Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There are several things in this vast world that Yoongi doesn’t like. Things he hates, even.

Taxes, for one. People who walk too slow in the subway station. Long lines at the grocery store. Airports. Strangers who decide they are music experts and criticize his art.

Most of those are what he outwardly complains about. He hates each one of those things open-heartedly and has zero amount of shame for it. Most of it is superficial, but Yoongi actively supports vocalizing all thoughts and opinions, even if it’s controversial. Therefore, everyone around him just knows.

But one thing he never thought he would have to clarify his hatred for was surprises.

It’s already late when the Three Musketeers come gallivanting into his silent apartment, filling the empty space with their noise. That in itself isn’t surprising—Yoongi expected them to come over earlier in the evening, but it seems they got caught up at whatever restaurant they went to for dinner. He decided to sit out since there is always more work to do after one project is finished.

He doesn’t suspect anything unusual until a hush falls over the apartment just a few minutes after the rowdy entrance. Yoongi almost thinks that the music in his headphones is just too loud and slips them off to rest around his neck, glancing back at the half-open door behind him.

That’s when he should have known something was wrong, but Yoongi can be naive at times. He believes in his friends; chooses to see the best in them, even if they can be a collective nuisance. It isn’t always his first instinct to think, “Oh, what have they done now?”

Yoongi rolls his desk chair back and spins around, abandoning his near-complete vocal arrangement for the song he spent the evening working on. The silence settles uncomfortably over his skin.

“Hoseok-ah?” he calls, pulling the door open, stepping out into the living room.

On the couch, the Three Musketeers are sitting shoulder to shoulder, watching Yoongi closely. He swears that someone’s eye is twitching; it might be Yoongi’s eye.

“Hi…” Yoongi glances between their faces, trying to discern what could be going on. They must be drunk. “Did you guys come over just to stare at me?”

“Hyung,” Hoseok says calmly, “this is an intervention.”

An intervention. For what?

“I don’t get it,” Yoongi says, scratching the back of his head in confusion. The concept of an intervention is usually for addicts. People who are actually suffering. The most Yoongi suffers from is the crick in his neck from sitting all day. “I don’t need an intervention? I’m fine. And normal.”

At this proclamation, Seokjin offers a quizzical eyebrow raise.

“I fear that’s untrue, Min Yoongi,” Seokjin says, folding his hands in his lap and watching Yoongi pointedly. It may be the most intense he has ever seen Kim Seokjin for the duration of their entire friendship. So much so that Yoongi can’t take it seriously. “You are a workaholic, my friend. And you are in dire need of a break.”

A break is probably the last thing Yoongi needs right now. His rent is due in four days and he hasn’t been paid the whole month—he literally can’t afford a break.

“This joke is nice and all,” he says with a wince, then points his thumb over his shoulder at his studio. “But I think I need to get back to work to meet my next deadline.”

“Hyung,” Namjoon says with a quiet, distressed frown. “For once, we’re not actually joking.”

“We talked to some people and pulled a few strings,” Hoseok says nervously—and the longer Yoongi stares at the Three Musketeers, the more he realizes they really are serious. Is it really that bad? Yoongi has felt fine, other than that crick in his neck and maybe a handful of sleepless nights. He’s eating and exercising and goes outside for at least thirty minutes a day. He doesn’t need a break, truly. “We just—we’ve talked about going on a group vacation for so long.”

Yoongi’s breath comes to a stuttering halt, just for a couple of seconds. “A group vacation?” he repeats, skeptical of this emerging proposition.

The prospect of a group vacation isn’t unheard of, but it was always something that Yoongi thought would happen later. He never had the money for it; his friends do, so they always went on trips in pairs here and there, and Yoongi has just stayed in Seoul. It’s the only thing he knows how to do now—and he only ever returns to Daegu for the few holidays in the year, and occasionally someone’s birthday. Seoul is his life.

He can’t just leave. He literally has a deadline in two weeks.

Out of nowhere, it feels like the air is getting squeezed out of his lungs. God. He’s getting a fucking panic attack thinking about taking a break. He’s not sure if that proves their point, or if it means he needs to hurry up and get a paycheck from the company he’s under contract with right now. Any royalties he has from the songs he’s produced are few and far between, so he has to rely on upfront payments. That means he needs to start more projects.

“Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says calmly, although now it seems that he’s beginning to lose his cool. A drunk smile flickers onto his lips, attempting to suppress his laughter. He flops back onto the couch with an amused bark, the serious act completely vanished. Yoongi knew it was too good to be true. “You’ll still be able to work, but you’re coming with us. We’re going to Europe!”

Yoongi flinches. “No,” he says, stepping back towards his studio.

The Three Musketeers exchange worried looks before turning back to Yoongi, six eyes waiting for an explanation.

“Look.” Yoongi stops and takes a deep breath to settle the burn against his ribs. He hates when people spring things on him like this. Surprises—he really fucking hates surprises. “I can’t take a break. I have so much to do. Not enough time. Not enough money.”

This makes Hoseok roll his eyes. “I’m so sick of you, hyung,” he says, more of a whiny complaint than anything else. Yoongi leans on a leg and wonders how he landed three friends who care so much, yet so… incorrectly, at times. “Listen, that contract you’re on is up in three weeks. This trip isn’t happening for another month and a half, so consider this a slightly-late birthday gift. We’re going in May.”

“Going to Europe? In May?” Yoongi repeats, then immediately shakes his head. He hates this. He’s getting worked up just thinking about it, again. “I can’t afford a trip to Europe, guys. I’m sorry. I really can’t, I—” His chest hurts, throat sore. He also hates telling his friends when money is so tight that he can’t make rent. “I’m sorry. I really can’t afford it, time or money wise.”

His words garner Namjoon’s attention again—he seems the most sober out of the three—and as it turns out, they already have a solution to Yoongi’s hindering anxiety.

“I paid for it,” Namjoon says softly, leaning an elbow on the couch arm, looking up at Yoongi with worried eyes. Normally they don’t often do things like get sentimental with each other, so a part of Yoongi cringes a little. “I don’t want you to waste your thirties the same way you did your twenties.”

That really makes Yoongi stop.

The last time he got sentimental with his friends was on his thirtieth birthday two years ago. He was tipsy—not drunk—and he poured out his fears and anxieties to them for the first time in years. The Three Musketeers were a relatively newer addition to his life at the time, and his high emotions lined up with their presence, so it all came tumbling out. His history with failure; his consistent downfalls into the gutter.

He would say half the reason he doesn’t want to go is because he’s only going to fall deeper. Yoongi told them that he was afraid of spending his thirties, and subsequently the rest of his life, the exact same way. Scraping by with the bare minimum amount of won to his name and struggling to get his music heard by anyone who would be willing to listen. Because as talented as he knows he is, not being signed to a label gives him way less of an income than if he had stayed.

Even though he knows he would probably be in mountains of debt if he had stayed.

People like Namjoon and Seokjin come from a more stable background, and have degrees and real jobs and can afford the luxury of spending millions of won on vacations. Even Hoseok, who probably makes as much as Yoongi on average, can afford it because at least he’s salaried. Yoongi gets practically nothing because he gets a base stipend, some royalties, and depending on the company, he might make a bit more getting paid by the hour.

Maybe they can tell it’s bothering him, because for the weeks following that night, none of them utter another word about their group’s escapade to Europe. It’s all fun and lighthearted with them, even if it lingers in the back of Yoongi’s mind for the duration of his contract. He meets his friends and drinks with them and pretends he didn’t have to take out another bank loan in order to pay his rent. Pretends it doesn’t give him anxiety beyond words.

Come May, it’s honestly not on Yoongi’s mind anymore.

That is, until Namjoon randomly brings it up when they’re out one-on-one for a coffee on the weekend.

“So, are you packed for our trip?” Namjoon asks after a lull in their conversation about the ethics of superheroes in Marvel movies.

They haven’t had a deeper conversation alone since… well, nevermind that.

Yoongi takes a sip of his Americano and tilts his head to the side, perplexed. A trip. He isn’t planning a trip with anyone. “What are you talking about?” he asks, flicking through his phone’s notifications for a couple of seconds, then checks Namjoon’s face. He seems unimpressed by Yoongi’s oblivion. “What?”

Namjoon groans, throwing his head back, running a palm across his face. “I can’t believe you’re this against it,” he says, muffled into his hand, before he leans forward on the table with a serious look. Yoongi mirrors him, interested. “Hyung, I’m talking about the Europe trip. The intervention that me, Hoseok, and Jin-hyung planned.”

“The trip that I’m not going on,” Yoongi says decisively. “Therefore, no, I wouldn’t have packed for it.”

Namjoon sighs, and Yoongi definitely sounds like a broken record, but he just started working on his own music again. He can’t leave Seoul.

“You can work on your music from abroad, you know,” Namjoon murmurs, turning his mug of coffee around to grip it a certain way and have a sip. The steam fogs up his glasses for a few seconds, before he sets the coffee down again. Yoongi is not convinced. “It might even make the music better. Different. Aren’t you always going on about doing something new?”

He’s not wrong, but he’s still not making a strong point here. “That’s true,” Yoongi agrees, albeit begrudgingly. Namjoon has a knack for understanding Yoongi better than most. “I’d love to do something new. And I can do that from Seoul, from the comfort of my studio.”

“What about on a beach in Sicily?” Namjoon asks. “Or ruins in Athens?”

“You’re going to Athens?” Yoongi asks, taken aback. When they said Europe, he wasn’t expecting that they planned on traversing the Mediterranean. Of course Namjoon would use his vague interest in architecture against him. “Wait, you’re going to Italy and Greece?”

Namjoon purses his lips. “Actually,” he says, sort of sheepish. “We’re going to Turkey, Greece, Italy, France, and Spain.”

“What?”

“It’s a cruise,” Namjoon says simply. “And you’re coming.”

God. They’re going to Greece—to Italy and Turkey and France and Spain.

Does this mean Yoongi is going to agree to come?

“Fuck,” Yoongi whispers, running a hand through his hair. This is crazy. How is he going to turn down going on a cruise to all these places he’s always dreamed of going? “Namjoon-ah…” His voice falters as he thinks over how much it must’ve cost him to pay for Yoongi’s travel expenses. “I can’t repay you for this, you know that, right?”

Namjoon shoots him a bewildered glance. “I wasn’t expecting you to. It’s a gift,” he says with a short shake of his head. “All you need to do is pack a bag and show up at the airport with your passport.”

“I hate airports,” Yoongi says with a shudder. He pauses and hesitates, even though he knows he will be going on this trip, despite everything he’s expressed against it. He’s not even sure if he likes cruises. It doesn’t sound like something he’ll like. At this point, it just seems ungrateful if he doesn’t go. And he really is grateful. “That’s all I have to do?”

Namjoon nods firmly. “That’s all.”

“When do we leave?”

“In three days. It’s a two week trip.”

Thankfully Yoongi doesn’t have any meetings in the next three days, or afterwards, for that matter. Maybe he can truly catch a break, since that’s what his attendance calls for. He doubts he’s taken a proper break since before he came to Seoul—which was officially sixteen years ago just a couple of weeks ago, in April. That really puts into perspective how much a break must be in order.

So. Yoongi is going on a trip to Europe with his friends in three days. Nothing to stress about.

++

“I hate airports,” Yoongi declares as soon as he makes it past security and reunites with his friends at the duty free store closest to their gate. Yesterday, Seokjin asked him for advice on what alcohol to buy for an old friend he’s meeting briefly during their time in Italy, so here they are. “I’m tired. It’s too early.”

