Chapter Text
The sound of Hoseok singing in the shower breaks through Yoongi’s dreamy haze. He blinks his eyes open slowly, focusing blearily on the stars stuck to his ceiling. He reaches for his phone and lifts it above his face to see the time, just before eight. He groans and drops it again, bringing up both hands to rub at his eyes. He could just go back to sleep, skip classes and everything else and wake up Saturday morning instead. He didn't sleep enough, too anxious to do more than toss and turn for a few hours before finally drifting off.
Hoseok hitting a very strident high note in the shower makes the decision for him and he throws off his blankets. He stretches with a yawn, scrunching up his face as he moves his limbs like a starfish on his mattress. He shivers a little with the temperature change, he'll probably need to start wearing more than just underwear to bed soon. September is warm enough at the beginning, but soon it will be getting cold again. New England weather at its finest.
Rolling to the edge of the bed, Yoongi forces himself to sit up on the edge. He looks down at the floor, his ratty stuffed rabbit having fallen out of bed when he threw the covers. He picks up the plush, pushing back the lop ears and dusting it off before setting it delicately on his pillow. The round black eyes stare up at him as he presses a finger against the button nose. He turns away and his eyes catch on his guitar case in the corner.
He feels like he can almost see the instrument inside, like it should be visible through the worn material and fading stickers of the case. It feels like it's mocking him, the smile of the Blink-182 logo staring at him with mirth. "We're not doing this today," he mumbles to himself, dragging a hand down his face. He forces his eyes away and stands stiffly, crossing to his dresser. Hoseok's singing and the sound of the shower have stopped. Getting a shower in before he leaves for class will help. It'll wake him up, make him feel a little more human, maybe take away some of the shakiness.
He looks down as he pulls open his dresser drawer, his fingers are trembling. He clenches his fingers into a fist, scowling. The nervous energy coursing through his body, like sparks of electricity, is too much for eight in the morning on a Friday. He wills the trembling away as he unclenches his hand and grabs a clean pair of underwear. Pulling his towel from his closet door he steps out of his room.
The bathroom door is open and Hoseok's door is closed. Yoongi is thankful he can avoid a chipper good morning first thing in the morning. As much as he loves his roommate, he's not ready to be alive and enthusiastic about his day. He stares at himself in the mirror for a few seconds, left over steam from Hoseok's shower making it foggy and blurring his edges. It's off-putting, weirdly fuzzy and too much for his half-asleep brain.
He is being way too emo for this early in the morning.
The shower helps, warming him to his core and washing away his fatigue and shakiness. He pretends the trembling from his fingers was just the cold, not nerves. He can almost believe it as he dries himself off and brushes his teeth. He looks more alive now in the mirror as he wipes away the fog, cheeks pink and eyes less glassy and hooded. As he ruffles his hair with the towel, he feels like today might go well. But he has twelve hours to get through first.
Coffee will help. As he stands with his hip cocked against the counter and watches the coffee brew, he feels a little better. The smell of the rich liquid has his eyelids fluttering closed, a soft smile on his face. When Hoseok appears a few minutes later, Yoongi is mindlessly peeling a tangerine between sips of coffee as he stares out the window.
"You're disgusting," Hoseok chirps, walking to the fridge for a protein shake.
Yoongi looks over and frowns. "Excuse you?"
"Who eats tangerines with coffee. That's so gross, it must be illegal or something. Some kind of hate crime."
Yoongi slowly pops a section of the fruit into his mouth, keeping eye contact with Hoseok as he chews and takes a sip of his coffee. Hoseok shudders.
"Honestly bizarre." Hoseok leans back against the counter and appraises him for a few moments. "How are you feeling?"
Yoongi swallows the last section of tangerine and shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "I'm fine."
"I see we're lying not only to ourselves but to our best friends today as well, how grand," Hoseok states blandly, fixing Yoongi with a look.
"I'm fine, Hobi." Yoongi is mostly fine. "It's not even that big a deal." It is a little bit of a big deal.
Hoseok hums but doesn't push it. "If you say so, Yoongs. Want to walk to class together?"
"I have to drop something off at my advisor's office, you go ahead."
Hoseok squints at him for a moment, probably not believing him, but finally nods and steps away from the counter. "I'll see you at lunch?"
