yoongi insists. “I don’t care if they know me as Kim Taehyung, I refuse to be associated with a shoddy job done.”
“I hear you, hyung!” Hoseok turns the wheel, driving onto the highway. “I do. Of course, I’ll help you. But know it’s a very dangerous game you’re playing right now.”
Yoongi gapes at him. “The fuck do you mean –“
“If this was about your acting skills, you would have asked me right from the beginning when you got the role,” Hoseok half-way settles a heavy gaze on him as he shifts to look at where he’s driving. “This is about Kim Seokjin.”
Heat flares into Yoongi’s cheeks. “It isn’t.”
“It is,” Hoseok insists bluntly. “Just – be careful, hyung.”
Yoongi slumps into his seat, looking pointedly out of the window instead of at Hoseok. “It isn’t.”
It is.
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
“Yeongjun-ssi, step inside, please.”
Yeongjun nearly trips over the doorstep in his haste to get inside his boss’ office. A few of his colleagues have already been called in, all of them coming out again looking slightly offended before returning to their workstations. If there had been chatter, Yeongjun hadn’t been part of it. Not that he ever is.
“Close the door behind you,” his boss reminds him as he is about to sit in the chair across from him, so Yeongjun hurries back, nearly tripping again this time over his own feet before he returns to the chair, bowing deeply at all the men before he sits down.
It isn’t only his boss sitting there. The CEO of the bank is there, as is a man in a suit with an unfamiliar nametag clipped on to the breast pocket, and another man in a police uniform.
What –
“Yeongjun-ssi, these men are here to ask you a few questions,” his boss says with forced neutrality. The CEO looks angry, scowling out the window rather than looking at Yeongjun. Which is something, at least.
“Where were you last Friday, 8 o’clock in the evening?” the man in the suit asks, the policeman clicking a pen to take notes.
“Uh –“ Yeongjun blinks, confused as he tries to remember. “Here. In the office.”
The man raises one eyebrow pointedly, an almost mocking if not pitying look briefly crossing his face. “On a Friday night?”
Yeongjun’s ears color red. “Yeah. I had – there was some work left. I left early Thursday, so I was just finishing the rest up.”
“Uh-huh,” the pen clicks on and off next to the man. “What did you do?”
“Huh?” Yeongjun feels his armpits go a little clammy. What is going on?
“When you left? What did you do?”
“Oh – I – “
The loud smack of slick lips sucking against each other, warm hands running over his body, soft gasps panting into his ear with each thrust –
“I, um. I met up with a friend.”
The man hums, just a single noise. Not enough to Yeongjun if he believes him or not. “Can they corroborate that?”
A shrill laughter when fingers had pressed into ribs, deep grunts when something had felt particularly good, a warm body pressed against his as he rocked Minju to sleep –
“What is this about?” Yeongjun finally asks, looking over at his boss whose arms are crossed over his chest, waiting for Yeongjun to talk. About what, though, Yeongjun has no idea.
Is this about Minju? It can’t be. How would anyone know? Surely, they won’t fire him for sleeping with a man –
“I’m a detective, I’m with the NIS,” the man finally introduces himself. “I hope you don’t mind; I’ve taken the liberty to look you up before our meeting. My condolences, by the way, regarding your mother. That’s quite a hefty amount of hospital bills she left in your debt.”
Yeongjun’s hands curl tightly, the hole in his chest still a little too big for anyone to mention his mother just yet. He feels – he gets a little angry as well. As if the hospital bills are what would bother him, not the death of his mother.
“It’s alright,” he clears his throat, glancing over at his boss. “I like my job, and I’ve performed well since I got hired. It won’t take me more than a few years to pay off.”
The man hums again. More clicking, more scribbling. Why is he here? If Yeongjun was about to be fired, the NIS would have no business here, let alone the CEO. It would just be his boss, maybe someone from HR.
“I still don’t think I understand why you’re asking me this,” he tries to search for clues, answers, anything really at this point.
“You’re here,” the CEO snaps, finally looking away from the window, “because last Friday at 8 o’clock, someone stole twenty billion won from the bank.”
Yeongjun feels how the chill settles deeply inside of himself at the words. “I – holy –“
“Yeongjun-ssi, we just want your help,” the detective – detective investigating the case – reminds him carefully.
“I –“ Yeongjun shakes his head. “Shouldn’t you be talking with security? Or the tech department? I’m in stocks, I don’t really know anything about –“
“We’re questioning all of those who were still here that evening,” the detective cuts him off. “Which includes you.”
Oh. Oh.
It hits Yeongjun harder than it should.
He was there that evening. They are asking him, not because he was here, but because he was here. Surely not, surely they don’t –
“Whoever it was, they were good at covering their tracks,” the detective continues unapologetically. “But not good enough for our team to miss that it was an inside-job.”
Inside-job. As in someone working here, someone who would have been here last Friday at 8 o’clock would have –
“Right now, we are just keeping our options open. But your profile, Yeongjun-ssi –“ alone, in debt, a loner, odd “- it doesn’t look good. If there is something, anything at all that you think we should know, tell us. It’s okay.”
“I – I –“ Yeongjun stammers. “What do you mean?” Yeongjun can barely breathe. He keeps looking back and forth between the CEO and his superior, but he isn’t really seeing either of them. “I don’t understand –“
“Yeongjun-ssi,” his superior tries to calm him down, but it’s futile really.
They think he did it. He is a suspect for stealing twenty billion won from the bank.
The CEO sighs, goes back to staring out the window.
“Just don’t leave the country,” the detective warns, not even trying to sound humorous about it.
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
Acting bootcamp sucks.
“Acting is all about confronting yourself with the entire emotional spectrum that humans are capable of feeling,” Hoseok narrates – from where, Yoongi doesn’t know, but he knows Hoseok isn’t that well-versed in drama and acting to pull off this hell as well as he has been. “It is not just you pretending to be someone else, you are that person. You understand them, you know how they think, how they feel, the way they express what they’re feeling.”
Yoongi barely understands what he himself feels half of the time, and he has been himself his entire life. “I’m not Minju.”
Hoseok shoots him a deadpan look. “Of course, you’re not Minju. You’re not Taehyung, either, but that hasn’t stopped you so far.”
Yoongi scowls but he has nothing to say to that.
He also doesn’t feel like he has anything to do once he shows up on set. Well, he has lots of things to do – he has scenes with Seokjin, a deeply emotional one as well, which only made the acting bootcamp of hell more imperative to get through, but that doesn’t mean Yoongi necessarily feels prepared.
“Stop stressing about it,” Seokjin’s voice sounds from behind him.
Yoongi refuses to jump, and he hurries to settle his face into an impassive state that comes natural to him. “I am not stressing about anything. I am so relaxed.”
Seokjin looks amused more than anything else. It does not have Yoongi feeling a little weak-kneed. “Do you remember what Jungkook told you?”
Despondently, yes, he can’t help but think back to the last time they had to do a kissing scene. Jungkook hadn’t shouted, because he isn’t like that, but he had gotten frustrated with Yoongi’s performance – rightly so.
“You saw Minju,” Seokjin reminds him, because of course he was talking about what made Jungkook cast him for the role in the first place. “It wasn’t how everyone else saw him, it was how you did. Minju will only exist like this because of you.”
And then he leaves. As if he was cast to be the mystical spiritual guide Yoongi never knew he needed. The deux ex machina of actiing. Yoongi should now be equipped with unparalleled acting skills, so why does nothing feel different for him? The stakes feel higher than ever, but Yoongi isn’t prepared for them.
He still isn’t prepared when they’re on set – standing on the street in front of the flower shop, rain pouring down from a machine.
Yeongjun has no idea why he came this way. Some hidden desire, probably. Most of the shops are closed at this hour, but not Minju’s. But Yeongjun can’t – he can’t do that to Minju. He can’t show up and expect him to care, so he just stands there.
Minju stands at the counter, smiling at a couple as they make their purchase. He’s beautiful, and for a moment, for the small window of time in Yeongjun’s life where he got to be near him, where he got to have Minju in his arms, it had seemed like a salvation. A new turning that Yeongjun so desperately needed.
And now he just feels tainted. Everything he touches is tainted. He got to touch Minju, and he still shines just as brightly as before, but for how long? How long until Yeongjun’s misery drags him down to his level?
He can’t do that. Not to Minju.
He turns on his heel, start slowly trudging down the street. He hears the ding of the doorbell when the couple exit, walking the opposite way from him.
And then he hears the ding again. Probably the door closing –
“Yeongjun-ssi!” Minju calls out, little taps of his feet hitting the puddles along the way audible as he hurries towards Yeongjun, pausing with a fair bit of space between them. He’s holding an umbrella, but his hold is unsteady as if he merely grabbed the umbrella in his hurry, not caring enough to take care of it. “What are you doing?”
Would he care enough to take care of Yeongjun? Would he agree with the detective that Yeongjun is a bad character, that he is worthy of being a suspect? That it is perfectly within reason that Kang Yeongjun who has never broken the rules, never strayed from society’s expectations, would become a criminal?
Minju is the only exception. He never got a girlfriend, never had anyone he could consider marrying, which made him odd in the eyes of his coworkers and boss and an NIS detective, but he has Minju. Had Minju. Got to have him. He can’t keep him; he isn’t allowed to. He can’t.
The laugh that leaves him is far from amused, borders on scary. Minju looks startled, the umbrella nearly toppling over. Yeongjun can’t look at him like that, refuses for the last time he sees him to be anything other than him in his doorway, laughing and pressing just one more kiss to his cheek until he’s nearly late for work.
“What am I doing,” he repeats tonelessly before he escalates. “What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing?” he screams. “You know what, that’s a damn great question, Minju-ssi, what am I doing? Huh? Can you tell me? Can anyone tell me?”
Minju startles at the outburst, really dropping his umbrella this time, but he doesn’t even bother looking at it, doesn’t look anywhere that isn’t Kang Yeongjun.
“You know, I thought that if you did what you were told to, if you behaved, you would be able to live well. You would have a good life. So tell me, Minju-ssi, how come it doesn’t matter if I’m inside or outside, the day is grey and the sky cloudy, and the rain never stops? Is it supposed to feel impossible to get up in the morning if it weren’t a habit at this point? Is tomorrow supposed to be as dreary as today is? As yesterday was? Am I supposed to be able to tell a difference? Why can’t I feel anything?”
He's panting from his misery, throat closing up until shouting isn’t an option anymore, he has to focus on breathing first. He swallows harshly.
“I just came from a work-meeting,” Yeongjun says as if he just had a productive yet tiring day at the office, just like any other day. That he met up with his team, discussed stocks. Whatever. Not that he got called in by his boss for an interrogation. “They said – they think that I – that I –“ his throat tightens up far too much for another sound to make it out of his mouth.
Minju timidly steps closer. “Yeongjun-ssi, I don’t know – I don’t think I understand what you’re –“
A sob is what ends up ribbing through Yeongjun’s throat. He wasn’t even aware that he had started to cry. Damn rain.
“They think that I –“ his voice shakes. “They think that I could have – that I –“
“To hell with what they think, then!” Minju growls, physically startling Yeongjun out of the spiral he had been about to be submerged in.
He has never heard Minju sound like that, look like this. A hardness to his eyes, his shoulders set tensely, looking like he is bigger than he really is. Like he will be this big enough as long as Yeongjun needs in order to hide underneath him.
“Who cares about them?”
Minju’s umbrella lies abandoned on the ground, the harshness of the rain enough to make it sway back and forth before it settles. Minju steps closer, hair too white to darken as it gets wetter beyond the curls falling into his eyes now.
Yeongjun is cold – from the rain, from the meeting, from everything in his life beyond the ghost of warmth Minju’s touch had brought with it when he had brought him home to his too fancy yet too empty apartment.
“When they’re with you, if – if they don’t see you how I do, then they don’t deserve to look at you at all.”
He wants the warmth. He wants Minju’s touch, and for once he doesn’t care that he isn’t supposed to. Yeongjun wants.
There is a hesitance to Minju’s steps, to how he reaches out for him, hands hovering just beyond cupping his cheeks in the palms of his hands. He’s shaking, presumably from the coldness of the water stubbornly soaking them to the bone.
It isn’t an accidental touch. It isn’t a stumble. It is a decision, one Yeongjun has never been surer of making.
They fall into each other like it was inevitable, lips gliding seamlessly as they clutch at clothes, at hair, at skin. There is no awkward stumbling, nothing of one taking charge. No world beyond what is physically in their grasp.
He doesn’t know where the line is, what is acting and what isn’t. He knows that he isn’t Minju, but he isn’t quite Yoongi either.
It is Yeongjun in front of him, though. He can tell. Yoongi has never kissed Kim Seokjin before, but he knows there is a difference, that Seokjin shows him and the camera that this is what Yeongjun is like. He wonders if Seokjin can tell the difference, if Yoongi feels more like Minju this time. If he had gotten closer to being Minju than the last kissing scene they did.
He feels closer to Minju, even as he knows he isn’t him. Maybe that is what acting is, or maybe it is just what acting is to Yoongi. Jungkook looks proud at the end of the day, reaffirmed in his decision to cast Yoongi, and Seokjin’s ears are flushed red when he throws his arm over Yoongi’s shoulders to congratulate him with a meal.
Yoongi still feels out of it when they stuff their faces in the dingy cafeteria. He is Yoongi, but he can still feel parts of Minju. Maybe it’s from the dampness of his hair reminding him of the rain. His cheeks continue to go a little pink whenever he looks at Seokjin.
He doesn’t feel like he spent the day kissing Seokjin, but he also doesn’t feel like he kissed Yeongjun. Because Minju did. And maybe it’s because Yoongi is living through Minju’s experiences, or maybe some of Hoseok’s lessons had actually stuck.
Find something you and Minju have in common, Hoseok had advised. It’s easier to act as someone else if you can see what makes you alike. It’s alright to put a bit of yourself, of your heart and your soul, into your character. You are the one who is acting, no one else can act the same way as you, they can only mimic.
At the time, Yoongi had struggled to see what made him and Minju alike other than Minju borrowing his face. Now, though, as Yoongi observes the way Seokjin’s cheeks puff out slightly when he takes a big bite, the way his eyes light up at the taste, his kind gaze when he holds out his chopsticks with something for Yoongi to eat, his distinguishable laughter at the face Yoongi makes when it’s a clamshell. Now, Yoongi bitterly sees what they have in common.
They are both liars.
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
“Just like that, jagiya,” Seokjin compliments him as he smoothly runs his fingers over Yoongi’s.
Yoongi does his best to follow along per Jungkook’s instructions. How on earth this is a bonding experience, he doesn’t know.
He scowls at Seokjin. “I’m shit at it. No one can predict hyung.”
Seokjin grins victoriously. “Damn straight,” he flails about, making it impossible for Yoongi to ensure his hands keep touching Seokjin’s.
“Focus,” Jungkook scolds, but he sounds amused, and it is only amplified when Seokjin starts to squeak with laughter. “Minju and Yeongjun are lovers in a whirlwind romance. It’s important you can pull it off – and that Minju is good at mirroring Yeongjun,” he adds pointedly to Yoongi.
