yoongi is sixteen when he meets kim namjoon for the first time.

namjoon is one year younger than him, at least half a head taller, and leans against the door of the recording studio with a confidence yoongi’s seen far too many times back in daegu. it’s the type of cockiness gloss would crush with a couple of well-timed lines, lips curled and fingers wrapped loosely around a worn out microphone.

namjoon pushes himself off the door with a lazy smile, one hand outstretched. “i look forward to working with you, yoongi-hyung.”

the words are polite but namjoon’s eyes glint with a dangerous fire and yoongi grips the offered hand harder than he needs to, one side of his lips pulled upwards. “likewise.”

he meets jung hoseok the same day – the trainee who passed the same audition as him, for different reasons. they exchange handshakes that don’t almost crush yoongi’s fingers. hoseok grins at him, something bright and blinding that reminds yoongi of the sun, and he finds comfort in the friendly lilt of the street dancer’s jeollado accent.

kim namjoon speaks like he’s born and bred in seoul (grew up in ilsan, yoongi finds out from hoseok later, when the two of them go out for dukbokki at midnight) and yoongi struggles to keep up.

he ends up falling behind, out of breath.

“hyung, what the did you do to this bit?”

namjoon’s staring at the studio monitor, eyes narrowed and headphones hung loose around his neck.

yoongi glances up from his notebook, ballpoint hovering over the half-filled page. “which bit?”

the younger rapper glares, one hand reaching for the stereo plug and yanking it out roughly, low bass immediately filling the room, namjoon’s voice riding on top of the beat.

he shrugs, going back to scribbling in his notebook. “just tweaked the bass a little.”

namjoon scoffs, “a little?” he kills the music with a harsh tap of the mixer and turns to face yoongi completely. “you replaced the whole track!”

“not the whole track.”

“yeah. you didn’t replace my voice .” he pauses. “bet you would’ve if you could though.”

yoongi can’t see the sneer on namjoon’s lips but he can hear it in his voice, dripping with equal parts irritation and arrogance.

“excuse me?”

“oh just. y’know.” namjoon shrugs and turns back to the computer, but the metaphorical fire has just been started and yoongi’s damned if he just lets it burn.

“i scrapped your backing track ‘cause it sounds like the bubblegum-pop idols release.”

namjoon pushes himself off the chair, stalks over to yoongi, towers over him. “ what ?”

the older rapper stands up, leaving his notebook on the table, eyes meeting the younger’s, lips curled up in a challenge

“you heard me.”

and because namjoon is far too arrogant to confess he actually likes the way the backing sounds now – more muted and less cluttered, allowing namjoon’s voice to carry the verses. and yoongi has too much pride to admit that yes, namjoon’s voice fitsthis song better than his own ever could. and because fists speak better their twisted words ever seem to, they end up with matching bruises above their jawline and more blooming across their cheeks.  

hoseok tells yoongi that it’s been a long time coming, as the older presses his bruised cheek into the mirror of the dance studio, and yoongi raises an eyebrow at the dancer’s reflection.

“well,” he starts, sinking onto the cold wooden floorboards next to the rapper, “i mean, it used to be alright you know? like, it was bad… but bearable.”

“seok-ah, i don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

hoseok sighs, leans back against the mirror and tilts his face towards the ceiling. “i mean you and namjoon. there’s just this…” he waves his hands through the air. “... tension , between you two… and it only got worse when they told us namjoonie would be leader.”

yoongi tries not to frown at the nickname (when had hoseok started calling him that ?) and instead opts to sigh loudly. “yeah, well. between the three of us he’s the youngest .”

“but he’s got the most experience.”

yoongi scoffs. “yeah. in seoul maybe. if we battled i’d wipe the floor with him.”

hoseok raises an eyebrow at him. “do you want to be leader then?”

he shakes his head, deflating instantly. “nah. ‘s not like that.”

hoseok turns on his side, propping himself up with an elbow. “what do you want then?”

yoongi shrugs. “i’d like to be civil but considering we just gave each other these —” he gestures to his lip, swollen and sporting a nasty cut. “— i’d say that’s pretty much an impossibility right now.”

“what’s your problem with him anyway?” hoseok has shifted onto his back, glancing at yoongi out of the corner of his eye.

“he’s too cocky.” yoongi says immediately, “arrogant. thinks that he’s right about everything—”

“you do that too.”

“i do not.”

hoseok rolls his eyes.

“fine,” yoongi sighs, “but not as much as him. besides, he’s annoying and smirks too much—”

“you have an issue with his smirk ?”

“—and he has these stupidly deep dimples—”

hoseok bursts out into raucous laughter, palm slapping against the wooden floor, and yoongi shoots the dancer a severely unimpressed look. “what?”

