Archive of Our Own

Back when wanting was enough. 

You’d met him on the last days of summer. 

Those days were long and warm and most of them blurred together into a single mush of practicing sessions and excruciating hours locked inside a studio. But you were young and your dreams then seemed far more important than the pain tugging at your muscles. 

He’d walked into the crowded room and, like a magnet, everyone’s eyes fell on him. You remember he was kind, he was warm. He’d opened the door, gummy smile and all, holding plastic bags with bottles of soft drinks and sweets that he’d passed around the room. And then his eyes fell on you, lingered slightly over your face and you felt blood rush to your face. He smirked. 

   “So what are we doing today?” He’d said. 

You saw him again a couple days after. 

That summer had been particularly wet but the rain had usually waited until after midnight before pounding down. That day had been an exception and you’d ran as fast as possible that night to catch your bus but the rain was too hard and your legs were strained enough from dancing. You’d been huddled under a small ledge, hoping for the rain to pass soon when you spotted him. Yoongi. 

He was wearing white and, at the time, his hair had been dyed blonde. Under the streetlights and with your vision distorted by raindrops he’d looked almost like a vision. 

He’d been cowering from the rain as well when his eyes landed on you for a second time. You thought maybe you heard him chuckle but the rain was too loud and your heart was pounding so hard inside your chest from running (only from running, you swear) that you could hear it so it’s not so clear. Either way he walked closer to you and you moved a little to make room for him underneath the ledge. 

Both of you were silent for a bit, not that you could talk much anyway, but you felt him stand next to you. You sensed his warmth as your shoulder brushed his arm. You’d been so close you had been able to smell his cologne mixed with a bittersweet smell that you would eventually come to know were cigarettes. 

   “How are you getting home?” He’d asked, once the rain had quieted down a bit. 

   “What?” Your whole body was tense even your finger tips had begun to hurt. For the whole time you’d spent together hiding from the rain you felt as if trying to box yourself into a smaller frame so as to not disturb him, touch him. How could you? He was Min Yoongi and you were barely even a trainee. 

   “It’s late and I’m pretty sure the last bus left about 10 minutes ago,” he turned to you and you felt the weight of his eyes on you. Suddenly you remembered you were drenched and while the air around you was still warm, you shivered. 

   “I-“ you cleared your throat. “I’ll take a taxi, I guess.” You cringed. A taxi was a luxury. A mere twenty minute ride that would cost you two weeks of your parents’ allowance. 

You guess maybe he knew, (he’d been a trainee once of course he knew) but maybe he noticed how your hands tightened around the strap of your gym bag as if the idea made you shiver. He looked around and brushed his wet hair away from his eyes. 

  “My car is parked inside the building,” he pointed toward the direction of your agency. “I’ll give you a ride.” 

Again, blood flushed to your face and you couldn’t help but blurt out a very loud “No!” That even he eyed curiously. 

   “I mean,” you stuttered. “I mean, I couldn’t. Really… I’ll just, call a taxi or something, you must be busy…” 

He chuckled softly. “I’m not,” he started walking and mindlessly so did you, following him. “I’m having issues with a song. I can’t quite get this lyric right and it’s driving me insane.” 

   “A lyric?” 

He started rummaging inside the pockets of his shorts as he nodded, “yeah. Love song,” he’d said almost mockingly as he pulled out a face mask. “I’m not really in the love-song mood lately.” 

He handed you the mask and motioned for you to put it on. But you didn’t move, confused. He sighed softly before taking the mask into his hands and adjusting it to your face, his fingers softly touching your hair as he adjusted the elastics to your ears. 

   “Precaution,” he’d said and taken out a mask for himself. 

That night, he’d opened the door to his car and taken your gym bag from your shoulder, throwing it on the backseat. He’d motioned for the seatbelt as you sat, suddenly aware of how wet your clothes actually were. He’d been quiet as he reversed out of his parking spot and into the softly illuminated Seoul streets. 

One hand on the steering wheel, the other in his phone scrolling at whatever (it’d been music). And even when a song started playing quietly, you couldn’t bear the silence between you. 

   “What are you in the mood for, then?” You asked. 

   “What?” He seemed playful and you chucked. 

   “Songwriting,” 

He went serious and you wondered if maybe you’d said something wrong. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to talk about work. Maybe you were being nosy. So many scenarios played through your head before he said: 

   “Revenge.” 