It doesn’t make Yoongi feel any better. Especially not with how smug Seokjin looks as he pretends there’s a wall between them that his hands are following along. Then he stretches up really high – far higher than Yoongi could possibly reach and the bastard knows it and is cackling about it.
“Why can’t Yeongjun mirror Minju for once?” He’s whining, but he feels justified in doing so.
Jungkook regards him over the bridge of his nose. Doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. His look says plenty – you already know why.
That also doesn’t make Yoongi feel any better. It is early in the morning – Yoongi had been surprised to see that both Jungkook and Seokjin were already on set, although Seokjin for some reason tried to play it off as if he had also just shown up. Hoseok had dropped Yoongi off, citing he had important plans which Yoongi had thought meant hanging out with Namjoon, but Hoseok hadn’t waited around, driving off once Yoongi had gotten out, leaving him with Jungkook who had corralled him and Seokjin into this stupid mirroring-exercise.
“Jagi,” Seokjin laughs, raising himself on the tips of his toes, straining to stretch his arms up even higher. “You have to copy me!”
“I will kick you,” Yoongi threatens, but he won’t. He feels tired.
It’s a stupid exercise. Mirroring. As if simply standing in front of Seokjin, facing him and copying wherever his hands are moving will make a difference in their acting. He selfishly wishes Seokjin was the one who had to copy him for once – Yoongi feels like he has been doing nothing but mirroring ever since this whole charade started. He is either pretending to be Minju who is mirroring Yeongjun, or he is Yoongi who has to mirror Taehyung.
He is probably making it into a bigger issue than it has to be. He only carries Taehyung’s name and identity – he knows the guy well enough to mimic his mannerisms, but for a drinking game, or a round of well-intentioned teasing. Not for whole months at a time.
Seokjin clicks his tongue, finally bringing his hands down, holding them out flat for Yoongi to place his own hands against. “So rude. Minju would never kick Yeongjun.”
Yoongi snorts. “Oh, yeah. Let’s take lessons in morality and good behavior from Minju, shall we.”
The gasp Seokjin lets out isn’t worthy of an actor. “Don’t you slander him!”
“I’m not! I just –“
“Yah!” Jungkook interrupts. “Mirroring! Not just standing there holding hands!”
Yoongi’s heart skips a beat in his chest. His cheeks feel flushed warm, and he can’t make himself look up at Seokjin. Who still hasn’t moved his hands.
Yoongi doesn’t move his either. He is mirroring him, after all.
Jungkook shakes his head. “What on earth was I thinking when I hired the two of you?”
Seokjin’s gaze feels too warm on Yoongi’s skin. It sears into him, coloring his cheeks a deeper pink. If he were to look, Seokjin’s ears would probably be matching, but even the embarrassment over the obvious discoloration and teasing that follows isn’t enough for Seokjin to look away. “The chemistry. Obviously.”
A puddle. That is what Yoongi is. His fingers twitch, a subconscious desire to grasp onto something, to hold himself afloat, but his hands just twitch against Seokjin’s fingers.
It’s still early in the day, but more and more staff has been filing in, glancing over to whatever the two of them are doing. Their eyes weigh far lighter than Seokjin’s, but their weight is foreign and unwelcome.
“Come on!” Jungkook finally breaks, whining. It’s the first time his true age has been revealed while on set – even as they’re technically not on set. “Taehyung, you at least understand how important it is that Minju can pull it off for this next scene, right?”
The name does it. Yoongi startles, stepping back from Seokjin, almost tripping over the cuff of his jeans. The sudden reminder that – well, that he is Taehyung. Or supposed to be. That they think he is.
A lump that has been forming in his throat for a while now grows even larger. It feels difficult to swallow past. Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest, hiding his hands before Jungkook can order them back against Seokjin’s.
Seokjin lowers his own hands, but not all the way down. They hover out a bit further than the invisible wall they had created between them – hovering towards Yoongi. Had they been filming, Yoongi would have thought it was Yeongjun reaching out to hold Minju’s hand.
But Yeongjun isn’t bold like that. Minju would be the one to reach out, something Yoongi wouldn’t dare to. He grasps onto the difference between him and his character with desperate hands, just to avoid the reminder of the way they are similar.
“Now you’re just being childish the both of you,” Jungkook scolds, foot tapping impatiently against the floor.
Seokjin shakes his head. “Nonsense,” he mutters, quietly enough Yoongi doubts Jungkook can even hear it. Which means Seokjin isn’t talking to Jungkook. “It’s only Minju who needs to do the mirroring. You don’t need to with me.”
No jagi or jagiya. It feels so stupid to get stuck on, but it physically hurts. Seokjin hasn’t referred to Yoongi as anything else since they met, is the only one to have not called him Taehyung or Mr. Kim. The lack of it only serves as a stark reminder that one day, soon, Seokjin won’t ever call him that again. Because Yoongi isn’t Taehyung, isn’t supposed to be here at all, and Seokjin doesn’t know.
He doesn’t know. The lump in Yoongi’s throat grows thicker.
Seokjin rightens his spine, his hands finally falling down, tucked into the pockets in his sweatshirt. “Let’s take a break before we start shooting. I think Namjoon needs you anyway.“
“No, no, it’s alright if you’re busy –“
Yoongi startles at the voice suddenly coming from his left. He hadn’t even seen Namjoon sneaking up on them.
Jungkook huffs, rolling his eyes, but he dutifully turns to Namjoon. “It’s fine. Apparently, we’re finished for today. Let’s go, hyung,” he turns on his heel, heading over towards the cameras being set up and the table they have reserved for any paperwork that needs to be spread out for more than one person to look at.
“Oh, Taehyung-ah, before I forget,” Namjoon calls out, “we need to get a headshot of you.”
“Wow, Namjoon-ssi,” Yoongi deadpans. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“Yah,” Namjoon warns playfully, flicking between something on his tablet. The tip of his shoe scuffs against the floor as he impatiently steps back a little to follow Jungkook, even as he is still talking. “It’s so odd – I could have sworn one was included in your audition profile, but I can’t find it for the life of me. We need it for promotions.”
“Oh!” Yoongi stands very still, eyes wide. Hoseok, you brilliant man. That’s why he dropped Yoongi off so early, and why he has been so unapologetically hanging out with Namjoon. And Yoongi thought he was the con artist of his friend group. “How odd!”
A choked noise escapes from Seokjin, whose cheeks turn as red as his ears have. “Water!” he chokes, awkwardly flailing towards the kitchen with a “See you later,” that sounds even worse.
And then Yoongi is left there. Alone. Staring after Seokjin with a bewildered look on his face.
Alright, then.
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
“From the top!” Jungkook demands. “I know this is your first run-through, but that’s no reason to not aim for the take. Besides,” he leans back in his chair looking mightily happy, ”the morning-after scene is always my favorite.”
Favorite, Jungkook’s ass, Yoongi swears silently, though he doesn’t dare grumble as he joins Seokjin on the bed.
He’s wearing underwear and a shirt that is supposed to be Yeongjun’s, though the stylist strictly specified that he had to leave it unbuttoned, glaring at him whenever Yoongi discreetly had tried to shut it just a little, just enough that his nipples weren’t showing in public. His cheeks are flushed as he shuffles underneath the duvet in the relative safety it provides from eyes and cameras aimed directly at him.
The shirt is supposed to be open for the implications. That Minju simply got dressed in a hurry, that yesterday’s shirt shows they technically haven’t gone to bed yet, despite being in bed and it being morning. Yoongi is to lie on his front, half on top of Yeongjun at that, and the shirt is supposed to be billowing out.
The duvet settles over his legs first, which also feels like a comfort. Yoongi is perfectly aware of how thin his legs are, how pale he is in general. Seokjin is already underneath the cover, though Yoongi knows is he dressed similarly except the shirt is replaced with a t-shirt. He is lying on his back, after all, and the company Seokjin is signed to is very good at keeping his body as unexposed as possible.
“You okay?” Seokjin whispers as Yoongi pulls the cover up higher than it should be, his other hand still holding the shirt together as much as possible. “Jagi?”
“Taehyung-ah, scootch up a little,” Jungkook’s voice sounds through the megaphone. He isn’t even looking over at them, is looking through the screen, the view provided by the camera hanging over their heads. “The duvet has to be further down – Jin, could you?”
Seokjin waits until Yoongi has laid down on his stomach, shirt bubbling in and out uncomfortably in odd folds, Yoongi hopes he won’t be scolded for creasing the fabric. Only then does Seokjin gently grab the duvet, lifting it slowly down. His hand grazes along the length of Yoongi’s back, smoothing down, down, down, so faint that Yoongi shouldn’t feel it, but it burns. He squirms.
“Faces closer together,” Jungkook orders clinically. For him, it’s just a vision in his mind that he is creating in real life.
To Yoongi – he feels Seokjin’s breaths on his face, has to look into deep brown eyes, eyelashes fluttering as Seokjin’s gaze suddenly shifts further down – just for a second, like he couldn’t help but look at Yoongi’s lips.
It shouldn’t feel like this. How many scenes, how many hours, has Yoongi spent kissing Seokjin already? Even in the form of Yeongjun, there isn’t a part of Seokjin’s lips unfamiliar to Yoongi by now.
“Jin, a little more on your left – no, back again. Taehyung’s shoulder will come out of its socket if you’re like that. Shift your left arm underneath him instead – yeah, Taehyung put your head on his arm. Like that, good.”
Seokjin’s skin is warm against Yoongi’s cheek. “Don’t let your arm go numb,” Yoongi warns, though he is more worried about accidentally drooling on him.
The only response he gets is Seokjin curling his arm in so his hand rests on Yoongi’s upper back, thumb gently moving along the edge of the collar, flipping it in and out of place.
“The editors will hate you,” Yoongi giggles. “You’ll ruin the continuity if you shift it too much out of place.”
Seokjin smiles but he doesn’t laugh. “Yeongjun can’t believe he has Minju with him like this, the he gets to experience this. He would be touching him, just small, little things – brushing his hands through his hair, shifting over his skin. Anything to have a reminder that – even just for a little while – I got to have you like this.”
Yoongi blinks, eyes wide. His lips feel sewn shut together. He wonders if Seokjin can feel how hard his heart is pounding in his chest. He must be able to, Yoongi is halfway on top of him, and he should say something, make sure that Jin really meant it like that, that he didn’t simply misspeak, unintentionally change the pronouns, but Yoongi can’t ask, he can’t –
“Is he too pale?” Jungkook asks, doesn’t have to specify who. “With the white hair, white shirt, white bedsheets?”
It provides a nice contrast to Seokjin’s black hair and grey t-shirt. Both of their underpants are dark, but they’re covered by the duvet and won’t be on camera either way.
The assistant director shrugs. “White symbolizes purity. Weren’t we going for innocence?”
Yoongi almost snorts at the thought of an innocent morning-after scene, but he can’t look away from Seokjin, can’t move at all, can’t register the cameras and monitors and lights and poles intruding to capture every sound of theirs.
“There’s innocence and then there’s a washed-out character,” Jungkook objects. He calls out, “could we change the color of the bedding? Something neutral that doesn’t catch the eye – blue? Yeah, alright. Let’s try it.”
The props team intrude, but Yoongi can’t move until Seokjin does despite him lying on top. When he sits up on his knees, he hurries to pull the shirt shut against his chest again, fingers fumbling along the placket. The shirt is oversized and shouldn’t be difficult to hold together, but Yoongi can’t stop shaking. The team is efficient in changing the pillowcases, but Yoongi hasn’t gotten close to them, and the scene is supposed to be intimate. It feels like a violation to be dressed so lightly, in bed with Seokjin, and then have people intrude. He feels uncomfortable.
And Seokjin notices. Because Seokjin always notices everything.
“Here,” he shuffles onto his knees.
He’s taller than Yoongi like this, as if he isn’t always. One hand curls against Yoongi’s lower back, pushing himself closer so his front presses against Yoongi’s chest lightly, providing enough cover that it doesn’t matter whether Yoongi manages to hold the shirt shut or not, nobody can see him.
“They should have given you a shirt to wear underneath,” Jin grumbles, quietly enough that the props team won’t hear.
Yoongi ducks down a little further, curling in on himself. It feels like hiding, more than just his chest. “It’s just for this take.” He doesn’t know why it feels so important to comfort Seokjin when Yoongi is the one who feels uncomfortable. “It’ll be buttoned for the next scene.”
Seokjin snorts. “Buttoned up halfway. And you were on me for continuity!”
Even with the hint of annoyance at Yoongi’s state of (un)dress, it’s easy to tell he’s trying to make Yoongi laugh. But he can’t. Not like this. Not when he’s in bed with Seokjin, surrounded by five people hurrying to change the sheets and make them look nice yet used, surrounded by cameras and crew, and yet Seokjin is holding him so carefully, making sure he can’t be seen like this even as all eyes are on him.
At this point, Yoongi is so familiar with Seokjin’s scent he is certain he could pick him out of a crowd blindfolded. Despite how uncomfortable he is with the props team being so close, the visible reminder of their task being completed has a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach. Soon, they’ll be done, and then they’ll finish the take. And then Yoongi can soon count on one hand how many scenes are left for them to film together like this. And then the movie will be done.
How long will it take before Yoongi won’t remember what Seokjin smells like? Until he can’t remember what it was like to be with him like this? Seokjin is busy – an idol like him doesn’t get days off. And Yoongi is the exact opposite. He isn’t delusional.
He turns his head away from Seokjin, rests his temple against a broad shoulder and focuses instead on the new bedsheets.
They’re nice – a dusty blue that surely with the contrast will only make Yoongi look even paler. But he isn’t about to point that out – he can’t see the screen, can’t quite make out what his own appearance is like at the moment. Flushed, probably. He recently had his roots done, and his scalp still aches. White isn’t easy to manage, and it doesn’t get any easier when Seokjin continues his ministrations from earlier, softly flipping the collar up and down before gently tugging at the bottom of Yoongi’s hair.
“Down we go,” he murmurs, his breath puffing at Yoongi’s hair in a way he will deny he shivers from.
It’s awkward shuffling down the both of them together like this. It would probably be easier to part and Yoongi to struggle with the shirt for just a few seconds by himself, but Seokjin holds him close, doesn’t let the shirt shift out of place until they’re both lying down again, duvet tugged up and Yoongi’s shirt once again billowing out around them.
“Much better!” Jungkook calls, clapping his hands as he settles back in his chair. Yoongi doesn’t let his eyes stray from Seokjin’s neck even as he’s being moved into the correct position; head on Seokjin’s shoulder, hand on his chest slowly sneaking up to his neck, ready to boldly pull him closer at a second’s notice. Seokjin is touching him as well, but it’s different. Timid, careful. Shy. The way Yoongi feels.
He needs to shake it off. It’s just a scene. It’s pretend.
But the shift from Seokjin to Yeongjun isn’t as obvious this time when Jungkook calls action! The touch is the same, the eyes are the same, the look sears itself onto Yoongi’s skin until he wonders how he ever thought he’ll be able to forget what it’s like being like this with Seokjin.
But he isn’t. it’s Yeongjun, not Seokjin, and Yoongi needs to remember that.