Yoongi mumbles a noncommittal answer, watching over the rim of his mug as Hoseok grabs his backpack, shoves his feet into his sneakers, and leaves their apartment with a wave. He slumps after, draining the last of his coffee and sighing as he plods back to his room.
His guitar case mocks him again from the corner as he throws a flannel over his t-shirt and grabs his messenger bag.
The trip to campus is short, a footpath behind the apartment buildings takes him easily to the center of campus. He sticks to the edge, dodging around other students on his skateboard, a folder of papers clutched in his hand as he eyes his watch. If he can just make it to his advisor's office before eight fifteen he can slide the folder into his mailbox without having to talk to him. Then he won't be late for class. And he won't have to go over his composition.
He comes to a stop outside the arts building and takes the steps up to the entrance at a jog, pulling open the doors and rushing down the hall to the staff offices. He sighs in relief when he sees that Dr. Graham's door is still closed and shoves the folder of papers into the mailbox next to the door. He's safe, turning on his heel to head down the hall and nearly colliding with his advisor. Shit.
"Ah, Mr. Min," Dr. Graham says, smiling indulgently. "Good to see you, are you here to talk about your portfolio?"
Yoongi fiddles with his fingers as he looks down at the floor. "I'm sorry sir, I actually have to get to class. But I left a draft in your mailbox for a new piece."
The professor steps around him and pulls out the folder. Yoongi wants to make a break for it while his back is turned, but he's not rude. He stays rooted in place as the man flicks through the pages. "Piano and guitar?" Yoongi nods. "Any vocals?"
Yoongi licks his lips and shakes his head. His jaw clenches imperceptibly.
"I still think," Dr. Graham begins, shuffling the papers to review the next page, "I like this here," he says, pointing to a section of the music before continuing, "I still think that vocals on some of your songs would be a welcome addition."
Yoongi doesn't respond, he's trying too hard to keep the frown off his face.
"I know you can write lyrics," the professor states, not unkindly, "I'd love to see them put to use. I would like to see you write something with vocals and record it for your next sample. Call it extra credit."
"I don't know any vocalists," Yoongi hedges. He hopes the professor doesn't know his friend circle. Hopes he isn't aware of his friendships with Taehyung, Jimin and Seokjin.
The professor raises an eyebrow. "You can't sing it yourself?"
Oh. No. "I don't sing."
"I still think it would be good, and show a broader range of your skills. We can talk more about it after class tomorrow if you like."
Yoongi nods, knowing he'll sneak out the back of the hall before that can happen. "Thank you, sir," he mumbles and hurries off before he can get dragged further into conversation.
He checks his watch as he reaches the path outside the building, seven minutes to get to the other end of campus. At least it's not uphill, he thinks, as he pushes off the path and skates toward the hill to the social science buildings.
The morning passes in a haze of his general study classes. He barely pays attention, doodling in the corner of his notebook through statistics and history. He makes a tiny bit of effort in his music theory class, being more interested in something actually in his major. But his mind is elsewhere, as he watches the time tick away he feels shakier with each passing second.
Dragging himself out of his music theory classroom, he sighs in relief knowing that his classes are done for the day. Now he just has to get through lunch. He contemplates texting the group chat and saying he's going home, but he knows he wouldn't hear the end of it. Taehyung would probably intercept him somehow and drag him to the dining hall.
He's still contemplating it when he feels hands on his ribs and hears a chirped “Boo!”
He squeaks and jumps, nearly falling off his stationary skateboard as the fingers dig into his sides. He turns his head to see Taehyung staring at him. Yoongi blinks owlishly at him.
"You were thinking about skipping lunch, weren't you?" Taehyung grins at him.
Yoongi will never understand how Taehyung knows these things. "No..." he trails off lamely, knowing Taehyung sees right through him.
"Uh huh, right, good then. Let's walk together."
Yoongi picks up his skateboard and relents, allowing Taehyung to link their arms and propel him toward the dining hall. He listens distractedly as Taehyung chatters on, mentioning something about Jimin's hair and a mentoring program he's signed up for. He wonders what that has to do with Jimin's hair but then thinks he maybe got the two thoughts mixed up and stays quiet.
The rest of their friends are already gathered around their normal table as they enter the building, trays of food at two empty places just for them. Taehyung slides into a seat between Jimin and Seokjin and proceeds to attach himself to Jimin's lips, kissing him eagerly.
Namjoon groans as Yoongi slides in next to him across the table. "Didn't you just see each other this morning?"
