Bridge to Paradise // pjm + myg

;; 01

01 ;; MYG

"Sir, Kim Namjoon is on line one, he says it's urgent—"

"I don't want to talk to him right now."

"But sir, he says it's about your account, and that if you don't—"

"I fucking said I don't want to talk to him!" Yoongi explodes, his voice angrily disturbing the once-calm atmosphere of his studio like a toddler shaking a snow globe. So much for trying to think.

His secretary huffs indignantly through the keyhole, her only open access to talk to Yoongi when he's in one of his moods. Yoongi hears her footsteps heavily trudge away until the creak of her chair signals she's in front of her desk again. "Sorry, Mr. Kim. He's unable to come to the phone right now...Why? 'Cause he's dead. No, no, he's not actually, he's just wrapped up currently — you know how he gets. Mhm. Have him call you back when he's not being an asshole? Look forward to never getting a call back, then."

From inside his small space, Yoongi rolls his eyes, snorting as he tosses his headphones carelessly onto the table. He rubs the sleep out of his irises, fervently attempting to wake himself up more by gently slapping his cheeks, but it's to no avail.

It's been almost a week since he last saw Lost Boy, and he can't get him out of his head. He can picture him in pink sweatshirts the color of vibrant carnations, orange shirts reflective of tulips, and red sweaters as captivating as the roses in front of his studio building. Lost Boy was only one person, but he unknowingly carried with him the powerful beauty of a garden so entrancing that Yoongi was getting lost in the aisles of flowers, hoping the breeze would be so kind as to allow him to plant his seeds of curiosity there. He wanted a budding friendship with him, something that could grow into a peach tree under Lost Boy's shadow.

He titles the song Flower of Eden, knowing it's a work in progress, but he can't stop the small smile that makes its way onto his face. The fleeting feeling of happiness is foreign to him, but he embraces it nonetheless.

"Yah, Sel, what have I told you about being rude to people on the phone?" Yoongi tsks through the door, straightening his gray Puma hoodie before joining his secretary on the other side. He sits on her desk, paying no mind to the papers he's disorganized nor to the killer glare Sel sends his way.

"If you care so much, why don't you answer instead?" she retaliates in return, crossing her arms at his boss's less-than-remarkable behavior. "And it's Seulgi to you. If you want to call me Sel, don't mess up those papers, which are yours for next week's schedule, so really you're just making things harder for yourself."

"Damn, did you get an extra side of sass with your cereal this morning?" Yoongi asks, reluctantly hopping back to the floor. "Or did you have I-don't-give-a-fuck eggs instead? I recommend those, they're my favorite."

Seulgi groans in annoyance, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder as she shoves Yoongi away. "They were shut up muffins, actually. Something you could use right about now." Yoongi opens his mouth to reply, a retort begging to be used perching on the tip of his tongue, but it dissipated once Seulgi's next words halted in the air, hanging dangerously next to them. "By the way, I know you don't care, but Namjoon was calling because your company is going to freeze your account if they don't get your next demo in three weeks."

Yoongi swears, his obscenities stringing through the air like one of his rap choruses, which causes him to chuckle internally. If only they'd accept me swearing as a good song. "Fuck, that's — that's a really big deal," he trails off his sentence into a whisper, his terrified tone barely reaching his ears. The hidden strength Seulgi carried in that one bit of information is enough to remain champion over his own usually strong words.