Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Yoongi isn’t sure how long he’s been staring at the unadorned off-white walls of his apartment, head completely empty except for a low rumble of static.

His last place had had a water stain stretching wide over one corner of the bedroom, and at least that had been something to look at. This new place is nicer, cleaner. No peeling paint or uneven floors. It’s an upgrade Hoseok had convinced him he needed, only a few weeks back, after one of the singles he’d produced had blown up on the charts. The walls are also thicker, more soundproof. No muffled voices in the kitchen or patter of dog feet from the apartment upstairs. It makes Yoongi feel, most nights, like he’s the only person left in the world. 

The new apartment also has a pin pad instead of a key, something that Yoongi dutifully remembers when he hears the familiar beeping coming from the living space for the second time this week. Hoseok had always had the spare to his old place, so he’s not sure why the knowledge that he has the code to the new one bothers him so much. Something about his current mood, probably, that makes him want to barricade the doors. 

“Hyung? Are you home?” Hoseok’s voice filters into the bedroom from the hall. Yoongi can hear the rustle of several plastic bags as he deposits whatever he’s carrying onto the counter in the kitchen. “I know you’re here. I messaged you yesterday and told you I was coming. I brought food.” 

By food, Yoongi knows he means vegetables. Lightly pickled side dishes, clear broths, and dark rice. This has become their routine. Most Sundays— all Sundays, recently— Hoseok shows up sometime in the mid afternoon with arms full of groceries, carrying all of the ingredients necessary for a healthy home cooked meal. Or three. It had only taken one evening of Hoseok stopping by to see Yoongi eating cheese tteokbokki for the fourth night in a row for him to implement the tradition. You’re going to get scurvy, hyung! He had proclaimed No, shut up! I’m coming over this weekend and we’re actually going to cook for once. 

It’s the high point of his week, typically. Pathetically. Right now, though, the distance between where he’s currently laying and the kitchen seems so insurmountable that it may as well be the other side of the city. He doesn’t answer Hoseok’s greeting.  

“Yoongi-hyung? Where are you— ” There’s a soft gasp from the doorway, followed by the almost inaudible whisper of the door over the tile as it swings open. 

A weight settles onto the bed behind him, fingers tracing over his arm. He recoils away from it, curling tighter into himself. The gentle caress doesn’t let up. 

“Hey, you okay?” There’s so much tenderness in Hoseok’s voice that it makes Yoongi want to cry from how much he doesn’t deserve it. The cavern in his chest is so big, and so wide, and so empty that Yoongi lives in constant fear of it devouring Hoseok whole. Today is a bad day. Most days it doesn’t feel so all-encompassing. Most days he can ignore it. 

Forcing the hand off his body by rolling onto his back, Yoongi changes his view from the walls to the ceiling. He doesn’t look at Hoseok when he says “I’m fine, Hoseok, fuck off.” 

“No.” Hoseok fixes him with a hard stare and shifts to grab both of Yoongi’s biceps before hoisting him into a sitting position. “You’re not fine. You’re surviving, and barely.” 

From his new angle Yoongi can see the way Hoseok’s eyes flit to the pile of takeout containers on the floor, to the way several weeks and a moving truck’s worth of dust is collecting in the corners of the room. Shame coils deep in his gut, oily and flammable.  

Hoseok takes a deep breath before looking back at Yoongi and saying “There’s a difference.” 

“They’re the same thing.” He retorts, petulant. 

“They’re not the same thing. You only think they’re the same thing because you don’t know anything else.” Something softens in Hoseok’s eyes, and he puts a delicate hand on Yoongi’s knee. His next words come out as trying to be reassuring, careful. “I really don’t like seeing you like this, hyung. You’ve been getting worse for weeks. Something needs to change.” 

A large part of Yoongi hates him for it, hates the way Hoseok thinks he needs to be coddled, doubly hates how guilty it makes him feel to need someone to care for him. “I’ve always been like this, Seok-ah. I will always be like this. No amount of your pity will change that.” He hisses, temper flaring. 

Hoseok’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t move his hand or turn away. Yoongi’s being unfair, he knows he’s being unfair, knows he’s throwing a tantrum like a toddler, but he can’t help how uncomfortable he gets whenever anyone implies that there might be something wrong with him. Yoongi is fine. He gets up every morning, goes to work, and comes home. Most days, he manages to eat and shower and change his clothes. His chest keeps moving and he picks up the phone when Hoseok calls more often than not, what more does anyone want from him?

 Sighing, he pulls his leg away from Hoseok’s hand and, laying back down on the bed, buries his head into one of the pillows. He mutters into it “I don’t know why you care so much, anyways.”

What he wants to say is: Don’t touch me. What if it’s contagious. Run away while you still can.

From somewhere behind him, unseen, Hoseok makes a noise that’s somewhere between a cry and a suffocation. Yoongi knows what it means. He turns his head just far enough so that his voice won’t be muffled by the pillow when he says “You think this is a repeat of 2014.” 

Hoseok inhales sharply and doesn’t reply for several beats. Eventually, he states “I don’t.” 

If there’s one thing that Yoongi is good at, after all these years, it’s recognizing when Hoseok is lying to him. “You do. It’s written all over your face.” 

“You can’t even see my face, you’re hiding in a pillow.” Hoseok laughs when he says it, but it’s forced— and strained. 

“Haven’t I been your best friend, sometimes your only friend, for a decade? I know you, Seok-ah. Your face right now is screaming that you’re worried about me. Worried about something happening.” He doesn’t turn to look at Hoseok as he says it, but he knows the truth of it regardless. 

“And if I am?”

“And if you are, what?”  

“Worried about you.” 

“Then you shouldn’t be. I told you already. I’m fine.” 

If he can get the conversation to go in circles once or twice more, Yoongi knows that Hoseok will give up and leave him alone. They’ve been here before and the rhythm of the argument is familiar enough that Yoongi is already mapping out the rest of how it’s going to go in his head. Hoseok will list a couple things to prove that Yoongi is not fine, Yoongi will list more things that prove that he is, they will bicker for ten minutes on the subject before Yoongi brings up how the groceries aren’t going to cook themselves and they both head into the kitchen, subject dropped. Easy. He can do this. 

However, the conversation he had planned is quickly torn to shreds because instead of offering up examples of Yoongi’s present failures like he was expecting, Hoseok’s voice goes stony and he simply says “Prove it.” 

Yoongi can’t think of a worse pivot than this. “What?”

Answering his question immediately, Hoseok replies, steadfast. “If you’re fine, then prove it. Do something new. Show me that you’re actually capable of experiencing life instead of just letting it happen around you.” 

“Are you serious right now? Do something? I do lots of— “

Hoseok cuts him off. “Take up birdwatching.” 

The suggestion is so far out of left field that it leaves Yoongi speechless for several long moments. Eventually, he manages to stammer “Excuse me? Birdwatching? Do you think I’m a thousand years old or something? Absolutely not.”

“Look, I don’t actually care what you do. I just said birdwatching because the idea of you in a vest and one of those hats is hilarious, but you need to do something to get yourself out of this apartment, it’s not healthy.” Hoseok says it in his dance instructor voice, an order and not a suggestion. “And, if you’re fine— “ He drawls the word, sarcastic. “That should be no problem, right?”

Hoseok gives him what Yoongi knows is his brightest, most charming, smile— the one he reserves for the cameras whenever the creative teams are forced to do interviews—  and Yoongi knows he’s been trapped. He hauls himself back to sitting, looks at Hoseok and says through gritted teeth “No problem whatsoever.”

“Fantastic!” Hoseok chirps, before standing and heading back into the living space. He calls over his shoulder “Now come help, the groceries aren’t going to cook themselves.” 

Prior to moving into the kitchen to join him, Yoongi allows himself a single, long, frustrated groan into a nearby pillow.

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Several days later, a box arrives at Yoongi’s doorstep. When he gets it inside and cuts it open, the first thing he sees is the ugliest piece of clothing he’s ever encountered. The vest is off-green, with eight different kinds of pockets, one of them plastic and clear. It’s also at least four sizes too small, and obviously designed for a child. Yoongi throws it to the floor like it’s on fire and resolves to murder Hoseok at his next opportunity. The rest of the box contents are less mocking, there’s a gently used copy of a guide to local birds, a pair of binoculars in a plastic case, and a blank notebook with the English words “FIELD NOTES” emblazoned across the front. 

At the very bottom of the box, Yoongi finds a note in Hoseok’s handwriting that reads: Enjoy your new hobby! Trying new things is fun!!!  

Each word is completely surrounded by various heart shapes and smiles. 

With a scoff, he opens his chat conversation with Hoseok. 

You [12:32]
I hate you so much you have no idea. 

Hoseok [12:32]
✿ ♡ ✿ (ꈍᴗꈍ)ε｀*) ✿ ♡ ✿
love you too, hyung

Massaging his forehead and regretting every decision he’s ever made up to this point, Yoongi switches to the browser on his phone and sets about looking for all of the parks in Seoul. Once he has a list, he assigns each one a date. Two months worth of birdwatching data will be enough to get Hoseok off his back for the rest of the year, and there is absolutely no way that Yoongi is going to admit anything is wrong before that happens. 

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ENTRY ONE

Date: april 10th

Location: gyeongui line forest park

Notes: this is the stupidest idea anyone has ever had i can’t believe i let hoseok talk me into this. how am i supposed to go birdwatching in the second biggest metropolitan area on the planet. birds dont even come here. the park was nice at least.

Species Spotted: pigeons, at least two gulls of some kind, maybe some tiny ones (how to ID birds when they move so fast?). bunch of really cute dogs though, thats a species: canus cuteicus. almost made it worth it.

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Birdwatching is boring. That much, at least, Yoongi can admit to himself. He’s less keen to admit, even within his own head, that he’s objectively terrible at it. He’s been wandering through Bukhansan for hours at this point, dodging tourists and turning down whatever trails look the least-used. In that time he has successfully identified zero birds, and not for lack of trying. 

But still, now that he’s separated from the throngs of people that had swarmed the earlier parts of the trail, Yoongi recognizes that the forest is beautiful. The canopy is protecting him from what was otherwise a startlingly warm Saturday morning, and there’s a cool breeze snaking through the valley that’s carrying the scent of the first spring blooms. The chorus of indistinguishable birdsong follows him as he walks, and Yoongi finds himself in a bit of a trance. 

He gives up on his binoculars, and his guide book, and simply enjoys the hike. He continues on like that for a while, until the sound of something moving in the distance startles him out of his daze. The noise is of something in distress, and it’s much louder than anything else he’s encountered in the woods thus far. Yoongi is completely unable to identify it. His mind runs through a thousand possibilities of predators, trash, or other people. 

Then, he spots it, gossamer thin, practically invisible in the early afternoon sun. A net, stretched tall between two trees, with a songbird trapped perfectly in the center like an illustration from Charlotte’s Web. It’s calling out to the rest of the forest, sound laced with a fear that transcends species. 

Get away from here, it’s not safe. Not safe. Get away. 

His feet surge towards it, hands grasping at the translucent threads just above his head. The songbird’s cry goes shrill and then suddenly, terrifyingly, absolutely quiet. Yoongi winds and unwinds and rips until the bird is free, body held loosely in his palms. He expects the bird to flee in an explosion of wings, and something dark settles in his stomach when it stays completely and utterly still. Yoongi thinks about every story he’s ever heard about terror and fragile hearts.

“Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Someone is running towards him from the other side of the net, boots pounding over leaves and roots. “I literally just set that up and you’ve ruined it!” 

There’s a hole torn in the heart of the net now, strands broken from Yoongi’s desperation. One of the anchor points has come detached from the tree and the corner is sagging, folded over and swaying in the wind. 

As the figure comes closer it materializes into a man wearing incredibly practical clothing, a canvas bag thrown over one shoulder. There’s something to his eyes, the set of his jaw, that speaks of rage and a jolt of fear runs down Yoongi’s spine. The man is tall, much taller than Yoongi and he towers over him when he scowls down and spits “Seriously dude, what the fuck ?” 

The harsh tone must snap something in his chest because suddenly Yoongi is crying. And that’s so much worse than the fear because Yoongi isn’t a crier. Yoongi is sharp one liners, black coffee, and walls built so high that most days he can hardly see beyond them. He absolutely does not cry . 

