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The subtle shift after Dilara’s confession is… well, subtle. She doesn’t notice it at first, mostly because Taehyung continues to keep his distance from her like she’d asked. She can’t tell if he’s told the others anything because they don’t act any differently around her. No, the change is in Dilara, in her behaviour. It doesn’t become clear to her until she hears him laugh one day in the kitchen and her heart skips a beat, and she realises that she’s stopped leaving the room the moment he comes in.
I don’t hate you . It’s not a huge insight, to be honest. If she’d hated him, truly hated him, she would’ve made sure he wouldn’t have the nerve to approach her at all, let alone stand all hauntingly and sexily right behind her as he murmured an apology in that deep, raspy voice that makes her feel some kind of way. It did look like news to him , if the confused look on his face was any indication. She remembers what Namjoon said: He was devastated about your break-up, of course, but seeing you so broken up about it changed everything.
Thinking about it doesn’t help, though. His apology is just that - an apology. She still doesn’t know how he feels about him or how he feels about her, irrespective of what Jimin and Namjoon might say. She doesn’t know if she forgives him and she definitely doesn't know what she wants after that. Dilara becomes increasingly aware of the fact that this PR activity is only until Japan, which is another month away. After that, he goes back to his life and she goes back to hers, and they only interact in the limited capacity of Red Bull driver and Red Bull ambassador. She tries not to think of it as a deadline.
Nurburgring is as cold as ever. It’s also as small as every other European town they’ve lived in so far, so it isn’t surprising that even though the house they’ve got has a gigantic backyard with a lake beyond it, all eight of them stay huddled inside, constantly cradling a mug of something hot in their hands. Therefore, it’s to her surprise when she comes out of her room after a hot shower to see nearly all the guys huddled in the kitchen, surreptitiously peering out the window.
Dilara frowns as she sidles up behind Jungkook, who immediately steps aside to give her space. She spots him immediately, of course; Kim Taehyung, looking like a painting even in slippers and joggers, sitting in the grass, face unreadable from the distance as he stares out at the frozen lake.
“Is that -” But as usual, Dilara can’t say his name. “What is he doing out there? He’ll get hypothermia.” She looks up at Jungkook, practically demanding an answer.
“Um…” He looks conflicted, looking to the older members as though asking for permission.
“Of course you can tell her ,” says Jimin in an uncharacteristically low voice, continuing to look outside in worry.
Namjoon sighs. “His, uh, his sister graduated high school and - and he didn’t know,” he explains. “Then he called home and… well, I don’t know what happened after that.” He gestures to Taehyung outside. “He didn’t say anything. He’s been sitting out there ever since.”
This can’t be good. Even without knowing the whole story, Dilara feels her heart crack just a little bit. All through their short-lived relationship, he’d never really spoken much about his siblings. His parents, yes. His grandparents, a lot, with affection and sadness all put together. But the few times that he’d brought up his brother and sister at all, it mostly revolved around ancient childhood memories, pre-debut, because those were the only ones he said he had. When she’d once asked him what their relationship was like now, he’d taken a long time to answer before simply saying “Not much” and proceeding to shut down for the rest of the day.
Dilara had drawn basic conclusions of her own, resisting the urge to ask any of the others, but she’d never brought it up with him again. Now she remembers why. It’s familiar, this sort of worry spreading through her.
“Is he…” No, he’s not. Of course he’s not okay. She bites her lip and tries again. “Does he want to be left alone?”
A little distance away, Yoongi scoffs, not unkindly. “Not by you,” he says, too knowingly for her liking.
The next thing she knows, she’s walking across the backyard, clenching her fists in the cold. There’s no wind, thankfully, but she can see her breath when she exhales, pearly white, as she approaches the lone figure. She stops a few feet away from him.
Taehyung doesn’t even look up. “ Jeoligayo, Jimin-ah ,” he snaps, and she flinches. She forces herself to stay, though.
“Wrong alcoholic,” she says steadily, keeping her eyes trained on him as his head snaps up to look at her in shock.
