Word count: 2,7k.
Warnings: There's cursing, I think. A slight sprinkle of angst.
Summary: It's winter and Yoongi tries to make music.
Notes: Originally posted over at writetomyheart. My first yoonjin, my first bts fic. This fic is me trying to figure out how to write Yoongi, and it's more Yoongi-centric than anything.
Reading on your phone?
See you soon is written in a messy scrawl on a pink heart-shaped post-it note that sticks to the side of Yoongi’s laptop screen. The note has been hanging there for thirty-three days, and the glue on the backside is starting to dry. Yoongi is mildly surprised by the stubbornness of the glue; it has been clinging onto the side of the screen even though Yoongi has folded his laptop several times, has brought it to class and stuffed it into his bag several times.
Yoongi leans back in his chair, stretches, lets out a soft gasp when his spine pops satisfactory. His eyes are burning with exhaustion, lack of sleep, but he’s finally done. And not a second too early. The numbers in the top right corner of his laptop tells him that he needs to get going if he’s going to be at the university on time. With practiced ease, Yoongi closes the laptop, tucking the side of the note in so it’s safely placed between the screen and the keyboard.
The laptop and the post it rests inside Yoongi’s backpack while Yoongi himself hurries into the bathroom, takes a two-minute shower. He has become an expert. Exactly two minutes later he emerges from the shower, smelling like citrus and sandalwood. Instead of drying off properly, Yoongi settles for wrapping a pink, fluffy towel around his waist before he skirts off to the bedroom.
It’s dusty; the air inside old and dry – it feels like Yoongi’s throat tightens up just from breathing in the air. He needs to open up the windows and change the dusty sheets. Even though said sheets were changed thirty-three days ago, they’re still clean. Yoongi hasn’t been sleeping in them. No one has. Later, he tells himself. He’ll change the sheets later.
Almost blindly he fumbles inside the big closet, trying to recognize clothes just by the feel of the fabric against his fingertips. Some pants, jeans are discarded just based on their size. They’re not his, and while Yoongi loves to borrow clothes, he has learnt the hard way that pants two sizes big don’t really look flattering on him.
Four pair of shirts and an unknown pair of pants later, Yoongi settles for a sweater that feels big, but soft, and a pair that’s ripped at the knees; he knows they’re his from how they cling to his thighs and legs.
The sweater is in baby blue jersey, neckline a bit too big; it keeps exposing Yoongi’s collarbones if he bends over too much. The sleeves are long, falling over his hands, making them look like paws. Yoongi pushes them up past his elbows as he tends to do, doesn’t think twice about it.
The long sleeves work as mittens, Yoongi discovers as they poke out from his jacket, protecting his fingers from the cold November morning. Yoongi loathes winter; does anything to keep the cold away from him. In addition to his thick, padded winter coat, he wears a long, black home-knitted scarf and a navy beanie. His eyes are barely visible between the hem of the beanie and the top of the scarf.
“You look like a snowman, hyung,” Namjoon says as a greeting when Yoongi slips into the recording room, snow falling of his narrow shoulders. Yoongi strips himself of his outer layers effectively. Namjoon has probably been in here for a couple of hours already, seeing as it’s so warm. Usually the recording rooms are ice cold and the first couple of hours inside have to be spent in one’s outerwear.
“It’s cold outside,” Yoongi says simply, absently pushing the long sleeves up past his elbows again. He grabs his laptop and lyrics book. Namjoon makes space in the mess of paper and Styrofoam cups for Yoongi’s stuff.
“You’ve been here all night,” Yoongi says casually, not looking at Namjoon as he cracks his computer open, holding onto the post-it as he does. The laptop spins back into life easily, fans spinning noisily. Yoongi double-clicks on the music program and waits as the laptop works intensively, leaning back in his chair again.
“Nah, just since five. The janitor threw me out at two. I crashed in Wonshik’s dorm room since his roommate is out and about.” Namjoon informs him. Yoongi nods distantly, only listening with half an ear as the music program unfolds on his laptop.
“You haven’t slept at all.” The disbelief in Namjoon’s voice is enough for Yoongi to imagine how his face looks, so he doesn’t look up. Doesn’t need the disappointed mother-face from Namjoon who barely sleeps himself. He settles for humming, shrugging his shoulders as he browses through his files.
“I can’t sleep,” Yoongi murmurs softly. Teeth sink into his bottom lip as he squints at his screen. He can’t for the life of him remember what he named it.
Namjoon sighs, but remains silent otherwise. Yoongi feels the pity radiating from the younger man. He doesn’t need it. Doesn’t want it.
“I made a song, sort of,” says Yoongi, changing topic before Namjoon gets sappy on him. In his chair, Namjoon perks up in interest. He skims through dozens of audio files, not remembering what he titled that one song he made in the vacuum between midnight and dawn.
Of course. Yoongi’s gaze softens, warmth spreading from his chest to the rest of his bed. He feels numb yet warm, happy.
