#very rare studio bones w i will give them that one

[lotus-pear]

WHERE THE FUCK WERE DAZAIS LAST WORDS..?? THE "FINALLY.. AT LONG LAST..." WHERE WAS HIS BITTER GRIMACE AS HE ACCEPTED HIS DEFEAT. WHERE WAS FYODORS "GOODBYE, DAZAI-KUN" WITH THE HEARTLESS SNEER AND NARROWED EYES.. WHERE WAS CHUUYA GLANCING AT DAZAIS MUTILATED CORPSE BEFORE THE POV SWITCH

[ve1vetyoongi]

Mic Drop | myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff

au: rapper!yoongi, photographer!oc

summary: when underground rapper min yoongi uncovers the dirty secret behind his biggest rival, your brother and hip hop champion kim namjoon’s success, he is determined to take home this year’s mic drop contest trophy no matter who he hurts along the way. you’re behind the camera, content with capturing namjoon’s picture perfect persona from the sidelines but when his hard-faced enemy Gloss, makes you realise you could be more than just the point and shoot, you start to feel your loyalties shifting.

warnings: multiple smut scenes, dirty talk, dry humping, penetrative sex, fingering, oral sex (both m and f receiving), lots of orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, cum play, cum eating, but also tender fucking lol, very brief mention of death.

word count: 29k (rip)

rating: definitely explicit

playlist: visit my playlist page and select “mic drop.” (all links to be added later)

a/n: ahhh you don’t understand how happy i am to finally put this out into the world!!! i started writing this fic back in july and after a few rewrites (more on this at the end of the post if anyone sticks around until then) she’s finally finished eee <3 also!!! this fic is brought to you courtesy of the love yourself collab! this project has been super fun to be a part of n i wanna say thank you to everyone involved who made it such a welcoming experience! you can check out the masterlist here (link will be added later f u tumblr) to read all the other amazing fics from the incredibly talented authors in this project (literally so talented??? it’s sickening???) (im so excited to finally read them all now im done w this monster lol). all the love as always <3

Introducing Runch Randa!

The host is barely audible over the chants of your brother's name as the lights dim and the arena is sent into a haze of strobe lights.

The air is already heady with body heat and fragrant with sweat from the thousands of bodies smushed together in the pit and beyond that thousands more seated in the stands, phone lights twinkling in the darkened arena like stars. A girl in your peripheral clutches a sign with MARRY ME RUNCH RANDA scrawled in sharpie, torso clad in one of the cheap merch hoodies with your brother's face printed on the front, just like hundreds of others around her.

It's a full house. No one's surprised. The Mic Drop semi-final always creates a buzz of anticipation within the hip hop scene. But this year, with your brother Namjoon returning to compete for the trophy again, there isn't an empty seat in sight.

A buzz pulses through the crowd when the bass kicks in. It makes hearts beat faster, blood run hotter, a crescendo of screams crashing violently through room, the sheer volume enough to make the walls shake in time with the stamp of impatient feet.

It's infectious. Almost. If you hadn't been here a hundred times before, countless nights the same as this one that all started to blur into one somewhere along the line. Different crowds but the same energy, the same hum of anticipation that used to get your bones rattling, your skin hot with suspense. Now it's just routine. Now you feel nothing.

Besides, you're just here to do your job. The photographer. To take pictures, not to enjoy the show. Just like always.

Five seconds. You know Namjoon's set list like the back of your hand by now. Five seconds until he takes the stage and the crowd goes wild.

One, two, three, four...

Like clockwork, the stage lights up and there he is, face blown up in painful detail across every screen. Runch Randa. His stage name pulses through the room, a mantra, chanted until throats turn sore and mouths run dry.

Dark framed glasses cover his eyes but his stance is enough to tell you that he came here to win, his presence immediately filling the empty stage with an energy that makes it impossible to look anywhere else, even for a moment.

He is already damp with sweat, neck glistening beneath the white lights. Like routine you snap a few shots when he taunts the camera with a smirk, brushing a hand through his immaculately gelled hair teasingly, mouth turning up into a grin when the audience roars.

Runch Randa walks across the stage with the ease of someone who lives and breathes for moments like these. Grabs the microphone with two hands, shiny silver rings glinting on his fingers beneath the harsh strobe lights.

You can see his opponents in the front row, nothing but rookies, the intimidation etched into their features visible even from where you stand side stage as they swallow the bitter pill that they stand no chance against him.

Once upon a time you were the same as the wide eyed fans in the pit, filled with an admiration for your brother. He was everything you wanted to be; a whirlwind of fearless, brazen passion when he got up on stage. But things changed once Namjoon won Mic Drop, claiming the trophy at the tender age of seventeen. After that he started filling arenas. Then stadiums. And you were left behind in the ruins of his whirlwind, feeling the Namjoon you once knew slip further away as Runch Randa took center stage, viewing his perfect persona through the lens of your camera with the same sour resentment as the rookies.

Because when a familiar beat permeates the arena, you can't help but close your eyes and imagine the name the crowd screams is yours. That it's you out there instead of him. It's you pouring your heart into the lyrics that you find yourself whispering unconsciously in time with your brother.

Your lyrics.

The lyrics you wrote especially for this performance. The same lyrics that would be streamed by millions, top charts and win Namjoon another stupid trophy to add to his already elaborate collection.

The only reason Namjoon still kept you around was because he couldn't write them himself.

The track ends and the Mic Drop host crosses the stage with a grin. Namjoon's arm is thrust into the air triumphantly.

"And our first finalist is...Runch Randa!"

You snap a picture of your brother smiling victoriously.

"He's gonna win. I know it."

Namjoon's manager Jimin sidles up beside you, grin plastered to his face. It's nauseating.

"Does he ever lose?" You murmur

Runch Randa! Runch Randa! Runch Randa!

--

Mic Drop. The most highly anticipated event in the music industry for its ability to make hip hop artists stars; as well as its tendency to break them just as easily.

Fame. Money. Glory. Just a few of the reasons why rap rookies from across the globe are desperate to compete in the ruthless battle of blood, sweat and rap that is Mic Drop.

They all think they have what it takes. That they have that special something the judges are looking for. Unfortunately, most don't even make it past the auditions phase.

When your brother, Mic Drop legend Runch Randa, announced he would be ditching his celebrity status and stadium concerts to return to his underground roots and compete for the trophy again, it raised a series of questions

Why now? What did he have to prove?

Once the press got wind of the fact that your parent's, CEO'S of the most prestigious record label in the industry Big Hit Entertainment, had run into a spot of financial trouble, everyone assumed your brother's re-entry was a master plan to win the lavish cash prize afforded to competition winners. Sure, you couldn't deny that it was partly true --- Big Hit's stocks were plummeting and a lot was at stake.

Truthfully, though, you knew your brother well enough to see that Namjoon's motives were far more selfish; to put it simply, he was greedy. Fame was his drug. Once he got a taste he could never get enough.

Of course, a cheque signed and delivered by your father's hand shut any rumors down very quickly. Your parent's were good at silencing people if it meant protecting Namjoon's reputation.

Even you, their own daughter.

The name tag labelled OFFICIAL PHOTOGRAPHER was nothing but a cover up for the true reason you spent so much time at Big Hit -- writing each and every one of Namjoon's hit songs. A secret you were forced to keep as you watched your brother through a camera lens.

Which is how you find yourself as his strictly-invitation-only after party, an attempt at building momentum for the big final in just a few weeks time, with a camera in hand.

You're sat in the corner of the A-list club Jimin rented out for the event, swirling the deep red liquid in your glass with a bored disinterest as you watch your brother shake hands with company investors and big buck producers, most of which you'd never even heard of.

These things always seem to drag on, the clock ticking slower with each agonising second spent smiling courteously to uphold the supportive sister persona. Your feet are starting to hurt in your heels and all you want to do is hide away in the Big Hit studio and scribble down the lyrics floating aimlessly in your mind. That's the only good thing about these events -- they give you time to think, a rare relief in between your brother's busy schedules.

"Well, well. If it isn't my favorite lyricist."

A cheerful voice jolts you from your thoughts and when you blink up through the flashing lights you're met with a lazy grin belonging to Hoseok, one of the producers at Big Hit. He's an ex Mic Drop contestant himself, coming fourth and just missing out on the semi-finals three years ago. He never had the stomach for it anyway, he always says, but you never miss the rejection in his eyes.

Hoseok is also one of the only people who knows about your secret. He was hired to help you work on tracks for your brother once he made it big after all, and although he would never admit it you knew he probably had to sign a hefty NDA. Still, you were grateful to have him around — you couldn't deny you made something of a dream team together.

"Mind if I sit?" He gestures with his glass towards the empty space beside you, and you move your purse so he can squash in on the leather couch. "At least some of us are having fun, huh?" You follow his gaze to Namjoon on the dance floor, hands all over some vaguely recognizable celebrity's hips.

You grimace and swig back the remaining alcohol in your glass. "Too much fun, apparently."

Hoseok snorts, wringing his hands. "Y'know, we could get out of here if you're as bored as I am..." His words slur just slightly and you figure his confidence is a result of the amber liquor in his glass. The shy Hoseok  you know well returns quickly though as he averts his eyes when you raise a brow. "Not like that! I just thought maybe we could get a drink or something...if you want to?"

You shift awkwardly, having to shout over the booming club music for him to hear you. "I should really stay here. People might ask questions if the sister of the host just...disappears."

"Right!" Hoseok smiles sheepishly then slaps his own forehead. "Right. Forget I ever asked."

You shake your head fondly and turn back towards the dance floor just in time to see Namjoon whisper in the ear of the DJ, music cutting as he takes the mic and hops up onto the small stage to address the party.

Finally! A sign he was going to wrap up the evening for good!

He clears his throat and the huddle of mingling bodies below him fall into an expectant hush.

"Uh, so I'm not usually very good at these speech things --" He pauses and the crowd laughs. You tap your knee impatiently. "But I just wanted to say thank you. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for your support. So, the next round of drinks are on me! I haven't won — yet — but its never too early to start celebrating, right?"

Namjoon raises his flute of champagne and the party-goers cheer just as a flurry of confetti drops from the ceiling. The music starts again and you're too busy picking the brightly colored paper out of your hair disgruntledly to notice the way the room suddenly quietens and the guests part down the middle like prey from a predator.

"Y/N. Look." Hoseok elbows you sharply and flies forward in his seat, whisky sloshing over the edge of his glass. "Shit! Is that--"

Is that really him? What is he doing here? He's back!

You look up just in time to see the commotion as a figure in a black hoodie weaves effortlessly to the front of the room. You don't recognise him but something about his presence gives you chills.

Namjoon is too busy throwing back his drink to notice as the man climbs the stage, his skinny jeans and high tops sticking out like a sore thumb against the sea of dress shoes and cocktail dresses. He clearly wasn't invited.

By the time your brother senses the change in the air, it's too late.

You feel your face pale, choking when the figure finally turns and lets down his hood, revealing a head of blue hair and a venomous smirk.

"Gloss?"

Namjoon turns and his smile dissolves. He just stares stiffly at the person in front of him like he's seen a ghost. In a way you suppose he has -- the ghost of his past. After all, the last time anyone saw this face was five years ago at the Mic Drop final.

It is him! It's Gloss! Why is he back?

The night that changed all of your lives. When Namjoon claimed the Mic Drop trophy and Gloss, his opponent, lost everything.

It's been years since the last time you saw Gloss but you still recognize the distinctive confidence in his gait, the way his eyes flash with something dark as he looks your brother up and down with a breathy laugh.

Namjoon is frozen, breathing heavily.

Gloss' voice is husky when he finally speaks. It makes you shiver.

"Runch Randa. Long time no see, huh?"

A beat of unbearable silence.

"What are you doing here?"

Gloss's chuckle makes Namjoon snarl. You see the way his jaw tenses and his fists clench. He's too wound up; he'll snap if you don't do something and fast.

You get to your feet but Hoseok pulls you back down sternly by the elbow. "Don't." You protest but his grip is too tight so you just fidget helplessly instead.

Something settles in the atmosphere; a nervousness that makes you itch, makes your heart pump into overdrive as you watch them draw closer, eyes narrowed like boxers in a ring, waiting for the other to make a move. Hoseok covers his eyes.

"I wouldn't start celebrating just yet, Runch. The competition has only just begun."

The crowd gasps when your brother's clenched fist swings at his smug opponent. The rapper ducks but not quite in time and you can't remember which comes first — the crunch that crackles through the speakers when Namjoon's ring-clad knuckles collide with Gloss' face or the ear splitting thump of his mic dropping to the ground.

--

The party ends abruptly. Your head spins with confusion as you watch the guests leave in shock. Seeing Namjoon up on that stage opposite his biggest opponent again makes your stomach sick, like you were reliving the events of five years ago all over again.

Deep down you had always expected this moment to come. For Gloss to return looking for revenge or something. After all, Gloss didn't just loose Mic Drop to anyone -- he lost to Namjoon, his former best friend and music partner. Namjoon and Yoongi. They were supposed to win together. But for reasons still unknown, even to you, Yoongi was disqualified moments before the final commenced, plummeting your brother into the world of fame alone.

After that, Gloss all but disappeared, his pitiful downfall nothing but a hip hop legend to those who heard it. No record deals or sponsorships or stadium tours like your brother. A legend in his own right, but for all the wrong reasons. Mic Drop banned duos from competing thereafter.

Eventually you gather the courage to head into one of the back rooms where the rappers had been hauled by security guards in hi-vis jackets after their scuffle. You can hear Jimin babbling before you even reach the door.

"What were you thinking? Punching him? You better hope the press don't get ahold of this or else you're in big trouble—"

"Let me go!" Namjoon grunts to Jimin whose face is almost as red as his own. "I'm gonna end this once and for all."

"You'll do no such thing," Jimin tuts, pushing him firmly by the shoulder so he slumps into his seat with a roll of the eyes, other hand pressing his phone to his ear. "Do you even understand the amount of damage control I'm going to have to do to? — hold on, yes, this is Park Jimin speaking..."

The room smells of disinfectant and medical gauze and you spot Namjoon instantly, surrounded by an abundance of medics. His breathing is still ragged, the vein on his neck standing to prominence, knee bouncing as he impatiently waits for his ruby knuckles to be bandaged, too engaged to notice your arrival.

To your left you're surprised to find Yoongi. He's the epitome of composure despite the heavy tension in the air. He grabs a roll of bandage and begins to patch up his own fist, eyes lighting up with something you can't put your finger on when you slide into the room.

"Well, look who decided to turn up. If it isn't Namjoon's little sister. Long time no see, Y/N."

You freeze. It's been years since you heard him say your name. It makes you feel funny.

"Yoongi." You swallow. "What are you doing here?"

His shit eating grin makes your blood boil. "I take it you haven't heard yet, then."

You roll your eyes. You should be checking on Namjoon not humoring whatever stupid motives his opponent has. "Heard what, Yoongi?"

"I'm re-entering the competition, too."

You stagger backwards. Yoongi? Re-entering the competition? Mic Drop?

"But--you were disqualified--I don't understand?"

"I was disqualified. Disqualifications are only valid for five years, according to the rule book. Who knew?" He smirks when your eyes widen. "And I think you'll find that my sentence is up. I'm gonna win this time, once and for all."

"I don't think you know what you're doing, Yoongi—"

"There's more." He licks his lips. "I know your secret."

Your heart stops, mouth running dry. You throw a glance over your shoulder. Namjoon is still engaged, swatting away a medic's ice pack with a scowl, thankfully too busy to notice when you draw closer, voice a harsh whisper. "W-what secret?"

Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle, wincing just barely when he touches a damp cloth to the cut in his lip, a red splotch forming on the fabric. "You know exactly what secret I'm talking about, Y/N. Wouldn't it be ironic if someone slipped a tip off to the judges panel about Namjoon's ghost writer—"

"Shut the fuck up Min Yoongi or I'll break your nose for real this time!" Namjoon's voice bellows behind you, making you jolt. He charges at Yoongi, lip quivering like he might make his threat a reality. "Leave her out of this!"

Yoongi's nostrils flare. "Everyone knows she's a part of this, Namjoon, whether she likes it or not!"

All eyes look your way, as if expecting you to say something, but Yoongi's words fall cluelessly on you. You hadn't so much as thought about him in years. What did you have to do with this stupid ongoing feud with your brother that he refused to let go?

You glance between them, settling for sending a blank look at Yoongi and shuffling over to Namjoon instead. Your brother seems prideful at your show of allegiance. Yoongi scoffs.

"Namjoon?" Your mouth is dry with the shock of the situation and it comes out sounding funny, like you're wary of him. A gash above his eyebrow starts to dribble crimson. "Shit, you're hurt..."

"Get off me." Namjoon shakes his shoulder violently and you gingerly remove your hand, brows furrowed at his rejection. He directs his attention to Yoongi. "And you. You want a fight? It's on."

"Joon!—" He waves you off. It's pointless anyway. When he gets this rash there's no changing his mind.

"You want to end this thing once and for all? Then let's do this. You and me. At the final."

Yoongi raises a brow. "Deal. I'd shake your hand but you might try and knock me into next week again."

Namjoon doesn't laugh.

A hoard of security guards bust into the room and head straight for Yoongi. "Finally. What the fuck do I even pay these people for?"

"Get off me!"

You place a hand on Namjoon's shoulder and find that he's trembling. Rage? Nerves? Adrenaline? All three, probably, if the vacant blackness behind his eyes is anything to go by.

You're already trailing behind your brother when you hear Yoongi's voice carry down the hall. "I'll see you at the final! When I win. Secrets always find a way to come back and bite you in the ass, Runch. You should know that better than anyone!"

--

Namjoon begs you to come as his plus one to some scummy gig Gloss is rumored to be performing at tonight. To check out the competition, he says, but you recognise the way he nibbles his lip as he does.

Fear. He'll never admit it but Namjoon is scared he’s going to lose.

You agree to join him because you think it may put his mind at rest.

As Namjoon's manager, Jimin has all sorts of connections, mumbling thank you's into the head set sitting around his ears like a permanent accessory and scribbling down the address of some club down town.

The driver your parent's hired to escort Namjoon around as a paparazzi safety precaution drops the three of you a block away; the car's black tinted windows and shiny number plate would be out of place in such a scummy part of town. The plan would only work if you went unnoticed. Namjoon couldn't risk running into a Runch Randa fangirl tonight. It was technically against the Mic Drop rules to have any intel on your opponents, after all.

You don't like to tell Namjoon that his disguise won't do much for blending in. He dons a designer cap pulled down low over his face, long black coat drowning his figure and expensive leather boots crunching against broken glass and cigarette stumps as you near the club. It's too put together to seem natural, a dead give away that he doesn't belong here among the sea of ripped jeans and septum rings and tattoo sleeves around you. Even with a patterned bandana covering half of his face, the sculpted cheekbones and piercing eyes smudged effortlessly with black eyeliner poking over the top scream celebrity.

Luckily for you, the plain dress and knit cardigan hugging your body doesn't alert the suspicions of the bouncers cross armed at the entrance.

Namjoon wrinkles his nose and prods a half empty solo cup discarded outside with his toe, Jimin practically jittering with nerves and barely avoiding a stumbling drunk as you approach the men who stand at nearly double your size. Namjoon said it was best that you acted as spokesperson tonight — the only reason he even brought you along was because nobody would know your face and your position at Big Hit allowed you to pull some strings.

Your fingers shake as you produce a photography license from your bag, heart pounding as one of the menacing bouncers raises his eyebrow beneath the deep red hue emanating from a tacky neon sign posted above the door.

Luckily the breath you're holding is leaving you in a relieved thank you as he nods, moves to the side and gestures for your entourage to dip inside with the rest of the crowd. Namjoon charges ahead into the darkness and you follow him with an awkward smile to make up for his rude demeanour.

No turning back now...

Music hits like a deafening wave, blasting from the speakers at a volume that makes the walls shiver and your head throb. The club is alive with reckless anticipation, a sea of sweaty bodies gyrating on the dance floor in time with the pulsing beat. The energy swallows you whole, knuckles turning white as you cling to Jimin's sleeve, letting him elbow through the throng of indistinguishable faces that glitter beneath the tacky disco ball dangling haphazardly from the ceiling.

The crowd eventually spits you back out in a quieter corner of the club, Namjoon already making a beeline for the seedy bar. "There's a whiskey sour with my name on it and it's the only thing that'll get me through this shit." He murmurs as he crosses the room and occupies a bar stool beside a couple mid heavy make out session, pulling the hat closer around his face.

With a sigh, you turn back to Jimin who is eyeing up the strip pole and the exotic dancers nearby with wide eyes. "I still don't think this is a good idea."

The italian leather couch you slump into is suspiciously sticky beneath your bare thighs. "He needs to get the apprehension out of his system," you counter. "Once he sees that there's no competition he'll be able to take him down."

"I hope you're right." Jimin is wringing his hands, not knowing what to do with them now his headset is sat on the backseat of the car a block away. "I'd hate for this to knock his confidence."

"What?" You snort. "You think Gloss might actually beat him?"

Namjoon is the best rapper around, there's no debate. Nobody could beat him. Not even Gloss.

"No." His pursed lips say otherwise. You raise a brow. Jimin lowers his voice. "Maybe. Namjoon's rash. Gets ahead of himself. If he doesn't pull it together he'll play straight into Yoongi's hands..."

"Shows starting." Your open mouth snaps shut when the cushions dip beside you and Namjoon throws his arms over the back of the couch, swirling his half empty glass with an overconfident smirk.

Jimin averts his gaze. He knows he probably said too much. Sure, you're technically his colleague but you're also Namjoon's sister, the daughter of his boss. If Namjoon had overheard his position at Big Hit could have been called into question.

You would have to grill him more about Yoongi's motives later. Namjoon was right; the show really was starting.

Lights send the club into a dizzying purple haze, a new beat rumbling through the club that makes your skin prickle. It's almost drowned out by the electricity in the air, the frantic stamping of feet, the brazen chants of a single name over and over that fills you with a funny tingly feeling.

Gloss! Gloss! Gloss!

Something about it feels dirty.

The crowd is packed tightly together in the pit now. Even from where you sit, avoiding club goers eyes on the opposite side of the room, you find your attention glued to the stage. The set up is nothing like the one your brother occupies every night; just a wooden structure, painted black at one point but scuffed and scratched by the soles of shoes that boast the history of the place. The speakers are propped on broken crates, no big LED screens or back up dancers like your parents hire out for Namjoon.

Though none of that seems to matter when your gaze falls on the sole microphone stand placed centre stage beneath a blinding spotlight. It's the only familiar parallel between the two performers. It's a symbol of an artist, of the passion that comes with being up on that stage — any stage. It belongs to a performer.

You have to peer through a sea of frantic waving hands on your tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the combat boots taking the stage in time with the music rushing in your ears, mouth dry at the silver rings glinting under the harsh lights as fingers curl around the microphone.

"Yoongi." Namjoon grunts beside you, back stick straight and alert now. The traces of his previous smirk have been erased, a line appearing at the bridge of his nose. "There he is."

Yoongi throws his head back, breathes in the stuffy air that carries the shouts and whistles of the crowd like it's the sweetest oxygen money can buy.

The stench of beer burns your eyes but you're scared you'll miss a glimpse of his messy blue hair, or the eyes drunk on the fierce energy pulsing through the club to stop watching even if you tried.

When his voice permeates the room it's husky, burning through you like a shot of dry whisky. Namjoon stiffens, loosens the bandana around his face so he can see better.

Is that Runch Randa?

"Namjoon..." You hiss. "People are looking."

"Shut up." He grits, jaw tightening as Yoongi's lyrics cut through the tension like a serrated knife.

The way he moves across the stage like he owns it is exhilarating, makes the blood in your veins pump hot, limbs turning to lead as the crowd hangs off his every word.

He's good. Great, even. His lyrics give you goosebumps and you realise you haven't felt like this about a performance in a long time. Passionate. Yoongi is exhilarating to watch and it shakes you to the core.

It's then that it dawns on you. The reason Namjoon feels threatened is because there is a real chance that he might loose everything.

Gloss might take the trophy once and for all.

You only rip your eyes away from the stage when you feel Namjoon stand up beside you, his body disappearing into the crowd.

You get up too. "Leave him." You watch Jimin mouth. "He's just angry, he'll calm down—"

You don't care about Namjoon, not when the air is suddenly too thick, too heavy to breathe. Not when your hands sweat and you heave with a desire to run from reality and the suffocating smell of stale cigarette smoke that made your throat burn, like you can't get your body to breathe.

"Y/N? Where are you going?"

You swear you're floating, feet never seeming to quite touch the ground as you battle against the hazy dizziness that makes the room spin, ignoring Jimin's exasperated shouts of your name as you push through the gaps between bodies and pray your sense of direction is still intact enough to pull your outstretched arms towards the exit.

--

It's dark outside when you spill out of the exit, spluttering and heaving for air.

The brick is cool against your back when you slide down a nearby wall, hugging your knees.

A deep breath. In then out. Your chest loosens, lungs begin to feel full enough again.

Until a gravelly voice rings out into the night, clearer than the thump of unintelligible music from inside the club that makes your head pound.

"So it was you I saw back there. Good to know I'm not seeing things."

Even before you lift your face from between your knees you know who it belongs to. The single person you want to see least in the world at this very moment.

"Go away." You grumble but all that follows is a low chuckle as Yoongi slumps down next to you, ensuring to leave a safe distance between your crouched bodies.

It's funny. You had been preparing yourself to see him all night but now he's actually here in front of you, your mouth is dry.

He looks the same as he always did; dark eyes that burn hot as they scan your face, cocky smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. His brow looks wearier than you remember though, too weary for a man of twenty three. The only indication that time has passed since him and your brother were best friends.

"I assume Namjoon sent you here, then?"

The mention of your brother's name offers you the courage you need to look at him directly. His forehead still gleams with sweat in the dim moonlight, hair slicked back with a red bandana. There's a ring around his eye now, black and bruised. He must have taken off the black hoodie he donned on stage, left now in only a white vest which exposes his arms and to your dismay makes your blood run a little hotter.

"He's inside. I just came along because I had to." You mumble. "I'm not his spy, you know."

"Sure as shit seems like it." Yoongi spits with an amused chuckle, head lolling on his shoulders to face you. "He worried I might tell everyone about his little secret? Or was he trying to find his own leverage?"

A hot anger boils beneath your skin, rising all the way to your cheeks. Namjoon wouldn't do that would he? He didn't play that way. He didn't need to get an upper hand on Yoongi. He just wanted to see what he was up against.

"What's your problem, Yoongi?" The smirk on his mouth never falters, something glinting behind his eyes that tells you he wants to get a rise out of you. Even so, you can't help the way your voice raises, staggering to your feet. He chuckles darkly in response. "You get off on being an asshole or something?"

"You're too naive. What's so bad about telling the truth?" He closed the space between you until he's hovering above you, breath warm against your cheek. Your heart starts to race."What's so bad about taking back what is mine?"

Your breath hitches when his hand presses into the wall beside your head, effectively cornering you beneath his chest. "You could ruin his career."

Yoongi snorts. "What? Like he ruined mine?"

A few beats of silence. His eyes scan your face and it makes your stomach feel funny. You push at his chest, sucking in a shaky breath when he backs off a little and you realise part of you is weirdly disappointed that he did.

"Yoongi I don't know what happened between you and Namjoon—"

"No. You wouldn't know." He scorns, slinging his hands in his pockets, face darker now at the mention of his feud with your brother. "Because Namjoon loves secrets right? Namjoon likes to use people, Y/N. Just like he's using you now, to get to the top. And then he'll throw you away just like he did with me, sweetheart."

"Namjoon wouldn't do that." You bite your lip, the words leaving your tongue sounding a little less sure than you intend.

"Why? What makes you think you're any different?"

"He's my brother."

"I was his brother once too, remember?" He swallows, shaking his head in disbelief at your denial. "The only blood that matters to Namjoon is the blood shed to get him to the top."

You wrap your arms around your torso instinctively. Yoongi's words cut too deep. Maybe something inside of you thought Yoongi was right?

No. You came here to protect Namjoon yet here you were allowing his enemy to get inside your head.

"Fuck you, Min Yoongi." You spit, enjoying the way his eyes widen at the venom lacing your tone. "I made a mistake coming here."

Before you could brush past him and escape the heat  running through your blood stream which feels fuzzier than hatred should, a hand curls around your wrist.

"Shit. Looks like someone's on your trail."

A quick glance over your shoulder reveals none other than Jimin, face hidden by the visor of his black cap but recognisable none the less. He speaks a few words to the bouncer, probably asking if they saw you come out.

"Oh no."

The bouncer gestures in your direction. Jimin's eyes pause for a second as they skim across your form stood rigid with shock and your heart falls out of your ass when he starts in the direction of where you stand way too close to Yoongi unable to move a single muscle as you brace for discovery. To pay for your betrayal of your brother.

"You coming or what?" Yoongi snaps you back to reality with a tug on your arm, feet stumbling over each other as he drags you behind him further down the alley and around a nearly pitch black corner, too far away from the street lights to be basked in their orange glow.

