The first time Yoongi spots him, it was in a crowded street.

There was a pair of teenage boys dancing in the middle of the said crowd— one with flaming orange hair and another with a head of brown hair, tinted with green. They were quickly drawing attention with their swift and flashy movements, and every now and then the orange haired one would flash his abs and leave some girls screaming. They looked like they were fit to be cast for an audition or something, and Yoongi briefly wondered about contacting the company he was currently interning in, when a loud comment caught his attention.

“Can’t Jimin keep his shirt down for one second?”

It wasn’t louder than the music blearing out the radio, but definitely loud enough for Yoongi to notice. The boy was few feet away, and even from that distance Yoongi could tell he was good looking. Dark, black hair framed a pretty face, complete with doe eyes and what looked like bunny teeth escaping from the wide grin on his face. He looked young, but he was tall, and it seemed like he knew who the dancing duo were. 

Judging by how the orange haired boy— Jimin, apparently— shot him a look of disapproval and just earned just a laugh in return, Yoongi judged that they were probably even close.

He’s being tugged away by Namjoon a few minutes later.

________________________________________________

Yoongi brushed off the second time as a funny coincidence. 

There were a lot of Starbucks stores around Seoul, that was for sure, and Yoongi was certain he frequented many of them. However, if he had to name where he would go more often, it only made sense that he would go to the one nearest his apartment. It’s a quick 5 minute walk away, and always surprisingly peaceful, given how it was fairly hidden from the busier streets. He liked this one best too because it always had significantly less amount of people.

He entered the store and gazed around the room for an empty seat.

Instead of an empty seat, his eyes land instead on a boy tucked in the corner of the room. Yoongi remembers him clearly as the handsome boy from a few months ago, since his face wasn’t exactly forgettable. He had a red beanie on and an annoyed expression on his face as he angrily typed away at his computer. Yoongi was quick to notice the ID strap hanging loosely by the edge of the table.

High school student, he mused, recognizing the school colors of his own, previous high school. It wasn’t too far from the Starbucks store, actually, so he was pretty used to seeing students around. He wasn’t sure if this was the first time that boy had been around though, or maybe he just didn’t notice before. The kid’s nose was all scrunched up, which was adorable, he figured. Probably a research paper. 

He’s also young, Yoongi thought again with a grimace this time, remember that those years were long behind him. Not that university was any different, but at least he got to do something more focused on what he liked.

“Sir?”

Yoongi hadn’t realized he had spaced out, standing near the counter. He quickly turned his head away from the boy and mumbled an apology to the barista. He decided to have his drink to go instead.

________________________________________________

There was definitely no doubt that by the third time, fate was playing some kind of weird game with him. 

Yoongi was at a McDonald’s, one of those 24/7 store branches, and he was beyond stressed. His finals as a music major were coming up; which meant plenty of lyric writing, composing, and actually producing some songs. All that coupled with extra hours of work from the company he’d been working at ever since they officially hired him instead of keeping him as an intern— they said something about him having skill, but he was beginning to think they just needed more people to treat as slaves.

He groaned as he took a sip of his now watered down, and frankly disgusting, cup of soda. 

“I am never getting this done,” Yoongi muttered. “Never.”

If he wasn’t so immersed in complaining and shifting through music sheets, he would have noticed an all-too-familiar tuft of black hair sitting a few tables away from him. He probably also would have noticed the worried glances being given to him by the kid (and everybody else in the store, really) and finally, he definitely would have noticed the boy standing up and walking towards him.

“Uhm,” a voice sounded from above. 

Yoongi looked up slowly at the unfamiliar voice, and landed himself eye to eye with those doe eyes he still hadn’t forgotten. 

He opened his mouth to speak, found that he had absolutely nothing to say, and closed it again soon after.

“Sorry,” the boy said, fidgeting slightly. “I couldn’t help but watch— uhm, hear— notice, I couldn’t help but notice your frustrations. Something about music?”

At any other time, Yoongi would have been a bit brash about the idea of a stranger initiating a conversation with him, but for some reason his mind no longer registered this kid as a stranger. That, and it was nearing 12AM and he had no caffeine in his system. So he nodded, shoved the music sheets to the surprised boy, and went on and on about his current problems. He needed lyrics to accompany the music, and he was only about half way done. Plus, his company was rattling about needing new talent.

“Which, honestly,” he drawled out, annoyed, Daegu accent prominent, “isn’t my job. I’m there to create the music, not talent scout.”

The boy hummed, amusement tugging at his lips.

“I’m planning on getting a music major too,” he said. “Probably going to dwell a bit more with performing like my friends, but lyric writing is fun too.”

Every inch of Yoongi’s tired university student brain scoffed at the word fun, “yeah, till you’re swamped with it. Then it becomes pressure. It ain’t that fun, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” came the immediate reply.

“Sure.”

The boy huffed, and said the following words as if it was a practiced response, “I’m 19.”

“And I’m 23. So you’re a kid to me.”

Yoongi was surprised to find that instead of a quick retort, he was met with the boy staring at him with an almost determined look on his face. His pen and notebook was snatched from under his nose soon after, and those big brown eyes darted from the music sheet and back to the notebook, with his h