   “How dramatic,” you blurted but hey, he was smiling again and the weight inside your chest suddenly wasn’t as heavy. 

He’d found you amusing. Now it felt as amusing as one would look at a baby as he crawled around a room. But back then, that summer night as he drove you home, it’d felt like he saw you. 

Nobody had to know. 

You and Yoongi fell onto a routine shortly after. As summer turned to autumn he’d find you practicing inside a training room and lock the door. He never did anything, he just went in and sat on the floor watching you. Sometimes he’d bring in his laptop, other times he’d just crawl on the floor and lay down, sweating and exhausted. 

Summer had been brutal on you but autumn had felt worse. Dancing sessions weren’t as long, as your manager decided to focus on your singing instead of your dancing. You’d still not been partnered with anyone and, for the most part, it had felt as if they were either considering you for a solo or counting the days before terminating your training. The anxiety inside your chest would bottle up until you found yourself throwing up your lunch or struggling for air. 

He’d found you like that once. 

A specific dancing routine had taken its toll on you. Your body didn’t move as seamlessly as did the others’ and your trainers’ yells echoed inside your brain. You weren’t as coordinated, you were slow, you were a failure, and suddenly the room started growing small. You were inside a cage, the walls were shrinking and your lungs were collapsing. 

You fell onto the floor, the lights above you were only making everything be too much. Too white, too strong. You couldn’t take it.

You didn’t hear him come in but you felt his hands as he took your face. It was hard to have your eyes focus on anything but you heard him, his voice, it felt so far away but it was something that was pulling you back. 

   “Y/n!” His thumbs brushed away the tears staining your face. “Breathe, breathe.” 

But you couldn’t breathe. The air was an unknown substance and your body wouldn’t have it. Maybe he realized it so he stopped commanding you to do it and instead moved his hands to the back of your head. His fingers brushed through your hair, softly tugging at it, massaging your scalp and the motion helped you find your feet again. Your head fell onto his chest as he continued and you stayed like that for what seemed like hours before you could speak again. 

   “Well that was kind of embarrassing,” you chucked into his shirt. 

   “I think you drooled on my shirt.” His voice was kind. “It’s Dior.”

   “Oh my god!” 

He laughed loudly and your insides felt mushy as he did. His hands were still laced in your hair and the scent of him, something between clove cigarettes and tangerine involved you. “You can drool on me whenever,” he whispered into your head and caressed your neck with his thumbs a little more before taking your face into his hands again and making you face him. 

Your eyes were puffy, your lips swollen, your cheeks were flushed and Yoongi set his eyes on your lips before clearing his throat. 

   “Jesus,” he whispered as he pushed you away, standing from the floor. 

You stayed there. Silent. You’d done something, that was for sure, but you couldn’t pinpoint it. 

   “We shouldn’t do this,” he said, positioning himself at the farthest corner, his back to you. 

   “Do what?” 

   “ This,” he faced you now and his face was stone cold. “The whole routine. You dance for me, you sing for me. I enjoy you. It’s wrong.” 

I enjoy you. 

   “No,” you whispered quietly. Anxiety pooled at your stomach once again and your arms went numb. You fixed your eyes on the floor, unable to move, unable to utter a word. 

   “It’s dangerous, you know.” He said after a while, walking to you ever so slightly. 

Even to this day, you don’t know what possessed you to say the words, but something inside you broke at the idea of Yoongi not looking at you. Not being near you. Not giving advice with your performances and not being there. So you said:

   “Nobody has to know.” 

Autumn grew colder as you and Yoongi grew closer. His group was starting preparations for a comeback so for days you wouldn’t hear from him. You’d find yourself practicing and your eyes drifting towards the corner where he would usually sit, only to find it empty. 

But then, at night, he’d call or text or find you in a darkened closet somewhere in the building and you lost your feet. His hands would cup your face and his lips leave small kisses all over. You could never stay for long and whatever time you did have Yoongi seemed to enjoy it by being near you. He’d ask about your day, your training, while tracing circles on your back or resting his head on your stomach as you fumbled with his (now brown) hair. 

One of those days, as both of you spent your breaks inside a lonely training room, he looked at you, serious. You rested your head on his knees as he looked down at you sadly before saying “you’re so young.” 

It caught you off guard. 

You were young, but you had never really thought about it before. “What are you, ancient?” You tried to joke, frowning suddenly. He smiled and some of that frown went away. 

   “Next to you, yeah.” 