(Quietly, in a dark and forcefully ignored corner of himself, Yoongi has always thought that the second he were to start, he probably wouldn’t ever be able to stop.)

So, Yoongi can’t be crying. But here he is, in the middle of the forest, being dwarfed by some glaring giant, with tears streaming down his face like a flash flood on a sunny day. The motionless bird is still cupped in his hands, and he holds it outstretched to the stranger like a peace offering. There’s an entire ocean in his voice when he manages to choke out a strained “I think it’s dead.” 

“Oh.” Is all the stranger says in return, but the anger bleeds out of his face and shoulders. The stranger takes a half step back, giving them both room to think. His hands come up and dip above Yoongi’s, delicately scooping the bird out of his palms.

“She’s fine,” He says quietly, “just a little scared.” He must pick up on Yoongi’s inexperience, because he continues by running a soft finger down the edge of one wing. “See here, the colouring? Female, sinosuthora webbiana.”  He shoots Yoongi a quick grin. “Just a little parrotbill.”

“Watch this.” He continues, taking the bird towards a patch of long grass. He crouches and with one hand parts the greenery, with the other he lays the bird on the ground like it’s the most precious thing in the world. He stands and turns back to Yoongi with a finger over his lips, asking for silence.

Yoongi is still frozen—  hands cupped and face wet—  when the stranger makes his way back over and guides them both a few paces further away. He pulls them both back into a crouch and whispers “Just give her a minute.”

They stay like that, bodies centimetres apart, for what feels like an eternity— until something starts to move in the grass. When the bird takes off like a gunshot, disappearing into the canopy above their heads, Yoongi finally remembers how to breathe. 

The man stands, brushing his hands off on his pants. He offers Yoongi a hand to help, and when Yoongi grips it, pulls him upright. The man stares at him and seems to be taking in everything that Yoongi isn’t. He glances at the piercings running up his ears, the binoculars around his neck, the secondhand copy of Guide to the Native Birds of Gyeonggi Region dropped next to the stained notebook on the ground. Finally, he laughs and says with a broad dimpled smile “You have absolutely no idea what you’re doing, do you?” 

“I know what I’m doing!” Yoongi sputters, embarrassment curling red around his ears. He wipes at his face with the sleeves of his shirt, and hopes he isn’t being too obvious. 

“No you don’t. If you did, you’d recognize a mist net.” The stranger says it definitively, as if this were the most basic piece of information any child should know. Yoongi’s mortification grows, but his curiosity is piqued, so he asks “Were you— Were you hunting?”

The man’s eyes go wide and he laughs again, louder. “Hunting? No way. You should see the kinds of parasites these things have, disgusting. Besides, there’s like, less than a bite’s worth of food on each of them. Not enough payoff to even bother with plucking.” Yoongi momentarily considers, then dismisses, the idea of giving up meat forever. 

“So what are you doing then?” Yoongi asks as a follow up. The stranger’s face startles for a moment before he’s bowing and introducing himself. 

“Kim Namjoon, twenty-eight, ornithology PhD at Seoul National.” He returns upright with a wry grin. “I was trying to count them.” 

Yoongi copies him. “Min Yoongi, twenty-nine, I didn’t know it was possible to count birds.” He makes a gesture at the trees and the sky above them. “You know, with the whole flying thing.”

Another dimpled laugh, and something imperceptibly small in the back of Yoongi’s chest sets itself alight. 

“It is hard,” Namjoon says, “that’s where the nets come in handy.” At the mention of the net, his expression sours. He sighs, rubs a hand across his face, and then starts to speak again. “I do wish you hadn’t broken it though, Yoongi-ssi. We don’t have enough funding to replace them as often as I would like.” 

Looking up at the net dejectedly, he sighs again, shrugs. “These kinds of things, you can fix them if they break, but they never quite go back to the way they were before, you know?” Yoongi absolutely knows, considers himself an expert in broken things. 

All he has to offer in reply is a murmured apology, one which Namjoon accepts graciously before his face turns soft. 

“Hey— I know it’s not really my place, Yoongi-ssi, as we’ve only just met, but… Are you okay?” Namjoon asks, tone low and quiet. Suddenly, this is one of the most terrifying conversations Yoongi has ever had. Not even Hoseok has seen him cry, at least not in years. 

“I’m fine.” It comes out harsher than Yoongi wanted it to, but this is a conversation he is absolutely not going to have with a stranger, especially not in the middle of the woods, especially not with salt still clinging to the ends of his lashes.

 “Sorry again about your net. I have to go now, there’s something I forgot I needed to do this afternoon.” As he says it he starts to walk—  quickly, but still technically walking— back towards the main trail. 

A few seconds later, when he’s sure he’s almost completely out of sight of the tall man with the gentle voice, he calls out over his shoulder “It was nice to meet you, Namjoon-ssi! Good luck with your birds!”

Yoongi feels Namjoon’s confused stare bore into his back for hours after he leaves the park. 

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ENTRY THREE

Date: april 24th

Location: bukhansan national park

Notes: im an idiot. the biggest fucking moron to ever walk this earth. every time i leave my house its a mistake. i think i ruined that poor guys research and its a miracle he didnt kill me. he was very cute though, too bad he hates me.

Species Spotted: the last of my dignity, leaving me forever. and also one parrotbill, sinosuthora webbiana, female. very much alive. 

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By Monday, Yoongi has mostly managed to push the incident in the forest out of his head. Mostly. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s not thinking about things, letting his thoughts skate around anything unwanted until it’s almost like there’s nothing there at all. 

So, Yoongi isn’t thinking about it. Definitely isn’t thinking about strong, delicate hands, or about the way they had felt on his shoulders when Namjoon had pulled him down into a crouch to give the bird more space. In fact, Yoongi is doing such a good job at not thinking about it that it takes both of Hoseok’s hands waving in front of his face to snap him out of his stupor. Startled, he jolts back to reality. 

They’re sitting in the company cafeteria, eating identical lunches off of identical white dishware. It’s unusual for Yoongi to eat here, generally preferring to scrounge snacks and takeout boxes into his studio where nobody can bother him. Already, he can see at least four heads that are turned in his direction, waiting to pounce on him with questions about ongoing projects, the exact thing he usually tries to avoid. With a sigh, he shifts his attention back to Hoseok across from him. 

“Hello? Earth to Min Yoongi, anyone home?” Hoseok is idly gesturing with his chopsticks while he speaks, mild concern on his face. “You’ve been staring at your rice for like, five straight minutes. Everything okay?”

Yoongi scrunches his nose and apologetically says “Got a lot on my mind. Sorry, sorry. You were saying something?” Hoseok doesn’t look totally convinced, but he seems content to let it go regardless. 

“Oh, you know, just hearing some things through the grapevine.” Another chopstick wave, breezy, almost intentionally so. Yoongi knows immediately that wherever this conversation is going, Hoseok thinks he isn’t going to want to hear it. 

“Spit it out, Seok-ah.” He says, impatient. 

“You know JTJ?” Hoseok asks it with a half smile and it hits like a slap across his face. Yoongi had been expecting bad news, but this— 

Because of course Yoongi knows JTJ, had watched their debut during his enlistment, crouched in front of the single grainy CRT screen at his base. He knows every word to each of their title tracks, and probably most of the choreography, too. The worst part is that Hoseok knows that he knows, so there’s an angle he’s trying to play by bringing it up. It stirs something close to dread in the base of his chest. 

“What’s this about, Hoseok.” He manages in response. 

“The company wants them to have another comeback at the end of the year.” He says it casually, nonchalant like any other piece of office gossip. Yoongi makes a half noise in reply before Hoseok keeps talking. “They’re looking for a new direction for their sound. Something more mature.” Another hum from Yoongi. If he ignores this long enough, there’s a chance Hoseok will let it go and he is desperately holding onto the possibility. 

That dream goes out the window when Hoseok looks at him directly and says “I told them to talk to you.” 

“Excuse me?” Yoongi is not talking to them. No way. But it’s okay, he can still make up an excuse, he can still get out of this all he needs to do is— 

“We’re meeting with them in half an hour.” Hoseok states, immediately crushing Yoongi’s half-formed plans. 

Pure anxiety floods him. He tries to match Hoseok’s tone. “No. We’re not.” 

“We are. I’ve already talked to them and they’re open to having the conversation.” Hoseok’s voice is resolute and unyielding. “You’re probably the only person in-house capable of doing it, and the company is giving them a lot more freedom to do what they want this time around.” 

“Absolutely not. I’m not producing for them.” The sound his chopsticks make against the ceramic of his bowl is ringing, a good fit for the situation as it matches the rush of blood in his ears. 

Hoseok goes a little softer, reaches across the table to grab Yoongi’s hand. “It’ll be good for you. They ask about you sometimes.”

When Yoongi snaps his arm back, out of Hoseok’s grip, Hoseok sighs and then says “They all used to think the sun shone out of your ass, probably still do. And there was a time when you would have done anything for them. You haven’t even spoken to them since it happened. They think you hate them.” 

“I don’t hate them. I just— I hate— ” Yoongi stammers, stops breathing, and bites at the already torn skin of his lower lip. Looking down at the remains of his stew, he mutters “You know I don’t like to think about it.” 

“It’s been eight years, hyung. And you know it wasn’t their fault, they were trying just as hard as you.” Hoseok says, giving him a warm smile. 

Yoongi knows. And he’s always known. And he’s never blamed them, not even for a second. But there’s just so much pain in facing their success that he’s always found it easier to play the avoidance game. Like a baby, he’s always tried to believe that the things he can’t see can’t hurt him. So he hasn’t seen them. 

“Do you miss them?” Hoseok asks, barely audible over the background noise of the cafeteria. 

Does he miss them? Yoongi couldn’t respond to the question even if he wanted to. His thoughts flashback to a cramped studio full of bodies, to carrying book bags down the street, to subtly giving up portions of his own meals. He lets himself acknowledge, for the first time in a very long time, an aching corner of his heart that used to be full. He has no right to miss them, that much at least he knows for certain. The distance between them is completely Yoongi’s fault. He lets the silence stretch instead of answering.

Understanding his hesitation, frustratingly always able to read him like a book, Hoseok softly says “They miss you too.” 

Hoseok reaches out his hand again, and this time Yoongi doesn’t pull away. He continues, voice growing firmer “So I think you should at least try.” 

Giving Yoongi’s fingers a squeeze, Hoseok keeps talking. “Besides, you’re the one who’s always going on about how boring you find the music you’re making right now. This is a chance to make something a little closer to home. Maybe even something you want to make. You were like two and a half years into training them all how to rap back then, I bet you there’s still something there you can work with.” 

Yoongi doesn’t reply. Sighing, Hoseok reaches his other hand out to fully engulf Yoongi’s single one. “Just talk to them.” 

“I don’t know if I can.” It’s the most honest thing Yoongi’s said in days. The years of no contact seem completely insurmountable, almost worse in their sheer volume than what had originally driven them apart. 

“Sounds like something a fine person would say.” Hoseok replies, smirking, pulling back his hands. 

Yoongi temporarily stops breathing. He knows Hoseok doesn’t mean anything by the comment, but Yoongi has been trying so hard to prove to himself that things really are okay. He gets up early on the weekends to cross off another park from his list and he’s actually started cooking again (not just when Hoseok forces him to). 

So what if  he’s been too proud to actually admit anything about the birdwatching thing. Hoseok should just be able to tell by how Yoongi’d agreed to have lunch in the cafeteria, by how much more present he’s been in all their conversations. If anyone should be able to tell, it should be Hoseok.

Forcing his voice into a normal timbre, he chokes out. “If you don’t drop that I’m changing the passcodes to all my doors and never replying to another one of your messages.” 

It’s a warning, and a threat, and definitely doesn’t do anything to convince Hoseok that he’s doing any better than that one fateful Sunday. Yoongi regrets it the second it leaves his mouth. 

“Funny.” Hoseok replies, humourlessly. 

“Sorry.” He apologizes, internally admitting defeat. He hopes it’s enough to get Hoseok to drop this new, somehow even worse, topic of conversation. “Fine. I’ll meet with them. One hour. That’s all you get, and if it goes poorly you’re buying me dinner.” 

The smile pops back up on Hoseok’s face. “Any restaurant you want, hyung.” 

