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His palms are clammy, his grip on the microphone barely enough to keep it in his hand, the risk of it slipping onto the floor growing with each second, and everyone would hear the sound that would fall from it. Which, of course, would only serve to draw attention to him, though certainly not in the way he desires.
‘Good luck, hyung!’ Jeongguk texted him. ‘You’re gonna kill it!’
There is attention he wants, there is something he wants, but not like this. The lump in his throat grows larger, and it becomes more difficult for him to swallow around it. The lights flash through the curtains leading to the stage, and the noise from the crowd is enough to send electricity down his body, through his limbs, leaving him more apprehensive than he would care to admit.
His heart pounds in his chest, rhythmic like a drum but powerful enough that it feels more like an earthquake than something so imperative to his survival. Thump, thump, thump, thump, on and on until he feels it in the tips of his fingers, down his spine, thrumming. Non-stop, everlasting. And it’s not like he doesn’t try to calm himself down, taking those long and deep breaths that everyone always goes on about, but it makes no difference to him. Not really, not truly.
If he wins tonight’s contest, if he wins… that’s rent sorted for the month. It means less overtime hours, it means more time spent working on his songs and catching up on sleeping and actually feeling like a human being. Sleep deprivation is an awful thing, leaving his eyes feeling heavier than he could care to admit, his shoulders sagging and his feet dragging as he tries to walk across the small area they consider backstage. A clothing rack against the wall is filled with the performer’s jackets, a pile of bags abandoned next to it.
Tongue darting over his lips, his thumb running over the edge of the microphone head, he tries to calm himself. He says, at the very least, but the pounding of the music from onstage combined with the slight audio of whoever is performing. Pounding, pounding, pounding away, Yoongi’s heart so very quickly matching the beat. On stage, it’s different. It’s like adrenaline, like electricity running right through your veins–
Before your performance, it’s like somebody stirring your internal organs and twisting them up. Twisting them into knots upon knots, and he’s not quite sure he can stomach dealing with that at the moment. Not sure at all.
Yoongi’s hands fist a little around the microphone, his shoulders feeling heavy, his breathing erratic. He’s been on stage before, he’s not nervous about the performance itself. He knows how to do it, he knows what he’s doing and how he needs to do it. He can play guitar, and piano, and rap like some sort of god - that much he is certain of - and he’s performed live before, so there’s nothing to be nervous about.
Yeah. Nothing to be nervous about at all. Nothing at all.
It's just different this time around. There’s more on the line, more things to be worried about. If he wins, it's a breath he can take and a weight off his shoulders, it’s the chance to relax for longer than two seconds before he has to think about where the next meal comes from. If he loses, all of that is taken away.
This industry, unfortunately and for all the rewards you can reap once you make it to the top, is not the easiest to break into. But that doesn't mean Yoongi is going to give up.
"Hyung," somebody calls him, the familiar voice belonging to Hoseok, whose head pokes around the corner with soft eyes and his lips drawn together in something he can only describe as an attempt to hide his smile. Yoongi quirks his brow at him, a silent question. "Have you seen this?"
Yoongi, ever so dry in his humour, hums aloud. "Considering I don't actually know what 'this' is, I'm gonna hazard a solid 'no'." But he is grateful for the distraction. He still has some time before he's due on stage, anyway. Hoseok shoots him a quick pout, before he's beckoning him closer, his eyes darting around as if he is expecting somebody to come and burst whatever has created this bubble around the two of them. Yoongi... hesitates, if only for a moment, looking out to the glimpses he can catch of a rival on the stage before he ducks out, around the corner that his dear friend has come from, but then he promptly... stops.
"What the fuck is that?"
"You know," Hoseok huffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he walks over to the object of their curiosity and confusion. "When somebody sends somebody else flowers, I wouldn't expect that somebody to reply with 'what the fuck is that'."
"Yeah, valid, but," Yoongi clenches his jaw. "I raise you: who is sending me flowers, Hobi?"
The flower stems are long. Where the stems have merged into one another, the colour is a cold green. The petals are long and very thin, a soft fold of white unfolds from one end, the centre of the flower a bright red. The petals of the flower wilt with the slightest touch, and a sweet scent hangs around the flower, an aroma of vanilla and honey. The flowers are in a vase, the vase sits in a bed of crushed shells and sand, a very small shell-less beach. The vase is a simple white ceramic bowl, almost empty, just a few petals left on the surface. A small card sits in the middle, a logo shining on the side they can see, and Yoongi is... completely and utterly perplexed.
