Mark Up My Soul 2/?
Title: Mark Up My Soul 2/?
Pairing: Yoongi/Jungkook (BTS)
Rating: Eventual NC17
Disclaimer: They are slowly taking over my soul to the point that I almost feel like I might be able to own them.
Summary: Jeon Jungkook’s soul mark is a music staff tattooed on his forearm. Every now and then a flare of pain will burn its way up his arm and another note is added. The strangest thing about the newest mark is that it isn’t a note and it isn’t black. It’s just a smudge. Of color. Mint green in the center, fading to deep blue around the edges.
Min Yoongi’s soul mark tattoo is a smudge of dark ink with faded thin lines of white scratched into it. If he squints, the scars sort of look like a music staff. When a new burst of pain manifests as a mint green music note in the darkest spot of black, Yoongi curses fate and his inability to stay away from all things cute. Because soul marks lie, and fate is a cruel bitch from hell.
A/N: I know I said I was writing DBSK fics now, and I promise that I am. I'm working on an angel!Jaejoong fic, and he's being more human than I was expecting which means it's really long, much longer than I wanted, but hey, that's what I do best. I haven't posted in about 3 weeks, and I've typed at least 30K words on 3 different fics in that time, but life is insane for me right now. I was having withdrawals, so I had to post this even though this fic isn't done.
Part 2:
Yoongi drags his ass out of bed after noon. Hobi is already gone, as always. That boy is energy in a human form and is able to survive on nothing but sunshine and smiles and daydreams.
Yoongi sort of hates him for it. Especially when he needs coffee and a cigarette to function properly.
And a shower, sometimes. This morning is one of those mornings. He was bent over the mixing board for too many hours last night trying to get the image of cute, young, adorable Jeon Jungkook out of his head.
Which is futile when he sees a text from an unknown number.
Min Yoongi-shi! Hi! This is Jeon Jungkook. I’d love to come to your studio. I’m on my way to school right now, but if it’s okay, I will text you when I am done for the day.
Yoongi checks the time. Jungkook is still going to be in class. God, he hopes the kid is at youngest a senior in high school. What a way for his soul mark to fuck him over again if he’s younger than that. Still he sends a text back: Hey, kid. I’m at the studio after three, sometimes earlier than that. Just send me a text when you’re on your way over. He sends another text with the address.
There’s a text from Namjoon: Seokjin says that one of his friends is friends with this Jungkook kid. So I’ve got the stats. You interested?
Against his better judgement, Yoongi says yes.
Jungkook is seventeen, in his last year of high school, skipped a grade, so he’s brilliant. He’s headed to Seoul Institute of the Arts to study music, if he’s lucky. He’s seventeen.
Seventeen.
He likes to work out. His favorite colors are red and black. He sings when he studies. His friends claim he’s good at everything and if he doesn’t know how to do something, he’ll learn in a few hours.
Seventeen.
Yoongi hates his life.
But they need seventeen-year-old Jeon Jungkook. They need his voice on their tracks. Something soft and angelic to balance the harshness of their raps.
Yoongi succumbs to fate’s cruel intentions and heads to the studio. For the first time in months, he works on a slow rap he started with the intention of finding a singer for it. It’s about struggling with yourself and your identity, accepting yourself. The lyrics tear at his soul again and he scratches at the scars on his arm.
When Namjoon comes in, he says nothing about the melancholy permeating the studio and sits at his own console to work.
Yoongi has given up on the emotions, working instead on a different song, something heavier, demanding, honest, when his phone buzzes. He blinks at the time. It’s already almost six. Stretching, he removes his headphones. Namjoon is bobbing his head to the beat in his ears, and he gives Yoongi a corny smile and a thumbs up.
He checks his phone.
Jungkook:
Hi, Min Yoongi-shi! I’m on my way. Is it still okay if I come? Do you need me to bring anything? It’s going to take me about 45 mins to get there.
Yoongi thinks about ignoring the message, because duh, kid. Yes, it’s still okay. But Seokjin-hyung’s patient-parent voice fills his head with a He’s still young and sensitive, Yoongi-yah. Be nice. Seokjin-hyung is like that. Meddling, but caring at the same time. Yoongi’s still alive because of him. And Namjoon, and Hoseok to an extent.
Yoongi:
Of course, kid. See you soon. And you only need to bring yourself.
There’s a quick flurry of emoticons in reply that make Yoongi smile.
He has enough time to eat something. Waving his hand to get Namjoon’s attention, he pantomimes eating. Namjoon smiles widely and nods. Yoongi sends him his own thumbs up. He shoves a beanie over his head, makes sure he has his headphones and his phone, and he heads out of the studio. There is a pretty popular street cart near their studio and he gets in the after-work dinner rush line.
Yoongi:
You hungry?
Jungkook:
Yes. Oh god, someone on the bus has some bulgogi and it smells so good. I haven’t eaten since lunch.
The reply makes Yoongi smile, chest tightening a little bit in concern. He remembers those days in school. All the pressure to study, and eating was secondary.
Yoongi:
I hope you like lamb skewers, kid.
More emoticons.
Yoongi chuckles to himself.
When it’s his turn in line, the ahjumma smiles widely at him and says, “Hello, Colored Hair. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you smile.”
Yoongi tries to straighten his face, but he obviously fails when the woman laughs.
“Keep it up,” she says. “It’s a good look for you.”
Yoongi orders enough food for four, because Hoseok might want to eat something when he gets to the studio too.
When he gets back to the studio, Namjoon eyes all the food.
“The kid is hungry, and Hoseok might want something.”
In a rare case of self-preservation, Namjoon does not point out the blush on his cheeks when he says that. He starts to eat.
Yoongi is a bit too nervous to eat, but he tries while also organizing his desk. If he just so happens to leave that slow song out, doodles of the singing part and its lyrics prominent on page one, then so be it. He wants to ask Jungkook to sing, but not in a creepy sort of way. Hopefully the kid will notice the music and sing it on his own, and they can go from there.
The next few minutes drag and Yoongi can’t concentrate on music. He fights the urge to pace and plays on his phone instead, headphones around his neck.
When the buzzer echoes around their studio, Yoongi jumps. His heart jumps. His throat tightens. He staggers to his feet and then the door.
