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First Love, Last Love (M)

title: first love, last love posted: january 19th, 2021, 7pm est pairing: bad boy pianist!yoongi x university!reader(f) genre: angst, smut; opposites to lovers, high school/university au summary: after the most pivotal moment in your life, you never thought you would ever see him again. years later, you cross paths in the last place you ever imagined him to be. was this the universe giving you a second chance? or were you destined to repeat the same mistakes you fought hard to forget? warnings: alcohol, house parties, rough sex, dom/sub undertones, choking, hair-pulling, oral (m/f rec), fingering, penetration, unprotected sex (pls be responsible!), dirty talk, gagging with a tie, creampie, nipple play, public sex (kinda?), edging, denied orgasms, doggy-style, cowgirl, overstimulation, min yoongi in mf general notes: thank you to @sketchguk, @softyoongiionly, and @yoonjinkooked (and honestly the rest of the @bangtansorciere network) for being incredible hype ppl! and @bangtantaegi this is filthy yoongi smut, what can i say?? mobile users: alt link if this doesn’t open in tumblr ➛ ao3 word count: 33.5k !! (omg i am so sorry, you can yell at me)

-

What does it look like when an artist’s passion dies?

You imagined an unfinished painting, the canvas collecting dust in a corner amongst rusting paint pots and hardened brushes. Or an abandoned instrument case shoved into the back of a closet, sheet music stuffed in binders stuffed in boxes stuffed in the attic. The arts no longer spoke, danced, comforted. What was once a technicolor ocean of imagination now resembled an ugly, dried sludge of doubts and fears and excuses to find another path. Society’s standard path. One with a more stable lifestyle and greater number of career choices.

No matter what you pictured, it was nothing compared to what you were witnessing. The world before you swam in your vision: the imposing, dark monster of a grand piano swallowing its prey whole. And the victim didn’t fight back - not even for a moment. They let it consume them under the blinding spotlight, a feasting on full display. They knew this was the close, proverbial wings folding around their slumped form in surrender.

The entire room held its breath, but inside you a storm raged so harshly that you wouldn’t be surprised if people could hear your thundering pleas.

-

It was just four months ago when you first saw him. The overcast skies beckoned for you to return to your cozy apartment and slip under warm covers, so you hightailed it across campus after your last class. Crossing in front of the library, you glanced into the coffee shop windows and noticed something odd - rather, someone. Someone you knew from high school. Someone you absolutely thought about every lonely night during your days there.

Yoongi.

Your neck almost snapped on the double-take, your backpack strap digging into your flesh. At least, the person looked enough like Yoongi for you to skid to a halt. There was almost no mistaking the worn sneakers, ripped jeans, headphones, and black hoodie blend - the silver earrings scintillating cherries on top.

To be fair, the outfit wasn’t unique. There were plenty of students adopting the same style nowadays.

It was the way he was carrying himself that caught your eye. A sight harkening back to the days where you viewed the world through the narrowest of scopes. In a room awash with straightened postures and upturned noses, his lazy form slouched against the window in his booth, legs spread under the table while he remained preoccupied with his phone.

All doubt vanished from your mind; it was Yoongi. His hair wasn’t blond anymore, but it was him. How did you think for a second that it wasn’t? Your reaction was visceral. Immediate. Only he would illicit something so potent. As you wondered how much time had passed, how he was even there in the first place, and how handsome he still was, feline eyes locked onto yours and frightened every thought in your brain. They bounded and ran in every direction, your body doing the same as you turned away and fled.

-

“Alright, next up: Min Yoongi.”

At the sound of his name, you swept your eyes over the sea of navy and white uniforms while marching back to your desk. Your presentation went swimmingly - to no one’s surprise - which meant it would be hard to follow. But if he was the one going after you? The difference would be night and day.

When your eyes landed on Yoongi’s obnoxious hair, you frowned. Once more, the boy was ignoring the dress code. Not only were his locks bleached over an undercut, but his uniform appeared haphazard with the tie loose and the jacket unbuttoned. Ridiculous.

In the backmost row, Yoongi didn’t bother moving. His low tone matched the level of your opinion of him. “I didn’t finish mine.”

A mad and disappointed voice spewed from the front, blowing past you and slamming into him, “You had a month for these presentations.”

“Uh, three weeks, but yeah. I didn’t finish.”

“Are you still presenting?”

“Pass.”

Tsking, you plopped into your stiff plastic seat and awaited his fate of getting yet another stain on his scholastic record. Those presentations were worth a huge chunk of your grades. If he just went up there and presented what he had, that would’ve been better than just refusing to go.

“See me after class, Min,” your teacher drawled. Tapping her pen, she addressed the room, “Class, don’t be like this. High school is just the start of your adult lives. If you screw up here, you’re only doing your future selves a disservice.”

You couldn’t agree more. How someone could throw away their life before they could legally live on their own didn’t make an ounce of sense to you. Turning your head to face Yoongi’s desk far behind you, all that greeted you was a laid-back form with crossed arms. Typical. Foolish.

As if he felt the heat of your stare, Yoongi shifted his gaze and tossed it right back. You immediately snapped your head forward.

It wasn’t just his apathy that birthed your resentment. The academy you attended was extremely competitive, one that universities around the world plucked students from year over year. It was a privilege to be able to graduate from those troddened halls and sagging brick archways. To don those fitted, refined clothes. To see someone wasting their time in a school of such caliber irked you to your noble core. And many other people shared that mindset. As you surveyed the room, annoyance appeared in the form of scrunched noses, shaking heads, rolling eyes.

Whatever. What Yoongi decided to do with his life wasn’t your problem. People like him - people that threw responsibilities to the side and caution to the wind - rubbed you the wrong way regardless. Did consequences mean anything to them? At all?

You hooked one leg over the other, tugging your plaid skirt down to an acceptable level before folding your arms. Good riddance to him and his stupid platinum hairdye.

At the blackboard, the teacher sighed, “I’ll get off my soapbox now. Namjoon? Delight us, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When you heard the conceited huff of a laugh from the back row, you clicked your tongue. Yoongi could scoff at academics all he wanted to. But if he ever found himself in a hole he couldn’t climb out of, you weren’t sure if anyone would be there to drag him out.

-

Two weeks after the initial coffee shop sighting, you spotted him again. And your heart leapt out of your chest just the same.

At a private nook hidden between stacks in the library, books and papers littered your table, drowning you and your friend Aspa in waves of research and headache. One of your professors had no qualms about assigning extra work heading into midterm hell, so you figured you would tackle it early just to get it over with. Dawdling around? You couldn’t relate. Keeping on top of your studies never failed you at your academy, and they weren’t going to fail you in university. Despite being less uptight than you were before, academics still claimed first place as far as priorities went. As usual, your life was as boring as they came.

You just didn’t walk around with a stick up your cheeks anymore. With a hum, you wondered if you would’ve gotten to know Yoongi better if you were the same back then. What could’ve been if things were different? Maybe that incident would never have happened, for one.

“I can’t believe she assigned this a week before midterms. For an actual grade? I’m telling you: she’s a sociopath,” Aspa groaned, her head thumping the table in an exhausted heap.

An agreeable sigh left you before you responded, “Imagine how her TA feels.” In all honesty, picturing Seokjin yelling at everyone’s papers while simultaneously crying over his own thesis was enough to get you through the whole thing.

Garbled words sunk into the mound of books under your friend's mouth, complete gibberish. Knowing her, though, they were probably curses or threats mixed with snippy comments about your work ethic.

Throughout your first year, Aspa was not just your first roommate, but your first friend. The matchmaking gods smiled down on you both - even if you didn’t think so at first. While she was vibrant, you were still monotonous. But over time, you learned that it was a great mesh of personalities and interests. A nice balance. In the end, you couldn’t have asked for anyone better.

The booming thud of a book shutting pulled Aspa’s head off the table and almost launched your body into the ceiling. Instead, your knees hit the tabletop while your yelp blew through the stacks. Your friend darted her shocked eyes around the room.

Shit. Even the people in study rooms must have heard you. Clamping a hand over your mouth, you rubbed your quickly bruising limbs.

Beside you, Aspa whispered, “What’s his problem?”

When you followed her questioning gaze, you gasped.

At the end of a narrow row left of your table, Yoongi was the last person you expected to see. Him? In a library? Was Hell freezing over or was this a studious twin you never knew of? His veiny hand clutched a thick volume to his bicep, the ends of the pages curling against the material of his sweater.

Warmth fizzled on your cheeks as you wondered if he recognized you or not. Did you really want him to? While you no longer wore a school uniform, your facial features remained the same. But even then, so much time passed since you last saw him. Years. Surely he didn’t even know it was you. And if he really didn’t? Good. Things were better that way.

Before you could blink again, he left. And not without biting his lower lip, which occupied your brain the rest of the day and many nights after.

Aspa’s eyebrows shot past her entire forehead. Her voice was louder than library standards when she craned her neck to the side, “Okay, wait; that was kinda hot. Hello?”

Sinking lower into your seat, you tried your hardest to calm your nerves while shamefully agreeing with your friend.

-

“Oh, no no no,” you muttered, realizing that you left your sheet music back at the academy. In the orchestra room. In your locker.

You had a recording test due the next day, and while you remembered your instrument and your recording device, the actual material you needed to present was laughing at you behind skinny white bars. Checking your phone, you noticed that you didn’t have much time left before the school closed for the afternoon. You swiveled around with a groan and jogged away from the bus stop. Your poor ankles; they were going to suffer under the unrelenting shapes of your Mary Janes.

Sunlight baked you the whole trip, and your sweaty form burst through the back door leading into the music hall. At least that was open. Your moist skin chilled in the sudden air conditioning while you sprinted to the orchestra room. Almost there, almost there, nearly there.

To your horror, the director had already left for the day. Which meant the door was locked. Which also meant you couldn’t record. Panicking, you jerked the handle three times before tears sprang into your eyes.

If there was one thing that destroyed a student at a competitive school, it was a failing grade. Everyone was neck and neck, which meant no room for error. But, you just made the most egregious one. If you failed this exam, you weren’t getting an A in the class. And that meant plummeting in rankings since the averages between students were hundredths of a point apart.

Bottom line: you were done for. After loosening your tie, you lolled against the door in defeat, your gloom fogging up the slim window. There was no saving you now. Wallowing in sorrow, you wouldn’t have been surprised if you became part of the metal itself with how long your forehead sagged against the paint. Only the distant tinkling of a piano snagged your attention, and you pried yourself from the chilled steel.

Briefly leaving your own pity party, you straightened the more you listened. Who was playing? Certainly not any of the current pianists on the orchestral roster. None of them could tame a Steinway half as well as what you were hearing now. Full of curiosity, you tiptoed up and down the empty corridor only to find all the rooms abandoned. It was then that you realized the sound was spilling out across the main hall, where the back entrance to the school theatre stood.

With cautious steps, you inched closer and closer to the entryway, your instrument suddenly a great weight on your side. The sound captivated you like a pied piper, an invisible hook piercing your heart and dragging it along. As you neared the theatre, the notes rang clearer, crisper, sadder. What was this somber feeling? The tune was unknown to you, but you felt like you understood it. Or it understood you. The minor key tugged at your chest, dug its desperate fingers in your arms. The more you listened, the heavier you felt.

You needed to know who was playing. They were incredible.

The piano had to be the upright on the stage. There wasn’t another one you knew of that the theatre group owned. Peeking out from the lengthy black curtains, you gasped when you saw no one other than Yoongi skirting his fingers across the keys.

Your lungs stopped.

He wasn’t just playing music - he was the music himself. You watched in awe as his whole body swayed with the melodic swells, his eyes closed to the world. Notes skated around his head, pinged off the floors, flew into the rafters. The piano was an extension of his being. One living, breathing entity. You were witnessing something so beautiful that you held your breath, not wanting to disturb the creature lest it stopped.

But the notes ceased regardless. Loud silence followed.

You choked as Yoongi glanced over his hooded shoulder, shock releasing your instrument case in a clanging heap. The heavy thud echoed throughout the empty theatre, and with a severely reddened face you apologized and retrieved its bulky frame.

The blond watched you flail from afar, snorting as you hastily smoothed over your prim hair. “School’s out, doll. Aren’t you supposed to be a good girl and on your way home already?”

Across the stage, his words projected all around you and propelled into the audience chamber. You couldn’t help but drown in the depths of his voice. Flustered from head to toe, you went on the defensive. “Aren’t you supposed to perform when school is actually in session, not after?”

“Damn, chill,” he replied, condescension shooting out of his nose. Your eyes flickered to his gleaming earrings as they swung forward with his head. “This is the only time I can play without someone breathing down my neck. Uhh. Probably not after today, though. Gonna snitch on me, huh?”

You rolled your eyes to hide the accuracy of his accusation. A hard advocate for the rules, you never minded snitching. Honestly, if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t have hesitated. But for some reason, you let Yoongi off the hook.

But you weren’t gonna let him off that easy. “I mean, if you insist.”

“If you’re gonna do it, then do it.” He frowned, his eyes turning to slits. “I’ll just ask them how you knew.” When he pitched a smug eyebrow raise toward you, you internally batted it away.

Huffing once you knew you were stuck, you just dismissed his attitude with a scrunch of your nose, “I just came back to get something. I wasn’t patrolling or anything.”

Remembering that your initial trip was a waste of time and that you now had to literally walk home empty-handed, frustration prickled the corners of your eyes. Ah, yes. You were about to fail an exam. You. Legitimately failing. How could you forget?

Though you were technically on stage, there was no way you were making a scene in front of Yoongi. He was without doubt going to make fun of you in some form or fashion. The star student falling from grace? A spectacle. Maybe he’d even send you off with a ballad. “I’ll leave you alone now,” you mumbled before turning away, “I won’t tell anyone.”

Behind the curtain, you swiped your eyes as you took weighty steps backstage. Could you ask for a make-up exam? Extra credit? No. You knew neither would be offered. They were strict when it came to recorded exams since students had ample time to turn them in. You just happened to exist under a mountain of work that week, so you didn’t find the time to record until the last night. If only you weren’t so distracted with your friends joking around in the stuffy locker room that you missed grabbing your binder. What a loser.

The doors were fast approaching before you felt a warm hand close around your shoulder. “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Yoongi explained, his gravelly voice sending chills down your back.

Did he follow you just to tell you that? Wiping your tears again, you hid your face from him as you responded, “It’s not you. Don’t worry about it.”

“What’s wrong?”

Was that genuine concern in his tone? Or did you just imagine it? You fully expected him to brush you off or ridicule your tears, but he didn’t do either of those things.

Realizing that the first real conversation you would have with Yoongi was because he caught you sneaking around, you ruefully laughed. Of course you could never converse with him normally. Neither of you would give the other a chance. In classes, you two repelled like magnets. This time just happened to be when both of you were where you weren’t supposed to be.

You closed your hand over his, lifting it off your person. His fingers were so cold. How did his touch feel so warm? “Trust me, it’s nothing you could help with,” you bit out, some of your frustration ringing through.

Yoongi kept his stance behind you. “Try me,” he goaded.

You wheeled around to face him, your instrument case tugging down your arm. His bleached hair was as bright as your anger, and his undercut was as short as your fuse. Snapping, you vented with a staccato bite, “If you actually care, I just - I need my sheet music to take my recording test that’s due tomorrow and the orchestra room is locked already. So now I’m going to fail and terrorize my grade, which will destroy me come applications next year! Well, at least, I know I’m applying. I don’t know about you...”

Irritated with yourself, you couldn’t look Yoongi in the eye after your tirade. Sure, he was a tremendous piano player, but what did he know about scholastic competitiveness? He couldn’t help you. The guy was so far removed from caring about averages and numbers that you may as well have been crying out to a wall. You focused on the black hoodie he wore over his uniform, the vintage print an old band you’d never heard of. Your eyes roamed across the faded lettering when a finger lifted your chin.

“When’s it due,” Yoongi asked, his dark orbs taking in your sparkling tears.

Your mind blanked. You had never been touched that intimately before. “Tomorrow,” you whispered, every limb locking at his touch. What alternate universe did you accidentally step into? Were you dreaming and actually at home on your sofa? You never crossed paths with this boy and suddenly you were centimeters away from each other.

“I meant what time, smartass,” he said through a smirk.

No words even came close to your tongue. Did ninety percent of your brain automatically shut off while in his vicinity? That wasn’t a good sign. Gathering yourself, you blinked rapidly before gasping in indignation, “I’m not being a… They’re due at 8 A.M.”

Yoongi hummed before following up with another question, “And when does the room open?”

“7 A.M.,” you responded, much quicker that time despite his finger still propping up your chin.

“Then there’s your answer.” Yoongi retracted his hand before finally stepping away. “Just get in early tomorrow and record it then.”

Why didn’t you think of that? How did you miss such a simple solution? It didn’t even occur to you to go in early. You went straight to the consequences and didn’t even stop at any intersections, stop signs, yield signs. Is that how you had been living your life until then? Usually priding yourself on eloquence, you could only reply with a tiny “Oh.”

A firm hand pressed against your pliant hip as Yoongi rotated you toward the exit. “Now stop worrying. Be a good girl and head home.”

Your feet were stones as you obeyed, plodding toward the entryway. You hated yourself for blushing so much, but it couldn’t be helped. There was something about that phrase coming from him that unearthed emotions you didn’t want to describe. Before you turned the corner to head down the hallway, you swiveled back to Yoongi. “Thank you,” you said, truly meaning it. “You should probably leave before you get caught.”

“No worries,” he shrugged, “No one ever checks back here after the teachers leave.”

“Okay.” His confidence was hard to argue with. “See you tomorrow, Yoongi.”

“Ehh. We’ll see.”

Your reaction was a strange mixture of a scoff and laugh before walking out of his sight. No matter how lazy he was on his grades, the boy did always show up for class. Which was more than you could say for the other delinquents at the academy. And it appeared that he possessed talent beyond academics.

Maybe Min Yoongi wasn’t as bad as you had perceived him to be.

-

Rain coated every inch of campus when you ran into him next. Physically. Straight into him as you scampered to class.

You were so set on watching for puddles that you weren’t looking ahead. In the quad between the library and your destination, your only warning was a pair of dirty sneakers before you rammed into someone. Their soft form melded with yours for a split second, and you noted how warm they felt before you jolted away. “I’m so sorry,” you blurted, using your hands to steady them over their soaked clothes.

The poncho draped over you magnified the sounds of rainsong in your ears, but the deep voice you heard swam underneath. “Still clumsy.”

Eyes flickering upward, you paled as you saw who you almost knocked over. “Oh, shit,” you whispered, embarrassment spilling across your cheeks. Yoongi’s voice was an octave lower than it was the last time he spoke to you. And if you heard him right, what he said implied that he indeed recognized you. From the library? Or from high school? You were clumsy in both places. Your cold hands on his arms felt white hot then, causing you to flinch and return them to your sides. Words didn’t appear in your mind until a moment later, and when they slipped out you imagined them appearing in the tiniest font possible, “Yeah, guess so.”

When Yoongi suddenly leaned next to your ear, heat pooled under your skin; at his words, you blended in with the rain, liquifying into a puddle yourself.

“Be a good girl and get to class.”

Fuck. He absolutely remembered you. Memories flooded your brain faster than the storm drowned the quad. Feelings you harbored from before rushed into your veins, filled the crevasses of your heart, spread through your body like wildfire. Nothing else existed at that moment. All you knew was that a flame returned with a vengeance and refused to be put out a second time.

