In the early morning hours with the sun rising on the horizon and the sky turning from indigo to baby blue, the air smells like salt and summer, a little like youth.

He finds Jungkook at the beach, at the crack of dawn, as the last stars still dance on the horizon holding into the remains of the night. Jungkook has his headphones on but Jimin knows that there's no music playing, just static, white noise made of the sound of the waves and the sand between his toes. His worn-out Converse sneakers are beside him, the oversized t-shirt he's wearing is smudged with paint, a rainbow on the white canvas and Jimin notices a duffel bag of half-empty paint bottles not far away.

“You're early,” Jimin says as he sits on the sand beside Jungkook. It takes Jungkook a few moments to reply. As he waits for the younger to shake out of his reverie, he collects the grains of sand in his hands, trying to find a shell that the tide carried to the shore.

Another second passes before Jungkook takes off his headphones.

“We have work to do,” he says.

The sand slips between Jimin's fingers like minutes in the hourglass and he's run out of time before managing to find what he was looking for. He pouts, childish and immature, and Jungkook's laughter resonates in his ears. Familiar, comforting, almost like home. It's been months since Jimin has heard it.

Jungkook scrambles to his feet and dusts off his jeans before stretching. His joints crack. It seems like he spent the night here, looking at the ocean and trying to unlock the secrets it hides. It wouldn't have been the first time and Jimin knows it.

He follows the waves as they come and go before throwing his head back and looking at Jungkook. Jimin's bangs fall backwards and Jungkook reaches down to ruffle his hair. His fingers are long and cold, shallow cuts and scars scattered on them – an additional set of lines on his palms, bus routes intersecting with metro lines, each of them marked with a number and a graffiti hidden from the unskilled eye.

Stencils, Jimin remembers, Jungkook likes stencils, detailed cut-outs of social injustice, rats running free after the laboratory has been taken down, flowers growing through the cracks in the pavement, dandelions yellow as warning signs on the toxic waste barrels - the same ideas executed in too many different ways.

“C'mon, lazy ,” Jungkook says, “get up, we have freshly painted walls at our disposal.”

There's juvenile defiance in the crook of his lips, rebellion glimmering in his eyes, a hint of innocence and a whole lot of reckless decisions that make Jungkook look no older than sweet sixteen even though he's approaching twenty, top of his class, pride and joy of all professors of the art department of the Busan University.

“Don't call me a lazy ,” Jimin sticks out his tongue and Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“Really mature. And then you wonder why I don't call you hyung. Now, c'mon.”

He offers his hand to Jimin who gladly accepts it as he gets up.

The sun is reflecting off glass skyscrapers not far away from the beach and as they walk, Jimin lets himself be carried away by the memories of the many summers he spent in Busan as a child when waves crashed every sand castles that he had built.

▼▼▼

The stewardess' gentle voice echoes from the speakers – a reminder that they'll be landing soon and that all passengers should put their seat belts back on. A murmur of voices follows it, some nervous – the worst case scenario too vivid even with the eyes wide open, some excited, and the rest barely aware of the situation because they're already used to the procedures and warnings of the flights attendants.

The flight was too long, eleven hours in closed space thousands of meters up in the air.

Yoongi hears ruffling of bags behind him as somebody moves closer to the window to look at the city as they land. By the sound of their whispers, he can tell that they're either foreigners or tourists coming from Seoul. Something akin to a smile blooms on his features, but doesn't stay there for long. When he was a kid, he used to do the same thing. There was something magical about seeing the city you grew up in from the air, avenues branching through it like blued veins. Few years down the road and Yoongi doesn't need to move closer to the window because he already knows what his hometown looks like.

Beneath them, there's Daegu, miles and miles of glass skyscrapers soaring to the sky, factories in the outskirts and a giant tsunami of concrete ready to swallow everybody. Too many dreams have disappeared under the weight of the expanding city.

Beneath them lays Daegu, boulevards of broken dreams with the street lights twinkling like stars lining them instead of trees; a metropolis that never sleeps hidden in the veil of darkness.

It's either too late or too early. Yoongi can't really tell because the flight has been delayed one too many times.

Once they land, Yoongi puts on his leather jacket and sunglasses, hides dark circles his eyes with black lenses and lets the crowd carry him through the customs.

