Chapter Text
Yoongi follows a voice. It’s what he’s always done. There’s a voice in his head that tells him what to do and he follows it. There’s a song that needs to be sung and he follows it, finds it, twists it and makes it into reality. People call him a genius, a musical prodigy, but he’s not. He’s just following a voice.
He’s not looking for it when a sound tugs at the leash around his neck; he never is. Yes, there’s a hole in Cypher’s newest track, and Hoseok doesn’t have any ideas that aren’t just wild sexual moaning in the background, and Namjoon doesn’t have any ideas other than reading the intro to Paradise Lost in Japanese while a clock ticks in the background.
(“Why does it have to be in Japanese?”
“It’s art! It feels different.”
“Why the clock?”
“There’s something scary about the passage of time and the futility of fighting it, you know? We’re all dying all the time.”
“And why Paradise Lost?”
“Because it was the first piece of literature to question morality and power in such a human way!”
“You sure you don’t just have a crush on Satan?”
“Satan’s hot and unquestionably the most charismatic anti-hero in literature, what do you want me to say? Of course I have a crush on Satan.”
“I still like the moaning. Sex sells.”
“And that’s exactly why we have to include Satan!”)
Yes, there’s a hole in the track, and it’s his job to fill it, but that’s not how it works. He’s not looking for an asshole on a skateboard singing at the top of his lungs as he screams past the coffee shop where Yoongi is trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes with black coffee and determination. It’s not some dramatic revelation as he turns the corner and finds a solemn voice sitting at a lonely piano, and it’s honestly kind of annoying. It would make Yoongi’s life so much easier if that was the voice that pulled him in, but no.
The voice that stirs the little gremlin inside of Yoongi’s heart is a blur of brown hair that belts out something about playing Diablo and peeling avocado. It’s just a moment, one line of a song before he’s gone, but there’s something striking about it. There’s a youth in that voice, and as Yoongi takes his first sip of coffee, he mourns over the voice that skateboarded off into the distance with no hope of being caught.
(“You’re adding vocals to the bridge?”
“Just playing around with the idea, I don’t know if it’ll work in the final.” “Who would sing it? I don’t know if Hobi can sing this melody out of falsetto, and you’d be really pushing my range with the harmonies.”
Yoongi shrugs. “We’ll figure it out if it gets that far.”)
It’s not that Yoongi goes to the same coffee shop every time, he really doesn’t. If he went to the same coffee shop every day the barista would get suspicious and probably worried, but this one is close enough to the studio and the kid who’s always there to take his order is nice, if a little too happy to talk to him.
It’s not there that he hears the voice again, no. It’s a couple streets over as he walks back home too late at night, and the moment still isn’t perfect and dramatic. There’s no spotlight on the guy as he stumbles up the steps across the street, clearly drunk and giggling under his breath as he sings some old IU song under his breath. It’s not even in the right key, Yoongi can tell, but there’s this breath behind it, a feeling. Then the guy’s laughing, and some other guy comes up behind him, and instead of singing there’s this giggle that echoes down the empty street, off the buildings and sidewalk.
Yoongi bites his lip.
The guy with the voice, the one he’s looking for, whines something to the other guy, who pushes in front of the door to fiddle with the key himself. Yoongi’s walking, he’s still walking because don’t be weird, Min, but he still hasn’t caught a face for the tall guy with the brown hair and the voice. The door finally opens, too distantly, now, for Yoongi to hear, and the other guy, pink hair, turns toward the street to whoop out his success.
Yoongi only catches a glimpse, but it’s enough. Oh, huh, and suddenly pink hair is also the excitable guy from the coffee shop. He’ll have to check his name tag next time he stops in.
Taehyung, it says the next day when Yoongi orders his iced americano from an obviously hungover Taehyung.
(“I’m really not sure about this bridge, hyung.”
“It’s just guiding piano right now, it’s gong to feel empty until we get a voice in there.”
“Want me to start working on lyrics?”
“Nah, I have an idea of what it should be. Give me another week on this one, you have a crazy schedule for a few days anyway. It’ll be good.”
“You know, the fans would love it if you came to a fansign. They love your work.”
“They love you, Joon. You and Hobi. Not the person behind a computer.”
“They love the person behind the music.”
“They don’t even know what I look like.”
“They could, and you know that.”
Yoongi puts his headphones back on and follows the voice.)
The third time it happens, it is kind of like it should be, all soft light and the spotlight from the gods. The guy with a voice is the only person in the coffee shop when he walks in, probably waiting for Taehyung. He’s on his laptop, earbuds in, brown hair soft over a soft looking sweater, too big for him. He’s sitting by the window and Yoongi has no idea how he could possibly be working with that glare, but that’s not what this is about.