   “Oh my god, Yoongi you are only a couple years older.” 

   “Nine.” 

   “What?” 

   “Nine years. You’re eighteen-“ 

   “ Almost nineteen,” he rolled his eyes. 

   “And I’m twenty seven.” 

   “You behave like a child most of the times,” you were frowning again, 

He traced your frown softly, his eyes were focused and you could see how thoughts were forming inside his head. It felt as though he’d say something, and your insides braced at whatever his words could be, but he stayed silent. Instead he snaked his arms around you and pulled you closer, his lips finding yours hungry, almost desperately. 

Holiday House . 

It was two weeks before Christmas and you got a small break. A week off from practicing, and studios and singing and dancing. Your parents had taken a train south to Busan to visit some relatives and you’d thought you’d spent your time off catching up with old school friends before you saw Yoongi's name (and the several hearts surrounding it) pop up on your screen.

    Meet me. 

   Where? 

   Outside. 

You looked through your window and saw his car parked in the corner. Lights off. You threw a cardigan on and grabbed a face mask before strutting down the steps of your house and into the cold. 

You found him dressed in a dark suit and a coat. He looked just like how you thought he always did before whatever it was that you were doing. Polished. Expensive. Mature. 

In contrast you were wearing baggy jeans and a pink cardigan. Your hair was braided and you had your glasses on, god, even your socks had Ponyo’s face printed into them. You blushed and hoped you’d been smarter. Worn something prettier. 

Yoongi eyed you (socks included) and nodded his head as a greeting. 

   “Hey,” you breathed out. 

   “My friends and I are throwing a little party upstate.” 

Friends. 

   “Oh,”

You knew hoping to see Yoongi outside of a studio or training room or broom closet was hard, but you’d let your imagination roam. You’d imagined yourself going to late night screenings and maybe even dinner, you knew other idols did it. But maybe he’d had other plans. Parties upstate and fancy dinners and friends. 

   “I want you to come.” He said. 

   “ Oh,” 

    “I know you’re on break and you mentioned your parents being away for a bit. I know it might be hard for them to let you travel but BigHit has a company building around the area and I could have my manager give them a call, say it’s for training…” 

   “You want me to meet your friends?” Even the words felt foreign in your mouth. 

He turned to face you now, and his eyes softened as they did whenever you said something he’d found amusing. 

   “You know most of them anyway,” his band members. 

   “Not personally!” 

   “They’re nice. They’ve heard about you and, I mean, I think it’d be nice to not have to hide around the agency all the time. You could come over, I can make you dinner.” 

The whole world seemed to disappear and you felt as if you were free falling. You blushed and smiled and the whole world felt electrified. If life were a cartoon you’d be surrounded by big, red hearts. The whole world would be bright red. 

   “Will you come?” 

All you could do was nod eagerly. 

Preparations for your Upstate Escape happened fast. Yoongi had his manager call your parents and explain a whole ordeal about a short training opportunity with top producers. You could hear your mother’s excited screams and you felt ashamed. In a way, maybe you weren’t lying. You would be surrounded by producers and famous people, Yoongi had mentioned the name of some of his friends and you felt yourself grow smaller. But even if you did feel shame for lying, all of it was eclipsed by the possibility to spend a whole week with him. 

Turned out that Namjoon (their names still sounded bizarre inside your mouth, but Yoongi encouraged you to speak informally) had a small property on the outskirts of Seoul. A big summer house, Yoongi said. 

    “Bunch of trees and nature and even a small river. We spend the holidays there sometimes.” 

And the “little party upstate” was a fancy dinner where all of the members and their friends would be. You tried to prepare yourself. Your mom had given you some extra money, for the holidays, and you scoured your house looking for any extra penny. You bought yourself some makeup, dark lipstick (that was a grown up thing, right?) and a tight black dress. 

Yoongi’s words still lingered inside your head. You were young. Younger than him and younger than most of them but, at least that night, you could pretend. Nineteen wasn’t so far away from twenty anyway. 

The party was supposed to be held on Friday but you and Yoongi arrived on Wednesday. He’d rented a small cottage not far from Namjoon’s place and you found yourself looking around in awe as you walked inside. 

It smelt of rich wood and something sweeter, spicier, like tea. The ceilings were high and the furniture was a mixture between dark reds and browns and olive. There were thick carpets covering the wooden floors and fluffy blankets thrown casually over the big sofas. Yoongi caught you looking at the fireplace before walking to you and snaking his arms around you, his head falling on top of your head. 

