Archive of Our Own

When Seokjin thinks back to that day at the Konkuk bus stop, there’s a whole list of things he wishes he could tell his past self. That haircut is really not it, or They’re gonna sell you on so much shit and about 53% of it will be true, or Enjoy your eomma’s cooking while you can. Jeon Jungkook is a little shit but also he’s to be protected at all costs, or Never, ever, walk in on Kim Namjoon unawares when he’s on the studio computer. But most of all, this is the one thing he wishes he’d known when the BigHit talent scouts approached him on that fateful day: Beware of one (1) seemingly unassuming but very dangerous Min Yoongi.

As much as young, aspiring artists fight for the opportunity, Seokjin quickly learns that being an idol trainee is decidedly Not Glamorous. He takes the train into Seoul, walks from the station to the company building, and is shuffled from room to room. He goes to class, some days, but mostly he’s at the company for vocal training or dance practice or recording or dance practice or meetings or dance practice. He isn’t a dancer, he’s never been a dancer, but he doesn’t have much else going for him but his face so he’s going to beat his gangly, uncoordinated limbs into submission if it kills him. (And it really might kill him.)

His first meeting with Min Yoongi isn't anything for the record books, as Yoongi, wearing an oversized beanie over dark hair that looks like it hasn't been washed in days, gives him an unimpressed once-over and says, “Oh. So you're the visual.”

Seokjin feels the tips of his ears flush red, but he manages to give Yoongi his own once-over and a deadpan, “That's visual-hyung to you.”

Yoongi stares for a minute before ducking his head, breaking into a breathless laugh. “Alright, alright, hyung.”

He meets the other trainees, all of them younger and infinitely more knowledgeable about music than himself. They dance until he feels like his legs are going to fall off, and then they dance some more. They eat noodles at midnight, and he takes the train home at all sorts of ungodly hours. Sometimes he wonders why the fuck he’s doing this, but then he sees his parents and remembers, feeling the insatiable need to make them proud, to do something other than just exist, to make some sort of mark in this world.

(And then he stops those thoughts in their tracks, because if he lingers on them too long, he’ll never stop.)

It quickly becomes clear to him that he’s joined the group smack-dab in the middle of quite the shake-up. A good chunk of trainees who categorically refuse to even consider being idols have jumped ship. Donghyuk can’t seem to decide what to do; Namjoon and Yoongi seem determined to see Bangtan through despite their visible stress; Hoseok and Jihoon keep plugging along; Taehyung and Jungkook hover at the edges, wide-eyed.

One day, they trudge into the practice room to see Yoongi and Namjoon standing next to a haphazardly-built blanket structure in the corner. Hoseok is sitting, back against the mirror, face schooled into an expression that barely contains his amusement. Yoongi looks slightly pained and Namjoon has a manic look in his eyes. Seokjin thinks he sees Namjoon’s left eye twitch, but he can’t be sure.

“This is the Rap Den,” Namjoon announces magnanimously, gesturing toward the precarious blanket fort.

“Where did he get those?” Seokjin whispers sideways to Jihoon.

“No idea, I don't ask questions when it comes to Namjoon,” Jihoon whispers back.

“You want us to go in there? With you?” squeaks Jungkook, who looks both exhilarated and terrified at the prospect.

“I told you the blanket fort was a shit idea, Joon-ah,” mutters Yoongi.

“You said I had your full support, hyung!” yelps Namjoon. He looks like he might cry.

“Blanket fort or not,” says Yoongi hurriedly, “you are about to get schooled in the art of hip-hop.”

He holds up his phone, showing them the playlist he, Namjoon and Hoseok have created.

“We’ve sent you all these playlists, because it’s important for you to know where our influences come from,” Namjoon says. “Our musical roots, if you will. What inspired us in our youth, the way music is used as expression and resistance, the very marrow of our bones–”

Yoongi clears his throat loudly, but places a reassuring hand on Namjoon’s shoulder.

“We expect you to listen and then come tell us what you think,” he says. “If you want, of course. Respectfully. In the, uh, Rap Den, or, y’know, not.”

“I like the Rap Den!” Jungkook pipes up. Namjoon’s eyes practically turn into hearts.

“I’ll go into the blanket fort with Namjoon, but there’s no way I’m going near that thing with you, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says. “He’ll try to murder me,” he says to the rest of the group in a stage-whisper.

Yoongi scowls, which just makes him look like a disgruntled cat. The rest of them, though, chuckle good-naturedly and start to chatter amongst themselves, and Seokjin thinks, I did that. Maybe there’s a reason he ended up in this group.

He shuffles closer to Yoongi, clapping an arm on his shoulder. “You know I don’t actually think you’re capable of murder at all, right?”

Yoongi’s mouth is still twisted into a pout. It’s very pink. Seokjin shoos that thought away immediately.

“Yeah, hyung,” he says, the corner of his mouth slowly lifting. “I know.”

