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write-crawler · 4 years ago

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just like a dream III | myg

↣ pairing: yoongi x reader

↣ genre: drama, LOTS OF ANGST IN THIS ONE, fluff, rapper!yg, popstar!reader, hollywood!au, future smut, slow burn

↣ rating: +18

↣ word count: 7.4k

↣ warnings: cursing, drinking, a heavy makeout, mentions of drugs, vomit?? but not too graphic

↣ chapter soundtrack: can't take my eyes off of you - frankie valli // signos - soda stereo // making love out of nothing at all - air supply // lovedrunk - epik high, crush // angels like you - miley cyrus // tiny dancer - elton john // glitter - tyler, the creator

↣ summary: A cookie-cutter pop star looking for a change of pace finds herself in the underground LA scene, catching the attention from none other than the undisputed king, Agust D. Wanting to shed her innocent image, she shockingly enlists him to produce her following album, but they both end up with more than they bargained for…

↣ notes: beta read by @dee-ehn

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ACT III: Chicken soup

“So, one more, huh?”

Yoongi leaned back in his precious ergonomic chair he’d pestered you to buy and took a deep breath. Initially, you didn’t see the need to do so, but after much nagging, you eventually caved in, and oh, what an investment it was. Better than any couch you’ve ever had. You could probably fall asleep on it, which was the last thing you’d expect to say about an office chair, but here you are.

“Just one more,” Yoongi smiled, eyes closed. “One more and we can get to mixing.”

It had been five long months since you’d started recording. The process has been exhausting, given that you had to rewrite sections, even whole songs, to better fit your vision of the album. Yoongi was very happy to help, and even Namjoon, your session guitarist, had pitched in a wild solo for one of your songs. You happily gave him a very deserved writing credit for that one.

Hoseok, though caught up with his job in LA, made sure to drop by to record his verse, and that day the three of you went on a bender in your apartment, binge-watching Marvel movies and inhaling vodka and Doritos like it was oxygen.

In the end, you managed to record about fifteen songs, sixteen if you counted the one that was missing, and you had to narrow it down to twelve. The task was going to be very hard, but Yoongi convinced you to use them for a future album or even an EP if you wanted, so you didn’t feel as bad for not using them.

“By the way,” Yoongi said, turning to your exhausted figure lying on the small couch of your studio. It was late in the night and you wanted to go to sleep. “Do you mind if I play the piano tomorrow?”

You scrunched your face. “Why are you asking me that?”

Yoongi scoffed as if it was obvious. “Because it’s your song, princess.”

“No, like, why are you asking me when you know I’ll let you anyway?”

He smiled. “I like to have permission. Consent is sexy, you know?”

You snorted. “Yeah, very sexy, piano boy.”

“Piano boy?” He gave you a hearty laugh. “That’s a new one.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not very good at nicknames like you,” you said, standing up from the couch and stretching until your spine cracked. “Anyway, have you had any progress with your writing?”

Yoongi shrugged and moved to shut off the monitor. He was tired too, you could see it in the way he didn’t bother focusing on your question. “I think I shut myself completely after falling asleep with the pen in my hand.”

“That was last week,” you pointed out.

“Then I haven’t made any progress since then,” Yoongi concluded. “It’s not my top priority either way. Don’t take it seriously. I’m just writing as inspiration hits me.”

Just a month into your recording sessions, Yoongi began getting bits of “clarity”. It started with a weird dream he had, and as he was telling you about it during breakfast, he got inspired, so he began writing it all down. So far, in between your sessions, he’s written at least thirty different songs. You were astounded.

“It’s not a problem to me,” he told you one day after rehearsal with the band. “Back in Korea, when I used to work in a record shop, I made a habit of writing a song per day. I still have a shit ton of lyrics in my old journals. I kinda use them sometimes. It’s like a word bank. Comes in handy when you need it.”

He was a song machine.

“If you ever need a female voice, I’m here if you need it,” you offered.

He smiled brightly at you. “I already thought about it. In fact, I have like two songs which you can feature in. But that’s a problem for future us. Let’s just focus on getting your album done, so I can get on with making mine.”

“Oh, so not a mixtape?”

Yoongi shook his head. “I think it’s time I make a proper album. What do you say?”

“I like the idea. You’ve released two mixtapes already-”

“And a shit ton of singles.”

“And a shit ton of singles, yeah,” you finished. “You’re gonna be one of the big ones, Yoon. Legendary. I know it.”

“You aim too high, princess,” Yoongi said, looking down with embarrassment and blushy cheeks. “You have too much faith in me.”