The two break apart with a pop. "It's been a long day," Jimin states serenely, running his fingers through Taehyung's messy curls. Taehyung coos and boops Jimin's nose.
“It’s barely been four hours,” Namjoon grumbles.
Yoongi notices that Jimin's hair is now cotton candy pink instead of blonde. So that's what Taehyung had been talking about.
Conversation flows around Yoongi as he digs into his lunch, it seems they had been busy talking about a test Namjoon and Seokjin have in their art history class when Yoongi and Taehyung arrived. Content to fade into the background for a while, Yoongi fills his cheeks with chicken and rice.
Seokjin is lamenting the fact that the student he’s been cast opposite in the semester’s musical is a girl who is apparently desperately in love with him. “It’s so difficult,” Seokjin moans, leaning dramatically over the table, “She just will not take a hint that I’m into guys.”
“Have you told her you’re not interested?” Hoseok asks.
Seokjin nods stoically. “Of course I have.”
“Have you used those exact words?” Namjoon prods, squinting through his glasses.
“Well,” Seokjin hedges, “Not exactly.”
Jimin giggles from the other end of the bench. “Jinnie is too nice, he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings.” Jimin leans forward to see past Taehyung. “I told you what to do.”
Seokjin groans and shoots him a glare over Taehyung’s shoulder. “Jimin I am not going to make out with you in front of this girl.”
“Babe, you said you’d make out with Seokjin?” Taehyung asks, looking a bit put out.
Jimin pats his arm. “Only to help, baby, that’s okay right?”
Taehyung nods. “Oh, of course. I don’t have a problem with it, I’d just like to watch.”
Jimin giggles and Seokjin groans again. “Disgusting. Jimin I’m not going to kiss you because firstly, you have a boyfriend and you’re both gross enough already. Secondly I have absolutely no desire to kiss you -”
“Why not?” Taehyung interrupts, “Jimin is gorgeous. And I can say for a fact that he is a great kisser, twelve stars out of ten.”
Jimin kisses him and grins. “Thanks, Tae bear. You’re a twelve out of ten, too.”
Seokjin continues as the two begin trading kisses, tracing each other’s faces with fingertips and cooing. “Anyway, I feel like that’s not the way to do it. I’ll just have to tell her I’m dating Namjoon or something.”
Namjoon chokes on his lunch and Yoongi reaches over to silently thump him on the back. “You’ll do what now?”
“What?” Seokjin points his fork in Namjoon’s direction. “You don’t want to pretend to date me, Joonie?”
Namjoon’s cheeks are now scarlet, perhaps from the coughing fit, but most likely due to his huge crush on Seokjin.
Hoseok leans forward over the table, nudging Yoongi with his elbow. “Jinnie,” he begins, drawing Seokjin’s attention. “Why don’t you just date Namjoon for real?”
Namjoon makes a strangled sound on Yoongi’s other side.
Seokjin raises his eyebrows and seems to contemplate the matter, tapping his lips with his fork. He shrugs. “Okay.” His lips quirk into a small smile. “Namjoonie, take me on a date tomorrow.”
Namjoon promptly spills his water all over the rest of his salad before hastily agreeing to taking Seokjin out for lunch.
Yoongi rolls his eyes, patting Namjoon on the back again before returning to his lunch. He mostly tunes his friends out after that, as Hoseok talks about the new freshman who tried out for the dance team. Yoongi shovels rice into his mouth as Hoseok waxes poetic about how advanced the freshman’s skills are, with Jimin chiming in to say how hot he is.
He's half way through his plate, feeling victorious over the fact that no one has drawn him into the conversation, when someone kicks his shin. He jerks in his seat and looks up, finding five pairs of eyes fixed on him. He swallows thickly and clears his throat. "What?"
Jimin leans over the table toward him, grinning smugly. "Seokjinnie asked how you're feeling about tonight?"
Yoongi stalls, patting his lips with his napkin and taking a sip of his water before sitting up straight in his chair. A pressure on his leg causes him to look down and he sees Hoseok's hand on his thigh, squeezing just above his knee. Reassurance. He licks his lips and looks up again. "I'm fine." He looks around at their disbelieving faces. "Really."
"This is a big deal," Seokjin says carefully, "It's okay to be nervous."
Yoongi rolls his eyes. "It's not a big deal, anyone can do this. It's not like I was specially invited or something.