“You’re just a very small, very angry kitten.”

“Hyung.”

“I could put you in my pocket.”

“Hyuuuuung,” Yoongi groans, but he’s grinning.

Time goes by. Donghyuk leaves Bangtan, but BigHit keeps him on as a producer. (He’s not sure why Yoongi doesn’t do the same, but he’s learned not to question his blessings.) Hoseok reaches a crossroads and all but officially quits, but Jungkook corners him one night in tears, begging him to stay. (He stays.)

Time goes by. Every so often, he feels oddly disconnected since everyone else lives together in the dorm, and he gets to go home to a place that actually smells like a normal house and not like a bunch of teenagers living on top of one another. He’s the oldest of all of them, but he feels strangely young; as a result, he spends a lot of his time playing around with the kids, letting off steam during their increasingly stressful days.

Time goes by. Park Jimin arrives, seemingly holding all the determination and hope and fear and warmth in the world within himself. Jihoon is asked to leave, and a pale-faced Namjoon rushes to find him first once he gets out of the meeting. Yoongi comes home one day from his delivery job with a bruise on his cheek, cradling his left arm, insisting he just fell down some stairs. They worry and they fuss and then they keep going because what other choice do they have?

Time goes by. It’s the seven of them now, and they’re given promises of a debut if they work hard enough. They record songs that Seokjin doubts will see the light of day, and they practice and they practice and they practice.

Time goes by, and he learns that Min Yoongi isn’t just a gremlin with a soft marshmallow center, he’s also an absolute fucking menace.

They sit through Jo-Kwon’s presentation on how trainees should absolutely never date, and should actually probably just be celibate for the rest of their lives. Seokjin watches as Yoongi, seated in front of him, nods along obediently; not even an hour later, Yoongi calls him and Hoseok over during a break and proudly pulls down the collar of his hoodie to show off a bright-red hickey. Seokjin has no idea how or where Yoongi is getting some given their frankly insane schedule, but he has to give the man props.

“Priorities, hyung,” Yoongi responds when Seokjin says as much. He smirks, tugging his collar back up and running his hand through his hair, which is getting longer now that he’s decided to grow out his truly atrocious haircut.

“I’m impressed that anyone was interested in someone with”–he waggles a finger in the general direction of Yoongi’s head–“whatever that is that you’ve got growing out of your skull.”

Hoseok snickers. Yoongi doesn’t seem fazed, just leans closer to Seokjin and says, “Well, they seemed to like it. Seemed to really like pulling it while I–”

“None of that, Yoongi-yah!” Seokjin leaps up, hands over his ears. “You’re all children, I can’t hear of my dongsaengs participating in this kind of behavior, it’s unconscionable!”

Both Yoongi and Hoseok are cackling now. Seokjin stomps dramatically out of the room before they can see his grin or his quickly reddening cheeks.

Later that week, without any preamble, Yoongi shows up at the company building with two earrings in each earlobe instead of just one. Seokjin shakes his head, blinks hard, and–yup, they’re still there. Instead of following his first instinct, which is to scream into the void, he decides to annoy Yoongi instead.

“Yoongi-yah. Yoongi-chi. Yoongiiiiiiii,” says Seokjin, poking him in the cheek. “What are these?”

Yoongi bats him away. “Ah, I was stressed last night. Had a great beat and couldn’t figure out what to do with it, everything I wrote was shit so I just–I left.”

“You…left.”

“Yeah. I thought, what the fuck am I doing sitting here wasting away in this studio? I need to feel something.”

“You needed…to feel something.”

“I didn’t really think about it, but like.” Yoongi sighs. “I just walked out of there, looked up a piercing studio on Naver. And it was like magic.” His eyes seem to brighten with just the power of the memory. “It’s like the pain kind of jump-started my brain, y’know?”

“I can’t say I know, Yoongi-yah, but I’m happy for you,” Seokjin says. Yoongi’s new earrings are shaped like little zipper pulls; it’s absolutely the most idiotic thing he’s ever seen and also it’s fucking him up a little.

“You just have the one piercing, hyung,” Yoongi says, stepping closer. Even though they’re inside, he’s still wearing his ridiculous gray scarf, the one he has to wrap around his neck about five times. “Have you ever thought about getting another?”

“Uh,” says Seokjin intelligently. “I, uh, I can’t say I have.”

“It’s a lot more fun after the first time,” says Yoongi, taking another step towards him. “You could come with me, sometime.”

“You’re gonna get more?” Seokjin chokes out.

Yoongi’s smile spreads slowly across his face. “Well, I mean, I don’t see life getting any less stressful, do you?”

Seokjin doesn’t know what to do with this information, and he does not want to have a full-on sexuality crisis right here in the company building, thank you very much. He’s not proud, but he does the only thing he can think of at the moment: he turns and runs out of the room, Yoongi laughing behind him.