“With good reason,” you replied. “It’s time the world really knows your name.”

Yoongi was a coward.

The band was in your living room waiting for him to come out of his room, and he was standing in front of his bed with his notebook wide open, and he was a fucking chicken.

When you asked him months ago to feature in your song, he got excited. Far too excited. He wrote his verse in under ten minutes and let it sit in his notebook until you asked how he was doing with it, and then he chickened out and wrote an entirely different verse in five minutes. He showed you that last verse he wrote, and obviously, you loved it, but it wasn’t as good as Yoongi thought.

The problem?

He practically confessed his feelings for you in that verse.

Fat chance you were ever going to see that. Fat fucking chance.

He was a coward for not coming forward with his feelings, but in the end, it was for the better. He had no idea what your feelings were towards him, no matter how flirty and sweet you might’ve been these past months. That wasn’t an indicator. You were just being nice.

So what did he end up doing? Ripping the original verse off his notebook and shoving it in his boxer drawer, because you’d never actually dare look for something you didn’t know existed, and the chances of you rummaging through his closet were close to none.

With a weary sigh, he grabbed his notebook and dashed towards the living room.

“What took you so long?” Namjoon asked from the couch as he tuned his guitar.

Yoongi shrugged. “Couldn’t find the notebook, but here it is,” he said, walking towards the grand piano placed in the center. “I trust you guys went over the arrangements I sent you?”

They nodded, and Yoongi briefly looked at you and smiled. “Good, then let’s see how this goes.”

“If you guys are feeling confident, I think we can record this today. What do you think, Yoon?”

He nodded, palms a bit sweaty. “You heard the boss.”

“Stop calling me boss, I’m not your boss!” You protested, eliciting chuckles from the band.

“Sure, princess, whatever you say,” he laughed. “Now, show me what you got, guys!”

You finished recording later that evening. You didn’t know how you even managed to do such a thing. Usually, recording took up days. Sometimes you spent an entire day focusing on one small part of the song to make sure you got everything right. An entire weekend was dedicated to layering the vocals for one of the bridges until it was near perfect.

“Holy fuck, I think we’re done,” you gasped. No one moved from their spots.

“We’re done?” Namjoon asked.

Yoongi breathed heavily. The song pretty much sucked the soul out of everyone after playing it on a constant loop the entire day. Yoongi felt like he just ran a marathon, with his heart pounding so hard he could feel the blood pumping through his veins. “We’re done,” Yoongi confirmed, still not quite believing it. “We…” he chuckled. “We just finished recording the entire album.”

“Fuck,” you panted, then took off your headphones and walked over to the couch, promptly plopping down into it. “Oh my god. I can’t believe it.”

“We’re still not over, princess, we have to-”

“Shut up, I wanna ride this wave.” You held up a hand to prevent him from speaking, then leaned back and rested your head as you let out a satisfied grunt. “It’s been five months since we started recording and now I finally know peace. I genuinely thought this would never end, my throat is sore, my legs are tired and I’m in need of some alcohol.”

“Oooh, alcohol, you say?” Ginny, your session drummer, a blonde with big green eyes, twirled her drumsticks as she sat down next to you. “When and where?”

“I’m in,” Namjoon quipped as he unplugged his guitar from the amp. “I don’t know where the party is, but I’m in.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Commented Josh, the bassist, from his spot near the window. “You’re always looking for opportunities to get trashed.”

“Trashed?” Namjoon scoffed. “I see it as life experience. Getting wasted is an art form, dude.”

“It’s a life experience, alright,” Yoongi said, stretching his arms until his bones cracked. “Life experience is getting the cops called on you when you’re at a rave.”

“Min Yoongi, at a rave? I thought you didn’t, like, go out at all,” Ginny said.

Yoongi frowned. “What kind of crazy-ass rumors have these guys been feeding you? I might be introverted but I do enjoy going out,” he scoffed, slightly offended. “Just not with lots of people,” he added with a smaller voice. “But yeah, I went to my first rave in LA back in 2016 and the cops pulled over because someone snitched a dude was selling drugs. Which is, you know, pretty typical for those types of things, but I digress.”

“Wow,” Josh commented, then pointed at him. “He’s got life experience.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi groaned.

“Anyway, what does our Disney princess say?” Namjoon said, completely ignoring how Yoongi sent him a subtle but deadly look for daring to use his nickname for you. “Wanna cele- you know how film casts do a wrap party after they finish filming? Let’s have an album wrap party!”