“Did you sleep well?” Minju asks, mouth twitching at the effort of staying serious.
Yeongjun shakes him, once, “Yah,” he complains, because Minju knows perfectly well how he slept. Or didn’t. He can’t keep up the façade, though, once the giggles escape Minju. “Brat.”
He’s joking, and it’s easy to tell. Too soft, too intimate. His eyes and hold on Minju give him away – this is something precious, delicate, something to be handled with care unless Minju slips out of his grasp.
It’s picturesque; the sunlight shining in through the white curtains only dimming it enough to create the illusion of hiding. Hair tousled and messy and lips swollen and pink, there isn’t a secret to be held in this room right now.
And yet, Yeongjun’s eyes betray a sadness that runs so deeply it physically aches, to the point that fixing it would leave him feeling hollow. Despite Minju being right there next to him, on top of him, this moment feels so fleeting, like Yeongjun is only dreaming it.
He can’t express it with words, how desperately he wants this yet can’t imagine deserving it. Deserving Minju. Minju deserving what is being done to him without his knowing, just from being with Yeongjun like this.
So he uses his hands, his touch. Gently curls his fingers through Minju’s hair, messing it up a bit but Minju doesn’t care. He hums contently, fingers twitching against Yeongjun’s chest in reflex.
“If time rewound and we were back when we first met, in your flower shop,” Yeongjun whispers, heart pounding in fear of the answer, in fear of even asking the question at all, “what would you do?”
Minju blinks, slowly, narrowed eyes resembling a mix of a sleepy and suspicious kitten. “What do you mean?”
“I – would you send me out because I was dripping all over your floor?”
“Yah!” Minju giggles, pushing Yeongjun playfully before he curls up against him even tighter, his hand lifting to play with Yeongjun’s fringe. “You looked cute like that. Why would I send you away?”
Because I’m ruining you, Yeongjun doesn’t say. He shrugs instead, or as close to it as he can get when they’re like this. “Just – would you do anything differently? Would you still want to end up like this, with… with me. Like now. Or would you change it?”
His fingers carefully brush over the button-nose, pink cheeks, and pouty lips, eyelids fluttering so prettily. He should tell him, about the investigation. What they think he’s capable of doing. He doesn’t want for Minju to find out any other way – doesn’t want him to know at all, but if it comes down to it, he doesn’t want for Minju to feel betrayed that Yeongjun wasn’t the one who let him know.
Minju suddenly looks far too serious for their setting. “Why would I change it?”
A lump in Yeongjun’s throat grows, closing it up until breathing feels impossible. He does another sort-of shrug.
“Would you?” Minju asks. It’s a big question, but it’s spoken softly, smaller than how Minju feels like this. “Would you want to change anything?”
No. Yeongjun wants to reply, but he can’t. Because he’s a coward. He knows he is – he has spent his entire life on that job, and yet he never fought for or received a promotion, doesn’t have any friendly colleagues or friends in general, they accuse him of theft, and all he does is go hide in his bedroom. Sticks his head into the pillows, because if he can’t see the world or his problems then they simply disappear.
But is it fair of him? To be clinging onto Minju like this? So beautiful and enigmatic and full of life and a constant reminder of what living is supposed to feel like. It’s the first time in his life that Yeongjun realizes what it feels like for something to be important enough to fight for. To care for something so deeply there is no way to verbally express it.
“What if I ruin you?” he whispers.
Minju laughs, brightly, happily, everything Yeongjun wants for him to be yet doubts he can ever give him. “Yah, don’t be so cocky. A warm bath and a few painkillers, I’ll be walking fine again.”
“Aish –“ Yeongjun turns red. “So bold. Have you no shame?”
He doesn’t want for him to have. He wants him happy. Safe. Warm. In love.
And Yoongi – Yoongi mirrors. The tip of his finger gently brushes along Seokjin’s chin, following the curve as it turns into the jaw. Would they ever have been like this? If Yeoungjun wasn’t an outsider desperate to feel something? If Yoongi had only made his audition boring instead of an absolute trainwreck? If he confessed?
“You’re still such a mystery to me,” Yeongjun gently caresses the side of Minju’s face. He is met with a wide-eyed Minju, jaw slack and mouth formed into a perfect little ‘o’ that it takes everything for Yeongjun to not press his thumb against, open up that mouth just a little further –
Except Yoongi’s bottom lip is trembling. Like he’s holding back tears.
“You’re the first person to really see me,” Minju, Yoongi, whispers like it’s a confession to everything he is.
The guilt swirls heavily in Yoongi’s stomach.
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
It – it’s stupid is what it is.
Yoongi has known Seokjin for – what, a few months now? The movie is nearly over, though the hard part is definitely the end. In more than one way.
He doesn’t owe Seokjin anything. It’s a hard pill to swallow, but it’s true. Yes, Seokjin has been nothing but kind to him, a helping hand whenever it all felt like too much, carefully guiding Yoongi through scenes he didn’t have a clue on how to navigate –
But the guilt doesn’t go away. Even when Yoongi tries his best to convince himself that Seokjin, though not explicitly told to do so, was obliged to help Yoongi. If Yoongi couldn’t deliver, the movie would be a flop, and Seokjin would take some of the blame from critics, the public, and worst of all, the industry.
It’s hard to forget the laughter from that night, the assumption that Seokjin only got this part because he was a pretty face when there is so much more to Seokjin, far more than you get to see on camera and on stage. Wants and wishes and aspirations and little habits and tics that are so horribly endearing, and Yoongi shouldn’t feel guilty.
He is helping a good friend. He is helping Taehyung, and any guilt he feels should be cancelled out by the good deed he is performing not only for Taehyung but for Hoseok as well.
If only Seokjin was an asshole. If only he didn’t go out of his way to make Yoongi laugh at the end of the day, cheer him up if filming was hard, reassure him that it doesn’t matter what happens, hyung is there, hyung will fix it, hyung will do it. Yoongi’s knees go weak whenever Seokjin stands just a bit too close, telling him and only him that “Jagiya, don’t worry, hyungie will take care of it.”
Yoongi doesn’t need to be taken care of. He doesn’t. He is fine – now and before this entire mess started, when he was emailing anybody in the world to hire him, to listen to his songs, when he was working three jobs at the same time and none of them were related to what he really wanted to do. Yoongi takes care of himself.
It’s no wonder Seokjin is as successful an idol as he is, the Nation’s Son-in-Law. It’s impossible to be in his presence and not – not.
Yoongi refuses to admit it. Not when it will have the guilt finally spill over, climbing out of his throat until he ruins everything. They’re so close to finishing, and it won’t just be for himself that he ruins things. It won’t just be his own reputation, his credibility as a producer – however mediocre and unknown he is.
He will be ruining Hoseok and Taehyung.
And it doesn’t matter what these feelings are that are brewing inside his chest whenever he thinks of Seokjin. Not at the thought of the consequences.
And not when Seokjin doesn’t even know Yoongi’s name.
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
Bang, bang, bang!
The knocking comes in a loud succession, startling the both of them awake, disoriented. The sun is still up, but Yeongjun is too dizzy to tell if it’s early, mid, or late afternoon. Minju is still in his shirt, eyes blinking blearily as he too tries to gather his wits. “Wha-“
The knocking returns with a vengeance, sounding impossibly louder and closer. Yeongjun stumbles with the sheets when he tries to get up, landing on the floor by the end of the bed. It’s his door – is it? It must be. But who would be here? He only knows Minju, and Minju isn’t knocking. No one else needs him. It must be for his neighbor, but it sounds too close.
“Are you okay?” he asks Minju, because it feels more important than whatever the knocking is.
He doesn’t get a reply. His front door is knocked down, the wood around the lock and the door frame splintering in pieces as a group of men in black uniforms and bulletproof vests enter the apartment forcefully. The table by the front door is knocked down, a bowl with keys shattering as it lands on the floor.
“What the –“
They barge in through the bedroom door as well. Anything tranquil, intimate, beautiful is immediately shattered.
“Kang Yeongjun?” Hands pull him up, then throw him over the drawers, chest constricting at the tight hold as his hands are forced behind his back. “You’re under arrest for the theft from MG Bank. You have the right to remain silent –“
“Wait a minute!” Minju calls out, throwing himself back when more officers start to reach out for him.
“- anything you say can, and will, be held –“
“You can’t do that! Yeongjun-ah!”
“Don’t touch him,” Yeongjun begs, because – because Minju is in his shirt, and there are tears in his eyes, and his hair is messy from sleeping, and there are hickeys visible on his neck, and he should be sleeping still. Not being pulled at in a state undress.
“- against you –“
It’s okay, he wants to call to Minju, but he can’t. He did this to him.
Minju looks… small. Scared. His eyes are wide as he shifts between looking at Yeongjun and the officers trying to hold him. Yeongjun is intimately familiar with Minju’s body at this point, but it startles him how fragile he looks.
I’ll ruin him, he remembers thinking, the words manifesting themselves into the universe in this specific moment. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t do it, that he is merely a suspect, Minju will never forget this feeling right now. Yeongjun won’t either.
“I’ll come get you!” Minju yells, throwing himself forward on the bed as if he wants to reach out for Yeongjun, but it’s futile. He has to twist himself backwards to avoid being touched by the police. “I’ll get you out, I promise, I’ll come!”
“I lov-“ he starts, but he can’t finish. His arms are pulled back harshly, and it hurts, his shoulders aching as he grimaces and is pulled along out of his house. They let him put on shoes, but boxers and a t-shirt provide very little cover or comfort as he stumbles down the stairs and into a black van, his neck bent awkwardly at the entry so he doesn’t hit himself.
It’s dark in the car. He can’t see anything. Can’t see anything but the look on Minju’s face as he was pulled out, as he didn’t get to finish what he wanted to say.
Maybe it’s better this way. It would be the first time he says it out loud. It should be special; he wants it to be special. He’ll tell him the next time he sees him.
He might have ruined Minju, might never be able to express how deeply he regrets this happening, how deeply he cares for him in the first place, but some words are too important to never say. Sometimes life is too short to not talk.
He’ll tell him. When he sees him again, he’ll tell him.
The holding cell is cold, though nowhere near as uncomfortable as the interrogation room.
There are so many papers. Logs of logins, the bank’s ID card-numbers, traces and clues, yet nothing revealing where the money has gone. Just his name from a login he didn’t – and wasn’t supposed to – do.
“It’s not me,” is all he can say. It’s the same detective who had met him at the bank, though this time he is flanked by two police officers and another detective rather than the bank’s CEO and Yeongjun’s boss.
The detective doesn’t look familiar, especially not when all Yeongjun can see is how small and scared Minju had looked.
“You’re not a bad guy, Yeongjun. You were just in a tight spot, all that debt. There’s no shame in admitting to it.”
“Just tell us.”
“Do we need to go ask that guy who was with you? Who was he?”
Leave him alone, Yeongjun begs, but he can’t say it. He can’t say anything.
“We know you couldn’t have done it alone,” they show him more logins, time schedules, CCTV footage of himself. None of it makes sense. “If you tell us who you were working with, it’ll be better for you.”
Who? Who was he supposed to be working with? He has no one – no friendly colleagues, no friends, no family, just Minju. Minju who so suddenly entered his life, doing everything to stay in it. Why, Yeongjun can’t for the life of him figure out. What did he have to offer? An average life – if you could even call it a life. A life of boring predictability, all until Minju came.
Until Minju came…
Yeongjun knows he didn’t steal from the bank, but the records lead back to his ID. Meaning, either someone hacked the system – and got away with it as they found no trace of an attack – and stole his ID numbers, or…
Someone had access to his physical copy.
“You left this!” Minju had run after him, holding his wallet. Quickly enough not to draw suspicion, long enough to copy down all of the details of the ID within.
No. Yeongjun doesn’t want this, doesn’t want for this to be the truth. It isn’t. It can’t be.
Minju had – he had met up with him, that night of the theft. He couldn’t have done it because they were together. They were busy, they were –
Distracted. A distraction. Because they keep asking him about who his team is. This wasn’t a one-man-operation, and they know it. They just don’t know who else is in on it. They don’t know anyone who was in on it.
Minju got them the in through Yeongjun’s ID card. Minju got them the perfect time to ensure no conflicting records between where Yeongjun was and wasn’t supposed to be. He was still at the office, would have been caught on the CCTV camera, linked with the poorly hidden records of his ID login in a place he shouldn’t have a reason to enter. All whilst the actual perpetrators could walk around freely in the system.
This isn’t real. This can’t be right.
It doesn’t make sense. Why would Minju stay? It’s been weeks since the theft, and Minju has barely left him alone. It doesn’t make sense, Yeongjun can’t make it make sense. The only way it can is if he is wrong. If Minju really didn’t do it.
They ask him for names, but he doesn’t give them the one he’s thinking about. Because he doesn’t want for it to be true. It isn’t true, after all. It just isn’t.
His phone call goes to a lawyer who looks like he doesn’t know whether he believes Yeongjun is innocent or not. He does what Yeongjun begs him to, though, which is go to Minju’s shop.
Closed, he’s told. Temporarily, there was a sick note hanging on the door.
Yeongjun doesn’t know where Minju lives. They only ever spent time in his own apartment. He only has a name – Choi Minju. As if that makes a difference right now.
If Minju shows up at the trial, then Yeongjun was wrong. If he’s just there, then Yeongjun will accept the title of being the shittiest boyfriend in the world, but it’ll be fine. He was just paranoid, making things up. He – he doesn’t want for it to be Minju. He wants to be wrong so desperately.
He is shown into the courtroom, hands uncuffed as he sits down next to his lawyer. The jury eyes him warily, but he isn’t looking at them. His eyes skim over the crowd, seeking out a familiar face, white hair – any hair when there isn’t a speck of white in the crowd. Minju could have dyed his hair, he could have – could have –
The session begins. The doors are closed. Yeongjun is alone.
Minju isn’t there.
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
The morning of the final scene, Yoongi wakes up to the rain. It pitters softly against his window, and for a moment time stops.
His duvet is too thin for this time of year, but the vacuum in time and space created only in the early hours of the morning has him desperately wanting to stay. He just needs a pause, just for a minute. From pretending to be Taehyung, from the movie, from his lack of own career, from Seokjin.
Just – a break. Where his problems don’t exist. Where he isn’t the stupidest idiot in the world.
Yoongi doesn’t necessarily regret doing it, agreeing to the audition. Not when he knows how great of a relief it was to both Hoseok and Taehyung, but that doesn’t mean his conscious is clear.
He can’t believe it’s gotten this far, that they’re nearly at the end. At the start, this time had seemed almost imaginary, completely intangible as a concept to Yoongi. And now he’s here.
He can’t tell if he’s gotten better at acting or not, has no idea of what the movie will actually be like. Will people like it, will critics like it. Will they only come because of Seokjin. Was Jungkook’s gamble wrong, will Yoongi ruin all of it.
He feels like he is ruined. And he won’t be the only one if anyone – someone – finds out about him. Not that it matters – the line between acting and reality is too narrow, too vague, and Yoongi can no longer tell when he crosses it. If he ever really came back. If he ever passed it.
Yeah, finishing this will be good for Yoongi. This needs to end.
