#sugaxreader

You have not seen him in person in two months.

This is the kind of fact that sounds abstract until you actually sit with it — until you remember, specifically, what his hands feel like, what he sounds like when he is not filtered through a phone speaker, what it is like to be in the same room as someone instead of the same time zone as their voice. You have not forgotten any of it. You have just had to hold onto it from a distance, which is a different kind of holding than you are used to.

The American leg has been the hardest part.

Not because anything is wrong — nothing is wrong, you remind yourself this daily, sometimes hourly — but because the schedule has been relentless in a way that leaves very little room for anything except the tour itself. He has been sharing a room with Namjoon for most of it, which is fine, which is normal, which is also occasionally a very specific kind of inconvenient when you manage, against considerable time-zone odds, to get him on a call at an hour that might allow for something more than talking, and you can hear Namjoon in the background asking if he should go for a walk, and Yoongi saying "yes, Joon-ah, please" with an urgency that makes you laugh even as you both understand exactly what has just been derailed by simple geography.

You have not been able to fuck him properly in weeks.

This is not a small thing. You have never pretended it is a small thing. You have chemistry with this man that borders on inconvenient — even three years of pretending it wasn't there couldn't manage it, and now that you are not pretending anymore, now that you know exactly what it is like to have his full attention, the absence of it has a texture you feel physically. Not devastating. Never devastating. But present. A low hum underneath the days, the ache of wanting someone and doing the math on when you might actually get to have them again.

You have both promised each other you would talk about this instead of managing it quietly.

This is new for both of you — the not-managing, the saying-it-out-loud instead of filing it somewhere and hoping it resolves itself. You have gotten better at it. He has gotten better at it. Some nights it is just: I miss you, I miss touching you, I miss being in the same room as you and not having to say goodbye to a screen. And he says it back, plainly, in the voice he uses for things that are true, and it does not fix the distance but it makes the distance honest, which after eight months of silence feels like the only kind of distance you can survive.

You remind yourself of all of this on the Monday before everything gets complicated, standing in your office with a lukewarm iced coffee and the sound of the Tuesday ensemble rehearsing down the hall.

You miss him.

You are handling it.

Mostly.

The center in June smells like sunscreen and rehearsal panic.

This is the specific cocktail of the season — the summer recital is three weeks away, which means the Dragon Room has been in a state of low-grade emergency since Monday, which means Seojun has revised his opinions about tempo for the fourth time this month, which means you have, personally, refereed two separate disputes about who gets the good music stand and one extremely serious negotiation between Jisoo and a nine-year-old cellist about bow-sharing etiquette.

You love June.

You are also, by the second week of June, running on iced coffee and the stamina of someone who has done this every year and knows it always works out.

"Soomin wants to add a solo," Dani says, appearing at your office door with the clipboard and the energy of someone delivering both good and bad news simultaneously.

"To what."

"To everything. She wants a solo in every piece."

"She's ambitious."

"I respect it," they say. "I told her no."

"Good."

"She's drafting an appeal."

You put your head down on your desk.

"She used the word stakeholders," comes from the doorway.

"I need her to stop reading my grant proposal drafts."

"I've tried." A pause, weighted with the specific patience of someone who has already accepted defeat on this front. "She finds them inspiring."

You lift your head enough to give them a look.

They give you the clipboard back, unbothered, already moving on to the next item.

You lift your head. Outside your office window, the Flower Room door is propped open and you can hear the Tuesday ensemble working through something that is technically the right notes in technically the right order, which at this stage of recital prep counts as a triumph.

The center, in short, is exactly as chaotic and exactly as good as it always is in June.

Your phone buzzes at 11:47 AM.

You know it's his mother before you look, because you have long since accepted that Yoongi's mother texting you has a specific rhythm to it — always a little sudden, always slightly ahead of the conversation, always operating on information she has not yet shared with you.

Mom in Law 🌸: Hello dear, Have you eaten today? You're coming to Madrid with us. I've already booked your ticket. The flight leaves Thursday.

You stare at this for a moment.

you: I am going to Madrid?

She responds in under a minute, which is either very fast typing or the message was prewritten and waiting.

Mom in Law 🌸: YES!!! The concert. We're all going. His father wants to see this one. You should be there.

Something in your chest does a small, complicated thing — his father, the specific weight of this one, said the way things are said now when nobody wants to name what they mean by it directly. You think about the last time you saw him, thinner than the wedding month, still cheating at cards, still laughing the real laugh.

You think: of course you're going.

You also think: I have a recital in three weeks.

I can't just— you start typing.

Dani appears next to you holding a printed calendar before you finish the sentence.

"You have the recital July fourth," they say. "This is June."

"I know when the recital is, Dani."

"I'm just saying, you have three weeks." The clipboard comes up, a specific page flagged with a sticky note that has clearly been prepared in advance. "And I already cleared it with the board. Summer schedule adjustment. Filed in April. You signed it."

You stare at them.

"What summer schedule adjustment."

"The one where the center closes for a long weekend in June for staff development." Dani's face does not move. This is somehow the most damning part — the complete absence of guilt, the flat serenity of someone reciting something rehearsed and entirely comfortable with the recitation. "You signed it in April."

"I don't remember signing that."

"Grant season," they say, with a small shrug that suggests this explains everything. "You don't read closely in April. Nobody does."

You narrow your eyes.

"Dani."

"I'm just saying the timing works out remarkably well." They are already checking something else off the clipboard, not even looking at you, the picture of someone with nothing to hide.

"Did you plan this."

"I didn't plan anything." The clipboard goes still. They look up at you now, directly, with an expression that would be convincing on anyone else. "His mother texted me two weeks ago. Asked about your schedule. I told her the truth." A beat. "You had a gap." Another beat, slower. "A very convenient gap."

"A gap you created."

"A gap that already existed," they say. "I simply protected it. From you. Because you would have filled it with something."

You look at them for a long moment.

They look back, entirely unbothered, the clipboard held loosely against their chest like a shield they don't actually need.

You look at your phone instead, where his mother's next message has already arrived.

Mom in Law 🌸: Dani says you're free. Pack for warm weather.

You: Eomma does he know I'm coming? I feel like Dani would've mentioned if it was supposed to be a surprise. And we know he hates surprises.

Three dots appear.

They disappear.

They appear again.

Mom in Law 🌸: The recital sounds like it's going wonderfully!! I saw a video of the Wednesday group, tell Jisoo she's improving so much. Anyway, pack for warm weather. See you Thursday!

You stare at this.

You look up at Dani.

"Did you see that," you say. "She completely dodged the question."

"Did she," Dani says, with the careful neutrality of someone who is choosing every word with legal precision.

"Dani. Does he know I'm coming."

"I have no comment," Dani says.

"That's not a real answer."

"It's the only answer you're getting," Dani says, already retreating toward the door. "Ask his mother. She's very good at answering questions. Selectively."

You look back at your phone.

You think about it for a moment — the way his mother deflected, smooth and immediate, a woman who has never once in the time you've known her failed to have a plan. You think about the fact that of course he knows. His mother would not do this to him. Yoongi, who has a very specific and well-documented aversion to surprises — who once nearly had a small crisis when the members organized a surprise dinner for his birthday and had to be walked through the concept in advance next time — would not be left in the dark about something like this.

Surely his mother told him.

Surely this is a surprise for you, arranged with him, and you are simply the last to know the plan.

You decide this is what happened.

You feel considerably better having decided it.

On Wednesday evening, a package arrives at the center addressed to you.

Inside: a dress. Pale yellow, light as air, the kind of thing designed for somewhere hot and bright and nowhere near a Seoul office. There is no note, but there does not need to be one, know the specific quality of his silences, and this dress has the fingerprints of a man who thinks in the particular, deliberate way he thinks about everything he decides matters.

You call him that night.

It's late where he is. He picks up anyway, voice rough with either sleep or exhaustion or both, and you can hear Namjoon in the background asking something you don't catch.

"You bought me a dress," you say.

A pause. Then, carefully: "I did."

"It's beautiful."

"I saw it," he says, "and I thought—" He stops. You can hear him deciding how much to say. "I thought about you in it. Somewhere warm."

You look at the dress hanging on your closet door.

"Somewhere like Madrid, maybe," you say, testing it.

A pause. Longer this time.

"...Madrid," he says. Careful. Neutral. The tone of a man who is either extremely good at hiding a surprise or genuinely has no idea what you're talking about.

You cannot tell which.

"Never mind," you say quickly. "I just meant — somewhere summer. It's a summer dress."

"Right," he says. "Yeah."

Dani, walking past your office the next morning, finds you staring at the dress on its hanger with the expression of someone doing complicated math.

"He bought it thinking about you wearing it on a hot Mediterranean night," Dani says, reading over your shoulder without permission. "Romantic. Wear it in Madrid. Great opportunity."

"Dani."

"Pack it," Dani says, already walking away. "Trust the process."

You look at the dress.

You start packing on Wednesday. You leave Thursday night.

You are almost completely convinced he knows you're coming.

Almost.

The airport is loud in the specific way that airports are loud when a family that loves each other completely is trying to coordinate luggage.

You spot them before they spot you — his mother first, scanning the departures area with the determination of a woman executing a plan she has been refining for weeks, and then Jihoon beside her with Haerin on his hip, and Eunji, and the aunt, who has apparently decided that this trip requires a sun hat already, indoors, at Incheon at 9PM, and is wearing it with complete confidence.

Then his mother sees you.

Her whole face does something.

"There she is!" she says, already moving, already reaching for you with both arms, and she pulls you into a hug that has the specific quality of someone whose plan has just, at this exact moment, become real and undeniable. "You came. I knew you would come."

"You didn't really give me a choice," you say, into her shoulder.

"I gave you an excellent choice," she says, pulling back, beaming. "The correct one."

Haerin reaches for you the second she sees you — both arms, the full-body demand of a baby who has decided something and does not understand why the adults haven't caught up yet — and you take her automatically, settle her against your hip, and she immediately grabs a fistful of your hair with the proprietary confidence of someone who considers this hers now.

"She missed you," Jihoon says. "We all missed you. It's been very quiet without the arguing."

"We don't argue."

"You and Yoongi argue about everything," Jihoon says. "It's very entertaining. We've had nothing to watch."

The aunt hugs you next, sun hat and all, holding on a beat longer than the greeting requires, and says something about how thin you look, and how you need to eat more, and how Madrid has excellent jamón and you will be eating it whether you want to or not.

You are laughing.

You are, genuinely, completely happy — surrounded by people who reached for you the second you appeared, who missed you specifically, who built a plan around getting you here because they wanted you here.

Then you see his father.

He is sitting on a bench a little apart from the group, and for one unguarded second — before he sees you seeing him — his face is doing something quiet and tired that has nothing performed about it. Grey around the edges in a way that feels different from the last time you saw him. Smaller, somehow, in his coat. The specific stillness of someone conserving something.

Then he notices you.

His whole face rearranges itself into warmth, into the smile that Yoongi's is made from, and he stands — carefully, using the bench for a moment of support that he tries to make look casual — and opens his arms.

"There's my favorite hwatu player," he says. A beat. "Second favorite. I'm still first."

You hug him.

He feels thinner than he did two months ago. You register this in your arms before your mind fully catches up to it, and you hold on a second longer than you meant to, and when you pull back you are looking at him carefully, checking, the way you have learned to check on people you love.

"You look tired," you say. Gently. Testing.

"I'm old," he says, waving this away with the easy dismissal of a man who has decided this conversation is not happening right now. "Old men look tired. It's very fashionable."

You look at him for another second.

His mother appears at your elbow.

"Did you eat before coming?" she says, brightly, suddenly, with the specific timing of a woman redirecting a conversation before it goes somewhere she is not ready for it to go. "You should eat. Let's get you a sandwich. The tea here is terrible but it's something."

"I'm fine, I just—"

"Tea and a Sandwich," she says again, already steering you by the arm toward the nearest café, and you look back over your shoulder at his father, who gives you a small, reassuring wave that does not entirely reassure you.

You look at Jihoon.

Jihoon is suddenly very interested in Haerin's shoe.

You look at Eunji.

Eunji is checking the departure board with unusual focus.

"He knows I'm coming, right?" you say, to no one specifically, to the group at large, the question you have been circling since Wednesday finally arriving out loud. "Yoongi. He knows."

Silence.

A very specific, very coordinated silence.

"Did you eat," his mother says again, gripping your arm with slightly more force than the question requires.

"You just asked me that."

"I want to make sure," she says. "Tea. Now. Come."

You are, once again, moved bodily toward a café.

You decide, somewhere between the departures board and the warm chamomile tea, that you are going to stop asking. That whatever is happening, this family clearly has it handled, and that the specific overwhelming warmth of being folded into all of it — Haerin's fist in your hair, the aunt's sun hat, his mother's arm looped through yours, all of it wrapped around you without a single question about whether you deserved it — is worth more right now than getting a straight answer.

You have never had this.

Not growing up. Not with a mother who loved you in her own way but never in this way, never with this many people, never with this much certainty that you belonged somewhere before you'd even finished walking through the door.

You let yourself have it.

You drink the tea, which is, as promised, terrible.

You board the plane two hours later.

You are in your seat, the aisle seat his mother requested for you weeks ago, watching the ground crew move around outside the window, when you pick up your phone to send him one last message before you lose signal.

See you soon, you start typing.

You look at it.

You think about his father's face on the bench. About the quiet, coordinated deflection at the airport. About the specific texture of a family closing ranks around something they are not ready to say out loud yet.

You delete it.

You put your phone away instead, unsent, the message sitting somewhere in your drafts like a held breath.

The plane begins to taxi.

— Yoongi —

Somewhere on the other side of the world, in a hotel room he is sharing with Namjoon, Yoongi is lying on his back looking at the ceiling.

It is almost seven in the morning where he is. He has a show today. He should get up soon.

He picks up his phone instead.

He looks at your contact photo for a moment — from the fitting room, actually, a candid Dani took without either of you noticing, you laughing at something with your whole face and him looking directly at you — and something in his chest does the specific ache it has been doing for two months, low and constant, the thing he has gotten better at naming instead of managing.

He types: I can't wait to see you.

He does not mean it as information. He does not know there is information to mean it as. He means it the way he has meant it every night for two months — a small true thing, sent into the dark, because he misses you and it is almost two AM and Namjoon is asleep in the other bed and you are not there to tell show you how much he misses you.

He sends it.

He puts the phone on the nightstand.

He does not know when it will land — whether you are asleep, or awake, or somewhere over an ocean with your phone in airplane mode.

He just knows he meant it.

He closes his eyes. Five more minutes.

— Yoongi —

Madrid at eight AM is already hot.

Yoongi likes this city. He liked it the first time they came, years ago, before any of this had a name he could say out loud. The light here does something specific — hits the buildings at an angle that makes even ordinary streets look considered, deliberate, like someone designed the whole thing on purpose. He thinks it again now, standing at the window of a hotel room he is sharing with Namjoon, and he is too tired to enjoy it properly.

His own body is not what it used to be.

He knows this. The schedule they had ten years ago would kill him now— back to back to back, interviews stacked on photo shoots stacked on rehearsals with maybe four hours of sleep wedged in somewhere if the flight times cooperated. This is not that. This is supposed to be easier.

It is not easier. It is just busy in a different shape.

Everyone has something now.

Namjoon has become, apparently, a patron of the arts. Museum meetings, foundation calls, actual serious conversations about actual serious donations, the kind where he disappears for two hours and comes back saying words like endowment and acquisitions committee with a straight face. He is also, somehow, watching every single Dodgers game he can find regardless of what time zone he happens to be occupying — three in the morning in Vegas, dawn in Tokyo, doesn't matter, he'll be there, bleary and committed, scanning the medical staff dugout with the focused attention of a man conducting field research.

He will tell you, if you ask, that he has always loved baseball.

He has never watched a full game of baseball in his life before this year. Yoongi knows this. Everyone knows this. Nobody says anything, because watching Namjoon lie about his baseball fandom with complete sincerity while hunting a camera feed for one specific face in the crowd is, frankly, one of the few genuinely entertaining things happening on this tour.

Hoseok has meetings too — bigger ones, louder ones, whole afternoons gone to fashion collaborations and brand acquisitions and calls where he uses words that sound like they were invented specifically to make simple things sound complicated. He also takes other calls. Quieter ones. Behind a closed door, always, and he comes out of those with an expression Yoongi can't fully read, something careful, something he's decided not to share yet.

Yoongi has a theory about this.

His theory is that Hoseok is doing what all of them are doing, just louder and with better branding — filling every available hour so there isn't room left to sit still and feel the actual size of what he's missing. It's not Yoongi's business to say this out loud. He's not exactly in a position to judge. He ran twelve kilometers over a video call. He doesn't get to have opinions about anyone else's coping mechanisms.

Jimin is a separate category of complicated that Yoongi does not examine too closely, mostly out of self-preservation and partly because it's not his story to narrate.

