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when yoongi looks at that journal settled to the side of his school books, he thinks about what he could write in it. he couldn’t write just anything in it though; in regards to technicalities, he could, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so with the importance it’s held. everyone had one. there wasn’t a person he didn’t know who hadn’t had one of their own.
there was one time yoongi asked his mother about the journal — what were they for? rather than giving her son a plain answer, she fetched her own to convey her answer.
‘it’s a book for soulmates, yoongi,’ she spoke softly as she cradled his body on her lap. ‘mom and dad wrote in this so that one day we would meet.’
her journal was thinner compared to his own, but each page was filled to the brim with the distinct, crisp lines of his father’s handwriting as well as what looked to be rushed, almost cursive-scribbled syllables that belonged to his mother’s hand. not every page was taken up though — there were still plenty of pages left for his parents to write out. on the first page touched by ink though … yoongi had those words engraved in his memory from then on.
‘ let’s be happy together. ’
when yoongi is nine, he’s still wondering what his first words should be in his journal.
/
when yoongi is sixteen, he has yet to have ink touch the pages of his own diary.
said diary is tucked into the first drawer under the surface of his desk, clear of any ink blemishes on all of its pages. that was one thing — his supposed partner hasn’t written anything in it either. he would know, he checks it at the end of every day. it’d be a lie to say he doesn’t feel a little disappointed each time to see nothing change like the past sixteen years of his life. before he can think any more about it though, he’s already settling himself to sleep to have his routine repeat on a loop.
wake up. brush teeth. wash face. eat breakfast. school. go home. homework. shower. dinner. check journal. see nothing. sleep.
that cycle hasn’t broken after he graduates high school.
/
some time during high school, yoongi picks up another notebook. it’s a regular one though, a smooth black hardcover with the spine of the book resembling that of an actual novel. he gets it to write down what he should say to the person who shares the same connection as him via journal. in the three years he’s surviving secondary level education, more than half of the extra book is filled with greetings and lyrics he thinks would be better conversation starters — none of them are written in his soul book.
his mom says that his partner may have the same dilemma as him, not knowing what to write in the notebook they share. yoongi wonders if his soulmate is even alive at this point.
jungkook thumbs the first page of his journal that he’s been staring at for what seems like forever. the bottom right corner of it feels much thinner compared to the rest of the page, mainly because he’s rubbed at it the most. it wrinkles just a bit, leaving a subtle impression that something has been written in it. but there’s nothing.
he thinks for a long time — for six years wondering what to say in his book. he knew the purpose of the diary and knew there was someone out there that would make him smile in the end. the problem was, he didn’t know who it was. no one does, at first. that’s the reason why the notebooks are there in the first place. to provide some sort of connection before a face-to-face meeting. jungkook wonders if he had ever incidentally ran into the person he was supposed to be with, but he finds it unlikely.
the journals are just meant to be something like the red string of fate after all.
jungkook contemplates what he wants to write for awhile. one time in junior high he had the book open, spread in front of him after completing his assignments for the day. he wondered if he should just go ahead and go along with a simple greeting: ‘hi, i’m jeon jungkook, and you are?’ what stops him are the possibilities that the person out there he could be with was an asshole or something; it’s enough for him to drop his pen and shove the journal into his bookshelf for another five years before he would think about writing in it again.
/
the next time jungkook pulls it out to give it a look, he’s in his first year of college. the only reason why he gives it any more consideration than he had in the past several years is because of his best friends who’ve been together since diapers. apparently, jimin didn’t like his partner at first. it was mainly because it took just a bit more time for the older of the two to get used to an open character like taehyung. but here they are, both twenty-two and holding hands over a decade later.
jungkook thinks this time, when he has the book sprawled in front of him again, he should say something and make the first move instead if his partner was still missing in action. he still doesn’t know what too write though.
/
[text] to: jimin hyung
> hyung, i need help.
[text] to: jungkookie
> definitely if ur calling me hyung rn
[text] to: jimin hyung
> never mind.
> i’ll ask taehyung hyung instead.
[text] to: jungkookie
> wOW RUDE
> no, tell hyung what’s up
> do i need to fite someone
[text] to: jimin hyung
> no fighting, but it has to do with my soulmate.
[text] to: jungkookie
> oHMY GO DHSH
> DID U FIND THEM????
[text] to: jimin hyung
> no.
> uh.
> what’s something i could write in my notebook to them?
[text] to: jungkookie
> well, what was the last thing they said to u?