Who is sending him flowers? Of all things, of all people, what?
"Well, check the card!"
"You mean you haven't?" He turns to Hoseok, who looks a little sheepish at the sudden attention.
A moment of silence as Hoseok just vaguely gestures towards the flowers, and Yoongi huffs, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as he moves towards the rather abundant and extravagant display. The card is plucked from it with his fingertips only, the small white piece of paper held delicately in his grasp. He turns the card over, his eyes catching onto the letters, neatly written and entirely unfamiliar. He says under his breath, "what the fuck".
"Marvellous, right? I mean," Hoseok's voice is suddenly very close, close enough to make Yoongi startle, his head snapping around to look at him. "I mean, a secret admirer. Beautiful flowers. A 'sugar daddy.' You have to know who sent them, right?"
"Not at all," Hoseok gives him a flat look, and Yoongi just holds up his hands in surrender. "I'm being honest. I have no idea who sent these."
"You're surprised..." Hoseok looks at him, as if he doesn't get it at all. "You're an amazing performer, it really shouldn't be this surprising that somebody likes your work."
"But to tell me to check my phone is a little creepy, you have to admit." His nose scrunches. "I don't need obsessive fans, let's be real."
"This isn't obsessive." Hoseok shrugs. "This is an admirer who is trying to get your attention. A secret admirer," he says the last bit like it's some sort of magic word. Yoongi rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever."
"Come on, are you not even curious?" Hoseok asks, but Yoongi just groans.
"I'm about to perform, Hobi, I'm busy. I'll deal with it after," he says, handing over the card so that Hoseok can take it, and the other drops his hands onto his hips.
"Hyung," his tone is a warning, and Yoongi rolls his eyes once more, only to find that the other is still looking at him. "You should really know who is doing this. Don't you want to at least know who it is?"
"I’ll find out after I perform."
Right on cue, right as needed presumably, his phone buzzes in his back pocket, and fingers deftly pull it from his jeans. A notification has lit up the screen, but he feels his heart stop. All of that racing, all of that pounding, and all of that anxiety from before just dissipates in a single moment.
[ANONYMOUS has deposited 500,000 KRW into your account.]
"I..." The words lodge into his throat, and he tries to swallow through them all. Hoseok immediately makes his way to his side, looking over his shoulder at his screen, and he barks a laugh, the sound sharp and shocking as he shakes his head.
"Wow." Hoseok rests against him, both pairs of eyes fixating on the notification itself. "Why does this shit always happen to you? Why can't I be this lucky?"
"No idea," he says, his voice very small, and Hoseok nudges him with a grin on his face that doesn't quite reach his eyes, so Yoongi nudges him back. Hoseok doesn't seem to get the message, because he keeps smiling, still looking down at Yoongi's hand, so Yoongi pinches him. Hoseok gasps, squirming out of his grasp, and Yoongi rolls his eyes, shoving his phone into his jeans once more. "I have, like, five minutes until I'm on stage."
But thankfully, the stress and the pressure that comes from the performance and the need to win is gone. All of that is gone. Now he can actually enjoy it.
What a thought that is.
Does he take the money? Of course, Yoongi should have had enough faith in himself for winning the contest, but that doesn’t mean taking the prize money had been in the slightest bit rewarding. Was he deserving of it, considering the amount that had just been deposited into his account was enough to cover his rent for the next month?
Less overtime hours, more time spent on his music. And with more and more deadlines coming up, it meant he could actually put more time and effort into the songs he was trying to sell.
Yoongi sits on the end of his bed, socks on his feet pushing against the ground as he finds himself lost in thought, just like always. His apartment is small, the front door visible from here, the light from the hallway dimming so very slowly as the hours tick on, and the night begins to slowly transition into morning.
Up all night. Not exactly the best thing for him.
He rests his face in his hands, elbows on knees. “Fuck.” He sighs, ready to go to sleep but frustrated at his work instead. “Fuck,” he mutters again, shaking his head, but only briefly. His mind is still racing, and that's the only thing he can think about.
He looks down at his hands, at the way his fingers are clasped together, long and thin and just tired, tired in every way.
