Chapter Text
1.
JULY
It's raining. Of course, it would start raining exactly at the moment he decided to personally grab a cup of coffee from the usual spot near the company. Damn it, the staff are going to kill him. They'll have to redo his hair all over again.
Yoongi entered the café completely hidden beneath his wet black bucket hat and mask. He was wearing an all-black outfit as usual: tight ripped jeans and a hoodie.
He liked to fetch his own coffee once or twice a week. He knew it was risky. Someone could spot him, and then the internet would be full of awkwardly angled photos of him with his classic iced Americano, wearing a not-so-happy expression on his face. Well, it was worth the risk. This was the only time in his busy schedule when he could feel normal. In fact, it was the only time of day he left his studio or his bedroom. It was good for his mental health. Therefore, worth it.
Approaching the barista, he ordered his iced coffee, not listening to what the man said back. He was lost in the track playing through his oversized headphones. As he waited, Yoongi turned around, checking out the other customers.
That's when he saw her. Lost among a thousand sheets of paper and empty coffee cups, she was so focused that it seemed like she wasn't breathing. And oh, she was wearing the same giant headphones as him. With exactly the same bright blue color. She wore ripped light-colored jeans, black boots, and a white t-shirt that said “same shit, different day” in red.
Sarcastic.
Yoongi was still stuck on her image when he heard someone call out for “Kim Yoonseok”. It took him several seconds to realize they were talking to him. It was the fake name he always used for coffee.
“Thank you,” he said to the barista.
He took his iced Americano to go, but stayed. Somehow, he felt trapped in that café. Wasn't that strange? Such an unusual color. He swore he was the only eccentric person who wanted a giant blue sign glowing around his head. He couldn't help but sit down at one of the vacant tables, not far from her. He tried not to stare. But failed.
What was she doing? She had her legs crossed on the chair. Was that even allowed? Yoongi glanced at the barista. He wasn't paying attention to her little misdemeanor. To him, it felt like a protest. As if she wanted the rest of the world to know their way was the wrong one.
She was not Korean. Jesus, her eyes were almost twice as big as his. And if anyone asked him, he'd say she probably had a caffeine problem. Suddenly, she looked up from the papers spread out on the table and met his eyes.
Fuck, don't panic. Play it cool.
She removed her headphones, letting them fall around her neck.
“Hey, nice headphones,” she said.
Damn it. She was talking to him.
“Yeah, I have really good taste for this stuff,” he replied. She started a small smile at the corner of her lips.
“Well, I don’t really know about the color. It's kind of flashy, don't you think?” she asked amused. It was his time to smile.
“Not everyone understands elegance,” Yoongi said. She let out a laugh. A small one. Not shy and somehow confident.
“I see. So, Mr. Americano, can you help me with something?” she asked.
He froze for a moment, trying to think of the million consequences of being discovered in that place. Then his body decided to move, like a rebel. Yoongi got up and walked over to her table, sitting on the chair right in front of her. He rested his coffee in one of the few places the papers didn't cover.
“What do you need?”
She took a deep breath, as if trying to release some of the stress.
“I'm writing, and… I'm kind of curious. What do you think these lyrics are about?” She handed him a piece of paper. Yoongi looked down and read what was written on it. It was a sad song. Fuck, a really sad one.
“It’s a sad song. A heartbreaking one,” he answered. She seemed to be taken aback, as if she hadn't expected him to get it right.
“Most people I ask say it's a love song. Why do you think it's a sad one?” she was testing him. He liked that.
“The way you talk about him. Or her. It's almost as if you're apologizing for not loving them anymore,” he explained.
She stared at him. Like, really stared. He didn't look away, allowing her eyes to consume him. Yoongi didn't know exactly how things had escalated so quickly. What the hell was he doing? Hoseok was going to kill him. He couldn't even imagine what Seokjin would do. It would certainly go beyond the whole killing thing.
“How do you know exactly what I was thinking when I wrote this?” she seemed genuinely intrigued.
“Maybe I can read minds,” he joked. She stared at him again for a full minute.
“No, you definitely can't,” she concluded, taking a sip from the only cup of coffee that still had some liquid in it.
“Really? How can you be so sure?” he asked, a smug smile under his mask.
“If you could, you would definitely react after hearing what I just thought,” she said. She had a mischievous expression on her face. He was intrigued.
"Maybe I'm used to these kinds of thoughts directed at me," he stated, without any modesty.
“Give me your phone,” she demanded.
Shit.
He couldn't do it. He needed to get his shit together and stop that nonsense. If she saw his phone, she would realize who he was.
“I’m gonna give you my number. I could use some help when I’m stuck with these. You seem like a good helper,” she clarified, noticing his hesitation.
He shouldn't give her his number. Damn, he really shouldn't.
“Give me yours,” he said.
One of her eyebrows rose, but she handed him her black iPhone. He quickly dialed his number and handed it back to her. It took her a while to save it. Suddenly, his own phone buzzed in his pocket. He picked it up, seeing a message on its lock screen.
“Freckles?” he asked confused. She was smiling again. Apparently, she thought it was funny how she managed to confuse him all the time.
“‘Hi’ is too outdated, don’t you think?” she explained.
Damn, I like her.
“I have to go,” she started to gather her things, putting each little piece of paper into her bag. She took the last sip of her espresso in a hurry. "I'm late for work".
“Okay.” Yoongi wished he could think of something smarter to say, but he felt kind of dizzy.
