Chapter Text
Everyone had cried out there and for once no one was trying to deny it. They’d all come so far since the song was written, but performing “Born Singer” to a sold out audience for two nights in a row, in Seoul was just more than any of them could handle. They were all just so tired. Who had thought that dancing in winter coats and backpacks was a good idea? They were also proud and happy and nervous. They had a brand new album in the works and it all felt so fragile. All this love and attention, what if it was gone? What if they couldn’t live up to the hype? What if they did?
Taehyung texted his mom, just telling her that he loved her, which wasn’t totally unusual but maybe not as normal as he wanted it to be when she responded with concern that he wasn’t feeling well instead of warm fuzzy gratitude like he’d intended. But reassuring her that everything was fine was a good distraction, and it reminded him that everything was fine. Jungkook was still sniffling quietly next to him and Hoseok had a red nose atop his glowing smile. Jimin had pulled himself together and was being his usual cheeky self with all the coordi noonas as they packed up and tore down the green room. Namjoon and Yoongi were quiet, serious faces on, talking more with gestures and eyebrows than with words, but they shared the bulk of the burden when it came to new music. Seokjin kept pacing, stopping to put his hands on each of the members briefly before starting his rounds again, like a mother hen. So yeah, everything was fine.
The sweat was drying on his skin and he was desperate for a shower, but very glad to at least be in fresh, dry, reasonably comfortable clothes. They’d be heading home soon and tonight Taehyung was very glad he had the bottom bunk because it was one fewer thing to climb before he could sleep. He was hungry and restless even though he felt like he could sleep for a week. His brain was still spinning through everything that was coming soon. New album, new video, new choreography, new promoting schedule. He missed his family. He missed his bed. He missed midnight hamburgers. He scrounged around the green room, looking for snacks that might have been left behind. Or the secret stash that Seokjin kept to keep him happy, but always pretended was just a coincidence. He wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all Taehyung. No one “just happened” to stuff peanut butter crackers and Choco Boys in their bag on accident.
Back at the dorms, Taehyung collapsed onto his bed, but knew he was still hours from sleep. There was just too much going on in his head to wind down. He scrolled through pictures of home, sighing and smiling at his dog and his cousins. He wondered about what he would be doing if he weren’t here. Would he be in university, studying something normal and respectable? No one really respected an idol. It was hard work, but it wasn’t meant to last, and while he was burning his youth in front of cameras and fans, the rest of the world was growing up and making a name and a place for themselves. What would he have when all this was over? Would he ever be able to go back to a normal life? He tried to tell himself to stop worrying, that he was barely an adult and these questions could wait. He tried to lose himself in pictures of fluffy animals and anime. He tried.
He never really felt the weight of the world on his shoulders like Namjoon did. He thought it was because he didn’t think as deeply on any one thing as Namjoon did, but he made up for it by thinking about at least a hundred more things that Namjoon never really bothered to consider. He knew his brain worked differently than most people he knew. He saw connections and patterns sometimes that helped him make sense of some of the mysteries of the world, but he could rarely explain them to anyone else. He found himself worrying about things that would only matter if a long list of other things he worried about happened in a particular order. It all boiled down to the same thing though. He was afraid that he was a burden and a disappointment.
He thought, not for the first time, that it took a certain kind of broken person to need thousands of people screaming his name each night for him to be happy and feel normal. He loved making people happy, loved making music, loved dancing even, but the satisfaction of hearing a whole venue shout “Kim Taehyung” was a particular kind of addictive. He loved to perform and had since he was a kid. He’d started entertaining his grandma with silly stories and it was always the highlight of his day. The smiles he got helped soothe the less kind looks from the kids he grew up with, the jeers and the stares for being just a little too weird, a little too loud, a little too much.
Now all of that was his trademark. His concept. He was the weird one, the goofball, the alien. Image and branding, right? That’s what mattered now. V was a star. V was amazing. V was fearless and unstoppable and Kim Taehyung was along for the thrilling and enjoyable ride.
---
Samantha was still surprised at the phenomenon, though she herself was far from immune to it. In October, 60 degrees was freezing, a reason for coats and scarves. In April, 50 degrees was a revelation, a celebration, people breaking out short sleeves and shorter skirts. Still, after spending nearly half the year in a monotonous winter, seeing spring finally flirt with them was a relief. So, Sam hung her yellow coat on the peg by the door and twirled in her floral skirt in her living room. It had almost gotten all the way to 70 today, but she still wore tights under her skirt, just in case. It was her day off and she was giddy, the mild weather and clear skies infecting her like a plague of sunshine. She’d gotten up early, gone for a horrible though productive run, stopped by the grocery store, put dinner in the crock pot and then taken a quick walk to the mailboxes. No mail for her on this day, but that didn’t bother her at all. She looked at her bed and decided she would treat herself to a midday nap after she changed to some more seasonally appropriate sheets. Out with the snowflakes, in with the tulips!
