Chapter Text
An artist dies twice. The physical death is the same for everybody, but the first death, and the one that hurts the most is the one they experience when they lose their passion for their craft.
Jeongguk heard about that quote from a friend who loves to dance but almost had to stop due to an injury. Jimin told him then that, in his case, his first death was being unable to dance anymore. Luckily for him, he recovered and is now touring the country with a professional ballet company.
But, as Jeongguk stares at the setlist he has in front of him, knowing that he soon needs to go out and perform another show with songs that don’t feel right to him, he thinks he might be dying.
His first death.
“Ready, Jeongguk?” his tour manager asks, and Jeongguk wants to say no. He wants to cancel the whole show and the shows he still has left because he doesn’t have it in him anymore.
He cannot keep pretending that the songs he released in the past, the songs that made him popular because they blew up on social media, represent him anymore.
And he hates it.
He’s cried himself to sleep more times than he can count because of it, and he’s not sure what he can do to fix it.
Because, despite what he’s feeling right now, he loves music. He loves expressing himself through his songs. He loves to be able to tell stories that other people feel identified with.
But there’s something about that kind of music that just doesn’t feel like him .
“Hey, are you alright?” he hears again. When he looks up, he sees a member of his band. “You look—”
“Yeah, I’m good,” Jeongguk lies. He’s gotten very good at that, too. “What time is it?”
“Showtime,” he replies, telling Jeongguk that his reflection time is over.
He needs to put on a show, at least for the sake of all the people who spent their money and traveled from afar to see him.
He owes it to them.
But what does he owe to himself?
“Let’s go, then,” he nods and stands up, picking up the guitar that he’s been tuning for the past half hour and heading out of the waiting room and meeting the rest of the band.
And, as he walks up the steps that separate the backstage from the main stage of the small auditorium that they are playing tonight, he wonders if things would be different if the person that his songs are about still loved him.
Or if having loved that person had been his first mistake, to begin with.
“Here’s to another successful show wrapped up!” Jeongguk’s drummer cheers once they’re back in the waiting room.
Jeongguk isn’t sure if calling it successful is the right adjective, but he supposes that for anyone outside of his own brain, it must have been.
The crowd had been so loud, singing all the words back at him and he almost cried when they all put up their flashlights in one of his piano songs.
“Should we go out to celebrate?” One of his support guitarists asks. They all seem to agree, along with the staff members, but Jeongguk just… doesn’t feel like he’s in the right mood.
“I think I’m gonna head back to the bus, guys,” Jeongguk admits. They all turn to look at him with worried expressions. They’ve been touring together for some weeks now, so it’s fair to say that they’re attuned to Jeongguk’s mood pretty well.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry! I just—My throat hurts a little and I think the most sensible thing is to have an early night and rest, considering we have another show in a couple of days,” he chuckles a bit, trying not to add to their concern.
“Do you want us to go back with you?” his drummer asks, but Jeongguk shakes his head.
“No, I’d rather be alone, actually. That way, I’m not inclined to talk,” he smiles reassuringly. “As long as you guys don’t wake me up when you come back to the bus drunk out of your minds, then I’ll be good,” he laughs.
“We’ll try our best,” the guitarist chuckles, and soon enough, Jeongguk is the only one left in the room, picking up the rest of his stuff before he heads to the tour bus.
This had always been his dream: touring the country on a bus with his friends, visiting every state, and playing in places where the people he looked up to used to play.
And he hates that he feels this way, now.
Especially because he knows how huge it is for someone like him to be in this position, too: A bisexual, Korean man who has lived in the US for most of his life. He’s had to get used to the constant remarks about his sexuality or his race for as long as he can remember, even before he started to post his music anywhere.
But after risking everything and majoring in musical theory, he decided to follow his dream, and here he is now, throwing it away.
The second he makes it to the bus, he heads to his bunk bed and closes the curtain, letting the darkness engulf him so the only witness to his tears is his pillow, which’s already more than used to being soaked every night.
He doesn’t know what to do, he feels like there’s no way out and that he’s trapped himself inside his own coffin.
But suddenly, a sound breaks through the silence of the vehicle when his phone starts to vibrate under his pillow.
Jeongguk frowns and pulls it out, wiping his tears so that he can see the name on the screen better.
“Hello?” Jeongguk asks with a frown, unsure if he read the name right.
