Chapter Text
Yoongi hates the blue walls.
They’re too bright, too in-your-face. Sometimes he walks through their dorm with his head down.
He could argue that maybe his hatred of it has everything to do with his current life and not about the color specifically on a good day.
This isn’t one of those days.
Way back then, Yoongi pictured himself in an apartment with cream walls by now. Cream walls, maybe even black for a sleek look, and white ceilings that would be too high for him to reach. A color that is grand and subtle. Rich.
Not cheap fucking blue.
“The walls aren’t going to close in on you, you know?” Namjoon whispers too close to his ear. His giggles made the hair on Yoongi’s arms rise.
Both of them had just watched a year-end award show where their sunbaenims won awards they’ve already won before. They deserved it, of course they did.
If someone knew ‘no pain, no gain’, it was Yoongi.
And Namjoon, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook.
But they haven’t won their rightful daesang yet. It’s only been a couple of months since their debut, sure, but Yoongi feels he’s aged 10 years since he started this idol life.
Only time will tell if they ever win one. But with the rumors of the company closing down, who’s to say if that will ever happen?
Yoongi bought several cases of beer a while ago and Namjoon caught him sneaking them in. He only let Namjoon have some because he promised he wouldn’t tell their managers about it.
So, there they were. The show ended a couple of minutes ago. Everyone in the dorm is fast asleep and they both have to be quiet.
But—
“You don’t have to get so close to me to talk, you brat.” Yoongi pushes Namjoon away but the younger just sways back to him, a goofy lopsided smile on his face.
“I don’t want to be too loud. Hoseok will get mad at me.”
“This room is so small, I can hear you even if you’re standing and whispering on the veranda.”
“Oh!” Namjoon’s eyes widen in deep interest. “Do you want me to try?”
He stands up, barely accomplishing the task because of his swayin, but Yoongi pulls him down by the hem of his jersey.
“Sit the fuck down,” Yoongi hisses.
For someone who swears like a sailor, Namjoon doesn’t like hearing others swear at him. He sticks his tongue out at Yoongi like a child and stumbles to the sliding door leading to the veranda to sulk. Yoongi lets him be, taking another gulp from his can.
He has the routine down by now:
Namjoon is upset. He glares at Yoongi and ignoring him only makes it worse because then he’ll start to insult him indirectly. He’ll get over it after an hour and they’re back to normal, or if Yoongi feels really bad he’ll go apologize as soon as possible.
Sucks for him, Yoongi does not feel bad at all. He only feels hate. Not at Namjoon—at the walls. It’s the bane of his existence.
Namjoon sniggers. “I may be drunk but at least I’m not mad at some thin wooden flank and then take out my anger on someone else. Someone innocently sitting here and trying to lighten up the mood!”
And there it is.
“It’s an ugly wall,” Yoongi retorts. He returns Namjoon’s glare. “Don’t you think it’s ugly?”
“Of course I do. Blue isn’t my favorite color. If you had blue hair, I’d hate you even more than I already do.”
Yoongi shifts in his seat as he tries to remain calm. “Oh so you hate me now?” he asks.
He takes Namjoon’s silence and the way his jaw clenches as an answer.
It’s a low blow. There’s a bad taste in his mouth that overtakes the aftertaste of the cheap beer. But it’s not like it’s brand new information. They made it very clear from the beginning, when getting along just didn’t work out, that whatever they are, they are just colleagues. Having to live together, breathe the same air, and everything else is just a part of their job.
They’re not friends.
But he doesn’t hate Namjoon.
“I don’t know you well enough to hate you,” Yoongi slurs out. He’s already fifty feet below, why not sink further? “Actually, I just don’t care enough to even think about hating you.”
He catches sight of Namjoon’s glassy eyes. “You’re a jerk, Min Yoongi,” he spits.
“And you’re a fucking child, Kim Namjoon.”
Namjoon clenches his fist; Yoongi rolls his eyes. He doesn’t want a fistfight, not now.
Even as his voice shakes, Yoongi tries to explain, “Technically, I’m not mad at the walls. It’s the fact that I still have to look at that shitty torn poster when I thought I’d be, I don’t know, looking at expensive art.” He is met with silence but he feels the tension between them slowly fading. “But we can’t even win a daesang. I’m never gonna get my art.”
Their dorm is located in a narrow street. It barely gives a view if you look out the window or the veranda. But Yoongi sometimes hears cars passing and he imagines he’s living in the big city, in a penthouse in Gangnam. Right now, a car honks loudly as it whizzes past their building.
Namjoon isn’t fazed by it and maintains a neutral expression when he says, “We will win one.”
Yoongi can’t help but scoff. Their leader is a dreamer but Yoongi is a realist. The way he sees it now, they’ll never win one. Maybe someday he can live with that fact. He can go on making music that he wants to share with the world and never get any award or recognition.
If their path is going down the way he thinks is going, he has to accept that.
“I’ll make a bet with you now.” Yoongi points his can towards Namjoon, while Namjoon looks at it as if he wants to throw it at his face. “If we win a daesang, we visit each other’s hometowns.”
“Together?”
He can agree with Namjoon’s disgust at the idea, at least. That’s a first.
“Yeah, together.”
“No. I’m never letting you in my house.”