“What are you -” He swallows, pushing his thick black glasses up his nose. “Why are you here?”
Dilara shrugs. “No reason. Can I sit?”
His eyes narrow. “I don’t need your pity,” he mutters flatly.
She frowns. “I’m not pitying you. I’m not even sure what’s wrong with you.”
“Oh, sure,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes and looking back at the lake. “You just happen to want to sit with me right now after avoiding me for weeks.”
Dilara huffs and rolls her eyes, even as hope bubbles in her stomach. This bickering, snapping, the sarcasm - this Taehyung she knows how to handle. This is her Taehyung, she thinks, before she nearly blanches. When on earth did she start thinking of him as her anything?
“You’re still here,” he states.
“Well done. Now can I sit here or not?”
“No.”
She raises her eyebrows. “You really want me to leave? Because I’ll do it.”
He turns back up to look at her, face smoother and stonier than ever. “Fine. Do it. Go.” His voice cracks on the last word.
As Dilara watches him turn back around, she makes up her mind. She knows he isn’t going to budge, even if he feels differently. He’s stubborn, and he’ll sit here all night if it means keeping his pride, lashing out at everyone the more hurt he is. It was like living with the grinch. A mean, petty, heartbroken and very handsome grinch . It’s unfortunate but true, so she shifts to his right and, keeping a decent five foot distance between them, drops to the ground and folds her legs.
Taehyung turns to look at her incredulously. “Seriously? Why did you ask if you’re going to do what you want anyway?”
“You don’t own the backyard,” she reminds him. “I can sit where I want. Why don’t you leave?”
“Because I was here first .”
“Fine, then stay there. I’m all the way over here,” she points out, gesturing to the distance as if it were a trench and not a short distance from where she can still smell his cologne. “Just pretend I’m not here.”
He scoffs again but doesn’t say anything, folding his arms across his chest. The situation feels familiar, but also different. Taehyung and Dilara, suppressed sadness, misdirected anger, and patience. Endless patience. Her heart gives a feeble jolt when she realises this is Monza, where she knew she’d be missing an iconic race on the calendar, where she was injured, where Taehyung drove her, waited for her, fed her and sat through her endless bitching because he knew she was hurting.
She knows the circumstances aren’t exactly the same. She hasn’t cheated on him, she hasn’t hurt him. But no matter what he’s done to her, this … this situation with his siblings isn’t about them at all. Just like Monza wasn’t about them.
Bracing herself for another snappy reaction, she scoots over next to him so their shoulders brush. He doesn’t disappoint.
“What are you doing?” he asks, although this time she detects more surprise than annoyance.
“It’s freezing,” she tells him, exhaling shakily to prove her point, “and I need some bodily warmth.” She waits for him to disagree or make some sarcastic comment, but when he doesn’t, she leans back against the rock and they sit together awkwardly.
It’s still not enough, though. Dilara knows Taehyung, despite her best efforts at pretending otherwise. He’s been vulnerable with her before and she knows what he needs. She remembers a year ago, on her last day in California: a fight, followed by making up with hours of sex, a shower, and sleep. The entire time, he hadn’t let go of her once.
Even at night, when they’d barely exchanged two words, he’d held her close, forehead pressed to her hair, breath warm against her shoulder as they silently prepared to separate yet again. Skinship, it seemed, made him feel better, secure, loved.
Conversely, in Monza, she needed space. He’d given it to her, even though she’d seen his hand reach out for hers multiple times before he’d suddenly remembered that he couldn’t take those liberties anymore. She can, though. She doesn’t think she’s wrong, and right now her heart aches too much for him to not at least try.
So, before she can change her mind, Dilara reaches over and slips her hand into his, and drops her head onto his shoulder. The moment her fingers touch the back of his hand, though, he flinches. She realises her hands must be freezing; they always are, whereas his are always warmer than usual, like now. M-m, under the shirt, she remembers whispering to him more than once, feeling him grin silently against her skin, knowing he loved it when she asked.
