It begins when the sky starts to brighten. The walls are thin in his building, hardly filtering out noise and over the years Yoongi has built a tolerance to both the clamor of city life and the sounds of people living around him. Until now, that is. It’s low, so low that if a truck came rumbling by it would block the sound out, but Yoongi still hears it. It’s the sound of singing, blocked by the walls so that all Yoongi hears is a deep melodic humming that originates from next door.

He moved in two weeks ago, the boy next door, Yoongi was leaving while he was coming and all he’d seen at the time was a head of unruly dark hair. The next day Yoongi had ignored the bell when the guy next door made his rounds sharing rice cake with the neighbors. Then, the humming started. Never at the same time, always a different tone, something that sounded familiar and different all at once.

At first, it had bothered him, his restless brain latching onto the sound keeping him awake. He’d spent early mornings trying to decipher an unknown pattern, trying to figure out the songs being sung. He would drive himself crazy with the sound, and then one day things shifted. His curious mind settled, his annoyance eased, and it became a comfort. In the early morning when the sky was a dark inky blue and the sun moments away from rising, the muted singing would glide through the joined walls, easing his weary mind.

******

Yoongi lets out a huff of frustration, slamming down his laptop harder than necessary. He takes a cursory glance around the apartment, not searching for anything in particular just to move his eyes moving and his brain working on something other than a work in progress that’s refusing to progress.

He throws himself back against his bed and picks his phone up from off the nightstand. There’s a message from her. He ignores it, blocks her on Kakaotalk and deletes her number from his phone all in the same moment.

Two weeks ago, they broke up. She didn’t think she was the person he needed, but Yoongi knows that he wasn’t the person she needed, he never is. Apologies had spilled from her lips and pity from her eyes that day. A writer would have thought she’d looked breathtakingly beautiful, looking back maybe she was but Yoongi had hated her at that moment.

The noise next door doesn’t break him out of his brooding, even if he can hear the shout of his neighbor calling for something or someone.

Three months of friendship, four months of dating, and now they were nothing. She had said that day with soft eyes, and hesitating words that they could still be friends. Friends… yeah right. Yoongi had nodded, he might have mumbled something as well, but by that point his only desire had been to get as far away from her as possible.

He’s not made for love. He tries and tries and when he fails he tries harder. It’s always good in the beginning, but somewhere in the middle it gets murky and then he’s dumped. He’s not attentive enough, he spends too much time in his head, or he’s always working. They don’t ever say it, but he knows, he just isn’t enough.

He’s here again. The boy at the table across from the bar lifts his head every now and then, eyes flitting across the space as if he’s looking for something. Twice now, he’s made eye-contact with Seokjin only to bow his quickly and focus on his glass of water.

It’s his third night here. The boy had come around the first time on Thursday. His eyes were wide and bright even in the dim lighting of the bar, and he’d fidgeted restlessly. He’d had one drink and then spent the rest of the night with water, waiting and looking towards the entrance.

Anyone with eyes could see he’d been stood up and Seokjin being the kind person he was had given him a drink on the house. Three days later and he was still here, at the same table and with the same awkward look to him. It was disconcerting but maybe that was due to Seokjin being a little nosey. He wants to know the guy’s story, wonders if he’s still coming back to meet the person that stood him up.

“Boss,” Jaehwan calls out, distracting Seokjin from his thoughts. He stops his staring long enough to see his friend step beside him. “What are you looking at,” Jaehwan asks, pint glass in hand and hand towel hanging off his right shoulder.

Seokjin nods his head in the direction of the table across from them. “He’s legal,” Jaehwan states. “I carded him.”

“He was here last night and the night before,” Seokjin says, turning his body so he’s facing Jaehwan straight on. Jaehwan takes a second glance at the boy and turns back towards Seokjin with a shrug.

“A regular then.”

Someone walks up to the bar and Jaehwan slips around Seokjin to make the woman a drink.

“I’m thinking of staying open throughout the entire week,” Seokjin tells him once things have begun to calm down again.

Jaehwan blinks at that, stocking the glasses Seokjin has cleaned. “You want my honest opinion?”

“It’s not a good idea,” Seokjin guesses.

“I think you should wait,” Jaehwan admits, “maybe continue with your plan to revamp the place first. We need something to draw people in.”

Seokjin sighs and casts another glance around the wide open space. It’s Saturday and although it's still early in the evening, the bar doesn’t even look close to being full. In a few hours, it will be peak time and it still won’t be full, it never is. This is the place people go to meet up with their friends before going to the actual bars and clubs they have in mind.

He wants to pull out his hair. He doesn’t have the money to stay open through the week, and he doesn’t have the money to do any major changes. He’s coasting by, sliding closer and closer to bankruptcy as the days pass. His uncle had to have been out of his mind when he’d bequeathed the bar to Seokjin, who in their right mind would think that a man with a degree in communications could run a bar. It was ludicrous.

He looks across the room, meeting the eyes of their new nervous regular for a third time, watching the boy jump in surprise, his eyes widening a fraction before dropping down to his water. Seokjin can’t help but grin to himself at the sight. The boy is cute, awkward and young, but adorable nonetheless and makes interesting entertainment.

Yoongi runs his hands through his hair ruffling the already messy hair even more. Seokjin would probably scold him if he saw the state of his hair. Of course, the deep purple eyebags might provide a distraction, if not another scolding.

He slips on his jacket and wraps a soft baby blue scarf around his neck. He takes a look around his apartment, searching for the beanie he knows he won’t find and slips out of the door, fingers already reaching for the box of cigarettes resting his left pocket.

Outside his apartment a blur of red rushes pass him, and Yoongi stops in his tracks watching fluffy hair now a shade of indiscernible brown race out of his sight. He tilts his head looking at the door beside his own wondering not for the first time just what kind of person his neighbor is.

******

Yoongi slips in through the doors, taking familiar steps to his usual seat without a glance around. It’s warm inside and Yoongi can feel the warmth flooding back to his freezing face. Seokjin’s at the bar, as usual, stocking supplies and helping Jaehwan now and then.

“Two nights in a row,” Seokjin says, stepping in front of him once Yoongi takes a seat. His lips are pursed together, but his eyes look over Yoongi with obvious concern.

“It’s the only place I’ve got a discount at,” Yoongi teases, as Seokjin visibly grimaces at the smell of cigarette smoke lingering to his clothes. Yoongi always quits smoking, and then he quits that. After breakups, during horrible cases of writer’s block, or any other stressing moment, he falls back into the only routine he has that isn’t avoiding things by getting wasted. “Soju, please,” Yoongi groans out, resting his head in the palm of his hand.

Seokjin pours the drink into a shot glass and passes it to Yoongi. “So, is this one of those things where we don’t speak about what’s bothering you?”

“You go first,” Yoongi says, nodding at him with a glint of teasing in his tired eyes. “What’s bothering Kim Seokjin so much that he’s willing to develop early wrinkles over it.” His eyes are on Seokjin’s forehead and Seokjin reaches a hand up, caressing the smooth skin. He glares and Yoongi laughs.

I'm worried about Namjoon," Seokjin admits. Yoongi stares at him, the glass of Soju balanced between his thumb and index finger, eyebrows furrowed. He nods after a moment swallowing down the last of the drink with one long swig.

"So am I," he admits, dropping his gaze down to the counter in front of him. Seokjin eyes drift pass Yoongi's head the table in his direct line of sight that’s now empty.  The thought that at least there’s one truth they can admit to themselves lingering in both of their minds.

I'm really excited about the things planned, but that could also be my excitment over BTS coming back!!!