Taehyung disappears. This is not new information. He has always disappeared, will always disappear, comes back from wherever he goes looking like a slightly different person each time and offers zero explanation that holds up under questioning. Yoongi has stopped asking. Some things about Taehyung are simply weather.

Jin and Jungkook share a room. Or they did, for a while. Lately Jungkook has been getting quietly relocated on certain nights for reasons nobody discusses directly, which either means one specific thing or means Yoongi has been on tour too long and is inventing narratives out of hotel logistics. He is choosing not to examine it too closely. Some things are between Jin and Jin's business, and Yoongi, of all people, is not in a position to be nosy about anyone else's relationship right now.

Meanwhile Yoongi produces. Files back to Seoul, notes back from Seoul, an argument about a snare sound at one in the morning with an engineer six time zones away who does not appreciate being woken up for it.

And somehow, over the course of this tour, nearly all of them — Namjoon fresh off a museum call, Hoseok between a brand meeting and whatever the other calls are, Yoongi himself, all of them, everyone except Jungkook, who is single and irritatingly at peace about it — have taken up fucking professional pickleball.

Yoongi does not fully understand how this happened. Somewhere around Tampa, someone found a court. By Mexico City it had become a ritual. By Stanford it had become, unofficially, a competitive circuit with standings that Hoseok tracks in a spreadsheet nobody asked for. None of them particularly care about pickleball. What they care about is that it is loud and physical and takes exactly enough concentration to stop thinking about the person they are missing for forty-five minutes at a time.

Yoongi thinks about this sometimes, mid-game, sweating in some stadium's practice facility in a city he will forget the name of in a decade. When did we become this. Six adult men — successful, wealthy, internationally famous — reduced to booking pickleball courts because the alternative is sitting in a hotel room thinking about the people they love and slowly losing their minds.

And Jungkook who's there out of pure spirit of competition.

He does not remember them being like this before. Not this specifically. He remembers missing home, missing sleep, missing simple things. He does not remember this particular ache — the one that lives just under the ribs and has a name and a face and does not go away no matter how many kilometers you run or how many pickleball games you win.

He thinks: we were seven boys from the countryside who used to pool money between us to afford dinner.

He thought about this properly in Mexico City, standing in the presidential palace on some cultural visit their management had arranged, looking at gold ceilings and thinking about a one-room apartment in Ilsan and a shared plate of ramyeon split seven ways. He thought about it again at the lucha libre show two nights later, surrounded by masked men throwing each other around a ring while Taehyung screamed with genuine delight beside him, and he thought: how did we get here. How is this real.

It is real. It is also, apparently, not enough to distract him from the fact that he has not fucked his girlfriend properly since April.

He saw you once, right after Goyang, before any of this started. That was real. That was — he thinks about it more than he should, the studio, the confession, the way you looked at him like something had finally clicked into its correct position.

Then the tour started and the world got very large very fast.

He saw you again in Busan, mid-June, during the two days built into the schedule as rest. He flew home for it specifically. You were there. It was good — it was more than good, it was necessary in a way he didn't fully register until he was in the same room as you again and something in his chest that had been clenched for two months finally released.

But you were busy. The recital prep had already started by then, the center pulling at you in every direction, and he understood — he has always understood, this is not a complaint — but two days was not enough, and half of those two days were spent with you on the phone with Dani solving a scheduling crisis while he sat across the room trying not to look like a man who had flown eight thousand miles specifically to be near you.

That was two weeks ago.

Two weeks should not feel like this long. He is aware of the math. He has never been good at ignoring math that concerns you specifically.

He spent three and a half years wanting you before he let himself have you.

Now that he has had you, the wanting has not gone anywhere. If anything it has gotten worse, more specific, more physical, because now he knows exactly what he is missing instead of imagining it. Three years of pining was one kind of hunger. This — knowing, having known, and then being denied it by geography and schedules and hotel room allocations — is a completely different animal.

He is thirty-three years old. He is not supposed to feel like this.

He feels like this constantly.

He had a room to himself once, in Stanford, a rare scheduling accident that put Namjoon on the other side of the hotel with the tour manager for a logistics reason nobody explained. Yoongi did not ask questions. He called you the second the door closed.

It was late for you. Early morning for him. You picked up sounding sleepy and warm and it did not take long — a few minutes of talking, low and slow, both of you saying things you would not normally say with anyone in earshot — before the call became something else entirely.

It was, by any reasonable measure, extremely good.

It was also, apparently, a mistake, because he could not sleep after. He lay in a hotel room in California at four in the morning with every nerve in his body still lit up and no outlet for any of it, and by six AM he had made a decision.

He ran twelve kilometers before soundcheck.

He is aware of how this sounds. A grown man, a producer, a person whose entire public image is built on precision and restraint, running twelve kilometers because a video call went somewhere it should not have gone and left him with nowhere to put the aftermath. He does not care how it sounds. It worked, mostly. It got him through soundcheck without incident.

He did not have the same luck of having his own room in Vegas.

He loves Namjoon. He wants to be clear about that. Namjoon is his brother, one year younger, one of the people he trusts most in the world, and sharing a hotel room with him for most of a tour is, under normal circumstances, completely fine.

It is not fine when you are trying to have a private moment with your girlfriend and your roommate is fifteen feet away pretending to be asleep.

Can a man not virtually fuck his girlfriend in peace, one time, without international logistics interfering.

Apparently not.

He feels, some days, like he is back in the trainee dorms — eighteen years old, sharing a room with six other boys, the specific mortification of wanting privacy and having none of it available. He is thirty-three. He has sold out stadiums. He still cannot reliably get forty-five minutes alone to think about his own girlfriend without an entire tour's logistics conspiring against him.

The mere thought of you, most days, is enough to be a problem. He has learned to manage this the way he manages most inconvenient things — quietly, efficiently, by redirecting the energy into something productive. Pickleball. Running. Arguing about snare sounds at one in the morning.

It does not always work.

— Yoongi —

It is two PM now and You have not texted back.

He notices this the way he notices most things about you now — quietly, immediately, filed before he decides to examine it. It has been six hours since his last message. Six hours is not unusual, exactly — you run a center, you have a life, you are not required to answer him within any specific window.

But you always answer.

Even busy, even mid-crisis, you find thirty seconds. A single line. Can't talk, tell you later. You have never gone six hours completely silent, and he has gotten too good, probably, at reading the shape of your patterns.

He checks his phone again.

Nothing.

Where are you, he types.

He does not send it.

He deletes it.

He sends instead: hope the recital chaos is going okay. miss you.

Nothing comes back.

He did not notice it didn't deliver.

He finds Namjoon, because thinking alone is worse than thinking with someone else in the room, even if the someone else is currently on the phone with his own person, saying something about ankle mobility in a tone that stopped being about ankles some time ago.

Namjoon hangs up.

He looks at Yoongi.

"You look like you're about to say something insane," Namjoon says.

"I'm not."

"You have the face."

"I don't have a face."

"You have several faces," Namjoon says, which is a thing Jisoo says, which means it has entered the group vocabulary without his permission. "What's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong."

"You've checked your phone four times in the last two minutes."

"I haven't—"

"You just checked it again," Namjoon says.

Yoongi puts the phone away.

"She hasn't texted back in six hours," he says, finally.

Namjoon looks at him with the patience of a man managing his own long-distance situation and possessing considerable expertise in it.

"Six hours."

"Six hours."

"That's not a lot of hours."

"I know how many hours it is."

"You sound insane," Namjoon says. Kindly. "I say this with love. You sound completely insane."

"I'm aware," Yoongi says.

Namjoon sits down across from him, elbows on his knees.

"You know what this is? This is a room problem," Namjoon says. "The logistics. Half of us are trying to have relationships and we're sharing rooms like trainees. We should talk to management."

"We're not talking to management about our sex lives."

"I'm talking about rooms," Namjoon says. "Not the other thing."

"You were absolutely talking about the other thing."

"I was talking about logistics," Namjoon says, with dignity.

Yoongi almost laughs. Almost.

"You ran twelve kilometers in Stanford," Namjoon says. "And then you performed for three hours"

"So."

"So I know why," Namjoon says. "Because I ran eight the day after that. And Seokjin-hyung went to train with Jungkook at 3AM in the morning"

They look at each other for a moment — two grown men, successful by any measure available, reduced by circumstance and hotel room allocation to running excessive distances so they do not have to sit with how badly they want their own women.

"We're pathetic," Yoongi says.

"We are extremely pathetic," Namjoon agrees. "Jungkook thinks we've lost our minds."

"Jungkook is single. He doesn't get a vote."

"He's not wrong, though," Namjoon says.

Yoongi checks his phone again.

Still nothing.

— Yoongi —

The message from staff comes at 4:40 PM, twenty minutes before soundcheck.

"Your family's here."

Yoongi looks up from the setlist he has been half-reading for the last ten minutes.

"What?"

"Family," the staff member says. "VIP room. They just arrived."

He feels it before he processes it fully — something settling into place that he did not know was unsettled, a low hum of something is happening that has been sitting under his skin for two days without a name. His mother's texts have been strange this week. Shorter than usual, or oddly specific, or answering questions he didn't ask and dodging ones he did. He noticed it. He filed it. He is now understanding, walking down the corridor toward the VIP room, that he should have paid closer attention.

He opens the door.

His mother first — beaming, the way she does when her plan has just clicked into its final position. His father in a chair, thinner than he'd like to admit, but smiling, genuinely, the tired kind of happy that costs something to produce and is produced anyway because it's worth it. Jihoon. Eunji. Haerin asleep against someone's shoulder. His aunt, in a sun hat, indoors, completely unbothered by the absurdity of this.

He crosses the room. Hugs his mother. Hugs his father carefully, the way he has learned to hug him lately.

"You didn't tell me you were coming today," he says.

"Surprise," his mother says, with the serene satisfaction of a woman who has waited two weeks to say this exact word.

He is about to ask what else is a surprise when he sees you.

You are standing slightly apart from the group, by the window.

He stops walking.

His brain, which has spent the last two hours managing increasingly unhinged theories about six hours of silence, does not know what to do with this new information. It does not compute. You are not supposed to be here. You are supposed to be in Seoul, at the center, wrestling Soomin's solo demands into submission, several thousand kilometers and one full sleep cycle away from this exact green room.

And yet.

There you are.

By the window. Real, apparently, in the sense that you have weight and shadow and are not currently flickering at the edges the way things do in dreams. He runs a fast, panicked inventory — is this a dream, am I asleep, did I fall asleep standing up reading the setlist, if Namjoon wakes me up from this I am going to choke him in his sleep, I don't care if that's not physically possible while unconscious, I will find a way — and none of it resolves anything, because you are still there, and the room is still the room, and his heart is doing something that feels considerably too intense for a dream.

He is so happy he cannot process it.

He is also, somehow, at the exact same time, moderately convinced he is either hallucinating or having some kind of medical event, and the two feelings are occupying the same space in his chest with absolutely no regard for how contradictory they are.

"You're here," he says.

It comes out flat. Disbelieving.

"I'm here," you say.

"You're actually here."

"I'm actually here," you say, and you are smiling now, the real one, and something in his chest that has been clenched since Busan lets go all at once.

"You're here," he says, a third time, because apparently this is where his vocabulary has landed.

Behind him, he hears Jihoon mutter something to Eunji that sounds a great deal like "I told you he'd say it three times," and Eunji mutter back something that sounds like "you owe me five thousand won."

Yoongi does not care.

His legs are moving before his brain authorizes it, which is new, because normally his brain authorizes everything, that's the whole system, that's how he's operated for thirty-two years — but right now the system has gone offline and something more primitive has taken over, and he is crossing the room toward you like a man who has forgotten every other skill he has ever learned except walk toward her.

He does not feel his own hand find the doorframe until it's already there.

He needs it. He is not entirely sure his legs are going to keep working without it, which is an insane thing for a body to do, an insane thing to happen to a person standing upright in a green room, but here he is, gripping a doorframe like it owes him something, because his chest has gone tight in a way that has nothing to do with the twelve kilometers he ran in Stanford and everything to do with the fact that you are real and here and he did not see this coming and his heart apparently did not have a contingency plan for it.

Breathe, he tells himself.

He does not breathe correctly. He breathes in the shallow, useless way that gets air into the top of his lungs and nowhere else, and somewhere very far away he hears you say his name, and he thinks, distantly, with what remains of his rational mind: this is insane. This is an insane thing to be happening to me right now. I have stood in front of eighty thousand people and not felt like this. I ran a marathon's worth of distance because I missed her and my body's response to actually getting her is to try to malfunction.

He also thinks: I might cry.

He also thinks, immediately and with genuine horror: absolutely the fuck not.

He is a grown man. He is THE Min Yoongi. Suga from BTS. He has an image, a reputation, several Grammy nominations, a resting bitch expression that intimidates interns. He is not going to cry in a green room in Madrid twenty minutes before soundcheck because his girlfriend showed up and his nervous system decided this was the appropriate moment to attempt a full systems shutdown.

He is not going to fucking cry.

He is, however, apparently not entirely in control of his face, because you are looking at him now with an expression that means you have clocked something is very wrong, and he can hear you say his name again, closer now, worried now, and some deeply buried, deeply stubborn part of him refuses — absolutely refuses — to let this become a scene where he stands here and falls apart in front of his entire family while everyone watches him fail to hold it together.

There is exactly one thing his brain will still let him do.

He kisses you.

It solves nothing about the not-breathing. It solves nothing about the almost-crying. What it does is give his body something to do besides malfunction quietly in front of witnesses, and the second his mouth finds yours the tightness in his chest cracks — not fixed, not gone, but redirected, something that was building toward a full breakdown finding a different channel entirely — and he holds onto you like you are the thing keeping him upright, because at this exact moment, you are.

Something is wrong.

You know this before you fully process why — the way his face has gone from you're here to something else entirely, color draining out of it in real time, his breathing gone shallow and fast in a way that has nothing to do with excitement.

"Yoongi?"

He doesn't answer. His hand finds the doorframe beside him, not dramatically, just — there, steadying, the specific quiet grip of someone whose body is doing something his mind has not authorized.

"Yoongi," you say again, crossing the room fast now.

"I'm fine," he says. He is not fine. His breathing is doing the thing — too quick, too shallow, catching at the top like he cannot get enough air into the bottom of his lungs. His face has gone the color of paper.

You feel your stomach drop.

"You didn't know," you say. Quiet. Horrified. "You really didn't know I was coming."

"No," he says, and even that single word comes out thin.

"Oh my god." You put your hand on his arm. His skin is clammy. "I'm so sorry, I thought — your mom said — I didn't mean to just show up like this, I can go, I can wait outside, I can—"

"Don't," he says.

"Yoongi, you're pale, are you going to—"

He kisses you.

In front of his mother. In front of his father, sitting in the chair with his tea. In front of Jihoon and Eunji and his aunt in her sun hat and Haerin, who does not care about any of this and is chewing on her own fist. In front of everyone, in the middle of a green room twenty minutes before soundcheck, Min Yoongi — who does not do public displays of anything, who once nearly had a genuine crisis over a surprise birthday dinner, who has spent thirty-two years being extremely careful about what he shows a room — kisses you like it is the only thing that will fix what is currently happening in his chest.

It is not a long kiss. It does not need to be.

He pulls back just far enough to press his forehead to yours, breathing you in like it's the thing that's actually going to slow his heart rate down, and says, low, rough:

"Fuck. I missed you."

Behind you, you hear his father's voice, delighted: "Pay up, Jihoon-ah. I told you he would kiss her in front of everyone."

"That's not the bet," Jihoon says. "The bet was three times, not kissing—"

"It's a bonus round," his father says. "I'm claiming the bonus round."

Yoongi does not seem to care about any of this. He has both arms around you now, holding on with a specific desperate tightness that tells you everything you need to know about six weeks and two failed reunions and a man who has been running twelve kilometers at a time to survive missing you.

"You scared me," you say, into his shoulder. "I thought you were going to faint."

"I almost did," he admits.

"You have to warn me next time you're going to have a panic attack in front of your entire family."

"You have to warn me," he says, "before you show up in a green room looking like—" He stops. Pulls back just enough to look at you properly, at all of it. "I need a minute."

"Take your minute."

He takes several.

His mother, watching all of this with her hands folded and the expression of a woman whose plan has exceeded even her own expectations, catches your eye and mouths: worth it.

You are inclined to agree.

The Madrid show is, by any measure, extremely hot.

This is true in the literal sense — the stadium is packed and the June air is doing the thing Spanish summer air does, thick and close even after sundown — and it is true in a second sense that you spend most of the concert trying not to think about too directly.

Yoongi comes out in an Atlético Madrid jersey. Red and white stripes, his own name across the shoulders in the club's typeface, sleeves pushed up, and you understand immediately why his mother packed you for warm weather because you are, personally, generating an enormous amount of heat watching this happen.

You have missed him for two weeks in every way a person can miss another person — the conversation, the laugh, the specific quiet comfort of him existing in the same room. You have been managing that missing, mostly successfully, with video calls and time-zone math and the specific determination of two people who promised each other honesty instead of silence.

