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Article: Worldwide Handsome Jin Spotted in Yeongdeungpo
Source: BigHit via Naver
If K-nets were asked to place their bets on which celebrity they’d most likely bump into on the streets, the last person they’d put their money on would be Worldwide Handsome Jin.
Seriously, the guy books his appearances months in advance, notoriously declines invitations past 9pm, and is accompanied everywhere by his infamous Manager Sejin.
READ MORE: Top 10 Best Manager Sejin Photobombs
But believe it or not, a few lucky bystanders caught him out and about in the streets of Yeongdeungpo, Seoul a few nights ago!
In case you aren’t chronically online, a few tweets here and there had speculated seeing a Kim Seokjin lookalike on the subway but were largely ignored…until this fan post connected the dots and confirmed that it was none other than the Nation’s Son-in-Law walking around the area.
The fan account gave a full rundown of her personal experience as she saw the actor walking the same route she takes on her way home (so no, she wasn’t stalking him!).
“I could recognize that sexy back from any angle, even if it was bundled in a padding jacket! So I bottled up all my courage and called out his name.”
She managed to approach WWH Jin to ask for a selca, but unfortunately he politely declined, saying he was on “personal schedule” with “a friend.” This mystery “friend” was the only one who accompanied the superstar as they went off to grab dinner around the neighborhood.
While no selcas were taken that night, other onlookers did manage to snap a few candid photos of WWH Jin and his “friend” throughout the course of their evening.
Check out the photos here.
- [ 521, -1] leave him alone when he’s on personal schedule u freaks!!!
- [ 390, 0] sorry jin but does your friend have a name
- [0, -9,293] everyone listen. i have a feeing that this is the same guy in the balcony pic. what if I told u jin bf era???
🎵🎼🎹🎶
Is this you?
Yoongi glances down at the text notification and instinctively swipes it away.
He can’t count the number of times he’s gotten the exact same message, with the same link attached to it, showing the same grainy, low-quality photo of his side profile.
Yes, it’s him. And yes, that is Kim Seokjin standing—no, towering—next to him. (What kind of warped camera did this person have? There’s no way that’s true-to-size! Yoongi’s not actually that small!)
“So, today’s agenda,” Namjoon begins, redirecting his attention back to the board room. The label’s shared calendar is projected unto the wall, rainbow colors showing different schedules overlapping with each other. “Let’s just do a quick rundown of all our on-going projects. I know a few are happening simultaneously, starting with TXT’s upcoming single…”
If it’s any consolation, Yoongi had read the article while doomscrolling last night, so he at least had the time to process it on his own. Without any teasing commentary from his so-called “friends”—thanks for nothing, Yijeong.
(And no, he was absolutely not looking up Kim Seokjin on Naver at 3 in the morning; the article just so happened to pop up on his feed, out of thin air! Stupid algorithm.)
It’s unsettling to see an outsider’s perspective of yourself like that. Yoongi felt awkward about the interaction all of a sudden, and even in the privacy of his own bed, he couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. It’s the same kind of feeling he used to get when Bang PD would insist on listening to their half-baked demos, the internal cringe he would suppress when he knew from the first beat that it wasn’t ready yet, that it should’ve stayed in the drafts.
He doesn’t want all these eyes on him. The thought of everyone now sticking their nose into this one dinner overrides whatever warmth he had felt that night, sitting across the table from Seokjin. He can’t imagine the dinner as anything nice, at least not anymore.
“Jiminie and Jungkookie are both performing on MuBank next week,” Hoseok says when it’s his turn. “Rehearsals are going great. I’m confident they’ll both do a good job.”
Yoongi didn’t expect the article to blow up in the morning. Really, he thought people would just scroll past it. Surely, there are more interesting things going on than Kim Seokjin going to dinner—but apparently, that’s a tall order for anything involving the Nation’s Something-or-Other.
Even his mother, who barely texts to ask how he is on a regular day, had messaged him! Is this you, she had sent. And when he confirmed that it was, she followed up with, Your face looks like a steamed dumpling.
In that instant, he decided he was never going to let Seokjin get away with having his own mother speak to him like this.
So, Yoongi had to send her a long message reassuring her that he and Seokjin were strictly professionals working on a project together—it’s not a personal relationship! Seokjin is not visiting Daegu anytime soon!—and she really shouldn’t believe everything she reads on those gossip sites. He even threatened to enroll her in a social media literacy course if she was so easily baited by a pair of quotation marks around the word “friend.”
“Friend” is too generous a word for what they are, anyway.
It’s not that Yoongi’s actively looking for reasons to dislike Kim Seokjin. But this whole text blast from his family and all the nosy friends he apparently has is definitely not working towards his favor.
The good thing is that Namjoon and Hoseok and the senior producers in the room are dignified people; they don’t busy themselves with checking any of the gossip sites. Otherwise, Yoongi would be done for. He’d never hear the end of it. He vows never to put himself in this position a second time—he never wants to be reminded of that damn dinner ever again.
“How about you, Yoongi-hyung?” Namjoon asks after what had been a moment of prolonged silence. Everyone else had given their updates, it seems.
“Oh,” Yoongi mumbles, snapping out of it. “Just two more OST recordings. I should be able to hand over the final material by the end of the week. After that, I’ll work with Yeonjun. He has vocal practice right now, but by next week we can block off some time in the studio.”
“Good, good.” Namjoon hums as he makes a note on his pad. Then, he glances up at Hoseok, who glances up at him. They exchange secrets with just their eyes. “If there are no other updates…does anyone, um, have any questions?”
Hoseok clears his throat. It’s obviously not a cough, but a signal.
“What?” Yoongi frowns. He looks between the two of them.
“Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok starts, and the devilish smile on his face should’ve been a dead giveaway. This can’t be anything good. He presses a button that changes the projected screen into a very familiar screenshot. “…is this you?”
The room erupts into stifled laughter and teasing while Yoongi buries himself in his seat.
🎵🎼🎹🎶
If there’s one word Seokjin has been overusing lately, it’s been good.
When the media visited the set to ask them how filming was going, he had nothing else to say other than it’s been good.
When Lee Sunbin, his leading lady, asked about the OST while they took a break from shooting a love scene (those were always awkward without smalltalk), he put a blanket over her bare shoulders and told her it’s going good.
And when Manager Sejin checked in on him to see if he still had any energy to go to a recording after a grueling 16-hour shoot day, Seokjin had insisted with two thumbs up. He’s good.
After the first session, Seokjin had thrown himself into the song with a renewed fervor. He practices anytime he can now, even without a vocal coach—in between takes, in the car rides home and back—keeping everything he learned in his mind. He mulls over the best way to portray Park Ranger Hyunjo’s emotions in the key lines, and when to hold back in others. The whole process ignited a new fire in him, one he hasn’t felt in a long time.
It feels like he’s entering a new level in a video game, with new missions and personal bests to score. How else can he tell the drama’s story through the song? What else can he improve on? What other input might Yoongi have with the way he’s singing it now?
And Yoongi. That’s another thing. His producer is good. Seokjin doesn’t have to be told; he knows he always has to bring his A-game when he walks into Genius Lab, and he accepts the challenge head-on. Seokjin loves a challenge. This energy is good.
“You sound happy,” Yoongi’s deep voice interrupts his internal monologue. The producer’s face is devoid of any expression as he speaks to him from behind the mixing board. “Why are you happy?”
Is he happy?
Seokjin hasn’t thought of that word in a while. He didn’t even realize it, but maybe that’s the end result of so many good things piling up.
“Sorry, I was just…” he pauses and wonders if he should come up with an excuse, but decides not to, “…thinking happy thoughts, I guess.”
“You’re singing a ballad. You’re not supposed to be happy.”
“No, you’re right,” Seokjin admits.