“Sorry,” she mutters, going to release his hand but before she can, Taehyung’s fingers tighten and he gently tugs, resting their clasped hands on his lap. Her heart races, especially when he brings his left hand on his lap as well and covers the back of hers, warming it.
They haven’t been this close physically since he’d helped her walk in Monza. He feels warm, comforting; she has to resist the urge to turn her head and inhale his scent. The familiar lotion and cologne smells like a home she’s moved out of. She wonders if she should ask him what happened, but a part of her feels like it’s none of her business.
He’s letting you sit here, isn’t he? Even if Dilara assumes Jimin and Namjoon’s theory is correct, that he does still feel the same way about her, this isn’t a topic he’s super forthcoming about. Still, her mind goes back to how Jimin had said Jungkook could definitely tell her , or how Yoongi was sure Taehyung didn’t want to be left alone by her . But she also doesn’t want him to push her away again. For once, she’s able to think about him without letting her anger or hurt get in the way, and it feels too rare and precious to disturb. She considers asking him softly if he wants to talk about it when he speaks.
“She doesn’t want me to come.” Taehyung’s voice is hoarse and shaky. She gathers he’s talking about his sister, that she doesn’t want him to come to her graduation… Dilara wants to sigh, mostly because she has no idea what to say. From the limited information she has about this, she knows his siblings don’t have the best relationship with him, from harbouring resentment for being away, to having no room for him in their lives.
He sniffles, and she feels lost, not knowing what to say or what comfort to offer. With her free hand, she grasps his arm and wraps her fingers around it, squeezing his lean bicep gently and rubbing her thumb on his sweater. Her heart hurts; she doesn’t like seeing him in pain. She never has. Even when they were together and he liked to be the one taking care of her, she started preferring it just because it was too hard the other way round. His bottom lip would quiver, his eyes would well up, the tip of his nose would go red and she’d be powerless to stop the pain.
They stay there for a while in the cold, sitting beside each other in the closest physical way in over half a year. Dilara’s mind drifts to their time in Japan; another cold weekend surrounded by the circus that was Formula 1 and BTS, while she and Taehyung shared their own private, intimate space, falling in love without even realising it. A cold breeze blows and she shivers.
“Are you cold?” Taehyung asks softly, turning his head slightly, probably to not disturb where hers is resting on his shoulder.
Dilara lifts her head up, though, and takes her hand off his arm. “Um… no,” she lies, not wanting this to end.
“You have goosebumps,” he murmurs, turning their clasped hands around so hers is on top and pushing back her sleeve a few inches above her wrist, as if to show her proof. He’s right; as his long fingers brush her skin, the bumps become even more pronounced.
Quickly pulling her sleeve back down, Dilara turns their hands over and pushes his sleeve up. “You have goosebumps, too,” she points out, a bit more defensively than she intended.
Taehyung chuckles quietly. “It’s not a competition.”
“Not a close one.” Her fingers touch something cold and when she moves her hands a bit, the dim moonlight brings a familiar ring into view, resting on his index finger. Her heart twists, and next to her, Taehyung stiffens.
Dilara tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and looks up at him. Their faces are incredibly close. “Will you be okay?” she asks softly.
Taehyung nods, eyes flickering with emotion. “Why did you -” He breaks off, looking away for a moment. “Thanks for… for this.”
She bites her lip. “You know this doesn’t change anything.” As she says it, she hears the disappointment in her own voice.
“I know,” he nods. “But thanks anyway.”
She nods slowly and, involuntarily, her gaze flickers to his mouth before she immediately brings it back up to look at him. He’s looking at her too meaningfully, with far too much tenderness and regret. Dilara’s aware that at least some of it is an aftereffect of an emotionally heavy evening with his family, but as their breaths condense in the air and mingle with each other, she finds she’s afraid to find out how much of it is for her.
This time, Taehyung’s eyes fall to her mouth before coming up to meet hers, a lot slower than she did. A strand of blond hair has escaped his cap and she imagines brushing it back, maybe lightly touching his face, tracing the contours of his cheekbones...