“Hold your horses, dude, I’m not into partying right now. I think we should have a nice big party for the album launch instead,” you said. “But, I still want to celebrate this. Are you guys hungry?” They nodded. “Fine, let’s go. I know a good place we can go to. My treat!”

The five of you piled into your car and you drove them to a random street in Hell’s Kitchen, and quickly found an empty spot for parking, which in New York was pretty rare. The band exited rather quickly, with confusion etched across their faces, but Yoongi remained in the car to catch a word with you.

“Hey, um, I didn’t tell you this before and I realized just now how stupid I was, but thank you for bringing me into this. Really,” he said as you turned off the car, your keys jingling as you stuffed them into your purse. You looked at him and noticed how sincere his eyes looked under the yellow street lamp. “I’ve never felt this level of excitement before.”

His tender smile was really pretty. “When you said yes I felt like a weight had been taken off my chest,” you explained. “I was so scared I was going to fail, but you made me have a little more confidence in myself.”

“Really? You seemed pretty confident to me,” he laughed softly.

“You never really know what someone’s got inside their head, Yoon,” you turned to him, wrapping a hand around the emergency brake. “I know it sounds really ominous but that’s how it is. I might appear super confident, but the truth is I have my doubts just like everyone else.”

“I get that,” he said, nodding. Without thinking, he placed his hand atop yours, making the butterflies in your stomach flutter wildly. “But I wanted to properly thank you because I realized I hadn’t done it. So… yeah, thank you, princess.”

You smiled. “You’re so sweet, you don’t have to thank me. This project is as much yours as it is mine.”

“But I do want to thank you. I’ve always wanted to be a producer and the fact that you gave me a chance to produce your whole album… fuck, I can’t ever repay you.”

“Fine, you can thank me when we get a Grammy.” You laughed.

“That’s mean. You know the academy is rigged.”

“Oh, so you think we can’t win a Grammy?”

“I never said that,” Yoongi backtracked. “Can you imagine that, though?”

“It’s good to dream,” you said, but then were cut short by Josh knocking on Yoongi’s window.

“Come on, guys! We’ve been standing here for five minutes!” Came Namjoon’s muffled voice from outside. Yoongi sighed and motioned for them to wait a little longer.

“Let’s go.” Yoongi was about to open the door before you stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Wait.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Your heart pounded heavily inside your chest as you leaned into him and quickly placed a short, but sweet kiss on his soft, pillowy cheek. “Thank you, Yoongi.”

He stammered, trying to find the words to properly answer, cheeks going scandalously red. “T-Thank you?”

With your mind all over the place, you quickly tried to calm your wild nerves before opening your door, wondering what the hell had you just done. He wasn’t going to look at you the same way now, was he? Shit. You were going to fuck this up hard. For sure he was going to think you crossed some professional boundary and now he was about to be extra rigid with you. Fuck your feelings apparently. “Come on, they’re waiting for us,” you said, then exited the car.

Turns out you’d taken them to a little underground speakeasy which served the best New York steak Yoongi had ever tried in his life. It was a secluded place full of actors, artists, and other famous people who wanted some privacy when going out. When asked how did you find this place you remained silent, and said that you couldn’t reveal such a guarded secret, but that they knew of this place now and it was all that mattered.

He took a peek at the menu and nearly choked at how expensive the place was, but you reassured him he didn’t need to take a look at the prices, to just have fun and order whatever he wanted. This was the first time you’d gone to a fancy restaurant since that lunch you shared in Beverly Hills, mostly because you spent your nights either cooking together or ordering takeout. The change of pace (and place), brought him some comfort.

So you ordered your food and a round of drinks for everyone, mostly whiskey, except Ginny and Josh, who wanted to get smashed on tequila. Time ticked by really fast as you talked and had drink after drink. By the fifth round, Yoongi’s legs had turned into jelly.

At around two in the morning you decided to leave. Your head was spinning wildly but you were sound enough to not drive and call an Uber instead. Namjoon, Ginny and Josh piled into a taxi and left, while the two of you climbed into your Uber and started the trek home. Yoongi had that unmistakable red flush from whenever he drank, and was giggling uncontrollably, so much that the driver kept laughing at the two of you and even told you that your boyfriend was really gone.

The fact that you didn’t even bother to correct him made butterflies flutter in his stomach.