“you—” more laughter, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “—you have a problem with his dimples ?”

yoongi stares at him blankly, like he doesn’t understand hoseok’s amusement (he doesn’t). “yeah?”

hoseok wipes the back of his hand over his eyes, turning to yoongi with a brilliant grin. “i think you two will get along just fine.”

it sounds like there’s more behind hoseok’s words than he’s letting on, but yoongi isn’t bothered enough to try and figure it out.

he leans back against the mirror, eyes fixed on the fluorescent lighting. “hope you’re right.”

there aren’t many things min yoongi can say he’s intimate with (aren’t many people, either), but the glow of the monitor two hours past midnight, empty paper cups crumpled over torn out notebooks, arteries pumping caffeine instead of blood and fingers that itch to write with nothing to say — he’s intimate with that.

he brings his fifth paper cup to his lips, frowning at the last three drops of bitter liquid. pushing himself up with a low groan he shuffles to the vending machine in the corridor, beats bouncing and clashing in his head.

some part of him knows that pulling this many late nights can’t be a good idea and many a time he’s had to defend his less-than-ideal sleeping patterns to a frowning hoseok. the dancer, of course, had struggled with yoongi’s justification of his weekly all-nighters, simply nodding his head with an “as long as you know what you’re doing, yoongi-hyung”.

he’d grinned at hoseok – a curve of the lips he hoped was reassuring, and nodded, taking the younger’s offered hand and pulling himself away from the cold floor-to-ceiling mirrors. they’d spent the rest of dance practice the way they always did, with hoseok patiently going over move after move with yoongi, and neither brought up the topic again. now, though, with his forehead cool against the glass of the coffee vendor and eyes stubbornly refusing to stay open, hoseok’s words weaving between the cacophony of  sounds in his head, yoongi wonders – not for the first time – if he really has any idea what he’s doing.

“isn’t this your sixth cup? seventh?”

his eyes snap open immediately and he turns around, glaring and instantly more awake.

“what’s it to you?”

as soon as the words are about of his mouth, he regrets them. civil, yoongi. you said you wanted to be civil .

“i mean—” he glances down, carefully taking his cup of coffee from the dispenser. “yeah, sixth. i think.”

“you shouldn’t do that.”

the words are as intrusive as ever and yoongi’s about to tell namjoon he can do whatever he damn well pleases, being civil – but namjoon’s voice lacks the usual edge of bitterness it has whenever he talks to the older and there are shadows under his eyes that rival yoongi’s own.

“when’d you go to bed last night?”

namjoon blinks, twice. “what?”

yoongi sighs. “have you seen yourself? you look like death.”

namjoon winces and yoongi grimaces ( so much for being civil ), opening his mouth to apologise when the younger shakes his head slowly, eyes flickering to the ground, then back up.

“i didn’t.” he shrugs. “couldn’t sleep.”

yoongi stares. “go sleep now then.”

a flicker of annoyance passes across namjoon’s features and yoongi would’ve missed it if he hadn’t seen the exact same look time and time again – each time ending up with the two of them at each other’s throats, pride wounded and egos bruised.

“i would if i could.”

there’s the slightest edge to namjoon’s voice and vaguely yoongi thinks this is where he usually responds with some cutting remark. instead, he turns back to the coffee vendor, punches a few buttons and carefully holds out a steaming paper cup to namjoon, a couple of too-silent minutes later.

the younger boy takes it with both hands and a confused tilt of the head yoongi ignores in favour of turning towards the fire stairs. “c’mon.”

yoongi is panting by the time he reaches the roof of the company building, greedily gulping down the chilly night air. it tastes like over-population and fragile dreams. it tastes better than the many cups of coffee he’d swallowed down just hours before. he sets his paper cup on the concrete ground and pulls a lighter from his pocket, leaning over the metal railings. the weight of the joint feels almost as familiar as his ballpoint pen, hanging loosely between his middle and index. the smoke that curls against his tongue tastes like dimly-lit stages and gyeongsangdo vowels, rough and blunt to the point of cutting.

“you shouldn’t do that.”

he moves it away from his lips, raises an eyebrow and tilts his head. “stop me, then.”

namjoon stares and narrows his eyes, mouth opening, then pressing his lips together with a shake of the head. “nevermind.”

yoongi brings the joint back to his lips and turns away. the seoul lights look like stars against the city scape, but there isn’t a single star in the sky to wish on. he zeroes in on a neon-blue pin prick instead and throws the mess of beats and lyrics in his head– the gap between dreams and reality – over the edge.

he stubs out the rest of the joint on the dusty metal railing, lights a new one and holds it out to namjoon. the younger boy looks at him for a couple of heavy beats, before shrugging ever so slightly and taking it cautiously between his fingers.

yoongi watches as namjoon balances the cigarette and gingerly draws in a breath, immediately hacking and coughing up smoke. he doubles over laughing, one hand against namjoon’s back, the other clutching the railings.

namjoon coughs, one hand thumping his chest. “that’s disgusting. how can you stand that?”

yoongi cackles, taking the joint back from him. “practice.”

he turns to namjoon, studying the younger boy for a moment before tilting his head, lips tugging upwards crookedly. “open your mouth.”

namjoon raises an eyebrow at him but complies, lips parting ever so slightly.

he brings the filter to his lips, damp from namjoon’s failed attempt, and inhales smoke, holding it in his lungs as he takes a step forward. he leans in, both hands on the rail behind namjoon, and exhales, smoke curling past his lips and against the younger’s tongue.

they’re close enough that yoongi can see the way namjoon’s eyes water from the hazy sting, can hear the quiet intake of breath. they’re close enough that the toes of their sneakers are touching and if yoongi leant forward just a little more, so would the fabric of their shirts. they’re close enough that their lips are inches apart – but it’s not a kiss.

it’s not a kiss and yoongi takes a step back, removes his hands from the railing and grins like the proximity was nothing, like his heartbeat isn’t thundering in his ears – racing too fast for his mind to keep up.