The airport is oddly chaotic in the dead hour of the night, passengers nervous and tired, jet lag sinking into their bones as eyelids fight against sleep and sweet dreams of better tomorrows. Around him, the sound swells, gets filled with chatter from the coffee shops working 24/7, clatter of porcelain cups and plates, as the cupcakes decorated with colorful toppings seem out of place in the greyness of the airport.

Yoongi strolls down the corridor, past the duty free shops and groups of tourists waiting for their guide without sparing them a glance. His shoulders are stiff. With every move he makes, his joints crack under invisible pressure.

At the end of the terminal, in front of the exit gates a familiar figure waits for him. Dressed in all black, a modern day death reaper with a sly smile on his lips.

“Who died?” is the first thing Yoongi says when he approaches Namjoon who just laughs and shakes his head. For some reason, Yoongi doesn't find it funny but Namjoon can't see his glare behind black lenses.

“Nobody. I didn't know your flight was late until Seokjin called me from the office to say that I should wait for you.”

Yoongi sighs. How typical of Seokjin.

“He didn't want to send two cars to pick us up. Too much trouble and unnecessary phone calls as if he isn't on the phone all the time.”

“We aren't interesting to him,” Namjoon shrugs as he heads to the doors. Yoongi follows suit.

“We're paying him.”

“Correction – you're paying him. He's your assistant, not mine.”

When they exit the terminal, they notice a luxury car is waiting for them not far away. It's a pretty steel beast with tinted windows. When he sees them, the chauffeur tosses the cigarette to the ground and opens the door before taking their luggage and putting it in the trunk. As they leave the airport, Yoongi asks “How was London? How much money did we lose?”

Namjoon looks out the window, at the city lights flickering in the distance. Morning is approaching, the black on the sky few shades lighter then it was few minutes ago.

“Rainy, foggy, boring,” Namjoon answers. “And we lost nothing.”

Yoongi nods, but doesn't smile. Business transactions don't require pleasant smiles and polite gestures. They're more often than once an arena, modern day Colosseum, downfall of the numbers – stock prices – following gladiator's death. Slaughter house where currency is the new blood, everybody bleeding in euros, dollars, yens, … A never-ending tide of red numbers filling gigantic screens, rise and fall of the stock market oddly resembling heartbeat.

▼▼▼

“I'll go get us some ice-cream,” Jungkook declares as he empties another can of red paint and aims it at the nearest trash bin. He misses it bz a few inches and jogs over to pick it up. “What do you want?”

Jimin's fingers trace over the fresh paint and smear it in a hundred different directions before it begins to dry; abstraction and reality blooming under his fingertips. Cautiously, he takes a step back and observes the mess he's made. His eyes flicker over the unfinished graffiti - “Get me” - there's too much blue and too little green - “strawberry and lemon” - and not enough shadows, the contours are still sharp; they're protruding the wall and bleeding on the sand.

Jungkook scrunches his nose in distaste. Why asking for lemon when life is already sour?

“You sure you don't want chocolate or caramel?”

“Yeah,” Jimin mumbles. His fingers are itching because the paint is drying too fast. He steps back, looking for a new perspective. Things always look different from another angle.

“You sure?” Jungkook asks.

The graffiti is almost finished, final touches are left to be done – a bit more of red in the upper left corner, more shadows and softer edges near the bottom, a few splashes of color that need to be toned down in the center.

“Definitely,” Jimin smiles. He has found the anomaly on the jaded wall, that spot that was making him nervous, fidgety. He reaches for the bottle of yellow, nozzle at the right distance from the wall to achieve the effect he needs and he sprays. Few drops of paint drip to the sidewalk, the broken yolk of an egg.

By the time Jungkook returns with ice-cream, Jimin has finished the painting. The empty paint bottles are in the trash can and the remaining ones are stuffed in Jungkook's duffel bag. Jimin is sitting on the edge of the pavement, his sneakers beside him, his toes in the sand.

It's almost noon, the beach is full of passers-by and young babysitters chasing after children aimlessly running around with seaweed in their hands.

Jimin's back is turned to the wall on which the graffiti is slowly drying, a satisfied smile gracing his features.

Jungkook hands him the popsicle.

“They run out of lemon,” he says as Jimin bites off a piece of the ice-cream. It melts slowly on his tongue, artificial flavor of strawberry too strong.

“It's okay,” he mumbles and Jungkook joints him on the sidewalk. They don't talk, just listen. To the laughter of children on the beach, to the noise coming from the nearby motorway. It's familiar, a washed-out memory of different times when they were living in the same building in one of the many middle-class neighborhoods, their fathers working in the same factory, their mothers complaining about same things.