It’s about the whisper, the voice, the breath. The guy with the voice breathes and Yoongi breathes with him, and then he’s singing something that’s not meant for anyone else.
Yoongi hears it and that’s it. That’s what his little gremlin wanted, that’s what the song needed.
Fuck it.
Yoongi taps his shoulder and then there are these big eyes blinking at him and fuck.
He’s so pretty and just… fuck.
Yoongi’s pretty proud of how quickly he puts himself back together.
“Min Yoongi.” He sticks his hand out to shake.
The kid pulls out his earbuds, blinks down at the hand, back up to Yoongi, and bites the inside of his mouth (fuck) before pulling out his earbuds and accepting the handshake.
“Um… I’m Jungkook?” he says, like it’s a question, head cocked.
Yoongi takes his hand back, wipes at his pants.
“Do you know Cypher?” Yoongi continues, like a smooth person, or a person who is smooth.
“Uh, the rap duo?”
“Yeah, them.”
“…Yes?” Jungkook squints.
“I’m their producer, and I think I need you to sing on one of their new songs.”
Jungkook’s eyes go wide (fuck) and for a split second Yoongi completely believes that he’s going to accept, that he’s going to be excited and immediately come with him to the studio where he can sing and Yoongi can fill that hole, please the gremlin, make a song they can all be proud of.
And then Jungkook laughs, his lips pulling back and nose scrunching up (fuck). It’s not malicious, but Yoongi takes a step back.
“Wha—“ he starts.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just—“ he snickers again and Yoongi can see the asshole on the skateboard, “—wow, okay.” He takes a breath before catching Yoongi’s eyes. “I’m very flattered, but I also know that this isn’t how that works. No one’s pulled talent off the street for years. Might want to find a more believable opening if you want whatever your scam is to work.”
Jungkook fucking winks at him before he stands up, closes his laptop, and joins Taehyung (when did Taehyung even get there) to leave.
“Good luck with the scam!” He calls back, accompanied by the twinkle of bells as the door closes.
“Fuck.”
Yoongi orders his coffee from someone who is decidedly not Taehyung and goes back to an empty studio and an angry gremlin, still chasing after the voice.
(“Hyuuuuuung we miss you”
Yoongi laughs into the receiver. “I miss you too. Kick ass at the concert tonight, okay.”
“Hell yeah. Call you tonight?”
“I’ll be here.”)
It’s another few days before Yoongi makes his way back to the coffee shop. He distracted himself with some other songs, some other ideas, with some lyric work, but there’s still a part of him that says chase the voice.
It’s Taehyung who takes his order, and Taehyung who hands him his iced americano, and Taehyung who shouts “Oh, hey, aren’t you the guy who tried to scam Kookie?”
Kookie? (fuck)
Yoongi rolls his eyes, turns on his heel and shouts “Not a scam!” back.
(He plays the one song, the empty one, over and over and over and over and—)
The fourth time it happens, Yoongi realizes the gremlin won’t shut up until Jungkook sings for him.
He’s skateboarding again and Yoongi has no idea how he can find that much breath support while doing physical activity. Yoongi shudders at the thought of working out and singing at the same time.
“Jungkook!” he yells across the street. “I swear it’s not a scam!”
Jungkook laughs and yells back “Prove it!” but he’s gone before Yoongi even has a chance.
The gremlin needs it, needs him to follow that voice. And maybe Yoongi does too.
(“This kid is so frustrating, I swear to god. I just need him to sing!”
“Hyung, do you even know his family name?”
“No, of course not!”
There’s a sigh, some muttering, and then Namjoon takes Hobi place on the phone.
“If you’d just let me try the Paradise Lost thing you wouldn’t even need to stalk this poor kid! Think about it! We can use that part where Satan is talking to…”
Yoongi tries to listen to Namjoon’s bad idea, that time. He even listens to Hoseok’s, but that’s just a lot of moaning so he hangs up.)
Yoongi is tired. He’s always tired, but it’s normally in a more existential sense that leads to depression naps and staring at the ceiling. He’s good at being existentially tired, but when he’s really tired, when he actually has to wake up at 7 in the morning, he forgets to also wonder about what it means to do the right thing and also if time is a human construct.
It’s one one of these days, when he’s really tired, that he breaks.
He walks into the same dumb coffee shop that he really does go to every time, now. Jungkook is just sitting there, looking stupidly beautiful in the rising sun, not even singing this time but he’s chewing on his cheek and somehow that’s even worse. He doesn’t even have to sing to be exactly what the little gremlin in his mind wants. He’s still following a voice, he tells himself.