He needs to move on.
Getting ready in a daze, he doesn’t care about what he wears, how he looks, not when it’s literally other people’s job to make him look a certain way.
The raining has calmed down by the time he gets to Namyangju, dwindling into a light shower as fine as dust. The clouds hang heavily and dark, it’s almost ironic how well they fit to Yoongi’s mood as well as today’s scene.
Seokjin is already there by the time he gets there. Dressed in costume, a light-grey jumpsuit, he stands underneath some of the umbrella-stands set up to cover the staff and the equipment. He looks tired and thin. Yoongi knows it’s just the makeup – he’s happy they didn’t make Seokjin lose a lot of weight for the role. The schedule was too tight to pull it off safely, instead the staff was tasked to make it believable Yeongjun has just spent the last weeks in holding, awaiting his trial. They’re at the back of a building – not an actual courthouse, though this place looks just as daunting as the real deal. Most of this scene will be spent in a van, they’ve simply set up a set mimicking an actual courtroom inside. Seokjin must have finished his scenes already.
“Oh, you’re here, great,” someone grabs Yoongi’s arm, pulling him away from Seokjin and towards the campers the staff have set up. “Your outfit is ready inside.”
Yoongi looks back as he stumbles up the steps. Seokjin is looking right at him, lifting one hand in a wave as he begins to smile, but Yoongi tears his gaze away and hurries inside.
Like a band-aid, he reminds himself. It will hurt, hurts already, but it will be quicker. It won’t last.
It still hurts.
Avoiding Seokjin turns out to be easy. The set is busy, and as long as Yoongi isn’t actively getting in the way there are loads of things he can do. Until he is towed away by Namjoon, who smiles politely at the staff Yoongi had been helping – bothering.
“Is Hoseok picking you up today?” he casually asks, keeping one arm around Yoongi’s shoulder as he leads him away. He sounds nervous, isn’t quite looking at Yoongi. “I haven’t seen him around for a while.”
It would be funny if the timing didn’t correlate to when Hoseok would have deleted Taehyung’s photo from the internal files. Come to think of it, Yoongi completely forgot to thank him for the foresight. Hoseok must have been wracked with guilt over tricking Namjoon for it.
“Uh –“ he stalls, but he isn’t sure where Namjoon is even taking him, “I think so? Once the scene is done. I mean, I don’t have anything else.” Because it’s the end. It’s the last scene. Not just his last scene with Seokjin, it’s the end.
“Oh,” Namjoon sounds disappointed. “I have a meeting after. That’s too bad. Do you think – could you tell him to give me a call, some time? When he’s free? If he wants, that is. He doesn’t have to, if he doesn’t –“
“I’ll tell him,” Yoongi interrupts, if only to stop the babbling from getting worse.
Namjoon practically lights up, dimples popping out as he smiles down at Yoongi. “Great! Thank you, Taehyung-ah. I’ll leave him with you, hyung.”
Yoongi pauses, completely thrown-off at Namjoon calling him hyung. He is supposed to, he knows, he’s the same age as Hoseok, but Namjoon thinks he’s Taehyung who is younger than him – does he know? Was that why he wanted Hoseok to call? Because he knows? If he knows, does that mean that Seok-
“Gladly. Jagiya, come tell hyung hello. I haven’t seen you all day.”
Oh.
Yoongi stills. A drop of cold sweat – or rainwater? – runs down his back, making him shiver. He can’t turn around, because – because –
Namjoon does it for him. “One jagi, at your service.”
“Yah!” Seokjin chides, holding his arm out for Yoongi to grab, to pull him closer, underneath the umbrellas, but Yoongi can’t move. “I’m pulling the hyung-card, only I can call him jagi.”
“Hyung!”
“None of that, now. Run along, Namjoon-ah.”
“We’re on set! You can’t order me around –“
“Oh, is that abuse of power I suspect there? Namjoon-ah, hyung is so disappointed in you –“
“You just pulled the hyung-card, and you want to talk about abuse of power?”
“Hush,” Seokjin reaches forward a bit more, but it’s Namjoon’s push that actually has Yoongi stumbling forward. He evades awkwardly, trying his best to avoid touching Seokjin at all. He doesn’t know what will happen if he touches, what he will do.
Seokjin looks confused, but it’s quickly put away under the careful mask it’s been so long since Yoongi last had to see. Nonetheless, his goal of getting Yoongi out of the rain has been fulfilled, so he awkwardly lets his arm fall, though not before waving Namjoon away in Jungkook’s direction.
Namjoon scowls but obeys. His shoulders hunch when the rain hits him once again, and he jogs over where Jungkook is standing without a single umbrella or raincoat, long hair dripping down his face as he monitors the setup.
Yoongi could walk over there as well, could fall in with the backdrop of people dressed in black. His outfit is dark enough, though his bleached hair definitely gives him away. But he has no reason to, and Namjoon did just deposit him beside –
“Jagiya,” Seokjin rumbles quietly, though loud enough Yoongi hears him perfectly without either of them closing off the awkward gap that remains between them. “Are you okay?”
And what the hell is Yoongi supposed to say? He can’t tell the truth, hasn’t even tried to, which just has him feeling smaller than ever. “Just – I have a lot on my mind.”
“Ah,” he draws out the vowel, stuffing his hands into the black duffer coat he has pulled on over his jumpsuit. It’s slightly humid with the rain so it must be to protect to outfit rather than keep warm. If Yoongi hadn’t been a coward, he could have touched Seokjin’s hand, could know if he was cold. “I see.”
The gap between them remains. The silence stretches out further. Yoongi feels awkward, this entire situation feels awkward. Awkward and unavoidable, because isn’t the opposite scenario far unkinder? The one where Yoongi pretends everything is normal, that there is nothing wrong whatsoever, that they’re not ending.
“Me, too, actually,” Seokjin admits, but Yoongi can’t tell if he means it, if he’s trying to make Yoongi feel better, or if he simply wants the silence to go away.
Seokjin isn’t loud – all his volume comes out during performances or when he’s trying to make someone laugh, words coming out faster than some of Yoongi’s raps – but he doesn’t deal well with uncomfortableness.
“Do you want to talk about it? It could help. I could help.”
Yoongi shakes his head, keeping his gaze straight ahead instead of to the right, at Seokjin. “No hyungie – hyung. I – no. No, thank you.”
“Oh. Right. That’s okay!” Seokjin shifts his weight from one foot to another for a minute before he looks over at Yoongi. “You can, though. You know that, right?”
It hurts. Yoongi wants to tell – or, he doesn’t, but he feels the words on his tongue, stuck in his throat, fighting to climb out, to be heard, but Yoongi can’t let them. He can’t ruin all of this – can’t ruin the movie, can’t ruin the way Seokjin looks at him. It will be ruined, and then Yoongi won’t even have the untarnished memories to cling onto.
He shrugs. Too scared to reply properly.
Seokjin’s gaze on him is heavy and so achingly familiar Yoongi’s knees go a little weak at the feeling of it.
There is staff busily buzzing around them, but Yoongi can’t sense any of them. He hears fragments of conversations, but he can’t make out any of them; all sounds foreign and far away, the bubble still not popping when Seokjin looks away, gazing straight ahead like Yoongi.
“Well, I for one have a lot on my mind!” It’s cheerful to such an obviously fake degree. A different kind of mask. “Can you help hyung? Let hyung talk his mind a little.”
Heat rushes to Yoongi’s cheeks. There’s something he can never get used to when Seokjin refers to himself as ‘hyung’ like that. So bluntly and self-assured in a completely unnecessary way when referring to the honorific. As if there are more implications to Seokjin being older than Yoongi is capable of handling.
He looks straight ahead to avoid Seokjin’s gaze, feels it settling on his skin, and instead just nods once in response, barely twitching his head.
Seokjin doesn’t start at once. He lingers, long enough that Yoongi has to glance over at him by the corner of his eye to check that he hasn’t left. He hasn’t. He wouldn’t. He will.
“I never pictured myself as an idol. It didn’t even register in my mind as a possibility,” he laughs, as if the fact he is one of the most popular idols – not even in South Korea, in the world – is unbelievable. “Acting – now that sounded fun, but singing and dancing? Not me. No, never.”
Yoongi hadn’t always paid attention to Kim Seokjin’s career. So many groups and soloists debut every single year, and Yoongi was busy enough trying to make his own figurative debut as a producer to do anything more than carefully analyze who and whose music made a hit and why.
“Isn’t it funny like that? How your priorities can change when you least expect them to. You know, you hear all the clichés – idol, acting, it doesn’t matter, they all have them. Did you know that it’s not uncommon for costars to fall in love with each other?” Seokjin sounds amused, but he doesn’t look it. “All that time spent pretending to be lovers, falling in love. You’re acting, but you’re still experiencing the emotions as if they were your own, and it makes it difficult to distinguish between what your character feels for the other’s character versus what you feel for them.”
A mixture of something like hope and dread begins to fill Yoongi’s chest. Maybe – maybe that’s what it is. Maybe Yoongi doesn’t actually feel anything for Seokjin other than a platonic friendliness for how good Seokjin is. Maybe Yoongi will actually be able to survive the heavy burden of guilt weighing down on him.
And then Seokjin’s next words make it all fall apart.
“For me, it was never like that.”
An unpleasant, hot flush spreads through Yoongi’s body, coloring his cheeks red. It doesn’t feel good, feels more like embarrassment. Because of course Seokjin would notice what Yoongi hasn’t even dared to admit. This is a reminder to Yoongi that Seokjin isn’t Yeongjun, that Seokjin is an idol, and that this will never work out –
“Is that silly?” Seokjin’s voice is small, smaller even than when he whispers. Yoongi didn’t know he could sound like that, and it has Yoongi staring at him with wide eyes. “That – that –“
Jin isn’t looking at him, is resolutely staring ahead instead of meeting Yoongi’s gaze.
“I love being an idol, don’t get me wrong. But I think people tend to forget that all choices come with gains and losses. I didn’t originally want to be an idol; I joined the company to become an actor. And I’m thankful for the support HYBE has given me, that I got to experience this. This is what I dreamed of when I was younger, and yet –“
He finally looks over at Yoongi, earnestness shining in his eyes. Yoongi can’t breathe. It feels like a vice has been strung around his chest, constricting his lungs until even a single breath of air feels impossible, not when he is both hopeful and so utterly afraid of what Seokjin’s next words might be.
“My favorite part of all this was getting to meet you.”
Yoongi’s heart swells. It fills him up so entirely he can’t breathe, air lodged in his chest, lodged in his throat, enveloping him so completely he can’t see anything but Seokjin. And it hurts, and in a few hours, once they leave, it will feel downright cruel.
“And what I will miss the most –“ Seokjin pauses, breath hitching just the slightest bit, just enough that Yoongi can both see and hear it. And it’s obvious what Seokjin will say, even with how far in denial Yoongi is, it’s clear to the both of them what Seokjin wants to say. What Seokjin wants to say but can’t. You. I’ll miss you. Please, don’t let me miss you, please don’t leave.
“Hyungie –“
“Actors on set!” is called on the megaphone, the woman twisting in all directions as she repeats it to ensure everyone has heard it.
Yoongi stares up at Seokjin, wide-eyed. There’s a slight twitch in the corner of Seokjin’s eye, a small frown plaguing his lips, but they drop when he looks down at Yoongi.
For all the emotions Seokjin has acted out these last months, for all the time Yoongi has spent with him seeing the range of his emotional vocabulary, he cannot recognize this one. Regret? Does Seokjin know that today will be the last in a far more final way than simply the movie wrapping up? Is it something else entirely, something Yoongi doesn’t dare let himself consider if only for how far worse than cruel the thought will be when he’s in bed tonight?
He doesn’t want it to be. Maybe – maybe it will be okay, maybe this doesn’t – because if Yoongi understood what Seokjin was – wasn’t – was trying to – say, then maybe –
“Taehyung-ah! Seokjin!” Jungkook waves at them, not caring that he’s spraying water onto the assistant director who looks less than pleased, packed away underneath a heavy, black raincoat.
And with that, whatever wreck of a logic Yoongi had been conjuring out of thin air crashes. Jungkook’s reminder of why so simple yet so incredibly guilt-wracking Yoongi’s knees give out when he tries to move forward.
Seokjin catches him, holds him up. Yoongi would have pulled them behind schedule if his outfit had touched the mud. Yoongi wouldn’t still be on this set if it weren’t for Seokjin working his ass off to make him comfortable with every scene they work on, with his confidence in himself and his acting.
“Taehyung!” The name cuts through Yoongi’s soul with a stabbing ache that deflates whatever happiness and hope had filled him up a second ago, leaving behind only the worry, shame, and guilt. “No need to cling to him, the goodbye-scene will be fine,” Jungkook teases.
The rest of the staff laugh along, far too used to whatever antics Seokjin and Yoongi are pulling under the disguise of workshops, of bonding, of acting.
Seokjin doesn’t laugh. He’s breathing heavily from holding Yoongi up, but he does it without complaint, no part of him trembling whilst Yoongi feels like his legs have lost all will to keep him up. “Jagiya? I’ve got you. You’re okay, I’ve got you, jagi.”
He hasn’t. He doesn’t have Yoongi; he doesn’t even know his name.
“Taehyung-ah, today, please!”
“Jagi –“
“I’m okay,” Yoongi steps forward without looking at Seokjin even once. He focuses on the camera by Jungkook instead, forces his feet forward towards his mark, holding up his own weight. “I’ve got me.”
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
Guilty. A unanimous verdict.
With the possibility of appealing for a shorter sentence – if he provides the names of his accomplishes and reveals the location of the money. Which he can’t.
He doesn’t know the prison he’s going to. When he was little, he took the same route to school every day because his mother told him to. As an adult, he would go to work, go home, go to the store, go home. For someone who has relied all of his life on routine, on familiarity, never straying not until – well. For someone who has never stepped off the path laid out for him, not knowing the place he will be spending the rest of his life is a very foreign experience, and Yeongjun isn’t certain he’s capable of identifying the feelings swirling around inside his stomach.
Numbness, maybe. It dulls everything else down – the anxiety, the hurt, the betrayal. The sadness.
Yeongjun stands in the rain, hands cuffed in front of him. They’re waiting for the van to pull up and take him to his new home. He should be terrified, and he is, but not as much as he should be when he has been sent to prison despite being innocent. The only sensation he can focus on is the cold drops of water running down his skin, lightly soaking the shoulders and collar of his jumpsuit.
It rained the day he met Minju. That’s why he met him in the first place, seeking shelter from the rain. The irony doesn’t surpass him – Minju still brings the rain, but now there’s no shielding Yeongjun from it.
The van pulls up, the wheels spinning in the mud that puddles on the road. Yeongjun is standing too far away to be hit by the splatter. He still looks down at his shoes provided to him by the state. Prison-appropriate footwear. They are dirty, but only from standing out here in the rain.
One of the two doors to the back of the van opens, someone stepping out. Yeongjun doesn’t look, he doesn’t want to see. He sees the new guard’s shoes step into his periphery, sees only one hand reaching out to grab the leash bound to his handcuffs from the other guard who had brought Yeongjun out here from the courtroom.
