Min Yoongi does not write love songs for people.
(He wrote one for a piano, yes, but a piano does not have eyes that shine with the light of three galaxies or voice that rumbles like a breath of warmth on a winter day. A piano does not have a name. Two names.)
Min Yoongi does not write love songs for people anymore, but he does write songs for people. It’s kind of his job. As a songwriter and producer for Siren Entertainment, Yoongi makes music for all of the artists under their label. He has his own USB filled with drafts of private music, songs for a mixtape that may or may not ever come together. But for the most part, Yoongi’s income relies on providing tracks for idols.
It’s a great job, honestly. Yoongi has few to no complaints about the work. Sunmi did not become the co-founder and owner of Siren without skill, and she runs the small but successful company with a critical eye, business savvy, and an (honestly very strange, but that’s another matter entirely) interesting approach to her art. The idols signed to Siren are fresh-faced and pretty, yes, but talented and hard-working.
It’s a great job.
That is, it’s great until Yoongi is asked to produce Kim Taehyung’s second single.
It’s great until Yoongi is asked to work on Jeon Jeongguk’s debut album.
And Yoongi has to remind himself very, very sternly that he does not write love songs for people, even if they have a voice that rumbles like a breath of warmth on a winter day or eyes that shine with the light of three galaxies.
He’s done it once before.
He won’t do it again.
Yoongi turns the next page in Taehyung’s notebook, paper smooth beneath his fingers.
It’s quiet in Yoongi’s studio, Taehyung curled up on the sofa with his knees tucked to his chest. He looks small like this, bare feet and tousled hair, despite the fact that Yoongi knows from personal experience that Taehyung is tall- taller than him.
Yoongi hums quietly as he finishes reading, closing the notebook gently. “It’s good.”
“Sunmi PD-nim said it doesn’t fit my image.” Taehyung rests his chin on the top of his knees and wraps his arms around his legs.
“It doesn’t,” Yoongi agrees. The words in Taehyung’s notebook are soft and gentle. Innocent. His first mini-album, his debut, was dark and sultry and heavy. Yoongi wasn’t involved in that album much at all, just did a little bit of editing and mixing while Namjoon and Soohyun wrote the songs with Taehyung. But he’d listened to it. He’d seen the concept photos and some of Taehyung’s live performances. He dripped sex appeal- draped himself in shadows.
This song isn’t like that.
It also isn’t like the song they were supposed to be meeting about tonight, the one that already has instrumentals and guide vocals, sleek and velvety. And Yoongi rarely writes songs with lyrics first. It’s always the beat, the track, the feeling of it.
But Taehyung is throwing things off center.
“Do you think it can even be included in the next album?” Taehyung asks. He looks right at Yoongi as he speaks, magnetic gaze and low rumble of his voice.
Yoongi leans back in his chair, Taehyung’s notebook held carefully in his lap. “Maybe. Is this the kind of music you want to make?”
“It’s my music,” Taehyung says simply. “It’s just me.”
Yoongi looks at him for a few more moments. He doesn’t know Taehyung well. His reputation preceded him before he signed with Siren- a former model with a quietly rebellious streak. Sunmi mentioned that Taehyung’s former company promised to let him debut as a singer only to keep him as a trainee for years and then push him into modeling, then briefly acting. They didn’t think his voice was good enough for music.
They were wrong. Taehyung’s first album wasn’t chart-topping, but it was successful. Critics praised his singing and the public commented on the depth of his voice, how much it stood out.
(And Yoongi, personally, privately, thinks Taehyung’s voice is incredible.)
So Yoongi looks at Taehyung and sees someone who has been underestimated and held back, sees someone who has already been shoved into boxes and made to cram into industry molds. He sees Taehyung, curled up on the sofa in Yoongi’s studio near midnight in a rumpled button-up and loose-fitting pants, bare toes curled into the couch cushion.
“I’ll talk to PD-nim,” Yoongi says.
Taehyung’s head lifts, eyebrows shooting up in surprise and disappearing beneath the messy fringe of his hair. “What?”
“If this is your music, then you should make it.” Yoongi passes the notebook back, and Taehyung has to unfold, long legs falling back into place as his feet hit the floor, to take it.
“Thank you, Yoongi-hyung,” Taehyung says, and there is something like relief written across his face.
Yoongi rubs the back of his neck. “Don’t thank me yet. PD-nim will probably want a demo track of it before she considers it seriously. Can you email the lyrics over to me? It doesn’t have to be a final version. Just need something to work with for composing.”
Taehyung nods as he stands. “I’ll do it tonight.”
“Great.” Yoongi gets to his feet as well, sniffing a little bit into his scarf.
Taehyung gives Yoongi a little bow. “Goodnight, hyung.”
The door to Yoongi’s studio clicks closed behind Taehyung, and Yoongi sinks back into his chair with a quiet sniff.
He turns to his computer and clicks away from the track that was meant to be Taehyung’s next single.
It’s my music, Taehyung had said. It’s just me.
Yoongi stares at his desktop screen, unfocused, and thinks of the words scrawled across Taehyung’s notebook in messy handwriting, of the way he tucked his knees to his chest, of the way his eyes softened when Yoongi didn’t tell him no.
Yoongi shuffles out of his chair and moves to the piano against the left wall of his studio, flicks on the power and settles down on the bench.
It’s just me.
Yoongi wonders what Taehyung would sound like if he were a song.
He presses down on the keys.
Jeongguk sits in the chair beside Yoongi, radiating warmth. His giant black sweatshirt swallows his frame, and every time Yoongi glances at him in conversation, Jeongguk’s wide eyes flick from Yoongi to the screen as he chews on his lower lip with prominent front teeth.
“Can I do this part again?” Jeongguk asks occasionally, and Yoongi nods, sends Jeongguk to the other side of the glass wall.
Jeongguk’s voice is light and bright.
Yoongi is trained to hear imperfections, always frowns at an out of tune piano or a missed note. But Jeongguk is, technically speaking, near perfect. If he falls flat sometimes, he knows, immediately correcting it with better breath support. Yoongi’s isn’t a singer himself, but he knows that takes a lot of work.
He’s impressed by Jeongguk who is still, technically, a trainee in Siren. They’re working on his debut album now, though most of Korea already knows his name.
Jeon Jeongguk, former trainee in Starcrossed Ent., who at seventeen made it to the top twenty of a well-loved, nationally-broadcasted music competition. He was clearly going to be one of the winners, set to debut in the band that this competition formed until an injury pulled him out of the show completely.
Starcrossed dropped him, Jeon Jeongguk disappeared from the public eye, and that seemed to be that. It wasn’t until last year when Sunmi said she scouted him that Yoongi remembered his name and wide-eyed wonder after a quick search online.
But Jeongguk was twenty-one now, and his face was more tired, roundness of his cheeks giving way to a strong jaw, nose merely a little big rather than the prominent thing it was when he was a trainee fighting for his chance to pursue his dreams while being filmed on live television.