Watching him on that stage in a football jersey with his hair longer than the last time you saw it, moving the way he moves when the fire underneath the control gets a little room to breathe — you realize, with sudden and inconvenient clarity, that you have also missed him physically, in a way you had been successfully not examining too closely, and the examination is happening now, in real time, in a stadium full of sixty thousand other people.

You are going to have to deal with this feeling for the next two hours.

You attempt to deal with it by focusing very hard on the setlist.

This does not fully work.

Dinner is at a private room in a restaurant near the stadium, the whole family gathered around a long table, and Yoongi arrives still in the jersey — he changed his shoes, apparently, and nothing else — with silver chains at his throat that catch the low restaurant light every time he moves, his hair pushed back off his face, damp still at the edges from the show.

You have seen him a thousand times. You have catalogued every version of him across three and a half years — the beanie version, the studio version, the stage version, the sleepy version, the one that exists at two in the morning when nothing is required of him.

Tonight you actually look.

Really look, the way you have not had the luxury of looking in weeks — the line of his jaw, the specific tired warmth in his eyes, the way his hands move when he reaches for the water pitcher, unhurried, certain, exactly the hands you have missed on your skin for six weeks and have been trying not to think about with this much specificity in a restaurant full of his family.

You are staring.

You do not notice that everyone else has noticed you staring until his aunt says, cheerfully, to the whole table: "She's looking at him like he's dinner."

You choke on your water.

"Auntie—" you start.

"I'm just observing," the aunt says, with great dignity, and returns to her menu.

Yoongi, across the table, catches your eye.

He knows exactly what you were thinking. His ears are already doing the thing.

Then Haerin starts fussing, and Jihoon, mid-conversation with his father, hands her across the table without breaking eye contact, and Yoongi — without hesitation, without a second's thought — takes her.

He settles her against his chest, one arm braced under her, and she quiets almost immediately, small fist finding his collar and holding on.

His forearm, where the jersey sleeve has been pushed up all evening, flexes slightly under her weight.

You put your fork down.

You are going to combust. You are going to combust at this table, in front of his entire family, over the sight of Min Yoongi holding a baby with his arm doing that specific thing that arms do when they are strong enough to make holding a baby look effortless, and there is nothing you can do about it, and you know his aunt is going to notice, and you do not care.

Yoongi, oblivious, bounces Haerin gently and asks her something in the soft, nonsensical register people use with babies, and you think you might actually die at this table, tonight, of entirely preventable causes.

His father is tired.

You notice it in pieces across the dinner — the way he leans back between courses, the careful pacing of his energy, the specific effort behind every joke that still lands as effortlessly as ever. He is having a good night. He is also, clearly, working at having a good night in a way he did not used to have to work at.

Nobody mentions this directly.

The cards come out after the main course — someone produced them from somewhere, probably the aunt — and his father wins the first hand with a card that should not have existed in his possession, and the table erupts the way it always does, and you watch him laugh, real and full, and you watch his mother watch him laugh with an expression that holds two things at once: joy, and something quieter underneath it that she is protecting everyone else from having to look at directly.

You catch Jihoon's eye once.

He gives you the smallest nod. I see it too. We're not talking about it tonight.

You nod back.

Not tonight.

Tonight is cards and jokes and his father cheating with the confidence of a man who has been doing this his whole life, and everyone at this table understands, without a single word being said, that tonight is exactly what it needs to be.

Yoongi's hand finds the small of your back around eleven.

"Come with me," he says, quiet, just for you.

You go.

In the hallway outside the private room, you ask: "Where's Namjoon sleeping tonight?"

"With Jin," Yoongi says. "Jin offered." A pause. "I think Jin understood the assignment before I even asked."

"That's very generous of him."

"He's a generous man," Yoongi says, already walking, already pulling you along by the hand. "We're both very grateful for it."

His room is at the end of the hall, and the door has barely closed behind you before his mouth is on yours, six weeks and two failed reunions and a green room panic attack collapsing into one long exhale against your lips.

"I missed you," he says, again, like the first time in the green room wasn't enough, like he needs to keep saying it until the words catch up to how long it's actually been. "I missed you so much it was making me insane. I ran twelve kilometers in Stanford because of you. I have taken up pickleball because of you."

"Pickleball?"

"Don't," he says. "Don't ask. Not right now."

He kisses you again before you can ask anyway.

This is not urgent, not at first — not the way the supply closet was urgent, not the way the studio was urgent. This is slow. Unhurried in the way he does things he has decided matter, except tonight the deciding has already happened, weeks ago, every night on the phone, every text sent from a different time zone, and what's left now is just the doing of it, finally, properly, with all the time in the world.

He undresses you like he's been thinking about the order of it. Which he has. He tells you so, low against your throat, the specific things he thought about on the twelve-kilometer run, the specific things he did not let himself finish thinking about during the video call in Stanford that ended too soon.

"I thought about this," he says, "so many times. Too many times. I would be in soundcheck and I would think about you and I would have to think about literally anything else immediately."

"Anything else like what."

"Pickleball rules," he says, dead serious, and you laugh — really laugh, warm and full, right up until his mouth finds your collarbone and the laugh turns into something else entirely.

Your breath catches somewhere in your chest the second his mouth closes over your nipple, his hands full of you, greedy in a way that has nothing careful left in it. You thought — some small, rational, weeks-starved part of you thought — that he would take his time tonight. That there would be slowness in it, the kind he usually favors, the unhurried attention he gives to everything he decides matters.

Min Yoongi has other plans.

The second your bodies hit the mattress, he is a man on a singular mission, and the mission is apparently now.

His pillow smells like his cologne —something warm underneath it, the specific scent that used to live only in memory for weeks and is now, suddenly, everywhere, filling your lungs every time you turn your head, and it does something to your brain that borders on unraveling. You missed him. God, you missed him, in ways you had been carefully not naming to yourself for two months, and now the evidence of him is in your lungs and under your hands and you cannot hold onto a single coherent thought.

His mouth moves down your torso, unhurried now despite everything, pressing kisses into skin like he's re-memorizing the map of you, and your hands move on their own — up, into his hair, fingers threading through the length of it, longer now than it was in Seoul, soft in a way that makes something in your chest ache.

I hope somebody hides the scissors, you think, distantly, feeling the strands slip between your fingers.

You pull.

Not hard. Just enough.

The sound that comes out of his chest is low and rough and completely unguarded, and it undoes what remains of both your restraint entirely — his hips press into the mattress, involuntary, and you feel the loss of control happen in real time, in both of you, simultaneous and mutual.

He lifts his head from your navel.

His eyes find yours in the low light — dark, blown wide, every ounce of composure gone from them completely.

"Fuck, doll." His voice is wrecked already, and you have barely started. "You're here. I missed you. I fucking missed you."

"I'm here," you manage. Your own voice is not steady either. "I miss—"

You do not finish the thought.

His mouth finds your center and every rational function you had left simply stops.

He drinks you like a man who has been lost in a desert and has just found water — relentless, thorough, no part of him interested in stopping. His mouth changes rhythm every time he feels you climbing toward the edge, pulling back just enough, just when you think you might finally break, and you are reduced within minutes to something trembling and incoherent, every muscle in your body straining toward a peak he keeps deciding you haven't earned yet.

The only word left in you arrives on a broken exhale.

"Please."

"Please what, doll?" His voice against your center sends vibrations straight through you, and your whole body jerks with it.

"Please, Yoongi," you try again, breathless, desperate, the word barely holding together.

He lifts his head.

The smile waiting for you there is feline — slow, satisfied, the specific expression of something that has caught exactly what it wanted and is taking its time before consuming it completely. Your hand twitches toward his hair, some feral part of you wanting to drag him straight back down, finish what he started.

"You sound so sweet," he says, "begging for me, baby." He presses a small kiss to your clit, almost gentle, almost cruel in how gentle it is, and then one finger traces down your folds — barely there, deliberate, devastating in its lightness. "Tell me what you want. I'll give you everything, baby. Use me."

"Please," you say. "Touch me."

Something shifts behind his eyes.

The grin widens — pure mischief now, pure intent — and he moves, unfolding from where he was kneeling at the edge of the bed, lying flat instead, looking up at you like this was always the plan.

"Come here, baby. Sit. Let me take care of you."

You do not remember deciding to move. You simply are moving, knees settling on either side of his head, palms flat against the headboard for balance, your whole body already trembling with anticipation before he has done anything at all.

His arms hook around your thighs.

"I said," he murmurs, voice low and certain, "sit," and pulls you down onto his mouth.

"Oh — Yoongi—"

It is not a word by the time it leaves you. It is closer to a sound than a name, torn out of you, tears already gathering and spilling before you register they've started. He does not stop. If anything he goes harder, and then — mercy, finally, some form of it — two fingers push into you while his mouth stays exactly where it is, working you from both directions at once, no restraint left in him at all.

He pumps into you without pause. Drinks you like he intends to memorize the taste. Your hands find his hair again, gripping, and your hips begin to move on their own, chasing something you can no longer control the shape of.

It does not take long.

Your release breaks over you completely, spilling over his mouth, his chin, and when he finally lifts his head to look at you — soaked, dark-eyed, utterly pleased with himself — his expression is triumphant.

Like this was exactly what he'd been waiting three and a half years, and six more agonizing weeks, to see.

But this is not over.

Over does not live anywhere near this room right now — you can feel it in the way your body is already moving before your mind catches up, hips sliding down to align with his, chest to chest, breathless and trembling and somehow still wanting more. You settle into his lap, face to face, close enough to feel his heartbeat hammering against yours.

"I fucking love you," he says first, forehead pressed to yours, voice low and stripped of everything except the truth in it. "You know that, right?"

"I do," you answer. Your own voice is not much steadier than his. "Because I fucking love you too."

Neither of you moves for a second. Then neither of you can help it.

You are not sure who kisses who first. It does not matter — the kiss is desperate immediately, teeth and tongue and no patience left for gentleness, his mouth closing over your bottom lip hard enough to sting, yours doing the same to his a moment later, both of you chasing something that feels less like affection and more like hunger finally allowed to be fed.

He lifts you off the bed entirely.

Effortless. Easy. You feel the flex of muscle under your thighs where his hands grip and hold, and you catch, in the low light, the smug, almost boyish satisfaction crossing his face — the pride of a man showing off exactly what six weeks of running and pickleball and restless energy has been building toward.

You love him a little more for it. You are not proud of how easily he undoes you like this. You do not care.

He walks you to the wall.

Somewhere very far away, a small rational part of you registers that at least one member of this group is probably sleeping close enough to hear whatever happens next, and then his hips press you back against the cool plaster and enter you with a force that erases the thought completely. What leaves your mouth is not a word. It is barely a sound. It is something closer to a confession, torn loose and echoing.

He looks utterly satisfied with the wreck he is making of you.

He takes his time with all of it, even now, even like this — every place he has missed over six weeks, every sound he has spent countless nights imagining and is finally, actually hearing again, he lingers there, savoring, like a man confirming that the version he memorized from a distance does not come close to the real thing. Every time he finds this out again, it seems to surprise him. Every time, it seems to wreck him a little further.

"Say my name," he says, voice completely gone, unraveled. "I haven't heard you say it in person in two weeks. I need—"

You say it.

He makes a sound like something in him has finally, finally settled.

"Again," he says.

You say it again.

and again. And again.

By the time you are both spent and tangled together in a hotel bed in Madrid, the city lights coming through a gap in the curtains, his hand tracing slow absent shapes on your shoulder, he says it — quiet, certain, the voice he uses for things that are true:

"I don't know how I did three and a half years without this."

"You didn't have a choice," you say. "You were scared, we both were."

"I was a coward," he agrees. "I'm not anymore." He kisses your temple. "Six more month of the tour left. I don't know how I'm going to survive it."

"You survived the last three"

"Barely," he says. "And that was before I knew what I was missing exactly." He pulls you closer. "Now I know exactly. It's worse now."

"Worse how?"

"Better," he says. "Which makes it worse."

You laugh against his chest.

He holds on tighter.

Outside, Madrid is warm and awake and completely indifferent to the fact that you have never in your life felt this specifically, thoroughly loved.

You fall asleep before he finishes tracing whatever shape he was drawing on your shoulder.

He keeps going anyway.

You put on the yellow dress.

You watch him watch you do it — the way his hand goes momentarily still on his phone, the way his eyes track the fabric settling into place, the way he sets the phone down entirely and simply looks at you for a long moment without saying anything.

"I need a minute," he says finally.

"We have a train," you say. "At eleven."

"I need five minutes," he says, crossing the room toward you with the specific unhurried certainty you have missed for six weeks, "to make you come. Then we can catch the train."

You look at the clock.

You look at him.

"Five minutes," you say, "is very optimistic."

"I've had six weeks to think about efficiency," he says, and proves, with considerable determination, that he was not exaggerating his timeline.

You make the train.

Barely.

You take him to the churrería.

It is exactly where you left it — Calle del Pez, the sign a little more faded than you remember, the same specific smell of hot oil and sugar that used to mean home in the specific temporary way things meant home during the years you lived here. You order in Spanish, fast and easy, the words arriving without effort in a way that surprises you a little, like a language you didn't know you still had.

Yoongi watches you do this with open fascination.

"You sound different," he says.

"Different how?"

"I don't know," he says. "More — you. A version of you I haven't met yet."

"I lived here for two years," you say. "When I was fourteen. Before Seoul. Before the center." You hand him a churro. "Dip it. All the way. Don't be shy about it."

He dips it.

He goes quiet in the specific way he goes quiet about things that genuinely surprise him.

"Okay," he says, after the first bite, with the gravity of a man revising a previously held position. "This is — okay. I understand the hype now."

"I told you."

"You did not tell me sufficiently," he says, already reaching for another.

Two men in dark clothes sit at a discreet distance at the next table, sunglasses on despite the shade, doing an excellent impression of two people who are not being paid to watch your every move. You have gotten used to them over the last few days — Yoongi was not willing to negotiate on the bodyguards, not after everything, not with your safety on the line, even though the two of you have decided, together and deliberately, to keep this private for now. Not secret. Private. There is a difference, and you have both agreed it matters.

You buy jamón and bread at a small market near the train station — the vendor recognizing something in your accent, asking if you used to live here, delighted when you say yes — and you pack it all into a bag for the train, tapas for the journey, the specific joy of eating good food while the Spanish countryside blurs past the window.

His family, it turns out, is already somewhere over the Pacific.

You find this out over breakfast, when Jihoon texts a photo of Haerin asleep against Eunji's shoulder with the caption "already flying home, mom's orders, she said and I quote 'my work here is done'" and you realize, with the specific delayed comprehension of someone who has been thoroughly outmaneuvered, that this entire trip — the flight, the surprise, the concert, all of it — was engineered from the beginning to end exactly here. With the family gone. With just the two of you.

"Your mother," you say, "planned this whole thing."

"My mother," Yoongi agrees, buttering a piece of bread, "has been planning things since approximately the second course of the first dinner we ever had together. I've stopped being surprised."

"We should be mad about this."

"Should we," he says.

You look at him across the small table — Madrid morning light through the window, the specific quality of being somewhere warm with someone you love and nowhere you need to be for several hours.

"No," you admit. "We really shouldn't."

He looks entirely too pleased with himself about this.

The train to Barcelona takes under three hours.

You spend most of it with your head on his shoulder, his hand in yours, both of you saying very little, which after six weeks of forced conversation across time zones feels like its own kind of luxury.

Barcelona in the afternoon is golden and loud and completely alive.

You do all of it — the touristy version, unapologetically, cameras out, the two of you moving through the city like any other couple on any other vacation, which is, you realize somewhere around the third hour, exactly what you are.

La Sagrada Família stops you both.

You expected to be moved by it — you have seen photographs, read about it, understood intellectually what it was supposed to do to a person standing underneath it. You did not expect Yoongi to become, within four minutes of entering, a complete and total architecture nerd, audio guide clutched in one hand, craning his neck at the ceiling with an expression of genuine, unguarded wonder.

"Gaudí never saw it finished," he says, to you, urgently, like this is breaking news. "He knew he wouldn't. He designed it knowing he would die before it was done and he built it anyway, for the people who would come after him."

"I know," you say. "I read the plaque too."

"No, but listen," he says, pulling you by the hand toward a column, pointing up at where it branches like a tree, "the whole structure works like a forest. Every column holds weight differently depending on the angle, he studied trees for years to figure out how to distribute the load without needing external buttresses—"

"Yoongi."

"—and the light," he continues, undeterred, gesturing at the stained glass, "he oriented the windows so the light changes color throughout the day, warm in the morning, cool in the evening, it's not decoration, it's functional, he was thinking about how people would experience time inside this building a hundred years before—"

"I love you," you say.

He stops.

"I was in the middle of explaining—"

"I know," you say. "I love you anyway. Keep going."