“Exactly,” Yoongi says as he takes another swig of his beer until it’s empty.
He throws it haphazardly to the floor and opens their bedroom door, leaving Namjoon to stare helplessly at him until he’s inside. His bed is at the top bunk but he doesn’t trust himself enough to climb the ladder. Instead, he lies down on the nearest bed to the door.
Taehyung stirs awake and when he registers it’s Yoongi who interrupted his sleep, he wraps an arm and a leg around him.
“Punishment,” he mumbles.
“I smell like shit.”
“And you don’t like hugs. No one’s a winner here.” Taehyung pats his back; gentle movements to help Yoongi fall asleep. “Why were you fighting with Namjoon hyung again?”
“He was being stupid,” Yoongi replies, his eyes getting heavier.
“You were too, probably. What did you do now?”
Yoongi says something back as he’s being pulled to dreamland but he doesn’t completely register it. He even feels Taehyung nod in reply. But when he wakes up the next day to an empty bed, he doesn’t remember what happened. When he asked Taehyung about it at breakfast, the younger just shrugged and finished his protein shake in silence.
He would ask Namjoon what they did the night before after the show but their leader is giving him the cold shoulder. Again. Only in the studio did a conversation spark up between them. It was to argue who got to use the computer but it was a conversation nonetheless.
The silence between Yoongi and Namjoon stretched on and on. No one commented on it. They were all used to how their relationship worked by now. It was purely professional and these bouts of silence and tension between them was the norm.
Namjoon and Yoongi aren’t friends.
And they never will be.
Yoongi should learn when to keep his mouth shut.
Last night feels like a dream now that Yoongi is staring at his reflection in the mirror of their shared bathroom. The crowds cheering muffled somewhere at the back of his head, accompanied by the echo of their name being called out as the winner in the Album of the Year category.
A big weight on Yoongi’s shoulders went away the moment he stood on stage with his members.
He recalls the several hands on his back as they hugged, everyone hazy and lost amidst the high of their very first big award. He remembers their stylists and managers, producers and friends crying backstage as they basked in their joy.
All their years of hard work and the times they persevered through the worst has finally paid off.
During the ride home, seven hearts beating loudly in one van, Namjoon was right beside him, clutching their precious trophy on his lap like it was his newborn child.
“Hey.” Namjoon’s eyes were filled with unshed tears. Yoongi took the trophy graciously from his grasp, admiring the heaviness and the implication of it.
“We did it,” he said.
Who knew that seeing Kim Namjoon smile was rewarding?
Yoongi found himself nodding, fighting hard to keep his own tears at bay.
“We really did. I didn’t think we would but, God, Namjoon I’m so relieved.”
Something flashed across Namjoon’s face but it was gone before Yoongi could register it. He bumped his shoulder and they stayed silent for the rest of the ride.
It’s not until that morning, right there in the bathroom, as Yoongi’s eyes travel down to Namjoon’s blue toothbrush in the cup next to Yoongi’s own black one, that he realizes the other implication of that award. That daesang.
His mind reels back to a night 3 years ago in December, blue walls surrounding him and Namjoon.
“If we win a daesang, we visit each other’s hometowns.”
Yoongi shuts his eyes and slaps his lips.
He wants to throw a pillow at his younger, drunker self. What was he thinking? The Yoongi of 3 years ago made rash decisions and talked out of his ass on more occasions than he would like to admit. But he does acknowledge that he was hurting then. He genuinely thought that a daesang wouldn’t fall on their hands even after 10 years of doing this.
But it’s out there in the world. That stupid bet.
And if there’s one thing that Yoongi hates, it’s breaking a promise.
Even a ridiculous promise made one night while he was drunk and holding a grudge against their leader.
Yoongi picks up his toothbrush and starts brushing his teeth a little too roughly. Hoseok comes in and grabs Yoongi’s hand, warning him what that would do to his teeth. A few seconds later, Namjoon peaks his head in and asks Yoongi to grab his toothbrush and the toothpaste for him. He’s still in his boxers. His eyes are still heavy with sleep and barely manages to get the things from Yoongi’s hand.
“Thanks,” Namjoon mumbles, barely walking straight to the kitchen.
Yoongi stares at Namjoon’s retreating figure.
Does Namjoon remember that night?
Their friendship (Yoongi’s being generous with the term) hasn’t exactly changed in the last 6 years of living together. Though fist fighting and the habit of throwing clothes at each other is down to a zero, they still jump at the chance to grill each other. They’re competitive when it comes to songwriting and producing. They barely give each other the time of day when it’s not necessary for their job. Namjoon doesn’t like when Yoongi is at Mon Studio and Yoongi has a strict “No Kim Namjoon” rule at Genius Lab after Namjoon ever so graciously bumped into a speaker and broke it.
Yoongi is grateful to have a leader like Namjoon, to have him on their side. But he can live without calling Namjoon his friend.
Namjoon doesn’t even call him ‘hyung’ when the cameras are off.
Throughout the entire week, Namjoon shows no signs of telling Yoongi that he remembers that night. He doesn’t jump at him during practice saying he was right all along when he said they would win a daesang. He doesn’t stop the meeting they had with Bang PD to tell everyone that he was going to Daegu with Yoongi because of a bet.