This mysterious benefactor, this secret admirer, this borderline sugar daddy of all people is what has plagued his mind for ages. For hours upon hours, the only time his mind has been free was when he was rapping into the microphone, the adrenaline from the crowd filling him with enough energy to stay awake. Even then it had been Yoongi’s own thoughts that had nearly made him trip up, the way his mind kept wandering back to wonder who this mysterious benefactor had been, who he was, what he’d looked like.
Does he look nice?
‘You performed well today,’ the anonymous person would send him almost every time he performed, combined with elaborate gifts such as expensive hoodies, a load of takeout food waiting for him in the dressing room - something he would always share with the other performers - even going as far as chains and watches. ‘You look more relaxed.’
‘I have someone paying my bills for me. Of course I’m more relaxed.’
‘Does it make you uncomfortable?’
There was a brief hesitation, a moment before he had responded with a very quick, ‘No.’
He can catch his reflection in the sliver of mirror visible from the kitchen, his bleached hair is messy and pulled and the bags under his eyes are dark. Dark enough that it is like somebody has coloured them in with eyeliner, surely. And it is with that image that Yoongi groans, burying his face into his hands. He feels his cheek heat up, realizes just how stupid he’s being. His mind is focused on one thing and one thing only, and it isn’t his music.
“Why,” he asks himself, “why do you care?”
He listens as the question hangs in the air, passes through the empty space in his room. He feels the cool air coming in through the open window, the chill making his skin prickle.
Yoongi rolls off the bed, standing up as his feet hit the cold floor, toes pushing against the wood. He walks over to the window, pushing it shut as he glares at the empty street below, at the cars that pass by, at the people in the apartments across the way yelling at the top of their lungs at unruly drunks who stumble along the sidewalk.
‘Do I have to do anything? For this?” He asked one night.
‘Just keep doing what you love doing. Performing, music. You were made for it.’
His lips curl downwards.
“Why do you care?” He asks again. He presses his forehead against the glass window pane, sighing into it as the coolness fills his lungs. "Why would you send that much?" He can’t come up with a reason, he can’t come up with any sort of reason that somebody would want to give him that much and remain anonymous at the same time, perhaps because there is no reason that he can easily believe.
His eyes trail up to the ceiling, and he stares at the white paint that covers every inch. That's when it hits him, when he realizes just how much money is being offered to him and under what conditions. And it hits him like a ton of bricks.
But, he couldn't take that money. In all honesty, he wouldn't take that money.
It just wasn't right, and Yoongi had never done anything purposefully wrong in his life.
What are the conditions?
But the money was... good, and Yoongi can’t say that he has ever had somebody give him that much money. It was more than enough to pay his rent for a month, so maybe he was trying to help him out?
But what about the card? Why the card? And why the secret admirer? Why anonymous?
The itch to know who they are, to know who seemingly thinks so much of him that they would give so much money pushes to the forefront of his mind. It’s almost desperation, it’s almost uncontrollable, it’s hard. Hard to put into words that it feels like some masked, faceless being is trying to pull the strings to his life, whilst at the same time he wants to lose himself to this. It’s... exciting. The whole thing, the whole concept is exciting.
As he weighs it up, he knows that there are more pros than cons. Yoongi exhales loudly, shoulders dropping. He leans against the window pane, looking up at the ceiling as he hums to himself. He doesn't know if this person is trying to help him, if he's trying to take advantage of him. He doesn't know if the person is a creep, if he is a creep, if he is a potential danger, or if he is a potential blessing.
But the money is an obvious plus. It’s a big plus, and one that Yoongi has never had before.
He might as well give it a try, right?
‘Enjoy it, you spoilt little thing.’
Those words run through Yoongi’s mind as he clutches his phone tight to his chest, feeling like some lovestruck girl from all those anime Jeongguk got him to watch. His heart hammers a little faster, his teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he tries to think beyond the message. He can’t stop it though, can’t stop the way his cheeks try to pull into a smile, but he swallows.
The adrenaline of the performance before is still thrumming through him, each breath one that trembles and rips through his lungs. Even fresh out of the shower, he can’t get over the way performing made him feel that night. Without the usual worries of having to win the contests, without the usual panic of what happens if he can’t afford his rent that much, he was able to throw himself into the music a whole lot more. And actually enjoy it.
“You look happy, hyung.”