“It’s nine a.m.,” Hoseok says, throwing his arm around Yoongi’s shoulder as they stroll between the aisles of alcohol, perusing the options for Seokjin. It’s definitely too early for Yoongi. “I don’t think it’s that early.”

Yoongi got into bed just after two a.m. because he spent half the night trying to cram last minute work in after he finished packing. He still brought his laptop, and a few smaller pieces of equipment that will save him when he has the urge to work on music. Their flight doesn’t board for another hour or so, but Yoongi is extra exhausted after waiting through long lines—another thing he hates—and now he has to deal with Seokjin not even knowing what kind of alcohol he wants to get for his friend.

“I’m glad you’re here, though,” Hoseok continues, squeezing Yoongi’s shoulders before dropping his arm.

He smiles in that Hoseok way of his, and Yoongi manages a smile in return. Because in truth, he is happy to be here too. Hoseok wasn’t wrong when he said that they’ve been talking about a group vacation for years.

“Is this gift-worthy?” Seokjin asks, holding up a bottle of white wine from a brand Yoongi has never even heard of.

Yoongi furrows his eyebrows and adjusts his backpack over his shoulders as he steps closer, taking the bottle from Seokjin. That label doesn’t give him much indication on whether it’s high quality or not, so he turns it over and back to read the details in fine print. “This was made in Italy,” he says with a slight eyebrow raise, looking up at Seokjin as he blanches. “He’s already in Italy. Get him something Korean.”

“Ugh.” Seokjin puts back the white wine and frowns. He checks his phone and frowns deeper. “I think Namjoon is stuck at the check-in station for some reason.”

“What? Why?” Hoseok asks, leaning over Seokjin’s shoulder to get a better look at his phone screen. Yoongi pauses to look more closely at traditional Korean spirits a couple of feet away instead. “Shit. I guess some idol group is also traveling on our flight so he has to wait for them and their crew to check in.”

Yoongi did find it strange that there were so many paparazzi outside when he arrived, but he didn’t think much of it. “He’ll be fine. We have time,” he says, checking his watch like he doesn’t already know that there’s still a solid hour until boarding. “Did he say if he knows who it is? Just curious.”

“No…” Seokjin scrolls a little, types something, then taps a few more times on his screen. He looks back at Yoongi, tilting his phone downwards to show Namjoon’s scattered texts. It still doesn’t clarify who it is, just that it’s a boy group, and someone who’s clearly famous. “You would think that he’d know who it was if they were famous, huh?”

“Namjoon only cares about the faces of artists he listens to regularly,” Yoongi says, then picks up a bottle of pricey wheat soju to hand off to Seokjin. About a year ago, an artist gave it to him after they worked together on her album, and it suited his tastes. He hasn’t been able to afford it since, but just from that, he knows it’s definitely gift worthy. “Here. Buy this.”

Seokjin observes the label closely. Much to Yoongi’s surprise, he actually seems satisfied. “I knew I could trust you with this,” he says, and doesn’t even flinch when he goes to check the price. He just nods his head in approval. “Thanks, Yoongi-yah. I owe you.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Buy me a coffee right now and we’ll call it even,” he says, trailing after Seokjin to the register with Hoseok by his side.

Once the purchase has been made, Seokjin treats Yoongi to a large iced Americano from a chain coffee shop across the way. He’s quiet while Seokjin and Hoseok speculate over who might be the idol group on their flight. Not that they’ll find out, anyway, Yoongi knows enough from work that idols won’t wait at the same gates as the general public. That would cause mayhem.

Half an hour passes, and Namjoon finally joins them at the gate, completely breathless, practically hacking out a lung. Yoongi hands him a sealed plastic water bottle and watches as he drains almost half of it, before he collapses into a chair.

“I swear, there were like thirty people on that idol group’s crew,” Namjoon heaves, coughing loud enough for a few people to give them sideways looks. Yoongi digs through his backpack and gives him a mask, too, which he puts over his face so he can cough freely. “I was in line for almost forty minutes. It was insane.”

“You should’ve accepted my offer to get a taxi together,” Hoseok says, resting his cheek in his palm.

Seokjin gives Hoseok a funny look and asks, “Didn’t you get here at seven a.m.?”

“Is it a crime to be early for stuff?” Hoseok replies, making a face, which Seokjin only mirrors.

Being on a trip with the Three Musketeers will be… interesting, to say the least.

“I got here right before Namjoon and dodged the extra long wait,” Yoongi points out, running a hand through his hair, shaking out the greasy roots. The first thing he’s doing when they get on that ship is washing his hair. He hasn’t washed it properly in days, at this point. “Anyway, does anyone have the actual agenda for our trip? I was too busy to ask for it sooner.”

“I’m surprised you actually came,” Seokjin says as he whips out his phone, procuring a list of everywhere they’re planning to do, complete with different colors according to food spots, touristy locations, and niche Insta-worthy photo-ops. “Here.” He hands his phone to Yoongi to have a closer look. “Me and Hoseok made this. We haven’t gone abroad without one in years. If it were up to you or Namjoon, you’d bore us to death with your museums.”

“Museums are not a bad thing,” Namjoon protests, sweat still dripping down the side of his face.

Yoongi lets out a laugh and refocuses on the detailed agenda, reading through the pages of all the different spots they plan on visiting. The more he reads, the more excited he actually becomes to go on this trip.

Since the past three days have been a blur, it didn’t really set in that he’s going on vacation for the first time in years—for the first time since before he left his parents’ home as a teenager trying to pursue music in Seoul. That truth is bizarre to Yoongi, but he’s grateful that in spite of his resistance, his friends went ahead and included him in this plan. They found a way to include him without him worrying about the dent the expenses would put in his bank account.

Once he notices sites from Ancient Greece listed underneath Athens, his mind automatically zones in on just how much he’s going to be seeing. He remembers that he’s never even been to Europe before and now…

Now he’s just going.

“Can you send that to me?” Yoongi asks, passing Seokjin his phone again. He tucks his backpack underneath his chair, fumbling for his own phone in his pocket. There are few messages that he swipes past to check his email, instead. A few seconds later, the document is sent to him as an attachment from Seokjin. “I can’t believe you guys planned all of that. It seems surreal to me.”

“Have you been out of the country before, hyung?” Hoseok asks, tilting his head.

Yoongi tilts his eyebrows up. “Obviously,” he says, raising his passport up for Hoseok to see. That makes Hoseok turn red, just slightly. “I’ve been on vacation to Thailand and, I think, Singapore as a child. I went to Japan for a weekend in high school, too. Since then, it’s just been trips to LA for work.”

“LA is still cool though, I’ve been a couple of times,” Hoseok says with a nudge to Yoongi’s elbow, smiling. As cool as it may be, Yoongi found it lost its allure after a handful of trips that were only filled with jet lag and all-day sessions in the studio. “Anyway, we took your interests into account when we picked the cruise. I think you’ll have a lot of fun, hyung.”

“I’m hoping so too,” Yoongi says, saving the file with the agenda on it, so he can access it when he doesn’t have Wi-Fi. That’ll probably be the majority of the trip, though, since he doesn’t have any sort of international phone plan. But it’ll be fine as long as he has his friends.

Seokjin ruffles the top of Yoongi’s head, fond. “It’ll be good for you,” he says with a smile, bumping their shoulders together. Yoongi just accepts it, because he knows that he wouldn’t be here without them. “I’m grateful you said yes. I was fully expecting to drag you by your ankle to the airport if you resisted that much.”

“That sounds uncomfortable,” Yoongi says.

Seokjin pats the top of Yoongi’s head and replies, “Well, be glad you didn’t resist,” before getting up to buy Namjoon a coffee, too.

The four of them don’t talk much as they wait for boarding to open up, consumed with their own devices. Yoongi scrolls through his texts and ponders over which group could be traveling on their flight, to Istanbul to all places. Last time he traveled, he coincidentally ran into a girl group he’s worked with, so he wonders if it’s a situation like that. He’s worked with more than enough artists—both popular and unknown—to have random encounters as such.

Together, they board their flight forty minutes before their expected departure. Three of their seats are together, and one is in the row behind, so they play rock-paper-scissors to see who will sit alone. Yoongi loses, so he resigns himself to that corner window seat, puts on earbuds, and starts a long playlist in preparation to sleep before the flight has even taken off.

His plan works, much to his delight. Yoongi only wakes up for the first mealtime, and promptly falls back asleep. His life is so hectic that he doesn’t sleep for long periods of time regularly, but in spite of the uncomfortable chair and position, he sleeps more soundly than he has in months.

“Hey,” someone says through his music, when he’s awake for breakfast. Yoongi tilts his head up to meet Namjoon’s eyes, who’s leaning over the back of his seat, looking down at him. He tugs out his earbuds to hear him properly. “We should be there in an hour. You should open your window visor and take in the view while we land.”

Yoongi chews on his spicy chicken and nods. “I will,” he says after swallowing, taking a sip of water. “I slept the whole flight. My jet lag is going to eat me alive, but I needed the rest.”

Namjoon laughs and smiles. “I’m just glad to see you finally sleeping instead of working,” he says, then points to Yoongi’s phone. “Your vacation is much needed, hyung. Make the most of it.”

“I will,” Yoongi repeats, laughing too. He’s only slightly surprised by Namjoon’s sudden attention to his work habits, but he won’t complain. It makes him that much more of a good friend. “I brought my camera stuff that I got from my parents. So hopefully I can take some good pictures.”

It’s around five p.m. when they land in Istanbul, and the entire descent, Yoongi is glued to his window. The warm sunlight pours over the water, making the sea seem like it’s glimmering, specks of gold hidden within the deep blue. Yoongi has never seen anything like it, and he’s not sure he’s prepared to be this amazed for fourteen days straight.

They shuffle through the long customs line together, dead on their feet and for some reason, Yoongi is still fairly hungry after their meal. He collects his suitcase first and waits to the side while the others search for theirs, scrolling through his phone using the airport wifi. He lets his parents know that he arrived safely and not to worry about him while he’s gone—they always worry about him.

“Come on,” Seokjin says once everyone is reunited with their belongings, waving Yoongi towards the exit. “We’ll take a taxi to our hotel and then find somewhere to eat. The hotel is pretty close to the port, so we’ll just walk tomorrow morning when we’re ready to embark.”

“Sounds fine to me,” Yoongi says, dragging his suitcase along.

He stares up at the sun setting over the far western horizon when they’re riding through the streets of Istanbul, taken by the beauty as it floods the sky with soft pinks and warm oranges. It’s one of the most stunning sights Yoongi has seen in his life.

++

Their time in Istanbul is short, but the four of them manage to cram a lot into the twenty-four hours they get here. When Yoongi isn’t sleeping in the taxis they’re taking around the city, he makes sure to take photographs of his friends, the food they eat, the spots they visit. They spend time at an ancient castle, and the Hagia Sophia, and eat so much doner kebab that Yoongi’s pretty sure he might be part meat.

According to Seokjin, they technically could have checked into the cruise ship last night after arriving, but he insisted the hotel was so they could enjoy their time not swaying back and forth while trying to fall asleep. Yoongi doesn’t mind, but he wishes his friends wouldn’t spend so much money on these things because he knows he can’t afford to pay them back in any capacity, not with this.

Yoongi has never seen a cruise ship before, so to say he’s surprised by the sheer massiveness of it would be a clear understatement. He’s baffled by it—and the process of getting on board seems confusing and complicated to him, since he’s rarely traveled, so he leaves most of it to Seokjin. Having a seasoned traveler in their friend group is certainly a perk, because as Yoongi wanders the ship with his friends a couple of hours before they leave port, he feels a bit out of his depth.