Namjoon doesn’t even talk to Yoongi save for that morning in the bathroom. That’s normal, he supposes.
It’s not until MAMA, after they’ve won Artist of the Year and cried into each other’s arms as they were caught in the high of another big win, probably the biggest one yet, that the topic is brought up—
By none other than Namjoon himself.
They’re in the van to take them back to the dorm. Yoongi is sitting near the window with Namjoon beside him, as per usual. Namjoon is clutching their trophy again, his fingers drumming absentmindedly on their group’s name in a white font on the black trophy stand.
It’s a tick Namjoon does when the cogs in his brains are overworking themselves.
Yoongi is on the precipice of calling him out on it because the tinkling sound might wake up the others when Namjoon speaks up in a rushed manner.
“I don’t know if you remember but we made a bet a few years ago.”
Yoongi blinks away the shock. “A bet?” He decides to feign innocence. He wants to see why there’s fear in Namjoon’s eyes first.
“Yeah. We— Well, we were drunk. A little mad. But you said that if we win a daesang, we’ll go to Ilsan and Daegu together.”
“Together?"
Namjoon, of course, sees through him. He always does somehow. He removes his gaze from him when he says, “You remember. Of course you do. Look, I just want to know if we’re still going through with it.”
To Yoongi, that looks like an out. He’s given an opportunity to say yes and take Namjoon with him on an express train to Daegu or say that the whole thing is ridiculous and they can just treat it as a weird memory that they can laugh at when they’re older.
The latter sounds like the better option. It’ll save him time, money, and energy.
But, in spite of it all, he says, “A bet is a bet. I’m a man of my drunken word.”
Namjoon pauses, tilting his head and jutting his chin out like he’s surprised by Yoongi’s answer. “Oh. Okay.”
“What is it? You want to back out?”
He lowers his voice like he’s afraid of saying anything else that could potentially ruin this conversation. He’s cautious like that, something that Yoongi definitely is not.
“No, no. I just didn’t think you were serious, that’s all.”
Yoongi adjusts in his seat, squaring his shoulders as he leans back. “I’m ready to go. Unless you don’t want to, Namjoon. We can do something else,” he says.
He sometimes beats himself up over the fact that Namjoon can read him better than he can read him. There are some habits that he knows Namjoon has but not every single one of them. Namjoon, however, always seems like he has a “Min Yoongi for Dummies” book somewhere in his brain and can tell what Yoongi is feeling just by looking at him.
So when Namjoon takes a long time replying, his eyes downcast to their award, Yoongi doesn’t know what he’s thinking. It irks him to an extent.
“No,” Namjoon says with finality. “Let’s do it.”
⋯
Yoongi looks out the window, as the scenery turns from train tracks to buildings, and wonders if he could jump out of it and go back to Seoul.
When Namjoon proposed to the company to take a few days off, Bang PD rewarded them with 2 weeks of vacation time. The rest were ecstatic to go back home or do what they wanted. But Yoongi was quietly grumbling to himself because of those extra days.
Namjoon split their trips to one week in Daegu and one week in Ilsan. Yoongi didn’t see the reason to extend this bet to a whole 14 days but Namjoon insisted he had an exhibition to see in Daegu on their stay. It left Yoongi no choice.
“Besides, I won this bet,” Namjoon stated. “It’s only fair I arrange this trip.”
Yoongi omitted the wonderful idea of flicking Namjoon off and instead replied, “I was wondering when you’d start rubbing that in my face.”
14 days with Namjoon.
That’s 13 days too many.
All the members bid them farewell at the door of their dorm. Taehyung held Yoongi back before he could cross the threshold.
“I’m glad you remembered, hyung,” he said, squeezing Yoongi’s hand.
“Remember what?”
Jimin called Taehyung’s name and the question remained unanswered. “Have fun!” Taehyung left Yoongi with a tight hug.
A loud snore comes out of Namjoon’s mouth; Yoongi doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t dare move with Namjoon’s head on his shoulder. He gets a whiff of coconut from Namjoon’s hair and something sweeter than vanilla, and he prays that they get to their stop soon.
Yoongi’s brother, Geumjae, is there to greet them when they step off the train. Yoongi let his family know beforehand that he’s coming to stay for a week and he’s bringing Namjoon with him. He expected them to have some sort of negative reaction but his mother just asked him what sort of food Namjoon liked.
“He doesn’t like seafood,” he said to her, taking that fact from the short list of things he knows about Namjoon.
“Congratulations, you two! Daesang awardees!” Geumjae gives them both separate hugs, patting them on the back. He takes Yoongi’s luggage from him and leads them out of the train station. “I told Songwol here that you guys could do it.”
“Songwol?” Namjoon pipes up.
They climb in the car after putting their bags in the trunk. Geumjae glances back at them from the driver’s seat. “That’s what dad calls Yoongi sometimes. So he’ll have a good life.”
“Cute.” Namjoon turns to him with a goofy smile. “Songwol hyung.”
Yoongi slaps his arm and ignores his sounds of protest, closing his eyes and getting some more sleep until they reach the house.
Min Geun and Min Jang-mi cannot be more ecstatic to have a guest over so near the holidays that aren’t related to them. They compliment Namjoon on his height, his proficiency in the English language, and his leadership skills—and they haven’t even gotten past the threshold yet.