He keeps going, for another twenty minutes, and you listen to every word of it with the specific warmth of watching someone you love fall in love with something new right in front of you.

That evening, a concert at the Palau de la Música Catalana — classical, small, nothing like the stadiums he has spent the last two months in, and you watch him listen to it with the same total attention he gives everything he decides is worth his attention, occasionally leaning over to whisper something about a chord change or a modulation that you would have missed entirely without him.

Dinner after, at a restaurant by the sea, the tables close enough to the water that you can hear it under the conversation. The food is extraordinary — plates arriving one after another, things you don't have names for, all of it better than it has any right to be.

You find yourself thinking about the center.

"I keep thinking," you say, somewhere between courses, "about how much I want the older kids to have something like this. Not this exactly. But — exposure. Music from other places, other traditions. I've been wanting to build a summer program for years. Take a small group somewhere, or bring musicians in, something that shows them the world is bigger than what fits inside the Flower Room." You look at your plate. "I just haven't found the funding."

"I can make it happen," Yoongi says. Immediately. No hesitation.

"You don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to," he says. He picks up his wine glass, looks at you directly over the rim of it, unhurried, certain. "But you have me now." A small pause, deliberate. "Use me."

Behind you, at a discreet table near the entrance, you are fairly certain the bodyguards heard every word of that.

Yoongi does not care.

He laughs — the real one, full and unguarded, completely unbothered by the fact that two professional security guards just witnessed him being extremely and shamelessly in love with you in a restaurant in Barcelona.

You laugh too.

You cannot help it.

The hotel room has a balcony, and you end up there after midnight, the moon low and full over the water, the specific smell of salt and warm night air, the waves audible even from several floors up.

His arms are around you from behind, chin resting against your shoulder, both of you looking out at a city that neither of you needed to see tonight but got to see anyway.

"I love you," he says, quiet, into your hair. "I loved you before I let myself say it and I love you more now that I have. Every single day of the last six weeks I thought about you and it made everything else — the shows, the cities, the fucking pickleball, all of it — feel like something I was getting through instead of something I was living. You're the part I actually want to be present for."

You turn in his arms.

"This was all your mom's scheming," you say, softly. "The trip. All of it."

"I know," he says. He is not bothered by this at all. "I'm not mad about it. I'm mad at myself, actually. For not doing something like this sooner. I had months. I could have flown you out. I could have made this happen on my own instead of needing my mother to engineer it for me."

"You're doing a lot of things you didn't used to do," you say. "Kissing me in front of your whole family. Loud declarations in restaurants. Taking five minutes before trains."

"I've had a lot of time to think," he says, "about what I wasted three and a half years not doing."

He looks at you for a long moment, the moonlight doing something soft and unreal to his face.

"Do you remember," he says, "the conversation we had after Goyang?"

"Which one," you say. "We had several."

"The one where you asked me to marry you."

You stare at him.

"I did not," you say.

"You did," he says, with complete and infuriating confidence. "You said, and I quote, get me a ring and I'll think about it."

"That was a joke."

"You said it," he says. "I remember exactly. I have been thinking about it for almost three months."

"Yoongi."

"You told me if I got you a ring, you would believe I was serious," he says. "I have been very serious for a very long time."

"You have lost your mind," you say. "Somewhere between Mexico City and here, you have completely lost your mind."

He smiles.

There is something in it you have not seen before — not the almost-smile, not the giddy one from the apartment door, something new, something that has been building quietly for months and has just decided tonight is the night to surface.

He reaches up, cups your face in both hands, and kisses you.

Slow. Smiling into it. The waves below, the moon above, the whole warm impossible weight of a summer night that neither of you planned and neither of you are going to forget.

You have never been good at lying to yourself.

Standing on a balcony in Barcelona with the sea behind you and Min Yoongi's hands on your face and his mouth still curved into a smile against yours, you understand — not for the first time, but maybe for the first time with this particular clarity — that you have absolutely no idea what a night like this is capable of setting in motion.

You do not know yet what tonight will mean by morning.

You are, for once, completely at peace with not knowing.

The waves keep coming.

The moon keeps its place in the sky.

And somewhere in the warm Barcelona dark, a summer night that started as your mother-in-law's scheme is quietly, carefully, becoming something neither of you planned for and both of you, it turns out, have been ready for all along.

End of the special chapter. 🎹🌊

hi! my lovely gorgeous beautiful friends 🖤

you do not know how much I missed you.

I am so, so happy to be back and finally out of the writer's block woods. genuinely, I needed to write something short and sweet and a little smutty just to shock my creative braincells back into functioning. sometimes you gotta remind the muse she has a job.

and we're back baby!! like a weird stress-induced rash. okay — I'm sorry, that was weird, I stand by it anyway.

this was NOT on my original schedule. this entire special chapter exists because it took exactly one Barcelona-jersey-wearing, architecture-nerding, teeth-rottingly soft Min Yoongi to drag me out of the depths of my own writing hell and put me back to work. I don't make the rules. he just showed up in my brain wearing that jersey and I had no choice.

I needed this one. things have been hard and sad and a little devastating lately, and I could not sit down and write something heavy right now (yes, my loves, I see you — The Space Between Us part three is coming, and it is going to be sad, I'm sorry in advance, prepare accordingly).

so this — this soft, self-indulgent, sun-soaked little gift — is for everyone who loved The Real Thing as much as I loved writing it. thank you for waiting. thank you for every single comment and every kind word you sent while I was quiet. it genuinely kept me going more than you know.

get in line, I'm handing out kisses. 🖤🎹

It has been ages since you've stepped into a gym, the last time being when you had your Volleyball awards for the last time of your third year. You take a big whiff of the air around you and breathe out slowly and deeply, relishing in the smell of fresh, new, leather volleyballs coming into the start of the new season.

Even though you've never been in your school's gym yet, your feet somehow know their way to the back near the locker rooms and stop right in front of the tryout list. You grab the black pen hanging from a white rope thumb-tacked onto the corkboard and sign your name on the list with your preferred position next to it; setter.

You've heard rumors that your school's previous setter had to drop out of school, and they didn't have a replacement, which left the position wide open for you to steal. You used to be the setter on the Karasuno's female team, and you were quite good, but it's been two years out of practice and you knew you'd need to shape up again before tryouts.

Once you leave the gym, you drop off your aide ID in the front office where you have your last period, community services, which is basically a freebie class as it's just volunteer work, but regardless it was one of your favorites, and you head back to the parking lot to find your car and drive back to your apartment.

You pull into your parking spot a little after 4pm and head into your place. Most people would describe it as quaint, but that was fine with you because it was yours, and it was affordable. The moment you set your things down on your nightstand, you pull out your phone and dial your brother's number.

"Hey y/n."

"Hey Asahi how's it going?"

"Not too bad, I'm just working on some new designs for the season."

"Oh cool, send me a pic of them I wanna see."

"Ha, when I'm done with the first outfit I will."

"Good, anyways I have a favor to ask."

"Anything, what is it?"

"Well, I had signed up for volleyball tryouts today an-

"Oh wow, that's great! I was wondering if you'd pursue it again."

"Yeah, thanks! Anyways I wrote my name down for the setter position and I was wondering if you'd be able to help me with that."

"2 things, you're already a fantastic setter, and I was the Ace. Don't know the first thing about setting."

"No, I know, I was going to ask if you'd give me Suga's number. He told me if I needed to practice to call him and he'd always be down to help."

"Oh! Yeah, I can send you his number."

"Great, thanks Asahi!"

"No worries, love ya, and remember to save me a seat for your first game."

"Love ya too and thanks."

You hang up the phone and get the notification Asahi sent you and click on it to add the number to your contacts. Once you save it, you dial the number and hope someone picks up.

"Hello this is Mr.Sugawara, may I ask who's calling?"

The gentle, yet velvety voice from the man sends a once familiar tingle to between your legs and you stifle it as you remember why you called him in the first place.

"Mr.Sugawara huh? That's what you like being called now."

"Excuse me?"

"I remember how fond of it you were when I used to call you Muffin."

"Hah, oh it's you, hi y/n."

"Hi Muffin, how are you?"

"Good, and how about you butterfly?"

"I'm fantastic now that I'm talking to you. Uh but speaking of Butterflies, I actually have a favor."

"Hm?"

"Would you be down for helping me practice being a setter?'

"Aren't you one already?"

"Was, now I'm back and I'm about 2 years out of practice so I need help."

"Well in that case I'll help. Where are we meeting?"

"Not sure yet, I don't have access to the gym after school hours."

"No worries, I'll send you the address to my place, I have a community gym."

"Great, would Saturday afternoon be okay?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"Sure, I have to finish grading paperwork but I'll talk to you soon."

You both say your goodbyes and hang up. A smile beams on your face from his acceptance and you head off to your kitchen to eat your dinner and head to bed to start the day tomorrow.

You wake up at 8am sharp and do your daily routine of skincare, teeth, hair, and makeup. After doing it all you make your bed and finish packing up a go-bag for the gym later and throw in your pair of volleyball shoes, before you place them in the bag you glaze over the black velvet and smile brightly at the thought of you getting to wear them again. You also throw in your knee pads and head out to your normal breakfast place, the cafe near your house.

A few hours pass and you and Suga are ready to meet. You input the address into maps and head off. When you arrive, the first thing you notice is the large keypad in front of the very large and intricate black iron gate protecting the housing community. You input the numbers he had given you and driven around the bend and pull into a parking lot to which you assume is the gym. You exit the car and grab your bag and things and head into the front doors where you're greeted by somebody.

"Hello, welcome to Errice Park Gym, may I see your community ID?"

"Sorry?" You ask the woman with a tilt of your head.

"Apologies, but only members with community IDs may access the gym?"

"Okay, how may I get one?" You ask the lady while leaning your elbows on the desk. You have to hold back a scoff from how uptight all this seems and from the way she is eyeing you.

"Do you live here miss?"

"No, I don't"

"Unfortunately our services are only avail-"

She gets cut off by the large and wonderfully manicured hand that had been placed on the countertop in the commotion.

"She is my guest, ID 352."

"Of course Mr.Sugawara my apologies." She turns to look at you, the look on your face is a mix of flustered and amazed at the same time. "Enjoy your visit." She bows her head to you and Suga nods his head towards the hallway he came from and beckons you to follow.

"Wow, Koshi I didn't think you'd made this much money being a teacher to live in a place like this."

"Perks of being a private school teacher." He says with a rub of his neck.

You take in the features you haven't seen in a few years now. He still has his iconic gray hair and mole with the piercing brown eyes that have always made you swoon, but his physique and prowess have gotten more large and defined than you remember, and it isn't a bad thing. You trail your eyes down from walking behind him and notice his ass has gotten bigger too, doesn't help that he's already in a pair of gym shorts that hug his form perfectly...and the thighs, you have to practically wipe the drool from your lip.

You've never been good at hiding your thoughts about Koshi, he knows it and just about everyone else too, but neither of you have acted on it, for reasons mostly due to him. So, you reluctantly push all your flirtatious comments aside and try to focus on why you are here.

After catching up and making small talk while walking through various hallways, Koshi leads you to a far back door which leads to an even bigger area with no one else inside of it, and itself is a community volleyball court.

"Holy shit this place has everything."

"Mm, just about."

He closes the door behind you guys and walks you over to a few bleachers set up on the side and you set your things down.

"It's good to see you again Butterfly, you look great."

"Thanks, Muffin you do too."

You both smile at each other before he chuckles and pulls you into a hug, which lasts longer than expected. You pull away and tuck hair away from your face.

"I was surprised you called, I didn't realize you kept my number."

"I got it from my brother."

"Oh, how's Asahi doing?"

"Really good actually, his clothing line is really taking off." You talk with high praise of your brother.

"Amazing, I'm proud of him. We haven't talked as much as I'd like but I've missed him."

"Me too."

"I've missed you too."

"Oh.."

Your breath feels shallow as you suck in some air from the look he gives you as you notice him trailing your body. He smiles as he does, with his normal boyish charm but you can't help but feel some other sense behind it.

Not wanting to drag on, you and Koshi decide to get on with it and start. He shows you the locker room to change and after you come back out, you both do stretches and begin.

Unfortunately for you, you are way more out of practice than you realize. Koshi starts off slow for you, throwing you serves you should be able to easily set but everything is off; your form, your fingertip placement, your focus, it's just not there. You lost count of how many balls have bounced out of bounds or how many net shots you've set, it's honestly embarrassing.

After this last set, you groan and squat down to the floor and throw your head back in frustration. Suga shakes his head and chuckles and sits next to you.

"Well, to be blunt, you kinda suck." Suga says poking fun at you.

"Yeah, I know." You groan again and throw yourself backward and land with a small thunk of your head hitting the polished wood of the court. You rub the back of your head with your fingertips and hear a snort come from Suga.

You feel soft fingertips rub your bare thigh above the knee as Suga's voice tries to comfort you.

"Hey now, you're just out of practice it's okay."

"I know but I shouldn't be that bad."

"It happens, and that's why I'm here."

He squeezes your leg delicately and you turn your head to look at him as he looks at you. You both smile at each other and he squeezes your thigh again.

"You're cute."

You get immediately flustered and look up and away from him.

You hear him giggle before he pats your leg and reaches a hand out to help you up. You take it and pop up before he holds onto your lower back to stabilize you while you stand.

"Let's do some more exercises okay? Then well call it a day and come back tomorrow."

"Okay."

You follow Suga into the middle of the court and stand in front of him as he instructs you which exercises to do to better your form, he also goes into explaining how they'll help. So far you've done lunges, jumping jacks, toe touches, and now you're onto squats.

"You can do better than that Butterfly."

He says pointing to your high squat and mocks at it.

"My thighs hurt." You whine.

"The burn means it's working." He smiles at you and you stick your tongue out in return. "Come on, seriously I know you can go lower. "

"No, I can't" You tease.

"Yes you can," he teases back. "Be good and get your ass low." His voice changes from playful to husky in a heartbeat. It gives you whiplash and you can't help but feel a tingle in your core. You gulp but as much as you try you can't seem to get lower.

"Let's go Y/n." He says stepping closer to you in that same husky tone.

"I'm trying."

"Not hard enough."

You roll your eyes and it doesn't go unnoticed. You feel two strong grips on your thighs right before the hem of your spandex and you lock eyes with his. The normal gaze of flirtation and comfort is replaced by seriousness and hunger? His eyes stay locked with your as you feel his hands push down on your thighs adding weight and you feel your calves and hamstrings almost give out. You grit your teeth and clench your hips where your hands rest but you never break eye contact. When you get to an acceptable squat for Suga, he looks down where his hands are and slowly pulls away.

"Good girl, I knew you could do it." He practically whispers the first part but you catch it as you shakily stand up from your squat.

You can tell that your core is instantly flooded from those words and the way his gaze held yours. You try to subtly adjust yourself by squeezing your thighs together but unbeknownst to you, Suga catches it.

Neither of you acknowledge what was said and start gathering your belongings and cleaning up your mess. After the both of you finish, you begin chatting like nothing had happened.

You two say your goodbyes and give hugs before parting ways as you agree to meet again here tomorrow at the same time. You hide your eagerness to go home and shower and relax and practically speed back.

The next morning comes and you had a rather specific wet dream about your tutor. You couldn't stop dreaming about his hands on your thighs and his words of praise next to your ear, the way his fingertips felt on your thighs. It was unbearable not being able to feel it in person last night.

This morning went by rather quickly as you do your normal routine and change into an acceptable outfit and you made it to the gym rather quick. Suga was waiting for you in the front lounge this time to avoid the concierge, and you both made it back to the same empty court you were in yesterday.

"Hey butterfly, how'd you sleep?"

He asks smiling at you at his smile reaches his eyes as he hugs you and helps grab your bag. His adorable mole catches your eyes in the process.

You think back to the wet dreams you had and throw your hair into a bun to get ut out of your face and you blush as a particular scene you remember comes to mind.

"Oh, uh, I slept well."

"That's good. Did you have any good dreams? I had a few that were really nice."

He says giving you a sly wink and a smirk.

"Actually no, rather uneventful." You lie, trying to avoid looking him in the eyes.

He chuckles as he sets your bag on the bench and takes off his black gym jacket and sets it next to your bag. You gulp as you see him stretch his arms over his head and watch as his shoulders pop and muscles ripple from the stretch and you have to lick your lips at the sudden dehydration you're feeling.

"Wow, you've gotten hotter since the last time I saw you."

"You saw me yesterday."

"Yes, but you weren't showing your amazing arms yesterday. Instantly hotter." You say with a wave of your hand over his body and he just shakes his head and smiles.

"Uh-huh, come on let's stretch first."

You both begin doing the same stretches as yesterday and a few new ones you decided to throw in that you remembered from high school. The final one you do is a toe touch but you just can't seem to stretch all the way down from the cramp in your lower back and Suga takes notice. He gets up from his butterfly squat and walks up behind you and very gingerly grabs your hips, his fingertips barely ghosting under the waistband of your spandex shorts. You inhale a sharp breath when you feel his pelvis against your ass and can't help but bite your lip as you realize what he's doing. He places a hand on the small of your back and pushes you down.