“Let’s go,” is ordered by the guard standing next to him, who pushes him forward into the splattered mud.
The new guard doesn’t say a word. He must do something to gain the approval of the other guard – some nod or something like that, because the other guard laughs as if striking up a camaraderie.
“Watch out for him pissing his pants. I wouldn’t be surprised. Guys like him think they’re all big until they get caught; then they just run crying to their mama.”
The new guard laughs, deeply and melodious, but he also tugs at Yeongjun’s leash so he doesn’t go flying into the side of the van when he starts to slip in the mud.
Yeongjun tries to feel offended. At the guard’s words. At being pulled around like an animal. Like he’s suddenly less than human. But he doesn’t feel anything. He is so utterly and completely numb.
He steps into the van, the guard following behind. He’s probably lucky he wasn’t pushed, but it’s difficult to appreciate the small fortunes when you’re innocent.
Is he? Innocent, that is. He didn’t do it, no, but… what, did he really think Minju was there for him? And not ‘for him’ as in acquiring a target, for him? What did he have to offer? A lonely, depressed banker. The only one deluded throughout this entire ordeal was himself to not think he had any other purpose than to be a scapegoat.
There’s another guard sitting on the bench opposite of where Yeongjun is placed, a police cap pulled down firmly. He’s small – smaller than any cop or prison guard Yeongjun has seen during this entire ordeal, small enough that the jacket swims around his frame. The guard who had brought him in settles down next to Yeongjun, dropping his leash on the ground between them.
No need to hold on to it or tie him up. Yeongjun isn’t going anywhere. The door is pulled shut and locked.
The van rumbles to life underneath his feet. The only point of light comes from a wired window showing the driver. His cap matches that of the guard in front of Yeongjun, but there’s nothing else to say. He can’t see out the windscreen from this angle, though he can’t tell if he wants to in this moment. If he will regret it when he is locked away for life to only see the same grey walls of his prison cell.
“Is this it?” the guard who had brought him in asks. Despite how loud the van actually is, the sudden voice disturbing the silence startles Yeongjun. Is what it?
He gulps nervously. He has heard stories about how prisoners are treated, how some never make it to the prison. But – they were serious criminals! Child molesters, rapists, serial killers whose MO was so cruel no one could ever quite understand why they did it. Not – not a falsely accused banker.
The attorneys and judge had been frustrated; they kept asking him where he put the money. The CEO had been red-faced as he stared him down from the benches, demanding that they find the money, that he give it back. Yeongjun can’t. But will they care? Will he be a story told to scare children away from committing a crime?
His hands are shaking. It rattles the cuffs, the metal clinking as the leash moves against the floor, but no one pays attention to him.
“We’re arriving soon,” the driver calls, not taking his eyes off the road.
They haven’t been driving long enough to reach the prison – any prison. They can’t be arriving soon, they can’t – which means –
The guard in front of Yeongjun takes off his cap, revealing white hair that lays oddly after having been stuffed inside the hat, cat-like eyes blinking wider than Yeongjun has ever seen them.
“Minju-yah?” Yeongjun asks confused. What is Minju doing here? Did they catch him? Do they know he is there? Why is he wearing a guard’s uniform –
When Yeongjun looks closer, he sees that the other guard doesn’t move. He isn’t surprised. He knew it was Minju. And when Yeongjun looks even closer, he sees the scarring on his hand, the one he had carefully held away from grabbing Yeongjun’s cuffs with, recognizes the burn mark the baker got from his oven.
And when he looks through the small, fenced-in window looking out to the driver, he notices the same blond color as the delivery guy’s dyed hair.
Holy shit.
“What are you doing here?” Yeongjun wants to be angry, or at least wants to sound angry. He sounds tired. Dead. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you? Set it up perfectly. Don’t think I haven’t seen right through you.”
Minju’s eyes are wide, welling up with tears. “Yeongjun-ah, I couldn’t – it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
Yeongjun snorts disbelievingly. He knows it isn’t true, knows that the delivery guy had been perusing the office, bringing baked goods and flowers from secret admirers, from catering events, lunch orders, excess flower shipments that would have just gone bad and should be enjoyed.
What had really happened was such a flawlessly orchestrated surveillance to pick out the scapegoat. To pick out Yeongjun.
Yeongjun was a fool back then. Probably still is. But this – this is cruel. A fucking victory dance as he lays cuffed on the ground. Minju might have fucked him over, but Yeongjun had never thought he would be like this. This isn’t Minju.
If Yeongjun ever really got to know who Minju is.
He snorts. “Sure, it wasn’t. Drop it, Minju-yah, I’ve got you figured out. Or should it be Minju-ssi?”
Minju flinches. “No,” he begs, but Yeongjun isn’t quite in the mood to let him.
“Oh, my bad, Minju probably isn’t even your name, is it? It wouldn’t be like you to leave a paper trail – not one in your own name, that is.” It’s a rush. Vindictiveness that has the back of Yeongjun’s mouth taste sour, but he can’t stop. “Did you laugh? You only needed to get my ID that first time, the rest was for the timing to be right. Was it funny to you? That you could have grabbed my card whenever you wanted to? That I didn’t think twice? It must have been so funny –“
“It wasn’t!” Minju interrupts, voice pitched higher than Yeongjun has heard him outside of bed. “It – it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t! Not – not at the end –“ he trails off, and Yeongjun wishes the guilt is as acidic as his own hurt is. If Minju even feels guilty at all.
Not at the end. Like something had changed. As if Yeongjun was capable of being something other than a scapegoat to Minju.
“I’m sorry! Okay? I’m so, so, so sorry, Yeongjun-ah. We were – we changed the plan, we were going to hide the trail, but we were too late –“
Yeongjun shakes his head. He can’t listen to this. His heart is pounding in his chest, and it only worsens with every word Minju utters, because Yeongjun is a fool. He is a complete idiot who can’t ignore the physical and emotional response to Minju that had only started to feel so natural before it was ruined.
He faces Minju head on, lets his gaze go cold and numb, portraying none of the turmoil swelling up inside. Either Minju is an idiot or an even better actor than Yeongjun first thought, because the desperation shines clearly.
“Save it.”
“Hyung,” the guard – the baker – the accomplice – whoever – next to Yeongjun mutters. “We’re running out of time.”
Along with desperation comes devastation. Minju’s shoulders slump like all the weight of the world has just been placed on him and he’s crumbling away underneath it.
And then it vanishes. Or – not quite, it’s replaced with sheer determination, Minju straightens his back as he gets up from his seat somehow managing to not lose his balance despite the van still moving. “Fine,” he gets out through gritted teeth. “I won’t explain what happened, and I won’t force you to believe me or forgive me. But I need you to listen.”
Yeongjun almost wants to be petty and refuse, turn his head away. But he can’t. Not when Minju is like this, never when Minju is like this; fierce, beautiful, so ready to fight for what he wants and believes in. It hurts, but Yeongjun wants him like this. In every other way. He just wants.
“I’m getting you out of here,” Minju promises. “You don’t have to come with me. I’ve got all the fake papers for you, and I’ve arranged for transport. We’re headed for the airport right now, and you can leave without me, go anywhere you want –“
“Cut!” Jungkook calls, literally cutting off Yoongi.
Yoongi is crying, though clearly not as much as they want him to or Jungkook wouldn’t have called cut. Or maybe it’s something else. Can they tell? Can they see through him? Surely it would help – Minju is supposed to feel the same for Yeongjun. If some of Yoongi bleeds through, it’s alright. It’s okay.
Yoongi’s heart is pounding so heavily in his chest. His knees are shaking, his hands as well, and his lower back hurts a little from standing up in a van where he has to crouch to not hit his head on the roof and to fit within the camera’s frame. But not crouched enough that he doesn’t tower over Seokjin.
Their height difference is reversed for once, Yoongi can’t help but wonder how, with all of their scenes, he has never seen Seokjin like this. Looking up at him, eyes wide and mouth falling open just the slightest, a mix of Kim Seokjin and Kang Yeongjun. It feels odd being taller than Jin to whom Yoongi is so used to craning his neck back at this point.
The symbolism doesn’t surpass him. Minju leaning over Yeongjun, offering him salvation – both as freedom and love. Would it be the same in real life? Yoongi doesn’t have anything to offer, not to Kim Seokjin. Nothing worthwhile.
“Roll back to Minju revealing the plan. Taehyung-ah, a little less like you’re listing your groceries, please. It’s a hard balance between desperation and forced calmness, I know. Do your best, I know you can do it!” Jungkook calls, then settles back in his chair. “And – action!”
“You can leave,” Minju, Yoongi, he can’t even tell who anymore. “I won’t try to find you, I promise. You don’t have to come with me. I’ve already arranged separate transport for you. You can go anywhere, leave Kang Yeongjun and everything he was behind –“
“Jagiya,” Seokjin says. This is Seokjin, this isn’t Yeongjun. Yeongjun never called Minju ‘jagiya’, it was never even hinted at.
This is Seokjin sitting right in front of Yoongi, cuffed hands gently cupping his face, tears in the corners of his eyes.
“Where else would I go but with you?”
Yoongi doesn’t care about the timing, doesn’t care about the camera angle or the fact that he isn’t technically supposed to kiss Seokjin in this scene. He leans forward and kisses him.
And Seokjin kisses him back. Keeps kissing him, holding him in place until neither of them can breathe and then keeps going anyway.
“Cut!” Jungkook calls again, though the usual bustling from the crew living up again is absent.
Yoongi is still wrapped up in Seokjin, in his arms, in his body, in his kiss despite their lips no longer touching, breathing in the same air as each other due to the lack of distance between them. Nothing else but this matters right now.
“That’s a wrap, everyone,” Jungkook says proudly.
Yoongi looks at Seokjin. He wants to remember Seokjin like this the most – freshly kissed, cheeks flushed, happy and proud with the result he and Yoongi managed to create. If there’s anything more in Seokjin’s eyes, he can’t see it. Refuses to see it.
This is it, then. This is the end.
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
Despite it being the end, Yoongi doesn’t magically materialize in his own apartment.
He still has to dress out of his costume, has to thank and say goodbye to the staff, check that there’s nothing more for him to do.
It won’t even be the last time he sees Seokjin. Not only is the wrap-party coming up; there will be promo, photoshoots, interviews. They’ll have to do all of it together, they’re the leads together.
And the crew wants a picture. Of the two of them together.
Seokjin stands in his big puffer coat that reaches his knees. Yoongi’s jacket is worn thin, and his thumb keeps slipping into a hole in the sleeve that he hasn’t had the time or tools to mend. He shivers as the rain prickles at him through the fabric, ignores how his fingers feel frozen to the bone as he forms one half of a heart, the other half made by Seokjin. The staff titters as she has them standing closer, smile wider despite Yoongi already wearing a mask. His eyes probably aren’t smiling. Seokjin is a professional at this after all, no need to direct him.
“You look great!” the assistant taking the pictures laugh, clicking through the photos faster than she managed to take them. “Wait a minute, let me just check that they’re alright. Then you can leave.”
“Sure,” Seokjin smiles politely. Yoongi doesn’t reply. His throat feels tight, and he shuffles to his side a bit so he isn’t pressed up against Seokjin anymore.
It’s awkward. It’s so fucking awkward, and it is all Yoongi’s doing. They’re just standing there in silence as staff members wheel by, not paying them any mind.
“It was intense today,” Seokjin lightly scuffs the tip of his very expensive shoe into the ground. “Do you think – would you mind leaving with me?”
Would you mind not leaving me behind? Yoongi hears, just like what Yeongjun would say to Minju. Don’t leave me.
Yoongi doesn’t want to be left behind either.
But what is he supposed to do? He can’t bring him back to his apartment – not only does Seokjin think he is Taehyung, but he might also know about Jimin as well, and it is obvious Yoongi lives very much alone, very much not a glamorous life, and is very much (trying to be) part of the music industry. Seokjin would recognize the professional equipment and he would know.
Seokjin would know. Would know that he isn’t Kim Taehyung, that all of this was a lie. Not to Yoongi, but Seokjin –
It would be true what Jin said about costars. It’s the context that does it, not the actual people. It can’t have been, not for Seokjin, not when he doesn’t even know Yoongi’s name.
Yoongi is a terrible person. Quite possibly the scum of the earth, and this has to end. Right now.
“H-Hoseok is waiting for me,” he excuses. He feels faint, his knees have gone soft, and his feet feel like they have disappeared, yet his legs are like lead.
Seokjin is frowning. He’s still so beautiful like this, and Yoongi is nauseous. He needs to leave.
“Oh – I, um, well –“ Seokjin stutters, face going carefully blank at every nonsensical noise that leaves his mouth. Yoongi knows that face, because he knows Seokjin. It’s the same face as that night when the crew had been bashing Seokjin’s talents, that carefully crafted mask from spending so many years in a position where everyone feels entitled to criticize you for nothing. “I could, I mean. Could I? Come with you?”
It hurts. It fucking hurts, but Yoongi still manages to shake his head. He can’t look at Seokjin, though, doesn’t want to remember the look of rejection on him. “I don’t live anywhere near you.”
An entirely unamused laugh leaves Seokjin’s mouth in a short, cut-off breath. “You know where I live?” he sounds disbelieving. Yoongi can’t detect anger or hurt, but he also knows how amazing of an actor Jin is. Hiding would be easy for him.
Yoongi doesn’t know the exact address, but he knows where he lives. Seokjin wouldn’t set foot in the apartment complex that Yoongi can barely afford.
He just needs to get out. Not look at Jin. If he looks, he’s done for. He’ll cry, Yoongi knows he will, and he can’t, not here, not in front of Seokjin. He refuses. And it’s stupid because this won’t even be the last time he sees Seokjin – they have promotions, interviews, social media posts to make together, coordinating everything together, together. And yet he can’t look at him. Can’t stand the thought that he just kissed Seokjin for the last time. That he never really got to kiss Seokjin, no matter how close to it, it felt.
“I need to go,” he repeats, stumbling back. Both of them have already returned their outfits, they’re back in their own clothes. Yoongi can just leave. Hoseok will be parked nearby, by the other cars. Yoongi can literally see them from here, he just needs to go.
He stumbles. He doesn’t see if Seokjin reaches out for him. He will not see it.
“Jagi –“ Seokjin starts, but Yoongi resolutely turns his back on him and starts walking.
This is hard enough already. There’s no need to make it worse.
Seokjin follows him, at least until Yoongi worms his way through a flock of crewmembers he should probably bow to, thank them for their work, but instead he folds in on himself, pushes straight through as well as he can without touching anyone. He thinks he hears Seokjin again, but he ignores him.
“Oh, there you are,” Hoseok says, phone in hand as he casually leans against the hood of his car. “I was just about to call you – hey, are you –“
“Let’s go,” Yoongi interrupts, pulling at the doorhandle four times before Hoseok unlocks the car.
“Hyung –“ Hoseok starts, but Yoongi slides into the car, slamming the door shut. He turns his back to the window. He wants to know if Seokjin is there, can see him, managed to follow him through the crowd, but he doesn’t actually want to see it.
Hoseok’s car door clicks open. “Hyung. Just – did something happen? Are you okay?”