[text] to: jimin hyung:
> nothing.
[text] to: jungkookie
> wow okay
> so this is gonna be ur attempt to get them talking?
[text] to: jimin hyung
> help me.
[text] to: jungkookie
> yea okay
> write smth that’ll leave an impression on them then
[text] to: jimin hyung
> like????
[text] to: jungkookie
> ur majoring in art, aren’t u?
> do art then
/
and that’s how jungkook finds himself pulling out his set of watercolours and brushes, both well used after going with him through hell in high school, as well as a can of water along with his journal that has yet to feel anything press down on its crisp pages. he takes a breath, softly exhaling as his pencil taps the surface of paper. he decides he’ll go without a plan — just go along drawing mindlessly so that after he’ll paint over it and hopefully leave a good impression for his partner to see. that is, if his partner even opens their journal.
when he usually paints, he doesn’t take long on the sketch. in fact, only five minutes pass before he sets his pencil aside and goes right ahead for his first brush. he gives his sketch a moment of attention, his brush hovering just above his palette that’s already open and ready for him to use.
“hydrangeas, huh,” he mutters to himself.
he swipes a soft lavender hue from his palette, dabbing it on the various petals littered on the page before him. moments later, he switches out for a different brush, the bristles thinner than the first one he grabbed. he taps it lightly in a pink rose tint and delicately flicks the colour into the center of the flowers. he takes his time with this, seeing as how the flowers curled around the edge of the page to leave majority of the center empty. he doesn’t take too long on the piece, only leaving the book aside to dry once he dabs faint white strokes to resemble raindrops on some of the flowers.
standing up from his seat after being hunched over for the past hour or so, he stretches his arms above his head and moves to grab something to eat. maybe watch some musicbank while he’s at it. yeah, sounds like a good plan.
he just hopes that he’ll get a response from someone that might be there.
when yoongi first notices the change in his notebook, he gives the painting a solid ten minutes of staring in sheer surprise before he reminds himself that he should probably do something about it. no one has ever seen his journal aside from his parents, or knows where yoongi leaves it for that matter, so it makes little sense for anyone to be writing in his notebook other than the person he nearly assumed never existed.
did his partner just mistake their soul book for a makeshift art portfolio? or was this person trying to talk to him for once? it’d be a real shame if it were the first one, honestly.
but what could he say to this? was the other person who knows how far from him expecting him to draw something back? if anything, he was the worst artist out there — well, him and hoseok tied. that didn’t change the fact that almost anything he attempted to draw in a decent attempt was indecipherable. traditional art was not his forte, thus why he produces art through a different medium, otherwise known as music. he was an artist alright — a musical artist.
but that still gives him zero idea on how to respond to his now active soulmate that just gave him a piece of art for a greeting.
/
it takes yoongi a week to even think of a response at all to the painting still present in his journal. for once, he’s actually taken it with him almost anywhere he went — to his lectures, to lunch, to work, etcetera. all because he was trying to think of something to say (forget drawing anything) in the blank space left by his anonymous partner. it’s when he’s finished with his last lecture of the day and at his studio (in reality, it’s a studio he rents and shares with namjoon and hoseok) that he figures he should write something to at least ensure the person on the other end know he’s not dead yet.
he scribbles down ‘are you an artist?’ in the corner closest to the binding of his journal. it feels empty leaving it at just that, so he draws a little stick figure with a giant smile that crosses the lines of the figure’s face just beside his question.
it isn’t even a full five minutes later before he sees ‘maybe i am if you tell me what you are?’ scrawled just beside the stick figure. at least the writing is legible, yoongi thinks.
‘a musician. sorry for the wait, kid.’
/
that evening turned into three evenings in a row, then soon turning to become any chance either had to open the last page they were talking on. for the most part, yoongi keeps his interactions to writing everything, maybe even slipping in parts of lyrics he’s considering on using for a mixtape he’s been arranging for the past two years for the utmost perfection. despite their frequent conversations, they still had yet to learn of each other’s names. the older makes up a thought that maybe it’d be best if they found out the moment they meet in person, another thing to be discussed at another time.
on this current day, he only lets the person he’s slowly been associating with their scribbled handwriting that he won’t be able to talk much for the next few hours.