The direction is correct, despite the harsh way it was said. He tries not to dwell on Yoongi’s tone, or the fact that he looks especially unimpressed tonight. The emotion in the song was the first thing they covered last time. Seokjin shouldn’t have made such a basic mistake.
He recovers quickly, saying, “Give me a second, PD-nim. I’m thinking sad thoughts now. Global warming. Late-stage capitalism. The inequality women face in the workforce.”
Yoongi’s expression doesn’t change. Not one bit.
Seokjin tries again. “I see what’s going on here. You’re really taking that 1,000 won thing seriously, huh? That’s what this is, right?”
Yoongi’s eyes flick up at him then, icy and cutting. He’s clearly not in the mood. “No.”
“Wait? Is something wrong? Yah, do I sound that bad?” Seokjin teases, but Yoongi doesn’t budge at all. Seokjin’s laughter is left to taper off into a tense silence.
Okay, fine. He can take a hint. No banter today, then.
“Are you ready?” Yoongi asks, sounding tired. More tired than usual. He doesn’t wait for a response, his fingers working against the keyboard, ready to punch in the next take. “The chorus again, please. With the right emotions, this time.”
Seokjin nods, getting into the proper headspace. Not happy.
Quite frankly, Yoongi’s professionalism is top notch. Seokjin should follow his lead, instead of thinking about the sudden coldness that’s permeated in the recording studio.
So what if Yoongi is extra strict tonight? (Did Seokjin do something wrong?) No, that should be the least of his worries. (Didn’t they have such a nice time at dinner?) He should just focus on his singing. (Was he the only one who selfishly thought it was good?)
The uncertainty he feels seeps into his words, for better or for worse.
Every day you seem too far away
Every time you do, I tell myself,
I’m waiting right here…
Seokjin has rehearsed this so many times, he doesn’t even need to look at the lyric sheet. The piece of paper is useless to him. Instead, his eyes are fixed only on Yoongi, trying to anticipate his reaction, watching every movement, searching for the right cues.
And Yoongi is looking right back at him. Except he's not so much as looking as he is glaring, eyebrows furrowed like he’s ready to snap at any time.
Seokjin doesn’t get to finish the chorus. Yoongi pauses the track with no warning and interrupts him mid-take. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Seokjin blinks, thrown off by the abruptness of the question. “…like what?”
“Like that!” He gestures at his eyes. This is the most emotion Yoongi has shown in the past half hour, so it really must be bothering him.
“What do you mean? I’m just trying to convey the right emotions. Like you said!”
“Well, convey it somewhere else. Don’t look at me,” Yoongi complains. “Look at the lyrics or something.”
“I don’t need the lyrics. I memorized it, and I feel stiff reading off the paper. I’m an actor, Yoongi-ssi! I need to engage with someone.”
“That doesn’t mean me!”
“Well, who else is in the room?!” At the back of his mind, Seokjin wonders what they’re really arguing about. He’s a little lost.
Yoongi seems particularly worked up about something, but it’s not like he’s done anything worth being worked up about. In fact, compared to his first recording, Seokjin can say he’s doing way better this time!
The frustration feels more like their usual back and forth, though, and Seokjin kind of savors it. It’s way better than an emotionless, passive Yoongi, at least.
“If it bothers you so much, PD-nim, then why don’t you look away?”
Yoongi opens his mouth, ready to put up a fight, but then closes it. Almost like the possibility of not looking at Seokjin hadn’t occurred to him until then. He concedes, “Fine. Whatever. One more time.”
He pouts—force of habit, probably, but still an adorable sight that Seokjin is lucky enough to catch—and restarts the take. For his sake, Seokjin cooperates, trying to downplay the emotions in his eyes, if that’s even possible. Yoongi doesn’t call him out on it anymore, so it must be working.
With minimal objections, they cover the chorus, second verse, and the bridge rather quickly. By the time they’ve recorded everything they needed to, it’s only past 9pm. An early night, in Seokjin’s book.
“That was good!” He exclaims, exiting the booth. (There’s that word again!) He feels way more energized now, satisfied by his vocals. He turns towards Yoongi. “It was good, right?”
The producer makes a vague noise, more interested in editing than in giving him any praise. It seems like he’s an immovable force headed only towards work, unless intercepted by a different, more enticing prospect. Like dinner.
Well, luckily for them, that’s what Seokjin’s here for. With a smile, he says, “So, gukbap?”
“No. Thank you.” The reply is quick and final, like Yoongi was ready with it.
It feels like the verbal equivalent of being left hanging after establishing a secret handshake. Wasn’t it clear that post-recording session dinners are mandatory now? It’s basically part of the process!
Thankfully, Seokjin’s great at improvising. He doesn’t miss a beat. “Ah, you’re right, Yoongi-ssi, it’s too soon to have gukbap again! What was I even thinking!” He taps a finger against his forehead for comedic effect. “You know one thing I never get sick of, though? Mulhwe! There’s a nice spot just—”
“I’ll pass.”
Seokjin gasps, pretending to be distraught about it. “No! Don’t tell me you don't like mulhwe! If you really don’t, then we might actually have to be enemies.”
Yoongi inhales sharply, like he’s trying his best to be patient. “Are you done? I’ve got work to do.”
Seokjin pauses. He’s persistent, but not dense. He can read the room well enough to know Yoongi’s really not kidding this time. But he still can’t pinpoint what changed.
“It’s getting late though,” Seokjin says, but even he can hear how unconvincing that sounds.
The producer nods. He doesn’t even look at him. “You know your way out, right?”
Seokjin can’t do anything about the cold shoulder, but he tries to think if there’s any chance he could still salvage this.
Or, alternatively, maybe Yoongi really is busy tonight. If Seokjin thinks about it, he’s busy too. And he’s tired. Too tired to be wasting time eating at restaurants.
“Right,” Seokjin says, leaving it at that. “Thank you for your hard work today, Yoongi-ssi. I’ll see you on Thursday?”
That’s their third and final recording session. The last time they'll ever have to see each other. Wow, phrasing it like that makes it sound like such a big deal.
Are singers usually this sentimental when they wrap up recording sessions? Seokjin doesn’t know, but he wonders if Yoongi can tell by the way he says it. Thurs-day. Yoongi’s always good at picking up the emotions behind his words, after all.
But instead of listening close like he usually does, Yoongi puts on his headphones. He drowns everything out—Seokjin included—and zeroes in on the work.
🎵🎼🎹🎶
Dwelling on Things is easily part of Seokjin’s Top 5 Least Favorite Things to Do, so it’s a relief when he walks into his penthouse apartment and sees the kitchen lights are on. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but the visit is a pleasant surprise.
“Hello?”
His first guess is either Jimin or Taehyung—those two abuse their knowledge of his door code way too often—but then he starts to doubt it, considering the pair would be more likely to order takeout and crash in his living room than attempt to make something from scratch.
As he approaches the kitchen, he sees Manager Sejin turn around holding a handful of vegetables. With a kitchen apron and a chef’s hat on, he looks almost like Seokjin’s fairy godmother, if godmothers were spectacled men in their late 40s. Point being, he’s always showing up at the right time, knowing exactly what Seokjin needs.
“Hungry?” His manager asks, practically reading his mind.
Sejin does pop up announced in Seokjin’s apartment every now and then, sometimes to drop off a bag of PR packages, other times to restock his pantry, but a home-cooked meal is pretty out of the ordinary. That only happens when Seokjin is too sick or exhausted to cook for himself, which isn’t the case right now.
He can’t help but wonder what he did to summon his manager, who also had a long day at work.
“You didn’t tell me you were making dinner tonight,” Seokjin says casually. He settles on a barstool and leans against the marble countertop, feeling odd that, for once, he's the one seated on this side. At home, he’s always the one cooking, never the one waiting to be served.
“Why?” Sejin throws him a suspicious look that Seokjin doesn’t quite understand. “Would you have made other plans?”