“That’s good,” Yoongi says, when he and Jeongguk listen to the vocals again. He’s isolated the vocals track this time, and it’s just Jeongguk’s voice filling the room. Yoongi feels like he’s falling into it, into the sound, letting it sweep him away.
He clears his throat, clicks back the other instrumental tracks. “Want to hear with everything else?”
Jeongguk nods, still worrying at his lip.
It’s a ballad, a softer song to follow the more upbeat title track. Jeongguk’s voice is wistful over the piano, soaring.
“Um,” Jeongguk says, and he glances at Yoongi. “Would it be okay to add some runs and vocalizations in the bridge?”
Yoongi nods, and Jeongguk finally releases his lower lip, puffy and red from his biting. “Jeongguk-ssi, I’m the writer on this track, sure, but you’re still the artist.”
Jeongguk blinks at him before smiling slightly, ducking his head. “Right. Sorry. I guess I’m still- still learning exactly how this all works.”
Yoongi is sure Sunmi runs things here very different from Starcrossed, but he’s not entirely certain what kind of expectations Jeongguk has after being a trainee for them for so long. (Well, for so long before he was tossed aside after his injury.)
“If you ever want to change anything, just ask. That includes lyrics and instrumentals,” Yoongi says, turning his attention back to the screen. From the corner of his eye, however, he sees Jeongguk’s smile brighten. “Alright, let’s record some vocalizations then.”
The rest of their time in the recording studio goes easier. Jeongguk gets a little more comfortable asking to add things or try again, and Yoongi does lots of nodding and humming and telling Jeongguk “try it out” to discover that, most of the time, Jeongguk’s ideas are pretty fucking good.
When they’re finished, Jeongguk’s voice is starting to rasp and it’s nearing midnight.
“Have you eaten yet?” Yoongi asks, and Jeongguk shakes his head.
Yoongi orders take-out for them, and they move from Yoongi’s desk to the couch. Yoongi has to clear coffee cups and notebooks off the table, both of them quiet and not bothering with small talk after their hours spent working side by side.
It’s when the food arrives that Jeongguk asks, “How long have you been with Siren, Yoongi-ssi?”
Yoongi, breaking a pair of disposable wooden chopsticks apart, squints, remembering. “Since I was nineteen? That was when Sora-noona was still helping start up the company.”
Jeongguk’s eyes widen, which really makes them impossibly starry in the dim lighting of Yoongi’s studio. It makes him look younger, too. “You were here when Lee Sora was director?”
Yoongi snorts a little bit at Jeongguk’s expression and picks up a piece of soy chicken. “Yup. She got us into shape pretty quickly. Namjoon was here too, then. We all wanted to make music but hadn’t figured out how to work together to make that happen.”
“Wow.” Jeongguk takes some chicken for himself too, popping it into his mouth. He’s staring slightly over Yoongi’s shoulder, still with a slightly star-struck gaze.
“You a fan of Sora-noona?” Yoongi asks, his voice slipping into something teasing.
Jeongguk swallows quickly, nodding. “I even saw her in the hallway once. She’s so cool.”
Yoongi grins. “Yeah, she is.”
The conversation trips into favorite artists, Jeongguk turning a distinct shade of pink when he admits that he’s been a fan of Namjoon since he heard Namjoon’s mixtape as a middle school student.
It’s easy, Yoongi thinks, to talk to Jeongguk.
He doesn’t often interact with the idols or trainees at Siren outside of work , choosing to share coffee runs and late-night dinners with Namjoon and Hoseok and occasionally Sunmi.
But Jeongguk is bright and the more his shyness melts away, the more he laughs and even starts to tease.
When they finish their box of chicken and Jeongguk has chugged two bottles of water, Yoongi lets them out of the studio and they stand in the hallway, the rug Hoseok gifted Yoongi between them- a cat holding up its middle finger.
“Thank you for the dinner, Yoongi-ssi,” Jeongguk says.
Yoongi finds himself saying, “You can call me hyung.”
Jeongguk’s eyes crinkle around the edges. “Hyung.”
Something in Yoongi’s chest grows warmer.
Park Jimin and Kim Seokjin are most likely the dual banes of Yoongi’s existence.
It was his fault for introducing them. Probably.
Seokjin is very insistent that they go out to cafe together , that Yoongi won’t be a third wheel and that he does need to see sunlight at least once a week.
Yoongi, dragging his feet out of his studio with his phone pressed against his ear, is loath to admit that Seokjin is probably right about that last point.
It’s still some time before noon, and Yoongi slept in his studio the night before. His hair is likely sticking up in every possible direction and he spilled spicy ramen broth on his jeans this morning, but it’s just Jimin and Seokjin.
Seokjin’s car is parked in front of the building, gleaming silver, and there are three other people with him.
The first is Jimin, dyed blonde hair obvious from behind.
The other two are-
“Hyung!” Jeongguk waves as Yoongi approaches.
Suddenly, Yoongi regrets not going home and taking a shower last night. “Hey,” he mumbles, sticking his hands into his pockets and hoping his face isn’t as greasy as it feels.
Taehyung’s eyes widen in surprise. “Yoongi-hyung? You’re Seokjin-hyung’s friend?”
“Unfortunately,” Yoongi says, only to receive a smack on the arm from Jimin and a pout from Seokjin.
“I was Yoongi’s only friend when he first moved to Seoul,” Seokjin says with a sniff.
Yoongi grimaces. “You were my roommate.” For a very small but clean apartment, Yoongi answered a post about searching for someone to split rent with. It happened to be Seokjin.
“The best roommate you could have possibly asked for,” Seokjin counters.
Yoongi honestly can’t argue with that.
“Jimin-hyung said if we finished dance practice early, he’d take us out for coffee,” Jeongguk explains.
Yoongi squints. “What choreography do you two have together?”
“Ah, none,” Taehyung says and grins slightly. “But I had some free time and it’s fun to watch them dance.”
Yoongi shakes his head. He’s not sure how Jimin is able to actually choreograph and teach dances to the Siren idols with as much messing around and playing he does, but somehow, it always pulls through to perfection. It’s magic. Magic and a lot of hard work mixed in with apparent coffee-breaks.
They pile into Seokjin’s car and Yoongi finds himself sitting in the middle between Taehyung and Jeongguk, their arms brushing and shoulders bracketing Yoongi in snugly, just shy of uncomfortable.
Taehyung and Jeongguk are loud, Yoongi discovers. He’s not sure if it’s Jimin and Seokjin’s personalities that bring it out of them, but they’re both laughing on the way over to the coffee shop, Taehyung with deep, soft giggles and Jeongguk with a head thrown-back cackle.
Yoongi finds himself snorting along.
Yoongi and Seokjin are the ones to order drinks once they arrive, Jeongguk pulling on a baseball cap in case he’s recognized and Taehyung tugging up the mask that had been sitting beneath his chin.
They sit by the window near the back of the cafe, plants hanging overhead and sunshine streaming through the glass beside them, giving the illusion of a summer day in late February.