The soul smudge on his arm gives a throb as a reminder that this kid is going to mean something in his life.
Yoongi feels like he’s going to puke.
He hits the button to let Jungkook in the building and then steps outside the studio door to meet him. The kid is all smiles, but he’s obviously nervous too. He is still in his school uniform. Khaki pants and jacket with a black, blue and white emblem of his school on the pocket. His school shirt is white. His blue, black and white tie is loose.
Yoongi has a horrible vision of himself pulling on it to get the kid close enough to kiss.
Fuck.
“Hey, kid,” Yoongi says voice low and gruff.
His smiles drops a little, stopping, face closing up at Yoongi’s rough tone.
“Come on in,” Yoongi says and turns his back on him before he slams the kid up against the wall. Fuck his brain for deciding that school kid is a new kink for him.
Or maybe it’s that Jungkook is very very cute. And Yoongi can not when it comes to cute. Cute has always been a kink.
“You can take your jacket off,” Yoongi offers.
The kid blushes and rubs at his left arm. “I ... um, I’ll keep it on.”
Yoongi narrows his eyes. “No. Take it off. It isn’t comfortable, and I want you to be comfortable. This isn’t school.”
He doesn’t really understand why he insists, but he can’t keep his eyes off the hand that covers his right forearm. Almost like ... It’s not like Yoongi is going to reciprocate. But he has to see it. He has to make sure before he gets too close to the kid.
“Take it off,” Yoongi says roughly, making the kid flinch.
He chews on his lower lip, but does as he’s told, slipping the khaki school jacket off his shoulders. The first thing Yoongi notices are his shoulders and biceps. Seokjin-hyung was right about that. He liked to work out. Even at seventeen, the muscles are defined, yet still a preview of what’s to come over the next few years. The white school shirt is short-sleeved and clings to him across his chest and flutters at his small waist where he’d already untucked it.
Yoongi focuses on his forearm. Strong, pretty veiny already. Shit, this kid is perfect.
And there, before Jungkook can cover it, on his arm, is his soul mark. Yoongi catches sight of a music staff and notes.
With one bright, mint green smudge, the same color as his hair, near the middle of his arm. It isn’t even a note like the five other marks. A smudge. Like his tattoo.
Yoongi shuts his eyes and succumbs to his fate. This kid is going to be important in his life. He wants to fight it, and distance himself, even after seeing the tattoo. But they need him.
“Why does Jungkook-shi look like you’re about to kill him?” Namjoon suddenly asks.
Thankfully asks, breaking up the tension.
“Nothing,” Yoongi whispers. “It’s nothing.”
He ignores the way that Jungkook’s face falls a little and then moves to his desk. “That’s Kim Namjoon, by the way.”
“Good to meet you, Jungkook. My partner Seokjin says you’re friends with Taehyung and Jimin.”
Jungkook swallows. “Y-yeah. They’re my best friends.”
“Partner?” Yoongi asks with an eyebrow raised. “When did that happen?”
Namjoon actually blushes and covers his ears with his headphones, glaring at his computer screen.
Yoongi chuckles. He’ll just send Seokjin-hyung a text. “Eat up, kid, and come sit here. I’ll show you what I'm working on.” He grabs Hoseok’s chair from his station and motions for the kid to sit, and then sits in his own chair. Instead of his noise cancelling headphones, he uses earbuds and hands one to the kid to put into his right ear and Yoongi puts the other one in his left ear. He tries not stare at the music that he hopes Jungkook sees. Once the kid sits, he pulls over one of the plastic cartons of lamb skewers. They’re cold by now, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to care, devouring two before Yoongi can pull up the music program and the rap he and Hoseok are writing.
“This is going to be about three and a half minutes, eventually. Hoseok and I are working on the rap for it. Namjoon isn’t allowed.”
The kid bites his lip again, not wanting to look disrespectful but obviously wanting to ask why.
“He’s got an actual job right now,” Yoongi says. “He’s getting paid to lay down a backing track for a singer, so he’s not allowed to do anything else until that is done.”
“Wow,” Jungkook almost breathes. “This is really cool.” His gaze is flying over the computer screen and the equipment, speakers, keyboard, monitors.
“Have you used any of this equipment before?”
Jungkook shakes his head. “N-no. I record with my phone and use Audacity.”
“That’s what I started out on. It’s a good program.” Yoongi goes to the beginning of the song and hits play. Almost immediately, Jungkook’s head is bobbing along to the beat.
Yoongi watches him instead of the screen. His face is cute. There’s a dark beauty mark settled below the pink line of his plump lower lip, another freckle on his neck. He has a strong jaw and a cute mouth. Gorgeous, brown eyes. He is really, really pretty. His gaze darts to Yoongi for a moment and he blushes and kind of turns away to keep eating.
Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to him and just lets the music play.
Fortunately, the song stutters through that fucked-up transition that he’s been working on, and he stops the music and focuses back on the screen to edit it. It feels too abrupt, a quick beat followed by a slower beat with nothing to connect them. He drags the bass out longer, slows the beat above it down as it flows. And with pretty angelic voice sitting next to him, he uses the keyboard to add a few higher tones above everything, the only ones in the entire song. The lyrics for the song dance in his mind and he bobs his head to the new beat. He lets himself smile for a moment, and then puts the music back to the beginning to listen to it all again.
“You ready for this, kid?” Yoongi asks.
Jungkook looks over at him in confusion.
At the right beat after what Yoongi has called the intro, he starts rapping. Nothing loud, just to get the flow of the words to match the flow of the music. He hears Jungkook’s gasp of surprise and shuts his eyes to keep from seeing his face and wondering if that face, that noise, that sudden shaking in his heart will all be the same with the kid underneath him.
Sweaty. Panting. In sync. With a beat.
Fuck.
The new spaces between beats has him fumbling the words a bit, but it works better than the abruptness from before. He doesn’t like to rap Hobi’s parts because he rhymes his words funny when he writes lyrics, so he refrains during the second half of the song. As the beat trails off, Yoongi makes an official decision. He copies the same bridge before and tags it on the end of the second verse, makes it repeat, and then takes the high notes out first, lengthens the slow beat a bit further and lets it drop, until it’s the lowest thud of base for a total of four beats.