They’re about to kiss. She knows it. His eyes are half-lidded and his face is closer than it was a moment ago. Butterflies erupt in her stomach and she suddenly feels shy as his lips slowly approach hers… and she doesn’t back away.
They’re interrupted by footsteps, loud ones that jerk them out of their trance. She snaps up to see Jin and Jimin approaching them. “ Gwaenchanayo ?” Jin asks tentatively.
Suddenly realising they’re still holding hands, Dilara immediately lets go of Taehyung’s and stands up, brushing herself off. “Yeah, everything’s fine. He’s all yours,” she tells them before hurrying back inside.
---
Dilara doesn’t want to know what Taehyung’s reaction was to being interrupted. If she knows him, it was a mixture of annoyance at his friends, regret at not acting faster with her, and some amount of apprehension at how she will react later.
She doesn’t stick around to find out, though. The next morning, Qualifying day, Mick Schumacher and Max Verstappen pick her up from the house to go to the paddock together. She sees Mick standing outside the car, blond and beautiful, looking like a Disney prince as he smiles and waves to her. Behind him, Max scowls at his phone as he types something, looking up only to politely nod his head at someone behind her.
“Good luck today,” says Namjoon to all of them when she turns around to see him emerge with a book in his hand. He gives her a momentary look that seems too meaningful to be a coincidence, before smiling and waving as they leave.
BTS don’t come to the paddock today. Dilara isn’t sure, but she suspects they’re filming a Run episode and irrespective of what their PR arrangement is and the fact that she doesn’t understand Korean anyway, the staff would rather not have her around.
She does get good luck texts from Jimin, Seokjin and Hoseok, the latter also adding an additional line about watching out for this episode when it airs just to be entertained by what a bad mood Taehyung is in. It’s exasperating how temperamental he gets, but there’s also a secret pride that she can’t help but feel at the suspicion that his mood could be this bad because of the kiss that almost happened… and the cold shower she suspects he needed to take after it.
Dilara needed to, if she’s being fully honest. She didn’t because it was freezing, but later that night under the covers with the lights off, for the first time in weeks, she’d brought out of her suitcase a most loyal of travel companions. In the brave hope that the thick blankets would be enough to mask the sound of the vibrations, Dilara, for the first time in months, pictured her ex-boyfriend with no guilt or shame, the memory of how her stomach had fluttered at the thought of kissing him overpowering everything.
In hindsight, Dilara doesn’t know how she would’ve responded if he had kissed her. For that reason alone, she’s relieved they were interrupted. But the momentary warmth she’d felt with his body so close to hers had been unbearably stirring, his voice deep and husky as he murmured in the dark, their fingers intertwined, his slender hand still on her wrist, how his jaw tightened just a bit as he looked down at her mouth…
As expected, Qualifying is tough. The temperature is unbearable and no matter how many blankets the pit crew covers the tyres in, they just aren’t hot enough. Two pairs of cars crash into each other, while the remaining drivers just try to hang on and wrap up the least productive Qualifying session ever.
It’s not a good Qualifying for Dilara - but not because of her result. Max snags P3 and she finishes P4, a good result considering, despite a frustrating hour of being able to get no heat into her stupid tyres. A racing incident ends up ruining fan favourite Lando Norris’s Q3, though, and while she doesn’t think it’s her fault, he’s still in P10.
Dilara just knows her phone is going to blow up with hate from his fans. The post-Qualifying interview is terrible as well; she stutters and uses the wrong words that the anchor, Paul di Resta, immediately picks up on, and she overall ends up sounding rather defensive about the whole thing.
The debrief is shit, too, although not because of Christian or Helmut saying anything to her. They discuss her mistake but quickly move on to how they can spin it for tomorrow, with the constant question hanging over the team about how on earth they’re ever going to be able to race in such freezing conditions.