“Now, let’s get this cleaned up and head out.” Hoseok says, stacking their dishes together in that perfectly precise way he always does. Yoongi lets him do it, even though he hadn’t quite been finished with his meal. “I can already see Jaewook and Minyoung from talent development staring at us, and the last thing we need right now is for the vultures to descend.” 

Once the dishes are cleared and they’ve made their escape from the cafeteria, Hoseok drags him to a sterile conference room on the sixth floor. It brings Yoongi the smallest bit of peace to recognize the space as neutral territory. There are artist lounges, dance studios, and production studios, all of which Hoseok could have chosen to hold the meeting, all of which would have shifted the dynamics of the conversation. The room is too big for the expected guest list of five, an oblong table holding what Yoongi guesses is close to twenty seats. He hopes it leaves them with enough room to breathe. 

They’re the first ones to arrive. Another piece of luck. Yoongi picks a chair facing the door and sinks into it, trying not to let his shoulders curl in on themselves— no matter how badly he may want to hide. He and Hoseok sit silently, waiting. Yoongi’s fingers drum out anxious melodies on the table. 

Eventually, a group of dark silhouettes stop outside the frosted glass of the main wall. They hesitate, hover just out of sight from where they could be seen through the half-open door. Yoongi can make out muffled voices, but no words. They seem to argue for what feels like an eternity until one of the shapes pulls itself tall and turns around. 

And then they come through the doorway, each of them wearing perfectly shaped identical smiles. 

When they greet him, it feels formal, forced. They give him a series of exceptionally polite bows and Hello producer-nim ’s that don’t give Yoongi any confidence that the meeting is going to end on anything close to a positive note. When he stands to return their greetings, he realizes that they’re all so much taller than him, and Yoongi isn’t sure how he managed to miss that happening. The weight of lost years lodges into his joints, and he allows himself, just for a minute, to acknowledge that he still feels something beyond regret at the destruction of their relationship. 

They settle themselves into chairs at the other end of the conference table, as far away as they can from where he and Hoseok are sitting near the door. The three of them are arranged side by side, chairs pulled close enough together that Yoongi can hardly make out where one piece of furniture ends and the next one begins. There’s a wide expanse of polished wood and almost a decade between them. 

The room hangs silent for several beats too long before Yoongi clears his throat, awkward. Trying to force more determination into his voice than he actually feels, he says, “Hoseok here tells me that you’re looking to explore a new sound.”

Across the table, sitting in the centre of the trio, Jimin straightens his back and settles into his shoulders in a way that Yoongi’s never seen him do before, confidence radiating. He looks Yoongi straight in the eyes when he states “No more cute pastel shit, we’re done with that.” 

“Cute pastel isn’t a sound, it’s a styling concept. What do you want to sound like?” Yoongi replies, emphasizing the word. If he can keep the conversation about business— about music—  then he can keep the conversation safe. So far, so good.

“More mature. Sexy. Adult. Dark” Jimin says, counting the words off on his fingers like a shopping list. 

There’s a vision here already, he can tell. And Jimin at least seems willing to play ball with the meeting, to keep the topic of discussion impersonal. Nodding, Yoongi replies “I can probably work with that. Do you have any ideas for themes? The company isn’t going to let you write an album about sex.” 

Jimin gives him a cheshire grin and his eyes go dark in a way that sends pinpoints of electricity up Yoongi’s arms. The man in front of him is almost unrecognizable from the insecure round cheeked teenager that Yoongi had known. It terrifies him to know so much has changed. “What if we want to write an album about sex?”

“Then I’ll help you write it, but I won’t help you defend it to the marketing teams.” He tries to match Jimin’s smirk and feels an inch of the tension in the room bleed out when Jimin snorts in return, face returning to something closer to normal. “Do you have any backup ideas?”

From where he’d been sitting slumped into his chair beside Jimin, Taehyung speaks for the first time. Eyes averted, he rasps into his lap “What about betrayal?” 

It’s a low blow, and Yoongi feels it like a shot across the bow. He deserved that one, he knows, even if it means his chances of getting out of this conference room without having The Conversation have basically flatlined. Inwardly, he steels himself. Someone else starts to speak before he gets the chance to come up with anything approaching a suitable response.

“Kim Taehyung.” The hiss is startling and it takes a second for Yoongi to register it as coming from Hoseok beside him. The tone makes Yoongi’s lungs itch, so unlike anything he’s ever heard come out of Hoseok’s mouth. This is his fault, Hoseok shouldn’t have to defend him. He’s about to say something when Hoseok somehow goes stonier from where Yoongi is trying not to look at him. He barks “Apologize, that was uncalled for.”

“Not unless he does.” Taehyung’s voice is iron, not bending even a fraction under Hoseok’s demand. 

Yoongi bites at his cheek and stares down at where he’s twining and untwining his fingers together on the table. He murmurs “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. You all deserved better than how I treated you.” 

The silence stretches between them again, until the figure on Jimin’s other side looks up. Suddenly, despite the tattoos running up his arm and the way his shoulders are filling out the sleeves of his sweater, Jungkook is exactly like Yoongi remembers. His dark mop of hair is hanging over his face, almost completely obscuring where his eyes are wide and shining. He says “It’s not just that. Even after you— . I tried— .” His voice stutters, grinds to a halt.  Jimin finishes for him, hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and eyes piercing. “It’s been a long time.” 

Yoongi shrinks a little into his chair. No easy forgiveness, then. He sighs. 

“It has. And I can’t— ” He looks to Hoseok for support and gets a small grin of reassurance in response. “I can’t make up for that, for any of it. But I can offer you this. A new chapter. Not a blank slate, because we all know there’s too much history between us for that, but I think if we work together we may be able to make something really great here.” His hands are splayed on the table in entreaty. He sighs again, and tries to work up the courage to commit to moving this forward. “I want to try, at least. You deserve that much.” 

Yoongi manages to lift his head and gaze across the table. He makes careful eye contact with Jimin and attempts a smile, feeling something in the air soften when he gets a matching one in return. He doesn’t look at Taehyung. He can’t look at Jungkook. 

Delicately hopeful, he looks back down at his hands. Giving a soft laugh, he continues “And if it’s the path you want to take, I’ll help you write an album about betrayal. Or abandonment, since that’s probably better suited.” 

Yoongi can see, through his lashes, just how white the knuckles of Taehyung’s hands are around the arms of the chair. Can see the way Jimin reaches over to put a hand on his knee, placating and soft. The three of them seem to communicate telepathically, in waves of shifting body language that are completely opaque to Yoongi. He doesn’t raise his head until it seems like they come to a decision, their movements going still. 

“What about change?” Jungkook offers, and it hangs in the air of the room like the first wave of a white flag. “We could release an album about change. And it would work, with us wanting to have a new image and sound.” 

“And not just change,” Jimin continues, taking over. “We could tie in acceptance, and growth. Maybe adulthood, or learning to accept a new perspective.” There’s an anxiety in Jimin’s voice when he says it that Yoongi is surprised to recognize as not aimed at him. Something about the themes he’s just proposed must be personal, either to Jimin himself or to their group as a whole, and Yoongi has no idea why. He files it away to ask later, if their relationship is ever repaired enough to have those kinds of conversations.  

Regardless,  it’s a good suggestion, personal enough for the music to resonate while still being vague enough to be commercially viable. Yoongi nods, smiling. “I think we can make that work, and you’re right it does suit the direction you want to go in. The company most likely won’t have a problem with it, as long as you keep the adulthood stuff mostly family-friendly. Your music should grow with you, age with you. Your fans will agree.”

Everyone in the room relaxes, just a little, as he says it. 

“Even if you are all a little old for a true coming-of-age theme.” Yoongi finishes with a grin. 

The joke breaks what was left of Taehyung’s ice cold expression wide open like the first truly warm day in spring. He gasps, dramatic, putting a hand on his heart and exclaiming “You would dare— ” 

Jungkook butts in “Maybe they’re too old, but not me right, hyung?” 

“Oh, you brat!” Taehyung exclaims, leaning over Jimin to swat Jungkook on the leg. “I’m going to make sure there are five songs on the album about respecting your elders, just to make sure you understand the lesson!” 

The conversation devolves into chaos from there. 

It becomes an argument, but there’s something in the debate that feels almost warm, almost familiar. Yoongi suddenly has a head full of blue walls and bunk beds. He lets their ideas flow over him for several long minutes, jotting down notes where he can, until he feels he has something close to a plan. With a single raised hand, he quiets them. 

“Jungkook-ssi.” He starts, about to move onto the important part of his question when he notices that Jungkook has frozen completely.

“Hyung.” Jungkook whines. He has his hand gripped tight around Jimin’s forearm, and looks like he might be about to cry. 

Yoongi has absolutely no idea what’s gone wrong now. Mouth gaping, he sits in the silence and wracks his brain for anything he could have possibly done in the last five minutes to make Jungkook upset. He looks at Hoseok for help. Hoseok rolls his eyes and mouths at him the word honourifics and then drop them. Oh. Yoongi hasn’t dropped formalities with anyone who isn’t Hoseok in years. 

He tries again. 

“Jungkook-ah.” It burns in his throat as he says it, but Jungkook immediately brightens, a smile blooming on his face. 

“Yes, hyung?” He replies, shining. 

“Do you still remember everything I taught you?” Jungkook’s smile doesn’t drop, doesn’t even falter, but the edges of it go perfectly rehearsed, something new working at the back of his jaw. That’s his idol smile. Yoongi thinks. He remembers and he hates me and he’s putting on a show because he wants this to work. 

He also doesn’t reply, seemingly waiting for Yoongi to clarify. So, he does. “Do you think you’d be up for rapping a verse or two? That’s a definite change in sound and you were always good at it.” 

Jungkook’s eyes light at the challenge, and the praise, smile shifting back closer to genuine.  

“Me too, me too!” Taehyung exclaims before Jungkook has a chance to actually reply, diffusing the last of whatever tension had been building. “I’ve been practicing too! I can rap now!”

Jimin pinches him and laughs “You absolutely can not.” 

The look Taehyung gives him in response is so genuinely offended that Yoongi has to choke back a laugh of his own. Hoseok must have tried to do the same, but fails, doubling over in silent hysterics. “I can! This is an insult to my skills!” Taehyung declares. 

“We can judge that later, I’ll keep it in mind.” Yoongi says, trying his best to stop a rap battle from happening in the middle of the conference room. “And you, Jimin? Can you rap too? It would certainly be a shock to your fanbase if you released an all-rap track.” 

Jimin laughs in response, high and bright, body collapsing onto Taehyung beside him. “I am not rapping.” He chokes out between giggles. “There’s no way.” 

Yoongi nods, and takes it into consideration. The rest of the meeting is productive— if weirdly imbued with an anxious, almost delirious, energy. By the end of it they have the barest outline of six themed tracks, and another meeting booked for later in the week for Yoongi to run them through some demos he already has made.

When they all stand to leave, Yoongi notices the thick heel on Jimin’s chelsea boots and feels another piece of comfort settle into his chest. Things have changed and there are years of their lives that he’ll never know, but this— this is familiar. This is the same. This he can work with.

⋗

Yoongi runs into Namjoon again at Namsan mountain. Literally. 

He’s angling his head back, trying to peer into the branches of a cherry tree, certain that there’s a bird in its branches that he’s never seen before. Taking a step back to change the angle, Yoongi collides fully with someone coming up the stairs behind him. 

The person squacks, alarmed, and drops everything they were holding into a nearby puddle. 

“My notes, fuck.” The man says, identifiable as a man now that Yoongi has turned to face him with an apology on his tongue. He’s holding a notebook with two fingers, an arms length away from his body. It’s dripping slowly onto the path. The ink on the open page is running, becoming illegible. 

Yoongi is about to beg for forgiveness when somehow, impossibly, the entire situation gets worse. 

“Hey, I know you.” The man accuses, finger sharp and pointing. “You broke my net.” 

For a second, Yoongi is confused. And then recognition floods him. The bird scientist from Bukhansan. Kim Namjoon. Almost ten million people in Seoul and here they are again, Yoongi ruining something of Namjoon’s. 

Horrified, Yoongi stammers, “I really am sorry about the net. It was an accident, I know better now for next time.” He looks over at where the notebook is still dripping. “And for that too. I think I’m your bad luck charm or something.” 