"Suga, what are you doing?" You say flirtily.

"Just trying to help you stretch, you seemed stiff is all."

He says while pulling away. Before he does, you grab his wrist and place it back on your hip.

"No don't, it's helping."

You say turning your neck and smirking at him as he grinds his pelvis into you more and pushes you further down till you reach your toes and hear a pop come from your back and he pulls away with a little disappointment to you. You groan and stand back up and notice Suga has moved a few steps away from you now. A short look of confusion crosses your face but you decide to ignore it for now and grab a ball to begin practicing.

The practice goes by quick with no other distractions and surprisingly no mess-ups from you. You've always been a quick learner so there's been a definite improvement since yesterday. When the session ends, you walk over to the bench to grab your bag to change but Suga's voice catches you before you walk away.

"Hey butterfly, do you have plans later?"

He asks before sipping from his bottle. Your eyes catch a single drop of water slide out from the corner of his mouth and roll down his face to his neck, down to his collarbones, and into his shirt. You've never been more jealous of water in your life.

"Not really, I was just gonna go home and clean."

"Would you like to go out for dinner with me?"

He says topping off the bottle and wiping his forehead with a rag to get rid of the sweat.

"Sure, any particular reason why?" You ask while taking off your shoes to change into sandals to let your feet air out.

"No particular reason, just as friends. Two grown friends catching up."

You chuckle at his tone and nod your head in agreement.

"Oh, of course, my mistake. Just let me know where we are going and I'll be there around 7, that okay?"

"Yeah, I'll text it to you."

You finish getting ready to leave and head out into the parking lot together but before you get into your car, Suga slides his hand underneath your arm and stops you.

"It's entirely up to you, but you should wear something you can move around in, like a skirt or dress or something. They have a dance floor there and I just want you to be prepared you know?"

"Thanks for the heads up Muffin."

"Of course, wouldn't want you to be unprepared in case we decide to dance together or anything." His voice drops an octave as he squeezes your arm tighter before smiling and letting you go.

You make it home quickly and shower and lounge around in your towel for a while as you have a couple hours to spare. You decide to clean your house, make some lunch and pay some bills until you're supposed to get ready to leave and you get dressed and entirely ready and head to the location Suga sent you. You put it into your maps and chuckle when you realize he just sent you his address as the location is only a few buildings away from the gym.

You arrive at his place exactly at 7 and knock on the door and wait for him to answer. You can hear various noises coming from inside and then hear some loud banging noise followed by a few expletives and giggle to yourself before the door opens and Suga stands there with a smile.

He's wearing slim-fitting slacks with a loose t-shirt that shows his arms and his hair is neatly brushed like normal and you can't catch exactly where it's coming from but a slight aroma of vanilla catches your interest.

"Hi, muffin."

"Hi, butterfly."

He sidesteps and lets you into his place before you slide off your shoes and place them on the shoe holder next to his door and set your purse and things on the side table. You turn around and see him lock the door before he turns to you and you catch him eyeing you up and down and takes you into a hug. His hands wander a little low but you don't mind it.

"So, the place has a dancefloor huh?"

"Yeah, in the bedroom, hopefully, we'll see it later."

You chuckle at his forwardness and shake your head as he leads you to his kitchen and you slide onto one of the barstools in front of his countertop.

"Thirsty?" He asks you as he slides a glass of wine towards you.

"I am, but how do you know I'm of age? One of the last times I saw you I was only 17." You say joking around.

"Considering that I'm 4 years older and that was also 4 years ago, I'm sure you are by now."

"Oh, that's right, congrats on making it to 25 muffin." You raise your glass to toast to him and he watches you over his glass as your throat bobs to take in the full shute of wine. You wipe your lip with your thumb and suck off the liquid while staring right at Suga.

He coughs and diverts his attention away from you and to his stove.

"Uhm, hungry? I made a chicken alfredo dish."

"Sounds really good, I'll take a plate."

He makes the plates and you both move to his kitchen table and sit across from each other and dig into the food. The two of you catch up with small talk and discover new interests each other has that neither didn't have before. You talk about new movies and things, which then leads to you both laughing as you reminisce over past memories of when he and Asahi were in school together and all the times he'd come over.

"I remember one of the first games you had that you won and you'd look so cute with that smile on your rosy cheeks. I remember how proud your brother was of you." Suga says while finishing up the last bite of his pasta.

"I remember that day too. You know the reason we won was that I took your advice."

"What advice was that?"

"To make sure my team doesn't see any emotion on my face other than determination. You also told me to keep a close watch on the team and get a view of how they're playing and play to their strengths."

"Good advice."

"Yeah, it really was."

There's a short pause between the two of you. You don't know if he remembers or if you should bring it up but you decide to just say fuck it and do it.

"Koshi, do you remember what else you told me that day?"

Suga is caught off guard as you use his actual name. Hearing it fall from your lips makes him want to hear it over and over again.

"No? What else did I say?"

"That was also the day you found out I didn't have my first kiss. You told me that you'd be more than willing to be my first." You chuckle at the memories of teenage you. "I can't believe I was actually going to take you up on that offer within the next couple of days but then Asahi told me you moved away so I never could."

You didn't notice Suga move from his chair, you didn't notice him walking towards you, and you didn't notice him stand behind your chair as it was all happening so soon. The first thing you felt was his hand brush your hair away from your neck, the next thing you felt was his lips kiss your bare flesh. You feel the chair pull out from the table and you see Suga move to stand in front of you. He blocks you into the chair with his arms on either side of you and his hands tightly grasping the arms of the chair. Your mouth runs dry as you see the look of pure hunger he gives you.

"I don't think you understand just how hard I am right now."

You look down to see but before you can he lifts your chin back up to his eyes with his two fingers.

"I didn't tell you to look away from me butterfly. I'm going to kiss you now, and if you don't want this as bad as I do, so help me God stop me now before I can't control myself and rip your clothes off."

Gulp.

You look up at Suga through your eyelashes, and your look is laced with desperation and that's all it takes for him to break control and slam his lips into yours.

His lips feel like pure bliss. They're perfectly smooth and plump enough, just like you'd imagine they'd be. His tongue dances with yours and you can feel each other smile into the kiss as it leads deeper and deeper. His hands retract from the arms of the chair as he sinks down to his knees and drags your face closer to his by twining his fingers into your hair and tugging on them while biting your bottom lip. You both moan into the kiss. The heat radiating off of both of you starts to cause you to feel hot and needy to remove your clothes. Suga seems to notice and he pulls away from your lips and moves to drape kisses all along your collarbone, leaving a few large hickies in the process. He carefully dances his fingertips to under plunge neckline of your shirt and tugs it open to reveal your bare breasts.

"Fuck your tits are gorgeous."

You chuckle as he looks like a pubescent boy looking at boobies for the first time.

"Thank you, baby."

He licks his thumb before rubbing your nipple with it and you can feel it pebble and get hard and let out some whimpers once he pinches it. His tongue laps over your whole breast before he takes the nipple into his mouth and sucks. Your back arches off the chair and your legs slightly spasm.

"Dirty girl, you like your nipples sucked on huh?"

"Yes sir, especially when you do it, it feels so good." You breathe out.

He nibbles on your nipple and bites it with his teeth and tugs before you wince from the pain and he blows and kisses on it to make it feel better. He makes sure to spend an equal amount of time on each breast before moving back up to lock lips with you.

As much as you want him to ravage you, you've been dying to know what he tastes like for years. You break away from the kiss with a moan and he slightly whimpers when you pull away and don't kiss him back. Confusion crosses his face as you push his butt against the table before the confusion is replaced with pure lust as he sees you crouch down onto your knees, letting your butt rest on your heels, and seeing your hands reach out to palm him through his pants.

His eyes squeeze shut when he feels you palm his dick from his boxers.

"Y/n, warning you now, if you suck my dick I will fuck that pretty little face of yours so hard."

You just smirk up at him through your eyelashes and pull him the rest of the way out. You marvel at his beautifully trimmed pubes that rest nicely above his dick and smile to yourself at how giddy you're feeling for getting to suck his dick.

You lick your lips and open your mouth wide enough to fit around his tip which spills a slow moan from his mouth. You notice his palms grip the edge of the table to the point of his knuckles turning pale the moment you swish your tongue around his tip and over his slit. You can tell he's trying to hold back so you decide to ramp it up by extending your jaw more and sucking in a breath before hollowing out your cheeks and taking all of him down your throat to where you feel him behind your tongue. You gage and your eyes prickle with tears but you don't give up when you hear him mutter a "fuck" under his breath. He opens his eyes and you lock yours with his and that's all it takes for him to lose it.

He releases the table and grips your hair into the messiest of ponytails and tugs before pulling you completely off of him before shoving himself all the way back into your mouth. You gag, and you gag hard but you don't care, it feels so damn good in your mouth and the noises he is making you've never heard before. You reach down to touch yourself but all movements stop and you hear him reprimand you in the slightest whisper.

"Babygirl, I didn't say you could touch yourself. If your fingers even graze your pussy I will bend you over this table and smack your ass till it's black and blue."

You can't speak but you nod your head vigorously in agreement and gulp, with his dick still inside your mouth. Spit is pooling out of the corners of your lips, you probably look so filthy and you actually become a little jealous of Suga for not being able to see yourself like this.

"Good girl, good fucking girl."

He says before he slams his cock hard down your throat again. His head slowly falls backwards as his hands tighten in your hair and bobs your head faster and faster, not even taking the time to slow down or care about the makeup running down your face from your tears. You're enjoying being face fucked a little too much.

His hips are thrusting sloppier and he's loosened his grip but he still is relentless with your mouth and it makes you so desperately wonder what he'll be like when he's actually inside of you. His moans are becoming sporadic and you can barely make out his sentence warning you he's gonna come but you don't care and just brace yourself for when he does. Wanting to help him more, you reach a hand up and cup his balls while using the other to stroke his shaft with your mouth and he moans out too many expletives to count from the tingles throughout his body. His hips come to a stop and you can feel the warm, salty load fall down your throat. You make sure to take it all before shutting your eyes and swallowing it all, making sure he gets a good view of it, and he helps you stand back up and kisses you so passionately.

"Fuck, your mouth is dangerous."

"Thanks."

You say with a smile and giggle. He kisses you once more before you both stop and turn your heads to the countertop where his phone is ringing.

"Fuck it, I want you right now."

"No, Suga it could be important, it's okay. I'm going to get some water and wipe down anyways."

"Okay, I'll be quick sweetheart."

He kisses your lips slowly before quickly diving down and giving the top of your bare breast a quick kiss which makes you giggle.

You both separate and go into different rooms for your business. You head off down the hallway into the first door on the right and turn on the light and walk to the sink.

You grab some toilet paper and spit whatever remains of the cum in your mouth, into the paper and throw it in the trash. You then turn on the faucet and cup your hands to grab some water and you take a few slurps before swishing it around and spitting it out down the drain. You wash your hands good before using a rag to fix whatever makeup has smudged on your face and smile at yourself in the mirror when you see the ring of love bites around your breasts and how good your nipples look while swollen.

You shut off the bathroom lights and close the door behind you and walk back into the dining room where you left Suga. On the walk there you fixed your shirt as the intimacy has worn off a little and you started to feel awkward having your tits out and nothing else. You step in the room and see Suga has fixed himself as well and he's cleaning up dishes.

"You need some help baby?"

You ask while moving to stand to his side and help him.

"No, its-I'm alright I got it."

He says rather quick and moves from you to finish grabbing the dishes and placing them in the sink.

"You okay Koshi?" You ask concerned at his sudden attitude change. "Bad phone call?"

"Uhm, no, it was a good one it just...was your brother calling."

"Oh...oh.."

"Yeah, it was nice to hear from him but it made me feel like shit to betray his trust like that. I'm sorry y/n but can I walk you out?"

He says slowly turning towards you with an extremely downturned smile.

"What?" You ask stunned. "Koshi, what trust? You want me to leave? I'm so confused."

"It's nothing, it's fine. Look I just need a moment to process what had happened and it's getting late and I don't want you to get be late for class tomorrow."

"Oh..yeah..right, of course."

You don't say another word and quietly grab all of your things and walk over to the door to slip on your shoes. Suga is quiet the whole time too but he still walks over to the door with you while holding your phone for you.

"Are we-Can we still meet up for practice tomorrow? My tryouts are at the end of the week."

You ask him without meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, of course, I wouldn't bail on you like that. I'm sorry it's just th-

"Stop," You raise a hand up to his chest and smile. "It's alright Koshi, just stop before it gets worse. Goodnight and thanks for the lovely dinner tonight."

"You're welcome, thanks for being a great friend and guest."

Friend, that word pings your heart and makes it teeter-totter inside of your chest, almost like it might fall straight out of it.

You don't say anything more and just brave a smile and head out before getting back into your car, pulling out, and storming home.

In all honesty, the trip from Suga's house to yours shouldn't have taken you an hour but it did. A normal ten-minute drive turned into an hour from you having to pull over more than a few times from having to deal with the overflow of emotions coursing through you. You also had to stop yourself a couple times from turning back around and giving him an earful but you decided to let it go. In actuality, you weren't even mad, you weren't sad, you weren't even regretful over what happened you were just utterly confused the whole time. However, you decided to stop racking your brain trying to figure it out and gave up once you pulled into your parking spot and walked home into your living room.

You dropped your stuff off into where they belong and you make your way to your room and strip off all your clothes before throwing them into the hamper and heading to the en suite to take a shower and disregard the whole experience.

Friend.

The word brings such a bitter and useless taste to your mouth when you heard it fall from Sugas lips. That word, you thought of it the whole time you were in the shower, and you scrubbed your body so hard to try and get the "friendzone" off of you.

The shower stops and you step out and dry off before not even bothering to change and head to bed naked and plug in your phone, set an alarm for tomorrow, and shut off the lights and fall into an anxious sleep.

The morning comes too soon at the detriment of the bags under your eyes. You snap your alarm off and rub your temples before stretching and getting out of bed. You quickly get dressed and back your go bags for school and practice afterward and finish all your necessities of getting ready and you head to class bright and early.

Your classes run through quicker than normal and now comes the part you were trying to postpone doing, seeing Suga.

Hesitantly, you send a text to Suga making sure it's still on and he replies with a thumbs up before you shut off your phone and head to the gym.

The ride was brutal due to the thoughts running laps in your head. Conflicting memories of last night combine together and now thoughts of further rejection pierce your brain and you can't deal with it. You arrive at the gym and try to shake off the thoughts but they don't budge. So you do the only thing you know how to do to get rid of the bad thoughts, you confront what's making them happen.

You shut off your car and grab your keys and phone, not even paying a second mind to your bags in the backseat. You walk into the gym and just give a side-eye to the receptionist and strut straight back to the gym and push the double doors open with a flourish.

You're about to start yelling at Suga to give him your two cents but notice the gym is empty. You look around confused but then get a notification on your phone and see that he sent you a text saying he's still at his house and running late.

You walk out the same way you came in, get back in your car, and drive to his apartment before stopping, getting out, and knocking on his door.

"Hey, I was just about to head out."

Suga says as he opens the door.

You walk in without saying a word and place your shoes and things into a bin next to his front door and turn around to talk to him as he closes his door.

"Y/N?"

"What the hell Suga?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Last night, what you said. What happened when you called my brother, what did he or you say? What trust did you break last night?"

You ask while placing your hands on your hips.

He drops his head before wiping his face and walking towards the dining room as he talks to you.

"Nothing, honest. He didn't even know you were here he was just calling to catch up and stuff."

"So why push me out all of a sudden? What trust Suga??"

"Damnit, y/n the trust of a dude and not going after his best friend's little sister. That kind of trust."

"Seriously Koshi? I get what you mean by that but we are adults now and as far as I know, Asahi has never had any ill feelings about us being close or being together."

"No, I know but it's an unspoken rule type of thing."

"Koshi that's bullshit, if that was true then you wouldn't have invited me on a date here in the first place."

"It was just supposed to be as friends."

Vomit, the word makes you want to vomit.

"There's that word again. Friends, Koshi, really?"

You move closer to the kitchen table and towards him. You look up at him and a smile comprised of lust and anger stretches onto your face.

"Friends don't grind on each other during Volleyball practice. Friends don't tell other friends to wear skirts for easy access. Friends don't kiss and swap spit on this very chair. Friends don't get down on their knees, push you up against this table and blow you till you're busting a load down their throat."

You take a breath and swallow while you notice the tension in the room and him walking closer to you with a determined look on his face.

"Tell me how we're just friends, after all that Muffin."

You say the nickname as a jab at him, with both of you knowing damn well either of the nicknames were what you used to flirt with each other.

He moved closer into your personal space, chests only inches apart but neither of you moving to touch the other quite yet.

"You're right butterfly, we're not just friends. Because during your whole little rant, I couldn't stop thinking about how I want to break this table by fucking you on it."