Yoongi turns back to the window but makes sure to close his eyes first. “Just go.”
“Hyung –“
“Go.” Then, quietly adds, “please, Hob-ah.”
It’s quiet for a while. Hoseok doesn’t move. Yoongi barely breathes. His chest is too tight, and it feels like he has forgotten how to.
“Alright.” The engine turns on smoothly, rumbling to life beneath and around Yoongi. His stomach aches as Hoseok reverses out of the spot, goes to leave the set for the last time.
Yoongi’s eyes fight his brain and win. They open against his will, seeking out where he knows Seokjin would be standing if he had followed him, if he was looking for him.
It’s just the crew there. No one else. Big trunks full of gear, outfits, cameras. People laughing and smiling and looking forward to the party to wrap this entire experience up.
No Seokjin.
Yoongi shuts his eyes again. What a fucking experience.
Hoseok tries to make conversation as he turns out on the highway. He knows Yoongi isn’t asleep – he can recognize his breathing for goodness’ sake – but Yoongi simply folds himself into the jacket he has been using the past six winters. It’s worn-through and should definitely be replaced, barely able to keep Yoongi warm anymore, but he can’t afford a new one. Not one that is better than this one at least.
Let alone talking about his apartment. Hoseok parks out front. He goes to turn the ignition off, but the last thing Yoongi wants right now is company. He has already opened the door and stepped out before Hoseok manages to turn the key.
“Hyung –“ Hoseok tries, but no words come after.
Yoongi waits, and waits, his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t know why he’s waiting, what he’s waiting for, what he thinks Hoseok can do to magically fix this.
“Just –“ Hoseok sighs, shakes his head. “If you want to talk, call me? Okay?”
Yoongi shuts the car door.
His head is at the same time filled with whirling thoughts and dangerously empty, anxiousness and shame filling up spaces not already occupied with his worries and the continued repeat of this was it, it’s done, it’s done, it’s done. He bounds up the stairs, each step echoing through the grimy hall before he reaches his own floor. The keypad beeps familiarly as he lets himself in, shutting the door harshly behind him.
“If I want to talk,” he mutters. He drops his jacket on the floor, not caring if it’s damp and will ruin the wood, not caring about it being crumbled, or taking care of his belongings in general. There is so little left of Yoongi he isn’t quite sure what those parts are.
Acting. What the hell even is it. Jungkook called it seeing, living out whatever you saw. Hoseok spoke of it as becoming – being a person so entirely that you are them, and they are simply wearing your skin.
All this time, Yoongi has barely known what the hell he is doing, and it is only now that he realizes what he actually did. Trickery. That’s the kind of acting he did. A whole lot of pretending. And not just when he was Minju, when he was Yoongi.
He had to become Minju, but he also had to be Taehyung. When it comes down to it, did Seokjin ever really see him?
He couldn’t have. He would’ve only seen Yoongi on the surface – his face, his dyed hair. Not even his clothes, he barely got to wear them, and when he did Hoseok had always picked out his nicer set, the ones the least worn, the fewest holes, the ones Yoongi would save for special occasions and job interviews.
“The hell does he want me to say?” His hands are shaking. When did they start shaking? Is he cold? He can’t tell. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. Not like I’m in fucking lov-“
He stops himself, holding his hands over his eyes as he crouches down on the floor. If he can dig his fingertips into his hair deeply enough, pull hard enough, then that’s fine. It means he’s tearing up because of the pain, not anything else.
“Stop it,” he begs himself. He stands up, blinking frantically to clear his eyes. “Stop it, just stop it.”
Pretending. That’s really the issue, isn’t it? He got to pretend that he was someone else, that there was more to Min Yoongi than this. No job. A dead-end apartment. Just a dream floating further and further out of reach.
This is Min Yoongi. And it’s all Min Yoongi will ever be.
Yoongi looks around the apartment. It looks the same as when he left – cluttered, small, a bit dirty beyond Yoongi’s capabilities of cleaning, the wear and tear settled too deeply in the walls, the floor, the furniture.
Part of acting is simply pretending. Yoongi just hadn’t been aware that the number one person he had been fooling was himself.
Suddenly, he feels suffocated standing here. He has never minded his apartment, not really. It bothers him, and he wishes he could have something better, but he has had worse, and it gets him through each season, each change of weather, admittedly with some difficulty. But he has a bed, he has his studio, he has a working kitchen. He should be proud, but he isn’t. He isn’t proud of his home, of himself, of his life. Especially not after catching a glimpse of something he can’t have.
He'll have to live the rest of his life knowing that. Remembering the smallest taste he got, and he’ll remember this moment. Standing here, breathing picking up with a wheeze, each inhale feeling impossibly harder than the previous one.
The air in the apartment feels stuffy and stifling, and Yoongi suddenly doesn’t want to be here. He has wanted nothing but since he got up this morning, longed for the opportunity to hide away in his bed, but now that he’s here, it’s different.
Yoongi stumbles back, nearly tripping over his discarded jacket. He should pick it up, it’s way too cold to be running around outside without a jacket, but Yoongi can’t breathe let alone think far enough ahead to bring a jacket. He leaves it, grabs the doorknob and flings his door open –
“Um –“ Seokjin’s hand is raised as if ready to knock on his door, wide-eyed and surprised to see Yoongi despite showing up at his apartment. “Your front door doesn’t lock?”
Yoongi’s heart is lodged in his throat, pounding away. Seokjin is here. Seokjin is here.
“Hyung!” he starts, gasping, before hurriedly changing it, “I mean – Seokjin-ssi, what are you – what are you doing –“
“Hyung,” Seokjin interrupts, a polite smile on his lips but there’s a tenseness to his jaw that has Yoongi questioning whether his knees will hold him up. “It’s hyung to you, you know that. And I – sorry, this probably seems very impolite to just –“
Yes, yes it does, because Yoongi had just been about to make his own escape. He is so incredibly lost, and he shouldn’t be because this is his apartment, but this is Kim Seokjin in Yoongi’s apartment.
Oh, no. It’s Seokjin. Who now gets to see what Yoongi had been working so hard to keep hidden. Swallowing feels impossible, his hands clenching by his side. He doesn’t want to – he does, but he doesn’t – but he has to invite Seokjin in. He isn’t even wearing a mask, he can’t leave him standing out in the hallway like this, not where everyone can see.
So he steps back. His grip on the door is like steel, at this point the door is the only point of contact he has that ensures he won’t melt into a puddle on the ground.
Seokjin steps inside, but he doesn’t walk in more than is necessary for him to grab the door from Yoongi and close it. The alarm beeps familiarly, but it sounds like white noise to Yoongi’s ears. He can’t meet Seokjin’s eyes, but he can’t look away from him either.
“I probably should have done this earlier,” Seokjin admits sheepishly. He’s still wearing his shoes, hasn’t gone far enough in to warrant taking them off. Does this mean he isn’t staying? Does Yoongi even want him to? “I wanted to, but then –“ he exhales harshly, “well, I got scared. I’m sorry for that.”
Yoongi shakes his head, but he can’t make any sounds come out of his mouth.
“The thing is,” Seokjin straightens his spine. He has to look down at Yoongi like that. It has Yoongi facing his chin, so all Seokjin can see of him right now is probably a need for a root treatment, but that clearly doesn’t deter Seokjin. “When I look back at my life, there are very few things that I regret, or that I know I’ll end up regretting. Not hugging my parents and hyung more when I was growing up. Giving up acting would have been one. And this – you. Giving up you will be one. Never telling you how I feel would be one.”
Yoongi is shaking. He is physically trembling, and he tries to clench his hands harder to hide it, but it doesn’t work. His breath hitches in his throat and he can’t breathe past it, can’t swallow past the lump forming there, can barely look at Seokjin’s chin for the tears beginning to fill up his eyes.
“Jagiya,” Seokjin whispers, neither moving closer or further away, staying put because he is simply here to let Yoongi know, not to force him into a decision or an admission, he’s just there, “I’m in love with you.”
Five words. Five words is all it takes to break Yoongi’s heart.
Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want for Seokjin to see the tears, wants to hide away entirely, because – because Yoongi is a fucking idiot who is about to ruin everything, because he can’t –
“No, you’re not,” he tells Seokjin. Yoongi shakes his head. “You’re not in love with me.”
Yoongi steps back. There is practically no space between the front door and the shoe rack behind him, but he needs the space, needs the distance from Seokjin. He sidesteps him, walking further into the apartment.
Seokjin frowns, one hand reaching out as if to drag Yoongi back, but he doesn’t move far enough to make any contact. “Jagi-“
“Stop calling me that!”
He doesn’t know who is more surprised – him or Seokjin – from his sudden outburst. Yoongi is panting for air harder than his heart is pounding, his eyes wild and slightly crazed as he whirls around to finally look at Seokjin.
Seokjin’s eyes are wide as well but from being startled. He looks awkward standing there, in front of Yoongi’s front door in his shabby apartment. He doesn’t fit in, and Yoongi has to break the illusion that he ever could.
“I don’t –“ he gasps, “don’t call me that. Don’t – you can’t be in love with me, you can’t!”
“I am.” So certain, as if Yoongi is a guarantee in Seokjin’s life.
“You’re not! You can’t be – you can’t be in love with someone you don’t know! You don’t even know me, you can’t – I know you. It makes perfect sense that I couldn’t help myself from falling in love with you, but you can’t – you don’t even know my name!”
Yoongi feels chilled to the bone and simultaneously filled with a despair so fiery hot and heavy he doesn’t know how he’s still standing, how he isn’t sobbing yet.
“You – you fell in love with Kim Taehyung, and I’m not him. I’m not. Right from the start, it was all a fucking lie. You can’t be in love with a lie. I was never Kim Taehyung – he flaked from the audition, and Hoseok needed a favor, that’s what happened. I’m not an actor, I know fuck all about being in front of the camera, my name isn’t Kim Taehyung, it’s Min Yoongi, and I’m not who you’re in love with.”
Seokjin just stands there as if Yoongi’s entire world isn’t ending right in front of them, like he hasn’t just admitted the secret weighing him down for months now.
Then, he blinks. Nods, once, slowly, then a few more.
“Okay.”
What.
“Okay?” Yoongi screeches. “I tell you I’ve been lying about my identity ever since we met, that I’m a fraud, that everything was fake, and that’s all you have to say? ‘Okay’?”
Seokjin winces, ears going red as he squeezes his eyes shut. Still not quite the reaction Yoongi expected. He expected anger, and explosion of emotions of hurt and betrayal, everything that Yoongi has spent so long fearing. Maybe Seokjin is shutting his eyes like that because he can’t stand the sight of Yoongi –
“I mean – I. Well, I sort of knew.”
Everything comes to a screeching halt. Yoongi feels weightless, like he is beyond existing at this point. His heart pounds so heavily in his chest it’s the only reminder he has that he is still alive.
“You –“ his voice trembles as much as his hands, no words coming out louder than a whisper. “You… you knew?”
That – that really doesn’t make sense. That doesn’t make sense. No sense.
Seokjin didn’t know. There was no way that he knew! Yoongi would have known if he knew, but he didn’t, so Seokjin doesn’t –
“This is kind of awkward.” Seokjin’s ears are flaming at this point. He keeps shuffling back and forth, too restless to fully place his weight on either foot. “I’ve actually met Kim Taehyung before.”
Yoongi shakes his head. “No, you haven’t.”
Seokjin frowns. “I have –“
“No, you haven’t. Believe me, you have not met Kim Taehyung. Because if you had met Kim Taehyung, then I would know that Kim Taehyung met you. The kid wouldn’t have shut up about it –“
“I was in disguise,” Seokjin mimes wearing a mask, as if that’s a disguise, and one Taehyung wouldn’t be able to look past. “I was getting a coffee from a café, and I just – their ice dispenser had broken, they were backed up, so it was taking ages. I sat at a table and waited, and Taehyung-ssi was waiting as well. He came up to me. I think… I think he thought that I was lonely – which, I was. So. He was right,” he tries to laugh, clearing his throat abruptly instead when he sees that it doesn’t work. “He just kept me company. Told me all about Jimin, that he had filmed a few commercials, about how he wanted to be an actor, but he wasn’t sure if he could make it, that he wanted for acting to be what made him happy.”
And that’s Taehyung. Yoongi knows that’s Taehyung because Taehyung does that. He makes friends with everyone, sees the world and the people living in it so beautifully it sometimes physically hurts to think of how kind his soul is. Probably why only Jimin could be his soulmate.
Seokjin couldn’t have known any of that if he didn’t meet Taehyung.
“Once we got our coffees, we parted ways. And that was it. Until – well, Namjoon was keeping me updated about the auditions, once they had let me know that I got the role. And he told me that someone from his past that he never thought he would see again, Hoseok, had reached out to him with the hope of securing an audition for his client, Kim Taehyung,” he pronounces the name carefully, pausing at every syllable. “And – well, it had been more than a year since I met Taehyung, I didn’t remember him at first. But then Namjoon mentioned the commercials Taehyung had been in.”
And they’re all online. It would have been so easy to look them up, search for Taehyung’s name. Taehyung wasn’t by any means famous, but it would still show in the search results, eventually. Along with Hoseok’s name.
“At first, I still thought nothing of it. But Hoseok had spoken fondly of Taehyung, and that included Jimin. And that was just a few too many coincidences, right? But then –“ Seokjin licks his lips nervously. “He introduced you. At the audition. As Kim Taehyung.”
Well, that will certainly be interesting, was the first thing Seokjin told him, once he actually managed to stop staring and say something.
He had been staring. Yoongi had been unnerved by it at the time, but he had been so about everything, scared of being discovered as the fraud he was yet completely unaware that Seokjin had just done that.
“But, you know, Kim Taehyung wouldn’t be too uncommon of a name, even with all the other coincidences it implied, so I – um. Well, Namjoon isn’t too careful with his belongings,” Seokjin’s ears turn red.
Yoongi’s jaw drops in realization. “You stole his tablet!”
“Borrowed! I borrowed his tablet – I just had to check your – Taehyung’s – I don’t know – audition profile.”
The headshot. Yoongi had assumed Hoseok was incredibly meticulous in pulling off this scheme, but it hadn’t been him. Seokjin deleted the profile.
“Why would you do that?” Yoongi’s hands are shaking. He wants to bite at his thumb, but Hoseok had threatened his life if his mangled fingers could be seen on camera. “You could have said, you could have told them. Given me away. You could have -”
“Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says it the same way he says jagiya. It shouldn’t make Yoongi’s heart feel like this, but it does. “You already know why.”
Yoongi does. He didn’t want to believe it, but he does know it. He hadn’t been kissing Yeongjun in the police van, he had kissed Seokjin. Seokjin kissed him back.
It takes five steps to be back in Seokjin’s orbit. It takes nothing to kiss him because Seokjin is already leaning down, hands sliding around Yoongi’s waist to support him when he lifts himself onto the tips of his toes.
Considering they’ve been kissing aesthetically for the past few months, this isn’t the greatest kiss. It’s wet from Yoongi’s tears, and Seokjin’s teeth accidentally nick his bottom lip painfully because he can’t stop grinning.