Namjoon groans, and runs a hand over his face. “It’s fine, this was just a bonus. I’m not officially allowed to survey outside the national parks so I was just jotting down species.” 

“And the net?” Yoongi asks, careful. 

Shrugging, Namjoon replies, shaking the notebook like he expects the water to suddenly evaporate. “Yeah, it’s okay. I got it all sewn back up and it’s mostly functional again.”

Embarrassment curls its way around Yoongi’s ears. He’s sure they’re bright red, but he doesn’t have anything other than another repetitive apology to offer, so he doesn’t say anything. 

“Are you trying to birdwatch?” Namjoon asks, cutting the silence that was starting to grow between them. He looks genuinely curious. “See anything good?” 

Startled, and then confused, Yoongi says “I’m not totally sure what classifies a bird as good in this context Namjoon-ssi.” 

Shrugging and glancing around at the trees like he’s expecting to see something that meets that classification, Namjoon replies “You know, anything interesting. One of my colleagues told me he’d spotted a blue and gold macaw near the university a few weeks ago, someone’s escaped pet or something. That definitely counts as good.” 

Yoongi tries to imagine what he would do if he saw a bird that exotic randomly on the streets of Seoul. The mental image makes him grin, bright blue and gold sitting on top of drab grey power lines, complete absurdity. Still smiling, he confesses “Sorry to say, I haven’t seen any parrots. If I’m being honest with you, Namjoon-ssi, I’m terrible at this. I can’t tell any of the birds apart.” 

Namjoon smiles at him, mocking but not unkind. “Guess that means I can’t ask you for a copy of your sightings list as payment for ruining mine.” 

Looking down at the guide book and his notes, Yoongi states “Unless you are desperately interested in the local pigeon population, I don’t have anything to give you, Namjoon-ssi.” 

“You know they make apps for that, right?” Namjoon asks, laughing. Yoongi had not known. He gestures at the pair of books in Yoongi’s hands. “The field guide is cool, very traditional, but maybe a little inconvenient?” 

Feeling just a little bit silly, Yoongi keeps the grin on his face and jokes “I’ll have to look into the apps then, make my way into the twenty-first century.”

“Let me know when you discover what fire is.” Namjoon counters with a grin of his own. 

“I’ll be sure to do that.” And then, remembering a question that had been almost haunting him since that day in the forest, Yoongi continues, saying “You never told me why, you know.” 

Looking surprised, Namjon replies “Never told you what, sorry?”

“Why you were trying to count the birds in Bukhansan.” 

“Oh.” Namjoon laughs “It’s kind of a long story and I’m not totally sure I have the time right now. It really was nice running into you again, Yoongi-ssi, even if you did ruin my notes. But I have somewhere I need to be in— “ He pulls out his phone, seemingly to check the time. “Shit. In ten minutes, I’m already late.” 

Before Yoongi can come up with any kind of response, Namjoon takes off down the path, headed towards street level. As soon as he’s almost out of sight, Namjoon turns and yells over his shoulder “See you around Yoongi-ssi! Good luck with your birds!” 

The joke is not lost on Yoongi. He laughs to himself, turning back towards the gardens at the edge of the path. Namjoon is funny, apparently. Good to know. Yoongi finds himself hoping they run into each other again, maybe less violently next time. It’s a new feeling for him, a surprisingly welcome one. He glows with it. 

He finishes his tour around the park, noting down a few familiar species, but mostly just takes the opportunity to enjoy the wind on his face and the smell of the flowers in the gardens. Eventually, he makes his way back to the studio, and never once does his quiet smile falter. 

⋗

ENTRY FOUR

Date: May 5th

Location: namsan mountain park

Notes: some kind of weird fate thing going on with this namjoon guy how the hell do i manage to run into him twice and ruin his research twice. i must have pissed off some minor spirit or something. he didnt seem mad this time though, so that must count for something. maybe he doest hate me. also: look up birdwatching apps 

Species Spotted: naumann’s thrush (2), azure-winged magpie (1), oriental turtle-dove (many), black-naped oriole (? unsure), coal tit (lol. also unsure) would have asked namjoon if we could cross-reference notes if i didnt make him drop his in that puddle. he could have told me for certain. 

⋗

Another Sunday comes, and with it Hoseok’s standard grocery run. This week it’s a sundae stir fry that ends up being more cabbage and carrot than sausage, but Yoongi appreciates the effort regardless. Hoseok also brings a teetering pile of side dishes from the store up the block, more than enough to last Yoongi the majority of the week. 

The apartment isn’t big enough for a full size dining set so once the cooking is done they sit on the floor with the dishes arranged on the coffee table. 

“I’m really glad you’re trying to work with the kids.” Hoseok says, lightly, as they settle in to eat. The kids. The nickname grates against Yoongi’s ribs. That’s what they’d called them, an inside joke, back before Yoongi’s entire life had crumbled. 

“Jimin still doesn’t trust me.” Yoongi confesses. “He glares daggers into my back when he thinks I’m not looking.” 

He’d noticed it during their first listening session, and the habit has kept up every time he’s seen Jimin since. 

“He’s just worried about the other two.” Hoseok replies, placating, taking a bite of his soup. An inscrutable expression passes over his face before he continues. “I hear they were in pretty rough shape when the whole thing fell apart, they were just kids and everyone who was supposed to look out for them disappeared. Sometimes I— “ Hoseok pauses and looks down at his food, eyes dark. “I don’t know the whole story, but I do know that Jimin had to step up. Big time.” 

“They were signed on as trainees again basically immediately, they’d barely even packed their bags. They were taken care of.” Yoongi counters. And he’s pretty sure they had been. That entire period is a grainy blur in his memory, but he remembers moving them into the new dorm, larger and cleaner than the one they’d all shared.

“They were terrified.” Hoseok insists, words laced with an unexpected sharpness. “And god, they were practically babies. Kookie was barely out of middle school, for crying out loud.” 

It takes Yoongi a minute to recognize that the tone in Hoseok’s voice is guilt. Hoseok had been their leader, their head dancer, and their emotional core. Yoongi isn’t sure how he’d managed to miss how heavily that responsibility had weighed— and continues to weigh— on Hoseok’s shoulders. 

“There were others. Someone else could have been there for them.” He insists. Some part of him wants to apologize, to lay his heart flat on the table, wants to curl into Hoseok’s shoulder and scream I’m sorry I needed you. I’m sorry I kept you from them. He doesn’t, of course, because an apology is still an admission and even after all these years, it’s still not something he’s quite capable of saying out loud. He hopes Hoseok understands regardless. 

Hoseok sighs, and continues playing with his chopsticks. “You and I both know there weren’t others. Half of them are in jail now and the other half are scattered so far into the wind that neither of us can remember their names.” 

“You couldn’t have carried all of us, Seok-ah.” Yoongi whispers it to his bowl of rice. It’s not what he wants to say, not nearly enough, but it’s the closest thing to it that he can manage. 

Grip going white around the steel utensils in his hand, Hoseok mutters “I could have tried.”

Yoongi won’t stand for it. Hoseok had done so much. For him, for all of them. He snaps “By that logic, we both could have tried. If you weren’t trying, I don’t know what the fuck would describe whatever I was doing.” 

Hoseok looks up at him, shocked. “That’s not— “

“Exactly.” Yoongi retorts, cutting him off. 

Hoseok’s expression stays mostly the same, but he visibly clamps his jaw and bites at his bottom lip. He doesn’t reply. Eventually, the tense silence becomes too much for Yoongi to bear and he says “I was expecting it to be Jungkook, or maybe Taehyung.” 

A single raised eyebrow is all he gets in return. 

“The one who was going to take the longest to forgive me.” Yoongi explains. “Taehyung was so mad at me during that first meeting, not that I blame him. I certainly deserved worse, honestly. But I didn’t think he was ever going to forgive me after he offered that suggestion.” 

“Taehyungie, he— “ Hoseok says, chasing a grain of black rice around his bowl. “You must remember how he is. He feels everything as it happens, no filter. But that also means that he tends to get over things quickly, and doesn't hold grudges. I think when he bumped your shoulder and called you hyung that first day, that was it for him. Second chance granted.” 

“And Jungkookie, well. I don’t think Jungkookie was ever mad at you at all. Hurt, probably.” Hoseok cocks his head like he’s considering the best way to phrase the next piece of what he wants to say. “Hurt definitely. Especially after— ” 

Another thing Yoongi can’t talk about, not yet. He begs “Don’t. Seok. Not now. Please.” 

“Fine, but you need to talk to him.” There’s a hint of an accusation in the angle of Hoseok’s hand. He softens. “But I mean it, he was never angry, at least not that I know of. You were his idol, I think all he ever really wanted was to make sure you were okay. Confirm it for himself, you know?” 

He puts his chopsticks down and pushes his dishes away from him before looking up at Yoongi and continuing “But Jimin is their leader, and their eldest. He’s responsible for them, and doesn’t want to see them hurt again.” Hoseok’s voice is unwavering steel, pride glinting off its edges. “It’s a job he takes very seriously.”

“He learnt from the best, then.” Yoongi replies with a tiny smile. It’s the wrong thing to say. Hoseok’s eyes flash. 

“He shouldn’t have needed to.” Hoseok snaps. He’s not angry, because Hoseok doesn’t get angry in a way that’s ever been recognizable to Yoongi as rage, but there’s a char along the edges of his words that sets alarm bells ringing in Yoongi’s head. 

“But he did, and they turned out okay. They made it so far, Seok-ah, aren’t you proud of them?” He tries, voice soft. Hoseok looks back down at the tableware, embers dimming. They sit in silence for a moment before Yoongi asks “You think he’s worried I’m going to shut them out again?”

Hoseok looks up, makes eye contact, gaze sharp. “Are you so completely sure you won’t?”

It stings. Yoongi sighs and says “I’m not completely sure about anything these days, Seok-ah. But I really want this to work. I’m going to try. I owe them at least that much.” 

“Are you going to tell them?” Hoseok asks.

Yoongi knows what he means, but there’s a chance that he’s misread the situation so he responds with another question. “About— ?” 

“Yeah.” Still ambiguous, but Yoongi doesn’t want to question it more, knows it’ll just mean they actually end up talking about it. 

“No. There’s no point.” He bites at his lip before continuing, “I don’t want them to look at me like— ” 

Hoseok abruptly cuts him off. “They won’t think any less of you for it, hyung.” He reaches across the table to grab onto Yoongi’s fingers where they’re resting next to his bowl. “Give them that much credit, at least.” 

Yoongi doesn’t correct him. What he was going to say was like you do. 

“Still, I’d rather they didn’t know. Not unless they have to.”

“Not even if they ask?” Hoseok replies, tilting his head down towards the table so he can look up towards where Yoongi is desperately trying to hide under his eyelashes. “Don’t you think they deserve to know why?”

“Knowing why won’t change what happened, Seok-ah.” He sighs. “I still threw away our relationships like they meant nothing to me. No— Stop. Don’t start with me, please. That’s what happened and we both know it. If you say anything about medical reasons I’m going to leave.”

“Okay, fine.” Hoseok says, putting both his hands up in surrender. They turn back to their food and eat in mostly silence until eventually Hoseok speaks again, changing the subject. 

“Now, tell me what you have planned for the first single of that new girl group, the one the company wants to debut next year. I know they already asked you. They want me to choreograph it, and it always takes so much longer to get the rookies up to speed, I’d like to have a head start.” 

⋗

The worst part about producing music is that sometimes you get stuck. Yoongi has been listening to the same mostly-finished track for the better part of two hours, tweaking and refining, and still nothing is making it sound right. Sound finished. All of the pieces are there, complex instrumentals and well-mixed vocals, but still there’s something missing. It itches at his skin. 

Sometimes it’s not the song, though, and Yoongi knows this too. Sometimes it’s him, something gone wrong in his ears or in his head that means that it’ll be impossible to make any progress no matter how hard he tries. He could keep trying, force through the block on sheer willpower alone, but there’s something else to the itch that tells him that things are likely to only get worse. Staying here and working harder isn’t going to help, not now. A small part of his thoughts manages to congratulate him for recognizing it. 

So instead, he checks the list of parks on his phone, puts on his shoes, and leaves.