“I would’ve made a request,” he says with a grin. “Steak and potatoes, maybe.”
“Hah! Tough luck, kid.” Sejin shakes his head, garnishing the salad with some grated cheese. “As a matter of fact, I’m cooking because I know you’ve been eating out lately. Just making sure we’re not paying your dietician and nutritionist all that money for nothing.”
Seokjin snickers. He’s definitely guilty of treating those diets like the friendly suggestions that they are. Besides, he hikes Mount Jiri almost every day—that should be enough of a justification to eat whatever he wants.
Sejin pushes the finished plate towards him: grilled chicken breast with a generous serving of side salad. It’s not exactly the world’s most mouthwatering meal, but the hours of work catch up with Seokjin then and there and his stomach grumbles anyway.
He digs in while Sejin pops open a bottle of wine. As he pours, he studies the actor carefully, like he’s waiting for the right moment to pounce.
That seems to be after Seokjin takes his first sip.
“So,” Sejin says. His fingers are clasped together like he’s conducting an interrogation. “What’s the deal with your producer?”
Seokjin immediately looks up. “So it’s not just me? You noticed it too?" He asks urgently. “I knew something was wrong!”
“Uh, what?”
“He was in a bad mood today,” Seokjin clarifies. “That’s what you meant, right?”
“Oh, no. That’s not it, his mood swings are the least of my concerns.” Sejin frowns. He decides on a more straight-forward approach. “I’d like to know what’s going on between the two of you.”
“What do you mean? What’s going on?”
“Your date has gone viral,” Sejin tells him.
Seokjin nearly chokes on his chicken. “Sorry, our what?”
“Ah, sometimes I forget you live under a rock,” Sejin whispers under his breath, reaching for his phone. “When was the last time you checked your social media?”
The honest answer is that he never does—he only uses his phone for games—but of course he won’t say that.
“Hyung, superstars don’t keep tabs on themselves. That’s what our managers are for,” Seokjin jokes in an attempt to save the mood. This feels like it’s heading downhill really fast.
“Someone saw you and Suga out at dinner the other night.” Sejin slides over his phone, revealing a headline showing exactly that. “Well, they didn’t name him. It says ‘mystery friend,’ which is somehow worse because the internet turned it into some big guessing game. The articles were trending this morning, and it got more pick-ups than the drama announcement.”
Seokjin takes the phone to get a closer look. This doesn’t make any sense. There was nothing to report, first of all. The only thing they did was walk to dinner. His stomach drops when he sees a picture of Yoongi on the article. Even though it’s dim and badly composed, there it is, a hint of his smile. It was much cuter in real life.
He thinks it might be a stupid question, but Seokjin can’t help but ask, “Why is this news?”
“Because you’re never spotted out in public like that,” Sejin answers. He knows how ridiculous it sounds, but that’s reality. “Think about it, Seokjin-ah. It’s late at night, you’re dressed so casually, and you’re out with someone who’s not a co-star. You’ve never done that before.”
“That’s it? People are making a big deal out of that?”
“Yes, that’s it. And that’s a good thing. There’s nothing incriminating in the article, at least,” Sejin points out. No one in their PR team had flagged the article because none of them predicted how people would react, ridiculous fan theories and all. “As soon as someone coined the term ‘Jin BF,’ it snowballed from there and turned into this trending topic—which is crazy, considering all they had was that grainy picture of Suga’s face, and the fact that your outfit was apparently very ‘boyfriend-coded.’”
“He’s not my boyfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.” Seokjin hands over the phone. He knows he did nothing wrong, but somehow he feels defeated. He can read between the lines well enough to know that even though there was nothing particularly scandalous about what happened, he needs to do some damage control.
Privately, he wonders if the article has reached Yoongi, too. Was that the reason why he was acting so cold?
“Okay. Then, as your manager, I want you to take control and post a selfie with Sunbi-ssi tomorrow,” Sejin instructs levelheadedly. He’s always thinking one step ahead. “Share it everywhere. Instagram. Twitter. Take two, if you can. Make it cute and flirty, something the fans will eat up. Nothing attracts new viewers more than co-stars who look like they might be dating.”
Seokjin doesn’t argue. Working with Sunbi is easy, and a request like that is all in a day’s work. “Okay. I’ll do that.”
Sejin fiddles with his fingers for a moment, hesitating. “And…as your hyung, I just want to know.” He pauses. Seokjin imagines the kind of questions that might follow—why didn’t you know any better? How could you be so careless?—but instead, his manager asks, “What exactly were you thinking?”
Oh.
Seokjin sits with the question for a second. What was he thinking? It takes him a while to admit it. “I…I wasn’t.”
The answer hangs between them heavier than intended. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? That when Yoongi’s around, Seokjin never really thinks too hard about anything.
For someone who spends every waking moment overthinking the smallest movements—from a quiver of a brow in one scene, to the exact way he smiles in another—it’s very unlike him to just do things on a whim. He knows this. He’s lived like this for so long.
His whole career is built on this carefully crafted Worldwide Handsome character, and it’s been a conscious decision to stick to it. He and Sejin have lost sleep deciding on and rehearsing all these little details. Worldwide Handsome Jin is funny, but not overly slapstick. Flirty, but not sleazy. He goes to all the social obligations he agrees to, but never overstays. He gives the public all the right parts of himself, enough to keep them interested. That’s why it works. That’s why everyone loves him.
A spontaneous evening of gukbap and soju might seem like no big deal in the grand scheme of things, but there’s no space for that in a persona built as airtight as his.
And yet, one conversation with Yoongi is apparently all it takes to throw that overthinking out the window.
So, no. He wasn’t thinking—not at all. When Yoongi’s around, he always finds himself blurting out the first thing that comes to mind; he gets to be honest and spontaneous and a little more himself in a way he rarely ever is.
Sejin repeats his words, unsure. “So, you weren’t thinking?”
“Well, it’s not that I—” Seokjin starts to answer in his most diplomatic tone, but his manager calls it out straight away.
“Yah, Seokjin-ah, this isn’t a press interview!” Sejin says, easing up a bit. “It’s just me. Stop being so formal, you can talk to me. It’s okay. Be honest.”
“I think Yoongi-ssi is…” Seokjin tries not to think too hard about it, “…just easy to be around. That night, we ended late, got hungry, and grabbed dinner. That’s it.”
“Just dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to grab ‘just dinner’ with him again?”
Seokjin gives him a look. “Hyung, what does it matter? I don’t know! Just—if you’re telling me to avoid him, just say so.”
Sejin shakes his head, and Seokjin doesn’t expect to feel so relieved.
“You’re a grown man, Kim Seokjin. The last time I told you not to do something, you went ahead and gave yourself micro bangs," Sejin recalls with a frown. “We’re on the same side, that’s all I want you to know. I’m your number one supporter, kid. That means my responsibility is to make sure your professional life takes the spotlight, not your personal life.”
Seokjin nods, understanding him completely.
“And,” he adds, “if you really insist on grabbing ‘just dinner’ with someone, I just…need you to be a little sneakier next time. Or at least tell me, so I can cover for you.”
Seokjin takes it all in. He didn’t mean for dinner to turn into a big affair involving his manager and his team. It wasn’t supposed to take away any media traction from his drama. It was meant to be a small, secret thing between him and Yoongi.
Then again, there are very few things he can keep to himself as a public figure. Almost a decade into his career and sometimes he still forgets.
He sighs. “I’m sorry about this, hyung.”
Sejin shakes his head, pushing the heavy conversation aside. He and Seokjin mirror each other in more ways than they care to notice, both deathly allergic to staying serious for too long. “Ah, let’s not dwell. Dwelling’s not cool, Seokjin-ah! This is nothing! Now, if there was any skinship involved, then that’s a whole other story—but we’re good. You’re fine!”