“Jeonggukie, hey!” he hears on the other side of the line. “It’s Yoongi hyung!”
“Oh, hyung, hi,” Jeongguk smiles, sitting up, now, as if his hyung could somehow see him and would scold him. “Wh–what’s up?” he asks. It feels weird to talk to someone in Korean after so long. After all, most of the people in his band and his team speak only English.
“Nothing much! I was just calling because I’m going to be in town for a few weeks because I’m working on something in LA and heard you’re performing at the Greek theater tomorrow?” And a stone sinks in his stomach, then.
Not because he doesn’t want to see Yoongi, but because the thought of performing in such an iconic venue makes him feel physically sick.
“Guk?”
“Sorry, yeah, I—we’re performing there in two days, yes,” he nods. “I just finished our show in San Francisco,” he tells him.
“That’s incredible! I’m so proud of you, kid. I always knew you would make it big,” his hyung praises him and Jeongguk feels like crying again. “Do you think I could come by and see you before the show?”
“I would love that, hyung,” Jeongguk admits. “Where are you staying? The place you always rent when you come?”
“The very same one, yes,” Yoongi chuckles. “Since I’m staying for a while, I thought booking a hotel was a bit stupid.”
“If I would’ve known, I could’ve let you stay at mine,” Jeongguk offers, even if it’s a bit late for it. “I wouldn’t be there, but at least it would be free for you.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry, it’s more convenient for me anyway since it’s close to the studio,” Yoongi tells him and Jeongguk nods, understanding. After all, his place in Los Angeles is not the most well-located apartment in the city, that’s for sure. “Well, I’ll let you rest now since you just finished your show and you sound tired. I can’t wait to see you!”
“Me, too, hyung,” Jeongguk smiles a bit. “I’ll let you know when we make it to the city, in case we can meet before the show.”
“Alright, great! See you, Guk! Good night.”
“Bye, hyung,” Jeongguk hangs up after that, staring at Yoongi’s contact and at the picture that he hasn’t changed in years.
He met Yoongi a few years ago and he was the one who helped Jeongguk produce his first EP back when he was still finishing college. He was the first person who trusted Jeongguk and his talent and he’ll always be grateful for that. He knew who Jeongguk was at his core and the kind of music he longed to make and matched his vision perfectly.
It’s then that Jeongguk decides to listen to that project, to see how it makes him feel.
And, if he ends up crying again, then it’s a good thing that the bus is still empty.
Los Angeles has never really felt like home to Jeongguk, even though he’s been living there for almost two years now.
He moved there after college because ‘that’s the place to go if you want to be someone in the industry’, one of his professors told him, and so, he went, even though he was much better off filming covers in his dorm’s bedroom and writing songs that he thought would never see the light of day.
But he moved to Los Angeles; he ended up recording some of those songs and released his first EP. He met people who still work with him to this day and met some amazing artists as well.
And he met him.
Maybe that’s one of the reasons why Los Angeles doesn’t feel like home: because every nook and cranny of the city reminds Jeongguk of someone he’d rather not think about.
Someone who’s hurt him so deeply that the wound still hasn’t closed even if they haven’t seen each other in months.
And yet, as if he had a sensor, the second Jeongguk makes it back to his apartment, he gets a text from the number he should have deleted but didn’t.
He never does.
from: Andrew
heard you’re back in town
wanna meet up?
And Jeongguk stares at the two sentences with a hole in his stomach and a hole in his chest.
Because that’s the thing about toxic relationships: it’s almost impossible to get out of them.
But Jeongguk doesn’t want to do that anymore. He ended things and wants to keep them buried this time. So he locks his phone and starts unpacking his tour bag, ready to do some very much-needed laundry session.
He loves doing laundry. It reminds him of when he used to help his mom back when he was little and she worked a lot.
Being an immigrant is very hard, and Jeongguk learned that the hard way, even though his family always tried to shelter him from most of it.
But his parents had to work multiple jobs and horrible hours most of his childhood, and whenever his mother was home, she had to force herself to also be the woman of the house, but Jeongguk hated it. He hated seeing how tired she was and how she still forced herself to do all the work that needed to be done.
So Jeongguk and his older brother tried to help around as much as they could: they learned to cook, they went shopping at the grocery store a few houses down the block where the old lady that lived there already knew them, they cleaned and did laundry.