“Okay… We have an arcade room, bar, buffet, bar, another food hall…” Seokjin goes on pointing out the amenities as they explore the ship, awaiting the chance to go down to their staterooms.

Yoongi’s jaw drops when they reach the pool deck. “Holy shit,” he says, eyeing the nth bar he’s seen since getting onboard and the enormous pool spread in the center, with just a handful of people swimming through it. There’s tons of people milling about, though, drinks in hand and music thumping. “Hold on. This is insane.” Yoongi shakes his head. “I can’t even begin to imagine how much this cost.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not paying for anything,” Namjoon says, raising his eyebrow with a teasing laugh. Heat curls up the back of Yoongi’s neck; he still doesn’t know how to feel about Namjoon being the one paying for everything, but alas. Yoongi can’t do anything about it. “There’s some time to kill. Are you hungry, hyung?”

“Yes, of course!” Seokjin exclaims, at the same time that Yoongi murmurs, “Not really.”

Yoongi sends Seokjin a glare and elbows him. “He was clearly talking to me,” he says, met with obvious disdain from Seokjin. It’s fleeting, anyhow. “We can still go grab something to eat. What time does the ship depart?”

Hoseok checks his watch and adjusts the way it sits around his wrist. “In two hours on the dot,” he answers, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his shorts. Yoongi squints when he looks up at his friends again; he should put on his sunglasses. “I think before eating I want to go to our rooms? We were talking when they said they’re ready.”

“Oh!” Seokjin perks up at the mention of their rooms. Yoongi follows blindly, bumping shoulders with Namjoon as they turn back to the way they came. He exchanges this look with him—he’s not sure how to describe it, just that Namjoon can practically read his mind. Some kind of fond annoyance for Seokjin, maybe. “Let’s go do that, then. I totally didn’t catch that.”

“It’s fine, hyung,” Hoseok says, looping his arm around Seokjin’s elbow. Yoongi studies that action a little closer, then shakes his head—there’s no way they started dating, did they? “How are we dividing ourselves between the rooms, by the way?”

As they arrive at a set of elevators, Seokjin presses the down button. “I was thinking you and I could share, and Namjoon shares with Yoongi?” he suggests, meant to be lighthearted of course, but Yoongi can tell that Namjoon gets stiff beside him.

So, he definitely doesn’t want to share a room with Yoongi.

Yoongi gives him time to say something about it, but as Hoseok babbles about a performance that he wants to see tonight somewhere on the ship, Namjoon keeps strangely quiet and to himself, following Seokjin through the identical hallways.

Their rooms are adjacent to each other, two different rooms between them. It isn’t ideal, but it will have to do, Yoongi figures. They check out Seokjin and Hoseok’s room first—it’s pretty neat, considering they’re on a ship. It’s a bit cramped, but there’s enough room for two people to survive for a couple of weeks.

Hoseok flops down on his bed and groans. “Come check this out, Yoongi-hyung, you’ll love it,” he says, folding his arm behind his head, waving his other hand at Yoongi. “I think Jin-hyung said that your room is pretty similar.”

Curious, Yoongi lays down on Hoseok’s bed and finds his body slightly sinking into the plush mattress. “It’s nice,” he says, getting comfortable, grinning over at Hoseok. He’s antsy to see the space that he’ll be in for the next fourteen days. In the corner of his eye, it’s hard to miss how glum Namjoon has gotten in the last five minutes. “Me and Joon will go check that out. Let’s meet back in like, fifteen minutes?”

“Sounds good,” Seokjin says, giving Yoongi a thumbs up. “Let me know if you need anything, okay? I know it’s my baby’s first time on a cruise ship.”

Yoongi gags. “Call me baby again and I will murder you,” he says, swatting Seokjin’s arm on the way out of the room. He swears he hears a squawk about Yoongi’s subtle brattiness before the door shuts him and Namjoon out.

Neither of them move. Yoongi truly hates that recently, with Namjoon, things can get so fucking awkward when they’re alone together.

“Let’s go,” Yoongi finally says, tilting his head in the direction of their room. He uses the card he got when they boarded to unlock it, holding the door open for a very quiet, broody Namjoon.

They both make silent choices on which beds to take, and Yoongi unpacks a few things from his suitcase to put into his daypack. He changes into something more comfortable and slightly beachy—courtesy of Hoseok—and sits on the couch to apply some sunscreen. All Namjoon has done since they got in here is lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling.

“Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi calls softly, then rethinks that choice of tone with a weak wince. Still, Namjoon turns his head towards him with no resistance. “We didn’t come all this way for you to be upset at me.”

“I’m not upset at you. I never was,” Namjoon says. He sits up, shoulders hunched over, sparing at glance at Yoongi and his pale legs. His eyes don’t convince Yoongi that he’s telling the truth. “It’s just a little weird when they don’t know about… that. I mean, how am I supposed to share a room with you?”

Yoongi takes a sharp breath. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought this up. “By being civil,” he attempts, but that answer doesn’t seem to fly with Namjoon.

“Cut the bullshit, hyung,” Namjoon says, and Yoongi sets down his bottle of sunscreen with a bothered sigh. When did conversing with his best friend get so… hard? “I am allowed to feel like shit about you rejecting me, okay? I need more time to figure out how to still be friends with you, because I’m not losing you completely just because you don’t like me back.”

“You know you’re my best friend, right?” Yoongi asks, pressing his lips together. He hopes that Namjoon understands what that means to him. “I’m not going anywhere. You know I’m sorry, but I can’t force myself to feel a certain way about you when it’s just not there.”

“I know.” Namjoon lets out a frustrated sound, holding his head in his hands for a few seconds. “I know, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take out my anger on you.”

Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek, hoping they’ve reached a happy medium as he returns to slapping sunscreen on his ghostly skin. Truly, he feels like a ghost. “Why are you angry?” he asks, still sort of tentative.

But this time, Namjoon isn’t snappy or avoidant. He just fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist and says, “I think I’m just angry at myself. For believing that you liked me too.”

“Joon-ah.” Yoongi sighs again, heavier, the reminder of Namjoon’s confession sitting on his chest. He never wanted to hurt his feelings, but when the truth came out on a drunken April evening, Yoongi couldn’t lie just for Namjoon’s sake. He won’t lie. “I know it’s harsh, but I don’t have feelings for you. I never will.” A small shudder falls out of Namjoon. “I can’t imagine myself with you like that.”

“Why?” Namjoon asks, somewhere between wounded and afraid. His eyes refuse to meet Yoongi’s across the room, his bangs falling into his gaze, shielding himself. “Why can’t you?”

“Because you’re my best friend,” Yoongi repeats, pushing himself off the couch to dump the bottle of sunscreen back into his daypack. This isn’t a conversation he wants to continue having. “I’m really grateful you helped bring me on this trip. But that doesn’t change anything. I don’t want to lose you either, okay?”

Namjoon nods his head, still avoidant. “Yes, hyung,” he says obediently, then quietly gets up and retreats into the bathroom.

It didn’t seem like a huge problem before the trip, or even right after Namjoon confessed to Yoongi last month. Actually, the awkward period after Yoongi admitted he didn’t have feelings back for Namjoon didn’t last very long. Maybe a couple of days, and then Namjoon appeared to be back to normal.

Yoongi thought it was one of those short crushes that people get. An attachment formed because they simply spend a lot of time together. But clearly he was wrong, if that conversation was anything to go by. Namjoon’s feelings are big—bigger than anything Yoongi has experienced for someone, and he wishes he didn’t have to turn him down, but he needs to stick to the truth. And the truth is he doesn’t like Namjoon like that, and he never will.

He waits for Namjoon to finish showering and ties his hair back, digging through his bag for his sunglasses. The conversation hangs heavy in the air between them once Namjoon emerges from the bathroom, but neither of them make an effort to alleviate that tension. Not even when Seokjin and Hoseok come waltzing into their room, talking about which buffet they want to try tonight.

Yoongi clings to the distraction. He chooses to stay close to Hoseok on their way back to the elevators, entertaining his conversation about a film they both watched recently as they all head up to the main deck.

As soon as he steps off the elevator though, Yoongi starts to feel around his pockets for his phone and groans when he realizes he left it on the table when he put on his sunscreen.

“Hold on,” he says, grabbing Hoseok by the arm to get everyone’s attention. “I forgot my phone. Where are we going again so I can find you later?”

“High Tide Hall,” Seokjin answers swiftly.

Yoongi makes a mental note to remember that. Even if it’s in English. “Okay, I’ll meet you guys there in five,” he says, turning back to take the elevators down to their floor.

Even though they literally just left it, the elevator takes a minute or so to return to Yoongi after he hits the button. He’s lowkey irritated with himself for leaving his phone behind, of all things, but all is well when he retrieves it from their room on the second deck. Now he can look up the food hall that Seokjin mentioned they’re going to and figure out how to get there instead of fumbling his way through the massive ship.

On the way back, the elevator doors reopen on the third deck. At first, Yoongi thinks nothing of it. He’s preoccupied with searching the deck map to figure out where exactly his friends will be waiting for him.

Then, out of nowhere, an unfamiliar voice calls a confused, “Min Yoongi?”

Instinctively, Yoongi lifts his chin at the sound of his name. The man standing frozen on the other side of the elevator doors is unnervingly familiar to him, but he can’t quite place a name to his face. He squints, trying to deduce why exactly he must know this stranger. Someone from work? That’s the only plausible answer—but he can’t remember every single person he’s met through work in the last eight years.

“Do I know you?” Yoongi asks, moving to a corner when the man blocks the doors from closing and steps on, eyes more focused on the button panel than anything else. “Um, excuse me? How do you know my name?”

“I can’t believe you,” the man scoffs, leaning against the corner of the elevator with his arms firmly crossed over his chest. Yoongi lowers his phone and looks closer, really close. He’s seriously trying his best to pick up on why this person is so familiar to him. It’s just out of reach. “What, you don’t recognize me now that I’ve grown up?”

Yoongi’s mind goes totally blank. “What?” he asks, taking in the man’s stature more thoroughly. The stranger is fit, that much is clear—but he’s also tattooed up one arm, making him slightly more intimidating. His dark hair is styled in waves, makeup flawless, in a way Yoongi has only seen on idols. He narrows his eyes even more, and the realization slams into him like a truck. “Jungkook?”

Jungkook—and yes, that is definitely Jungkook, judging by the size of his eyes—turns to face Yoongi more directly. “Yes?” he asks, clearly annoyed. “Can’t I enjoy my vacation without someone like you interfering?”

“Someone like me?” Yoongi repeats. The awe of seeing Jungkook for the first time in nearly ten years is soon replaced by incredulity. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? “Did your fame go to your head or something?”

Before Jungkook can reply, the elevator suspiciously stops and the doors don’t reopen. Then a second later, it lurches, dropping two feet. Yoongi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He’s been stuck on an elevator before. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jungkook mutters, incessantly pressing random buttons on the panel, all of which are clearly useless if the elevator is stuck.

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose. “Stop that,” he snaps after a few seconds, crossing his arms over his chest. Jungkook doesn’t listen; he ignores Yoongi and continues to repeatedly hit the call button. “That’s not going to help, Jungkook-ah. Stop.”

“Do you want to get trapped in here?” Jungkook asks, his tone harsher than Yoongi has ever heard. But to be completely fair, Yoongi hasn’t actually talked to Jungkook since he was seventeen-years-old. “I don’t. Definitely not with you.”

All this animosity towards him makes Yoongi feel queasy as he observes Jungkook, watching him grow more impatient with each passing second. He doesn’t remember ever leaving off on the wrong foot with Jungkook, when they were trainees together. He’s not sure what he did to deserve this treatment, but he’s having absolutely none of it. There’s no way Jungkook thinks it’s okay to be blatantly rude.

