[ UNEDITED ]

Like half-moons, weak crescents, his eyes are closed. He sleeps barely snoring, barely breathing. The only way I know of him being alive, are the moments he sighs in my face or holds my waist lazy.

Yoongi's asleep, I'm awake. It's the morning and I turn under his wrapping arm, so I can watch him as he sleeps so early this new morning.

His hair is bizarre, jumping out, and messy from the pillow that cushions his cheek. I smile, hand off his chest I slowly rub and rest on, allowing my fingers to feel his hair away from his forehead.

I don't speak.

So early, 7 a.m., after gazing lovingly at him, my eyes bounce with my eyelashes slow and soft. I wish to touch him again, so I do, brave enough to hug his cheek with my palm when his fingers loosely pat my back, my silk, my skin.

Yoongi doesn't know of the way he holds me. He doesn't know how he squeezes me in his sleep, or how low his head ducks in want for being suffocated by my chest. I let the obliviousness rise without contain. He holds me, I hold him.

It isn't until 7:38 a.m., where Yoongi's one eye peeks open, his lips part for an exaggerated grunt, and his perfectly shaped eyebrows knit deep—as if he's looking at a monster. I smile again, trying to pretend I've been sleeping, but it's clear that the confused man sees straight through my playful façade.

"What's—" his head parks away from mine, his lips closing and his eyes darting towards multiple corners of the room. Once eyes settle over the mirror opposing us, I let my fingers fall from Yoongi's chest and over to his abdomen, moving my bare shoulder close with teasing.

"You were drunk and stopped by last night."

His eyes, his beautiful moon-shaped eyes are ruined from the lack of sleep. Yoongi gawks, and parts his lips again. I watch how chapped they are close to me, before smiling and reassuring him.

"Nothing insane happened," I lie, somewhat.

Yoongi's forehead now waves around like a sea. His fingers loosen around my hip, and he moves for his own space, worried for offending. I giggle, shaking my head and bringing his arm back around me. "It's cold around us, don't do that."

Now, from my reaction, from my action, and the distance I don't create between us—Yoongi looks terrified with the mix of muddled behaviour. "Why are we in here?" he asks, voice cracking.

"You asked me to lay with you last night, so I did." I'm soft, I'm reassuring, and surprisingly, I'm not afraid to be touching him as I hold his cheek, so he can face my eyes again. "I can tell you're worrying where there is no need."

His throat dances with a swallow. His eyes that hold sleep, his mouth that holds terrible bad breath, everything hits my expression fast and all I can do is smile at him grow in awe over my handling of him—of us.

"H-How did I get here?"

"Terin," then my hand leaves his cheek and rubs over his chest slow.

Yoongi swallows hard. Harder than hard and I don't notice the look in his eyes while staring down at his shirt in question. "I wanted to ask why she was here, or how she was here yesterday...but you were too drunk to tell me much."

"I uh..."

I wait, staring to his eyes. I don't know why I want to still cuddle. I don't know why I like his arms around me. I don't know why last night made me smile. I don't know why I keep replaying what he said about 'liking me' years before. I don't know, I don't know. I don't know why I wish to kiss his lips.

I nod, "Boyfriend issues?"

Yoongi purses his lips and it's then I notice I've been staring at them too long. Seeing the rings of his pupils, I find comfort when the tenseness he feels while holding me subsides, and his fingers awkwardly move around the corners of my nightie.

"Y-Yea," he sighs, "She wanted to see a familiar face in such a difficult period...I guess I allowed it since I've known her for most my childhood."

I nod. There is no reason for me not to trust him, to question him, but the best I can ask next is, "You mentioned how 'she wanted you'...any idea what you were trying to communicate there?"

Yoongi doesn't say anything for a while. He stares at me, unable to meet my eyes. That causes my heart to flutter from panic and just for a second. "What's wrong?" I ask, not wanting to assume before getting the details.

"She's hurting and needy right now...I uh, there's been moves pulled and I'm guessing last night I probably rejected her...clearly, considering how I'm here with you right now."

"Moves pulled?" My hands move slowly away from him. I'm about to assume, I'm about to distance myself.

It's as if Yoongi notices my alert and panics, shaking his head, he says, "Nothing big, I rejected it before anything could happen."

I believe him. I don't think of him lying, nor do I think he'll hurt me with hypocrisy. Yoongi lies, straight to my face, straight in my arms, and I believe.