“I can’t believe you don’t drink caffeine,” Jeongguk says, eyeing Taehyung’s grape-ade as he wraps his hands around his mug of black coffee.
“Habits,” Taehyung answers with a shrug. “When I was modeling they never let me have any. It makes you get wrinkles faster or something.”
Yoongi looks down at his own coffee. It’s his fourth cup today. “Hello, wrinkles,” he says to it before taking a sip.
It brings out a bout of laughter from the rest of them.
“Hey, it also tastes gross,” Taehyung adds. “I went to the convenience store one night and bought canned coffee just because I was tired of following their rules and ended up tossing it out anyway.”
Jimin coos. “Taehyungie likes sweet things.”
Taehyung laughs, and his face, Yoongi thinks, is really, unfairly cute when he’s embarrassed, cheeks rounding as he ducks his head and his smile turns shy. Cute.
He quickly returns his attention to his wrinkle-inducing coffee and does his best to keep his own thoughts professional.
Taehyung and Jeongguk are not making it particularly easy to think purely professional thoughts.
After coffee with Seokjin and Jimin, Yoongi starts noticing them around Siren more often than before.
Sometimes they’re together, laughing in a break room or bringing in convenience store bags of snacks in through the lobby.
Sometimes it’s just Jeongguk dropping by Yoongi’s studio with 7-11 canned coffee and a question about a track- a question that turns into a conversation that turns into Jeongguk falling asleep on the sofa while Yoongi works, his mouth parted and quiet snores escaping him.
Sometimes it’s just Taehyung, bumping into Yoongi in the hallway, sweat dripping down the back of his neck after dance practice, face exhausted- so of course Yoongi takes him out to the pojangmacha down the street, cool night air and odeng soup, Taehyung’s wide smile slowly creeping back even though his eyes remain tired.
Jeongguk and Taehyung are also both physically affectionate.
Yoongi is used to Namjoon and Hoseok and Seokjin, who will pat his shoulder once a month. (Jimin is the exception, but Jimin tends to be everyone’s exception.)
So Yoongi is mildly to moderately overwhelmed when Jeongguk puts his head in Yoongi’s lap one night while they’re talking in the studio and when Taehyung sleepily hugs him from behind one early morning in the elevator.
Yoongi doesn’t quite know what to make of it- of them .
But he finishes Taehyung’s song with him and puts the last touches on Jeongguk’s debut album and tells himself to be professional to stay professional .
He thinks he’s doing a decent job of it, really.
Because Min Yoongi does not write love songs for people, and he’s not going to fall for two (two!) artists under the same label.
Jeongguk’s album is released at six in the evening, and there’s a small party they hold in Siren’s conference room.
Jimin brings a cake (because in every possible situation that could call for cake, Jimin brings cake) and Sunmi orders enough food for a small army.
Yoongi is happy to stay near the edge of the mounting chaos with Namjoon after congratulating Jeongguk, beer in hand.
He finds himself glancing again and again at Jeongguk, who is alternating between thanking everyone who worked on his album, having cake shoved at his face, and looking at his phone, which Yoongi imagines he’s checking for the count on the music video and album sales stats.
Taehyung sticks to his side for the most part, and Yoongi is glad that every time Jeongguk starts frowning at his phone, Taehyung’s arm winds itself around Jeongguk’s shoulders and steers him to one of the other labelmates to distract him.
“He’s a good one,” Namjoon says, breaking the silence that he and Yoongi have let settle over them both.
“Mm.” Yoongi takes another sip of his beer and tears his eyes away from Jeongguk and Taehyung.
“He talks about you a lot.”
Yoongi manages not to choke, preserving his dignity with just a slight splutter as he swallows. “Oh. Does he?”
“Yeah. It’s always ‘Yoongi-hyung agreed this sounded better’ and ‘Yoongi-hyung bought me chicken last night’ or ‘Is Yoongi-hyung still working on his mixtape?’”
Yoongi blinks slowly once as Namjoon stares down at him. “Huh.”
Namjoon fortunately doesn’t seem to be teasing. He just huffs out a laugh as he leans against the wall. “He was my number one fan when he came to Siren. I think you might’ve stolen him away.”
Yoongi snorts at that, though his heart is still beating a little too quickly in his chest. “Don’t worry, Joon. He still talks about you and your music to me. Mention your mixtape and he gets really fucking excited about it.”
Namjoon grins. “Now we can be excited about his album.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees, and he lets his gaze wander back to Jeongguk, who is now laughing with his head thrown back at something Hoseok’s saying. “We can.”
Jeongguk turns then, his eyes still sparkling, and his grin only widens when he sees Yoongi.
And Yoongi can only look away, breathless despite standing perfectly still.
It’s nearing one in the morning on a Friday evening when the bell to Yoongi’s studio buzzes.
Yoongi removes his headphones from where they were sitting around his neck and sets them down on the desk, stretching (and popping) as he makes his way to the door.
On the other side is Jeongguk, stage make-up bleared beneath puffy eyes, a giant black hoodie swallowing his tall frame.
“Um,” Jeongguk says.
Yoongi immediately steps back to let him in, looking Jeongguk over to check for anything outwardly wrong and finding nothing.
He had a broadcast tonight- a live performance.
Yoongi hadn’t watched it yet, but he’s now more than a little concerned that something had gone terribly wrong.
“Want to sit?” Yoongi asks as he closes the door behind them.
Jeongguk nods, sniffing quietly in a way that makes Yoongi’s heart twist in his chest. Jeongguk doesn’t actually move though, so Yoongi places a gentle hand on Jeongguk’s back and steers him to the couch.
Once Jeongguk’s sitting, Yoongi grabs a water bottle from the mini-fridge and cracks it open before passing it to Jeongguk.
“Sorry,” Jeongguk whispers, staring at the water.
“For what?” Yoongi asks, wincing at how blunt it sounds. He sinks down on the cushion beside Jeongguk, frowning.
“For coming here like this.”
Yoongi shakes his head and gently taps at the water bottle in Jeongguk’s hand. “Don’t need to apologize for that. Drink some water, Jeongguk-ah.”
Jeongguk does, tipping his head back. His hair looks like it’s stiff from gel, now raked out of place and sticking up in various directions. His eyeliner is smeared and half the smoky eyeshadow has been wiped away.
The two of them sit in silence for a moment, and Yoongi waits.
“I messed up the performance.”
Yoongi hums, waiting for him to go on.
Jeongguk fiddles with the rim of the water bottle, tracing over it with shaky fingers. “It was the first live performance as… as me. And I messed it up.”
“Happens sometimes,” Yoongi says honestly.
Jeongguk glances up at him. “But I’ve been practicing. I shouldn’t- it was so stupid, hyung. I landed a move wrong and panicked because it was on the same leg as before and for a few seconds my brain just blanked out.”
Yoongi nods. “Did you keep going?”
“Then you did your best.”
