There isn't anywhere in particular that Yoongi is trying to go.

It's late, past dinner time, and he's usually never outdoors this late. The sky is dark, but the street lights are lit well and there are still a lot of students wandering the streets. Some of them are alone, like him. Staring into their phones or speed walking back home. Some of them are couples, arms linked or hands intertwined, smiling and sharing quiet laughs. He passes a few groups of rowdy kids, who are sitting on the curbs and elbowing each other and giggling obnoxiously.

It amazes him, every time he comes outside, just how many people exist. How many people he won't even ever know, and how that doesn't matter to him or them.

It's cold even through the thick jacket that he's wearing. Yoongi has never liked the cold. He keeps his fingers curled in his pockets, hood pulled low over his face, but he can feel the chill start to eat away at his frame, slowly digging deeper into his bones.

He's abandoned his latest project, the way he's abandoned all the others before them. He hasn't managed to complete a single track since he was asked not to participate in the fundraiser. He still has ideas, he still chips away at them, but they always burn out into nothing. His words don't come out right. They don't come out true.

He doesn't know what he wants to say anymore.

There's something his professor used to ask him, every time he turned in an assignment - who did you write this for?

For myself, Yoongi would tell him. For my grade.

His professor would scoff. Yes, yes, but who do you want to listen to it?

Each time, his answer would be different. All of Yoongi's music was personal, and sometimes it aimed to hurt. When he first joined as a music major, he wrote angry songs to all the people he'd left behind in his old life - his family, his school, and the judgemental fools he met on the streets who looked at him with pity and superiority. Later on he wrote for...everyone. Cursing the world as a whole. He wrote to himself, sometimes, like it might make his own mind make a bit more sense.

More often than not, his answer to the question was someone. Anyone. And every time, his professor would frown and tell him there's more to it than that, Yoongi. You can't write unless you know who you're writing for.

"Yoongi?"

Yoongi stops. He doesn't turn around - he recognizes the voice. He stops and waits for Namjoon to catch up.

Namjoon is bundled up much like he is, a soft, rainbow scarf draped around his neck that somehow doesn't look weird at all. He's holding a steaming cup of coffee that Yoongi can't take his eyes off of.

Namjoon sighs. "It was for me," he says, half amused, half mournful. "But it looks like you need it more."

He holds out the cup. Yoongi shakes his head at him. He may be no king of social niceties, but he knows better than anyone that usurping someone's coffee is the absolute worst thing to do.

"It's fine," Namjoon insists. "Or just drink half and I'll take the rest. Or we can just buy another one on the way."

He says on the way like he's actually on his way somewhere. Yoongi isn't on his way anywhere. But he takes the cup, eternally grateful, and just holds it between his hands for a second, revelling in the warmth.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"Library. There's a book I need."

"It's late," Yoongi points out, like he's anyone to talk. But Namjoon is generally an early to bed, early to rise sort of person. He wakes up well before the sun dares to rise.

Namjoon shrugs. "I have to get this done soon. What about you, what are you up to?"

Yoongi shrugs back. He takes a small sip of coffee, successfully burns his throat, and feels a bit better. "Just wandering around," he admits.

Namjoon doesn't judge him. Not out loud, at least. It's the only way their sorry excuse for friendship even works anymore - after them both backtracking and letting the other carry out their own messed up life choices without giving them shit for it.

That's what they try to do, at least. But every time Yoongi has...a breakdown, for lack of a better word, there's always a message from Namjoon sitting in his phone that he deletes. When Namjoon wins weird science awards and gets featured on the college website, Yoongi never congratulates him.

He did once. Just once. He might have been too sarcastic - it didn't end well.

They'd both always judged each other too much - that was what the problem was. Now, in this happy medium where they've accepted that their lives suck and don't think they can change each other, friendship is a lot easier.

He takes another sip of the coffee and hands it back to Namjoon. He takes a sip as well.

"So," Namjoon starts. He's tapping his fingers against the side of the cup, like he doesn't know what to say. "How is...everything?"

Yoongi frowns. He hates vague questions like this, especially from Namjoon, because Namjoon always knows precisely what he wants to ask. What he wants to hear. Vague questions from him are a front and like precursors to asking Yoongi to punch him in the face.

"The usual," he says, shrugging.