He sits across from Jungkook without asking, aggressively. He doesn’t know if it’s possible to sit aggressively, but he’s doing it and he’s so tired that it doesn’t even matter.
Jungkook startles and looks up at him with those dumb big eyes.
“I swear to god it’s not a scam,” he starts before Jungkook even pulls his earbuds out, “I don’t know how to prove it to you but I haven’t even heard you sing for real and I know it’s exactly what I need on this song, so pull your head out of your ass and just—“ Yoongi grunts in frustration, maybe yells, but he hates labels, “—just sing, god, please.”
Jungkook blinks; a part of Yoongi decides to remember that he blinks for a second before reacting. It’s stupidly cute (fuck).
This time, Jungkook actually takes a moment to evaluate him and Yoongi finds himself holding his breath.
“Why?” he asks, and it’s the one question Yoongi doesn’t know how to answer.
“There’s—“ he groans again, stares at the ceiling. He’s good at staring at the ceiling. Jungkook gives him the moment.
Yoongi snaps up, and as always, finds the voice.
“I’ve been writing music my whole life. Before I could even play anything, I think, because I have to. I don’t know why, but I have to. I could give you this whole monologue about how my music needs your voice or it was meant to be or tell you about the gremlin that won’t shut up until the song is right but—“
“I get it.”
Yoongi stops.
Stares.
“You… get it?”
Jungkook is looking anywhere but at Yoongi. He’s biting at his cheeks, his lips again. “Have you ever auditioned for one of those big companies? Been a trainee? Tried to make it, you know?”
Yoongi considers this Jungkook, the one who can’t look at him, not the one who laughs and gets drunk with his friends or rides his skateboard like a college asshole.
“Yeah,” he sighs out, “I have.”
Jungkook nods. “Yoongi, I’ve already tried. Maybe it’s not a scam, whatever, but I tried. I had that voice too, and it was wrong.” His smile is watery, but not disingenuous. He plays with the ends of his sleeves, tucks his hands into them like that’ll keep him safe. Sweater paws (fuck).
“If I can prove that it’s not a scam, if I can prove to you that this is worth it and that I’m not gonna let you deal with any asshole executives, will you at least consider it?”
Jungkook turns up, and for the first time, Jungkook really looks at him, stars and doubt and fear and stars in his eyes.
He chews on his lips. He’s nervous. God, he’s so nervous. He nods, and it’s all Yoongi needs.
Yoongi pulls out his phone. “Do you follow Cypher’s twitter?”
“Uh, yeah, I do.”
Yoongi nods. “Great, so you’re a fan?”
“Yeah, since before debut, I guess.”
“And you know Suga, their producer?”
“Uh, kind of? I’ve seen that in the album credits or whatever, if that counts. God, this feels like such a scam.”
Min Yoongi(7:23AM): Can you post something on Cypher’s twitter for me?
Jung Hoseok(7:23AM): ??????
Kim Namjoon(7:23AM): What’s up?
Kim Namjoon(7:24AM): I mean yeah but also what?
“I have their twitter loaded, what am I looking for.”
Yoongi ignores him in favor of taking a truly terrible selfie. Good enough.
Min Yoongi(7:26AM): I need you to post this with the caption “Suga says hi”
Jung Hoseok(7:26AM): ??????!!!!!!!!!!
Kim Namjoon(7:26AM): What the fuck
Incoming Call from Jung Hoseok(7:26AM)
Yoongi picks up the phone on the first ring.
“What the fuck, Yoongles?!”
There’s an echo from Namjoon, somewhere in the same room.
“What did the bad men say to you, Yoongi? Where are you? We’re on our way.”
“I’m fine, Hoseok. I’m making this decision, un-coerced. Post it.”
“Are you talking to J-Hope?!” Jungkook yell-whispers from across the table. Yoongi ignores him.
A moment, and then “Are you sure?”
“Post it.”
He hangs up, turns his attention back to Jungkook. “In a few minutes, there will be a picture of me on the Cypher twitter account with the caption ‘Suga says hi.’ Will that prove it?”
Jungkook gapes and starts refreshing the twitter page.
Yoongi knows the second it posts, because Jungkook stops moving. He’s staring at the picture, then at Yoongi, then the picture, until Yoongi is almost dizzy.
He sticks a hand out, an echo. “Min Yoongi,” he hesitates, “Suga.”
Jungkook grins, and it’s nothing like the one before. Stars in his eyes, and stars and stars and stars.