That was before Jimin's father found a better paid job and the whole family moved to Incheon. Jungkook bid Jimin farewell with a bone-crashing hug and a drawing of their friends at the playground. It was a mess of crooked lines and blurry contours, he was just ten but Jimin had liked it and he kept it, all these years. Jungkook has asked him many times to burn it or toss it to garbage because “once I become famous, you'll use it to blackmail me” and Jimin responded with a smile and “aren't you flattering yourself too much”.

He still has it, somewhere.

Jimin's phone rings – an obnoxiously cheerful pop song and Jungkook snickers. He stuffs the popsicle in his mouth before wiping his hands on his shorts and pulling the phone out of his pocket. His fingers slide over the screen and he accidentally puts the incoming call on loudspeaker.

“What took you so long?” the voice on the other end asks and Jimin swallows a mouthful of ice-cream. It's too cold, his tongue is numb.

“Sorry, Tae,” he mumbles and rubs at his cold lips.

“Am I calling in the wrong moment? I can call later when -”

“It's fine. What do you want?”

Pause, a heartbeat too long. They hear a popping sound and a muffled gasp through the static. Jungkook bites his tongue to prevent the eruption of laughter.

“Taehyung, are you chewing gum?”

“No.”

“One day you'll choke on it and -” Jimin stops rambling when the sudden realization hits him like a ton of bricks.

“Somebody's you off,” he blurts out. Jungkook laughs, loud and obnoxious. Taehyung freaks out at the other end of the line, curses and whispers to somebody to stop.

“That's – Is Jungkook with you? Oh my god, cover his ears!” Taehyung shrieks and Jimin smacks Jungkook upside the head – a clear sign that he should stop laughing. Jungkook closes his mouth, pretends to lock it and throws the key away, but his lips stay curved upwards.

“He's not listening anymore. Why did you call, Taehyung?”

“Oh right... They repainted the Central Station and all trains.”

“So?”

“There will be a tagging game in few days. I want you to come. Where are you?”

“In Busan, but I don't feel like scribbling names,” Jimin scrunches his nose. He understands street art – silent cries of despair and injustice, vivid mosaics on rundown facades, flamboyant paintings on high walls in Los Angeles, stencils under bridges in Paris – but not the tagging. What's the point of having your name plastered on the walls and the trains? What message do those few syllables carry?

“I'm sorry, oh great artist. How about creating some meaningful art on the sides of the train? Does that sound better?” Taehyung says with mock annoyance.

“Much better,” Jimin smiles.

“So, you'll come? It's pristine clean and gray, like a hospital.”

“I'll think about it,” Jimin says.

The sun is high on the sky. Jungkook has eaten his ice-cream while Jimin's has melted and coated his fingers with sticky sweetness. He's balancing his phone on his thigh.

“Come, I'll buy you ice-cream every day,” Taehyung tries again, his voice a notch higher.

“Let me think about it” is the last thing Jimin says before hanging up.

▼▼▼

Monday comes with traffic jams between 6 and 8 a.m. and alarm clocks that ring too early for everybody's liking. It starts with a stack of papers on Yoongi's desk that are ready to be signed and a cup of steaming hot coffee without sugar or milk. Yoongi arrives at the office at 9 o'clock, grabs the newspapers from Seokjin's desk and asks to see all interns in ten minutes. Seokjin greets him with a disinterested smile while nursing a cup of black tea in his hands. It's too early for being polite and pleasant and sadly, the poor interns will learn that in a few minutes.

Yoongi flips through the pages of newspapers as they enter his office one by one.

Pressed suits in a sad palette from dark blue to gray, button-up shirts pristine white, manicured fingers tapping nervously on the last week's reports, muffled coughs. One of the interns yawns, another one slurs his coffee. Through the glass wall behind Yoongi's desk they can see the city spreading in all directions, the factory chimneys on the horizon, the sunlight reflecting off glass skyscrapers with the alleyways still in dim light. The sky is too clean for a Monday morning and not a single cloud can be found on the blue infinity.

Yoongi looks up from the article about the rise of taxes by 2.8% starting new month. His eyes roaming across many unfamiliar faces.

Six months and their internship is over, six months and they quit due to an average salary and high hopes for becoming a boss in a short period of time.

The girl near the end of the line blushes when her eyes meet Yoongi's and quickly diverts her gaze. Pink spreads over her cheeks as she holds reports closer to her chest, as if they could protect her from his scrutinizing gaze.