"What the fuck, Yoongi?" You try to shrug out of his grasp, heart beating faster when you see the flat look on his face. "Let go of me!"

Yoongi comes to an abrupt halt. "Listen, I'm trying to save your ass here. You want to get caught? Go on then! Not my problem."

You nibble your lip, glancing one way at the dark alley and the other at Jimin pacing up and down the street with furrowed brows.

"Just trust me, Y/N."

Jimin's footsteps get closer and closer. It's now or never.

Tightening your jaw, you turn back to Yoongi and nod. The words feel foreign as they pass your lips. "I...trust you."

With that, Yoongi grabs your hand and breaks into a sprint

Turning the corner, the alley meets a dead end. The back of the club is just as run down as the front, littered with cracked beer bottles and cigarette stumps. The sign above the door labelled NO ENTRY doesn't offer any light and apparently Yoongi doesn't listen to directions because he fishes in his back pocket for a key, sliding the bolt and pushing on the bar to hold the door open with a small nod for you to go inside first.

With a deep breath, you do.

The door closes behind you with a jingle of chains, cutting off the slither of moonlight it provided and sending you into complete darkness. You hear Yoongi slide the bolt back across and then he fumbles for you in the darkness, your body pulled down next to his with a yelp so that you're out of direct view of the window which looks inside the room.

"I think they followed us." His voice is silk but there's an underlying insinuation. Be quiet.

Yoongi's eye level now, knees squeezed up against yours in the cramped space beneath the window ledge. Your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, able to see the way he scans your face when he thinks you aren't looking. The way he grumbles and looks away when you catch him.

There's not time to dwell as you hear footsteps turn the corner, tracking all the way to the door where the bolt rattles, a sleeve wiping the window and pressing a cupped face to the glass.

"She's not here, man. You must have seen someone else."

It was Hoseok. You'd recognise his voice anywhere. Countless all nighters in the studio together does that to a person. Had Jimin called him all the way down here to look for you?

Jimin chimes in quickly. "I could have sworn it was her..."

The voices trail off as they retreat back down the alley, around to the front of the club.

A sigh escapes you, head falling against the wall in relief. When you open your eyes Yoongi is looking at you again. There's something pained in his expression, unspoken words visible in the way he bites his cheek to stop them from spilling out into the darkness.

His fingers are still wrapped around your arm, an electricity buzzing through your veins when you feel him lean in closer, pulling you towards him just barely.

His lips. Chapped and so close to yours. God. You think you want to kiss them. Just to know how it feels. You've never seen them up this close before. Not close enough to feel his hot breaths puffing against your forehead. Not close enough that if you just lifted your chin a little bit...

Yoongi lets out an embarrassed cough, jolting you out of your thoughts. "That was a close one, huh?" The spot where his hand resided feels cold when he rips it away.

Yoongi's face is wiped of any emotion again. He's not completely slick though as when he finally speaks again he sounds husky, the betrayal in his voice surprising even him.

"Are you okay?"

What were you supposed to say to that? I almost got caught with my brother's enemy and then thought about kissing said enemy. No, I don't think I am okay.

"Fine. Thanks."

Yoongi offers you a hand, getting to his feet and pulling you up after him before he leans across your body to flick on the lights.

The yellowish stream burns your eyes but allows you to take in the room around you. There's a keyboard in the corner, piles of sheet music strewn across the wooden desk beside it. A pair of speakers hooked up to a worn looking sound machine. A mic and a pair of headphones slung over the back of the mismatch wheely chair tucked beneath a desk.

A studio.

He must notice the way you look around with wide eyes, redness creeping up his neck as he busies himself by kicking some of the clutter on the floor behind the desk. "Wasn't expecting guests."

It definitely wasn't the high tech producing set up you were provided with back at Big Hit, no hifi system or fancy computer programmes. The furniture was mismatch, like someone had collected a bunch of spare puzzle pieces and shook them up in the box until they made a picture.

Somehow of the pieces still manage to seem somehow inherently Yoongi; the basketball tee with GLOSS on the back draped over his chair, even the empty water bottles overflowing in the trash can. The tiny framed picture of a younger looking Yoongi next to a woman you think you recognise but can't quite put your finger on.

"Genius lab?" You snort, nodding towards the sign hanging haphazardly above the monitor.

Yoongi shrugs. "What can I say? It's true."

"Confident." You muse.

You share a smile. It's strange. Familiar. The way his eyes crinkle and even the husk of the chuckle that follows reminding you of when things were good, back when you considered Yoongi to be a sort of friend. Before things got fucked up.

"You'll take it back when I win."

Old habits might not die hard but the rational part of your brain registers the implication of his words, even beneath his playful facade. The studio suddenly feels cold. Nostalgia dissipates. You remember why you're here.

"Why didn't you just let them find me?"

"You know as well as I do that Namjoon risks getting disqualified if Jimin causes a scene and gets himself caught snooping around here."

You huff an exasperated breath. For all Yoongi's talk of  having the upper hand he sure did seem reluctant to use it. "Isn't that what you want? What's stopping you? Want to drag it out or something?"

Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, crossing the room and ducking into a drawer in the far corner. He returns with two glasses and a murky bottle of something strong, already a quarter empty as he pours some out. He offers the second glass towards you but you wave it away.

"Suit yourself." He takes a swig of the dark liquid, squeezes his eyes shut. "Because I want to win fair and square."

You shake your head. "All of this. Just for a stupid trophy?"

He eyes you over the rim of his glass, swirling the liquid with an overconfidence that makes you grit your teeth in annoyance. "So Namjoon knows how it feels to lose something he loves." He looks you up and down then, coughing and turning his head when you notice it. "Yeah. I guess it's for the trophy."

Yoongi is despicable, you think. Is he really so fame hungry that he will destroy anyone standing in his way to get it? Even Namjoon? Sure, your brother has his faults but if there is one thing you know it's that he loves being on that stage. What happened between them that makes Yoongi think he deserves it more?

"So its a revenge thing, then. And what if you lose, huh?" The way your voice raises makes you wince. Yoongi slams his glass down and flashes you an are you serious face.

"Y/N don't you see? I have nothing to lose. Namjoon already took everything. My life, my family, my fame. Everything. You know how it feels to have it all dangled in front of your face? And then get it ripped away like it was never yours to begin with?"

Yes. You'd never tell him that, of course. But you did know. You had to watch Namjoon perform your songs every night through a camera lens. Snapping shots of him in his element and wishing those picture perfect moments were yours. What did Yoongi know?

"I see him on the big screen, on stages I dreamed of. Crowds screaming his name. It was supposed to be me, Y/N. Meanwhile I'm sat here," Yoongi gestures to the shabby studio you find yourself in, liquid sloshing over the edge of his glass. "In clothes I printed myself, making music in a shitty club for free because nobody will even listen to my shit."

He's panting by the end of his spiel, knuckles pressed to his eyes as he tries to regain his composure before he lets too many of his weaknesses show. Something resonates inside you, softening the anger towards him with what you recognize as sympathy.

"Then why do you still do it? Make music?"

"Because it's the only thing that never left me alone."

You sigh. While you're collecting your thoughts something catches your eye — a Polaroid picture, tacked onto the plasterboard behind his computer. It's of a smiling Yoongi and much to your surprise, a smiling Namjoon, arms wrapped around each other like nothing could ever break them apart. You briefly wonder why he kept it, if he hated Namjoon so much.

You turn to him again.

"Don't make me regret saying this but you're good, Yoongi. Like really good. Your performance earlier it was...amazing. I mean that."

Yoongi's stern eyes soften with surprise. He almost seems pained, like the simple compliment means more to him than you expected.

"So, you don't have to do this. Big Hit has connections, I could get in touch with a couple record labels--"

He stiffens again. "What? Are you my manager now? As if any record label would take a chance on the biggest Mic Drop loser in history, Y/N, don't talk shit."

You trail off. It's true and you know it.

He swallows hard. "You know what I think? I think you're here because you know that I might actually win this thing. As much as Namjoon knows how to play dirty he doesn't have the talent. He never did! That's why he's using you to write his material." His laugh makes you shiver. "How can he even call himself an artist? It's pathetic."

That's all it takes for your patience to snap. Is the way your blood boils with a sudden and insatiable rage because of the way he bad mouthed your brother? Surely you didn't actually believe him? No, everything he said was a lie -- it had to be.

Your hand curls into a fist, anger spilling over as you charge at him full force. Yoongi barley flinches, his fingers deftly curling around your wrist before it can meet his jaw and pulling you into him at the waist so he can slot his bottom lip between yours.

"Fuck yo— hmf?"

Your eyes widen as you register his slightly chapped lips moving against your own, remnants of the amber liquid he poured down his throat earlier sour on your tongue, a surprised gasp leaving you when Yoongi flips your bodies and slams your back roughly against the wall, settling himself between your legs.

"Gonna finish what Namjoon started, sweetheart?" When he pulls back you're panting, eyes trained to his parted lips with wonder.

He kissed you. Yoongi kissed you. For real.

His warm breath still mingles with yours as you try to choke a response, anything. Yoongi's eyes have a dark glint to them and god you should hate him for winding you up like this but being this close to him just feels too good.

Then, before you can think better of it, you grab his collar with your free hand and smash your lips together in a tangle of teeth and tongue that makes your entire body burn with relief.

The groan he lets out against your mouth tells you he wants this too. "Fuck, couldn't help myself." He pants. "You're driving me crazy."

You feel a dampness throb between your legs when his hands tangle in your hair, lips never leaving yours as he pulls you across the room and drops into his chair.

A whimper is pulled from your lips when his palms cup the flesh of your ass beneath your dress, though it's not in protest, dizzy with desire when he pulls you into his lap and bucks his hips so that his half hard cock brushes against your clothed heat.

"See what you do to me?" He pulls back to smirk at your swollen lips, a much needed breath entering your lungs, filling you with another bout of restless desire as Yoongi's eyes scan your face hungrily. It feels too good even though it should be so wrong.

"W-we shouldn't." Your mouth is dry, words coming out a little unsure which gives away just how much you want to keep going. "What if--"

A particularly harsh thrust of his hips makes you moan softly, head falling into the crook of Yoongi's neck. He growls when he catches sight of the growing wet patch on the front of his jeans, testament of his effect on you as much as you hated to admit it.

"What if Namjoon finds out?" His hand shoots between your legs, pads of his fingers tracing your clothed core, the coarse lace of your panties adding a delicious layer of friction against your folds. The delicate touch sets your body alight, skin burning to let go and submit to the feeling despite the voice in the back of your mind screaming no!

"What if Namjoon finds out that I make you this wet?" Your panties are sticking to your heat by now so it would have been futile to deny it. He smiles smugly when your legs shake and you throw an arm around his neck to keep your balance.

"S-shut up." It's meek and it only makes him laugh darkly, the husky sound sending shivers down your spine as he leans in closer to nibble on the lobe of your ear.

If you didn't know any better you would think he was unaffected by this. Your chest heaves with desire and your hands itch with a yearning to touch him but Yoongi appears the epitome of composure, maintaining sinful eye contact as he pulls your panties to the side. The only give away is the way his cock twitches against your leg with each jerk of his hips, a funny sense of pride erupting in your chest knowing that he wants you too.

Open mouthed kisses drag down your jaw, lingering at your neck. His teeth nibble at the sensitive skin, tongue laving out to soothe the sting and it feels too good to worry about the bruises his sinful lips leave behind as a reminder of your weakness Namjoon could never know of.

"Look so pretty marked up, sweetheart." The pet name makes your clit throb, head throwing back as his mouth attacks the sensitive spot on your neck like he knew it was there all along. It's almost concerning how quickly he has you falling apart in his lap. How easily he turned you into a shuddering mess, barely able to form coherent sentences in between breathy gasps at the sensation of him making you his for all to see. "Show everyone that you're mine, hm?"

When Yoongi removes his hand from your core you slap a hand over your mouth to stop a whine of protest from escaping. Yoongi's eyes narrow, palming his bulge through his trousers as he watches you writhe in his lap with amusement, every twist of your hips falling short and providing no relief for your pulsing clit, already missing the feeling of his hand cupping your mound and considering how it would feel skin on skin—

Oh god. What am I doing?

You let out a groan, but not the good kind.

"What?" Yoongi seems to read your mind, snapping you back to reality when he pulls your panties to the side. He circles your entrance teasingly and you can't help the way you whimper. "Don't act like you don't want to sink down on my cock, Y/N. You could ride me right here and nobody would ever know."

"H-how can I trust you?" It would ruin Namjoon if he found out. He was already stressed, already growing distant from you. This had to stop before it went too far. Before there was no going back.

"Because I can make you feel like this." A lithe finger slides into your heat, easy because of how you drip over his hand. "Think about how much better my cock would stretch you out, hm?"

Each drag of his finger against your velvety walls has you squeezing your eyes shut. The sensation is overwhelming, and when he adds a second digit  you feel your repose crumble. Lust seems to crash over you like a wave, clouding your thought with a hazy desire to just give in and let Yoongi take you, uncaring about the repercussions now as you push down to meet his thrusts so he hits deeper than before.

"Fine." Your words are slurred, too busy chasing the feeling between your legs to see the way it makes Yoongi's eyes light up. "J-just hurry up and fuck me Yoongi."

"Well well," Yoongi settles back against the wall, looking between your bodies to watch the way his fingers disappear into your soaking cunt with an expression almost primal, his own breathing ragged now as he tries to resist turning you over and fucking you into tomorrow then and there. "Never thought I'd actually get to hear my name on your lips like this. Say it again."

A sharp flick of his wrist has you falling against his chest, pulsing around him. "Yoongi!"

"That's right," He licks his lips, free hand unzipping his jeans to relieve the pressure on his length. "Me. Yoongi." The way he mimicks your breathless tone makes a hot blush rise in your cheeks, aware of just how fucked out you must seem right now but too horny to care. "Been waiting for this. Ah shit!"

You take it upon yourself to hurry along the process by reaching into the waistband of his boxers to wrap a hand around the shaft of his cock. It pulses at your touch, the pace of Yoongi's fingers in your cunt stuttering as he flies forward, knuckles on the hand gripping your thigh turning white as he tries to regain some control while you stroke him firmly.

"Fuck your hands. Sinful. Knew they would be. God you're going to kill me if you keep this up, I swear." The worlds tumble from his mouth in one heaving breath as you twist your palm around his sticky head, enjoying the way his thighs twitch with a want to buck into your fist and his nose flares with the effort it takes to resist.

His cock feels girthy in your palm, hot and heavy as you help him shimmy his jeans around his thighs. When his cock slaps back against his stomach, impossibly hard and leaking with anticipation you feel your mouth water.

"Like what you see?" He almost taunts.

You bite your lip. "I don't think you're gonna fit."

It must have brushed his ego because the tip seemed to flush an even deeper shade of red. "Wanna sit on it and find out?"

A nod is all it takes for Yoongi to slide your panties to the side, slapping your hands away to grip the base of his cock and line it up with your entrance.

You both groan in unison when he pushes into your heat, the stretch burning with every inch, fingers clutching the fabric of his tank top at the sensation of finally being full.

"Fuuuck." You see his tongue snake out to wet his bottom lip when his hips finally join flush to yours, hair sticking to his already damp forehead as he allowed you to adjust. "So fucking tight for me, princess."

His cock throbs impossibly deep inside you when you unconsciously clench around it, feeling your face flush as you whimper for him to get on with it and fuck you already.

"Shh, patience." His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, setting it free with a pop. "Move."

At his command you do, bracing yourself on his shoulders. You raise up, feeling every ridge of his length until just the tip remains inside your heat. Then you are slamming back down and flushing at the groan which tumbles from his chest.

"Such a slut, taking my cock so well." His palms feel hot on your hips, dragging you up and down through the motion that has you panting.

Yoongi looks utterly amazed at the visual of you sinking down onto his length, unable to stop the satisfied grin settling into his features when you cry out after a particularly deep thrust. "Imagine if Namjoon could see you now. Falling apart on my cock?"

"Can we — hnng — not talk about my brother when you're in my fucking guts?"

"Why?" A whine leaves you when he slips out of your cunt, grabs you by the ass, and hoists you to your feet, roughly bending you over the desk until your cheek presses against the cold surface. Yoongi tugs your hands behind your back, cock already sinking back into your heat before you can protest at the emptiness. "Worried he'll think you're a slut for taking my cock when I'm the one whose going to fucking end him?"

"Yes!" You cry, unable to hold back now as you feel his cock hit deeper than before with every ram inside you that fills the room with the slapping sound of his pistoning hips, brushing your sweet spot each time and making the coil in your stomach tighten.

God, this is so wrong and you know it. You know it shouldn't feel so good when Yoongi's hands tangle in your hair, pulling you so that your back arches flush against his sweaty chest. Know how many people would be hurt if they knew how much you love it, how you push back into his thrusts, eager for more.

"Shit, you're squeezing so tight." His voice sounds strained now, thrusts turning sloppy as you feel him shudder. "Close, shit. Where can I—"

"Inside me. Want you to f-fill me."

"Holy sh— always wanted to hear you say that. Okay, fuck."

A few more pumps of his cock and he's spilling inside you, the feeling of his release coating your walls enough to have you falling over the edge unexpectedly too, vision turning black as you cum with a cry.

The only sound that fills the silence is your heavy breaths mingling with his as your arms give out. You're silently grateful, as much as you hated to admit it, for the strong arm around your torso that holds you to him when your legs turn to jelly.

Yoongi slips out of you, admiring the way his cum leaks down your trembling thighs. The emptiness makes you keen, clenching around nothing.

"Made such a mess of you, kitten."

The sound of his zipper makes your heart sink, stiffening as he tucks his spent cock back into his pants. For a second you think he's going to leave you like this, shame caressing your cheeks as you envision how fucked out you must look.

But then, Yoongi's palms are back on your thighs as he kicks the chair from under his desk and pushes you roughly onto the cushion. "Think you can go again for me, princess?"

"Wha--?" His swollen lips make you loose your words, the way his tongue tantalizingly caresses your bottom lip drawing a choked whine from your throat instead.

"Fuck, always thought you'd make such pretty noises." It's mumbled gruffly under his breath, like he's confirming it with himself rather than addressing you. He pulls back to stare at you spread out for him, lidded eyes widening at the visual of your skirt pooled around your waist, legs kept open by the rough grip around your thigh that exposes your swollen slit. The way your arousal drips down your inner thighs along with his own release has him swallowing thickly. "Like being filled with my cum, huh? Such a slut."

Yoongi traces his fingers up your inner thighs, thumb applying a gentle pressure to your clit, legs struggling to fall shut around his hand to escape the over stimulation. "P-please Yoongi, I can't."

"You will." It's growled against your neck, hot breath making you shudder. "I know you can take it."

A knee slips between your thighs, holding them open so his fingers can deftly continue their brutal attack on your sensitive folds. Each drag of his knuckle up your slit makes you whimper, the way the pads of his fingers rub firm circles into your clit making it pulse. The feeling is more intense than before, borderline agonizing as a warmth builds in the pit of your stomach again.

Eventually the pain starts to dissipate, turns into something closer to pleasure when you feel a single digit slip into your heat, the slide made easy by the fact that his cock had already stretched you out and his release lubed you up nicely. Each pump makes a lewd squelching noise that has you biting your lip to stop from groaning unabashedly, Yoongi's gaze fixed to the sight of his knuckles disappearing inside you.

When you buck up into his touch again, desperately circling your hips to try and grind your clit against the heel of his hand, Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle. The muscles in your cunt tighten, skin damp with sweat as you fuck yourself on his hand in search of a second high that burns ever closer.

"Look at you, all needy again from just one finger. All fucked out again even after I stretched you out."

With that Yoongi removes his hand from your heat all together, leaving you gasping and clenching around nothing as your release falls farther away, unable to resist the groan of frustration that passes your lips.

"Don't stop!" Your head lolls back against the chair, thighs trembling with desperation to feel his touch again. "I was so close--"

"Suck." Yoongi raises his fingers to your lips. You notice the way they gleam, sticky and white in the studio lighting. The pads of his fingers smear the wetness across your swollen lips as he pushes for entry which you gave to him eagerly, humming around the digits. "Be a good girl, hm?"

He all but groans when your eyes flutter open and lock with his, tongue swirling around his fingers teasingly, enjoying the taste of your own arousal mixed with the saltiness of his cum, almost in sensory overload at the thought of how much better his cock would feel in your throat.

"That's it." A knuckle drags down your cheek possessively, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Good girl."

A sticky trail of spit follows Yoongi's fingers when they leave your mouth with a lewd pop, your breaths coming out shaky and desperate as you watch his eyes zone in on your aching core.

The sight of him dropping to his knees is enough to have you squeezing your eyes shut in anticipation, whimpering when his hot breath grazes over your throbbing clit. "Wanna taste you for myself."

And with that his tongue runs a rough stripe up your slit, eyes falling shut as he hums against your folds contentedly.

"Fuck Yoongi!" Your eyes roll back as he laps a few teasing licks across your bud, body turning to putty when his hands roughly pull you down the chair so that he can attach his mouth to your mound fully.

A guttural moan rises from his chest when you grind your core against his face, knuckles turning white as you clutch he chair like it's the only thing keeping you grounded, stopping you from floating away and losing yourself to the feeling of Yoongi's tongue teasing your already wrecked hole. An impatience rises in your stomach every time his nose grazes your clit, pushing your hips more forcefully to chase the relief it brings.

"So eager." You knew he'd have a smirk on his face if his lips weren't already occupied, wrapping around your clit and sucking with just the right amount of pressure to have your fingers tangling in the blue locks that spill loose from his bandanna now, holding him to your core so that you can rock against his tongue easier.

"Close sweetheart?" The way your chest heaves and little gasps spill past your lips as you chase your high must give away the effect he is having on you. You nod breathlessly and to your surprise Yoongi places a chaste kiss to your folds before pulling back all together, leaving you writhing and desperate for him to make cum for the second time. "Did I give you permission?"

Your heart beats furiously as your release slips away once again. Yoongi only stares at you intently. His lips glisten with a mixture of both of your releases and the thought alone makes your core ache. A loose shake of your head makes his eyes darken, licking some of the dampness from around his lips. "Gotta use your words, baby. Did I say you could cum?"

Dizzy with arousal, your words sound slurred and alien to your own ears. "N-no."

"Good. Now ask nicely."

"Please." It comes out whinier than you anticipate but Yoongi's hands twitch against the flesh of your thighs, giving away the fact that he likes it despite the way his mouth presses into a tight and unforgiving line. "Can I cum? Please?"

A deep laugh leaves his bitten lips. "I don't think you deserve it." His head dips back down between your legs, sloppy kisses pressed to each of your thighs as he edges ever closer to your dripping core. "I want you to count, okay?"

"O-oh, okay." He attacks your clit again, tongue swirling where his teeth graze across the pulsing bud. You're so sensitive that you're sure just the light brushes of his lips will send you over the edge if he keeps going.

"G-gonna cum if you--"

"Don't." The authority in his voice makes you gasp. "Didn't I say to count? One."

"Fuck!" Hot tears streak your cheeks when he pulls back so just his hot breath ghosts across your glistening folds. "I..I was so close!"

"Hey, hey." His hand reaches up to stroke your cheek, a strangely gentle action in comparison to the bruising grip on your thigh. "You're doing so good. Trust me, okay? Wanna make you feel good."

For the second time that night you nod, putting all your trust into him for reasons you are too fucked out to dwell on there and then.

When his tongue snakes out to tease your clenching hole again it draws an agonizing cry from you, the coil already tightening in your belly. You shut your eyes.

"Don't" The hand on your chin tightens, forces you to look down at where his face is buried between your legs, authority lacing his words again. "Keep your eyes on me."

As soon as you lock eyes he gets to work again, humming out a "good girl" before you're losing yourself again to his tongue and he has to plant your feet down roughly to stop your hips from bucking too much.

Before you know it your clit's throbbing again and you're about to fall over the edge but before you can even let Yoongi know he's pulling back with a pant, practically gasping for air but still flashing you a shit eating grin. "Didn't think I was going to let you, did you sweetheart?"

"Two." You manage to breathe. "Two!"

By now you're sick of the teasing, a hand coming between your own legs to finish yourself off, ready to come undone whether Yoongi likes it or not. Before you can get your way, Yoongi's swatting your hand away. "Desperate slut. Wanna cum that bad huh?"

"Please!" You practically whimper.

That seems to do it for him, his eyes glazing over with what you recognise as lust. As if the last of his self control just snapped. Anticipation makes your blood run hot.

"Then make it to three and we'll see if I'm feeling nice."

"Shit!" Yoongi's tongue plunges into your heat with a new found eagerness, thrusting in and out like a man deprived. You manage to maintain eye contact this time, falling apart at the way he groans in appreciation when he tastes himself, fucking your hole with his tongue mercilessly like he wants to get every last drop of his cum.

His thumb finds your clit and the coil in your lower belly tightens too rapidly for you to comprehend, tugging on his hair as you cry out. "Yoongi!"

"Cum for me."

His permission is all it takes to have you falling over the edge into a shattering orgasm that makes your vision turn black, mind wiped of any hesitation and guilt and replaced with a single word, over and over again: Yoongi.

When you finally take a gasping breath, he's there, rubbing encouraging circles into your hips and leaving kisses across your stomach that makes something in your chest warm, heart beating a little faster and not just from your orgasm.

"So fuckin' pretty when you cum." You're sure that's what he murmurs against your damp skin. "Can't believe I had to wait this long."

You furrow your brow. Yoongi sits back against his heels, wiping your arousal from his mouth with the back of his hand and flashing you a lazy but satisfied smile, looking awfully pleased with himself. Like this was his biggest dream come true.

It dawned on you that it probably was in someways -- what better way to get back at an old friend than by fucking his sister?

You suddenly feel like an idiot for letting him charm you, guilt washing through you, flying forward when your chest aches with regret.

Yoongi notices how you pale. "Are you okay? If that was too much then I'm really sorry--"

"Too much?" You suddenly feel exposed beneath his gaze, shuffling around to pull your skirt around your thighs, eyes roaming the room hurriedly for your panties so you can get out of here and quick. "This is all too much, Yoongi."

"What?" He puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you as you brush past him but the way you jolt at the touch makes him rip it away like he touched a live wire.

"I...shouldn't have come here. This was a mistake."

Namjoon's face was embedded in your mind. The way his eyes would crumple with betrayal if he found out you came here at all -- let alone let Yoongi take you so intimately. And you hadn't even tried to stop yourself from falling into him, gave in to your emotions too easily and allowed Yoongi to use you as a swipe at your own brother.

"Why? Didn't seem so upset when you were coming on my tongue." The scoff in Yoongi's voice makes you freeze.

"I can't stop you from hurting Namjoon," Your lip quivers and you have to press your nails into your palms to stop the tears spilling over. "But do you really have to hurt me, too?"

"Y/N, wait--"

Your hands shake as you grab your bag and head for the door. "Shit happened between you and my brother, I get it. But we were friends once, Yoongi. Doesn't that mean anything to you? We can't see each other again."

Your tears are warm in contrast to the cold evening air as you take off into a run, needing to get as far away from Yoongi and the evidence of your own betrayal as possible.

By the time you stumble back into the Big Hit company building, the studio is empty. To your surprise, words seem to flow out of you easier than they ever had before, a heart shaped stain appearing on the formerly empty page of your notebook.

--

Sleepless nights were becoming your norm. You had barely slept a wink since that night, not when every thought was plagued with guilt, the same name running circles around your mind, the same dark eyes and swollen lips and messy hair tauntingly appearing in your mind whenever your head hit the pillow.

Yoongi.

That night with Yoongi felt something like a dream, a hazy memory, the only evidence of it being real the fact that every time you closed your eyes you could feel the way Yoongi's hands burned your skin, how his lips moved perfectly in sync with your own.

As much as you knew it was a mistake, something that should have never happened, you couldn't help the way your heart throbbed every time you replayed it over and over in your mind, repeatedly, until you felt like you were going insane with guilt. It was eating you alive. But sometimes you would remember the way you felt when he was pressed up against you and every ounce of regret felt worth it.

You hated yourself for it, and you knew your brother would hate you to, if he ever found out.

He could never find out.

So, you take to avoiding Namjoon altogether. It wasn't that hard really, you knew his schedule well enough to be a step ahead of him at all times, and it wasn't as if he was enthusiastic about your company to begin with.

Of course sometimes your paths have to cross, but you still can't look Namjoon in the eyes when you slip into one of the Big Hit practice rooms where you know you'll inevitably find him.

The music hits before you even open the door. Namjoon is dressed in casual clothes, cap pulled down low over his face as he raps into a mic, the way his voice husks a tell tale sign that this was not the first time he'd gone over the same verse.

He seems stiffer than usual, all elbows and knees as he scrutinises his own form in the wall to floor mirror. You've seen him perform this choreography flawlessly hundreds of times so your brow furrows with confusion each time his feet miss a beat or his knees literally buckle under the pressure.

On the far side of the room sits a row of men and women in formal suits. Investors, brought in to bet on the contestant most likely to win. They watch Namjoon with intent eyes, some shaking their heads in disapproval, others whispering insults below their breaths.

Is that really Runch Randa? Pfft, he'll never win with footwork like that.

