this was written in 2016 when namjoon was still rap monster (and not rm)

 

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Something that crossed my mind

They say the ones whose paths cross with ours are the ones who stay in our lives. But like intersecting lines, we meet at one point and continue on our own, never looking back, no way to go back.

I’d rather we be parallel – you live your life, I live mine. We keep going forward forever, but if I look up, you’re right across from me.

 

 

Something else to consider

Celebrities work so hard to gain fame and try so hard to go out with being recognized. They suffer under the inhumane schedules and bask in the glory of being called an idol. They just want to make music, but no one wants just music. They miss their family and want a break, but the business means they’re making money, but they said before that as long as they’re chasing their dream, it doesn’t matter if they have money or not. They love their fans, but it’s just a job that take over their lives, and this life is nothing but a tragic irony.

It’s so sad, but no one cries. It’s a joke, but no one finds it funny. It’s an overused trope, but no one actually cares.

In the end, it’s just the celebrity in a bathroom stall, laughing with hysterical howls until ugly robs rack thin, perfect, shoulders.

 

 

A story

Min Suga, rapper from Daegu, meets Park Jimin one day.

“Is your name really Suga? You seem so tired and grouchy all the time.”

Park Jimin is too smiley, too comfortable and Suga wants to slap some sense into him. But he can’t stop staring, not during practice, not in the dorm, not when the manager nags at them. The entire group that Suga was into is hard to understand, but Park Jimin’s bubbliness is bewildering.

Fascinating. Disgusting.

 

Min Suga first, grudgingly, becomes close to Kim Namjoon. The latter chooses the name Rap Monster and learns that Min Suga, cool and aloof rapper from Daegu, used to be Min Yoongi, a small town boy with big dreams. At night, they write rhymes of these dreams and of the harsh reality – how they crash and burn but the world is still so cold.

Kim Seokjin, Min Suga decides, has a mild personality, which is euphemism for being as bland and boring as soggy, unflavored cereal. Removing the first half of his name, as if trying to create a new persona, the man tries too hard, doesn’t quite succeed, and Suga can only force a half-smile in response.

Kim Taehyung (“Another Kim?”), with his unnecessarily loud and deep voice, lands in Min Suga’s lap after they finish the first complete run-through of their debut song. His new name is V for victory, but it sounds more like rain, and Suga lets this free spirit be.

Min Suga tries to avoid Jung Hoseok, but he joins the late night writing sessions. His billion-watt smile flickers and fades in the darkness and Suga finds it a little easier to breathe sitting next to him. The words that flow out of him are all too familiar and Suga chuckles when he becomes your hope, J-hope.

Jeon Jungkook is shy but genuine, too young and still full of hope. Min Suga stays away from him for the kid's own good, lest dreams are prematurely shattered by an offhand remark too cynical. Too realistic.

But Park Jimin is someone Min Suga cannot stand and cannot look away from. His smile is blinding like the sun, with a gravitational pull to match. Suga tries to orbit away into the cold, safer, depths of space, but the boy's laughter is too warm, too all-consuming. Min Suga cannot tell if it’s jealousy, envy or curiosity.

 

 

But he knows the first two are poisonous,

Jimin, with his charming ways. Jimin, with his angelic voice. Jimin, with his graceful moves. Jimin, with his chiseled abs.

Park Jimin, who is like fish in water, blowing kisses and performing fanservice without a bat of an eye, while Min Suga is still reeling from learning what being an idol rapper entails.

Suga, who has rashes from the makeup. Suga, who burns under the spotlight (and Jimin’s smiles.) Suga, who doesn’t know how to pretend. Suga, who is drowning in the water.

But Min Suga from Daegu is now Suga, rapper of BTS, the Bangtan Boys, the Bulletproof Boy Scouts, and he works to live up to the endearments screamed at him by faceless masses.

 

He finds himself beside Park Jimin at their next show. It’s the lull after performing their title song, all the members panting and smiling, the sea roaring in Suga’s ears. An arm snakes around his waist and he looks up, startled, as Jimin pulls him close. He opens his mouth to protest, but the other is all crescents and dimples.