"There was a lot of drama going on at Hoseok's place that day."

"What do you want, Namjoon?" he bites, a bit harsher than he intended.

Namjoon doesn't seem to mind. He's probably used to it. He swirls the cup in his hands, letting the coffee swish around, while he considers what to say.

"Did anything change?" he asks at last.

Yoongi doesn't respond. More because he knows that Namjoon already knows the answer - he and Hoseok take some sort of pleasure in gossiping about everything he does in a day. There's no way Namjoon doesn't know all that has happened, all that has blown up.

Everything changed. Too much changed.

"You know already," he says. It comes out a bit irritated. "What are you trying."

"Nothing," Namjoon says lightly. "You just haven't made any new tracks in a long while."

"And you would know."

"Hoseok would know, and he says you haven't."

"Introducing you two to each other is the worst thing I've ever done," Yoongi says, rubbing a hand over his eye. "But yes, I haven't finished anything new. Nothing's worked out yet."

"Huh."

"It doesn't sound right anymore," Yoongi admits. "My old tracks, too...they all sound wrong."

"That's just your perfectionist streak."

"No," Yoongi says, shaking his head. He holds his hand out for another sip of the coffee - Namjoon passes it to him. "That's not it, it doesn't sound bad. It sounds wrong. It doesn't sound the way I want it to anymore."

Namjoon doesn't say anything for a long while. "I doubt it's wrong," he says at last, quiet. Almost like he's understood something. "It's just old. It doesn't sound like you anymore because you don't sound like that anymore."

"Don't I?" Yoongi asks, but it's not a real question. Because he knows, somewhere deep down, that Namjoon has a point. All these years he's been working on the assumption that no one would understand him, that no one could feel things the way he did, and that the world was fake and pointless and bound to succumb to the truth someday.

But now...

He thinks of what Jimin had told him, that day outside Hoseok's - you aren't the only damn person who hurts.

He thinks of what his professor would ask - who do you want to listen to this?

And Yoongi thinks he knows, now. He thinks he isn't as alone as he thought he was - that there are people, not even far, who feel the same things. Who maybe want to know that they aren't alone, either.

Who maybe can't find hope, but want to.

Hoseok doesn't often call him to the dance studio.

Yoongi goes even less often than he's invited. He gets called in for odd jobs that they really don't need him in particular for - usually just issues with the sound systems - but for some reason Hoseok insists on him helping out anyway. Yoongi doesn't do much for his friend, so he indulges him sometimes. Fixing anything that isn't working right and helping him out with better sound settings is the least he can do for him.

Every time he goes in, Hoseok can't resist telling the same story - "This is my best friend! We met backstage during a concert when he was working with the sound team!"

Yoongi had class today, so he's still in the performing arts block when he gets Hoseok's text asking him to drop by. He'd refused at first - he wanted to go back to his room and get to work as soon as possible, but then Hoseok sent him a crying face and a long stream of depressing pleas, which meant that he really did need help, so he agreed to stop by.

One day his friend will stop using him as the local mechanic. One day.

The dance department is honestly fascinating. It's in the same block as his own, but full of a different kind of magic. Yoongi's own department is full of people he likes to classify as mad men. They dart from room to room with too many papers and ugly textbooks and dirty backpacks, while the students in the dance department seem so much more...put together. Yoongi knows for a fact that they're all as messed up as the music majors are, but somehow they hide it better.

He passes by their classrooms and practice rooms and studios, and finally finds the place he's looking for. He stares for a moment through the glass on the door, at the mirrored walls and grey floors.

No one is dancing inside, but there's a group of people hunched together on the ground, discussing something. Yoongi can pick out the back of Hoseok's head among them.

He pushes the door open.

None of Hoseok's friends expect him to greet them anymore. They all look up, as one, when Yoongi walks in, but only Hoseok's face brightens into a smile. The rest of the guys glance over, recognize him, and then turn back to whatever they're huddled around.

But today there's another face that doesn't look away - Park Jimin.

He looks away before Jimin has a chance to.

"Yoongi!" Hoseok calls. "Here, here, come here."

There's one more person he recognizes - Kim Taehyung. He's sitting against the wall at the side of the room, doing something on his phone. Probably waiting for his friend. He gives Yoongi a brief look of confusion, then looks at Hoseok, Jimin, and back at him, and then just turns back to his phone like he's accepted that these weird reunions just sort of happen.