Seokjin finally moves into the Bangtan dorm on, frankly, an unreasonably hot day in July. He's been in the dorm before, of course–to grab something with one of the other guys before or after practice, or waiting awkwardly in the tiny living area while everyone rushes to get ready to go. But moving out of his parent’s house and into the 17 pyeong trainee dorm is something else entirely, especially when the sight that greets him after opening the front door is one (1) Min Yoongi, seated on the threadbare couch, dressed only in ratty boxers and a pair of headphones hooked over one ear.

“Oh,” Yoongi says. “You're here.” He barely looks up from his laptop, which is perched on his slim, pale thighs. “Just lemme–” he clicks around, clearly fiddling with some kind of beat, then quickly taps at the keys before shutting the laptop.

“Y’know what I called that one?” he asks Jin, the side of his mouth curving up in a smirk. He doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “I called it ‘jin-hyung interruption’.”

Seokjin sputters. “I–I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to–”

“Calm down, hyung, calm down,” Yoongi says, wheezing out a laugh as he stands. “I’m just joking. Lemme show you around.”

Now that Yoongi is standing, it’s impossible for Seokjin to pretend that Yoongi isn’t practically naked. His entire pale chest and noodly arms are fully on display, and his knees are so pink Seokjin wants to flee, possibly by jumping out through the window. He needs to get it together, and fast.

“I’ve been here before, Yoongi-yah,” he says, making his best attempt at a dry, bored tone. “Do you forget me so quickly?”

“You’ve been here as a guest, yeah,” Yoongi replies. “But now you’re our roommate. You’re one of us. You’re in the brotherhood.” He wiggles his eyebrows in a lascivious manner; which, what?

“Don’t let him get to you,” says Hoseok, who’s just walked out of the bedroom on his way into the kitchen. “He was weird and barely clothed on my first day, too.”

Yoongi shrugs. “I’m just living my life, man.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Hoseok, now rummaging through the pantry. “Hey, where’s the ramyeon?”

“Jungkookie ate it all,” says Yoongi.

“Shit.”

“Hey!” yells Jungkook from the bedroom. “I’m a growing boy!”

“What have I gotten myself into,” Jin grumbles.

“C’mon, hyung,” says Yoongi, tugging at his arm. “Get your bag. I’ll show you your bed.”

Jin quickly learns the whole seven-trainees-living-in-a-one-bedroom-apartment situation is absolutely dire. First of all, the kids are always re-wearing their dirty laundry, including their sweat-soaked practice clothes, which, no. Secondly, Namjoon is in charge of the cooking, and if he has anything to say about it, Namjoon should never be allowed near a knife without heavy supervision. Third of all, he walks into the kitchen one evening to find Yoongi creating a Frankenstein’s monster of a smoothie.

“What…what is that?!” Seokjin asks as an alarmingly beige mixture whirs in the blender.

“It's just chicken breast, banana and some grape juice,” says Yoongi nonchalantly.

“I'm sorry–did you say chicken?”

“I’m a busy guy, hyung,” Yoongi says as he stops the blender and removes the lid, poking a spoon inside. “This is much easier and faster than cooking and sitting down to eat,” he says, as though all of this is perfectly normal.

The consistency seems to meet Yoongi’s approval, and Seokjin watches in growing horror as he picks up the blender pitcher and starts to drink directly out of it.

Yoongi’s eyes slide over to meet Seokjin’s as he continues gulping down the cursed smoothie. He stops and neatly wipes his mouth with a sheet of tissue, completely at odds with the entire bizarre scene. “Wanna try some?” he asks, holding the pitcher out toward him, lips curling into a smirk.

Seokjin takes the proffered pitcher, looking warily down at the mixture inside. He grabs the spoon on the counter, dips it in, and licks off a bit of the smoothie. Yoongi looks on with mild amusement.

“That’s,” Seokjin starts, setting the pitcher and spoon down. “That’s…certainly a texture. This sure is a smoothie that, uh, was blended.”

“Point made, hyung,” says Yoongi, lifting the pitcher to drink again.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know the situation was this dire,” Seokjin mutters, almost to himself. “I can’t believe I’ve let my children live like this for so long.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, hyung, we’re fine.”

“Don’t ‘don’t-be-so-dramatic’ me while you’re drinking a chicken smoothie, Yoongi-yah!” He stomps into the living area, Yoongi hot on his heels, beige monstrosity abandoned. “Team meeting! We need a team meeting!”

“Jin-hyung? Whassgoinon?” says Jimin sleepily from the couch.

“Hyung! You woke up Jimin!” squawks Yoongi.

“Why is everyone yelling?” Taehyung pokes his head out of the bedroom, the other members close behind. “Should we be yelling too?”

“Before you dismiss me as being a bougie mama’s boy who can’t exist outside the comforts of my childhood home, I’ll stop you right there,” Seokjin says. “Please remember that I am a bougie mama’s boy who can’t exist outside the comforts of my childhood home. But my eomma raised a problem-solver, and I’m a member of a group that’s fucking called Bangtan Sonyeondan, so I’m gonna bulletproof the shit out of this travesty of a kitchen.”

