Chapter Text
Jimin squeezed his slightly sweaty palm into a fist over his black slacks. It was his first outing since the headlines appeared on national TV and the photos broke the Internet. His mother had convinced him to go, or more like forced his hand in this issue, leaving him no choice.
It would be good publicity.
And maybe she was right. In the eyes of the people he needed good publicity.
“I’ve booked the photoshoot with Dior and the exclusive interview for next Tuesday,” Kim Seokjin, Jimin’s personal assistant and even a friend these days, said from the seat next to Jimin, looking at his tablet. “Tiffany wants you for their next campaign.”
“Still?” Jimin asked, watching the buildings go past outside the car window.
“It’s an American brand, they don’t care about the scandal like they do here. It’s more an additional leverage than hindrance.” Seokjin tapped away on the tablet screen. “Speaking about that, there was another article again today.”
Jimin sighed. “I already know I fucked up this time, no need to rub it in.”
“I wasn’t rubbing it in. It was actually in your favour, look.” Seokjin handed the tablet to Jimin to see.
Prince Jimin caught kissing another man — a time for change?
“No creativity,” Jimin said.
“But it’s better.” Seokjin took the tablet back. “And as long as you stay out of trouble for a while — “
“Out of trouble.” Jimin rolled his eyes. “I dated him for two months, I liked him. That’s not being in trouble. We might still be together without those Dispatch photographers.”
“I understand that, but the public doesn’t.”
“Hyung, please, can we just continue tomorrow with all this?” Jimin asked. “Right now I’m facing three hours of mediocre classical music, because my mother wanted me to make an appearance at her competition.”
Seokjin pursed his lips and gave Jimin a look, he had his dark hair pushed back and he was in his usual dark button up and black suit. Jimin had always admired Seokjin’s shoulders, being on the narrower side himself.
“Just one thing,” Seokjin said. “Your mother reminded me about booking you an appointment at the hairdressers.”
“No,” Jimin said immediately. His fringe was already tickling his cheekbones and the hair at his neck almost touched the collar of his shirt, but he quite liked it in that length. “How much longer to the venue?”
Seokjin narrowed his eyes, but then relented and knocked on the partition that separated the driver from the back seat area. With a quiet buzzing sound the partition began lowering down and Jimin could see the driver lean his ear back a little.
“Are we close?” Seokjin asked.
“About five more minutes, Seokjin-ssi,” the driver said. He was new at the job, and had only started as Jimin’s personal driver two weeks ago when Jimin’s old driver retired. Kim Taehyung was the same age as Jimin, twenty-eight years old and so far so good. Though Jimin had yet to try if Taehyung would drive him around to places that shouldn’t be publicised.
Queen Hyunjae’s Annual Classical Music Competition was held at the Seoul Arts Centre Concert Hall. The competitors came from all around the country, some even from overseas. The Queen would be busy with the competition for the whole next week, attending the different qualification concerts. Tonight was the opening show. The main event, when the Grand Prize winner would be chosen and awarded with the Queen’s Music Scholarship, was going to be held a week later on Saturday. It was a sought after award, Jimin knew that, even though his knowledge of music in general was lacking (apart from a few piano lessons in his younger years, he’d always been more of a dancer).
His mother was already at the venue, making sure she was there to greet all the esteemed guests and show her face in their box seats. Jimin would join her soon. Unlike his mother, who lived in Seokjojeon Hall Palace, Jimin lived on this side of the river, having his own penthouse apartment in the Mark Hills Cheongdam, in Gangnam-gu. He would have agreed to a cheaper penthouse, but his mother insisted he should show who he was even if the power of the Royal Family was only superficial these days. The Queen might have been the Head of State, but she didn’t make many political decisions herself.
The round shape of the venue came to view when the car slowly drove in front of the doors.
“Okay, action plan,” Seokjin said once they noticed the front doors were swarmed with press and the cameras already began flashing before the car had even stopped. “Hoseok is already there, he’ll open the door for you and escort you inside.”
Jung Hoseok was Jimin’s trusted bodyguard of six years, a bubbly personality in private, but lethal in his job. Or that’s how Jimin liked to imagine since Hoseok had been in the Special Forces before joining the Palace staff.
“Don’t answer any questions thrown at you,” Seokjin continued. “They’ll try.”