He had spent the entire night thinking about that little kiss you gave him and what it meant, but now, as fucked up as he was, all traces of complex thought had left his mind, and now all that passed through his mind was kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss-

“We’re here!” You screamed, prompting the driver to cackle as the two of you hilariously fell into the sidewalk while trying to get out of the car. Then, you handed the driver a fifty dollar bill and told him to keep the change, at which he muttered something akin to “good night and be safe!” and left.

You held onto each other as you entered the lobby and walked past the very concerned night-shift receptionist, straight into the elevator, trying to muffle your laughter. Once you got to the floor you fumbled with the keys and messed up a few times as Yoongi, with no indoor voice whatsoever, yelled at you to get a keypad instead of regular-ass keys, until he grew tired and snatched them away from you and opened the door, but not without failing at least twice.

“Agh, we’re home, finally!” Yoongi groaned, kicking off his shoes and leaving them scattered on the living room floor, almost tripping over a set of wires and cables hooked to the various amps.

“‘m hungwyy,” you whined, treading to the kitchen and hastily opening the fridge until your vision zeroed-in on what you were looking for: Yoongi’s most recent batch of cupcakes.

“Did you just say hungwy?” Yoongi said as he entered the kitchen, eyes widening once he saw you grab one of his cupcakes. “Isn’t it too late to be eating cupcakes?”

You shrugged. “Not my fault you’re a fantastic chef.”

“It’s not my fault baking helps me relax,” he shot back, nonchalantly picking another cupcake from the fridge and joining you as you leaned against the counter and dug in. He watched fondly as you moaned with pure bliss, munching on the baked good.

“It tastes better coming from the fridge, I don’t know why,” you said, mouth full.

Yoongi couldn’t wipe that stupid smile off his face. “You’re cute.”

You beamed. “You’re cuter!”

He took a bite off his cupcake to hide the stain in his cheeks. God, you always managed to turn him into a shy, blushy mess. “Stoooop,” he whined, cheeks full and pink, “I’m shy.”

“A shy, pretty, cute boy,” you giggled after swallowing. Clearly the alcohol had gotten into you, but of course, after five glasses of scotch and obscene amounts of beer…

“How come you make better food than I do?” You wondered aloud.

“That’s not true!”

You scoffed. “Yes it is! You’re better at cooking than I am.”

“But I can’t make a nice breakfast like you do,” he pointed out, head still spinning, but somehow you were tethering him into this world. If he stopped seeing you, he might as well pass out. Yoongi was sure he was still awake just because you were awake as well. “Can you please make breakfast for me forever?”

You leaned closer to him, nearly stumbling but somehow managing to keep yourself upright. “Only if you promise to keep making cupcakes for me on demand.”

“Deal,” he laughed, but was cut short once you dug your finger into the frosting and promptly smeared it on his nose. He frowned. “That’s not funny.”

You cackled, placing your half-eaten cupcake on the counter. “It’s very funny! It’s peak comedy, it’s-- HEY,” you yelled as Yoongi smeared all of the frosting in your cheeks and your mouth. “You think you’re slick, don’t you?!” You giggled in unison.

The laughter died down soon enough, and then you briefly stared at each other, eyeing the frosting covering both of your faces. “W-We gotta clean that up,” he said.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Silence.

And just like that, your lips crashed, hungrily.

He caged your body to the counter as he cupped your face and kissed the sweet frosting off of your lips, also accidentally smearing some on your nose, but you didn’t care. You tasted sweet, addicting, so pliant for him, so willing. You opened your mouth to allow his tongue in almost immediately, and he felt like he belonged there, like your lips were his natural habitat. He cupped your face and squished your cheeks like he’d always wanted to do -- you were holding onto his shoulders for dear life, only pulling him closer and closer until you weren’t able to breathe and then some more. You wanted him like he was the air you breathed.

Then you found yourself getting hoisted into the counter, spreading your legs a little bit wider to give him more space. He attacked your cheeks and licked the frosting off of them, and you did the same to him, then he went for your neck and nibbled and sucked to his heart’s desire as you tightened your grip on his shirt.

“Off,” you mumbled, still reeling from the attention he gave you. “Shirt off.”

“Shirt off,” he echoed, reluctantly separating from you to take off his precious white FG shirt you’d seen him wear like a thousand times. Only the light from your living room illuminated the kitchen as you hadn’t even bothered to turn the lights on when you came in.

“Can’t see you,” you complained, hands roaming the expanse of his chest. He returned to kiss your mouth like a man starved.

“Couch?” He muttered in-between kisses.

You hummed ‘yes’, and with his help, got off the counter, and hurriedly pulled him towards your living room.