“See you around, Americano guy.”
Yoongi looked at his melted Americano and smiled.
“See you around, Freckles.”
*
He looked at the clock. Four-thirty. A few more hours for the sun to rise. He pressed three more buttons on the MIDI controller panel and sighed. Yoongi was pretty sure his bad habits would not make him into a healthy grandpa. But he couldn't fight against ten years of night work. Besides, he strongly believed his grandpa version would still dislike the noise of the day shift.
It was time to take a break, so Yoongi got up from his chair and walked to the studio door, opening it with a click. Putting on the slippers that rested on the rug in front of him, he walked slowly over to the coffee machine by the window to pour himself another shot of caffeine. Inside his pocket, his phone buzzed. He picked it up, seeing her nickname shining defiantly on its screen. Freckles. Apparently, she obeys the musician code and doesn’t sleep at a normal hour too.
Freckles: rain
Instinctively, he looked out the window. It wasn't raining. Was she drunk?
Me: skirt
Freckles: what?
Me: I thought we were saying random words
Freckles: and that’s the first word that came to your mind?
Freckles: I wonder what you were thinking about
Me: are you testing me, miss?
Freckles: should I?
Me: well, is there a prize?
Freckles: if I did test you, you wouldn't even pass the first question
Freckles: forget about the prize
Me: how can you be so sure, huh?
Freckles: first question, what's my name?
Me: that's unfair
Freckles: society is unfair, I just play by the rules
God, Yoongi likes her. Damn it, he does.
Me: you don't know my name either, I think it's only fair that question doesn't count
Freckles: Y/N, my name
Freckles: and I need a rhyme for rain
Freckles: I will not accept pain, though. I’m done with that word.
Me: kind of bossy for someone who is asking for help, don’t you think?
Freckles: pretty please? :)
Me: chain
Freckles: thank you, Yoonseok (coffee cups don’t lie)
He smiled looking at his phone. Like an idiot. Well, he was an idiot. He exchanged numbers, his real number, with a random foreign girl. A girl he only knew worked in music (or maybe she does it as a hobby, so he doesn't even know that). A girl he didn't know if would put him in a risky position.
He found it hard to believe that she knew who he really was. But it wasn't impossible. He could already be fucked and not have a clue. Or she really had no idea who he was: a terrible person to get involved with. Either way, it was a bad situation. And it was completely his fault.
He blocked the screen of his phone still looking at it. He couldn't even imagine the lecture he would get if the other guys found out.
*
"Are you ready?" Namjoon asked as he approached Yoongi's sleepy figure sprawled on the burnt yellow armchair of the ninth floor waiting room.
"Yeah. Let's end this meeting quickly. I'm sleepy, and I'm already on my second cup of coffee. Not sure why they need us there to say no when everyone already knows we are not going to collab with that fucking bastard," he sighed.
"Hey, control yourself. Let's keep it diplomatic, huh?" Namjoon looked at him with a slightly worried expression.
“That's why we have you, isn't it? Don’t worry. I'll just keep my mouth shut and nod. I'm not in the mood to explain obvious things to ordinary people,” Yoongi stood up and stretched his arms. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He automatically picked it up to check the notification.
Freckles: isn't 'heart' a worn-out word already? should I start writing songs about other organs that bother me as much as it?
He didn't unlock his phone. However, he couldn't help but let out a low chuckle as he looked at its display. The BTS leader stared at him with suspicious eyes. When Yoongi looked up, his gaze met Namjoon's and his laughter died along with his hope to keep hiding his little secret. Namjoon knew him like no one else. Yoongi could already see that he got it.
Damn Kim Namjoon and his 148 IQ.
To his surprise, he didn't say a word. He walked to the door, hands in his pockets, and opened it, not looking at Yoongi.
“Whenever you're ready, bro,” Namjoon said.
Yoongi wasn’t so sure he was still talking about the meeting.
*
Freckles: hey, americano guy. life is too noisy. let’s get wasted.
Freckles: i’m gonna meet some friends at this suspicious-but-kind-of-interesting bar
*Location sent*
Freckles: first whiskey is on me
Yoongi was trying to drown his sorrows on the black sofa that was placed in the corner of his studio. He should have chosen a less comfortable one. Every time he sat on it, he felt sleepy. And maybe if he just let it go and closed his eyes, he would wake up to a reality where he didn't create a huge potential problem for the PR team and, who knows, maybe the legal team as well.
He thought it was time to call Heize. He was working so hard he couldn't even remember the last time he had sex. He was pretty sure he was thinking with his dick when he typed his number into Y/N's phone. He was definitely thinking with his dick now since he couldn't bring himself to block her and pretend nothing happened.
He'd scolded Taehyung so many times for doing stupid things just to get laid, and now here he was, desperately wanting to go to a shitty bar and get wasted with a foreign girl who thought there were too many heart songs in the world already.
Yoongi closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. He should call Heize.
Me: it sounds tempting, but i'll have to pass. i'm bogged down with work :(
Freckles: sad, but responsible. i will give it a 7 out of 10
Freckles: good work, though!
Later that night, she sent him a photo of herself, in an all-black outfit: a miniskirt, a tight cropped top, and jackboots, holding a glass of whiskey. The message read, “had to drink for2, now i’m sendng drunk pics and its yourfault.” He wasn't ashamed to admit he hopelessly jerked off looking at her picture before falling asleep at 7 a.m.