“Raise your hand if this is your first time seeing me,” Yoongi demands and in a second six hands are in the air. The blushing girl isn't one of them and Yoongi feels a bit sad because she would have been such an easy prey this morning.

“Step forward,” he orders and they quickly obey. “The rest of you are free to go,” he waves them away.

When the office empties save for the six poor souls, Yoongi stands up.

“All rumors you're heard about me are true so yes, I will fire you if you say something without being asked first or if you're late for work, and no, you won't get paid more if you run around Namjoon and fulfill his every wish regardless of what he says. Is that clear?”

All interns nod as Yoongi takes a sip of his coffee. Bitter. Like Mondays. Like the half of grapefruit he had for breakfast.

“These are the rules,” he continues, voice cold, serious. “One – you're always at my disposal, even in the middle of the night. Two – you never bug me with irrelevant stuff and you never stand in my way. Three -”

“Four,” one of the interns mutters and Yoongi smirks. Maybe this Monday has just become a little better.

“What's your name?” he asks the blonde intern.

“Oh Sehun, sir.”

“Pretty name. Too bad that you're fired. Pack our things. You have exactly 15 minutes to get out, Sehun,” Yoongi orders, sly smile gracing his features. The kid in front of him shrinks into himself, swallows a complaint and exits the office before his time runs out.

“I heard that you fired one of the interns this morning,” Namjoon says over a glass of vine and some French dish which name Yoongi didn't bother to remember.

“I did. We have too many of them. They're multiplying like bugs. But don't worry, I didn't fire the one you're sleeping with,” Yoongi retorts and Namjoon laughs.

▼▼▼

Jungkook wakes up to the sound of running water coming from the bathroom and Jimin examining the clothes in the wardrobe before taking few shirts out and tossing them into the bag by his feet.

“Are you planning to sink Titanic in there?” Jungkook mumbles as he rolls on his stomach and buries his head under a pillow. It's early, he can feel it in his bones.

He hears footsteps and sound of water stops. Contently sighing, Jungkook tries to fall asleep again but before he can drift to dreamland, Jimin grabs his pillow and lifts it up. Still refusing to open his eyes, Jungkook pulls the blanket over his head.

“Rise and shine,” Jimin exclaims as he plops down on the bed next to Jungkook. He can hear Jungkook mumbling “I don't want to” but Jimin pretends that his words have never reached his ears and he pulls the blanket off of Jungkook.

“C'mon, won't you bid me farewell?” Jimin asks and Jungkook turns his head to look at him. He blinks. Once, twice as the words sink in.

“You're leaving?”

“Didn't Taehyung invite me?” Jimin smiles. Jungkook is insure whether he should answer his question.

“I didn't think you'd take up his offer,” Jungkook admits after a few moments and Jimin's smile grows bigger.

“Aww... Will you miss your Jiminnie hyung?” Jimin coos and tries to pinch Jungkook's cheek. The younger swats his hand away.

“Of course not. I'm glad that you're leaving. It's just -”

“Just?”

“I thought you'd clean the apartment before that.”

Jimin rolls his eyes and stands up. Grabbing a pillow from the floor, he tosses it at Jungkook before disappearing in the bathroom.

“Be good and don't piss off your teachers,” Jimin says as the clock on the Central Station shows five minutes until the departure of the train for Daegu.

Jungkook snickers. “Yeah, yeah, I'll be a good boy.”

There's familiar distance between them, a zone of farewells and seeyousoon's. Jungkook has his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, the backpack is heavy on Jimin's shoulders and he has the urge to fix the straps every few seconds – to keep his hands busy. They've been here one too many times and yet, finding the right words is still a challenge. Other passengers are passing by them, cacophony of voices filling the empty space. Jimin eyes the clock hanging above the timetable and Jungkook looks at his worn-out black Converse.

“You're really leaving, huh?”

Jimin's gaze falls on Jungkook's face, on display of emotions changing his features. He's never been good at saying goodbye.

“Yeah,” Jimin breathes out, one step closer to the train, one step away from Jungkook.

“Have fun. And... I guess I'll see you soon.”

Jungkook turns around to leave and as he walks down the terminal, he lifts his hand and waves goodbye without looking back.

Jimin smiles in return and gets on the train heading to Daegu.