“how was that?”

namjoon blinks, pulls a face, runs his tongue over his teeth. “bitter as hell.”

yoongi laughs, nodding, “first time always is.”

there’s a question on namjoon’s lips, a question yoongi can see in namjoon’s eyes – probably something scathing about why yoongi smokes in the first place – but he runs his tongue over his teeth again and parts his lips, leaning towards yoongi ever so slightly.

yoongi’s eyes widen. then he grins, a cheshire cat curl of the lips with crescent-moon eyes, bringing the joint up and inhaling, holding the smoke in his lungs. he takes a step closer, rest his hands on the railing, just like before, and exhales into namjoon’s mouth.

the smoke passes between them and namjoon moves another half a step, caged between yoongi’s arms. it’s the lightest of kisses – barely even a brush of the lips, but they pull away from each other as though burnt.

namjoon plays it off as an accident and yoongi plays along.

they finish the joint between them, tendrils of smoke curling into night, and silently blame the biting cold for the flush across their cheeks.

“so what’s the deal with you and namjoonie?”

yoongi tenses, one hand wrapped around a plastic water bottle. “what?”

“you and namjoon.”

he straightens up, tossing the water bottle to hoseok and twisting open the cap of another, leaning against the mirrored wall with a sigh. “what about us?”

hoseok’s catches the bottle with the ease of a dancer and sits down next to yoongi. “well. you’re not constantly at each other’s throats all the time—”

“i did say i was going to try and be civil.”

“yeah, but—” hoseok rests his head against the mirror, turns to look at yoongi. “—this is more than just civil, hyung. i mean, i saw namjoonie outside the studio last week, past midnight, making coffee. two cups . one for you and one for him, apparently. what’s up with that?”

yoongi avoids the question, downs half the bottle, droplets of water mixing with the perspiration that clings to his neck. “well, is that a bad thing?”

“nah.” hoseok finishes off the rest of the water. “just different, i guess.” he pauses. “there’s still tension, but it’s… different.” he shrugs. “i don’t really know how to describe it.”

yoongi does. he knows exactly what hoseok is referring to but the word is caught in his throat – caught under the bitter smoke he’s been inhaling for the past however many nights.

at first it was him by himself, when the glow of the monitor from too many consecutive sleepless nights started mimicking the glare of the summer sun. he'd throw his notebook down with a frustrated groan, avoiding namjoon’s curious eyes as he methodically shuts down speaker after speaker, then slips out onto the rooftop without so much as a glance at the younger.

after the third or so night with only the glow of the city lights and the flame of his lighter for company, namjoon joins him, silently, without celebration, quietly closing down his many open documents. he leans against the railings, back facing the city scape, elbows resting against the dusty metal and watches yoongi watch seoul – the city of dreams, the big city – lit up in colourful neon shades.

“why’d you join this company?”

yoongi raises an eyebrow, flicks the lighter on and watches the flame his fingertips. “same reason as you, i guess.” he shrugs, flicks the lighter off and faces namjoon. “wanted to do music.”

namjoon frowns – yoongi’s answer is too vague. “but why this one? why not some other company?”

“what about you then?” yoongi flicks open his lighter again, holds the orange flame against the flickering city lights.

“want to do my own thing. make my own music. write my own verses.”

“you can do that underground.”

namjoon shrugs, tilts his head up and watches the starless sky. it's nothing he hasn't heard before. “yeah. i could. i’d make music and do my own thing, but no-one would listen. i could write the best ing verse but underground isn't gonna get me an audience. the general public don't know about real music. there's nothing real about today’s music. i want to change that. i want to bridge that gap. i want to be heard. not just by rappers – i want to be heard by everyone.”

he draws in a breath, tears his eyes away from the expanse of velvet indigo and turns to find yoongi’s eyes on him, unblinking and far too close .

“same.”

it's less of a word and more of an exhale, and they’re close enough that the air dances over namjoon’s jaw, feather-light and warm. he shivers. there's a full moon out tonight, and maybe it's their proximity or maybe it's because everything feels more intimate in low light but yoongi looks near-ethereal under the soft glow and namjoon’s fingers itch for something to write with.

his eyes fall on the joint hanging loosely between yoongi’s thumb and index, still unlit even as the older’s right hand is methodically flicking his lighter on, then off.

it's lighter than a ballpoint and far less sturdy but it’ll do. namjoon inhales the smoke yoongi exhales and learns to replace the itch between his fingers with a cigarette whenever the urge to write descends upon him. his black ballpoint sits in his left jacket pocket and the joint hangs between the index and thumb of his right hand. there's a million songs he could write about yoongi, but he keeps the words locked behind the smoke in his lungs, never making it past his lips.