[idol!yoongi x music producer!reader] [2k+ light angst?, not proofread and a self-indulgent fic, but who wouldn't want to keep Yoongi safe from the sharp edges of this world.]
Growing up, you had kept a box where you kept all of the trinkets you loved and swore to keep safe away from your best friend's, Yoongi, muddy hands, even if it cost you your life. A bit dramatic, yes, but you're just a ten-year-old.
At 23, you still kept the box filled to the brim with trinkets. However, you no longer wanted to keep Yoongi away from your precious box. Rather, you wanted to keep him in it, which is ridiculous since even with all the stored things taken out, he wouldn't fit. Plus, how can a superstar ever fit in the small corners of your world when he's too big and already far away from you?
In a nutshell, you fell in love with your good friend Yoongi and promise to keep him safe from the world, even from a distance.
Loosely inspired by: A Daydream Away by All Time Low and Sparks by Coldplay. Also, hi, I'm back.
"I'm gonna add a bit more compression on the drums." Already making your way to the board, you turn the knob to adjust the sound.
You see Yoongi bob along to the music. "Good call!" Yi Jeong calls out loud enough to crack its way across the loud booming bass. You turn to look at him and smile.
While a praise from your superior makes you feel validated. You can't help but glance at Yoongi on his chair, awaiting for his opinion. Heck, you weren't even expecting him to use words, a nod is all you need to know he approves.
Even as kids, Yoongi was a... boy with few words. He rarely talked and when he did, it felt like an exclusivity from the rest of the world. He had a wide perspective and a smart mouth and talking with him then often left you speechless and mumbling words because you weren't exactly sure of the meaning of the words he used.
You were almost the same—timid. But you were quiet because you were shy and wanted to hide from boys. Yoongi, he was quiet because he didn't feel like wasting his energy talking.
It was a surprise you became friends. And a lifelong at that.
"Yoongi, what do you think?"
You pretend to busy yourself, staring at the sheet music as the two men talked. At your peripheral vision, you see Yoongi nod and hit save on the music draft.
Only then were you able to breathe.
"I think we may beat the deadline, guys. Appreciate all the help," Yoongi praises. He uncaps his bottle of whiskey, pours a shot, and hands it to you. "Seriously, Y/N, thanks for the help. Thought you were losing your touch," he teases.
"Losing touch my ass," you scoff as you snatch the glass from his warm calloused hands. "If someone's losing something it's Yi Jeong-nim. He said we'll miss the deadline, but you just said it, we might actually submit your demo early." You smirk Yi Jeong's way before downing the whiskey.
The comfortable silence eases in as the track ends. You loved moments like this, especially when it was just you and Yoongi in the room. You would share a smile before letting everything sink in. Your snotty friend now a worldwide superstar and you, still on his side, his number one supporter, his trusted producer. You would say you made it. Being able to produce music had been your dream when you were thirteen, Yoongi's, too when he was five and learned how to play the piano.
"You think the fans would like it?" In the thick of the silence came Yoongi's doubt. This wasn't unfamiliar territory. He often doubted himself despite how far he came. You wished you could carry those baggages for him, let you take all the heavy weight the world throws him and for once so he could lift his head up and see just how much his music positively change people for good. It's the least he deserves.
But no. That wasn't how the world treated Yoongi and try all you might to take all the hits before it reaches him, the only thing you could really do was offer assurance and hope he does listen to you—not because you're his friend or workmate, but because even for just a moment, just a sliver, he believes it too.
"You know they will," you replied with a smile, hand outstretched to pat him on the back. Your hands lingered, itching to pull him in for a hug just like you always had when you were sixteen and he often came home defeated after submitting his demo to a recording studio. It was another reason you believe Yoongi deserves what he has now and even more.
Feeling like you waited a second too awkward, you pull your hand away and reach for the bottle instead. This is the new routine for your group when one or the other got a bit too pensive, down the thought with a bitter shot of whiskey. No hugs and no more crying on the kitchen floors.
But your arms yearned for Yoongi. You wanted to wrap him around your arms, twice if possible. Words of affirmation and compliments are ready to roll out of your tongue.
"You ready?" Yoongi asks as he locks his seatbelt.
This getaway was his idea. A present, he says, for beating the deadline and gaining back more time to rest.
"I was born ready," you lamely replied with a grin. "I got your favorite records queued on my playlist. Now where are we heading?"
"You'll see," he teases, winking your way.
While on the outside you mastered rolling your eyes as you pretend to be disgusted at him, deeply, you're trying not to fawn at the sight. Yoongi had always been adorable even when he was annoying—it evened things out. Then came puberty and suddenly he shaped up to be the man of your dreams. It didn't help that as you grew together, so did your bond. He became your person and you became his.
But with the bond came barriers. Even with your soul-crushing yearning for him, to be with him, you knew you couldn't cross the line. You knew you would get along, tried and tested by the time, but it's his stature now that makes you step back.
You knew Yoongi. If you, his childhood friend and producer suddenly confesses to him, whether he feels the same way or not, it would put him in a difficult position. You truly love and care for him, which is why you were not about to add yourself to the list of things that keeps him awake at night.
