#the particles are the ‘dream’ Yoongi is singing about

[lhazeeart]

✨ Rêve, je serai à tes côtés de ta création jusqu’à ton dernier jour ✨

(It translates as ‘dream, I’ll be here for you from your creation to the end of your life’)

Happy birthday to the one and only Min Yoongi 💜

[taeilm]

a playlist of seasons

kim taehyung

rated t / angst + bittersweet fluff / 1620w

in which neither his love for you nor yours for him can withstand the seasons

( “i should have loved a thunderbird instead; at least when spring comes they roar back again.” )

(epilogue) // no way, no way

“i warned you, didn’t i? just what did you see in him?” why did you love him so much?

the coffee shop is indolent and sparsely populated this afternoon. yoongi’s voice is quieter than usual across the narrow stretch of mahogany, but you still hear the underlying question. your drinks sit fresh and untouched, the steam rising and melding with your breaths.

you ordered an americano that you know you won’t drink, because you hate the taste—too heavy, too bitter. it’s what taehyung had always ordered.

yoongi knows you hate dark coffee, but has the sensibility to refrain from commenting. he pulls his latte closer and seems to have given up on waiting for an answer, though you know he won’t speak again until you do. no stretch of silence is ever unbearable for him, no matter how long, how awkward, how charged.

when you finally answer your friend, the words feel raw and searing in your throat, like claws grating past your tongue. and yet, the nostalgia they evoke is the most brilliant shade of gold.

“everything.” a pause. “i loved everything about him.”

“then why?” yoongi rejoins immediately, as if this is the answer he’d been waiting for since the moment you even agreed to this coffee date. “why won’t you go back to him? i’ve never seen you happier than in the one year you'd been with him.”

you manage a laugh, but it sounds more like a tired croak.

“i don’t think it works like that.”

“well, you know what I think? i think both of you are pathetic.” yoongi takes a sip of his coffee. you see disdain in his eyes now, melding with the earlier sympathy and frustration. “fucking pathetic.”

you dump a bag of sugar into your coffee and watch the white particles dissolve without stirring them in. the steam above the cup is now barely visible, but you still don’t touch the drink.

you can’t, because it’s not yours, because you had always ordered for taehyung and he for you and the two of you had always exchanged drinks—it's an old habit, a silly routine, a senseless inside joke. you’d forgotten how it first began, but now, for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to stop. his absence makes no difference.

“yeah,” you say, watching the last smoky tendril of white fade to nothing before your eyes. “i know.”

(spring) // you’re a caramel macchiato

you don’t remember how it had all started. you don’t remember how taehyung had gone from being that stranger in your jazz comp class to kissing you in your apartment, hands weaving through your hair and flitting down your back.

you do vaguely remember him making you coffee in the middle of working on some song. you remember his grin, his dimples, the sheen of his hair beneath that dim light in your living room. you remember the caramel macchiato taehyung had made you—a mite sweeter than what you’re used to. you remember him tasting like an americano, dark and bitter yet strangely comforting, a beckon you can’t resist.

“hey, is this a one-time time thing?”

“do you want it to be?” his eyes were candid, clear as spring water, and you saw your unvoiced thoughts reflected in them.

no, of course i don’t. how can anyone be satisfied, after having a taste of you?

but between the heat of his skin and the soft temptation of his lips, you lose your answer.

(summer) // i really really like your—

taehyung is surprisingly reckless.

when he first suggested the road trip, you had not envisioned him driving down the countryside road at eighty miles per hour, singing at the top of his lungs.

“keep your hands on the wheel—” you reach over in panic, but he only throws his head back in laughter before grasping your hand mid-air, lacing his fingers through yours.

the wind blows his hair in all directions, whips his shirt taut against his chest. summer has never tasted so rich on your tongue and you think it’s because of taehyung—he is the essence of everything warm and exuberant; the human embodiment of summer.

his favorite radio stations have the most obscure collection of songs but he knows every line of lyric, every offbeat pause and background ad lib. his voice simmers in subdued energy, like the hot desert sand that stretches endlessly on either side of you. you soon catch the tunes and let your voice fall in time with his, lacing through his notes in effortless harmony.

“we sound good together,” he yells, and you laugh as he had earlier, a frisson of excitement spiking your veins.

“hey—” he continues, “—i’m the saxophonist for that jazz club on the edge of downtown. you should come see me play sometime.”

it’s a casual invitation, but you end up going to every single performance of his for the rest of summer. you fall in love with this new version of taehyung—the boy beneath electric blue lights, in black dress shirts with rolled-up sleeves, losing himself to the music around him, from him. the boy whose fingers dance over the aureate keys of his gleaming instrument, stroking it as he would a lover.

afterwards, you discover that taehyung touch you in the exact same way. like you’re something fragile and strong all at once, something eternal—as eternal as he’s willing to make it. 

and at the time, you had thought he wanted to make you eternal.