Jimin stands close by, hopping from one foot to the other and wincing with every mistake Namjoon makes. He's been making desperate phone calls for the last week, pleading with any investor he could get ahold of to take a chance on Namjoon which was hard to come by after the royal media fuck up the other day at the after party.

This was Namjoon's only chance at a do over — he needed their money if he wanted to win this thing. The judges were expecting a show from him. Smoke machines and good lighting are expensive, after all.

Namjoon, however, only seems interested in the reactions of your parents sat in the back row, expressions grave. He's chastising himself, self loathing evident in his eyes every time he stutters over a lyric. He knows how hard they worked to establish Big Hit and the disappointment in their eyes as it slowly slips through Namjoon's fingers like sand makes even you feel jittery with nerves.

For a brief moment you're grateful that you are practically invisible in this room, no eyes even glancing your way as you join them. You're glad that Namjoon takes the brunt of the pressure. You never were the strong sibling after all.

The music cuts, Namjoon coming to a stand still. He crumples at the knees, forehead pressed against the polished linoleum floor as he tries to catch his breath.

Jimin slumps into a chair, head in hands. That tells you all you need to know.

Investors leave the room, some sending apologetic looks towards Jimin with a shrug. Others deposit their cheque books back into their briefcases, taking pity on the pleading smiles and firm handshakes from your parents when they apologise for Namjoon's lacking performance. One even pats Namjoon on the back, following the small crowd as they leave the room. "Take a break, buddy."

Nearly everyone has filtered out before Namjoon gets to his feet shakily, slumping down into a seat beside you. You don't acknowledge him, afraid of what you might let slip if you do, fiddling with your camera as a distraction.

It's him who breaks the silence.

"How's the song coming along?" He seems disinterested, clicking his knuckles with no real intention of listening to your response.

"Fine." Another lie. It wasn't coming along at all, really, but now is probably not the best time to tell him when his nerves are already heightened by his failure to gain any crucial investments.

His eye is still slightly swollen from the fist fight a few days ago, a permanent line forming at the bridge of his nose that wasn't there before. You almost didn't recognise him. He stares at his own broken reflection in the steamed practice room mirrors vacantly, like he doesn't  even recognise himself.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence pass. Namjoon's heavy breathing slows to a regular pace.

"I know you went to see him."

It echos menacingly through the room and you stiffen, clutching the floor beneath you for support. Namjoon's hard eyes still don't look your way but you see him analysing your reaction in the mirror. The way your mouth gapes speechlessly tells him everything he needs to know.

"Not even gonna try and deny it?" His head shakes in disbelief.

You throb with guilt. "H-how did you find out?"

"I have people everywhere keeping an eye on him, Y/N. You're lucky the paparazzi didn't catch you, because it sure as shit looked shady. My own sister," He scoffs around the word, as if it tastes bad in his mouth. "Siding with him?"

You place a hand on his forearm, surprised to find him shaking beneath your touch. "I'm not siding with him, Namjoon."

"Then what are you doing?" He roars, ripping his arm away.

What was I doing? You don't even know yourself.

It takes everything inside you to keep the expression on your face neutral, to wipe away the regret and the sadness and the fear that makes your voice wobble.

"We just talked." You had to avert your gaze, scared that somehow your disingenuous eyes would give away what really happened with Yoongi — a little more than talking to say the least.

"About what?"

"The secret, okay? I wanted to protect you—"

"Protect me?" Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose. "How is meddling in business that doesn't even concern you protecting me, Y/N?"

"Have you forgotten that what you're — we're — doing is against Mic Drop rules? That you could be disqualified or...worse! Get your trophy revoked?"

"Pfft. Yoongi won't say anything.."

"What makes you so sure?"

"It's me he wants to hurt. I know him, Y/N. He'd never forgive himself if you—" He eyes you carefully. "If anyone else got dragged into this. It's between me and him, that's it."

Your head is spinning. You remember a time when things weren't this way, back when Yoongi and Namjoon were friends. Partners. What happened between them that made them so hell bent on destroying one another?

"There are things about Yoongi that you will never understand, Y/N. Things he did that can never be forgiven."

It briefly crosses your mind that if Namjoon could cut Yoongi, his best friend, out of his life, just how easy it would be for him to do the same to you if he found out just how unforgivable your betrayal was. A funny feeling pools in your stomach, a distance settling between you and Namjoon as, to your dismay, you realise just how much you have in common with your brother's enemy.

"But what about you, huh? Why should he forgive you? You took everything from him! I'm not surprised he's back to kick your ass. If you ask me it's him who should be holding a grudge—"

Namjoon's hands clamp onto your shoulders and you recoil from the contact. You're breathing hard, the tears welling in your eyes threatening to spill over any second.

"Listen to me. He's trying to get in your head. You need to stay away from him Y/N. He's bad news."

"Tell me why! Help me understand!"

Namjoon's face is grave. "Some secrets are best kept that way. It'll only make it worse if I tell you."

Before you can protest he's striding across the room and hitting the play button on the boom box in the corner, music blasting from the speakers again.

"Joon—"

"Just stick to taking pictures and stop getting involved in business that doesn't concern you."

Then his body is twisting across the room in time to the music with an intensity he didn't possess before. Like a machine on autopilot.

You shove your camera into your bag and let the door slam shut behind you.

--

"We were a mistake."

The cursor flashing on the empty document on your computer screen feels like it's taunting you.

"Please don't tell my brother what we did."

You've been like this for the last week. Holed up in one of the tiny studios at the Big Hit company building, head swimming with beats and melodies and lyrics that just won't seem to fit together. Not when your mind is preoccupied with a more pressing issue.

"Are you thinking about me as much as I'm thinking about you?"

Yoongi.

God, how are you supposed to write this song for Namjoon when all you can think about is his enemy?

You don't know why you're still so hung up on Yoongi. It's not as if what happened between you meant anything. It was just a spur of the moment mistake. You were both tense and needed someone to help blow off some steam. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Right?

You'll never admit that deep down, a part of you wants to see him again. To check that he's real and that you didn't imagine the whole thing. To see if he is going as crazy as you feel.

That's when the answer hits you. The only way to make this right is to end things once and for all. Tie up all your loose ends and tell Yoongi that you and him were a one time thing. Make sure you were on the same page.

Then maybe you'll be able to concentrate on helping Namjoon beat his ass.

A sudden confidence grips you, standing up abruptly from your desk, alerting the attention of Hoseok who up until now has been quietly engrossed in the track he's producing.

"Where are you going?" He asks.

There's an address burning at the forefront of your mind. You have the route committed to memory. How long it'll take to get there. How long it'll take to get back before anyone else at Big Hit notices your absence.

The only place you knew where you might find Yoongi.

"I won't be gone long. Cover for me if anyone sees I'm gone, 'kay?"

Hoseok eyes you curiously and pulls his headphones to sit around his neck. "O-okay but don't you think you should take an umbrella? It's raining and you might catch a cold — oh."

You don't hear him, the door already slamming behind you.

--

In hindsight, Hoseok was probably right. You're soaked before you even get half way to Yoongi's studio.

Not that you care. Not when there are so many things you want to say to Yoongi. So many questions only he knows the answer to.

Not when you're about to see him again and you're giddy and nervous and scared of the way your heart feels like it's about to bust out of your chest.

You don't really know why you're doing this. For Namjoon's sake? To ease your own guilty conscience? Both?

You shake your head before your confidence can deflate and focus on putting two feet in front of the other instead, trying to take your mind of your destination by focusing on your surroundings. You always liked this part of town, with it's bustling roads and street vendors and buskers. Here it's easy to forget, to just close your eyes and let the buzz of cars and the melody from a nearby street guitarist and the torrent of ice cold rain whisk you away, like life is operating at double the speed but you're too caught up in your own thoughts to care.

So caught up in your own thoughts that you don't spot the guy handing out flyers on the side of the street until your face is colliding with his shoulder.

"Shit, I'm so sorry!"

The guy lets out a groan as you helplessly watch his flyers flutter to the ground like autumn leaves, disintegrating on the rain dampened street.

"Does nobody look where they're going any more? My boss is going to kill me..."

The guy gets to his knees and starts grabbing as many flyers as he can by the handful.

"I'm so sorry, at least let me help?"

You hear him sigh deeply but he doesn't stop you when you drop down beside him.

You stamp on a flyer before it can be whisked away by the breeze. It's ruined. The rain makes the ink bleed into a black blotch in the center of the sodden paper, but if you squint you can just make out the barely legible print.

Live Classical Piano - 7:30 - 9:30 Every Wednesday At The Coffee House!

A throat clears, shaking you back to reality, and a nimble hand thrusts towards you, palm up, waiting for you to deposit the pile of flyers you collected.

"Just gonna stand there all day, sweetheart? Some of us have a job to do."

Shame heats your cheeks. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'll pay for these —"

Its then, as you let your hood fall down, that the boy stiffens. You look up slowly, meeting a widened pair of piercing grey eyes for the first time. The very same eyes you haven't been able to get out of your head all week.

"Wait...Yoongi?"

It's him. He's here? A coincidence surely but it sure as shit doesn't feel like one.

Just seeing him knocks the breath out of your lungs.

Yoongi blinks a few times, eyes wide with disbelief. Then he's ripping the flyers from your slackened grip and grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you behind him to the side of the street where you're just out of view from passerby's.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He deadpans.

You take in the way his mint hair clings damply to his forehead, shirt darker in places where droplets of rain soak into the fabric. He's wearing one of those traditional pianist outfits with the funny tuxedo jacket and a little black bow tie strung around his neck that looks like it came from a bad Beethoven Halloween costume. It catches you off guard. No wonder you didn't recognise him before. Not exactly hip hop.

"What are you doing here?"

Yoongi glances over his shoulder warily. "Look, you can't tell anyone you saw me here okay? Did Namjoon send you?"

"What? No--?"

"Just leave, Y/N. Before someone sees you here and tells your precious brother that you've been hanging around with scum like me." He spits, drops your arm and starts in the direction he came from.

"Yoongi, wait!" You blurt, throwing your hands up in frustration. He freezes."Can we...can we just talk?"

Yoongi nearly does a double take. He's usually full of jibes but this catches him off guard. "Talk?"

He backtracks, though you notice the way he keeps a safe distance between you. It feels silly considering how much...closer you were just a few days ago. You wonder, as his eyes look you up and down, if he's thinking about it too. If you crossed his mind as much as he crossed yours.

"Listen, I don't have time for this, I need to go get some more of these flyers..."

Your heart drops, embarrassed for even entertaining the idea that he would want to see you again.

"Please?"

He hesitates. You're sure he's going to blow you off again but then his eyes fill with something scarily close to concern. "Shit, you're shivering."

Your hair hangs in heavy tendrils around your face, droplets of cold rain caressing your cheeks. Your knees knock, arms wrapped around the damp hoodie clinging to your torso to retain some warmth.

Yoongi shrugs off his jacket, despite the way his own teeth chatter. "You're going to catch your death dressed like that."

You stand there dumbly as he holds it out to you. He kicks a stone with the toe of his sneaker awkwardly when you finally wrap it around your shoulders.

"I thought you didn't want to see me again." It's almost accusing but you're sure you hear a trace of a pout in his voice.

"I...I didn't want to." Yoongi looks up. "But I think we should talk about you know...us."

Yoongi bites his lip, like he's having an inner debate. Like he's about to do something he knows he shouldn't.

"Fine. Let's talk. I, uh, guess I have some things I need to say to you too." He scratches the back of his neck. "But not here. Could I—would it be weird if we got coffee or something?"

Definitely weird. That's what you should say. But you don't.

"Okay."

You don't miss the way Yoongi's cheeks turn a little red.

--

The coffee shop Yoongi takes you to is a quaint little place, definitely not the sort of establishment you expected rough-around-the-edges Min Yoongi to frequent with its exposed brick walls and mint green espresso mugs with smiley faces on the side that give it a somewhat cosy appeal.

"I work here," He explains when he sees your eyes roaming. "Needed some extra cash."

You nod. Makes sense. The smell of pumpkin bread and coffee beans is still a welcome relief from the bitter chill outside.

The guy at the counter nods in greeting when Yoongi approaches, already grinding up coffee like he knows his regular order. Yoongi flashes him a tight smile. You figure they know each other, not that Yoongi seems the type to mingle within barista social circles but then again he is full of surprises today.

They share a few hushed whispers, staring not so subtly in the direction of where you sit hunched in one of the corner booths, but you just ignore it by watching a rain drop crawl down the window with rapt attention.

Words barely pass between you and Yoongi until you're both seated, him with a coffee you learn he takes black and you with a much too sugary frappe which you take to stirring with your straw nervously, chin in palm.

It's Yoongi who finally breaks the silence.

"What are you thinking?" He looks at you expectantly over the rim of his mug. For some reason it makes you nervous.

Guilt niggles at your repose. The cafe is alive with indistinguishable chatter, a coffee machine whirring loudly nearby. In reality, you merely blend in to the hubbub. But as you watch Yoongi fiddle with the rings on his fingers in anticipation of your response it's like a hush has fallen and all eyes are on you. Judging, like they know how wrong it is for you to be here.

He's been the only thing on your mind all week but now you're here in front of him it's like your mind is blank.

"Did you tell anyone?"

Yoongi blinks. "Namjoon's secret? I said I wasn't going to say anything—"

"No. Our secret. Us..." It feels foreign, referring to Yoongi and yourself as a unit. You hate to admit it makes your heart beat a little faster. "Namjoon knows."

Yoongi's coffee cup clatters to the table and words rise like bile in your throat, everything you've been bottling up inside tumbling out before you can stop it.

"Namjoon knows! He found out about us somehow and now everything has gone to shit and...I shouldn't even be telling you this! God I'm an idiot! I just don't know what to do—"

Your wailing is interrupted suddenly by a warm hand covering your own. Yoongi's hand. The touch is gentle, comforting, something about the squeeze of reassurance it provides calming your hyperventilating. It feels right.

Why does it feel right?

Yoongi must misinterpret the puzzled look you flash him as a warning he's crossing a boundary because he retracts his arm jerkily, a flush creeping up his neck.

He glosses over the weird moment hastily.

"Slow down, go back. He knows?" There's a lilt of surprise to his voice. Either he's a really good actor or he is just as panicked as you by this news. "And you think I told him?"

"Well, not exactly. He knows some of it — not everything! — he thinks that I just spoke to you after the show...I assumed you would have filled in the blanks by now."

Yoongi laughs breathily. Relieved. It flummoxes you. Shouldn't he be satisfied that his plan to get under Namjoon's skin was a success?

"Y/N, there were hundreds of people at the gig, anyone could have seen us. Jimin and Hoseok probably told him. You act like I tried to seduce you just to get revenge, or something." He gulps back the last of his coffee and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before his expression suddenly turns serious. "You don't think that right?"

"Isn't that exactly what you did?"

Say no.

Yoongi opens his mouth and then shuts it again. He doesn't deny it.

Something in your chest twists with disappointment. It scares you shitless and you know you have to end this — whatever this is — before there's no turning back.

"Look, it — we — were a stupid mistake okay? I need to know that you're not going to use this against him. It would kill him."

"Mistake?" Yoongi's face drops. "Didn't I say you could trust me?"

It sounds somewhat pained, like he wasn't expecting you to think so lowly of him. His eyes soften with a certain gentleness now and you almost feel bad for thinking they could ever look at you with sinister intentions.

"Do you regret it? What we did?"

You hesitate. You want to say no so badly. But that's not why you came here.

Pull yourself together!

"Yes."

He raises an eyebrow. "You really believe that?"

"Do you regret it?"

"No." His eyes glint. You can't breathe. "Which is exactly why I'll never say a word. I don't play that way. Fair and square remember?"

You're speechless. All you can get out is a measly oh as you stare at the coffee in your cup and process.

"What did Namjoon say anyway?"

Your fingers find the patterns carved into the surface of the wooden table top, feeling the grooves as a distraction from the embarrassment flushing your cheeks. "He told me not to come back and find you."

A wry smile creeps across his face. "But you did?"

Even Yoongi is accusing you now? God, you played right into his hands. He's probably enjoying this. That you broke Namjoon's trust again, all for him.

The worst part is that you can hardly bring yourself to care. Sitting with Yoongi still feels deliciously indulgent — seeing his face again, feeling the heat of his body where your knees brush under the table finally satisfying a craving that had been growing inside you since that night in his studio.

"He doesn't control me."

He just nods. "I get that." His fingers tap in time with the sickeningly happy radio tune that plays overhead, eager to change the subject, like he's aware that he already said too much. "How is Namjoon anyway? You written him a song yet?"

Not allowed. If any information gets leaked about Namjoon's Mic Drop stage the first person he'd blame was you. You had to keep your lips tightly sealed.

You shrink back into your seat. "You know I can't tell you that."

"Okay, then." Yoongi throws his arms over the back of his chair, a cheekiness in his voice, like he's testing the waters to see how you'll react. "Ask me something instead. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Shoot."

That's allowed, right? Where's the harm. If it doesn't involve Namjoon then it can't hurt him...

"Okay..." You purse your lips, eyes travelling around the dimly lit coffee shop. "Why do you work...here?"

Yoongi nods to the stack of damp flyers beside him. Live classical piano. "I play piano here sometimes." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. It's kinda cute. "Needed some spare cash and this was the only place that could take me at such short notice."

"You play piano?"

He nods and you follow his gaze to the grand piano stood unoccupied in the corner. You imagine how Yoongi would look bent over the keys. How his fingers would move across the instrument with concentrated precision. How the tune would mingle with the warmth of the coffee shop on a cold evening.

"I didn't know you like classical music?"

"I don't. Not really." He cocks his head, finding the right words. "Namjoon has investors right? People who just throw money at him?" You nod, somehow ashamed. "Teaching me to play piano was my mom's investment in me. She always said it might come in handy some day."

You nod. "And do you have to wear that stupid costume every time?"

"This?" A snort leaves you when he shoots you a look, a shy smile finding the curve of his lips. "Don't mean to brag but it's a huge hit with the older ladies."

You can't help but laugh when he smugly tugs at the bow tie around his neck, unable to miss how his eyes light up. You share a smile that makes you feel light headed.

"I'd have to see it to believe it."

"Well, you know where to find me if you're ever bored and need a good laugh on a Tuesday, Wednesday or Friday evening." He shifts in his seat. "Or you could just come back to my place, y'know if you wanted to —" You frown, the easiness that had settled between you dissipating as you both sense the inappropriateness of his suggestion. "I know I shouldn't ask, it's just I have a piano and—"

For some reason the rational part of your brain taps out and your heart says fuck it.

"I'd love to."

--

"So, where do you live?" You ask when you finish your drink and nervously copy Yoongi who is already getting to his feet.

"Oh about that...I live in the apartment upstairs actually." He chuckles sheepishly."Cheap rent, you know?"

It takes you by surprise but you don't press.

"Oh. Right."

Yoongi extends a hand towards you. The thud in your chest gets faster when you slide your palm into his and he pulls you behind him to the foot the stairway you had disregarded upon entry, the distressed baby blue door at the top labelled RESIDENTS ONLY seeming strangely inviting.

Yoongi gestures for you to go first and you've barely ascended three steps before a voice rings out behind you, making you freeze like a child caught in a mischievous act.

"Use protection you two! And close the door so that Odengie's innocence isn't compromised this time!"

The barista from before rounds the corner, a tray of empty mugs in his left hand and a cloth for wiping down tables in the other.

You suppress a laugh. "Odengie?"

"His goddamn sugar glider—" He says it more to himself rather than in response to your query, flashing the tousled haired boy an exasperated look. "Really, bro?"

The other man either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "What? He's too young to learn how baby sugar gliders are made." His eyes suddenly flit to you and, as if remembering his manners, he deposits the cloth onto a nearby table and reaches a damp hand through the staircase to shake yours with a friendly smile. "I'm Jin, by the way."

You take it cautiously, wiping your now wet hand on the back of your jeans. "Nice to meet you?"

"Come on," Yoongi is flushed red as he pushes you up the rest of the stairs with a pressure at the small of your back. "We'll be back down in a minute, chill okay?"

Yoongi shoulders his way into the apartment, pulling you across the threshold alongside him, but not before you catch a glimpse of Jin's teasing grin poking around the staircase, words reaching your ears before Yoongi could slam the door shut in time.

"Oh, so it's a quickie? Have fun!"

A laugh escapes your lips, Yoongi pressing his back to the door with a sigh of relief. "Sorry about him. He's my roommate. Kind of came with the apartment, you know?"

You glance around at the small maisonette that unfolds before you curiously. It feels more like a dorm room, a mismatch pile of shoes piled at the entry way, a pair of beanbags substituting a couch surrounding a small gaming set up littered with empty pizza boxes you presume belong to Seokjin.

"Ah. He's part of the furniture then."

The other corner of the room is littered with an assortment of vinyls strewn out beside a pair of speakers and a record player, the needle still hovering over the grooves of an album by an artist you don't recognise. Yoongi's touch to the decor, you suppose.

"Guess you could say that. He's not so bad once you get over the uh...small rodents."

You trail behind Yoongi into what you assume is his bedroom, if the frameless mattress which lay on the floor in the corner beneath the window with sheets unmade and strewn across the floor messily was anything to go by.

He flicks on the set of fairy lights tacked to the wall, a surprisingly homely touch that makes you think Yoongi isn't as cold as you believe him to be.

Yoongi approaches a clothes rack stuffed with a variety of stage outfits. "Here." He pulls an oversized hoodie from one of the hangers, throwing it at you from across the room. "You're clothes are still wet. Wouldn't want to catch a cold. You can wear this until they dry."

"O-Okay." You stand there dumbly. He isn't expecting you to strip right in front of him, is he?

He seems to sense your hesitance, turning around so his back is to you with wide eyes. He plays it off by grabbing a selection of clothing for himself, shuffling past you with eyes trained to the ground. "I'll use the bathroom. Tell me when you're done."

You are soaked through to your underwear but you leave them on since Yoongi probably didn't have a spare pair of panties laying around you could borrow. The fabric of his hoodie is soft and warm when it slips over your otherwise bare skin and you breath in the woody scent that seems to embrace your entire body, ignoring the way it makes your head dizzy, and roll up the large sleeves to free your hands before calling to him that you are done.

When he re-enters the room, pulling a grey beanie over his head haphazardly to match the much more Yoongi appropriate outfit of a simple white tee and sweats, his breath hitches at your bare legs peeking out from the bottom of the garment. His lingering stare makes you hug your torso self consciously, eyes never leaving you even as he grabs the pile of sodden clothing you discarded earlier and lays them neatly over the radiator to dry.

You practically hear the way he swallows awkwardly when his eyes lock with yours, caught in the act. He's quick to lighten the mood.

"Well...here she is."

You turn as he moves across the room to the piano occupying the opposite wall, wood stained dark but bleached slightly in places by the stream of sunlight which washes its surface from the opposite window. The stool beneath it scrapes against the scuffed floor boards when Yoongi makes enough space to seat himself on top of the blue velour cushion.

"I know it's not much — nothing like you're used to I mean, but it makes music just the same."

He must take the way you hang back near the door frame as a sign of your distaste which couldn't have been further from reality; it's simply to allow you to study the way Yoongi sits with his back perfectly straight, fingers lingering over the keys like he knows the piano as well as an old friend. And, though you'll never admit it, the way your heart thumps at the thought of being in Yoongi's most private space.

"Where did you get it?"

"It was my mother's." The breath you suck in is slightly too harsh. "Like I said earlier, she liked to play, before she..."

Died. The word never passes between his lips but it sits heavy in the air like a weight.

Yoongi's eyes avert yours so you don't press any further, instead focusing your attention to the pattern of scratches embedded into the piano's lid, unable to help the way your fingers trace the coffee cup rings littering the surface like rugged halos. "It's beautiful."

The side panel is littered with lines, carved deeply into the wood with a penknife; a makeshift height chart like the one you had on the back of your bedroom door as a kid. Your drop to your knees to squint at the nearly illegible words scrawled next to the markings that ascend almsot to the top of the instrument.

Yoongi aged 3...Yoongi aged 4...Yoongi aged 5...

All the way until Yoongi aged 7 where they stop completely.

You frown but he lets out a soft laugh, somewhat pained. "That's when she got sick. I grew up quickly after that."

Straightening up, you swallow thickly, unsure what to say, so you just settle for changing the subject instead.

"So, what can you play?"

Yoongi fiddles with the open sheet music book on the piano stand. His fingers tremble slightly as he turns the worn pages before finally settling on a sheet that is lightly crumpled and ripped around the edges and coffee stained and ferociously dog eared at the corners. Tell tale signs that he had played this piece before, over and over again.

His favourite, you perceive.

Sure, he had literally fucked you into next week already but your hands get clammy at the knowledge that Yoongi feels comfortable enough to share such an intimate tidbit about himself with you. Music means a lot to him after all. Anyone can see that.

You catch a glimpse of the piece over his shoulder.

Romeo and Juliet - Love Theme.

Yoongi notices how you raise a brow at his choice.

"I know I said I don't like classical music but this arrangement is different. You know the story right?"

High school had given you enough general knowledge about Romeo and Juliet for you to nod in confirmation.

"It's like you can feel the passion they have for each other in every note, you know? Like nothing could ever come between them."

His words are so earnest they make your heart ache. You hadn't put him down as the hopeless romantic type.

"I mean not really. They still die in the end." You counter. He frowns.

"But only because of their fucked up families. It's their feud that comes between them in the end. This piece comes before all the shitty parts. If you play it over and over again it's like they never stop loving one another."

His hands fold in his lap and he sucks in a bashful breath, nose scrunching with embarrassment at his dramatic outburst. "It's stupid. I know. Forget I said it."

"No, no I understand completely. Maybe if they weren't so busy fighting they could have listened to their hearts. Right?"

"Right." He scoots across the piano stool, patting the empty space beside him with an encouraging look. "Sit."

Like a magnet you find yourself drawn to his side, shivering when his shoulder brushes yours. His arms hover over the piano, poised and relaxed, concentration etched into the hard lines of his face.

"Ready?"

You can only nod. And then he starts to play.

Yoongi's fingertips eagerly caress the keys of his piano, eyes lifting from the sheet music to gauge your reaction while his hands carry the melody on autopilot, the pretty silver rings he dons glinting with every movement. His neck is bent slightly, allowing his head to bob and sway along with the rise and fall of the rhythm, eyes screwing shut as the composition reaches its most pivotal sequence.

He's practically raking the keys now, pure passion and violent emotion splashing every inch of the room. You shut your own eyes, hands clutching the bottom of the stool until your knuckles whiten, like you might float away with the beautiful tune if you don't ground yourself.

When he said you could feel passion with every note he wasn't wrong. You could feel his passion clear as day.

Slowly, he comes back down from his high, wrists coming to a standstill. All he can do is take in heaving, ragged breaths, body slumped down, spent with the sheer effort expelled in his performance. Oxygen is lodged in your own lungs as you take in how how his bangs stick to the beads of sweat prevalent on his forehead

You recover before he does, unconsciously fumbling around in your tote bag, hands curling around the Polaroid camera you bring everywhere just in case a photo opportunity arises.

They never usually do. Until now.

"Stay like that." The viewfinder raises to your eye and you snap a shot of him with precision, the soft click that emanates through the room making Yoongi's eyes snap open.

The picture dispenses from the camera, black square fading out to reveal a hazy image as you shake it back and forth. Yoongi, face relaxed, lashes pressed softly to the tops of his cheeks with a lazy smile.

It's the Yoongi you remember. Your Yoongi.

He smirks when you slide it into the back pocket of your jeans, cheeks glowing with a contentedness you hadn't seen for a long time. "You always did like taking pictures of me."

"Shut up."

When your hand tentatively closes over his where it still rests on the piano, it's his turn to shoot you a curious look. With a shaky breath you flip his palm, slotting your fingers together perfectly, and lean across the piano to press your lips against his.

His mouth is softer than you remember, not attacking with the rich taste of lust but rather caressing your lips gently, sweetly. Taking your time to commit each tickle of breath against your nose, each slide of his bottom lip between yours, to memory. Everything other than the dizzying sensation of his tongue tracing your bottom lip disappears. All your worries, reluctances, regrets,  just dissolving like the setting sun.

Everything feels safe here with him. Everything feels right.

It barely lasts a minute, not much more than a delicate brush really, but when he pulls back you are already breathless, immediately starved of the satisfaction that came from finally feeling him against you again, tasting the spearmint mixed with something so inherently Yoongi you didn't quite realise how much you were craving.

Yoongi sighs blissfully. You need more.

Your hands tangle in the front of his T-shirt but before you can pepper his mouth with a series of further eager kisses, his free hand plants on your shoulder and pushes you back carefully.

"About what you said the other night." His eyes are wide with concern, trained to your lips, resisting the urge to capture them again with all his self control. It made your heart flip. "I don't want to hurt you Y/N. We don't have to do this—"

"I want to. So bad." His thumb caresses your knuckles. "I trust you."

In that moment, it's true. You trust him more than you've ever trusted anything in the world.

"But Namjoon..."