“It wasn’t my best.”
“It was the best you could do with what happened. You’re a fucking talented, hard-working performer, Jeongguk-ah, but you’re not perfect. You’ll make mistakes sometimes.”
Jeongguk hunches over slightly, and his eyes are looking alarmingly watery. Fuck, Yoongi isn’t good at this. “I feel like I let everyone down,” Jeongguk whispers.
“You didn’t,” Yoongi tells him, and his hands twitch, almost reaching out for a second before he instead clasps them together and shoves them between his thighs.
Jeongguk sniffs again. “I told Taehyung-hyung I was coming here. I think he might, um, might be on his way to take me back to the dorms.”
“Okay,” Yoongi says, and he sincerely hopes Taehyung will be more of a comfort to Jeongguk than Yoongi has been. “Did you eat tonight?”
Jeongguk shakes his head.
Yoongi is incredibly glad to have something practical to do. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and puts in an order, something for Jeongguk and Taehyung to take back to the dorms.
Jeongguk has set the water down on the low table and pulled his knees up to his chest by the time Yoongi sends the order.
“Food’s on the way,” Yoongi says quietly.
“Thank you, hyung.” Jeongguk’s arms are wrapped around his legs, forehead now pressed to the top of his knees, voice muffled.
Slowly, awkwardly, Yoongi pats Jeongguk’s shoulder.
Jeongguk leans into the touch, so Yoongi keeps his hand there, though he switched from patting to rubbing small circles into his sweatshirt.
The breath that Jeongguk lets out is shaky, but his body seems to uncoil at that, visibly relaxing.
Yoongi continues until the bell buzzes again, and he stands up and opens the door to find Taehyung in plaid pajama pants and a fuzzy brown jacket, face serious.
“Hey,” Yoongi says.
“Hi, hyung. Jeongguk-?”
“He’s here. Come on in. I ordered food for you both.”
Taehyung slips inside, and this is how he finds himself sitting on the edge of the sofa, Jeongguk pressed against Yoongi’s side between him and Taehyung.
“Last year,” Taehyung says later, his mouth full, take-out spread on the table before them. He taps the disposable chopsticks against his lips. “I slipped on stage twice. And another time my pants ripped. Actually that happened twice, too. And another time I forgot my own lyrics.”
Jeongguk makes a quiet noise. He’s barely eaten, which is a rare thing. Yoongi takes it upon himself to pick up a piece of kimbap and hold it out to Jeongguk, who opens his mouth automatically to let Yoongi feed him.
“When I was still performing,” Yoongi says, setting his chopsticks down again, “I was at this hip hop festival. Biggest one I ever performed at.”
Both Taehyung and Jeongguk’s eyes are on him, and Yoongi settles back into his corner of the sofa.
“I was fucking terrified. Not that I showed it. I was a sweaty mess and my hands were shaking and I guess when I put my earpieces in I didn’t do a great job of securing them.”
Taehyung and Jeongguk both wince prematurely, knowing what’s coming.
“So halfway through my set one came out. And I was trying to play it off instead of fumbling to get it in since I still had one. And then that one came out less than a minute later and they were both dangling somewhere out of my sweatshirt and I couldn’t hear for shit.”
“Oh, hyung,” Jeongguk murmurs sympathetically.
“Here’s the thing, though,” Yoongi says, rubbing his hand under his nose. “Afterwards I was pissed as hell at myself. Freaked the fuck out and locked myself in a bathroom back stage.” He remembers feeling like his lungs were caving in, his vision bleary and his cheeks covered in tears. Not at all the devil-may-care attitude he attempted to wear when it came to his music. “I watched it the next day, just to see how bad it was. And it wasn’t my best performance ever. I was off for a few bars and you could tell I was fumbling for the in-ear monitors. But that was it. Less than a minute in a twenty minute set. That’s how our mistakes on stage are. Shitty, sure. But short. And they don’t define you as a performer. Just like mistakes you make in life don’t define who you are as a person.”
Jeongguk and Taehyung are quiet, and Yoongi realizes he, at some point, started staring at the opposite wall while he spoke. Heat crawls up his cheeks at his own long-winded monologue, but then he feels Jeongguk shift on the sofa, and his head comes to rest on Yoongi’s shoulder.
“You’re so cool, hyung,” Taehyung says, and Yoongi, overwhelmed but with no intent to move, steals a glance and finds him holding Jeongguk’s hand.
Yoongi manages to let out a nonchalant snort. “Just ruined my image for you, though, huh?”
“We already knew you were soft, hyung,” Taehyung tells him. “Everyone at Siren knows.”
Yoongi huffs, finally relaxing into the weight of Jeongguk against him. “Not soft.”
“Soft hyung,” Jeongguk murmurs, and he presses his nose into the neckline of Yoongi’s sweater.
The three of them sit in silence for a few moments before Jeongguk speaks again. “When I had to leave the competition and Starcrossed kicked me out of the company, it was like all I was was my mistake. Landing a dance move wrong in the practice room of a show that had us practicing until we were nearly passing out during performances. It felt like… like my life was over. I didn’t know how to be anything else. Or how to do anything else. Music was everything to me and with one mistake it was gone.”
“Guk-ah,” Taehyung says, and Yoongi thinks, in the dim light, he sees Taehyung squeeze Jeongguk’s hand.
“I think I’m still scared it could happen again. Sunmi PD-nim and everyone here at Siren took a risk in recruiting me. I just- I don’t want to lose it all for good this time.”
Yoongi isn’t thinking of anything but the rawness of Jeongguk’s voice as he reaches for Jeongguk’s other hand and weaves their fingers together, isn’t thinking of anything but the dampness he can feel against his neck where Jeongguk’s face is pressed when he turns his head and pressed his lips in a silent kiss against the top of Jeongguk’s head.
“Music is everything to me, too,” Yoongi says quietly, and his own voice sounds rough, his throat tight. “I- I know that feeling. But Jeongguk-ah. You’re more than music. You- just as you are, an idol or a musician or a performer- your life is more than that. I promise.”
Jeongguk’s breath hitches.
“Promise,” Taehyung says quietly, and he raises their entwined hands and presses a kiss to Jeongguk’s knuckles.
Yoongi walks them back to the dorm, their shoulders brushing in the quiet darkness that lingers over the world between late night and early morning.
Jeongguk hugs him goodbye first and Taehyung second, and Yoongi stands outside the building for a few minutes wondering at what point his heart started syncing itself to the rhythm of their breaths.
Something shifts after that night between them.
Taehyung’s casual touches linger, his laugh deep and bright in Yoongi’s ear when he wraps his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders in the hallways of Siren.
Jeongguk’s smiles become brighter, his words freer when he stops by Yoongi’s studio.
And Yoongi drifts to them, toward them, pulled in. He drifts to the practice rooms, drifts to the second floor break room where Taehyung can usually be found, barefoot and reading manhwa on his phone with Jeongguk’s head in his lap as he sleeps.