   “Do you like it?” 

You turned to face him, his arms drawing you nearer as you placed a soft kiss on his nose. “It’s the prettiest place I’ve seen.” 

He smiled, that smile you loved the most. Wide and gummy and where he looked so much younger. 

   “You come here often?” 

   “I used to,” he said, separating himself from you and suddenly you felt cold where his body had been. 

You’d spent that day, and the next one, doing absolutely nothing but you had never been happier. You’d spent two days playing board games, watching his favorite moves, baking muffins that were always over cooked or raw at the center, or with him napping between your legs as you scrolled through social media. 

Post after post of happy couples flooded your phone and you felt a bitter taste in your tongue. You couldn’t show the world how happy you were. There were dozens of photographs of Yoongi being silly, whipped cream across his face, sleeping, composing, playing the piano, even a couple pictures of both of you. But you remembered how, after each of those had been taken, he’d said “keep it private” and suddenly the bliss dissipated. 

The sadness didn’t last long, though. Yoongi noticed that you had stopped playing with his hair and his face shot up to see you, frowning. He glanced at your phone, a cute photograph of an old highschool friend with his girlfriend, drinking hot chocolate somewhere pretty and he understood. 

He looked at you and sighed, standing up a little. 

   “You deserve better,” he said, still looking at the photo. 

You locked your phone and threw it underneath you, taking his face in your hand. “Hey,” you said softly and he leaned into your touch, “don’t say that,” 

   “You deserve that. Dates somewhere pretty, not hiding in a cottage somewhere. I am not the man you deserve…” 

   “ Yoongi, ” your heart was pounding. “I knew this would be hard,” his eyes darkened. “But I always understood the risks. Don’t beat yourself up about it. I accepted this.” 

He was silently studying your face before he said “god, sometimes you sound so mature for your age,” before taking you in his arms and kissing you. 

You kept me like a secret, but I kept you like an oath. 

The following morning you woke up to the sun shining on your face. You felt Yoongi’s body next to you, breathing softly and you turned to see him awake. Looking at you. 

   “Hey,” he said, his voice dark and raspy. You smiled. 

He neared his face to yours and his lips found you in a heartbeat, soft kisses that quickly turned into longer, deeper, desperate kisses. You felt him shift between the covers and positioned himself on top of you and suddenly your hands were tugging at his back, his tongue was leaving wet marks down your neck, on your chest. You shivered and gasped as his hand curled strongly on one of your legs. He looked up, his eyes were darker, cheeks flushed and his hair disheveled from where you’d pulled as he sucked on the right spots. 

He let go of your leg and left butterfly kisses up your neck and in your face. You were nervous, shaking, but Yoongi was there and his eyes reassured you and suddenly all you knew was that you wanted him. 

You tugged on his neck and kissed him, deeply, your tongue naively trying to find a rhythm with his and suddenly the kiss turned deeper, his hands snaked your body, is body had angled with yours and as he trailed down your neck again you moaned and he seemed to lose his mind. 

He gripped the pillow hard, knuckles white and he turned to face you and asked “are you sure?” 

You nodded, your fingers shyly tugging at his shirt. It was all it took. He straightened and threw his shirt across the room, suddenly his skin was on yours and you swore you’d never seen someone so beautiful. 

He was slow and kind and with every moan that escaped your lips he turned more confident. And even when anxiety took a hold of you, he stopped and caressed you, leaving kisses everywhere, your shoulders, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. You whispered his name like an oath, feeling pleasure and pain build up around you. 

Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi. 

You were laying tangled with each other later that morning when his phone rang. 

He groaned but turned to the bedside table and you caught a glimpse of who was calling. Taehyung. 

He gave you a soft kiss on the forehead before standing up and leaving the room. 

   “Hello?” 

You lost track of his conversation as you laid there. Your legs were a little sore but something inside you felt blissful. You tried not to be cheesy about it, that was not very mature of you, but a part of you wanted to turn to your phone and text your friend. Gossip about how it had been, how sweet, how caring, how good it was. But you shut the thought down. He’d be disappointed if you did. But as you fantasized of how he’d taken you in his arms, a loud whisper got to your ears. 

     “What the fuck!” You could tell he’d tried to be silent, but Yoongi was upset. “What do you mean he invited-“ the words became harder to hear but you got up, suddenly worried. “He’s such a little asshole. He knows what happened between us.” 