Instead of bothering Jungkook as he mumbles to himself in the corner, Yoongi silently thanks the Wi-Fi package that Seokjin bought for the four of them and sends the group chat a text about being trapped in the elevator. Jungkook only reaches for his phone after a couple more pitiful minutes. Even then, he just types furiously against the screen. Yoongi wants to laugh.

“Are you here alone?” Yoongi asks, scanning how plainly Jungkook is dressed considering the size of this cruise ship. It seems that all he has is his phone and a very small, seemingly empty pouch slung across his chest.

Jungkook glares from across the elevator. “Obviously not,” he says, tucking himself deeper into the corner. He turns his glower from Yoongi to his cell phone, tapping the screen a couple more times. Then he slides his phone into his pocket again and stares up at the ceiling. “We’re here together. The six of us.”

Of course. The six of them.

“Right,” Yoongi says quietly, toying with the fraying edges of his rubber phone case.

It’s strange to think about the six of them. He hasn’t thought about it as much in the past few years, but all at once, the jealousy hits him the same as it did when TIME first rose to stardom almost six years ago. There were supposed to be seven of them.

Yoongi was supposed to be up at the top, too.

As the reignited anger floats through Yoongi’s body, he stops to consider just how much Jungkook has grown in the past ten years. He has seen pictures of Jungkook all over Seoul. On Calvin Klein billboards, birthday ads on the side of buses and buildings, even on the bottle for the gum he likes to chew while he’s working. But regarding him in person is completely different.

He used to be shorter than Yoongi, back then. Now he has about an inch and a half on Yoongi. Oddly enough, his face is the same; it’s his body that has changed so drastically. That’s why Yoongi didn’t recognize him immediately, even in spite of seeing him everywhere on a daily basis. The tattoos are especially surprising—and the piercings, now that Yoongi is looking closer.

“Why are you staring at me?” Jungkook asks, and at least the intense hostility has simmered out. He just seems slightly irritated now.

Yoongi crosses his arms and silently prays that someone is coming to save them soon. “I just noticed that you’re taller than me now,” he says quietly, shifting his weight, uncomfortable with the recollection of the past. What does Jungkook think of him now? How would the rest of TIME react to seeing him? “Do you like it? Being an idol.”

Jungkook lets out a weak huff, but he doesn’t deflect the question. “I do,” he says, checking his phone briefly, before going back to staring distantly at the ceiling. Yoongi’s phone vibrates in his hand, but he doesn’t tear his gaze away from Jungkook’s mystifying expression. Something about that vague divide between annoyance and something else makes him curious. “I love it. I wouldn’t want to do anything else.”

“Good.”

“I figure you’re just being polite while we wait, hyung, so I’ll say this nicely,” Jungkook continues, picking at the dirt underneath his fingernails, lowering his chin to stare at the floor instead. Yoongi’s tense shoulders do not relax. “But please don’t pretend that you care about us. We’re not friends anymore. Just leave it alone.”

It’s the most direct thing he could say without outright telling Yoongi to shut up. Which is fair, Yoongi supposes when he notices the subtle flare of Jungkook’s nostrils, the impatient tap of his foot against the floor. Neither of them made the effort to stay friends after TIME debuted and Yoongi was forced to leave Prism Entertainment after his contract expired three months later. In fact, he always got the idea that the six of them wanted nothing to do with him. He was right, it seems.

As time slowly ticks on, neither of them make an effort to speak. The ten minutes they spend in silence are agonizing; Yoongi ends up seated on the floor with his bag tucked under one arm and Jungkook makes sure he doesn’t look Yoongi’s way even once.

When the elevator finally jolts back to life and the doors slide open on deck nine, where the food hall is, Jungkook hurries out without looking back. Yoongi steps off and watches, from a distance, as Jungkook reunites with the rest of his group with a big smile on his face and no indication of his annoyance. As if Yoongi was never there.

++

Unsettlingly, the day after the first encounter in the elevator, Yoongi keeps seeing Jungkook everywhere on the cruise ship. It shouldn’t be possible; there are literally thousands of other people aboard this ship. He doesn’t even see the other members of TIME more than once or twice, but even then, they’re always accompanied by Jungkook. From the food halls, to the gift shop, to the pool decks. Literally every single place.

It’s not exactly relaxing to have your ex-almost-groupmates roaming around when you’re on vacation.

Yoongi doesn’t mention it to his friends the first day at sea, enjoying their late afternoon sun drinking cocktails and beers and lounging by the large pool. Every few minutes, he scans the deck to see if there’ll be someone else that he knows, lingering in the shadows. If anyone notices, they haven’t mentioned it yet. It doesn’t become an issue until he’s alone with Namjoon.

“Are you excited to see Greece tomorrow, hyung?” Namjoon asks, when they’re waiting for their drinks together at one of the bars and Yoongi has his head turned, eyes lingering on TIME hanging out in a blocked off corner of the deck. “Yoongi-hyung?”

Yoongi blinks and looks away, ashamed. “What?” he asks, replaying Namjoon’s question in his head before answering, “Yes, very. Can’t wait for Athens especially.”

Clearly confused, Namjoon glances over his shoulder, staring off in the direction that Yoongi was looking in. At first, it doesn’t seem like he realizes, then his jaw drops and he goes, “Holy fucking shit. That’s TIME. That’s literally Kim Taehyung.”

Namjoon’s gaping is the only reminder Yoongi needs to recall that his friends do not know he used to be a trainee with them.

“I know,” Yoongi says, playing it off as casual, eyes drifting back towards them—Jungkook and Taehyung are wrestling now. He murmurs an awkward thanks to the bartender when his draft beer is placed in front of him, wrapping a hand around the glass. “I noticed them yesterday.”

“Have you worked with them?”

“No.”

Namjoon takes a sip of his drink and says, “It would be sick if you did.”

It would kill Yoongi, actually, but he just presses his lips together in a faint smile and nods in agreement.

“They must be filming something,” Namjoon considers, leaning his elbows on the bar counter, continuing to watch them, a camera crew and staff swarming the six of them. Yoongi can’t seem to tear his eyes away, either. His gaze keeps lingering on Jungkook’s tattoos; on his bright, bunny-toothed smile that hasn’t changed one bit. “I never thought I would get to see an idol group this up close. I guess, aside from the guys who held me up at the airport. Maybe it was them.”

“They lose their charm after a while,” Yoongi says with another mouthful of beer, letting out a sigh after he swallows. He wishes this wasn’t on the forefront of his mind. “Fuck. It’s so fucking annoying seeing them here.”

Namjoon turns his head towards Yoongi in interest, eyebrow tilted. “What?” he asks, then lets out a confused laugh. “Why do them being here have anything to do with you?”

Yoongi faces the bar, chugging the rest of his beer, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. But even as he tries to ignore the question, Namjoon watches him expectantly. “It’s complicated,” he tries, but Namjoon nudges him, staring back like he knows Yoongi is hiding something. “Namjoon-ah, really.”

“What? I can’t be nosy?”

“You can, I just—” Yoongi lets out another sigh and slides his empty glass away from him. He doesn’t feel like relaying the details of his past, but here he is anyway. “Remember I told you that I came to Seoul when I was sixteen?”

Namjoon hums in acknowledgement, clearly invested.

“Well,” Yoongi continues, taking a precautionary glance over his shoulder, just to ensure that TIME is a safe distance away. They haven’t moved from their secluded, private corner. “I moved to Seoul as a trainee. And I trained for six years. Under Prism, the same company that TIME is under.”

For a few seconds, Namjoon is quiet. Scarily so. Then, he murmurs, “You don’t mean…”

Yoongi swallows his agony. “Yes,” he confirms. “I was supposed to be in TIME.”

The silence that follows his confession is unnerving, but Yoongi doesn’t make an effort to see what Namjoon’s reaction will be. He’s done his hardest to keep his trainee life in the past. When he left, he knew it meant abandoning the life he imagined for himself for six whole years. At the time, his courage was completely shattered; now that Yoongi is older, he can look back and find his courage in making that decision to begin with.

Doesn’t mean that recalling his dreams won’t sting. Just that he doesn’t regret it as much anymore.

“Wow,” Namjoon says softly after a minute has passed. He drained the rest of his cocktail in that short amount of time. Yoongi can’t focus on anything anymore; this space is way too overstimulating for him to linger in. “I guess… that would be the only valid reason for you to be annoyed by them being here.”

Yoongi runs a hand over his face. He lowkey wants to punch something. “I think I’m just going to go back to the room,” he murmurs, rolling his tense shoulders back. Hopefully Seokjin and Hoseok understand him bailing on their afternoon by the pool. He’ll make sure to reconvene for their dinner reservation at one of the nicer restaurants.

As he turns to leave, Namjoon gently grabs his hand to pull him to a stop. “Hyung, I’m sorry,” he says, and Yoongi isn’t really sure why he says it. “I know you don’t like talking about your past. But I’m glad you trusted me with this. Even after… yeah, just… I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

“It’s okay. I’m just tired, Joon-ah,” Yoongi says with a forced, reassuring smile, but he’s sure Namjoon knows he’s lying anyway. He pulls his hand free, curling his fingers into a fist. “I’m gonna take a nap, okay? Tell Hobi and Jin-hyung I’ll meet you guys later, for dinner.”

Namjoon’s eyes flicker with sadness, with worry. “Okay,” he says reluctantly, nodding once. “If you say so.”

With that, Yoongi turns away and returns to the lounge chair he was inhabiting with the others. Both Seokjin and Hoseok are engulfed in their own conversation, so they don’t really notice when Yoongi slips away after collecting his belongings. Not that he really wants them to notice—he’s quite appreciative of their obliviousness at this moment. All Yoongi wants to do is crawl into bed and maybe cry a little.

He trudges along the pool edge, navigating a familiar path back to the indoor part of the ship, escaping through the doors with a weak sigh. The elevators are around the corner, so he hits the button and waits with his shoulder resting against the wall.

“Yoongi-hyung?”

For fuck’s sake.

Yoongi knows better than to ignore him, so he lifts his chin and offers a small smile. “Yeonjun-ah,” he says quietly, almost… surprised to see him, standing alone in the middle of this weird foyer space by the elevators. He stands up straighter—fuck, Choi Yeonjun has grown up just as well as Jungkook has. He was even younger than Jungkook was when TIME debuted. “Hey…”

The elevator doors slide open, but neither of them move. Yeonjun keeps a safe distance from Yoongi, just like Jungkook did. “Jungkook-hyung told us that he saw you,” he says slowly, as if he’s still processing Yoongi’s presence, hesitating to draw closer. Yoongi wonders what else Jungkook said about him. “You walked past and I had to see for myself.”

“Well, here I am,” Yoongi says, and the elevator doors slide shut without him inside. “You doing okay?”

Yeonjun shakes his head and blinks harshly. “I don’t…” he trails off, then takes a step back. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

Yoongi frowns, but he doesn’t call after Yeonjun when he suddenly turns on his heel and disappears the way Yoongi came.

The interaction runs on a loop in his mind as he calls the elevator back up and rides it down to deck two, where their rooms are. He doesn’t know what to think of these short one-on-one conversations he’s having with his ex-almost-groupmates. Especially the younger ones. They were just kids the last time Yoongi saw them, and now they’re all full blown adults.

When Yoongi makes it back to his room, his distress is pacified by the sight of his bed. He gets undressed and closes the curtains to block out the sunlight and flops onto the mattress with the steadfast determination to get some sleep.