His words fade out when you lean in for another reassuring peck. Namjoon's name falling from Yoongi's lips doesn't make your skin crawl like it usually did. In fact you feel nothing at the mention of your brother.

"To hell with Namjoon. I'm a big girl. I know what I want."

Yoongi grins, hand coming to cup your cheek tentatively, eyes crinkling with what you could only describe as liberation. "And what's that?"

Your eyes narrow in on his parted mouth again.

"You."

His eyes darken and then his hands are tangling in your hair and pulling your chest flush to his in a kiss that is far rougher than before. No more beating around the bush. Just passion as you crawl into his lap and kiss him like it's the first time — or perhaps, more accurately, the last time. Like the world will end if you part for a single breath.

Fingers find the hem of his shirt and you're pulling it up his torso greedily, heart beating a little faster when you feel his warm skin beneath your fingertips. His chest is softer than you expect, a perfect contrast to the strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you back to his lips.

It's not long before you feel his pants fill out underneath you. The feeling is all too familiar, reminding you of how it felt to be above him like this in his studio. That night feels like a life time away as his hands grab your hips and press you roughly down onto his crotch.

You both groan out at the feeling, something intense, something primal, heating up between your legs as you circle his clothed length, want and need blending into one as your core dampens with every twist of your hips.

Yoongi breaks away from your lips with a gasp when your fingers reach between your body and find the sensitive head of his cock, a wet patch forming on his sweats. His eyes are shut, head thrown back against the piano top as he bites into his thumb to stop little moans tumbling from his swollen lips.

He shoots upright when you slide down his torso, hardwood cold against your bare knees, fingers fumbling with the strings of his pants. When you finally get them open and slip your hand beneath the waistband, Yoongi all but groans at the feel of your cool palm grabbing his hot cock skin on skin.

You shimmy his sweats around his thighs, mouth practically watering as you eye up his pulsing length, unable to resist stroking it firmly with your fist. A hand covers yours.

"Wait!" A strangled noise of agony rips from his chest when your grip loosens, desperate to buck up into your touch but managing to stay firmly planted to the stool in favour of gaining your consent. "Are you sure?"

You scoff teasingly. "Would I be on my knees if I wasn't?"

His laugh is breathy, half a moan as you pick up your pace again. "Just nervous — ah!" A soft kitten lick to the reddened tip of his cock has him flying forward, knuckles white as they grip your shoulder.

"Min Yoongi gets nervous?" The precum that coats your tongue is salty, makes you itch to take him into your mouth fully.

"Shut up." His breathing is ragged, hands hovering over your hair. "Didn't think this would happen again. Needs to be perfect — holy fuck Y/N."

You give no warning before you sink down on his length, his hands finally tangling in your hair and tugging lightly when your nose presses to his pubic bone, groaning around him when you feel the head of his cock pulsing in the back of your throat.

"So warm, shit."

You come up for air, lips wrapping around his head and enjoying the way his thighs trembled when your tongue runs teasingly along the underside of his cock. His hand pushes at the back of your head, forcing his length further down your throat than you're expecting until you gag around his girth.

"Shit, sorry."

The groan that follows doesn't sound very apologetic though. The visual of your drool coating his painfully hard length mixed with the sensation of your warm mouth engulfing him whole nearly has him blowing his load then and there, utterly fucked out and oblivious to the string of groans leaving his lips when you finally come up for air. Tears streak your cheeks and Yoongi wipes them away with his knuckle tenderly.

"God, look at you." He's breathless, amazed. "C'mere."

A hand cups your elbow, pulling you to your feet so he can connect your lips again, humming when he tastes himself on your tongue. His hands are all over you now as he wraps you in his arms and stumbles backwards your back is pressed to the mattress in the corner. It dips in the middle when he crawls over you, tucking away strands of hair that fan around your face like a halo before his mouth is on you again like he can't quite help himself.

A series of open mouthed kisses caress your jaw, then your neck, all the way down your chest. Yoongi's eyes flick up to watch your face, lips parted with want as his hands fiddled with the hem of his own much too big hoodie swaddling your body.

"Can I?"

Your hand threads into his hair encouragingly. "Please."

A gasp passes his lips when he finally pulls the fabric over your head, eyes following his curious calloused hands as they explore the expanse of skin exposed to him now you're left in just your bra and panties.

"So beautiful." He traces his fingers down your shoulders, down the valley of your breasts, across your stomach. The light and delicate touches have you shivering, writhing for more. Almost as desperate to feel him everywhere as he is to worship every inch of you.

His touch stops at the hem of your panties. You're already working on the clasp of your bra, a violent nod the only permission he needs to drag the fabric agonisingly slow down your legs, unhooking them from your ankles carefully.

When he looks back up you are completely bare, laid out beneath the stream of half-sun-half-moon bathing the room.

Yoongi pounces, lips wrapping around one of your nipples greedily, tongue swirling around the hardened bud until you're gasping his name over and over.

"Can't believe you're letting me see you like this."

Hands wrap around your thighs, legs falling open, the way he licks his lips as he takes in your glistening heat not going unnoticed.

Yoongi's head shakes in disbelief, mumbling words which sound an awful lot like so pretty and fucking gorgeous as his head dips and he continues his trail of earlier kisses, tongue laving over your inner thighs and edging ever closer to your aching core.

"W-wait." Yoongi freezes and comes up to meet your face. His breath is hot against your cheek, eyes scanning your face for hesitation.

"What is it? Are you okay?" He's frantic, swallowing nervously as his palms cup your face. "Want to take care of you this time. What is it? Tell me."

"I'm fine. More than fine." You brush your noses together. It makes him smile. "Just want to feel you, that's all. Now."

Yoongi lets out a dramatic sigh, voice high and whiny. "But I've been dreaming about how you taste for days, Y/N. Literally. Dreaming about it."

You don't mention how you've been replaying the visual of his lips wrapped around your clit and edging you over and over again since it happened, just stroke his cheek in mutual understanding.

"Too bad. You'll just have to wait until next time." His features light up at the promise of a next time. Another moment like this, just you and him.

His face falls into the crook of your neck, nibbling the sensitive skin teasingly as a hand trails between your legs. When the pads of his fingers circle your entrance you whimper, clit throbbing with want when his hand pulls away nearly as quick as it came.

The want only intensifies when he brings two of his arousal coated digits to his mouth with closed eyes, guttural moan vibrating your flush chests when he savours the taste of your arousal coating his fingers.

"Next time." He hums and you are sure you nearly came untouched.

"Need you. Now."

He wastes no time taking his achingly hard cock into his fist, placing a supportive hand on your hip as he lines himself up with your entrance. You whine when he drags the tip up and down your slit, giving some brief but much needed stimulation to your clit.

Before he can push inside though you place a hand on his chest to stop him. He doesn't have time to dote on you again though because without further ado you're whipping off the beanie that still sits snugly around his head, throwing it across the room with a smirk.

His eyes glint fondly. "Whoops."

The room has grown darker by now, only lit by the gentle sparkle of the fairy lights and Yoongi has to feel around in the sheets to find your hand. In the same moment he tangles your fingers together beside your face, he pushes inside with a gasp.

Unlike the first time in his studio, Yoongi is in no rush. He wants to savour it. He fills you slowly, so that you can feel every ridge of his length dragging against your velvety walls. When he finally bottoms out and your hips press flush together, you squeeze his hand. Tight. It's this small action that tells him everything he needs to know. Explains the funny feeling in your chest without ever saying the words.

Your legs wrap around his back automatically when his hips begin to rock, angling your body so that he hits so deep with every thrust it steals the breath straight from your lips. Arousal drips from your heat down onto the bed sheets, making each slide deliciously smooth.

"Yoongi I.." It almost slips from your lips. The deepest, darkest secret that you haven't quite admitted to yourself yet.

Yoongi just ups his pace, exchanging words for actions to show you he feels the same. Fucking you a little harder, a little deeper. More sincerely. It compensates for the words neither of you know how to say.

"I know." You feel so full, so warm when he places his forearms at either side of your head to press you into the mattress. "I know."

All the yearning inside you disappears. All that matters is you and Yoongi now, nails scratching up his back, his forehead pressing to yours so that your moans mingle together until you can't tell whose was whose any more.

With a fucked out moan against your lips he's spilling inside you, sending you over the edge with him, hissing as you clench tightly around his cock.

All thoughts are wiped from your mind. Apart from the sensation of his cheek pressed to your chest, hot breath against your collar bone. How you can't believe you lived in a world without Yoongi in it. How you never want to go without him again. How you don't think you can deny how Yoongi makes you feel anymore even if you tried.

The stars behind your eyes fade, and when you come back down, Yoongi is hovering over your body, lips parted and eyes blown out, mesmerised. He's sweaty and smiling and you can feel the way his heart beats in time with yours.

"You okay?"

"Never better." His smile stretches into a grin when your words slur together. "—'m so happy."

A soft, chaste kiss is pressed to your forehead and before you know it Yoongi is tangling your legs together and wrapping the sheets around your bodies, entwined as one.

Me too. You knew that's what he meant. You'd dwell on it another time. For now your eyes are falling shut, satisfied as you inhale Yoongi's scent on the sheets...

Before a blissful slumber could take you away, you're interrupted by a series of knocks against the bedroom door. Both you and Yoongi shoot upright, exchanging a puzzled glance.

"I thought you said it was gonna be a quickie. Come on man, I need to use the bathroom!"

Yoongi groans into the pillow.

"That's it. I'm getting a new roommate."

--

As the weeks go by you start spending less and less time at the Big Hit office, turning up late to your shifts or clocking out before they were up. The perks of being employed by your parents is that they can't fire you in good conscience, you suppose.

Instead you increasingly find yourself at Yoongi's apartment, writing lyrics at the piano when he was around (sometimes even when he wasn't) or down in the coffee shop, helping yourself to hot chocolate refills on your work breaks. Jin joked that you'd need to start paying rent soon.

Just like how you were able to pick apart each of the boys' influence on the apartment the first time you went there, your own presence was becoming ever apparent.

In the way you spilled sugar on the counter when making tea and always forgot to clean it up, much to Jin's dismay. How some of your own hoodies and pyjama pants had begun to smell like Yoongi's washing powder, ending up folded neatly in his laundry basket and stowed away on his clothing rack like they belonged there. The way his piano top was littered with open notebooks filled with your messy scrawl and pens with the caps lost and half empty mugs stained around the rim with your chapstick.

Yoongi seemed wary at first, cautious to let you get too comfortable around him, dropping you home late at night once the lights in your house switched out and you knew it was safe to go inside.

But eventually he started to crave the little things that reminded him of you, unable to stop the smiles which crept onto his face as he loaded the dishwasher with the mugs and carried you to bed when you fell asleep at the piano stool.

Your bed. That's what you'd taken to calling it now.

Yoongi hated to admit that he was weak. When he got up on stage he was Gloss, hard faced and brazen and ruthless. But here with you, the facade he tried to uphold seemed to crumble into nothing. And the worst part was that he loved it.

Even when he was performing at the club or practicing for the competition, his thoughts always ended up wandering back to you. There were times when your schedules clashed or it was too risky to see each other or times you were simply too exhausted once you got home, falling into bed as soon as you crossed the threshold. But the knowledge that you were always there waiting for each other became the only safe place he knew and that was enough.

Of course you still had to oversee Namjoon's Mic Drop stage, it was your job after all, but that never seemed to come up when you were together. Just watching movies on his laptop or laughing at ungodly hours while you filled each other in on anecdotes that happened in the time you were apart, retreating beneath the sheets when Jin banged on the wall because it was four in the morning so would you please shut the fuck up.

For the first time in a long time you felt happy. Like you belonged somewhere that was all your own. No more answering to Namjoon or your parents. Just your own heart. And it always seemed to lead you back here to Yoongi, straight into his arms.

And as much as you hated yourself for it, you could feel your resentment for Namjoon growing. You'd be damned if you let him take this away from you, like he'd taken everything else.

Eventually, you stopped crawling through your bedroom window like a goddamn teenager and your parents stopped questioning why you never came home anymore. The cracks between you became a chasm. And right now, Yoongi was the band aid holding you together.

--

When Yoongi returns home later than usual, he's not even surprised when he ascends the stairs and find you and Jin laid out on the bean bags, already tipsy on red wine and giggling at his disgruntled expression.

That is until you take in the weary lines that had etched their way into his forehead, how his eyes look sunken and puffy. How his hands tremble against your waist when you pull him into your arms, body swaying back and forth lightly in your grasp like he could topple over any second.

You know what overworked looks like — after all, you had tended to Namjoon plenty of times when he refused to stop at his limits, barraging through them instead, a habit Yoongi also seemed to possess.

Ordered to stay on bed rest, Yoongi slumps face down into his pillow, letting out a long groan of relief when the mattress cushions his aching limbs.

You're already tucking him in, half way to the door to prepare him a hot cup of honey and lemon to soothe the husk in his throat from rapping too aggressively when his arms loop around your waist and pull you down to snuggle into the crook of your neck contentedly.

"Yoongi, let me go." It's futile, his grip is firm and he is already kicking the sheets over your body and pressing his cheek to the left side of your chest where you're sure he can hear how your heart races, a pout evident in your voice. "I want to take care of you."

"Mmf you are.." Words already slurring with the beginnings of sleep, he smiles groggily when you fall slack in his grasp and press your cheek to the top of his head in defeat. "Stroke my hair please?"

As soon as your fingers tangle in his blue locks he lets out a sigh of relief, like he'd been waiting to feel the touch all day.

Watching his face relax as he drifts off, you bask in the warmth of fulfilment singing your very nerve ending and silently wish that you can stay like this forever.

Just you and Yoongi against the world.

At some point your own eyes fall shut.

--

You're awoken by the sounds of muffled sobs.

The dark room momentarily disorientates you, heart quickening as you realise you're not in your own bed. Eventually your eyes adjust to the blackness, taking in the piano stood sturdily in the corner, breathing in the scent lingering on the pillow beneath your cheek and you're washed with a wave of comfort.

"Yoongi?" You croak.

The sheets are ripped from your body as Yoongi's form shoots upright. His bare back is damp with sweat, visible in the moonlight creeping through the slanted blinds, mattress rocking slightly with every sob that wracks his frame.

"Go back to sleep." His voice is gruff , but forcibly so and you hear the tremor lurking below the surface.

You sit up beside him. His face is buried in his palms. The sight makes your heart ache.

"Are you okay?" You're still new to this. Sure you're tangled up in his sheets most nights but you're still learning the ropes, unsure how best to comfort him. You settle for gently patting his shoulder, wincing at how cold and distant the action feels.

"I said go back to sleep." When his face emerges from between his hands you see the tell tale tracks of tears streaking his cheeks. Even when he wipes his face with the back of his palm there's a steady stream of them dripping down his chin.

"Is that what you really want?"

Yoongi presses his mouth together in a tight line, eyes black and empty as he tilts his head back and takes a shaky breath. That's when he crumbles. "Please stay."

"Oh, Yoongi." It's barely a whisper, afraid that if you speak too loud he'll shatter into a million pieces. He's like a scared kid, knees hugged to his chest as he wipes the hot tears from his eyes with a hard rub of his knuckles.

Yoongi stiffens when you fumble under the sheets to find his hand. You think he might pull away as you link your fingers with his but to your surprise he pulls your interlocked palms into his lap and squeezes so hard you feel the circulation in your fingers cutting off. The way he chokes back another sob stops you from complaining though, already cupping his cheek and tilting his face towards yours with your free hand.

"Why are you doing this?" His eyes squeeze shut, fresh tears sliding down his face and doing nothing to hide the slight tinge of red beneath them that tell you he's embarrassed to be seen like this. Vulnerable, so unlike the hard faced Yoongi you had come to know.

"Because I want to." You squeeze his hand and feel him squeeze back weakly. "You can tell me anything, you know."

Pressing his forehead to yours, Yoongi leans down and captures your lips between his own. I know, it says.

This is different to the way he usually kisses you. There's no hunger, no hands on your neck and your thighs that set you alight with desire. Just a sense of yearning, like he wants to be closer to you, the plump flesh of his lips slotting between yours like a perfect puzzle piece, slightly salty from his tears. It makes you ache all over, like you're somehow connected and sharing his pain.

He pulls away, sharp exhales tickling your face as he scans your eyes for any sign of hesitation, any sign that you're going to leave him here alone. This is side of Yoongi that you have never seen before. He always said he isn't good with words and you know better than anyone that he hated admitting that he needed someone. This was is his way saying he needs you.

And in that moment you feel a piece of your heart flutter into his hands.

"Nightmares." He mumbles, swallowing thickly and tipping his head back against the headboard, expression pained "Just nightmares."

"Want to talk about it?" You sit back next to him, and when he rolls his neck to face you. He looks unreadable again. Eyes void. You half think he's going to push you away, turn over and fall back asleep and leave you to stare at the ceiling alone with the silence.

But he doesn't. Instead he lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head at himself as he pulls you into his arms, stroking your cheek fondly when your head comes to rest on his chest, burying his nose in your hair.

"Why can't I say no to you?"

"Guess I have that affect on people."

He snorts lightly, the first proper reaction he'd given you and you're pleased at his amusement. Pleased you were able to comfort him somewhat.

Unspoken words cloak a heavy silence for what feels like hours, just tracing mindless patterns on his arm and listening to the way his heart slows to a normal pace beneath your cheek, grip around your torso never faltering. When his breaths dwindle to soft puffs against your temple you think he's already drifted off.

Until, "Do you remember when I convinced Namjoon to sign up for Mic Drop the first time. The day after my mom died?" His voice is gravelly, both with sleep and a sign of his withheld tears.

"Of course I do." You swivel in his arms to blink up at him curiously. Sure you remembered. After the funeral, your parents had taken Yoongi in — a repayment they called it. For helping Namjoon achieve his dreams. Of course, that was before you realised just how much Yoongi would help.

Yoongi became a part of the family for a short while. An extra seat at family dinners. Another pair of shoes by the front door. Another bed in Namjoon's room.

"Back then, I was too trusting. I thought that they wanted to help me...I thought that they saw me as their son." He spits the word with the bitterness of a man who was stripped of the title of 'son' before he knew what it really meant.

You think back to how Namjoon and Yoongi used to be. Joined at the hip, everyone used to say. Brothers.

"I think they did—"

"No." He stiffens. You bite your lip. "Namjoon never cared about me. He just saw me as a way to get to the top. And it worked."

You feel a pang in your chest.

"I'm sorry, he's your brother. I shouldn't be talking about this with you."

Yoongi almost turns away but you stop him by pressing your lips to his briefly. Telling him its okay. You understand.

"The nightmares." You say with an eagerness to change to subject before you could dwell on it too hard. Before you could admit to yourself that Yoongi was right. "You didn't say what they were about?"

"I'm getting there." He lets out a strained chuckle and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The action makes you shiver.

"The last time I saw my mother she said that she wasn't scared to die. She was just scared that she'd miss seeing me on the stage. She was the only one who believed in me." The next words come out choked. "She said that if she couldn't be there to see it then I needed to make as many goddamn people watch me lift that trophy as I could."

Mic Drop was never about the fame for Yoongi after all. It always ran deeper than that; a need not a want. A vulnerable promise left unfulfilled.

The realisation makes you blanch. All this time, all these years, you hadn't been able to see the real greed right in front of your eyes; your own brother.

The image of Yoongi, crumpled and broken on that fateful day all those years ago makes its way to the forefront of your mind.

The same anger flashes across his face now. "Namjoon took that from me. I don't care about the fans or the money or the trophy — none of that shit! He took my dream Y/N. Do you understand how that feels?"

You find yourself nodding, slowly at first and then with vigour as the dam inside you breaks and your own tears flood. "I do. I understand."

And you do. You understand why Yoongi is so determined to win Mic Drop. You understand why he hates Namjoon as much as he does. You understand how it feels to always fall second best to Namjoon, to be outcasted.

"I keep forgetting her face. I can't hear her voice in my head anymore." Yoongi's crying again now, heavy sobs no longer able to be contained. "But in the dreams she's so clear. The disappointment in her eyes, its so clear, Y/N." His words are interrupted by hiccups that leave him gasping.

"I'm sorry." You whisper once he calms. It's all you know how to say.

"Not your fault." He flashes you a watery smile, wiping away the tear on your cheek with his knuckle. It makes your heart flutter, even despite the guilt weighing on your shoulders.

You feel useless. It wasn't your fault directly but you couldn't help but feel like you wronged Yoongi. All of this happened right in front of your eyes but you were too blinded by Namjoon's broken promises to see it. All this time you had let Namjoon make you think Yoongi was the enemy.

"I'm here now." Hands plant on either side of his face, eyes meeting his. "I believe in you."

He doesn't need to say anything. The way he kisses you speaks louder than words.

All you can do now is hold him, tangling your legs with his and pulling the covers over your intertwined bodies, stroke his cheek with your thumb and pepper kisses to his strained forehead which relaxes beneath your affections.

"I'll make this right." You whisper into his hair after his eyes flutter closed and the sun starts peeking through the window, watching dust particles floating in a stream of light in the room's golden glow through lidded eyes. "I promise."

--

"I like this." Jimin nods enthusiastically along to the track playing through the headphones Namjoon placed over his ears. "Sounds like a hit to me."

Namjoon's face contorts into a scowl. He disagrees, obviously, if the disgusted shake of his head is any indication.

Mic Drop is just a few days away and Namjoon had decided to scrap his entire stage after Jimin scored a couple big last minute investors who suggested he do something new, something exciting. Something that pushed Runch Randa's limits.

It was a bold move, this close to the big day. But Namjoon was cocky, said that he had enough experience in the industry to win in his sleep. Practice was a waste of time anyway.

"Next one." He waves his hand, barely even glancing in your direction as you press a button that cuts off the track and makes another one start playing.

The bass is louder in this one and it makes Jimin startle backwards, the headphone jack slipping loose so the music plays through the speakers instead.

"Hoseok and I still need to put the finishing touches on this one but it's pretty catchy—"

Namjoon cuts you off with a sharp no, it was too upbeat for his Mic Drop performance. Said he needed something with grit, something that would make the judges feel something.

"Let me see that." He gestures for you to get up, slumping down into the chair you occupied and slotting himself beneath the studio desk to scroll through the open folder on the computer screen.

He skims through countless tracks, demoed and ready to be recorded at Namjoon's disposal — you were something of a writing machine, always scribbling down lyrics on receipts from the store or on the back of your hand and paired with Hoseok you were a dream team; he always seemed to find a beat that fit perfectly. Unfortunately Namjoon's straight face gives away his disinterest in any of them.

"None of these will work." Namjoon throws the keyboard down with a force that makes you wince, jaw tightening as he presses his knuckles to his eyes in frustration. "I'm going to fucking lose."

You are about to tell him to write the fucking track himself like everyone else if none of yours were good enough for him but Jimin flashes you a glance. Don't make things worse.

You settle instead for a hand on his shoulder. He tenses at your touch. It had been a while since you'd been in the same room for longer than ten minutes and when you take in the gauntness of his cheekbones you briefly wonder if he's been eating properly. He always did forget when you weren't around to remind him.

You suck in a breath to give you strength. "There must be one that you like."

His lips purse and he disgruntledly goes back to scrolling again, clicking on a couple titles that draw his interest. You and Jimin let out simultaneous sighs of relief.

"What's this?" Namjoon's eyes narrow as he presses play on a track that sends you flying forward, heart in your mouth and colour leaving your face as a song plays that you swore to never show to anyone.

Yoongi's song. The one you wrote after that night in his studio. Probably the best song you had ever written.

"That's not — I was supposed to delete that one." The heat in your cheeks as you push him aside roughly to wrestle with the pause button has you hiding behind your hair, as if he would somehow know this wasn't just an ordinary song. That it was a song about his enemy, for god's sake.

Namjoon's slaps you away from the computer, head bobbing to the beat and you fall back into your seat in defeat, fingers crossed behind your back that he would hate it as much as the others.

"I love it."

Oh no.

"This is the one!"

Shit shit shit!

"A-are you sure?" You're rambling now, words slipping out way too fast and Jimin seems puzzled at your lack of elation at Namjoon's decisiveness. "I'm sure I could write something much better if you just give me some more time—"

Namjoon's arms pull you into a tight embrace before you can finish, your nose ending up smushed against his chest as he practically vibrates with excitement. Your body goes stiff, hands dangling at your sides awkwardly. Considering Namjoon's coldness towards you as of late his sudden display of affection takes you by surprise. Mostly because despite your physical closeness it only makes you feel even more distant from your brother.

A sigh of relief escapes when he finally sets you free, only to be replaced with pure horror as you watch him stick a USB drive into the computer and load up the song before sliding it in his back pocket with a grin while you have no choice but to stand there helplessly.

"I'm totally gonna win!" His change in attitude is abrupt but seems to soothe Jimin who nods enthusiastically. You feel sick. "I can't wait to see the look on Yoongi's face when he hears this shit."

The smirk on his face washes you with dread. If only he knew.

Yoongi was right. Secrets always find a way to come and bite you in the ass.

--

Every rap of your knuckles against the run down studio door seems to echo ominously through the alley like an omen.

"Y/N?"

As soon as the bolt wrangles across and the wooden panel flies open to reveal a disgruntled Yoongi, a warmth seems to thaw through the icy evening chill that, along with your nerves, is making your knees knock together.

His chest is warm against your cheek when he pulls you into his arms, the smell of cologne and black coffee consuming your senses. It's enough to make your tense limbs fall slack, curling into his firm frame instinctively. Finally. You can breathe again.

"Hey." He mumbles sweetly against your temple, a trace of a smile in his voice like he was happy to see you. You silently wonder if he'll still be so happy once he hears what you have to say.

The studio is basked in darkness, the contours of his face barely visible in the blue glow emanating from his desktop monitor. There's a dent in the cushion of the adjacent chair, Yoongi's hair sticking up at the back where the pair of headphones slung around his neck had sat moments ago.

"I can go if you were working, wouldn't want to interrupt." As the words are leaving your lips you cross your fingers, selfishly hopeful that he would send you away and you could avoid the conversation that was about to follow. Blame it all on circumstance, leave saying that you at least tried.

But that would be keeping a secret. It would make you just as bad as the rest. And the thought of him finding out from someone else was enough to make your palms sweat and enough to keep your feet planted against the carpet determinedly.

Yoongi's hands find you like he can't bare to keep them away, dragging you across the threshold without hesitation. "S'fine. Work better with you here anyway." He smiles and you try to return it but your lips are pressed into a permanent line, like they're scared the daunting words you have to say will come spilling out before you were ready -- if you ever would be ready. As you slump into a chair and watch him wheel another one around to face you with his arms slung lazily over the back, you realise there is no going back.

Considering the countdown to Mic Drop was nearing its end, less than twenty four hours to go before Yoongi would be stood opposite Namjoon on stage in front of thousands, he looked the epitome of relaxation, unlike the nerves in your chest making you jitter.

"Jin's on his way with takeout, I would've asked him to get more if I knew you were coming but I'm sure we can share— babe, are you alright?"

Babe. The endearment had started slipping from his lips frequently recently. At first he tried to cover it up with nervous laughter but now he was brazen, enjoying the way the word tasted on his tongue. It would be so easy to force a smile, to push "the right thing" to the back of your mind and let the selfish part of your heart accept his affections, even knowing you're about to hurt him.

But the clock ticking away on the wall sounds deafening with every beat of silence that follows, twisting the rings on your fingers until you could no longer distinguish the sound from the sinister thrum of your heart.

You can't hold it in any more.

"I need to tell you something." It comes out a hoarse whisper, nearly unintelligible beneath the stream of hip hop from the hifi system in the corner.

"What is it?" Yoongi's concerned eyes never leave you as he reaches over to switch it off, the room now draped in a shroud of quiet. The reality of the situation seeps into every dark corner and right into your bones.

"It's about us. Kind of."

Yoongi rolls closer, stopping your teeth from nibbling your cuticles by slotting his fingers between yours like a perfect puzzle piece. It seems to ground you, like you're filled with helium and he's the weight stopping your feet from floating off the ground. For a second you think everything will be okay. Nothing, not even this betrayal, could come between what you had.

"Did Namjoon find out?" Even in the dim light you see the panic stricken raise of his brows. When your head shakes in a violent negative they smooth back down, relieved, as if nothing you could say next would be worse than that. No matter how hard you try to meet his eyes you can't.

His hand squeezes gently then. You muster up the courage to squeeze back. Perhaps it would soften the blow that was about to follow.

"His song. The one I wrote for Mic Drop...it's about you. I thought you should know. Before you hear it for yourself."

Nothing but an immeasurable silence followed. "Oh."

Yoongi is unreadable, almost as if he didn't hear the words hanging like heavy storm clouds over your heads. You expected him to be angry, to shout -- even cry, maybe. Not knowing how he was feeling was even worse than any scenario you had imagined. Made you feel like you were back to square one and he was shutting you out of the window into his soul you'd worked so hard to wriggle through.

For a second you think the sudden cold against your palm is a result of the numbness coursing through your veins like you were dunked in ice water, but then you see his hand retreat to his lap, eyes wide and staring at it in disbelief like he'd been scalded.