You frowned. Between who? 

   “Yeah, they’re such great friends. And now I have to spend a whole dinner with both of them next to me in the same room.” 

Suddenly your limbs went cold. 

   “Well you can tell him to fuck right off. He just ruined this whole thing for me.” 

The first cracks in the glass. 

Yoongi had gone colder and more serious as dinner time neared. He’d locked himself inside a room of the house, muttering something about a sample and didn’t leave until later in the afternoon. Whatever bliss and warmth you’d felt from that morning had evaporated. After his phone call he wouldn’t even look in your direction, he’d gone to the bathroom and showered. After that, he’d gone to the kitchen, fixed something fast and locked himself away. 

You tried to shrug it off. It’s not like your first time had to be special for him, anyway. Sex wasn’t such a big deal to people like him and you needed to be mature about this. So you ate in silence, paced around the house aimlessly as he was locked away before deciding to get ready for dinner. You weren’t sure whether you were nervous because of dinner or because of Yoongi’s attitude but as you showered, you felt your stomach churn with anxiety. Your hands were shaking as you blow dried your hair and straightened it (your mother always said it made you look so much more elegant) and your lips were sore from all the biting as you put on the pretty burgundy shape you’d bought. 

You saw yourself in the mirror but saw someone else looking back. You smiled. That was the point anyway. 

As you and Yoongi drove to Namjoon’s house you felt tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. He hadn’t even acknowledged you as he walked out the house and into his car. You noticed how, this time, he didn’t open your door but went straight for the driver's seat and shut it as you walked down the stairs. He still wasn’t looking at you and you wondered if maybe he didn’t like the way you looked. In a desperate attempt, you reached for his hand. As your skin touched his, he seemed to wake up from a trance, suddenly noticing your presence. He looked at you and smiled but turned to the road right away. As you moved your hand away he grabbed it and laced your fingers. 

You exhaled. 

Things were alright. 

The breaking point. 

Maybe it was because you were never much of a reader, or a movie watcher, or quite good at keeping up with the news, but as you sat there, Yoongi next to you, you started beating yourself up about it. 

Yes, you recognized his band members and yes, they’d been nice. Seokjin had looked at you and smiled widely, touring you across the house as Yoongi went straight to Taehyung and started speaking. He showed you the kitchen and the several pots and pans of things he’d cooked, pointing at all the dishes that were “Yoongi’s favorites”. 

He walked you up to Namjoon and Jimin, sitting on the living room sipping red wine. They all smiled in your direction and tried the small talk. How’s training? Do you go to school? Hobbies? But soon enough the things you could talk about with them diminished. Namjoon turned to Hoseok, who’d joined them with an amber drink in hand and started discussing some movie. Jimin stood up and went to receive the newly arriving guests and suddenly you’d been sitting alone on a big, black sofa before Yoongi came and took your hand, making you stand up and guiding you to the dinner table. 

Only a couple people had shown up. The seven boys you knew and four other strangers. Four women, all of whom looked to be around their late twenties. All seemed so different to you. The girls walked elegantly and positioned themselves with their heads high, smiling and laughing with so much composure you were sure you were never going to have. 

You noticed, as the other boys sat across the table, that they were their partners. Namjoon held a girls hand, caressing her palm. Jimin sat protectively next to another and soon they began having a conversation of their own. Jungkook and Seokjin had partnered with the other two but only Seokjin seemed comfortable enough to touch the girl, engaging in some discussion about some new book that was apparently life changing. 

All of them seemed to belong but you stood out like a sore thumb. When asked if you knew the book you smiled shyly and said no. Seokjin and his girlfriend tried their best to have you join the conversation but all they spoke were topics you were unfamiliar with. Wines you’d never tasted, trips abroad you’d never made, even fashion trends you were unfamiliar with, and suddenly, the questions started coming up way less, until you were silently sitting next to Yoongi, who was speaking animatedly with his friends. 

It was as if you didn’t exist. 

The other girl next to Jungkook started saying something and, as Yoongi quieted down, you reached for his hand again. As you’d done in the car. As you’d done multiple times. You were uncomfortable, you felt dumb, but he was here and all would be fine as soon as his fingers laced with yours. 

But as your skin touched his, he seemed to recoil from your touch. You saw him glance at the girl, who smirked before turning to someone and continuing her speech. Yoongi didn’t reach for your hand. He reached for his drink and after taking a sip he positioned the cup further away from you. 