And as Yoongi drifts, his head spirals. Sometimes he thinks Taehyung and Jeongguk can see it in his eyes, can tell in the way he pulls back if they get too close, shifts away when they touch him a little too softly.
But he can’t bring himself to stay away.
The day Taehyung comes in to record the song he and Yoongi wrote together, Yoongi can feel Taehyung’s voice beneath his skin, in his bones.
Taehyung closes his eyes when he sings, the melody lilting and warm, and Yoongi tries and fails to stay focused on the screen rather than Taehyung through the glass.
When they finish, Taehyung has tired eyes and a soft smile.
“Thank you, hyung,” he murmurs.
Yoongi hums quietly as he turns off the monitor and unplugs his USB.
“Hyung. Really. Sunmi PD-nim said you convinced her to let me put this on the album.”
Yoongi feels heat rise in his cheeks, and he leans against the desk, rubbing the back of his neck. “It didn’t take much convincing.”
“I just- I’m glad.”
Yoongi looks up and finds Taehyung’s eyes on him, open and honest and unbearably beautiful and filled with something wanting that Yoongi doesn’t allow himself to think about.
Yoongi swallows and tears his gaze away. “Me too.” He pockets the USB. “I’m going to-” he gestures vaguely at the door, heart beating too quickly in his chest.
He tells himself he’s not running when he leaves the recording room.
(It's a lie.)
“So,” Seokjin says in the tone of voice that implies Yoongi is thirty seconds away from regretting getting dinner with him.
Yoongi grunts, using his chopsticks to pick a piece of cooked meat off the grill. The barbecue restaurant is relatively crowded for a Wednesday night, but tucked away in the corner, Seokjin and Yoongi haven’t had to raise their voices to be heard over the rumble of other customers.
“Jimin told me Taehyung and Jeongguk have been spending a lot of time with you.”
There’s the regret.
Yoongi busies himself making a lettuce wrap, decidedly not looking up at Seokjin. “Maybe Jimin shouldn’t gossip so much.”
“It’s not gossip, Yoongi, it’s called communication. I ask him, ‘Jimin-ah, how was your day?’ And he answers and occasionally your name comes up along with Taehyung and Jeongguk’s.” Seokjin adds more meat to the grill with his tongs.
“Gossip,” Yoongi repeats, shoving the wrap in his mouth and now, with his cheeks bulging, looks up at Seokjin.
“Like you’re not a gossip,” Seokjin answers primly.
Yoongi makes a murmphing noise of mild protest.
“Anyway, stop trying to avoid answering. You’re so picky about who you spend your time with but Jimin says he sees you three together all the time.”
Yoongi, mouth still full, shrugs.
Seokjin arches an eyebrow. “Are you seeing one of them?”
“Both of them?”
Yoongi nearly chokes as he swallows, eyes burning as he splutters.
“Okay, so you like both of them, then,” Seokjin determines, flipping over more meat.
“Why are you like this?” Yoongi rasps.
Seokjin gives him a look over the grill. “I could ask you the same thing. When was the last time you went out on a date, Yoongi?”
Yoongi grabs his glass of beer and takes a sip, his eyes still watering slightly. “Isn’t this a date?”
“You wish it was,” Seokjin answers, wrinkling his nose. His face softens after a moment, however. “Yoongi-yah. I’m not saying you need to date to be happy- I don’t believe that at all. But I know that you’ve been careful to the point of walling yourself off after Yonghee.”
Yoongi slowly sets his beer down again, taking a slow breath. “Are we talking about this now?”
Seokjin hesitates briefly before he places a strip of meat on top of Yoongi’s rice. “Not if you don’t want to.”
Yoongi starts making his next wrap, sniffing quietly. “I work with them.”
“And it’s- it’s both of them.”
“It’s both of them. Okay. And?”
Yoongi finishes making the wrap. “And I like them enough already that losing them would hurt.”
“Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says, and his eyes are kind and his lips quirked up into a lopsided smile. “You can’t lose them if you never have them in the first place.”
“I know,” Yoongi says, and he holds out the lettuce wrap he made for Seokjin, giant and misshapen.
Seokjin takes him up on the challenge, successfully getting it all into his mouth. He makes some unintelligible noises, but the look on his face clearly reads, so what are you going to do?
Yoongi takes a slow breath. “Think I want to write songs for them.”
The Siren Ent. building is always a little busy, but there’s something hectic about it when Yoongi gets in around four in the afternoon on Friday.
The receptionist is on the phone talking quickly, and the few assistants in the halls are on their phones as well, rushing past Yoongi with distracted nods.
It’s not until Yoongi sees Taehyung’s manager in the elevator, harried-looking and also on the phone, that he realizes what’s going on.
“-deny all claims. No, there’s no clause in his contract about not having relationships, but the picture is clearly edited anyway. Release back a statement, Jiwon, just fucking do something to get the media off our backs about this.”
The manager ends the call, glancing at Yoongi who’s pressed against the side of the elevator. “Yoongi-ssi,” he says.
Yoongi bows back, voice caught in his throat.
The doors slide open to the fourth floor and Yoongi steps out, the manager’s phone ringing again.
“No, I haven’t found him yet. I’m checking the practice rooms and then I’ll head to the dorms-”
The elevator closes and Yoongi walks on autopilot to his studio, tugging his phone from his pocket.
There aren’t any messages from Taehyung.
He’s not sure why he thought there would be, but-
The screen lights up, an incoming call from Jeongguk.
Yoongi answers as he types in the passcode to his studio.
“Yoongi-hyung? Are you at Siren?” Jeongguk sounds out of breath.
“Yeah, just got here. You okay, Guk-ah?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just- the news. I tried calling hyung but he’s not picking up. He went to the company earlier today and I’m worried.”
“Where are you?”
“Coming in from the dorms.”
“He wasn’t there?”
The door clicks closed behind Yoongi, but he stands beside it, staring into the empty room. “Alright. I’ll look for him here. Don’t rush, Jeongguk-ah, everything will be fine.”
“Okay,” Jeongguk says, but Yoongi thinks he can hear shoes slapping against pavement still. “Can you let me know if you find him?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I will.”
“Thank you, hyung.”
Yoongi ends the call and steps back out into the hall.
He has an inkling to where Taehyung is, and he brushes past another frantic assistant as he walks toward Hoseok’s studio door and rings the bell.
There’s no answer for a minute, and Yoongi rings again, this time saying with his lips near the door frame, “It’s Yoongi.”
The door opens.
Jimin is on the other side, blocking the entry with his body. “Hyung, now isn’t really a good-”
“Let him in Jimin,” Hoseok’s voice calls.
Yoongi slips inside when Jimin steps back, and the door closes behind him.
Hoseok is sitting on the edge of his desk, his lips pursed in an uncharacteristically thin line.
And curled up on the floor with his back against the wall is Taehyung, hair messy like he’s raked his fingers through it, face tucked into his knees.
“They’re looking for him?” Hoseok asks quietly.