"I...I don't understand." He sounds choked, face contorting with pain. Like it does when he wakes thrashing in the night with a bad dream. Unlike those times though, he doesn't levitate towards you for comfort, just stares at you vacantly like he's far, far away despite being physically close enough for your knees to brush.

"It was written after the first time we...y'know...here--" You glance around, convinced your mind is playing tricks when you see a vision of you in Yoongi's lap across the room, lips attached like nothing else in the world mattered. It feels far away and out of reach when the real Yoongi gets to his feet, creating a distance between you that is foreign, his form staggering across the room so that you could see the way his back tensed beneath his t-shirt when he grips the edge of his desk for support, processing.

"I don't understand."

"I was emotional. It just happened--"

"No. What I don't understand is why you're letting him perform it?" Fists send a stack of sheet music flying to the ground. His lip trembles, face red, with anger or affliction, you can't tell which.

"Yoongi--" You reach for him, fingertips barely grazing his arm before he's smacking you away with a violent shake of his head. He'd never resisted you before. Not even in the beginning.

"You expect me to just sit back and listen to Namjoon of all people rapping the lyrics my girlfr-- that you wrote dissing me? This has to be a fucking joke."

"It's not that kind of track!" You hug your body pitifully. It's the only thing you can do to stop yourself from falling apart as his mouth spits a venom that makes your heart shatter. His eyes fill with one thing. Betrayal. "I'm sorry. I just...I can't keep choosing between you anymore, Yoongi. He's my brother."

"And what am I, huh?"

Every second that passes, every stutter or attempt at explanation that leaves your mouth makes Yoongi crumple. You see it in the way his adam's apple bobs, how his shoulders slacken.

For some reason you can't open up. Tell him he means more to you than anyone ever had. That you thought your heart might really break and bleed out on the carpet if he didn't feel the same way.

Instead you settle for, "Why are you so mad? It's my job! I had no choice."

Without warning he's rushing at you, trembling palms capturing your face and pressing his forehead to yours. His breaths shake, chest heaving as he battles internally with the words flying from his lips like a ghostly breath across yours.

"Because I fucking love you, Y/N! Can't you see it? I fucking love you and your bastard of a brother always finds a way to ruin things between us!"

His admission stuns you, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over in a silent stream down your cheeks.

He loves you. He loves you.

"Yoongi--" Words just won't come. Nothing feels right.

Because you love him too. It had taken you this long to admit it to yourself but it was clear now. Every breath, every beat of your heart, every fucking song you would ever write was for him. It scared you before but now, stood here in front of him, you know it's true.

Something hopeless niggles at the back of your head, stops you from spilling everything to him. If he loves you, how can he expect you to choose?

If words couldn't make him see the truth then you'd just have to show him the only way you knew how. Straight from your heart.

You're crying as you dig around in the bottom of your bag to retrieve a USB, pressing it into his curled fist firmly and begging him with your eyes to understand. "Just listen to the song. Please. It'll explain everything. I promise."

You begin to back up and his hand shoots out to stop you, pulling you roughly into his chest which only makes you cry harder, tears creating a wet patch on his T-shirt.

"Please don't leave me. Not again." It's a fragile whisper.

It's all too much.

"I can't choose any longer, Yoongi. This has to end."

With one last look at his crumpled face you flee from his studio with eyes just as watery as the first time you'd walked down this very alley. Except this time it takes all of your strength to resist running back into his arms.

Yoongi can only stand there and watch you go, the USB hot against his hand.

This has to end. The words make his chest burn and he hates it. Hates feeling weak. You always make him feel so fucking weak.

If he can't have you then he had no choice but to do everything in his power to make sure he got the next best thing.

Suddenly it all seemed clear. Yoongi knew what he had to do.

--

The arena is almost desolate when you creep inside.

Just a sea of empty seats stretching out from both sides of you where you sit in one of the stands, nibbling the skin around your thumb and watching Namjoon pace the stage below.

It's gone midnight by now. Most of the crew went home hours ago. Not Namjoon though. He stayed to practice some more. Said he couldn't get the choreography quite right.

You tried going home but you couldn't get the fight out of your head. Everything reminded you of Yoongi and your thoughts started to wander. Did he hate you? Was he listening to the song right now? Why hasn't he called? Why is your own bed not as comfy as the one you shared with Yoongi?

It all got too much eventually. Something told you that you weren't welcome at the apartment so you ended up heading towards the only other place you knew, surprised to find your brother had the same idea.

A single spotlight illuminates the stage as Namjoon twists his body in time with the one, two, three, four he unconsciously mumbles under his breath, face contorted with a stark concentration that flits to impatience when his foot slips and he misses the beat. Again. It just about sends him over the edge.

"I can't do this anymore!" A microphone squeals and hits the ground with a thump. It reverberates through the arena, your hands flying to your ears as you watch Namjoon let loose all his anger on an innocent amp stand before collapsing into a heap at the edge of the stage. "Fuck this shit!"

You're flying down the stairs to his aid before he can do any serious damage to the stage equipment — or worse, to himself.

Namjoon scoffs when he hears the stage creak under your feet. "Nice of you to show up."

It stings. You snap.

"What happened to you, Namjoon?" You look at his sunken cheekbones, his curled fists, the blackness behind his eyes. "I don't even recognise you anymore."

He just sniffs and says nothing. The distance between you feels bigger than ever.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

A secret? Since when did Namjoon abide by a policy of honesty?

He takes your shocked silence as a yes.

"I'm calling first thing and dropping out of the competition."

Your world stutters to a standstill, breath knocked out of your lungs.

Dropping out?

"Shit Joon...if this is about Yoongi—"

He waves you off.  "No. This is about me."

You can't breathe. This can't be real. "I don't understand..."

"I've made up my mind. I can't do this any more. I used to love being up here you know?"

You follow his gaze, out over the empty arena. The last time you were here every seat was filled. You were down there, part of the crowd, packed into the cramped space with barely enough room to breathe.

Imagining how it must feel to be up here comes easy. If you close your eyes you can hear the screams, feel the body heat. Smell the sweat and the anticipation. See thousand faces looking up in awe. At you. It makes your blood run hot.

You much prefer being up here, you decide.

Namjoon brings you back down. "Now it just feels like a chore. I look out and all I see is disappointed faces. I can't pretend for them anymore."

"People travel miles to see you Joon! No one is disappointed."

"Not the fans. They love me. Well, Runch Randa, at least." He cracks a half smile. "It's me whose disappointed. In Kim Namjoon."

You always thought your brother was sure of himself. He's cocky, confident and above all fearless. It's his biggest strength (and his most irritating quality sometimes) but it's what you always admired most about him.

Clearly you didn't know your brother as well as you thought you did.

You bite your lip. "Why?"

He turns to face you, leaning back into his arms while he searches for the right words and, little to your knowledge, gathers the courage to confide in you.

"Because I re-entered Mic Drop for all the wrong reasons. I just wanted to prove myself, you know? Win for real this time, not just by default." He swallows. "But then I saw Yoongi perform. And to be honest? I saw you. I saw how much you care about the music. How you come alive when you're writing lyrics or when you're in the studio." His smile is woeful. "Im supposed to feel like that. But I don't. I never did. It's like I'm always asleep, y'know?"

You did know. Every time you lifted a camera. Every time you pressed the shutter and snapped another shot of Namjoon on stage you felt your soul grow exhausted.

It makes the distance between you and Namjoon close a little. For once you understand each other and you don't have to hide how you feel any more.

"I can't stop thinking that it's your name the fans should be screaming. Not mine. They deserve better than me."

"But you're the best performer I know!" You rush. It always seemed like he wanted to keep you out of the spotlight at all costs. "Why now?"

He lets out a deep sigh. "I'm a selfish person, Y/N. I thought I was protecting you from... all this." He gestures around him. "The late nights and the paparazzi and the criticism and a fucking manager on your back all the time." His eye roll makes you snort, sharing a brief smile at the image of hardworking Jimin mumbling into his headset like a man posessed.

He's quickly serious again though. "Fame comes with a price. But I realize now that the price is worth it if your hearts in the right place and...what I'm trying to say, Y/N, is that mine never was."

You let your chin fall into your palm. Huh. "So that's the big secret?"

"Actually...there's something else." He shifts nervously. "I know about you and Yoongi."

You freeze, scrambling to your knees with wide eyes. "Wait, Joon, let me explain—"

"Let me finish!" Namjoon brushes you off with a breathless laugh, nodding to himself, as if finally coming to a solid conclusion about coming clean when his eyes meet yours. "He's in love with you."

This time it feels like the whole world goes into overdrive. You forget how to breathe.

"What...how...huh?"

It's Namjoon's palm squeezing your knee reassuringly that brings you back down.

"He always was. Even back before things got messed up." A deep breath. Something was coming, you could tell by the way his eye twitched nervously. "That's why me and Yoongi fought. That's why I...I lied and said that I wrote the song the night of the Mic Drop final...accused him of plagiarism—" Your mouth gapes. "I know! I know. Don't look at me like that. I can see the irony."

It all makes sense now. She's a part of this, Namjoon, whether you like it or not.

The reason Namjoon sacrificed his best friend wasn't for fame but for your sake?

You want to fly at your brother, scream at him for keeping this from you for so long. For turning you against Yoongi. For keeping you from the only person to make you feel safe. Feel Happy.

But his eyes are void of anything other than regret and you can tell his betrayal had been playing on his mind all these years.

"Point is, I didn't want you to get hurt." He shuffles awkwardly, not knowing what to do with your silence. "That's not an excuse, I know. Do you hate me?"

"No." Your voice sounds small. His chest heaves with relief. "I just wish you had been honest with me before. Saved us a ton of trouble."

"I thought I was doing the right thing. But I was a shitty brother in the end anyway."

It's strange. Even after all the fights and the resentment and the goddamn secrets, you don't think Namjoon is a shitty brother. Sure, his actions and intentions were shitty there was no denying it. But now it's like the puzzle pieces finally click into place and the full photograph comes into view, crystal clear.

All this time, he just wanted to protect you, when you should have been protecting him. He was hurting too, you just never knew it.

"It's not too late, Joon. Just be happy for me okay? I think..." If Namjoon plucked up the courage to tell you his secrets then it was only fair that you did too. "I love him too."

A pinkish tinge caresses your face when you finally admit it, both out loud and to yourself.

You love Yoongi. And now all the cards are on the table there's nothing holding you back from it.

Now you just need to tell Yoongi.

"I know. You think I don't know who that song is about?" The grin that spreads across Namjoon's features is sincere."And I am. Happy for you, I mean."

Now the truth is out in the open it feels like your wounds are already beginning to heal. You place your hand over his and squeeze it tight. It was time to forgive.

A thought suddenly strikes you. "So what are you gonna do now?

Namjoon fumbles in the back pocket of his jeans, thrusting something towards you. A polaroid picture. The same photo you'd seen at Yoongi's studio.

He kept it, too?

"This kid." His finger jabs at the innocent face of a younger Namjoon, arm wrapped around the shoulders of his best friend. "I didn't get enough time to live as him before I became Runch Randa. I think it's time to just live as Namjoon for a while."

"But what about Big Hit? It'll fall apart and mom and dad will kill you—"

"No it won't. They have you. I already talked to them, in fact. There's a stage with your name on it right here." He pats the ground. "If you want it, that is."

You blink, stunned. You? "I...I don't know if I can."

"I believe in you." Namjoon says. "And I'll be cheering you on from the front row."

You'd have to think about it long and hard but you can't help the grin that appears on your face. Things were going to be okay.

An urge rises in your chest to tell Yoongi this news. To see the way his face would light up as you started the journey to following your own dreams, like he always said you should.

You and Yoongi were going to be okay.

"Hey! Maybe I should try photography now I have some free time." Namjoon tugs at the camera strap around your neck, lifting his eye to the viewfinder and laughing when you cover the lens with your hands. "Damn I'm kinda good!"

You bump his shoulder teasingly, the belly laughter that spills into the arena feeling like the most natural thing in the world.

You're only interrupted by approaching footsteps. Jimin bursts into the arena.

"Namjoon," he pants. "I have some bad news."

--

It's compulsory for all competitors to attend the crowning ceremony. Even those who get disqualified.

RUNCH RANDA BLACKLISTED FROM COMPETING IN FUTURE HIP HOP COMPETITIONS AFTER PLAGIARISM SCANDAL SURFACES.

Just one of the devastating headlines that hit the media after the judges panel received an anonymous tip in the form of a USB stick that exposed Namjoon once and for all. The same USB that you pressed into Yoongi's hands just hours before Namjoon's disqualification.

RAPPER GLOSS TO SNATCH MIC DROP TROPHY IN SHOCKING REVENGE FOR HIS BRUTAL DEFEAT.

Namjoon reads it aloud in the back of the car. He laughs at the end but it does nothing to lighten the mood.

The windows are tinted but you can still see the hoards of fans lining the streets, eyes steeped in betrayal.

You should hear the way they boo as your brother drives past. You should hear the way they chant his name instead.

Yoongi! Yoongi! Yoongi!

But you don't. You don't hear anything. You don't feel anything. All you can think of is the same three words, throbbing in your chest over and over again.

I love you.

Did he mean them at all?

"Y/N? Did you hear me?"

"Hm?" You look up. Namjoon's staring at you with concern.

"Your phone's ringing again."

It's no surprise when you pull out your phone and see a contact picture of yourself and Yoongi gracing the screen. He's been calling all morning. It takes every strength inside you to tap the red decline button.

"Aren't you gonna talk to him?"

Another call lights up the screen.

"Not like this."

With trembling fingers you shut your phone off all together.

--

Paparazzi cameras flash brazenly as you step out of the black company car, following Namjoon with your hood pulled tightly round your face. A hoard of body guards usher you through a back door to the arena. The main entrance is reserved for notable guests only, you learn.

While Namjoon's presence usually makes the room buzz with an electric energy, there's no excitement when he enters now. An awkward hush falls like a shroud as he elbows his way past pitiful stares. It's like someone died. In a way it's true; there's no trace of Runch Randa in Namjoon's hunched stance. Here, the dead still walks for everyone to see.

Jimin's waiting by the stage door. No words are exchanged as he slips passes into your hands. Namjoon's has a big red strike through the word TALENT, "guest" scribbled all too generously below it to match your own.

It's nearing show time. They're just waiting for you to take your seats, Jimin says, though you barely hear him. You're too busy imagining what you would do if you bumped into him right now, heart pounding whenever you catch a glimpse of blue or hear a laugh you're convinced you recognise.

Deep down you know exactly where you have to go to find him. To find Yoongi.

"I'll join you in a second, okay?"

Namjoon looks nervous, the first time you've ever seen him with such a severe case of the jitters. His smile is empty when you rub his forearm reassuringly. "Don't be too long. If I'm gonna do this I want you by my side."

You manage a smile. "Always."

With that, Namjoon takes a deep breath and pushes out into the life of the arena and you find your feet numbly carrying you down back corridors you know by heart until you reach his dressing room.

Your heart is blind, you think. Even now the shattered fragments ache for him, beat a little faster knowing he's just behind this door.

Why can't you go back to hating him, just like you did before? Deep down you know it's because you never really hated Yoongi. You don't think you ever could.

Forgiving him, though? Some wounds never heal, no matter how badly you want them to.

You pause outside the door. The stupid gold star that used to be there has been scraped off, replaced with a new name tag. Gloss. You put your ear to the wood. Nothing.

A deep breath and you find the handle. Should you burst in and give him a piece of your mind? Knock and enter politely? You can't help but scoff. Shouldn't he be the one coming to find you?

He calls your name before you can do either.

"Y/N?"

Fuck. Is hearing his voice supposed to hurt this bad?

You don't know what you're expecting when you turn around. Something different about him perhaps. A sign that he isn't the person you had grown to know. Grown to love.

But there he is. All messy blue hair and bitten lips and eyes a little red around the edges. Your Yoongi.

Your arms curl around your body like a band aid, holding you together. You can't crumble. Not now.

He looks stony but his eyes flicker with tender remorse when he sees the tears staining your cheeks.

His hands reach for you instinctively. The same hands that make love to his piano in the shitty apartment above the coffee shop. The same hands that could make you fall apart with even a delicate touch. You want to run into them so bad it hurts. But now they're stained red with betrayal and he chokes when you recoil.

Seconds feel like hours as you just stand there taking each other in like it's been years. It's only been a day or two. Maybe three? You can't remember. They all rolled into one meaningless blur of angry tears and insomnia.

You had a whole speech prepared for the moment you finally faced him again. But there are no words that feel right. You just need to know. If he meant every touch and every inside joke and those three words that make your heart soar despite how badly you want to hate him. And there's only one way to find out.

"Why did you do it?"

Your voice sounds timid and scared, like you feel. He winces.

"Y/N, let me explain—"

"Explain what?" Your voice raises shakily."How you lied to me? How you used me?"

He rushes towards you and it takes all of your strength to draw back, especially when his eyes look so frantic, so desperate. Like he's having one of his nightmares. It tugs at your heart because this time the nightmare is real and you're living in it.

"It's not like that—"

"Did you ever even want me? What about all that fair and square bullshit you told me huh?"

"Of course I wanted you Y/N...want you." His eyes fill with pain. "This wasn't meant to happen. I know how this looks but I just panicked!"

You rush at him, fists curled like that day in his studio except this time he doesn't stop you when you start hitting his chest, vision blurry.

"He was going to pull out! Namjoon was going to let you win! So that I could -- we could be happy!"

"What I...I don't understand?" His mouth gapes, processing. "But you didn't..." He swallows, like remembering is painful. "When I confessed, you didn't say it back. I thought we were over! I thought I had nothing to lose, Y/N. He had already won..."

You remember your words. I can't do this anymore. A misunderstanding that would never have happened if he just—

"Did you even listen to the song?"

His face drops at the mention of the song. "No." He looks like he might cry. "I was angry! I...I acted impulsively. I never got the chance..."

You bared your soul in that song in ways you never thought you could. He wasn't supposed to find out how you felt about him this way. Not here, when you're falling apart and there's nothing you can do to stop it. But it all comes tumbling out before you can change your mind.

"I wrote that song because I love you, Yoongi!"

Silence. He has to grip the wall to steady himself.

"Y-you love me?"

"I love you." The words feel indulgent on your tongue and even now as they hang heavy in the air and you're overcome with an indescribable combination of grief and longing, you mean them with every bone in your body.

You rush at him. You can't help it. Can't resist how your head falls into his chest and how you cry harder when you breathe in his scent one last time, sobs muffled by his hoodie. But he hears them, you know he does, because his hands are trembling when they pull you closer like you're fragile enough to break.

"I love you. So fucking much it hurts, Yoongi."

You're weak. You're so so weak.

You don't know why you do it but you grab his face with both hands and then you're kissing him. Showing him how much you need him, how much you mean your words. His hand cups your jaw like always and his lips press back with a tender desperation and you believe him. You believe that he loves you. Whole and true. Because in that moment, with his lips on yours, everything is okay. He's your Yoongi and you're his Y/N and he loves you.

But then you pull back and he's crying too and everything's broken and your heart goes numb.

"I'm sorry. God, Y/N I'm so sorry. If I could take it back I promise I would."

You muster up all the strength you can. You know what you have to do.

"I'm giving you a choice, Yoongi. You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over. For real."

He tries to kiss you again, grabbing at you frantically when you turn your cheek.

"Y/N, don't do this. We love each other. That's all that matters right?" He musters up the closest thing to a smile he can manage, like he's convincing himself more than he is you. "You don't have to—"

"No." You pull away from grip. It feels cold and wrong. "I have to do this. If you love me like you say you'll...you'll understand."

You turn but he grabs your wrist, pins you in place.

"I can't lose you to him again, Y/N. I...I already lost you once and I don't think I..."

The hard faced Min Yoongi you once knew is gone. All that's left is the vulnerable man in front of you who holds your heart in your hands with a grip so tight it scares you.

"He can't win...please."

You suck in a final breath.

"Please what? Don't make you choose between me and that stupid fucking trophy? You did this to yourself, Yoongi." You turn and this time he lets you. "The only person pushing me away is you."

"Y/N please, wait!"

You don't dare turn to look at him as you walk away. Not even when he pleads or you hear him fall to his knees, a strangled sob echoing down the hall. You're scared you might run back to him if you do.

You don't let yourself break down until you turn the corner. Yoongi doesn't follow.

--

"I'm okay." You assure Namjoon as you take a seat beside him inside the arena. It's a lie, of course. No amount of cold water splashed on your face in the bathroom could prepare you for this moment.

You're just in time. The ceremony is already starting. The host is taking the stage and the lights are dimming but you're too numb to care.

You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over.

Your decision is final. There's no going back. You've cried all your tears. You've said all that needed to be said. All you're left with now is a sickly feeling in your stomach as you look down at the trophy sat in a display case center stage.

We love each other. A slither of hope tugs at your heart strings. You barely manage to suppress it.

"Sorry! Excuse me!" The empty seat to your left sinks under the weight of Hoseok as he clumsily stumbles into the arena, late as always.

He offers you a smile which turns to a frown when you only stare past him vacantly, straining your neck to keep an eye on the stage.

A hand covers yours. You freeze at the contact, only relaxing when you peer through the darkness to find Hoseok staring at you gently. His voice is a whisper. "Whatever happens I'm here for you, okay?"

A wave of emotion crashes through you and you think you might cry again. You can't make your lips sound out a response but Hoseok understands and you feel a little stronger when you turn your attention back to the ceremony knowing you have someone by your side.

"As you all know there have been some...complications with this year's finalists." The host coughs and fiddles with his tie awkwardly. "But we are glad to announce that we do in fact have a winner here with us today!"

The crowd chants Yoongi's name again. Namjoon stiffens. Your free hand grabs his and he squeezes it tight.

"So without further ado, I would like to welcome this year's winner, Gloss!"

The crowd goes wild but the sound is drowned out by a ringing in your ears. It's like you're underwater, holding your breath as you wait and wait for him to take the stage and all the oxygen to slip away.

One...two...three...

You get to ten seconds, then twenty seconds and then thirty and by the time you get to forty you feel yourself break the surface, take a heaving breath.

You're floating. He chose you.

He loves you! Yoongi loves you! He—

No.

You're seeing things. You must be. That can't be Yoongi's face lighting up every screen in the room. That can't be him crossing the stage and taking the trophy from the hands of the host with a smug grin. That can't be Yoongi holding it up in the air like a martyr.

That can't be your Yoongi. This is a stranger.

You crash back to reality when Namjoon wraps his arms around your waist and you realise your sobbing. Sobbing so hard it hurts your chest and your lungs burn with misuse and you're sure the tears will never stop.

"It's okay! Shh."

Nothing is okay. Nothing.

Yoongi's face is still blown up on the big screens in painful detail. The smile on his face falters when he looks out into the crowd and spots you instantly. Sees you crumple.

There are two things Min Yoongi ever loved in this world.

His music and you.

The trophy feels cold in his hands. The crowd gasps as he rushes to the edge of the stage and calls out to you.

"Y/N wait! I'm sorry—"

You hear his voice through the speakers but it's too late. You're already running.

Yoongi's mic drops to the ground.

--

Yoongi's nightmares are back. Except this time they're different.

When he closes his eyes you're there. Smiling and laughing like you used to. His heart warms and he reaches for you...

And then he realises it's not you. Just a picture, blown up on the big screen as you cross the stage at the front of the room he's suddenly aware he's in.

He glances around at the indistinguishable people around him, all smiling and clapping ferociously. Why isn't he happy?

The bottle in his hand is half empty. He's realises he's screaming. So hard his throat burns and his lungs beg for air but you don't even look his way. He screams your name, over and over again. Nobody seems to hear him.

Namjoon's there too. Bouncing a baby on his knee, maybe one or two years old if he has to guess.

"That'll be you one day," He whispers, but its deafening to Yoongi. "Only the very best for my niece." The baby giggles up at him, stubby fingers wrapped around his thumb.

She has your eyes. The very same eyes Yoongi would look into like they held everything in the world. The very same eyes Yoongi saw fill with pain on the last day he saw you before things got messed up.

She has Hoseok's nose. And his mouth, too, small and heart shaped. The resemblance is uncanny as Hoseok appears beside Namjoon, takes the baby girl into his arms and places a sweet kiss on her forehead.

Then there you are. The same old Y/N. The same smile that makes your eyes crinkle and the same laughter than makes his heart melt. The same girl who used to love him.

Though it's clear that that much is no longer true. Not when you lean up to kiss Hoseok on the cheek, Namjoon drawing you into a hug when you present the trophy in your hands to them with an elated laugh.

A family.

It feels like he's been punched in the stomach.

Yoongi always thought winning Mic Drop would mean he had everything. Fame. Money. Glory.

He didn't need family. He always got by on his own.

It took holding the whole world in the palm of his hand to realise none of it meant anything if he didn't have you by his side.

You were his everything. But he was too stupid to see it and he let you slip away.

It's too late now.

A hand appears on his shoulder. It's cold, grip bruising. The voice that comes next gives him chills every single time.

"So was it worth it?" Namjoon asks.

Yoongi tries to answer but his vision is blurred with hot tears now and he's on his hands and knees and he's screaming.

And when he wakes up at ass o clock, sweaty and gasping for air, he still finds himself reaching for your warmth beside him.

But all his fingers find are cold sheets and bitterness.

extended a/n: okay so if you have reached this far then you are a TROOPER. a trooper who i love and appreciate endlessly for reading 30k of my waffle lmao im so sorry <3 ksksksk so this fic has been in my head for the longest time and in my drafts for almost five months so im super attached to it and putting this out is like the scariest ever?? i really put my heart into this piece, like y’all don’t understand how many times it’s cropped up in my dreams and I’ve woken up like MUST WRITE. it’s far from perfect but i tried my best!! i can’t tell you how many scenes had to be rewritten until i was happy enough with them bc this fic is literally my baby in every sense of the word and i wanted to get it right :( although that just made the ending even more SOUL DESTROYING to write for me ugh i had the ending set in my mind before i even started writing but there were moments where i jus wanted yoongi and oc to be happy ever after :( but alas, I feel like this ending was far more realistic for them and i couldn’t go against my gut sigh. there may be a few drabbles planned in the future tho to make up for the angst :) Anyway!!! I’ll stop rambling. Thank you for reading this far, if anyone has. TROOPER. love you <3

updated 12/01/19: drabble #1 | drabble #2 | drabble #3 

[uwua3]

i stumbled across your blog and i adore your writing!! if it’s not too much to ask, can i get some fluffy cafe date hcs w/ kazu?

YES!!!!!!!!! kazunari Best Boy ever ♡_♡ but thank you so much for the support!!! i hope you’ll adore this piece as well~

summary: you’re kazunari’s greatest gift of them all this christmas

author’s note: i know it’s summer, but this is a christmas! kazunari who is spontaneous and loves the holiday spirit ♡ i miss christmas so much even though i don’t celebrate. enjoy the puns~

word count: 1,771

music: chocolady – akdong musicians (akmu)

i like you a latte!

🌻🎨 miyoshi kazunari

kazunari regretted procrastinating on his big final project of the school year before winter break

he couldn’t help it! he said he’d start soon, but scrolling through his entire timeline took hours! liking posts and making his own creative trends was basically a requirement in his career as a social media influencer!

one thing led to another, and by the time kazunari looked up from his screen, he was surrounded by supplies and only less than half a week to finish a project he got assigned two months ago

no need to panic, just got to do everything right! kazunari went pale like the snowflakes outside and groaned, already stressed as he rubbed his face. this was not going to end well at all... he would need to pull all–nighters just to pass!

kazu⭐️ posted an update! : gonna be offline for a bit~ ♪ don’t miss me too much!!! rip my procastination (^з^)-☆

just a hour after he posted his stresses to the internet, his ears perked up at the custom ring tone he set for you blaring through his room. he took the phone out of his apron pocket and put it to his ear, still mapping out his design as he tried to hide his tiredness

(he hated worrying you, he’d rather have your attention when he was at his best over his exhausted, procrastinative state)

“yolo~! what’s up?” kazunari loudly asked, affectionately calling out your pet name as you laughed on the other end. kazunari could hear you put something on and the jingle of keys. coat? keys? where were you going at this time of night? kazunari pouted, looking at his work, he wished he could go out, too!

kazunari glanced out at his window, seeing it was dark outside. he was about to ask what you were doing before he heard your door close, his facetime screen popped up as he quickly pressed accept, wanting to see your face to motivate him to make some progress

you were walking down your sidewalk in the cold, wearing clothes that were too put–together at this time of night. your cheeks and nose were red from the frost as you grinned at him with all the energy in the world

“i saw your post! i know you’re tired, come on, let’s go get coffee!” you offered, and kazunari felt all his energy come back as he immediately nodded without considering staying behind to focus on his work. he needed you, his energy boost!