“What if they ask about my clothes?” Jimin asked. Since he was going to work for Dior he had chosen his clothes from them, black wool mohair slacks, a black silk button up shirt with embroidered details on the collar and next to the buttons, as well as a beige wool bomber jacket, since the weather was still a bit chilly in the evenings.
“You say the brand if you want, but no chit chat, no stopping. Just straight through the doors. And when it’s over, I’ll be here with Taehyung-ssi to take you home.”
Jimin took a deep breath and smiled. “Thank you, hyung. You’re the best.”
“I know I am,” Seokjin said with a short high pitched laugh. “And you definitely create work for me. But get ready, Hoseok is waiting.”
Seokjin leaned forward in his seat to look out of the car window on Jimin’s side and Jimin did the same. Hoseok approached the door in his impeccable black suit, slicked back hair and an earpiece. Jimin had many times joked how he looked like a secret agent and many times Hoseok had a hard time keeping his serious exterior intact. But he was a professional and when they weren’t lounging on Jimin’s huge couch, drinking beer and laughing at silly videos, Hoseok was the epitome of cool and collected.
Jimin’s heart jumped as Hoseok opened the door. He had lived his whole life in the limelight, attending different events since he was young, his face decorated the papers when he was only a week old, but there was always that little moment of nerves, that little thing that made his palms sweat and heart race. And the flashing from the cameras was easily overwhelming, Jimin had to squint and cover his eyes at the onslaught by the press.
“Ready?” Hoseok asked in a quiet voice before he moved out of Jimin’s way and opened the car door fully.
Jimin gave one last glance towards Seokjin who gave him a thumbs up and an encouraging smile, and he stepped out.
“ Your Highness! Your Highness! ”
The shouts began immediately. The way to the door wasn’t long, but Jimin could barely see from the flashes. Sunglasses would have been a good idea.
“ Can you tell us if the photos were fabricated, Your Highness? ”
No, because they weren’t fabricated, Jimin thought, trying to concentrate on Hoseok’s guidance.
“ Did you really have an affair with the actor Kang Kiwoo-nim, Your Highness? ”
It was a budding relationship, not an affair. But it turned out what happened was the wrong kind of publicity for Kiwoo and too much for him, as it often was to every single man Jimin had managed to date. Not that there were many, being a Prince limited his options.
“ Are you still with Kang Kiwoo-nim, Your Highness? ”
“ Where did you meet? ”
“ Who are you wearing today? ”
“ How does it feel to be involved in yet another scandal, Your Highness? ”
“ Are you really into men, Your Highness? ”
Hoseok hurried Jimin with a hand on his back. The doors were right there and soon Jimin stepped through them to the foyer, the cacophony of questions got cut by the doors closing behind him. The hardest part was trying to look like you weren’t running from the press while running from the press. Jimin sighed.
“That wasn’t too bad,” Hoseok said from Jimin’s side as they continued towards the Concert Hall.
“Right, sure,” Jimin deadpanned. “Try being in my shoes for a moment.”
“No thanks, being next to you is enough. Besides, your shoes are too small for me.”
Jimin would have slapped Hoseok’s arm if they weren’t out in the open. He let out a small huff, but smiled, keeping his poise.
The corridors were relatively empty apart from the people working at the Seoul Arts Centre or a few guests hurrying to the concert like Jimin. He had wanted to arrive at the last moment to avoid the public. Jimin should have to thank Seokjin for scheduling his arrival right before the concert was about to start, because the timing was impeccable. He felt the few eyes at his back and received a few respectful nods and bows as he walked past, but other than that he was let be.
Hoseok escorted Jimin all the way to the third floor, to the door that led to the box seats reserved for his mother and him. It was the first and highest box on the left side of the stage. The lights of the Concert Hall were already out and his mother was sitting on the other of the two seats closest to the railing.
Jimin could feel the silence of expectation in the air. He hoped no one from the audience noticed his arrival, but as he took his seat on his mother’s right side, he could see some audience members whispering and pointing up at their box, trying to do it surreptitiously yet failing at it.
“You’re here,” the Queen, Park Hyunjae, whispered to Jimin, doing it in her unnoticeable manner, almost not moving her lips at all, because sometimes there was press around where they wouldn’t see and they might try to lipread.
“I promised I’d come, mother,” Jimin whispered back, turning his head to the side enough to mask his mouth.
Hyunjae sighed and smiled, placing her hand over Jimin’s for a moment. “Thank you.”