That makes Seokjin crack a smile, at least. “Right.”
“You know who you should be apologizing to? Kim Taehyung!” Sejin blabbers on as he pours another glass of wine. “Do you know how many fake dating proposals that boy has sent me? He’s not going to take it well when he hears Suga, of all people, beat him to it! And on accident at that!”
🎵🎼🎹🎶
“You know, when you said let’s go to the river and hang out with ‘hyung’ before practice, I assumed you meant Jin-hyung,” Jungkook says, chewing on his bottom lip as he watches Jimin’s approaching figure. “Not gonna lie. I feel kind of misled.”
Behind Jimin, an amicable-looking Taehyung trails behind. He waves hello.
“No offense, Taehyungie-hyung.”
“Oh. None taken!”
“Look, Jin-hyung’s notifications were off for no good reason, Sejin-hyung has fully blocked me, and Taehyung was free, so I did my best,” Jimin defends himself. He sits down on the picnic blanket Jungkook had laid out for them, along with some snacks. “And be nice to Tae! He’s mourning!”
Jungkook glances at him, concerned. Taehyung does look more pouty than normal. “Is it because of the drama lockdown?” He can relate. Late-night rehearsals have gotten a bit more draining without Seokjin randomly popping in to goof around. Nobody seems to be taking the actor’s absence well.
“That, and ‘cause of the Jin BF rumors!” Taehyung exclaims, distraught. “I’ve been telling him that should be me for months now, and Suga-hyung just swoops in and steals my spot!”
Jungkook tilts his head. He doesn’t know about any rumors—a product of his very strict social media ban. They’re even stricter now that he’s days away from debut. “Seokjin-hyung and Yoongi-hyung? They’re just working together, right?”
“Are they?” Jimin throws the question back, wiggling his eyebrows to build some intrigue. “An article came out saying they went on a date, which is a shame ‘cause if anyone was a shoe-in to play Jin-hyung’s BF, it would be Taehyungie. Obviously.”
Jungkook nods slowly. “Right. Obviously,” he says, not quite sure if it’s a joke or not. It’s really hard to decipher Jimin’s tone sometimes. “But they’re not really dating, right?”
Jimin and Taehyung exchange not-so-subtle glances.
Jimin shrugs, feigning ignorance. “Who knows?”
“Maybe we should ask them next time,” Taehyung suggests with a smirk.
“Maybe at that thing Hobi-hyung’s planning,” Jimin echoes, breaking off into a snicker at the end of his sentence.
Jungkook doesn’t get why this is supposed to be as amusing as they’re making it out to be. It feels like a plan is forming right in front of him, but he has no idea what it’s about. There’s no way anything is going on between Seokjin and Yoongi—they tolerate each other at best, he thinks.
Maybe Jimin and Taehyung have an inside joke or something. Whatever it is, there’s no time to dwell on it because the conversation naturally moves on.
“How do you get over someone you never even fake-dated?” Taehyung sighs, laying down against the picnic blanket. “This sucks. I miss Jin-hyung. I’m never going to smile ever again.”
“I miss hyung, too.” Jimin pats Taehyung’s hair to soothe him.
“What do you usually do when Jin-hyung has these drama lockdowns?” Jungkook asks.
“Wait for him to come back,” Taehyung replies, forlorn.
“We usually look for fun distractions,” Jimin answers less dramatically. “Last time, when hyung was promoting The Astronaut, Taehyungie and I went to Lotte World and spent the entire day beating the high score on the dance machine!”
Despite his previous statement, Taehyung does smile again. “Oh, yeah! That was fun!”
Jungkook lights up with an idea. “I know what we can do! I learned a new dance challenge from my sunbaes today, you guys wanna try? I can teach you!”
Taehyung’s smile widens as he makes a move to stand up. “Okay! Let’s do it!”
🎵🎼🎹🎶
Yoongi has been staring at his phone for the last five minutes.
And no—it’s not because of the picture Kim Seokjin just posted on Instagram, that just so happened to appear at the top of his feed. Some aegyo with a lady Yoongi can only assume is his love interest, based on the amount of finger hearts and kissy faces in the first photo alone. It’s a carousel post, 10 photos maxed out, and every swipe shows them getting closer and closer to each other.
He supposes that must have some appeal to his fanbase or whatever.
Yoongi can admit that Seokjin does look quite…appealing in character, dressed in a tight t-shirt and looking every bit like a rugged mountaineer. And the girl is rather pretty, too.
Yours, @sunb143, it’s captioned. It’s clever, because it sounds like he’s flirting, but he’s not really flirting since that’s literally what their drama is called.
Judging by the number of hearts on the post, the adoring public is clearly eating this up, too. Then, Yoongi predicts, the celebrity gossip sites will publish it, keep it on the front page with some spicy headline, and spin some clickbait narrative to reel people in.
That’s the part Yoongi’s stuck on—the celebrity rumor mill, and the lightning-fast pace in which the life of a famous person is scrutinized.
Yesterday, “JIN BF” was trending. Today, it’s this. How does that work? How does someone like Kim Seokjin operate, knowing all these eyes are watching his every move, with the media ready to magnify every single interaction he has with everyone he comes across?
On Seokjin’s feed, the lady looks like a welcome guest. Someone who belongs there—whose existence he’s happy to acknowledge. He’s posting her for the whole world to see. Like he wants everyone to see them together.
Does that mean every move Seokjin makes is calculated?
But then, that train of thought leads Yoongi down a dangerous path with useless questions like, what kind of calculated move was their dinner for? Was any part of it genuine, like Yoongi had initially thought? Did it mean anything at all?
Yoongi is losing his mind. He needs a break.
It’s bad enough that he stays holed up in the studio all day. It’s worse now that he’s got nothing but Seokjin’s vocals playing on loop directly into his ears. It’s as if his headphones are keeping Seokjin’s vocals trapped inside his brain, so even when the music stops, Seokjin is the only thing left taking up space in his head.
It doesn’t help that the guy has gotten way too good at projecting his emotions when he sings. He doesn’t hesitate or doubt himself anymore, and quite frankly, the end result is terrifying. The current edit renders Yoongi useless in his chair, subconsciously yearning for something he doesn’t even know! This is getting out of hand.
He needs to go out. Stretch his legs or something. Yeah, that should be good. He checks the clock and remembers Jungkook’s schedule—his rehearsal should be starting in a few minutes.
Being around his favorite trainee (who also happens to have very limited social media access) is probably better than whatever is happening to him in here, so Yoongi abandons his studio and heads to the practice room.
Surprisingly, the sight that greets him is not of anyone practicing, but of two people hunched over a laptop in one corner of the room. They’re both watching something intently. At first, Yoongi thinks it might be a playback of Jungkook’s routine, with Hoseok pointing out key moves, but then he hears dialogue. That’s definitely a drama.
“What are you guys doing?” Yoongi asks, approaching them. He doesn’t recognize the scene, or the rest of the conversation that follows. “Isn’t Jungkook supposed to be rehearsing right now?”
Neither of them acknowledge him. It’s a third voice that answers him instead, a velvety sound coming from the laptop saying, “I’m the moon, and you—you’re my earth.”
Yoongi’s eyes widen in recognition.
No. Not that voice again—he’s listened to it too many times this week. At this point, he can tell who this person is based on the sound of their breathing alone.
That’s definitely Kim Seokjin.
Jungkook doesn’t take his eyes off the screen for a second. “We’re watching The Astronaut!” There’s a faint blush on his cheeks, the result of whatever’s happening on screen.
“I can see that.” Yoongi elbows Hoseok, who’s obviously the mastermind. “Really? On company time?”
“It’s called work-life balance,” Hoseok replies cheekily, but then he quickly follows up with, “Jungkook came early! We have 15 minutes before he has to start!”
“So you decided to watch a drama instead.”