Speaking of Jeongguk, he nudges him in the side with a shit-eating grin, all bunny teeth and nose scrunches, the picture of the perfect idol singer. His hair is pushed out of his face, recently bleached but still remarkably soft - Yoongi knows, he made sure to check the moment Jeongguk came bounding in ready to show his hyung his new look - and round cheeks. He looks so expectantly at Yoongi, eyebrows raised, practically silently asking him to spill exactly what is making him smile so much.
“Mm, just saw a cute picture of a cat.”
“Let’s see?”
His eyes widen, and he suddenly closes the app, shaking his head. “Damn, already scrolled on. Sorry,” and he shrugs. Lying shouldn’t come this easy, especially not to his friend, but Jeongguk accepts it so easily, pursing his lips.
“Next time, show me the cute kitten.”
“I promise.”
Jeongguk goes back to looking at his phone, reclined on Yoongi’s bed widthways, next to him. Socked feet brush against the wooden floorings, his frame entirely relaxed for what is surely the first time in a long time.
While Yoongi is more in the underground scene, Jeongguk is more ‘above’ ground. If anything, it’s rare to not hear any of his songs on the radio in the car, in stores and malls, seeing people perform his choreography along the streets in Hongdae. The nation’s boy-next-door, near international heartthrob, scrolling through his social media while sitting next to Yoongi in his tiny apartment on the edge of Seoul.
Yoongi still doesn’t quite believe how quickly they became friends, and how quickly they managed to get this close before they could stop it. Not that he had any intention to, but with the media that follows his friend around so much, the last thing he wants Jeongguk to think is that he’s friends with him because of his fame, his noteriority.
Because he’s not. Because Jeongguk is funny and charismatic and Yoongi actually enjoys the time that they spend together.
If anything, the feelings he has for Jeongguk are similar to the ones he has for his oh-so-generous anonymous benefactor.
Of course, things get complicated when Yoongi gets his heart involved. Emotions are best expressed on paper, through lyrics and sounds, beats and rhythms over heated confessions, over stammering words, over anything that cannot be refined.
“When’s your next performance, by the way?” Jeongguk asks him, looking at him over his chest. Yoongi scoffs.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that, Mr. ‘Nominated For His First Daesang’?”
Jeongguk looks a little sheepish, laughing only slightly as the apples of his cheeks begin to colour pink. “I’m still your biggest fan, hyung. I want to see you perform again.”
Yoongi hums, trying to swallow the next words that threaten to stumble from his lips; a challenge. Is he truly Yoongi’s biggest fan, or is the benefactor?
‘I want to meet you.’ He had typed to him earlier, watching with bated breath and fidgeting, his heart pounding away.
‘Soon.’ Was the reply Yoongi had received, all that tension deflating out of him like he was a popped balloon. ‘I promise.’
He didn’t push, he still doesn’t. Instead, he relents. Yoongi knows what battles are meant to be won and meant to be lost, and he wouldn’t want to make him uncomfortable.
He’s been given some details. ‘He’, and ‘twenty-three’, and ‘biggest fan.’ That was all he got. Well, that, and confirmation that the money was legitimate, but nothing else. No names, no photos, no locations. He didn’t adjust to it straight away, instead feeling more and more uneasy about why somebody would want to send him such a substantial amount of money, because it didn’t stop with that first payment, with that first bunch of flowers. Clothes and unburned CDs and all sorts of things, things that were always surprises, things that Yoongi didn’t expect.
“I’m performing tomorrow,” Yoongi hums, leaning over Jeongguk and making a purposeful display by elbowing him in the stomach, making the younger groan as he supports Yoongi’s weight. The older of the two grabs his glass from his bedside table, taking a couple of sips. “You gonna come watch?”
“Of course!” Jeongguk playfully shoves him from his lap. “Maybe then you’ll tell me what has you so happy lately.”
“Can’t a guy just sit with one of his best friends and enjoy life?”
“ One of your best friends!?” Jeongguk grabs Yoongi’s pillow and moves to whack him with it.
And Yoongi catches it, laughing a little. “We both know Hoseok would come for my throat if I didn’t include him.”
Hoseok, who is the only other human in the world who knows the truth about Yoongi’s ‘good luck’ the past three months. It’s not that he’s embarrassed or humiliated or anything like that; he just doesn’t want to deal with the fallout, he doesn’t want to deal with what others have to say. God knows somebody would end up saying something and he would end up… getting heated, and surely it’s strange to be so protective over a near stranger but that doesn’t change the fact that he is.