A sharp sound woke you up. You didn’t know where it came from, only that you were far too tired and comfortable to bother waking up. Groaning, you stirred and buried your face on the warm body beneath you. Strong hands pulled you closer, and a low rumble reverberated across your chest. The sound stopped.

And then it started again. After whining and screwing your eyes shut, you realized it was Yoongi’s phone chiming.

“Who fuckin’ calls at this hour?” Said man groaned under you, and you froze.

What the fuck did you do last night?

Slowly unsticking your eyes open, you saw the morning light coming into your living room, and your bodies lying on the couch. Yoongi was shirtless. Fortunately, you still had your clothes on, and a pounding headache to boot.

“I dunno,” you answered, still making no move to get up.

“Where did I leave my phone?”

“Kitchen?” You suggested, but then it stopped chiming. Suddenly, your phone was chiming, this time on the coffee table in front of you. Yawning, you sat up with haste, trying your damnedest not to gawk at Yoongi’s toned torso. You were sure he could see the pink stain in your cheeks, but at least he couldn’t tell how fast your heart was beating.

You grabbed your phone. Namjoon was calling you. “What’s up?” You croaked.

“You sound awful,” he commented.

“I feel awful,” you corrected. “Like someone banged my head against a brick wall.”

“Bit of a hangover, huh?”

“Just a normal amount,” you joked.

Namjoon laughed. “Neat. Uhh, listen, me and the guys are coming to get our equipment. We left it at your place last night. We’ll be there in, like, twenty. Is that alright?”

You nodded absentmindedly and hummed in agreement, fighting back another yawn. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Cool, see you then.”

You hung up and turned to find Yoongi gone. He emerged from the kitchen, his bare feet dragging across the marble floor as he checked his phone. There was a bit of tension in the air as he refused to look at you directly, and you wondered if you did something wrong.

He sat down next to you and let out a deep breath. You tried to retrace your steps from last night, as you could still remember some of the events. You got drunk as fuck with your bandmates, piled into an Uber with an equally wasted Yoongi, stumbled back home and into the kitchen for a late night snack, and kissed Yoongi.

You kissed Yoongi and cuddled with him on the couch.

While your eyes widened in horror at what you’d done, Yoongi could only stare at the ceiling and reflect on what the fuck happened the previous night. He’d tasted the sweetness of your tongue, kissed the lips he’d been wanting to kiss for the past few months, made out with you on the couch until the two of you passed out from exhaustion. He never thought he’d do it, but he did.

But did you want to?

“Uhh, Namjoon and the rest are coming to pick up their stuff,” you said, looking straight ahead at the wall-mounted TV. “They’ll be here in twenty.”

“Cool,” Yoongi replied bluntly. He didn’t know why his stomach tightened all of a sudden. You were as still as a rock, as if one movement could trigger an avalanche of questions you didn’t want to answer at the moment, and that made him uneasy. Did you remember what happened last night? Were you disgusted? Was that it?

Suddenly you stood up, sighing and stretching, then rolling your neck until you heard a faint crack. “Do you have any hangover cure?”

“A tylenol and chamomile tea…?” He offered, all too aware of your shameful gaze lingering on the floor and not on him. Were you going to talk about what happened?

You nodded. “There’s tylenol in the medicine cabinet. I can make the tea, if you want.” Finally, your gaze landed on him, warm and inviting. Perhaps not all was lost and you were just confused. “I can also make pancakes.”

Yoongi smiled. “You don’t have to go through all that. You’re tired.”

“Yeah, but so are you.”

“Tell you what. I’ll make the tea and help you out with breakfast. How does that sound, princess?”

He was back to his flirty self again. It pained you that maybe he didn’t even remember what happened the previous night. If he did, he made no move to try and begin a conversation, so if he wasn’t ready to do so, neither were you. You hated confrontation, and there was no use trying to force something that he probably didn’t feel. He was just nice to you. Far too nice. But he never made a move on you.

Blame it on the alcohol. Yeah, that was easier.

Right?

A couple of weeks passed as you worked together on the mixing. Everything was fine. You still worked together wonderfully, and Yoongi taught you many things about music production, so much you were now sure you could produce an entire album on your own, although, of course, practice made perfect, and Yoongi had already mastered the techniques.

Neither of you dared to speak up on what happened that night. You were convinced he probably just didn’t remember, so you tried not to say anything out of fear that your working relationship would crumble due to your unrequited feelings. You couldn’t risk him leaving you now that the album was so close to completion, and trying to bring a relationship into the mix just wasn’t good for either of you, no matter how much your heart ached for him.