With a smile, I hug him on the bed, giggle and for the first time—for the first time, I flirt with my eyes, my lips and my entire body that shields into him. "Would you reject my plans for us today?"

"Plans?"

"Mhm." I hum, cute and snuggled in his arms.

It's clear the man is shocked over my comfortable-state, starting to blush, he asks, "What did you have planned?"

-

"This..."

I smile largely, feeling the softness of my knitted dress hit the higher part of my thighs. Turning, I look to Yoongi who sits, black bomber, red hoodie, jeans and boots. We're both in his producing studio, cluttered and molded within the mess—a mess I convinced him to finally bring me to.

"This is beautiful," I finish, giddy with my body as I rush to sit next to the man who already pulls out his notebook.

I straighten my back, sigh in a breath, and cutely take in the atmosphere around me; in the most dramatic ways one can. "Now," I wave my fingers in the air and shut my eyes, "Do your duties, sir."

I can hear the man next to me huff in a breath as he bends by my thigh, looks through my tote bag, and pulls out my laptop and notebook. Eyes still closed, I giggle when he mumbles in curses before placing both in front of me below my fingers.

"Anything else?" he asks, smile fake, but eyes amused.

I open my eyes, notice everything I need is before me, and then I smile with a shake of my head. "Good boy," I wiggle out my tongue, petting his hat as if it were his hair, and then focusing on my belongings.

"Easy," he warns, flinching away.

I can't help but smile. I know he's hiding his smile, his glances my way, and my heart is fluttering as I start up my work, open my documents, and ask help from him when the internet logs in. "I know you're afraid one of your members will walk in and see me, but I'll hide as fast as I can if—"

"No worries," Yoongi sighs, his jacket grazing my chest as he leans in. I can feel some of his weight on me, his face so close but eyes fixed on my screen as he types in the password for the Wi-Fi. "The boys have left in request of BangPD who knows you're here...everyone in staff has been told to leave me alone." He twirls his finger around, whispers a 'done' when the internet connects, and then leans back in his chair.

I try not to act as if I miss Yoongi near me. Scolding my inner thoughts, scolding my inner want for him.

"Speaking of your boss..."

"Hm?" Yoongi hums, pen turning around in his fingers as he opens his notebook. The notebook is messy and falling apart compared to mine—I find joy in such a sight. He's an artist, he's a writer, and he works different than me. We're both different, but the same.

"I was thinking about possible research questions of my next book."

"What has that got anything to do with my boss?" he asks, joking.

"Workplace and money...whatever, the point is, I'm thinking of a question to focus on."

"How's that going for you?" he asks, paying attention to me speak when glancing straight to my eyes. Min Yoongi's a good listener. He makes me want to talk more, so I do.

"I've been stuck on finding a broader topic..."

"Are you trying to stay away from your first topic?"

I smile, eyes narrowing and testing the man close beside me, "Do you remember my first topic?"

"Sexual oppression," Yoongi answers, passing the question with a wide smile, "I told you I read your book, why are you doubting me?"

"Just checking."

He chuckles when I narrow my eyes further. The teasing is care-free, our banter is sweet, but when it comes to work, I motivate him and now he does me.

I ask, "I'm thinking about workspace and pay? Or is that too specific?"

"Um," Yoongi nibbles his bottom lip, "Sounds a little boring."

"Gee, thanks."

Smiling, the man taps the end of his pen to my keyboard I'm struggling to type at, and then glancing at my notebook that holds all the scribbles so far. "Why not have a general topic that is inciting? And then reel in such points like workplace, money, and unfairness specific to gender throughout; in subtopics?"

"What do you suggest?"

Yoongi sighs. His arm moves to hug the back of my chair as he scoots in. Feeling his breath by my cheek, I don't focus on the way his presence allures me, but on the way, he helps me now. I focus on his words, his intelligence.

"You were going to use my boss as an example?"

I nod slow, "Y-Yeah, since he knows about me, I thought my first meeting with him down the road could be one where I ask him for a sit-down."

Yoongi stifles a smile.

I get insecure. "What?"

"Nothing."

I shove his chest. "Tell me."

Yoongi smirks, to the side and full of arrogance as he mumbles, "Just find it amusing that I used to accuse you for wanting my money...but here you are, using me for networking with higher-ups instead."

"Oh." I want to laugh along with him, but I'm suddenly shy as I go, "I didn't mean for—"

"I'm just kidding."

Too late, I'm shy and lightly sulking.