“What does that even mean, hyung–”

“Silence, Min Yoongi. You know what you did.”

“Sorry for eating dinner!”

“That wasn’t dinner!”

“It was–”

“Anyways,” Seokjin cuts him off, taking a deep breath. “I’m taking over the kitchen. I’m gonna cook for all of you, and I’ll even blog about it to fill the social media promo quota. Now everyone say thank you to hyung.”

“Thank you, hyung,” everyone replies in unison, much to Seokjin’s delight. (Jungkook even bows, but then straightens up quickly with a slightly panicked look in Namjoon’s direction.)

“As you were,” he tells them, pulling out his phone to ask his eomma exactly how many extra pots, pans and kitchen utensils she can spare.

It’s not entirely smooth sailing after Seokjin’s kitchen mutiny–they’re still seven mostly teenagers living on top of each other–but he does find a kind of peace in his self-appointed new role as the dorm cook. It feels good to take care of the rest of them, to make sure they’re actually eating despite their insane schedules. He also enlists the members in different jobs such as shopping, or setting the table, or cleaning up. It’s comically domestic, but it gives him the tiniest sense of normalcy in an otherwise very-not-normal lifestyle.

It’s also a great way for Seokjin to distract himself when a certain 176cm rapper attempts to ruin his life.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon several weeks later when Yoongi and Namjoon get into a very loud argument, culminating with Yoongi storming out the door as Namjoon hurled rolled-up socks at his retreating form. Several hours later, Seokjin is digging through the refrigerator in search of the gochujang–which seems to have disappeared entirely–when he hears Yoongi’s distinctive shuffle.

“Yoongi-yah!” he says, turning to ask him if he’s seen the gochujang. He’s greeted by the sight of a petulant-looking Yoongi, a scowl on his face and a new piercing in his right ear. No – make that two piercings.

Seokjin swallows hard. “A double helix, Yoongi, really?” he says, aiming for casual and hoping he lands somewhere in the ballpark. “Was the fight with Namjoon really that bad?”

“It was either this or strangle Namjoon with my bare hands,” says Yoongi grumpily.

“Why don’t you help me out, Yoongi-yah–blow off some more steam by running a teensy little errand for me?” Seokjin says, adding a pleading lilt to his tone. He needs Yoongi out of his sight as quickly as possible before he can begin to process this latest development. “It seems we’re out of gochujang and one of the manager-hyungnims is joining us for dinner and you’re our only hope to have something edible.” He bats his eyelashes for good measure. “Please?”

Yoongi sighs, but looks slightly more cheerful at the prospect of being useful. “Call me if you need anything else,” he says. Seokjin winks and shoots him a finger gun like everything is fine, and he’s not currently having an existential crisis while trying to chop up raw chicken.

Because Seokjin is absolutely having an existential crisis while trying to chop up raw chicken, he calls Yoongi not once but twice, first asking him to pick up some more ground pepper and secondly for some cooking wine. They keep volleying calls at each other trying to figure out an alternative to the cooking wine, which Yoongi can’t find, and finally settle on soju, which Seokjin thinks he’ll be swigging straight from the bottle the moment Yoongi gets home.

He’s still feeling keyed up as he types up his Bangtan Blog post later that night. Jungkook comes up behind him, hooking his chin over Seokjin’s shoulder.

“‘Chicken Titties Fallen and Drowning in Chili Paste-jin’?” Jungkook reads, laughing. “Hyung, what the heck is this?”

“It reflects the absolute ordeal that was making dinner tonight, Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin says. “Plus, I’m documenting Yoongi’s valiant efforts to save said dinner through the power of the cellular network. You know he called me five times from the store?”

“Ah, that hyung,” Jungkook says fondly. “He’s so cool, but he’s really just the cutest, isn’t he?”

“Yah,” says Seokjin, turning to face Jungkook. “What about this hyung, huh? The one that feeds you? I’m raising you on my back and you’re singing Yoongi’s praises in front of me like this?”

Jungkook straightens up and grins innocently before leaping on him to start a wrestling match, Seokjin yelping as they crash to the floor, but indulging Jungkook like he always does; like all of them always do.

The next morning, Yoongi looks over his coffee at Seokjin and says, “Nice blog post, hyung.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Yoongi-yah,” he replies. Yoongi looks soft, all sleep rumpled, his fluffy hair not yet hidden under his usual beanies or caps, and Seokjin can’t look at him for too long without feeling unbearably fond. Yoongi reaches up to toy with his new piercing before catching himself, and Seokjin feels his stomach lurch, and he quickly shoves that feeling into the imaginary box where he stashes everything he doesn’t want to think about too closely.