Suga swallows thickly and they form a heart with their hands. Jimin is sweating, still breathing heavily, and the fans' cheers, which have never stopped, grow in intensity.

And Jimin dances away to another member and Suga waves awkwardly at the audience by himself.

 

 

The third killed the cat,

Although not as popular as vmin and jikook, yoonmin is everywhere Suga looks. Cameras capture the moments when Suga cannot look away from Park Jimin, forever preserving his “adoring” eyes. The fans speculate about their relationship, analyze the little scenes they put on just for show, and write stories, novels, about them. Like a swirling vortex that Suga willingly puts a toe into, it him in and like Park Jimin, he cannot look away.

It angers him and frustrates him and when the manager tells him to create more loving moments for the fans to devour, he storms out of the dorm.

Rap Monster and J-Hope take turns bombarding his phone until he turns it off. He stomps on the battery until it cracks like his sanity, but the one he wants to avoid the most is the one who finds him in the end.

“This is where I go too.”

Min Suga doesn’t move as Park Jimin plops down onto the ground.

“I was so happy when I found this place. Didn’t know Seoul could be so quiet.”

For once Suga’s eyes don’t gravitate to the other, and continues staring at the sunset, the dying light still bright enough to blind him.

“It reminds me of home. Kind of, not really, I guess.”

Park Jimin’s voice is like honey. Like the dying light.

He sighs in content, or maybe nostalgia, and then, “Do you hate me?”

Suga squints a little. The sky has suddenly turned so much darker, without him even realizing. Just seconds before, it was filled with shades of fuchsia but now the light has been snuffed out by the unforgiving nature.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not a good answer.”

He thinks that Jimin is smiling bitterly, and he wonders what the sun looks like in the dark. But he doesn’t look.

“It’s the truth.”

“You have so much to say, but you never let it out.”

Which Suga thinks is an unfair accusation, because he does let it out – cut apart to fit the beat, hidden under flowery language to fit the standards, forced between rebellious language to cast the attention elsewhere – but he just closes his eyes, letting the darkness (inside, outside) blanket him.

“Let’s go back.”

 

He takes too many shots at the dinner party (what is it for? Celebrating their most recent win? A festival of some sort? Does it really matter when there is alcohol for him to drown his angst in?). J-Hope laughs too loudly and tries to cajole him into taking more, while Jin chides him in the background. Rap Monster is holding his liquor well for once and V is out cold. Jungkook sits in his seat like the golden child he is and Suga is proud of him, really.

J-Hope gives him a push and he staggers to the washroom. Everything is spinning, but he’s used to it because when did he ever have control over how the world spun?

The sun goes up, the sun goes down, I’m still sad, he sings as he stumbles in, hunching over the sink. He stares at himself in the mirror. His eyes, his pallor, everything looks a sickly shade of yellow. He blames the lighting and the poisonous alcohol concentration in his blood and he keeps humming to himself. But something accompanies his off-key song, and it sounds so bad that he stops short.

The sound of someone trying to tear himself apart from the inside out.

“Jimin?”

The name feels foreign and Suga can’t quite wrap his tongue around the syllables, but the sound stills and Suga forces open the occupied stall.

“Park Jimin!”

The boy looks up, sweaty fringe matted to his forehead, eyes watery but empty, so familiar.

“Park Jimin, what the ?”

Suga tries to haul him up, but the dead weight pulls both of them down onto the cold tile floor.

Jimin answers him with retches, almost shoving his head down the toilet. Suga watches in horror before patting him on the back. “Jimin, seriously,” he mutters, the shock wearing down and suddenly overcome with concern.

And he realizes that the bile is joined by tears and streaks of eyeliner, and vomit coats the boy’s hands. “Jimin . . . Jimin.”

The boy finally allows himself to be dragged upward, away from the toilet bowl, and slumps against the stall.

“Why?”