His rude awakening is presented through a pillow being held over his face for five total seconds. He shoves away whoever is suffocating him and rolls over, blinking into the corner of the room. All he can think of, even after sleeping for a couple of hours, is the startled look on Yeonjun’s face when they saw each other. The way he ran away.

“It’s time to go to dinner, hyung,” Hoseok sing-songs. “Wear something nice.”

Yoongi turns over to look at Hoseok, sprawled out on Namjoon’s bed and drinking a margarita. Why he’s drinking it inside the room is beyond him, but as Yoongi buries his face into his pillow, he realizes that the last thing he wants to do is dress up for a fancy cruise ship dinner. His limbs weigh him down like lead; the thought of movement makes him want to punch something again. He was hopeful that his nap would placate his anger, but clearly it hasn’t faded.

“Hyung,” Hoseok calls again, gingerly sitting on the edge of Yoongi’s bed, poking Yoongi’s shoulder. “What’s with the bad mood?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Yoongi answers, pinching the bridge of his nose as he rolls onto his back. The sound of the shower running slowly surfaces to Yoongi’s conscience. He doesn’t want to deal with Namjoon’s mood swings, either. “Do I have to go to dinner? I’m still tired.”

“Yes,” Hoseok says, adjusting the strands of hair falling on Yoongi’s forehead. “We didn’t bring you here just to sleep all day, you know?”

“I didn’t sleep all day,” Yoongi argues. He just slipped away to take a nap. And avoid TIME. But that still doesn’t mean he slept all day. “I spent the morning with you at the theater. It’s still crazy to me that there’s even a theater on this ship.”

Hoseok offers a stiff smile. Something must be bothering him. “After you ditched us earlier, Namjoon was really agitated for some reason,” he says, as Yoongi reluctantly readjusts to lean back against the headboard. He’s starting to have second thoughts about vacationing together. Who knew it would end up being so complicated? “Tell me why I get the feeling that it has to do with you?”

As much as Yoongi hates keeping secrets, he hates betraying people’s trust more—and Namjoon trusted him with his confession, and asked him not to share that information with anyone. Which is understandable, but it’s still a frustrating predicament to confront. “I don’t think I have the right to tell you,” he says honestly, turning his head to look at the closed bathroom door. “That’s up to him, you know?”

Hoseok doesn’t hide his uncertainty well, his lips pulled tight into a frown and eyebrows firmly pinned to the center of his forehead. “What the hell happened between you guys?” he asks, and it’s hard not to detect the hidden accusation. Like Namjoon’s attitude is somehow Yoongi’s fault. “I thought you guys would be all buddy-buddy this trip.”

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck and says, “Anything going on between us is strictly Namjoon’s problem. I am just here.”

“Hyung.”

“Ask him about it. I can’t tell you what’s going on because it’s not my place.”

The shower suddenly shuts off. “I don’t believe you,” Hoseok says, point-blank. He moves to sit across from Yoongi, legs criss-crossed, eyes all concerned. He takes a long sip from his margarita, fiddling with the little yellow umbrella resting on the edge of his glass. “This isn’t something new I noticed, but I thought getting away from home would help. You guys have been acting weird for a while now.”

“Hoseok-ah, just drop it,” Yoongi says with a bothered sigh, sliding out of the bed. He goes for his suitcase to dig for the nicer clothes he packed, per Hoseok’s insistence. Probably worth it now that they’re doing fancy dinners and whatnot. He tugs on a pair of slacks and buttons them up, the press of Hoseok’s gaze lingering on him as he gets dressed again. “I can feel you staring, you know.”

“Hyung, I’m really worried about you guys.”

“Please drop it.”

“Drop what?” Namjoon asks, stepping sideways out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips. Water is still dripping over his bare chest, his arms, as he whips his bangs out of his face. His eyes flicker between Yoongi and Hoseok, curious. “What are you guys talking about?”

More fed up than anything, Yoongi crosses his arms and glares at Hoseok, refusing to meet Namjoon’s gaze. “Hoseok thinks that I did something to put you in a bad mood,” he says, and as soon as Hoseok tries to protest, Yoongi shushes him. “Can you please tell him that your mood swings are not my problem?”

“That would be lying,” Namjoon says, unmoving.

Yoongi blinks a couple times and turns his head back to Namjoon, incredulous. “What?” he asks, stepping closer to the bathroom. He can’t help the disbelief from washing over him. How dare Namjoon actually blame him for something he couldn’t help? “Namjoon-ah, I am not responsible for how you react to the things I do. If you’re angry, then be angry, I won’t stop you. But please don’t pretend that it’s my fault.”

Hoseok hesitantly stands between them and asks, “What’s going on here?”

“If you don’t say anything, Kim Namjoon, I swear I will—”

“Yoongi-hyung rejected me,” Namjoon interrupts, his chest rising and falling at a steady pace. But his eyes are already flooding with angry tears, and Yoongi wishes that things weren’t this tense. He wishes he could have one moment of peace. “I have feelings for him. And I just have to deal with the fact that he will never like me the way I want him to. Am I supposed to not be upset?”

“Don’t pin this on me, Joon-ah,” Yoongi warns a second time, and he realizes that he sounds infuriated too. How can he not be? Namjoon is making it seem like he is obligated to reciprocate his feelings when that’s not the case. “It’s not fair. If I don’t like you back, you need to accept it and move on. Anything that comes after isn’t my fault.”

Hoseok steps closer to Yoongi, cautioning him, and murmurs, “You’re being harsh, hyung.”

Another friend is turning against him. At this point, Yoongi is ready to go home. “Hoseok, I might be gay but I don’t have to force myself to like a man I only see as my friend,” he says, and snatches his suit jacket from the suitcase. He picks up his dress shoes and his day pack, avoiding the wounded, tear-stained look on Namjoon’s face as he passes. “I trust you guys have enough respect for me to leave me alone for now. I will come find you when I don’t think every word you say will make me explode.”

A touch brushes over Yoongi’s shoulder, but he merely shrugs it off and leaves the room before any resentment can fester.

++

It’s unwise for Yoongi to behave so rashly, he knows, but he still skips dinner and hides out at one of the bars, drinking himself into near-oblivion. The bartender is kind enough to engage with his fragmented English ranting, although the vague Spanish he receives in return doesn’t exactly soothe his frustrations. At the same time, by the time the bar closes, Yoongi is way too drunk to comprehend any words, foreign languages or Korean.

His bricklike feet carry him stumbling down a stairwell, shoulders bumping the walls as the ship sways over the waves. The alcohol in Yoongi’s stomach swishes with each crash against the wall, clinging to the railings until he manages to burst through the doors on deck two. His fingers clutch the handle of his day pack, rustling around for his room key. Nothing in his mind is clear enough to be steady.

Miraculously, Yoongi staggers through the snaking hallways until he happens upon their stateroom. He tries to be quiet when he enters, but he trips over someone’s shoes in the dark and groans when he falls against the wall on his fucked up shoulder, wincing at the pressure.

But when Yoongi finally tramples his way over to the bedside, turning on the lamp, the room is empty.

Go figure that Namjoon would sleep in their friends’ room instead. Yoongi throws down his daypack and presses his face into his hands, fighting the tears that creep to the brim of his eyes. He doesn’t deserve to cry when he really was being harsh to Namjoon, but simultaneously, how on earth is it Yoongi’s fault that Namjoon hasn’t gotten over him in the last two months?

Yoongi does not recall when or how he drifted off, but when he wakes up, he’s slouched against the headboard and the sun is pouring into the room, bright and golden. He blinks harshly, peering out the window. They seem to be docked at a port.

“You’re awake, good,” Seokjin calls, from where he’s rubbing cologne on his neck and wrists, standing in front of the mirror. “I was worried you wouldn’t have made it.”

“I’m never drinking again,” Yoongi mutters, which they both know is an untrue statement, but right now, his insides feel like they’ve been put through a blender, solidified, then scrambled again. He leans over and massages his aching temples with his fingers, praying the nausea away.

Seokjin joins Yoongi on the bed, placing a tender hand on his shoulder to guide him upright again. “You and I are going to have fun today,” he says, and raises a challenging eyebrow when Yoongi opens his mouth to argue. Yoongi promptly shuts it again. “We’re in Greece now. Your favorite, isn’t it?”

Yoongi looks up, a little hopeful, and asks, “Athens?”

“Not quite,” Seokjin answers with an apologetic smile. “Rhodes. Athens is tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so down. I made a nice little agenda for us, remember?” Seokjin nudges Yoongi’s elbow, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Yoongi reaches for his phone, rubbing one of his eyes. “I won’t force you to have a heart-to-heart like Hoseok would. But I will force you to get dressed and leave this godforsaken ship, at least for a couple of hours. How about it?”

Well, Yoongi does really want to see Greece. He can’t deny that. “Okay,” he mumbles with a dejected yawn, checking his phone’s notifications. There are a handful of messages from Namjoon, but most of them are nonsense. Must’ve gotten drunk, too, then. “Give me twenty minutes to be ready?”

“I’ll get you a coffee in the meantime,” Seokjin says with his dazzling smile, standing from the edge of the bed. He rests his hand on Yoongi’s shoulder for a few seconds, just watching him. “I think you guys will be fine, okay?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it, hyung, but thanks anyway,” Yoongi replies with a shrug, the touch slowly vanishing. He pushes his heavy, fatigued body off the bed and trudges his way to the bathroom, shutting himself in without another look in Seokjin’s direction.

As Yoongi brushes his teeth, he checks his texts with Namjoon again, trying to make sense of the gibberish, but the most he can decipher are messages cursing him. It isn’t like Namjoon to be so blatantly disrespectful. Argumentative, yes, but he still tends to treat Yoongi like a hyung. They haven’t argued much since they first became friends five years ago, and now this?

This is making Yoongi’s head spin. But he really isn’t ready to lose Namjoon as a friend. He can’t imagine life without him. Meeting at a café every Saturday to catch up. Sharing music with him. Letting him in where Yoongi has never trusted anyone before. He can have those things in their friendship without it immediately equating to having feelings for him.

Aggravated by his own mind, Yoongi takes a short shower to get rid of the smell of alcohol and sweat on his body. By the time he’s dressed and blow drying his hair at the mirror, Seokjin is waltzing back into the room with an iced Americano in his hand. He sets it down in front of Yoongi, hanging back with a calm look on his face. Yoongi takes a sip and lets the caffeine melt his tension.

They don’t chit-chat once Yoongi gets on his shoes, throwing his day pack over his shoulders. He silently follows Seokjin out to the main exit and sips begrudgingly on his coffee as they navigate where to explore first.

For a while, Yoongi doesn’t let go of his irritation and anger. He grouchily follows Seokjin around Old Town Rhodes, as he marvels at the medieval architecture and bothers Yoongi about which trinkets to buy his other friends back home. But after an hour of being in a mood, Yoongi retrieves the camera his parents gifted him and captures the memories he came here to make. He didn’t come along just to glower in a literal palace.

Seokjin makes the executive decision on where to have lunch—a colorful little eatery, with a nice patio, tucked away from the main tourist spots—and Yoongi retires his camera to click through the pictures.

“Do you want to order anything in particular, Yoongi-yah?” Seokjin asks, when he’s scouring the menu. His sunglasses keep his effortlessly styled hair out of his eyes, lips pursed. They’re seated in the shade, but it’s still hot enough for sweat to be dripping down the nape of Yoongi’s neck.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Yoongi replies, adjusting the camera’s settings as he lifts it to take another picture of Seokjin. He frowns as he looks at the new picture, then places his camera on the table to worry about it later. “Hyung, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, just ask.”