It’s been a long fucking day, and Seokjin has almost drifted off to sleep when the creak of the bedroom door opening shakes him from his dreamy haze. He listens to the soft thumps of uncoordinated footsteps as someone enters the room; hears the slips of socked feet on the ladder; feels the foot of the narrow mattress dip as someone crawls onto it. Seokjin keeps his eyes closed as he feels a warm weight settle at his side, half-wedged between Seokjin and the wall. Yoongi flings his top leg over Seokjin’s prone form, nuzzling his forehead against Seokjin’s shoulder.

“Hyuuuuuuung,” Yoongi slurs, voice pitched in a whine. “Wake up, hyung. Need t’ tell you somethin’.”

“Yoongi-yah, I'm asleep,” Seokjin says into the pillow.

“Noooooo,” Yoongi says, nudging Seokjin’s shoulder again with his nose. “Not sleeping, hyung.”

Seokjin turns his head to the side so he can see Yoongi properly. He’s noticing Yoongi as pieces of a whole, these days: his dark hair is mussed, sticking up in all directions; his eyes are half-lidded, drowsy; his lips are chapped and red from the chilly night air. The twin silver balls of his double helix glint in the slice of moonlight that cuts across the room.

“Hyung,” Yoongi says again, appearing to concentrate. “Hyung. I love you.”

“Oh really?” says Seokjin. “This is what you had to wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me?”

“Mhmm,” says Yoongi. “Had t’ tell you. Was important.” He tries to burrow further into Seokjin. “M’cold. You’re warm. S’nice.”

Yoongi snuggles even closer, and Seokjin feels the press of his warm lips against the side of his neck, an uncoordinated but unmistakable kiss. Seokjin’s breath hitches.

“Nice warm hyung,” Yoongi says sleepily. “Love you.”

Seokjin can’t do anything but laugh helplessly. “Yah,” he says in mock-annoyance. “Save the kissing for when you’re sober, Yoongi-yah.”

“Mhmm,” Yoongi murmurs. “I will.”

Seokjin waits for Yoongi’s breath to even out, for the sound of his soft snores. “Love you too, Yoongi-yah,” he whispers.

Seokjin plans to clown him endlessly tomorrow, but in those last moments before sleep claims him, he allows himself to relax into Yoongi’s solid warmth; lets himself wonder how things could be if they were anywhere else, anyone else.

The cool breezes of fall slowly give way to the stark Seoul winter. Rumblings of a debut date get louder and louder, and everyone is on edge, borderline desperate. Hoseok is so stressed he’s become unbearable during dance practice. Namjoon and Yoongi work more and sleep less than usual. Jimin seems like he almost stops sleeping entirely. They finally get to release some unit songs on YouTube and tread carefully around Taehyung, who is a bit put-out that he can’t appear in any of their posts or vlogs.

As the dreary days of early spring descend upon them, Seokjin notices that Yoongi’s shoulder–never the same since his fall down the stairs–seems to have been bothering him more than usual. He’s constantly wincing during dance practice and has been favoring his right arm when doing tasks around the dorm. Seokjin often enlists Yoongi’s help in the kitchen; they don’t usually talk much, opting to work in companionable quiet, the sizzling and chopping sounds serving as a pleasant, if odd, version of ASMR; but on this particular day, Yoongi’s silence feels off, almost spiky. Seokjin can see how Yoongi’s face screws up with pain when he turns a certain direction or uses his left hand to pass something to Seokjin.

“Yoongi-yah,” he says, quietly, feeling like he needs to approach with caution. Yoongi stills, wooden spoon in his hand stopping mid-stir in the pot of jjigae he’s been tending.

“I noticed…is your arm still bothering you?”

Yoongi stays silent for a beat, then another.

“I just want to know if–if I can help,” Seokjin continues. “It’s from when you fell, right? It shouldn’t still be hurting you like this–”

“Hyung,” Yoongi says, interrupting him. “I didn’t–I didn’t fall down the stairs.”

Seokjin’s brow furrows in confusion. “You–what?”

“I–I didn’t–” Yoongi shakes his head, takes a deep breath. “You know how I had that delivery job?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Well, that day–I was on my scooter, and it was–it was raining, right?”

“Right,” says Seokjin, heart sinking.

“I…it all happened so fast.” Yoongi stares intently at the pot of jjigae as he talks. “The car came out of nowhere. It was like, bam–one second I was on the bike and the next I’m on the ground. I opened my eyes and the fucking front wheel of the car was right next to my head.”

Seokjin doesn’t know what to say.

“You can’t tell anyone, okay?” Yoongi says, finally looking at him. His jaw is set, but Seokjin can see how his hands are trembling, can see the frantic look in his eyes. Yoongi has always put on his bravado like armor, but he can’t quite manage it today, and that’s how Seokjin knows he needs to do something. He has to take care of him, because he’s had enough of Yoongi trying so desperately not to need it.

“Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says, and he takes a chance and reaches out to put his hand over Yoongi’s, still gripping the wooden spoon. Yoongi doesn’t move his hand away.