Curled up in a pile of pillows, she grabbed one of the books she’d been meaning to read and snuggled in with a sigh. It was hard to concentrate. Her mind was stuck in the dream she’d had last night. She was running through a train yard, boots crunching on gravel, chasing someone up into a container car. Jimin reached out his hand as she climbed in, laughing. Then someone was yelling and she was climbing back out to do it over again. The denim on her jacket and pants felt stiff, the boots tight around her ankles. She adjusted a beanie on her head and sighed. She was excited and exhausted. She climbed up a ladder to the top of the containers, waiting for the cue to begin running, chasing Jimin again. Someone yelled cut and Jimin began dancing and she joined him, body moving without thought in familiar and strange ways. Jimin was waving his hand, signalling her to join him a few steps down and she smiled as they ran to join the other boys, legs dangling in front of the cameras. She loved the dreams where she was smiling, where he was smiling.
She sighed and stretched. She tried to focus on the book. She tried, but she didn’t get further than a few pages before her head was drooping. To avoid a crick in her neck, she put the book aside and pulled a pillow into her chest instead, and in moments she was running again.
She was running towards a scared looking man in a white shirt, lifting a bottle in her hand and bringing it crashing down. Crashing down onto nothing and someone was shouting. She turned and bowed to the man she’d nearly attacked as someone in the shadows shouted instructions. She stepped back, lifting her arm to swing the bottle again experimentally at the head of the man who now looked bemused and happy. She stepped back to a doorway, shaking her hands and head, feeling her face settle into a mask of sadness. Her heart was racing and she felt her stomach tense, with fear and excitement and then she was pushing through the door bottle in her hand and running those few steps towards the man who looked scared again. And then she hit him. She hit him in the head with the bottle. She didn’t feel it connect, but he slumped and crumpled into the wall, the force of it all sending her reeling into the wall beside him. Then she pulled back, staring at him as he tried to catch his breath. Her heart was in her throat and she looked at the bottle in her hand and rushed forward, a scream ripping through her as she placed her hand on his shoulder and thrust the bottle forward.
She sat up, the echo of the scream in her ears and her heart racing just like it had been in the dream. She pushed her hands through her hair, half expecting to feel the hoodie fall off her head. It took a few deep breaths to settle back into reality, to sort through the images racing through her brain. It was almost nice to have just a regular nightmare for once, because why on earth would Kim Taehyung be beating anyone up, even on a set. She was pretty sure it was a set. A drama maybe. Anyway, a work of fiction. After dreaming they were filming something fun last night, this nap had brought her a thankfully brief though certainly intense little nightmare. She wondered if she had some unresolved anger that she was trying to work through, though dreams were rarely so transparent or helpful.
She stretched lazily, knocking a few of her pillows onto the floor. She blinked at the ceiling then heaved herself out of bed to check on dinner.
---
“Samantha darling, I got you a little surprise.”
“Alright, Mom. You didn’t have to do that. I still haven’t even spent the birthday money you sent me.”
“I know, I know, but I miss you and I was doing a little poking and found out that one of your bands was coming to Dallas this summer.”
“Oh my god.”
“Now, it was pretty crazy on the website to get tickets, but--”
“Oh my god, Mom, no.”
“I managed to get some VIP tickets. They’re not the front row or anything, I hope that’s alright.”
“Mom, you’re kidding me right?”
“I figured you could fly down and we’d spend the whole day together. I know it might be hard for you to get time away from work, but it’s in the summer, so maybe their schedules will be easier, right?”
“Mom, are you serious? You bought tickets to the BTS concert in Dallas?”
“Yes, they aren’t the best seats, but they were the best I could get. It seemed to sell out pretty fast.”
“Mom, you’re amazing, you know that? You’re absolutely amazing!”
“Well, I miss you, alright? And you deserve something happy to look forward to.”
“Thank you! Thank you so much, but Mom. You know they’re coming to Chicago too, right?”
“Are you telling me you don’t want to see them twice? Because I can sell the tickets if you don’t want them. I just wanted an excuse to see you.”
“One, you don’t need an excuse, Mom, but wait. Tickets? You’re… you’re going to come to a kpop concert with me?”
“Sure, why not? You only live once, right?”
“Right, Mom. Exactly right. Oh my god, Hyemi is gonna flip!”