Yoongi toys with a loose thread in the white tablecloth, pulling it wider. “Am I wrong for telling Namjoon that I don’t like him back?” he asks, sparing a glance at Seokjin, but he appears occupied by the menu. Yoongi knows he ought to be listening. “He makes me feel like I am. But I know that’s only because he’s hurt that I rejected him to begin with. How am I supposed to fix things with him if he doesn’t—I don’t know—get over me?”

“Please don’t ever say it like that to him,” Seokjin says, laying the menu down on the table. “You’re not wrong, but… I think you underestimated how big his feelings are for you.”

“I got that inkling a couple of days ago,” Yoongi admits, but it still doesn’t explain why Namjoon is so keen to blame this all on him.

Seokjin raises his eyebrows. “I don’t think you understand, though,” he says with an exhausted sigh, sitting back against his chair. The sun graces his face, his perfect skin shining. Yoongi lowers his chin instead, because knowing how attractive his friends are compared to him makes him feel uglier. “Namjoon’s feelings are really intense, Yoongi-yah. It’s going to take him a lot more time than a couple of months.”

“Is the only reason he was my friend because he liked me?” Yoongi asks, panic rising up in his chest at the thought.

“You really need to chill.”

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose. “Aish, this is so annoying,” he mutters into his hands, trying to shake off all these complicated emotions. This is the least relaxed he’s felt in weeks. “First this and then there’s the whole TIME thing.”

Seokjin gives him a funny look. “Time… what?”

“T-I-M-E. TIME. The boy group?”

“Sure.” Seokjin nods along, but it’s clear he doesn’t know who Yoongi is talking about. “What do they have to do with this?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, readjusting the empty plate and utensils on his side of the table. “Nothing,” he says. “Completely isolated from Namjoon. But long story short, I was supposed to debut with them when I was a trainee and now they’re here, on this same fucking cruise.”

“Oh…kay…”

“Don’t act like I’m insane.” Yoongi takes out his phone, realizes he has no service, then grabs Seokjin’s from across the table to Naver search Jungkook’s name. He’s easily the most famous out of the six members—Jimin and Doyoon are close seconds. Yoongi turns the screen towards Seokjin for him to see a picture of Jungkook. “Don’t you know this guy? He’s crazy famous.”

Seokjin shrugs in dismissive confusion. “Maybe I’ve seen him on billboards or something,” he says, taking his phone back to tuck it in his pocket. Yoongi takes a deep breath to settle his nerves. “You really do need to relax, Yoongi-yah. You know I don’t like prying into your business, but the way you act affects all of us. You shouldn’t have stormed out yesterday. All you did was put yourself and everyone else on edge.”

“I know,” Yoongi says with another irritated sigh. He can’t fathom that staying and hashing out his anger with Namjoon would have been the wise choice, either. “But can’t you see where I’m coming from?”

“Of course I do, but I also know where Namjoon is coming from,” Seokjin says, tapping his fingers on the table in a restless motion. Yoongi hates that in some convoluted way, he’s ruining this trip for them by acting out. But he knows he can’t pretend to tolerate Namjoon’s standoffish behavior when it’s not truly his fault. “Look, he agreed to treat you like normal for the rest of the trip. But after we go back to Korea, I think you guys should take a break from each other.”

Basically saying that they shouldn’t be friends anymore. “I don’t want to lose him,” Yoongi murmurs, hanging his head because he knows it’s a selfish thought. “Hyung, he’s literally my best friend.”

“But to him, you’re even more than that,” Seokjin replies, tone turning softer, reaching across the table to pat Yoongi’s hand. His comfort is welcome, but it does make him feel slightly patronized—no matter how genuine the effort is. “He needs a chance to not be around you and figure out how to let you go. Because he knows you don’t have feelings for him. Ever since you first told him. You don’t need to keep reminding him, that only makes him hurt more.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi mutters, and as soon as he recalls his unkind words from last night, he realizes that he needs to apologize to Namjoon. “I can’t believe I did that. I was too frustrated by him ignoring my side of things that I just… forgot to consider his feelings too.”

Seokjin offers a smile that only says that he knew that all along. He was just waiting for Yoongi to figure it out on his own. “You two will be fine after some time apart to process,” he says, and when the waiter arrives to take their order, he reads off the menu, something Greek that Yoongi has never heard of. He’s willing to try it regardless. “Anyhow.” Seokjin sits up, tapping his chin. “Tell me more about these TIME people.”

As if that was something Yoongi needed a reminder of. He sinks back in his chair and tilts his chin, staring up at the sky. His vision is going to start bleeding red at this rate. Either that, or he’s going to pop a blood vessel because he’s pretty sure all this sudden stress might be affecting his blood pressure.

“All right, here’s what I found on Naver… ‘T.I.M.E., also known as Trust In My Emotions, is a South Korean boyband’—”

“‘That was formed in 2015 by Prism Entertainment. The group consists of six members: Jimin, V, Doyoon, Jungkook, Sungbin, and Yeonjun.’ Trust me, I know the fucking thing by heart.” Yoongi is actually a little pissed off that he remembers it. He turns his head back to Seokjin and leans forward on the table, looking up at his friend’s overly-exaggerated astonishment. “There’s nothing to tell. They’re on the cruise, shooting some kind of content. Ran into a couple of the members the other day.”

Seokjin lifts his eyebrows, intrigued. “Did they recognize you?”

“Yes,” Yoongi answers, a bit glum. “Unfortunately.”

“How was that?”

Yoongi shrugs, the answer escaping him as he searches his brain for the right words. “It was uncomfortable,” he settles on after a couple of minutes, glancing up cautiously at their surroundings—the last thing he wants to do is talk about them while they’re around to listen. “I…” He sighs as his gaze settles back on Seokjin, attentive and patient. “One of the members said something that keeps bothering me.”

When the waiter returns, he brings along a bottle of white wine and two glasses; the waiter takes his time pouring it out for them, and Yoongi swallows a hefty gulp as soon as he walks away.

Seokjin’s attention is briefly diverted to his wine too, but he doesn’t allow Yoongi the chance to switch the subject. “Which member?” he asks, as soon as Yoongi opens his mouth to start talking about the palace they saw earlier.

Yoongi’s shoulders sag against the table. Recalling that encounter on the elevator is humiliating. “It was Jungkook—the one I showed you a picture of. Jeon Jungkook,” he says, and even the feeling of his name in Yoongi’s mouth is completely foreign. He hasn’t uttered it much in the past ten years. “He’s four years younger than me. But he and I were still pretty close during our trainee days.”

“I’m not familiar with how things go when someone leaves,” Seokjin says, swishing his wine around his glass before taking a strategic sip. His gaze hones in on Yoongi, watchful. “If you were close, couldn’t you have stayed in touch?”

“We could have,” Yoongi agrees, tapping his finger against the stem of his glass, restless nerves working their way through his body again. He still remembers the last proper conversation he had with Jungkook. It was a lot more hopeful than reality. “But I was… I was too ashamed after I quit.” His eyes drop down to the table cloth again, staring at the hole he formed. “He got to be an idol and I had to go enlist. What was I supposed to say?”

“I’m sensing a pattern of avoidance, Min Yoongi,” Seokjin muses.

Yoongi throws Seokjin an unamused glare. “So what?” he asks, throwing his hands in the air, helplessly exasperated. Avoiding his problems makes his life easier. He never thought he would ever hear from Jungkook again, let alone meet him. “I wanted to leave. Get the fuck out. Forget everyone I knew, all of it. I literally felt like I was going to die.”

Seokjin, to his credit, does not take Yoongi’s self-pity as a fault. He never has, and it’s made him a worthy friend. But it also makes him blunt; so blunt that sometimes, Yoongi carries the guilt of his actions everywhere he goes.

“I think you have an issue where you act like everything is fine when it’s not,” Seokjin says, pointing his glass at Yoongi with a challenging eyebrow raise.

Unfortunately, Seokjin is not wrong. He reads Yoongi too easily. Probably the reason why Yoongi’s sitting here with him and not Hoseok.

“You don’t understand, hyung,” Yoongi throws out as an excuse, and luckily Seokjin accepts it. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore, okay?”

“That’s fine,” Seokjin says, taking a gulp of his wine. He still carries a stern look on his face when he places his empty glass on the table. “But you’re going to have to accept the truth eventually.”

“Which is what?”

Seokjin shrugs, turning his head to watch a bird flutter into the sun, and says, “You haven’t gotten over it.”

++

The last thing Yoongi needs on his mind is TIME and Jungkook and all the bitterness that arises when he recalls the memories he has with them. But he can’t seem to catch a fucking break on this trip.

After exploring Rhodes for a few more hours with Seokjin, he is convinced to attend a formal dinner with Hoseok and Namjoon at the end of the evening. From the outside, everything must appear to be fine—but to Yoongi, it feels like someone is driving a knife right through his chest and leaving him to bleed dry. He still smiles; he still acts like seeing Namjoon treat him so indifferently doesn’t hurt.

Yoongi realizes that he wasn’t meant to go on this trip. Just as he tried to convince everyone. He was supposed to stay in Seoul, working away at his mixtape, writing songs for idols and groups he actually enjoys working with. He’s not supposed to be risking one of his best friendships by merely being present. It makes him wonder why Namjoon so bravely paid the expenses for him.

Thanks to the growing trench between him and Namjoon, their arrival in Athens doesn’t even spark that same exhilaration that Yoongi had when he learned that he was coming here.

Not just that, but the moment he realizes that TIME is in their Athens exploration tour group, he has to excuse himself to hide behind some strangers and scream into his sleeve.

This is his worst fucking nightmare.

Disgruntled beyond words, Yoongi trudges back to the group still forming on the port and crosses his arms, standing off to the side alone. He watches the members of TIME populate in front of them; first Yeonjun comes out with Doyoon, the quietness of the latter ever so present; then Jimin and Taehyung, followed by Sungbin close behind; and Jungkook.

Yoongi finds it difficult to tear his eyes away from Jungkook. He hates that his first thought is: He is exactly my type.

It wasn’t as noticeable that evening, on the elevator, but today… Today, Jungkook is beyond stunning when he emerges, glowing in the warm sunshine. When Yoongi first met him, he was a bumbling fifteen-year-old, tagging along with the older trainees and spendings hours upon hours in the practice room, perfecting his skills. He was no more than a mere kid attempting to achieve his dream. He was just like Yoongi had been at sixteen.

But now Jungkook is twenty-eight. He’s older than Yoongi ever pictured him being. His mullet falls over the nape of his neck, fanning out beneath the bucket hat he drops over his head. It’s actually fucking unfair to be that jacked; his arms are probably twice the size of Yoongi’s thighs. Plus the sleeve of tattoos really matures him. The reality of that is jarring, to say the least.

“Yoongi-hyung?” Hoseok calls out from a few feet away, but Yoongi can’t tear his dumbstruck gaze away until he feels a faint tap on his shoulder. Yoongi turns to look up at Hoseok, squinting. Hoseok smiles, a combination of confused and concerned. He’s been in this state since yesterday. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Yoongi assures, giving another side look to Jungkook when he sidles up beside Sungbin, furtive and jumpy. When a staff member touches his shoulder, he flinches—Yoongi looks away again. “Just…” He lets out a strangled breath. “Really wanna see the Acropolis.”

Hoseok smiles wider. “I’m excited for you to see it,” he says, draping his arm over Yoongi’s shoulder, guiding him to the opposite side of the group. With one final glance, Jungkook and the other members steadily disappear from Yoongi’s line of sight.