“It’s this one,” Yoongi says, exhaling softly before he double-clicks on it, soft piano streaming out of the speakers in the tiny recording room.
Pillow creased notes.
Time flies as Namjoon and Yoongi work like busy bees, changing lyrics and base beat of rhythms. This is their final project for their united project in Advanced Musical Composition – or something. It counts insanely much of their final grade for the first term. They have to make a collaboration album; luckily Namjoon and Yoongi’s music tastes are rather similar so after a day or two they both knew what they wanted their album to sound like.
They have two breaks for coffee and bathroom breaks. Namjoon, as the youngest, runs to the closest coffee shop to buy two large Americanos while Yoongi heads for the university cafeteria to buy them some cup ramyeon.
It’s not until Namjoon’s phone buzzes, hours and hours later, that Yoongi starts wondering what time it is. Yoongi’s body feels stiff even though he stretches, tries to work the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. His eyes feel like they’re burning, eyelids heavy. Yeah, he definitely needs more coffee if they’re going to stay here through the night. Luckily the coffee shop near the science building is open 24/7.
Yoongi jumps when Namjoon closes his laptop, gets up of his chair, pockets his phone.
“What’s up?” Yoongi asks, frowning at Namjoon who stuffs his shit into his duffel bag.
“I forgot it’s the 27th today,” Namjoon explains, pulling on his thick jacket, pulling the faux-fur lined hood over his head. Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to think if anything special is supposed to happen today. Namjoon doesn’t have a girlfriend – or a boyfriend, so there’s no anniversary, no special night for two
“I promised my mother I’d go with her to see my little sister’s dance recital.” Namjoon pauses in his feverish packing process, eyes scanning the room. “We’re going out to eat and everything and I’m really, really late.”
“Have fun,” Yoongi says, nodding. Namjoon smiles softly, knowingly.
“Don’t stay too late, hyung.” Yoongi watches Namjoon exit the room. He pauses in the door.
“I mean it, try to get some sleep,” he chides softly before he walks out, closing the door quietly behind him.
Yoongi chuckles, turns back to his laptop and listens through the song one more time. There’s still something lacking; vocals maybe. Some of the songs on their album are still without any vocal at all. They haven’t really decided if they should put vocals on or not, as the songs sound really good without them.
Humming the slow tune under his breath, Yoongi starts searching his pockets for his phone. No one usually contacts him during the day – they know he’s usually busy, not checking his phone until it’s late. Not finding his phone in his pockets, Yoongi gets up, knees protesting wildly, his butt prickling. He’s been seated for way too long.
“Not here either?” Yoongi mutters, hands searching through the many pockets of his jacket to no avail. Yoongi’s arms fall to his side. He feels naked, unavailable. Yeah, he doesn’t really use his phone most of the time but that’s something he does because he wants to. With his phone MIA, he doesn’t really have a choice. Forced isolation.
Grumbling, Yoongi returns to his laptop.
When his eyelids are so heavy it’s a struggle to keep them open, Yoongi closes his laptop. He tucks the corner of the post-it note carefully back into its place before he stuffs the laptop into his backpack and gets dressed. He triple checks the table, makes sure his lyrics book is in the confines of his backpack before he starts the tedious work of getting dressed for winter.
It has started snowing again, big, heavy crystals of snow descending from the sky. The city is already wrapped in a thick blanket of snow. The temperature hovers around 0 degrees, making it cold but not icy. There’s no wind either, Yoongi notes, pleased. A couple of snowflakes stick to his bangs, fluttering into his vision, clings to his eyelashes. They melt rather quickly, turning into droplets of water that trails down Yoongi’s cheeks until they’re absorbed by the woolen scarf.
While waiting for the green light to give him permission to cross the road, a big digital watch on the side of a business building catches his attention. 22:43. It’s later than he thought it would be, but then again time does fly when you’re stuck in a tiny recording booth.
Yoongi lives in one of the dorms slightly off campus – a rough 10 minute walk through a tiny business district. It’s a blessing more often than not, especially during winter. One of his neighbors are on the way out when Yoongi approaches, so he keeps it open for Yoongi, smiles softly at him as Yoongi bows quickly, returning the smile even if it’s hidden by his scarf.
The buzz of the elevator lulls Yoongi into a half-slumber, almost has him falling asleep on his feet on the few seconds it takes up to the 7th floor. The elevator gives a soft ping and pulls Yoongi’s body back into action, slipping drowsily out of the elevator. Yoongi’s legs walk on autopilot the short distance from the elevator to the door, pausing only to punch in the door code. The door beeps happily at him.
A wall of heat meets him the same second as he steps into the flat, his toes curling happily in his shoes. Yoongi mentally thanks himself for not turning it off when he left earlier. He yawns as he sheds his outer clothes, hangs the jacket on its place, and puts the accessories in the basket, slipping his feet into his slippers. His backpack lies forgotten by the shoe rack.