“whoa~ why are you so cute?! you know i love coffee! (and you)” kazunari complimented, pushing himself up and heard the crack of his bones. his neck was sore and his clothes were already stained, but he just wanted to see you as he shoved his feet in his shoes and left the studio he was renting

nothing could get between kazunari and his much needed picker–upper (you and caffeine, of course)!

you guys didn’t even have to say which café it was, you two went to the same place as always. it was the 24/7 café that felt like it always stuck in the holiday spirit. the colorful lights were up, there was a jukebox playing christmas classics, and kazunari felt like he was home when he stepped into the warm atmostphere

(like the social butterfly he was, kazunari animatedly exclaimed his greetings and held a small–talk conversation with the exhausted barista at the register. how he remembered the barista’s name was beyond him, and the employee just tried to stay awake as he moved to the back to take a nap. kazunari shrugged, you can’t win everybody, he’ll just try again at a better time)

when kazunari saw you at your usual table by the window with his favorite order and cookies, kazunari rushed over and pulled you into a hug, giving you a big kiss like always did when he wanted to express how much he loved you but couldn’t do it in words

you two were the only ones in the café since it was so late. chocolady by akmu was over the radio this time as the guitar strum made kazunari feel his worries melt away

how could he be stressed when his partner and favorite foods were right in front of him? kazunari slid into the seat next to you, wanting to be as close as possible as he laid his head on your shoulder with a sigh

(it was rare for him to be so clingy without wanting to be the big spoon, so it was nice to have your best boy in your arms because he wanted your love & support)

he was so tired but you always let him rest, it was comforting to know you were here with him and knew coffee would fix him right away

“thank you~ you know i love you, right?” kazunari hummed, taking your hand as he sipped his coffee with the other. it was sugary sweet, just how he liked it. this time, there was peppermint to signify the upcoming holidays

“words cannot espresso how much you bean to me! we’re seriously the perfect blend~” kazunari joked, holding up his marshmallow cup like it was a toast when you two were the only one awake at this hour

you laughed again, patting his head and gently massaging his temples as kazunari cuddled into your side. you always knew how to make him feel better, you were his caffeine dose of the day but like, everyday

“i love you too, kazu. even if your coffee puns are terrible (hey! kazunari took offense), school must be hard on you if you had to go offline for a while!” you comforted him as he nodded, closing his eyes when you pressed a kiss to his forehead. he loved you so much, every act of affection felt like an energy boost even though he felt sleepy in the dim lighting

“s’ my fault anyways, i was busy online.” kazunari murmured, trying to keep his eyes open but your body was so warm. he was in his pajamas too since he didn’t change, and it felt like he was cuddling you back in bed. this was tortue! how could he stay awake when you were super adorable like this?!

kazunari blinked, pushing himself off you as he stood up to stretch, appreciating the quiet music and the stillness of the city at night. suddenly, the song faded and shifted into a christmas song he knew you loved. when you were about to mention it, kazunari placed his drink down and held his hand out with a flourish of a bow

“m’lady~ you are brew–ti–ful, where have you bean all my life?” kazunari asked as you took his hand without a doubt and let him whisk you to your feet. you giggled, trying to not be so loud as you two slow–danced in the public café. anyone walking could see you two dancing through the window, any of the employees could have walked out, but it felt like you two were the only people in the world

you rarely got to witness a tired, more mellow kazunari (even though this meant he was more prone to make insufferable puns). so when you got to see his quiet, more vulnerable side, you always enjoyed his contemplative nature and ability to make anything a special memory. he was tired, but his smile was wide as he attempted to sing along to the lyrics

(he was off–tune on purpose, but you thought you fell in love all over again at the sight of his paint–stained pj’s and his blonde hair illuminated by the warm yellow lighting)

“kazu, stop!” you tried to pull away to avoid being too public with your pda, but he whined as he held you closer, swaying back and forth

“i like dancing with you,” kazunari said, pretending to brush a lock of your hair behind your ear before he put his foot behind your heel, causing you to fall back as he held you in a dip. “do i sweep you off your feet, or do i keep you... grounded?”

kazunari winked and you couldn’t help but laugh at his spontaneous quirks, wanting to retort with something just as punny before you looked past his face and noticed something hanging from the ceiling. oh, mistletoe

without warning, you leaned forward and caught him in a kiss, surprising him to the point where he almost let you go (you would’ve absolutely pushed him out into the snow to freeze forever). but, kazunari quickly tightened his grip as he kissed you back like it was the first

(that was one of your favorite things about kazunari. how it felt like you would never get bored and how his love was new everyday)

he tasted like the mocha peppermint latte you ordered for him and the chocolate cookie he just ate. he was sweet like christmas and all things nice, like he came straight out of a gingerbread house

when you two seperated due to the very awkward cough of the underpaid employee at the front desk, you laughed with no shame as kazunari casually apologized with his instant charisma (he even addressed the barista by name, how’d he even know?)

you two took your time to leave, returning back to your seats to talk more about your plans for the holidays and what to do next before you headed out into the cold

kazunari tossed his empty cup into the trash, noticing the label written as he turned towards you, practically glowing underneath the christmas lights decorating the sidewalk

before you could even say anything, kazunari gave you a peck on the lips and smiled

“thank you, really,”

kazunari pressed another quick kiss even though your face was red (and not just from the winter air)

“i like you a latte, hot stuff! ♪”

(you definitely pushed him into the snow this time)

(you had to give him your jacket when his pajamas were all soaking wet)

because of your coffee date, kazunari always came to the café after school to get his quick dose of nostalgic memories with the same peppermint mocha latte as always

(he always posted a pic, tagging you and affectionately tagging it with every heart emoji to show he was thinking of you)

(he’d remember how amazing you looked when you danced with him, and officially deemed christmas the best holiday ever)

kazunari managed to pass his project in on time and made it to winter break! after all, how could he spend christmas with you if he failed his classes?

[hollyhomburg]

Coffee and Whipped Cream (Poly Taehyung x Seokjin x Reader au)

Tags: fluff, smut, slight hurt x comfort, polyamory,

Word Count: 1.5K

Authors Note: one thing I've never thought of till now is poly! Tae x Seokjin x reader, like can you IMAGINE how BOMB that would be? there's really no order or plot to this- just a list of headcanons 

- Seokjin refers to the two of you as his darlings, or prince and princess, Tae calls you honey and calls Seokjin love, and you just settle for Oppa or their nicknames, though occasionally they do get a winey “babeee” out of you. 

- Tae always blushes when Seokjin calls him darling, a fact that you tease him relentlessly for. 

- When you initially go apartment hunting you have several specifications for your shared space.

  1. A bathtub and shower large enough to fit all three of you at once.

  2. A spare room large enough to be a combined studio/ office. 

  3. A large modern kitchen. 

  4. A balcony that Taehyung can fuck the two of you on. (the kinky motherfucker) 

- As a move in present, You buy the three of you matching fluffy sweatshirts with Teddybear ears- Tae’s is in the color of a honey bear, Jin's is black, and yours is white. Seokjin often puts his sugar gliders in the main pocket. 

- So many forehead kisses. 

- They both spoil you ROTTEN.

- Once you mention you like the vanilla taste of MAC lipstick and Seokjin buys you the entire collection.

- You lean over to look at the magazine Tae’s perusing to comment on a dress you see and then the next day you find it hanging in your (ever growing) closet.

- They always bring back gifts for you from tour, whether that is fancy foreign candy or toys.

- You bug them for spending so much money on you but honestly, you love how much attention they give you.

- They pay attention to every one of your likes and dislikes no matter how small they always seem to remember. Sometimes you wonder if they keep a running list. 

- Expect praise from those boys 24/7.

- God forbid if you’re sad, those boys practically trip over themselves to make you feel better.

- Your favorite movie? Already on. The couch? Already piled with blankets. Their laps? Ready and waiting for you after you’ve taken a nice long bath. You want ice cream? Here’s all the supermarket had and some snacks.

- Will sit you down with your head on one lap and your butt in the other. One pair of hands running over your shoulder and down your hair while the other rubs your thighs and sides soothingly as their soft deep voices dissolve whatever is bothering you. 

- If they’re on tour when you get sad they expect selfies and texts every hour to make sure that you’re alright because honestly you’re their world. “Why don’t you cuddle yeontan I’m sure he’ll make you feel better” “and the sugar gliders too” (you also look after them both when the boys are on tour)

- If no one is upset then your preferred couch position is you sitting in between Jin’s legs while Tae props himself across both your thighs (which gives both your hands space to run over Tae’s tummy and card through his hair).

- Tae can be a little needy with physical affection sometimes- which you are more than willing to reciprocate. 

- At the beginning- you can tell that Seokjin feels left out sometimes by how touchy-feely both you and Tae are with one another. 

- But the two of you quickly realize that while Seokjin might rarely initiate skinship he’s defiantly down 100% if you ever want to nuzzle into him, give him back hugs, or kiss him all over until he’s laughing too hard to breath.

- Cuddles between the both of them at night.  

- T H E I R   W I D E   S H O U L D E R S 

- (Just imagine how they’d both look shirtless brushing their teeth in the morning). 

- Tae dragging you into one of his antics and Seokjin going to chastise the both of you but then you drag him in and he can’t say anything because fuck you’re both so cute.

- The epic pun wars that you and Seokjin have in the grocery store have strait up made tae walk away before. (This happened after you held up hot sauce to him and said, “I don’t know why you’re getting so hot and bothered.” And then Seokjin points to the ice-cream and says “I think you need to chill out”). 

- Date nights with them both dripping in designer brands and looking so fucking fire in their suits. 

- Sometimes they switch it up and Tae dresses Jin in Gucci and Jin dresses Tae in another brand (he always says that Taehyung needs to expand his horizons).

- You guys have other dates where the three of you just end up going on long walks at night- usually in the summer when both Seokjin and Tae have to fight over who’s jacket you wear when you start to get cold. 

- You guys stop at 24-hour diners and get a bunch of junk food and milkshakes- you all get a different flavor just so that you can share with one another, 

- “let me try the strawberry milkshake” “only if you don't dunk your french fries in this one Tae.” “But that’s the best way to eat them?”

- When Seokjin cooks for you he’ll take turns feeding the two of you, making him blush when you praise him for his cooking. “Got to make sure both my darlings are well fed and healthy.” “But Oppa I can’t eat another bite!”

- I get the idea that on the days where neither Tae nor Jin have practice and you don’t have work/school, Jin is the first one awake. He takes one look at how Tae is wrapped around you, blushes, and decides that the two of you can sleep while he makes breakfast.

- Jin waking you and Tae up with pancakes (blueberry for you with strawberries, and chocolate for Tae).

- Skims his hand along Tae’s bare back where he’s curled up (head on your chest arms wrapped around your middle) causing Tae to groan against your collar bones which rouses you.

- “How are my prince and princess doing today? Hungry? I made my darlings pancakes.”

- You set the table while Taehyung makes coffee the way that both you and Seokjin like it. somehow he always knows just how much sugar and cream you want. 

- Seokjin Put’s whipped cream on them for both of you “because you’re both so sweet” and when the pancakes are almost gone you turn to him and ask, “Oppa, I want some more.” And you end up eating it off his fingers and sucking on them. Jin’s barely blushing and groaning when Tae sneaks behind him and starts kissing Jin’s neck.

- Que impromptu threesome in the kitchen ft. whipped cream and a very happy Jin (“we’re going to repay you for the meal by having a snack of our own”- Tae probably).

- They get into small arguments about what kind of lingerie you wear but never in an overt way. 

- Seokjin will buy you something in shades of blush, pearl, or lilac (they’re always lacey and innocent) when you wear it you notice Taehyung’s eyes narrowing at you before he smirks. 

- And then a few days later a box will appear on your bed and the strappy maroon bodysuit Taehyung’s got you is practically a BDSM harness with nipple coverings. 

- Both their styles are appeased when you wear things that are embroidered because damn their Jagiya looks cute in black sheer fabric and little flowers that barely cover anything.

- In bed, however, you’re not surprised that Tae’s often the one who’s the more adventurous one pushing both yours and Seokjin’s limits almost habitually.

- Imagine Tae sitting back stroking himself while he orders Jin around, being explicit with every touch, every kiss, every small detail in how he wants Jin to make you come undone. 

- And then imagine him doing the same to you and Jin losing it because both of you know how to take care of him so well. 

- Occasionally you retaliate by having a night where Tae’s tied down with some of Seokjin’s silk ties and the two of you take turns making him fall to pieces, coaxing him gently to the edge of begging and bartering for release.  

- Sometimes to tease them you’ll go to sleep in one of their large button downs, only to find later a pair of deft fingers undoing buttons one by one so slowly you almost don’t notice till you’re nude pressed against a bare chest.

- Seokjin’s defiantly one to do this- he loves loves loves to feel your bare skin up against his. The only one who loves it more is Tae- sometimes he’ll wine and tug at both of your clothes and say “naked cuddles now I need to feel both of you before I fall asleep or I’ll go crazy.” 

- And the two of you just laugh and oblige him because your boyfriend can be so weird sometimes, but it complements the two of you so well, jin with his gruff steadiness, you with your quiet softness, and Tae with his crazy but ultimately loving strangeness.

- The three of you are such a team honestly, you work so well together. Lifting each other up and encouraging each other to be the best you can be- you all feel so lucky to have found each other. 

[woodsens]

best portable keyboard

Correction Appended

On an album of bittersweet childrens tunes that she wrote greater than a decade back, the girl who came to get recognized only since the piano teacher offered what, in hindsight, seems like an eerie glimpse of her possess long term.

Im relocating away today to an area so far away, wherever no one is familiar with my title, she wrote inside the lyrics of a track referred to as Transferring.

When she wrote that music, she was youthful and vivacious, a piano Trainer and freelance music writer who cherished Beethoven and jazz, sunsets and river Appears, extended walks and every thing about Big apple.

On a type of beloved walks, as a result of Central Park in the bright sun of a June working day in 1996, a homeless drifter beat her and made an effort to rape her, leaving her clinging to daily life. Following the assault, the words and phrases to her track came true. She moved absent, from Ny city, outside of her aged lifetime, and all but her closest buddies did not know her identify. To the remainder of the earth, she was — such as the extra well known jogger attacked in Central Park seven several years earlier — an nameless symbol of an urban nightmare. She was the piano Trainer.

Now, about the tenth anniversary with the attack, she is celebrating what seems to be her comprehensive recovery from brain trauma. She is 42, married, with a small little one. She is Kyle Kevorkian McCann, the piano Trainer, and he or she wishes to tell her story, her way.

Her health practitioner informed her it might just take 10 years to recover, and Sunday was that talismanic anniversary. I really feel my existence has long been redefined by Central Park, she explained various days ago, her voice smooth and hopeful. Prior to park; immediately after park. Will there ever be a time Once i dont Consider, Oh, this is the 10th anniversary, the eleventh anniversary?

She spoke in her modest ranch residence within a wooded subdivision inside of a Big apple suburb. She sat inside a eating area strewn with toys, surrounded by images of her cherubic, darkish-haired 2-calendar year-previous daughter. A Steinway grand stuffed half the home, and at a single stage she sat down and performed. Her actively playing was forceful, but she appeared ashamed to Engage in various bars, and shrugged, instead of answering, when asked the title on the piece. She questioned that her daughter and her town not be named.

She phone calls that working day, June 4, 1996, the working day Once i was hurt.

Hers was the first within a string of attacks by a similar gentleman on four Gals more than eight days. The last sufferer, Evelyn Alvarez, sixty five, was beaten to Demise as she opened her Park Avenue dry-cleaning store, and eventually, the assailant, John J. Royster, was convicted of murder and sentenced to lifestyle in prison.

Nonetheless the assault to the piano Trainer is definitely the a single persons appear to keep in mind one of the most. Component of the fascination has got to do with echoes of the 1989 attack over the Central Park jogger. But it also frightened people in a method the attack about the jogger didn't simply because its instances ended up so mundane.

It didn't happen inside of a distant Element of the park late in the evening, but near a well-liked playground at 3 in the afternoon. It could have took place to any individual. The stress was heightened by the mystery on the piano instructors id.

For three times, as law enforcement and Health professionals experimented with to discover who she was, she lay in the coma in her hospital mattress, anonymous. Her dad and mom ended up on getaway and her boyfriend, also a musician, was in Europe, on tour. Last but not least, amongst her students acknowledged a police sketch and was in a position to recognize her from the medical center by her fingers, for the reason that her experience was swollen further than recognition. The law enforcement did not release her identify.

The very last thing she remembers about June 4, 1996, is giving a lesson in her studio apartment on West 57th Road, then Placing her long hair inside a ponytail and likely out for any walk. She doesn't bear in mind the attack, Though she has read the accounts in the law enforcement and prosecutors.

To me its similar to a actuality I realized and memorized, she reported. Like I had been a pupil at school researching heritage.

She does not contemplate The person who did it. I might need been angry for the minute, but not for much longer than that, she explained. How could I be angry at John Royster? He was declared not insane, but I assume by our criteria he was.

Dr. Jamshid Ghajar, her medical doctor at Big apple Healthcare facility-Cornell Medical Middle, as it was acknowledged in 1996, instructed reporters that she experienced a 10 % potential for survival. Physicians had to get rid of her forehead bone, which was afterwards changed, for making place for her swelling brain. When her mother made a general public appeal to pray for my daughter, hundreds did.

Just after 8 days, she came outside of a coma, very first inside of a vegetative point out, then in the childlike condition. As she recovered, she slept minor and talked continuously, sometimes in gibberish. I used to be finding mad at people once they didnt respond to these phrases, she mentioned.

Like an Alzheimers individual, she had very little shorter-expression memory and would forget about site visitors the moment they still left the place.

More than a number of months, she needed to relearn how to stroll, gown, read through and publish. Her boyfriend, Tony Scherr, frequented everyday to Engage in guitar for her. He inspired her to Enjoy the piano, in opposition to the recommendation of her Bodily therapists, who considered she could be frustrated by her inability to Participate in just how she after experienced. Mr. Scherr played Beatles duets together with her, participating in the left-hand aspect while she played the best.

That was my most effective therapy, she stated.

In August, she moved back again household to New Jersey, along with her father, an engineer, and mom, a schoolteacher. She visited outdated haunts and identified as pals, making an attempt to revive her shattered memory. I used to be really obsessed with remembering, she said. Any memory decline was to me a sign of abnormality or deficit.

Her therapists thought her progress was fantastic, but her two sisters protested that she wasn't the deep thinker she had been.

What bothered her most was that she experienced dropped the opportunity to cry, just as if a faucet within her brain were turned off. Just one night time, 9 months soon after she was damage, she stayed up late to look at the John Grisham movie A The perfect time to Eliminate. Just following her father experienced absent to bed, she viewed a courtroom scene of Samuel Jacksons character on trial for killing two men who experienced raped his young daughter.

The faucet opened, plus the tears trickled down her cheeks. I thought of my moms and dads, my father, and whatever they went through, she mentioned. Minimal by little, my emotion returned, my depth of intellect returned.

Urged by her sisters, she went back to school and got a masters diploma in music instruction.

Not anything went very well. She and Mr. Scherr split up five years following the assault, while they remain buddies. She dated other Adult males, but she often explained to them in regards to the assault instantly — she couldn't assistance it, she claimed — plus they in no way called for your 2nd date.

We now have to search out you a person, her Good friend David Phelps, a guitar participant, mentioned four decades in the past, prior to introducing her to Liam McCann, a pc technician and novice drummer. For at the time, she didn't say everything with regard to the attack right up until she obtained to understand Mr. McCann, after which you can when she did, he admired her strength.

Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani, who had frequently visited her at her bedside when she was inside the clinic, married them in his Occasions Sq. Office environment. She wore a blue dress and pearls. While she was Expecting, within a burst of creative imagination, she and her pals recorded Whilst Have been Youthful, an album of childrens tracks that she had composed prior to the assault, including the track Moving. Her ex-boyfriend, Mr. Scherr, produced the CD. On it, her spouse plays drums and he or she plays electrical piano.

Is her existence as it had been? Not precisely, although she is unwilling to attribute the differences to her accidents. Her very last two piano pupils still left her, devoid of calling to explain why, she stated. She has resumed participating in classical tunes, but uncomplicated pieces, mainly because her daughter isn't going to give her time and energy to exercise. As for jazz, I dont even try, she stated.

She would want to drive much more, sensation stranded while in the suburbs, but she is definitely rattled. She tries to be content with keeping house and caring for her daughter.

Dr. Ghajar, a scientific professor of neurological surgical treatment at what's now termed Ny-Presbyterian Healthcare facility/Weill Cornell Professional medical Heart, who operated on Ms. Kevorkian McCann once the attack, said last week that her volume of recovery was rare. Shes fundamentally regular, he stated.

Other industry experts, who will be not Individually acquainted with Ms. Kevorkian McCanns circumstance, are more careful.

Regaining a chance to Engage in the piano might include an almost mechanical course of action, a semiautomatic remember of just what the fingers must do, mentioned Dr. Yehuda Ben-Yishay, a professor of medical rehabilitation drugs at Big apple College University of Drugs. At the time Mind-injured, you will be generally brain-injured, For the remainder of your daily life, Dr. Ben-Yishay stated. There isn't a get rid of, There's only intensive compensation.

The more telling Section of a Restoration, in his perspective, is psychological, and on that score he counts Ms. Kevorkian McCanns marriage and youngster as a significant victory.

For her element, the piano Instructor is aware she has modified, but she has designed her peace with it. I used to be type of a hyper —— I dont know if I used to be a Type A, but I was ambitious, she suggests. Why was I so ambitious? I had been a piano Trainer. I dont understand what the ambition was about. I actually did come back to the individual Im purported to be.

[emilyl-b]

9 Things Your Parents Taught You About fireinsidemusic.com

Correction Appended

On an album of bittersweet childrens music that she wrote a lot more than ten years ago, the woman who came to become acknowledged only given that the piano Trainer supplied what, in hindsight, seems like an eerie glimpse of her have upcoming.

Im moving away currently to a spot so distant, wherever nobody appreciates my title, she wrote from the lyrics of the music referred to as Moving.

When she wrote that track, she was youthful and vivacious, a piano Trainer and freelance new music writer who liked Beethoven and jazz, sunsets and river Appears, lengthy walks and every thing about Big apple.

On a type of beloved walks, via Central Park in the bright Solar of the June day in 1996, a homeless drifter conquer her and made an effort to rape her, leaving her clinging to lifestyle. Once the assault, the text to her track arrived legitimate. She moved away, outside of Ny city, out of her old daily life, and all but her closest buddies did not know her name. To the rest of the environment, she was — such as far more famous jogger attacked in Central Park seven years before — an nameless image of the urban nightmare. She was the piano Trainer.

Now, around the 10th anniversary of the assault, she is celebrating what appears to be her whole recovery from Mind trauma. She is forty two, married, with a little child. She's Kyle Kevorkian McCann, the piano Trainer, and she or he wants to explain to her story, her way.

Her physician instructed her it could just take ten years to Recuperate, and Sunday was that talismanic anniversary. I sense my lifestyle has become redefined by Central Park, she said several times ago, her voice smooth and hopeful. Prior to park; immediately after park. Will there at any time be a time Once i dont Feel, Oh, Here is the 10th anniversary, the 11th anniversary?

She spoke in her modest ranch residence in the wooded subdivision in a The big apple suburb. She sat in a dining area strewn with toys, surrounded by photos of her cherubic, dim-haired 2-calendar year-aged daughter. A Steinway grand filled fifty percent the place, and at just one level she sat down and played. Her taking part in was forceful, but she seemed embarrassed to Engage in quite a lot of bars, and shrugged, rather then answering, when asked the identify from the piece. She asked that her daughter and her city not be named.

She phone calls that working day, June 4, 1996, the working day Once i was harm.

Hers was the main within a string of assaults by precisely the same man on four women over 8 days. The final victim, Evelyn Alvarez, 65, was overwhelmed to Loss of life as she opened her Park Avenue dry-cleansing shop, and eventually, the assailant, John J. Royster, was convicted of murder and sentenced to lifestyle in prison.

Nonetheless the attack on the piano Instructor may be the a person individuals seem to recollect probably the most. Portion of the fascination has to do with echoes on the 1989 assault to the Central Park jogger. But In addition, it frightened men and women in a means the attack on the jogger did not since its situation ended up so mundane.

It did not happen in a very remote Portion of the park late in the evening, but in close proximity to a favorite playground at three inside the afternoon. It could have took place to anybody. The stress was heightened from the mystery with the piano academics id.

For three times, as law enforcement and Health professionals attempted to find out who she was, she lay in a coma in her clinic mattress, anonymous. Her parents were on trip and her boyfriend, also a musician, was in Europe, on tour. Last but not least, among her students regarded a police sketch and was able to establish her while in the clinic by her fingers, since her confront was swollen beyond recognition. The law enforcement did not release her identify.

The last thing she remembers about June four, 1996, is providing a lesson in her studio apartment on West 57th Avenue, then putting her very long hair in the ponytail and likely out for any walk. She will not keep in mind the attack, Though she has listened to the accounts from the police and prosecutors.

To me its like a actuality I realized and memorized, she mentioned. As if I ended up a student in school researching background.

She doesn't think of The person who did it. I might need been offended for any moment, although not a lot longer than that, she said. How could I be offended at John Royster? He was declared not insane, but I assume by our specifications he was.

Dr. Jamshid Ghajar, her doctor at The big apple Healthcare facility-Cornell Health-related Middle, as it was known in 1996, explained to reporters that she experienced a 10 percent possibility of survival. Medical professionals experienced to get rid of her forehead bone, which was later on changed, to produce space for her swelling brain. When her mother produced a community appeal to pray for my daughter, 1000's did.

Immediately after eight times, she arrived out of a coma, very first in a very vegetative state, then in a childlike condition. As she recovered, she slept minor and talked frequently, from time to time in gibberish. I had been finding mad at folks after they didnt reply to these terms, she claimed.

Like an Alzheimers individual, she experienced small short-term memory and would forget guests once they left the room.

Around a number of months, she had to relearn ways to stroll, dress, read and write. Her boyfriend, Tony Scherr, frequented everyday to Perform guitar for her. He encouraged her to Engage in the piano, in opposition to the advice of her Actual physical therapists, who thought she can be disappointed by her incapacity to Participate in the best way she once experienced. Mr. Scherr performed Beatles duets along with her, actively playing the remaining-hand portion though she played the ideal.

Which was my most effective therapy, she mentioned.

In August, she moved back again property to New Jersey, along with her father, an engineer, and mother, a schoolteacher. She visited previous haunts and known as good friends, striving to revive her shattered memory. I used to be really obsessive about remembering, she reported. Any memory reduction was to me an indication of abnormality or deficit.

Her therapists considered her progress was fantastic, but her two sisters protested that she was not the deep thinker she had been.

What bothered her most was that she had missing the ability to cry, like a faucet within her brain were turned off. A person night time, nine months following she was harm, she stayed up late to watch the John Grisham Motion picture A Time to Destroy. Just following her father had long gone to mattress, she viewed a courtroom scene of Samuel Jacksons character on demo for killing two men who had raped his younger daughter.

The faucet opened, as well as tears trickled down her cheeks. I thought of my mothers and fathers, my father, and whatever they went by means of, she explained. Minor by very little, my feeling returned, my depth of mind returned.

Urged by her sisters, she went again to highschool and obtained a masters degree in music education and learning.

Not anything went very well. She and Mr. Scherr split up five years once the assault, although they remain good friends. She dated other Gentlemen, but she always advised them regarding the assault instantly — she couldn't support it, she mentioned — plus they in no way known as for a 2nd day.

We have now to search out you anyone, her Good friend David Phelps, a guitar participant, mentioned 4 many years back, before introducing her to Liam McCann, a computer technician and newbie drummer. For at the time, she did not say anything at all about the assault until she received to grasp Mr. McCann, then when she did, he admired her toughness.

Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani, who had typically frequented her at her bedside though she was in the clinic, married them in his Instances Sq. Place of work. She wore a blue costume and pearls. Whilst she was pregnant, within a burst of creativity, she and her mates recorded Even though Ended up Young, an album of childrens songs that she experienced penned prior to the attack, such as the music Shifting. Her ex-boyfriend, Mr. Scherr, manufactured the CD. On it, her spouse performs drums and she performs electrical piano.

Is her life as it absolutely was? Not specifically, although she is hesitant to attribute the distinctions to her injuries. Her very last two piano students still left her, with out contacting to clarify why, she reported. She has resumed taking part in classical songs, but simple items, because her daughter would not give her the perfect time to practice. As for jazz, I dont even check out, she stated.

She would want to drive additional, sensation stranded in the suburbs, but she is easily rattled. She tries to be written content with being house and caring for her daughter.

Dr. Ghajar, a medical professor of neurological operation at precisely what is now named New York-Presbyterian Healthcare facility/Weill Cornell Clinical Center, who operated on Ms. Kevorkian McCann once the assault, said final week that her amount of Restoration was rare. Shes generally standard, he claimed.

Other gurus, who're not Individually accustomed to Ms. Kevorkian McCanns case, are more cautious.

Regaining the opportunity to Participate in the piano may possibly contain an Nearly mechanical procedure, a semiautomatic remember of exactly what the fingers have to do, explained Dr. Yehuda Ben-Yishay, a professor of scientific rehabilitation medication at Ny University School of Medication. As soon as brain-injured, you happen to be always brain-hurt, For the remainder of your lifetime, Dr. Ben-Yishay claimed. There isn't any cure, You can find only intense compensation.