"It's a big deal that you signed up, that you feel ready," Namjoon says evenly, giving Yoongi a dimpled smile, his face is much less red now.
Yoongi shrugs. "I guess," he says blandly. He doesn't like the attention, doesn't like being fussed over. Part of him feels like he shouldn't have even told them.
Hoseok's hand squeezes his leg again. "You're going to do great, Yoon, I know it."
Yoongi nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He stares down at his plate, feeling a little queasy. "I think I'm gonna go," he says, pushing his tray away.
"You haven't finished eating," Taehyung points out, lifting his head from where he's been nuzzling into Jimin's neck.
"I'm not hungry."
"Do you want me to go with you?" Hoseok asks quietly, hand smoothing over Yoongi's thigh.
Yoongi shakes his head and reaches to squeeze Hoseok's hand before gently lifting it from his leg. Hoseok lets him and watches as Yoongi stands. "I'm gonna go study or practice or..." he trails off, stooping to pick up his bag and skateboard.
"We'll see you tonight, yeah?" Jimin asks from across the table.
Yoongi turns back as Seokjin speaks. "It's okay if we come, right?"
He wants to say no. Wants to tell them to stay home and forget about it. Maybe he should stay home himself, just hide in his room under his covers. Just him and the glow in the dark stars, him and his bunny. That sounds pathetic even to him.
"It's okay, I'll see you guys there." Maybe their support will help. Especially if he bombs it.
"You're not going to bomb it," Taehyung says sagely as he hand feeds Jimin a French fry.
Yoongi just blinks at him until Taehyung winks and turns away to curl closer to Jimin's side. Jimin's cheeks turn pink, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as Taehyung begins whispering into his ear. This is Yoongi's cue to leave.
"I'll see you guys later."
Hoseok catches him by the hand as he turns away. "Text me if you need me, Joon and I are going to the library but I can come home..." he trails off.
Yoongi squeezes his hand before pulling away. "I'll be fine."
An hour later, sprawled face down on his bed, he does not feel fine. The nerves are back, ratcheted up to a seven out of ten on the panic scale. There's no obligation, he doesn't have to show up tonight. He really could just stay home and eat ice cream and watch anime in his underwear. He is an embarrassment. He wonders if he should just suffocate himself in his pillow.
Deciding that suffocating himself would just cause a lot of problems for Hoseok, Yoongi rolls onto his side. He curls himself around his stuffed rabbit, burying his nose in the soft fuzz between its floppy ears. He wonders if it would be weird to bring his stuffed animal with him.
It would be weird. He's not five. He's twenty and an adult who can do grown up things. He does his own laundry and can cook his own meals. Sure, his mom still makes his doctor's appointments when he's home but that's no one's business. He's pretty sure that's not a skill he acquires until at least twenty five, maybe thirty.
He lifts his head to look at his bedside clock. It's barely two thirty. Five and a half more hours to kill. He groans and rolls onto his back, stuffed rabbit held to his chest. Maybe he should prepare more. That could make him feel better. He turns his head to the corner. From his guitar case the grinning skull of the Misfits logo is definitely mocking him.
He pushes himself into a sitting position and grabs his phone. He has a few texts from his friends, a notification from Instagram, a missed call from his mother. He hits the do not disturb button and drops it back on his bed.
Okay. Enough moping.
He stands and makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing a tangerine and a bottle of water. His fingers tremble as he peels away the skin, slipping over the cool flesh as he pops the sections into his mouth. He still feels a little nauseous but the sweet citrus on his tongue helps a little, the juice bursting and filling his mouth. He notices last night’s dirty dishes and his coffee mug from earlier. He rolls up the sleeves of his flannel and washes the dishes, staring blankly out the window over the sink as he does.
A mindless task like this is helpful, getting rid of some of the itchiness in his fingers as he scrubs at the residue from last night’s dinner. He knows he’s just killing time but he’s not sure what else to do. He could work on one of his compositions for class or go to the library with Hoseok and Namjoon and try to do some homework. The thought of sitting in the library while his friends give him the side eye makes him shut down the option immediately.
He dries the dishes and puts them away, glancing around the kitchen to see if anything else needs to be tidied but it looks clean. Much cleaner than the apartment of two exhausted college sophomores should look. With a grumble, he carries the bottle of water back to his room and stands in the center of the floor, gazing around idly. Maybe he should clean his room?