Hoseok hums. “Hm. Is that judgment I’m sensing? If so, I’m choosing to ignore it.” He points a finger towards Jungkook as if to redirect all the blame his way. “It’s not my fault Jungkook’s never seen any of Jin-hyung’s stuff! That’s practically blasphemy! Wait—have you ever watched any?”
Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He tries to remember why coming here was supposed to be a good distraction.
“Come, sit,” Hoseok beckons, tapping the empty seat beside him. “It’s getting really good! The Astronaut just confessed to this girl, but he’s from a completely different planet and has absolutely no social cues!”
On screen, The Astronaut in plainclothes says, “Do you want to eat ramyeon with me?”
The girl across him blushes, understanding something different. “Oppa…really?”
“Noona, he’s part alien—what are you thinking!” Jungkook yells at the screen, slapping a hand over his face.
Yoongi’s answer is a few beats delayed. “No, thanks.” His eyes linger on the screen for another second before he turns away. “I see enough of Kim Seokjin as it is.”
This seems to catch Jungkook’s attention. He turns to look at his hyung for the first time, wide-eyed. “Wait. Jin BF?”
“How do you know that?” Yoongi frowns. “You’re not even supposed to be online.”
“So it’s real?”
Hoseok snorts, poking Jungkook’s shoulder. “Hey, don’t tease him or else he might not show up on Friday!”
“What’s Friday?”
“Everyone’s coming for drinks on the seventh floor,” Hoseok announces with a big smile. “It’ll be cool. We’ll wish Jungkook and Jimin good luck, Taehyung is bringing chicken from his latest endorsement, Namjoon’s been wanting to destress. Ah, except I still need to blackmail Sejin-nim to get Jin-hyung to come. But you’re going, okay?”
Yoongi raises a brow. “Blackmail? Seems a bit extreme.”
“Jimin said it’s the only way. It’s really hard to make plans with Jin-hyung now,” Hoseok says this like it’s a fact.
“That’s ‘cause it’s drama lockdown season,” Jungkook informs him, because apparently he knows all about it, too.
Hoseok shoots him a knowing look. “Minus the blackmail, Sejin-nim says hyung might be free for dinner in about two months. So you can see why we have to do it.”
Yoongi doesn’t know what to do with all this information about Seokjin’s schedule, but it sounds important—like the constant drumming of a beat in a new rhythm he can’t quite figure out.
🎵🎼🎹🎶
The thing with Yoongi is, he’s generally good at figuring things out. Give him a beat, he’s going to match it with a catchy melody. Give him a verse, he’s going to fill it with the punchiest lines. His one-track mind makes him hyperfixate on things until he gets to the end result he wants, which works well for the songs he produces.
But give him a ridiculous, undecipherable, off beat in the form of one Kim Seokjin, and Yoongi doesn’t know what to do with it.
He keeps thinking about it like it’s a puzzle he’s meant to solve. His brain goes in circles, trying to figure it out. What is it with this guy? It feels like he’s sitting on some big discovery, but what that is, he doesn’t know.
And so, when the last recording day rolls around, Yoongi decides to switch gears and bury the syncopating mystery underneath layers of real music. He focuses on the technicalities, instead—the vocals, the instrumentals, the parts that need fine-tuning.
In the studio, he creates an atmosphere that is so professional—borderline robotic—that there’s no room for anything else. He greets Seokjin with his back turned, already set on the end goal: to finish this song tonight. He doesn’t bite when Seokjin cracks another joke about not smiling. He doesn’t comment on the new cologne Seokjin is wearing today, or ask him if that’s a hint of pine he smells, because it really suits—wait, now he’s getting off track.
There wasn’t much to be done, anyway. On his list, there were a few minor harmonies that needed refining and some variations needed on the “la-da-da-das.” Before he knows it, there’s nothing left to fix and Seokjin is taking off his headphones. Just like that, it’s over.
What he doesn’t expect is for his well-built vacuum to crack when Seokjin says the most unhinged thing Yoongi has ever heard anyone say while walking out of the recording booth. In a loud, victorious voice, he says, “Sashimi!”
Caught off-guard, the most coherent thing Yoongi mumbles is, “Huh?”
“To celebrate, of course,” Seokjin responds. He smiles at Yoongi like he's offering an olive branch. “We wrapped up smoothly, didn't we?”
Yoongi doesn’t understand what’s happening. “You…still…want to grab dinner?” He sounds it out as if he’s decoding Seokjin’s gibberish. Is he actually out of his mind? Yoongi could go on a rant about how reckless that would be, and how easily things could be misconstrued if he's suggesting what Yoongi thinks he's suggesting.
In contrast, Seokjin doesn’t look bothered at all. He nods, eager as ever. “Yeah! I’m always hungry after these things.” There’s an innocence in the way he handles himself, like none of this is really too complicated—which is strange, considering what happened last time.
“You have time for dinner,” Yoongi says more than asks.
“Of course I have time to eat,” Seokjin declares slowly, confused as to why that’s even a question. “Do I look like a robot to you, Yoongi-ssi? Let’s go! I’m starving!”
None of this makes sense; not Seokjin’s eagerness—or naïvety—at this whole dinner situation, and not the fact that he suddenly has time in his very busy schedule for after-work sashimi when he’s not supposed to be free for another two months. And even if Seokjin had a rare pocket of free time tonight, why is Yoongi involved?
He doesn’t know why he’s having such a strange reaction to all of this. “You…you go do that.” He says, turning to his computer as if that will make him less uncomfortable.
Seokjin stays put for a second, observing him. “And you?”
Seokjin’s big, glittering eyes are focused on him. His gaze makes Yoongi feel warm all over, the way he did after an evening of gukbap and soju. Yoongi tells himself he doesn't like it.
“You did a good job, too,” Seokjin says when Yoongi doesn’t respond. “C’mon, hyung is buying.”
“I don’t—” Yoongi bites down on his lower lip to stop himself. He doesn’t really know what he was about to say, anyway. I don’t want to draw any more attention. I don't know where you’re going with this. I don’t know why this bothers me as much as it does. What he ends up saying is, “I don’t want sashimi. You go.”
And even he can hear the harshness in the way he says it. The silence that follows is unsettling, even for his standards. Yoongi is still facing the computer, but he almost wants to glance back to check—is Seokjin okay? Is he upset? Did he cross a line?
Instead, there’s a shuffling noise. Seokjin must be gathering his things. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. A lot more sincere. “Hey,” Seokjin treads carefully, keeping his distance, “is this maybe about the article?”
“No. Of course not. What article?” Yoongi fires back too quickly.
“My manager told me an article went around from when we grabbed dinner last time,” Seokjin is patient enough to explain. “If you’re mad about that, I completely understand. I didn’t think anyone would be around, but that’s not an excuse. Getting photographed in public is normal for me, but it isn’t for you, and none of that was okay. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s not. I don’t care about that. I didn’t even know,” Yoongi mumbles.
He doesn’t know why he’s saying this. It’s almost like he’s malfunctioning. He can’t let Seokjin know he was affected at all. On the computer, he mindlessly switches from one window to another just so he has something to do with his hands.
“We were here to work. The work is done. You should go get your sashimi.”
“Right,” Seokjin says. Yoongi can’t tell what that means, but his voice is steady. Calm. The most serious Yoongi’s ever heard him. “Well, even if you don’t care about it, I’d still like to apologize. I’m working with my manager to have them taken down. All the photos of you, at the very least. I know you didn’t sign up for that.”
Yoongi, despite himself, pauses. He definitely wasn’t expecting to hear that. It’s very…thoughtful, actually. He coughs out a low, “Thanks.”
He waits for Seokjin to say something else, maybe annoy him about dinner one last time or try to make him smile for a fee, but the actor is quiet. The next thing Yoongi hears are footsteps headed towards the door. Then, Seokjin stops in place.