Mick and Max drop Dilara home after Quali, all three of them in relative silence which she’s thankful for. When she enters the house, it’s to the entire group in the living room and kitchen area, who conspicuously lower their voices at the sight of her. At first, she assumes they don’t want her to hear and she’s about to remind them that she doesn’t understand Korean. Then when she sees Jimin and Jungkook looking up at her from near the television with big, concerned eyes, it occurs to her that they might have seen Qualifying - and her interview after.
She doesn’t want to talk about it, though, with anyone. She silently waves in greeting and trudges to her room, shutting the door and heading straight for the shower. She turns the water to the hottest setting, welcoming the scalding water after a day of cold sweat and online hate.
It’s only after a long and elaborate moisturizing routine that Dilara realises she’s forgotten to pick up food from the track, meaning she has no dinner. Panic grips at her chest for a moment because she can’t not eat the night before a race, and the exhaustion makes her want to yell. Then, as if the universe has heard her and thrown her a bone, she smells something exquisite. She can’t tell what it is exactly, but it smells like soup and chicken curry, and her stomach rumbles in hunger.
Dilara puts her ear to the door, hearing nothing. It’s unheard of to have three or more members of BTS in a room and have this much silence, meaning it might just be safe to go out. Opening the door a crack and vaguely wondering why she’s being so dramatic, Dilara spots a lone Min Yoongi in the kitchen, quietly preparing dinner.
Her stomach rumbles again and she tries to count herself lucky that he, at least, will not probe her about today. The rest of her tries to gather the courage to actually step out of her room and open her mouth to ask him what she wants to. When she reaches the edge of the kitchen, she stops. If he’s seen her, he isn’t acknowledging it.
“Do you need some help?”
Yoongi looks up, hands still shaking some kind of powder into the pot on the stove. He frowns vaguely.
It’s not the reaction she was hoping for but it’s only then that she peers into the pot to see something vaguely orange bubbling away. Next to him, there’s a cutting board with two slabs of meat on it. “What are you making?” she asks curiously, frowning as she tries to place it.
He takes a moment before answering. “ Dwaejigogi-jjigae .”
Dilara bites her lip. “Oh… I don’t - I don’t know what that is.”
He raises an eyebrow, now reaching for a cup of water. “You dated two Koreans and you don’t know what dwaejigogi-jjigae is?”
“Who’s the second? Chris ?” she exclaims, thinking she might throw up. “ God , no.”
“Not Chris,” says Yoongi calmly. “The other one, in Yeongam.”
Oh. Jaden. That’s even worse. “Oh,” she replies, not knowing what else to say. “How do you know about that?”
“The first one spotted you there,” he says wryly, a ghost of a smirk on his face.
So Taehyung had seen them snogging in the parking lot. She doesn’t know how to feel about that now. “Oh, yeah. Well… it didn’t really go anywhere,” she says vaguely. For some reason, she doesn’t want Yoongi to think she was at all serious about Jaden. She clears her throat. “So, do you need some help?”
Yoongi stares at her with narrowed eyes for a moment before turning his attention back to the pot. “Is this about what I said in Imola? Because it’s none of my business.”
“No, I know. I mean, it’s not - it’s not about that,” she says lamely, wishing she would stop stuttering. “I just… well, why don’t you want help?” she asks, changing tacks.
“It’s not that I don’t want it. It’s that apart from Jin hyung, you’re literally the first person in this house that’s ever offered to help out in the kitchen,” he explains, sounding fairly unbothered by the fact. “And I’ve been around these kids for too long not to get suspicious.”
Dilara isn’t sure how she feels about being lumped with the kids , although she guesses for Yoongi it’s only natural. It suddenly makes her feel like she'd rather tell him the truth. “I’m really hungry,” she blurts. “For - for home-cooked food.”
Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “You’re offering to help because you want food?”
She hesitates. “I mean, it’s not like an Oliver Twist kind of situation.”
“You didn’t think I’d give you food unless you helped?” He tilts his head as he looks back at her, looking curious. “Do you really think I’m that much of a dick?”