Jimin removed his jacket and leaned back in his seat, sighing too. It was going to be a long evening.
The first performer was a sixteen year old girl, a piano prodigy, as Hyunjae whispered to Jimin from the side. But that was all Jimin could internalise, the long name of the piece she was playing went over his head. And it wasn’t the lack of beauty in the playing or in the music itself, it was the fact that Jimin could have been doing something else entirely than sitting in the box being stared at. It was high enough to flare Jimin’s fear of heights too. Hoseok was lucky to get to stay behind them by the door.
After the sixteen year old piano prodigy was a violinist from another age category. Then another pianist. There was a flautist in between before another pianist. But Jimin felt like he was starting to melt in the seat. He had to hide a yawn behind the back of his hand, bowing his head down a little to not be seen by the audience below. He glanced to his left to see how enraptured his mother was, a small smile on her face. She really loved this competition, organising it, listening to the music. Jimin wished he could relate, that he could find the same visceral enjoyment he saw from most people around him.
Another set of applause woke Jimin up from his trance as a violinist wrapped up her performance. He breathed in and tried to sit up straighter in his seat, hoping no one had snapped a photo of him in an unfavourable position.
“ Next, Jeon Jungkook on cello performs 12 Danzas Espanolas: No. 2, Oriental by Sergei Rachmaninoff for cello and piano, accompanying him on piano is Min Yoongi, ” the announcer said and another applause followed as the two men walked to the stage.
Jimin found himself snapping to sit up even straighter when he saw the man who carried the cello by the neck. He almost wished he was a little closer to the stage at that moment. The man, Jungkook, was wearing simple black suit pants and a black button up with shiny shoes, not much different from any of the other performers. His short hair was styled away from his eyes, leaving some strands falling over them. And as he settled to his seat, making sure the endpin of his cello was at the right height, that his bow hairs were tight enough twisting at the end of it, Jimin could see a glimpse of something peeking from beneath his sleeve. A tattoo? As Jungkook turned his head to nod back to the pianist, Min Yoongi, Jimin saw the glint of piercings in his ears and on the corner of his lower lip too. Was that even allowed? It felt wrong in the delicious kind of way.
The concert suddenly got a lot more interesting.
And then Jeon Jungkook began to play.
Jimin swallowed at the first notes, leaning a little forward as the bright beautiful sound began flowing out of the cello with every bow stroke. The piano accompanying in the background was equally beautiful, but Jimin had eyes only for the cellist. He felt immediately mesmerised, he was positively transfixed by the way Jungkook closed his eyes and lived with the music with a slight sway of his body. The way it looked so light and easy, the way he breathed with it.
Jimin wished at that moment he knew a little bit more about the art itself.
He found himself yearning for more knowledge about cellos. He found himself yearning for — something. Something more.
The way Jungkook’s evidently strong thighs cradled the wooden body of the instrument between them, gentle yet sturdy. The way his left hand moved up and down on the neck of the cello on the strings, his long deft fingers. Jimin wondered what else he could do with them. The passion showing on Jungkook’s face. The way his brow creased in the middle, the way he bit his lip from time to time. It had Jimin catching his breath and placing his hands on top of the railing to see even better.
Was anyone else seeing this? For Jimin this was the clear winner and the song wasn’t even halfway. The competition hadn’t even started.
For a quick glance he looked around, trying to see if he was the only one as deeply affected by this performance. But he couldn’t let his eyes linger on the audience below when he wanted to see every single second of the man playing. Every little change of his expression.
And when the song itself went through the crescendos, Jimin felt it in his bones, the chills that ran through his spine, stirring something in the pit of his belly. Making him gasp, his lips parting a little, blinking away the confusion, because what magic was this.
The song made him feel . The clear sorrowful notes with a certain longing trapped inside them, the trills, the vibratos, they made him feel. And he hadn’t felt properly in a while.
Not during that fateful morning a few months ago when he woke up to the first headlines, his phone going off and Seokjin storming into his apartment with a panicked look on his face, because this time it was bad. There had been rumours before, of which way the Prince of the country leaned, but this time there were photos to back it up. High definition photos. 4K on the front page. At least almost.
Not when Kiwoo decided to end things, because he couldn’t handle the scandal on his end. It affected his career. Jimin had liked him, he really had. It hadn’t exactly been a heartbreak, but it had come close.
And now the song was speaking it all out in the open, ripping him inside out, spreading all of Jimin’s emotions into the air.