And, that way, when their parents came home exhausted from another intense day, they could at least rest and not worry about anything else.
He separates his whites from the rest of the clothes and puts the first load, considering heading down to one of those laundromat places so that he can do both at the same time, but he’s too tired to leave the apartment again, so he’ll just wait.
And, as usual, whenever he’s alone, he starts humming melodies that he knows he should probably record somehow, but it’s not like he has any words to add to them anyway, so why bother?
He decides to put on the radio instead to at least have some background music while he tidies up and cleans the place a little.
And it’s as he’s taking out the first load of laundry and hanging it out to dry that one of his songs starts playing, and he freezes.
It’s the song that went viral a few months ago. The song that ‘catapulted’ his success, according to some.
To Jeongguk, he thinks that it’s the song that dug his grave.
When he decided to try something new for his first album, he knew it was a big risk. Since he had started posting acoustic covers and since the fact that his first EP was pretty much also very singer-songwriter style, he knew it was a big change, but there was something in him that pushed him.
“Don’t you want to tour the world? Be one of those big pop stars? You can do it, babe, I know you can,” Andrew’s voice plays in the back of his mind, still. And Jeongguk had been so stupid for listening to him.
But he did, and he decided to record a much more pop-inclined album, collaborating with other artists and, in summary, trying to be someone that he knew deep down he wasn’t.
Even if the words in the songs were his, the stories felt too superficial, too… basic, even.
At the time, Jeongguk didn’t think so, of course. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have released the album to begin with.
He was proud of the result, excited to see how the world would perceive this new side of him.
The people around him had fueled his brain with such high expectations that he almost thought he’d go number one on release week, but, of course, that didn’t happen.
And, although his pride about the project remained, as the months went on, his feelings toward it began to worsen.
Maybe it had something to do with Andrew, too.
“You can’t fucking say things to my face, you have to write them in your stupid songs for the entire world to know how much of a dick I am? Well, fuck you. You’re the one that leaves all the time, so take some responsibility for once.”
The memory feels like a slap on his face, too real that he almost brushes his cheek just to make sure it’s not bruised.
He was right.
Most of his songs are about him.
And Jeongguk always blamed him because it was easier to admit that he was guilty, too.
He shakes his head as the song keeps playing, and he almost turns it off, not wanting to hear it.
“That was this week’s number one song, ‘Hate You’ from Jeongguk! I am sure that you all know, but he’s having a concert this weekend here in LA so if you want to grab some tickets, I think there might still be a few ones left, so don’t miss out!” the radio host announces and Jeongguk knows that the tickets are sold out, which is an insane fact on its own, but to hear his name on the radio still feels alien to him.
And he hates that he’s not more excited.
His phone lights up again and Jeongguk fears it will be another text from Andrew because, at this point, he’s not sure if he would be able to hold himself back from seeing him if he reaches out again.
But, thankfully, it’s not.
It’s Yoongi.
from: Yoongi hyung
hey kid! I made it to LA and your song welcomed me on the radio!
that’s huge
wanna meet tonight if you’re free? I can come over or you can drop by if you prefer!
And, that offer, Jeongguk does accept.
to: Yoongi hyung
sure, hyung! you can come if you want
I still need to do some laundry before we continue with the tour
we can order something too for dinner
from: Yoongi hyung
alright, see you in a bit, then
Looks like Jeongguk’s going to have to speed-clean his apartment, in the end.
Good thing it’s small.
“There he is, superstar Jeon Jeongguk in the flesh!” Yoongi boasts as soon as Jeongguk opens the door, making him blush.
“Shut up, hyung,” Jeongguk shakes his head, moving aside so that he can come in.
“Yah! Respect your elders! Don’t tell me to shut up!” Yoongi scolds him but ends up hugging him anyway, which Jeongguk appreciates.
“You know there’s no such thing as respect here in America, right?” Jeongguk chuckles in the hug, closing the door.
“Unfortunately, yeah,” his hyung sighs. “We could’ve met tomorrow if you were busy unpacking and stuff!” Yoongi points out, clearly referencing all the clothes that are hanging around the place.
“Oh, no, it’s fine, I don’t mind. Plus, I did want to see you and I don’t know if tomorrow I’ll have much time since we need to go do the soundcheck and everything in the morning,” Jeongguk sighs, guiding Yoongi to the couch as if his hyung wasn’t familiar with his place already.