Namjoon receives all this with a flustered smile and grateful bows. It takes Yoongi so much strength not to chuckle at him; he looks like he’s 17 again, in high school, getting praised in front of the entire student body because of his high IQ. That is a moment in time that Yoongi somehow can’t get out of his head.
“Why don’t you and Yoongi go change so we can prepare lunch together?” Yoongi’s mom pushes them gently to Yoongi’s room. “Let Namjoonie sleep on your bed, Songwol. I changed the sheets.”
When they’re alone, standing in the doorway of Yoongi’s room, Yoongi gestures to his room lamely. “It’s not much,” he mumbles.
There’s a bed in the corner, several posters of bands and movies on the wall beside it, and a nightstand, one of those gray reading lamps with adjustable necks on top. He has several books under his bed and some on his dresser beside his Gandams and miniature cars.
His most prized possession is the brown piano standing at the end of his bed, gifted by his mom when he was young. His best friend. He tears his eyes away from it.
Namjoon simply stares at his walls with his eyebrows furrowed even after Yoongi pats his arms several times. He only wakes from whatever trance he was in when Yoongi calls his name.
“You can just put your luggage over there,” Yoongi points at the space in between the dresser and the bed, “and the bathroom is at the end of the hallway. I’ll change after you.”
Namjoon nods, moving to settle his luggage. He does a double take at the piano, his eyes shifting from the instrument to Yoongi. When he opens his mouth, Yoongi readies himself for the questions, the possible teasing. But he shakes his head, silently gets a shirt and pants from his things, and walks out the door.
This might just be how this whole trip is going to go. They politely make conversation in front of their families but when they’re alone there is nothing but silence. Uncomfortable and tension-filled.
“That’s Kim Namjoon,” Yoongi says to his piano. He hovers his fingers over the keys, tries to play one-handed. “I have no idea what goes on in his head sometimes or why he hates me so much. It’s frustrating.” He chuckles at his mistake, his finger slipping. “And then I wonder why I even bother figuring that out. I don’t think it’s worth it.”
He doesn’t realize that he’s playing the chords to his first solo song from their recent album. He doesn’t register the faint click of the door opening as he plays louder.
⋯
Yoongi doesn’t usually berate himself for being a bad son.
But he sure is grilling himself now as he watches Namjoon get along with his dad.
“Why don’t we go hiking?” His dad proposes the next morning during breakfast. He smiles behind his coffee mug. “We can go to Apsan Park, the four of us. What do you think?”
There’s a complaint hanging off of Yoongi’s lips but Namjoon speaks up first and he whips his head to look at him. The genuine interest in Namjoon’s eyes makes his toes curl.
“I’d love to go on a hike, sir,” Namjoon says. “I usually go on one every morning back in Seoul.”
And the cluelessness Yoongi felt at that sends him off the edge. Since when does Namjoon go hiking?
“Me, too. I want to go on a hike.” Yoongi straightens in his seat and four pairs of eyes turn to him. One pair looks the most confused out of them all but he ignores him.
How childish he’s being doesn’t dawn on him until later, and even then he brushes it off. They’re all piled in the car, Namjoon sitting right beside him in the back. He stays silent all through the drive and up their hike. It doesn’t matter. Namjoon is leading the group with Yoongi’s father beside him. They’re talking about the art exhibition that Namjoon has been dying to go to and it’s safe to assume they’re going on another family trip this week.
He didn’t expect Namjoon to charm his family even though he’s aware of Namjoon’s abilities to get everyone to like him.
(Everyone except Yoongi, strangely.)
Geumjae takes pity on Yoongi and waits for him. He hooks his arm around his shoulders, squeezing him firmly. “You need more exercise, Yoongi-yah,” he says.
Yoongi rolls his eyes. “The only exercise I’m willing to get is our dance rehearsals. I’m not putting myself through anything else than that.”
“Why don’t you go with Namjoon on his hikes?”
They’re following the trail in the forest that led them to a crossroads. There’s a sign that points to Nambu Library, the toilet, and a cultural hall. Yoongi and Geumjae follow Namjoon and their dad to the road leading to the library. Yoongi doesn’t even question whose idea it is to go there.
“I didn’t even know he goes hiking every morning.”
“Eh?” Geumjae exclaims. “Aren’t you friends?”
Yoongi huffs as they reach the entrance of the library. “Not exactly,” he says. “Our relationship is purely professional.”
He understands his brother’s confusion but his question catches him off guard. “Why did you bring him here then?”
What’s he supposed to say? That because of a bet that he lost, he wouldn’t have come here with Namjoon otherwise? No. He doesn’t want to bring his family into this mess of a friendship he and Namjoon have.
The hate is completely one-sided and we really don’t get along.
They wouldn’t understand.
Thankfully their dad calls them to continue their hike, noticing the library is closed, and Yoongi runs away from the question entirely. Geumjae doesn’t bring it up again.
The view from up the observatory makes Yoongi forget that he walked for 2 hours and his legs and lungs are currently on fire. A beautiful scenery of his hometown in broad daylight is in front of him. His dad is somewhere behind him, taking a few pictures of his own with his DSLR.