“I’ve been here for more than two years, hyung,” he says. “I’ve worked my ass off, I stayed even though the company fucking tricked me into being in an idol group–I can’t let them take this from me because I did something stupid. I won’t let them.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” Seokjin says. “You needed the money. You were doing what you had to do. You didn’t know that the company would help you financially if you just asked. Fuck, didn’t they try to evict you all one time?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi allows himself a small smile at the memory. “Fuck no, we told them. And then they didn’t make us leave.”

“See?” Seokjin says. “You’re such a big part of this group. They can’t replace Min Yoongi. It’s not like you’re, y’know, me.”

“Hyung,” Yoongi says, frowning up at him. “Don’t say that. You’re not–we don’t–don’t say that.”

Seokjin looks at him, and reaches out to turn off the burner. “My point is, if we’re gonna debut, you need to be in tip-top shape if we’re going to be the synchronization machine they're selling us as,” he says, ignoring Yoongi’s remark. “This isn’t sustainable, Yoongi-yah. You need to tell the company so you can see a doctor. They’re not going to let you go, not now. And if they try, Namjoon will quit before he lets them.”

“Namjoon hates me half the time.”

“He might not like you half the time, but he loves you. He needs you,” Seokjin says. “We all do. You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re our pain in the ass.”

Yoongi snorts. “Oh wow, hyung. Thank you. You’re a wizard with words.”

“Hey, I’m not the lyricist here.”

Yoongi laughs softly, staring into the jjigae again as though it will unlock the secrets of the universe. After a moment, Seokjin turns and starts to get the bowls out of the cupboard.

“Okay,” Yoongi says, so quiet Seokjin isn’t sure if he imagined it at first. “Okay. I’ll tell them. I don’t want anyone else to know, still–not yet.” He clears his throat. “But I’ll tell them.”

“That’s good,” Seokjin says. He places a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, gently. “That’s–that’s good.”

Yoongi and Seokjin are alone in the Bangtan Room, re-recording Seokjin’s vocal track for “Adult Child.” Namjoon called it quits about an hour ago, but Yoongi can’t stop tweaking the track, and Seokjin is indulging him.

They’re playing it back, Seokjin watching Yoongi’s face cycle through a myriad of microexpressions as he listens. He scrubs back and forth through different parts of the track, furrowing his eyebrows and occasionally making notes on his yellow legal pad. It fascinates him how Yoongi’s brain is tuned in (pun very much intended, thank you) to all things music at all times. He loves watching him work. He loves watching them all work, or sing, or rap, or dance, and once again he’s struck with how lucky he is that he chose to live this insane life with this particular group of people.

Ever since Yoongi confessed the truth about his accident, Seokjin has been looking at him in a slightly different light. He’s still all sharp-edged, elbowing his way through the world, but ever since he came clean to Seokjin, he’s started to let his guard down more often, started to allow his softness to show through.

Seokjin knows a little bit about keeping your guard up. He knows what it’s like to hold your cards close to your chest, because allowing anyone to know you also allows them the power to hurt you. He knows how hard it is to let people in, to trust them. He wants to give something back to Yoongi, but maybe he also wants to take a chance and let himself be known to someone he trusts.

“Hey,” he says.

Yoongi doesn’t look up from the computer screen. “Hm?”

“I–uh. I want to tell you something.”

“What’s up, hyung?”

He feels his ears pinkening, but refuses to acknowledge it, concentrating on keeping his voice steady. “Well,” he says. “I just wanted to tell you that I like guys. Like. As well as girls. Girls and guys. I, uh, like both.”

Yoongi finally pushes his rolling chair back, swiveling to face him. “Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck absently. “I wasn’t expecting–well. Thank you for telling me, Jin-hyung.”

Seokjin nods. “I just–I trust you. We’re not going to be able to date until we’re thirty”–Yoongi barks out a laugh in response–“but I wanted you to know.”

Yoongi nods, a small smile forming on his lips. He fidgets with the strings of his hoodie; pulls the cuffs over his hands.

“If it helps,” Yoongi says after a moment, not quite meeting his eyes, but not turning away from him, either. “Uh, me too. I’m–me too.”

Now Seokjin is the one taken off guard, but with a moment’s contemplation, he thinks, Huh. Of course.

He says as much, and Yoongi bursts into incredulous laughter. “Hyung, what the fuck?”

Seokjin can't help but laugh, too. “We know our own kind, I guess.” He pauses, thinks for a second. “And like–Yoongi-yah. You're not exactly subtle in your lyrics.”

“I don’t know, hyung,” Yoongi says petulantly. “I could have just been trying to be inclusive.”

“Or when you scar us poor souls with stories about your conquests.”

“You never even let me get to the end of my stories!”

“I thought you were just really secure in your masculinity and wanted to scandalize us,” Seokjin says, pointing an accusing finger at him, “But actually, you were really secure in your masculinity, wanted to scandalize us, and were telling the truth!”