The man notices and lifts me up, turning his face so he stares at me, and only me, and then wiggles his brows. "I got it. I got your topic."

I beam, refraining from showing excitement but failing, "What is it?"

"The music industry. The double standards, and all the jazz you need for your subtopics can talked throughout."

My brows jump, I glance down to my notes, and the idea seeps into my head. "Not bad," I whisper out, nodding and taking my hand to quickly jot down a brainstorm.

"If you stick with it, I can ask BangPD to possibly contact other companies and buildings as well," Yoongi queries, grinning when seeing you rush to write away. "Maybe you could interview the boys and me..."

"You'd do that for me?" I ask, eyes wide.

"Yeah," he shrugs, easing the situation, "...and besides, if you're going to use me, might as well do it the right way." He chuckles when I hit his chest again, sinking his head close to mine when I giggle from a ticklish spark raised by my ear.

"Have I helped?" he asks, proud when leaning completely away from my heated cheeks.

"Yes," just from the way I write, I know he notices my eagerness. "Thank you."

"Any time," his voice is weirdly soft.

[ YOONGI'S P.O.V. ]

"Any time," I say quiet, breathing out whatever is left of my heart; that doesn't quit it's fluttering.

She's beautiful, she's sweet, she's caring—oh, how she cares for others, how she cares for the world and the injustices surrounding...I smile, watching her write for a long while.

Then, side-glancing over to the blank sheet that calls to be drenched from ink by me, I revisit the past few weeks of my procrastination, my distraction being Terin, and the lack of motivation around me. With a swallow of air, a glance towards you working hard, I fight my own battles in aims to win. I place the tip of my pen to the white sheet and sway.

The first I write isn't a lyric, it's a rhyme, nor is it a title. I simply copy the way you create your ideas, brilliant and interactive they are, I allow you to inspire me: I brainstorm.

"the way she writes" – is the first thing I doodle on the white surface.

I sit there, writing writing writing. Getting lost in all my ideas and allowing myself to drown with a wide grin plastered—you've inspired me. She's amazing and I can't stop writing, I can't— I laugh internally as all I do is,

Write lyrics, write rhymes, and compose titles;
all about you.

[ YOONGI'S P.O.V. END ]

"How many rough songs did you get done?"

"About 2," Yoongi says behind me, muffling his voice because of his drinking glass.

I follow him. I take my glass and chug down the remaining, only to sigh and squeal with my legs kicking out. I feel free, I feel refreshed, and now I feel the need to party and explore the rest of Seoul with Yoongi without pressures lurking at my neck.

"That's insanely great!" I pipe, staring around the bar-and-grill Yoongi brought me to. He said it is his favourite in the city, and it's clear how expensive all seemed the minute he escorted me in—everyone is so nice, so put-together, and so rich-looking—off-put at first, having a drink to ease the transition as a celebratory beverage was all I needed.

"May I ask what you've written about?" I curiously shoot over my shoulder, letting my cheek rest on my skin as my gentle eyes meet the man slow.

"No, you may not," he chuckles.

"Oh, come on."

"Maybe when it's complete."

I sigh, shaking my hair away from my shoulders and throwing my head back so I can move and listen to the music that soothingly blares around us.

"Lookin' forward to it," I whisper, closing my eyes and letting the music relax my mind.

My hand slowly moves to the edge of the table, as I allow myself to lean with a stand.

[ YOONGI'S P.O.V. ]

I stare at the curves of your bottom, sitting to lean on the edge of the bar's table. The way your thighs are close to touch, your arms hug away my glances from your chest, and how uniquely your hair falls today. Staring, admiring, and wishing to hold your hand, I let go of my whiskey, and creep my hand to hold yours.

Soft it is to touch, I relax, sigh, and wait for you to hold me back.

When you do, I don't look at you, you don't look at me, but the smiles that graze both our faces are evident.

My phone dings. I don't let your hand go as I read it—my smile falls, just a little; just a little.

Terin: You coming over tonight?

Without another glance, I write,

Yoongi: no.

Phone is back in my pocket, is silenced without opportunity for buzzing.

I stand up, scooting off my chair and leaning to your side completely. With red cheeks, my chest, my stomach, and my belt are pressed to your side while my lips near your ear. "How about I show you the city?"

"Now? This late?" you ask, whisper at my collarbone heard without hustle.

I nod, squeeze your hand, grasping—hearing you giggle with a squeak, I drop bills down for the drinks, pull you to my side, and have you close by me for the adventure ahead.