He was a pianist.

He was an optimist.

He was sociable.

He was annoying as hell.

He was someone that Yoongi could not take his mind off of.

It wasn’t in that total dumbstruck lovey way, either, (he refused to resort to such idiotic conclusions) and he had so many questions itching in the back of his throat that it infuriated him.

Some of them were questions for the universe; what the do you think you're doing making me exist the same time this sunshine incarnate does?  do you think this is funny? do i look like someone who enjoys this kind of cheesy drama bull?

Some of them were for himself; why the hell have you been missing him? when are you going to finish that piece of yours? do you know that he's caught you staring in class during every single lecture?

Some of them were for Youngjae; what's your favorite way to eat pizza? if you could sell your soul for one thing, what would it be? why the are you so hard to ignore? do your parents fight a lot, too?

The most common emotion as of late was bewilderment. He was beside himself over the fact that numerous more pages have become littered with Youngjae’s name and came to the conclusion he was going to dump the entire thing to start over. It now rests easily in the trash. On top of that, there was the disgustingly persistent feeling that he was alone - when had that, in the history of ever, been a problem? - but more importantly, longed for his companionship.

The more the idea dug into his scalp and skull like a bullet making its way to his brain, the more irritable Yoongi got at home. Poor Namjoon had gotten his throat metaphorically ripped out when he tried to wake up the blonde from his cat nap (because this nap in particular, he was not thinking about dark hair and crinkled eyes and rosy cheeks.)

And hey - he could think casually about dark hair, crinkled eyes, and rosy cheeks anyways. There was no law against it. It meant nothing, he'd tell himself, just a natural response from his subconscious.

. . . but then those crinkled eyes were always looking right at him and there would be a distant voice calling his name or so he thought. There wasn't much attention given to anything but the other’s face and why it was so utterly --

“Yoongi-ah,” this voice was not the one he listened to. It spoke again, louder this time. “Yoongi hyung, wake up.”

Jimin.

The rapper’s eyes fluttered open to his younger roommate and he immediately felt the hazy, sleep ridden smile fade from his features into something akin to a grimace. , he'd fallen asleep again. And he'd dreamed of Youngjae. Again.

“Yeah?” His voice croaks from the layers of misuse under exhaustion and he rubs the knuckles of his right hand aimlessly against his eyeball. As if he could wipe away the sleep so easy. “What's the--” he's cut off as his attention jerks to the crowd behind his younger friend.

Here lies Min Yoongi, he can read his tombstone now.

Namjoon was standing impossibly close to Jackson; the pair of them were crowded by six other faces, three of which were unfamiliar to him. It must have been Jackson’s other friends they hadn’t met yet - Mark, Yugyeom, and BamBam. And like the universe itself was out to get him - Choi Youngjae stood near BamBam with a pair of doe eyes locked on Yoongi.

“I tried to wake you earlier, Yoongi, but you were talking to--” A quick scalding stare from the newly woken sent shivers up Jimin’s spine as he shrugged away that train of thought. “Sleep talking, you know, mumbling. I couldn't understand a word you said.“

From Youngjae’s perspective, he was ready for the evening to be over with. The thought of heading back to the loft to sleep in his own bed was a nice one, a thought he clung to when faced with the likes of Suga, bedhead frayed atop his head and a tiny drop of drool resting in the corner of his mouth and all. Things, in the past few weeks, had been bumpy to say the least. There was the meeting, the cafe incident, the nurse incident, and most recently the piano incident. Each and every time they came together again, it was as if a part of the silver lining he looked for got dimmer.

Yoongi could use a few lessons in smiling.

He could also get a handle on his sleeping habits, but that was a lecture for another time.

Too busy finding a spot not by Yoongi to sit, he paid no mind to why any of it bothered him in the first place. Namjoon and Jackson may have some kind of something going on, but it wasn’t like Youngjae had to get along with the other friends (the blonde one, in particular, because the others seemed super nice.) And despite BamBam’s incessant assurance that the other was doing it to flirt with him like some schoolyard crush, he had no mind to indulge the other any more.

It was all a front, though, because the spot the other touched had tingled the rest of the night after he left the practice studio. And no matter how vehemently he denied seeing his name on the other’s notebook, it only paired up with the memory of him saying his name in his sleep at the school cafe. Time after time, he got his hopes up that there may be some kind of -- oh, he was silly, alright -- connection between them. He’d thought if he could get him to open up a little, maybe they could become friends. What had happened, though, was the complete opposite.

He wouldn’t call them enemies but Yoongi sure knew how to push his buttons.

Every.

Last.

One.

His hands were folded on top of his lap in the respectable style that he wore when visiting people, because at home he was undignified to the extreme, eyes drifting from face to face and ultimately landing on Jackson. It was no shock that he’d taken a seat near Namjoon, whose hand was closed around his knee, body leaned forward as he was telling Yugyeom and Mark about some kind of new movie coming out that they should all go and see. A tiny spark lit up within his own chest watching the other smile, noticing how his hand would always hover close to Namjoon’s but not take the chance.

Youngjae thought of that often; romance, it was a normal but almost far-away concept.