---
Being lost in his own head wasn’t as bad as it seemed today. He’d woken up from a dream where he’d been jamming out to “Cypher: Killer” in his car, hands flying as he flew down a highway, windows cracked open, radio cranked up, shouting into the wind. It was exhilarating and felt so honest. How often had he just let go and lost his shit dancing and singing that very song? Not while driving, admittedly, but he woke with a smile, feeling a fondness and kinship with Sam that fascinated him. She wasn’t as different as he’d once thought.
Wherever she was, the weather was starting to warm up, just like in Seoul. He wished he could read English faster. Maybe then he’d recognize some of the street names. America was annoyingly large.
“Head out of the clouds, Taehyung. It’s time to load up to head to Naver,” Namjoon said, tapping his hand on the doorframe gently. Taehyung looked up with a start. Namjoon almost always caught him daydreaming.
“Yes, hyung, I’m coming.”
“What’s going on in that head of yours today?” Namjoon asked while Taehyung struggled with his shoes. Unlike some people, Namjoon always expected an answer, a real one, and actually wanted to hear it.
“I was just thinking about spring,” Taehyung said evasively, stepping out into the hallway.
“The album concept getting to you, young one?” Namjoon said with a smile, reaching out to ruffle Taehyung’s streaky hair.
“No, not that really. Just that it’s starting to get warmer here, and…”
“And you’re afraid we’re going to make you wear short sleeves again?”
“Maybe. No, but wherever Sam is, it’s getting warmer there, too.”
“She’s in Chicago, TaeTae.” Taehyung stopped walking and stared at his leader, mouth agape.
“She’s what?” Namjoon stopped too, turning to look at Taehyung quizzically.
“She’s in Chicago? At least, she’s on a dance team that’s based in Chicago, so she probably lives pretty close.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before now?” Taehyung squeaked.
“I thought you knew? You’re the one who showed me the website! You just showed me that new dance piece yesterday, with the halter tops and the… you really didn’t know where she lived?”
“No! I’m not fluent in English, Namjoon-hyung, that’s why I brought things to you in the first place. It’s been months and you’ve known this all along?” Taehyung was shouting now, waving his hands about to express his deep sense of betrayal.
“You didn’t ask! I thought you knew! Your English isn’t that bad, after all, and you have access to the same internet I do. You can find translations.”
“Yeah, that tell me things about caterpillars and microphones and nothing that makes any kind of sense in context!”
“Look, yell at me in the van, alright? We’ve got to get going.” Taehyung swallowed his grumbling as he crawled in, sliding all the way to the back to pout.
“We’re the first ones in the van, what’s the rush, Leader-Mon?”
“I just don’t want to be late.” Namjoon was tense. They were taking a big risk here. This new album was different and for the first time, they were relying on the strength of the music, with no dancing in the video. Of course they’d dance on the music shows, and Taehyung’s knees were battered and bruised from learning the choreography, but for the first 24 hours, it would just be the music and their hopefully not terrible acting. As leader, Namjoon had more to do with those decisions than any of them, even if sometimes all that meant was he was the one to tell Bang PD yes and bow politely.
Taehyung shook his head, letting his hair fall back into place and smoothing it with his hand. They were on the edge of something. He could feel it. He was so proud to have a song on this album. He’d worked so hard and it wasn’t easy. It didn’t come naturally to him like it did for Namjoon and Yoongi. He struggled to make his ricocheting thoughts submit to the meter and rhythm of songs. He wasn’t cool and full of swagger. He was full of sad love songs and crooning, which wasn’t exactly "Bangtan Style". Yet everyone had been so encouraging and supportive, helping him and guiding him until the tune and sentiment in his head were a reality. And in just a few more hours, it would be released. In the hands of the public. He hoped they would be as kind as his members and all the staff.
The members started climbing into the van, bits of conversation trailing and filling up the space where his thoughts were echoing. Namjoon turned around from his spot in the passenger seat and smiled, tension easing a little as everyone got settled.
“Bangtan, Bangtan!” he said when all the fidgeting stopped.
“Bang bang tan!” they all responded.
---
“You’ve got to stop changing your KKT icon.”
“I can’t decide on one I like.”
“Samantha, you’ve had at least eight different ones today. And that’s just the ones that I’ve noticed.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay. But there are just some really nice pictures of me from the showcase, alright?”
“Not denying that at all. I saw the video. You look good.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, pick an icon and stick with it. I like the red one, for what it’s worth.”
“Yeah? I was thinking of something with just my hair and eyes.”
“It was pretty good eyeshadow.”