And he doesn’t want Jeongguk to know. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t want Jeongguk to know - maybe out of embarrassment that he can’t support himself or he isn’t doing as well as Jeongguk is himself, like he doesn’t deserve to be his friend because he’s not as successful - but he knows it’s a feeling that wraps around his heart, that squeezes him tight. Leaves him breathless, but that is a feeling he has long since grown used to with all of this.
With mysterious benefactors and Jeongguk looking so incredibly soft while relaxing on his bed, it’s like his heart is in a constant state of pounding away. Stuck between a pillar and a post, a rock and a hard place; a stranger who likes what he does and wants to take care of him, and a dear friend who looks at him like he’s someone. Like he’s not just an underground rapper, but someone else.
Stupid thoughts. He shouldn’t be thinking of either of them like this, but it’s like his heart is torn in two.
Stupid.
“Actually.” Jeongguk clears his throat, the slightest waver sinking into his voice. “I was wondering if you would wanna come with me.”
Yoongi blinks, his brows furrowing. “Where?”
“To the awards.”
Looking over to Jeongguk, Yoongi notices those big eyes looking at him almost intently, lips drawn together. And he doesn’t look away, not for a moment, and Yoongi hesitates. Does he mean it? Why ask him of all people? Are idols even allowed to invite people?
To go with him… would everyone end up thinking he’s special to Jeongguk? Or worse, what if they think he’s only there to shove his name into places, using his friendship to make connections?
Or maybe… maybe they’ll just have a good time, and nothing bad will happen… And maybe…
Nope, no way. He cannot delude himself into thinking those kinds of thoughts right now, not yet. The last thing he wants to do is risk whatever friendship he has with Jeongguk over some sort of delusions of affection and feelings he thinks he has. He’s not sure if anything would be worth risking that.
“Is that even a thing?” He raises a brow at him, humming in an overexaggerated manner. “What if I get arrested? What if I end up getting banned from all events and that’s my career completely down the toilet?”
Jeongguk snorts, trying to hold in his laughter. “That wouldn’t happen. Most idols don’t invite others, because netizens tend not to like it, but I’d like to invite you to come with me.”
“Is your company going to be fine with that?”
“I already asked them.” Jeongguk sits up, that bunny smile back on his features, with his hands immediately moving to wrap into Yoongi’s sleeve. He tugs on his hyung’s arm, practically bouncing in place. “They said there should be no issue, considering you’re making a name for yourself. And I’d like to have a friendly face with me when I win.”
“You’re pretty confident.” Yoongi rolls his eyes playfully. “I thought you were making friends with other idols.”
“I am! Especially Jimin-hyung and Taehyung-hyung,” Jeongguk argues back, finally sitting up properly and crossing his legs. “But I think it would be cool to have you there as well. You can meet them and then you’re making connections, and–”
“Alright, alright.” He shakes his head at him, but he does smile back, pleased at seeing the excitement that’s written all over the younger’s face. “I’ll come with you. Only if you’re certain that it’s not going to end up blowing up in our faces.”
“I know it won’t.” Jeongguk throws his arms around his hyung and clings to him, his cheeks so full that Yoongi can practically feel it as the other pushes their faces next to one another. “It’ll be so fun. We can get lamb skewers after, right? And celebrate my win?”
He would love to see Jeongguk perform. He would love to see him on the stage again, seeing the younger pour his heart and soul into his songs, to see the energy he accumulates on stage. He’s a great performer - he wouldn’t be up for his first Daesang in his first year of debuting if he wasn’t - and Yoongi knows for a fact that whatever Jeongguk does on stage, however he performs or sings or dances, he will utterly entrance the audience.
Now, here he sounds lovestruck once again, and he clears his throat, trying to deflect attention away from the fact his cheeks are so slowly beginning to warm up. Steadily, certainly colouring red. But while it was Jeongguk on stage that first got Yoongi’s attention, it is this Jeongguk - the one who clings to him while laughing, hair fluffy from the shower, dressed in sweats, barefaced and all - that he has started to fall for.
And even so, even with that thought in his head, that feeling is attached to one he associates with him. With this nameless, anonymous sugar daddy of all people; Yoongi still isn’t sure how to feel about him, how to feel about the whole situation, but three months isn’t a short amount of time. And the conversations that they’ve shared are not lacking. Daily talks, questions and trying to figure out who this person is, yet he always ends up falling short.