Namjoon appears right beside him, phone in hand. He keeps a good distance between them.
“I had no idea Daegu was this pretty.”
“Better than Ilsan?” Yoongi quips.
He shakes his head vehemently. “No, Ilsan is far better. I know this is your home and all but you’ll see for yourself when we get there.”
They both stare at what’s in front of them intently. “I think my mind’s set on Seoul being the prettiest. It’s home now.” Yoongi feels the cool breeze grace his face and he breathes in. Namjoon sets his eyes on him. “A home that brings both the shittiest and the happiest of memories. Maybe we can go hiking in Bukhansan and I’ll say the view from up there can’t compare to anything else.”
Namjoon hums. “I think I can agree on that.”
The breeze picks up, their hair flying away from their face. It tickles Yoongi’s nose and he chuckles, trying to fix his hair. Namjoon’s hair is standing in odd directions but he doesn’t seem fazed by it, his eyes directed at the scenery in front of them.
“You look ridiculous,” Yoongi says, pointing a finger at his hair.
“This is how nature wanted it to look.” Namjoon gestures to his hair. “I’m keeping it.”
“You’re just saying that because you don’t know how weird it looks. Wait.” Yoongi takes a photo of Namjoon from his side and shows it to him. “See, nature boy?”
At the sight of himself, Namjoon widens his eyes and quickly pats his hair down. Yoongi holds the railing to keep himself from falling while his body racks with laughter.
Namjoon frowns at him. “We’re not all born with hair that bounces back to pretty, Songwol hyung.”
That effectively dies out the rest of his giggle fit. He looks at Namjoon, his hand on his hip.
“What do you mean?”
Unprecedentedly, Namjoon reaches out to ruffle his hair. While Yoongi exclaims in protest, Namjoon takes a picture of him.
His hair looks a little messy in the photo but it’s not as bad as Namjoon’s.
“See? Just as pretty as it was before,” Namjoon states seriously.
Yoongi looks at him—really look at him for the first time in a while. He wants to find any indication that Namjoon is only teasing. But all he sees is sincerity and it throws him off. He immediately turns away from him, his attention back to the blue sky that greets them. Namjoon does the same.
Pretty? Did he hear that right? He’s been called pretty before. By Namjoon? For shows and bits, sure. But it never sounded so genuine.
A laugh brings him out of his inner turmoil and he glances behind him to find his dad and brother looking at them with mischievous smiles on their faces.
Geumjae simply waves at them. His dad has a knowing smile on his face and announces they should head back home for lunch.
He stays behind on the journey down, listening to his dad and Namjoon make plans for the rest of the week. If he heard it right, they had a big lunch on Wednesday and a museum trip on Friday.
They end up going to the market early Wednesday, just him and Namjoon. Yoongi does most of the shopping while Namjoon follows closely behind him, watching every transaction with a seller with wide eyes like he’s watching an interesting documentary.
“Do you want me to teach you how to buy a tangerine, Namjoon?” Yoongi asks after the fifth stand they visit. “It’s pretty easy. I can sneak in a haggling lesson while we’re at it.”
“Ha, okay. Funny.” Namjoon side-eyes him as they walk down the aisle, the noise of sellers calling their attention surrounds them.
Yoongi stops to look at him directly. “I’m being serious.”
“No, you’re not. You got that look in your eyes.”
His face is suddenly three inches away from Namjoon and he steps away to keep their distance.
“Excuse me?”
Namjoon doesn’t remove his stare when he says, “Your eyes get that sort of twinkle in them when you’re teasing and when you’re lying.” He’s smiling. Yoongi takes in a deep breath.
A man carrying two heavy rice sacks asks them to move from the middle of the aisle. Namjoon grabs on to Yoongi and guides him to the side. The touch is gentle; Namjoon’s fingers cradle his elbow, his palm hovering over his forearm. He can feel the warmth of having Namjoon this close, the ends of their boots touching. He can’t pull away.
“Why do you think you know so much about me?” Yoongi asks, his eyebrows furrowed. “You’re also being uncharacteristically nice to me since we came here.”
The smile slowly fades. “What do you want me to do?” Namjoon retaliates. “Do you want me to argue with you for the rest of my life?”
“No, but you don’t have to pretend to like me while we’re here.”
Namjoon steps back, accidentally hitting a box of apples. Both of them apologize profusely to the old lady that owns the stand and end up buying the whole box of apples that fell over.
The conversation is on pause but the tension continues as they walk out of the market. Thankfully, they’ve bought everything that was in the list Yoongi’s mom gave them and they can head home. But instead of Yoongi taking the lead, Namjoon walks in front of Yoongi until they reach a park nearby. Namjoon puts down the box of apples on a bench and sits, tilting his head to the space beside him while looking at Yoongi.
“We have to go back,” Yoongi tries to argue but Namjoon is anything if not stubborn. It’s a trait they both have that start their fights in the first place. He rolls his eyes and takes a seat.
“I’m not pretending,” Namjoon starts, his eyes boring holes into his shoes. “I thought that maybe this trip can be an opportunity for us to—”
“Get along?” “More than that, hopefully. Be friends.”
They glance at each other, one expectant gaze meets another.