“So much glitter, right?”
“So much glitter.”
“Too much?”
“No such thing.”
“And this, Hyemi, is why you’re my best friend.”
“I fully support the use of glitter for nearly everything in the whole world. Everything’s better with a little sparkle.”
“Too true.”
“Did you change your cover picture too?”
“Yes, but that was a moral imperative.”
“What, morally, obligates you to have a picture of Min Yoongi in your KKT profile?”
“Pink hair. It’s like the unspoken rule of kpop.”
“Huh, I guess you did have that picture of GD with his pink hair for a really long time.”
“And man, how I miss that hair.”
“If that’s the rule, I should tell you who else has pink hair.”
“Kim Taehyung hasn’t had pink hair since I started listening to BTS, so I don’t want to hear it.”
“Whoa, defensive much? No, Kai from EXO has pink hair now.”
“Oh. Well, he can wait his turn. I’m not getting rid of Strawberry Suga anytime soon.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Shut up.”
“Uh-huh.”
---
She’d watched the video eight times in a row before she’d forced herself to turn the computer off and walk away. There were tears drying on her cheeks and throat hurt from screaming, but mostly she was numb and feeling regret like cold sweat trailing down her back. She should have waited for Hyemi. She should have waited to watch with her, to watch her reactions instead of being alone with her own thoughts and fears and feelings. She’d listened to the song alone first, wanting an unbiased first opinion, without someone else’s visuals coloring her thoughts. It was a beautiful song. Tender and full of emotion, but not slow at all. It was so different from what she was expecting. It was haunting. Then she’d watched the video.
The first time through she only made it one minute in. It had started off dark and a little upsetting, which made sense for a broken love song, but everyone looked so beautiful, she was able to look past it. Then she saw Taehyung running. Saw him climbing into a railroad container car and she paused the video, her fingers and face gone suddenly cold. “Third time’s the charm,” she’d muttered to herself, staring at the still frame of the maknae line running on top of the train cars. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to forget the feeling of the cold air in her face as she’d run those same steps. She tried to forget the joy she’d felt when she and Jimin stopped to dance in that same spot. She tried to forget the cold of the metal under her hands and the way her heart had soared looking out above everything, just a little higher up than normal and suddenly the world was different and new again.
But she couldn’t. She had no way to explain it, no way to prove it, but she couldn’t deny it anymore. She was dreaming Kim Taehyung’s life. She wasn’t sure she was ready to watch the rest of the video, but a sick determination gripped her. So she pressed play and watched with a sinking heart as the boys she’d come to care about got sadder and sadder alone while playing happily all together. And Jin. Jin crying and Jin grieving and Jin trying to find the light and just when she thought she was coping so well with the revelation of her brain’s strange nocturnal activity, Kim Taehyung pushed his way into a room and rushed at a man, holding something in his hand. Samantha knew it was a glass bottle. She knew he was going to hit him, hit that man over the head and together they would both stumble into the wall. Then Taehyung would step back and rush him again, only this time the bottle would be aimed much lower. She knew it. She remembered it happening. She could feel it in her arm and her stomach, the feelings from that dream. She knew it would happen, but as she watched, it never did. Kim Taehyung rushed into the room, and a few seconds later pulled back looking shocked, but all the things inbetween were gone.
So she watched the video on repeat, trying to absorb all the details, trying to piece them all together with the things her brain shouted were true, that her heart screamed were impossible. Her heart wasn’t the only one screaming now. She felt it more than heard it, the blood rushing too loudly in her ears, but the sting in her throat was painfully familiar. She didn’t know when the tears came, but she was gripping a pillow so tightly her hand ached. She wanted to throw it at the computer screen, to block out the things she was seeing. They weren’t real. She knew it was just pretend, just acting, just fiction, but it all felt real to her. It was eerie seeing her pain in their faces. The happy laughter contrasting so sharply with the sad reality of loneliness. She was screaming, and sobbing, and she wanted to run away from it all, but she didn’t. She pressed play again and this time just talked to the screen like they could hear her. She begged them to stop, to smile, to be strong, because she had been strong, dammit. She had stumbled through the worst year of her life and she needed them to make it through too. She knew it wasn’t real, this music video, but what was real and what wasn’t didn’t really make sense anymore.
The last time through though, she was silent. She just watched. It wasn’t real, but her dreams were. She believed that now, believed it deeply. It had settled on her like a blanket, calm and comforting. It was impossible and it was crazy but it was real and it was happening to her and she was going to get through it. Because she’d gotten through worse. And she was strong enough to handle anything now. She was strong enough for the impossible.