▼▼▼

The train ride from Busan to Daegu is too long for Jimin's liking and by the time he gets off at one of the station in suburbia where Taehyung should be waiting for him, Jimin has become friends with an old couple returning home from vacation. The old lady told him that he reminded her of her grandchildren and asked him to come to visit them once he settles in the big city.

“Tea and cookies and company. Old people are often lonely,” she smiled softly and scribbled the address on a small piece of paper. Jimin noticed her elegant handwriting and expensive brand of pen, he noticed her charming but also quite pricey outfit and wondered why a lady like her was traveling by train when she clearly could afford more comfortable transportation.

Her husband smiled politely at Jimin before returning his attention to the book he had been reading and let his wife entertain herself with this young boy who was just another street rat unworthy of his attention. Luckily, the lady didn't share her husband's opinion and she did enjoy Jimin's company.

There was innocence in this young boy that her nephew has long lost. She asked him various questions and when Jimin mentioned that he was interested in art, her eyes sparkled with a long lost memory and she immersed herself in conversation.

When the time for Jimin to get off came and he got up from his seat, her smile haltered for a second before she wished him a pleasant stay in Daegu and once again asked him to come visit her.

Spotting Taehyung in the mass of people is far from being a challenge.

Once he gets off the train, Jimin scans over the crowd before noticing Taehyung's purple hair and colorful outfit in the sea of gray suits and white collars. Jimin waves his hand in the air and it takes less than a second for him to catch Taehyung's attention. The other boy stops his lollipop and smiles, all white teeth and pink gums.

Jimin pushes his way through the crowd until he reaches the end of the platform and Taehyung pulls him in a hug.

“You're choking me,” Jimin manages to say and Taehyung's grip isn't as tight as it was a second ago. Jimin finds a way out of Taehyung's arms.

“Sorry, but I really missed you,” Taehyung says in his defense and takes a step back. Jimin tries to breathe again.

“So you decided to choke me to death?” Jimin asks and Taehyung pouts, red and white lollipop hanging from his lips. The boy next to him chuckles and Jimin looks from Taehyung at the redhead.

“I'd let you go before, you know, you actually died,” Taehyung mumbles, eyes following Jimin's line of vision because he is no longer in the center of attention, which means Jimin won't hold a grudge against him.

“I should introduce you two. Jimin, this is Hoseok,” Taehyung announces and the scene oddly resembles awkward first introductions in elementary school.

“Nice to meet you, Jimin,” the boy, Hoseok, says.

“So you're the one that -”

And before Jimin could finish the sentence, Taehyung covers his mouth with his hand and awkwardly laughs. His cheeks are red by the time he says “Let's not go there”.

Jimin's gaze still is on Hoseok and he can see a hot flush creeping up Hoseok's neck.

So, he was right after all.

▼▼▼

Yoongi leaves the office around 2 p.m.

As he passes by the front desk, he says to Seokjin that he won't be coming back and to cancel all meetings for the day. Seokjin looks up from the magazine he's been reading.

“You have lunch with your aunt at 3. Should I cancel that as well?”

“Haven't you heard what I just said?” Yoongi asks back.

Seokjin doesn't reply. Instead, he takes a red marker and crosses out the 3 p.m. meeting.

Another street light switches from green to red as they reach it. They've been caught in the wave of red lights since they left the company, and at the backseat of the silver Audi, Yoongi is getting impatient. The driver taps his fingers on the steering wheel in the rhythm of soft music coming from the radio.

“I'm sorry, sir,” he apologizes when Yoongi tosses the financial reports on the empty seat next to him. Yoongi nods his head in acknowledgment and looks out the window.

Through glass he can see numerous cafes, a bus stop few feet away, colossal building of the train station behind the array of small shops. Students in gray uniforms are mixing with people in dark suits – a melancholic palette of colors decorating already gloomy street. And in the mass of monochrome, he catches a glimpse of color – vivid, flamboyant almost.

Three boys are walking towards the crossroad Yoongi's trapped in, their appearance sticking out. Young and reckless, too caught up in the moment to realize that a white collar is waiting for them as well once their parents stop funding their living expenses, once they're forced to grow up.

Yoongi's eyes roam from the purple haired boy on a lollipop to the redhead apparently explaining something to his friends until they land on the smallest boy among them.

To Yoongi, he seems almost ordinary – with black hair and soft features, still a child. He's wearing an oversized basketball jersey and baggy pants and before Yoongi can take a better look at him, the street light turns green and as they drive away, Yoongi catches a glimpse of the boy's smile – innocent, pure, childlike.