“We agreed that it won’t work,” Yoongi explains. “We’ve had this conversation before and we tried, Namjoon. Remember? The both of us would go to school at the same time, go to the studio after, and end up fighting without apologizing to each other. The same routine everyday for two months before we decided being friends just isn’t for us.”
Namjoon pats his leg as he emphasizes the point of his next words. “That was years ago. I’m sure we’ve both grown since then. Things might be different. We might work well together as friends now.”
Yoongi knows Namjoon has a point, and he wants to hate him for it. He was expecting this trip to be worse, if he’s being honest. Namjoon could’ve made it worse for him since he lost this bet after all. But it’s all been pleasant. Even the hiking trip wasn’t so bad—not factoring in the fact he walked for 2 hours without rest and little water. He enjoyed the view from the observatory and the food they ate when they got home was much more rewarding after the walk.
Namjoon hasn’t made it difficult for Yoongi when they sleep, either.
“I can take the floor, it’s okay,” Namjoon had said to him, hugging his pillow close to his chest.
But Yoongi, despite his confusion, shook his head. “Just sleep on the bed, Namjoon. Mom said so.”
He also hasn’t forgotten that Namjoon called him pretty.
What that was about, he doesn’t want to figure out.
“Do you still hate me, hyung?”
Yoongi looks away. “I never said that.”
But Namjoon’s pleading eyes demand all the attention. “Then why are you so mad at me all the time?”
His thought process stops altogether when a group of people walking towards them catches his eye. Yoongi mumbles a curse under his breath that doesn’t go unnoticed by Namjoon, who widens his eyes at him in worry.
But before he can ask, someone calls his name.
His old, forgotten name.
“Gloss! That you?”
Sanghoon. The two other boys behind him, following him like his little minions, are Yujun and Bong. Yoongi knows them from his underground days. They were his old group’s rivals. Calling them that was generous—they never stood a chance against Yoongi and his friends but they still thought highly of themselves.
Yoongi doesn’t stand up even as they approach the bench. With the sun completely disappearing behind them, it was a displeasing sight.
“Or should I say SUGA?” Sanghoon snickers and the others follow suit.
“Hey, Sanghoon-ah.” Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest. Beside him, Namjoon sees the conversation unfold with watchful eyes. “You’re still here? Still battling underground?”
“Where else would I go?”
“Anywhere is better than being stuck doing the same shit for such a long time.”
Namjoon nudges his knee, a warning sign from his leader. But this is Daegu, this is the guy who kept telling Yoongi that he won’t ever make it and made huge fits whenever he lost to him, and Namjoon has no business in this conversation.
Sanghoon cracks his neck side to side, levelling Yoongi like he’s ready to fight him there and then. But Yoongi isn’t the least bit scared.
“You think you’re better than us because you’re in an idol group now? You’re worse, Gloss,” Sanghoon spits.
Yoongi wipes his cheek in disgust. “We’re more than an idol group.”
“What? You think you’re hip hop? Don’t even kid yourself, little pop star. You’ve probably lost your touch by now. Might see you quivering in fear in a battle.”
“Yoongi can beat you any time he wants.”
They both turn their heads to Namjoon who has his fists on his lap. Yoongi knows that look in his eyes; he’s seen it directed at him before but now he only looks at people who keep rejecting them and think so lowly of them.
Sanghoon looks at Namjoon like it’s the first time he notices he’s there. “Oh, hey, if it isn’t Rap Monster—
“RM, actually.”
“You answer for Gloss now? Do you take your leader role that seriously?”
Yoongi steps in between Sanghoon and Namjoon. “Stop. He doesn’t answer for me,” he says. He glances back to find Namjoon standing now, his chin jutting out. He smirks. “But he’s right. I can still kick your ass in battle like old times.”
A deal was made. Tonight at 8PM at the place Yoongi once desperately itched to return and take the stage once more. But as they walk back to Yoongi’s home, he finds that he would rather show whoever wants to mock him that they’re no better than the dirt in his shoes by working harder, not in an underground battle.
He tells Namjoon this in his room after the family lunch. Namjoon only raises his eyebrows and says, “You’re afraid.”
“I’m not,” Yoongi replies too quickly. He looks down at where Namjoon is sitting on his bed. “How are you so sure of that anyway? I just don’t want to give them the time of day.”
“But you can’t back out, a deal is a deal.”
“Why aren’t you the voice of reason right now? You should be telling me no, I can’t do this. What would the company think? People will recognize me and what happens then?”
When Namjoon doesn’t answer, Yoongi huffs loudly and goes to sit by his piano. He presses a key repeatedly, trying to get his head straight. Again, Namjoon is right. A deal is somewhat of a promise and if he doesn’t show up, he’ll look bad. But the same goes if he does participate in the rap battle. He’s already imagining the wrath from his manager and Bang PD.
Namjoon asks him to scoot over the piano bench he’s sitting on and he does. They bench fit them both perfectly, their shoulders leant against each other.
Yoongi starts playing the chords to First Love.
“This is she, right?” Namjoon asks softly.
He can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, this is her. The brown piano, my best friend.” He continues on playing under Namjoon’s steady gaze. “She knows everything about my childhood. I screamed at her at times because Sanghoon and his friends couldn’t stop teasing me, and she was the only one there to listen. But she was there whenever I won and she would hear me rap the pieces that made me win in the first place.”