For some reason or the other, there's a feather in his hair.

"What do you need?" Yoongi asks Hoseok, a safe distance away from them all.

"The CD player is broken," Hoseok says, distressed, and Yoongi swears his eyebrow actually twitches - he is not a third year music major so that he can fix CD players. He is not a CD player fixer. Why do people do this to him.

He heads over to the group anyway. "Move over," he mutters, at them all. They're quick to oblige. Yoongi crouches to survey the damage, and, to his irritation, all the kids look over his shoulder to watch with bated breath. Like he's doing freaking surgery.

He levels a serious look at one kid, who is leaning over to see and blocking all the light with his head. "Go away," he says, blunt.

The kid scootches aside guiltily.

"Can you fix it?" Hoseok asks, before Yoongi even gets a proper look.

"Probably not," Yoongi says, deadpan. "It looks doomed forever."

Someone in the group takes him seriously and lets out a groan of despair. Yoongi sighs.

The damage isn't bad - actually, there isn't any damage at all. It's a simple jam. He holds down the necessary buttons to force the CD to eject and waits.

The seconds tick by too slowly. He can still feel the uncomfortable number of eyes on him, now definitely doubting his abilities.

At last, the player pops open. Someone cheers. Someone else claps. Yoongi sighs again.

"Thanks," Hoseok says, patting him on the shoulder. He looks decidedly sheepish. "I probably should have tried that."

"You probably should have," Yoongi agrees, already standing to go.

"Wait, what, don't go. You just got here."

"What else do I do?"

"You can watch."

Yoongi hesitates. He really, really wants to leave - there's so much that he wants to work on right now, and he doesn't feel like he can afford the time Hoseok wants him to spend here. He catches Jimin's eye again, without meaning to. This time Jimin looks away first.

"I have stuff to do," Yoongi says, and he hopes it comes out a bit apologetic. "I'll come by another day."

And Hoseok, bless his soul, always understands what it's like to need to work on an idea, so he doesn't argue. "I'll see you then," he agrees.

Yoongi waves to him and heads out the door.

He's barely turned the corner of the corridor when the studio door opens again and someone comes running out after him.

"Yoongi-ssi!"

It's Taehyung. He catches up with Yoongi easily, the feather in his hair sagging low and nearly slipping out. He's holding a crumpled bit of paper in his hand that he thrusts towards Yoongi.

He's never actually spoken much to Taehyung - excepting that weird day that he broke into Yoongi's room and demanded that he take care of his son - but he doesn't seem a bad person. He's a good friend of Namjoon's, and is fiercely protective - and, from the few times Yoongi has seen him around, he's seemed sort of interesting. Strange, but not ashamed of it. Open.

"Here," Taehyung says, waving the paper in his hand. "This is for you."

Yoongi makes no move to take it. "What's that."

"Concert ticket," Taehyung says. "For the stage this Sunday. It's Jimin's, actually. The three of us were going to go together, but he wanted me to give his to you."

Yoongi's eyebrows go up. "...why?"

Taehyung frowns, like Yoongi is somehow not cooperating with whatever he had in mind. "He wants to apologize for hating you. I mean...um. For shouting at you."

Yoongi shakes his head, half in wonder, half in disbelief. There's no way he can take a free ticket from an underclassmen, no matter what the situation. And Jimin doesn't even owe him anything - they fought, yes. Badly. But he didn't say anything out of line, or anything that wasn't true.

"Keep it," he says. "Tell Jimin it's fine. He doesn't need to be sorry."

Taehyung looks horrified. "If I take this ticket back inside he will literally murder me."

"Then hide it somewhere."

"Please take it?"

"He doesn't owe me anything."

"It's a free ticket. No one says no to free tickets. It's an unwritten rule."

Yoongi shakes his head again, turning to go. Annoyingly, Taehyung just follows him.

"Don't follow me."

"Take the free ticket."

Great. He's going to have to deal with Taehyung hanging behind his shoulder for hell knows how long.

"Maybe you're performing at the concert," Taehyung wonders aloud. "Maybe that's why you don't want a ticket."

"I'm not."

"...maybe it's a secret."