It made him feel alive.
Jimin wanted to talk to the cellist. He needed to, he decided.
As the song came to an end Jimin hardly realised it. One minute the sound was still flowing into his ears and in another Jungkook slowly lifted the bow from the strings, smiling in a way that to Jimin looked content. Jimin could see him take a breath before he raised his head and looked towards the audience, the whole hall erupting in applause. No, everyone gave the cellist a standing ovation.
And Jimin shot up from his seat too, clapping so hard his palms ached.
Jeon Jungkook, the cellist, was smiling wider now, standing on the stage, holding his cello up by the neck and giving a bow to the audience. He glanced up towards their box, where the Queen was, bowing to her, as all the other contestants had done, as was customary. And when his gaze strayed to where Jimin was standing their eyes met for a brief moment, it made Jimin’s heart flip, his clapping halting. There was suddenly something different in Jeon Jungkook’s gaze, a spark. Could Jimin even say that when he was so many metres away from the man and could hardly see?
The performance really did something to Jimin.
Jungkook beckoned his pianist next to him and made the shorter man bow too. Something in that gesture warmed Jimin’s heart. None of the other performers had remembered to let their accompanying musician thank the audience like that.
And then the cellist was walking off the stage, again carrying his cello by the neck, the bow between his fingers, throwing his free arm over his pianist’s shoulders. He disappeared, the moment was over.
Jimin leaned forward, forgetting the heights, trying to see where they went, but he felt a tug at his pant leg.
“Sit down, Jimin,” Hyunjae mouthed.
And so Jimin did, he slumped back to his seat, realising he might’ve made a complete fool out of himself, realising he was about to make an even bigger fool out of himself.
Because maybe he just fell in love.
“I think I need to use the toilet,” he whispered to his mother.
Hyunjae looked at him, but Jimin saw she had a difficult time concentrating when the next performer was already announced, another violinist this time. Jimin wondered where all the other instruments were, the clarinets, oboes, violas, all the ones he hadn’t seen yet.
“Alright, but be back quick.”
Without making a bigger scene, Jimin silently crouched out of his seat and hurried to the door where Hoseok was waiting. Jimin grabbed his sleeve and tried to message him through his facial expressions what was happening, but Hoseok merely raised a suspicious brow and let Jimin drag him out into the corridor.
“What now?” Hoseok asked the first thing when the door closed behind them.
“I need to find him,” Jimin hissed, grabbing Hoseok’s suit jacket lapels.
“Who?” Both of Hoseok’s eyebrows were now up, breaking his hard exterior for a second.
“The cellist, didn’t you hear him play? I think I fell in love.”
“Of course you did,” Hoseok said calmly. “And you think I’ll enable you in this?”
“Yes I do,” Jimin said with a nod.
Hoseok schooled his face into his expressionless mask, trying a staring contest with Jimin. But in the end he closed his eyes with a sigh.
“Alright.”
“Yes,” Jimin nearly squealed in excitement and squished Hoseok’s cheeks between his palms. Only to take a step back and look around to see if anyone was there witnessing him acting so familiar with his bodyguard. “Yes,” he repeated, nodding solemnly.
Hoseok cracked a smile and shook his head. “Come on, let’s find him.”
Finding the cellist wasn’t going to be as straightforward as Jimin thought it would be. Especially when his mother’s bodyguards stopped him before he could head towards the stairs that would’ve led down to the backstage area where the contestants had their changing rooms. He was turned around.
The Queen’s orders, the man in the black suit had said. It was for Jimin’s own safety that he stayed on the third floor for the duration of the concert if he decided to step out of their box seats.
“Did you see that? What a brute,” Jimin huffed as Hoseok accompanied him back. “I don’t know how mother chooses her staff, they should have a bit more respect for me.”
“You mean let you roam around and get in trouble?” Hoseok asked quietly.
“That’s not — That’s not what I mean. I don’t get in trouble, I simply try to live a life.”
“He did everything by the protocol.” Hoseok took hold of the handle, but Jimin stopped him from opening the door just yet, directing him a look.
“Did you know about the protocol too?”
“I work for you, but I am aware of the Queen’s orders, yes.”
“And you were still going to try to help me out?”
Hoseok let his facade break as he grinned. “As always, Your Highness.”
Jimin smiled too. “That’s why I love you.” He patted Hoseok’s shoulder. “And that’s why you’re going to help me find the cellist later, right?”