There are textbooks thrown under his desk, shoes and clothes strewn about the floor, and a pile of CDs that have fallen off his bookshelf, jewel cases scattered across the carpet. He bends to pick up a sweatshirt and sets to work. The task of cleaning helps him relax, as each object is slid into place he feels a little bit of his control return. Clutter removed means things are less messy in his room and less messy in his mind. After what feels like hours later he stands up and smiles at his handiwork, feeling more relaxed. Until he looks at the clock and sees only twenty minutes have passed.
He leans his head back and groans at the ceiling. When he tips his head forward again, his eyes lock on his guitar case. It feels like one of those spooky portraits with eyes that follow you no matter where you go. No matter where he looks, it always seems to be there. Taunting him. Nirvana’s yellow smiley face is a blatant tease.
He turns away and grabs his phone, plugging in his earbuds and sticking them into his ears. He turns on some soft music, something to help him relax, and closes his eyes. He probably looks ridiculous, if Hoseok came home now and saw him standing with his eyes closed in the center of the room he would probably call his parents. He tries to practice some meditative breathing Namjoon had tried to teach him, letting himself get lost in counting his breaths.
He becomes aware, vaguely, that he is pacing. He's not sure when it began, he's a few songs into the album so it must have started some time ago. His room isn't large, so pacing back and forth from his desk to his dresser only takes a few strides. He's honestly surprised he's not dizzy from how often he has to spin around.
It's not doing anything good for the general queasiness he still feels, though it's helping to relieve some nervous energy. He pulls his earbuds out, frustrated, and forces himself to stop. He still has three and a half hours to kill and he's not going to do it like this.
He sits heavily on his bed and sets an alarm for seven, throwing himself onto his side and gathering his stuffed rabbit into his arms. He had been worried, when he started at university and moved in with Hoseok in their shared dorm last year, that the other boy would make fun of the bunny. His parents had tried to convince him not to pack it, his mother even removing the stuffed animal from his backpack and trying to hide it.
Yoongi hadn’t thrown a tantrum since he was six but he seriously considered having one in the middle of the living room. When Yoongi had hesitantly placed the toy on his pillow Hoseok had only glanced at the blue and white plush and said cool rabbit before unpacking an entire suitcase of plushies. It wasn’t until a few weeks later, when they were sitting on Hoseok’s bed watching a movie, Yoongi’s rabbit in his lap, fingers tracing the curve of an ear, that Hoseok asked him about it.
“An old friend won him for me at the Fourth of July carnival where I used to live,” he mumbled, burying his face in the soft fur. An easy enough explanation. A lot unsaid.
Hoseok had hummed before reaching into his own pile of plushies. He drew out a large fuzzy penguin and held it up. “My ex won me this one at an arcade, he was a total ass but the toy is cute.”
Yoongi had nearly squeaked at the nonchalant way Hoseok had said he. Yoongi, while openly gay, didn’t usually talk about it so easily. Hoseok was easy to get along with anyway, the two of them growing close in the first few weeks of school, but this made Yoongi relax even more. It had been a while since Yoongi had felt like he could fully be himself around a friend, not since…
“Yoon?” Hoseok’s voice had been barely audible over the movie.
Hoseok’s voice snapped him from his thoughts and he looked over. “Hmm?”
“I asked if your rabbit has a name?” Hoseok repeats, cocking his head.
Yoongi looked down at the bright blue rabbit, the black eyes staring back at him. “Blueberry,” he mumbled, feeling silly.
Hoseok had only chirped “Cute!” and they had gone back to watching the movie.
And now, a year later, Yoongi is still using Blueberry for comfort. Honestly, it’s been two years since he’s been seeking comfort in the soft fur. A little over two years now since he’s had the rabbit, a little over two years since he lost touch with the person who gave it to him. He buries his face between the floppy ears, his mind spinning with thoughts of scrunch-nosed smiles and wild laughter.
The sound of his alarm rips Yoongi from a dream of sand and ocean waves, strawberry ice cream sweet on his tongue. He scrunches his nose, rubbing his face into the pillow, trying to recapture the feeling of sun kissed hands holding his. With a grumble, he pats the covers for his phone and picks it up, silencing his alarm. He’s glad he was able to find a way to pass the time, but now he feels groggy and probably looks like a mess.