While you were burning in the rain, his icy form slinked past your side. And his exit left you alone. You could only stare as he left, slowly turning to watch him amble through the downpour like he had nowhere to be.

For a brief moment, you pondered. Should you follow him? There were so many things you wanted to tell him, things he needed to know.

But your moral compass realigned your body on the path to your next class, so with one last glance thrown Yoongi’s way, you ran inside and escaped the rain.

-

Exiting the orchestra room with a tiny smile, you felt nothing but delight as you weaved your way through the crowded halls. Yoongi’s plan worked like a charm. You slipped into the orchestra room first thing on the day it was due, barricaded yourself inside a practice space, and finished recording in two takes. Your recorder was the first one in the basket.

A week later, you got your results: near perfect scoring.

That was more than enough. Giddiness added a bounce to your step, and you started seeing more colors around you than usual. Did you never look around the hallways as you traversed between classes? Strange. You should do that more often. Yoongi probably did.

Speaking of the devilishly handsome trespasser, he was peculiarly the first person you wanted to talk to about your exam results. But alas, you already figured he wasn’t going to speak to you during classes. And you were only proven right as the day unraveled.

During second period, you greeted him in passing and received a raised eyebrow in response. And in fifth, you almost giggled at the look of pure disgust your smile got in return.

Although he still annoyed you, you couldn’t completely resent him now. Not after he helped you when he didn’t need to. You gave it a lot of thought the entire week, and it was after you received your exam grade that you decided on your stance. You were going to tolerate him.

It was during your penultimate period when a needle of a thought punctured your mind. What started as a pinprick expanded into a hole so large you couldn’t help but give in and trek through.

You would try to see Yoongi after school.

There were some points you had to consider, like getting caught or what to tell your mother. Luckily, nothing happened last time. But you could never be too careful.

Your answer arrived two weeks later in the form of Namjoon, one of your classmates and realistically the next leader of the country, if it were up to you. While you were writing down the class agenda, you overheard the lanky boy behind you peddling his sessions, “You ladies comin’ to tutoring today?”

“Depends. What’s on the menu,” one of the girls asked, a salacious lilt to her voice. You stopped writing, already knowing where things were headed.

“We got Physics, and Biology.”

“Mm, attraction and procreation? Kim Namjoon, you tease.”

Multiple laughs in differing pitches sprang around his desk. Even yours left you in a short burst before you covered your mouth. You didn’t need to turn around to know how red the poor boy was turning underneath his splayed hands, but you did anyway to pat his desk in consolation.

“I’ll go for a bit,” you whispered with pity, earning a small, flustered nod.

And you did just that. School passed in a flurry of more color than usual, and you were in Namjoon’s session. Pretending to busy yourself, you repeatedly checked the standard classroom clock until you decided it was an appropriate time to head to the theatre.

The cobblestone hallways were one of your favorite things about the academy, followed by the wooden architecture of the theatre hall. You were transitioning from the former to the latter when soft notes started swirling around your hair.

Yoongi was there. Just like you wanted. Unwittingly, a smile carved into your features.

Peeking around the main hall to see if the coast was clear, you snuck through the backstage doors with a jittering in your stomach. You weren’t used to breaking rules. However, you did have to admit you enjoyed the slight thrill in doing so.

When you poked your head around the curtains, you quickly determined that the thrill had nothing to do with breaking policies, and everything to do with the boy on the stage. You stood in silent wonder, softly clutching the satin in your fingers.

The song was different than the first, but the sound just as beautiful and the key just as minor. It almost echoed the bounce in your step from earlier. You pictured the notes as rounder, softer, plusher. They rolled off the keys and fell to the ground, pooling around the piano and underneath the bench. Ladies in flowing dresses and flower crowns came to mind - colorful linens sitting amongst oil paintings and tea sets. And while they would be deterred by the inundation, Yoongi was not - one foot steadied on the pedals while the other bent under the seat.

Imagining him actually sitting with said ladies made you giggle, which caused him to stop playing and turn on the bench. His expression flipped from fear to annoyance when he realized it was you.

“Felt guilty about not snitching last time? Is this the day you cave?”

“No,” you pouted, shuffling out from the towering curtain to fully show yourself. Your instrument covered the front of your skirt as you clarified, “I just wanted to say thank you. For before.”

Yoongi blinked twice before asking, “Did I do something?”

Embarrassment splashed your cheeks. Shoot, did he actually forget that he helped you? Surely, the barrage of grins sent his way would be enough to clue him in. Was he messing with you? Either way, you felt like bolting.

“I’m messing with you,” he laughed, and you flinched at his precision. “How could I forget with all the stupid looks you’ve been giving me the past two weeks?”

The comment shot out before you could stop it, “Normally, people just say ‘you’re welcome.’” A light snort was your response.

“I get nervous when I’m thanked.”

“You’re weird.”

“You’re creepy.”

“And now you’re mean.”

“You aren’t wrong,” Yoongi agreed, “I’m always mean. But it is what it is.” Hitting a lone key before dropping his arm, he watched you stand awkwardly at the edge of the stage.

Under his gaze, you felt like you were being picked apart. Him, a critic; you, an art piece. What was he looking at? What about you was so fascinating? You stared at the ground in silence. In your whirlwind of imagination, you weren’t finding anything on your canvas worthy of attention.

Maybe he was only waiting for you to say something. That had to be the case. Like he would ever find you interesting. As if. You were as cookie-cutter as they came - and he called you weird.

Giving into the pressure, you suddenly threw out a question, “What were you playing?”

“Chopin,” Yoongi responded instantly, elongating the second syllable. His lazy demeanor lowered you into a more comfortable state of mind. “Nocturne. It’s a pianoforte.”

“It’s pretty,” you admitted. Pocketing the information for later, you noted to search for it on your phone to save. Gripping the handle of your case, you shuffled from foot to foot, trying to quell the pain in your ankles. The sprint from the bus stop days ago did wreak havoc on them, as you predicted. Bandages could only help so much.

Yoongi took your fidgeting form as anxiousness. “Why don’t you sit down? There’s like, a thousand chairs down there. Pick one,” the blond offered, pointing to the house of the theatre. Patting the piano bench, he tutted, “This seat’s already taken, though.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” you rejected, backing up behind the curtains again.

“Suit yourself.” Yoongi immediately continued where he left off, the punctured notes traipsing off the stage.

Maybe you could stay. One song should be enough. Peering down at the dark area, you contemplated whether or not to venture further into the hall. At least he didn’t want you sitting next to him. You couldn’t risk your brain functions shutting down again. No way.

Shyly, you made your way down the stairs to the audience seating. Scooting to the middle of the front row, you gingerly settled into the thin folding seat - very aware of a pair of eyes on you. Thin was too strong of a word for what you just sat on. With pursed lips, you noted that the academy could part with some cash to upgrade the chairs. When was the last time they ramped up the theatre? It seemed neglected.

When you finally looked at the stage, your breath hitched.

Seeing Yoongi at the angled piano from your new viewpoint was like a weight pressing your chest. You couldn’t form a coherent thought, other than to remind yourself to keep breathing. Inhale and exhale. In and out. You still weren’t taking a breath. All you could focus on was him.

He looked angelic, his hair a radiant halo around his head. How could you not see it before? In your heart of hearts, you knew he belonged on stage.

“No phones or flash photography during the performance, please,” he drawled, addressing the entire theatre. When you blew out a raspberry in response, he looked down at you and cocked an eyebrow.

Rude. You were a good student - of course you’d pay attention. Rolling your eyes even harder than usual, you unzipped the front pocket of your backpack. Fishing your phone out as proof that you didn’t have it on you, you wiggled it at Yoongi before putting it back inside, huffing as you did so.

“Thank you,” is all you got in response before you were flashed the most charming smile you had ever seen. Your heart dissolved into tiny butterflies, all one million of them trying to flutter about and exist together.

As Yoongi started the pianoforte again, you couldn’t recall a single day in your life that was better than that Wednesday.

And you lost count of how many songs you sat through.

-

Winter was in full swing, which meant full Marshmallow Mode for you. You couldn’t risk contracting any sort of sickness during a crucial point of the semester, so you took every precaution you could. And that included dressing similar to the Michelin man.

Bumbling through the campus grounds, you slowly but surely made your way to the library. You had a pretty significant break between your classes - something you vied to fix come next term - and you figured a coffee break was essential. Stumbling through the sliding doors, you waited until you were fully inside before shrugging off your puffy jacket. It proved more difficult than you preferred.

The tantalizing aroma of coffee and bakery goods wafted through the cafe, and you scooped your jacket into your tired arms. You couldn’t wait to spend five dollars to burn your tongue.

A dark figure strolled through the doors while you idly stood in line. Glimpsing at them from your spot, you noticed with a skipped heartbeat that it was Yoongi. Again. You were running into him at least once every two weeks, it seemed. Upon further inspection, you noticed the laptop under his arm right as he slunk into a corner booth.

Exhaling, you decided on the next course of action. Was it foolish? Probably. But you wanted to try. When it was your turn to order, you went ahead with the plan.

After you received both of your drinks, you prepared yourself before taking confident steps toward Yoongi’s table. You took in his telltale headphones around his thin neck, and his dark hair poking out from his black beanie. He was attractive with either color, you decided.

As your hip grazed the edge, you held a coffee in front of your former rule-breaking buddy. “Take it,” you demanded after he didn’t acknowledge you nor the paper cup.

Eyes still trained on his laptop screen, Yoongi droned, “No, thanks.”

“What? Why?”

“The drinks here are too expensive.”

A small section of your soul sagged. Was this really the same boy you knew before? What happened to the guy with the smile so wide you could see his gums? The current Yoongi was completely dismissive and - dare you say it - boring. Your handing him a drink should have implied that you were paying. Did he not think that?

Clutching the increasingly hotter cup, you sighed before slotting yourself in the booth opposite him, placing both drinks on the table. Your fluffy jacket proved ponderous, taking up half of your long seat. “I got it just for you; you don’t need to pay me back or anything,” you grunted as you attempted to push your winter protection of choice down in size.

“Are you gonna keep sitting here?”

Wait. What the hell? His insulting tone had you completely taken aback. Mouth floundering, you couldn’t decide if wringing his handsome neck or pulling his perfect ears was what you preferred. Who even was this guy? Incredulously, you whispered, “Yoongi?”

Dark eyes flickered to you. Finally.

Shooting a cautious smile back at him, you teased, “So it is you. For a second, I thought you were someone else.”

“If you’re taking this table, I’ll go.”

Your expression immediately crumpled. “What?”

Before you could stop him, Yoongi shut his computer and vacated his seat, leaving you speechless as you stared at the void in front of you. As you turned to see his retreating back, a pang of anguish ignited in your chest, the slow burn taking all the oxygen from your lungs. Taking in the two untouched, matching coffees on the table, you felt tears well in your eyes.

Maybe you were reading things completely wrong. This wasn’t some test you could study for and memorize; mistakes and misconceptions were bound to happen. Sliding your palms down your thighs and closing them in defeat, you hid your face from the cafe before your tears could season your lukewarm Americano.

He was still mad at you. You were sure of it now.

And you absolutely couldn’t blame him.

-

Wednesdays were quickly becoming your favorite day of the week.

Namjoon always held his tutoring sessions those days, which meant you had an excuse to stay after and hang out with the boy that had an aversion to classwork. You started collecting suspicion in the fourth week, though, when the shy tutor caught you smiling on your way out the door.

You couldn’t help it. No matter how you felt during classes, your mood improved exponentially in Yoongi’s presence. The pair of you didn’t even have to speak. Just sitting in the same worn down theatre seat watching him play on stage was enough. You found meaning in the way Yoongi lost himself in the music. The pair of you existed in your own little bubble, the piano transporting you to another time and place with every song.

Sneaking one foot into the theatre always sent shivers up your spine, but the feeling quelled the more times you did. It was the one guilty pleasure you allowed yourself.

Besides, you weren’t without intent: you wanted to get Yoongi to take his studies seriously. Since he dodged you during regular classes, after school was the only surefire time to speak to him. At first, you chickened out. You figured he would lash out at you or shut down at the mere suggestion. But the more you both settled into a routine, the more you were comfortable with asking.

Yoongi was dismissive at first. But that was something you expected, so you didn’t let it deter your efforts. Between songs, you kept trying. You mentioned a better future, something to work towards, not throwing his life away. Giving him different reasons, you wanted to see if any of them would stick. Nothing worked. Not until you brought up money.

“What do you mean a ‘scholarship?’”

Finally, he took the bait. Now you needed to reel in your fishing line. Standing from your designated chair, you approached the stage and rested your arms on the wood. “Like, you could get money. For universities.”

Yoongi supported his lean by clinging his hands to the back of the bench. “Why would I try more school when I don’t even try at this school?”

Hating that he had a point and that was the exact habit you were trying to correct, you puffed. “Remember? Our English teacher said that high school is the start of our adult lives. If you mess up here, you’re only going to hurt yourself in the future. You should take that seriously.”

“Let me ask you something then,” the blond pitched. “What if you don’t mess up here, but still hurt yourself later on?”

What? What could he possibly mean by that? “I don’t follow,” you admitted.

Tilting his head back, Yoongi’s voice projected to the high ceilings of the stage, “I mean, what if you work towards something, only to find out you didn’t want to do it anymore? You have all the schooling in the world, but no passion for it. Wouldn’t that be more of a screw up?”

“But school is meant to show you what you want to do,” you countered, “You could find your passion in a subject if you really tried to learn about it.” If he would actually pay attention in classes, he would know. A small part in the back of your mind didn’t disagree with him, though.

“All school does is make sure everyone’s following the world’s rules. It loves the people that are good at shit that society likes, like math and science and even fucking history,” Yoongi said, rolling his head to face your form at the front of the stage. “And shuns the people that don’t.”

You bit your lip. Even you had to admit that he had a point. You were one of the people that casted him off yourself, and all of the other students that didn’t take things seriously. The interest level was never taken into consideration for them. You just assumed they blew things off because of dumb reasons like they were too cool for it or something bogus like that.

“Music, for example,” Yoongi continued, pushing his body back towards the piano. “Isn’t important. At least, to them.”

As a song rippled to life on stage, you lowered your gaze to the wooden planks under your arms. You knew what he meant by Them. Society as a whole - you included. Until you got to know Yoongi, you didn’t deem music as relevant as the core subjects. Math, science, history - everything he mentioned. Stigmas surrounding the arts were ever present, wrapping them in undesirable facts. There weren’t as many opportunities in music as there were in math or science. And when there were careers present, they were difficult to attain and maintain. Only the best thrived at a comfortable level in that world.

But you knew Yoongi could be one of those people. Those extraordinary, incredible people. Just the fact that he didn’t need sheet music was enough reason to think so. When you asked him about it before, he shrugged and said that he just memorized songs so he didn’t need to carry useless weight around.

He just wouldn’t be able to get anywhere unless his foundations were properly laid. And the boy could probably get more leverage if he went to a university, got a degree, and graduated. You didn’t doubt that the music classes offered in higher learning institutions were going to develop him further. Yoongi just needed to see the picture you framed for him - the possible future he could have.

The tune flowed like a river under moonlight; a soundtrack to your thoughts. It seemed as contemplative as Yoongi appeared. Trying another approach, you offered, “If you get a degree, that’s more job opportunities opened for you.”

At once, the notes ceased. “And if I don’t get one? Does that mean more are closed to me?”

“If you don’t get a degree? Kinda. If you don’t graduate high school? Definitely,” you sighed, placing your chin on your crossed limbs. Absently, you tapped the ground behind you with one of your shoes.

Yoongi’s head bent forward, thoughts forming clouds around his hair. From your spot under the stage, you waited. All you wanted to do was get him to consider the things you deemed important.

When he spoke, you believed him. “I’ll find another way in.”

And while that was strangely inspiring, you couldn’t help but worry about where that attitude would lead, and where he would eventually end up.

-

Life dulled a few shades after you were completely rejected by Yoongi at the cafe. After that debacle, you actively tried to shove any thoughts and feelings about him in a box. An enormous, overstuffed box.

Even Aspa was starting to get concerned. She had been texting you at random times to check in, and knocked on your door if hours had passed since you last left your room. You brushed her off every time, though. She didn’t need to worry about you with all of the things she was going through. And there was too much to unpack, too many regrets to admit.

The worst part was that he had every right to never speak to you again. Even if he did manage to enroll at the same university as you - as shocking as that remained - you couldn’t remove the regret from your bones. What you did back then would prompt anyone to spurn you forever. It was the one thing you regretted most.

During one of your restless nights, an idea pooled into your mind and cleansed a layer of your stress. It was a way to provide some closure for the both of you: simply apologizing.

Why hadn’t you thought about it before? Probably because you were so swept by the currents of feelings his appearance washed ashore every time. Suppressed emotions he unearthed whenever you laid fresh eyes on him proved stronger with each pass. Not for a second did you think about what he felt until that day he left you at the table, leaving you with two cold coffees and countless hot tears.

The more you thought about it, the more determined you were to make it right.

You weren’t going to hunt him down, though. The plan was to let things evolve organically. Yoongi was bound to visit that cafe again; you already spotted him there twice out of the four times you saw him.

After a week of frequent visits to the coffee shop and convincing yourself you were not hunting for Yoongi, you caught him hunkered down in the same corner booth as before.

Failure wasn’t an option. You had to apologize; he deserved that much. Hardening your resolve, you marched up to the table and slid into the seat opposite him.

Yoongi jerked his head up and realized it was you. And while you were captured by his hooded eyes, you already saw him retreating. You needed to act fast. “Please don’t leave,” you begged in a whoosh.

When he stilled, you said it again. Because this was too important. “Please.”

Moments trudged past before he gave you the floor. A breath expelled from your lips. You didn’t think you’d make it that far.

The boy slid his beanie off before raking fingers through his hair, and you watched as the natural dark locks fell in waves. Closing his laptop, Yoongi kept his gaze down, the deep bags under his eyes as curved as crescent moons. “What’s up,” he muttered. Every low syllable dropped in hollow thuds.

Softly clenching your fists, you mirrored him and trained your eyes on the tabletop. This went much smoother in your head. “I know you hate me,” you started, your throat already tight, “And I know you don’t want to talk to me - and you don’t have to after this ever again. But I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.”

By the time you finished speaking, your eyes were fully shut. You hated the possibility of him taking your offer to forever distance himself. Why did you even put yourself in this position? And for all that is holy, why did you decide to do this in a cafe on campus of all places? People were probably casting all sorts of looks your way right then. Shielding yourself from the world, you placed your head in your clammy palms.

“So, umm,” you trailed off, not knowing if there was another reason to keep speaking. “Damn it, umm, okay. That’s really all I wanted to say. And I’ll take your silence as my cue to go. Bye, Yoongi.”

You ditched the table in a flurry of windswept hair and teary eyes. There were still plenty of things left unsaid, but you couldn’t stand being near him and not connecting. It destroyed you. But you did it: you casted the most important point out into the universe. That was enough. He had to know that, above all, you were deeply sorry for before. The endless nights crying into your pillow attested to that.

Cutting through the coffee shop and out into the October cold, your hot tears froze your cheeks over. Swiping your sadness away, you took heavy steps back to your apartment to chug down hot chocolate and cry through a movie. Which one would cleanse the most sorrow out of you? Maybe this time you could try one of those old period pieces that Aspa’s been begging you to watch with her lately. Then you would need to come clean.