Hoseok dropped his smile and narrowed his eyes.
“Yes, thank you. I knew you would. Now we can go back in.” Jimin opened the door to himself.
“The Crown Prince delighted with his appearance at the Queen’s Music Competition,” Seokjin read from his tablet. “I think this one is the best, only a fleeting mention of the scandal and otherwise stays in the topic of the competition. And the comments are all about your divine looks.”
Jimin grunted from his bed, wanting Seokjin to stop reading the morning headlines before he’d had his morning coffee. He rolled over onto his stomach and pulled his duvet to cover his head, but Seokjin pulled it quickly off.
“And this one,” Seokjin continued. “Oh, never mind. You don’t need to hear this one.”
“No, read it.” Jimin lifted his head, his interest piqued.
Seokjin cleared his throat, hesitating, but finally sat down on the edge of Jimin’s bed and handed him the tablet so that he could read himself.
Scandalous Prince trying to clear his reputation — will the people forgive?
“Well fuck.” Jimin pushed the tablet back and buried his face in his pillow.
“Language,” Seokjin admonished.
“I can speak however I want when they speak like that about me. Forgive what? That I can’t choose who I like? That I’m not the kind of Prince this country wants? I can’t deny who I am.”
“You know I only understood about half of that since you’re mumbling it into your pillow.”
With a few huffs and puffs Jimin sat up, the duvet pooling around him. “I can’t change who I am,” he repeated and rubbed his face. It was criminal that Seokjin had already opened the blinds, letting the bright sunshine in. It felt too cheerful for what was going on inside Jimin’s head.
Seokjin gave him a sympathetic look. “I know. And you don’t have to.”
“Tell that to everyone else too, maybe they’ll change their minds about me if you’re convincing enough.”
“Jimin.” Seokjin’s tone of voice sounded as desponded as Jimin felt.
“I’ll never have a normal life, I know that,” Jimin said, flopping back on his back, the mattress giving his body a small bounce.
“Speaking about that, I have your schedule for the day,” Seokjin said, clearly trying to ease up the mood.
“That’s why you woke me up in the ass crack of dawn?” Jimin asked, staring at the ceiling.
“Did you spend time with truckers or something, where is this language coming from, Your Highness.” Seokjin slapped Jimin’s thigh.
“Ha ha, funny. So, my schedule.”
“First you need to get up.”
“Not before coffee.”
“Hoseok is getting your usual order.”
Jimin burrowed deeper into his bed. “I won’t get up before he gets here.”
“ I brought coffee! ”
Seokjin’s eyes lit up and his lips spread into a smile. “We’re up in Jimin’s bedroom!” he yelled back.
“Hyung, why did you have to do that?” Jimin whined.
“You have a meeting with Dior at ten AM, to talk about the shoot for Tuesday.”
“On a Saturday?”
“These fashion brands never sleep.”
“But Princes do sleep, that’s how I stay beautiful.” Jimin closed his eyes.
“You yelled, hyung,” a third voice joined them, Hoseok.
“Carry him down, he needs to get ready,” Seokjin said.
“Yes, sir.”
“What?” Jimin’s eyes flew open. “I’m the one who gives orders.”
“That’s funny, and I’m the oldest, see you downstairs,” Seokjin said with a smile and left the room.
Jimin directed his eyes to Hoseok now, the bodyguard was standing next to Jimin’s bed in his casual wear (a sweatshirt and sweatpants this morning), his hands on his hips and a smile on his face as he looked down at Jimin.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Jimin said.
“Watch me.”
It turned out Hoseok lifted Jimin up in his arms bridal style as easily as ever. He carried Jimin down the curving stairs, grunting a few times and earning a lighthearted slap from Jimin for acting like Jimin was heavier than he was. He then nearly dropped Jimin when both of them started laughing. But in the end Hoseok didn’t let go before they were already by the kitchen island of Jimin’s kitchen and dining area and the smell of coffee wafted into Jimin’s nose.
He hopped down and ran the last steps towards the cups placed on the island counter. The first sip was just what he needed. He sighed, slumping on one of the barstools by the island.
Hoseok went for the paper bag next to the cups and pulled out a container. “Cruffles, Your Highness?”
“Don’t mind if I do, my loyal knight.”
Hoseok snorted as he opened the container and twirled around in Jimin’s fancy kitchen like it was his own, finding cutlery to eat the cruffle with. He handed them over to Jimin and took the same set for himself, sitting down and serving the cruffles on plates.