The song progresses but Yoongi doesn’t stop playing. Namjoon’s words accompany the music.
“If you decide to go on the battle, I’ll have your back. It was just… I didn’t like how they looked down on you. Literally and figuratively. You have nothing to be afraid of.” Namjoon threaded his fingers through his hair before tapping his laps with his fingers mindlessly. “You’re better than them in every aspect.”
Yoongi just hums.
“All I’m saying is that I want to be your friend, and as your friend I’m gonna support you as you kick some loser’s ass on stage.”
His entire body shakes as he laughs. He tries to finish the song but he couldn’t so he retracts his fingers from the keys slowly and sighs.
“You’re a weird friend to have,” he says. Their eyes fall on each other.
“I just believe in you, that’s all. As your friend, I’m going to be very supportive.” Namjoon raises a hand as if to take an oath.
Why Namjoon is so insistent on becoming his friend, he doesn’t ask. And if he does, he thinks it will ruin it. He doesn’t ask if he still hates him as they practice some lines. He doesn’t ask if he’s just pretending as night fell and they get off the bus at their destination. He doesn’t ask if this will all disappear when they go back home to Seoul as they separate once they’re inside the bar and Yoongi goes up on stage when they announce his name.
“It’s SUGA,” Yoongi says to the announcer and makes him repeat his introduction with that name.
He keeps his eyes on Sanghoon while they’re on stage, even as he feels Namjoon’s eyes on him from somewhere in the front row, where people are already whispering that there are two members from that one idol group in their little show.
The music starts and Yoongi forgets about everything else. He reaches deep inside him where all his negative thoughts are hidden. He greets an old friend—from Min Yoongi of December 2013, who believed they couldn’t win anything but the hearts of some people through their music and was ready to accept that it was all they could ever get.
He dedicates his whole piece to him.
He raps about Sanghoon, who tries to compensate for being such a failure by putting others down when they don’t deserve it. He brags about the places he’s been to and the people he’s met all around the world, and wonders if Sanghoon will ever experience anything like that with his lack of skill and passion. He mentions the things he wanted to have so bad that’s just within his reach now and mentions that soon he can get Sanghoon a little something with his black card.
He pushes that idol music is music. But he is more than just an idol. Because of his work, this might be the last time he’ll ever see Sanghoon and the rest of his gang so this appearance of his is a gift he bestows on them before he goes higher than he’s ever dreamed.
With the temperature of his body rising despite the cold outside, beads of sweat rolling down his back and on the side of his face, eyes staring blankly at Sanghoon’s fear-stricken face, Yoongi pokes his tongue on his cheek and drops his mic.
The crowd roars. They let Sanghoon rap a few measly lines before announcing Yoongi as the winner, the announcer raising his arm in the air. Sanghoon shouts at how unfair it all is but Yoongi doesn’t mind him.
He catches sight of Namjoon in front and notices his phone directed on stage. When Namjoon notices him, he flips his phone to find him on a group call with the rest of his members. They’re all freaking out by his performance.
Yoongi doesn’t know what’s on Namjoon’s mind as they look at each other, but he doesn’t ask even as Namjoon hands him his coat and they leave the bar. He doesn’t ask what he thought of his performance as they stop at the convenience store near his house to eat some ramen in a cup.
Instead, Yoongi says, after slurping some noodles, “I was mad at you because you were good. Too good. At some point, I looked up to you but when our opinions on music clashed, it hurt in a way.”
Namjoon opens his mouth to speak but Yoongi shakes his head to stop him.
“Maybe I wanted you to like me.” He looks down at his near-empty cup. “And when you didn’t, it was easier to be mad at you all the time so I did that. I never hated you.” He looks up so his sincerity is clearly passed on. “I’m so sorry, Namjoon.”
“I didn’t hate you, hyung,” Namjoon replies, a soft look on his face. “It frustrated me that we didn’t get along, either. We were both good, but you’re better than me in every way. We never saw eye to eye, and yeah, it seemed easier to argue with you over everything than trying to make things right. We were both stupid, me mostly.” He grows quiet when an elderly couple enters the shop to buy bottles of water. As soon as they leave, he says, “When I said I hated you that night, I didn’t mean it. Just like how I said I hated the color blue.”
A picture of Namjoon’s blue toothbrush and blue Nike shoes appears in his mind. He laughs. “We’re equally stupid, then.”
“Forgive me?”
Yoongi nods, exchanging tired but genuinely relieved smiles.
⋯
Yoongi aged 50 years in the last two days.
Videos of Yoongi on stage and Namjoon in the crowd at the bar went viral. The company immediately contacted Namjoon the next morning for an explanation. Yoongi heard loud voices booming from Namjoon’s phone, even when Namjoon was six feet away from him. In the end, Namjoon had to plead that they let them continue the rest of the trip and promised they wouldn’t do anything like that again.
When Min Jang-mi caught wind of this that same morning, she told her son how irresponsible it was. And when Namjoon went to save him, telling her that he was the one who pushed Yoongi to do it, he wound up helping Yoongi clean the entire house as punishment.
Surprisingly, Namjoon made it all bearable.
