'music' | 'rough'

0

 He can do this. He can totally do this. The microphone is in hand.

"I can't do it!" he cries out, and his roommate is standing there next to him in an instant, thinking something much worse than stage fright has happened. He repeats quietly, "I can't do it." Hoseok tilts his head and furrows his brows.

"What d'you mean, 'I can't do it?' You've been planning this for two weeks now." Namjoon drops the microphone on the wooden floor - it's cheap, he doubts it'll break - and collapses after it in defeat onto his back.

"I can't do it, it's too stupid and I only have a one in a billion chance," Namjoon huffs quietly to the ceiling.

"Give me a break, it's, at most, one in a few thousand," Hoseok says, and Namjoon shoots him a look.

"That does nothing for my confidence." Hoseok reaches down and, with little effort, hoists Namjoon back to his feet, then grabs the microphone and shoves it into Namjoon's hands.

"You can do this," he urges, and points to the camera. "That's your audience. They are cheering, they want to hear you. They're screaming, 'RM, RM, RM!' Hands in the air, they want to hear you rap and they want it now. They love you, they want to hear you!" Hoseok shakes his shoulders and Namjoon closes his eyes.

He thinks he can hear it, faintly. That cheering he's imagined before, the loudness from seeing him on a stage. His doubt starts to crumble as he takes a deep breath and he nods.

"You want me to leave the room?" Hoseok asks, and Namjoon shakes his head.

"No, no, stay in here," he huffs, shaking out his nerves. "It feels less weird if I'm not alone." Hoseok nods and takes a seat, making sure he's out of the camera's view and takes the liberty of pressing the record button, then starting the beat.

Three minutes fly by faster than Namjoon expects, and he's breathing so hard from harsh exerted energy that he hardly notices Hoseok jumping up and hugging him.

"Namjoon, I can't even tell you how good that sounded," he praises, and Namjoon laughs despite being out of breath. "C'mon, let's watch it over and listen."

____________________________________________________________

Min Yoongi. Agust D. Suga.

"You're going under."

Yoongi glares at his manager before be rolls his eyes in denial.

"I'm not going under-"

"Yes. You are." The manager drops an album - his most recent - on the desk and points. "Your problem," he continues, "is that people are just not interested anymore." Yoongi tilts his head and opens his mouth, but not to retort. Just to relax and try to ignore the very true, very real words that reach his ears.

"Then maybe it's time to quit," he huffs. Music industry for four years, only spouting the bullshit they tell him to spout. No wonder people are fucking bored. His manager sputters and Yoongi nods. "Yeah. I said quit."

"You can't just quit music, Suga," his manager retorts.

"Would it kill you to just call me by my real name? Or am I just that much of a toy that I don't deserve it?"

"Yoongi," his manager says through gritted teeth, "you need to either figure something out now, or we're putting you with a group." And this, this is something new to Yoongi's ears.

"Wha- When was this decided?" he asks. "When was the option between making my music or joining a group? I've been in this place for four years, I don't need an entire group!"