“Wow,” Jungkook breathes. “You’re really amazing.”
Yoongi smiles at him. “Thanks. I’ve been messing around with music since I was five.”
“Five?”
“My parents made me take piano lessons. They wanted me to be a classical musician. I chose rap instead.”
“I bet they aren’t happy about that.”
“Nope. I don’t talk to them anymore, so--”
“You don’t talk to your parents?” he said, voice rising.
Yoongi takes a very deep breath. “No.” He does not say anything else, and does not pay attention from the corner of his eye as Jungkook chews on his bottom lip again. Soul mark or no, that isn’t really any of his business.
He replays the entire song from the beginning, making tweaks here and there. He thinks he wants to add another verse, or one with both of them rapping. Shorter bars, but where they trade off. Fuck, it’s been a long time since they’ve played off each other like that in a song. He wonders how that would sound and starts a new file, copies the baseline, and messes around with it to try to figure out the new flow.
The only interruption comes when Hoseok barrels into the studio at almost nine.
“Hey, bitches!”
Yoongi winces, remembering why he always wears noise cancelling headphones.
“Who’s the kid? Oh wait, is this Jungkookie?” Hoseok pinches his cheeks with a really loud squeal. “He’s so fucking cute! Oh my gosh. Why are you so cute?” He tickles under his chin.
The kid deals with it well, only wincing a little bit and muttering a polite greeting with his eyes cast down and his hands in fists.
Yoongi smiles because he is cute, but Hoseok is seriously annoying. “Yah, punk. Stop it. Come and listen to this.” He pulls the earbud from Jungkook’s ear and flings it at Hoseok.
Hoseok keeps his smile and stands on Yoongi’s other side to listen to it. He nods his head to the beat during the verses, and then his eyes widen at the new bridge.
“Wow, man. That’s hot. I like that a lot.”
“Keep listening. I changed a few other things. And I really want to add another verse, or half a verse, right in the middle.”
While the second verse plays, Yoongi watches Jungkook. And finally, finally, without the music in his ear and without his eyes on the computer screen watching Yoongi edit, Jungkook looks at the music on the desk. At the song that Yoongi desperately wants and needs to have him sing. Yoongi can almost see the melody playing in Jungkook’s head. He mouths the lyrics.
Good. Good.
“Hyung,” Hoseok whines. “Those beats are going to fuck up my flow.”
“Shut up, they won’t.”
“But--”
“Then change your flow. It sounds better.”
Hoseok pouts but shuts up because he knows that Yoongi is right. He replays it and adds his rap to the end. He definitely loses his place and then tries again. They bounce ideas back and forth about the new verse, the new rap, and Hoseok bends over the table to scribble out some words that match the same feeling of hope and pain, a mixture that he’s lived with for most of his life. And Yoongi’s is despair. He glances at Jungkook. Mostly despair.
But Yoongi doesn’t like how “the same” this new verse sounds so he changed the beat just enough and the flow. Rapid fire. Without pauses. Break everything up. Hobi-hyung raps nonsense, just “da-da-da-da-da-da” to take the place of lyrics for now, and Yoongi uses it to clean up the line.
They start back at the beginning, Yoongi rapping his verses and then throwing the “da-da-da” back and forth with Hoseok. The new transitions are sexy as hell, and when Hoseok starts raping his part, Yoongi listens with half an ear, most of his attention on Jungkook.
But no longer on his face.
His arm rests against the table edge, turned in a way that Yoongi can see his soul mark. And the mint green smudge that isn’t a music note. With a deep breath, Yoongi reaches for it, running his finger along the curve of the muscle.
Jungkook jumps in surprise. Their eyes meet and then he looks away. But his arm moves, twists, so Yoongi can see the entire tattoo, the back of his arm resting on the edge of the desk, palm turned up. Yoongi traces the staff, pauses at each note for a soft touch and then a harder press into the mint smudge with his thumb. He wonders what it feels like to Jungkook when he touches it.
Jungkook’s breath speeds up and his eyes shut. Pain? Maybe? Something good?
Yoongi snatches his hand away.
“Did ... did you ... do you have ... “ Jungkook breaks off with an embarrassed noise, his breath catching. His neck is red, his ears tinged pink.
“Yeah,” Yoongi whispers, because he understands the question. “I have one. We’ll talk about it later. It’s getting late. Don’t you have school tomorrow?”
“Fuck!” Jungkook says with a sudden shout, and then bows and apologizes and he’s gathering his jacket and his bag and rushing through a ... “Oh my god, I totally lost track of time. My parents are going to kill me. I was supposed to be home at ten. I can’t ... this is ... thank you so much for letting me come and watch you work, and ...”
“Hey, slow down, kid,” Yoongi says, standing up too. “I’ll walk you to the bus stop. I need a cigarette anyway. I’ll be back,” he says, pointing a finger at Hoseok. “Don’t fucking change anything.”
Hoseok makes a face. “I won’t. It’s better and you know it. Bye, Jungkookie! It was nice to meet you.”
Namjoon says his farewells also and Jungkook bows almost ninety degrees before Yoongi shuffles him out and into the hall.
They are silent until they’re outside and Yoongi lights a cigarette.
“I ... I ...” Jungkook sighs. “I don’t ... I don’t know what to do.”
“About what?”
He holds out his arm, the mark covered by his school jacket.
Yoongi shrugs. “I can’t really say I do either. I ... I don’t really want to talk about it though. I mean, I know what it means, obviously, but I want to be friends without some obscure destiny telling us we have to be.”
Jungkook sort of smiles. “Yeah, but without it ... I never would have approached you. You’re way too intimidating.”
Yoongi shrugs. “Maybe. But I still try not to let it dictate my life or my relationships. It’s not always good, not for me. Look, I said I didn’t want to talk about it, so I’m not going to. Do you want to come back tomorrow?”
Jungkook’s smile blossoms over his face. “Yes. This is really cool. It’s awesome to watch you work.”
“I can try to show you more of what I'm actually doing tomorrow. Try to explain. I get lost in it usually.”
“I’d like that. Thank you so much.”