“Are you eating without me? This is what I get for trying to find something to wear for the Prince?”
“Hyung, come eat and stop complaining,” Jimin said and Hoseok took out a third cruffle container from the bag.
“I wouldn’t forget about you, hyung.” Hoseok pulled out a third barstool for Seokjin.
Once they were all settled and the pastry was melting in Jimin’s mouth with every bite, Jimin thought back to last night. Returning to his seats had felt like the punishment it was. The spark he felt when Jeon Jungkook performed was never to be found again after that and Jimin had been bored out of his mind or maybe feeling restless or both. The music was beautiful, but when his mind played all kinds of daydreams about the things he could have been doing at that time, maybe even involving the cellist, he could barely sit still.
After it was over he got the chance to sneak into the backstage area with Hoseok in tow, but sadly he didn’t find the cellist again. The amount of disappointment he felt was rather surprising, but it had been an interesting performance. It touched Jimin deeply. And he wanted to see Jungkook from up close, because of — reasons.
Jimin glanced up from his breakfast at Hoseok, who was currently taking a bite of his cruffle. Last night when they arrived back at Jimin’s apartment he had asked Hoseok if he could find any information about this Jeon Jungkook. Mainly where he possibly lived or worked, or even his phone number. Doing a background check was a standard procedure with everyone who would eventually come in personal contact with the Crown Prince (and Jimin planned that Jeon Jungkook would come in contact with him, eventually). Even if it might have looked like a slight invasion of privacy to some. Jimin moved his gaze to Seokjin, who had his eyes closed, chewing with a smile. If hyung was content, it was as good a time as any, he would need to know anyway.
“Hobi hyung,” Jimin began, lacing his voice with a little bit of aegyo.
Hoseok lifted his head and let out a bright questioning hum.
“Did you find anything yet?”
Seokjin’s eyes snapped open and narrowed directly at Jimin. Hoseok glanced to his right from under his brows, moving only his eyes.
“Maybe,” Hoseok replied, but gave a more pronounced side-eye towards Seokjin on his right.
Jimin ignored it, his assistant wasn’t going to be an issue. “So what did you find?”
Hoseok looked hesitant. To think he had been an elite soldier, but one pointed glance from Kim Seokjin made him shiver. “Well — “
Seokjin crossed his arms and turned more towards Hoseok. “I’d like to know too. What are you two plotting again? Will it give me more grey hairs? Not that I have any, but as a figure of speech,” he added with a wink to Jimin. “All I want to know is if I have another scandal in my hands, I want to be prepared.”
Possibly?
“No! Of course not!” Jimin said. “I wouldn’t do that to you hyung.”
“Every time you put on that cute face, I know you’re up to something. No matter how much you try,” Seokjin said, but his stern expression was melting anyway. Jimin’s effect was that powerful.
“You know I never make them happen intentionally.” Jimin really meant it. It was not that he was looking for trouble, it was more like his existence already was trouble in this society and in his position, especially if he wanted to live authentically. And he did want to, desperately.
“Yes I know, but I need one of you to spit it out and let me make the risk estimate.”
Hoseok smoothly landed on his feet and walked over to the direction of the entryway. A moment later he returned with a file in his hands. When he was handing it over to Jimin, Seokjin was able to snatch it first.
“Hey!” Jimin shouted.
But Seokjin proceeded to open the file. “A background check?” he asked, eyeing both Jimin and Hoseok. “Who is Jeon Jungkook?”
“He — well he — “ Jimin tried to get started.
“Twenty-six years old, a Master’s student at the Seoul National University College of Music,” Seokjin began listing the information. “Did you meet him at the competition yesterday?”
“I didn’t,” Jimin said, because it was true. “I was impressed by his performance.”
Seokjin stared at Jimin for a while. “I hope this is about you wanting to be his benefactor. Or sending him flowers for a good performance.”
“Sure, why not?” Jimin shrugged.
But Seokjin kept staring. “Why do I have the feeling that in about six months from now I’ll be dealing with yet another set of unfavourable articles written about you?”
Jimin stood up from his seat. “I don’t know hyung, maybe you’re stressed and need to meditate, or therapy.” He took the file out of Seokjin’s hands and with a laugh ran past the dining area and under the short corridor into his living room, dropping onto his huge grey couch, crossing his legs and opening the file on his lap.