Yoongi sighs and rubs his forehead. Why does he always end up with the weirdest problems in his life. "I haven't performed anywhere since I got kicked out of the fundraiser."

Taehyung starts. "You got kicked out of the fundraiser?"

Yoongi nods. They've settled into a comfortable walking pace now, with Taehyung next to him rather than behind him, but Yoongi doesn't look at him, still sort of hoping that he'll leave. "They said my music was too creepy for it," he admits. They hadn't said it in those words exactly, but it was implied.

Taehyung is quiet for a moment, almost suspiciously so. "Wow," he says at last. "That's so cool."

"...what."

"It's like you're leading a revolution or something, and they're trying to shut you down because you're giving the public ideas."

Ideas to kill themselves, Yoongi thinks darkly, but he doesn't say that aloud.

Taehyung gives him a small, appreciative grin. "Now I see why Jungkookie was so obsessed with you," he says, and it makes something in Yoongi's stomach twist a little. "You should come back with a bang, Yoongi-ssi. In a no-one-can-shut-down-my-voice sort of way. Oh, oh, you should do it in the showcase at the end of this month - it'll be organized by a lot of the same people as the fundraiser. Then it'll hit them really hard."

Only Kim Taehyung would randomly appear like this and try to plot out the course of his life for him.

It's not a bad idea, really - but it doesn't seem very plausible. There isn't enough time till the end of the month. At the rate Yoongi's been making music at, he'll be lucky if he gets something done at the end of the year.

But he does have the smallest idea. It'll probably end in nothing, but it's worth a shot.

"We'll see," he says at last.

There are so many deleted files in Yoongi's recycle bin that he can't find a single freaking thing.

The file that he's looking for is something he had written a couple of years ago in a feverish streak, and had tossed away the very next day. He's come back to it a few times, because there was a bit of potential in it, a few pretty good lines - but he never managed to make it presentable. There were always too many parts missing.

He scrolls through the endless list of files, wishing for the millionth time that he learned to name them properly earlier in his life. How the hell is he supposed to know what finaldraft23 and thehellisthis6 and condensedstuff are supposed to be.

Actually, the saddest part is that Yoongi has an inkling of what they all are, because he's slaved over each of them so much.

It takes him way too long, but he finally finds the file he's searching for. He's labelled it imstillhere, after one of the lines in the song. He restores the file and clicks it open.

It's messy. It isn't even continuous - it's just three separate blocks of rap with no transition between them, with completely different instrumentals in the background because he was trying to see if any of them sounded nice at all.

He wrote this song at a pretty low point of his life - when he was finally getting the hang of college life and his course and was struck by the sudden question of what the hell did he want. It wasn't that his classmates were better than him, or more successful - because they weren't. Not all of them, at least. The difference was that they all had a reason for what they were doing, a place they wanted to reach.

But Yoongi wrote music because it helped him deal with his inner tornado, and couldn't see the future stretching far enough to think up a dream for himself. He lived trying to get through each day, and when that got too hard, he just tried to live and ignore how time passed by.

He listens to bits and pieces of the song, and it's bad, really bad, but he feels like he could get somewhere with it. Like he's starting to understand it better. Because he thinks - he thinks that this song doesn't just sound like him. And that's what he's counting on, that's what he's trying to do now - to make something that he understands doesn't sound like him alone.

He works at it till his eyes burn and his head sort of hurts, and the sun has already risen. He rewrites lyrics, trashes entire music tracks. Nothing works. Nothing works.

Hours later, he's forced to realize that it still completely sucks.

It strikes him two days later, in the middle of class.

One of the TAs is showing them a demo of a software that Yoongi has already tried and doesn't like at all, and it strikes him like someone's smacked him in the face that his song is wrong because it's missing a specific voice. Not more strings, not the piano, he needs actual vocals. Something that can sound hopeful but damaged and human.

He sits frozen, staring at the projector like he's discovered the secret to the universe, and the TA tosses him a smile thinking he's listening to him.

He's done collabs before, for class and otherwise, and while he'll admit that a lot of his classmates are amazing vocalists, his go to singer has always been Jin. Jin has never been professionally trained and can't read sheet music for shit, but his voice is raw and honest, cracks in the right places and then puts everything together. He always agrees to help Yoongi out, no matter how busy he is, and he's Yoongi's best bet right now.