Gulp.

"What's stopping you?"

"Absolutely nothing."

The tension wire snaps and the moment it does you both are on each other like dogs to a bone. Your tongues mesh with each others in perfect sync. You don't know where your hands are at this point, all you know is they're stripping off every piece of clothing each other is wearing. The second everything is off of your bodies, Suga picks you up and gently places your ass against the cold wood of the dining table, and gets down onto his knees.

You're about to protest but the moment you feel his warm, wet tongue lapping in between your folds like a man starved, all knowledge of how to speak completely dissolves from your brain. All you managed to say is a jumble of "don't stop" and "fuck that feels so good", but in all honesty it sound like baby babbling. Your hands knot into the grey locks of the hungry man underneath you and you tug as hard as you can when he nips at your clit and your legs, embarrassingly, start to spasm already.

"Ho, God, fuck."

You moan out.

His tongue swirls endless circles around your clit and he sucks and bites and blows at your clit, leaving you speechless. It's not until you feel two fingers prod at your hole that you really start to shake. You crave him so much, even your pussy practically pulls in his fingers as he rests them there against the hole. He starts out with slow, shallow pumps before he speeds up the pace of his tongue and fingers and goes knuckle deep inside of you drawing out the most guttural moans you've ever made.

You've never had your legs spasm so much from oral before. You feel your core start to tighten and flex and you feel the sweat form on your brow and upper lip as your hair falls out around you from the thrashing of your body at the pleasure. Your hand tugs harder and you're worried you might be hurting him, but if you are he absolutely doesn't mind it. Your mouth runs dry and the dam breaks once you feel him scissor you while being knuckle deep in your pussy. Your orgasm echoes through the house as you shake around him and as his delicious tongue helps you through it all.

"What a good fucking girl cumming for me like that. I'm so proud of you baby."

"Holy fu- fuck. Th-thank you baby."

You just barely speak as you pant to try and calm down, but not for long when you feel him place one last kiss on your pussy before standing up and trace kisses from your hips all the way up to your breasts, showing each endless love, and moving to your lips and letting you taste yourself all over his face.

"You taste yourself right? Taste how fucking delicious you are."

He says while opening your mouth forcefully and spitting into it, which is then followed by you smiling as you swallow it and show him. He laughs so lustfully before wiping the corner of your mouth and placing the two fingers he used in you into your mouth and chokes you with them. You gag and gulp after swirling your tongue around them and when he pulls away he uses those fingers to open you up again before leaning you back down onto the table and stepping closer to line himself up with you.

"Are you on the pill? Want me to grab a condom?"

"Yeah I am, and no, I want to feel all of you."

He agrees with a kiss and bite of your lip and neck before he takes his hand and pumps himself a few times and spits in his hand and rubs his cock before using his other hand to open your lips and he teases your clit with the head of his dick and you both moan at the feeling.

"Fuuck stop it baby I want you so bad."

"I know baby girl, just be patient for me."

He chuckles as he feels you squirm under him when his tip hits a sensitive part of your clit and he uses an arm to hold you down and distract you before he lines up and slowly stretches you out, letting you adjust slowly.

"Holy fuck."

You both say in unison, but with different breaths, as you both feel the pleasure of finally being connected together. He slowly starts to rock his hips into yours and bottoms out inside of you while letting your pussy adjust, and when he thinks you have he pulls out and slams back into you. Your body and the table jerk as he does and you wrap your arms around his shoulders as he has both hands around your head and is looking into your eyes as he fucks you.

It's pure ecstasy. The two of you, this position, its everything you've wanted. All the years of pining after your brother's best friend. All the repressed feelings you've had for him. All the times relationships or one-night-stands couldn't do it for you cause all you thought about was how it would be if your childhood crush, the man you loved, was the one doing it to you. And now you know. Now you know just how blissful it all truly feels. It's better than you imagined.

His hips are pistoning into yours at a ridiculous pace and you start to feel a burn from your legs being spread wide open but you don't care. It feels too amazing to quit. Moans never stopped flowing from either of your lips and his fingertips burn holes straight into your skin from how tight he's gripping you, like you might fly away if he stops. Without missing a beat, he switches positions by gripping the back of your thighs and pushing them into your chest to where your ears kiss your knees and you see your feet shaking in the air at an unbelievable pace from how he's fucking you. This position makes it impossible to not cum. You feel the familiar tightening and spasms and pants as you're being drawn closer and closer and you can tell he is too as his pants have become more sporadic. He bends down and pushes your thighs further into you, going deeper, and kisses your lips and smiles before whispering in your ear.

"Your cunt feels so fucking good wrapped around my cock baby girl. You're doing so good at taking all of me that I'm about to cum in that pretty pussy of yours."

"Ohhhh.....fu-fuck Koshi baby please."

"Yeah, baby? You want me to fill that beautiful hole of yours? You wanna get filled with my kids? Become a mommy, is that what you want? My kids?"

What he's lacking in breaths, he's making up for in confidence, and it's driving you crazy. You just about cum from his words right there.

"Yes baby fuck, fuck Koshi baby I want you to make me a mommy so bad. Fill me up baby, I wanna be filled by you so badly."

You whimper and whine and he loses it.

Koshi slams harder and faster and your vision goes white as the last thrust had you seeing stars. Your orgasm absolutely wrecks you as you cum around him and you can feel his cock release inside you and fill you to the brim with his cum.

He stays inside of you, letting the cum fall from around his cock in you and he slowly drops your legs to not hurt you and he leans down to place an endless amount of kisses all over your lips and face. You hear a few words like "beautiful" and "thank you" but they all go in one ear and out the other as you calm down but the one you hone in on is the words "love".

"Y/n, baby did you hear me?"

"No I didn't, what?"

"I said I love you, I don't know to what extent or how long I have but I just remember how much I cared for you when we were younger and it all came rushing back. I love you, baby."

Tears threaten to spill but you hold them back.

"Oh Koshi, I love you too."

You both kiss each other deeply and he pulls away and both of you whine when he pulls out of you and you feel the cum drip out of your hole and Koshi growls to himself at the sight before going and grabbing a wet rag to wipe you down.

He comes back a few seconds later and wipes you down while giving you kisses in the process and discarding the rag somewhere and picking you up gently and walks you back to his bedroom and gently place you down onto the mattress and cuddles up next to you.

You both whisper sweet nothings to each other before finally dozing off and enjoying the beautifulness that is sleep.

XXXXXX

"COME ON! Y/N, YOU GOT THIS BABY!"

You hear your boyfriend yell to you from the bleachers while you're playing your match. You hear the rest of your family yell along in unison with him, even your brother, in cheer for you to keep your morale up.

It's your final match before nationals. Your team managed to beat every team you've battled against and everyone's trying their best but this match is neck and neck-literally. You've never been so short-necked with a team before but this college is good. Your team is only one point ahead, and you only need one more point to win this whole thing and make it to nationals. It all comes down to this moment, this volley.

You focus back on the game and notice the ball ahead coming for the net, the player in front of you tosses the ball high in the air for the spiker to hit, and they do, but not before it's being received back to them by your other teammates. You hear various calls of "got it!' and "Mine!" but the blood rushing to your ears entirely drowns out everything when you realize this is up to you, to set the perfect ball for your Ace to hit and win the game. No pressure.

You think back to the first training session with Suga all those months ago. You're so thankful that he picked up that phone the one day you called. You're thankful for it all and everything that happened afterward.

The overwhelming emotion of joy surges through you and you finally spot the perfect shot, the perfect opportunity.

"Azumane, Y/n, It's yours and open!"

Your captain yells to you as she bumped the ball towards you. You remain quiet and get into position and hone in on the ball. You turn and see your Ace making her way closer, and closer, and closer, and- NOW!

You set the ball into the air and watch as time slows as you see her hand connect with the ball.

Time stops.

And when it resumes, chaos ensues.

The crowd erupts into thunderous cheers and the buzzer rings to declare a winning team, yours!

Your teammates go wild, some fall to their knees and kiss their hands, some jump up and down into each other's arms, some run to their significant others, but you remain still. You take in what happened till it finally hits you that you won, you did it.

You scream out in victory with your hands above your head and you cry tears you've held in all day.

You feel two strong arms wrap around you and look to see your boyfriend with the widest smile on his face squeeze you and kiss you all over in awe.

Even though no words are said, you both understand everything.

You kiss each other and pull away as your team calls you other to celebrate and you join them but not before sneaking one last kiss to your boyfriend.

"Thank you for being a good coach, Muffin."

You wink and walk away.

“Y/n, calm down. We’ll board the plane as soon as the crowd has died down, okay? You’ve followed these boys for years now. This isn’t gonna stop you from seeing them later. Like 6 hours from now.” That made you calm down — hearing that you’ll be seeing them again in a few hours. Yes, you’ve been to all their concerts. As in all since 2015. Mostly, you went with your best friend Louise but there would be times where you went alone because she had to come home to tend to their family business. She is, afterall, the heiress to a massive real estate corporation known worldwide. You are an heiress yourself which is why you’ve known each other since diapers basically. But your older brother is the one to take over your parents’ conglomerate business which is why you have all the time to follow a certain Korean boyband that goes by the name of BTS. Your parents and brother loves you so much that they even volunteered to buy VIP tickets to all their shows and had their secretaries book all the necessary flights and hotels.

“Let’s go, dumdum. You are making me anxious if you keep on looking at me like that. Although i just know that we aren’t even a bit late because they haven’t finished boarding all the passengers.” She links her arm on mine and starts to walk.

As we arrive at the area where FA’s check our passports and tickets, we give ours and one of them leads the way to our seats in the business class. You both get settled in your respective seats when you notice a distinct purple hair 2 seats ahead of you. You shrugged it off thinking it could only be a coincidence but then you heard a very familiar voice — one that you would recognise even in your sleep.

“Hyung, please hand me Joonie’s passport so Jennie noona can keep them in one place. Last time she let him keep it, we almost cancelled our show because he couldn’t remember where he put it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

heyaaaa rookie writer here and also a rookie ARMY but i love the boys just as much as you all doand i hope you enjoy this.

✿ PART TWO ✿

@minflix @sugadaily @hollyhomburg @honeymoonjin @jamaisjoons @jungkookiebus @yoonglesmari @yoonggi @aroseforyoongi @agustkiwi @drquinzelharleen @fyeahsuga @goldenclosetkook @hxseok-honee @hobios @kinktae @lysjeon @bangtan @bloomsuga @bangtannguk-au @myloveseokjin @minniepetals

You check the pregnancy test again.

 Two lines. 

You look over the box again. Two lines means positive. The test is positive. 

You really are pregnant. 

You sit down and lean against the wall. "I'm pregnant..." You let it sink in. Are you even ready for it? You shake your head to clear your thoughts. Is Yoongi even ready for it? 

Pulling yourself together, you stand up off of the ground and walk out of the bathroom, still holding the test. "Yoongi-ah... can you come here please?" You call to him from the bedroom. 

Your husband of three years walks into the room. His silver wedding ring, the symbol your love for him, catches the light coming in from the window. "Yeah Y/N-ah?" He asks with a concerned face.

 He's seen you get sick in the morning and was worried about your health. Being a man he didn't even think of the possibility of you being pregnant. "Umm... look at this..." You hand the test to him. 

He takes the pregnancy test from you. 

“What's this..." He asks before realizing what it is. "Are you... for real?" His head whips up and looks at you in realization. You bite your lip and nod. "It's for real." You tell him. 

He drops the test and grabs you, squeezing you in a hug. "I'm going to be a dad! You're going to be a mom! We're having a kid!" Yoongi sounds so excited. He pulls back suddenly. "That's why you were getting sick in the morning isn't it?" He asks. 

"Yeah probably." You tell him. 

Yoongi starts to talk fast now that the news is out. "W-we need to start getting stuff. And make appointments to make sure you are healthy. Oh and we need to tell the guys and our family. And a-and..." You put a finger over his mouth. 

"Easy babe... one thing at a time." You tell him. He nods and grabs your hands in his. 

"I'm just so excited Y/N-ah." He grins at you and pulls you in for a kiss. You melt into him as he pulls you tight against him. When you are with him all your worries fly away. That's one reason why you married him. 

"Y/N?" He looks at you. "Are we going to tell people now? I have the best way to surprise the other members." He has this devilish grin on his face and an evil glean in his eyes. 

"Min Yoongi what are you planning?" You ask him with a chuckle. He loves to screw with his members because they all know not to mess with him. 

"I'm going to scare them first and then we'll surprise them. I'm going to act like something is really wrong with you and they all need to come with me to help. I'll act all distraught and then when they see you we'll yell surprise about the baby." Yoongi explains to you. You just shake your head and laugh at him. "That's good, but they may hate you after that." You tease. 

"Nah they won't. Especially if they want to see the baby." He jokes.

 ~3 months later~

Yoongi and the boys finally had a little break where you could have the surprise party. Luckily it wasn’t hard to hid your growing bump since all the boys had been busy. But now was the best time to tell the new uncles. Yoongi was at the studio getting them around while you were you were waiting inside the house with blue and pink balloons thrown around. 

You hear Yoongi come up to the door sounding frantic. "I-i don't know what is wrong... I just need help." He swings the door open and all of the member's faces flicker from worry to concern to confusion as they take in the balloons and you standing there, smiling at them. 

"What...?" Namjoon trails out, clearly confused. Taehyung and Jungkook kick at a balloon. 

"Um hyung she seems fine." Jimin states also confused. 

Yoongi goes over to you and places a hand on your little bump. You both just beam at the boys. Jin is the first to get it. "Wait... are you?" He quirks up an eyebrow.

"Yes, I am." You excitedly tell them. 

Now the others understand.

 There are shouts of, "Oh my goodness!" 

"Does hyung even like kids?" 

"Are you for real?!"

 And a loud J-Hope, "So does that mean we are going to be uncles!?" You nod at him. "We want all six of you to be the uncles to our child, if you chose to be..." 

All six of them nod their head vigorously. "Of course we want to be!" Jimin yells out. Out of all the boys he is the one who is most drawn to babies and small kids. 

You smile and throw your arms open. The members all rush to have a big group hug with you. Yoongi stands there awkwardly until Taehyung pulls him into it. 

After the hug the boys stay around for a little while before going back to the studio to work. You show them the first ultrasound and they gush over the picture. Looking up, you see Yoongi watching you with an expression of pure love. You feel the tips of your ears turn red and you start to blush like a schoolgirl falling in love again. 

~Delivery time~

You hold your stomach and waddle around the room. 

"She's stubborn just like her daddy." You huff out at Yoongi who is currently freaking out in the corner. "If it's anyone who should be freaking out it should be me." You think to yourself. 

Yoongi tries to look calm and collected. "Um correction, I think she got that from both of us." He tries to joke. 

He gets up and walks over to you on shaky legs. Kissing your belly first, he gives you a peck before putting some loose hair behind your ear. 

"You are beautiful jagiya and you can do this." He gives you an encouraging smile. You smile back at him. 

He continues to bring light to your world even when you feel like you are dying. Another contraction starts and you feel the urge to push. You were so glad you had someone to go through this with you.

"Y-yoongi..." You grip his arm and grab your belly. He helps you back into your hospital bed as the contraction stops. "They are getting closer together, go get the doctor please." You ask him, breathing heavily. 

He gives you a long look of concern then lets go of you to find the doctor. You let out a deep breath and rub your belly. 

"Work with me here honey... mommy and daddy want to meet you. I promise it's nice out here..." You mumble to your daughter. 

Soon Yoongi comes back with the doctor and she checks how far along you are. 

"Well Y/N looks like she's ready to come out. Are you ready to push?" The doctor asks. You just nod and Yoongi is instantly at your side holding your hand. 

The doctor pings the nurses and they come streaming in, gloves and gowns donned. They help get you all adjusted and ready to push as the doctor gets her gloves and gown on too. She faces you and asks again, "Ready to push at the next contraction?" You nod and brace yourself. Soon the next contraction comes and you push hard. 

Yoongi is next to you watching you then watching the doctor and back and forth. He is sweating profusely and is mumbling a lot. 

"You're doing good baby. You're doing really good. Keep breathing. She's almost here..." You keep pushing until you hear your daughter take her first breath and show off her lung capacity. 

"It's a girl!" The doctor cheers to you both. She passes your daughter off to the nurses to run the tests and clean her up. You look up at Yoongi as he smiles like a mad man at you. 

"You did it jagiya. She's here." He tells you as he pushes the sweaty hair off your face and kisses your forehead. 

You collapse back on the bed, exhausted. "We, we did it..." You trail off, exhausted. Then a warm object is placed on your chest. 

It's your daughter, all wrapped in pink and scrubbed clean. You look down at her precious sleeping face. She looks like an angel. Using one finger, you gently push back her blanket to get a better look at her face.

Her tiny hand reaches out and grips onto your finger. In that moment, your heart melts and is stolen once again. You feel something wet drip onto your shoulder and you look up at Yoongi. He is quickly wiping his eyes and acting like he didn't just shed a few tears. You motion for him to come closer. He moves his head down to yours and you surprise him with a kiss. 