(autumn) // can you trust me?

the city at 10 p.m. is distant laughter and the rush of cars, after-work parties and people racing home. the city on saturday nights is crystal buildings, starry skies and a restless thrum beneath the ground.

taehyung takes you dancing on the streets. you have never been to this part of the city, never danced in public or imagined he ever would.

there’s a jazz band performing in the plaza that night and taehyung doesn’t let you escape to the edge of the crowd. he takes your hands in his and leads you backwards, cajoling you with that soft smile he knows you can’t resist. in the end, you give in. you let him; at least, that’s what you always tell yourself. you never once stopped to think that perhaps none of this is—has ever been—within your control. that you’re drawn to taehyung like a bee to a flower, a battered ship to a shore, a lost traveler to a mirage.

he catches you in his arms, and laughter springs from between your bodies, your coalescing breathes. you see the curve of his lips and the hue of warm lights veneered over his face—amber on his skin, gold in his hair. you watch him comb a hand through his hair between holding you and steadying himself, his fringes falling haphazardly onto his forehead.

the music almost, almost drowns out his words, but you hear them nonetheless—words you've been too afraid to say yourself. for all the unexpected surprise of the moment, his words come so naturally that you receive them not so much an impact as a caress, one that you’d been yearning for without even knowing that you had been.

“i like you a lot, god, this feels like a dream.”

his voice touches you like it’s from a fuzzy old record player, deep and soothing and pulling you into a reverie. your jaws work to say something, but you’re left adrift in awe, stupefied in his presence.

in the end, you can’t find the resolve to tell him, “this is not a dream.”

please don’t wake up and leave me behind.

(winter) // don’t tell me bye bye...

the cold seems to have emerged out of nowhere. taehyung still looks handsome as ever, walking through the snow in that sandy trench coat and thick wool scarf, a pink tinge to his cheeks. from this distance, with the thick café windowpane between you two and a menu to conveniently hide behind, you can almost fool yourself into believing that nothing has changed. that if you put down the menu, wave to him—walk out the door and tap him on the shoulder—he’ll laugh and tackle you just like before, like nothing has changed.

nothing has changed, really. he hasn’t, and you haven’t.

perhaps that had been the problem all along.

when you push your way out of the cafe, he is still there, tilting his head back to squint at the watery mid-day sun, as if waiting for someone. you draw up your own scarf and turn resolutely away, trudging in the opposite direction. he’s no longer yours to admire, yours to hold, yours to keep.

was he ever? you ask yourself wryly, and find your heart imploding on a forlorn answer.

it’s funny how one season can turn everything upside down for some, yet carry forward without a hitch for others. different realities allow you to exist in the same dimension as them, but oh, how truly different it all is. as if day has turned into night for you, as if your memories of the past seasons have melted into nothing. the illusion of having had is impossible to grasp in the materiality of loss.

the world still smells the same as when he was with you. it’s strange, because somewhere between meeting him and falling in love with him you’ve come to associate the scent of the world with the scent of him. and now, cliché as it sounds, everything reminds you of taehyung.

you imagine him recognizing you from behind, reaching you in his long strides, and saying, hey, how have you been? i’ve missed you. when spring comes, we’ll start again, and everything will be alright.

of course, he doesn’t.

i fancied you’d return the way you said, but i grow old and i forget your name. i shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (i think i made you up inside my head.)

[min-uwungi]

soothing melodies

pairing ▹ hoseok x yoongi

genre ▹ fluff

warnings ▹ none

chapter ▹ 1

words ▹ 924

summary ▹ Sometimes Hoseok can't sleep. It's a good thing he can always come to Yoongi.

just a short fluffy drabble for a dear friend ^*^ feel free to send me more prompts!

Hoseok knows the password to Yoongi’s studio and yet he knocks—two quick knocks, a pause, another three—each and every time. He says it’s because he doesn’t want to disturb Yoongi, but they both know the truth.

There’s just nothing Hoseok finds cuter than Yoongi’s fake-frown. There was never a time it was real, because Yoongi always has time for Hoseok and heart-shaped smile.

“Seokkieee,” Yoongi draws out as he opens the door, the familiar lilt of faked annoyance clear in his voice. “It’s 3am. Shouldn’t you be asleep? I know you had a few extra hours of practice today.”