The A4 document had all the information Hoseok had compiled and printed out. He could have simply sent the file to Jimin over email, but Jimin preferred having it on paper. Hoseok had even found a photo of Jungkook, an official looking headshot, maybe his passport photo or his student ID photo. Jimin smoothed it out with his thumb, Jungkook had longer hair in it and it suited him.
“Do I need to remind you that you need to be ready to go in half an hour,” Seokjin said as he came after Jimin, Hoseok following him.
Jimin threw his head back and sighed. “I get no peace in this world.”
“You’ll have to save drooling over your musician for later, you need to get dressed, now.”
“I wasn’t drooling over him. Hobi hyung, tell him.”
But Hoseok bit his lips into his mouth trying to hold his smile and walked away from the scene.
🎶👑🎶
“It’s good.”
Jungkook grimaced at Yoongi’s words, not taking his eyes off the screen of his phone, swaying side to side on the office chair.
“You did great.”
“I don’t know,” Jungkook mumbled, his fingers picking at his double lip piercing absentmindedly. “Maybe the crescendo needed more intensity. And the ending wasn’t as smooth as I wanted it to be.” He quickly tried to do the finger pattern in the air with his left hand, pretending the neck of the cello was there. “It’s just not smooth enough, my fingers feel clumsy. The end note needs to be lighter and clearer too.”
It had felt good yesterday. He got lost in the music as always, found his flow state where all that existed was the instrument and him, the notes creating beautiful patterns inside his head. But maybe he got too lost in it and forgot about where he was. Maybe he should have paid more attention to the technical side of his interpretation. Yoongi would say fuck the technical shit , it was more important to evoke emotion, but the technical shit was important too.
“You’re too hard on yourself,” Yoongi said.
”And you’re letting me off the hook too easily,” Jungkook countered.
“It was an honour to be chosen as one of the opening concert performers. Do you have any idea how many would wish to be in your place?”
”I know.”
”You’ll be playing again, you can try to make your performance better if that’s what you want, but I’m saying you’re already as close to perfect as you can get.”
Jungkook glanced up at Yoongi. ”You’re saying I’m not perfect?”
Yoongi threw his head back and groaned. ”I’m saying you have impossible standards.”
“I need to win this competition.”
It was only one of many, but it was one of the most influential ones in South Korea. And the Grand Prize would solve all of Jungkook’s money problems. The scholarship would pay his tuition for the rest of his studies and maybe he wouldn’t have to work so many hours at Yoongi’s garage, he could concentrate on his dream of becoming a musician.
”And I’m doing my best so that you will. I don’t think anyone else deserves it more than you.” Yoongi was probably the only person who knew Jungkook’s full story and how hard he had worked to get to where he was now. It hadn’t been easy, coming from a more humble background. And Yoongi could also relate, having had a similar start.
”Thanks, hyung.”
“But as much as I’d like to go over your yesterday's performance, you do know you have a tire change booked in five minutes,” Yoongi said, slapping a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder so that he nearly dropped his phone onto the table.
“Fuck, yes I do know that.” It might have slipped Jungkook’s mind, if he was completely honest.
“Good, because I need to run some errands so you’re alone for the second half of the day. You think you can manage?”
Jungkook sighed and quickly turned to look at the computer screen where they had all their bookings for the day. The tire change, an oil change, someone who called in for an emergency headlight change. Simple things.
“Yeah, I can manage.” He turned his eyes back to his phone and rewinded the video.
“Stop watching it and get ready for the appointment.”
“Fine,” Jungkook sighed, put his phone into the pocket of his overalls and hauled himself up from the chair, following Yoongi from the office to the garage where the car repair happened.
“If Joon comes over while I’m away, just say not to touch anything and go straight up to the apartment,” Yoongi said as he gathered some of their ad flyers into his backpack before hoisting it over his shoulder. He stopped for a moment, thinking. ”Maybe tell him not to touch anything once he’s up as well. And we’ll practise tomorrow, I promise. I have the whole day for your perfectionism shit, I’m prepared.”
”What’s that supposed to mean?”
Yoongi headed to the garage door. ”It means you can be insufferable when you’re in the mood, but tomorrow I’m in the mood to handle it.” He flashed a smile that made his lips press into a straight line and waved his hand, before walking out.