As if they hadn’t recorded his first EP mostly in that very room.
“Why don’t you sound excited about it?” Yoongi asks straight away. If there’s one thing Jeongguk learned over the years he’s known him is that Yoongi isn’t anything if not direct. Sometimes it’s a blessing but, right now, it feels more like a curse.
“I am! It’s just—” Jeongguk gulps. He doesn’t know how to phrase it without sounding like a conceited brat. “I haven’t been feeling too well lately, is all.”
“Physically?” Yoongi asks, frowning, but Jeongguk is pretty sure that he knows the answer before he shakes his head. “Mentally, then?”
“You could say, that, yeah,” Jeongguk sighs. “I don’t really know, I feel like… I feel disconnected from my music to the point where I’m starting to hate the songs I sing every night. I don’t want to feel like this but they just… they don’t feel like me, you know?”
“Ah… I see,” Yoongi mumbles like a wise old man. Jeongguk doesn’t tell him that because he feels like he might get hit if he does. “I feel like we need a drink to have this conversation. Do you have any beer on the fridge or should we order dinner already?” Yoongi asks and Jeongguk smiles. He knew that Yoongi would get it. He knew that he would listen and not judge him.
“Let’s order. I might need more than one drink tonight, though,” Jeongguk admits, taking out his phone.
“Woah, remember you have a concert tomorrow,” Yoongi chuckles and takes Jeongguk’s phone from his hand to order himself. “So… tell me, when did this begin?”
“I don’t know, really. I think I’m a bit burned out if that makes sense. The tour is also taking a toll on me because we have so many shows in a row and it’s a bit overwhelming, you know?” Jeongguk sighs, throwing his head back on the sofa. “But I don’t want to like… cancel the tour or something because I know how much it takes for people to get tickets and everything and I’d feel very selfish and—”
“Guk,” Yoongi cuts him with a frown. “Uh… Andrew just texted you. Didn’t you say you guys broke up again?”
Again.
Shame washes over Jeongguk like a tidal wave.
“Yeah. Yeah, we broke up,” Jeongguk tries to keep his voice as devoid of emotion as possible. “What did he say?”
“He just said ‘babe’.”
Jeongguk gulps, Yoongi’s eyes digging holes in his own from how intense his gaze is.
“Ignore him. He told me he heard that I was back in town and asked to hang out,” he admits. “I didn’t reply, so he’s being pushy. You know him…”
“Yeah, I do, which is why I was surprised,” Yoongi sighs. “You know he’s not right for you, right?”
“We’re not right for each other, I know,” Jeongguk sighs, repeating the same words he’s told himself in the mirror every time he comes back from his place. “But it’s—”
“Complicated?” Yoongi finishes for him, and all Jeongguk can do is nod. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that,” he sighs. “We’ll discuss that when we have a few drinks in our system, too, shall we? So, what do you want for dinner? Fried chicken and beer? Even if they’re not half as good as the ones back home?”
“Whatever you want, hyung,” Jeongguk says, his mind already going somewhere else.
He hopes the food gets there soon and the drinks start pouring so that he can have an excuse if he ends up crying over something that was never real in the first place.
“I hate my songs, hyung,” Jeongguk admits after one too many drinks. They ended up going down the block to a 7-Eleven to get some extra ones and maybe they shouldn’t have. But Yoongi kept asking him about the situation with Andrew and there was no way that Jeongguk could tackle that topic being sober.
Surprisingly, Yoongi doesn’t seem fazed at all by Jeongguk’s confession.
“No, you don’t,” he shakes his head. Although he’s had more or less the same amount of drinks as Jeongguk, he is much less affected by them. “You’re just in a bad place right now, but the songs are good, Guk.”
“Be honest, hyung. When you hear them, do they sound like me?” And, to that, Yoongi remains silent. “Exactly,” is all Jeongguk adds after that. “That’s what I mean. They could be anyone’s songs and I hate that. I want to make music that people know is mine. I want to write songs that mean something! I just… I think I forgot how to.”
“Maybe you do need to cancel the tour…” Yoongi tells him and Jeongguk’s head spins up so quickly that he gets dizzy. “I know you don’t want to, but this isn’t helping you at all. You need to take a break, sit with your feelings, and figure out which is the best path forward for you. Not for the people who bought tickets, not for those who listen to your songs, and not for your company. What do you want to do, Jeongguk?”