On the other hand, Yoongi suspected you wanted nothing to do with him romantically. Ever since he saw that look of regret on your face he realized you were probably going to avoid him, but you shoved down that sentiment and continued on like nothing happened, and Yoongi didn’t know if he just imagined it, or you were the biggest hypocrite he’d ever seen.

He didn’t know what to believe anymore. To think that you opened up your heart, your home, to him. A stranger, of all people. He was still struggling with coming to terms with his deep feelings for you, but now he didn’t know if he just admired you because you’d done so much for him, or if he was still hung up from that kiss. Either way, he wasn’t about to throw it all away because of some drunken kiss, as much as it hurt him. You tasked him with producing your album, and that’s what he was going to do, no matter what.

Manuel called you about three weeks later to suggest you shoot the music video for your single soon, given Yoongi was already done with mixing. His suggestion threw a hurdle in Yoongi’s plans, as he originally thought you’d finish the album first before you began promoting, but you argued that if you wanted to properly create enough hype, a pre-release single was the way to go, with the promise of a brand-new album looming on the horizon.

So while Yoongi halted the mixing process for the rest of the album to focus solely on mastering Signals, you brainstormed the music video with Manuel and tried to set up a crew for the shooting. All in all, the process took up about a week, and you already had everything set to begin filming in the streets of Manhattan. It was supposed to be low-budget and homey-looking to give more emphasis to the song itself, so when you pitched the idea to Yoongi, he agreed enthusiastically.

After harassing him for an entire day, you managed to convince him to head to Brooklyn Bridge with you to film some scenes, and to distract himself from work, as he’d been cooped up in your studio focused on mastering the song and you were worried he’d overwork himself. So during a cold Tuesday morning, Yoongi stood under an umbrella as the rain soaked your clothes for the sake of an artistic shot.

You looked happy in between takes. Manuel often struck up conversation with him to ease the tense silence between them, as he usually communicated with you instead of Yoongi, but all he could focus on was you, all wet hair and smiles. You were just too good to be true.

Could Yoongi really trust you? It felt weird even thinking about it, six months after you proposed working together. He certainly should’ve asked himself that first. There might’ve been a possibility you only saw a coworker in him and nothing more, just a stepping stone to get to where you wanted, your last resort. But to Yoongi, it was much more than that.

You gave him a chance to prove himself when no one else did, and he appreciated it so damn much. At certain moments, he felt that maybe you were too giving, and sometimes he even wondered if you were so generous because you pitied him. Of course, you had money, you had resources, you could’ve gotten anything you wanted. So why him?

Of course, being your producer didn’t mean he was entitled to your affections, but… Why were you so friendly, then? Why flirt with him all the time? Were you trying to butter him up so he’d do all the heavy lifting for you? You had all the power there, and Yoongi had opened himself so much for you, he couldn’t even fathom the possibility of you using him. That would’ve been the ultimate betrayal.

While he was deep in his thoughts, the director abruptly cut the scene and asked you to reshoot it just in case. His memory flew back to that night. How desperate you were to feel him, to touch him, to kiss him. How soft your lips felt against his. How happy he was. How much he wanted to scream to the entire world that his heart was full and it was full of you.

Your eyes met all of a sudden as one of the staff members helped you readjust your shirt and quickly retouch your lipstick. You smirked slightly and winked at him, and he melted right then and there.

You were going to be the death of him.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Princess? You’ve been in there for more than half an hour. Are you alright? You’re worrying me,” Yoongi said, his fist repeatedly knocking on the door to your guest bathroom.

Several weeks after promoting your single, you were now gearing towards a Friday release while Yoongi continued mastering the album, with as much help as he could get from you in between photoshoots and meetings with designers to discuss the album artwork.

It was Wednesday, and you thankfully had a free afternoon to spend working with Yoongi and getting ahead as much as possible. However, you’d been having an upset stomach the entire day, and fearing the worst, quickly made your way to the nearest bathroom. That was close to an hour ago.

“Princess?” Yoongi repeated when you didn’t answer, now slightly panicked. Before he could ask again, a faint cry came from the other side and Yoongi, scared, quickly opened the door, grateful you didn’t lock it.

When he entered, to his horror, you were kneeling on the floor, hugging the toilet seat, your hair all over the place and your face incredibly pale. Panicked, Yoongi quickly knelt down next to you and held your hair up as your body convulsed and you retched and vomited. Tears streamed down your face as Yoongi gently rubbed your back.

