“Hey eomma!” I smile at the screen, her nose and forehead filling my screen. “Is appa with you?”
“Yes, yes he is beside me,” the camera turns as proof, the top of his head also only revealed.
“Have you missed me?”
“Always, I think about you everything day ttal.”
We speak for nearly an hour, her helping me pick a theme for my apartment and my dad making sure I’m still focused on business. I tell them of the horrors of the first week, mainly the rather humiliating moment when I referred to my higher up as a woman in my first board meeting. They wished me luck then hung up to attend to their own busy day.
I adjust my face mask before exiting the cafe I found near the main recording studios that Big Hit owned and operated. The streets are bustling, but I spot Hoseok just outside a bakery, his own mask hanging on his chin as he bites into a pastry. I look both ways down the street and rush across to join him.
“Noa noona, have you had hotteok before?”
Before I have a chance to reply, he pulls my mask down and pushes the sweet up to my lips. I take a small bite and am pleasantly surprised. “Wow, that was really good. The last sweet Jimin gave me was,” I make a sound of disgust and Hoseok’s head tips back, letting out a loud laugh.
We walk back to the studio together, nibbling on the hotteok until it is all gone. When I enter the building Namjoon scolds me, “Ah noona, I got you that mask so you wouldn’t cough so much!”
Hoseok chuckles, dusting off his chin, “I made her try something. She had it on before, I promise.”
Namjoon makes a gesture from his eyes to mine, his fingers split in a ‘V’ before dragging Hoseok towards his personal studio. “We’ll finish streaming at 6 okay?”
“Alright, I’ll arrange the van for 6:30 so we can get some dinner from around here.”
They nod and disappear into the room, leaving me alone in the empty hallway. The only people who wanted to come to the studio today were Hoseok, Namjoon and Yoongi. I let the rest of the boys enjoy their semi free day off at the house, much to their surprise. I shoot a text to the driver about picking us up then tense at the sound of a door opening.
“Lin Noa,” the voice is low and raspy, setting my nerves on fires without even trying.
“Yoongi.”
“Did you ever get tired of it?”
“What are you talking about?”
There’s a beat. A sigh.
I turn around to face him, catching him mid eye roll and I bite my lip viciously. He boredly explains, “The seesaw. Did you ever get tired of it?”
“Only when I was ready to get off and the other person wasn’t.”
“You were a control freak back then too?”
“Since birth. My father says that if I could have delivered myself, I would have.”
That comment warrants a smile where his top lip stretches far back enough to expose a bit of his gums, but it lasts for a second before turning into his usual blank pout. “Would you like to hear an instrumental I’m working on?”
Shocked at the offer, I nod and approach him cautiously similar to prey looking for traps. He simply steps into the hall to make room for me to enter. Once I pass the doorway, the scent of him hits me in its full warm, earthy glory.
The coffee table is littered with notebook paper, music sheets and pencils. Atop of the mess I see toothpaste, a toothbrush and face wash. A few shirts and jackets are strewn across the couch, leaving only the edge to sit on. However the equipment is spotless, shiny and blinking at me, aggressively demanding my attention. He passes me and sits down in a spinning black chair, rolling up to the blinking keys and knobs.
“Are you just going to stand there?”
I search for another chair and take a seat beside him, resisting the urge to scoot back to create space between us. At this angle his open mouth gaze was adorable with his dark eyes lit up by the lights around us. All of the sudden an electric beat pours from the speakers, minor keys and snares, taking what suggests a happy song into a twisted route. I find my fingers tapping to the tempo as the electric drums switch to guitar strums and disco esque beats. I close my eyes imagning who could sing a song to this sound.
It stops abruptly and I open my eyes to find Yoongi staring at the glass ahead of him, at my reflection. “Don't let anyone know who'll get off first,” he sings softly before pushing back from the soundboard.
I turn to watch him picking up a paper and begin to furiously scribble down whatever he just thought of. It feels like mere seconds before he abruptly stops, then switches his gaze from his paper to meet mine.
“You really made Jeongguk worried after Friday’s practice.”
“... I haven’t had an asthma attack like that since middle school,” I sigh and place a hand on my chest, remembering the event vividly.
I felt like I was dying and couldn’t explain anything. I had been coughing all week, but those coughs turned into gasps quickly. Poor Jeongguk was screaming for someone to help us, afraid to leave me alone. After a few shouts I saw a flurry of people close in around me. Bang-shi gave me the weekend off to catch my breath, both literally and figuratively. I now carry an emergency inhaler to help prevent moments like that. Namjoon also bought me several designed masks and presented them to me as a gift when I went to pick them up Monday for filming.
“Everyone thought you were dying. They cared so much... They’ve only just met you.”
“They’re affectionate. They let me in as a noona, a partner, a friend. I will be around for a while after all.”
“How do I know that?”
He rests his chin on the palm of his hand, seeming bored with our conversation. His fingers graze across his lips and stay, his chocolatey eyes peering into mine with something I couldn’t put my finger on. His head had a slight tilt that reminded me of Hoseok whenever a question caught him off guard.
“From my sincerity. From how I treat those on my team.”
“How do I know that?” he growls the question this time.
“Yoongi. I am your boss. I own your brand, your presence, your schedule,” I step forward, approaching him, words spewing out of anger and confusion, “I could lock you in the house. Restrict your contact. Restrict your creative release. Terminate, torture and terrorize you. But I don’t. Would you like to know why?”
A smirk is enough to propel me into his face, hovering mere inches away. I can’t control my words anymore, overcome by my thoughts since last week, “Because I respect your craft, I respect the way you shield Jeongguk, the way you clean the house without anyone knowing, the way you keep everyone smiling, the way you pour yourself out to your fans. Because you care about your namdongsaengs unconditionally and it is the only way this band stays afloat. Otherwise you would’ve been fired after your first comment--”
A door bell cuts my speech short and I quickly straighten my posture, tearing my eyes from Yoongi’s. The door opens with Namjoon and Hoseok holding bags and drinks, their masks over their mouths. Their eyebrows express their confusion and apprehension, probably reading the tension in the room.
“We got food,” Hoseok finally speaks, his head tilting left. “And the car is here.”
I say nothing in response as I glide past them, pulling my own mask up to cover my frown. The air outside feels stuffy and humid, sticking to me and weighing me down further. I climb into the passenger seat and stare at the windshield the entire ride home, waddling in my anger.
No one speaks.
Even when they arrive home, they leave without a goodbye.
Everything has been said.
YOU ARE READING
SEESAW | min yoongi | complete
Romance"Why do you push me away?" "I hate the fact that you can control me. As if I was a part of you. As if we were one. And yet," he pauses. "I can't control you. I don't phase you." ~ Credit to Le_Mochi for the amazing cover ♡