The more telling Portion of a Restoration, in his see, is psychological, and on that rating he counts Ms. Kevorkian McCanns relationship and boy or girl as a major victory.

For her aspect, the piano Instructor is familiar with she has altered, but she has produced her peace with it. I used to be sort of a hyper —— I dont know if I was a kind A, but I used to be bold, she claims. Why was I so formidable? I was a piano Trainer. I dont understand what the ambition was about. I really did come back to the individual Im designed to be.

[homestuckcanonconfirmer]

Miley Cyrus and best keyboard for learning piano

Correction Appended

On an album of bittersweet childrens music that she wrote a lot more than a decade back, the woman who came to generally be regarded only because the piano Instructor provided what, in hindsight, looks as if an eerie glimpse of her personal long run.

Im shifting absent now to an area so distant, where by no one is familiar with my identify, she wrote in the lyrics of a song identified as Shifting.

When she wrote that music, she was youthful and vivacious, a piano teacher and freelance music writer who cherished Beethoven and jazz, sunsets and river Appears, long walks and all the things about New York.

On one of those beloved walks, by way of Central Park in the intense sun of a June day in 1996, a homeless drifter conquer her and tried to rape her, leaving her clinging to existence. Following the attack, the words and phrases to her music came accurate. She moved away, outside of New York City, away from her old lifetime, and all but her closest friends did not know her identify. To the remainder of the earth, she was -- much like the more popular jogger attacked in Central Park 7 years earlier -- an nameless image of the city nightmare. She was the piano Instructor.

Now, within the tenth anniversary on the attack, she's celebrating what is apparently her complete Restoration from brain trauma. She's forty two, married, with a little kid. She is Kyle Kevorkian McCann, the piano Instructor, and he or she would like to inform her story, her way.

Her physician explained to her it would get a decade to Get well, and Sunday was that talismanic anniversary. I sense my daily life continues to be redefined by Central Park, she stated various times back, her voice gentle and hopeful. In advance of park; right after park. Will there ever be a time After i dont Imagine, Oh, This is actually the 10th anniversary, the eleventh anniversary?

She spoke in her modest ranch household in a very wooded subdivision in a very New York suburb. She sat inside a dining area strewn with toys, surrounded by images of her cherubic, dark-haired 2-12 months-outdated daughter. A Steinway grand crammed fifty percent the area, and at just one position she sat down and played. Her playing was forceful, but she seemed ashamed to Perform various bars, and shrugged, rather than answering, when questioned the title of the piece. She asked that her daughter and her town not be named.

She phone calls that day, June four, 1996, the day After i was harm.

Hers was the primary in a string of assaults by the identical man on 4 Girls about eight days. The last victim, Evelyn Alvarez, 65, was overwhelmed to Loss of life as she opened her Park Avenue dry-cleaning store, and ultimately, the assailant, John J. Royster, was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison.

But the assault about the piano Instructor could be the a single individuals look to remember the most. Component of the fascination must do with echoes with the 1989 assault over the Central Park jogger. But Furthermore, it frightened people in a means the attack around the jogger did not mainly because its conditions were so mundane.

It did not happen in a distant Component of the park late in the evening, but around a preferred playground at 3 while in the afternoon. It could have transpired to any individual. The tension was heightened because of the thriller on the piano teachers identification.

For three days, as law enforcement and Medical doctors tried to understand who she was, she lay inside of a coma in her hospital bed, anonymous. Her moms and dads had been on getaway and her boyfriend, also a musician, was in Europe, on tour. Lastly, one among her students recognized a police sketch and was capable to discover her inside the medical center by her fingers, simply because her encounter was swollen beyond recognition. The law enforcement did not release her name.

The very last thing she remembers about June 4, 1996, is offering a lesson in her studio condominium on West 57th Street, then putting her prolonged hair inside a ponytail and going out for just a stroll. She would not recall the attack, Though she has listened to the accounts in the police and prosecutors.

To me its just like a fact I acquired and memorized, she explained. As though I were being a college student at school finding out history.

She isn't going to consider the man who did it. I might need been offended for a second, although not much longer than that, she stated. How could I be indignant at John Royster? He was declared not insane, but I assume by our benchmarks he was.

Dr. Jamshid Ghajar, her doctor at Ny Hospital-Cornell Health care Centre, as it was regarded in 1996, explained to reporters that she experienced a ten % prospect of survival. Doctors had to remove her forehead bone, which was afterwards replaced, to create area for her swelling Mind. When her mom designed a general public attract pray for my daughter, thousands did.

Soon after eight times, she came out of a coma, to start with within a vegetative state, then in a childlike condition. As she recovered, she slept minimal and talked frequently, in some cases in gibberish. I was receiving mad at individuals if they didnt reply to these words and phrases, she mentioned.

Like an Alzheimers affected individual, she had minimal quick-phrase memory and would forget about visitors when they left the room.

More than many months, she had to relearn the way to walk, dress, browse and publish. Her boyfriend, Tony Scherr, frequented every single day to play guitar for her. He inspired her to Participate in the piano, versus the advice of her Actual physical therapists, who considered she would be pissed off by her inability to Participate in the way in which she once had. Mr. Scherr played Beatles duets together with her, playing the still left-hand part whilst she performed the appropriate.

Which was my most effective therapy, she stated.

In August, she moved back property to New Jersey, with her father, an engineer, and mom, a schoolteacher. She visited previous haunts and known as good friends, trying to restore her shattered memory. I was very obsessed with remembering, she stated. Any memory reduction was to me a sign of abnormality or deficit.

Her therapists thought her development was terrific, but her two sisters protested that she was not the deep thinker she were.

What bothered her most was that she had lost the chance to cry, like a faucet inside her Mind had been turned off. A single night time, nine months immediately after she was damage, she stayed up late to observe the John Grisham Motion picture A Time for you to Destroy. Just after her father experienced long gone to mattress, she watched a courtroom scene of Samuel Jacksons character on trial for killing two Adult males who had raped his younger daughter.

The faucet opened, as well as tears trickled down her cheeks. I thought about my dad and mom, my father, and what they went as a result of, she reported. Minimal by very little, my feeling returned, my depth of intellect returned.

Urged by her sisters, she went back again to school and acquired a masters degree in new music education and learning.

Not every little thing went effectively. She and Mr. Scherr split up 5 years after the assault, even though they remain good friends. She dated other Adult males, but she usually told them in regards to the assault straight away -- she could not assist it, she said -- and they in no way termed to get a next date.

We have now to locate you a person, her friend David Phelps, a guitar participant, mentioned 4 many years ago, right before introducing her to Liam McCann, a computer technician and beginner drummer. For the moment, she did not say something regarding the assault right up until she acquired to know Mr. McCann, then when she did, he admired her toughness.

Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani, who had generally visited her at her bedside while she was from the clinic, married them in his Occasions Square Business. She wore a blue dress and pearls. Although she was Expecting, in a very burst of creative imagination, she and her friends recorded When Had been Young, an album of childrens tunes that she had written before the assault, including the music Relocating. Her ex-boyfriend, Mr. Scherr, generated the CD. On it, her partner performs drums and she or he plays electric powered piano.

Is her everyday living as it absolutely was? Not accurately, although she's hesitant to attribute the dissimilarities to her accidents. Her final two piano learners remaining her, without contacting to explain why, she reported. She has resumed actively playing classical songs, but straightforward pieces, since her daughter would not give her the perfect time to follow. As for jazz, I dont even test, she mentioned.

She want to push far more, emotion stranded from the suburbs, but she is definitely rattled. She tries to be material with remaining property and caring for her daughter.

Dr. Ghajar, a clinical professor of neurological operation at what on earth is now referred to as NewYork-Presbyterian Healthcare facility/Weill Cornell Healthcare Centre, who operated on Ms. Kevorkian McCann once the attack, mentioned very last week that her standard of Restoration was rare. Shes fundamentally regular, he explained.

Other industry experts, who will be not Individually familiar with Ms. Kevorkian McCanns situation, tend to be more cautious.

Regaining a chance to Perform the piano may well require an Virtually mechanical procedure, a semiautomatic remember of exactly what the fingers ought to do, reported Dr. Yehuda Ben-Yishay, a professor of scientific rehabilitation medication at New York College School of Medicine. Once brain-injured, you will be generally brain-wounded, For the remainder of your life, Dr. Ben-Yishay mentioned. There is not any treatment, There exists only intense payment.

The greater telling part of a Restoration, in his watch, is psychological, and on that rating he counts Ms. Kevorkian McCanns marriage and child as a big victory.

For her part, the piano teacher appreciates she has changed, but she has built her peace with it. I was form of a hyper ---- I dont know if I was a Type A, but I had been bold, she suggests. Why was I so bold? I was a piano Trainer. I dont determine what the ambition was about. I actually did come back to the individual Im purported to be.

Correction: June thirteen, 2006, Tuesday An post on Thursday about Kyle Kevorkian McCann, a piano teacher who was beaten and sexually assaulted a decade back in Central Park, misstated the title of her album of childrens tunes. It truly is While Ended up Young, not When Were Young.

[ylla]

Friday Night Gurus - Chapter 3

Series: JJBA Ships: josuyasu, koichi/yukako (others will eventually happen too, but im tagging as i go) Tags: au where theyre famous, modern au, pining, recreational drug use (smoking that wacky tabaccy), some angst in this one lads Rating: M (eventually there will be sex, so that rating will keep climbing)

AO3 link

i have never not been ready to be murdered by my own two hands.

“Oh fuck,” Josuke moaned, white knuckling his kitchen counter as he was thrust into over and over again. Rough hands were gripping his hips hard enough to leave bruises, and by God, Josuke hoped they did. He had always been way too loud during anything remotely sexual, and right now was no exception. The right spot was hit, Josuke felt like electricity was passing through his body, “God, right there, I’m close—“

One of the hands on his hip reached up for his hair, pulling up him with a gentle, yet firm grip, causing him to arch his back against the person behind him.

A mouth pressed against his ear, breath hot and voice harsh, “Beg me.”

“Please, please, please let me cum, please—“

Josuke’s earlobe got caught between teeth, while the hand tugging on his hair moved to his dick, roughly jerking him off. He was seeing stars, his voice going up a few octaves as he neared the edge, “Fuckfuckfuckfuck.” Josuke’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, inhaling sharply as he started to orgasm, “Oh fuck, Oku—“

“PEOPLE’S ELBOOOOW.”

Josuke woke up to a sudden, crushing elbow to his gut, shrieking in a totally manly way. It was completely dark in his room, but he could make out the black outline of a hulking man rolling around on his bed, snorting like the piggy bitch he was. “Man, I wish I would have turned on the light so I could have seen your face,” the big asshole wheezed, his laugh almost coming out in a stereotypical French ‘honhonhon’.

“JEAN PIERRE POLNAREFF, I’M GONNA LITERALLY MURDER YOU,” Josuke roared, struggling to sit up to push Polnareff’s muscly ass off of him.

Polnareff cackled like a witch, jumping up before Josuke could start punching him, “Up and at them, Josuke. It’s time for our run. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

After Polnareff retreated, Josuke flopped back down, heart still racing. Waiting for his heart rate to return to normal, he grabbed his phone to check the time. It was 6 o’clock in the godforsaken morning. He regretted many things. He regretted giving Polnareff a key to his house. He especially regretted the dream he woke up from and the puddle of cum that had pooled in his underwear.

He put his pillow over his face and screamed. What a fuckin’ mess.

Three hours later, at a much more acceptable time to be awake, Josuke found himself sleepily watching Pol sashay around his kitchen while making omelets. Polnareff was a nutritionist, gym owner, fitness model, and Josuke’s personal trainer. He’d met Polnareff when he was introduced to his father’s side of the family so many years ago; he had been Jotaro’s roommate in college, and Holly, Josuke’s sister, basically considered Pol to be a second son (much to Jotaro’s chagrin and Polnareff’s delight). So not only did Polnareff wake him up at an ungodly hour twice a week, he got to nag and annoy Josuke at all other times as well.

“I have to say, I’m surprised that I didn’t see your friend in there with you this morning. You two are together a lot.”

Polnareff was keeping his tone casual, but Josuke knew exactly where this was headed, “Me and Oku don’t hang out all the time—“

“Josuke, this is the first morning in almost three months that I have walked into your room to wake you up and didn’t see him,” Polnareff pointed a spatula at him, “Can’t argue with the facts.”

He couldn’t, and Josuke despised it.

Ever since the first night he came over, Okuyasu had kept his word about making sure Josuke wasn’t lonely. Between Arrowhead slowing down their activities between their last tour and recording their next album, and Josuke taking a yearlong vacation, they both found themselves with a lot of free time. So, Okuyasu was stayed the night at least three or four times a week. They got high, played videogames, watched stupid movies, took late night drives together, ate food that was terrible for them. Slept in the same bed, and basically cuddled every night they watched a movie together. You know, normal friend stuff.

People like Okuyasu were so rare in Josuke’s life. He never put him on a pedestal like Josuke was some untouchable god or free ticket to fame. He was so grateful to have a friend that saw past all of his fame and fortune, and saw him as he was: just Josuke. It was wonderful and so refreshing.

However, there was one caveat.

Josuke had found himself head over heels in love with Okuyasu, and had to physically restrain himself from making any moves onto his friend. The better he got to know him, the worse it became. He had a sharp ache in his chest whenever he thought about his feelings, and his brain shrieked KISS HIM KISS HIM KISS HIM anytime Oku’s face got remotely near his, or whenever Oku would look at him with a shy smile, or even when Okuyasu cried over something like shelter animals or sad movies. It was all so endearing and Josuke couldn’t get enough of him. For all his flirtations, and for all of the content in his songs that implied that Josuke was some kind of suave, smooth talker, he couldn’t bring himself to risk the first real friendship he’d had in years.

“So what? We hang out a lot, it’s not a big deal,” Josuke forced his voice to remain neutral, “Didn’t you use to bitch and moan at me about never hanging out with anyone besides you assholes, Jolyne, and Koichi?”

“Ignoring your hurtful words, yes I did complain,” Polnareff flipped both omelets onto separate plates; he placed on in front of Josuke and then sat across in the table from him, resting his chin on the top of his water bottle, “But that’s not my point.”

“Then what is?” Josuke arched an eyebrow at him, daring Polnareff to say what he was thinking.

Polnareff was quiet for a few moments before answering, “You should tell him that you’re in love with him.”

Of course Polnareff knew how Josuke felt. He had been the one who had barged in on Josuke lovingly pushing stray hairs out of Okuyasu’s face while he slept one morning. Josuke blurted out everything in a panic while they went for their run, begging him to not speak of it to anyone, especially Okuyasu.

“Absolutely not,” Josuke said flatly.

“You are fucking up, my friend, but it’s your decision,” Polnareff sat up straight and pointed at the omelet in front of him, “Eat that before it gets cold.”

The rest of the conversation was Polnareff talking about some kind of nonsense, Josuke was only paying half-attention because he was still really tired, hungry, and slightly irritated at the earlier conversation. Yeah, like it was so easy to tell your best friend that he was hot and you wanted to kiss him all over, and you were in love with him, haha, full homo bro—

Josuke was pulled out his thoughts to the sound of his text notification going off. His heart did some weird somersault when he saw that Okuyasu had texted him (Josuke finally got his number when Oku put it in his phone for him):

Oku: mornin dude :D

Oku: u doin anythin tonight?

Josuke: nah I aint got anything going on, why?

Oku: were playin a secret show at echoes bar tonight. u wanna come?

He wants me to come see him play, Josuke wheezed inwardly. He responded immediately:

Josuke: HELL YES I DO

Oku: :D hell yeah dude

Oku: i think yukako is gonna invite koichi too, so ill let hazamada kno that yall are gonna be there. he’ll have ur backstages passes ready.

Oku: also word to the wise, wear shorts and a tanktop. the bar gets super hot during shows. ull die in anything else

The rest of their texts were directions, Josuke saying he was excited, and an abundance of smiley face emotes from Okuyasu.

“Oi! Josuke! Stop ignoring me!”

“Oh shit, sorry dude,” Josuke had completely forgotten Polnareff was there, “Did you ask me something?”

Polnareff pouted, “You are so rude to me. I was asking you if you wanted to get dinner with me, Noriaki, and Jolyne tonight. Jotaro is still out in the field and Mo is doing some college thing, so it’ll just be the four of us.”

 Josuke couldn’t stop himself from breaking out into a huge grin, “Sorry, I got plans tonight.”

The upside to having a signature look was that if Josuke had his hair down or in a ponytail, no one recognized him. So when he stood in the very back of Echoes with Koichi, trying to not get trampled by the massive crowd, no one bothered him.

Not that they would’ve anyways. What was happening on stage was infinitely more interesting.

The music was so loud, Josuke could feel it vibrate into his chest. His ears were starting to ring a little, but he didn’t care. Oku’s voice was amazing when he recorded in a studio, but listening to him live was almost like an out of body experience. His voice just crashed over him like the tide, and Josuke wanted it to sweep him out to sea.

Oku hadn’t been lying when he said the club got too hot; all four members of Arrowhead were various states of undress. Josuke could only see half of Yuuya, but he looked like he was naked behind his drum kit. Yukako had her hair up in a high ponytail, wearing ass eating shorts and a cutoff tank top. Keicho was shirtless and in shorts, hair down out of his normal…whatever he had going on there. Oku was dressed more or less the same, but the difference was Okuyasu was infinitely more attractive. Josuke could see the band of his boxer briefs peak up over the waist of his shorts, and licked his lips unconsciously.

Okuyasu was sweaty, loose hairs from his ponytail were falling his face, and looked like he was having a blast, giving all he had and then some. Josuke didn’t think it could’ve been possible, but he fell more in love with him as he watched. All he wanted was to find out what skin that stretched over his hip bones tasted like.

“Koichi, I’m gay.” Josuke moaned.

“What did you say? I can’t hear you,” Koichi called back.

“I said I’m gay!”

Koichi just gave him a very confused look, clearly not understanding what he was saying.

“I’M GAY!” Josuke hollered, grabbing Koichi by the shoulders and shaking him for emphasis.

“Agh! I get it, I get it! Stop!!!”

Yukako noticed them first. After they finished a song, and was in the process of swapping guitars out, Yukako grabbed Okuyasu by the bicep and whispered in his ear. He looked over to the corner Josuke and Koichi were in, and his face lit like the sun. He waved excitedly, which Josuke couldn’t help but wave back, matching his enthusiasm and smile. Okuyasu walked over to a short, sallow looking dude and pointed over towards them. A few minutes later, the roadie appeared beside them, “Here’s your passes, follow me.”

The backstage was kind of cramped, filled with at least a dozen good looking women. Josuke tried to stand away from them, half afraid of being recognized and half wanting to avoid hearing about which band members they wanted to fuck.

When the show ended, the groupies rushed at the bandmembers as they filed off stage. Yukako lips curled into a snarl and elbowed her way over to Koichi; when in front of him, the ice melted and she gave him a sweet smile before planting a kiss on his lips. Koichi froze momentarily before returning the smooch. Josuke had asked Koichi a few weeks ago what was up with him and Yukako. All he got in response was a shrug and a “We’re dating??”

Keicho and Yuuya were wrapped up in all the attention from the groupies, who were fawning over all over them (Yuuya wasn’t naked, and Josuke thanked his lucky stars he didn’t have to see Yuuya’s penis). Girls were too busy playing with Keicho’s hair and rubbing on Yuuya to notice that Okuyasu had quietly slipped in behind them. Good, Josuke sighed with relief, He’ll keep it lowkey.

Which he immediately ruined by shouting, “JOSUKE!” and pounding over to him, nearly knocking Josuke off of his feet with a hug, “YOU CAME!”

Okuyasu was too warm and sweaty, and if there was a god, he would prevent Okuyasu from feeling how hard Josuke was getting from feeling his bare chest press against him. Josuke returned the hug with ferocity, “Of course I did, I said I would.” He pulled back to look Okuyasu in the face, and also prevent his errant boner from rubbing up against him. “It were fantastic, I’m so blown away! You’re amazing, Okuyasu.” Josuke beamed at him, and the tears that filled Okuyasu’s eyes made his stomach flutter.

“You mean that?” he croaked.

“Yeah!”

“Pinky promise?”

Josuke hooked his pinky with Okuyasu’s, “Pinky promise.”

Okuyasu gave him a watery smile before hugging him again, “Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you,” Oku whispered against his shoulder.

If there wasn’t a million pairs of eyes on him, Josuke would have said ‘fuck it’ and kissed Okuyasu right then and there, but he was too chicken. “You’re welcome, Oku,” Josuke pulled away again, “Go shower and then we’ll get out of here.”

“Oh shit,” Okuyasu rubbed the back his neck, looking sheepish, “Sorry, I got like super sweaty and gross.”

Josuke gave him a friendly punch in the arm, “S’fine dude, I don’t care. I’m gonna go smoke, so just come outside when you’re done.” Okuyasu made an assenting noise before jogging off to go shower. Pointedly ignoring Yuuya’s waggling eyebrows and some indecipherable look from Keicho, Josuke swiveled on his heels and left.

It was late summer, but the air felt a 1000x times cooler than it did inside. Josuke had been enjoying his few minutes of peace and quiet while he sat the backdoor’s staircase when he heard someone walk out behind him. He almost greeted Okuyasu, but an unfamiliar voice spoke.

“Why are you here?”

That was not Okuyasu.

Josuke turned to find a still shirtless Keicho peering down at him, hair hanging in his face, unlit cigarette in his hand. “Oku invited me,” Josuke replied, not liking the look on Keicho’s face.

“Why?”

What fuckin’ kind of question is that?? “Because we’re friends? And I told him I wanted to see you guys perform sometime?”

Keicho lit his cigarette and took a drag, his eyes never leaving Josuke’s, “Why?”

Josuke was about .3 seconds away from losing his temper, “Why what?? What the fuck are you asking me, dude??”

“Why are you friends with him?”

It was a huge effort to not start shrieking into the night, “Because he’s a cool guy? And funny? And I enjoy his company? What fucking kind of question is that?” Josuke snubbed out his cigarette, drawing himself up to full height, “What exactly are you trying to say here?”

“Okuyasu doesn’t have friends, and I don’t trust you,” Keicho responded coldly, “I wanna know what you’re after.”

“I’m just after his friendship, you clown!” Josuke exclaimed, rapidly losing his patience, “Is that so fuckin’ hard to believe??”

Before Keicho could retort, the door banged open. “Keicho, you got girls here who wanna inflict terrible things upon your penis, you better get in here and give ‘em what they want,” Yuuya grinned, leaning against the door frame. Purple bruises marred his neck and Josuke could hear whining from behind him.

Without another word to Josuke, Keicho dropped his cigarette, ground it out with his heel, and shouldered past Yuuya. The door swung closed, and Josuke exploded, “What the fuck is his deal??”

Yuuya shrugged, “That’s just Keicho.”

Josuke pointed at Yuuya, “No, that’s just being a cock goblin. I’ve never done anything to that guy, why’s he being such a dickhead??”

“I’ve known Keicho and Okuyasu since I was about 12,” Yuuya started, “There’s a lot of reasons why they’re both the way they are. Good or bad, right or wrong.” He kicked an empty cigarette pack off of the stairs, “Keicho’s got this thing about controlling things and people,” Yuuya took a seat on the top step, “Oku being with you all the time prevents Keicho from having his brother under his thumb.”

“With the way Oku talks about him, it sounds like Keicho fuckin’ hates him.”

Yuuya shrugged again, “Keicho makes it a point to be an absolute bastard to Oku most of the time. Though, he did take a knife to the gut when Akira tried to stab Okuyasu, so that’s something.”

Josuke was thoroughly confused, “Why?”

“Obligation to their mom, I imagine. Keicho got really drunk once and told me that before she died, she made him promise that he would always look out for Okuyasu. So he does, in some way or another.” Yuuya sprung up to his feet, “I will say this, Josuke…it’s nice that Okuyasu’s got a friend not linked to his brother in one way or another. Good for him, ya? But,” He stared Josuke down, all friendliness gone, “I’m pretty perceptive on how you feel, so no need to try and deny it to me. It’s obvious to everyone save for Okuyasu himself and probably Keicho. So, this is a warning: Don’t hurt Oku, or I will find you and whoop your ass. We clear?”

I rather die than hurt him. “Crystal.”

Before either of them could say anything else, Okuyasu walked out of the backdoor with a bruised right cheek, bloody knuckles, and a nose dripping red, “Ready to bounce?”

“Dude, super fuck your brother.”

Okuyasu sat in Josuke’s kitchen while Josuke did his best to doctor him up. He waved a hand, “S’fine, we do this sometimes. He gets too mouthy and I gotta stand my ground,” Okuyasu hissed when Josuke sprayed antiseptic on his oozing knuckles.

“You still haven’t told me what he said.”

As he rarely did, Okuyasu evaded the question, “S’not important. What matters is that I shut ‘em up and he won’t be running that big, stupid mouth of his for a while.”

According to Oku, Keicho walked away from that scuffle with a split lip, black eyes, and probably bruises all over his chest. Not that would’ve deterred the groupies from trying to touch his dick anyways, Okuyasu had theorized on the way to Josuke’s house (Josuke had insisted on driving and went extra slow in fear that he would fuck up Oku’s baby), so Keicho couldn’t be too sore at him for long.

Instead of pushing the matter any further, Josuke took to wrapping Oku’s knuckles, “Tell me if I’m not doing this right.”

“Wrap it a little tighter, and you’ll be aces.”

After he finished, Josuke got up and took an ice gel pack out of his fridge. Thank God Polnareff had insisted he buy one a few months ago, “I’ve been in a fair amount of fights, but that’s the first time I’ve ever had to bandage someone else’s hands.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Okuyasu flexed his fingers, pleased with how the bandages felt, “You did good kid, I used to wrap ‘em up like this when I did bare knuckle boxing matches.”

Josuke walked back over to him, cold compress wrapped in a dishtowel, “You used to box?”

Okuyasu winced as Josuke pressed it to his right cheek, “Yeah, I did underground fights for money. Helped rent out the studio when we recorded our first demo.”

“That’s unsurprising,” Josuke sat on the edge of his table so he could hold the pack to Oku’s face without getting too tired, “You still box?”

“Nah, not really. When I hit the gym, I just beat on the punching bag instead. Keicho’s good practice too,” he snorted. Josuke rolled his eyes; Okuyasu yawned and then gave him a lazy smile, “Josuke, why am I so sleepy right now?”

Josuke peered down at him, eyebrows raised, “Oh, I don’t know. Could it have been the fact that you just played a show in a cramped, hot bar, and then got into a fist fight with your older brother?”

“You may be onto something, boss.” Okuyasu exhaled, closing his eyes and pressing his face slightly into the cold pack. After a few minutes of quiet, he spoke softly, “I know I said this earlier, but m’really glad you came tonight…meant a lot to me…I ain’t never had a friend who actually cared enough to come to a show jus’ for me.” Okuyasu raised his bandaged right hand and placed it over the hand that held the compress to his face, rubbing circles into the skin, “Thanks.”

Josuke does the stupidest thing he has ever done in his entire 24 years of living: he leans over and kisses Okuyasu right on the mouth.

It feels like time stopped before Josuke pulls away. Okuyasu’s eyes are wide open, face glowing red like he has a sunburn. He stands up, startled, “I—I gotta go, I-“ he’s tripping over himself, the chair, and hightails it out of the front door.

Josuke’s brain takes a minute to grind back into motion, and he runs after Oku, “Wait! Dude I’m—“

By the time he gets outside, he can make out Oku’s taillights buzzing down the road.

He stands on his front porch for a long time, staring out into the street, hoping, begging to see Oku’s car return. For him to jump out of his car and holler, “IT’S JUST A PRANK, BRO” before bounding up the steps to return Josuke’s kiss with gusto.

Rain starts falling, and Josuke remains rooted the spot. Dimly, he registers that he is now soaked to the bone, and Okuyasu was not coming back. He did it. He ruined his friendship, because he couldn’t fucking help himself. He couldn’t just be satisfied with how things were.

In a numb haze, Josuke walks back inside, closing the door and locking it behind him with a soft click. He turns the shower on the hottest setting he could stand, sits in the floor as hot water pours all over him, and just trembles.

When the water runs cold, he finally steps out. Mechanically, Josuke pulled on some old sweats and his favorite t-shirt. He can’t bear to look at his bed, let alone sleep in it, knowing that it was bound to smell like Okuyasu, and that was something he couldn’t even begin to handle.

The couch it was. Josuke checked his phone, hoping to have missed a call or text from Oku, but nothing greeted him; he turned it off and threw it across the room. Curled up under a blanket, he listened to the rain pelt the windows, and finally allowed himself to cry.

Something was banging against the front door.

Josuke jerked awake, feeling awful. It took a few seconds for his brain to process where he was, and when he remembered, he had to quickly wipe his tears. He had to keep it together.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Josuke mumbled to no one, cocooning himself in his blanket. The banging was incessant; Josuke figured it was a drunk Tamami who had forgotten his key to Josuke’s front door back at his apartment. It was something that occurred more regularly than it should. As he passed the entrance to the kitchen, the oven’s clock blared the time: 3:24 am. He was going to murder whoever it was.