“Fuck,” Yoongi swears, whole body twitching in anticipation when Seokjin tuts disapprovingly of the crude language.
Only to swear himself when Yoongi starts pulling him further into the apartment.
“Shoes,” Seokjin stumbles into him with a laugh. “I’m wearing my shoes. I need to –“
“Oh, fuck the shoes,” Yoongi raises himself up again, gripping Seokjin’s broad shoulders to prevent any accidents when he balances on one foot, the other futilely and unhelpfully trying to aid Seokjin in toeing off his shoes.
It doesn’t work – of course it doesn’t, and Seokjin has to let go of him to brace the both of them against the wall. “Jagiya, Yoongi-yah, let hyung –“
Yoongi had no idea he could make such a sound, but he does, and it has his ears flaming red and his lips insistently going to Seokjin’s just to avoid seeing the teasing grin on his face. “Just wear them, I don’t care, the floor is due a cleaning anyway.”
“You are a brat,” Seokjin chides but he sounds far too fond to pull it off. He stumbles forward again, allowing himself to be pulled by Yoongi. “Has anyone ever told you that?” Seokjin, probably. “And I thought raising Jungkookie was bad, umpf!”
Despite the wind being knocked out of Seokjin when they both trip and land on the bed, Yoongi ends up on the bottom, feet already moving to simultaneously push himself further up on the mattress, the duvet hindering him in his endeavor, and wind their way around Seokjin’s body. Yoongi isn’t ready for him to leave. Doesn’t quite know what he would do if that happened.
Seokjin pushes himself up on his elbows placed on either side of Yoongi’s head. The corners of his eyes are crinkling from his smile, and his gaze is so utterly fond Yoongi’s stomach feels like it’s burning.
“Aegi,” Seokjin snorts, amused.
“Yah,” Yoongi protests, but only half-heartedly, wiggling around underneath Jin, cheeks going pink from daring to talk to his hyung like that, “I’m only three months younger than you!”
“So, I am your hyung, then? That’s a relief. I took a gamble back then.”
Yoongi’s cheeks flush hot. As if a montage carefully crafted and edited together, he remembers all the careful hyung, hyungie, Seokjin’s hyung will do it, hyung will take care of you, trust hyung. At this point, even if Seokjin wasn’t older than him, Yoongi probably wouldn’t be able to give up the honorific.
He isn’t about to let Jin know about that, though. “Barely,” he pouts, hips shuffling pointlessly on the bed as if that will tell Seokjin to move on.
It doesn’t. But Yoongi’s pout must. The softest hints of teeth enclose around Yoongi’s bottom lip, biting so softly Yoongi can’t even feel the hurt. His breath hitches in his throat, mouth falling open in the smallest o that just makes it impossibly easy for Seokjin to kiss him, to graze the tip of his tongue against the inside of Yoongi’s mouth.
Hyung, he nearly pants, but he can’t move his mouth away from Seokjin’s. Follows him whenever he tries to pull back for air, moves with him, tilts his head to the side so Seokjin can press closer, kiss him deeper. He wants it, fuck, does he want it.
“Now what am I supposed to do?” Seokjin whispers against his lips, the tip of his nose carefully brushing Yoongi’s until he blinks dazedly up at him. Yoongi’s heart is pounding in his chest, he can’t stop himself from twitching even if by force. “Huh? What am I supposed to do with you, Yoongi-yah? Can’t move you further up the bed, can I, not when I’m still wearing my shoes.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake –
Yoongi kisses the absolute shit-eating grin away from Seokjin’s face – and he dares call Yoongi a brat. “Do you need them off?” Yoongi breaks away, pushes his bottom lip out once again – yes, he is somewhat of a brat when he can get away with it, and he relishes in how Seokjin’s attention is immediately drawn to mouth. “What does hyungie need them off for?”
“Yah,” Jin chides, ears flaming red at the insinuation. His own or Yoongi’s, neither of them particularly care enough to find out.
Seokjin lifts himself up on his hands, hovering over Yoongi. He shuffles slightly awkwardly, and it’s only when Yoongi hears two plops that he realizes he had taken off his shoes.
Okay. So this is – okay.
Holy shit.
Yoongi can’t remember the last time he felt so overwhelmed. Maybe the last time he and Seokjin had a scene in the bed. When Seokjin had so carefully ensured Yoongi didn’t reveal more skin than he was comfortable with. When this moment, what this is leading to, was only an insinuation kept off-screen.
There is no screen here. They aren’t Minju and Yeongjun, it’s just the two of them. Excitement and nervousness and residue anxiety that this is too good to be true bubbles away inside of Yoongi until it’s all just too much. He raises himself upwards, throwing his arms around Seokjin’s neck as soon as he can and pulls him down with him.
They land harshly, apologies ready to spill out of Yoongi’s mouth were it not for the way Seokjin’s weight presses him down into the bed, the heavy gaze that doesn’t leave him for a second, making it so difficult to breathe.
“Hyung,” he whispers, begs – for what he doesn’t know. He just needs to say it – if he says it, it’s true. “Jinnie-hyungie. Hyungie.”
Jin is breathing too hard from just the kissing they’ve been doing. Yoongi feels how the sheet underneath his hand crumbles as Seokjin curls his fingers into tight fists, feels it for himself when he slides his hands up Seokjin’s arms, trying to fit his own fingers between Seokjin’s in an odd mimicry of handholding.
“Yeah, Yoongi-yah,” Jin praises like it’s easy, “just like that. Let hyung take care of you.”
Yoongi is burning up. The slide of Seokjin’s lips against his cheek, chin, neck is electrifying and has hot need bubbling up inside of Yoongi. Every nerve-ending feels exposed, Yoongi feels exposed. He can’t remember the last time he felt so vulnerable, so visible, so seen. Because Seokjin knows, and he sees him, and he wants him, and Yoongi can’t remember the last time he felt so shy. It’s unbearable and Yoongi can’t handle how overwhelming the feeling is – he wants to hide; in Seokjin’s neck, throw his hands over his face so Jin can’t see him. Anything. Just for a moment to breathe, he just needs for to Jin to be distracted for a second.
“Take care of me?” he somehow manages to tease, needing to feel something other than this encompassing shyness that refuses to leave him. “You’re in your damn puffer coat, and you were focused on your shoes.”
“Enough with the shoes, already,” Jin groans, lips pulling back to reveal sharp teeth that grip onto the thin skin covering Yoongi’s collarbone. He cries out at the feeling, at the sudden shock of pain, and then again when Seokjin pulls all the way back, resting fully on his knees, towering above him.
No more worrying about shoes, coat, nor anything else. Yoongi gulps.
Seokjin was originally supposed to do several of the romance scenes shirtless, but he had refused. At the time, Yoongi hadn’t particularly cared, but now he does. He is the most thankful he has ever been of anything that he never saw Seokjin shirtless whilst on set.
He would have been useless.
Is he drooling? He feels like he is drooling.
“Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin whispers, fingers gently running through his hair. “Jagiya, what’s got you so distracted?”
It’s a garbled mixture of nonsensical noises that work their way out of Yoongi’s mouth. Part of it may mention shoulders, chest, back, muscles though, because Seokjin’s ears flame bright red.
The only comfort is Seokjin’s similar reaction once Yoongi scootches up the bed, undressing himself with the other’s aid. The room is too cold – bad insulation, too cold weather, Yoongi barely managing his heating bill – and they both huddle for warmth underneath the duvet.
Seokjin giggles when he dives under, the tip of his cold nose tickles when he presses it into Yoongi’s neck, soothing the chill with a kiss. The scene is so foreign to Yoongi – he’s been in bed with Seokjin before, but not like this. Not where he can feel the other’s skin against his own, where he can feel how much bigger and broader Jin is than him. No scene that warrants how happy and relaxed and excited Jin looks when he leans down to kiss him again.
Yoongi kisses back. He refuses to do anything but, refuses to even stop kissing when Jin tries to pull back for a second. He runs his fingers over every part of Seokjin’s body within reach, cards his fingers through black locks that has softened over the months due to the lack of dye forced upon Seokjin’s scalp during filming.
“Okay?” Seokjin asks, stretching so he can kiss along Yoongi’s hairline.
Words are difficult. Yoongi’s throat feels too tight, and with how lovely Seokjin is he suddenly finds himself a little frightened to blink. “Yeah. Is it okay if I keep my eyes open? I’m a little scared this isn’t real.”
It doesn’t feel real – especially not with them lying in Yoongi’s bed where he’s been dreaming about moments like this. If this really is a dream and Yoongi wakes up – he doesn’t know what he’ll do. If he came back from the final shoot alone, if Seokjin never showed up. If any of this never happened.
Seokjin doesn’t laugh at him. He shuffles until he can support himself on one arm, the other gently tracing Yoongi’s features. “It’s real,” he promises gently. “It’s so fucking real, Yoongi-yah. I wanted this for so long, and I felt so stupid because I didn’t even know what your name was, I didn’t know why you were hiding.”
Yoongi flushes, he lowers his gaze to Seokjin’s neck. “I just wanted to help my friends,” he whispers shyly.
“I know that now,” Seokjin kisses his temple. “I know, I promise. And none of it deterred me from what I was feeling. When you stood up for me, when you encouraged me about acting, about doing whatever I wanted to do, when you would smile so prettily at me and call me hyungie, when you worked so hard. How you would flush when I called you jagiya for the first time.”
“You caught me off guard!” Yoongi whines in protest, shuffling as if he could – or even wanted to – throw Jin off. “What would you do if I started calling you yeobo?”
“Propose.”
Yoongi chokes, cheeks flaming red as he hides his face in Seokjin’s neck. “You can’t just say that!”
“I can’t?” Seokjin titters, trying to nudge Yoongi’s head out of his hiding spot futilely. He shifts to run his hand down Yoongi’s side instead when he realizes that, lifts his thigh up to settle better around his waist, pressing their hips together suggestively in a way that has Yoongi’s breath hitching. “What kind of man do you take me for? Do you think I would be here like this, like this with you, if I didn’t have every intention of staying? As if I will ever let anyone else see you like this? Yoongi-yah?”
“Hyungie!” Yoongi protests halfheartedly, wiggling as if that will prove his point. It doesn’t. It just has his cock slide against Seokjin’s. He’s hard, he’s so incredibly hard, they both are, Yoongi digs his fingernails into Seokjin’s biceps when the older lowers himself a bit more, provides them both with the most perfect angle.
“Such a whiny little mouth,” Seokjin doesn’t take his eyes off him though his ears go red at his own words. “Want to kiss you. Really, really want to –“
“Yeah, yes, just – hyung, come on –“
Yoongi drags him down by the neck, slides his lips over Jin’s, opens his mouth when Jin gently prods at him. None of it keeps Seokjin from talking, though.
“I want so much,” he shifts to kiss the corner of Yoongi’s mouth, then adds a proper kiss after that. “Want you – do you, Yoongi-yah, do you want –“
Yoongi pushes his hips up in lieu of a proper response. His mouth is busy, and he doesn’t want to ever stop kissing Jin, but he lets up when Seokjin keeps repeating tell me, tell me, jagi, let me know what you want, hyung will do it, hyung will give you everything, tell me, Yoongi-yah –
Wherever he got the idea from that once he lets Jin know exactly where and how much he wants him that the buildup wouldn’t feel as intense, Yoongi has no idea. It doesn’t lessen, and Yoongi struggles to relax and push back against Seokjin when slick fingers prod inside.
“You’re so good,” Seokjin promises him, kisses his shoulder over an old scar from an accident he had when he was younger, biting down on the thin skin at the base of his neck that bruises so easily. “Feel so good, want to make you feel good. Can’t believe you’ll let me, wanted you to, wanted you so much, Yoongi-yah.
For some reason, Yoongi had never imagined Seokjin to be as verbal as he is. He is well-spoken, yes, but he can get as shy as Yoongi, and Yoongi can’t help but flush at the mere idea of saying some of the things falling out of Seokjin’s mouth when he slides his fingers out, catches the condom Yoongi practically throws in his face, and pushes himself in instead.
Except Yoongi is verbal in a different way. He can’t keep his mouth shut, can’t stop the little noises from spilling out whenever Seokjin moves, whenever Seokjin praises him, whenever Seokjin moans when he feels good. It’s intoxicating to know that it’s because of Seokjin that he’s like this, that it’s the same for Jin.
Seokjin still manages to tower over him when they’re like this, and it isn’t fair. Tall body, broad shoulders, hips revealing just how many grueling hours of dancing practice Seokjin has been subjected to, thoroughly and well-deserved punching out every little noise of Yoongi’s until it’s all so much, too much, and Yoongi has to reach up, lift himself up to get to Seokjin, to kiss himself quiet.
And then it doesn’t matter whether Seokjin sits up or if their chests are pressed together. He’s big, and Yoongi’s hips are already starting to ache from spreading his legs to fit around Seokjin’s waist, thighs struggling to push himself back.
“Shit,” Seokjin swears, burrowing his face in the crook of Yoongi’s neck, licking shyly at the sweat starting to pool there. “This is going to be over embarrassingly fast.”
The involuntary laugh that escapes Yoongi is breathier than actually amused – it’s impossible when Yoongi is leaking, so wet against his own stomach and probably rubbing against Seokjin’s as well. “Want it. Want hyungie.”
“Is that what you call me?” Jin uses his arms to push himself inside even further, grinding deeply until Yoongi can’t breathe, every single limb twitching wildly and uncontrollably. “Huh, jagiya?”
Yoongi gasps for air when Seokjin goes back to miniscule thrusts, mainly just to ensure that Yoongi doesn’t actually pass out. “De-depends,” he pants, taking the moment to gently play with the small hairs at the back of Seokjin’s neck. “Does yeobo have a ring picked out?”
“Okay.” Seokjin pulls out, a strained grimace on his face. “Okay, give me a breather. Fuck.”
He feels like laughing. It’s so easy, Yoongi is so light he might actually be floating, and then he is when Seokjin grabs him by his hips, lifting him up and twisting until they’ve switched positions. Jin scootches backwards until he’s propped up by the pillows by the headboard, Yoongi settled firmly in his lap.
He feels a little shy like this, incredibly exposed, the sudden shift in temperature from being underneath Seokjin to on top prickles at sensitive skin.
But he isn’t exposed. It’s just Seokjin. There are no cameras, no Yeongjun and Minju. It’s just Jin.
He reaches back and carefully grabs Seokjin’s cock, holding it upright after positioning himself, slowly sinking down, never taking his eyes off Seokjin. He wants to see this moment, wants to remember it forever.
And what a moment it is.
Seokjin is beautiful like this. He is always beautiful, but like this – eyelids fluttering as he fights to not close his eyes because he wants to see this too, hair disheveled from Yoongi running his hands through it, his mouth opening in the smallest of o’s because the feeling is too much, so much that no sounds are coming out of him.
The feeling of it startles Yoongi out of any sounds he could have made.
There is so much pressure, far more than Yoongi would have expected when Seokjin has already been – well, inside of him not even a minute ago, but he’s still just so big. Yoongi’s hands tremble on Seokjin’s stomach let alone his legs. He sinks down another inch a little too quickly simply because his knees can’t hold him up.