“Yah!” Yoongi smacks his arm, but he’s shaking with laughter. “Leave me alone!”

They're both grinning stupidly in that way you do when you feel known, and seen, and loved, and giddy with it all. Then, Yoongi clears his throat.

“Well! I've had about enough time in here, haven't you?” says Yoongi, clapping his hands together. “One more take and then we can go get jjajangmyeon?”

Seokjin pushes his chair closer to their recording setup. “Okay,” he says. “Let's do it.”

They're so close. They’re so fucking close. The company says it could be a matter of months, and preparations for their album and the title track MV are in full swing.

“I can’t believe we all have to show our abs,” Namjoon says one day, all of them sweaty and out of breath from dance practice. “It’s so…objectifying.”

“Objectifying? Don’t pretend like we’ve never heard your songs, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin says with a smirk. Jimin and Jungkook snicker.

“News flash, my dear Namjoon,” says Yoongi, wiggling his hands in the air. “To be an idol is to be objectified.”

“We’re about to be sacrificed at the objectification altar,” says Taehyung from his spot on the wall, where he’s laying with his legs up.

“Ugh, point made,” Namjoon says, flopping onto his back and halfway onto Jimin, who immediately starts shrieking about Namjoon’s inhuman sweat levels. The others laugh helplessly as they whine at each other until Hoseok comes over, clapping at them to get back into formation, and everyone is too afraid of Hoseok in dance mode to delay, but they can’t help but giggle during the next few run-throughs.

Once Sundeuk finally lets them call it quits, it’s two in the morning, and they trudge back to the dorm in the hopes of catching a few hours of sleep. Seokjin walks behind Yoongi and Jimin, who make a triangle to include Seokjin in their conversation as they hurry up the sidewalk. He’s half-listening as they chat and bicker until suddenly–

“I’m sorry,” Seokjin says, grabbing them each by the scruff of their necks to stop them in their tracks.

“Hey!”

“Ow, what the fuck?”

“I’m sorry,” Seokjin repeats. “Yoongi, did you say you’re planning to wear a skirt for the MV?”

“Uh, yeah?” Yoongi says, lifting his chin defiantly. “For the jacket shoot and the promotions too, actually. What, are you gonna try to talk me out of it?”

“No, no, of course not,” Seokjin says hastily. “It’s just–that’s. A lot.” He wills himself to not think about Yoongi’s legs in a skirt. “It’s. Is that very hip-hop?”

Yoongi gives him a deeply unimpressed look. Jimin seems wildly amused by the entire exchange.

“Who gives a fuck?” Yoongi says. “It’s gonna be awesome because I’m wearing it.”

Jimin guffaws. Yoongi shoots him a dirty look. “Besides, it won’t be that scandalous, hyung. I’ll be wearing pants, too.”

“Oh,” Seokjin says. “Layers. Cool. Very cool. Anyways, I’ve got somewhere I need to be!”

“Hyung. We’re walking to the same place,” Yoongi says.

“Are we? Ha, that dance practice really addled my brain, didn’t it?”

“Jin-hyung, you’re being weird,” says Jimin, grinning. “Why are you being weird, hyung? Huh?”

“You’re both gremlins and I refuse to speak any further about this.”

“You are being weird,” says Yoongi, his own grin spreading across his face. “C’mon, hyung. It’s just a black skirt. Nothing crazy. It’s not like it’s a maid dress or anything like that.”

Seokjin nearly trips over his own feet. “Nope, I’m done.” He pushes in between Yoongi and Jimin, speeding ahead of them, breaking into a jog. “Goodbye, evil dongsaengs!” he yells behind him. “I won’t let you torture me anymore!”

Seokjin can still hear them cackling behind him as he runs faster. Fucking menaces. He gets no respect in this house.

Some days are great. Exhausting, but great–listening to the finished album tracks, posing for the album jacket shoot, even the endless takes as they film the MV. They’re so tired they can fall asleep almost as soon as they get a moment to sit down, squeezing fifteen-minute catnaps into their busy schedules. They’re tired, they’re overworked, but they’re also overcome with the inevitable excitement at being this close, almost to the end of the finish line.

Other days are, to put it simply, not so good.

The box in Seokjin’s head, the one where he puts everything he absolutely, resolutely does not want to think about, is getting way too full. He’s been putting all his self-doubt in the box lately, unable to banish the thoughts completely but not wanting to examine them, either.

Maybe he should take a page out of Yoongi’s book, he thinks. He’s wanted to get another piercing for a while now, after all.

“Hey.” Seokjin sidles up to Yoongi after they break for lunch after practice. Yoongi looks grumpy, probably because of a lack of sleep and also because he always has a vaguely disgruntled look.

“So, I was thinking,” he says. “I need to de-stress. Blow off some steam, y’know?”

