V for the group’s visual, is what Yoongi first thinks when they christen their newest addition with the stage name. It’s not that Taehyung is more handsome than Seokjin, exactly, but there’s something about how self-assured he is as a performer that makes him stand out in a group of seven teenagers. He isn’t clumsy, tongue-tied Taehyung with his shy, uncertain smiles, but charismatic V who knows exactly how to get the crowd going, throwing out adlibbed move after adlibbed move like he was born to do it.

It’s a testament to how good-looking the younger man is that he still manages to look ridiculously handsome despite an intense dance practice that has all of them panting and wheezing for breath, faces red with exertion. Suga’s fans would probably run away screaming if they saw their beloved idol the way he is now, gasping while raising one sleeve to wipe furiously at the sweat streaming down his face. Taehyung is already trying to become one with the floor and something incomprehensible. A bead of perspiration slides down his chin as he hunkers down near Taehyung’s face.

The way his eyes flutter open as he catches the drop perfectly on his tongue renders Yoongi speechless. He can’t even muster the will to smack his bandmate for doing something so disgusting. Hoseok and Jimin wear twin looks of horror while Jungkook stares pointedly at the floor.

Poor kid.

“What was that, Taehyung?” Jimin has the grace to look embarrassed enough for both of them,  shoving his best friend playfully in the side. “You think drinking Yoongi-hyung’s sweat will magically make you into a rapper or something?” He and Hoseok burst into giggles at the thought. Taehyung sits up, expression sheepish.

Yoongi doesn’t buy the act.

He wakes up at a quarter to three in the morning to half-remembered wisps of that tantalizing tongue and promptly drowns out his not-quite-teenage hormones in a stone-cold shower.

…

V must be for velvet, Yoongi muses fondly to himself as he sits in the studio listening to Taehyung record his parts for their upcoming album. Nothing like his own voice, gravelly and lacking density to carry a good, proper tune; no, Taehyung’s voice is like velvet, warm and thick and enveloping Bangtan’s entire sound, firmly grounding Jimin’s sweet, high vocals and Jungkook’s more nasal tone, harmonizing perfectly with Jin and yet not out of place layered onto his, Namjoon and Hoseok’s lines. He can tease the younger man all he wants about messing up his own song, but Taehyung is the backbone of their music, their irreplaceable bass.

Yoongi is torn between giving him more verses to sing and just relegating him to soft, soulful phrases and not much else. He wants their fans to realize just how talented he is, how beautiful he sounds, but at the same time he wants to keep this revelation all to himself. Let everyone else think he’s only good enough to be a sub-vocal, to have only a limited number of parts to sing in each album.

It’s a cruel move, and he hates himself a little more every time Taehyung’s face falls when the line distribution is announced. Not that he makes the decision by himself, but he has enough influence that he could probably get them to consider using him and Jin to their full capacity.

Yoongi wants to tear that velvet apart, hear Taehyung’s voice crack from the strain and turn hoarse and breathless. Imagines pinning him to the mattress and kissing him until his lips are swollen, ing him until his voice is raw from pleasure and the only word that he can utter is Yoongi’s name.

He almost doesn’t hear Taehyung calling his name, “…Yoongi-hyung?”

When he comes to his senses, he hates himself even more.

…

Yoongi decides a few days later that the English word ‘vibrant’ best describes Taehyung to a tee. Colorful, the online English dictionary he looks up on Naver says, or bright. Taehyung’s name is certainly close enough to the sun*, he thinks irritably when their younger member bounces over to him and wraps him in one of his impromptu hugs. Bright and often overwhelming, just like the sun on Yoongi’s paper-like skin. Even the color of his skin shows he is a child well-loved by the sun, a healthy tan that reminds him of coffee.

“Get off,” he barks, but there’s no real heat in it. Taehyung is warm against his back, and the vibrations in his chest tell Yoongi he’s silently laughing, at what he has no idea. It’s a mystery how he didn’t know about the boy’s existence right until the moment they were thrown together in the same group. How could he miss an oddity like him? Sometimes he regrets they didn’t meet each other sooner, back when Yoongi was still struggling to make his dreams reality and Taehyung was just a fan of BTS. He might not have grown up so twisted if he’d had someone like Taehyung to come back to every time he hit a roadblock in his career.

Sometimes his brilliance dims slightly, like when he’s made one too many mistakes during a dry run and the group gets scolded for it. Yoongi isn’t pleased when that happens; a depressed Taehyung is even harder to deal with than a happy one. The best ideas for songs tend to come to him when Taehyung’s flashing him that vibrant smile, and he intends to keep it that way. Not that Yoongi would ever tell him that.

Other times the younger man’s intensity feels like it would scorch him to death. The way he can hone in on just about anything and forget everything else is as amazing as it is eerie. If Taehyung was serious about becoming the real triple threat in Bangtan, Yoongi is certain he would be able to pull it off. Jungkook puts in effort in addition to natural skill, but he can see with his own eyes that Taehyung would be on par with him if he so inclined. That single-minded focus of his, however, is used on the most bizarre things, and his expression always so earnest Yoongi can’t tell if he’s joking or not. It’s part of the reason why he has such mixed feelings when Taehyung talks about the rappers’ Cyphers and his smile is bright enough to blind him.

The afterimages of that smile are burnt permanently into the backs of his eyelids, and yet Yoongi can’t resist his pull.