Silence permeates the air between Yoongi and Namjoon once they rejoin their other friends, and Yoongi uses his energy to pretend that he is completely fine. He laughs when Seokjin makes jokes. He takes photographs of his friends and the scenery on his camera, even if they’re still loitering just off the port as they await their tour guide and tour bus. He can act his way into everything being normal again.

Everyone piles onto the big, blue bus that pulls up and a woman with a bright smile and enthused voice greets each of them while they file onboard. Yoongi squeezes into a row with Seokjin and his bony elbows, scrunching up his nose as he tries to settle into comfort against the window. The bus is stuffy with other tourists, and has a lingering smell of cigarette smoke that only gives Yoongi a mild nicotine craving.

It starts off fine. The chatter tapers off once the tour guide starts rambling into her microphone in English, leaving Yoongi to stare out the window in a daze, only catching a few familiar words as they make the trip from the port to their first destination. It isn’t until he hears faint murmurs of Korean that he truly starts to tune back into what’s happening around him. As his brain reconnects, the murmurs turn into a full blown conversation behind him.

“Hyung, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jungkook—that’s Jungkook’s voice, undoubtedly. Yoongi is not sure how he didn’t recognize it immediately on the elevator.

The sigh that follows is from Doyoon, it has to be. It’s too heavy for it to be anyone else. “I’m not really giving you much of a choice,” Doyoon says, his scratchy voice giving Yoongi chills all the way down his arms. It’s been years since he’s heard Doyoon’s voice specifically. “Turn off your mic pack and talk to me. You’ve been acting odd since before we left.”

“Hyung.”

“Jungkook-ah, don’t give me that.”

Yoongi shifts, uncomfortable, throwing Seokjin a glance to see if he’s noticed. But it appears Seokjin is preoccupied with intermittently translating the tour guide’s spiel about Athens’ rich history for Hoseok. Yoongi tries to focus on Seokjin’s voice instead, but the truth is, he’s too goddamn nosy to mind his business. Especially if it has anything to do with TIME.

“Look, I just—” Jungkook cuts himself off with a strangled groan, half swallowed by the rush of wind passing through the windows. Yoongi gazes out the glass, and wonders if Jungkook knows that he’s sitting only a row forward. “I’m just tired, okay? We just finished going on tour for like, eight months, plus award shows and performances. Forgive me if I’m tired. And you know I haven’t been able to sleep through the night lately.”

“I thought you saw a doctor about that before we left,” Doyoon says with concern filling up his voice. Clearly nothing has changed if he still gets worked up about everyone else’s well being while neglecting his own. Yoongi scoffs thinking about the times he had to drag Doyoon out of the studio by his hair just to eat. “Jungkook… Come on.”

“Hyung, I am just trying to enjoy our vacation, even if it’s work,” Jungkook replies, snappish, almost nervous. He doesn’t seem as hostile as he was before. Yoongi wonders if his poor sleep schedule is truly the cause of his mood, or if there truly is something deeper down. “If there is something wrong by the time we get back to Korea, I’ll tell you. Deal?”

Doyoon sighs, evidently exasperated. “Deal,” he agrees, and the conversation ends after that.

It swarms Yoongi’s thoughts as he treks through the tour with his friends, half-focused on taking photographs and only semi-committed to avoiding Namjoon’s standoffish attitude. It shouldn’t persist like this, but it does. Yoongi has no business knowing why anyone in TIME might be suffering, but the truth is, deep down, he hasn’t moved on. Just like Seokjin said.

Yoongi is fucking bitter.

He is so fucking bitter about getting carved out of a group that he was meant to be a part of. He wrote half of their debut album. He produced at least two of their songs. None of that success has touched him in the last eight years. It’s as if he never existed to Prism, or to TIME.

The simmering disdain eventually settles when Yoongi lays his eyes on the Acropolis, the site that drew him to Athens to begin with. Maybe it’s a cliche to be this infatuated with the most famous ruin left of Ancient Greece, but Yoongi is awestruck by its beauty. His most favorite is the Parthenon, and to see it in person might make him cry.

Their time at the Acropolis is not nearly enough, and as Yoongi climbs aboard the bus to travel back to the city for the end of their main tour, he wishes he could stay behind and enjoy the most of it.

“I’m starving,” Hoseok announces while they’re standing in the shade of the tour bus, waiting for Seokjin to choose somewhere to eat from his comprehensive list. “Hyung, hurry up and choose something. I barely got to have breakfast.”

“Me too,” Yoongi adds, thinking of the coffee and tiny piece of toast he ate on the ship earlier.

Namjoon adjusts the cap he’s wearing and crosses his arms over his chest, silent.

Yoongi treads carefully when he asks, “Namjoon-ah, what did you think of the Acropolis?”

“Was fine,” Namjoon mumbles in response, not even a full fucking sentence, throwing a sour look in Yoongi’s direction. He’s clearly being passive aggressive about this. But he still has the decency to ask, “You?”

“I took a lot of pictures,” Yoongi says, reaching for his camera in case Namjoon is interested in seeing any of them. But before he can even power it on, Namjoon turns away to follow Seokjin down the road.

As they walk, Hoseok squeezes Yoongi’s shoulder. “You’re making an effort,” he says, but it only feels like those efforts are being wasted. Why can’t Namjoon even manage to be civil with him? Why does it feel like their friendship is slowly turning stale and brittle? At this rate, the only thing that’ll be left are crumbs. “It’s good, Yoongi-hyung. You know how Namjoon gets when he’s emotional.”

“I think it’s obnoxious,” Yoongi mutters, but he doesn’t bother Hoseok about it any more.

Lunch is an easy affair, even if Yoongi avoids speaking to Namjoon altogether, and Namjoon resolutely does the same. He focuses on enjoying the meal rather than the increasing frustration he has. He may have told himself that he would act civilly for the rest of the trip, but there’s only so much insufferable pride that he can handle. Namjoon’s acting like a dick and there’s no getting around that.

Like the pro-distracter that he is, Hoseok suggests going shopping in the couple of hours that they have left, and Yoongi insists they grab coffees for the walk around town. He is relieved to find that the coffee soothes his racing nerves as he strolls the streets of Athens with his friends. He was expecting that the caffeine would cause the opposite, but Yoongi finds comfort in the smallest of things.

“Try these,” Seokjin demands outside a tourist trinket shop, trading Yoongi’s coffee for a pair of funky sunglasses, with pink lenses and thin wiry frames. Yoongi slips off his Ray-Bans to place the cheap glasses on his nose, vision flooded with pink. He makes a pose and Seokjin snaps a picture on his phone, and that’s that.

Yoongi takes back his coffee and runs a hand through his greasy hair, leaning his weight on one hip as Seokjin browses through more sunglasses and even some tourist magnets. Inside the shop, Hoseok and Namjoon are looking at t-shirts with the Parthenon printed on them. He can’t even complain about that—because when Yoongi isn’t looming over his shoulder, Namjoon actually seems to be enjoying himself.

Just more proof that Yoongi was not meant to be on this trip.

Hoseok ends up buying them all shirts before they head back for the bus, and at another shop, Yoongi indulges in a cheap, sterling silver bracelet that sits delicately over his wrist. They decide to head back to the bus since there’s barely ten minutes to spare before it leaves. He’s busy admiring the shiny links in his bracelet when he half-trips on his shoelaces, nearly face planting into a streetlamp.

He glances up at his friends, stalking ahead while he drops to a knee. They don’t quite seem to notice him stop, and he doesn’t make an effort to be noticed while he’s tying his shoelace.

“Shit,” Yoongi mutters when he stands, and Namjoon’s blue cap has vanished from sight.

Instinctively, Yoongi takes out his phone, but the No Service icon on the top right corner of his screen is aggravating. He retraces his steps forward, slowly, looking around for Namjoon’s blue cap again, but at this point, he’s reentering an area filled with tourists. If he knew at least more than “hello” and “how are you?” in English, then that might help, but he knows absolutely no Greek whatsoever.

What the fuck is he supposed to do?

He wades through the small crowds and hugs his backpack close, just in case, spotting one of the shops they stopped at earlier. But when he treks past that, it’s just a gray, empty back alley that he doesn’t recognize. After ten minutes, he’s stumped, going in fucking circles to figure out where exactly this goddamn bus is.

“Fuck,” he says aloud, looking at his useless phone again. Maybe if he found Wi-Fi.

In the immediate vicinity, there’s nowhere that appears to possibly have free Wi-Fi. Yoongi follows the narrow alley back towards the main street he was on earlier, with the shops, and stands near the edge of a brunch café with tables outside to try connecting to the Wi-Fi.

This is not happening, Yoongi thinks to himself as he reloads his Wi-Fi page, shifting to stand closer to the entrance. Nothing public is accessible, so he goes a block down to the next café to see if that would do him any kindness, but to no avail.

He’s already having the worst vacation ever, and now this nightmare has to go make everything even more unbearable.

He tries a couple more cafés and even a small stuffy bookstore, but by the time the clock strikes five p.m., he knows he’s well out of time. The bus probably left at four o’clock, as scheduled, and the ship is scheduled to leave port at five o’clock and Yoongi is fucking stranded in Greece.

“It’s fine,” he mumbles to himself, getting up from the armchair he made himself comfortable on to step back into the late afternoon heat. There are tears gathering against the soft corners of his eyes, but there is no way in hell that he’s just going to give up. He is not going to get stuck here.

Yoongi walks ten feet away from the bookstore before someone conveniently trips him into the ground. This time he isn’t so lucky to miss the streetlamp pole, and his head crashes straight into the side before he lands face first in the concrete, hissing as his now-scraped palms make contact with loose gravel. He tastes blood before he sees it dripping into his eyelashes.

“I’m so sorry,” a voice rushes to say in English, a hand slowly pulling his body upright by his arm, angling his chin towards the sun. Yoongi blinks heavily, and stares up at the unfocused figure above him, silhouetted by the blue sky and slivers of yellow light.

Slowly but surely, his vision returns. The figure turns into Jeon Jungkook, and Yoongi flinches.

“What are you doing?” Yoongi snaps as he shoves Jungkook’s warm hand off his face. He wipes the blood off his right eye and braces his weight on the streetlamp, lifting himself up all the way. Jungkook is hovering a couple of feet away, startled, hands still outstretched in caution. “Are you insane? Why aren’t you watching your fucking step?”

Like a deer caught in headlights, Jungkook is frozen, stammering for a few seconds. “I—I don’t—I’m sorry,” he rambles out, before something in his demeanor shifts, mouth pressed firmly shut. Yoongi stares at him for a couple of seconds, unnerved, then goes back to dusting off the scrapes on his palms. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the ship?”

“Aren’t you?” Yoongi shoots back, rubbing his sore jaw, readjusting his backpack. He glares up at Jungkook’s stature, slouched in the middle of the sidewalk. There’s no way he’s stuck in Athens, too. “I got lost with no service. You shouldn’t have an excuse.”

“I’m not allowed to get lost either?”

“You’re a rich idol with an international phone plan.”

“Hey—”

Yoongi wipes the sweat and blood off his forehead with his sleeve, turning his shoulder, ignoring the sting in his forehead. “Stay away from me,” he says, but one step away tells him that he will not be traveling alone. Not if Jungkook’s trailing footsteps are anything to go by. Yoongi attempts to keep on walking, but puppy Jungkook keeps following. “I don’t want you near me, Jeon Jungkook.”

The hand on Yoongi’s shoulder only rests there for a split second before Yoongi shoves him off, a rush of anger vibrating hot through his blood. Jungkook stumbles a couple of steps, but ultimately keeps his balance as he finally keeps his distance too.