He unlocked the front door and jerked it open, ready to snarl something at whomever made the mistake of waking him up, when he came face to face with Okuyasu.

Oku looked fucking awful. Soaked to the bone with chattering teeth, red-rimmed puffy eyes; it made Josuke die a little on the inside to see him in such a sorry state, “Jesus Christ Oku, how long have you been out here??” Josuke reached to pull him inside, but Okuyasu smacked his hand away. Tears threatened, and anger rose up inside him like bile, “Why did you come back?” he asked, placing his head into his hands so Okuyasu couldn’t see his face. After what feels like an eternity stretches on, Josuke half-contemplates just slamming the door closed, so Okuyasu would be spared the trouble of having to devastate Josuke anymore.

“Kiss me again.”

Slowly, Josuke lowered his hands to look Oku in the face. He could see that Okuyasu was crying, tears running hot down his scared face. “I’m sorry for leavin’, I’m sorry for runnin’. I’m a fuckin’ idiot fool,” the words burst out of Okuyasu like a dam had broken, “You’re the most perfect thing on this stupid planet, I’ve been crazy over you ever since we first met. I didn’t know if you were makin’ fun of me or somethin’ when you kissed me, so I got scared and ran, but I just ended up making you upset, which is—“ His breath started hitching and he was crying even harder, “The last thing— I ever w-wanna do is hurt y-y-you. Y-you m-mean everyth-thing to me.”

Josuke also had tears running down his face; he pulled Oku into a tight hug and ran his fingers through his hair, shushing him softly, “It’s okay, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” he wailed, face buried into Josuke’s neck, “Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I forgive you, it’s okay. You came back.”

“It’s not okay,” Okuyasu pulled himself away to look Josuke in the eyes, “I hurt you.” Hesitantly, he wiped the tears off of Josuke’s face. Josuke couldn’t stop himself anymore; he pressed his lips against Okuyasu’s. This time, his kiss was returned enthusiastically, and it made Josuke’s very soul sing. Taking great care to not trip over something, Josuke lead Okuyasu into the house without breaking their kiss, closing the door behind him. Josuke couldn’t get enough of how Okuyasu tasted; the kisses were sweet, chaste, and everything Josuke imagined it would be like.

“Do you wanna stay the night?” Josuke murmured against Oku’s lips.

“Yeah, if that’s okay with you.”

Josuke pulled away and kissed the tip of Okuyasu’s nose, took his hand, and led him upstairs.

After Okuyasu’s quick shower, they found themselves tangled up in each other’s limbs, kissing just as slow and gently as before. “Hey Josuke,” Okuyasu’s whispered, voice raspy.

“Yeah?”

“M’really tired and stuff,” Oku stifled a yawn, “so I dunno if we should talk about this now or—“

Josuke brushed a thumb across Oku’s cheek, “I think we should wait until tomorrow morning, after we get some sleep. Okay?” He pressed a kiss onto Okuyasu’s forehead, which turns warm underneath his lips.

“’Kay,” he mumbled, pressing his hot face into Josuke’s neck, “Uhm, I do got one question though, and I don’t wanna wait to ask.”

Josuke pulled back to look him in the face, “Yeah, what’s up?”

Okuyasu was blood red, looking rather meek. “Are we boyfriends now?” he asked softly, as if he scared to hear a rejection.

Butterflies had taken up permanent residence in Josuke’s stomach, and it was taking everything in him to not start wiggling around like an excited puppy, “Do you want us to be boyfriends?”

He got an enthusiastic nod in reply; Oku was too shy to say it out loud, but he did grab one of Josuke’s hands so he could kiss his knuckles.

A grin spread across Josuke’s face, “I guess that makes us boyfriends then.”

The smile that lit up Okuyasu’s face would be one that Josuke wanted tattooed to the inside of his mind, so he could remember it forever.

The slow, lazy kisses they traded relaxed him enough that sleep was moments away. Faintly, before succumbing, Josuke was certain he heard “I love you” whispered into his ear.

[woodsens]

The Most Influential People in the fire inside music Industry and Their Celebrity Dopplegangers

Correction Appended

On an album of bittersweet childrens music that she wrote greater than a decade ago, the woman who came to get recognised only as being the piano Instructor provided what, in hindsight, seems like an eerie glimpse of her have long term.

Im going absent today to an area so distant, the place nobody understands my identify, she wrote while in the lyrics of a track identified as Relocating.

When she wrote that song, she was younger and vivacious, a piano Trainer and freelance audio writer who liked Beethoven and jazz, sunsets and river Appears, extended walks and almost everything about Big apple.

On one of those beloved walks, by way of Central Park in the bright Sunshine of the June day in 1996, a homeless drifter conquer her and attempted to rape her, leaving her clinging to everyday living. Following the attack, the phrases to her track came real. She moved away, out of Ny city, from her previous life, and all but her closest close friends didn't know her name. To the remainder of the planet, she was — similar to the additional well known jogger attacked in Central Park seven many years previously — an anonymous symbol of the city nightmare. She was the piano Instructor.

Now, about the 10th anniversary on the assault, she's celebrating what appears to be her complete recovery from Mind trauma. She's forty two, married, with a small boy or girl. She's Kyle Kevorkian McCann, the piano teacher, and she or he wants to convey to her Tale, her way.

Her doctor told her it could just take ten years to recover, and Sunday was that talismanic anniversary. I sense my everyday living continues to be redefined by Central Park, she said a number of times in the past, her voice smooth and hopeful. In advance of park; immediately after park. Will there ever certainly be a time Once i dont Feel, Oh, Here is the 10th anniversary, the 11th anniversary?

She spoke in her modest ranch house in the wooded subdivision in a The big apple suburb. She sat in a very eating room strewn with toys, surrounded by pictures of her cherubic, dim-haired 2-calendar year-outdated daughter. A Steinway grand stuffed 50 percent the place, and at one place she sat down and performed. Her actively playing was forceful, but she appeared humiliated to Engage in more than a few bars, and shrugged, rather then answering, when requested the name of your piece. She questioned that her daughter and her town not be named.

She phone calls that working day, June four, 1996, the working day when I was damage.

Hers was the main within a string of attacks by the same guy on four Gals above eight times. The final target, Evelyn Alvarez, sixty five, was crushed to Dying as she opened her Park Avenue dry-cleansing shop, and in the end, the assailant, John J. Royster, was convicted of murder and sentenced to existence in prison.

Nevertheless the attack around the piano teacher would be the just one individuals appear to recollect one of the most. Part of the fascination has got to do with echoes in the 1989 attack to the Central Park jogger. But Furthermore, it frightened folks in a method the attack to the jogger did not because its instances were so mundane.

It did not occur inside of a remote A part of the park late in the evening, but near a preferred playground at 3 during the afternoon. It could have took place to anybody. The tension was heightened with the secret of the piano lecturers identity.

For 3 times, as law enforcement and Medical practitioners tried using to see who she was, she lay inside a coma in her medical center mattress, nameless. Her dad and mom were being on getaway and her boyfriend, also a musician, was in Europe, on tour. Lastly, one of her learners regarded a law enforcement sketch and was ready to identify her from the clinic by her fingers, due to the fact her experience was swollen over and above recognition. The law enforcement did not release her name.

The last thing she remembers about June four, 1996, is offering a lesson in her studio condominium on West 57th Avenue, then putting her prolonged hair within a ponytail and likely out for just a stroll. She would not remember the attack, Despite the fact that she has read the accounts of the police and prosecutors.

To me its just like a reality I discovered and memorized, she claimed. Just as if I were a pupil in school learning history.

She will not think of The person who did it. I may have been offended to get a second, but not a lot longer than that, she said. How could I be indignant at John Royster? He was declared not insane, but I suppose by our specifications he was.

Dr. Jamshid Ghajar, her health care provider at Big apple Medical center-Cornell Medical Heart, as it absolutely was recognised in 1996, instructed reporters that she had a 10 per cent possibility of survival. Doctors experienced to eliminate her forehead bone, which was later on replaced, to generate home for her swelling Mind. When her mother produced a public attract pray for my daughter, thousands did.

Immediately after eight days, she arrived out of a coma, to start with inside a vegetative point out, then in a very childlike point out. As she recovered, she slept little and talked consistently, occasionally in gibberish. I used to be obtaining mad at people whenever they didnt respond to these terms, she said.

Like an Alzheimers individual, she had very little quick-phrase memory and would fail to remember readers as soon as they remaining the space.

About various months, she needed to relearn ways to wander, costume, go through and produce. Her boyfriend, Tony Scherr, visited every single day to Perform guitar for her. He inspired her to Perform the piano, from the recommendation of her physical therapists, who believed she could well be disappointed by her lack of ability to Engage in the way she after experienced. Mr. Scherr performed Beatles duets together with her, taking part in the left-hand portion although she performed the right.

Which was my ideal therapy, she said.

In August, she moved back household to New Jersey, with her father, an engineer, and mom, a schoolteacher. She visited outdated haunts and identified as friends, seeking to revive her shattered memory. I was pretty obsessed with remembering, she claimed. Any memory loss was to me a sign of abnormality or deficit.

Her therapists assumed her development was great, but her two sisters protested that she wasn't the deep thinker she were.

What bothered her most was that she had misplaced the chance to cry, as though a faucet within her brain had been turned off. Just one evening, nine months immediately after she was damage, she stayed up late to observe the John Grisham Film A Time for you to Get rid of. Just following her father had long gone to mattress, she watched a courtroom scene of Samuel Jacksons character on demo for killing two Adult males who experienced raped his youthful daughter.

The faucet opened, and also the tears trickled down her cheeks. I considered my mother and father, my father, and what they went as a result of, she explained. Small by very little, my experience returned, my depth of mind returned.

Urged by her sisters, she went back again to highschool and acquired a masters diploma in music education and learning.

Not every thing went nicely. She and Mr. Scherr break up up five years after the assault, although they continue to be pals. She dated other Adult men, but she usually instructed them with regard to the assault instantly — she could not enable it, she explained — and so they never identified as for the next day.

We've got to uncover you someone, her Pal David Phelps, a guitar participant, reported 4 a long time back, before introducing her to Liam McCann, a pc technician and novice drummer. For when, she did not say anything at all with regards to the attack right up until she obtained to understand Mr. McCann, after which when she did, he admired her energy.

Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani, who experienced normally visited her at her bedside while she was within the healthcare facility, married them in his Moments Square Business. She wore a blue costume and pearls. Even though she was Expecting, inside of a burst of creativeness, she and her pals recorded Though Were being Younger, an album of childrens music that she experienced penned ahead of the assault, including the song Relocating. Her ex-boyfriend, Mr. Scherr, produced the CD. On it, her spouse plays drums and she performs electrical piano.

Is her lifestyle as it absolutely was? Not exactly, although she's unwilling to attribute the discrepancies to her accidents. Her very last two piano pupils left her, without contacting to clarify why, she mentioned. She has resumed playing classical songs, but simple parts, simply because her daughter doesn't give her time for you to follow. As for jazz, I dont even try, she reported.

She want to drive additional, emotion stranded in the suburbs, but she is well rattled. She attempts to be written content with staying household and caring for her daughter.

Dr. Ghajar, a scientific professor of neurological surgical procedure at what's now called Big apple-Presbyterian Medical center/Weill Cornell Healthcare Middle, who operated on Ms. Kevorkian McCann following the assault, reported final 7 days that her level of Restoration was rare. Shes mainly typical, he explained.

Other specialists, who will be not personally familiar with Ms. Kevorkian McCanns situation, tend to be more careful.

Regaining a chance to Participate in the piano may possibly require an Virtually mechanical process, a semiautomatic remember of just what the fingers must do, claimed Dr. Yehuda Ben-Yishay, a professor of clinical rehabilitation medicine at The big apple College School of Medicine. As soon as brain-injured, you are often Mind-wounded, for the rest of your life, Dr. Ben-Yishay mentioned. There isn't any overcome, You can find only intense compensation.

The greater telling Portion of a recovery, in his watch, is psychological, and on that score he counts Ms. Kevorkian McCanns relationship and little one as a significant victory.

For her aspect, the piano Instructor appreciates she has transformed, but she has made her peace with it. I was form of a hyper —— I dont know if I used to be a sort A, but I was bold, she says. Why was I so formidable? I was a piano Instructor. I dont understand what the ambition was about. I really did come back to the individual Im designed to be.

[woodsens]

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Correction Appended

On an album of bittersweet childrens music that she wrote more than a decade back, the lady who arrived to get recognised only given that the piano teacher available what, in hindsight, seems like an eerie glimpse of her personal foreseeable future.

Im moving absent nowadays to a location so far-off, the place nobody knows my title, she wrote from the lyrics of a song referred to as Shifting.

When she wrote that music, she was young and vivacious, a piano teacher and freelance audio writer who liked Beethoven and jazz, sunsets and river Appears, lengthy walks and every little thing about The big apple.

On a kind of beloved walks, via Central Park in the bright Sunshine of the June day in 1996, a homeless drifter conquer her and tried to rape her, leaving her clinging to life. Once the assault, the terms to her music came legitimate. She moved absent, away from Ny city, outside of her outdated lifestyle, and all but her closest buddies didn't know her title. To the rest of the environment, she was — like the much more well known jogger attacked in Central Park seven yrs before — an anonymous image of the city nightmare. She was the piano Instructor.

Now, within the 10th anniversary of your attack, she is celebrating what seems to be her total Restoration from brain trauma. She is forty two, married, with a little baby. She is Kyle Kevorkian McCann, the piano teacher, and he or she hopes to explain to her Tale, her way.

Her medical professional explained to her it will take ten years to Get well, and Sunday was that talismanic anniversary. I come to feel my everyday living continues to be redefined by Central Park, she claimed a number of days in the past, her voice delicate and hopeful. Just before park; following park. Will there at any time certainly be a time Once i dont think, Oh, this is the 10th anniversary, the eleventh anniversary?

She spoke in her modest ranch household in a very wooded subdivision inside a The big apple suburb. She sat inside of a eating area strewn with toys, surrounded by images of her cherubic, darkish-haired 2-yr-aged daughter. A Steinway grand stuffed 50 percent the room, and at a single position she sat down and performed. Her playing was forceful, but she seemed humiliated to play various bars, and shrugged, as opposed to answering, when asked the title from the piece. She requested that her daughter and her city not be named.

She calls that day, June 4, 1996, the day when I was damage.

Hers was the very first in a string of assaults by precisely the same man on 4 women about 8 times. The last sufferer, Evelyn Alvarez, 65, was crushed to Demise as she opened her Park Avenue dry-cleansing store, and ultimately, the assailant, John J. Royster, was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in jail.

Still the assault over the piano Instructor would be the one particular people feel to remember probably the most. Part of the fascination must do with echoes in the 1989 assault over the Central Park jogger. But Additionally, it frightened men and women in a way the attack within the jogger didn't simply because its situations have been so mundane.

It didn't happen in a very distant part of the park late during the night, but in close proximity to a well known playground at 3 inside the afternoon. It could have occurred to anybody. The stress was heightened by the thriller with the piano teachers id.

For three times, as law enforcement and Medical doctors experimented with to see who she was, she lay inside a coma in her clinic bed, nameless. Her moms and dads were on trip and her boyfriend, also a musician, was in Europe, on tour. Last but not least, among her pupils regarded a law enforcement sketch and was able to detect her from the clinic by her fingers, mainly because her face was swollen beyond recognition. The law enforcement did not release her name.

The very last thing she remembers about June 4, 1996, is offering a lesson in her studio condominium on West 57th Road, then Placing her very long hair inside of a ponytail and going out to get a walk. She won't try to remember the attack, Though she has read the accounts from the law enforcement and prosecutors.

To me its similar to a actuality I learned and memorized, she said. Just as if I have been a pupil in school studying record.

She won't take into consideration The person who did it. I may need been angry for any minute, although not much longer than that, she mentioned. How could I be offended at John Royster? He was declared not crazy, but I assume by our expectations he was.

Dr. Jamshid Ghajar, her health care provider at Ny Healthcare facility-Cornell Healthcare Heart, as it was identified in 1996, informed reporters that she experienced a 10 per cent possibility of survival. Medical practitioners experienced to get rid of her forehead bone, which was later replaced, to produce home for her swelling Mind. When her mother manufactured a community attract pray for my daughter, countless numbers did.

Soon after 8 times, she arrived outside of a coma, to start with inside a vegetative state, then in the childlike state. As she recovered, she slept minor and talked consistently, sometimes in gibberish. I used to be having mad at folks after they didnt reply to these words and phrases, she claimed.

Like an Alzheimers affected individual, she had very little brief-term memory and would ignore guests once they remaining the space.

More than various months, she had to relearn the way to walk, gown, examine and produce. Her boyfriend, Tony Scherr, frequented every day to Perform guitar for her. He encouraged her to Engage in the piano, in opposition to the recommendation of her Bodily therapists, who believed she would be pissed off by her lack of ability to Enjoy just how she at the time had. Mr. Scherr performed Beatles duets with her, participating in the still left-hand portion though she performed the correct.

That was my best therapy, she said.

In August, she moved again residence to New Jersey, together with her father, an engineer, and mother, a schoolteacher. She visited outdated haunts and named friends, striving to restore her shattered memory. I used to be pretty obsessed with remembering, she mentioned. Any memory reduction was to me an indication of abnormality or deficit.

Her therapists believed her development was fantastic, but her two sisters protested that she wasn't the deep thinker she had been.

What bothered her most was that she experienced lost the opportunity to cry, just as if a faucet within her brain had been turned off. A person evening, 9 months just after she was harm, she stayed up late to look at the John Grisham Motion picture A The perfect time to Get rid of. Just immediately after her father experienced long gone to bed, she viewed a courtroom scene of Samuel Jacksons character on trial for killing two Gentlemen who had raped his younger daughter.

The faucet opened, plus the tears trickled down her cheeks. I thought about my mom and dad, my father, and what they went by means of, she explained. Minimal by tiny, my experience returned, my depth of mind returned.

Urged by her sisters, she went back to highschool and acquired a masters diploma in tunes schooling.

Not every thing went nicely. She and Mr. Scherr split up 5 years following the assault, even though they continue to be good friends. She dated other Guys, but she usually instructed them regarding the assault straight away — she couldn't aid it, she mentioned — they usually hardly ever known as for the second date.

We have to uncover you anyone, her Mate David Phelps, a guitar participant, said four yrs ago, in advance of introducing her to Liam McCann, a pc technician and amateur drummer. For once, she didn't say just about anything with regard to the assault till she acquired to grasp Mr. McCann, and after that when she did, he admired her strength.

Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani, who had normally frequented her at her bedside when she was inside the healthcare facility, married them in his Times Sq. office. She wore a blue gown and pearls. Whilst she was pregnant, within a burst of creativeness, she and her mates recorded Even though Were being Youthful, an album of childrens songs that she experienced prepared ahead of the attack, including the tune Transferring. Her ex-boyfriend, Mr. Scherr, developed the CD. On it, her partner plays drums and she plays electric piano.

Is her life as it absolutely was? Not accurately, nevertheless she's unwilling to attribute the discrepancies to her injuries. Her previous two piano college students still left her, without the need of calling to explain why, she stated. She has resumed taking part in classical new music, but simple pieces, for the reason that her daughter would not give her time and energy to exercise. As for jazz, I dont even attempt, she claimed.

She wish to generate far more, sensation stranded within the suburbs, but she is definitely rattled. She tries to be articles with staying dwelling and caring for her daughter.

Dr. Ghajar, a medical professor of neurological operation at what is now identified as New York-Presbyterian Hospital/Weill Cornell Clinical Center, who operated on Ms. Kevorkian McCann after the attack, said last week that her amount of recovery was rare. Shes basically usual, he said.

Other specialists, who're not personally accustomed to Ms. Kevorkian McCanns case, are more careful.

Regaining the ability to play the piano might contain an Practically mechanical method, a semiautomatic remember of what the fingers ought to do, mentioned Dr. Yehuda Ben-Yishay, a professor of scientific rehabilitation medication at New York College School of Medication. When brain-wounded, you happen to be always brain-injured, for the rest of your lifetime, Dr. Ben-Yishay stated. There's no overcome, There exists only intensive compensation.

The greater telling Portion of a Restoration, in his perspective, is psychological, and on that rating he counts Ms. Kevorkian McCanns relationship and kid as a major victory.

For her aspect, the piano teacher understands she has changed, but she has designed her peace with it. I was type of a hyper —— I dont know if I used to be a Type A, but I was bold, she claims. Why was I so formidable? I used to be a piano Trainer. I dont really know what the ambition was about. I actually did return to the person Im purported to be.

[homestuckcanonconfirmer]

15 Up-and-Coming best keyboard for beginners

Correction Appended

On an album of bittersweet childrens tracks that she wrote over ten years ago, the lady who arrived to get acknowledged only because the piano teacher offered what, in hindsight, looks as if an eerie glimpse of her possess upcoming.

Im transferring absent now to a location so distant, exactly where nobody is familiar with my identify, she wrote from the lyrics of a music named Shifting.

When she wrote that music, she was young and vivacious, a piano Trainer and freelance music writer who liked Beethoven and jazz, sunsets and river Appears, lengthy walks and every thing about Big apple.

On one of those beloved walks, via Central Park in the intense Solar of a June day in 1996, a homeless drifter defeat her and attempted to rape her, leaving her clinging to lifetime. Once the attack, the text to her song came real. She moved absent, from Ny city, away from her aged everyday living, and all but her closest good friends didn't know her name. To the remainder of the world, she was -- just like the extra well known jogger attacked in Central Park 7 decades previously -- an nameless symbol of the urban nightmare. She was the piano Trainer.

Now, within the 10th anniversary on the attack, she is celebrating what seems to be her whole recovery from Mind trauma. She is 42, married, with a little kid. She's Kyle Kevorkian McCann, the piano Trainer, and he or she wishes to convey to her Tale, her way.

Her medical doctor informed her it would consider 10 years to Get well, and Sunday was that talismanic anniversary. I sense my life has long been redefined by Central Park, she explained numerous days back, her voice delicate and hopeful. Prior to park; just after park. Will there at any time be a time After i dont Imagine, Oh, This can be the 10th anniversary, the eleventh anniversary?

She spoke in her modest ranch household inside of a wooded subdivision in a very Ny suburb. She sat within a eating home strewn with toys, surrounded by photos of her cherubic, dark-haired 2-calendar year-outdated daughter. A Steinway grand stuffed fifty percent the home, and at one particular position she sat down and played. Her participating in was forceful, but she appeared humiliated to Engage in more than a few bars, and shrugged, in lieu of answering, when asked the name on the piece. She asked that her daughter and her town not be named.

She phone calls that day, June 4, 1996, the day Once i was harm.

Hers was the initial inside a string of attacks by exactly the same man on 4 Gals over 8 times. The final sufferer, Evelyn Alvarez, sixty five, was overwhelmed to Demise as she opened her Park Avenue dry-cleaning store, and in the long run, the assailant, John J. Royster, was convicted of murder and sentenced to existence in jail.

Yet the assault on the piano teacher may be the 1 persons look to keep in mind the most. Element of the fascination should do with echoes of the 1989 assault about the Central Park jogger. But Additionally, it frightened individuals in a way the assault to the jogger did not since its circumstances were being so mundane.

It did not take place inside of a distant Element of the park late at nighttime, but around a well known playground at three inside the afternoon. It could have occurred to anybody. The tension was heightened via the secret from the piano lecturers identification.

For 3 times, as police and Health professionals tried using to find out who she was, she lay inside a coma in her healthcare facility bed, nameless. Her moms and dads were being on family vacation and her boyfriend, also a musician, was in Europe, on tour. Last but not least, one of her learners recognized a police sketch and was able to recognize her in the clinic by her fingers, due to the fact her face was swollen over and above recognition. The law enforcement did not release her name.

The last thing she remembers about June four, 1996, is providing a lesson in her studio condominium on West 57th Avenue, then putting her long hair inside a ponytail and heading out for a stroll. She isn't going to don't forget the attack, Though she has read the accounts on the police and prosecutors.

To me its similar to a fact I learned and memorized, she claimed. As though I were a scholar in class learning background.

She does not consider the man who did it. I might need been angry for your moment, although not much longer than that, she said. How could I be offended at John Royster? He was declared not insane, but I guess by our criteria he was.

Dr. Jamshid Ghajar, her medical doctor at Ny Healthcare facility-Cornell Professional medical Heart, as it was known in 1996, told reporters that she experienced a 10 % chance of survival. Medical practitioners experienced to get rid of her forehead bone, which was later replaced, to produce home for her swelling Mind. When her mother created a general public appeal to pray for my daughter, 1000's did.

Immediately after eight times, she arrived away from a coma, initially within a vegetative state, then within a childlike state. As she recovered, she slept small and talked continually, in some cases in gibberish. I had been obtaining mad at people when they didnt respond to these text, she claimed.

Like an Alzheimers patient, she experienced minor quick-time period memory and would ignore guests when they left the place.

Over a number of months, she had to relearn the best way to wander, dress, read through and compose. Her boyfriend, Tony Scherr, visited every single day to Participate in guitar for her. He inspired her to Engage in the piano, towards the advice of her Actual physical therapists, who thought she can be disappointed by her incapability to play the way she once experienced. Mr. Scherr played Beatles duets along with her, enjoying the left-hand aspect even though she played the ideal.

Which was my finest therapy, she stated.

In August, she moved again home to New Jersey, together with her father, an engineer, and mother, a schoolteacher. She visited outdated haunts and named mates, making an attempt to revive her shattered memory. I was extremely obsessed with remembering, she said. Any memory decline was to me an indication of abnormality or deficit.

Her therapists considered her development was great, but her two sisters protested that she wasn't the deep thinker she were.

What bothered her most was that she had missing the ability to cry, just as if a faucet inside of her Mind were turned off. One particular night, 9 months after she was damage, she stayed up late to view the John Grisham Film A The perfect time to Eliminate. Just soon after her father experienced gone to bed, she watched a courtroom scene of Samuel Jacksons character on demo for killing two Adult males who had raped his younger daughter.

The faucet opened, and the tears trickled down her cheeks. I thought about my moms and dads, my father, and whatever they went by, she reported. Small by small, my sensation returned, my depth of head returned.

Urged by her sisters, she went back again to high school and got a masters degree in music education.

Not every thing went nicely. She and Mr. Scherr break up up five years following the attack, however they remain buddies. She dated other men, but she usually advised them about the assault instantly -- she couldn't help it, she stated -- plus they in no way identified as for just a 2nd day.

Now we have to discover you a person, her Mate David Phelps, a guitar player, said four many years ago, just before introducing her to Liam McCann, a pc technician and novice drummer. For at the time, she did not say anything in regards to the attack until eventually she acquired to find out Mr. McCann, then when she did, he admired her toughness.

Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani, who had normally visited her at her bedside even though she was within the healthcare facility, married them in his Periods Sq. Workplace. She wore a blue gown and pearls. Though she was Expecting, in a burst of creativity, she and her friends recorded When Were being Younger, an album of childrens songs that she experienced written before the assault, such as the song Transferring. Her ex-boyfriend, Mr. Scherr, produced the CD. On it, her husband plays drums and she plays electrical piano.

Is her everyday living as it was? Not exactly, even though she's hesitant to attribute the dissimilarities to her accidents. Her final two piano pupils still left her, with out calling to clarify why, she reported. She has resumed participating in classical music, but basic items, because her daughter will not give her time and energy to follow. As for jazz, I dont even consider, she mentioned.

She would like to travel extra, sensation stranded from the suburbs, but she is well rattled. She attempts to be content material with staying dwelling and caring for her daughter.

Dr. Ghajar, a scientific professor of neurological surgery at what on earth is now referred to as NewYork-Presbyterian Clinic/Weill Cornell Clinical Middle, who operated on Ms. Kevorkian McCann following the attack, claimed previous week that her standard of Restoration was rare. Shes basically typical, he mentioned.

Other industry experts, who are not personally aware of Ms. Kevorkian McCanns situation, tend to be more careful.

Regaining the opportunity to Participate in the piano may possibly entail an Pretty much mechanical system, a semiautomatic remember of what the fingers must do, stated Dr. Yehuda Ben-Yishay, a professor of scientific rehabilitation medicine at New York University College of Medicine. As soon as brain-wounded, that you are generally brain-injured, for the rest of your lifetime, Dr. Ben-Yishay stated. There is no treatment, there is only intense compensation.

The greater telling Component of a Restoration, in his look at, is psychological, and on that rating he counts Ms. Kevorkian McCanns relationship and baby as a major victory.

For her section, the piano Instructor knows she has altered, but she has manufactured her peace with it. I was form of a hyper ---- I dont know if I was a Type A, but I used to be ambitious, she suggests. Why was I so formidable? I had been a piano Trainer. I dont know very well what the ambition was about. I actually did return to the person Im speculated to be.

Correction: June thirteen, 2006, Tuesday An short article on Thursday about Kyle Kevorkian McCann, a piano Instructor who was beaten and sexually assaulted ten years ago in Central Park, misstated the title of her album of childrens songs. It truly is Whilst Ended up Younger, not When Had been Younger.