And that is the million-dollar question, isn’t it?
Although, funnily enough, he realizes then that nobody has really asked him that before, so he’s not sure what to say.
He’s not sure he knows the answer.
“Have you written any new songs recently?” Yoongi asks him then, changing the topic and Jeongguk appreciates it because he’s not sure if going down an existential crisis path right now is the best idea.
“Some, yeah, but they’re not—”
“Can I hear them?” he interrupts him before Jeongguk can finish saying that they’re not good.
“There’s nothing to hear,” Jeongguk chuckles, standing up to go get his notebook where he writes most of his lyrics. He’s always loved writing them down on paper, makes it feel more real, somehow. Yoongi taught him that. “Just a few verses here and there, but nothing else.”
“That’s plenty,” Yoongi reassures him. There’s a softness in his voice that Jeongguk missed. He remembers how supportive Yoongi was through the entire process of creating his debut EP.
Jeongguk had been so scared back then, scared that his lyrics were too corny, or too basic. That the melodies he was coming up with were bad and that his hard work would amount to absolutely nothing, but Yoongi always believed in him.
Even right now, as he shows him pages mostly scribbled out and messy, he still sees that same belief in his eyes.
“These are great, Guk!” Yoongi smiles honestly. “I think you have nothing to worry about, kid, you still got it.”
“But I don’t think these words fit the kind of music I’ve been doing lately, hyung,” Jeongguk whines again. “That’s been the problem. I don’t know how to fit my true self with what the world expects from me after the last album.”
“I will ask again and, this time, I will wait for an answer: What do you want to do?”
The silence drags over them for a few seconds. Jeongguk fears it’s even been over a minute, but Yoongi is patient and doesn’t push.
He just waits.
And, eventually, Jeongguk answers.
“I want to go back to how my music was before. Just me and my instruments, nothing else. No fancy producing or stuff like that. Organic.”
As soon as the words are out of his system, Jeongguk feels as if he somehow can breathe again. As if the heavy boulder that had been pressing against his chest suddenly evaporated and it almost makes him cry again.
“Good, then, do that,” Yoongi shrugs as if it were that easy.
And maybe it is.
“I can’t just do that ,” Jeongguk argues anyway. “How can I simply start over? My company won’t—”
“Fuck them, Guk, I’m so serious,” Yoongi chuckles now. “It’s your life. You should be the one who decides which path you want to take, and if once you’ve tried the one you’re on right now you decide that it’s not for you, then it’s fine to go back! Nobody figures things out on their first try. Hell, I know I didn’t. Listen to me. No, scratch that, listen to yourself.”
“I—I don’t even know where to start,” Jeongguk admits, and Yoongi smiles, reaching out to hand him back his notebook.
“You already have. Just keep going, and you will figure it out, I am certain of it.”
And, Jeongguk cannot hold himself back any longer: he throws his arms around Yoongi and hugs him.
“Thank you, hyung,” he mumbles, trying not to cry. He’s never really been one to be able to hold back his emotions when he’s drunk, so it’s a challenge. “Really. I knew you’d get it. I knew you’d be able to help me.”
“Then why didn’t you call sooner?” Yoongi softly pats his back. Jeongguk doesn’t have an answer for that, but he doesn’t think it’s needed. “You’re doing well, kid, believe it.”
And even after Yoongi decides to head back to the place he rented, Jeongguk still hears his voice in his head.
Good, then, do that.
He’s going to do it.
Regret fills Jeongguk’s entire system as soon as he opens his eyes.
Yeah, they definitely should’ve stuck to the two beers that came with their dinner.
He groans as he reaches out to get his phone and sees the time.
Thankfully, he’s not late for soundcheck or that would actually piss him off.
Jeongguk feels like he hasn’t rested a lot, because after Yoongi headed out and he was left alone with his thoughts, Jeongguk started thinking a lot.
Started thinking of a plan of action to take now that he’s decided what he wants to do, or rather, what he doesn’t want to do anymore.
He made an entire list and even wrote down a speech that he will give his team after the concert tonight if his guilt doesn’t make him back out of his decision.
He’s going to cancel the rest of the tour and try to recover from his burnout so that he can continue doing this in the future without hating himself for it.
It would be an understatement to say that anxiety is eating him raw from the insides at the thought of telling the team and his fans, but as Yoongi said, he has to look out for himself or nobody else will.