“Do not touch me, and do not talk to me,” Yoongi bites out, feeling one of his pathetic tears slip out from the corner of his eye. He wipes it, frustrated. Why does this have to happen to him? “I am not your friend, remember?”

“But we’re both stuck here,” Jungkook says, and it’s clear that his irritation is growing too. “And we know each other. Why would I stay alone?”

“Because I don’t like you. And I’m pretty sure you hate me.”

“I don’t—Look, just because you’re kind of the worst person I’ve ever met, doesn’t mean I actually hate you!”

“I find that one hard to fucking believe.”

Jungkook shoves his phone against Yoongi’s chest and says, “My phone is dead.”

Sure enough, when Yoongi goes to press the power button, the screen won’t light up. Okay, so maybe a dead phone is a valid excuse to be lost, but he’s not about to admit that to Jeon Jungkook right now.

“So?” Yoongi tosses Jungkook’s phone back to him, watching him nearly drop the projectile device trying to catch it. They’re barely five feet apart and he can’t even catch a phone the size of his hand. “Why is your dead phone my problem?”

“Where are you even going?” Jungkook retorts, pointing up the dead-end alley Yoongi was determinedly walking towards.

Yoongi clenches his sore jaw. Fuck, his head is pounding now. “Considering the fact that you might’ve just given me a concussion, I really would shut it if I were you,” he says, rubbing at his temples, squinting up at Jungkook through the fresh blood dripping into his eyelashes again. “Come on. I need to find a drug store.”

++

By some miracle, they find the closest drug store only a ten minute walk from the damned dead-end alley, and Yoongi forces Jungkook to buy a small first aid kit and three bottles of cold water. They sit outside in the shade, on the curb between two parked cars, and Yoongi reluctantly allows Jungkook to touch his face in order to clean the blood. If he had access to a bathroom, then he would clean it off himself. Maybe making Jungkook do it is payback, in a way.

Yoongi chugs half a bottle of water and lets out a strangled breath, shoulders rising and falling with every heave.

It’s another miracle that Yoongi hasn’t throttled Jungkook by now.

“What do you want to do?” Jungkook asks, rubbing his hands together. His backpack is between his feet, bucket hat resting on his knee.

Yoongi really doesn’t want to be around Jungkook, but if he’s being practical, it’s his only option right now. He doesn’t have money, and he doesn’t have service—Jungkook has both of those things as long as they can recharge his cell phone. Then they can figure out how to get to the next port of entry as soon as possible.

“You need a phone charger,” Yoongi says, pulling out a power bank from a small pocket in his backpack. He holds it out, and Jungkook’s eyes light up, immediately reaching for it. Yoongi holds it back. “Only issue is that I have a really old Samsung so we need to get you the right cord.”

“Shit,” Jungkook mutters, and immediately starts looking around the deserted street for another store. He’s on his feet before Yoongi can blink. “Okay, let’s—”

“Slow down.” Yoongi’s head is still spinning. He pulls himself up with the car bumper and slings his backpack over his shoulder. Getting steady on his feet still takes a couple of seconds while black dots dance in his vision. “Possible concussion, remember?”

Jungkook, surprisingly, slows down. “Sorry,” he says, dropping his hat on his head, long hair curling against the back of his neck. Yoongi blinks once, harshly, and catches up to Jungkook’s pace. He makes sure that their shoulders do not brush. “Should I take you to a hospital? If you have a concussion or something?”

“No.” Yoongi doesn’t want to have a conversation with Jungkook. Especially not after the way he was treated in the elevator. “I’ll know if I have a concussion if this headache gets any worse. And I will figure that out myself. You are not taking me anywhere. We’re not together.”

“But we’re walking together.”

Yoongi throws a glare in Jungkook’s direction, avoiding looking at his actual face. “Because you have money to get us back to where we need to be.”

“So you’re just using me?”

“Why else would you be here?”

Jungkook falls silent for a couple of seconds as they turn a corner. “I guess that’s fair,” he says, and that’s that for another five minutes before they reach a convenience store about to close.

In his rambly, somewhat fluent English, Jungkook convinces the store owner to give them a last minute purchase. He grabs a couple of snacks and the correct charging cord while Yoongi waits by the register, impatient. Watching Jungkook smile at the owner is dizzying, because why do his eyes sparkle? Why does he look so charming?

“Thank you,” Yoongi offers with a brief nod once they finish up inside, hanging back while the store owner closes up and soon heads off into the late evening.

Jungkook all but rips open the charging cord package and unravels the wire, holding his palm out for the charging block. Yoongi, reluctant, passes it to him and watches the relief flood his face when he plugs it in and the Apple logo appears on his screen.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook mutters once his phone is turned on completely, pulling his lip rings with his teeth. His wide eyes scan the phone screen, and from what Yoongi can see, there’s no shortage of Kakao messages flooding his notification center. “I am in so much trouble.”

Yoongi lets out a sigh and looks at his own phone screen, the lack of messages unnerving. Even though he knows it’s because he still doesn’t have service. “How did you end up getting lost, anyway?” he asks Jungkook, pulling his sunglasses out from his pocket to place them on his face. “Don’t you always have a bunch of staff with you?”

Jungkook glances up from his phone for a second, occupied with sending a message. “I, uh, I stopped to buy something and I figured my assigned cameraman was behind me,” he starts, and furrows his eyebrows when a new message pops up. He types out a response and lowers his phone, looking at Yoongi more directly. Yoongi hates it. “But when I turned around, I was alone. My phone had died earlier so I was already nervous about this happening.”

“Yet it still happened,” Yoongi says, averting his gaze to the sidewalk. “Can we find someplace with Wi-Fi? I need to call my friends.”

“Okay… Um, my manager is saying that the next three days are at sea. Fuck.”

Yoongi’s shoulders bristle. “What does that mean?” he asks, lifting his chin again.

Jungkook stares back at him, uneasy. “It means we’re stuck together for three days until they reach the next destination,” he says, glancing down at his phone again. It’s like the color drains from his face completely. “Which is Sicily.”

“Are you serious?”

“The next flight out is tomorrow at six p.m.”

“So we’re just stuck here for the next twenty-four hours?” Yoongi squints in Jungkook’s direction, taking off his sunglasses again. Even though none of this is actually his fault, Yoongi gets the disturbing urge to blame Jungkook for this outcome. Somehow, it feels natural. “And I’m stuck with you, of all people.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and stuffs the power bank in his pocket, still carrying his wired phone. “Like I wanna be stuck with you too.”

Yoongi bites the inside of his cheek, perturbed, and asks, “What’s your problem with me?”

“I’m not really interested in getting into it with you, hyung,” Jungkook says, although he utters the word hyung with a sardonic sneer. Yoongi reminds himself that without Jungkook, he has no way of getting from Greece to Italy, and that punching him in the face is not a viable option. “God, okay. Now what?”

“Now we find somewhere with Wi-Fi, like I’ve been saying for the last five minutes,” Yoongi snaps, grinding his jaw together. It only makes his headache worse. Doesn’t help that spots are dancing in his vision again. “A hotel, obviously.” He blinks harshly, steadying his weight on the nearest thing which happens to be Jungkook’s arm, fingers digging into his skin.

Jungkook clears his throat, pressing his palm against Yoongi’s lower back, holding him up. “Are you sure you don’t want to double back on that hospital thing?” he asks, and if Yoongi’s head wasn’t spinning, he might say that Jungkook sounds a little concerned about him. “Yoongi-hyung?”

After a wave of nausea hits him, Yoongi figures doubling back would be wise. “Fine,” he says, and screws his eyes shut to placate the sudden queasiness. “Only because I think I’m about to throw up.”

Thankfully, doing a quick Google search is intuitive for Jungkook, and with Yoongi still unfortunately clinging to his arm, they hobble like this to the nearest hospital at least ten blocks away. Yoongi detests every step of the way, even if he’s mostly focused on not puking all over Jungkook’s shoes.

Things only worsen once they’re inside the hospital. Heat begins to stifle Yoongi’s breathing, coming out labored, sweat dampening the collar of his t-shirt. He finally latches onto the edge of a desk while Jungkook talks to someone through the language app on his phone. Those damn dancing dots are still clouding his vision.

One moment he’s standing upright beside Jungkook, the next LED tube lights are glaring down at him from the ceiling.

“Did I just pass out?” Yoongi asks, groggy, mouth dry.

“Yes,” Jungkook answers, easing the straps of Yoongi’s backpack off his shoulders, cradling the back of his neck. His palm is hot. All Yoongi can see are Jungkook’s big, brown eyes. “They’re going to look at you now since you just collapsed on the spot.”

Yoongi nods. “Good,” he mumbles, still half-conscious. A nurse presses a damp, cool towel over his forehead and down the sides of his face. It feels nice, soothing. His eyes flutter, but Jungkook doesn’t leave his side. “You know what?”

“What?”

“Your eyes haven’t changed one bit.”

A crooked smile forms at the corners of Jungkook’s mouth, before tugging wider, into something full. “Thanks, hyung,” he says. With the nurse’s help, Yoongi is guided onto his feet again. “I’m gonna stay here while they check you out. Shouldn’t be longer than thirty minutes, okay?”

As Yoongi is swept away by a second nurse, he shoots Jungkook a quick thumbs up and resolutely checks out of using his brain any longer.

Consequently, that also means that he doesn’t quite register anything that’s being said to him, not longer than he needs to adhere to physical directions and cognitive tests. He says a couple of things that make the doctor and nurses laugh, especially when they’re redressing his wounds, but by the time Jungkook is stalking back into his curtained off area, he doesn’t remember a single word that came out of his mouth.

“What is it?” Yoongi grumbles when Jungkook sits down, smug, and doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t you wish you had come to the hospital sooner?”

“I wish I was on a cruise ship with my friends, like I’m supposed to be.”

Jungkook snickers, like maybe he finds this whole situation amusing. “I think I’ve come to terms with the fact that we’re stuck here for now,” he says, and soon enough, his smile fades. Yoongi does not enjoy the feeling that rises in his chest once he processes that. “But I do have some bad news.”

God, could this get any worse? “Spit it out.”

“They strongly recommend that you don’t fly.”

Yoongi blinks a couple of times, resting his palms on the edge of the examination table to push himself forward. “What?” he asks, in case he didn’t hear Jungkook properly. Fly, as in on an airplane? The only possible way that they’d be able to make it to Sicily before the ship arrives? “Say that again.”

Jungkook leans in and repeats, loudly, “They strongly recommend that you don’t fly!”

“I didn’t say scream it, asshole.”

“Well, you’re not exactly in the most receptive state right now.”

Right about now, Yoongi would rather be stranded with Namjoon than Jungkook. “You are literally the most annoying person I’ve met in my entire life,” he says, threatening to throw his fist in Jungkook’s face right in time for a nurse to return to him. Instead, Yoongi scratches the back of his neck and observes the label of an antiseptic wipe beside him.

The nurse exchanges a few sentences with Jungkook before vanishing once again.

“So,” Jungkook says, softer this time. Yoongi picks at his fingernails and tries not to fall into a panic about everything that’s unfolded in the last three hours. “You have a minor concussion that should clear up in two days. I say we should figure out what to do next tomorrow morning. Personally, I am famished. Dinner?”

Exhausted, Yoongi doesn’t have the will in him to argue. “Fine,” he agrees, sliding off the exam table, reaching for his backpack. It’s snatched up by Jungkook before he can grab it and he still doesn’t have the strength to argue. He just lets it happen. “Dinner, then hotel. Okay?”

The nod Jungkook gives is firm and decisive. As Yoongi follows him out of the hospital, he wonders how exactly he’s going to get back to his friends without throttling his ex-almost-groupmate into the sun.