Yoongi nods. He isn’t surprised they haven’t checked Hoseok’s studio yet. But Taehyung told Yoongi once that Hoseok is like the older brother Taehyung never had, and where else would Taehyung go in a building full of people ready to demand explanations from him but to the person he sees like family?
“They can fuck off for at least an hour,” Jimin mutters, arms folded over his chest.
Taehyung doesn’t say anything.
Yoongi walks slowly toward him and crouches on the ground, close enough where he can see that Taehyung’s shoulders are trembling with silent sobs.
“Taehyung,” Yoongi murmurs, his heart aching.
Taehyung looks up slowly, eyes bloodshot and face blotchy from crying. “Are you going to lecture me, hyung?”
“Nah. Fuck that.” Yoongi settles on the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of Taehyung. “Don’t even know about what the news was, actually.”
Hoseok sighs quietly behind him. “Some celebrity gossip site got a picture of Taehyung hugging a friend outside a bar. They cropped some of the photos and blurred them and now they’re making it into a dating scandal.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes. “When do they not?”
“It’s his private life,” Jimin hisses, and he starts to pace.
“And they’re wrong,” Taehyung croaks. “Everyone’s been breathing down my neck since I started modeling. Just waiting for me to do something. And this- they’re not even right.”
“We have a team that handles this shit, Tae. They’ll get it worked out,” Yoongi tells him quietly.
But Taehyung stays stiff beside him, scrubbing at his cheeks with the back of his sleeve, tears soaking into the thin fabric. This seems like more than being upset about an untrue dating scandal. Especially given everything Taehyung's attitude to the previous 'scandals' he had as a model.
“I’m just some inhuman idol to them,” Taehyung says, and he turns his reddened eyes on Yoongi. “To everyone. Now everyone’s going to have to do damage control like I’m a product and not a person, and since I never can fit into the all the boxes they’ve tried to shove me into as a model of as an actor or now as an idol they’re going to tell me to shut up and lie low and stop causing trouble.”
“They won’t,” Yoongi says, and Taehyung is still tearing a hole in his chest with his gaze alone, indignant and wild and hurt. “That’s not going to happen.”
“It will. It has to,” Taehyung says, and more tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m always going to have to shut up and lie low, hyung. I’m gay.”
For a moment the room is quiet, just Taehyung and those two words hanging in the air.
It’s my music, Taehyung had told Yoongi, nearly three months ago now. It’s just me.
Yoongi thinks that Taehyung has always been himself, has wanted nothing more than to be himself. To be seen as nothing more than who he is.
Yoongi shifts his weight carefully, leaning away from the wall, and reaches slowly forward to cup Taehyung’s cheeks between his palms. “Taehyung-ah,” he murmurs. “I see you.”
Taehyung’s mouth twists before a sob bursts from his chest, and he rocks forward into Yoongi, pressing his face into Yoongi’s chest.
Yoongi wraps his arms around him and holds him close, holds him tight.
Yoongi vaguely registers Hoseok and Jimin murmuring quietly together about getting Taehyung the rest of the day off and finding a way to avoid his manager, but he’s focused only on Taehyung, on running one hand over his back and stroking another through his hair.
“Hyung,” Hoseok says, and Yoongi looks over Taehyung’s shoulder at him. “Can you take Taehyung out for the day?”
Yoongi nods. “If you take care of his manager while I get Taehyung out of the building, I’ll call PD-nim.”
“I’ll tell his manager Taehyung is with me in the practice room,” Jimin says.
Taehyung is still shaking slightly when he pulls back from Yoongi, and he rubs his hand over his face again. “Thank you,” he says.
“You’ll need to come back tomorrow,” Hoseok adds, his face tired. “But things will have calmed down by then. And you won’t be dealing with it alone.”
Yoongi nods and clambers to his feet without grace before extending a hand to Taehyung.
Taehyung takes it, sniffing as he stands.
“I’ll go keep your manager occupied then,” Jimin says, and he leans up to press a kiss to Taehyung’s wet cheek as he walks by. “Call me later, Tae, okay?”
“Okay,” Taehyung whispers.
Jimin leaves, and Yoongi pulls his phone out as he remembers Jeongguk’s call.
“Jeongguk was looking for you earlier. I’m just going to let him know you’re okay,” Yoongi says quietly.
“Can he come?” Taehyung asks instead, his voice small despite the depth of it.
Yoongi blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘course.”
It might be bad to have two missing idols from Siren today, but Yoongi can deal with that later.
He calls Jeongguk and tells him to meet in the parking lot while Hoseok gives Taehyung a baseball cap and pulls off his own sweatshirt for Taehyung to pull on.
Yoongi and Taehyung take the stairs and the back exit and manage to slip out of reception with Taehyung’s head down.
Jeongguk is waiting by Yoongi’s car, chewing on his lip, and he rushes toward them both when he sees them.
“Hyung,” he breathes, relief clear in his eyes.
Taehyung just grabs his hand, keeping his head lowered.
“Let’s go,” Yoongi murmurs, unlocking the car.
Jeongguk pulls Taehyung into the backseat with him, and something inside Yoongi’s chest settles as he sees them with their fingers intertwined in the rearview mirror.
Yoongi drives them home in silence, drives them to his home, at least.
His apartment is cluttered, and he mumbles about not having a chance to clean in a while as they slip their shoes off.
Taehyung’s face is slightly swollen from crying, but his eyes are clearer as he lets out a small, quiet laugh. “It’s a lot cleaner than my dorm room, hyung.”
Yoongi leaves them to call Sunmi, hears Jeongguk talking softly and Taehyung answering as he closes the door to his bedroom behind them.
Sunmi picks up on the third ring.
“Yoongi, if this isn’t about that tabloid article I don’t have-”
“He’s with me,” Yoongi says.
Sunmi is silent for a moment before sighing. “You took him out of the company?”
“Yeah. Jeongguk, too. They won’t be coming in today, PD-nim.”
“Taehyung has a photoshoot tomorrow. I don’t know what’s on Jeongguk’s schedule, but if there is something, he needs to come back.”
“They just need a day,” Yoongi says quietly. “You know how hard this is on them.”
“I do,” Sunmi says, and Yoongi can tell she’s rubbing the bridge of her nose from her resigned tone. “One day, Yoongi. They need to be back at the company tomorrow morning. I’ll let their managers know.”
Yoongi feels his shoulders slump in relief. “Thank you.”
“You owe me.”
“I always owe you,” Yoongi says, his lips twitching with the hint of a smile.
“That you do,” Sunmi laughs before sighing again. “Alright. See you tomorrow at seven. ”
“Shit. Okay. Seven. Bye, PD-nim.”
Yoongi steps back out into the main room to find Taehyung poking through his collection of DVDs, sitting on the floor in front of the television, while Jeongguk has collected all the dirty mugs on Yoongi’s coffee table.
“Want to watch a movie?” Taehyung asks with a small smile.