They arrive at the bus stop. Yoongi disposes of his cigarette. “Is there a bus coming?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “This one runs most of the night. I checked before I came to make sure.”
“Good,” Yoongi smiles at him and then looks away.
Despite their talk, Yoongi feels a restless urge to pull his sleeve up. He doesn’t realize he’s scratching at his arm until Jungkook steps close, too close, and wraps shaking fingers around his wrist.
Sighing, Yoongi uses his other hand to push up the sleeve, barring the smudge of darkness and pain of his soul to Jungkook’s gaze. There’s enough light from the street and buildings to easily see the horrible mistake that is part of his pale skin.
Jungkook holds his breath. His entire body is on edge, shaking, and he trails his finger on the edge of soul mark, not actually touching it, still on pale skin instead of marred skin. He stops when he feels the a line of scar tissue, and then continues to the next one. Yoongi watches his face, not his finger, watching him frown, the skin between his eyebrows scrunches in confusion. And then softens in understanding, though he doubts the kid will ever really understand.
Being rejected and tossed aside by someone who has a part of your soul mark ... multiply that by more than one person rejecting everything you are and you end up a jaded, underground rapper with only three friends.
Jungkook smiles softly and his finger brushes over the brand-new mint green music note.
Yoongi bites his lower lip, eyes fluttering shut. Soul marks are weird that way, when the person they signify touches it, there are tingles of nerves through his skin. Namjoon has touched his soul mark once, with Yoongi telling him where the pain was. He can’t see Namjoon’s mark, but he knows where it is in the darkness. That one time, he felt comfort and relief, like the way he feels bundled up in a warm, soft sweater. Hoseok’s section of the darkness is about a thumbprint wide and it’s a slightly lighter shade of gray near the curve of his bone. Hoseok’s touch always reminds Yoongi of the warmth of sunshine in the bitter winter afternoons. He doesn’t know if Seokjin-hyung has a spot on his arm. He already hurt too much at that point to tell the difference between the cut of a razor and the burning of a soul mark. And Seokjin-hyung refuses to find it.
This is so different. Jungkook’s touch, a light caress. Everything is so different and he can’t breathe properly and his head feels empty and then full of white noise.
His skin is on fire, from this light touch. His breathing is faster. And god, he’s halfway hard in his pants. He wonders if Jungkook felt the same thing earlier in the studio.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Jungkook whispers, his fingers move on more lines of scar tissue, “but I ... I think you’re really strong, really amazing, for ... for ... I don’t know. Overcoming this. But that sounds stupid and dismissive. You’re right. I don’t understand, but I think you’re really strong that you do understand. You’re stronger. I think.”
Yoongi chuckles. “I think that sort of makes sense.”
Jungkook smiles, cheek flushing.
Yoongi lifts a hand, but a sudden bright light passes over them, and he immediately drops it without touching Jungkook’s cheek. It’s Jungkook’s bus.
“Call me when you get home?” Yoongi whispers.
Jungkook nods. “I will. Thanks again.”
Yoongi waits until Jungkook is on the bus, sitting in the rear seats. He waves at him and Yoongi waves back.
Damn kid.
His dick is still mostly hard. Fuck this shit.
He smokes another cigarette on the way back to the studio and resists the urge to put it out on his smudge.
--- ☼ --- ♪ --- ☼ ---
Jungkook:
I’m home safely.
I’m grounded for the rest of the week. I have to come straight home after school.
Yoongi:
That sucks, kid. Sorry. It’s mostly my fault.
Jungkook:
No it isn’t. I lost track of time.
Yoongi:
Still, I got lost in my work. I should have been more aware. Sorry.
Jungkook sends back a few emoticons. He wonders if Yoongi knows what they mean. He’s only twenty-two, he knows how to interpret them right? Maybe not.
Yoongi:
I was going to talk to you about this tomorrow, but I’ll just do it now. I have a song I’m working on, and I need a singer. Or at least one that can hit high notes like you do. Hobi isn’t quite that good. You interested?
Jungkook’s eyes go wide and he reads the text again. And then again. Yoongi wants him to sing? For him? On a song? That he wrote?
Jungkook:
Um, sure ... I mean, I’m not that great, but I can try.
Yoongi:
Shut up, kid. You are that great. Your covers are amazing. I’ll send you a link to the file so you can hear the music and the lyrics. I still need to do a few edits on it, but I’ll have it to you sometime tomorrow.
Jungkook:
Wow. Thanks.
Jungkook frowns and decides to send the next part anyway.
Jungkook:
Make sure you sleep.
Yoongi:
I always sleep. It’s what I do when I’m not in the studio.
Jungkook:
And how long are you in the studio everyday?
Yoongi:
So not the point, kid And a smiley face.
It makes Jungkook giggle. Actually giggle.
Yoongi:
You’re the one that has school. It’s after midnight. Sleep.
Jungkook:
I’m already in bed.
Yoongi:
Not a visual I need right now.
Fuck. I did not ... I did just send that. Sorry.
Jungkook bites his lower lip and feels his cheeks flush. Does ... does that mean Yoongi-shi is gay? Or ... he doesn’t want to think about that because he isn’t gay? Jungkook does not know how to reply to that, even with emoticons. How do you tell someone that you aren’t really upset about them thinking of you in a bed? Without dying from embarrassment anyway? And without outing himself. That’s something that you definitely shouldn’t do in a text message.
At least it’s easier through a text message.
Jungkook:
It’s okay. I don’t know how to reply to that. He adds a blushing emoticon.
Yoongi:
Don’t. It was inappropriate.
Jungkook:
but true?
God, his cheeks are on fire. But it’s so easy to be daring when it’s through a text message. He waits more than a minute before Yoongi finally replies. He can almost hear Yoongi sigh through the next text message.
Yoongi:
yes...
Go to sleep, kid.
A little bit of hope flutters in his chest, but he can’t read too much into it. Not now. Not yet.
Jungkook:
Goodnight, Yoongi-shi.
Yoongi:
Goodnight, kid. And a heart. A fucking heart.
Jungkook watches the screen for a moment, runs his finger over the message with the heart. Hopeful. Maybe.
--- ☼ --- ♪ --- ☼ ---
Part 3: Selcas and Secrets
Part 1: Mint Green Smudge
.