That night, something inside you broke. 

   “You didn’t even look at me,” you said as Yoongi threw the keys onto the counter later that night. Or early morning. The details were foggy now. 

   “What?” 

   “The whole evening. I wasn’t even there.” 

The look he gave you resembled disgust. “What are you talking about?” 

   “I’m talking about how I spent the whole night with people I don’t know, all strangers, all older than me, and you couldn’t even acknowledge that I was there.” Your voice was shaking. 

   “What is wrong with you!” He snapped and you flinched. “My friends were all fucking nice to you. But you just sat there, saying nothing, god, It was uncomfortable!” 

Maybe he was right, you thought. Maybe you had made the evening weird, but your blood was boiling and as he walked away into the bedroom you followed, stomping your feet. 

   “I was surrounded by strangers! You were all talking about shit I’ve never heard before, what did you want me to do?” 

   “Oh my god, then what? Do we have to narrow down our conversation topics to dancing techniques and the latest Marvel movie or something? Grow the fuck up, Y/N! The world doesn’t revolve around you.” 

God, you wanted to shut up. You wanted to keep quiet and apologize because that was the mature thing to do. But instead, you stood straighter and looked him in the eye “I’m not saying it does! But I’m with you and you couldn’t even acknowledge I was in the fucking room! I tried to hold your hand and you shut me down! It was as if you were embarrassed of me or something.” 

   “Y/N, you are being ridiculous now. I don’t even remember you wanting to hold my hand, all I remember is you sitting like a fucking statue, answering one-syllable words to whatever my friends asked.” 

You stood silent. Maybe he was right, maybe it’d been your fault. You were being childish. But as much as you hated it, all you wanted to do was cry. You wanted to curl into bed and cry. 

   “C’mon,” Yoongi said softly, approaching you. “Don’t cry,” he brought you closer to him and a tear rolled down your face. “I don’t want to fight.” 

You hid your face on his chest and tried breathing through your nose to stop the tears. You could hear him mutter “I’m sorry” into your head and leave small kisses. You were touching him now, his familiar warmth and smell next to you. God, you’d been so stupid. You should’ve known, you thought then, that they would talk about grown-up things but things with Yoongi had been so easy, you thought they would be too. 

That night, Yoongi helped you out of your dress but, in contrast to what had happened in the morning, that night he left hungry almost rushed and harsh kisses on your skin. He’d tug and bite and lick and sometimes it’d hurt but you welcomed the pain the same way you welcomed him between your legs. 

As he laid next to you later, soft rays of sunlight sneaking into the darkened sky, his head facing the other side, you realized you loved him. 

Slipped away into a moment in time, because it was never mine. 

December turned to January and so did your birthday. 

Training had taken up most of your time and Yoongi had been busy with composing and comeback preparations so you had not been able to see much of each other all throughout January. But your birthday was coming up and, as Yoongi had done for Christmas, you opened yourself up and did the risky move. 

   “Birthday party?” He asked, confused.

You’d sneaked into his studio one late night. You’d rehearsed the whole thing. Two of your closest friends had come up with a small gathering, a dinner like the one Yoongi had invited you. And even when your friends suggested clubbing or something more fun, you still opted for a dinner. He’d feel comfortable there and it would be nice for him to meet your friends, your parents. 

   “More like a birthday dinner,” you threw in. “Just my closest friends, all of whom are very very private and won’t ever say a word,” you rushed to that detail when you saw his skeptical face. “Please, it’ll be fun.” 

Yoongi seemed to be weighing down the invitation and you tried not to let the ideas get to your head. You’d drifted away a little due to your schedules, and he was busy. He’d read your texts but not answer, most of the time you tried calling it would go straight to voicemail. But either way, there was always a good morning text and a “sorry. Studio” to accompany it. Maybe you were being pushy. 

But he nodded slowly and the doubts lifted from your mind. 

Everything was good. 

The moment you knew. 

Your 19th birthday came and went and you didn’t hear from Yoongi. 

Your friends had made some fancy pasta and even bought some wine you’d never heard of, one of them even baked you a cake, but none of those gestures meant as much as the fact that every time you glanced at the door, it remained closed. 

The clock rang nine bells, your friends lit up some candles and you turned 19 without a word from the man you loved. 

   “Hey kiddo” your father had approached you later that night, as your friends were laughing in the living room. “Is that the look of someone who just turned 19? I remember it to be fun.” 