Yoongi looks at him quizzically. “Okay…”

“I was thinking I wanted to get another piercing, actually,” Seokjin says breezily. “And I feel like, you know a guy, right?”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “Another piercing? You?”

“Min Yoongi!” Seokjin says, placing his hand over his heart. “I take offense to this. I want to get a second lobe piercing, but on the same ear. I think it’ll make me look like a cool pirate. I really think it’ll fit my concept, Yoongi-yah.”

“Like a cool–” Yoongi shakes his head. “Okay. Y’know what, hyung? Let’s do it. I wanted to get my third lobes done, anyways.”

They take the bus to the piercing studio, and to his credit, Yoongi doesn’t laugh once as Seokjin explains to the piercer that, yes, he does want it on the same ear. In the end, it’s exactly as Yoongi described–there’s pain, yes, but mostly it just feels good. It clears his mind, makes the overflowing box in his head feel less heavy. Once it’s done, he almost immediately misses the sharpness of it. No wonder Yoongi kept coming back.

Yoongi gets little earrings shaped like stars, this time.

“It suits you,” Seokjin says. “Better than the zipper pulls, for sure.”

Yoongi scowls at him. Seokjin’s heart grows three sizes.

It’s a thousand degrees and they don’t have a dressing room and they’re wearing the gaudiest costume jewelry and enough eyeliner for a lifetime, but they’re finally at MCountdown and they made it: they’re finally going to debut.

They wait around and wait around and wait around until suddenly they’re being rushed through the hallways by the staff. Seokjin can feel his hands shaking as he steps onstage for rehearsal. Despite the endless dance practices, he still manages to fuck up some steps, and it’s–it’s just too much, on today of all days. He breathes in angrily through his nose as he dabs at his teary eyes with tissues, trying not to smudge his makeup. There are cameras everywhere, and he tries to ignore them, but hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it yet.

“Hey.” Yoongi appears at his side, still breathless from the exertion. “Let’s take a walk, huh?”

Seokjin numbly follows Yoongi as he leads them through the maze of backstage corridors, until he finally finds a corner he deems private and peaceful enough for them (which isn’t much, but still better than the hallway-cum-dressing room in which they’d spent the past several hours).

Yoongi makes Jin sit on the floor and then lowers himself down next to him.

“Listen, hyung,” he says, placing both of his hands on Seokjin’s shoulders. “I know what you’re thinking. I know what’s going on in that pretty little visual head of yours.”

Seokjin knows Yoongi is trying to make him feel better, less self-flagellating. He doesn’t lift his head, but allows himself to crack a smile.

“See? I knew appealing to your vanity would help,” Yoongi says, chuckling.

They sit quietly side-by-side for a bit, shoulders bumping against one another. After some time, Yoongi speaks again.

“I know you’re beating yourself up about rehearsal, but listen,” he says. “That’s what rehearsal is for. Ironing out the kinks before the real deal, right? I know we live inside a fucking pressure cooker but it’s okay to make mistakes, you know?”

Seokjin nods.

“Bangtan is the seven of us,” Yoongi continues. “It’s not Bangtan without a single one of us. Especially not without you.” His legs are stretched out in front of him, and he stares intently at his shoes as he says, “I don’t know if I’d still be here without the six of you, but especially you, hyung.”

Seokjin knows Yoongi well enough to know that if he holds out his hand, palm up, Yoongi will take it.

Yoongi does.

“What if I fuck it up for real?” Seokjin says in a small voice. “What if I–what if I ruin it for the rest of you? You’ve worked so hard–”

“And so have you, hyung,” Yoongi says. He reaches out with his other hand to gently tilt Seokjin’s chin up, and meets his eyes. “So have you.”

It’s a rare occasion when Yoongi makes eye contact, and Seokjin feels flayed open; the mental box is overflowing, and Yoongi can see all its contents. Yoongi knows him, and it’s terrifying; Yoongi knows him, and that’s how he knows it’s going to be okay.

“All of us have worked so hard,” Yoongi says. “This is our time. We’re good, Seokjin-hyung. We’re gonna make it. I know it, okay?”

Seokjin swallows. Their faces are inches apart. He feels the warm weight of Yoongi’s hand in his, and remembers the warm weight of Yoongi sleeping at his side. They have each other. They’ll make it through.

“Okay,” Seokjin says. He gives Yoongi’s hand a tentative squeeze. “Okay.”

Yoongi smiles, and squeezes back.

They’re about to go on stage, and Namjoon gathers them into a huddle. As Seokjin puts his hand in, he catches Yoongi’s eye before he looks away. “I’ll look at you all when it’s our last stage,” he had said earlier, and he wasn’t sure if Yoongi was serious or if he just didn’t want them to see him tear up. Either way, his hand is there, warm on top of Seokjin’s, an echo from earlier.

“Bangtan Bangtan!” Namjoon says, loud and clear. They all shout back, and then make their way up and out, stage lights in their eyes, hearts in their throats, side by side as they face down the world.