But there is something about him that makes his palms clammy and his tongue run over his lips. Just as there is something about Jeongguk that gives him the utmost desire to be held. What stupid thoughts. Stupid, stupid.
Yoongi, flustered to many pieces, pats Jeongguk’s shoulder with the flat of his palm. “Of course,” he manages to choke out, heart pounding, pounding, pounding away.
‘I want to meet you.’ Yoongi types, worrying on his bottom lip as he waits for some sort of response. His clothes aren’t necessarily tight, but tighter than usual, the collar of the shirt pressing up against his neck making him feel like an invisible hand is slowly winding around his throat, squeezing until there is no hope of any breath. No hope, no chance, no way.
‘You will soon.’ Is the response he gets, the first almost-admission from the stranger that has his heart pick up the pace just a little, and he blinks.
‘You promise?’
‘I wouldn’t lie to you.’
‘Then when?’
There is a moment, then another, and then another. Yoongi waits, staring at the screen as if he doesn’t know a watched pot never boils, but his chest feels tight. All he wants is an answer, a response, something that indicates he will get to meet this oh-so-mysterious benefactor, perhaps so he can make his final choice.
Jeon Jeongguk’s performance on the stage, the camera angles and the water and the white shirt, it left him speechless in every sense of the word. Suddenly, it was like everybody who had been staring at him, whispering about him, like they were all gone and the only person that mattered was him . Jeongguk, who so clearly loves performing, loves his craft, and it is that love that gets everyone else to love him too.
Is’t love that Yoongi has for him, or is it something else entirely? He can’t say for certain, not really, but he has a feeling that it could be. And is he really willing to risk losing anything with Jeongguk for somebody who won’t even tell him his name?
But at the same time, is he really willing to risk these budding feelings for a stranger and his friendship with Jeongguk at the same time? If he finds out the situation, if he finds out the truth, does that mean suspicions would be confirmed, and Jeongguk would have thought that Yoongi was only friends with him for his own benefit?
There are so many things that could be wrong, and it leads to Yoongi’s stomach essentially tying itself into some huge knot. Twisting and twisting, until there is nothing but pain and ache left behind. He exhales a little shakily, running a hand over his face before he looks back to the monitor, back to what’s on stage, despite the fact Jeongguk’s performance has long ended.
( He’s getting changed backstage, he knows that much, but that’s it. He’s not exactly well-versed in the internal workings of end of year award shows. )
‘Today.’
Yoongi’s phone buzzes in his hand and he looks at the notification without a second thought. And it doesn’t quite click straight away. His brows furrow, his mouth goes dry, and he thinks for a moment; is he here? Is he an idol? A manager? Or a fan that hides amongst the crowd? Is he even here at all, or is Yoongi once again readying himself for all sorts of disappointment in his own ideas, his own thoughts?
‘Are you here?’
Yoongi fidgets, bouncing one foot in place as he tries to keep himself in place. Now there are more questions - does he go to him? Does he stay and wait for Jeongguk?
He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to have to choose. Because in his heart, in these short few months they have spent together, Yoongi thinks he wouldn’t end up choosing any option other than Jeongguk.
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘Balcony. Outside.’
So maybe that’s what he should do, at the end of this. Maybe he needs to get an answer, for once and for all.
He just hopes Jeongguk doesn’t end up coming back and thinking Yoongi abandoned him. Because, if anything, the opposite is the truth. He’s not getting out of his seat to pick someone else over Jeongguk, but rather to find the truth.
The balcony is almost completely empty, as Yoongi expected, and he finds the stranger waiting there, leaning over the railings, looking out at the stage. Roped off and reserved for - what the sign states - VIP attendees, lights line the railing like fireflies. Everything is quiet, the chatter of everyone around the arena dying down too, the performers on the stage slightly muffled, as well as the crowd and finally, the moment is quiet and peaceful.
“You came.”
Yoongi can’t bring himself to be surprised, but he’s still not sure whether the words are directed at him or at the empty space of the arena. The same space that he came from. He takes in a deep breath, heart pounding, and he closes the distance between them, feeling the fabric of his shirt rub against his chest. ”I did.”
“I’m glad.”
“Me too.”
The words are starting to sound familiar, he thinks.
A comfortable silence settles between them, and it’s the sort of silence that Yoongi wants to preserve. It’s quiet, just like he’d imagined it would be, and it’s - it’s good.