They still tease each other for certain things, like how Namjoon doesn’t stop calling Yoongi ‘Songwol hyung’ or Yoongi grilling Namjoon on his cooking skills that Thursday morning when he was tasked to make breakfast. He did an okay job of making sunny-side up but the rest, he let Yoongi make it.
But it’s all been nice.
By the time Friday rolled around, Namjoon is talking Yoongi’s ear off about the artist whose exhibition they’re going to see and Yoongi is listening wholeheartedly from right beside him in the car. He notices Namjoon’s hand gestures, the way his eyes widen when he’s talking about something he particularly likes. Has Namjoon always been like this?
Inside the exhibition of Cho Duck Hyun, he follows Namjoon through the room, with his father and brother right behind them. He studies the art displayed on the wall first but his eyes fall on Namjoon for an explanation. Namjoon’s eyes are expressive, he realizes. He immediately understands if Namjoon likes a painting or not, if a painting has touched him or amazed him.
Those are two different things that elicit two different reactions from Namjoon; Yoongi makes a mental note.
They both linger at the last painting called Shades of Blue where a gradient of blues are painted on canvas.
Namjoon points at the second darkest shade of blue at the bottom of the painting. “That’s the color of the walls in your room.”
“Yeah, I painted them with my dad when I was 13. I chose the color myself.” Yoongi takes one look at Namjoon’s contemplative look and smiles. “I told you, I don’t hate blue. I just hated what it represented for us at the time. Blue is a good color, symbolizes a lot of beautiful things.”
“What kind of blue are we right now?” Namjoon asks Yoongi, arms crossed over his chest. “Friendship-wise?”
Yoongi inspects the painting and points at the middle blue. “That sort of reminds me of Nonhyeon-dong. We’re that.”
“You don’t like what we represent?”
“No. Look, it’s in the middle. We’re lukewarm. It’s better than the darkest shade of blue, like the undiscovered parts of an ocean and there’s a possibility that we can go higher, like that color. The sky when the sun is shining.” As an afterthought, he adds, “I don’t think bad of Nonhyeon-dong anymore. It’s our beginning, Namjoon-ah.”
Namjoon tries to hide his smile with the back of his hand and just nods, walking away to thank the artist.
When Yoongi turns around, he meets his father’s gaze. It’s soft, thoughtful. Frankly, Yoongi hasn’t seen that look in years. He approaches him and asks, “Everything okay, Dad?”
He gets no reply but a smile until two more days later when he’s packing his luggage for Ilsan. His dad comes in, his DSLR in his hand. Subconsciously, he shifts on the edge of his bed when his dad takes a seat beside him. He’s not used to having one-on-one talks with him. They’re on good terms but it wasn’t always like that. But he acknowledges that his dad is making an effort to be close to him and he wants it to work out.
“I don’t think I’ve congratulated you properly, son,” Min Geun starts, patting his son on the back. “You’ve made it but I know you have a far road ahead of you and your teammates.”
Yoongi bows. “Thank you, Dad. We really wouldn’t have done it if we didn’t work well together. I’m grateful for them.”
His dad clears his throat. “I’ve been meaning to ask this, but I was wondering why you brought Namjoon here with you.” Yoongi stills but his dad is quick to remedy the unwanted tension. “Not that he’s not welcome. But I thought maybe this is your way of telling us that—” His dad waves his hand in vague gestures in front of him “—you’re together?”
“No!” Yoongi purses his lips. His hands shoot to the back of his ears, his eyes looking everywhere but at his father. “We’re not. It’s not like that at all.”
“Okay, okay.” His dad moves his hand away from his shoulder but doesn’t move to stand up. He smiles knowingly but he doesn’t say anything else.
They hug, for the first in a long time. Yoongi’s nose is on his dad’s shoulder. His sweater smells of tobacco and pine with just a hint of tangerines.
Before his dad leaves, he hands Yoongi the DSLR camera. “Some great photos on here,” he says before he leaves Yoongi and closes the door behind him.
Yoongi connects the camera to his laptop to browse the pictures. Pictures from the observatory. Yoongi and Namjoon are side by side in one picture, and in the next one Yoongi is laughing at Namjoon’s unruly hair. There are several shots of them. He skips the others and stops at the ones from their exhibition visit that afternoon. Their backs are to the camera as they study the Shades of Blue painting. The next photo they’re not looking at the painting anymore but at each other. Namjoon’s eyes are crinkled, his dimple a beautiful crescent on his cheek.
Yoongi’s own eyes are wide, twinkling stars staring right at their moon. He really does look up to Namjoon, both literally and figuratively. Here is this great person standing in front of him, talking to him about art and his crazy philosophical thoughts on it.
Who won’t look at Namjoon like that?
A few clicks and the pictures are saved on a folder in his desktop.
“You’re working?” Namjoon asks when he enters the room. He’s dressed in a tank top and blue track pants, the same ones Yoongi has on.
Yoongi closes the folder immediately. “Just checking on emails.”
“You’re a bad liar, Songwol hyung.”
He captures a picture of Namjoon’s teasing smile in his mind. “And your large knowledge of my habits is surprising, Namjoon-ah.”
“We’ve lived together for 6 years,” Namjoon replies with a shrug and they leave it at that.
They lie on their separate beds and stare at the glow in the dark stars at the navy blue ceiling.