He rolls out of bed, rubbing his face, and plods to his dresser to look in the mirror. His eyes are puffy, a large pillow crease on one cheek, and his hair is sticking up on one side. Yoongi shuffles from his room to the bathroom and wets his hair to smooth it down and restyle it into some kind of normal shape. He scrubs his face and brushes his teeth, feeling a little less groggy by the time he’s done.
His shirt is a little rumbled but he doesn't feel like changing. The flannel is comfortable, blue and grey plaid that he's had for a while now. It's worn and reminds him of late nights playing the guitar on the beach. Maybe it will bring him luck, or at least make him less nervous. He tries to straighten it out as best he can in the mirror, folding the collar down and smoothing the wrinkles with his hands. It's good enough.
He should probably eat something, have some leftovers for dinner. He's only had two tangerines and half his lunch, he's definitely hungry. But he's nauseous and his stomach is in knots. He's not sure he can stomach anything more than water. He grabs a bottle from the fridge and leans against the closed door, sipping slowly. His stomach roils as the liquid hits it. His mouth fills with saliva, his body clenches.
Spinning, he slams his hands on the counter and leans over the sink, the small amount of water he managed to drink coming right back up. He dry heaves into the sink for a few minutes, tears gathering in his eyes and pain lancing through his core. He wishes Hoseok was there to rub his back. He's also glad Hoseok isn't there to fuss over him or see him like this. A double edged sword.
He returns to the bathroom after, brushing his teeth and washing his face again. He's blotchy, eyes red and bloodshot. Thankfully he didn't burst any blood vessels in or around his eyes. That would be all he needs. One last thing to send him over the edge when he's clearly having a rough enough time. The thought of just curling back up in bed with his stuffed rabbit and pulling the covers over his head seems even more appealing.
But he's not a quitter, he's a grown ass man. He's not going to scare himself out of this. He only allows himself five minutes of sitting cross legged on his bed, face buried in Blueberry's belly until he shoves himself to his feet. He glances at his bedside clock. Just after seven thirty. Okay. Okay, he can do this. He shoves his phone into his pocket, grabs his keys and approaches the corner.
He feels ridiculous, like he's approaching a wild animal that could bite him. He grits his teeth as he reaches out, he's not going to tremble, this is ridiculous. With a decisive movement he snatches his guitar case from the corner and straps it to his back. The weight is heavy and familiar. He is not Atlas carrying the world, he's just Yoongi with an acoustic guitar on his back. And he doesn't need to be so dramatic.
It's already dark as he exits the building and sets off down the street, street lights on and illuminating his way to the bar. It's not a long walk, five or so minutes that pass too quickly for comfort. Before he can really catch his breath, slow his heart rate and make himself relax, he’s standing in front of Geno’s and staring at the sign in the window.
Open Mic Night.
It’s been there ever since Yoongi can remember. Yoongi went most weeks the previous year, sitting to listen on Friday nights. Never brave enough to get on stage, to get out his own guitar and play. But he practiced more over the summer, playing until his fingers ached and bled. He wanted this. Wanted to prove that music isn’t just a hobby for him, no matter what his parents say. Piano, guitar, a drum kit if he can get his hands on one. Anything to make music, play his favorite songs, write his own.
He’s just going to play some old favorites, just two songs. He thought about bringing his electric guitar, really getting into it, but the idea of all the cords and wires tripping him up had him shuddering. He wants to keep it simple, at least for his first night. He wants badly for there to be others, to show he can do this. To show he is confident and talented and he belongs in a world of beautiful sound.
He squares his shoulders and marches through the door. Making his way to the bar, he blatantly ignores Taehyung’s waving arms from a table in the corner. He’s pointed to a stage door by the bartender and approaches another man.
“You’re Yoongi Min, yeah?” the man asks, looking down at a list in his hand. At Yoongi’s nod he continues. “Welcome, good to have you, you’re up third. You can hang out here or you can go backstage.”
Yoongi glances around, the bar is pretty busy and he’s pretty sure seeing it fill more would make him even more nervous. “Back stage, maybe?”
The man opens the door he’s standing in front of and gives Yoongi a kind smile. “No need to be nervous, I’m sure you’ll do great.”
Yoongi mumbles a quiet thank you and steps through the doorway. It’s dimly lit, a hallway with a couple of open doors to green rooms and stairs to the stage. He peeks into the first room, a couple people are in there talking, the second is empty. Sitting down heavily on the couch, he takes out his guitar to tune it. He knows his set would be better if he sang too, the words of his professor coming back to him, but he doesn’t sing. This will have to be enough.