He’s having breakfast and doing his morning vocal warmups when his phone starts vibrating on top of the breakfast counter and he freezes when he sees the name.
Andrew.
Why the fuck is he calling at ten in the morning?
And, although he doesn’t want to, he starts to worry. He lets the call ring for a few more seconds, debating on whether to let it go straight to voicemail or pick up.
And that’s the issue with the two of them; even when they shouldn’t, they both would pick up.
“Hello?” Jeongguk gulps, waiting a few seconds and preparing himself to hear the voice he’s been trying really hard to forget.
“I thought you wouldn’t pick up,” Andrew’s voice is deep which means that he probably just woke up, too. Jeongguk hates that he knows him so well. “I even thought maybe you’d changed your number or something.”
“What do you want, Drew?” The nickname slips past his lips with ease.
“Didn’t you get my texts?” He asks this time, and to Jeongguk’s surprise, he doesn’t sound hurt like he thought he would. He’s not using his ‘guilt-trip voice’ like Jeongguk is used to. He just sounds curious. “Are you still not in LA? Isn’t your concert tonight?”
“Yeah, I—I got them,” is all Jeongguk replies.
“Then you know what I want,” Andrew chuckles. “I wanna see you! Catch up, you know? It’s been a while.”
Andrew doesn’t specify that the last time they saw each other they had sex after they broke up again that same night and Jeongguk appreciates it.
Even if he still remembers it clearly.
And he doesn’t say that every time they catch up, somehow they end up in the same place.
“I don’t think we should, though,” Jeongguk adds in a whisper, and when Andrew doesn’t reply, Jeongguk fears maybe he didn’t hear him, and he’s not sure if he’s strong enough to say it again.
“Guk, babe, I’m sorry about last time. I—I was scared of you going on tour without me. I thought that you’d—”
“I remember what you were afraid of, Andrew, but I’m still on tour, remember?” Jeongguk cuts him off, wanting to tell him not to call him babe, but he doesn’t. “We can’t keep doing this, you know we can’t,” he sighs.
“Why not? I love you, and you love me, don’t you? What else do we need?”
And his words take Jeongguk back to a conversation he had with his mother about a year ago, after another one of their ‘break-ups’. Jeongguk was crying in her arms because he did love Andrew. And his mother said ‘Sometimes, love isn’t enough to hold something together, darling.’
And, although he kept trying and trying to hold it together after that, Jeongguk wishes now that he’d listened to her back then.
“It’s over, Drew,” Jeongguk closes his eyes, holding the edge of the breakfast bar as if to hold himself upright. “You said it, and I agreed. We might be awful apart but we sure as fuck are awful together, too. And yes, I love you. I’ve loved you for years, but I can’t do this anymore. We both deserve better than this.”
“Are you seriously dumping me over the phone?”
“I’m not. We weren’t together anymore, I’m just… saying goodbye.” Jeongguk feels once again like he did last night after admitting his truth to Yoongi: like he can breathe again.
“I know you, Jeongguk. I know you’ll come back to me eventually and maybe you’ll be too late and I’ll be the one to say no.”
“I hope that you do,” Jeongguk says back because, deep down, he also knows himself, and he’s gone through that rabbit hole before.
“When you run out of lyrics to write, you know where to find me,” is the last thing Andrew says before the line disconnects, and there is again the overwhelming feeling of shame.
There is no villain in this relationship because they both are guilty of hurting each other.
Jeongguk can only hope that this time for real, they don’t hurt anymore.
Jeongguk cries on stage that night.
He should’ve seen it coming, and yet, he couldn’t hold himself back.
He cries after his last ment, where he tries to say goodbye to the fans without being too obvious about what’s happened, but he’s never been too subtle, so something tells him that they already know what’s coming.
“Thank you for allowing me to spend my night here with you, Los Angeles. It’s been an absolute honor to perform here tonight, and, for that reason, I would like to sing a special song for you all, if that’s okay,” Jeongguk smiles when the crowd goes wild. His team looks very confused because he hadn’t told anybody that he was going to do this.
In fact, he just decided on the spot.
But, he sees Yoongi in the VIP section and he’s smiling at him proudly.