‘go ahead and write/draw what you want me to see when i get the chance to.’ - yoongi
he closes his journal afterwards, packing it away with his laptop as closing up his shared studio to make refuge in the campus library for material for a paper he has due coming soon.
jungkook shifts in his seat in the media center of campus, a hand resting on top of his palm on the table he’s been sitting in for past hour or so. he thought maybe he could find something to help him warm up before he started on his final assignment. mr. jung had made it clear that the students had free reign on the subject of the composition of their choosing, so long as it had been a life drawing fusion. so far, nothing’s been progressing well. honestly speaking, the past hour was spent with him doodling to his partner who stopped him out of nowhere to mention his lack of presence for the next couple of hours.
the brunet sighed, shrugging as he figured at least it wouldn’t be as easy to distract himself now with his partner off somewhere doing whatever.
he stares off straight ahead of him at one of the window panes shining in a bit of sunlight into the building. there aren’t many people inside the library, save for himself, a few students shuffling in and out to borrow books, and the librarians. he thinks maybe he should just sketch what he sees right now. he could worry about fusions later when he’s watercolouring.
before he completes his thought though, a student comes into his line of vision, settling at the table closest to the window as he pulls off the white snapback he has perched on his head on top of a stack of books he has huddled to the side of the laptop he pulls out of his backpack.
nice undercut, jungkook finds himself thinking.
while the student makes himself comfortable at his table, jungkook finds himself dragging his journal in front of him with his pen still intact from where he set it down to bookmark. there’s something about the sight of the man a few yards away from him that made his fingers twitch. perhaps it was the way the setting jungkook was staring at just moments before didn’t feel filled without the extra body there. he sketches down the sight immediately — he had to have it down before he lost the glow it gave him.
the stranger’s eyes were downcast at the text that sat in front of him, his posture slouching just slightly as he hunched part of his weight on his hand that skewed his glasses just slightly with his cheek pushing up the side of the frames. it left a good shot of his side profile for jungkook to draw. he gave vague details to the man before him, from a faint outline of his white button-up to the cross of his legs under the table. the brunet didn’t use much time drawing the other though. maybe a good ten or fifteen minutes before he moved along with the table the man sat at. then to the expanse of shelves surrounding him. then the window he had just noticed had a translucent curtain waving gently at a small breeze that eased into the room.
jungkook stared down at the sketch, quirking his eyebrows together in as he eyed for something missing. he breathed softly, drawing his hand up to swipe quick strokes to draw vines on the shelves, along the legs of the table of his subject’s territory, and up the legs of the stranger’s chair. another breath was drawn before he jotted down floral lavenders resting on top of the stranger’s book in front of him. he made quick work to pull out his watercolours to the top of his own table, now filling in black and white with ethereal hues to compliment the scene he saw when he lifted his head up.
when he finishes the last of his piece, he smiles sheepishly at it, scratching the back of his neck with one hand as he adds a comment at the bottom corner of the page. ‘what do you think? ^^’
yoongi decides it’s an appropriate time to take a break, being that he’s done nothing but give himself an eyestrain and what is becoming a crick in his neck from staying in the same exact position for the past … three hours? oops.
he leans back in his chair, twisting his torso just a bit so that he could get a few cracks out of his spine before turning his attention to his journal present under his hat. he pulls it out, checking to see if there’s been any one-sided conversation going on since he last checked in on his partner. to his surprise, he nearly drops the diary on the table with the sight he’s met with.
it’s of him, looking like he’s in some sort of magic library? but he almost looks like he’s meant to be part of that world. but it is of him. what the hell?
his head turns opposite of the window, catching sight of soft brown locks and cherry red lips putting away art supplies — watercolours, yoongi notes — into the bag set on the strangers lap. he brings his attention back to the notebook that he now has spread wide open on his table, moving absentmindedly to shove his books (excluding soul book) into his bag. he turns to the next available page in his journal: ‘i would’ve never thought the first time you draw a person in this you’d draw me instead.’
just as jungkook finishes packing up the last of his palette, his eyes shift to the side to see some ink being painted on the page beside his finished piece.
“‘…you draw a person in this you’d draw me instead’?” he reads aloud.
the moment it clicks in his head, his head flashes up to the scene he had worked to painting for the past two hours to watch as the stranger he had used as his model walk his way, what seems to be a hint of a grin curling up at the corner of his lips. said stranger makes his new seat just adjacent from jungkook, setting his bag down beside his chair before he slips over an opened notebook that read: ‘the rest is fiction — this moment is reality.’
his eyes flick down down to his own journal, watching as those same words, in the same handwriting print themselves on the page below his partner’s last words.
“min yoongi, and you are?”
he smiles, a faint pink dusting his cheeks at their strange meeting. “jeon jungkook.”