Yoongi’s entire body buzzes in exhaustion; his brain feels like it’s made out of cotton. His body feels too heavy for his skeleton. His steps are heavy, feet making thudding noises against the wooden floor. He knows he should be working on songs, especially since Namjoon had to leave earlier and they didn’t get to work as much as they probably should have done.
However, the sofa seems more tempting than sitting in front of a computer. Heck, if Yoongi sits down now he will probably fall asleep. The living room is bathing in a soft, warm light that’s coming from the candles placed on the living room table as well as two of the lamps hanging over the TV.
Yoongi pauses in his tracks. Even if he’s almost a walking zombie, he doesn’t remember lighting any candles. To be honest, Yoongi isn’t the type to waste money on candles.
His ears pick up a soft hum coming from the kitchen, followed by clutters of cups, plates, utensils. It’s Yoongi’s song; one of his older songs that never was posted on his Soundcloud. Only a select few people have ever heard it. Yoongi’s heart pounds loudly in his chest, his body trembling from the impact of the rushed beats of his heart. His throat feels tight, his tongue thick; feels almost foreign in his mouth.
It feels like he is on the verge of fainting when he rounds the corner to the kitchen. Messy, brown hair, broad shoulders and a pink apron are the first things Yoongi’s eyes notices. A soft, white t-shirt. Gray sweatpants. Bare feet in slippers.
“Seokjin,” Yoongi breathes, barely an exhale of air. Seokjin’s name sticks onto his tongue, lips. They feel heavy, as if Yoongi’s body, mind struggles to pronounce those letters in that order to form the name. Disbelief fills Yoongi. Has the lack of sleep gotten to him? Is he hallucinating?
Yoongi has dreamt of this often. Has dreamt of this for thirty-three days. He always wakes up just as Seokjin is about to turn to look at him. In his dreams, Yoongi never gets to see Seokjin’s face. Time moves slow as if coated in syrup. Seconds feel like hours, days.
“Hey,” Seokjin says, sounding out of breath – like Yoongi feels. Yoongi inhales sharply, lungs filling to the brim with air as he tries to remember how to breathe. Seokjin looks good, rested – healthy. His cheeks got that beautiful pink flush – from the cold outside, Yoongi assumes. His eyes are kind, bright as they meet Yoongi’s gaze.
Then Seokjin smiles at him. It sets of a flare of heat in Yoongi’s chest; affection, love.
The soft thumps of slippers over wooden floor, soft flutters of breath, airy chuckles. Home.
Seokjin smells like home. Like their fabric softener, Yoongi’s citrus shampoo, like something uniquely Seokjin. His body is warm against Yoongi’s, warming him up like a heater. A Seokjin-shaped heater.
Yoongi buries his face in Seokjin’s neck, feeling his cheeks heat up because of the way he acts. Yoongi is never – has never been the clingiest of them. He blames it on the lack of sleep, blames it on the thirty-three days Seokjin has been away.
Seokjin’s arms tighten their grip around Yoongi’s middle. He makes a soft sound that sounds like a choked off sob. Yoongi tightens his hold on Seokjin, nuzzles his nose over the soft skin of Seokjin’s neck, feels Seokjin’s pulse thrumming under the skin. Yoongi lets his arms loop around Seokjin’s neck, fingers settling at the base of his skull, smooths down the soft baby hair.
“I’ve missed you,” Seokjin murmurs against the shell of Yoongi’s ears. His lips are warm, soft. It tickles.
Yoongi pulls back, pushes Seokjin forwards. He stretches slightly to gain some height until their lips brush. Kissing Seokjin feels like an injection of adrenaline straight into his blood system, that lights every part of him on fire as Seokjin kisses him back, chuckles against Yoongi’s lips. The kiss is soft, sweet; Seokjin tastes like strawberry milk and chocolate. Yoongi sucks on Seokjin’s lips, teeth sinking down into the softness of it before he lets his tongue soothe over it while he basks in the small whimpers Seokjin makes. Warm palms slip under the hem of Yoongi’s sweater, settles on the small of his back as Seokjin pulls their bodies closer.
Seokjin’s body feels even warmer pressed against Yoongi’s, but Yoongi wants to get closer, warmer. Seokjin pulls away first, but only to catch his breath, forehead resting against Yoongi’s. A smile splays out on Seokjin’s swollen lips. Yoongi licks his own lips, distracted as Seokjin does the same.
Their second kiss is deeper. Hands tightening in fabric, bruising skin as they desperately try to make up for the thirty-three days they have missed. Apologies, confessions, feelings – it’s all poured through the press of lips. One of Seokjin’s hands slip into the back pockets of Yoongi’s jeans, pressing their crotches together that results in a deep moan rumbling in Yoongi’s chest. It’s intense, pleasure like fire licking up their bodies until they can’t think about anything else than them.
Seokjin is home.