“Sure,” Yoongi says, taking some of the mugs from Jeongguk. “Whatever you want, Taehyung-ah.”
Taehyung and Jeongguk wear Yoongi’s clothes that night after they shower, and the three of them actually cook together in Yoongi’s tiny, messy kitchen.
Jeongguk is eager to help Yoongi with chopping and mixing while Taehyung mostly steals bits and pieces of vegetables from them while he reads the recipe from his phone.
They don’t talk about the article or about the company or about the next day.
They listen to music instead, laughing and teasing and bickering about stupid things like how spicy to make the soup. Things that make Yoongi grin so wide he can't hide it, that make him want to hold on to this feeling, embrace it, live in it.
Yoongi’s apartment is warm and full and feels more homey than it has since he moved out of Seokjin’s place over two years ago.
And when they finish dinner and Yoongi digs out extra toothbrushes, he tells Taehyung and Jeongguk to take the bed.
They bicker about that too, and somehow in the argument end up convincing Yoongi that they can all fit in the bed together.
They do, somehow.
Yoongi is in the middle, Taehyung and Jeongguk’s long, sturdy frames on either side of him.
They’re all on their phones, Jeongguk constantly cackling at something and showing Yoongi and Taehyung.
Yoongi fully intends to move to the couch after half an hour.
He falls asleep instead, Jeongguk’s giggle and Taehyung’s slow breaths melody and harmony inside his chest, deep beneath his ribs.
Between Sunmi and Siren’s legal team, the article is quickly deleted and the scandal blows over.
Yoongi hears from Seokjin that Taehyung’s name trended and there were a wide variety of comments and reactions, but Siren released a statement denying that Taehyung was dating anyone and the comments apparently quieted down after that, finding new celebrity gossip to riot over.
Taehyung doesn’t talk about it, at least not until a week later when he shows up in Yoongi’s studio with ddeokbokki and Jeongguk.
“Do you think it’s worth it?” is what he asks, when talk about Jeongguk's upcoming tour has lulled into silence.
Jeongguk, sitting on the floor with half a rice cake punched between his chopsticks, blinks in confusion.
“What?” Yoongi frowns.
“Being an idol, I guess.”
Jeongguk shrugs. “It’s everything I’ve been working toward for years now. I don’t know what life would be if it wasn’t this.”
"You'd find something," Yoongi tells him. "You'd be good at anything you tried.
Taehyung hums in agreement, dipping one of the fried sides into the sauce. His shoulder brushes against Yoongi’s.
“Are you not happy, Taehyung-ah?” Yoongi asks quietly. “Jeongguk, you too. Are you… not happy with this?”
Jeongguk and Taehyung both look at him, seeming almost surprised.
“Happy?” Taehyung echoes back, frowning slightly. He has a bit of sauce smeared on the corner of his mouth and Yoongi only hesitates for a moment before picking up a tissue and wiping it for him.
“I think I am, most of the time,” Jeongguk says, his brow furrowed slightly. “I love music. I’m happiest when I’m singing and dancing and performing. If I’m doing that, the rest is okay.”
Taehyung nods. “For me, too. And the people here at Siren make things better. You two,” he says. “And Jimin and Namjoon-hyung and Hoseok-hyung. You make me want to be here. You... you all see me. That makes me happy.”
Yoongi lets out a small breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Good,” he says. “You should be happy, whatever you’re doing. Then it’s worth it.”
Jeongguk smiles up at him, his eyes sparkling even as they crinkle. “Hyung.”
Taehyung feeds Yoongi a piece of fish cake, careful not to make a mess. “What about you, hyung? Are you happy?”
Seokjin had told him just two months ago that all he did was work and sleep and work and sleep.
And for a while that had been true.
He wasn’t happy then.
(There had been a drawer of Yonghee’s things still in Yoongi’s room, his jacket in Yoongi’s closet, his photos in Yoongi’s phone, a finished song Yoongi never listened to again. Yoongi wasn’t happy then, either. But now-)
“I think so,” Yoongi says. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."
“You should always be happy, too,” Jeongguk tells him.
Yoongi walks them back to the dorm, and the set of three footsteps are the baseline to the song in Yoongi’s head.
Taehyung and Jeongguk hug him goodnight like they always do, and Yoongi goes back to his studio, ignores the empty take-out boxes, and clicks open the folder full of tracks he’s been working on for months.
And he writes a little more.
Jeongguk goes on tour to Japan.
Taehyung’s second album is released and he’s gone constantly, interviews and photoshoots and other promotions. He’s in talks to act in a drama again.
They message Yoongi sometimes, a selfie from Taehyung sticking his tongue out in his manager's car, a photo of a street in Tokyo from Jeongguk.
Yoongi misses them.
He continues working with the other artists in Siren, goes to dinner with Seokjin, has Jimin or Hoseok or Namjoon drag him out of his studio when he forgets to go home.
He keeps working on the tracks he keeps hidden in an untitled folder on his USB.
Jeongguk comes back after a month but is still busy nearly every day.
Yoongi tells him the code to his studio, though, and finds Jeongguk sleeping on his sofa when he comes in one afternoon, lets him nap until Jeongguk wakes up and pulls up a chair beside Yoongi to listen to the new album for their rookie girls group.
Gradually, things calm down.
Half an hour with Jeongguk turns back into nights of eating and talking.
Messages from Taehyung become actually seeing Taehyung in the hallway, Taehyung’s brilliantly wide smile and his hugs.
The first night the three of them are all together again for any extended period of time, Yoongi takes them out for dinner.
Jeongguk’s eyes are bright beneath the streetlight when they walk back to the company together, and Yoongi thinks sometimes that they hold galaxies that he would never tire of exploring.
Taehyung laughs at the story Jeongguk is telling, and the sound of his voice, the beautiful depth of it, warms Yoongi in the chill of the evening air.
“Can I show you something?” Yoongi finds himself asking when they get to his studio, Jeongguk entering the code for them.
Yoongi’s heart is beating along to the familiar rhythm it finds itself thumping to whenever Jeongguk and Taehyung render him overwhelmed in a wonderful way.
Yoongi plugs his USB into his computer as Taehyung sits down beside him and pulls open the still unnamed folder.
Jeongguk hovers behind him, leaning over so his chin rests on the top of Yoongi’s head.
Yoongi presses play on the first track.
The slow beat fills the room quietly at first, then the instrumentals, light and bright, warm and deep.
The guide vocals come on, and Yoongi closes his eyes, Jeongguk’s chin still propped on Yoongi’s head, Taehyung leaning into his space to take Yoongi’s hand.
Yoongi wonders if they can hear his heart beating. If they can hear everything he hasn’t said through the song that’s currently weaving around the three of them as they sit in the studio.
They listen without speaking.
(Yoongi thinks they can hear his heart. He tore down the walls enough over the last year to let out the music he’d kept trapped inside. And now, here it is.)
Yoongi only opens his eyes when the song ends, stopping the next track.