You needed to stop being greedy. This was enough, what you have is enough—an unbreakable friendship. This way, you could always protect and assure him. Keep him safe from himself and the world.
Besides, whenever you thought about dating Yoongi, you laugh at how incredulous it was. You knew Yoongi, but you don't know what you would do if you were dating a superstar.
"I can't believe you were able to rent this place. I didn't even know they still rented it out." To say you were amazed was an understatement. When Yoongi said it was a surprise, he really meant it was a surprise. For some reason money, the owner of the cabin you frequented to as kids was open again for booking. Or that's what you initially thought. It was only when Yoongi told you that they still don't did you realize that he was able to do so because of his status.
"Do you think they still have the log at the back with our names etched?" With a child-like wonder, you race Yoongi to the back of the house, both of you giggling like you were nine again.
"Still here," he muses. His lithe fingers tracing the indents of your names, albeit it was covered with moss and almost illegible, you both knew it was your names on the wood. “I remember you taking a bark from this tree and keeping it in that box of yours,” his giggles a clear sign of amusement and a hint of teasing. He always made fun of you for keeping “useless trash”—as he calls it. How bittersweet, you think. If he knew how most of those trinkets you kept are from moments you shared, would he still think the same?
“Well, I’ll have you know that I still have that box and everything in it,” you smugly retort. He can make fun of it all he wants, you were sentimental that way.
“Seriously?” He sounded surprised. “I thought you got rid of those by now. I mean you kept a rabbit’s foot, for fucks sake. Must be one hell of a smell when you open your oh-so-precious box.”
You stand with a huff and he follows. “It’s a stuffed rabbit foot.” You hear him hum in mocking agreement as you both enter the house. “Plus, you gave it to me. For luck.” You smile at the memory. Nevermind that despite holding on to it for years—during your internships, job interviews, and every life-deciding moment, you never felt luck was on your side. But Yoongi was. For every mishap at your internship, he comforted you; he recommended you as a freelancer to where he was and even your job now, it was Yoongi’s doing. At some point, you thought holding on to that rabbit foot meant holding on to him. As if keeping the stuffed foot in your pocket guarantees that Yoongi stays beside you. But when you realized how selfish and greedy you were becoming—wanting more of him, you returned the toy to your box. Yet, Yoongi stayed and it was a relief, but at the same time it scared you.
“You’re making dinner, right?”
“Always,” his reply coming instantaneously and so does his quip. “You might burn the kitchen down.”
You think you've never seen him this happy in a long time.
Head thrown back as he laughs at your embarrassing encounters, the sound of his hearty giggles reverberates around the room. It's worth it to see him light up again, even at your own expense. If he gets to keep that light, carefree aura on him, you would willingly stand at the center stage and do silly things for his amusement.
He deserves all the happiness and love in the world, you believe so.
“Remember that American producer we worked with?” Yoongi refills your cup with whiskey as you hum in agreement and a sudden wave of remembrance washes over you.
“He was a real asshole, throwing you under the bus like that,” you speak with bitterness and contempt of the man. “But I’m glad management saw through him and got what he deserved.”
“Y/N, I know what you did. And I never got to thank you because I was so embarrassed, but…” Yoongi trails off. His eyes suddenly too shy to meet yours. But Yoongi knew.
He knew what you did for him—almost risking your own job to out a coworker, going out on a limb, all because of that one time he pointed his fingers at Yoongi when they couldn’t meet the deadline for a song, making him feel incompetent and overcompensate, up to the point that he still overworked himself despite being sick and to the brink of hospitalization.
“Oh,” You down the shot, buying yourself time to think of a reply. “I did what anyone would have done knowing the situation.” You reach for the bottle to pour yourself more drink when Yoongi snatches it out of your reach.
“No. Not anyone would have done that. People knew but they kept quiet, but you—like always, you stuck by me. Even risking your career.”
Of course, I did. I love you. You come first before everything else. You deserve more than I can give and this was the least I could do. I would walk barefoot on burning coals and swim across an ocean if it meant giving you what you deserve.
“Of course, I did.” You smirk—your loop-sided smile an attempt to ease the sudden discomfort you feel because Yoongi is looking at you.
Yoongi looks at you with glassy eyes, the one that makes him irresistible at the same time compels you to bubble-wrap him to keep him away from the sharp edges of this world. He looks at you like you hung the moon and stars in the night sky that he very much loves. You know that look because you caught yourself having that same expression when he’s singing.
But you have to keep boundaries. You already feel guilty for thinking about what-ifs and if-onlys.
What if we were just two regular people? Both nobodies, would it be easier to give in to these feelings?
What if we risked everything? Would the reward be as great as this persistent temptation?
If only you weren't so far away.
If only you were mine before the world took claim of you.
What if I was yours and you were mine?
Unsaid words hoping to be conveyed through a look. You can’t take it. You could be wrong. That look could mean differently and so you divert.
“That’s what friends are for, right?” Your tone and indignation on the word friends not lost to both of you. You almost grimace at how obvious that was.
Yoongi stares at you, blinks and gulps. “Yep, that’s what friends are for.”
He refills your glasses and raises his own. “To being good friends until the end.”
You haven’t drank the whiskey yet, but your throat burns as you swallow the words. “To being good friends.”