A short train ride later, Yoongi is walking along the river with his back to the Mapo bridge, like it always is whenever he ventures into this part of the city. He keeps his eyes on the trees, on the shoreline. The guide book is in his hands, but he doesn’t have his binoculars, fearing that too many people would be around for him to be able to use them without judgement. There’s a bird in one of the trees that he thinks he just might recognize, so he’s flipping through pages and trying to find the proper ID. There are a lot of birds in the book. The one he’s looking at could be a brown-eared bulbul or a female rock-thrush or a— 

Someone in the distance calls out “Yoongi-ssi?” 

The voice startles him out of his concentration. He whips his head around in an arc, trying to pinpoint the source of the shout. It’s not that Yoongi doesn’t know people, it’s just that he doesn’t know very many people, so the chances of him running into one of them here are slim to none. 

The last person he’s expecting to see is Namjoon, bird researcher extraordinaire, waving wildly from a bench several feet away. He looks professional, dressed in a wrinkled pair of slacks and a button-down, a far-cry from the practical boots and multitude of pockets that he’s worn every time Yoongi has run into him before. 

“What are you doing here?” Namjoon asks.

“Trying to see some birds, it’s not really going well. I can’t really see them without the binoculars.” Yoongi replies with an anxious gesture to the trees around them. “What are you doing here? You’re definitely not allowed those nets of yours around here.”

Namjoon laughs and then shrugs at him from his position on the bench. “It’s the closest riverside park to my apartment. I come here when I’m done teaching sometimes, it’s relaxing.” 

“Oh.” Yoongi says, surprised. “You live around here?”

“Absolutely not, I can’t afford to live here. No, I’m down in Sillim with the rest of the students.” He laughs again. “It’s almost an hour on the bus, but worth it I think.” Namjoon cocks his head and asks “You?”

“Closer than Sillim, that’s for sure. I’m in Mullae, recent transplant.” It’s weird to think of himself as living anywhere other than the half-collapsing apartment he used to have in Hongdae, but Yoongi finds he likes it. 

Namjoon’s eyes light up at the mention. “You like art?” He asks, gesturing to the empty bench beside him like he wants Yoongi to stay. 

Yoongi sits, and tries to make the angle of his body casual. He picks a focal point several feet in front of him and stares at it wholeheartedly before saying “I like it well enough. My friend picked the place, actually. He said he thought it would be a good source of inspiration for my work.” 

Namjoon makes a surprised noise from where Yoongi can’t see him. “Can I ask what you do?”

“I make music, I’m a producer at SYG.” Yoongi shifts his gaze so he can see Namjoon’s face out of the corner of his eye, and waits for his reaction. 

“No way.” Namjoon breathes, his eyes wide. “Done anything I’ve heard?”

Yoongi grimaces. It’s not that he’s not proud of his work, because he is, but most of it was made to sell and not to speak, and he’s not sure that’s something he wants to admit for a first impression. “You heard Cherry Candy?” He asks, tentatively. Namjoon’s face drops and takes Yoongi’s pride with it. 

“Yeah.” He replies, eyes averted to the dirt in front of them. “It was very uhh— bright.” 

Yoongi laughs, trying to hide his disappointment. It would have been easier if Namjoon hadn’t heard it. “It’s okay. You can say it. The song is pure idol bubblegum fluff. The public ate it up though, it bought me the deposit for my apartment.”

Namjoon offers him a smile, making a heartbeat’s worth of eye contact before looking back down at his hands. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s a great song. I just— “ He makes a sweeping gesture at Yoongi’s figure. “I guess it wasn’t the vibe I was expecting from you.” 

Yoongi knows what he looks like, an oversized black jacket over his shoulders and studs in his ears, so his laugh is only mostly self-deprecating as he replies “It’s not exactly my preferred sound, no.”

They lapse into silence and a few beats go by, nothing between them but the sound of the river and the highway in the distance, before Namjoon says “Can I ask what is?”

Yoongi simply hums a questioning sound in response, gaze fixed on the Yongsan skyline across the water. “Your preferred sound. What would you rather be making?” Namjoon clarifies. 

“Oh.” The question is a genuine surprise, most people don’t bother to ask, once they find out the kind of thing Yoongi normally produces. “Hip hop, mostly. I used to rap, in another life.” 

“No way.” Namjoon exclaims, sounding excited again now that they’ve found another piece of common ground. The wide, dimpled grin that Yoongi remembers from the forest is back on his face when he turns and says “Me too.”

If the first question had been a surprise, this was a shock to Yoongi’s system. “You what, sorry?” Yoongi finds himself looking straight at Namjoon’s face the first time that evening while he says it. 

Namjoon is running a nervous hand over the back of his neck, and seems to be taking a moment to collect himself before he chuckles and says. “Rap. I used to rap. Mostly in highschool, underground stuff. I was even scouted by an agency.” 

Yoongi takes a second to take in the oversized glasses on Namjoon’s face, the disheveled collar of his shirt, and tries to picture him rapping. He fails completely, and instead asks “You were? What happened?” 

“God, I wanted to say yes so badly. My parents didn’t agree, but I think they would have been supportive no matter what I chose, in the end.” Namjoon says with a shrug, looking down at where he’s playing with his fingers in his lap. 

“I was just so young when they offered, I didn’t know what I wanted or what I thought my future should look like. It was terrifying, everything they were asking me to give up to join them. I think it was out of fear, when I said no, but they told me they’d always be open to taking me if I ever reconsidered.” 

Namjoon takes a deep breath and lifts his head so he’s looking at the slowly darkening sky, exposing the long lines of his neck. Yoongi tries not to stare. Namjoon says to the clouds “When I graduated from high school, I had their business card in one hand and my acceptance letter to Konkuk in the other. I was going to pick them, but when I went to call, the line had been disconnected.” 

He sighs, shrugs, and shifts his gaze back towards the ground. “So that was that. Choice made.” 

It sounds like Yoongi’s worst nightmare, somehow possibly worse than the one he’d lived. “Do you regret it? Not signing when you had the chance?”

“Sometimes, but not usually. It’s a fun thing to daydream about, but I like the work I’m doing now. My parents are proud of me, and it feels good to know that I might be contributing some net good to the world.” 

The annoying part of Yoongi’s brain giggles at Namjoon’s usage of net good, and he’s debating pointing the joke out aloud when Namjoon asks “And you? Do you still perform?” 

Startled, Yoongi shakes his head. “No, not in a long time. We have a similar story.” 

Namjoon makes a gesture like he wants Yoongi to continue. There’s a genuine interest in his eyes that Yoongi is trying not to think about. 

He gives himself a few heartbeats to get his words in order. “I guess— Kind of like you, I was scouted from the underground, and performing was my dream. But unlike you, I signed on when they asked, there was nothing else in the world that I wanted.” 

“I gave the company three years of my life. We must have rotated through fifty trainees, but I was there to see them all. Nothing ever stuck, nothing ever fit. It was like we were trying to build a foundation with no cornerstone.” He pauses to take a deep breath. Even after all this time, the next part of the story still hurts. 

“And then one day, near the end of 2013, they told us it was done. The company had folded, not a single won left. They were kicking us all out. I— ” Yoongi stutters, stops, stares down at the way he’s sliding his thumbnail up and down the skin of his right pointer finger. “I didn’t take it well.”  

“Hoseokie and I— That’s the friend who convinced me to move to Mullae, we met as trainees at the company— we moved in together, worked weird jobs just to keep the roof over our heads, auditioned at other companies when we could. Well, mostly Hoseok auditioned and I— ” He closes his eyes and runs his tongue over the sharp edges of his teeth. “Like I said, losing the company was hard for me.”

He takes another deep breath at the admission before continuing “After about a year of trying, we both realized that we had no plan and no options, so we enlisted, just to get it over with.” 

“When we got out, we’d both given up on the dream of performing and decided to focus on what we’re good at. Him, dancing— he choreographs, now— and me, producing. We both ended up at SYG and the rest is history.” Yoongi finishes with a shrug, eyes still fixed on his hands. 

“He sounds like a great friend.” Namjoon’s tone is sincere and incredibly kind. It takes up residence behind Yoongi’s ribs. 

“He really is. The best. I owe him my life.” Yoongi replies, unthinking. Instantly, the reality of what he’d just said jolts like lightning down his spine. This is not the kind of conversation you have with a near-stranger, no matter how cute, no matter how much easier it is to talk about these things with neither of you looking at each other and the sun going down.

Within seconds, he’s turned to look at Namjoon’s forehead and is stammering out an apology. “Sorry, I don’t know why I said all that. It’s not like me to talk so much, you don’t need to hear my entire pathetic life story.”

“Don’t worry about it, Yoongi-ssi.” He replies with a grin, softer and gentler than any they’d shared before. “People tell me that I’m easy to open up to. Sometimes I think I should have been a therapist instead, better money. Besides, I told you mine first.” He finishes with a warm laugh that fills another piece of Yoongi’s soul. 

Smothering the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and curl into a ball, Yoongi mutters “Still, kind of an intense topic to be discussing with a stranger.” 

“Let’s not be strangers then. Can I call you hyung?” Namjoon stands and rolls out his shoulders, like he wants to leave. 

“Yeah.” Yoongi says, nodding. “Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” 

“Perfect.” Namjoon replies, still smiling. And all Yoongi can think is: don’t go, please don’t go, not yet.  

Still lost in trying to figure out how to ask Namjoon to stay, Yoongi almost misses it when Namjoon rubs his hands together and says “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing.” 

Yoongi hadn’t noticed that it was cold, but now that the sun is fully below the horizon the wind that’s blowing in over the Han is enough to make him wish he’d brought a more substantial jacket. He opens his mouth to agree when Namjoon offers him a hand and says “I know a great hotteok stand not that far from here. Do you want to go get some?” 

Yoongi grasps it in response, and Namjoon pulls him up to stand for the second time in their incredibly short friendship. And then they go. 

Later that night, fingers sticky and teeth sweet, Yoongi rides the bus home with Namjoon’s contact information burning a hole in his jeans. Back in his apartment, grinning, he answers Hoseok’s call on the second ring. 

⋗

ENTRY SIX

Date: May 13th

Location: yeouido hangang park

Notes: the guide book said there were supposed to be different birds out in the evening, but i didnt really see anything unusual. being down by the river felt nice. ran into namjoon again. sort of forgot i was there to see birds. got to eat hotteok though. it was nice.

Species Spotted: namjoon pointed one out but i forget what he called it. i think it was a duck.

⋗

The next morning, at the studio, Yoongi is inspired. Inspired in a way that he hasn’t been in ages, pulling melodies and lyrics from a part of himself that he thought was lost for good. The songs aren’t perfect, they’re choppy in places, with pieces that are a little too derivative, but they’re bare bones guides of something that feels right. Feels like him. Most of it isn’t nearly commercial enough for the company to be interested, but in a lot of ways that makes Yoongi love them even more. By the time he’s interrupted for his first recording session of the day, he has a handful of half started projects saved to his desktop with filenames like: 210525_sun.cpr, 210525_fragile.cpr, and 210525_electric_hotteok.cpr. 

The recording session goes smoothly, he thinks. Not that he can really tell because he’s going through it on almost full automatic, giving half hearted suggestions and improvements. Luckily, JTJ is a well seasoned senior group and they know just as well as he does what everything needs to sound like to get the track to work. Mind still whirling with lyrics and basslines, even the still-awkward energy between them isn’t enough to drag down his mood. He compliments Jimin on his high notes in a way that Yoongi remembers had always made him shine, and smiles to himself when it works just as well as it always did. 

Eventually, they run out of time in the booked recording studio, and Yoongi announces that they’ve got enough material to work with. He’s mostly certain it’s the truth. He bids them goodbye with compliments and promises to follow up if he needs anything else, and the genuine smiles and warm touches they give him in return only add to the glow in his chest. 

Back in his studio, thankfully free for the rest of the afternoon, he picks his favourite song of the bunch and starts to work in earnest, smoothing out details and piecing together instrumentals. The track is dreamy, and warm, like sunshine through trees. He’s in the process of adding a bright, flitting counter harmony when he’s startled out of his trance by a hand waving in front of his face. Alarmed, he rips off his headphones and spins around in his chair. 