"I love you. So much." You tell him.

 "I love you too. More than the whole world." He responds back and gives your daughter a kiss on the forehead. "So what is her official name?" He asks you. 

For weeks you two were bouncing names off each other. And finally you decided on one. "Min Ji Young." You say while looking at your daughter. 

Yoongi leans down near you two. "It's perfect. Just like her." 

You can tell she has already stolen his heart too. You chuckle and give Ji Young another kiss. 

After you get moved back into your hospital room from the OR, it didn’t take long for the room to be filled with noise.

It was the other members coming in to see you and Ji Young. They all looked so nervous yet excited. Some went over to Yoongi to congratulate him. "You did it hyung! You're a father!" Jungkook says while clapping him on the back. Yoongi sheepishly looks at the guys. 

Jimin, Taehyung, and J-hope automatically came to the side of the bed to see Ji Young. "Wah.... she's so tiny..." Taehyung whispers. Jimin just looks at her in awe. J-hope carefully touches her little fist. Jin and Yoongi were talking and you see Namjoon just standing there, looking happy yet nervous.

 "Namjoonie, come here." You gesture to him. He walks up to the bed with Jungkook behind him. "Yeah Y/N?" He asks. 

"Do you want to hold Ji Young? She needs to meet each of her uncles." You tell him with a smile. 

He at first looks scared. "B-but I don't want to drop her..." The "Destruction Monster" says.

 "It's alright, I trust you. You won't drop her." You tell him. You sit up and carefully hand Ji Young to Namjoon and help him with positioning her. Namjoon grins at you and looks down at Ji Young. "Hi Ji Young...It's your Uncle Namjoon." He talks to her in a quiet voice. 

He gently touches her face and then her little fist which is curled up near her face. That little fist opens up and grips onto his finger, completely encircling it. 

She opens up her eyes for a split second to look at him before closing them again. A little smile curls the corners of her mouth.

 Your heart melts even more than before and you can see Namjoon’s does too.

A few days later, you and Ji Young are released from the hospital. Yoongi takes some time off of being in the studio to be able to take you two home. 

"Are you sure you're able to be here honey?" You ask him. 

"Y/N, even if I wasn't supposed to I would sneak out. Besides the members would cover for me. You and Ji Young are more important to me than my music." He tells you very matter-a-factly. 

Your breath hitches a bit and you smother your face into Ji Young's blanket as your eyes water. Your hormones are still out of wack and Yoongi is the type to just say sweet meaningful things without actually meaning to say them. But when he talked especially about his music. That was his life. His whole purpose for existing. 

 "Thank you jagiya..." You tell him.

 "Of course." He says back and leans down to kiss the top of your head. Soon your little family reaches your home. You both get Ji Young situated in her new room while you hug Yoongi and watch her sleep in her crib with her little gloved hands curled up to her face. He puts his arms around your waist and leans into you as you lean into his chest. "I love our little family, nae sarang." He whispers to you. You nod your head. "Me too." You whisper back.

Months later, your maternity leave is over and you have to go back to work. Your parents live overseas and Yoomgi's parents live far away from Seoul so there isn’t the help from your parents. But you both don't really want to spend the money to put Ji Young in a daycare so Yoongi decides to take her to work with him, which worries you. 

"It will be fine Y/N. Bang-nim loves babies and if I'm recording or busy, the members can watch her or the manager. You've met them all, you know they are all good nice people. And you know you can't take her with you to work." He tells you.

 "I know, I know. I-i just don't like not having her around..." You explain, the worry very clear in your voice. Yoongi wraps his arms around you. 

"You worry too much yeobo. It will all work out. Just have a good day at work and I'll update you every hour on how we're doing. Does that work?" He lifts up his head to look down at you in the eyes. You lift your head up to meet his eyes. 

"I guess... I'm just going to miss her so much..." You lean down to give Ji Young a kiss while she sleeps in her car seat. 

"I know you will Y/N-ah and she will miss you too but her beautiful momma has to go be a powerful women. You can't leave the company by itself for too long." Yoongi reminds you.

 Your makeup company, Crave Cosmetics, is a rising company in the Korean beauty industry. It is practically your baby too and was still in its early developing stage. "Okay... okay..." You nod, agreeing with your husband.

 He wishes you to have a good day and then gives you a kiss. He deepens the kiss into something more, pushing up against you and moves his hands down your back. You pull back from him laughing. He has an evil gleam to his eyes. “Possibly baby number 2 soon?” He jokes.

"You devil." You tease and give him a quick peck.

 Yoongi laughs at your comment and walks you to your car. After you leave for work, Yoongi takes Ji Young with him to the studio. 

"Alright princess, time to go to work and see your uncles." He tells his sleeping daughter. At the studio all the other members are already there getting things around. 

"Hyung!" Yoongi hears someone yell. 

"Jimin-ah! Ji Young is sleeping!" Yoongi sternly whispers to Jimin. Jimin throws his hands over his mouth. 

"Oops. Sorry hyung..." He sheeply grins at Yoongi. "Sorry Ji Young." He whispers in turn to the covered car seat Yoongi is carrying. 

The other members notice Yoongi's presence. 

"Oh, you brought Ji Young today?" Namjoon asks Yoongi. He nods. 

"Yeah, Y/N-ah has to go back to work today so I brought her." Yoongi tells Namjoon.

 Namjoon pulls up her cover and smiles at the sleepy Ji Young. He has grown fond of her even if he isn't a super big baby person. After all the members fawn over her, Yoongi puts her in the small spare recording room where it is quiet. He puts the diaper bag that he was shouldering down too.

 "Ji Young, daddy will be in the next room in case you need anything." He leans down and whispers into the car seat. Ji Young yawns and opens her big deep black eyes before going back to sleep. Yoongi smiles and strokes his daughter's fluffy hair. He looks at her lovingly for a few more seconds before standing up and turning towards the door. 

5 of the members are there watching him. 

Yoongi can feel his ears turning red. "What?" He snaps at them. They all laugh and smile at him. 

"It's different to see you being a dad without Noona being around." Taehyung tells you.

 "You're showing affection." Jungkook points out. Yoongi's face grows redder. 

"Yeah yeah yeah now get out so she can sleep." He shoos them out. 

After a couple hours Yoongi hears Ji Young crying. He drops everything and goes into the spare room. She's thrown off her blanket and is kicking around in the car seat. 

"Hey my little princess..." He tries to soothe her. 

Picking  her up, he tries to calm her down. "Are you hungry?" He asks out loud. 

Grabbing an extra bottle from the diaper bag, he gives Ji Young the bottle and she eagerly sucks it down. Yoongi just chuckles and pats her back while walking around with her. He ventures out into the studio, now that she is being quiet. His manager and some of the other BigHit staff are out there. They coo and gush over Ji Young. He can see her preening in the attention. 

Yoongi chuckles. "Huh you like being center stage I see." He says to her. Ji Young turns to his voice and looks up at him and gives him a small smile around her bottle. 

Going back into the spare room, Yoongi sets Ji Young back in her car seat. As he puts her down she starts to cry again. So he picks her back up and then tries again. But same thing, she cries when he sets her down.

 "Ji Young, daddy has to go back to work..." He softly tells her. After more crying, he ends up stopping trying to put her down. So Yoongi walks around the spare room, bouncing her up and down to calm her down.

 "What's wrong princess?" He rubs her back and continues bouncing her. The crying still doesn't stop. Suddenly Yoongi has an idea. 

In the spare room there happens to be a piano. Luckily, he brought the baby carrier to strap Ji Young to his chest in case he needed it for some reason. Once he gets her situated in that, it leaves both his hands free. 

He sits down at the piano and starts to play softly and gently. He begins playing the intro to "I Need U" over and over and then transitions into the instrumental verson of it. Ji Young slowly stops crying and listens to her daddy playing. She is fascinated by the movement of his hands and the noise of the piano. 

Yoongi then starts to softly hum the lyrics to "I Need U". The rumbling of his humming in his chest and the music lulls Ji Young back to sleep, her little eyelids growing heavy until she grows slack in the baby carrier up against her daddy's chest. Seeing she finally fell back asleep, he slowly and carefully gets up and unstraps Ji Young to put her back in the car seat. 

Once he's successful, he tiptoes out of the spare room and right into his members. Jungkook tries to hide his phone but Yoongi already saw. 

"Were you videoing me!?" He struggles to keep his voice down. Jungkook just shrugs at him. J-hope pipes up. "It was just so cute hyung and we had to send it to Y/N." J-hope tells Yoongi. 

Yoongi just scratches his neck, growing warm again. "I probably should let her know how everything is going..." He trails off trying to act like he wasn't just being cute. 

At work your phone dings. Picking it up you swipe to unlock it. 

It's a text from Jungkook. Clicking the message open you see it's a video of Yoongi.

 "Oh goodness what is he doing now." 

Knowing Jungkook it could be many things. The video starts out kind of far away until Jungkook zooms in. It looks like Yoongi is playing the piano. But there's something on his chest. Looking closer you can see it's Ji Young in the baby carrier. Her little head bobs back and forth against her father's chest. You hear the piano version of "I Need U" streaming out of your phone microphone. 

 Curling your hand under your chin, you prop your head up on your fist, watching the video play. Your mouth pulls up into a small smile. 

Your husband always looks so handsome and elegant while playing the piano. Every once in a while he looks down at your daughter. You see him breathing like he's singing.

 "What is he...?" You ask yourself. "Oh..." You suddenly remember. You've seen him do this before. "He's humming to her. Awwww..." You gush at your husband. 

You can see your daughter's eyes close and her head bob against his chest as she falls asleep. After seeing she's asleep, Yoongi carefully gets up and puts her back into the car seat. Then the video ends when he stands back up. 

Your heart swells with love at how sweet your husband is to his daughter. Watching your husband reminds you of how you two met.

 You met Yoongi before he was a trainee when he was just Min Yoongi and not Suga of BTS. You both went to high school together. During your junior year, you two started dating. You continued to date until your parents told you, you and them had to suddenly move back to the states because your grandmother was dying and someone had to take over her estate. Regretfully you had to break up with Yoongi because you weren't sure if you'd ever be able to come back to Korea. 

You both were crushed. 

You tried to keep in contact with him but the time difference made it difficult. A couple years passed and you got your business degree in America but you wanted to return to South Korea since it was more of your home than America. 

Ever since you were little, you planned on starting your makeup company in Korea. You still had that dream and plan, so you told your parents. They were torn because they were still needed in the states but you felt the need to return to South Korea.

 Not only did it feel like home but also your first love was still there, whom you hadn't forgotten about. So when you were 22, you left the states and went back to South Korea. 

Before you left you reached out to Yoongi to tell him you were coming back, hoping he still cared for you. When you got to the airport in Seoul, there was Yoongi, a few years older and impossibly handsomer, holding a bouquet of flowers and a sign with your name on it. 

You dropped your bags and ran to him, throwing your arms around him. He squeezed you tight. "I'm not dreaming right?" He asked you burying his head into where your shoulder and neck meet. You shook your head. "This is real." You told him. 

He kissed your forehead. "I never stopped loving you. I knew you'd come back to me." He kissed you right then and there in the airport, without a care in the world. You two immediately started dating again and picked off where you left like things had never changed. Within a month Yoongi proposed to you and you two were married within a year. Your parents flew in from America to celebrate with you two. It was the happiest time of your life. 

You will never forget one line of Yoongi's vows, "I knew you were the love of my life and that I was going to marry you when I couldn't live without you for those 3 years. So I vowed that if you ever returned to me I would make you mine." 

Those words to this day still make your heart flutter. By the time you came back to South Korea, Yoongi was in the midst of becoming an idol so everything was hush hush but you didn't care since you had him. Nowadays things are fine. He talks about you sometimes on interviews but everyone is Korea is pretty good about your privacy of being married to an idol. 

"Ah...um..Mrs.Min-nim?" A voice pulls you back from your reminiscing. It's your assistant Ha Re. 

"Yes Ha Re?" You ask her.

 "You're needed for a meeting." She tells you. You pull yourself from your phone and go to the meeting.

 Back at Big Hit, Yoongi is getting ready for a small exclusive fan sign. It's a small enough fan sign that taking Ji Young will be alright. This would be her first public appearance with her daddy that is documented by someone other than her momma. 

Yoongi sits in the chair while the makeup noonas style his hair and do his makeup. He has Ji Young's car seat at his feet and is gently rocking it with one foot. She continues to sleep while the dressing room is a whirl wind of people. 

"You really are like me Ji Young, you can sleep through anything." He tells her, watching her little self sleep soundly. "Hopefully at the fan meeting it won't be too loud for you." 

Yoongi's manager and some of the noonas asked him if he wanted them to look after Ji Young while he was at the meeting but he told them no he didn’t to burden them. Secretly, it was because he didn't want her to leave his sight.

 "All done." The noona told him while tapping his shoulder to indicate he could stand up now. He bowed and thanked her. Picking up Ji Young's car seat, he went to where his members were waiting to go out onto the stage. Jimin looked at Ji Young sleeping and then back up at Yoongi. 

"Hyung are you sure it's a good idea to bring her out there? We don't want anything to happen to her..." Namjoon seemed really worried about Ji Young. 

Yoongi put his arm around Namjoon. "Namjoon don't worry. I will keep her safe and it's only a small fan meet." He just nodded and looked down at Ji Young again. 

Soon their manager told them it was time for the fan meeting to start. They filed out and Yoongi heard a mass "AW" fill the auditorium where the meeting was being held. He gently sat Ji Young behind him while he stepped in front of her to be in line with his members while they did their introduction. He added something else to his today.

 After he bowed to the crowd and said his name, he took a step back to show the ARMYs the car seat, sweeping his arm out to gesture to her. "And today with me I have my daughter Ji Young since her mom had to work today so she came with daddy to work. She's sleeping right now but hopefully she will wake up to meet you all." Yoongi said with a big grin. 

There were some screams and cheers before someone sushed them. Yoongi chuckled and addressed the ARMYs again. "Don't worry Ji Young is a good sleeper. Much like her daddy." He adds a wink at the end. This makes the ARMYs go wild. 

They seem to love “Daddy” Yoongi so much more now that he became a dad. The members then took their seats and the staff started to let the ARMYs come up to the table to meet the boys. Yoongi put Ji Young behind him and waited for his turn with the ARMYs. 

For a while Ji Young slept and didn't make a peep until it was near the end. She started to cry but there were still more ARMYs for Yoongi to meet. Instead of having his manager help, Yoongi just picked Ji Young up from her car seat and held her in one folded arm while balancing her bottle in her mouth. The other arm he had free to write on the ARMYs album and to be able to touch them. 

He showed Ji Young again to the ARMYs and they fawned over her. Every once in a while she'd open her eyes and look around. One time she gripped onto Yoongi's thumb on his free hand and refused to let go. It was an interesting thing to watch while Yoongi tried to pay attention to the ARMY but also get his hand free in the process to write. "Ji Young, you've got to let go of daddy..." He gently scolded her. The ARMY just laughed and cooed about how cute Ji Young was. 

Mercifully, Ji Young was quiet rest of the time Yoongi held her during the fan meeting. When the members stood up to wave and bow goodbye, Yoongi still held Ji Young and bowed goodbye. With his free hand he waved goodbye to the ARMYs then he picked up Ji Young's arm and made her wave goodbye to them too. This made the ARMYs squeal. He laughed at the ARMYs reactions and looked down at Ji Young. "Wah~ They love you Ji Young." 

He held her in front of his face, careful to prop her head up and keep it steady. Smiling at her, she gave him a small smile back. Yoongi almost dropped her. "Yah! Guys! Ji Young smiled at me!" He chased after his members to tell them. 

Soon Ji Young was back asleep and it was time for the next part of Yoongi's day, a photo shoot for the upcoming album. While Yoongi waited for his turn he would rock Ji Young as the other members took their individual pictures. Then it was Yoongi's turn. 

He picked up Ji Young's carseat and carried it to where the photographer was. He set her down close enough to him but far enough away so she wasn't in the way. "Please please don't cry Ji Young." He slightly prayed. 

The first few minutes the shoot went well until Yoongi saw her car seat shake and then a blanket go flying off. He groaned. "Ohhhh crap..." He muttered under his breath. He couldn't leave now because he was in the middle of the shoot and Ji Young couldn't cause an issue or else he wouldn't be able to bring her to work anymore. He was torn between ignoring her and letting her get tired or to go pick her up. 

Before he could choose Jin came over and scooped her up. He looked at Yoongi, "Don't worry Yoongi-ah I'll take care of her. You just work hard." He gave Yoongi a grin and whisked Ji Young off into the dressing room. Yoongi sagged in relief now that she was being taken care of.

 In the dressing room Jin was checking Ji Young for if she needed a diaper change. "Nope." He shook his head. "Are you hungry?" He asked her. 