As soft as fresh snow, a hand closed around your arm.

Yoongi’s voice was as deep and clear as the last key on a piano, and the memories it brought up sprang tears to your eyes.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

-

It was during one of the hottest days of the school year that you finally threw your own caution to the sunburned skies. Instead of heading down the steps to the audience chamber, you walked straight up to Yoongi’s side, earning a raised brow. His hands slowed on the keys, the notes fading into a mere echo.

Your bravery left him silent. The blond said nothing while he placed both fists on his knees, and as you took in his appearance you regretted the day you taunted him into finally forgoing the hoodie. That was something you mentioned to him before - teasing that the likelihood of you ratting him out may be less if he actually wore his uniform correctly. But that wasn’t completely the case. You were never going to mention that your intentions were a bit selfish. Formal white dress shirt, burgundy tie, obnoxiously bleached undercut, and ear piercings? That concoction resulted in sweaty sheets more nights than one, no matter how much you scoffed at it in class.

And witnessing his current look up close almost caused you to fold over from weakened legs. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows to combat the heat. Loosely, his tie dangled from his neck, the accessory appearing as lazy as the owner. It was too much. In fact, too much was an understatement. You focused on the piano instead.

He just watched as you spared him a timid glimpse before your fingers slid along the porcelain, each thin cleft between the teeth prominent to the touch. The piano tinkered softly as you barely committed to pushing one key down, then another, and another. Roaming your eyes along the white and black, you marveled at how Yoongi was able to use them to create so much color.

Before you could stop yourself, you confessed, “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Caught off-guard, the boy only let out a soft breath of disbelief. “Thanks. It’s nothing special, though,” he murmured.

“I’m serious,” you responded, more confidently than you ever had. All of your focus was on him. “You could make it big.”

When Yoongi looked at you, each limb of your body stilled. Emotions cycled through his eyes before you could even put a name to them. Shock? Pain? You weren’t good at knowing those things. Somehow, the only concept outside academics that you understood was the music Yoongi played. But you had the feeling that you needed to wait until after he spoke.

“My bad,” he apologized, swishing his hair, “No one’s said that to me before, is all. I kinda don’t know what to say to that.”

Oh. That’s what he was thinking about? Strange. You figured with his confidence level that he was surely accustomed to compliments of that nature. “Well,” you said, “When you play like you do, I don’t think you need to say anything.”

Sunlight burst into the room when he smiled, and you swore even the piano beside you perked up at the sight. Not wanting him to see your creeping attraction, you turned away.

It was happening again. Sections of your brain started failing, starting with the logical sector. You took a step away from the bench before a hand closed around your wrist.

A playful voice danced around the stage, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Swinging your head toward him, you responded with minute agony, “The chairs!”

“Nu uh,” he denied, “Come back here before I grab something else.”

You choked on his implication, pulling your hand away. “Yoongi! Don’t you dare.” No one had ever been so crude with you before.

His blond hair bobbed with his laughs as you begrudgingly obeyed, settling next to him. Adjusting your skirt lower down your legs, you suddenly felt incredibly warm - no doubt the heat from outside. Definitely the weather. Couldn’t be your own heat swirling under your skin. Impossible.

As it were, you were already flustered. Yoongi didn’t need to double-down by whispering in your ear. But he did, knowing fully well what it would do. “Good girl.”

You shivered before sputtering, your arm pushing his smirking form away. “Okay, okay, no funny business.”

“As you wish, princess,” Yoongi responded, beaming at you before fully focusing on the upright. Diving straight into a familiar tune, his fingers waltzed along the keys, taking their time in the rests. Right by his side, you quietly swayed, carried by the tranquil waves as they sent you on a journey to the Moon.

The world dissolved around you the further you drifted, the heat of a fast approaching summer the only thing remaining. As your lids slipped shut, you found yourself far away, lost in an ocean of stars. Hazy blues and yellows blended together like heavy paint strokes, melding into one giant galaxy made for two. Entranced, you dipped your hand in the sea of moonlight shimmering around your celestial boat. Just up ahead, the planets spun and spun. Bright meteors crossed your vision, lighting little fires in your eyes and in your fingertips. A deep, indigo, twinkling heaven. You never wanted to leave.

“I thought about what you said.”

Slowly opening your eyes, your starlit vision faded as you turned to Yoongi. The last couplet spun together until they dispersed, and he clarified, “About school.”

Your question came as a whisper, not fully encapsulating the emotion you felt inside. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he murmured in return. “I want to keep going with music, but if you’re right, I’m probably limiting myself right now. So, uhh, I guess I can give it a try.”

Without a word, you placed one of your hands on his, not knowing where your sudden boldness sprouted from. Twining your fingers around his thin digits, you softly squeezed. Because you didn’t need to say anything back. You’ve learned that by now. Sometimes, the answer was never one written on a page.

But other times, the answer was quite clear. In bold print. Like a blinding, scarlet letter on your school record for misconduct.

At least, that’s exactly what you pictured when you were caught.

The booming voice of a teacher rang through the theatre, and your hand left Yoongi’s quicker than your blood could leave your face.

-

Shock left you in puffs of white as you stood in silence. Since classes were currently in the afternoon blocks, the sidewalks were void of any footsteps save for a few strays. Not like you would have noticed. Time froze at the stop of your heartbeat. Your cheeks stung as you spoke in barely a whisper, “Why did you follow me?”

“If you look at me, I’ll tell you,” Yoongi answered, prompting you to turn. His jacket wasn’t black that day, but a light brown that suited him very nicely. It didn’t look thick enough to shield him from the chill, though.

“You look cold.” Surveying the surrounding buildings, you realized that the one you just came out of would be the best bet to stay warm. “We can go back into the library if you want to talk. They have private rooms and stuff.”

“No.” His answer was immediate, deflating you. “This won’t take long.”

“Okay,” you surrendered, anticipating the blows of the last conversation you’d ever have with him. Perhaps he was just angry you left after getting the last word. Didn’t you do that last time? Yoongi just wanted to make sure your karma was delivered correctly. The right way. Scathingly.

“If I’m being honest, I can’t talk to you right now,” he finally divulged. The confession smushed your heart, but you should have expected as much. There was one word in that sentence that piqued your interest above the disappointment, though, so you plucked it out of the bunch and held it under your scrutiny.

“Can’t? Or won’t?” There was a distinct difference and you knew one was preferred over the other. If he wouldn’t talk to you, that would be worse. If he simply couldn’t at the time, there was a hopeful tinge to it that you could hold onto.

Yoongi’s hair poked out of the beanie now reattached to his head. Your curious gaze roamed over his features, noticing how much older he looked. You took in the more distinct cheekbones, the sharper jawline, the deeper set of eyes. Eyes that held ten times more weight than yours. What did they see in the years you’d been apart?

A sigh left him before he caved, “Both.”

You swallowed the hard pill, respecting his wishes. Pain was going to eat at you until time caked your wounds and closed them, but you would eventually be fine. You had spent years away from him. It shouldn’t affect you too much. Right?

Since Yoongi made no inclination to move, you posed another question, your boldness springing from the finality of the situation. “Why even chase me then?” His actions were completely opposite to his words. If he couldn’t and wouldn’t talk to you, he never would have followed you out of the cafe. He would have taken your offer and ran with it in the opposite direction.

Yoongi pushed the inside of his cheek with his tongue, contemplating his words before speaking. His computer was cradled a little tighter to his side when he answered, “Because I just wanted to say sorry, too. About the other day. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Stunned at his apology, your jaw dropped a smidge. “Oh.” Hearing that phrase again sent you careening back to the first day you walked in on him, like a coda bringing you back to the beginning. When he initially convinced your heart to listen. To understand.

If this was his ideal last conversation with you, it was an odd choice. You expected him to be just as cold as the last time, putting the autumn weather to shame. Instead, he apologized for that behavior and left you confused. You couldn’t get a read on him at all. Nothing was making sense.

At least, nothing was making sense to the logical side of you. In turn, that side had no clue how to proceed. The other half wanted to seize this opportunity to flesh everything out, so it spurned you to outright ask, “Will you ever talk to me again? You said you couldn’t right now, so I just wanted to know before...”

Your voice didn’t peter off for the suspense. Rather, you refused to finish that sentence. It was giving too much life to the ending, making it real and in reach.

Yoongi didn’t let you get away with it, though. “Before what?”

“Before I decide to tell you everything I want to say to you or not,” you whispered. You fled from him just minutes before, but having him tolerate you in the moment boosted your ambition. The closure would be effectively given. You could cleanse yourself of everything you’ve wanted to tell him from the moment he disappeared from your life. Before you lost him again, this would be your swan song.

As it turned out, Yoongi didn’t give you the stage. Looking away, he quickly shut you down, “Don’t. I don’t wanna hear it.”

Fuck. There it was. Rejection in its rawest form was the toughest bite to swallow. You wished there was a sudden hole underneath your feet through which you could plummet. Forever falling was how you pictured yourself anyways.

But before you could finish your deprecating thoughts, he tacked on further explanation. “Once I get through this shit I’m dealing with, then you can say whatever you want. For now, I need more time.”

What? That wasn’t what you expected in the slightest.

After digesting his words, you sighed in relief. Yoongi’s honesty was freeing. Hope burgeoned in your chest when you realized that you had another chance. If time was what he needed, you could certainly give him that. Besides, you practically showed up out of nowhere. You were the one that kept running into him. Of course he needed more time to get used to seeing you again. That was enough to lift your spirits for the rest of the week.

“I can wait,” you acquiesced, “I understand.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, scratching his neck with his free hand. “I’ll let you go now.”

You wished he wouldn’t, but you nodded. Seeing that he didn’t move, you took that as a sign to start walking away. On the fourth step you took, a blinding curiosity had you wheeling on your toes. “Wait,” you called out. When Yoongi flickered his eyes to yours, you blurted, “You’re still pursuing music, right?”

His gaze softened then, and you almost felt like you saw the boy you listened to every Wednesday afternoon. “Isn’t it obvious?” There was a spark to his tone. “If I ever stopped, I would have nothing left.”

-

“How good of a liar are you?”

“Umm…”

“Shit. Mm. Can you fake it just this once?”

“Yoongi, I don’t know.”

“If you can’t, I’m expelled.”

“Expelled? How?”

“Long story short: I’ve been caught several times. This was my last chance.”

“What am I even supposed to say?”

“Say we were allowed to be back there. I was teaching you, or something.”

“And they would believe that?”

“You’re a good girl. They’ll believe you.”

“But what if they don’t? What if I’m caught?”

“Just… Try, yeah? I can’t get kicked out. If you don’t… Fuck. This is all I got.”

“Yoongi…”

“...”

“...Okay. I can try.”

“That’s my girl.”

-

“You made it! I thought you guys weren’t going to come.”

“Seriously? I texted you, Hobi,” Aspa shouted over the thrumming bass and competing voices.

It was Halloween, which meant overcrowded fraternity houses and emptied Solo cup shelves at the local stores. Upon entering university, you weren’t keen on the whole party scene, but you learned to embrace it through both Aspa and the second friend you made on campus.

Hobi - or Hoseok, to the people that didn’t know him - was the first person you befriended on campus after your roommate. Like a planet to a star, once you were in his orbit, you didn’t leave. You couldn’t. His bright aura drew all sorts of people in, and it was during one of your core classes that you gravitated his way. Eventually, his charisma loosened the screws in your character, and you started to live life a little more fully. And when Aspa met him, they immediately connected by familiarity.

“You did? Shit, sorry. I forgot there’s poor reception here,” the boy hollered back, louder than he needed to since he already seemed a couple drinks in. He was right about the service, though. Being in this house before, you remembered having to walk a ways away to use a car app.

Watching liquid splash out of Hobi’s cup, you were curious about the state of the back kitchen. You arrived pretty late since you actually put effort into your appearance that night. There was a good chance all the bottles were killed already. “Is there even anything left?”

“Yeah, should be. If not, we can ditch and go next door.” Hoseok took a swig before looking at you. Tilting his head, he nodded. “You look hot, by the way.”

Instantly, you laughed in disagreement. “Thanks! Nothing special, but I tried, at least.” Not one for spending egregious amounts of money on costumes, you whipped together an absurdly basic schoolgirl outfit. It was the total opposite of your roommate: she splurged on a parental credit card and got an insanely and suspiciously beautiful kimono. It had to be authentic. She still couldn’t convince you otherwise.

But, no fancy costumes for you. After all, you had the clothes. They weren’t your actual uniform from high school, but you did opt for a skirt, long-sleeved dress shirt, and tie. The only courageous step further was slipping on knee-highs Aspa flung at you while getting ready. And checking out Hobi’s all leather getup, you threw a compliment back at him, “You look great yourself.”

“I’m serious,” Hoseok responded, his voice low next to your ear, “You got a lot of eyes on you tonight.”

“Damn it,” you hissed. You didn’t expect to get too much attention amongst the other costumes, but that was a wrongful assumption. When you dolled up that night, it was mostly for your own enjoyment. Part of decompressing was just making yourself look decent and having fun. Alas, you needed a shield. Hoseok was pretty floaty during parties, but you asked him just in case, “Stay next to us?”

Your friend cringed. “I can for a little bit. But I’m also meeting someone tonight,” he explained before panning around the stuffy room. “I don’t know when she’s coming but we’ll try to find you two some company by then.” With this, he winked.

“Umm, I can find someone myself, thank you very much,” Aspa scoffed over the current song.

Hoseok’s name hissed out of your mouth in a warning, but it only prompted him to laugh. Damn him and damn your pitiful single status. You mentioned it offhandedly during a previous party - something about never having another love other than academics. Contrary to belief, you tried. There were relationships - if you could call them that. Some even broached on territory you flushed at later, but each one didn’t last long.

Evidently, Hobi wasn’t as drunk as you were during your inebriated confession. He would’ve forgotten that awful prophecy like you did. But, to your dismay, he did not.

“Wouldn’t doubt it, Aspa. And you! We’ll find someone for you in no time.” He took a sip of his drink, surprising you by not causing any spillage. You just shook your head at his dedication.

Impatient to find his hookup, Hoseok panned around the cramped room. Recognition dawned on his face before he beamed. “Actually, ladies, follow me.”

“Wait, what!” Your yells were beaten out by the blaring music, and you had no choice but to squeeze through the crowd behind his glossy form. The tie around your neck was getting slightly uncomfortable, and your collar was already collecting sweat.

Entering a calm eye in the storm of people, you and your roommate found yourselves in a corner of the living room. Hoseok was already talking to a group when you arrived. An incredibly intimidating, handsome group.

“Excuse me? Where the fuck has Hobi been hiding these guys,” Aspa questioned beside you, yanking a cough from your throat. You wondered the same thing as you stood awkwardly on the edge, watching as all three people hung on Hoseok’s words.

They were dressed similarly to him: matching dark leather pants and jackets. Some of them had metallic embellishments, and one adorned a black choker around his porcelain neck. Who were these guys? Each one of them looked so natural in those outfits that you couldn’t tell if they were actually in costume or not. Even their hairstyles were perfectly slicked.

“Who’re your friends?”

Your thoughts dispersed as all four pairs of eyes locked onto you and Aspa. The voice that interrupted your hovering disbelief must have come from the boy currently grinning.

Stunned by their inspection, you both stammered before introducing yourselves, with you lamely lifting a hand in a small wave and your friend blurting, “I’m Aspa and I’m also leaving to get a drink.”

You tried to grab her as she left, hissing when you failed. How could she leave you to this wolfpack? Damn her flighty attitude and fast legs.

“She’s amazing,” Hoseok started, signaling for you to join his side. “Kept me from failing so many classes.”

Scoffing, you clarified, “Too many. Do I need to start charging you for my services?”

He laughed, as did the rest of them. Of course their laughs were attractive, too. Where did Hobi find these people? And Aspa was right: where had he been hiding them? Your friend’s eyes suddenly lit up like he remembered something. “Oh, and uhh, these are my boys. This is Jimin, Taehyung, and JK.”

You smiled, a tad shy. In this kind of company, you felt incredibly out of place. “Nice to meet you guys. And nice costumes, I think? They look so good that I can’t tell.” Under the pressure of their collective gazes, you started fidgeting and preoccupying yourself. This would be easier if you were drinking. You suddenly couldn’t blame your roommate for ditching. “Aspa’s got the right idea. I’m gonna get a drink, too,” you said, excusing yourself from the handsome group. Honestly, their entire appearances were overwhelming.

“I’ll come with you,” one of them claimed, joining you before you could turn away. You took in the swoop of his dark hair, a stray lock hovering over his soft features. “I need to get a refill.”

You nodded, and you felt a warm hand on your lower back lead you through the crowd.

It was a short walk to the hallway leading to the kitchen. Once you were in the narrow corridor, it was instantly easier to hear and clearer to walk. Thank goodness; that room was stuffy as hell. Relaxing a tad, you breathed a sigh of relief.

“You, too, huh?”

Turning, you tilted your head. “What?”

“Oh, uhh,” the boy faltered. “I thought I heard you, umm… I can’t do crowds, is all.”

“Oh, yeah. Same.” He was cute. You didn’t think any guy would readily admit that, yet here you were.

“Jungkook, by the way. Hobi said JK, but either one works.”

“Nice to meet you - again,” you said with a chuckle, and he aimed a smile at the ground.

Definitely cute.

The music from the living room area was dulled by the walls, though still prevalent. Only the thumps of the bass were truly felt. As you got closer to the kitchen, you already started spotting empty bottles of every color.

Your spirit deflated. Midterms were supposed to be forgotten on Halloween, and for you, that meant drinking those memories away.

When your shoes clacked on the tiled floors, Aspa turned to see you coming in with Jungkook. You quickly frowned at her smug expression, swatting your hand in front of you as a cue to drop whatever she was thinking. “Is there anything left?”

“No, girl,” she groaned, “These people are crazy. It isn’t even that late yet.”

When you turned to your new acquaintance, you found him with furrowed brows, burning holes into the counters. What was he thinking about?

“Let’s go back and see what they wanna do,” he decided, and you gave a short nod before following him out.

Weaving through the more crowded hallway, you braved the ocean of sweaty bodies in the living room again to get back to your corner. Along the way, Jungkook started swaying to the music ahead of you. He didn’t like crowds, but he liked music, it seemed. An upbeat tune was enough to make him groove while scrunched between people. Adorable. Laughing, you just accompanied Jungkook as he danced the rest of the way to his friends.

The tall boy with plenty of chains hanging from his jacket spoke up when you all returned. “You didn’t get any for us?”

“Nah! They ran outta everything here already,” Jungkook yelled over the music, still letting the song move him.

Right before the guy spoke again, you remembered that his name was Taehyung. “Lame. Let’s go next door.”

“Yes! Next door!” Jimin was quick to agree, the choker around his neck bobbing with every word.

Hoseok just kept scanning over the room, undoubtedly looking for his date. Or, whatever she was. With a sigh, you hoped he didn’t take it too hard if she didn’t show up. If anything, she was the one that would lose in that situation. Hoseok was a sweetheart unless you got him upset.

Seconds crawled along as you stood in waiting, awkwardly looking around the room completely sober. You hated experiencing parties like this. Just standing while everyone else was wild was fine if you had a drink in your hand - awful when you didn’t. You shifted your lips to the side. Maybe this was a trickle of karma for what you did to Yoongi back then. Anything not in your favor was perceived as such.