“Wow,” Jeongguk murmurs from above him. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah,” Taehyung says softly. “Hyung…”
“It’s for my mixtape,” Yoongi says, and his voice sounds almost shaky to his ears. “Wanted to ask if you’d be on it. This track.”
Jeongguk’s arms slip down to Yoongi’s shoulders. “Yes.”
Taehyung squeezes his hand. “We’d love to.”
Yoongi lets out a quiet breath and closes his eyes again.
“Wrote it for you,” he whispers, admitting. “Wrote it for you both.”
He can feel Jeongguk and Taehyung looking at each other from the shift in their bodies, can feel Jeongguk pull away only for soft lips to press against his cheek.
Yoongi’s eyes flutter back open.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk says, and he's leaning into Yoongi’s space, beautiful.
One of Yoongi’s hands is still in Taehyung’s, and with the other, he reaches for Jeongguk’s shirt collar and pulls him back in.
Yoongi kisses him like he’s writing another ballad, another love song, starshine and moonlight.
Jeongguk kisses him back, his hands on Yoongi’s shoulders, kisses him like he sings, soft and bright.
Taehyung gently squeezes Yoongi’s hand again and Yoongi pulls back from Jeongguk after pressing another kiss to Jeongguk’s lower lip.
And then there is Taehyung, waiting, face open, and Yoongi breathes in the moment before he leans in to kiss him, too.
Taehyung’s mouth is warm and gentle, and he kisses like honesty, kisses like he’s telling Yoongi that he wants him, like he’s writing a song with him.
Yoongi’s breath shudders and he leans back, eyes moving slowly from Taehyung to Jeongguk in the dim light of the studio.
“Are you two-” Yoongi starts and stops. He stands up, pushing his chair back. “Are we?”
“I like you,” Jeongguk says quietly, and his eyes are still wide. “And I like Tae-hyung. A lot. We talked about it right before I left for the tour.”
“Want to kiss you again anyway, Guk-ah,” Taehyung says with something almost like laughter, and he gets to his feet as well, leaning across Yoongi to press a gentle kiss to Jeongguk’s lips.
Yoongi loves them.
“The night before my flight for Japan, I told Taehyung how I felt about you both,” Jeongguk says after he pulls away. "And he felt the same way. But we agreed the timing was off. We were going to tell you tonight, when it was all of us together.”
“We did, sort of,” Taehyung says, and Yoongi realizes he’s still holding Yoongi’s hand when he raises it to nose over Yoongi’s hand and press a kiss to his wrist. “Hyung just asked us to feature on a track on his mixtape.”
“That was a confession,” Jeongguk says, laughing a little breathlessly. He looks at Yoongi. “Wasn’t it, hyung?”
Yoongi nods, unable to find words.
“Yoongi-hyung?” Jeongguk asks, his voice softening.
“I didn’t actually expect that to work. Or for you to- to feel the same way,” Yoongi says. He lets his eyes trace over Jeongguk’s face first, then Taehyung’s. “I haven’t… I haven’t felt this way in a long time. And the last time I did, it didn’t end well.”
Jeongguk takes his other hand.
“But I want you both,” he says anyway. “If you want me.”
“I want you,” Taehyung says, and he leans in to lick Yoongi’s cheek.
Yoongi startles, wrinkling his nose. “Did you just lick me?” He asks, indignation winning out over the shock of having both Jeon Jeongguk and Kim Taehyung kiss him (and kiss each other) in the last five minutes.
“Yeah. Want you, hyung,” Taehyung says with one of his low giggles, his smile bright.
“Like claiming ice cream,” Jeongguk snorts. “Hey, Yoongi-hyung, will you take us out for ice cream for our first date?”
Yoongi blinks. “Date,” he repeats, and everything starts setting in. “Yeah. Fuck. Anything you want, Jeongguk-ah.”
Jeongguk laughs, his eyes crinkling. “Anything? Yoongi-hyung, I want ice cream and a trip to Everland with you. And to hold your hand every day. And to kiss you again.”
Yoongi’s head spins. “Okay.”
Taehyung's grin widens. “The media’s going to be so confused. Three of us hanging out together holding hands. Just three guys being dudes.”
Yoongi snorts. “I think we beat the system.”
“In the best way,” Jeongguk agrees.
Yoongi takes a deep breath, rooting himself. They’re still in Yoongi’s locked studio, but they’re in the building of the company they all work for. “We’ll still have to be careful. I would never want to hurt either of you. Or your careers.”
“We know,” Jeongguk says. “But this is important, too.”
“You both make me happy,” Taehyung says, looking from Jeongguk to Yoongi. “And hyung said that was most important.”
(You both make me happy , Taehyung said. Yoongi thinks that those words alone could become the beat of another song, one that Yoongi will keep close to his heart.)
“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees. “That’s important.”
Jeongguk lets go of Yoongi’s hand, but it’s only to tuck himself into Yoongi’s side. “Can we listen to the rest of your mixtape?”
Yoongi nods, presses a kiss to Jeongguk’s neck. “Let me pull up another cha-”
Taehyung tugs Yoongi back and they both fall into the second seat. “Here, hyung,” Taehyung says, wrapping his arms around Yoongi’s waist.
Yoongi huffs in mock annoyance, wiggling to get comfortable on Taehyung's thighs while Jeongguk laughs and sits down in Yoongi’s chair.
They listen to the rest of Yoongi’s mixtape, and Yoongi doesn’t tell them that the two of them are woven into every track, into his heart.
Min Yoongi writes love songs for people.
(Most of his songs are not, however, love songs. His mixtape, when it is released, has a track that criticizes society for ignorance blinding it to beautiful things, has a track that assures listeners even in their darkest moments they will still see the stars. No one knows that they are written for the people he loves. No one guesses that the title track, still called untitled, features the two people he kisses good night and good morning and hello and goodbye and I love you. Features two people, one who has eyes that shine with the light of three galaxies and one who has a voice that rumbles like a breath of warmth on a winter day.)
Min Yoongi still writes lots of songs for people, too. As a songwriter and producer for Siren Entertainment, Yoongi makes music for all of the artists under their label. He has a few songs he might put on his next mixtape, a few songs that he might give to solo artists Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jeongguk if they want them.
It’s a great job, honestly. Yoongi has few to no complaints about the work. Sunmi did not become the co-founder and owner of Siren without skill, and she runs the small but successful company with a critical eye, business savvy, and an (honestly very strange, but that’s another matter entirely) interesting approach to her art. The idols signed to Siren are fresh-faced and pretty, yes, but talented and hard-working.
It’s a great job.
It’s a great job, and he's happy. He loves working with Jeon Jeongguk and Kim Taehyung, loves hearing their voices and challenging them with new ideas, bouncing things off of them and letting them come to him with compositions of their own.
And he loves that music has brought him a voice that rumbles like a breath of warmth on a winter day and eyes that shine with the light of three galaxies.
He loves them.
Min Yoongi loves Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jeongguk.
And he thinks he will never run out of songs for them.