Chapter Text
Their pre-concert ritual hadn’t changed in years. The seven stood huddled, tension coiling tightly between them, silent prayers for success clinging in the air. Hands met in the middle as Namjoon started their concert chant. Yoongi cast his gaze away; a tremor of nervousness skimmed through him as he raised his hand with the others.
Voices chanted as they approached the lowered stage platform. Shoulders flexing, hands being shaken out, earpieces being adjusted. The seven of them stood together on the platform, listening to the chants get louder as the lights in the venue dimmed.
Yoongi felt the platform shift and begin to rise, steadying himself quickly as he clutched his microphone close. Next to him, J-Hope smiled and bounced on his feet, energy buzzing around him. Yoongi smiled, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the bright arena and large crowd. His earpiece buzzed softly in his ear, music flowing around him as Jungkook began singing their opening song. Already, the youngest members had bounded down the stage, starting their choreography, leaving the hyungs behind on the higher portion of the stage. The crowd, ARMY, was wild.
Yoongi breathed in the venue area, an open-ceiling arena. The air was electric, flowing around his body as he took in the waves of ARMY bombs. Yoongi raised his arms outwards, as if asking the arena for a hug. The air swirled around him, the lights dancing off his light hair. Yoongi felt alive.
The song flowed onwards, bodies moving in unison during the dance breaks. Yoongi stepped forward for his verse, microphone raised to his mouth, when the lights flickered. It lasted for less than a second, fast enough that nobody in the crowd noticed, but Yoongi did. He stuttered before composing himself to complete his verse, letting the stutter play a part throughout so the mistake wouldn’t be caught. The crowd ate it up.
Keeping up the act, Yoongi let himself bounce to the music as J-Hope stepped forward to carry the song forward?. But Yoongi’s eyes kept surveying the room, anxiety eating at his chest. The arena was cold, he noted, regardless of the thousands of bodies. The lights didn’t flicker again, but Yoongi saw that his curated magic was dancing across the crowd again. He was the one that laced the magic into their songs, but only the seven combined could make it as strong as they did.
The concert finished smoothly, confetti and fireworks going off without a hitch. The seven said their final messages, bowed, exited the stage, and waited. The energy was still buzzing, regardless of how tired they were.
“You recovered well at the beginning there!” A hand clapped on Yoongi’s back. Namjoon laughed lightly as Yoongi glared at him. The stiff concert attire was set aside, replaced with comfortable sweats and sweaters as they rehydrated in the green room.
“What happened?” Jungkook nudged the elder's arm, walking side by side down a back hallway.
“There was a flicker…the lights flickered.” Yoongi offered. Jungkook muttered, and Jin laughed.
“There wasn’t a flicker, that was probably the most perfect concert we’ve had this tour. Are you sure you didn’t just see an army bomb change colors?” Yoongi shrugged at Jin's question. They climbed into a van, doors shutting around the seven of them. Yoongi stared out the back window, the city shifting by as voices argued about dinner. Yoongi paid them no mind, eyes searching across the city skyline, looking—hoping—for another glimpse of the dancing lights.
The city offered only darkness, except for the other cars and streetlamps flickering every so often. The van came to a stop at a red light. Yoongi noticed a group of girls standing at the corner waiting for the cross signal to turn green. They weren’t rowdy, he noted, just huddled together to keep warm. Then, as fast as a breath of air entering his lungs, Yoongi saw the streetlights flicker. He jolted in his chair, the light turned green, and they were moving again.
“You good?” A finger tapped his thigh. Yoongi turned to Jin, who had paused his activity on his phone to stare at the other. Yoongi shrugged, released his breath, and leaned his head on the window again. The cold glass met his forehead, and he was thankful for the momentary shock it brought to his system. He barely registered the van pulling into the parking lot of the hotel until Jin tugged at his sleeve. He climbed out after the others, feet dragging with exhaustion.
The hotel lights were bright, causing Yoongi to flinch and squint, following the others quickly to the elevator.
“Are we doing a live?” The question hung in the air as the floors counted upwards. Yoongi really wanted to go to bed; his body was sore, and his head was aching.
“Not tonight, we have an early flight tomorrow, so we should try to sleep.” Yoongi breathed a sigh of relief at Namjoon's answer, thankful the leader had spoken up. The three youngest muttered amongst themselves, and it was obvious they were most definitely not going to bed. Namjoon made no effort to stop them as the three youngsters scuttled into a room together.
“Are you rooming with me?” A hand curled around Yoongi’s wrist. Yoongi grunted at the cheerful other, letting himself be led into a shared room. He acknowledged Namjoon and Jin slipping into the room beside theirs, voices carrying down the hall about the next concert. Yoongi let himself fall onto one of the queen beds, watching out of the corner of his eye as Hobi opened his suitcase. Time seemed to skip as Yoongi registered the shower turning on.