When he sees the person standing in front of him, he groans and runs a hand over his face before saying “Hoseok, I told you, I hate it when you just barge in here— “

“I knocked for like five minutes, sent you three text messages, and I called you.” Exasperation and an undercurrent of something darker runs through Hoseok’s voice. 

“Oh.” Is all he has to offer as a reply. It’s been a long time since Yoongi has gotten so absorbed in a song that the rest of the world fades away, a feeling he realizes belatedly that he had been missing dearly. A quick glance at his phone shows that he had, in fact, missed multiple notifications from his doorbell, several text messages, and a phone call. “Sorry.”

Rolling his eyes, Hoseok says “Whatever, as long as the code stays the same.” 

Yoongi tries to ignore the anxiety that had been pulling at Hoseok’s forehead and jaw when he’d turned around in the chair. He murmurs into the empty space between them “I promised you it would.” 

It hangs heavy in the air just long enough for things to become uncomfortable before Yoongi can’t handle it anymore. He offers Hoseok a smile that’s at least three quarters real and says with a shrug “Just caught up in a song, you know how I get sometimes.” He pauses, and is about to turn back to his computer when he remembers that Hoseok probably came into the studio for a reason. He asks “Did you want something?”

“I just finished running the kids through the choreography for one of their old setlists and they told me the craziest thing.” Hoseok says with a devilish grin, tension in his face almost completely faded. 

Yoongi’s stomach drops past his toes. He is not ready to have this discussion with Hoseok yet, not that there’s anything to discuss, but whatever it is he’s not capable of talking about it right now. It feels too new, too precious, a tiny fledgling of a thing that Yoongi isn’t even sure is real. 

Obviously not noticing or not caring about Yoongi’s reticence in his gun-dog quest to find answers, Hoseok keeps speaking. “They said you let Taehyungie give you a hug after their recording session this morning. Jimin talked about it for like, fifteen minutes straight. You made their morning— Thanks for that, by the way, they’re always easier to deal with when they’re in a good mood.” 

Hoseok pauses, and gives Yoongi a look like he’s trying to read his soul. “They think you might be possessed, though, and I’m inclined to agree with them. You’ve never let any of them hug you” 

Yoongi just laughs in response, and some part of him is surprised when it feels real, unforced. “I’m not possessed, Seok-ah.” He says, smiling. “I just— I dunno. I feel good today.” 

“Something happened.” Hoseok gasps, eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

“Nothing happened, like I said I— “ 

“No. No. No.” Hoseok cuts him off with an accusatory finger.  “Something happened. You. Min Yoongi, so-called badass extraordinaire, king of show-no-emotion, just giggled at me.” He pauses and shakes his head before continuing “So either you’re possessed or something happened and if you don’t tell me what in the next five minutes I’m calling a priest.” 

“You’re so dramatic.” Yoongi retorts, rolling his eyes. Hoseok gives him a flat stare before pulling out his phone and tapping something into the display. When he flips it around to show the screen, there’s a timer counting down from four minutes and fifty eight seconds. 

Sighing defeatedly, Yoongi says, “So I’ve been birdwatching.” 

That part he can admit, and if he’s lucky it’ll be enough to get the conversation to derail. Hoseok immediately pauses the timer. 

“Sorry. Stop. What?!” Hoseok’s eyes are so wide with shock that Yoongi thinks they may pop out of his head. “You’ve been doing what?!”

The image makes him want to laugh, but he holds it back because he will not be accused of giggling twice in one conversation. Instead, he says “Birdwatching? It was your idea. I thought you’d be happy about this.”

“Happy? I’m thrilled, but I was one hundred percent sure there was no way you were actually going to do it.” 

“I’m genuinely surprised that after ten years of friendship, you still think there are limits to how far I’ll go to prove you wrong.” Yoongi replies, wry grin on his face. “After all, you did pay for all the accessories.” 

“That shit cost me less than seventy-five thousand won, if it got you out of the house, it was worth it.” 

Yoongi shrugs. 

“So you’ve been birdwatching.” Hoseok continues, looking pleased but suspicious. “There’s no way that’s the thing that happened, because if you’re this cheery about birds you have definitely been possessed.” 

He restarts the timer. 

“While I was out birdwatching, I might have uhh— ” Yoongi looks down at his hands and bites at the inside of his cheek, trying desperately to keep the grin off his face. He mumbles “I might have met someone.” 

Looking beyond delighted, Hoseok squeals. “Someone?!”

“A boy. Kim Namjoon. I’ve seen him a couple times now, by accident.” The more he talks, the harder it gets to keep the joy out of his expression. Eventually, Yoongi gives up trying. “He gave me his contact info.”

“It’s like in a drama, hyung!” Hoseok exclaims, clapping excitedly, heart-shaped grin on full display. “Have you messaged him yet?”

The smile instantly drops off Yoongi’s face. Pulling at a piece of dead skin on his lip and diverting his eyes, he says “No. And I’m not going to.” 

Hoseok looks infinitely confused. He asks “Why not?”

“Because when I ran into him last night by the river,” Hoseok sucks in a sharp breath the mention of the Han that Yoongi ignores, not willing to go there, not right now. He keeps talking. “He just seemed so… content. Like he’d found his place in the world. Steady. Whole.” 

Something dark spins into existence between his lungs. Yoongi sighs, and feels his shoulders sink. He confesses “And me? I’m a mess, Seok-ah. You and I both know that. It’s not my place to bring my disaster into his life.” 

Leaning back and settling into his heels in a low squat, Hoseok says flatly  “So you’re just going to ghost him?”

“That’s the plan, yeah.” Yoongi keeps his eyes on Hoseok’s overly large shoes. 

Hoseok makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat before saying “This is just like you.”

“What?” Yoongi can list several things that are just like him, but he’s pretty sure that recognizing he’d be a terrible partner isn’t one of them. It’s not really like anyone, it’s just the truth. 

Hoseok scoffs, obviously annoyed. “This martyr thing you do. I’m sick of it. You kill any possibility of any good thing happening to you because you’re convinced you don’t deserve it.”

“Didn’t know you were taking therapy night classes, Seok-ah. You must be so busy.” Yoongi deadpans, turning back to his computer. Sometimes Hoseok says things to him that hit just a little too close to the soft, squishy, parts inside him. 

“Fuck you.” Hoseok snaps from behind him. Yoongi wants to bury his head into his hands and hide until Hoseok gives up and leaves. He doesn’t get the chance. 

Before Yoongi can brace himself, Hoseok has gripped the back of this chair and turned him back around so they’ve returned to facing each other. Hoseok crouches in front of him, grabs both of Yoongi’s cheeks and, staring directly into Yoongi’s face, says “Let yourself have this.” 

“It’s okay to want good things, and this sounds like it could be a really good thing. I haven’t seen you smile like that in a long time.” He drops his hands away from Yoongi’s face. “And shit, hyung, you’ve been so dedicated to whatever this masochistic penance thing is that you think you need to pay. It’s been years, don’t you think it’s time to give it up?” 

Suddenly, Yoongi finds the swirling grey patterns in the carpet fascinating. He knows, deep down, that Hoseok isn’t wrong, that what he’d said had hit the tender parts of him for a reason. There’s no valid reason why he can’t reach out to Namjoon, they’d had a good time, right? His memory floods with the taste of brown sugar and roasted nuts, with the way Namjoon had smiled at him under the neon lights of the shop signs. 

The tiny warm thing flutters in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, just this once, Hoseok has a point. He whispers.  “You’re right.” 

“I’m what— “ Hoseok gasps, clutching a hand to his chest and taking several dramatic steps backwards. “Holy shit you are possessed.”

Before Yoongi can react, Hoseok has somehow closed the distance between them and is leaning directly over his body, opening up a browser window on his computer. He types into the search bar: Exorcists in Seoul. 

There are a startling number of results. 

“Look, there’s one out in Gusan with a ton of YouTube subscribers, he’s even taking free cases! We can get you there in like an hour. Don’t worry, hyung, I’ll save you!” Hoseok exclaims, cackling, before collapsing into Yoongi’s lap in the chair. 

“Get off me you weirdo.” Yoongi grumbles, pushing Hoseok off his body and onto the floor. “ I don’t need an exorcist.” 

“Hmm, maybe not.” Hoseok hums, pulling himself up to standing and brushing his hands off on his obnoxiously coloured shorts. “But you do need a haircut. If you’re going on a date you should look your best.” 

Yoongi’s hand immediately flies to his head. “I— what? Hair?” 

Nodding, Hoseok looks very serious when he says “I’ll give you the name of my guy, he’s not far from here. Fair prices.” 

Every single thought in Yoongi’s head stutters to a stop. Where previously there had been a kind of swirling anxiety about what seeing Namjoon could mean, what he might want it to mean— now all he can concentrate on is the fact that he doesn’t think he’s seen a barber in months, and how that is the first impression he’s made on Namjoon. Hoseok stands with a grin on his face that Yoongi can’t place. 

“But I’m really happy for you, hyung. I should get back to work, but I’d love to hear all about this bird boy. Tell me about him later?” Hoseok blows him a kiss that shouldn’t make Yoongi blush, but does, as he leaves the studio. 

When the door slams shut, Yoongi’s thoughts start back up in earnest and it only takes him a handful of seconds to fully process everything Hoseok had said. He bolts to the door. 

“Wait! Hoseok!” Yoongi screeches out the doorway and into the hall. “What did you say about a date!”

The shrieking laughter that Hoseok gives him in response echoes off the tiles of the corridor and does absolutely nothing to answer Yoongi’s question. 

⋗

Instead of a greeting, or a picture of himself, or any of the other thousands of normal options for opening lines, the first thing that Yoongi texts Namjoon is a soundcloud link. Despite Hoseok’s endless encouragement, it still takes him three days to work up the courage. 

It’s not until he receives a single question mark in reply that Yoongi realizes he hadn’t even indicated who the link was from. 

You [19:56]
https://soundcloud.com/...

Kim Namjoon [20:09]
?

You [20:11]
sorry its min yoongi
from the park(s)

Kim Namjoon [20:13]
hyung! whats with the link?

 You [20:13]
you wanted an example

Kim Namjoon [20:13]
i wanted a what now

You [20:14]
of my sound
you wanted an example
this is it, this is me

Kim Namjoon [20:23]
oh

It’s not exactly the response that Yoongi was hoping for, but it’s not a surprise, either. People tend to expect that the music he makes for himself is the same as the music he makes for money, and are usually disappointed when they turn out to be two vastly different things. Having the difference shoved in their faces forces people to reconsider their idealized reality where people only work in the arts for passion, and authenticity. And that makes them uncomfortable. So, people tend to not like Yoongi’s music when they hear it for the first time— and usually that’s okay, predictable even. 

But he’d be lying if he said that he hadn’t expected Namjoon to be different. 

Still, it’s not a shock so he closes his phone with a sigh and puts it to the side. He tries to distract himself, puts a drama on the TV, pulls out some snacks. He makes it through three episodes before he gives up on the plot, another love triangle with a poorly written second lead. He turns it off and decides to take a long shower instead. 

When he checks his phone one last time before going to bed, Yoongi is pleasantly surprised to see a series of new message notifications from Namjoon. 

Kim Namjoon [23:54]
do you want to come back with me
to bukhansan
where we met?
you talk a lot about being bad at birdwatching
but you seem to care about it?
so i could show you
im going again on saturday
i have to do some work there obviously
but we could get two birds with one stone?
sorry that was a horrible joke
but yeah i could teach you it could be fun
let me know

Kim Namjoon [01:18]
shit sorry for sending all those in the middle of the night
im sorry if i woke u up

You [01:26]
dont worry about it
im still up
i could definitely use some lessons :)
send me the details

Yoongi is almost completely thrown by the fact that it’s not a comment on his music at all, but rather an invitation. He has absolutely no idea what it means. If Namjoon had hated the song, had hated him, then he would have had no reason to want to see Yoongi again. On the other hand, Namjoon seems like the kind of person to believe deeply in if you don’t have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. 

Still, Namjoon wants to see him again, and despite how every fibre of his being is screaming at him to put a stop to this before it has a chance to hurt, Yoongi replies with another smiley-face when Namjoon sends him a location pin and a time to meet up. He locks his phone, puts it on the bedside table, and turns out the light, trying not to think about it. 