No. You weren’t going to think about him tonight. He wanted space. Because of that, you weren’t going to see him any time soon.

But that didn’t mean he left you alone. Not in the slightest. Dreams, thoughts, and even random ideas involving him invaded your mind in spurts. And all of them were enough to send you spiraling. With your head cloudy, you barely registered the conversation next to you.

“Where is he?”

“Yeah, isn’t he supposed to come tonight?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t.”

“He’ll show. Once he shows up, you guys can dip,” Hoseok said, confidence lacing his tone. “Actually, there he is. Yoongi!”

What?

You froze, running through the probability of there being another Yoongi on campus. Seeing Hoseok and his friends smile and gawk at someone behind you only made things worse. Your body wouldn’t budge. Seriously? Yoongi? You weren’t ready to see him if it was the Yoongi you knew. At a party, no less. Having fun and forgetting midterm season were the only things on the agenda tonight. Not stressing over someone you screwed over and missed so damn much.

But when Hoseok clasped someone’s pale hand and brought them in for a back pat, you recognized those veins anywhere. You only saw them skating up and down piano keys every night when you closed your eyes. “Hey, man! They don’t have shit left here. Down to go next door?”

Beside you, Aspa gasped. “That’s the dude from the library that one day. Damn, why do all of them look like models? I’m starting to get upset.”

Yoongi - the one you most definitely knew - continued the conversation with his back turned. That meant you had time to hide. There were plenty of other rooms in this house; it would be so easy to slip away. You could even drag your roommate to the bathroom. Plenty of options. But why weren’t your legs moving? “Knowing them, they probably ran out before these guys did.”

“True. We can always try, though.”

“Aren’t you waiting on some girl?”

“Dude, she hasn’t shown up yet. I think I got ghosted.”

“She probably went next door.”

“Shut up!”

You snorted, but it was Jimin’s laugh and comment that made your former classmate turn. “You made it! And you dressed up!”

It was only a matter of time before he saw you, and you weren’t prepared in the slightest. Why didn’t you scurry away? Why were your legs mush and lead at the same time? Maybe if you stood completely still, he wouldn’t notice. Like some weird dinosaur logic.

Taehyung and Jungkook were quick to dap Yoongi up after Jimin did. When his eyes landed on your form next to Jungkook, he stilled. As you gulped hard under the pressure of your necktie, he questioned, “What are you doing here?”

The first surprise that night was seeing him at a party, which you could deal with either by excessive drinking or constant avoiding. But the second surprise? That one was loads worse. It kept you from even reacting to his caustic tone.

Yoongi wasn’t wearing anything like he usually wore. Instead, he was matching the rest of the gang. They were costumes, you concluded, and he was part of the team. You reluctantly took in his tight leather jacket and pants, the shiny black material capturing the bold colors emitting from cheap plug-in disco lights. Under his outer garment, only the thin white material of a tank peeked through far below his collarbone. And that wasn’t all. To make your life worse, the silver jewelry piercing his ears under his slicked black hair seemed to have a companion in the thick chain around his neck.

Fuck. Against your aching desire to keep your eyes on him, you tore your gaze away.

You huffed while Aspa scoffed, “The hell? Rude.”

“Yeah, what the heck? Manners, man.” Hoseok took another sip of his quickly diminishing drink, turning to you before jutting a thumb toward your former classmate, “Don’t worry about him; he’s not a total ass all the time.”

So neither of them picked up on the fact that you two knew each other. Was that a good thing?

Taehyung broke through the increasing volume of the music, “Okay, he’s here. Let’s bounce.”

“How about it?” Hobi clasped Yoongi’s shoulder before handing over his cup. “You down?”

“Prolly not,” the boy replied before chugging down the rest of Hoseok’s liquor. You took in the stray inky strands caressing his forehead, wishing you could sweep them to the side with your fingers. And quickly chastising yourself for even thinking about it afterwards. “I gotta get back to work.”

Beside you, Jungkook made a face. “Isn’t it like, midnight?”

You wondered the same thing. Was this just an attempt to avoid you? Taking in his entire getup, you figured it was something along those lines. Yoongi dressed up to hang out with his friends. As the wrench in his plans, you felt awful.

But if he wanted to leave, then you would stay with Hoseok and the rest of them. If he wanted to hang with his friends, you would give him that space. It was up to him.

“Yeah, but there’s a lot more to do than I thought,” Yoongi explained before placing the Solo on a random side table. His necklace gleamed with the colors of the lights, a tiny rainbow around his neck. “Go crash it without me.”

You could barely hear him over the blasting music, but the others understood him enough. Jungkook shocked you by touching the small of your back again. Leaning in, he asked, “What do you think? You coming?”

Your reaction to Yoongi’s laser focus on you was strong. You had never seen a pair of eyes so intense, so heated. What the hell was that? He wasn’t coming. He wasn’t going to see you. Why did it look like he was waiting on your answer?

Facing Jungkook, you smiled. “Sure!” You told yourself Yoongi was the deciding factor, and he didn’t want to go next door. This way, you both would be apart and he would get the space he wanted. And you would hopefully drown yourself in alcohol and watch Jungkook make a fool of himself to decompress. “I need a drink.”

“It’s decided!” Taehyung was already pushing through the crowd to get to the door. You almost chuckled at his impatience if it wasn’t for the strange look Jimin was giving you. When he noticed you catching his gaze, he only crinkled his eyes.

You almost missed him leaning over to say something to Yoongi, but Hobi’s abrupt “Let’s get it!” tore your attention away before you could analyze them, and he dissolved into the crowd with Aspa next. Jungkook pressed his hand further into your back to lead you along.

“Do you like dancing,” he asked over your shoulder, and you smiled.

“A little,” you admitted in a yell, squeezing and weaving through the people with no respect for personal space. “Nothing too crazy, though.”

A mirthy laugh escaped. “Don’t worry. Leave the crazy to me.”

Giggling, you felt light as you got to the foyer. It was much less crowded there, and when Jungkook opened the door for you, a small smile slipped into your features. A gentleman, too? How did someone like him mesh with people like Yoongi?

The late October air was crisp as you stepped foot out of the house. Wind cut through your clothing and slid through the trees, a harbinger of chill.

Bunching your shoulders together, you shivered. “Holy shit,” you bit out through chattering teeth. “It was not this cold when we got here.” Hobi, Aspa, and Taehyung were already halfway to the next obnoxiously big house. You watched as their breaths left them in puffs of excitement.

In front of you, Jungkook turned when he picked up on your distress. He was already shrugging off his jacket after one look at your shaking hands. “Here, you can--”

A warm garment was draped over your shoulders so quickly that you flinched. Huh? You watched Jungkook’s confused face while you felt the same way, and you spun your head to see Yoongi right behind you. His thin tank was doing nothing to shield him from the weather. Your eyebrows closed in on each other. Why didn’t he just let his friend lend you his jacket?

“Let’s go before you freeze your ass outta that skirt,” he whispered at your side.

You timidly grabbed the sides of his leather coat, pulling it closer around your frame. As you watched Jimin clap Jungkook’s befuddled back to lead him to the next house over, you shivered not because of the cold, but for another reason entirely.

-

You didn’t know if you could even attempt to lie.

The surrounding air slumped across your shoulders, heavy with the promise of punishment. White noise from the air conditioner buzzed unendingly in your ears. Other than the teacher that upended the two of you, only the headmistress remained, currently caging Yoongi in her office for interrogation.

As you awaited your turn for questioning, you simmered in a thick stew of guilt and shame. There wasn’t any getting around it: you messed up.

Your teacher’s advice from before suckerpunched your conscience, coming up from behind and pushing you down. The very same words you relayed to Yoongi were now snickering at the irony. So much for mounting a high horse. Hidden consequences appeared from behind the curtain, parading around your brain with punchy fanfare and pompous strutting. No acceptance letters, no higher learning, no future. You would have to tell your mother, who worked tirelessly so that your upcoming education would be partially taken care of. Ashamed, you buried your face in your hands.

You knew you would have to tell the truth. Lying would just make things worse.

What a mess. Right when you got through to Yoongi, too, who was on his last thread of chance at the academy. If he accrued another demerit or mark on his record, there was no way he would be allowed to return. Your throat burned with regret. With your confession, his only tie to the school would be cut. You were sure of it. Once you came forward and told the truth, that would be the final blow.

Would you spare Yoongi a lie? You did debate with your conscience. The idea of playing the innocent girl who’d never fib nudged your brain. Yoongi not having anywhere to go created a numbing ache in your soul.

But you knew they would see through you. A tear slid from your eye and dispersed into the skin of your palm. Hands swept your face, and you knew your eyes would be rimmed with a miserable, rosy tinge.

The headmistress’s door swung open, snapping your focus. Yoongi’s bleached locks made your stomach twist as he closed the entrance with a click. And then his blank expression caused your chest to collapse.

He already knew you were going to tell the truth. Of course he knew. No matter what you could have said to him in that moment, it wouldn’t have changed a thing. Hoisting yourself out of your rigid chair, you took a step forward. “Yoongi… I…” Your courage died on your tongue.

“Save it.” His words plummeted to the ground, followed shortly by your heart.

You didn’t watch as he made his way out of the room. All you were left with was your empty chest and the impending consequence of your mistakes.

The headmistress called you inside, and you obeyed with trembling hands.

-

When you entered the new house, it was three times more rowdy than where you were before. How did you not hear this riot from inside next door? Not only was the music blaring, but the people inside were shouting and running up and down the stairs and hallways. It was a madhouse.

“I hate this place,” Yoongi droned beside you, briefly checking his phone before stashing it in his back pocket. “It’s always full of assholes.”

You had no earthly idea why he was there then. Didn’t he say he was going to work? Or at least avoid you at all costs? Sliding his jacket off your sleeves, you handed it back with a muddled mind. “Thank you,” you muttered, wondering if he even heard you above the ruckus.

“No sweat,” he assured. Expecting more, you were disappointed when that was all he offered. Panning your eyes around the house, you spotted Hobi and Taehyung already talking to some girls in one room, and Jimin and Aspa getting touchy with people in another. Damn, they moved fast. You cheered on your roommate in particular, remembering how she was aching to find someone that night.

Jungkook was a ways down the front hallway when he turned. “Let’s see what they got!”

“Okay,” you called back. Even though you scanned every inch of the place other than Yoongi, you could still feel the weight of his stare. He refused to let you go, even now. You felt incredibly small.

You could also tell that Jungkook sensed something in the air. His glimmering eyes walked a tightrope between you and Yoongi, watching the way you refused to look at him and the way his stare didn’t leave your face. You figured he would say something, or at least look for some alternative option for your escape.

In the end, the boy just yelled, “I’ll be back! I’ll bring us stuff if they have anything.”

You pursed your lips, casting your eyes around the house as something to do in Jungkook’s absence. Since it was Halloween, you took in all the other outfits. Some were creative, some were ridiculous, some were basic. Like yours. Speaking of yours: how awkward was this? For heaven’s sake, you were wearing schoolgirl clothes, needing to be seen by Yoongi at a party. He specifically told you that he needed more time. The image of you wearing something close to what you wore in high school was probably the last thing he wanted to witness.

Yoongi deserved better. Sure, it took you awhile to get ready and yes, you literally arrived thirty minutes ago. But you weren’t the most avid partier. There were other things you could do to have fun, like read, or watch something you’ve seen before. As boring as your Friday night would be, it would be much better than watching Yoongi suffer in your presence.

Sighing, you offered, “Hey, I can go. You don’t have to deal with me.”

The reverberating bass was attacking your brain, pounding into it beat by beat by beat. You didn’t even wait for Yoongi to respond. Already, you were taking out your phone to look for a ride. That night was going to end in pity food and a movie or drama that made you forget about reality. Not how you planned, but you were going to respect your former classmate’s wishes.

Before you could bow out, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Glancing at Yoongi, you scrunched your brows as he cocked his. His voice almost drowned in the music, “Are you just gonna leave your friend?”

“Umm,” you responded, stretching out the word in embarrassment. That would look awfully odd. But did he really care about that? You recalled just five minutes ago that nothing but distaste coated his greeting, if you could even call it that. “I can make an excuse or something and then come back to get her. I mean, you said it yourself: what am I even doing here?”

When you weren’t given another word, you continued with a solemn tone, “Look, we both know you don’t want to be around me. Have fun. I can go.”

Yoongi rubbed the lower half of his face in thought. You flitted your eyes over his outfit again, a poor attempt to remember everything before you had to leave. Was it pitiful if one of your biggest regrets was going to be leaving him while he looked like that? Even more pitiful: were all of your biggest regrets going to involve him?

He said something else, but you couldn’t hear him over the music. That house really was awfully loud. Yoongi’s low register wouldn’t have a chance unless he was millimeters from your ear or you found a quieter place. The former was not encouraged. You could go back outside, but it was damn near freezing. A quieter spot inside was the best option. Apologizing to him internally, you grabbed one of his wrists and led him to the back of the house. Oddly, he didn’t resist. Not even once.

When you reached the end of the hallway that led into the kitchen, it was at least easier to hear. The music was still incredibly forceful, but you didn’t want complete silence - that would do neither of you any good. Turning to Yoongi, you explained, “Sorry, I could barely hear you in there. What did you say?”

Expecting an answer right away, you were splashed with anxiousness after he just stared at you. His eyes couldn’t stay still, darting up and down your frame. You felt your cheeks warm, slowly blooming from the centers and washing over the rest of your face and down your neck. What was he thinking? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

With a quick blink, the sternness was back. His eyebrows almost touched with suspicion. “Are you serious?”

“What?” Your brows mirrored his, your expression caked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You dressed up and came all the way here. You’d leave just because of me?” Yoongi was only on the attack, bombarding you with question after question. You felt strapped to a chair with a blinding light aimed at your face. But you could’ve asked him the same damn thing. Wasn’t he the one on the run earlier? What made him tag along?

“Yoongi, you’ve made it pretty clear that you hate me,” you whispered to the ground, your refusal to look at him persisting. “And you don’t have to deny it. Even I hate me after what I did. I can risk finding another party, or just go home. Really, it’s nothing.”

Someone yelled an obscene comment down the hall, but the only thing you could focus on was the sudden movement in front of you.

One of Yoongi’s hands palmed the wall next to your head, an immediate barrier blocking you from the rest of the long hallway. If you weren’t shaken enough, some guys shoved through the corridor, moving Yoongi and causing him to brush your front with a grunt.

Your breath caught in your throat. Having him so close and caging in one of your sides ignited heat between your legs. Sweat leaked all over your skin, coating you in an impressive shine. It was screwed up, but you couldn’t deny your attraction. No matter how disconnected your relationship was. After you spotted him in the cafe a couple months ago, he invaded your mind like a virus. You were sick with guilt and yearning. And now he was inches away and his cologne was assailing your judgment.

“If you leave, just go home. Don’t go somewhere else,” Yoongi gritted, causing you to falter. Out of all the things he could’ve said, that’s what he went with? An order?

Though you should’ve been annoyed at his tone, your stomach flipped on itself at the concern in his voice. You were sure it was there, lying under the displeasure in his features. You wondered what thoughts were going through his mind to prompt such a response. Was it actually concern like you assumed? Or was it something else? His close proximity was getting to your head. Be it curiosity, temptation, or a strange mix of the two, you asked innocently, “Why not somewhere else?”

Yoongi flexed his jaw in annoyance, his glare only lighting up your insides. Was it bad that you were liking how dark his eyes were? His jacket bunched at the shoulder of his propped arm, and you figured it mirrored the state of his mind. “Would you honestly just hop into another place without knowing anyone there?”

A breath escaped your nose, caution going with it. “I would go with Aspa, I guess. But, what if I’ve done it before?”

Yoongi’s face inched closer to yours as he leaned in, squinting. “Forgive me, doll, but I don’t believe you.”

“You wouldn’t believe a lot of things about me,” you said, surprising even yourself that it came out so confidently. Were you bluffing? Absolutely. Somewhat. Sure, you’ve partied a lot more than your past self would ever have allowed, but you didn’t do anything egregiously irresponsible. Aspa or Hobi were usually always there when you went. Flickering your eyes down to Yoongi’s lips, you unwittingly licked yours. “I could’ve done it before.”

He hummed, the sound enough to make you squirm. His hand left the wall so he could instead lean on his elbow, closing the gap between you even more. As he poked the inside of his cheek, the chain adorning his creamy neck swung forward, hovering dangerously close to your chest.

As he spoke again, you could smell the liquor on his words. Maybe that’s where this sudden break in common sense was coming from. And his presence was enough to strike through yours, his voice music to your ears as he leaned in, “And what else have you done?”

Breath hitching, you swallowed a soft moan, forcing it past the tight hold of your collar and tie. You knew exactly what he implied. Tension beckoned sweat to pool on your skin as you scrambled to save your fading oxygen supply.

Were you about to admit other things about your life to him? Things that you knew would shock him? They weren’t instances you were proud of, but were they worth mentioning? This was uncharted territory for the two of you. And you were already one foot over the line. “I’ve… Umm…” The words fizzled on your tongue before you could utter them.

A deep chuckle rumbled next to your neck, sending shivers skittering down your frame. “Don’t be shy now,” Yoongi murmured, and you could hear the smirk in his voice, “Let me hear it. Surprise me.”

Instinctively, you reached for the satin material of your necktie. You needed something to hold onto, and if you so much as touched him you knew he would drag you below. Tugging your tie down a fraction, you shuffled through your options. Each scenario you thought about was too embarrassing to admit to him. And even though you’ve done many things, your conscience didn’t let you physically say them out loud. What a dilemma. What could you possibly say?

Without prompt, your words left you in hot tendrils, “Do… Do you want me to tell you? Or show you?”

“Fuck,” Yoongi grunted before forcing himself away, leaving you with a flushed face and buzzing head. He ran a hand through his dark locks, leaving them frazzled and swooping forward onto his forehead. If you weren’t mistaken, he looked incredibly upset. His next words shot out in a whisper, but they clanged around in your head like alarm bells. “Forget it.”

What? The sudden turnaround lit a fire under your shoes. Who was he to mess with you like this? “Are you serious? You were the one that started it!”

“I shouldn’t have,” he bit out, “I’m leaving.”

“What the fuck?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. What the hell was this sudden shift in development? One moment he was devouring you with his eyes and the next he couldn’t even look at yours. Why was he suddenly treating you like he would burn if he touched you?

“I can’t be around you. Just seeing you again is… You weren’t… I can’t have you screwing me over a second time.”

It was like a hammer to your heart. Your presence triggered him. No matter how much time had passed, both of you never moved on from that singular moment. Yoongi would always see you as the girl who betrayed him, and you would always see him as the one you left behind.

You should have listened to your gut and left earlier. Now it seemed like you blew away the last dandelion wisps of your relationship into the wind, stomping on the empty stem as an afterthought. “Yoongi, don’t be so ridiculous,” you bit out in a rush, but your voice was dashed by Jungkook’s yell.

“Let’s go!” Both of you turned to take in his sweaty form, which he quickly offered an explanation for, “I got forced into a game, but I just took the bottles they had. They’re so wasted.” Giggles served as punctuation to his brag, but Yoongi’s sudden interjection left him quiet.

“Make sure they get home safe. I’m bouncing.”

You looked away when Jungkook replied, “Wha? But Hobi said--”

“I know what he said and he’s right, but I gotta go. You’re on your own.” Swiping one of the beers from his friend’s hand, Yoongi turned and left, his outfit serving as a dark cloud amongst the rainbow of costumes around him.