“There, there you go,” he soothed, nose scrunching from the foul smell. “Why didn’t you call me?”

Your body trembled. “Didn’t wanna bother you,” you said weakly. Yoongi rapidly flushed down the toilet to prevent you from vomiting bile once again. It was already too gross to smell.

“Bullshit,” he said. “Don’t say that again, alright?” He stood up and searched for the spare medicine cabinet, grabbing a bottle of rubbing alcohol and uncapping it, then handing it to you. “Here, smell.”

You took it and swirled it in front of your face to not get hit directly by the odor. Yoongi shut the toilet seat and helped you up so you could sit properly. “Better now?”

You nodded, clutching your belly with your free hand. “Still feel weird, though.”

“That must’ve been the shrimp. Told you the place was sketchy.”

You frowned. “Don’t get sassy on me now. How could I have possibly known the shrimp wasn’t fresh? I’m not a seafood expert.”

He smirked. “Alright, kid, I’ll let it slide.”

“Kid? We’re five years apart! Want me to start calling you old man?”

“Sorry, princess,” he said, leaning into the wall and observing you with soft eyes. “You know what? How about we stop working and have a movie marathon? I could make you some soup, too.”

You smiled. “You don’t have to make me soup. I can just drink some water and I’ll be fine. We still have a lot of work to do.”

“You’re not fine, princess. And I don’t mind halting work for a while if it means you’ll get better. We’re a team, remember?”

His words warmed you up. “Alright,” you relented. “The fridge is empty, though.”

“I can run to the store and whip something up. Are you okay with me leaving for a couple of minutes?”

You nodded.

He didn’t seem so convinced. “Are you sure? You don’t wanna puke a little more?”

You laughed. “Go before I change my mind.”

“Okay,” he chuckled. “You’re gonna love it. My mom used to make it for me when I was sick. Works like a charm,” he added as he exited the bathroom and made his way to the front door, slipping his sneakers on relatively quickly, grabbing his wallet and keys, and heading out.

The convenience store was just a block away. A quaint, little shop ran by a family of Cuban immigrants, frequently visited by all the residents in the area. Whenever he visited, one of the sons would greet him in Spanish, to which he thanked himself for learning a bit when he lived in LA, and he would greet them back.

It didn’t take him long to buy all the stuff he needed. It was nothing fancy, just a simple chicken broth with some spices, enough to get you up and running by the end of the day. It was the least he could do.

When he came back, he set the brown paper bags in the kitchen and called out your name, as the apartment was oddly quiet. Shrugging, he made his way towards the studio, but it was empty, so he walked over to your room, the door slightly ajar. Before he could knock, however, he heard a loud, hearty laugh on the other side, and he went still.

“Mom!” You scoffed. Yoongi knew eavesdropping wasn’t exactly a correct thing to do, but when he heard you dropping his name, his blood went cold. “Yoongi’s not like that, what are you even saying!”

He froze. Should he even be listening? You were talking to your mother, so you deserved to have some privacy while you did so.

“We’re not dating mom, get your mind out of the gutter. How can you say that? Yoongi’s my producer and nothing more-” You paused. Yoongi’s heart pounded heavily as you whined to your mom, who most probably assumed you were together due to the rumors you had to squash months ago. Even if what you said was real, that still didn’t take away the fact that you kissed, that the two of you had been endlessly flirting all this time, that there was undeniable chemistry between you.

“I thought you were okay with this. You do understand he’s staying with me because he can’t stay anywhere else, right? Don’t be old-fashioned. I’m just being nice. He already agreed to help me so I had to return the favor- no, mom! Things will change once the album is over-”

Yoongi turned around as silently as he could. He didn’t want to hear anything else.

Was everything a lie? Were you just trying to keep him in your good graces so he could deliver as much as you wanted? Did you not like him at all? His stomach churned with dread and his head spinned as he grabbed his shoes and his keys and sprinted out of your apartment.

By the time he made it to the lobby he had trouble breathing. He just needed fresh air, but the weather had other plans for him. In a twisted sense of irony, it had started raining, just as his eyes leaked tears of their own.

His worst fear came true. You lied to him. You used him. And you had no idea you were breaking his heart in the process.

Your mother called suddenly. You didn’t talk to your parents as often as you’d like, so every couple of weeks either your mom or your dad would call to check up on you, but given as you’d been pretty busy recently, your frequent phone calls had dwindled to probably once a month, except for the occasional text.

So as you made your way to your room to lie down, you catched up with her as she told you all about how your younger siblings were growing up, with the promise to text you more pictures of them and of your pets, as your siblings only texted you whenever they needed something.