Pairing: Yoongi/Jungkook (BTS)
Rating: Eventual NC17
Disclaimer: They are slowly taking over my soul to the point that I almost feel like I might be able to own them.
Summary: Jeon Jungkook’s soul mark is a music staff tattooed on his forearm. Every now and then a flare of pain will burn its way up his arm and another note is added. The strangest thing about the newest mark is that it isn’t a note and it isn’t black. It’s just a smudge. Of color. Mint green in the center, fading to deep blue around the edges.
Min Yoongi’s soul mark tattoo is a smudge of dark ink with faded thin lines of white scratched into it. If he squints, the scars sort of look like a music staff. When a new burst of pain manifests as a mint green music note in the darkest spot of black, Yoongi curses fate and his inability to stay away from all things cute. Because soul marks lie, and fate is a cruel bitch from hell.
A/N: I know I said I was writing DBSK fics now, and I promise that I am. I'm working on an angel!Jaejoong fic, and he's being more human than I was expecting which means it's really long, much longer than I wanted, but hey, that's what I do best. I haven't posted in about 3 weeks, and I've typed at least 30K words on 3 different fics in that time, but life is insane for me right now. I was having withdrawals, so I had to post this even though this fic isn't done.
Part 2:
Yoongi drags his ass out of bed after noon. Hobi is already gone, as always. That boy is energy in a human form and is able to survive on nothing but sunshine and smiles and daydreams.
Yoongi sort of hates him for it. Especially when he needs coffee and a cigarette to function properly.
And a shower, sometimes. This morning is one of those mornings. He was bent over the mixing board for too many hours last night trying to get the image of cute, young, adorable Jeon Jungkook out of his head.
Which is futile when he sees a text from an unknown number.
Min Yoongi-shi! Hi! This is Jeon Jungkook. I’d love to come to your studio. I’m on my way to school right now, but if it’s okay, I will text you when I am done for the day.
Yoongi checks the time. Jungkook is still going to be in class. God, he hopes the kid is at youngest a senior in high school. What a way for his soul mark to fuck him over again if he’s younger than that. Still he sends a text back: Hey, kid. I’m at the studio after three, sometimes earlier than that. Just send me a text when you’re on your way over. He sends another text with the address.
There’s a text from Namjoon: Seokjin says that one of his friends is friends with this Jungkook kid. So I’ve got the stats. You interested?
Against his better judgement, Yoongi says yes.
Jungkook is seventeen, in his last year of high school, skipped a grade, so he’s brilliant. He’s headed to Seoul Institute of the Arts to study music, if he’s lucky. He’s seventeen.
Seventeen.
He likes to work out. His favorite colors are red and black. He sings when he studies. His friends claim he’s good at everything and if he doesn’t know how to do something, he’ll learn in a few hours.
Seventeen.
Yoongi hates his life.
But they need seventeen-year-old Jeon Jungkook. They need his voice on their tracks. Something soft and angelic to balance the harshness of their raps.
Yoongi succumbs to fate’s cruel intentions and heads to the studio. For the first time in months, he works on a slow rap he started with the intention of finding a singer for it. It’s about struggling with yourself and your identity, accepting yourself. The lyrics tear at his soul again and he scratches at the scars on his arm.
When Namjoon comes in, he says nothing about the melancholy permeating the studio and sits at his own console to work.
Yoongi has given up on the emotions, working instead on a different song, something heavier, demanding, honest, when his phone buzzes. He blinks at the time. It’s already almost six. Stretching, he removes his headphones. Namjoon is bobbing his head to the beat in his ears, and he gives Yoongi a corny smile and a thumbs up.
He checks his phone.
Jungkook:
Hi, Min Yoongi-shi! I’m on my way. Is it still okay if I come? Do you need me to bring anything? It’s going to take me about 45 mins to get there.
Yoongi thinks about ignoring the message, because duh, kid. Yes, it’s still okay. But Seokjin-hyung’s patient-parent voice fills his head with a He’s still young and sensitive, Yoongi-yah. Be nice. Seokjin-hyung is like that. Meddling, but caring at the same time. Yoongi’s still alive because of him. And Namjoon, and Hoseok to an extent.
Yoongi:
Of course, kid. See you soon. And you only need to bring yourself.
There’s a quick flurry of emoticons in reply that make Yoongi smile.
He has enough time to eat something. Waving his hand to get Namjoon’s attention, he pantomimes eating. Namjoon smiles widely and nods. Yoongi sends him his own thumbs up. He shoves a beanie over his head, makes sure he has his headphones and his phone, and he heads out of the studio. There is a pretty popular street cart near their studio and he gets in the after-work dinner rush line.
Yoongi:
You hungry?
Jungkook:
Yes. Oh god, someone on the bus has some bulgogi and it smells so good. I haven’t eaten since lunch.
The reply makes Yoongi smile, chest tightening a little bit in concern. He remembers those days in school. All the pressure to study, and eating was secondary.
Yoongi:
I hope you like lamb skewers, kid.
More emoticons.
Yoongi chuckles to himself.
When it’s his turn in line, the ahjumma smiles widely at him and says, “Hello, Colored Hair. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you smile.”
Yoongi tries to straighten his face, but he obviously fails when the woman laughs.
“Keep it up,” she says. “It’s a good look for you.”
Yoongi orders enough food for four, because Hoseok might want to eat something when he gets to the studio too.
When he gets back to the studio, Namjoon eyes all the food.
“The kid is hungry, and Hoseok might want something.”
In a rare case of self-preservation, Namjoon does not point out the blush on his cheeks when he says that. He starts to eat.
Yoongi is a bit too nervous to eat, but he tries while also organizing his desk. If he just so happens to leave that slow song out, doodles of the singing part and its lyrics prominent on page one, then so be it. He wants to ask Jungkook to sing, but not in a creepy sort of way. Hopefully the kid will notice the music and sing it on his own, and they can go from there.
The next few minutes drag and Yoongi can’t concentrate on music. He fights the urge to pace and plays on his phone instead, headphones around his neck.
When the buzzer echoes around their studio, Yoongi jumps. His heart jumps. His throat tightens. He staggers to his feet and then the door.