As you watched his shoulders shove through the cramped hallway, you fiddled with your tie with a shuddering breath, wondering with a heavy heart if there was just no way to mend what damage you had done.

-

“Class, settle down, please.”

Squeaky shoes and gossip filled the room, the shuffling of papers and backpacks a droning undertone. Everyone seemed to be a little too chatty that day. Already fully seated, you stared at your neatly placed planner and writing utensils on your desk. Each thing was in its rightful spot. Evenly spaced like notes on a staff.

Normally a person that found comfort in order, your emotions were in complete disarray.

There was an empty desk in the back row when you came in that day - it was easy enough to do the math at that point.

He was gone.

Folding your arms with a sigh, you waited for the rest of your classmates to simmer. You heard bits of conversation before they were called to order. All of them centered around Yoongi in a weird ensemble: what could have happened, things he probably did, if he got kicked out. The last subject grabbed your stomach and stirred its contents, nausea bubbling in your throat.

When silence seeped throughout the room, your teacher rapped her nails on her desk. “You all may be wondering the same thing, so I’ll just give it to you straight: Min Yoongi is no longer attending this academy.”

Your breath came out in a shudder as low whispers permeated the air. Guilt and remorse crashed against the pit of your stomach in powerful waves, surging into swells so high they leaked out of your eyes.

“We aren’t at liberty to give details, but if you have any concerns, come see me after class.”

At this, you lifted your reddened gaze. Didn’t your English teacher despise Yoongi? Maybe it was the school’s policy for the staff to be a resource no matter what. But still. You might take her up on that offer, just to see if there was any information you could gain. What is he going to do now? Where could he go? If you didn’t get these answers, there was going to be a permanent hole in your chest that couldn’t be sewn by time.

You had no way of contacting Yoongi. Neither of you had each other’s numbers, knew where the other person lived, or even shared social media accounts. If you were to get a speck of intel on him, it would have to be through the sour grapevine.

The entire period lasted longer than an opera, or at least felt like it did. As you gathered your things, you felt numb, as if your limbs were operating on their own. Your planner went into your bag first, then your notebook, then your pencil case. Then you would get up and sling your backpack over your shoulders. Then you would walk up the row and to the door to go to your next class. Then you would--

The sound of your name broke your monotonous reverie. But it didn’t do enough to break your solemn expression. Slowly, you faced your teacher with dulled eyes.

“Do you have a minute?” After receiving a small nod from you, she spread her lips in pity. “I heard about what happened. I just wanted to speak to you about it.”

Your body snapped up. This was the other part you were dreading: a mark on your record. Trespassing after school, loitering, whatever they decided to use. You had just been so distraught over Yoongi’s predicament that your own was placed on the backburner. Now that it was presenting itself, you stared at the flames of your mistakes. “Oh, yeah,” you whispered lamely, gripping the straps of your bag, “I’m ready.” A lie.

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh, umm…” Faltering at the unexpected question, you grabbed at the first thought that came to mind. “Not so good.”

Your teacher shuffled through a stack of papers on her desk, and you waited for the document you had to receive with trembling bones.

When students needed corrective action, they were given papers to bring home to their parents and/or guardians to rage over and sign, along with the student’s tearstained signature. How many of those did Yoongi have?

It didn’t matter anymore. Because you made sure he was gone.

“You’re a lucky girl, missy,” your teacher said with a slow shake of her head. Her cuff-sleeved arm jutted toward you and her rigid fingers flicked the paper with a snap. When your eyes landed on the sheet, they expanded into saucers.

A warning.

Warnings were the only documents that didn’t permanently exist on a student’s record. They dropped off after ninety days as long as the kid didn’t rack up any other infractions.

Trespassing was an immediate mark, not a warning.

How did you manage to get the absolute shortest end of the stick? Yoongi was the one that had nowhere else to go. If you had known this to be the outcome, you definitely could have spared a small lie if it meant that he was saved.

“A shame, really. That kid was smart when he actually applied himself. I tried to warn him, but guess it’s a lost cause.”

Taking the document with shaking fingers, you thanked your teacher before leaving the classroom and scampering to the nearest restroom to hide the strangled aria that was your grief.

-

Around you, the night passed in streaks of color. Slumped in one of the questionable couches upstairs, you became a quiet observer as Aspa and Jungkook roped the rest of his friends into playing various games. The girls that Hobi, Aspa, Taehyung, and Jimin had been talking to at the start of the party were not the same girls that were with them currently, which you didn’t know to laugh or scoff at.

It was during your twelfth sip of bottom shelf vodka that Aspa called your name. “Babe, that’s all the moping I’m allowing. Now play!”

You snorted, her comforting words disarming you enough to give in. After Yoongi left, she immediately picked up on your distress, providing an entire list of things she would do to him if you so much as snapped your fingers. Jungkook himself was quaking in his combat boots just hearing the threats.

Not wanting to get her involved - yet again - you waved the proverbial scroll away and urged them to keep the night going. It was Halloween, for crying out loud! The only dreadful thing about that night should be the liquor choices.

Remembering the look she shot you before playing along, you knew you had to fess up later. But it could wait. You wanted her to enjoy her night.

And she wanted the same for you after giving you time to mope. “The lady is in! Sit next to Jungkook; there’s space over there.” You glared at her facetious wink as you stepped around bodies to get to him. Everyone was sitting on the carpet around a coffee table; cups, playing cards, and quarters scattered about the surface.

As you smoothed your skirt down enough of your thighs as you could, Hobi called out, “About time you joined us!”

“Charmed,” you replied, faking excitement. You grabbed a cup from one of the random girls when Jungkook whispered in your ear.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“If this can make me forget everything, I’ll be crowned champion at every game,” you shot back, your tone grittier than intended.

He looked at you with concern when Taehyung butted in, “Uhh, if you guys need a room: third door on the left in the long hallway.”

Jungkook frowned. “Hey, man, she’s just upset, okay?”

Both Taehyung and Jimin regarded you then, Aspa still talking to Hobi and their newfound dates at the other end of the table.

Shaking your head, you looked into your cup. “It’s whatever. I’m ready to play.”

Jimin watched your expression when Taehyung asked, “Wait, what’s wrong?”

Jungkook answered for you, “Yoongi just left outta nowhere. He normally stays and drinks for awhile, too. So weird.”

Great. Now you knew how screwed up the situation was. Not only did you trigger some frustration in his system, but you also kept him from partying with his friends. From doing something completely normal. Everything was so messy.

“I fucking--” Jimin scratched the opposite side of his neck before slapping the ground in aggravation. “Please forgive our friend for being an idiot,” he bemoaned, irritation spiraling across his words.

Your body swayed back in the swells of his anger. What was that about? At the other end of the table, Hobi and Aspa were now paying strict attention to the conversation unfolding.

“Hey, fellas,” the former interjected, “What’s going on?”

Taehyung bit out, “Yoongi straight up left and made her upset.”

The pressure broke you. Too much. Your patience snapped in half. “Guys, seriously,” you shot out, “Can we forget about Yoongi, please? He hates me, so I can understand him not wanting to be around me. I should’ve left earlier so he could hang out with you guys, but I didn’t and now I feel terrible. Can we please just play so I can forget my own name?”

Your words sparked and fizzled out in a flourish, making the booming silence deathly heavy. Both of your shoulders surrendered to the weight of shame you felt, and it felt like you couldn’t hold it any longer.

Hobi sat up straight before sweeping his eyes around the table. “Ladies, I think we need a bit of privacy right now. If you could please,” he lifted his arm to the wide entrance of the game room you were currently in, and you felt washed in awkwardness as all of the girls got up with pitied expressions. They would be back. As handsome and irresistible this group was, they were more than fine obeying and coming back later.

When the room was clear and all that was left were leather jackets, a kimono, and your stupid schoolgirl outfit at the table, you covered your forehead with a hand. “How embarrassing,” you whispered.

“If anyone’s embarrassing, it’s him,” Taehyung countered. “You have every right to be pissed off.”

Hoseok addressed you from across the surface, “It’s true. He’s going through some shit right now, but that doesn’t give him a right to be rude.”

“I don’t know.” You tossed out a quick, rueful snort. “I’m the reason he’s going through everything, so maybe he does have that right to be rude to me.”

Jimin was the first to reprimand you. “First off, stop thinking that way. Second, you’re probably wrong.”

“It’s true,” you sighed, deciding to finally admit everything. It has been bearing down on you for far too long. “We went to the same academy. I was the reason he got kicked out.”

Everyone but Jimin reacted. Questions about why you didn’t say anything before spouted from the other end of the table, and comments about what he was like in high school burst from your end. “I didn’t want to say anything because tonight’s supposed to be fun. And to answer the other questions, he was a jerk back then, but he seemed a lot more… I don’t know, free. He’s definitely a lot different now. Honestly, a lot of things have been bugging me about him. Like, how is he here? And how does he know you guys?”

“I can answer that,” Hoseok replied, dropping truths from the skies like lightning bolts, “My dad runs a record store downtown, and he took him in years ago. It’s how I know him.”

That explained so many of your questions. “So he did end up at another high school,” you contemplated, the words a nice seasoning on your tongue, “That’s good.”

“Uhh, no,” Hobi corrected right away, causing your face to crinkle in confusion. “He didn’t. At least, not physically. My dad ended up getting him to enroll in some online thing and he’s finishing up his GED now.”

“Yoongi all grown up,” Jungkook joked into his Solo, not looking at Hoseok’s dark expression on purpose.

“If he’s not enrolled here, then how do I keep seeing him on campus?” Everything was unraveling just as much as coming together.

“My mom works in the fine arts department at the university,” Jimin piped up, tugging your gaze to his. “We met up with Hobi at the shop one day and she heard Yoongi playing the piano in the back. She talked him into checking out the music department and now he works on campus part-time.”

Taehyung then added with a teasing lilt of his voice, “If you see him anywhere other than the library, it’s because Jungkookie lets him in.”

Pointing a tattooed hand, the accused called out, “He’s lying! He just steals my ID and uses it.”

“It’s not stealing if he gives it back,” Jimin countered, earning a tsk. “But seriously, don’t let Yoongi ruin your night. Let’s have fun, yeah?”

In response, you smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. The game room came back to life with jokes and laughter, and you welcomed the buzzing distraction.

You simply couldn’t retain all of this information at once. While Yoongi was not actually attending school, he was still working towards it. That was more than you had ever expected from him, and the image of him trying hard at both his studies and music was enough to fill your emptying heart.

But, what could you possibly do to screw him over a second time? Was seeing you enough to really affect him so much? You hated that.

Maybe it was time to distance yourself. If he needed you out of his life to move on, then that’s what you would do.

Even if that meant leaving your own heart behind.

-

A year.

It had been an entire year since you last saw him, since you last heard a piano played the way it was supposed to be played.

Walking along the beaten hallways of the academy, you watched as freshmen scurried between older students, their bright eyes alight with promise and expectations. Properly tailored and pressed uniforms mingled along the main corridors and filtered in and out of classrooms. Teachers ushered in stragglers once the bells rang. Shiny black shoes filed into classrooms like ants.

Sighing, you held your notebooks tighter to your chest as you slipped into your first period, the path to your desk one you have traveled many times before.

As you settled into your seat, you zoned out as the teacher droned on about university applications and gathering references if you haven’t started doing so. This wasn’t a conversation topic you needed to hear. Ever the sharp student, you already asked for yours. Because of course you did. If a certain blond-haired boy still sat at the back of the class, you knew he would snort at your impatience to apply.

Peering out of the windows, you asked the universe the same question you’d been asking for a year: if it had mercy on your soul and would let you know if Yoongi was okay.

And for three hundred and sixty five days, you were still met with no answer.

-

Jungkook [2:13pm]: It’s a date :)

You smiled at your phone before stuffing it in your bag. Sometime during the Halloween party, the boy slipped his number into your phone. You didn’t even realize until two days later when you were scrolling through your messages and saw that you sent your name to an unknown number.

Throughout the two months after, you started texting and realized you both had a bunch of similar interests. When you texted him, it always took him awhile to respond, but when he did it would put a grin on your face. Not only was he cute, but incredibly sweet and funny. You wondered how he roped in with Yoongi and them, but you figured Hoseok was the center of everything. As always.

Your history class went by at a snail’s pace - end of semester classes always had that agonizing ability. Staring at the clock only made time move slower, so you also gave up on that endeavor. Writing in the margins of your journal, you thought about what Hoseok said all those weeks ago: where Yoongi ended up, what he ended up doing. It was a huge relief to know your former classmate found his way. Just like he said he would. All that time, you were worried about what you did to someone’s life. It was completely draining your heart drop by drop, and the closure you needed stoppered the holes.

At least, some of them.

Yoongi still didn’t want to see you despite all the new changes he made. Bottom line: he wanted you out of his life. You were the embodiment of his failures, his turning point. You had the power to screw him over time and time again.

You were so close, yet a vast ocean away from him. How were you going to make this work? Aspa and you were meshing well with his group of friends since that party. Was that a mistake? Eventually, the two of you would see each other during a gathering. And if you needed to make some strange arrangement over which one of you would attend a party, that would mentally drain everyone in the friend circle.

But you were starting to like Jungkook. So when he invited you to a house party, you happily obliged. You had asked him who else was going, and he said just Jimin and Taehyung since everyone else was busy. The latter was supposed to be busy, as well, but he was shirking responsibilities as usual.

You regained focus at the shuffling of backpacks. The professor finally conceded, cutting the lesson a few minutes short. Your bag was swiftly packed before you headed out.

As you exited the grand stone building, you turned to descend the steps when you heard your name. A voice you thought you wouldn’t hear for a long time. Spinning, you faced Yoongi waiting just above the stairway. “Hey,” you responded warily.

“Got a sec?”

“Of course.” You tightened your backpack over your shoulder before approaching him, a million thoughts swishing around in your brain. Weren’t you being avoided with a thirty foot pole? Didn’t you vow to not get in this guy’s way anymore? Why was everything so confusing? A couple steps away, you decided to maintain your distance. “What’s up?”

Taking in his appearance, you immediately noticed that something was off. Yoongi was dressed in his usual dark attire and accessories - it was his face that differed. Deep indents swooped diagonally from between his eyes and nose, carving insomnia in his features. His hair was in slight disarray, and he couldn’t hide the growing bags under his eyes. If you could describe Yoongi in one word, he seemed lost. He looked down before asking, “Are you doing anything this weekend?”

What? Why was he asking about your plans? And yes, you actually were - the date was that Saturday. “Which day,” you asked, knowing there were two days included in his ask.

“Uhh, Saturday. Saturday night.”

Something in you crumbled without your permission. This wasn’t how you were supposed to feel. He was the one that left you behind at that party and the one that claimed he couldn’t be around you. Were you even supposed to be giving him your attention? Why was the truth so hard to admit? “Yeah,” you squeaked out. “I’m, umm. I have a date.”

Yoongi scratched the back of his neck. “With Jungkook?”

Stilling, you gaped. How did he know? Did word already spread through that whole group? And why didn’t he look surprised or upset in the slightest? Repeating yourself like a broken record, you responded, “Yeah.”

“Don’t sound like it’s a bad thing,” Yoongi huffed, his laugh hollow. “He’s a good kid. It’s cool.”

For reasons unknown, your heart slipped down your ribcage. Why did you feel so distant in that moment? Were you wanting him to, what, be jealous? Compete for you? That logic was so twisted that you raged against yourself for a moment. Regaining your poise, you asked, “What’s going on Saturday night?”

Yoongi was quiet for a beat before shaking his head. You almost lost yourself in the dark expanse of his clothing, remembering how soft his body was when you ran into him within that same quad. Your attraction to him was ever present, it seemed. It may take a lifetime for that to go away. “Nothing much. I was just gonna give you tickets to this thing.”

“Thing?”

“Yeah, some performance thing on campus,” he muttered. “It’s no big deal if you can’t make it.”

Blinking, you stared into the dull set of eyes before you. Most of the time, Yoongi was a stellar liar. You had witnessed it in class, in the hallways when he fooled other students, and he got you on multiple occasions.

His statement seemed the furthest thing from the truth.

But you felt conflicted in that moment. On one hand, you already told Jungkook that you were down to go with him to a party. There was the bias of newness with him: new experiences, a fresh start. With Yoongi, you were only going to face the same emotions you felt before. Feelings of loss, regret, fear. Fear of the unknown and fear of how you would even fit in his future. Fear of being pushed away just like you were, again and again.

But also with Yoongi came the ultimate closure: a chance to be friends again. You hated seeing him and feeling nothing but sorrow, when before he would be the splash of color in your life. And you hoped that you were the same for him. That those days of existing together in the theatre meant something. Anything.

Clenching your fist, you were hoping you made the right decision. “I probably can’t. I’m sorry.”

It was for the best. You were choosing to move forward and start your journey away from his life. You foresaw pain, but if you could get through that ache, then you would come out stronger. As it stood, you gave him chances. He was the one that kept pushing you away.

Yoongi licked his lips. Before he uttered another word, he offered you a thin paper. “I get it. But just take this anyways. It’s yours.”

Staring at the yellow ticket, you gulped before softly grabbing it with your fingers. It was yours? Why was he being so generous? Pressing it, you asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to give this to someone else? I feel bad if you’re going by yourself.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he responded instantly, averting his gaze. “I’ll still be there. If I don’t feel like going, either, then that’s a bigger problem.”

“Okay,” you huffed softly. He loved music and - you assumed - the rest of the arts. Despite his gruff nature, you could see him sitting through a play or musical. If this performance was anything like those, maybe you would go just to see his reactions.

But you couldn’t regardless. You were set on embarking on this new journey. Jungkook seemed great: going to the same university as you, angelic personality, nice. Attractive. There were plenty of reasons why sticking with him would be the right choice. Forge the new path. You couldn’t screw Yoongi over again this way - he would be free from your clutches.

Would this decision affect anything this time?

No.

Right?

-

Clutching a stiff sheet of paper in your hands, your eyes ran over the fine print multiple times. Beside you, your mother was posting on every social media site possible whilst opening multiple family text threads to announce the news.

You had been accepted to the prestigious university that existed next to your hometown.

This was a huge win for your family. It had been what you were working towards your entire academic life.

You felt nothing.

-

You fiddled with your phone’s volume lever for the tenth time that night, watching the beer pong game commence in front of you. Jungkook was an amazing date from the jump: he made sure you were okay, stayed next to you, danced whether you were dancing or not.

But the whole time, your mind was somewhere else entirely. It existed on a wooden stage, sitting on a piano bench, listening as a boy with bleached hair played the most beautiful music you’d ever heard.

Reaching into your tiny purse, you felt around for the ticket, acting like you hadn’t done so multiple times already. Like a magical object, it was pulling you in every ten minutes. You knew exactly how it felt, the glossy material probably worn down by your constant caresses. The yellow a constant reminder of how Yoongi looked the first time he dropped out of your life.

You left him again.

The reminder slammed your conscience into the ground. Your decision to leave him alone mirrored what you did last time. That was your redemption, and you let it pass you by like a missed solo entrance. And now no one was going to hear your piece.

A cold sweat washed over you, and you started getting jittery. Swiping your forehead, you looked toward Jungkook at his side of the table.

Immediately, he took in your desperate expression and rushed over. Clutching your coat over your dress, he queried, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry.” You were unable to stop the prickling at the corners of your eyes. “But I have to go.”