“Yah, PD-nim, aren’t you going to congratulate me before I go? I did a good job, didn’t I?”
Yoongi is many things. Petty is one of them, and stubborn, maybe, but one thing he is not is a liar—at least not about the things that matter. So, even though he feels awkward about it, he manages to say, “Yes. You did good. Congratulations.”
This seems to appease Seokjin. He smiles to himself, completely unaffected by Yoongi’s sour attitude. How is he always so pleasant? “I can’t wait to listen to the final edit,” he says, lingering by the doorway.
“I’ll have Namjoon send it to you.”
With Namjoon as the middleman, they won’t have to deal with each other anymore. No more Kim Seokjin and his unpredictable nonsense and distracting pine cologne. No more off beats to a rhythm Yoongi can’t figure out. Just him, all alone in his musical vacuum—the way he likes it.
Yoongi looks up from his desk at just the right time to catch Seokjin’s retreating figure walk out the door.
🎵🎼🎹🎶
Every day you seem too far away
Every time you do, I tell myself
I’m waiting right—
Every day you seem too far away
Every time you do, I—
Every day you seem too far away
Something’s off.
Yoongi has been working on the OST for the past full day or so, and now that he’s done everything—plugged in all the best takes, adjusted the levels, made sure the instruments don't overpower the vocals—he hits a wall.
He settles back on his work chair, pressing pause on the mastered version of the OST. The song is lonely, delicate, and captivating, carried by Seokjin’s disarmingly emotional vocals. The accompanying piano and strings complement his voice so well, creating a masterful ballad that Yoongi is sure will deliver just what the execs wanted.
But still, something’s off.
It’s not that Seokjin was lacking anything as a vocalist. No, it’s definitely not that. And it’s not that anything is wrong with the song itself; Yoongi had worked on it from its first days of development up until post-production.
Of course it’s a good song. He made it! He wouldn’t get this far if he didn’t have any faith in it. It’s just—
It feels anti-climactic, somehow.
He rewinds it and gives it another listen, trying his best to pinpoint what the problem is exactly. The longing that Seokjin’s voice is capable of stirring is still very much there. Yoongi has memorized every note he sings, every breath he takes. The backing harmonies blend well. Everything adds up. This should be good for sending, and Yoongi should be happy that this dreaded OST is out of his hands.
So why is he feeling like this?
He runs a hand over his face and saves the song in a flash drive, bent on finding Namjoon to ask for his opinion. It’s only when Yoongi walks out of his own studio that he realizes a full day had passed, and it’s already dark out.
When he reaches Namjoon’s studio, he finds him packing up his things.
“You’re leaving already?” Yoongi says instead of a proper greeting. He holds up the flash drive. “I have something for you to listen to. Tell me what you think.”
Namjoon looks at the flash drive, and then his hyung. “It’s a Friday night,” he says, pleading. “Hobi made plans, remember?”
Oh. Right. Yoongi forgot about that. “Okay, but can you listen to this before you go?”
“Hyung, it’s after work hours.”
“We’re not a bank, Namjoon-ah.”
“Send it to me and I’ll listen to it first thing on Monday,” he compromises. “Hobi said there’s fried chicken!”
Yoongi fights back a grimace. Given the unexplainable way he’s feeling about the OST, he’s not really in the mood to socialize. He’d rather spend his Friday night figuring it out. “Fine, then. Have fun.”
“What? You’re not coming? But everyone’s gonna be there!”
He shrugs. “Not really feeling up to it.”
Namjoon enumerates the guest list one by one, “Jungkook, Jimin, Taehyung…”
“I should head back to the studio and—”
“…and Jin-hyung’s going, too.”
Yoongi stops. Well, that’s surprising. “Isn’t he supposed to be the Nation’s Busiest Man? I thought he was fully booked until next year. Did they really convince him? You know, Hoseok had to blackmail his manager to get him to come.”
Namjoon raises a brow. That was quite a wordy response at the mention of a single name. “So, are you coming, or what?”
He can tell Yoongi is debating it in his mind, and trying his best to look indifferent while he’s at it.
“Okay, fine,” Yoongi says with an offhanded shrug, as if he was backed up into a corner and had no other choice. “But only ‘cause you won’t stop pestering me about it.”
“I won’t stop—?” Namjoon gives up. He decides to just play along, making a mental note to revisit that later, and doesn’t say anything when Yoongi pretends to be all tired and unwilling as they head to the elevator.
🎵🎼🎹🎶
The elevator ride is long and heavy with anticipation, like there’s an invincible force pulling them closer and closer to the seventh floor. Specifically, a force with a handsome face and a string of superfluous titles.
Or at least, that’s how Yoongi feels. He’s defenseless against the magnetic pull; his skin buzzes with it.
How is he supposed to act up there?
Yoongi thought he’d successfully gotten away from Kim Seokjin scot-free after the last recording, but seeing him again in this situation changes things. They’re not working together anymore; this time, it’s a casual, social thing. There’s no hiding behind professionalism, work ethic, or his mixing console.
He can probably talk to Seokjin freely now. Maybe he should apologize for being so standoffish last time, too. Unless…it could be the total opposite. Maybe Yoongi shouldn’t talk to him at all. What if he steers clear instead? Yes, that makes sense. He has no business with the man now that their recording sessions are over. The only reason they ever really spoke was for work, after all.
“How do you think it’s going to be?” Yoongi finds himself asking.
Completely clueless, Namjoon blurts out, “Wha?”
“Drinking with Kim Seokjin.”
“You’re thinking about that?”
“You’re not?” Yoongi is suddenly conscious about his entire body. He feels stiff, and a lot more tense than he was minutes ago. What if people see them again? “He’s famous, Joon. People are going to talk.”
“Hyung, it’s just us,” Namjoon assures him. “There are no other people—just the seven of us. It’s gonna be fine.”
“They called me his boyfriend,” Yoongi says softly. “In the article.”
Namjoon raises a brow. “Okay, and?” He shakes his head, not seeing why a gossip site headline could be an issue. “No one’s taking it seriously, hyung. We had a good laugh about it, but everyone here knows it was just a joke. Remember when people thought Soyeon and I were a thing because I was featured in her song? This isn’t any different.”
Yoongi considers it for a moment. “No, no…I’m pretty sure this one’s different,” he insists.
“I’m sure it feels that way because it’s personal—”
“It’s because they called me his boyfriend, Namjoon-ah.”
Namjoon is starting to laugh at the absurdity of it, which Yoongi finds annoying. “They just threw around the word for clicks! Why does that bother you so much? Unless—”
“You know what? Never mind. Forget I even said anything.”
Thankfully, Namjoon stops breathing over his neck about it because the elevator dings and they finally arrive on the seventh floor.
🎵🎼🎹🎶
He doesn’t mean to, but the first thing Yoongi does when the elevator doors slide open is count the number of heads in the room.
There’s a long dining table with seven mismatched chairs—spares from the props room, most likely—along with a cooler of beer and several bottles of soju. There are boxes of fried chicken all laid out, care of Taehyung, that anyone can smell as soon as they enter the floor.
And seated around the table are, one, two, three, four people.
Only four.
“Yoongi-hyung’s here! And Namjoonie!” Hoseok exclaims, raising a bottle of soju towards them. The three other heads turn to greet them, and sure enough, it’s Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin. “Now that everyone’s here, we can eat!”
Yoongi looks around. Jungkook has taken a sneaky bite while no one was watching, Jimin is passing them plates, and Taehyung is sniffing the different flavors. No one seems to disagree.
He clears his throat casually. “You said everyone?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Aren’t we waiting for someone else?”
“Who?” Jungkook asks, mouth stuffed with chicken.
“I dunno,” Yoongi says blankly. “There are seven chairs?”
“Ah, Jin-hyung!” Jimin gets it. “He wasn’t answering, so I guess he’s gonna be late!”