He stands abruptly, not even halfway through the demo. The TA gives him a worried look, but Yoongi doesn't meet his eyes, packing up his stuff and leaving before anyone can ask him anything. His attendance can be damned.

The corridors are empty, and Yoongi has his phone out in no time, dialling Jin's number. He's about to press call when another thought strikes him, and he stops.

He could...call Jungkook.

His voice is...a lot like Jin's, honestly. Yoongi will never admit it, never, ever, but the day Jungkook was singing on the roof, he didn't go back down the moment he realized he was safe. He'd stood at the door like a creepy stalker for too long to brush it off, because Jungkook sang with his entire soul. He sang like the world was too big for him and he needed to reach it somehow, and Yoongi had just stared, and stared, and thought what in freaking hell.

He thinks back to their conversation, the night that Jungkook had turned up at his door - Jungkook would want to do this, surely. This is what he was looking for, right?

He dials his number before he can think about it too hard.

It rings for so long, Yoongi's stress levels hiking with each ring - he really, really wants to figure this out now, so that he can work on it before his idea dies out. Finally, finally, someone picks up.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Jungkook-ah."

"Hyung, is something wrong?"

He sounds too concerned, and a bit breathless like he's just run somewhere. Yoongi frowns. "No, what. Nothing's wrong."

"Oh." Jungkook sounds a bit relieved, a bit...done with his life. "Sorry, I just thought...sorry."

"Were you in class?" He hadn't even paused to think about that - he knows nothing about Jungkook's schedule. First years generally don't have classes in the evening, that's a perk only the seniors get to have, but he's an engineering student, and that would mean -

"Lab, actually," Jungkook says, almost forlorn. Shit. "You never call me, so I...well. I thought it was an emergency."

It's one thing to go running out of his own classes, it's another to get someone else into trouble. "Sorry, I'll call you later then."

"It's fine, hyung, I already came outside. You can tell me."

Yoongi bites his lip. He wants to make this as fast as possible - it'll make it easier for the both of them. "I'm working on a song," he says. "And. Do you want to sing a part of it?"

He can hear Jungkook's sharp intake of breath on the other end, and then there's silence. There's no immediate refusal, which is a start, which must mean there's hope, and then -

"Okay," Jungkook says, his voice pitched a bit higher than usual. "Yeah. Sure."

"Great," Yoongi says. "Come meet me when class is over, okay?"

"Okay."

Yoongi hangs up.

He stares at his phone for a good ten seconds, wondering what he's doing, but strangely he feels like it was the right choice. Sure, he works better with Jin, and things will get done a lot sooner with him, but still - Yoongi feels like he's done something right.

He doesn't feel like he's doing something right anymore.

Jungkook has barely said a word since he's entered Yoongi's room. He's sitting frozen, staring hard at the floor, hands clasped tightly together to keep them from shaking. Yoongi had asked him to wait for him to finish the rough draft of his track, and Jungkook had nodded tightly, climbed onto the bed, and hasn't moved or even breathed properly since.

Yoongi offers him something to drink once - there's bound to be some coffee powder left somewhere - but Jungkook only shakes his head.

The track is almost done, but Yoongi is delaying a bit on purpose. He isn't sure how this is going to go at all, and he doesn't know what to do if it goes wrong. He's starting to realize what a huge step this would be, for Jungkook, and if it goes wrong, if he loses that last bit of hope that he's somehow been putting together -

Did Yoongi drag him into this too soon? Maybe he should have waited. Maybe he should have given him more time.

He finishes the track and stares at it blankly, as if it isn't already complete. The excitement of creating something has faded long ago - now he's just worried that he's messing something up. That in his rush to get things done, once again he's forcing Jungkook into something he never would have wanted.

"Jungkook," he tries slowly.

"Yeah?" It comes out tense, contorted.

Yoongi frowns deeper, drumming his fingers against the surface of his desk. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to. I can always ask Seokjin."

He doesn't turn to look at Jungkook, but he hears a sharp, shaky intake of breath. "I can do it, hyung," Jungkook forces out, sounding very much like he can't. Like he'd rather never do it at all, like he wants to run far away and cry. "It's - I can do it."

"Okay," Yoongi says, pretending he doesn't hear the uncertainty.