“I’d say the same about you, hyung,” Hoseok says, following Yoongi inside. “And, unlike you, I actually had some sleep.”

Yoongi turns back to Hoseok and scans his tired posture. And truly, Hoseok is in his sleep clothes, hair ruffled and messy in a way it usually is in the morning. There’s an indent from a pillow on his left cheek and Yoongi reaches out to gently brush his knuckles against it. Hoseok leans into it, weary eyes closing for just a moment.

“Nightmare?” Yoongi asks softly, the way he usually does when Hoseok barges into his studio, his room, his bed.

Hoseok nods and sits down on a gray sofa, pulling up his knees and a blanket around his shoulders. Yoongi returns to his desk.

“Working on a new song?” Hoseok asks before yawning. Yoongi nods and presses play.

A soft melody fills up the room, slow and quiet at first, just a bare piano, and Hoseok closes his eyes, letting himself get swept up in it. Before he can get totally lost in the soft notes, the melody starts picking up in volume and thickness, other instruments joining it. It’s both familiar and new and Hoseok struggles to place it. The instrumental quiets down as a voice joins it; it’s Yoongi. There are no words, just a gentle humming, a melody that beautifully harmonizes with the piano.

“Oh,” Hoseok gasps and opens his eyes to Yoongi. He’s leaning on his desk, cat-like intense eyes trained on Hoseok. It’s a mystery how he looks so awake and alive at such an ungodly hour.

“Yea,” Yoongi smiles at Hoseok, his gaze warming up into something much more tender. “Does it sound good like this?”

“It does, but—” Hoseok pauses and Yoongi’s smile freezes. “I think I’d be even better if it was a duet,” he finishes with a grin and Yoongi laughs, relieved.

“Maybe when you’re a little more awake. Just maybe.”

Hoseok pouts and Yoongi turns away, hiding the ever growing fondness in his stare. The melody softly fades out and Hoseok sighs. Even being in the same room as Yoongi helps him calm down and breathe easier.

“Play it again?” he asks, eyes only half open.

“I’ll do something even better,” Yoongi says and Hoseok can hear his chair move. The piano plays again, but this time it’s the real deal, not a recording. Hoseok places his arms on one of the armrests and then his cheek on them, his legs still uncomfortably bent, too long for the couch, as he watches Yoongi’s fingers hit every right key.

There isn’t and never has been a softer bed for Hoseok than being curled up on that tiny gray couch, watching Yoongi’s face relax as he starts singing to the music, low and quiet, still a little unsure.

There’s no better sound than the one of their voices mingling with the piano melody. One of Yoongi’s mouth corners lifts up as he harmonizes with Hoseok.

Eventually, Hoseok must have passed out, because Yoongi’s voice pulls him out of the dark.

“Come on,” he says and Hoseok sits up, every tiny particle of his body impossibly heavy. “You’re gonna ache for the rest of tomorrow if you sleep here. Let’s go to my room.”

“’kay, hyung,” Hoseok mumbles and follows Yoongi, still fluttering between dream and reality, both hands holding onto one of Yoongi’s.

The bed pulls him into sleep in barely seconds. It’s still enough for Hoseok to catch Yoongi’s half whispered melodies.

“A~ah, we sound so good, hyung!” Hoseok beams at Yoongi as the finished song flows through Yoongi’s studio.

“We do,” Yoongi gives him a small, flustered smile, and if he hadn’t turned his head at the right moment, Hoseok would have definitely squished his cheeks.

“Will you release it?” Hoseok asks but Yoongi shakes his head just a bit.

“I don’t think so,” he says and leans forward to card his fingers through Hoseok’s hair. “But you could, if you desire to do so. Happy birthday, Seokkie.”

“It’s not!” Hoseok laughs but Yoongi’s smirk has him turning around. The clock shows three minutes past midnight; it’s a surprise no one has burst into the small room.

“Hyung,” Hoseok turns back to Yoongi, a trembling pout on his lips. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Yoongi whispers, brushing a stray hair away from Hoseok’s eyes and leaning in, just a little bit. His lips part in a way that has Hoseok glancing down at them, tongue darting out to brush at his own.

“Hoseok-ah!” Someone shouts from behind the door; it’s a flurry of hushes, loud laughter, and chaotic knocks. “We found you!”

“Wasn’t hiding,” Hoseok sighs as Yoongi turns away to turn off the song. He catches him off-guard as he turns back, a quick peck that horribly misses Yoongi’s mouth and lands somewhere between his chin and cheek. Yoongi stares up at him with wide eyes as Hoseok laughs.

“Coming!”