“But he is coming?” Yoongi asks, not that he cares.
“Suga-hyung, I’m just wondering, why are you so curious?” Taehyung smirks. Beside him, Jimin is making a sour face to stop himself from giggling.
“I’m not curious. I don’t really care. You guys better be as good at drinking as you are at talking, ‘cause you ask so many questions,” Yoongi waves them off, like the conversation was a big inconvenience to him specifically.
“But you were the one who—”
“You know what,” Namjoon cuts in, stomach grumbling. “Let’s just eat.”
It takes an hour before Kim Seokjin’s absence makes a noticeable dent in the group’s spirits. Jimin is the first to break. “That’s it!” He proclaims, whipping out his phone. “I’m making a call.”
He puts it on speaker, so the whole room can hear the line ringing. Yoongi doesn’t know why his stomach jumps at the sound.
“Hello?” That’s definitely not Seokjin’s voice.
“Yah! Sejin-ah!” Jimin growls in an exaggerated Busan accent.
“You punk! Have some respect!”
“I’ll hand it over when you give us our Jin-hyung!” He yells. “Where is he? We made plans to hang out tonight!”
“Boohoo! I forbid him from going out to see you!” Sejin taunts, but his tone is playful.
Despite the age gap, they banter like two neighborhood kids poking fun at each other. Taehyung is covering his mouth in the background, suppressing his giggles.
Jimin doubles back with a threat. “Remember those sexy shirtless pics Jin-hyung took before? I have those saved on my phone! I’m going to leak all of them to Dispatch if you don’t cooperate!”
Someone starts choking on their drink. It takes everyone a second to collectively register that it’s Yoongi.
“Haha, I’m just joking, kid! I saw Seokjin blocked off his Friday night, but filming got delayed ‘cause of the overcast this morning. We’re three hours behind, and he’s got five more scenes to shoot.”
Jimin sobers up and frowns. “Still? But it’s so late!”
“At this rate, I think they’ll be filming ’til 2am. Between you and me, Seokjin says this is the last time he’s signing on to any project that films largely outdoors.”
“Ugh. That sucks. Please take care of him and make sure he rests well after,” Jimin sighs.
“Will do, boss.”
“Okay, then. Thanks for nothing, Sejin-hyung!”
“Right back at ya, punk!”
Jimin hangs up, and the conversation picks up where it left off, something about whatever is going on at Music Bank next week. Jimin starts giving Jungkook tips for stage jitters.
“Wait, that’s it?” Yoongi interjects. “He’s not coming?”
“I guess not,” Jimin says, but it seems like he, along with all the others, have accepted it. “I don’t think he’s going to want to go out drinking if he’s going to wrap at 2am, either.”
“And you guys are…okay with that?”
Taehyung clicks his tongue. Obviously, he’s disappointed, but he knows his Seokjin-hyung will make it up to them when he can. He always does. “That’s showbiz, Suga-hyung.”
“I knew it was too good to be true when he said he’d come,” Jungkook pouts.
Hoseok confesses, “I actually didn’t have the heart to blackmail Sejin-nim. He seems really nice.”
“Yoongi-hyung, are you not okay that Jin-hyung’s not here?” A curious Namjoon asks. He’s got that look on his face that he gets when he thinks he knows the most out of everyone else in the room. Yoongi hates it.
Yoongi downs a shot. “Of course I am. Why would I not be okay? I don’t care.”
“Yeah, it’s not like you came here just for him, right?” Namjoon grins, dimples poking through.
“That’s stupid. Why would I do that?”
“Is it just me, or is the vibe over here suddenly very weird?” Hoseok points a finger between the two of them. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Namjoon and Yoongi say in unison.
“Okay, well, if we’re done being weird, does anyone want to do a dance challenge with me?” Taehyung stands up, phone in hand. “The last one I did got 10,000 views! That’s a lot, right?”
“Oh, the one from the park?”
“That’s great, Taehyungie!”
This sets off Hoseok, who’s excited to go through the different trending dances, and then Namjoon, who starts recommending songs. Yoongi can’t quite place it, but there’s something underwhelming in all this. He loves his friends, and he’s glad they’re all here, but there’s something else weighing in his mind.
He stands up.
“Hyung, where are you going?” Jungkook calls out after him.
“There’s something I have to work on.”
🎵🎼🎹🎶
Okay. Yoongi might have stretched the truth a little. There’s nothing he has to work on, not really, but it seemed much easier to hide his disappointment in the studio than up there.
What is he disappointed about, anyway?
And then, there’s the song. So he’s right back where he started, behind his mixing console, with the mastered file in front of him. He listens to it one more time.
The song ends on a note that feels more like a rest than a double bar—it doesn’t feel like the end. It shouldn’t be.
He usually gets a sense of closure when he completes a project. It’s supposed to feel freeing when he sends over the final file and gives himself a pat on the shoulder for a job well done. It’s supposed to feel rewarding. After months of hard work, he’s supposed to be satisfied that he’s done with it.
So why is his gut telling him this isn’t the end yet?
There isn’t any detail he hasn't looked over. The final version passes his standards. It sounds good. Seokjin sounds good. And yet.
Before he can stop himself, he looks up at the empty recording booth where Seokjin used to stand. His mind conjures images of Seokjin with his determined eyes, his bare face, his ears that turn red so easily. The way his demeanor completely changes when he’s behind the booth; how his happy-go-lucky persona shifts into something quite deep and unexplainable the moment he sings. His eyes sparkling with emotion, looking right at Yoongi. The little pep talk he whispered to himself on the first day, when he thought no one else could hear—Seokjinnie, you can do it!
Yoongi feels heat bloom against his chest, all the way up to his cheeks. Must be the soju. It’s hard to be a perfectionist and a genius, he tells himself, ignoring the way his stomach flips at the only solution his mind has landed on.
He reaches for his phone, trying to be all calm and cool about it, and presses “call” before he can change his mind.
It’s the only way.
The line rings three times before the person on the other line picks up. Yoongi speaks first.
“Sejin-ssi?”
🎵🎼🎹🎶
Park Ranger Hyunjo has never been in this part of the mountain before. He didn’t even know a place like this existed; a cavernous cave that seems like a whole different world, covered in fog and glittering moss.
He’s in the middle of nowhere, the fog creeping up on him, so he’s left with no choice but to look straight ahead and put one foot in front of the other, trusting in something greater than him. And then—
SNAP!
There’s movement a few paces in front of him. There’s another person here. He sees the figure run and attempt to hide, but his heart is certain that—
“Hyunjo?” She calls out. It’s her.
“Yikangie,” he murmurs as her figure emerges out of the fog. She looks worn out and dirtied, but beautiful as ever.
She's frozen in stunned silence. A single tear rolls down her cheek. “You…you found me.”
He closes the distance between them, grabs her by the wrist, and hugs her tight. He’s never letting her go. “Of course I did,” he whispers, overwhelmed with emotion. “I promised.”
And then he cups her face and pulls her into a searing kiss.
The passionate moment is interrupted when the bell rings, signaling the end of the last scene of the night. Far away, the director must’ve yelled cut.
Seokjin pulls away, relieved, and fixes the strands of Sunbi's hair that had stuck to him. “I didn’t grab you too hard there, did I?”
“You’re fine, but next time, use some chapstick, oppa,” she jokes.
“Yah! It’s not my fault it’s freezing up here!”
She giggles and shakes her head at his antics. The director appears behind them, clapping. Despite the late hour, the man’s enthusiasm doesn’t run out. “You guys were amazing! Perfect! A great ending for our fans, they’re going to love it!”
“Now, we can sleep,” Sunbi whispers under her breath. Seokjin tries not to snicker.
It’s no secret that they’re both exhausted, and filming had run hours past their scheduled end time.