But there’s something about him. Him. About long legs and broad shoulders surrounding a small waist. Chin in his hand, eyes drawn to the horizon of the city that surrounds them too. He’s tall, taller than Yoongi by a few inches. He’s lean, but not too skinny. There’s muscle underneath his clothes, hair pulled up into a small bun at the crown of his head, and then he turns to face Yoongi.
It's Jeongguk.
Jeongguk's voice carries a tone that's quiet and kind, and warm too. The words he says are soft, and he speaks clearly, lips smooth, but there’s a slight smile to his face that makes the corners of his mouth turn up. The breeze caught at his hair, the strands that didn’t quite get captured by the hairband, making his silhouette blur, like a melting candle.
It was him, the whole time? He was the mysterious benefactor, the biggest fan, the sugar daddy?
"...you're him?"
“Yes,” Jeongguk says, no hesitation. Here, his eyes are bright and honest, and he holds Yoongi’s gaze for a moment, and then he smiles again. It’s genuine and pretty, and Yoongi can feel his heart slowly shatter, crack open with the weight of his revelation, with the slight upturn of his lips. It’s an honest smile, and one that crumples his heart and makes it so much easier to breathe.
Yoongi’s hands are shaking, and he feels his fingers squeeze together. The edges of his vision turn soft as he takes in a sharp breath, and he can’t remember when his eyes start to burn, even as he fights back the tears. He’s bright, he’s beautiful. Yoongi can feel it in his chest, the butterflies fluttering in his stomach; the relief that runs through him is so strong, Yoongi feels it in his bones. He takes a step back, and for once he can’t control the volume of his voice. He can’t help but let out a loud laugh, a shaking of the shoulders and a hand coming up to cover his mouth, even as he tries to control the volume of his own laughter. That solves one of his problems.
Jeongguk takes his breath away. Again.
"I was thinking for weeks over whether or not I would have to choose between you both," he admits before he can really stop himself, hand slamming over his mouth properly. "Wait--"
"Does that mean what I think it does, Yoongi-hyung?"
Jeongguk, of course, looks as cocky as ever, beaming wide at Yoongi, who seeks to bury his face into his hands. Not as smooth as he would have preferred, at the very least. But Jeongguk is still looking at him, and he's still smiling, like he knows something that Yoongi doesn't. Like he knows something that Yoongi did not realise, even though he knows that he did. He opens his mouth again but then he stops himself, blinking hard against his own thoughts, and he can't help but stare right back at him.
"You’re beautiful."
It's not directed at the boy in front of him, more a thought happened to be said out loud, but Yoongi feels the words rumble through him, and they resonate deep in his bones. They reverberate in his soul, in his heart, and he can feel it in the tips of his fingers.
He's beautiful. And he's here, and he's smiling and he's right in front of him. He’s one buying gifts for Yoongi. He’s the one telling him how amazing he is, how talented he is, how big a fan he is of him, when surely it should be vice versa.
Both the people his heart has been trying to love ends up being the same person. How about that?
This is the moment that Yoongi had been waiting for.
He ends up laughing again, and Jeongguk joins in this time, his laugh light and infectious and he’s glowing. Yoongi’s glad, he’s so damn happy that Jeongguk is here, that Jeongguk’s the one he’s been waiting for.
His words have made Jeongguk happy too, because Yoongi can see it in the way that his eyes light up, in the way that he smiles, his teeth peeking out from behind his lips. And he’s beautiful, and Yoongi is a goner, he can feel it in his bones.
"You’re the one," he says again, softer this time, and he takes a step towards Jeongguk.
Jeongguk takes a step forward too, but he stops when he finds Yoongi’s hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket. He looks at Yoongi, puzzled, and Yoongi feels the rush of the moment. The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he knows what it means for him to say out loud, for him to admit.
And then he reaches out, and he takes Jeongguk’s hand in his own, and he feels his heart beat just a little bit quicker. He’s scared, he’s shaking, and he’s nervous, but it’s a feeling that he’s known all too well. It’s a feeling that he’s been feeling his whole life, especially around this boy.
Jeongguk looks at him, tilting his head, before Yoongi manages to choke out, "Do you wanna... go on a proper date with me?"
The younger smiles, taking his hand in his own, bringing it up to his lips. He presses a lingering kiss to his hyung's knuckles.
"I thought you'd never ask."