“Is everything okay?” His brows furrowed, concern the only emotion floating in his orbs. Behind him, Jimin came up and took in your distress.

“No. I mean, I’m physically okay, but. I have somewhere else I have to be right now. I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, what’s today again?” Jimin fished for his phone in his back pocket, and scrolled through some app you couldn’t see. “Oh, shit - yeah. You should go.”

“Okay, hold on. Let’s go outside,” Jungkook ordered before yelling at Taehyung to take his spot.

When you burst out into the cold, you were already using a car app to call a ride. Jungkook was a gentleman, waiting with you so you wouldn’t be alone.

“Is this about Yoongi,” he asked, making you glance his way. Was he just completely guessing and managed to get it right? Or did he pick up on something?

“Yoongi? Umm, yes.” You watched your heels dig into the dirt pathway at the bottom of the porch. There was no reason to hide it now. You were hoping Jungkook would understand this one thing.

“He’s been really down lately,” he revealed, roping your interest. “You might help.”

“What do you mean,” you breathed out. He was down? How?

Jungkook looked like he regretted telling you. He averted his gaze before stuttering out, “Uhh… Well, he just hasn’t been himself lately. Usually, he’s super into whatever he’s working on, but nowadays he’s either taking naps or drinking. We’re all a little worried.”

A blip of a memory passed over your eyes: back in the middle of the sidewalk that cold day Yoongi chased after you. “Did he ever tell you what he’s working on?”

The boy shook his head, finding the ground more interesting. “Nah. He hasn’t told any of us except for Hobi. Said we would distract him or something.”

With a start, you remembered Yoongi saying something similar to you. Back then, you took it personally. He was pushing you away. Now that you knew that wasn’t the case, you felt bad for not being more supportive. You didn’t even ask what it was he needed to do, or offer to help in some way.

You saw how tired he looked. How restless he seemed. Why weren’t you stubborn enough to help him?

“I feel terrible,” you sighed, “He invited me to go with him to this performance thing and I turned it down. I should’ve asked you if it was cool if we moved our date. Now I’m just half-assing both.” Hindsight is as clear as sunny skies. You pursed your lips in regret.

“Hey, no sweat. And honestly?” Jungkook shuffled from one foot to the other, like he wasn’t sure of himself. “I’m pretty sure he likes you. And something tells me that you like him, too.”

You faltered. “What… What about you? I feel bad for just leaving you.”

The boy smiled, tiny diamonds in his eyes. “Me? Don’t worry about me. I like you, but if I’m keeping you from something then I won’t stop you. No one deserves to be treated like that.”

In a flash, you launched yourself forward, embracing him in a tight hug. His cologne rushed into your nostrils as the warmth from his heart enveloped you. “Thank you,” you whispered into his chest.

“I hope it all works out,” he murmured back, his voice as delicate as a lamb. “Now hurry; your ride’s here.”

You extracted yourself from his arms before turning, and before you ran to the car, you gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

He called after you as you bounded down the sidewalk, “Text me when you make it!”

“Okay!” As you got into the vehicle and closed your door, you faced the lone boy on the porch, watching as he touched where you kissed him before heading back inside.

-

Inspecting the soft yellow paper in your hands, you made sure you were at the right place. Casting an upward glance at the towering fine arts building, you took in the banners flowing between the pillars. “First Love, Last Love,” you read, confirming that it matched the faded black letters on the ticket. Quickly checking the time on your phone, you cursed before sprinting up the stone steps, hating how you chose to wear heels that night.

Your heart raced as you pleaded for Yoongi to still be watching the performance. Whipping up the ideal scenario in your head, you imagined him still there in the row when you arrived, his glance a mixture of annoyance and relief. Please. You already left him out to dry once. How you were able to do so a second time was beyond belief.

But was it that far-fetched? As you burst into the initial set of doors, your heart dragged behind you as you wondered if he saw this coming. His standards of you may have been next to nothing. Zero.

A tear dashed across your cheek as you ran to the second set of entrances leading to the theatre. Yoongi extended an olive branch to you and what did you do? Refused it. Rejected it. Chose selfishly over it. Again. You remembered how defeated he looked, how hollow he sounded. He filled your life with color before, and you may have drained it from his.

When you reached the center of the open lobby, the doors to the theatre hall slowly opened. Wait. People were filing through, a sea of casual clothes and posh garments. Was it over? Judging by the time, it would have been a very short show. There’s no way it was done.

As bodies crowded around your heaving shoulders, you realized that they were grouping up and mingling around. No one was leaving. You exhaled. It must have been intermission. Scanning the crowd, you hung on a thin thread of hope.

Yoongi had to be there. Had to be. This was a performance of some sorts, and he offered you to go with him. That had to indicate a high level of interest. Threading your shaking form through the crowd, you swerved your head in multiple directions in a desperate search. Was he wearing a dark outfit? Was he wearing a beanie? Did he suddenly dye his hair blond again? You almost choked at the thought.

The longer it took to find him, the tighter your chest got. You didn’t see a wink of him in the colorful throng of people. It was only you. Just like what happened before.

You stood in defeat, surrounded by enthusiastic guests. Conversations popped like fireworks around you. All you heard was a dull throb.

The doors started opening again, signaling for everyone to file back inside.

Clutching your bag strap, you waited as the lobby emptied. Were you going inside even if Yoongi wasn’t there? If he really wanted to watch this performance, you figured you owed him that much. Maybe you’d even enjoy it. On your own. Like a slow moving liquid, everyone was eventually back inside the theatre house. Watching the doors steadily close, you blinked back tears until strays fell from your eyes.

He could still be in the theatre. Not everyone had to walk out for intermission. In fact, that made even more sense for him to just sit there.

You rushed to one of the middle doors before gripping the handle, forcing it open. Thankfully, people were still finding their seats. Already knowing your row and seat by heart from scanning the ticket multiple times, you pushed your way to the front. You craned your neck above the multitude of people while propelling yourself forward. Was he there?

Approaching the front row, your whole body sagged when your seats were both empty.

Another thought lit your brain up from the inside. Maybe he was in the bathroom? You were grasping for positivity. Scooting to your seat towards the middle, you made sure you were in the right one before plopping onto the plush cushion.

Minutes ticked by. Everyone was filtering into their seats like dust.

Still no sign of Yoongi.

Guilt bogged your shoulders down and pushed your head forward. How could you let this happen again? Coming to this performance was probably going to be the highlight of his week, and you managed to cloud it with your rejection.

It seemed like you couldn’t get anything right.

The theatre lights dimmed, signaling the start of the second half of the show. Biting your lip, you let consequence keep you in your seat. There wasn’t anywhere else you could go anyways.

It seemed like the show was a featuring of different types of musical acts. There would be a solo instrument in one act, then an entire orchestra on for another. You sat through all of the performances with an increasingly fallen face.

All of the songs showcased so far reminded you of Yoongi. You recognized the violin solo to be a sonorous rendition of one of the sonatas he played for you, and the orchestra dazzled the audience with a powerful Beethoven concerto. With a rueful smile on your lips, you clapped after each one with the rest of the theatregoers.

You never quite looked at music the same after Yoongi left. More accurately, whenever you heard a classical piano song, you always imagined him behind the keys. From etudes, to pianofortes, to sonatas - you felt much better when you closed your eyes and saw Yoongi playing them for you after school. They held more weight, more meaning. Countless playlists full of the soft instrument carried you through long study sessions and sleepless nights. Yoongi was always there in every major and minor event in your quiet, boring life, even if you didn’t physically see his face.

The next act was completely different than the others. Contemporary dancers took over the stage, and they danced in a frighteningly beautiful and maddeningly familiar number.

Enraptured by the furious orchestral piece, you held your breath as you realized where you had heard this piece before. Goosebumps began to dot your skin.

It sounded eerily like the song you heard the first day you walked in on Yoongi. The song that understood you before any living being could. How could you ever forget that otherworldly tune? The experience terrified you. And you never heard it again. You had been searching for it for months and years afterwards, never being able to find something quite like it. And here it was, grabbing you by the throat and wrapping its unrelenting talons around your waist. Your toes curled at the way the dancers swept across the stage in jilted movements, the dark sapphire lights drowning you in sorrowful waters. Further and further. Deeper you dove. The screeching of the highest notes tore at your soul, wailing into the far reaches of the theatre and tugging its collective beating heart.

Your chest pounded with the cacophonic resonance, stammering long after the performance was done and followed by a roaring, standing ovation.

A smattering of whispers rumbled across the audience. You could only sit stonily in your front seat, contemplating why you felt like you could burst into miniscule pieces at any moment.

The lights on stage brightened again, and the people behind you quieted. Several chairs were placed on the wooden platform between acts, and you watched as orchestra musicians filed in and took their respective seats. As they began to tune their instruments at their leisure, a gigantic grand piano was carefully rolled onto the stage, the sight triggering your hands to clench.

There was one other option you needed to consider.

But you held your breath, preparing yourself if it was completely and utterly wrong, and even more so if it was correct.

The orchestra settled as the conductor strode across the front to small applause. And your heart ceased its thumping when another man appeared from behind the curtains.

Yoongi.

You couldn’t even blink as you took in his outfit. Another far cry from his usual dress, he was swathed in a suit that reminded you of a deep river bed, specks of glimmering sequins cascading down his shoulders and into the rest of the coat. A solid shirt and tie shone underneath, black and shiny silk hugging his frame.

He shook his cuffed hands as he walked towards the piano, not giving his applause any reciprocation. You could tell he was still off, still detached. From your seat, there was no mistaking the gloomy bags under his eyes, and his inky tresses couldn’t hide the heavy lids bogged down by multiple stressors and expectations.

Did he play other acts? Did he look into the audience and hoped to see you there?

Yoongi didn’t give a single look to the crowd that time. Did that mean he gave up and stopped looking, or just never tried in the first place?

Sadness overtook you and wrestled with the surge of happiness you felt from seeing him again. On stage. You were going to hear him play.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins as the orchestra straightened and readied their instruments.

And silence followed.

It went on for so long that people in the audience got restless, and in a bout of fear, you glanced at the conductor’s confused expression. Flickering your gaze back to Yoongi, all you saw was the shell of the boy you knew. He didn’t even raise his hands to the keys. A mere statue astriding the bench, his limbs locked and not a single muscle budged.

What was he doing? Why wasn’t he playing?

Right as you thought to say something, anything to get his attention, Yoongi shook his head and nodded to the conductor. After a few rests, he glided into a song that coaxed fresh, hot tears to your eyes from the very first note.

Your most hated piece. Your absolute favorite piece. The last piece you ever heard him play.

Clair de lune.

In front of you, the entire world melded into another time and place. Each note served as a piece to an otherworldly puzzle, reconstructing your vision into the theatre you spent weeks in, carried away by the flowing river of his expertise. The same alignment of planets and stars and meteor showers projected around your peripheral. Colors burst and tumbled across your eyes.

Right as you found your breath again, Yoongi’s fingers slowed on the porcelain, the music petering out into the void.

Following his lead, the musicians behind him halted at various times, different notes falling off their strings.

Why did Yoongi stop?

What was happening?

Furrowing your brows, you watched in increasing agony as Yoongi folded his body in a state of defeat. You sent yourself in a panic trying to grasp what you were seeing. Was he giving up? There’s no way he would just stop unless something was terribly wrong. Music was the one thing he said he had.

Suddenly, you recalled his words from the day he offered you the ticket. He said if he didn’t show up, that would be a bigger problem. Another memory sprouted from the depths of your mind: when Jimin mentioned his mom working in the fine arts department. Is this the big thing that Yoongi had been working on? How were you so blind to it before?

And if it was, and if this was his ticket into the university...

No. No, no, no.

Yoongi had to keep going. Music was all he had, he said - time and time again. The brunt of his passion resided in his art form. If that ever fizzled out, he would truly be wandering the world an empty man.

Around you, the crowd began to shift in a hissing monster of its own. You were about to cut through the fray with a desperate cry. But another boisterous sound came from your bag, snatching several peoples’ attention.

Your phone.

When you fiddled with the volume earlier, you must have kept it on Ring. A default, shrill tone rambled on until you dug into your purse and rapidly pressed the down button in a jilted decrescendo. Who the hell was calling you? And why now?

Cursing with brows scrunched in agony, you checked your Home screen and gasped. Jungkook had texted you twice asking if you made it. He must have called because you were radio silent since running into the theatre. But you couldn’t respond - not now. You were too distracting as is. You were situated in the front row. Even the people on stage must have--

Wait. Tearing your gaze from your device, your eyes went straight to Yoongi, only to find recognition on his features as he spotted you in your seat.

Time stopped.

Space shifted.

No one else existed in that moment. Finally, you found the universe you were yearning for all those years. A universe for two.

No longer were you in your university theatre settled in a plush cushioned seat. You felt the hard surface of the rickety high school theatre chairs, you smelled the humidity of the enclosed stage, you felt the love you harbored for the boy behind the piano.

A deep pang resonated in your heart at the revelation, and it rang true.

Clutching your phone, you mirrored exactly what you did back then, wiggling it with teary eyes before stuffing it back in your bag.

And when a small smile cut through Yoongi’s disbelief, growing and growing and growing, your body ached with a thousand feelings you couldn’t describe. Your friend gazed lovingly at the piano in relief before biting his lip to quell his emotions. In response, your heart expanded so far out of your chest that you clutched your front to keep it from fluttering away.

Yoongi gave the conductor a small bow in apology, and turned to the audience to do the same thing. The rest of the song continued in a fluid melody, the whole of the theatre being brought in again by its moonlit charm.

When it finished, everyone around you stood in raucous praise.

And Yoongi only had eyes for your proud, shaking grin and wondrous, endless endearment.

-

You waited until everyone cleared out of the theatre before sneaking through one of the doors leading backstage. And you didn’t miss the irony, a snort leaving you as you did so.

Searching the open space littered with different sound equipment, instrument cases, and various stage props, you almost missed Yoongi’s suited form checking things off a clipboard. Approaching him, you slowed in your anxiousness.

Yes, he seemed more than happy to see you during the performance. But did he still want to see you afterwards? You were steps away when he turned, and you sucked in a breath at his indiscernible expression. Thinking you would just say your piece and dip, your words popped from your lips like a broken vinyl, “Yoongi, you were amazing. I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner. I messed up again - I left you a second time. Fuck, I - I left you once and I regretted it my entire life after that, and I almost screwed you again just like you said I would, and--”

In a rush, he dropped what he was holding and crushed you in a hug as they clattered to the ground, the mere action making you choke on every other regret and apology and praise you had for him. Your hands gripped the front of his dark shirt as you buried your tears in his shoulder. The scent of his cologne tried to soothe your shaking form, and when that didn’t work, Yoongi pulled you in tighter.

“I keep making you cry, but I don’t deserve any of these tears,” he murmured in your ear, and you felt the thrumming beats of his heart underneath your palms. “I’ve treated you like shit this entire time and I hate myself for it. There’s no reason for you to feel this way. I’m the one that should be apologizing, so I’m sorry.”

You calmed in his embrace, the warmth from his body and soul keeping you in a comforting lull. A sniffle was your only response.

“You deserve an explanation,” Yoongi said before his body shifted, his hands leaving your back and softly running over your coated shoulders. “But I just need to get everything taken care of back here. If you, umm, need to get back to your date, it’s cool.”

“I’m not going anywhere else,” you affirmed, your voice confident. “I’ll wait for you.”

Yoongi’s eyes searched yours for any doubts. When they found none, he nodded. “There’s some couches out in the lobby. This shouldn’t take much longer.”

“No,” you shot back, stunning both of you. Sputtering to cover up your nervousness and back up what your heart blurted out before you could stop it, you explained, “Sorry. I just meant, I don’t mind just standing here.”

The look Yoongi gave you included both a smile and confused brows, and your cheeks flushed red. He probably thought you were so weird. Still weird. “Cute,” he said, “Suit yourself, heels.” Before leaving your side, he smoothed a hand over your hair that caused mini bursts of flames along your limbs.

Settling for a random wall, you observed quietly as Yoongi directed various people on where to put things, broke down music stands, and spoke to suited patrons about topics unknown to you. Throughout everything, he would spare you random glances, eyes creasing when he noticed you looking back each time.

It was a beautifully strange sight to see him shining and walking around with authority. Of course, the slight slouch made a return, but you liked to see him in this new, confident light. He still had the suit completely on, and your gaze drifted down to his swinging black tie more times than you could count.

Time flew by, and the wide hall was finally cleared of miscellaneous musical instruments and stands. You pushed yourself off the wall as Yoongi thanked the last groups of people out the back doors.

He paused with his body turned before wheeling around to see you a ways down the corridor. You wondered if he thought anything of your simple white dress under your winter coat, looked over your black heels, judged your various jewelry choices. As he strode up to you, a certain feeling came over you and warmed your insides under his gaze. It was the first time you two were completely alone.

Standing in front of you, he was void of any words. You already missed the smile on his face and the twinkles in his eyes. He wasn’t completely back to what you hated to see, but he looked much better, his cheeks more flush with color. There was something else in his look - something trying to get through to you.

“What,” you whispered curiously, even though there was no one else around.

“Nothing.” His low voice mirrored yours. “I just didn’t think you’d show up.”

You felt washed with sorrow again. “I’m really glad I did. You were incredible.”

His body shifted in his nervousness. Confused, you wondered why he was still being so quiet. Maybe he changed a lot more than you thought. Back then, he was always the one talking to fill the void - if it pertained to music. It was then that you realized that you complimented him, and he didn’t do so well when it came to those, either.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” you apologized, “I really am. Did you play other songs?”

He hummed before nodding, and you visibly sighed. “Damn it,” you ran a hand through your hair, but you felt fingers close over yours.

“Stop,” he demanded. “I already told you: you don’t need to apologize. I’ve kept you in the dark this whole time, so there’s no way you could’ve known.”

“Why didn’t you tell me,” you sighed, downcast.

Yoongi breathed in and slowly exhaled before bringing both of your hands down to your sides. You swallowed when he didn’t let your fingers go. “I thought I had a lot of reasons, but when I think about them now, they’re all stupid.”

“Like what?”

He averted his gaze. “At first, just seeing you threw me off. I thought I was imagining things.” He casted his eyes down at your joined hands. “Then when I kept seeing you, I was sure you were going to talk to me. But I didn’t want to tell you anything. I, umm… I don’t actually go here.”

Something bloomed in your chest at his honesty. He didn’t know you already knew everything he went through. You just hoped he wouldn’t shut down when you revealed, “I know.” When he flickered his eyes to yours, you explained, “After you left the Halloween party, Hobi and them told me everything.”

“Oh, shit. Really?” Yoongi huffed in disbelief.

“Yeah,” you muttered, “I’m really proud of you.”

You felt his fingers flinch before he pulled his hand away. “Don’t say things like that,” he grunted, and even though his eyes were averted, the fires in them were still visible.

Hurt, you questioned, “What? Why?”

“Because they make me seem like a good person,” he remarked while putting his hands in his pockets. “But I’m not. Even just that night, I was an ass. You shouldn’t even want to be around me.”

Why was he shutting down again? You were there, and it was your own guilt that threw you into the theatre. Why were both of you so hard on yourselves?

“Yoongi, stop,” you pushed, your tone pleading. “Yes, you were an ass, but I understood why you left. I can’t blame you for something like that.”

Instead of answering you, Yoongi leaned on the wall next to you and asked a question, “And what reason was that?”

