Read My Lips || Yoonmin || {COMPLETED}

16

It turns out that the non-date Yoongi's asked him on is a gig at a restaurant.

He's seated at a fancy round table with a white satin tablecloth. The pink and purple lights are dimmed, but there's a soft glow that encapsulates the stage and the saxophone players currently performing on it. He hasn't seen Yoongi for awhile, although the owner (or manager, Jimin doesn't know), Seokjin, assures him that Yoongi is up right after the saxophonists. He's about to go find Seokjin again when the saxophonists finish up their last song. It was probably a good song, because he sees people around him clapping. They thank the customers for listening and make their way offstage.

Within a few minutes, Yoongi's fingers are rhythmically tapping away at the ivory keys of the piano on stage. Jimin doesn't remember the last time he listened to, or more like felt, music. The radio in his small car is permanently turned off, and the elevator-like background music playing in his head he  as he walks down the streets of Seoul is the only thing that keeps company.

But Yoongi's piano playing is plain incredible, so much more complex than the ringing of bell, the tapping of footsteps, the drips of the machine he works, or all the other sounds he painstakingly pretends hear. The effort that the pink haired man puts into his playing radiates with liberating passion, overwhelming with raw emotion yet somehow retaining the calming and tranquil aura enough fade into the background of the hectic restaurant atmosphere he fantasizes hearing. The current song he's playing is melancholy - probably a minor - he can tell by Yoongi's little movements. The way his back hunches further. The distant expression in his face that suggests he's remembering a something depressing, perhaps loss or heartbreak. The way when he exhales deep, ragged breaths, the piano seems to exhale with him. The piano is an extension of Yoongi's emotions, Jimin realizes, that lets the man access and expose the deeper, hidden parts of his soul. It's Yoongi's way of dealing with the terrible shit the world gives him.

And Jimin wishes more than anything that he wasn't deaf, because he's tired of having to imagine sounds and noises, making them up in his mind because he doesn't even remember what anything sounds like anymore. He wonders achingly what it sounds like when the world spins, when daily life goes on and plays noises to everyone that can hear, and it feels like he's a child being left out of a game. And most of all, he wishes he could hear Yoongi's piano playing, absorbing the full intensity of the music. Jimin thinks that if he were to regain the ability to hear, he would never take the ability for granted again.

As Yoongi starts a new song, this one more upbeat from the looks of his posture, a waiter saunters over to take his order. His messy, lavender hair reaches his eyebrows, and his general, laid back aura and tall stature are calming, taking his mind off the stress of being deaf for a moment. "Hello sir, my name's Taehyung and I'll be your server for today. May I get you a drink?" He flashes a boxy smile that would make many people coo over him like a puppy. Jimin can see a worker like him getting a lot of tips and mentally applauds Seokjin for hiring attractive waiters.

"Ah, I think I'm ready to order actually," Jimin replies, taking his eyes off Taehyung to glance across the room at Yoongi. The older man is still deeply absorbed in his music, head nodding and swaying with the rhythm and grinning with ease, and Jimin realizes that it's the first time he's ever seen Yoongi smile. Jimin doesn't know why Yoongi doesn't laugh more - his gummy smile makes his eyes crinkle and his cheeks rise and his face just screams happy. Jimin swallows because he belatedly notices that Yoongi's not happy a lot of the time. Yoongi's not happy but he deserves to be. Jimin decides he wants to change that, but before he can formulate the beginnings of a plan in his head, Taehyung coughs awkwardly and brings him back to reality.

"Your order, sir?" Jimin asks for a cup of coffee and kimchi jjigae. He thinks he sees Taehyung smirk a little as he scribbles something on a paper pad and remarks, "I see you aren't here with anyone today. What's a fine looking man like you doing all alone on a Friday night?"

Before Jimin can correct him though, the tall waiter is gone. The words fine looking man echo in his head and Jimin feels like they should be doing something to him, like making butterflies his stomach flutter or affecting him in some other way, but they don't. He wonders if Taehyung is not his type. He asks himself what his type is, because he has no idea. He vaguely reconsiders his sexuality, but settles once again that he's straight as a pencil. A very bendy, rubber pencil, because he registers the things that do make his knees go weak and want to barf up the butterflies that seem to stab at his stomach. Things like Yoongi's eyes. Yoongi's smile. Yoongi's grumpiness and piano playing. The way strands of Yoongi's light pink hair cling to his forehead when he sweats. Yoongi's existence. And he thinks...he thinks he might have a small crush.