“This is a very special song to me. I don’t know if most of you will know it, but this is the first ever song I released.” More screams follow, and it makes Jeongguk’s chest burst. “I haven’t played it in so long so, forgive me in advance,” he chuckles and heads to the side of the stage to pick up his guitar again. “If you know the words, please, sing along. This song’s called ‘Love is Not Over’. ”
Jeongguk takes a deep breath and starts strumming his guitar with his eyes closed at first, and, when he opens his eyes, he sees an ocean light up in front of him.
The entire auditorium has their flashlights on and they sway to the rhythm of the song, and Jeongguk feels the words catch around his throat and he even lets a few more tears run down his cheeks as he sings, hearing the crowd’s voices, singing back to him.
This is what he wants.
This is what he needs.
This is what he loves.
The song ends and the ovation lasts for a long minute, and Jeongguk gets teared up again.
“Gosh, I am so emotional tonight, guys, I’m sorry,” he chuckles, looking up to stop the tears, but he hears people screaming ‘ it’s okay!’ from the crowd. “I just… I love you guys! I do, really, and I am so grateful that I get to do this. I don’t take it for granted at all, I hope you know that” he smiles. “So, with that being said, it’s time for us to play our final song of the night. Are you ready?” Jeongguk can’t help but chuckle when his fans scream no instead of yes. “Come on, aren’t you tired?” More no ’s from the crowd make him shake his head. “I promise to come back soon, alright? Good night, Los Angeles. My name is Jeongguk and this has been the Golden Hour Tour!” And, with that, the guitar goes backstage once more and he gets ready to perform the last song of the night for the last time.
“Are you sure about this?” His tour manager asks for what feels like the tenth time in the past fifteen minutes.
Jeongguk managed to gather all the crew backstage after the show and he succeeded in giving his speech.
Of course, they were all shocked to hear the news, but at the same time, some of them admitted that they feared something like that might happen because they’d noticed that Jeongguk wasn’t in the best condition mentally.
He hates that it was so obvious, but then again, it’s not like he wasn’t crying himself to sleep most nights after their concerts.
“I’m as sure as I can be right now,” Jeongguk says. “I know how much work you guys have put into this show, and I am well aware of how much trouble it’s going to bring to cancel it right now when we have almost half of it still left, but I just—I need to stop. I need to focus on myself and get better before I can force myself to tour like this.”
“Well, if that’s what you need, then we’ll go ahead and cancel. Of course, it’s going to be a nightmare to handle, but your safety and your health are our top priority, kid. We’re all here for you. If there’s no you, then there’s no us either, so we gotta make sure that we take care of you.” His manager reassures him. He sees Yoongi in the corner of the room looking at him with a smile.
Jeongguk had asked him to join them as well just in case he needed an extra bit of encouragement, but in the end, he didn’t need it.
“No wonder you cried so hard tonight. You could’ve given us a heads-up!” His drummer chuckles, going to hug Jeongguk. “Take care of yourself, alright, kid? And thank you for letting me join the ride, even if it was short.”
“Yeah, thanks, Jeongguk,” his guitarist also smiles at him.
That went a lot better than Jeongguk thought it would, and, for some reason, now he regrets not having done so earlier.
But he came to terms with it at his own pace, and that’s what matters.
Telling the fans is going to be harder, but he hopes they’re just as understanding.
He also drafted a long letter this morning and he’s going to post it on his social media before he gets off the grid for a few days.
“You did great, kid,” Yoongi joins him on the couch after the talk when the rest of the crew has started to pick up their things for the last time. “The concert was incredible, the energy from the crowd, and… you almost made me cry when you played Love is Not Over !”
“Really?” Jeongguk smiles. Yoongi hardly ever cries, so that would’ve been quite a feat. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show. Was it too obvious that I was… not okay?” he asks, then.
“I think fans could tell, yeah, but that’s nothing to be ashamed of. We all have shitty days, shitty months, even. They love you, they’ll understand,” he encourages him as Jeongguk keeps staring at the post that he’s crafted but hasn’t posted yet.
“I just hope that it’s all worth it, you know?” he admits. “That I can make something great after sacrificing all of this.”
“You will,” Yoongi nods, squeezing his hand. “I have no doubt in my mind.”
And, although Jeongguk’s mind is full of doubts, he clicks ‘ post’ and puts his phone on airplane mode.
“Alright, done,” he sighs and looks at Yoongi as if he somehow had the answers to all his questions. “Now, what?”
“Now, you live.”