The day was an easy one, as Saturdays usually were. Still it felt like it dragged on. Jungkook had the itch to go upstairs and practise his competition piece, he needed to get it ready and perfected for next Tuesday when he would face the judges. But he had to wait for the closing time or Yoongi might just kill him for leaving the shop unattended, sometimes they got last minute emergencies when a tire broke or someone wanted to book an appointment for their vehicle and they had to be ready for that.
It didn’t stop Jungkook from turning on the music after the last customer left and listening to his main entry, visualising himself being on stage inside his head while tidying the garage for closing. The other contestants were good, very good. Jungkook usually didn’t listen to his competition, but this time he had been curious, it was only the opening concert after all. And it left him with a dent in his confidence.
The garage door was still up after the last car. Jungkook walked outside to gather their stand. It had their daily offer on it, buy new tires and get one for free. It did bring them a few bookings for next week. Jungkook carried it inside, noticing a patch of oil on his arm that he’d missed before and went to wash it at the sink in the corner.
The music changed into another Rachmaninoff cello piece, making Jungkook hum it under his breath while the water splashed over his hands.
“Feeling the competition jitters?”
Jungkook turned his head around at the question just when Namjoon almost bumped into the pile of the old tires Jungkook hadn’t cleared out of the way yet. But Namjoon was surprisingly agile today, swerving his hips around them and making a face at Jungkook that could have been interpreted as oops .
“A little,” Jungkook admitted. “I need to practise more.” He turned back towards the sink and finished rinsing his hands.
“I know you’ll do great.” Namjoon smiled so that his dimples popped to his cheeks. “You’ve done nothing but practise the last month.”
“I hope so.”
“Hyung’s not here?”
Jungkook dried his hands and wanted to smile at the way Namjoon tried to look nonchalant. “He had to go run some errands and will be back — soon maybe? You should text him.”
“Nah, I’ll just wait,” Namjoon said and put his hands into his jean pockets, his shoulders curving in, almost looking small if he wasn’t the tallest out of all three of them.
It had been almost five years of this, Jungkook watching from the side while his hyungs tried to figure out their feelings for each other. Namjoon and Yoongi met at university and while Yoongi had to drop out to take on his father’s business and Namjoon changed his major from music to accounting, because he had a weak moment and listened to his parents’ wishes, they kept close. And later, against his parents wishes Namjoon began helping Yoongi with the finance of the car repair business while they both worked with music on the side, producing, writing songs for big names, collaborating. But still they couldn’t admit they cared about each other more than they let on.
“Hyung said you can wait upstairs,” Jungkook nodded towards the door at the back, it opened to the stairs, leading up to the apartment above the shop.
“I could help you with closing too, if you want.”
Jungkook couldn’t prevent his eyes from widening. “That’s — that’s not necessary, hyung, but thanks for the offer.”
“Hyung told you not to let me.” Namjoon knew Yoongi too well.
“I mean — yeah,” Jungkook said, wringing the towel in his hands.
Namjoon’s smile was fond. “Don’t worry, I get it. He hasn’t let me help after I broke those new parts when I accidentally dropped them on the concrete floor.”
“Something like that.”
“I’ll wait upstairs and maybe go over some of the numbers for this month while I’m at it.” Namjoon turned a little to show he was carrying his backpack, which meant he had his work laptop with him.
“Okay,” Jungkook breathed out. “I’ll close up and come keep you company.”
“Should I make you something to eat?”
“No!” The answer came out quicker than Jungkook meant it to. “I mean, you don’t have to.”
But Namjoon laughed. “I’m better in the kitchen these days, you know. Hyung taught me a thing or two recently.”
“I’ll just clean up the rest and we can order something,” Jungkook suggested.
“Okay, sounds good to me.”
Once Namjoon headed up, Jungkook flipped the towel on his shoulder and grabbed the broom from the corner to quickly sweep the floor. His playlist had moved on from Rachmaninoff to Saint-Saëns, the cello concerto was heading into its climax as a black car drove slowly in front of the garage, stopping right there and blocking the way. That was rather rude.
Jungkook took out his phone to shut the music and then pocketed it again, preparing himself to let the driver know parking right in front of the door wasn’t allowed. He heard the car door open and close. Hating the idea of possible confrontation, he took a deep breath. But when Jungkook finally managed to take a step forward, a man walked into the doorway instead, the setting sun illuminating him.
Words died in Jungkook’s throat and the broom clattered onto the floor when the man lifted the black sunglasses up to his hair.