Pausing, you roamed your eyes over his features. Wasn’t it obvious? “Like you said,” you repeated cautiously, “Just seeing me throws you off. And if I remember correctly, you said you couldn’t have me screwing you over again.” Your words dropped out of your mouth like heavy rain - remorseful. No matter how much you understood, it still hurt that he saw you as a negative constant. “You can’t stand seeing me.”

Yoongi could only stare, from your eyes, to your nose, to your tongue wetting your lips. You couldn’t look at him in shame, second-guessing staying and being here with him. Your mind was twisting in on itself with overthinking and worry. Imploding was a more accurate term. Were you two ever going to have a normal conversation that wasn’t full of staggered responses and apologies?

“Follow me,” he whispered, pushing himself off the wall and strolling to a door across the polished floors.

Wondering if he was just avoiding the conversation or not, you trailed after him in silence. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was. But if this was the big thing he was working on, he said you could say everything that you wanted to after it was done. You were owed that much.

When you stepped into the room, all the walls and floor were pitch black. In front of you, dark satin curtains swooped down from the ceiling.

You were backstage.

Before you could ask what you were doing there and if it was appropriate, the piano you saw Yoongi play on stage came into view. It almost camouflaged like an animal in waiting, blending into the darkened surroundings - only the faint streaks of light from the hall gave its powerful curves away.

As the door closed behind you, the slim windows offered little light into the room. In the dark, you felt a strange mix of anxiousness and comfort. But just having Yoongi there with you was enough to quell your humming fears.

You heard him right beside you when he questioned, “Is this okay?”

“It’s okay,” you whispered in response, appreciating that he even asked, “It’s much less thrilling when I know you work here.”

A huff of a laugh disappeared into the dark. “You sound disappointed.”

“I’m not.” Your eyes started to adjust. “This reminds me of back then. I feel… I don’t know. Content.”

“You would use a word like that.” You felt Yoongi grab your hand, leading you toward the sleeping black dragon in the back corner of the room.

When you got to the bench, the cushion wasn’t too plush or too hard. You placed your bag on the ground and crossed your ankles in an attempt to warm your chilled legs. “I’m just glad you found your way, Yoongi,” you sighed, delicately touching one of the keys.

“You led me there,” he admitted while absentmindedly playing a tune. The melody was beautiful in darkness. “And you kept me going. Did Hobi tell you? I had to wait months to play the piano that his dad has in the shop. I thought about just breaking into the room, but your damn face always came to mind, so I never did.”

“What an honor,” you droned, eliciting a laugh that warmed your insides.

“I kept trying to get into different schools, but none of them even considered me once they saw my record. If Hobi’s dad didn’t find that online school, I would still be at square one.”

“Just the fact that you tried says a lot,” you assured him.

“When I saw you again, I didn’t know what to do. But all I knew was that you were going to distract me from what I needed to work on.”

“I was going to ask,” you interjected. “Is this what you were working on? This show?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi stopped playing, removing his fingers from the keys in a dying ring. “I produced and composed all the numbers. I’m trying to get a scholarship, and Jimin’s mom told me that this show would be entered in some competition for a full ride.”

Your jaw plummeted to the ground. How was he able to say all of that so nonchalantly? Producing and composing were monstrous projects as singular entities. But he did them both? For an entire show? Not to mention everything else he dropped. So not only was he completing his GED, but he was also gunning for university? Your body physically reacted to his confessions, turned on by his ambition. “You’re joking.”

When turned, you could barely make out the blank features on his face. “If you don’t believe me,” he countered, “Ask Hobi. But yeah, I didn’t want anyone else to know. I dunno why, looking back. A lot of the decisions I made are pretty shit. Like what I did at the cafe.”

You sighed, your body still not recovered from his confessions. “I will admit I felt awful after that. For days.”

Yoongi took your hand in his, and you grounded yourself in the way soft light traveled along his veins. “I won’t do that to you again - and if you never forgive me, I get it.”

“I just thought you were mad at me.”

“I was never mad,” he said, his fingers trembling. “I’m just, umm… I’m scared of you.”

“Of me?”

“Yes,” he whispered, watching your conjoined hands like you were, “You’re too good for me. I see the way you look at me sometimes - I can tell what you want. But, I don’t want you to be with someone you regret. There’s other people out there that can do better.”

Shaking your head, you countered, “I’ve tried, Yoongi, but no matter what, I feel like something is missing.” All the smarts in the world, but no passion. He was right: what was the point? “I… When I saw you on stage tonight, it was the first time I was genuinely happy in years. And I want to keep feeling that way… I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I think I would rather be with someone that makes me feel that way than someone that’s just a better fit.”

Yoongi’s grip on you was strong. “I keep hurting you. You should forget about me.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. He was being stubborn because he thought that’s what was best for you. But you tried moving on from him. You tried other people before, and they all couldn’t compare to the mere thought of Yoongi. How would they ever be good enough for you if that was the case? A flash of Jungkook’s smiling face entered your mind, but he gave you the proper send off. He was letting you choose even though he knew he had lost.

“I never forgot you back then,” you whispered. “And I’m not doing it now.”

“I’m not even close to where I need to be in life.” He smoothed one of his thumbs over the ridges of your fingers. “You don’t need someone like that.”

If you thought your insecurities needed fixing, his were exceedingly worse. And you understood. He fell into society’s trap, just like you did when you ignored him. But he was at least working toward something and was doing a fantastic job. That show was one of the best performances you had ever seen - it was sure to be talked about around campus and beyond its outskirts. Yoongi just seemed so inside his head that he couldn’t see the brillance of what it produced.

“It’s not what I need,” you said strongly. “It’s what I want. And I want you.”

Your boldness was enough to shock Yoongi out of his stupor. Even the hairs on your neck stood in fascination. Swallowing under his heavy gaze, you squeezed his fingers and looked straight at him. “Do you… Do you want me, too?”

Kicking his head back, Yoongi let out a deep chuckle that rumbled through the dark. “There you go again… Without even knowing it.”

“Knowing what?”

He huffed another disbelieving laugh. “What you do to me.”

Your insides curled at how low his voice got when he said that, and your heart stammered. Words slammed into each other on your tongue, blocking anything from leaving your mouth. You affected him? Wasn’t it the other way around? “I… I don’t…”

“You have no fucking clue, don’t you?” He shook his head, frustration evident in his shadowed smirk. “Still so innocent… This is exactly why I’m scared of you. And why Hobi texted us to look after you at the party.”

You stilled. Is that what Jungkook meant when he called after Yoongi on Halloween? When did Hobi even text them that? And why did you feel embarrassed and like you had to prove yourself in some way? “I’m not innocent,” you bit out, hating how he was treating you like you were the same girl from back then. But you still had to clarify, “Well, I mean, not… completely anymore. I’m not the same as I was, at least, so you can stop thinking that.”

“Oh, I know, doll. You were more than willing to admit that at the party,” he crooned, “But I bet that you can’t even say the word ‘sex’ without blushing.”

Fuck. He got you. The curse left you frequently, but in a context that had nothing to do with the word. When it came to legitimately lewd terms, you still couldn’t openly say anything out loud without feeling tingly. Dirty? Is that what you would call it? You looked away only for Yoongi to grab your chin, forcing your flushed face to behold him in the dark.

A cunning smirk flickered before he dropped it. “Exactly,” he taunted with a wink, “Still a good girl.”

You wrestled your head from his grip, but he didn’t let you go. Fire skittered down your arms. “If you think I’m such a good girl, why are you scared of me,” you spat, confused beyond belief. Did he want you or was he just teasing? The games he was playing were doing cartwheels on your brain and spinning it into a wall.

“It’s not just you I’m scared of,” Yoongi muttered, his eyes alight with a swirl of what you identified as lust. His thumb brushed the side of your cheek. “It’s what I’d do if I ever got my hands on you.”

Shivers ran down your spine at his words, gathering in your core and simmering into a low heat. “You already have one hand on me,” you whispered, “Are you still scared?”

“I don’t need both to destroy you, baby girl,” Yoongi uttered with complete confidence, sending you careening down a pit of desire. “But you don’t want that.”

“You can’t tell me what I don’t want,” you bit out, your eyes widening when his hand shifted from your chin to softly press your throat, his mouth suddenly dangerously close to your ear.

The pure arrogance in his gravelly voice pulled a light moan from your mouth. “I’ll say it again: you don’t want this.”

“I do,” you breathed out, your plea immediate. You wanted nothing else in that moment. All you could think of was everything that he could possibly do to you. You could feel your arousal starting to coat your underwear just thinking about it.

Yoongi’s breath traveled down your neck before he hummed, sending a wave of goosebumps down your arms. “If I give it to you, are you gonna be a good girl? Because if you aren’t, I may have to punish you.”

His domineering words were causing your brain to fry. You never knew how aroused you could get just by hearing something so commanding. Did he know you would feel that way? Breath hitching, you nodded as much as you could before his fingers tightened around your airway. “Uh uh,” he corrected, “Let me hear you.”

“Yes,” you rasped, your pupils expanding in want, “I’ll be good.”

“If you insist,” he whispered before nipping your ear. The whimper you let out was so high that it pierced the top of the ceiling. His hand loosened around your throat as he asked, “Are you clean, doll? I am, but I don’t have a condom on me.”

“I am,” you replied, maybe too quickly, “And I’ve been on the pill so...” You almost forgot about considering these things, so you were incredibly grateful that he asked.

Yoongi was silent for a moment, seemingly in the middle of a debate in his mind. Unwittingly, his thumb caressed the side of your neck. After seconds, he asked, “You sure you wanna do this?”

You quickly wondered whether or not you should lie. “Yes,” you admitted, knowing honesty was the only way to go here.

His hand left your throat before he gently patted one of your cheeks. “That’s my girl. Now take this jacket off and turn around,” he ordered before leaving the piano bench.

One of your hands darted out to grab Yoongi’s sleeve, and he turned around in concern.

“Before we do anything,” you stammered, “Can I… Will you…”

You couldn’t even ask for the simplest thing. He was right. But Yoongi smiled and sat back down on the bench, seemingly knowing exactly what you wanted. “Cute,” he whispered before taking your head in his hand for a kiss.

His lips were so soft. That was the first thing you noticed before feeling how warm they were on yours. Yoongi kissed you so tenderly that you felt like you would melt onto the bench to exist on it forever. When he pulled away, he took in your lidded eyes and moistened lips before swooping in and kissing you with fervor.

You let out a moan at his force before slipping your eyes shut. Pushing back with the same vigor, you met him halfway until you felt a hot tongue run along your lower lips. You gasped at the heat, groaning when it explored your mouth like he wanted to go in and take your heart. And you would let him. You probably already had.

When you timidly licked his tongue with your own, Yoongi let out a grunt that rocked your body down to the tips of your toes. He squeezed the back of your neck before pulling away.

Standing from the bench, his fingers grazed your cheek one more time before he tapped it. “I’m gonna have fun with you,” he announced proudly, his smirk being accompanied by a wink.

Deadly. Should you be scared? Because you were. Which made heat pool between your shivering thighs - a conundrum to you. Blushing, you sat still for a beat before turning away from the piano keys, wondering what Yoongi was planning.

When he towered over your sitting form in waiting, you finally shrugged your coat, the air coalescing around your almost-bare shoulders and collarbone - the thin straps doing nothing to protect from the chill. In the dim light of the room, your white dress was prominent. Yoongi’s eyes devoured your form before he cursed, “Fuck. Spread your legs, beautiful.”

Your cheeks warmed at the name and eagerness swirled between your thighs. Was he going straight into it? You were wet, but probably not wet enough. When you were about to voice your concerns, he dropped to his knees in a determined heap.

“Wider,” he commanded before shoving one of your thighs to the side.

You gasped at the sudden movement, the rough motion causing your alabaster dress to slide almost all the way up your legs. When Yoongi’s eyes unabashedly roamed between them, you instinctively tried to hide your drenched, cotton-covered core in embarrassment.

“Close them again and my tongue isn’t getting anywhere near that pussy.” He darted his lidded gaze up to your frantic one, an acute warning for you to get yourself together.

But you had never had this happen to you before. No one has seen you down there except for your mother and professional doctors. The thought of him hating how you looked or smelled and tasted down there was absolutely destroying you. Clamping your mouth shut, you braced for a slew of strange looks and disgusted comments from him.

So when he inhaled and rumbled out a deep laugh, you shut your eyes. Embarrassing. You were ready for him to bolt.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

Shooting him a look of shock, you stilled. Your ask came out more like a puff of air, “What?”

And it seemed that your question fell on aroused, deaf ears. Yoongi didn’t even break in stride as he kept speaking to your nether lips. “So wet for me… I wonder if you taste just as sweet as I imagined.”

“Yoongi, I’ve never--”

“Don’t worry, doll. I’ll go easy on you,” he cooed. After nipping one of your thighs, you almost leaped off the bench entirely. “This time, anyway.”

This time? You couldn’t even register that question fully before a finger nudged your pathetic string of underwear to the side, running down your slit right after. One groan overlaid another as he used another finger to part your pussy, and your conflicting thoughts raged against each other. Mortification was almost winning against desire before you heard him speak.

“Goddamn.” Yoongi’s sleeve rubbed against your thigh, the sequins leaving tiny scratches along your skin. The slight itch wasn’t nearly as important as what came out of his mouth. “How are you this wet already, princess?”

“You,” you sighed, your eyes squeezing shut again. “Only you.”

A growl ripped from his throat before he dove between your legs, his mouth pressing into you like liquid in a mold. He planted a rough kiss before flattening his tongue, licking one long swipe between your folds - chuckling when a string of whining curses tumbled down his neck.

“I love your dirty mouth,” he purred before descending back onto your gushing center. “Just hearing you curse makes me hard.”

You realized that in your limited vision, hearing Yoongi’s gravelly speech and filthy slurps affected you tenfold, and the sounds leaving your lips would outright embarrass you later. When your body bucked too hard at his lascivious sucks, he had to push you back down onto the bench. With no purchase for your hands, you fell back onto the piano keys, your arms slamming down in mismatched octaves.

The chaotic sounds intertwining with your dulcet moans only spurned Yoongi to devour you harder. He sucked and laved, and when he swiped your clit with his warm tongue before penetrating your sex, you swore you could see past the ceiling and were gazing at stars.

Yoongi took one of your legs and slung it over his shoulder, forcing your hips closer to him. It was the same hand he’d been using that whole time. Through the haze of desire and heady scent filling the room, you wondered if he was only using one hand to prove his earlier point.

“Your other hand,” you whimpered, and you only elaborated once his feline eyes leered up at you from your lower lips - after moaning at the sight, “You’re only using one hand.”

His eyes crinkled mischievously before he winked, sucking one long taste of your arousal. Kicking your head back, you groaned before lolling it forward.

“Sharp. Do you want the other one, baby girl?”

“Yes.” Multiple nods followed your beg. “I want it all.”

“My my,” Yoongi tsked before shrugging your leg off his shoulder, only to use both of his hands to tug your thighs forward. Your dress bunched even higher around your hips, legs completely uncovered. “My girl is so greedy.”

You groaned at his possessiveness. When he swooped in the second time, he went straight for your clit to suck and lave it, pulling an accompanying whine. What you didn’t expect - and what you should’ve expected - was the feel of a long finger caressing your entrance. You moaned his name so loud that it reverberated into the theatre hall, and when he thrusted his digit into your folds you may as well have performed on stage with how long your mewls lasted. Warmth gushed from your center as you felt something tighten beneath your stomach. You were going to come just from his tongue and fingers. Was that normal?

But as soon as the feeling reached a breaking point, Yoongi slowed his ministrations. The high you almost grasped was quickly becoming out of reach as you fell back down to earth. Confused and frustrated, you watched with a heaving chest as he began planting soft kisses up and down your thighs. It was so tender that you weren’t ready for him to attack your folds again, with even more ferocity than before.

You squirmed so much that you kept hitting random keys in melodic thrashes: a couple of low notes, a triplet of high notes, a few stray middle octaves courtesy of your elbows. But Yoongi was relentless, and the coil in your lower region wound tighter and tighter with each passing second. You wanted nothing more than to grab his dark locks in your sweaty fingers, but you couldn’t - you were so stretched and laid out that you had no choice but to cling to the front of the grand piano. It was almost like he planned it that way.

And then you felt it again: the impending explosion of your core. It felt like an enormous swell just waiting to crash in powerful waves, and you chased it like your life depended on it. “Yoongi,” you moaned, feeling your pussy clench around his expert fingers and tongue. “I’m--”

Suddenly, he was pulling away. What? No, no, no. Why was he pulling away? A whimper left your throat before you could second-guess it. You were about to question him when he taunted, “What’s wrong, princess?”

“Please,” you outright begged with shaking arms and trembling legs. Your sex burned with the absence of release. “I’m so close.”

“You’re also greedy,” he quipped. “And greedy girls need to be taught a certain lesson.”

Sobbing, you cried out, “A lesson in what?”

“Patience.” Yoongi then stood, his fully clothed form raking over your disheveled, ruined state on the curved instrument. “On your knees, love.”

Stunned into obedience at the new name he uttered, you forced yourself up, your limbs tired from locking in place constantly. Yoongi stepped back to give you space, and you burned under his lustful gaze - a fire that couldn’t be seen. Sliding down to the ground, your knees made hollow thuds on the stage flooring. It was still so dark back there, with the light choosing to only glint off the belt buckle and coat sequins of Yoongi’s outfit. You wondered if it would catch the slick all over his face if you could see it in the light.

The ache from your denied orgasms still throbbed above your ankles, but you were determined to give him anything he wanted. Like you had something to prove.

“How many times have you sucked dick, baby girl,” Yoongi asked, peering down at your lidded, fucked out face while removing his dress coat. Between his legs under his black pants, his bulge was incredibly prominent.

Biting your lip, you hated how you couldn’t admit the number right away. The jacket hit the ground behind him, and you could barely register the long black sleeves of his undershirt. “Umm,” was all you got out before Yoongi swooped in and snagged your chin in his strong hand.

“None of that,” he tutted, “You’re gonna answer me straight.”

“T-,” you stuttered, enraptured by his complete and utter control, “Two.”

And just for a moment, you saw an emotion run across his face that was out of place. The moment had passed when he flicked his hand away and leaned back. Folding his sleeves up his forearms, Yoongi grunted, “Show me what you learned then, princess.”

When you saw that he wasn’t making any move to undo his pants, you straightened and made to do it yourself. But just observing the tight tent pleading to be unleashed, you decided to veer off course and see what other rules Yoongi had in mind. Pushing the boundaries was something he always tended to do - you wanted to see how he liked that being turned on him. You ignored any undressing and simply kissed his clothed erection, starting from the tip and to the warm base.

Yoongi’s low hums were enough encouragement, emboldening you to stick out your tongue and lick him through his pants. Your hands lightly grabbed the backs of his thighs, and your sex twinged at the sweet moan above your head. When cold fingers skated through your hair, you swirled your wet muscle around the tip, closing your lips around as much of his tent as you could.

“That’s enough,” Yoongi commanded, pulling your head off of his erection. “I know you’re stalling.”

Your skin surrounding your hair strained under his rough grip, but he let you go as a cue to start unbuckling. Head falling forward, you rushed to obey and gripped his belt with shaky fingers. Once it was slipped out of the loops, you tossed it to the ground and started undressing his pants. Your movements were so hurried that you coaxed a deep chuckle out of Yoongi, and you bit your lip when you tugged his dress pants down enough to allow his cock to be taken out.