Jimin is the one who knows what to do, he has everything under control, and Suga is the one who’s suffering, the one who can only watch Jimin in envy. That’s how it’s supposed to be, that’s how it’s always been. But to see Jimin like this is like the sun dying and Suga’s world has no center. All that’s left is a black hole.

“I lost so many fans, you know?” Jimin wipes the side of his mouth. “I can’t keep up. I can’t keep up this image. It’s so hard! There’s the schedule, and there’s no time to work out. And I’m tired too. And so I lost my abs.”

Suga stares (the only thing he knows how to do).

“That’s not a big deal. I know. There are more important things in the world, like cancer and war and stuff. But I can’t help it. This is my dream, this is what my life is built on. I need to make them happy. And they need a perfect me to be happy. But that’s so hard and . . . I don’t know.”

And suddenly, Suga hates the fans.

He just wants to do music, he never asked for any of this. He appreciates the love that is showered upon him due to the fame, and he never imagined so many people would listen to his songs. But.

But he hates becoming an image, a packaged and produced fantasy creature, as fake as the unicorn, in exchange for the support. He hates the unrealistic expectations forced on him (on them), forcing them to cut themselves apart to fit into the roles. He hates how much they have to suffer to please the fans, to be the man of their dreams even if he doesn’t know any of them and they don’t truly know anything about him either. He hates how his anger and discomfort turns into yet another thing for them to coo and thirst over. He hates that the fans’ delusional fantasies are created from such harsh realities.

And Jimin.

Suga’s heart aches with guilt and self-loathing. It’s so laughable how he envied the boy so much, how he burned with jealousy and hatred and disgust just because Jimin was a better actor than any of them.

“Just them.”

Jimin stills at Suga’s words and looks at him quizzically.

“Just . . . kidding? But seriously.”

The boy’s lips curl before relaxing into a tired smile. “Yeah, sure.”

They both know that if they want to survive, they must play by the rules, but one can pretend.

Min Suga tries to fix Park Jimin, but both of them fall apart.

(They try to help glue each other back together).

 

 

 

but satisfaction brought it back.

Being so close – paired up for shows, pressed against each other at the airport – Suga can see the fine lines on Jimin’s face, like fissures and cracks in the porcelain. He learns the differences between Jimin’s smiles – the tired smile, the happy smile, the smile put on for the media.

Maybe they aren’t so different, but Suga is a dry husk while Jimin still has life. He still has the fire in his blood, the passion, the will. It’s survival of the fittest and the Min Sugas will soon go extinct in the music industry, while the Park Jimins will evolve and prosper. It's better that way, anyway. 

 

They’re backstage for a show and Suga walks in Jimin drawing on something.

“What’s that?”

The boy’s grin when he looks up is enough to melt stone. “I’m drawing a piano for you, hyung!”

Suga lets out a patronizing (characteristic) grunt and plops onto the couch. He’s tired and not ready for work, but Jimin keeps chattering to the camera.

“Suga hyung plays piano very well, but he never plays for me.”

And it’s really a sad attempt at a piano and the keys stain his fingers black, but Suga diligently plays the song Jimin suggested. His antics and warmth puts a light smile on Suga’s lips, even though the camera is in their face and he doesn’t want to look at the comments section of the video later.

He can pretend this is a private moment, and he can feel the subtle encouragements that Jimin keeps sending towards him.

 

“Why did you hate me?”

“I never hated you. I was just intimidated.”

“Says the one with the resting face.”

“Shut up. I’m just insecure and you . . .”

“We’re all the same, you know.”

“Yeah . . .”

“Even Jungkookie. He’s probably the most talented of us all and he pretty much grew up in this world, but I worry about him sometimes. And Taehyung too.”

“Yeah.”

“But I’ll always be here for you, Yoongi hyung.”

“Same, Jimin.”

“You have so much to say, but you never let it out.”

“ . . . If you ever look up, I’ll be right there across from you."

 

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might add more to this

thanks for reading and please comment!