He hears the announcer introduce someone and then the sound of singing and a ukulele. He tries to focus on himself, slowing his breathing and tuning his guitar. He runs through a few soft chords. He’s only doing two songs, they’re not even complicated. Nothing he wrote himself, just a couple pop punk acoustic ballads he knows by heart.
Time passes him quickly, he hears applause and then the sound of a keyboard, no vocals. He recognizes a Dresden Dolls song and something else he can’t place. Then the music is ending, applause again. And he’s up. It’s his turn and he doesn’t feel ready. He could just walk out, he could put his guitar back in the case and leave through the door he came on, walk home and hide. His friends wouldn’t judge him, wouldn’t think he was pathetic. Or if they did, they wouldn’t tell him to his face.
But then he hears the microphone again, here’s the announcer introducing their next performer, hears his name. And he can’t back out, not when they’ve said his name. He doesn’t even register that his feet are carrying toward the stage until he’s up the stairs and waiting at the edge, just out of view. The announce is smiling at him, beckoning him forward. He moves like a robot, feet carrying him to the center of the stage, legs sliding him onto the stool under the light.
He licks his lips and takes a deep breath. He swallows hard and leans forward to speak into the microphone. “Thank you, I hope you enjoy these songs,” he murmurs, hearing his voice amplified around him. He adjusts the mic down, closer to the guitar, he won’t need it to sing.
His guitar pick feels slippery in his clammy fingers but he keeps a grip, refusing to let it fall to the floor. He breathes out and begins. His fingers know where to press, how to strum, the chords of Dashboard Confessional’s Screaming Infidelities are as familiar to him as breathing. He keeps his eyes down on the strings as he plays, not really needing to look, but too nervous to look at the crowd.
He can hear his friends cheering, a wolf whistle he’s pretty sure comes from Taehyung, as he bites down on his lip and gets lost in the music. He finds himself settling into it, feeling less afraid as he continues. He knows this song, knows how to play, knows what to do. He also knows the song would be better with lyrics. But he shoves that thought away again, enjoying the hum of the instrument against his chest as he relaxes.
There’s applause as he finishes his first song but he still doesn’t look up, not even as Jimin is screaming his name like a madman and Hoseok is hooting like an animal. He quirks a smile, shaking his head and readjusts on the stool before moving into Morning Star by AFI. One of his favorites. He remembers when he learned it, sitting on the low roof of his garage, the California sun setting behind them as he played. And with him, singing along to Yoongi’s guitar, voice sweet as the blueberry ice cream on his lips was…
He snaps himself back to the present, barely recovering before missing a fret. He refocuses on finishing the song and as he plays the last note he finally allows himself to look up. His eyes sweep over the crowd, pausing as he sees the table full of his friends. Even through the bright lights, he can see their beaming smiles, possible tears shimmering in Jimin’s eyes. As the applause from the crowd starts he lets his eyes sweep over the room again and he freezes.
A shaggy head of dark hair, wide brown doe-eyes, pink lips, slightly parted. Yoongi feels his breath catch in his throat, his heartbeat speeds up again in his chest. He's transported.
California summers on the beach. His toes in the sand, waving from the shore at the surfer in the water, bright blue board cutting through the waves to reach him. Salt spray on his face and warm hands on his hips, an arm around his shoulders. Sticky ice cream fingers and scrunched noses, bunny-toothed smiles gleaming in the warm sunshine. Piggy back rides through the carnival, pins knocked down and a blue bunny pressed into his arms. "It looks like you," he had whispered, pressing a kiss to the black button nose. Warm nights sitting on the sand or the corner of Yoongi's roof, learning these songs together. Perfect melodies, a voice floating into the air sweeter than spun sugar. Yoongi's fingers on the guitar strings.
And those doe-eyes, wide and warm, melted chocolate pools staring deep into Yoongi's.
A year of perfect memories, two shining summers, dipped in gold and cherished.
Memories with Jungkook. Who he lost touch with after his family moved across the country.
And he's here. Sitting at a table in this bar in Connecticut, 3,000 miles from where Yoongi last saw him, an entire continent's length away.
But he can't be here, he can't be real, staring into Yoongi's eyes with none of the warmth he remembers, face a blank mask. Right?