The soul smudge on his arm gives a throb as a reminder that this kid is going to mean something in his life.
Yoongi feels like he’s going to puke.
He hits the button to let Jungkook in the building and then steps outside the studio door to meet him. The kid is all smiles, but he’s obviously nervous too. He is still in his school uniform. Khaki pants and jacket with a black, blue and white emblem of his school on the pocket. His school shirt is white. His blue, black and white tie is loose.
Yoongi has a horrible vision of himself pulling on it to get the kid close enough to kiss.
Fuck.
“Hey, kid,” Yoongi says voice low and gruff.
His smiles drops a little, stopping, face closing up at Yoongi’s rough tone.
“Come on in,” Yoongi says and turns his back on him before he slams the kid up against the wall. Fuck his brain for deciding that school kid is a new kink for him.
Or maybe it’s that Jungkook is very very cute. And Yoongi can not when it comes to cute. Cute has always been a kink.
“You can take your jacket off,” Yoongi offers.
The kid blushes and rubs at his left arm. “I ... um, I’ll keep it on.”
Yoongi narrows his eyes. “No. Take it off. It isn’t comfortable, and I want you to be comfortable. This isn’t school.”
He doesn’t really understand why he insists, but he can’t keep his eyes off the hand that covers his right forearm. Almost like ... It’s not like Yoongi is going to reciprocate. But he has to see it. He has to make sure before he gets too close to the kid.
“Take it off,” Yoongi says roughly, making the kid flinch.
He chews on his lower lip, but does as he’s told, slipping the khaki school jacket off his shoulders. The first thing Yoongi notices are his shoulders and biceps. Seokjin-hyung was right about that. He liked to work out. Even at seventeen, the muscles are defined, yet still a preview of what’s to come over the next few years. The white school shirt is short-sleeved and clings to him across his chest and flutters at his small waist where he’d already untucked it.
Yoongi focuses on his forearm. Strong, pretty veiny already. Shit, this kid is perfect.
And there, before Jungkook can cover it, on his arm, is his soul mark. Yoongi catches sight of a music staff and notes.
With one bright, mint green smudge, the same color as his hair, near the middle of his arm. It isn’t even a note like the five other marks. A smudge. Like his tattoo.
Yoongi shuts his eyes and succumbs to his fate. This kid is going to be important in his life. He wants to fight it, and distance himself, even after seeing the tattoo. But they need him.
“Why does Jungkook-shi look like you’re about to kill him?” Namjoon suddenly asks.
Thankfully asks, breaking up the tension.
“Nothing,” Yoongi whispers. “It’s nothing.”
He ignores the way that Jungkook’s face falls a little and then moves to his desk. “That’s Kim Namjoon, by the way.”
“Good to meet you, Jungkook. My partner Seokjin says you’re friends with Taehyung and Jimin.”
Jungkook swallows. “Y-yeah. They’re my best friends.”
“Partner?” Yoongi asks with an eyebrow raised. “When did that happen?”
Namjoon actually blushes and covers his ears with his headphones, glaring at his computer screen.
Yoongi chuckles. He’ll just send Seokjin-hyung a text. “Eat up, kid, and come sit here. I’ll show you what I'm working on.” He grabs Hoseok’s chair from his station and motions for the kid to sit, and then sits in his own chair. Instead of his noise cancelling headphones, he uses earbuds and hands one to the kid to put into his right ear and Yoongi puts the other one in his left ear. He tries not stare at the music that he hopes Jungkook sees. Once the kid sits, he pulls over one of the plastic cartons of lamb skewers. They’re cold by now, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to care, devouring two before Yoongi can pull up the music program and the rap he and Hoseok are writing.
“This is going to be about three and a half minutes, eventually. Hoseok and I are working on the rap for it. Namjoon isn’t allowed.”
The kid bites his lip again, not wanting to look disrespectful but obviously wanting to ask why.
“He’s got an actual job right now,” Yoongi says. “He’s getting paid to lay down a backing track for a singer, so he’s not allowed to do anything else until that is done.”
“Wow,” Jungkook almost breathes. “This is really cool.” His gaze is flying over the computer screen and the equipment, speakers, keyboard, monitors.
“Have you used any of this equipment before?”
Jungkook shakes his head. “N-no. I record with my phone and use Audacity.”
“That’s what I started out on. It’s a good program.” Yoongi goes to the beginning of the song and hits play. Almost immediately, Jungkook’s head is bobbing along to the beat.
Yoongi watches him instead of the screen. His face is cute. There’s a dark beauty mark settled below the pink line of his plump lower lip, another freckle on his neck. He has a strong jaw and a cute mouth. Gorgeous, brown eyes. He is really, really pretty. His gaze darts to Yoongi for a moment and he blushes and kind of turns away to keep eating.
Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to him and just lets the music play.
Fortunately, the song stutters through that fucked-up transition that he’s been working on, and he stops the music and focuses back on the screen to edit it. It feels too abrupt, a quick beat followed by a slower beat with nothing to connect them. He drags the bass out longer, slows the beat above it down as it flows. And with pretty angelic voice sitting next to him, he uses the keyboard to add a few higher tones above everything, the only ones in the entire song. The lyrics for the song dance in his mind and he bobs his head to the new beat. He lets himself smile for a moment, and then puts the music back to the beginning to listen to it all again.
“You ready for this, kid?” Yoongi asks.
Jungkook looks over at him in confusion.
At the right beat after what Yoongi has called the intro, he starts rapping. Nothing loud, just to get the flow of the words to match the flow of the music. He hears Jungkook’s gasp of surprise and shuts his eyes to keep from seeing his face and wondering if that face, that noise, that sudden shaking in his heart will all be the same with the kid underneath him.
Sweaty. Panting. In sync. With a beat.
Fuck.
The new spaces between beats has him fumbling the words a bit, but it works better than the abruptness from before. He doesn’t like to rap Hobi’s parts because he rhymes his words funny when he writes lyrics, so he refrains during the second half of the song. As the beat trails off, Yoongi makes an official decision. He copies the same bridge before and tags it on the end of the second verse, makes it repeat, and then takes the high notes out first, lengthens the slow beat a bit further and lets it drop, until it’s the lowest thud of base for a total of four beats.