He tugs off his headphones and hands them to Jungkook. Jungkook hesitantly pulls them over his ears. He rests his face in his hands, so Yoongi can't see his expression. Somehow Yoongi thinks that's a good thing.

He presses play.

It's the most horrible four minutes of Yoongi's life, sitting there with nothing to listen to.

He can't tell what Jungkook thinks about the song. He hopes the music is different from usual - he hopes to god that it's different, that it's worked this time. That Yoongi has finally figured out what the heck is wrong with his style and managed to fix it. He hopes - he hopes it sounds like Jungkook's painting. Like the very edge of hope.

Black that throws everything out, but can't throw it far enough.

He presses his fingertips into the side of his head, trying to stop his brain from whirring. This should work, it should work. He - he knows it sounds different. He poured his soul into it. He thought of everyone he knew who was lonely and scared and didn't want to be anymore, and - it should work.

The four minutes are pure hell.

When Jungkook finally looks up, his eyes are wet and he looks like he's been hit by a truck.

It throws Yoongi for a second - what has he done? What did he get wrong this time? This was a mistake, he knew it was, he's messed up all over again and now he's back at stage one.

"That bad, huh?" he asks, trying to smile wryly.

Jungkook shakes his head hastily. Over and over. "It's good," he says, earnest. "It's good, hyung. I'm sorry, I - I might cry."

"Don't," Yoongi says, with no idea what's going on at all.

"It's good," Jungkook repeats, rubbing at his eyes with a fist. "It's really, really good. I don't know what to say."

"It doesn't sound like before?" Yoongi asks, cautious. "It doesn't sound...black?"

"It sounds black," Jungkook says. "I think - I think that's a good thing. It sounds black but it's mostly gray. Sort of...silver. I mean. Like I'm lost but like I'm not alone."

Yoongi can't say anything for a long while. He just stares, and keeps staring, his brain trying to figure out what's going on.

...he did it?

He actually did it. Years and years of his music being tossed aside, of hope being a far dead concept, and now -

"I think I might cry too," Yoongi says, and he's only half joking.

Jungkook laughs lightly, still rubbing at his eyes.

"You want to try singing your part?" Yoongi asks, handing over the page of lyrics. It's messy, heavily edited, but Jungkook's part is repetitive, just a few lines over and over again. Yoongi mostly needs him for the chorus and the backing track.

Jungkook takes the sheet from him, looking through it.

"I'll play it once more," Yoongi says. "Then we'll try with you singing."

Jungkook listens carefully the second time through, mouthing the lyrics as the song plays. Yoongi drums his fingers on his armrest, impatient. It's another horrible four minutes of his life.

"I think I got it," Jungkook says at last, when the track ends.

Yoongi nods to him and pulls out the headphones from his laptop. He turns down the volume of the vocal part on the track so that Jungkook will have no problem singing over it, and hesitates over the play button.

"You ready?"

Jungkook shoots him a thumbs up, the other hand gripping the page of lyrics tightly. He looks like he's going to throw up.

"We can do this later if you want," Yoongi tries again. "Or - or I can rap with you."

"Oh," Jungkook says. "That'll be - can you?"

Yoongi turns down the volume of his own part as well, hesitating over the play button. There are so many ways this can go wrong. So many ways.

He hits play.

His part starts up first. Yoongi keeps his eyes shut as he raps, strangely self conscious when there's only one person watching him. It takes him a moment to get into it, to remember what he's rapping about, but then he's in a different world, in a world where he has a voice that can be heard, where the dark thoughts inside his head can mean something and be understood. He's slaved over every word enough to not need the lyrics sheet anymore, so he shuts his eyes and pours out his hopelessness, his life, his entire mess of a soul.

And then Jungkook joins him.

His voice is shaky, fractured all over, like he's on the verge of tears and his own inner collapse but wants to push through anyway. He sings like he doesn't want to be heard but wants to be understood, wants to understand, wants to connect with someone, somewhere, somehow. He sings like the whole world is listening and like the stars are falling and something is crashing, growing, crying.

Their voices mix together - and it isn't perfect. It isn't right yet, it isn't anywhere near what it should be. But it's raw and it's beautiful and it's true, it's true, it's true -

And they're lost, but they aren't alone, and there's a burning in the back of Yoongi's eyes.