You smiled without meaning it, your eyes glancing at the door subconsciously again.

   “I’ll tell you something,” he cleared his throat, noticing where your eyes were headed. “People might be busy, and work is always important, but sometimes there are moments that are worth taking a break for. Your mother hates the bassoon but she always makes time to see me play. I hate gardening but I always go with her to buy plants and whatever else wretched things are needed, because I love her. Your birthday is something to be celebrated, with the people who love you, and, if you ask me, all of them are inside this room, not out there and certainly not keeping you waiting.” 

His words felt like punches in your stomach but you knew he was right. You smiled as he kissed your forehead and went to join your friends, your back to the door. 

That night, under the covers, your two best friends sleeping soundly next to you, you felt your phone vibrate. You reached for it, your heart heavy as you knew, even without looking, who it was. 

Sorry I missed it.  3:49 am 

Work was tough. 3:50 am

Meet me for lunch?  4:10 am 

You didn’t see Yoongi until a week later. 

He’d said something about rehearsals and lunch turned to dinner, turned to breakfast, turned to lunch again for days. You were stretching inside a dancing room one afternoon, a few days after your birthday message, when your phone vibrated and a “meet me. our spot” shone back at you. 

You would’ve jumped on the opportunity but your limbs were paralyzed. 

You knew what was coming and running from it was better than facing it. 

You turned off your phone and threw it at the bottom of your gym bag. That night, you left the agency sore and you thought it fitting that physically you felt as bad as your heart did. 

Your phone was still buried inside your bag and as you walked toward the bus stop, you saw a glimpse of a familiar car hidden in the shadows. You walked past it, feeling tears run down your face as you left it behind. 

You wear the same jewels that I gave you as you bury me. 

He sat in front of you, not next to you as he always did. 

His eyes wouldn’t look at you and his leg was shaking nervously. Shinning from his neck was the dainty necklace you gave him what seemed ages ago and, foolishly, you thought maybe everything was fine, You’d thought maybe he’d say something about your hair, your manager had suggested you to try and dye it and, well fuck it, one should always dye our hair when heartbroken. 

Your hair was a pretty shade of copper now and you liked it better. You’d uploaded a picture online, the first one in months. He hadn’t seen it and he didn’t see you now. You were once again a stranger.

You couldn’t take it. Rip the bandaid fast, they say. And so you did. 

   “We haven’t talked much,” you said. 

He nodded, his gaze fixed on his shoes. 

You waited. He was silent. 

   “I don’t think we’re happy anymore,” 

He nodded again. You curled your fist, hoping to gain some strength, courage, anything. 

   “It was never going to work,” he said, finally and it felt like a hard blow. He stood up and looked at you, his hand reaching up to tug a strand of hair behind your ear. 

   “Why?” Maybe it was childish, but you needed to know. 

   “Maybe, if we had been closer on age, or maybe if we’d met later in life.” 

The words made your blood boil and you suppressed a sad chuckle. It all felt too much. Suddenly his smell was too strong, his skin too warm and the feeling of his fingers in your hair was painful. 

You looked at him. You didn’t find any warmth in his eyes but, for once, you wondered if maybe the warmth you’d seen before had actually been him or had it maybe been you all along. 

He opened his mouth to say something but you left, feeling as if you were peeling your body from his. You left the training room. Left the building. 

It was raining outside. 

Long story short. 

Award season was always weird, but most of all, it was exhausting. You enjoyed the glamour, obviously, the pretty dresses and the tasty dinners, and, of course, receiving an award here and there was not so bad. But every time you reached your apartment you felt as if you’d run three marathons. 

Exhaustion was tugging at you that night but you shook it off as people all around you fixed your outfit and retouched your lipstick. You put your earplugs in and took a deep breath, someone handed you a guitar. You’d learnt to play guitar for your new album, your arms and hands now covered in guitar string scars to prove it. You smiled as a curtain opened in front of you and a harsh spotlight hit your eyes, 

You could hear clapping and screaming even through your earplugs. You heard the now familiar countdown. The rest of your band came to life, drums first. 

Your eyes glanced upon a now familiar face. His hair was darker now, his shoulders broader and he was wearing some dark suit similar to the one you’d seen before, one fatal winter night. 

The spotlight was harsh but you could make up his features, his eyes set on you. 

You smiled, not at him but at yourself. The screams got louder as you sang the first words. 

   “I remember it all…”