“Wow,” Jungkook breathes. “You’re really amazing.”
Yoongi smiles at him. “Thanks. I’ve been messing around with music since I was five.”
“Five?”
“My parents made me take piano lessons. They wanted me to be a classical musician. I chose rap instead.”
“I bet they aren’t happy about that.”
“Nope. I don’t talk to them anymore, so--”
“You don’t talk to your parents?” he said, voice rising.
Yoongi takes a very deep breath. “No.” He does not say anything else, and does not pay attention from the corner of his eye as Jungkook chews on his bottom lip again. Soul mark or no, that isn’t really any of his business.
He replays the entire song from the beginning, making tweaks here and there. He thinks he wants to add another verse, or one with both of them rapping. Shorter bars, but where they trade off. Fuck, it’s been a long time since they’ve played off each other like that in a song. He wonders how that would sound and starts a new file, copies the baseline, and messes around with it to try to figure out the new flow.
The only interruption comes when Hoseok barrels into the studio at almost nine.
“Hey, bitches!”
Yoongi winces, remembering why he always wears noise cancelling headphones.
“Who’s the kid? Oh wait, is this Jungkookie?” Hoseok pinches his cheeks with a really loud squeal. “He’s so fucking cute! Oh my gosh. Why are you so cute?” He tickles under his chin.
The kid deals with it well, only wincing a little bit and muttering a polite greeting with his eyes cast down and his hands in fists.
Yoongi smiles because he is cute, but Hoseok is seriously annoying. “Yah, punk. Stop it. Come and listen to this.” He pulls the earbud from Jungkook’s ear and flings it at Hoseok.
Hoseok keeps his smile and stands on Yoongi’s other side to listen to it. He nods his head to the beat during the verses, and then his eyes widen at the new bridge.
“Wow, man. That’s hot. I like that a lot.”
“Keep listening. I changed a few other things. And I really want to add another verse, or half a verse, right in the middle.”
While the second verse plays, Yoongi watches Jungkook. And finally, finally, without the music in his ear and without his eyes on the computer screen watching Yoongi edit, Jungkook looks at the music on the desk. At the song that Yoongi desperately wants and needs to have him sing. Yoongi can almost see the melody playing in Jungkook’s head. He mouths the lyrics.
Good. Good.
“Hyung,” Hoseok whines. “Those beats are going to fuck up my flow.”
“Shut up, they won’t.”
“But--”
“Then change your flow. It sounds better.”
Hoseok pouts but shuts up because he knows that Yoongi is right. He replays it and adds his rap to the end. He definitely loses his place and then tries again. They bounce ideas back and forth about the new verse, the new rap, and Hoseok bends over the table to scribble out some words that match the same feeling of hope and pain, a mixture that he’s lived with for most of his life. And Yoongi’s is despair. He glances at Jungkook. Mostly despair.
But Yoongi doesn’t like how “the same” this new verse sounds so he changed the beat just enough and the flow. Rapid fire. Without pauses. Break everything up. Hobi-hyung raps nonsense, just “da-da-da-da-da-da” to take the place of lyrics for now, and Yoongi uses it to clean up the line.
They start back at the beginning, Yoongi rapping his verses and then throwing the “da-da-da” back and forth with Hoseok. The new transitions are sexy as hell, and when Hoseok starts raping his part, Yoongi listens with half an ear, most of his attention on Jungkook.
But no longer on his face.
His arm rests against the table edge, turned in a way that Yoongi can see his soul mark. And the mint green smudge that isn’t a music note. With a deep breath, Yoongi reaches for it, running his finger along the curve of the muscle.
Jungkook jumps in surprise. Their eyes meet and then he looks away. But his arm moves, twists, so Yoongi can see the entire tattoo, the back of his arm resting on the edge of the desk, palm turned up. Yoongi traces the staff, pauses at each note for a soft touch and then a harder press into the mint smudge with his thumb. He wonders what it feels like to Jungkook when he touches it.
Jungkook’s breath speeds up and his eyes shut. Pain? Maybe? Something good?
Yoongi snatches his hand away.
“Did ... did you ... do you have ... “ Jungkook breaks off with an embarrassed noise, his breath catching. His neck is red, his ears tinged pink.
“Yeah,” Yoongi whispers, because he understands the question. “I have one. We’ll talk about it later. It’s getting late. Don’t you have school tomorrow?”
“Fuck!” Jungkook says with a sudden shout, and then bows and apologizes and he’s gathering his jacket and his bag and rushing through a ... “Oh my god, I totally lost track of time. My parents are going to kill me. I was supposed to be home at ten. I can’t ... this is ... thank you so much for letting me come and watch you work, and ...”
“Hey, slow down, kid,” Yoongi says, standing up too. “I’ll walk you to the bus stop. I need a cigarette anyway. I’ll be back,” he says, pointing a finger at Hoseok. “Don’t fucking change anything.”
Hoseok makes a face. “I won’t. It’s better and you know it. Bye, Jungkookie! It was nice to meet you.”
Namjoon says his farewells also and Jungkook bows almost ninety degrees before Yoongi shuffles him out and into the hall.
They are silent until they’re outside and Yoongi lights a cigarette.
“I ... I ...” Jungkook sighs. “I don’t ... I don’t know what to do.”
“About what?”
He holds out his arm, the mark covered by his school jacket.
Yoongi shrugs. “I can’t really say I do either. I ... I don’t really want to talk about it though. I mean, I know what it means, obviously, but I want to be friends without some obscure destiny telling us we have to be.”
Jungkook sort of smiles. “Yeah, but without it ... I never would have approached you. You’re way too intimidating.”
Yoongi shrugs. “Maybe. But I still try not to let it dictate my life or my relationships. It’s not always good, not for me. Look, I said I didn’t want to talk about it, so I’m not going to. Do you want to come back tomorrow?”
Jungkook’s smile blossoms over his face. “Yes. This is really cool. It’s awesome to watch you work.”
“I can try to show you more of what I'm actually doing tomorrow. Try to explain. I get lost in it usually.”
“I’d like that. Thank you so much.”