Yoongi eventually falls asleep confused. Hopeful— but confused. 

⋗

ENTRY SEVEN

Date: May 13th

Location: Haneul Park

Notes: apparently there are apps for this. honestly its kind of unfair that it took me this long to figure that out because shit what a difference. computers and other people are way better at this than i am. i really need to thank namjoon for the tip, maybe thisll actually end up being a fun hobby. cant tell seok that hell never let me live it down. cant believe this was actually a good idea. 

Species Spotted: look at the app log im not copy pasting it here

⋗

Another day in the studio means another day picking at tracks that should be further along than they are. He’d already sent the first attempt at JTJ’s new title track to the rest of the creative team a few days ago, and is still waiting on feedback. Presently, he’s trying to work on the guides to his favourite b-side, a lyricless ballad that pulls slightly from the earthy and bright instrumental he’d put together after his run in with Namjoon at the river. It’s not working. Nothing is working. His skin itches. 

It takes him a minute to recognize what’s wrong. 

Because it’s not just the song this time. Something in the studio itself feels like it’s missing. The emptiness runs like tendrils around the back of his skull. This feeling is familiar to him, though, and so he reaches into his desk and pulls out one of his favourite candles. Something about the light, the warmth, and the way the flames dance in every passing air current has always helped to steady him when he starts to feel like this. He sets it alight and places it just to the left of his main monitor, letting the glow illuminate the keys of the synth he currently has pulled onto the desk. Trying to set the feeling out of his head, he goes back to work. 

It doesn’t help. 

Within the hour he’s lit so many candles that the last remaining coherent part of his head is shocked that he hasn’t set off the fire alarm. The rest of him is too concerned with how his entire being seems to be turning to ice, fingertips buzzing. 

With unsteady hands, he puts the lids back onto the candles, extinguishing them. Time to try something else, and he can’t do it here. 

Pulling a beanie down low over his ears and putting on his shoes, Yoongi leaves the studio— a tickle of smoke or something darker scratching at his lungs. 

The hallways of the company are dressed in a tile that Yoongi has always hated, too shiny and too smooth. Whenever it rains, they become practically glass with the water that people track in, treacherous and slippery. He hates them doubly now, as he makes his way towards the elevator. 

Carefully putting one foot in front of the other, he tries desperately not to shake. If he shakes he might slip, and if he falls right now he knows he won’t be able to get back up. His destination is two floors down and three hallways over. It feels like a continent. In the elevator, he braces his body into a corner and uses every piece of willpower he has to not crouch into a ball on the ground. His face reflects in the steel of the doors, hollows where his eyes should be. Averting his gaze down and keeping it there, he doesn’t look up again until the elevator dings and he forces himself back into the hallway. 

When he gets to the door (and he prays it’s the right door, everything in the last few minutes had looked a blurry version of the same) he wrenches it open and stumbles inside. Eyes landing on the figure fiddling with the sound system, Yoongi breathes a sigh of relief. It’s the room he was looking for, the smallest blessing. The figure startles at his entrance, and rushes over. 

When he’s close enough, Yoongi looks up to the one person in the whole world he trusts most and says “Seok-ah, I’m having a really bad day. Can I hang out here for a bit? I promise I won’t get in the way.”

Hoseok grabs Yoongi by the arms and holds him steady. Eyes roving over Yoongi’s face like he’s looking for damage, he starts “Did anything— “

“No. Nothing. Sometimes it’s just— “ Yoongi cuts himself off, looks down at the wood floor. But still Hoseok nods, understanding. The curling, vicious thing in the base of his throat writhes. 

Hoseok doesn’t immediately reply, and instead pulls him close and runs a hand through his hair. Yoongi fights down the almost overwhelming urge to twist out of the touch, to scream. 

“Do you need to go home?” Hoseok says it into Yoongi’s temple and it’s barely louder than a whisper. Yoongi just shakes his head in response, unable to form words. His apartment is the last place he wants to be right now. Hoseok steps back, takes a look at Yoongi’s expression, reads something there, and takes another step away. 

“Okay.” He says. “We’re just going through some more ideas for the music video. You’re welcome to join. The kids should be back any minute.”

Nodding, Yoongi navigates himself over to a corner and slides down the wall until he’s eventually sitting on the floor. There’s a collection of bags beside him, knapsacks and leather satchels full of towels and oversized hoodies. Normally, he would be disgusted by what’s obviously a pile of several other people’s dirty workout clothes. Right now, they form almost a second barrier between Yoongi and the rest of the studio. It’s a relief. Hoseok’s eyes follow him the entire time he gets comfortable. 

When Yoongi finally settles, Hoseok races to the other side of the studio, reaches into the minifridge, roots around for a second— digging for something. Eventually he stands, holding a bottle of whatever designer water brand is sponsoring the company this month. He jogs back towards the corner. 

“Here, drink this. The whole thing. The ones at the back always end up a little frozen.” He says, cracking the plastic on the bottle and handing it down to where Yoongi is slouched against the wall. “Sometimes that helps.” 

(If he’d been more aware, Yoongi would have pictured every time they’d been here before, would have run through the list of things that had and had not worked. It’s a long list, years of data gathered through trial and error. 

Candles. Cold water. Slow breathing. Someone else in the room. All had workeds.  

Talking. Physical contact. Avoidance. Alcohol. All had nots.)

Instead, he listlessly grabs the rapidly-condensing bottle from Hoseok and twists off the last bit of the cap. He drinks. Something about the cold shocks his system in a way the candle flames hadn’t. It feels sharp, almost grounding. The world slides just a hair back into focus. 

Considering Yoongi for a second, Hoseok seems to come to some kind of conclusion before he walks back over towards the speaker system. He fiddles with the phone connected to the control panel, scrolling and pausing at options. Eventually, he picks one. The song is slow and rhythmic, a heartbeat bassline that fills the studio completely. There aren’t any lyrics, just the pulse of the beat as it swirls and fades. 

Hoseok steps into the centre of the room, rolls out his shoulders and positions himself to start. Obviously watching himself— and the shadow of Yoongi behind him— in the mirror, he starts to move with it. His motions are slow, clearly unchoreographed, but boneless and liquid in that way that only Hoseok is. As he dances, he counts. Five, six, seven, eight. Ba, ba, ba, ba. His voice is low, but audible— commanding, but not sharp. 

A dim part of Yoongi manages to recognize what he’s trying to do. 

Hoseok counts, and Yoongi silently follows along with him, times his breathing to it. Five, six, seven, eight. And again, repeat. Objects in the room start to take on colour. He finishes the bottle of water, chews on the sliver of ice that comes loose from the bottom. He watches, and he counts, and the grasping thing around his chest slowly peels away. 

The sound of the studio door slamming against the wall startles them both out of the almost-trance of the music and the numbers. Yoongi finds the noise jarring, and then immediately recognizes that the fact that he’d heard it at all means he’s coming up for air. Hoseok barks something at his phone that makes the music stop. 

“Hyung?” Jimin asks, bounding into the studio. “What are you dancing to, this isn’t the title track.”

Hoseok turns to face them, eyes bouncing anxiously off Yoongi in the corner. “Ah, my Jiminie, just doing some freestyling to get the creative juices flowing, you know how it is sometimes.” 

Taehyung notices Yoongi first, following Hoseok’s gaze. He looks confused for a second before he exclaims, aghast “Are you two fucking?” 

The question is so unexpected that it slides the final piece of Yoongi back into place, almost making him laugh with its absurdity. 

Jimin spins dramatically, looking between Taehyung and Yoongi and Hoseok. And then Yoongi and Hoseok. And then Taehyung and Jungkook. He squeals “Oh my god, they are.” Back towards Hoseok. “That song was so sexy, hyung, were you dancing for him? That’s hot.” 

“Sexy— ” Hoseok looks like he hadn’t even considered that to be an option. (Yoongi would be willing to bet money that he hadn’t.) Hoseok replies, stumbling over his words. “Wasn’t supposed to be sexy, I was just trying to think, and I always find that song soothing— ”  

Yoongi knows a Hoseok ramble when he hears one. He groans in a way he hopes tells Hoseok that he’s feeling capable of having this conversation, tells him thank you, and says “Seok-ah, please tell these monsters we’re not fucking.” 

“Well I mean there was that one time— ” Hoseok’s wry grin tells him loud and clear that he’d received the message. 

“I’m surrounded by demons.” Yoongi deadpans, pulling himself up to standing. His knees tremble, but hold. “Who raised any of you I swear— ”  

“What’s he doing here, then?” Jungkook asks, cutting Yoongi off. It’s the first time he’s spoken since they’d come into the room. The question is clearly aimed at Hoseok.

A bright and fully artificial smile blooms on Hoseok’s face. He chirps “Yoongi-hyung, who is also your hyung Jungkook-ah, is just here to make sure we’re not making a mess of his song. He’s very picky about such things, you know.”

And, well, Hoseok is a terrible liar. Always has been. Yoongi can see the way that the trio doesn’t buy a word of what he’s saying.  As they walk past him towards the pile of what must be their belongings, something in Jungkook’s eyes flickers uncomfortably close to recognition. His expression softens and looks almost apologetic. 

Yoongi dodges out of their way, keeping his distance, and shuffles over to stand beside Hoseok. 

“Hobi-hyung, did you see where I put my tablet? I could have sworn I left it over here somewhere.” Jungkook calls over his shoulder, digging through the somehow even-more-mountainous pile of things. 

The nickname Jungkook uses rings almost familiar. He mouths the syllables of it towards Hoseok with a question on his face. “Yeah, you remember?” He whispers in response, bumping against Yoongi’s shoulder. “J-Hope?”

Yoongi isn’t quite sure how he managed to forget. He nods, but doesn’t say anything else. Biting at his cheek, he tries to push this newest spike of anxiety out of his head. He wanted to be here. He feels better. He can handle this. 

“It doesn’t matter where your tablet is right now, Jungkook-ah, you still owe me two more hours of practice before you get to use it.” Hoseok says in response, lightly shoving Yoongi back towards the edges of the dance studio before heading over towards the speaker system. Yoongi settles himself, standing, against another wall. 

“Now, I want you three in formation for that segment we were working on before you went on break. The second version, the one with the jump.” Hoseok orders, scrolling once again through the phone. 

The trio whine in unison from where they’d collapsed into some kind of many-limbed pile in the corner. “You’re a drill sergeant, hyung.” Taehyung complains, vocalizing the look on all their faces. 

“Just because you can’t get your feet right in that one sequence after the bridge, does not mean I’m a drill sergeant.” The bright smile is back on Hoseok’s face, but this time it’s genuine and warm. “It means you need to practice more.” 

They whine again, before eventually getting up and arranging themselves into a triangle in the centre of the floor. 

It’s good. The choreography is still rough, mostly scattered pieces that flow together with awkward pauses of freestyle between them, but the bones of it are solid. Yoongi thinks the fans will like it, even though it’s markedly different from what they’re expecting. 

Occasionally, Yoongi even gives suggestions that are mostly well received. It’s been a long time since he’s been in a dance studio for longer than a few minutes, but he’s pleasantly surprised to find that he remembers more than he had thought. Eventually, Hoseok changes the song to a bright, upbeat pop song. 

“Ten minutes of cooldown, freestyle, stretch, whatever. And then you can go. Good work today.” He says, almost shouting over the bright synth of the song. The trio cheer and immediately burst into a highly questionable rendition of their debut choreography. 

“You should dance too, hyung!” Jimin suggests, pirouetting dramatically. “It’s good for you!”

“Yeah, Suga-hyung, come dance with us!” Taehyung calls over the music, beckoning Yoongi over towards the centre of the room. 

Yoongi can tell by the way they all immediately freeze that the blood has drained completely out of his face. He tries to find the energy to care that the trio look visibly distressed at his reaction. On any other day their expressions would have been enough for him to force himself to laugh it off. But today? Today all he can manage is “Not that. Please not that name.” He croaks, stepping back. “If you want to use a pen name, I produce under Gloss.” 

Hoseok turns the music down. 

“Hyung, I— ” Taehyung takes a half step towards him before he seems to reconsider, stops himself.  

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s just—” Yoongi swallows down what he wants to say. 

I won’t be able to bear it. I can’t think about back then, not right now. Don’t make me remember. Please. 