Seokjin helps. Because Seokjin always helps, always helps Yoongi, always comes and fixes what’s wrong. Hyung will do it.
“Hyung,” Yoongi gasps, not quite sure why he does it. He wants Seokjin’s eyes on him, wants more than just his hands on his hips. Wants him all the way inside again. Wants to be so close there’s no fear of this not lasting, of this not being true. “Hyungie!”
“Let hyung,” Seokjin promises, folding his legs up behind Yoongi to better his hold and for Yoongi to rest against. “Hyungie’s got you, Yoongi-yah. Just come here. Come to yeobo, jagiya.”
And Yoongi comes. He slumps against Seokjin, relishes in the drag inside when Seokjin starts to move, small, aborted thrusts he can’t hold back with how tightly Yoongi clenches around him. He gets loud and obscene, both of them do, and Yoongi can’t picture how red he’ll go once he receives a noise complaint for this.
It doesn’t matter. It’s worth it. Seokjin is worth it. Worth the tears and the worrying and the anxiety, Yoongi wants him, and he wants him to feel loved, and he wants him to come –
He pushes forward until his chest presses against Seokjin’s, his hair tickling his nose, but he ignores it in favor of gently sucking in the shell of Seokjin’s ear, pausing to whisper, “Yeobo, please.”
Almost as if ordered to, Seokjin comes, hands clenching around his grasp on Yoongi’s thighs so tightly he’ll have bruises there for days – bruises he’ll relish in prodding at if only to remember the delicious ache of having Seokjin like this. The blossoming hope in his chest that this isn’t the last time, the only time, that he can and will have Seokjin like this again, that Seokjin wants him like this again.
Seokjin groans, sliding down until the both of them are lying down again, Yoongi probably resting a bit too heavily on his chest, sticky wetness smeared between both their stomachs already turning uncomfortable, but neither of them is ready to move yet. “I can’t express how thankful I am there weren’t any sweet names in the film. I would have lost it.”
Yoongi giggles deliriously. “Right then and there on set? I can’t think of anything less sexy.”
“You’re right. Make sure to refrain yourself, no one gets to see you in that way. Everyone who watches the movie will already get to see you shirtless, I can’t handle them knowing, seeing, or hearing anything else.”
“They didn’t!” Yoongi protests, smoothly sliding off to allow Jin to dispose of the condom. “Hyungie made sure no one saw. The crew didn’t even get to see anything. Hyungie kept me safe.”
Seokjin’s gaze darkens in what’s starting to become a familiar way that yet remains so enticing that Yoongi would be rearing to go once again if it were physically possible. Still, the effect is too much for Yoongi to handle, every part of him still far too sensitive, so he settles on his side and hurries to hold one hand over Seokjin’s eyes.
“None of that,” he chides softly, not fighting back when Seokjin grabs his hand and holds it to his mouth instead, gently kissing along the curve of his fingers. “Hyungie needs to give me a minute.”
“I will,” Jin promises. “Hyung will take care of you. Come here,” he holds his other arm out, gently rolling more onto his back so Yoongi can settle comfortably against his side, draping himself halfway over Jin.
“Hyung does,” Yoongi can’t stop himself from whispering, glancing up at Seokjin from underneath his eyelashes. Tips of white hair curls there as well, long enough to begin to tickle. “Hyungie takes care of me very well.”
From this position, it’s possible to both hear and feel the rattling breath Seokjin shakily exhales. He squeezes his eyes shut, tilting his head back to avoid how tempting the sight of Yoongi like this really is. “If you want that minute, you’re going to need to change the subject. Please.”
He shouldn’t laugh, but he can’t help himself. He is just so utterly relieved. It’s such a contrast from the last time he was lying in his bed, and it’s difficult to focus on anything else.
“Right. So!” Seokjin chitters worryingly cheerfully and fake enough it has Yoongi’s hackles rising before he has even made his point. “Speaking of – how are we going to let everyone know the movie is in fact starring Kim Seokjin and Min Yoongi?”
Yoongi drops his face into his pillow, groaning. He only lifts his head up far enough to bring out as much aegyo as he can physically stomach and ask, “Hyungie will do it?”
“Yah!”
⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆
“Okay. Okay, just – go over it one more time with me, please.”
Seokjin sighs as he leans back heavily against the chair, stretching his neck out as he tries to regain his composure. “Jungkook, honestly, it’s been five times already –“
“One more!” Jungkook rests his elbows on the cafeteria table, eyes wide open as he blinks pleadingly at Seokjin and Yoongi. “Just – I swear, what a fucking story,” he bowls right over Jin chiding him for his language. “It’s like a story. It’s almost a better plot than the actual movie – hey, do you think I could make it into a movie? I’ll even let you play yourself!”
“No,” Yoongi grabs Seokjin’s hand underneath the table, giving it a small squeeze, “I want to be hyung this time.”
“Yah!” but it’s halfhearted at best. It may have been five times already since they sat down with Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jungkook in one of the smaller cafeterias at HYBE headquarters, Seokjin getting all of them in, but there’s a slump to Seokjin’s shoulders that speaks of such utter relief and a well-kept tenseness now gone missing.
Namjoon hasn’t really said much, had most of the time and during the re-telling had his arms crossed over his chest. Yoongi would be far more worried if he hadn’t caught how Namjoon had held Hoseok’s hands under the table once his nervous shifting around had gotten too much.
Not anymore, though, not since the text from the infamous couple had come in and Hoseok had gone down to let them into the building. Speaking of – “Come on, already. They’re not mad, I promise, no one’s mad. They weren’t when I left.”
Taehyung’s gasp is dramatic enough that Yoongi can hear it despite the distance from their table to the elevator. “Which means they could be mad now!”
Jimin, apparently, shares none of his concerns. Once he sees their table, he waves excitedly, large smile already in place – the extrovert. “Tae-tae, you just need a reminder of who we’re meeting!”
“I definitely do not need a reminder –“
But Jimin just bounds ahead, grinning mischievously as he stops in front of Namjoon. “You must be Hoseok-hyung’s boyfriend,” Jimin says cheerfully, bowing to Namjoon who predictably flushes bright red, overtly enunciating for Taehyung, who predictably lights up in response to no longer meeting celebrities but to give the shovel talk.
“I’m really not, I mean – I –“
Hoseok is in a similar state. “He’s not – I mean – he isn’t –“
“Oh,” Jimin says simply and completely unapologetically, tilting his head to the side, smiling cutely, innocently, and everything he isn’t, the fiend. “I’ll repeat myself the next time we meet, then. It better be true by then, right?” he adds pointedly to Namjoon, who nervously swallows, nodding once, twice, before he has to look somewhere that definitely isn’t at any of them.
“And very much related!” Taehyung turns to Yoongi and Seokjin cheerfully. “Seokjin-ssi, nice to meet you again, I almost didn’t recognize you without your mask on.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes as he whines in protest, “You didn’t recognize him with his mask on either!” but Taehyung quite simply ignores him, the brat.
“You look good,” he compliments instead, surviving all the mental daggers Yoongi is sending his way without a scratch. “Being Yoongi-hyung’s boyfriend is really serving you well.”
Yoongi chokes on nothing – Seokjin at least chokes on his drink, coughing up half of his lung as he frantically waves his arms in front of him. “We never – I mean, who said anything about –“
“Your hickeys match,” Taehyung deadpans, causing the both of them to flush and frantically start pulling at the collars of their shirts belatedly. “And Yoongi-hyung would need a very good reason to drop his cover.” He levels a cold stare on Seokjin – which is impressive, not because Taehyung isn’t a talented actor, but because Yoongi has heard him and Jimin go on for hours about the magnificence of Kim Seokjin. “Tell me – are you going to be a very good reason, Kim Seokjin-ssi?”
“You can’t just do this!” Yoongi picks up his own cup of coffee and slams it back down on the table again for effect. “The two of you – you can’t just show up like this and threaten everyone here! At this point I don’t even want to introduce you to Jungkook –“ he doesn’t get to finish his sentence for Jimin’s overtly dramatic gasp.
“Look at you!” Jimin unapologetically cups Jungkook’s face, carefully squishing his cheeks inwards until Jungkook’s mouth falls open in an o, his doe-like eyes wider than Yoongi has ever seen. “Taehyung-ah, look! A little bunny! Isn’t that right, Kookie?”
A garbled mix of noises make it out of Jungkook’s mouth, but Jimin nods as if it were the most intelligent thing he ever heard.
“That’s right,” he nods. “Our Kookie is so smart, isn’t he?”
Taehyung sneaks up from behind, hooking his chin over Jungkook’s shoulder. “He is. Hyungs’ clever Kookie.”
Jungkook’s cheeks bleed red as he desperately glances over at the rest of them for saving of any kind.
“Okay, leave the kid alone,” Hoseok pokes Jimin in his side until he lets go, giggling, no one paying attention to Jungkook’s pout and murmured protest that he isn’t a kid, hyung! “Sit down. Come on, what did I miss? Did we figure out what we’re going to do about the whole –“ he waves in Yoongi’s direction, “name-situation?”
“Well, obviously we need to change it,” Taehyung sits down on the other side of Jungkook, the one not occupied by Jimin. “If the movie does as well as I suspect it will, hyung will probably be recognized on the street. We can’t expect him to be Kim Taehyung for the rest of his life.”
Yoongi shuffles nervously in his seat. “I know – it can’t be that easy, though, can it? I mean, everyone called me Taehyung, I introduced myself as Kim Taehyung, I signed my contract as Kim Taehyung.”
“But hyung, think about your music!” Jimin leans forward, but he’s on the opposite side of the table, he’s too far to reach Yoongi’s hands.
“They’ll think Min Yoongi is the pseudonym, not Kim Taehyung,” Hoseok points out softly. “You deserve to be properly credited for your art, hyung.”
Taehyung frowns. “We can’t just do nothing.”
Jungkook straightens in his seat, but the act of confidence is overpowered by him anxiously twisting his sleeves down to cover his hands. He looks smaller squeezed between Taehyung and Jimin than Yoongi is used to seeing him. “Well, it’s – I don’t – it’s my company, so surely it won’t be too difficult. And if there’s any trouble, I have lawyers! I’ll lend them to you for free – or, they’re on my retainer, so I’ll just be paying them for you, but we could –“
“Breathe, Kookie,” Seokjin interrupts. “It’s okay. We’ll just take it one step at a time. If anything, you can probably just draw up a renewed contract and have Yoongi sign it with his own name.”
“But it’s doable, right?” Taehyung shifts until he can look over Jungkook at Namjoon. “We can give Min Yoongi his name back, right?”
Yoongi hardly dares breathe as they wait for Namjoon’s verdict. Too many thoughts run through his mind, too many sources of the anxiety welling up inside of him. Part of it is the worry he’ll never be able to go back to being Min Yoongi, but part of it is also what happens when he goes back to being Min Yoongi.
Min Yoongi hadn’t been successful in the slightest. He’d barely been able to get his music out there, barely been able to survive on creating what he wanted to produce. Once he had learned how to be Kim Taehyung, the Actor, however, he had been praised for what he managed to do with Seokjin. Maybe part of that fear also relates to that – would Min Yoongi ever had become anything without the future association to Kim Seokjin?
“Min Yoongi,” Namjoon leans back in his seat, eyebrows furrowed a little even as he’s nodding. “It’s a pretty name. It’ll look good on the posters.”
Jungkook bristles. “Aish, hyung, is that the only thing you have to say –“
“Excuse me?” they all turn around. A man in a suit, round face and glasses stands behind them awkwardly. “I couldn’t help but overhear – are you talking about Min Yoongi? The producer?”
“Uh –“ Namjoon intelligently says before Jimin takes pity on him, bowing politely to the suit before pointing over at Yoongi who is shifting around frantically in his seat.
“Min Yoongi?” the suit asks, bowing slightly whilst fishing out a business card from his inner pocket. “My name is Bang Sihyuk, I’m with HYBE. We’ve been trying to get in contact with you for the past couple of months.”
Yoongi blinks. The past couple of months… that was during shooting. He hasn’t checked his email. Holy shit.
Holy shit.
“We found your mixtape online and were thoroughly impressed, Yoongi-ssi. We’d like to offer a position, or at least a contract for collaboration.” He bows slightly at the rest of them. “I see you’re with friends at the moment, so I’ll leave you be. Take a look at that email, and call me on the number,” he points to the business card.
Yoongi gapes. “I – I –“
“He will!” Seokjin takes the business card and slides it along the table closer to Yoongi. “He absolutely will. Thanks, hyung.”
Bang Sihyuk’s eyes glimmer. “Seokjin-ah. Take care, will you?”
“Ugh,” Namjoon groans once he’s gone. “I can’t believe you’re allowed to be so informal with Bang Sihyuk.”
“I’m adorable, why not?” Seokjin waves him off, blasé, and much more focused on Yoongi. “It’s okay right? I don’t even know if you’re interested, but I figured having his information wasn’t a bad idea –“
“It’s okay,” Yoongi interrupts. His hands are shaking, he thinks he might be shaking. Holy. Shit. “I’m interested. Fuck, I’m so interested, I –“
Hoseok sniffles, looking away as if that can play it off. “Aish, hyung,” he gushes. Taehyung and Jimin’s eyes look suspiciously wet as well.
“You didn’t –“ Yoongi flushes embarrassedly at the mere thought, but there’s a small part of him – a part that’s gone cold for too many winters, hungry from needing to choose to pay the bills or eat – that can’t help but be suspicious of how well everything seems to be going. “You didn’t say anything, right? Like – you didn’t talk to anyone about me, right? You didn’t make them give me this –“
“Hyung!” Both Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jimin vehemently protest at the spiral Yoongi seems to be letting himself on, but Seokjin resolutely cuts through all of them.
“No,” he promises. “I didn’t. Jagiya, I haven’t even heard your music yet, I can’t exactly pitch it.”
Yoongi reddens from a different kind of embarrassment. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t – I didn’t mean –“ he cuts himself off when Seokjin grabs his hand underneath the table, squeezing to let him know it’s alright.
Jungkook tilts his head to the side inquisitively. “So that’s what you really do? You’re a producer?”
“He’s brilliant,” Taehyung interrupts before Yoongi has a chance to say anything. He doesn’t know what his ears go the pinkest from – Taehyung’s praise or Seokjin subtly distracting him by gently playing with his fingers, tapping his own against the palm of Yoongi’s hand.
Jimin nods, agreeing wildly. “He is!”
“You are,” Hoseok confirms quieter, aimed at Yoongi only, the straightens back up with a sunny smile. “Seriously, this guy lives and breathes music. Do you remember when we went on vacation? Hyung brought all his equipment and stayed inside the hotel room the entire week, living off room-service. He emerged from the room and claimed it was the best break he ever had.”
“Seriously, though,” Jungkook whines. “How did I manage to pick the one guy who didn’t even want to be at the audition?”
“Wait!” Taehyung straightens suddenly in his seat, teasing grin already in place. “Does that mean that I technically set the two of you up?”
Yoongi’s expression immediately sours. “Absolutely not.”
“I dragged him to the audition!” Hoseok objects.
“If either of you little shits so much as dare take credit –“