While Yoongi went to the store, you had to endure your dear old mother’s endless nagging. She worried about you, and though you appreciated it, you didn’t share some of your parent’s old-fashioned views, such as having a handsome boy living with you. Which resulted in your mother teasing you about those old rumors of you and Yoongi dating.

Because of course, you had to be dating a man to live with him. It just made sense.

Luckily, your parents didn’t have Twitter, so they weren’t as up to date with whatever rumors the press had about you, but they did have Facebook, where news traveled slower (or at least that’s how it went within their friend circle). And although they were aware of Yoongi living with you and didn’t question it, they were under the impression that the two of you were dating.

“Mom!” You yelled, scandalized, when she questioned whether he had pressured you into opening up your apartment to him. “Yoongi’s not like that. What are you even saying!”

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I just can’t really wrap my head around it. You know how your dad and I think. Are you really not dating? Or are you trying to hide something from us?”

You gaped at the phone in shock. How could she doubt you?

“We’re not dating mom, get your mind out of the gutter. How can you say that? Yoongi’s my producer and nothing more-”

“I know, I know he is. I’m just thinking that you two look so good together, and from what you’ve told me he seems like a decent kid. Why don’t you give him a chance? Maybe if you did it you two wouldn’t look so suspicious living together. Why couldn’t he get his own place anyway? I don’t know how things are going on between you but to a stranger it would sound like he’s leeching off you, you know. Living rent-free and all that.”

You groaned. “I thought you were okay with this. You do understand he’s staying with me because he can’t stay anywhere else, right? Don’t be old-fashioned. I’m just being nice. He already agreed to help me so I had to return the favor- no, mom! Things will change once the album is over and released. You know that, right? It’s a temporary thing. Plus, when it’s over, I wanna help him find a place, whether it’s here or in LA.”

“But you’d rather have him there in New York, right?” She inquired.

“I never said that,” you quickly defended.

“Oh, please, sweetie, you might think I’m dumb, but I birthed you. I know you better than you think. And based on the way you talk about that boy, it’s pretty clear you’re into him. So what’s stopping you?”

“It’s not- I don’t…” You sighed. “Fine, I like him. I like him so much it hurts, mom. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? I like him a lot, but… I don’t think he likes me back. I don’t know… He’s so kind to me, so hardworking, so pretty. I just know you’d love him as much as I do.”

“Well, why don’t you go for him?”

You shook your head, then remembered she couldn’t see you. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why? Because he’s your producer? Honey, people get more entangled in the entertainment industry than anywhere else. He’s fair game. Don’t refrain from living the life you wanna live. Don’t be so afraid. I’m sure he’ll see you for what you are. Take that leap, sweetie. You got this.”

When you emerged from your room nearly twenty minutes later, your left ear hot from holding your phone next to it for so long, the smell of chicken broth hit you. While talking to your mother, it had started raining, and you couldn’t wait to sit back and relax on your couch with Yoongi, maybe under some warm blankets, maybe cuddling. Maybe.

He had his back to you when you stepped into the kitchen, busy working on the stove, apron on (he liked to play chef all the time), and you just couldn’t resist to sneak up behind him and wrap your arms around his torso. Yoongi froze under your touch, going still as a rock.

“Hey, it’s me,” you said soothingly, pressing your forehead in between his shoulder blades. He acknowledged your presence with a hum. “Smells great.”

“Hope you like it,” he replied curtly, quickly fishing a spoon from the drying rack to give you a taste. “Wanna try?”

You slowly let him go and planted yourself right by his side, accepting the spoon filled with hot broth. “Coming from you, I don’t think I couldn’t not like it, you know?” You said, blowing gently on the soup before tasting. The aromatic liquid filled you with warmth instantly, the taste reminding you of home. “It’s amazing, Yoon, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N,” he said.

Feeling brave, you stood on your tip-toes and planted a soft kiss to his cheek. “I appreciate it, really.”

He gave you a small smile, but then you realized his eyes were red and puffy, and he’d been sniffing for a bit. You suddenly went tense. “Were you chopping onions or something?”

Yoongi blushed, apparently caught, but quickly defended himself. “Uhh, no, I, uhh… It started raining when I was heading back, and I, umm, I started sneezing a lot, so…”

You doubted what he said, but chose not to push him further. “Well, I hope you don’t catch anything, otherwise I’ll have to make chicken soup for you.”

He smiled again, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Let’s hope so.”

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