When you stilled, waiting to finally see what he was hiding, a whisper flowed from above your head. “We can stop whenever you want to, doll,” Yoongi assured you. “If you’re not comfortable with it, you have to tell me.”

“It’s not that,” you quickly said to assure him, “I just… I don’t want to disappoint you.” The gap between your experience was frustratingly obvious. Yoongi’s composure being so dominant just proved how comfortable he was. Your two measly experiences were nothing compared to all of his - you assumed - and you felt like you weren’t going to be good enough. But you really wanted to be.

Yoongi straightened hearing your insecurities. Lovingly running a hand over your hair, he gave you one of the softest smiles you’d ever seen grace his face. “I’m already more than impressed,” he said, “Don’t ever feel that way around me.”

“Okay,” you muttered, confidence beginning to swell in your chest. When you slipped your hand under the band of his boxers, you marveled at the feel of his cock before you even brought it out. Yoongi’s deep moan echoed throughout the stage as you wrapped your fingers around the base, and when you finally pulled it from the confines of his underwear, you gaped at how long and pretty it was. A soft pink tip coated in juice glimmered in the light spilling from the small windows, and you could see the dark silhouette’s length from your spot on the floor.

The dominant personality was back with a vengeance, “Spit on it before you take it, baby girl.”

You obliged, gathering what you could in your mouth before hovering your head over his cock. If his vision adjusted in the dark, he should have an amazing view of your cleavage, but you didn’t think much of it as your spit traveled like warm honey to the tip of his sex. After it coated the top, you grabbed the base and mustered enough courage to capture as much of him as you could on the first go.

Yoongi bucked forward with a heavy grunt and one hand shot into your soft locks, the forward motion slamming more of him into you than you intended to get. Shocked, you felt his tip hit the back of your throat before you gagged, completely new to the feeling. The slight burn coaxed a tiny bout of tears to your eyes, but Yoongi’s groaning kept you going. Remembering what you learned before, you slid your wet lips up and down his shaft, making sure to come back up and lick around the spit-mottled frenulum. Taking only the puffy tip in your mouth, you sucked until your cheeks hollowed out, and instinct caused your fingers to pump him from his unbelievably thick base.

“Holy fuck,” Yoongi moaned, “Breathe through your nose.”

That was the only warning you got before his hand pushed your head further down his shaft. As you took more of him in, you concentrated on his instruction, and it made the further intrusion easier to handle. Only the meaty nature of his sex was proving overwhelming, and your windpipe was effectively filled with your mouth only on him halfway. Mercifully, Yoongi didn’t keep you down long. As he released you, your entire head left his cock with a wet pop, soft tear streaks running down your cheeks as you found oxygen.

A thumb swiped away one of the tiny falls, and as you gazed up at Yoongi, he praised you, “You’re doing so well for me, princess.” After you nodded, your throat burning with the newness of being so full, he ordered, “Take as much as you can. Surprise me.”

You reached for his length again, watching as your spit reflected streams of light. Biting your lip, you leaned forward on your aching knees and took him in again, getting familiar with the shape of him. You stopped to grab the top of his dick with your hand, coating your palm with your spit and his essence before gliding it back down and using the slick to pump him smoothly. Your mouth widened to take his angry girth inch by savory inch, and you had to admit that the sounds you invoked from his mouth made you swell with pride. Experimentally, you raised a hand and rolled one of his balls in your fingers, marveling at how plush and sagged they felt. Your curiosity came out in a hum, and you didn’t expect Yoongi to react the way he did.

A bunch of your hair was snatched as you were ripped from his throbbing cock, and you thought you did something wrong.

“There’s no way you’ve only done this twice,” Yoongi grunted in disbelief, and you felt another layer of heat douse your body. “Liar.”

Swelling with confidence, you shook your head, watching as he suddenly dove into deep thoughts. You were wondering if he thought about Halloween, about the suggestive question he asked you while pinning you against a wall. You certainly thought about that incident far more times than you could count.

“Well keep going, filthy girl.” Grabbing your head again, he pushed you back to business, and you instinctively opened your mouth to take him in again. Every time you did so, it was easier to take more, training your throat to take his length. When Yoongi encouraged you further down with another push, you almost hit his pelvic area and gagged around him again. Tears were leaking from both eyes, and you could feel your arousal gushing between your legs.

Mercifully letting you catch another breath, Yoongi pulled you away but kept a hard fist in your hair.

“Get back on the fucking seat.” Yoongi grabbed you by the elbows and hoisted your aching form from the ground. “On your knees; face that way.”

He spun you before lightly shoving you onto the bench, your upper body falling forward. Your knees were on more cushioned padding, but they still burned. Instead of pressing your hands onto the porcelain, you grabbed the smooth black top above them instead.

Behind you, Yoongi was already smoothing a hand over the curve of your cheeks, pushing the soft material of your dress over it to gather at your waist. “Love this ass,” he praised, juggling it with a smack before pushing your legs further apart. “Almost as much as that sweet pussy of yours.”

Furious desire ran across your face and scoured the expanse of your neck. No one had been so outright vulgar with you before. You flushed even more with how turned on you were. Primal desire coursed through your pumping veins and pulsed in your loins. Is this what you had been missing? Is this what it was supposed to feel like? Or were you just feeling this way because you were doing it with Yoongi?

Just when you were about to chastise yourself for still not saying the word “sex” even in your thoughts, your panties were being lowered down your thighs. A shaky breath expelled from your lips, quickly followed by a moan as Yoongi dipped one of his fingers into your dripping, overstimulated folds. From his position behind you, it was almost no effort to find the soft spot that made you buck forward with a scream, and you could hear the smirk in his chuckles.

“You’re still so wet, love,” he whispered, his voice dragging along the wooden floors. “I can split you open right now. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” you piped up right away, remembering the rules.

“You gotta tell me.” Yoongi entered your wet folds again, hitting that spot like second nature. You cried out in desperate sobs as he thrust in just the right spot with each word, “Exactly. What. You. Want.”

You still couldn’t say it. No matter how hard you tried, your brain wouldn’t let you say the word. “I,” you started, hoping that it would just flow out in your pleasure. But it didn’t. “I want…”

A hard smack on your ass pushed you forward, your breasts hitting the glossy partition above the piano keys. “Say it. Lemme hear you.”

Frustration leaked out of your eyes as you still found yourself having trouble. When Yoongi brought another hand down to spank you, the sting was enough to get you to cry out, “Your cock!” When the initial hurt melded into pleasure, you inhaled again before repeating in a shuddering breath, “I want your cock, Yoongi.”

A low hum slipped over your back before he purred, “Good girl.”

You hadn’t done it in this position: with you on your knees and someone behind you. Because of this, you didn’t know what to expect. But you trusted Yoongi more than enough to be okay with it - especially since he gave you comfort in knowing you could stop at any moment.

But once you felt his tip press into your heat, you weren’t sure if you would ever want him to stop. It already burned so good, and you bit down hard on your lip, lowering your head between your arms on the ebony surface of the piano.

“What the fuck,” Yoongi groaned, “On second thought: you’re so tight.” He slowly slipped back out, and you felt a sudden trail of saliva fall between your folds. Using a finger, Yoongi spread his wetness along your pussy before leading his dick back inside, and it slid in a little easier.

The whole time, your mewls were constant, your core aching with barred release. Just the feel of his length inside of you stung with both pain and pleasure, and you waited until he was fully sheathed inside of you to start moving. Your pussy eventually adjusted to his girth, quickly awash with fire again. “Yoongi, yes,” you gasped, already feeling your lips clamping around his throbbing member.

He ceased being gentle as soon as he felt you moving again, and he gripped your hips to slam into you repeatedly, your name falling from his lips alongside all of the nicknames he held just for you.

“Yoongi!” Your yells ricocheted throughout the dark stage as he pummeled into you, and when your sweaty arms slipped, you had to find purchase on the porcelain teeth beneath your drooping dress. The ping caught Yoongi’s attention, and he planted one of his shoes on the bench to penetrate you deeper.

The harmonic sounds of your mewls and his grunts danced together in a furious tango, enveloping the stage in a sensual symphony of wanton lust. Your entire body bounced with his thrusts, your back threatening to snap. Not giving you time to cope, Yoongi used one hand to seize your hair and another to grab at one of your breasts. Your mewls left you in high notes as rough fingers grazed over your pert nipple, and you gasped as he tugged the material down. Your poor, tiny strings didn’t stand a chance, and they gave way to the force and lengthened enough for your dress front to hang below your chest.

The man thrusting into you groaned as he seized your hair so forcefully that your entire body bumped into his front. “These tits,” he rasped in your ear, bringing both hands to your front to squeeze them upward. Tugging the nipples in his fingers, he pulled a sinful moan from your mouth before worshipping, “You’re so beautiful.”

“Please, please,” you begged and begged, “I need to come.”

The condescending laugh you got in return shot a lightning bolt into your soul. A hand came up to wrap around your throat and lightly squeeze. “You don’t get to decide that this time, princess,” Yoongi reprimanded in your ear before nipping it roughly.

Crying out, you fell forward and gasped for air as he released you. His thrusts were wilder then, his grip on your plush hips sure to leave bruises come morning. Wrapping an arm around your front, Yoongi glided his hand down your neck, then your chest, then down your wrecked stomach. “But since you’re being such a good girl,” he conceded mercifully, “I’ll be nice.”

He dipped a finger into the front of your sex, toying with your bundle of nerves. The pleasurable intrusion from both ends sent your vision into stark white, and it didn’t take long for you to reach the fiery summit you’ve been yearning to reach.

“Yoongi,” you gasped, “Yoongi, please.”

“Come for me, baby girl,” is all you needed to hear before the wave of ecstasy finally crashed onto shore. But it was even more forceful than you remembered, and you spiraled out of any control you had. Your head and elbows banged onto the piano keys, only your fingers holding onto the small partition in front of them. Wave upon wave swallowed you and covered you in a bright starlit buzz. And then it ebbed away, leaving only a lulling hum.

Though thoroughly spent, you knew Yoongi hadn’t come yet, so you shakily propped yourself back up as high as you could.

“Damn,” he said, almost mirthy behind you, “You good?”

“I’ll survive,” you replied, your voice unrecognizable to your ears, “But that was… Wow.”

“Here,” Yoongi said, softly pulling your arms back so you could straighten. Settling onto the bench next to you, he grabbed the junctures under your shoulders to lift you. “Do you wanna sit on my lap, or my dick?”

Wait. Didn’t he still need to come? Why was he giving you another option?

As he took in your confused expression, Yoongi laughed. “If you can’t take anymore, I can still jerk off, love.”

Shaking your head, you offered him a lazy smile as you hovered over his thighs. “Maybe next time,” you whispered, melting at the lopsided grin in return. Your breasts were clearly visible above your sabotaged dress, so as you slowly sank on his cock, Yoongi captured one in his mouth. You squealed as he swirled his tongue around, lapping at your nipple before relieving it with a pop. As he went to do the same thing to your other one, you slowly swirled your hips, and his hands immediately went to cradle your ass.

“Fuck,” he sighed into your sweat-drenched chest. “What are you doing to me…”

There was a teasing tone to your voice when you responded, “I don’t know, remember?”

“I think you know damn well, actually,” Yoongi tutted, frustration in his words.

You felt bold. Really bold. In a short burst of energy, you grabbed his tie and yanked it forward, thrusting your hips further onto his cock with a smirk on your face. “Maybe I do.” You don’t know what had come over you then, but wanting to prove you were more than a good girl to Yoongi was too intriguing to pass up. And he still needed release. You wondered if it would do the trick.

It did.

“Oh, fuck that,” he gritted out, gathering your hands and pinning them to your sides. Swiftly undoing his tie - and receiving a pout from you - he commanded you to open your mouth before shoving it inside. “Brat.”

Forcing your arms still, Yoongi leaned back onto the piano and pierced you repeatedly, not letting you do anything but take it. Your core stung with the stimulation, but the inability to speak and force on your wrists were starting to turn you on enough for a second wave.

Yoongi’s name garbled in your throat over and over and over again as he chased his own high. When his thrusts started to become erratic, you felt him pulsing inside of you, threatening to release.

“I’m close, love,” Yoongi warned, freeing your hands. He looked fucked out beyond belief - his black locks sticking to his forehead and his pupils completely blown out - you could only imagine how you were faring.

You nodded, and he pulled the shadowy tie from your mouth, a trail of hot saliva curving down after it. “I know,” you rasped, your phrases leaving in different breaths as you rode his swells, “You can. You can come inside. Inside me.”

“Shit,” he gritted out before wrapping his arms around you and holding down your shoulders. His next thrusts lodged his cock so deep inside that you were sure they rearranged your organs, but they didn’t last long because you already felt his come spill out in long spurts. Your name was the only thing out of his mouth when he came, and you felt incredibly strong emotions when it sang in your ears.

Multiple beats passed in silence as you fought to catch your breath. Then another. Then another. Beneath you, Yoongi lazily undid the top buttons of his dress shirt to combat the surrounding heat you fostered. You sagged into him in a heap when your limbs unlocked, your forehead finding the slick junction between his neck and shoulder. “Oh, my god,” you whispered into his sweaty skin, feeling like a thrumming stone. “I can’t move.”

Yoongi’s soft laugh resonated throughout his whole body. “Neither can I.”

“I’ve done some things… But I’ve never done anything like that.”

“Mm. Could’ve fooled me.”

“I am curious, though,” you said, placing a hand on his chest to feel his rapid heartbeat. “What would you have done if you stayed? On Halloween?”

Yoongi huffed, and you could hear the smile in his scraping voice as he massaged your knees, “For one, I probably would have eaten you out in one of the rooms upstairs.” When you buried your head into his neck in embarrassment, he continued. “And two, I would’ve definitely fucked you right after, if you let me.”

“I didn’t think you felt that way about me at all. And I thought my costume upset you.”

“Are you serious? That ruined me the second I saw you. I had to think of anything to not walk around with a tent in my pants.” He slowly grasped your biceps. “Now let’s clean this shit up before I get hard again just thinking about it.”

“Okay,” you giggled, prying yourself from his softening member and smoothing out your dress as best as you could.

“Actually,” Yoongi said as an afterthought, “Do you still have your uniform?”

Warily, you answered, “Yeah, why?”

“Thank fuck.”

-

It was an hour later, when you stood on the doormat of your apartment, that you told him everything that you wanted him to hear. Like a light snowfall, you told him about how you regretted not helping him that day. How you thought about him every day since he left, and where he ended up. You also told him how you felt about him, and told him that it was okay if he didn’t feel the same way. But you finished everything off with a smile, and reiterated how proud you were - and he couldn’t tell you otherwise.

Yoongi cradled your cheek, observing the lights swimming in your eyes before murmuring, “Wanna know a secret?”

Darting your eyes from his lips to his shining orbs, your breath left you in a white wisp. “What?”

“I knew you couldn’t lie.”

Your brows immediately scrunched. “That’s not a secret.”

“That’s not the whole thing. The headmistress? I lied. I told her I threatened you into getting me out of it. I convinced her to not give you shit if you still told the truth after all that.”

Shock fizzled across your skin as you searched his eyes for false claims. “You did?”

“You cared ten times more about school than I did,” Yoongi explained. “I saw how freaked out you were. I figured it would be better to try and save what I could before I got kicked.”

A million emotions burst out of your chest. What you had been regretting that entire time ended up being what Yoongi figured all along. It was such a blinding truth that you didn’t know how to voice your thoughts. They twisted and danced and rang out into the chamber of your mind in a resounding, clamoring composition. The only word that pierced through your lips was, “Why?”

Digging into his pockets, Yoongi produced a soft yellow ticket in his hand. Looking down at the frayed edges, his voice shook tenderly when he answered, “I’d play you the other songs that you didn’t get to hear.” When you held your breath, he continued, “But you’ve heard them all before.”

You were right. All of the songs performed were ones that you had heard him play before. And you completely forgot to connect the pieces when he said he produced the whole thing.

But that had to mean something. When you casted your gaze down to the bold title on the paper, your heart hammered against your ribcage. “Yoongi,” you whispered, your voice and mind getting lost in the winter wind.

“My first love was the piano. And… umm,” he murmured. With the heaviest sigh you’d ever seen him take, he confessed, “And you were my last.”

Years of pain and sorrow drifted away right in front of your eyes. You struggled to recall the lonely nights, the empty years of yearning, the monotony of your daily life up until that point. Everything was suddenly blinded by the technicolor lights of what lied ahead. You didn’t know what awaited you in that starlit path, but you knew you would be ready for it if this extraordinary, incredible man was walking by your side.

It was your turn to nurture one of his freezing cheeks in your palm, and the notion had his eyes roped to yours. Throat constricted with adoration, you whispered,

“And you were mine.”

-

Two years passed in a blur, and one day, you found yourself under enormous pressure.

But the pressure was just heavy weight.

“Holy shit,” you wheezed, trying to lift a package you just received at your doorstep. Hollering into the flat, you asked, “Babe, can you come and get your new toy?”

When you got no response, you kicked your head back in mock-annoyance, getting up to jog down the hall. The thumping of music was suppressed, but you could still faintly make out the drums and hi-hats through the door you approached. You burst in when a knock didn’t work. “Love!”

Yoongi brushed his headphones down to his neck while spinning in his chair. “Sorry, what?”

“Help. The new one your company sent is here, but she’s way too heavy for me,” you huffed, pushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. When your boyfriend ejected out of his seat, a giggle left your lips. He had been waiting for that package for days. You bounded into the hall before he exited the room full of speakers and various production equipment.

“You left the front door open,” he muttered.

Roaming your guilty eyes over your diploma and his framed records on the hallway walls, you sniffed, “I knew you wouldn’t be long. Let’s bring it in before everyone comes over!”

Only seconds passed before the pair of you lumbered the long package inside, delicately placing it on the ground of the entryway. You watched with endearment as Yoongi excitedly unboxed it in a squat, and when the slick keyboard came into view, even you let out a moan.

“Damn,” Yoongi admired, running his hands along the substantial keys and matte black controls. “She’s hot.”

“Let’s not get too rowdy and have Jungkook or Aspa break something again.”

“You’re the one that keeps wanting to host. This is technically your fault.”

Ignoring his incorrect and foolish claims, you whispered in awe, “I still can’t believe you just get these for free.” Face beaming with mirth, you fondly recalled the day he got offered a music production job just months after his showcase. You remembered the email, the way he sat in speechless wonder, and the hug that lasted until you both couldn’t cry any longer.

The full-ride scholarship was just an insane bonus on top.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Because you made a point to keep telling him that. Day after day after day.

Yoongi slowly got up from his spot on the floor, ignoring the shiny new package entirely. After he caged you against the wall, he cradled your neck - his fingers full of nothing but warmth. Kissing your forehead with a soft peck, he proudly and confidently affirmed with sunshine and starlight in his eyes,

“I do.”

-

a/n: if you reached the end, thank you for reading! i had so much fun writing this, and it's definitely the longest one-shot i've ever written! okay, i've only written one other - but! nuances. as always, if you have any comments, constructive feedback, or anything else, i would love to know what you think! lastly, here are my to-write list & m.list links if you want to browse! 🎹🎹🎹 ++ feedback box (added nov. 25th, 2021): ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that aren’t okay with reblogging with a review, commenting on this, or sending a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a feedback dropbox :D ⇥ here! ++ ⇥ masterlist

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