“Good job, Sunbi-yah,” Seokjin says, patting her on the head. “Rest well.”
He doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s definitely past midnight. The only thing keeping Seokjin going is the special late-night snack that’s waiting for him in his trailer. If Sejin had stuck around, he would’ve made sure something vegetable-based would be served, but he had left the set hours ago to attend to an early meeting the next day.
So, with his manager gone, Seokjin had asked his runner for a super secret special request: ramyeon.
As he’s walking back to his trailer, a PA walks up to him with a bright smile. “Seokjin-ssi, do you want us to bring more ramyeon for your guest?”
“My guest?” He checks, and the PA nods. “Are you pranking me, Yunjin-ah?”
“No, of course not!”
“There’s no one in my trailer. Sejin-hyung went home.”
“It’s not Sejin-nim,” she says firmly. “There’s a man in your trailer. They’ve been waiting for an hour and a half.”
This information isn’t helpful at all. Seokjin just wants his ramyeon. “A man? You let a random man in my trailer?”
“Sejin-nim gave him clearance. Maybe it’s your friend?” She goes on. “I didn’t recognize him, though. Ah, in any case, I’ll tell someone to bring over more ramyeon for you both.” She bows and runs off, talking to someone on her walkie talkie.
Who did Sejin let in? Definitely not Taehyung or Jimin—the crew would’ve recognized either of them, and they wouldn’t have had the patience to wait for him that long. Besides, they had plans for the night; they wouldn’t come all the way here.
Who does Seokjin know who’s patient enough to wait for him for an hour and a half, at 2am on a Friday night? Whoever it is must really want to see him.
He’s still without an answer when his trailer comes to view. He catches sight of a figure standing outside, but he blinks a few times to be sure. There’s no way. It can't be who he thinks it is.
“Yoongi-ssi?”
At the sound of his name, the man looks up in an instant. “Hi,” he breathes out. He looks paler than usual, covered up in a puffy padding coat, his nose and cheeks turning pink from the cold.
But it still doesn’t make any sense. What is he doing here? “You waited for me?”
“Huh? No,” he replies in his familiar, detached manner, throwing away a bottle that looks suspiciously like a brand of iced Americano. “I was just in the area.”
“…of Mount Jiri?” Seokjin repeats, if only to emphasize how ridiculous that sounds.
“Yes.”
“At 2am?”
“Yes. That’s right. Why are you saying it in a weird way?” Yoongi narrows his eyes, daring him to contest.
“I’m not saying it in a weird way,” Seokjin shakes his head. He’s trying to hold back a smile, but it’s useless. His producer was the last person he thought he’d see here; he was so sure they wouldn’t bump into each other after the recording. “What were you doing…in the area?”
Yoongi scratches his head in a way that could be casual, but isn’t. “No big deal. I just came to call you back in. To the studio.”
“What?” Seokjin is genuinely concerned. Did he do something wrong? “Call me back? How bad was the edit?”
“It’s not bad,” Yoongi reassures him. He looks calm and straight-faced. Not annoyed this time, and Seokjin trusts that. “Just a few things. It’ll be easier to explain when we’re in the studio. So come back.”
“Oh, okay.” Seokjin nods, though he’s not fully convinced. “You drove two hours to tell me that?”
“I was in the area. I told you,” Yoongi repeats, as if Seokjin wasn’t paying attention. “And I take my work very seriously.”
“So do I.” Seokjin doesn’t bother to ask all the other questions—like why not just text Sejin? Or send an e-mail like a normal person?—because it seems like Yoongi’s stubborn as a rock. “When should I go?”
“Whenever,” Yoongi says. “You’re busy, right? Whenever you’re free.”
“Monday, then. I’ll make time.”
“Okay. See you then.” He nods decidedly. That’s all settled. He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking around. It’s nothing but outlines of trees, and a few production people going home. “Anyway, I should head out before I make it to the front page of tomorrow’s paper, like last time.”
Seokjin bursts out laughing, not expecting him to joke about that. “Yah, that won’t happen here!”
“You sure?” Yoongi’s trying to sound unconvinced, but his feet remain firmly planted on the ground like he doesn’t intend to leave.
“The mountain’s a safe space,” Seokjin assures him. “And lucky for you, you came to the right spot. This place serves the best midnight snack in all of Mount Jiri.”
“This place? Really?” Yoongi points back to the trailer. It certainly doesn’t look like a restaurant. Seokjin nods convincingly. “What’s the best midnight snack in Mount Jiri, anyway?”
“Ramyeon,” Seokjin grins, already excited at the thought. “Wanna have some?”
He screws his face up, a tell-tale sign that he’s not impressed. “Do you quote yourself often? That sounds like a line from The Astronaut.”
Seokjin’s jaw drops in disbelief. “Wow, Min Yoongi-ssi. I’m honored. I didn’t know you watched any of my stuff.”
“I don’t,” he quickly backtracks. “It was against my will. I just saw it playing in the background.”
“Be honest, are you secretly a fan?” Seokjin teases, enjoying the way Yoongi is starting to squirm. He’s really cute.
“I came here for professional reasons and all you’ve done is spread lies about me.”
“It’s okay, Yoongi-yah, I won’t judge,” Seokjin continues, cheeks aching from how hard he’s smiling. “Just admit it, you’re not immune to the charms of the Nation’s First Love after all!”
“Fine.”
“W-what?”
“The ramyeon, I mean,” Yoongi says, deadpan. “Fine, I’ll have some. Why, what did you think?”
“Huh? No, nothing!” Seokjin shakes his head. He’s definitely going to pretend he didn’t just stutter two seconds ago. “In here, then.” He leads the way, gaining confidence as Yoongi follows.
Yoongi is an awkward fixture in his trailer, clearly not as comfortable in the white and pink-furnished space as Seokjin’s other dongsaengs.
The PA was nice enough to arrange a gold pot on top of a single burner gas stove, laid out neatly on Seokjin’s low coffee table. He sits on the carpet, and Yoongi copies him a few feet away.
It’s quiet, but Seokjin doesn’t mind. He doesn’t need conversation as he boils the water, puts in the noodles, and squeezes out the seasoning.
“You’re doing it wrong,” Yoongi mutters, moving closer.
“What?” Seokjin blocks the stove, feeling defensive. No one ever has anything bad to say about his cooking—he’s a good cook and he knows it. “It’s ramyeon that’s named after me! How could I be doing it wrong? Just sit still and be grateful.”
“There’s so much seasoning left in the packet, hyung! It’s going to be bland,” Yoongi makes his case, inserting himself into Seokjin’s space. He grabs the sauce packet and puts it between his teeth, using a pair of chopsticks to squeeze the rest out onto the bubbling water. To his credit, the packet looks almost see-through now that it’s completely emptied out. “See? How do you not know that?”
Seokjin could make a big deal out of it, pretend to fuss and bicker with Yoongi, but he can’t ignore the way the trailer seems to shrink. It’s getting smaller and smaller the closer Yoongi gets into his space.
Yoongi stirs the noodles with his chopsticks, picking up where Seokjin had left off. It’s surprising how easily the producer elbowed his way beside him. And apparently, Yoongi’s cooking with him now, cracking an egg open and sprinkling some cheese on top.
Seokjin feels nervous about this for some reason. Certainly, there are more provocative ways to “eat ramyeon” than what they’re doing now, but this excitement over something so mundane is new to him.
The cold evening wind jostles the trees outside chilly Mount Jiri, but the steaming ramyeon keeps them both warm. They eat together in a shared silence. Seokjin’s heart is beating louder than normal—but not in a bad way. He watches as Yoongi wordlessly pours more of the perfectly-seasoned soup into Seokjin’s bowl, and he hears his heartbeat speed up in his hears. Ba-dum ba-dum.
Seokjin thinks, out of the blue, that the beat reminds him of the beginnings of a song.