He was young, his mother had told him on the phone, and he was handsome. She had told him about how life was meant to be lived while young - explained to him how she had thought his father was the most obnoxious person on the planet until he took her to dinner and told her she was the first woman he’d ever loved. Strange, how it goes, since Yoongi WAS the most obnoxious person on the planet but he couldn’t see the other having a strand of love in him.

If he loved anything, he loved sleep.

Too busy off in a far-away world that was full to the brim with nagging Yoongi voices and work he needed to be doing, Youngjae didn’t seem to care or notice that the blonde had moved to sit right next to him on the loveseat; he’d changed seats with JB, who looked so stiff standing that he felt bad and let him take his own. Plus, he could be courteous when he wanted to be.

The whole lot of them were too busy talking to notice how bad the storm outside was getting; flurries of snowflakes had piled up as they laughed and wondered and scowled (Yoongi the only one scowling, of course) and were now sticking to the ground outside. At the last moment, Youngjae’s attention cut to the window as the electricity in the apartment was blown out.

Complete darkness.

The amount of space the window light allowed in was hindered by the panels on the outside of the building, and even then, it did not light up past the edge of the furthest sofa from Youngjae (and now, Yoongi) which left him in pitch black. Hearing the others voices pulled him from his pre occupational daydreams.

His hand immediately went for the person next to him without a single care to who it might have been; small little known fact about Youngjae? He wasn’t a fan of the dark. Shaky fingers landed on someone’s warm skin and he clutched to it, finding immediate comfort in the fact that they did not yank away. Instead, the hand he was holding almost seemed to open up, and then it was turning, palm against palm. It felt like all of the electricity from the apartment had been strung through his bones.

Slowly, with caution, Youngjae spread his fingers out to test the waters (but more importantly to keep himself calm, of course) and the other hand did not move in response. He thought about retracting, unsure if that was supposed to be a sign to move or not. As he was pulling his hand off, face flushing with slight tints of red, the other hand clasped around his fingers and they locked together, just like that.

Yoongi’s cheek was probably bleeding by now. He’d bit it so hard, so often, to keep from making a noise to give himself away. Here they were, he and Youngjae, amidst footsteps of the others trying to maneuver in the dark to the breaker box, and they were holding hands. They were holding hands in the dark.

Benefit of the doubt - Youngjae probably thought it was one of his friends. He assumed he’d rather hold on to a scorching piece of metal than seek comfort with Yoongi’s hand. The blonde didn’t know how to handle it at first - the fingers on his hand, trembling like that. He’d remembered holding his mother’s hand when she’d have her bad nights, feeling her hand shake when she cried. He’d always held it for her until he no longer could. So he’d just held it. Simple as that.

There didn’t need to be a reason for it, right?

Around them, a noise clattered, and someone was swearing while opening up some kind of mechanism. Yoongi assumed it was Namjoon who’d found the breaker on his own -- within two or three switches of the button, the room whirred to life again.

Youngjae’s eyes had been locked on the darkness but in the direction where his hand was intertwined with someone else’s. Yoongi’s had been turned in the same direction. With the electricity back on, nothing seemed to change -- their hands were still locked together. A moment or two passed in complete distance from the rest of them, laughing about who had been the most scared and who had fallen over earlier, and the two joined by the hands finally made the move to look up. When those doe eyes caught his own, Yoongi’s cheeks were on absolute fire; he just hoped the color was not matching. Youngjae’s, on the other hand, were as red as a cherry and he was untangling his fingers as quickly and easily as he could - not wanting to cause a scene for the others to lose their mind over.

Once free from the warmth of the other’s hand, Youngjae pulled his jacket collar up higher and ducked his head, yanking his phone out to busy himself before anyone paid him too close attention.

“Well, that was a night ruiner.” Namjoon’s voice cut the silence of Yoongi’s world and he glanced over to his friend, cracking a small smile to appear as if he’d been listening the whole time. The rest of the others took their quick chance to introduce themselves to Jimin and then to Yoongi, who stood up from his seat on the couch to be a bit more involved.

It was a blessing to get his mind off what just happened - and the fact that he was probably doomed to terrifyingly numerous more dreams of the other.

Deciding that they were all going to call it a night, Mark had to almost swat Youngjae across the back of the head before he was back in reality. With a stumbled and muffled excuse that he was reading an article, he said his peace with Namjoon and Jimin before turning his eyes back on Yoongi. The smile that greeted him was unnerving but not necessarily unwelcomed. Waving instead of speaking, since he wasn’t sure he could manage that, he ducked his head and was off after his friends, complaining about how they couldn’t ‘just leave him here.’

When the quiet fell back upon their apartment, Jimin’s brow raised.

“What’d you do to him?”

Yoongi’s expression shifted like a switch, his scowl coming back. “What makes you say I did something with him? You don’t even know.”

“For starters,” Jimin prompted, “I asked what did you do to him, but now I’m even more certain that something happened. Don’t make me tell Hoseok, Yoongi. You know he--”

He was no runner, of course, but Yoongi took off after the younger, ignoring his maniacal laughter through the apartment.

The blonde had more important things on his mind -- like the fact that he didn't mind holding Youngjae's hand, or the fact that he was kind of actually missing that contact since the moment their fingers untangled, but most importantly: the fact that he was absolutely losing his mind.