Sitting up in bed, Yoongi took the time Hobi was in the shower to grab things from his own suitcase. A soft, black book balanced in his hand as he hid himself on the floor beside his bed.
(New paragraph)
Yoongi had received this book from his grandmother on his 18th birthday some years before. And before that, it was his great-grandmother's, and so on and so forth. Yoongi flipped the pages carefully, searching the scratched pages for the information he remembered reading so long ago.
His hand paused on the inked pages, handwriting so similar and yet so distant, as if the idea of who wrote it scratched at the edge of his memory. Yoongi read through the page.
1801, the flickering lights
We were traveling as a coven, North, towards our next village, which had asked for help. The knowledge of our song had traveled wide, healing magic, saving magic. As we traveled, we sang. We did not know the risk. Our youngest, newest member, sang beautifully. Dancing in the trees, tracing the air, gifted with the sight. They sang a song powerful enough to summon light right in the palm of a hand. It built and built, as if making the sun new again in the dead of night. It caused our lanterns to flicker, as if pulling power right from the source of life itself.
It built and built, until the magic dispersed rapidly, too rapidly.
The destruction left behind is unspeakable. The youngest is no longer with us; destruction magic is forbidden for a reason.
Yoongi remembers his grandmother speaking once of the magic bleeding through their bloodline before. It was a specialized form; healing, warming, a magic that others crave and pay to have. On his 18th birthday, he had discussed his music with his family, how the songs he wrote felt powerful, and how the crowd always fed off of him during concerts. His grandmother was overjoyed, a family gift passed down to the male side, now carried on for generations to come.
The shower turned off. Yoongi scrambled to hide the book at the bottom of his suitcase again, remaining where he sat on the floor.
“Why’re we on the floor?” Hobi walked into the room, hair dripping still. Yoongi shrugged, mind spinning rapidly with ideas. Hobi sighed, climbed into bed, and turned off the side lamps, plunging the room into darkness.
“Well, floor man, try not to stay up too late. We have a flight in six hours.” Yoongi listened to the other slowly fall asleep, breaths slowing. He didn’t move from the floor.
Have I been curating too much? Yoongi got sucked into his thoughts again. I can’t even remember the last time I poured full magic into one of our tracks.
The night passed quickly, thoughts too scrambled to sleep. Yoongi thinks he remembers the light in the curtains, the sting of the suitcase handle gripped in his palm. He definitely remembers being ushered through the loud security. Yoongi felt himself jolt back into consciousness on the plane, nails digging into the fake leather of the seat. A hand rubbed into his shoulder. Yoongi looked to his seat partner. Jungkook smiled softly, not stopping his ministrations as if trying to calm Yoongi.
Air travel always scared him; he didn’t like it, but preferred it over long drives. Eventually, Yoongi felt his eyes close, letting Jungkook's warm hand lull him back to sleep. When he awoke again, he was cradled in strong arms against a rough chest.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” He muttered. A giggle echoed against his head where it rested on the other. Yoongi breathed in the other, the warm smell of bergamot filling his lungs, the heartbeat of the other pulling Yoongi into darkness again. But Yoongi fought, letting his eyes scan the surrounding area. He was being carried to the car by Jungkook, who seemed all too happy to be doing so. Their security team was waiting by the van as well, mouths sealed in straight lines in the dim light of the afternoon.
“You didn’t sleep last night.” The voice of judgment came from Mr Happiness himself. Yoongi scowled at Hobi, who was sitting next to Namjoon and Jin.
“Did you not?” Namjoon turned in his chair to face Yoongi. Exhaustion rippled through the rapper's body; he knew his eye bags were dark, and his hair was greasy; he shook his head softly.
“Couldn’t sleep, too much to think about.” He didn’t offer further clarification. In all his years of being part of this group, he had never spoken to the others about his magic. He had never used it blatantly in front of them. In fact, Yoongi couldn’t remember the last time he had used physical magic.
Sure, he had laced it in the notes of songs, letting it cushion his feet in dances, and projected it onto the others in a protective manner if it rained during concerts. But he hadn’t cast a physical spell in so long, hadn’t stretched that part of him since he had lived at home with his parents. Yoongi didn't know if he still could after this much time, not that he had ever needed to, or would ever need to.
The next hotel was peaceful; they ate together in one of the rooms, crowded around a low coffee table. Ramyeon and drinks passed back and forth, vegetables decorating a plate in the middle. Voices were hushed, as if conversations weren’t important that evening. Yoongi relished in the quiet, letting his mind calm as he watched the others smile and talk. He watched the air fill with colors of his magic as they hummed, or if one of them laughed, he watched the magic spark as Jungkook tapped a beat with his chopsticks on the table.
Yoongi would never tell them. He liked keeping this part to himself.