namjoon finds yoongi again a year after, under the bustling streets of hongdae, in nirvana, amongst flashing neon lights and a thumping, too-loud bass. it's a complete accident (like most things about them seem to be) and for a moment namjoon is convinced that it’s a different person – the short rapper that is standing off to one side of the stage has a much lighter hair colour than the yoongi he remembers, and much sharper features. but then the rapper moves from the side of the stage onto the platform, microphone held lazily between slim fingers, and namjoon would recognise that low rasp, a mix of seoul and daegu, anywhere.

“that’s suga,” ikje tells him from behind the bar counter. “used to be called gloss when he was a part of daegu’s d-town.” the bartender leans in closer, dropping his voice. “few people know his real name. it’s m—”

“min yoongi.”

the name sounds both foreign and familiar between namjoon lips.

ikje raises an eyebrow. if he notices the way namjoon blinks one too many times, eyes seemingly reflecting the club lights, he doesn’t comment on it.

“yeah. min yoongi.” he doesn’t ask how namjoon knows the rapper’s name either, simply wiping down the bar top, eyes trained on the stage. “he’s pretty new to the scene, in seoul, at least. gloss is pretty well known in daegu, left that scene almost five years ago though. no one knows what he was doing in the interim.”

sneaking onto idol company rooftops at midnight and staying till first light. making mistake after mistake in dimly-lit rooms with too-loud voices. playing a game they didn't know how to play; because even though the rules were never made to be broken, they broke them anyway.

instead namjoon says, “he’s good. i like the lyrics.”

ikje nods, “yeah, you should battle him sometime. he has another set after this one and then they’ll be calling for challengers.”

namjoon pretends not to hear the implied “you should sign up”, downing the glass in front of him in one shot and pushing himself off the stool with both hands, stumbling as he tries to stand.

ikje looks up surprised. “going so soon?”

namjoon just manages to catch himself on the edge of the counter before he topples face-first into the dirty vinyl flooring.

“yeah.”

“thought you were planning to stay for the battles?”

“nah.” he aims for nonchalant but it comes out choked. “better get back before they realise i'm missing.”

namjoon tries to ignore the “man, still can't believe you became an idol ” as he stumbles towards the exit because neither can he. but he is now and yoongi is not and he should leave and not come back, before he s everything up. again.

he must looked as exhausted as he feels because seokjin lets him pass with no more than a “sorry, hyung” when he returns to the dorm at 1am. he collapses into his bed fully clothed not minutes after but it’s hours until sleep finally claims him, tossing and turning and feeling far too restless.

he’s back the week after, and if he’s being honest with himself, he’s not even surprised. ikje slides him a glass of something bright blue with a questioning eyebrow but namjoon’s not here for the alcohol.

he stays for yoongi’s entire set, half-hidden in the back of the club, where he’s sure yoongi wouldn’t be able to see him, and leaves before the challenges begin, glass untouched.

he lasts three days without thinking about nirvana, going to nirvana, or thinking about yoongi, but by the fourth, he’s back again.

ikje doesn’t even bat an eyelash this time when namjoon orders some random drink off the menu before disappearing to the back of club.

he stays for the entire set and leaves halfway through the battles.

☆

“going out again ?”

“yeah.” namjoon grabs his jacket from the back of the studio room chair and turns to face a thoroughly amused jung hoseok.

“you're lucky we have no schedules for the rest of the month.”

“yeah.”

“this girl must be hella pretty for you to go every night.”

“yeah,” namjoon mutters, closing the door behind him, “girl.”

“did you know that you’ve been coming here every night for two ing weeks when i couldn't even get you to visit last year?” ikje comments, pulling out an empty glass. “pick your poison, kim.”

“nothing. not drinking tonight.”

ikje returns the glass with a wide grin. “you finally going to show suga how it's done then?”

namjoon stays silent, turning towards the stage just as the mc announces nirvana’s nightly performer and reigning champion.

min yoongi takes the stage with the same confidence namjoon’s been seeing for the past two weeks but unlike every other night where he’d been torn between staying and leaving, tonight he's itching for a mic in his hands.

maybe it’s because the setlist for tonight is slower, less hip-hop, more rnb; less spitfire, more low rasp and half-lidded eyes. less suga, more min yoongi. a year later and it still sends a fire curling in the pit of namjoon’s stomach and he ing hates it.

he sits through the battles until the very end, and when the call for last-minute challengers comes, he’s already in front of the stage, taking the mic from the last challenger, taking the stairs two at a time before the mc can even think to introduce him.

then yoongi is coming towards him from the other side of the stage, face half-shadowed by his snapback, strands of dark-brown hair poking through (, when did he dye it back?), small figure almost swallowed up by an over-sized t-shirt. and he looks so much like he did the first time namjoon saw him, leaning awkwardly against the studio door and suddenly namjoon’s shaking and sweating, the hand around the mic slipping in his too-tight grip and ing hell it hurts .

yoongi lifts his head up and namjoon just catches the heartbreakingly pained expression that flits over yoongi’s face for the split second his guard is down, and then shutters fall over his eyes and namjoon is left trying to gather his bearings as yoongi drops the mic with an ear-splitting screech, and stalks off the stage.  

“yoongi. yoongi .”

namjoon’s never been more grateful for his longer legs when he catches up to the shorter rapper, wrapping a hand around yoongi’s wrist like he’s seen the male leads do in those overrated melodramas his ex used to cry over.

but yoongi isn't some blushing female lead and he yanks his wrist away, glaring. “the ?”

namjoon pretends not to notice the dried tear tracks on the older’s face, tries to ignore the guilt eating away at him. “why’d you ditch our battle?”

yoongi’s eyes narrow into slits and that’s not what he wanted to say. “what?”

“. no— that’s not—”

namjoon’s stumbling over his words and where the did his intelligence quotient of 148 go?

“that’s not what i meant. hyung—”

“don’t call me that.”

the words sound thick and choked up and a part of namjoon breaks, falls, shatters into a million tiny pieces.

he squeezes his eyes shut, air leaving him in shuddering breaths.

“i miss you.”

there’s a pause and a shaky breath.

“ off, kim namjoon.”

the words are quiet, nearly swallowed up by the bass spilling out of hongdae’s underground and when did it get so hard to breathe ?

by the time namjoon gathers enough courage to open his eyes, all that’s left of min yoongi is the imprint of his wrist in namjoon’s right hand and the ghost of his breath in the chilly night air.