Reaching for her bottle, he held it up to her mouth. She just kept crying. "Hmm... you aren't hungry either." He put the bottle back. "Maybe you were just bored. I know daddy hasn't been able to play with you much today." Jin talked to Ji Young. "How about we play then?" He asks in a cute voice. 

Jin grabs Ji Young's play mat and rolls it out. After putting toys on different spots on it, he carefully puts Ji Young on it. "There we go! Now we can play." He grins at her and shakes a lion shaped rattle. Ji Young looks up at her uncle and gargles at him while trying to grab at the toy. He gives the toy to her and she immediately puts it in her mouth, teething on it. 

Pulling out his phone, he takes pictures of his "niece". He sends some of the pictures to you. The other members notice that Ji Young is up so they come sit down at her mat. J-hope reaches out and tickles her belly, causing her to giggle.  Namjoon just sits back and watches Ji Young with all the members. Jimin takes pictures of Ji Young and finds another toy in her diaper bag. Jungkook and Taehyung play with a toy for a bit before giving it to Ji Young. She rolls over on her stomach and then rolls back.

 Taehyung reaches out and rubs her back while she drools all over as she’s chewing on the new toy. Soon Yoongi's shoot is done and he walks back to the dressing room. Seeing the sight of all of his members fawning over his daughter makes him chuckle still. He walks up behind Namjoon and sits down in the group. Ji Young sees her daddy and tries to get to him by scooching herself across the plastic mat. Yoongi just laughs and scoops her up, propping her up in his lap. The boys find snacks in her diaper bag and take turns feeding her. 

She loves her food as she tries to take fist fulls of the snacks handed to her. "Yah! Ji Young-ah!" Yoongi scolds. "One at a time." The other members chuckle. 

"Hyung, it sounds like you're yelling at us." Jungkook tells him while laughing. Yoongi just smiles and tries to kick at Jungkook. 

Finally the day ends and it is time for Yoongi and Ji Young to go home. You are stuck at work for a little bit longer so Yoongi gets home first. It's dark out by the time you pull into your driveway and step into the house. "Yoongi-ah?" You call out to him. You look in your guys bedroom.

 Not there.

 You look in the living room.

 Not there either.

 "Hmm... it is late. Maybe he is putting Ji Young down for bed." You wonder out loud. Making your way upstairs you hear noise floating out from Ji Young's nursery. You peek inside. 

Yoongi is rocking Ji Young, who is crying and fusing. "Ji Young?" Yoongi whispers to your daughter. "Do you want to hear the new song Daddy had been working on?" He asks her gently. He then starts to quietly rap and sing his part in the song. 

"Take my hand right now

Ireon naega mitgiji anha

Sogeuroman sucheon beoneun deo malhaesseossdeon geu mal Geudaeneun nal tteonaji ma

You got the best of me You got the best of me Kkuminji hyeonsirinjineun ttakhi jungyochi anhji

Geujeo niga nae gyeote issdaneun ge Thanks.”

(So take my hand right now I can’t believe myself Words I said thousands of times only to myself Don’t leave me You got the best of me You got the best of me Whether this is a dream or reality, it’s not important Just the fact that you’re by my side Thanks)

When he was done, he looked down at Ji Young, who's head is resting on his shoulder while the rest of her little body is splayed out on Yoongi's chest.

 "It's called 'Best of Me' because you and your momma bring out the best in me..." He rubs her back and kisses the top of her head.

 Your heart melts once again for like the fifty millionth time today. First the video, then Jin's pictures and now Yoongi's confession. You swear he tries to kill you somedays. 

He leans back in the rocking chair and closes his eyes while still rocking Ji Young. You take this as your cue so you tiptoe into the nursery and up to your little family. Leaning over, you kiss Yoongi's forehead. He cracks an eye open and sees you. His face splits into a smile. 

"Hello yeobo." His voice is deep with sleepiness.

 "Hello jagiya." You respond back. "Is she sleeping?" You ask him. 

He shifts ever so slightly to check her. He nods his head. Carefully standing up, Yoongi puts her in her bassinet and leans over to give her a kiss. You follow suit and brush some of her hair out of her face before giving her a kiss.

 "Goodnight my world." You follow Yoongi out of the nursery and click the light off. Shutting the door quietly, he wraps you up in his arms. Burying his head into your neck, he murmurs. "I missed you so much today Y/N." 

You play with his hair. "I missed you too my jagiya."

 He kisses your forehead. "I can't believe what you do for Ji Young." He tells you. Your heart melts once again for now the fifty millionth and one time. 

"Awww Yoongiiii..." He picks his head up and looks at you while you get on your tiotoes. You surprise him with a peck on the nose. He smiles and kisses you full on the lips.

Annalise Moberly -- more commonly known as Rio to the rest of the world -- could definitely be classified as a rarity; a morning person. Her band mates didn't even refer to her with the term, instead, they took up the lovely adjective 'insane' to call their main vocalist. On anyday, at exactly at five fifteen in the morning, you could find Annie in the girl's kitchen with a mug of coffee -- black -- snuggled in her hands. She would we tucked away in a brightly colored sweater without any pants on -- because who wheres pants at home? -- and a book with too many pages beneath her nose. It would be a romance novel, she was a sap for those, and by the time she finished her coffee she would be almost halfway to halfway done. It was probably her superpower -- besides waking up at the ass crack of dawn -- to be able to read a book so quickly the flash would be envious.

That's where Min-ji found Annie that morning when she found herself once again in the clutches of her insomnia. Although, this time it was earlier than normal. This time it was around one in the morning and Min-ji was beyond confused.

"Annie?" Min-ji roared when she spoke. It was never on purpose, she just was a naturally loud and bubbly person. Annie didn't jump, she expected her friend to slump down the steps and pop around the kitchen corner fairly soon. Also, nothing really scared Annie; she always had been an impenetrable brick wall according to her moms.

Annie hummed in response to her friend, her eyes didn't leave her monitor as she typed mindlessly on her laptop.

"What're you doing awake?" Min-ji was confused, not beyond, just confused. She was, actually, beyond used to Annie waking up at ungodly hours of the day. Just never this hour.

"Couldn't sleep," Annie sniffled, wiggling her nose and pursing her lips. "Figured why not get a head start on some new beats. Some new jams, get hizzy with it-"

"Stop. Please, just, stop." Min-ji raised her hand as she reached the fridge, turning away from Annie and rummaging inside of it. Annie glanced up and could've sworn -- hand over heart and needle through eye -- that Min-ji's lower half disappeared inside of the damn thing. When she reappeared, she held a hug of milk and practically threw it on the counter.

"My god, MinMin, I thought you had insomnia not anger issues," Annie crinkled her nose at the violence towards the dairy product. Her fingers found their way around the mug just beside her laptop, it was filled with calming chamomile this time. Not black coffee. She didn't get a reaponse from Min-ji, just an exhausted grunt and a casual flip of a -- not so nice -- finger. "There's tea in the kettle if you-okay"

Annie cut herself off as Min-ji slammed a mug -- hopefully, not precious -- down onto the counter and poured a hefty glass of milk. Min-ji thought for a second before she turned around again to put the milk up. Once the fridge devoured her for a little bit, she was spat back out with a new bottle in her hands.

"Is that rum?" Annie raised her brows at her elder bandmate, watching her wearily. Min-ji glared up and into Annie's eyes as she unscrewed the top. Her hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle and tipped it over the side, pouring in a fair amount of liquor. "Alrighty then."

Annie closed her laptop, her dainty fingers pressing the screen down onto the keys. She finished off her mug of chamomile, watching Min-ji chug down the whole mug quicker than Annie could say 'holy shit, bitch.'

Annie shoved her chair back, the legs smoothly gliding across the pristine -- alright, that's a bit if an exaggeration -- white tile. She walked around the island, landing beside Min-ji.

"You do know what time it is, right?" Anne quirked her brow, her concern rising as Min-ji -- determined to suckle the last drop of her mixture -- had her nose and mouth tucked into the mug.

Min-ji's eyes poked around the mugs rim, shooting a look towards Annie as she placed her own mug into the sink. Her voice was simultaneously muffled and echoey from inside the mug,"Of course, do I look incompetent to you?" Annie opened her mouth to answer, a good already on the tip of her tongue.

"Well-"

"Rhetorical. Do not answer that," Min-ji dropped the mug from her face and sat it in the sink next to Annie's. Annie smiled tiredly, sluggishly moving to retrieve her laptop and push in her barstool. The effects of her chamomile were already pumping through her veins. Her head felt foggy and her eyes were glassy.

"Whatever you say, MinMin. Nighty night," Annie began to walk away, to retreat to her room and not be seen until in a few hours, but she stopped and turned back to Min-ji for a second,"by the way, I don't know if you've heard, but if you keep scowling like that your face is liable to get stuck."

Min-ji threw one last glare as the girl passed the banister and ascended the stairs, muttering to herself as she reached for a muffin in the center of the island. "Smart ass."

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Annie did not wake up at her usual time, in fact, she was beyond late and that was totally out of character for her. The next time she opened her eyes, she was curled up in an odd position on her bed with the sheets somewhere on the floor. Annie always got hot at night, but cold in the day. It took her a moment to register the sun--something she wasn't used to seeing in the morning--when she pried her eyes to stay open and rubbed them awake. She took in a deep breath and turned her head.

8:39 a.m

"Fucking ducks," Annie cursed, flinging herself off her bed. She grabbed her phone and headed downstairs, her mind wandering to the earlier hours of the morning she first trekked down the steps. The reason she woke up of course, she hadn't lied to Min-ji, was because of the wave of emotion she felt. The rush if excitement and worry practically being shoved down her throat, dreams of yellow and pink with swirls and beautiful music shook her awake. She practically choked on enthusiasm, instantly grabbing her laptop and writing down the music she hears in her dream. Angelic, light and a beat that crawled out of hell. It was perfect, hut Annie had no clue what it was for.

When she stumbled into the kitchen, her hands were running through her hair quickly. Yanking out knots and unwanted curls, she crunched her nose as she ignored the pain.

"Well good morning, sleeping beauty," Annie snapped a glare towards Hidaya, suddenly feeling the urge to choke the woman to death with her hijab. Hidaya smirked, a mug of whatever concoction she needed to slurp in the mornings loosely supper in her hands.

"Careful," Annie warned, "I might teach you a new way to wrap your hijab." Hidaya rolled her eyes, sipping her tea. Annie bit her cheek, sifting through the pantry.

"Like you have time for that," Ami snorted tossing the girl a silver rectangular packe,"It's brown sugar. Go get dressed, we have dance practice then a meeting with BigHit."

Annie froze,"BigHit?"

Ami nodded, nibbling on the eggs and bacon laid out in front of her that she did not bother to share with anyone else. "Yeah, you know, the company over BTS."

Annie nodded slowly,"Right. Yeah." As Ami said BTS, Annie got the burst of pinks and yellows around her vision. "Okay."

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"Why on Earth," Min-Ji questioned, breathing heavily and patting her forehead with a towel,"is this meeting scheduled after a dance practice? That's like taking team photos after the first practice of the season. It's satanic!"

Annie scrunched her face at the girl as they walked down the pristine lavender walls of the company building. "You're so over dramatic," Annie shook her head at her best friend, throwing her towel at the girls chest.

"I just dont get it,"Min-Ji mumbled, pulling a grossed out face as she plucked the towel off of her shirt and handed it to Ami. The sweet mom of the group took the towel without hesitation and send a secret annoyed look to Hidaya.

"Well dont think too much," Annie warned, her hand wrapping around the handle to their bosses office,"Might hurt yourself."

"Oh, so original."

The four girls stumbled awkwardly into the office, dressed in sweatpants and jumpers quickly thrown over sports bras. Annie inspected everyone else in the room, definitely underdressed.

"Girls, glad you could make it." Danielle greeted them, a tight smile stretched across her flushed cheeks.

Annie scrunched her nose, sliding into a rolly chair on the opposite side of the table where a boy with pink hair resided. She muttered to herself, no one in particular,"You literally make our schedules."

Ami reached over Min-Ji and smacked the girls bicep, Annie jumped in surprise as her fist made contact. The coffee addict gave Ami a bewildered look, puzzled and hurt.

"Shush,"Annie pouted, she sat back in her chair and crossed her arms like a child; she obeyed Ami's wishes.

"Right then," Danielle mainly spoke to the girls and the man sitting at the far end of the table, which Annie thought to be highly rude despite knowing the men couldn't understand many words her boss was saying. "Black Summer, meet BTS. BTS, meet Black Summer."

Hidaya opened her mouth, a smirk resident on her face."BS is always a swell term too."

Annie's eyes watched in fascination as the translator at the end of the table spoke, she could only understand the simple words and, in that moment, she thanked whatever god was out there that Min-Ji forced them into Korean language lessons. She watched the translator falter after he realized the sentences he had just flipped languages and reiterated to the seven gorgeous boys of Bangtan.

Annie's lips parted, she finally took the chance to look at them; they were all looking at each other.

The first one seemed to be a little younger than Annie, herself. Her had a blunt nose and big doe eyes that Annie enjoyed comparing to Ami's, but his were the same color as Annie's rather than a sky blue. He smiled as the translator finished Hidaya's witty snap and Annie bit her cheek as she realized the only thing she should be comparing him to is a bunny.

She moved on, there was a lot of territory to cover.

The next one that seemed most intriguing was the boy right across from her, he had flaming pink locks and cheeks that, even before smiling, poked around his eyes. He was one of the prettiest men Annie had ever laid eyes on, and she had met Shawn Mendes a month ago. He smiled at Annie as their eyes met and the coffee addict couldn't help but reciprocate the grin, his happiness was intoxicating and contagious like a disease Annie never wanted to be cured of.

She gave him a small wave and continued to find someone that interested her. The next two had their arms around each other in an affectionate but casual way, Annie noticed that one of them had his face flushed and he didn't fit the standard Korean beauty Min-Ji had ranted about so many times before. He had a bashful smile, they both did, but his was accompanied by dimples carving his cheeks. The other had broad shoulder that looked to dig into the others chest, but Annie noticed he didn't seem to mind. Annie liked his hair color, it reminded her of coffee with lots of creamer. The way Min-Ji likes her coffee.

The one she surveyed next had a bright boxy smile and strikingly jet black hair, his eyes scrunched--though not as much as cotton candy hair in front of her-- which made him seem like the brightest bottle of sunshine that Annie wanted to get absolutely wasted on. He had cute glasses on his head Annie swore she could pull out of Ami's flamboyant wardrobe.

Annie inspected two boys next, one had the brightest smile on his face -- brighter than cotton candy's and glasses' over there -- and he had his arm timidly linked with another boy's. The boy with the bright smile, Annie saw burst of yellow around him and her glance flickered to the other boys hair. The familiar melody she had dreamed of danced in her head, ricocheting between her ears. Annie felt oddly happy while looking at him and, while she didn't have time to cyber stalk them, assumed his alias was J-Hope from what she's heard. He returned her small, hesitant smile with the biggest one shed received so far. The boy attached to him, however, was looking over at something else instead of Annie's twitching lips.

Annie's lips parted, her interest finally peeked. He had grey hair with the slightest purple undertones, as if it hadn't all the way washed out. He had the smallest of smiles etched on his face, but the apples of his cheeks were the color of strawberry smoothies. Annie head the melody become accompanied with harmonies, the pitches blending in the back of her brain and a numbing mumble of lyrics just out of reach for her to understand.

Then he turned, his gaze shifted and their eyes met.

As soon as abyss collided with abyss, Annie felt a headache stab at her corneas. A dull ache, like beating a drum, pound at the back of her head. When Annie got the perfect look right into his mind from his eyes, mugs black coffee, the only way she drank it, Annie swallowed the pain. The melody boomed, the harmonies collided in perfect rhythm and the lyrics were there, dancing in front of her eyes where splashes of yellow and pink highlighted the most beautiful features of the man in front of her.

She blinked as he looked down at his hands, her own hands fidgeted before they shot out the notebook splayed out in front of Danielle.

"Annie?" Her boss jumped at her abrupt movements, almost shielding her face as the girl swiped things off the desk to find a pen. "Here! Here!"

Annie didnt finding the time to mumble a thank you ad her boss handed her a blue inked pen, her mind to busy running around with butterfly nets trying to catch and preserve every last note and lyric with pins into their wings and glass magnifying their beautiful colors. She didn't feel everyone's eyes on her, especially not the boy who caused symphonies in her head's.

Min-Ji leaned back, a proud smile adorned her perfect features. In her home language, the one she perfected when she was just a kid, she spoke to BTS. "That's just Annie being Annie, she finds music in the beauty around her." Min-Ji's eyes flickered around their faces,"One of you just became her muse. That song will exist because of you."

Annie didn't hear her words, but if she did; she would've bashfully agreed. A flustered smile would've pricked her cheeks once again and she would've tried her damn hardest to not look at the boy with the grey hair and perfect face. Knowing good and well he knew he was the last person she looked at before her outburst, they both knew...