Sonata No.9 | MYG 🔞

32| Adagio

Soundtrack: Serenade in E Minor, Op.20: I. Allegro piacevole by Edward Elgar

Yoongi woke up with difficulty, his puffy eyes held shut by dried-up tears. His face was parched and swollen, his neck and his back stiff from the uncomfortable position he had slept in, all curled up with his head against his knees.

He stretched, eyes still closed, his throat feeling like sandpaper before looking around for Taehyung. The violinist was still there at his side, sound asleep, his head thrown back against the pillows.

Yoongi peeled his face off the mattress, his cheek sticking to the sheet, which was still damped from his tears. It was dark outside and looking at the digital numbers on the telephone set, he saw that it was 5:20 in the morning.

He had slept three hours, which certainly wasn't enough, but he knew that falling back asleep wasn't an option at this point, so he stood up, silently walking to the bathroom and trying not to wake up Taehyung.

His reflection looked back at him in the mirror; messy black hair, dark circles, puffy cat eyes, lips chapped, and skin flushed. He bit his lower lip, averting his gaze and feeling rather gross in his own body. He decided to take a shower, borrowing Taehyung's face wash to scrub the salt from his cheeks.

He brushed his teeth, put on some clothes then left, closing the door on a snoring Taehyung.

New York was pretty in the morning.

The rain had washed off the pollution from the sky and the air smelled like dead leaves and new beginnings. Yoongi let himself be swallowed by the crowd of hurried businessmen, following the pulsing beat of the city's early morning.

Hands in his pockets and gaze down, hoodie hiding his face, he started thinking about his life and his career, his steps randomly leading him away from the hotel.

He had always been a pianist. Before he could even talk, his parents had sat him in front of a keyboard and made his chubby fists press the keys, making him learn the names of the notes before the alphabet. However, during the last 27 years of his life, he had been other things too; a son, a friend, a student. All of those definitions didn't last long, however. He hadn't been a very good son, just like his parents hadn't been very good parents, he didn't keep any friends after he became famous and lost his student status as soon as he was done with his studies.

Min Yoongi was a pianist, and nothing else. That was all he ever was, that was all he got, that was the only definition that described him. Even his two best – and only – friends were linked with him through music, and he was alright with that.

But then, Victoria had come along and didn't fit in that category. She was changing him, demanding him to not only be a pianist, but also a boyfriend, a partner, a big definition that he had tried to englobe in his pianist role, which obviously was a mistake. He couldn't only be Min Yoongi the pianist when he was with her.

At 7am, he was back from his morning walk and knocked at her bedroom door, his hands full of croissants and his head full of deep-thought reflections. When she didn't answer, he walked in his own room, unsurprisingly finding the girl there.

She was asleep in his bed, wearing his clothes and her hair creating a dark tangled halo around her face. He walked up to her, shaking her shoulder.

"Victoria!"

"Five minutes," she muttered, rolling on her side.

Her voice sounded terrible, all hoarse and croaky. Her eyes suddenly fluttered open and flew to Yoongi, like she was suddenly remembering the events of the previous night. Her eyes filled with water when she met his gaze above hers and she started crying all over again.