━ 104bpm.
it goes something like this:
on a free day, yoongi asks jimin if he wants to help him -- a very cryptic question, paired with a somewhat meaningful look. it doesn’t explain anything, yoongi a man of a very few words as usual, but jimin nods and follows anyway, like a pup on an invisible leash made of curiosity and sense of feeling special -- because there are some things that min yoongi is known for never doing, and asking for help is one of them. when jimin realizes, much too late, that they’re going in the direction of yoongi’s small but cozy recording studio, jimin’s march gets only briskier and faster, short but nimble legs nearly skipping some steps along the way. (yoongi acts like he doesn’t notice it, but he does. he always notices jimin.)
*
“no, no,” he says and it has an instant impact on jimin: yoongi says no -- and jimin feels like he has failed him, as irrationally as it sounds. “do it again, but higher at the end. i know you can go higher, you have done it so well so many times in the past,” yoongi adds -- and the terrible feeling that jimin experienced just a moment before disappears, morphing into that of a burning determination. because if yoongi believes he can do something, who is he to give up? so he sings again, the same three short bars, and even though it takes three, four, five (and six, and seven, and eight) more tries, leaving his throat dry and uncomfortable, too uncomfortable for what’s supposed to be his free day, yoongi finally -- finally -- nods enthusiastically, showing him a thumb up and tapping the ‘save’ button instead of the ‘delete’ one.
in that moment, even though the reason behind it is different, they’re both experiencing the same kind of satisfaction -- and while they’ve gone through different paths to reach it, they eventually meet at the end of it: through a shared smile, all gums and satisfaction on yoongi’s side, all crescent-shaped eyes and pride on jimin’s. it’s just a single line, something yet to be mixed and morphed, something that may be used -- tomorrow or in the very very distant future -- or may not, but it feels like so much more than just that to both of them. it’s trust, and faith, and accomplishment, and gratification, and fulfillment -- and neither of them says it, but both of them know it.
*
a bit later, they’re huddled close -- because yoongi’s studio may be his most beloved place in the entire world and have everything and more than he has ever imagined having, but it’s still tiny and cramped and a bit stuffy if too many people sit in it for too long -- leaning over the relatively small piece of mixing equipment, all buttons and knobs and switches, lighting up in various places at every touch. while it’s a bit of a mystery for jimin, it looks like yoongi has been literally born with the 16-pad maschine in his hands, working around it smoothly, quickly and efficiently. so while the latter makes the magic happen, like a wizard right in his element, the former is just watching curiously, and asking lots of questions (which, surprisingly, yoongi patiently answers), and giving opinions on everything: on every next produced sound, on his own modified voice fitting in between the beats, on small snippets of music-to-be resounding between their heads. to his every word, yoongi nods or hums or discusses, and makes use of every piece of the second opinion that is given, never disregarding jimin just because of his lacks of practical experience and theoretical knowledge.
(he does laugh at jimin though, when he slaps yoongi’s wrist gently but urgently and says something along the lines of: “hey, hyung, add some of that ‘wheeee’ between the low ‘dun-dun’ and the long ‘whoosh’,” trying to imitate the sounds with his own funny voice, because jimin just simply doesn’t operate on the terms of beats and trebles and crossfadings and glides. even though the younger makes a dissatisfied face when yoongi sounds a little mocking and a whole lot amused, they both know it isn’t really unkind; and in the end, yoongi adds the ‘wheeee’, which ends up making a nice transition of the ‘dun-dun’ into ‘whoosh’, the final result receiving an appreciative nod of the older.)
jimin may be barely touching the device but, jokes and anxiety aside, he doesn’t feel ignored or discredited in a way. he feels -- him, park jimin, not just his sampled voice -- like a part of the process too.
and yoongi -- yoongi may not necessarily need jimin to make these samples, but right now he does things with music he would probably never do otherwise, inspired by the younger’s input, and it feels nice. refreshing. eye-opening, in a sense.
when he looks at jimin, it’s with appreciation and -- gratefulness.
*
and much later, in the middle of the night, no less -- when jimin has long since passed out on the couch that is nice when you sit on it, but not so much when you try to spend your night with it as your makeshift bed -- there’s a quiet melody playing in the background. a short one, maybe forty-five seconds in total, made of beats, and ambient sounds, and pieces of raps and vocals with awkward instrumental spaces in between, clearly suggesting its unfinished state. it replays again and again and again, looped indefinitely, and for the longest time jimin thinks it’s a part of some very weird dream, until it finally pulls him up to the surface of his consciousness.
yoongi sits in his chair, the back of it bent in a way that looks like he’s about to topple over and fall down, and he seems very small in it, swimming in the oversized black hoodie, with arms crossed over his chest and eyes half-closed. if jimin didn’t know any better, he’d think he’s asleep too -- but he’s not, jimin knows; he’s listening very carefully to every sound of every layer of the future song’s fragment he (they, jimin thinks, me and hyung) has been creating for the past -- how many hours? many of them, by any normal person’s standards, but probably not enough, by yoongi’s ones.
jimin listens, more and more attentively with every next waking moment (but still never as attentively as yoongi, because he’ll never be able to hear as many details in music as yoongi does -- and it’s okay, he thinks, i don’t need to if yoongi hyung does), moving in circles around the small studio and trying the melody out from many different angles, as if that really mattered. “it sounds great,” he says finally, barely a step behind yoongi’s back, and they’re very easy words for him to say. simple. open. jimin has never been extremely eloquent with his word-choice, preferring to be easily understood rather than marvelled at for his specific vocabulary, and sometimes it made him sound a bit silly -- but usually people appreciated it.
“does it?” yoongi asks then, a question that he doesn’t actually expect an answer to. it’s a default thing for him to say, a query that always looms at the tip of his tongue when he’s making music -- because for him, it’s never quite good enough, it always can be better, there are always things to improve--even if he can’t see them.
one part of jimin’s mind is aware of it, but the moment still makes him feel a bit uneasy. is yoongi not satisfied? has jimin proved himself to not be as helpful as the other needed him to be? would it have been better if he declined the request, suggested that namjoon hyung or even jungkook would be more suited for it?
for a moment, it feels like that’s going to be it, a long night ended with an unanswearable question mark and a whole lot of anxiety. but then yoongi turns in his chair a bit, and tilts his head up to look at jimin, standing right there and dazedly watching the graphical display of the melody--still playing over and over--move exactly one hundred and four beats-per-minute on the screen. and, “you did well, jimin,” he says, with an almost serene smile on his face.
and when the words reach his ears, jimin believes it.
@bvsans