They arrive at the bus stop. Yoongi disposes of his cigarette. “Is there a bus coming?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “This one runs most of the night. I checked before I came to make sure.”
“Good,” Yoongi smiles at him and then looks away.
Despite their talk, Yoongi feels a restless urge to pull his sleeve up. He doesn’t realize he’s scratching at his arm until Jungkook steps close, too close, and wraps shaking fingers around his wrist.
Sighing, Yoongi uses his other hand to push up the sleeve, barring the smudge of darkness and pain of his soul to Jungkook’s gaze. There’s enough light from the street and buildings to easily see the horrible mistake that is part of his pale skin.
Jungkook holds his breath. His entire body is on edge, shaking, and he trails his finger on the edge of soul mark, not actually touching it, still on pale skin instead of marred skin. He stops when he feels the a line of scar tissue, and then continues to the next one. Yoongi watches his face, not his finger, watching him frown, the skin between his eyebrows scrunches in confusion. And then softens in understanding, though he doubts the kid will ever really understand.
Being rejected and tossed aside by someone who has a part of your soul mark ... multiply that by more than one person rejecting everything you are and you end up a jaded, underground rapper with only three friends.
Jungkook smiles softly and his finger brushes over the brand-new mint green music note.
Yoongi bites his lower lip, eyes fluttering shut. Soul marks are weird that way, when the person they signify touches it, there are tingles of nerves through his skin. Namjoon has touched his soul mark once, with Yoongi telling him where the pain was. He can’t see Namjoon’s mark, but he knows where it is in the darkness. That one time, he felt comfort and relief, like the way he feels bundled up in a warm, soft sweater. Hoseok’s section of the darkness is about a thumbprint wide and it’s a slightly lighter shade of gray near the curve of his bone. Hoseok’s touch always reminds Yoongi of the warmth of sunshine in the bitter winter afternoons. He doesn’t know if Seokjin-hyung has a spot on his arm. He already hurt too much at that point to tell the difference between the cut of a razor and the burning of a soul mark. And Seokjin-hyung refuses to find it.
This is so different. Jungkook’s touch, a light caress. Everything is so different and he can’t breathe properly and his head feels empty and then full of white noise.
His skin is on fire, from this light touch. His breathing is faster. And god, he’s halfway hard in his pants. He wonders if Jungkook felt the same thing earlier in the studio.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Jungkook whispers, his fingers move on more lines of scar tissue, “but I ... I think you’re really strong, really amazing, for ... for ... I don’t know. Overcoming this. But that sounds stupid and dismissive. You’re right. I don’t understand, but I think you’re really strong that you do understand. You’re stronger. I think.”
Yoongi chuckles. “I think that sort of makes sense.”
Jungkook smiles, cheek flushing.
Yoongi lifts a hand, but a sudden bright light passes over them, and he immediately drops it without touching Jungkook’s cheek. It’s Jungkook’s bus.
“Call me when you get home?” Yoongi whispers.
Jungkook nods. “I will. Thanks again.”
Yoongi waits until Jungkook is on the bus, sitting in the rear seats. He waves at him and Yoongi waves back.
Damn kid.
His dick is still mostly hard. Fuck this shit.
He smokes another cigarette on the way back to the studio and resists the urge to put it out on his smudge.
--- ☼ --- ♪ --- ☼ ---
Jungkook:
I’m home safely.
I’m grounded for the rest of the week. I have to come straight home after school.
Yoongi:
That sucks, kid. Sorry. It’s mostly my fault.
Jungkook:
No it isn’t. I lost track of time.
Yoongi:
Still, I got lost in my work. I should have been more aware. Sorry.
Jungkook sends back a few emoticons. He wonders if Yoongi knows what they mean. He’s only twenty-two, he knows how to interpret them right? Maybe not.
Yoongi:
I was going to talk to you about this tomorrow, but I’ll just do it now. I have a song I’m working on, and I need a singer. Or at least one that can hit high notes like you do. Hobi isn’t quite that good. You interested?
Jungkook’s eyes go wide and he reads the text again. And then again. Yoongi wants him to sing? For him? On a song? That he wrote?
Jungkook:
Um, sure ... I mean, I’m not that great, but I can try.
Yoongi:
Shut up, kid. You are that great. Your covers are amazing. I’ll send you a link to the file so you can hear the music and the lyrics. I still need to do a few edits on it, but I’ll have it to you sometime tomorrow.
Jungkook:
Wow. Thanks.
Jungkook frowns and decides to send the next part anyway.
Jungkook:
Make sure you sleep.
Yoongi:
I always sleep. It’s what I do when I’m not in the studio.
Jungkook:
And how long are you in the studio everyday?
Yoongi:
So not the point, kid And a smiley face.
It makes Jungkook giggle. Actually giggle.
Yoongi:
You’re the one that has school. It’s after midnight. Sleep.
Jungkook:
I’m already in bed.
Yoongi:
Not a visual I need right now.
Fuck. I did not ... I did just send that. Sorry.
Jungkook bites his lower lip and feels his cheeks flush. Does ... does that mean Yoongi-shi is gay? Or ... he doesn’t want to think about that because he isn’t gay? Jungkook does not know how to reply to that, even with emoticons. How do you tell someone that you aren’t really upset about them thinking of you in a bed? Without dying from embarrassment anyway? And without outing himself. That’s something that you definitely shouldn’t do in a text message.
At least it’s easier through a text message.
Jungkook:
It’s okay. I don’t know how to reply to that. He adds a blushing emoticon.
Yoongi:
Don’t. It was inappropriate.
Jungkook:
but true?
God, his cheeks are on fire. But it’s so easy to be daring when it’s through a text message. He waits more than a minute before Yoongi finally replies. He can almost hear Yoongi sigh through the next text message.
Yoongi:
yes...
Go to sleep, kid.
A little bit of hope flutters in his chest, but he can’t read too much into it. Not now. Not yet.
Jungkook:
Goodnight, Yoongi-shi.
Yoongi:
Goodnight, kid. And a heart. A fucking heart.
Jungkook watches the screen for a moment, runs his finger over the message with the heart. Hopeful. Maybe.
--- ☼ --- ♪ --- ☼ ---
Part 3: Selcas and Secrets
Part 1: Mint Green Smudge
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