"Listen. I'm going to go call him," you resolve. Your head was beginning to clear up. You don't know about him, but you sure would feel shitty if he straight up left in the middle of the night like you did, irrespective of something happened or not.

Outside in the balcony, you unlock your phone and search for his contact - R...Rude Boy - and hit call. Your focus is entirely on what happened in the morning - it was still dark when you had woken up.

The first thing you saw was Yoongi fast asleep beside you. He had curled up under a separate blanket so that only the tip of his nose and forehead was visible. You sat up suddenly. Sickness swirled in your stomach. Where in the hell was the bathroom? You were in an unfamiliar room - a storage space of sorts. You ran out to find yourself on a rooftop, next to a dimly lit pool. It was eerily dark and cold. The literal chill drove you back into the room under your blanket. The display of your iPhone showed the time as half-past three. Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

You had pretour meetings in the morning. And here you were, head threatening to split open along with nausea that you barely held in. You called up Mr Kim to come and get you. He replied he would be outside in ten.

You shifted your focus to the practically passed out guy next to you.

"Yoongi?" you whispered. It took you a good five minutes of shaking him to finally have his eyes open. You mentioned that you had to go and that you would meet him later in the day. He replied something incomprehensible and went back to sleep. His house was silent as death when you left it. Mr Kim drove you out in a dark Mercedes. God bless him for stocking up on car sickness first aid - he'd handed you a paper bag along with a tablet and water right when you got in. You didn't puke, but you wept your heart out on the way back.

The call disconnects after a full ring. Maybe he's still asleep, you think.

But the call back comes instantly.

"Hello?"
"Hey..." he sounds extremely sleepy.
"Did I wake you?"
"Mmhmm. Where are you?"
"At home, obviously."
"Really? Last thing I remember you were here...did you put me in bed?"
"I don't think so," you give a nervous chuckle.
"Oh yeah, I think it was Namjoon...or..." he mumbles a couple of names you don't recognize.
"That's a lot of people, Yoongi, what on earth happened after I left?"
"I have no idea. When did you leave?"
"Um...I don't remember the time exactly - past 3 I guess, but we were in that - storeroom by the -"
"- pool, yeah..."

"Also - my dress might be somewhere at your place..." It sounds way more awkward coming out of your mouth than it did in your head.

"Your dress?"

"Yeah, I'm in your clothes, Yoongi. I have no clue how..."

You pause.

Meanwhile, Suga is utterly confused. He remembers patches but nothing makes sense. It will come back eventually - but then he gets this feeling.

"I've got lots to tell -"

"- Did we do something -"

Both of you start at the same time.

"You go first," he mutters.

"I was just saying that I've got things to tell you before I go - so like, let me know if - if - you wanna meet," your voice trails off.

This is so awkward. Why oh why is this so awkward. You want to see him. You really do. But why -

"Alright, yeah..."

Thank goodness.

Your phone pings a few minutes after ending the call. It's a photo of a black dress - in the room you had woken up this morning.

Is this the one?

                                                                                       Yeah. What the heck happened?

Meanwhile, Suga is in the attic staring at the sofa and scratching his head. He remembers exactly what happened here - but what should he do when you don't remember? He doesn't know if he's disappointed or just relieved.

A few hours later, you're leaning against the hood of your car watching emerald waves crash against the rocks.

"Coming to the beach was a good idea," you talk over the sounds of the seagulls, the salty sea wind and the waves.

"I know," Suga replies.

He drove you out here and parked the car - one of the generic company Mercedes sedans - in a lane breaking off from the highway. The spot is at some height from the shore, so you can see huge dark rocks on one side, and on the other - far away, the hint of sand and little people on it. As you take in the giant ever turbulent yet ever-present sea across you, you can't help but think about your life from a wider perspective.

"Your forehead looks better," Yoongi remarks, observing that a pink line of new, sensitive skin has replaced the cut that was there previously.

You nod. "It was just a scratch."

Just a scratch as if. And you've had quite a few public appearances since that day. Initially, the cut would have burned under all that makeup. And then, it would have itched like crazy until the old skin fell off. He's had his fair share of tour injuries to know what it feels like. He watches you take a swig from a flask containing hangover soup. On your way here, you had told him everything that had gone down with DK and your now-failed album deal.

"Y/N. Why do you make music?" he asks suddenly.

"What do you mean?" you look at him.

"I'm just asking you - what makes you do it? Why do you do it?"

"Honestly - I don't know. I mean - there's always the 'I do it for my fans' thing now. But then. I just do, Yoongi. I don't know anything else. I've never known anything else."

"Mmhmm. So if someone were to tell you that suddenly - there is no technology. No way to save your music or even write it down - would you stop?"

You think for a minute.

"I guess not. That's a very sad situation, by the way. But I guess I'd still sing about my troubles as I - I dunno - gathered berries and carried some jackass's children."

As you finish that sentence, you're suddenly reminded of drunk Yoongi telling you that he wanted kids. You barely hold back a giggle. Well, oops.

Yoongi continues, oblivious to your thoughts, "Exactly, Y/N. Do you see? Your music is always yours. I don't mean to - ottokhe - pull - down - the importance of owning your music. That's there. But in your heart, Y/N, don't feel so insecure. Nobody can take it away from you."

"Yeah, at least people are aware of my music. Even if I don't legally own it," you still sound down the dumps.

"Capitalism, Y/N, it's all capitalism," he comments.

You burst out laughing. "Oh so says the owner of one of the biggest brands of the world!"

He shrugs. "It is what it is." But he does grin back.

"I see what you're trying to say, Yoongi. Nobody can own me. Not really. Not unless I let them. I should care less, shouldn't I?"

"I say you continue to fight for it, Y/N. But look to your present and future first. New music, new -" he clears his throat, "- new experiences. You're not losing everything with this one deal - although, how much money are you losing?" he switches his tone rather fast, making you laugh.

"So, we didn't follow the good old American label deal system when we made my contract," you grimace, "Ribbon would get eighty per cent of profits of my first two albums. Sales, streaming, performance rights - every time those songs get played, I get twenty per cent, they - now the new owners - will get eighty. "

Yoongi swears, his eyebrows sky-high.

"Yeah," you pull up your shoulders and crick your neck. "That's why I went independent - sole ownership from then on. I only signed to HYBE now - because, well, it's HYBE. I wanted to scale up. And I am doing just that with Unreal. So - I shouldn't be greedy - because life is pretty good, isn't it?"

He keeps quiet, unsure what to make from your tone.

"I need time to figure out what I want..."

He gives you a long look before nodding. "That makes sense."

Though you say nothing more, he can't help but think if you meant it in another way too.

-unedited-