He pushes it, and the memory of the roiling thing from that afternoon, away. Sighing, he says “That’s not who I am anymore, Taehyung-ah. I haven’t been that person in a long time.”

Taehyung looks stricken. Desperate to keep the situation from getting any more out of hand, Yoongi puts on his bravest face and says with a smirk “But I bet you I can still keep up with you. Let’s try.” 

The music goes back to full volume and so, Yoongi dances. Well, dancing is probably not the best way to describe it.  It’s more like an out-of-practice shuffle, but it’s enough to send everyone else in the room into hysterics. When he starts to laugh with them, it comes out unforced and free. At least for now, Yoongi forgets about everything else in the world.  

It’s not perfect, not permanent. The void is still threatening to snake around his ears and run down his fingers, but his joy is genuine and the ache in his cheeks as they push his eyes closed is a new, welcome, kind of pain. It’s a reprieve that he had needed desperately, and when Hoseok pulls him aside near the end to double check that he’s alright, he’s able to answer honestly. I’m fine, Seok-ah, thank you, again. 

By the time they all leave, late evening bleeding into true night, Yoongi feels closer to human than he has in weeks, and takes it as a positive sign.  

⋗

Yoongi, to absolutely nobody’s surprise, is definitely not serious about the birdwatching thing. He might be serious about the Namjoon thing though, because he’s standing at the entrance to Bukhansan at five thirty in the morning on a Saturday, and isn’t even a little bit upset about it. He arrives first, and is leaning against the map stand and scrolling through his phone when Namjoon jogs up beside him. 

He expects Namjoon to greet him, to slur something like g’mornin’ hyung, thanks again for coming and it’s almost enough to startle him fully awake when instead the first thing Namjoon says is “Wow, you got a haircut. Looks really good, hyung.” 

Luckily, it’s still dark enough that it’s unlikely Namjoon can see the flush that rises on Yoongi’s cheeks at the compliment. “Thanks Joon-ah.” He manages in response, trying not to let the grin on his face show through in his voice. “I’d been putting it off for a while, but it was finally time, you know?” 

“Still, looks good.” Even through the early-morning gloom, Yoongi can make out the flash of Namjoon’s teeth as he smiles. “You ready to go?”

Yoongi nods, and they head onto the trail. They walk quietly, not in silence, but in something close to it, the pre-dawn stillness feeling almost too precious to break. Yoongi isn’t sure how far they walk, but it’s long enough that by the time they get to wherever Namjoon is hoping to set up for the day, the sun has almost fully crested the horizon. 

This particular patch of forest looks almost exactly like every other patch of forest Yoongi has ever seen, but it is clearly satisfactory to Namjoon in the way he swings the ever-present canvas bag off his shoulder and starts to unpack equipment. The sheer volume of it is startling. Yoongi is absolutely sure there is no physical way that all of the stuff currently thrown onto the forest floor had come from Namjoon’s bag. 

If it had been a little later in the day, or if he’d had just one more cup of coffee that morning, Yoongi would have asked if Mary Poppins was his aunt. Instead, he simply follows where Namjoon is pointing and giving instructions, and starts to help set up the nets. 

“What are you doing this for?” Yoongi asks, eventually. The purpose of the nets and the data and the tiny scales are almost completely opaque to Yoongi. 

Namjoon gives him a confused look in response. 

“All— All of this.” Yoongi clarifies, waving his arms in a wide motion to indicate all the supplies they’ve brought. “You never did explain.”

“Oh.” Namjoon breathes, looking startled like he had expected their mission to be obvious. “Do you know the concept of the silent spring?” 

Yoongi doesn’t. He asks “The what?”

“Okay so, it’s basically this theory that with the ongoing declining songbird populations, eventually one day we’ll come out of winter and there will be no birds left to sing us into spring again.” Namjoon explains, putting the supplies in his hand down and sitting back into his heels. “And it’s not like we literally need the birds for spring to come— although there are obvious disastrous food chain implications— but doesn’t the idea of a cherry blossom season with no birdsong just break your heart?” 

Before this year, Yoongi hadn't seen the cherry blossoms for the better part of a decade. He’s not sure if he’s ever noticed birdsong, even while standing directly underneath them. Probably not something he should bring up right now, though, because Namjoon looks so invested in what he’s talking about, displaying a passion that twists at Yoongi’s chest. 

“It’s been theorized since the sixties but we don’t have— ” Namjoon takes a long, deep breath. “We don’t have even the bare minimum of data to really prove it, so nobody with the power to change anything cares.” 

Frustration tineging the edges of his tone, Namjoon forces himself to standing and makes a broad hand gesture at where Yoongi is still awkwardly holding one corner of a mist net. “That’s what I’m trying to do. It’ll be impossible to point at one thing and say: there, that’s the reason. Because it’s probably a combination of a thousand things. Habitat loss. Pesticides. Cats. Glass buildings. Climate change. I could go on— “

He grabs the other end of the net in Yoongi’s hands, and tosses it over a branch, letting the weight of the attachment hook keep it from slipping off. Yoongi does the same. Namjoon continues, “But if I can turn around at the end of this and say: the songbird population in Bukhansan dropped X percent over the course of three years, here are the factors that we think lead to the decline, here is what we can do to make it better, maybe someone will listen. Maybe something will change.” 

“And look— “ Namjoon says, pointing at something in one of the nearby trees.

“Look at what?” Yoongi replies, confused. Whatever he’s supposed to be seeing, he can’t find it. Namjoon’s hands are on his shoulders then, turning him around to point his gaze in the right direction. Yoongi tries very, very, hard to keep his thoughts family-friendly. 

“There, do you see?” Yoongi follows the long line of Namjoon’s arm, his pointing finger. And then Yoongi does. A flash of gold in the tree eventually clarifies into a small bird, yellow and deep brown, flitting between branches. 

“That’s a Japanese yellow bunting. They migrate through here, but ultimately only breed on the islands of Japan.” Lowering his arm, Namjoon sighs, shoulders drooping. “I can’t do anything for them, not really. The land they need to keep their population up is governed by Japanese rules and protections, nothing I can say or do will change that, regardless of the outcome of my study.” 

He pauses, bites at the inside of his cheek like he’s trying to find the right words for his next sentence. Yoongi doesn’t dare interrupt him. Eventually, he says “But maybe my work will be the thing that improves their migratory habitat just enough that a few more make it through every year, a few more survive long enough to make it to the islands to nest properly and keep the population stable.” 

“If I could make even that one tiniest bit of impact, all of this would be worth it. The early mornings, the bugs, the fingers I’ve almost lost whenever something larger gets caught by accident.” Namjoon chuckles and looks down at his hands, suddenly shy. “So, yeah. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m trying to count them.” 

And Yoongi thinks that he could love him. 

“It is strange that that one is still here so late in the season.” Namjoon continues, glancing back up into the canopy and using one hand to shade his eyes, gaze following the little yellow bird. “Usually they travel in flocks, but sometimes one will get confused, or lost, or separated I guess. I hope it manages to get back on track, they’re social creatures and not meant to be alone. Poor little guy.” 

Yoongi has never related more to a bird in his life. 

“Now.” Namjoon says, turning back towards the half-installed nets and various equipment. “We need to get these set up before the day gets too hot, otherwise we won’t catch anything.” 

Yoongi moves back to where he’d slung the attachment hook over the branch and fastens it properly around the trunk of the tree, in the way that Namjoon had shown him earlier. It holds, and sends the smallest bit of pride zinging through his chest. Once the first net is set up, they move a few hundred metres away and repeat the process. By the time all of the netting that had been in Namjoon’s bag is installed, it’s almost eleven and Yoongi is famished. He’s about to ask if they can break for a snack when Namjoon says “Time for the best part, I brought food and we’re going to have to wait anyways.” 

He guides them over towards a fallen tree, and once he’s seemingly confirmed that it’s sturdy enough to hold their weight, gestures to Yoongi to sit. 

Yoongi does, and by the time he turns to look at Namjoon again, Namjoon has somehow procured two bottles of water, a bag of honey-butter chips and two tinfoil wrapped tubes of what Yoongi assumes is kimbap. 

This time, Yoongi does say something. “There’s no way all of this stuff came out of that bag. What is it, bottomless? Are you magic and didn’t tell me?” 

Namjoon laughs, low and deep. “People think so sometimes. But no— ” He puts the food on the ground, stands, and twirls dramatically to show off his clothing choices. “Just have a lot of pockets.” 

It’s absurd. Yoongi replies, laughing. “I’m going to continue thinking you’re a wizard or something. Not even pockets explains all the stuff you conjured today.” 

Sitting back down on the log and matching Yoongi’s grin, Namjoon says “You can think whatever you want, I don’t mind being a little magic.” 

Something in the air shifts. There’s a beam of light coming in through the canopy that’s making one of Namjoon’s cheekbones glow gold. His face is still happy, but it’s gone a little bit slack, lips parted. Everything suddenly feels different. Feels possible. 

Yoongi is about to say something, or move closer when— 

“Here, this one is yours.” Namjoon says abruptly, shoving the crinkling meal into Yoongi’s lap. The moment dissolves. “It’s not cut, sorry. Easier to transport that way.” 

“I don’t mind.” Yoongi replies, blinking the confusion away. The comment makes him think of Taehyung. A small, nostalgic, smile creeps onto his face. “I know someone who refuses to eat kimbap any other way.” 

Yoongi doesn’t actually know if that’s true anymore, but he wants to believe that it is, and so the smile stays. 

The food is surprisingly good, meat well seasoned and rice just sticky enough to hold without becoming mushy. Obviously homemade. “You made these? I’m impressed.”

Namjoon snorts into his food. “I’m a terrible cook, but I promise I’ll give your compliments to the chef.” 

Yoongi assumes he means his mother, and grins at the sweet implication. 

They finish the kimbap, and the chips, and Yoongi is most of the way through the bottle of water too when Namjoon seemingly judges that they’ve waited long enough to go and look at what they’ve caught. Namjoon piles their garbage into one of his pockets and then they head back into the woods to find the nets. They start with the one they’d set up first. 

They work for hours, setting up and tearing down nets, taking measurements and snapping tiny metal rings to the legs of birds. Every time they find a new species, Namjoon gives a little lecture detailing key identifiers, habits and occasionally even demonstrates one of the more common songs. Every time he does, Yoongi has to hold himself back from collapsing to the forest floor in laughter. Namjoon is apparently a lot of things, but a good bird imitator he is not. Yoongi likes him even more for it. 

The day stretches on, and Namjoon and Yoongi work. 

“Alright, I’m calling it.” Namjoon finally announces, clapping his hands. “We’ve got like an hour and a half before the sun goes down, and I want to be out of here before it does. The last thing either of us need is to get trapped out here in the dark.” 

They make their way back down to the main parking lot, chatting as they hike, talking about everything and nothing. When they finally reach level ground, they stop, about to part ways. Yoongi is starting to dig through his bag, trying to find his t-money card in preparation for the long subway ride, when Namjoon asks him a question. 

“Hey, I’m going to go get some dinner. Do you wanna come?” Namjoon gives him a wide, kind, smile before looking down at his phone and starting to type out some kind of message. Dinner with Namjoon sounds like the best idea Yoongi’s heard in ages and he’s about to open his mouth to reply when Namjoon’s phone dings. His smile, impossibly, grows, dimples deepening and eyes going to crescents. 

Looking away from his phone and back up at Yoongi, Namjoon continues, saying “My partner is gonna meet me there. He’s heard all about you, I think you’ll get along.”

The delicate, tenuous thing that had been growing in Yoongi’s chest sputters, crumbles, and dies. 

Namjoon’s partner. Right. Of course. He and Namjoon are only friends, and barely at that. They’ve just met, Yoongi doesn’t know every piece of his life, didn’t previously have any right to be privy to these kinds of details. Namjoon has a partner and everything is fine. Yoongi prays desperately to whatever deity is supposed to protect irredeemable souls like his, because Namjoon is looking at him like he expects an answer, still smiling, broad and sweet. 

Yoongi pushes the ashes of let yourself have this so far down into his chest that they go crystalline and sharp. He manages a smile, looks somewhere past Namjoon’s nose, and replies “Of course, Joon-ah. I’d love to meet him.”