“No, of course not,” she replies hurriedly, realising what it must sound like. “I’m just… I’m not… I’m not really hanging out with you guys right now, so I guess I don’t think it’s fair if I… I mean, I should…” She trails off, now feeling truly embarrassed. It occurs to her that even if she does get food, she’ll probably have to sit with them while she eats it. “You know what? It’s - it’s fine, I’ll just order in.”
“From where?”
“From… wherever the other drivers are getting their food from,” she answers vaguely, knowing all of them have their trainers with them and suddenly missing Lexie more than ever.
Yoongi frowns, still looking more curious than anything else. “Why are you so nervous? Do I intimidate you?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
Dilara scoffs nervously. “Oh, that can’t be news to you.”
He cracks a smile. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
“Um, I don’t think I used the word afraid ,” she clarifies before shrugging, looking down at her hands. “You’re like that older brother. The one you don’t want to disappoint.”
Yoongi chuckles quietly, without humour. “I don’t think you’re the one that disappointed me,” he admits wryly.
There’s an awkward silence. The idea that Yoongi could feel this strongly about her love life seems too foreign to consider. Dilara had never particularly got the impression that Yoongi really cared what she thought of him, but then again, he wouldn’t be the first member to surprise her.
Dilara remembers one of the few conversations they’ve ever had, just the two of them. He won’t hurt you . He’d more or less promised that, even though he had no business doing so. His response makes a little more sense when she thinks about that evening, sharing a taboo cigarette in Monterey and promising, to this day, to keep it between them.
“So do I really intimidate you, Lara?” Yoongi asks, gently pulling her out of her reverie.
Her heart skips a beat. “Oh… please don’t call me that,” she requests, shifting uncomfortably.
Yoongi looks amused. “Taehyung’s the only one who can call you that?”
The honest answer, she realises only now, is yes . “He doesn’t call me that anymore,” she says evasively.
“You can caramelise the onions,” he says after a moment, gesturing to another chopping board with a pile of sliced onions on it.
“Oh,” she sighs, deflating slightly.
“What?”
Dilara swallows. “I don’t - I mean… I really think it would be better if you gave me something that didn’t involve cooking , per se. Like chopping or - or cleaning…?” she suggests nervously, embarrassed at putting her incompetence on display like this. ”I’m a disaster in the kitchen,” she confesses.
Yoongi observes me for a moment. “Not to make things awkward, but sometimes you and Taehyung make so much sense, it’s crazy.”
It’s not the first time she’s heard this. “Yeah…” she agrees dryly, “until it isn’t.”
“What happened when you two tried cooking together?”
Dilara chuckles in spite of herself. “We never tried.”
“Just as well,” he replies. “Probably saved a kitchen somewhere from burning down.”
“Probably.” She pauses. “We never really got around to doing stuff like that,” she says after a moment, and she can hear the underlying regret in her own voice at how short a time they’d had together.
“Here,” says Yoongi after a moment. She looks up to see him push a bowl filled with carrots, leeks and colourful bell peppers. “You can chop this.”
---
Dilara should sleep. She really should. But sleep evades her for some strange reason and after a series of silly decisions, she finds herself walking outside like a goddamn zombie on an unbelievably freezing night in Germany.
What she’s doing is ridiculously stupid. She could get hypothermia, her joints will be stiffer than ever, she could catch a cold or a fever, she will lose out on sleep, and being awake at this hour is guaranteed to stress her out even more than she already is. But her anxiety takes precedence over it tonight, and without Lexie, Chris and Fred to help her out of it, especially after a shitty Qualifying, she realises she’s rather badly equipped to handle it on her own.
Dilara is on the verge of opening her Twitter app and reading comments about her today. She does that sometimes; it’s sick, deliberately reading hate about oneself, especially from people who probably can’t even drive a goddamn stick, but she does it anyway so that, ironically, her anxiety reduces by turning into conviction that, yes, she is a terrible driver, she probably doesn’t deserve the Red Bull seat, that a little girl shouldn’t be racing with men, she probably is PMSing when she accidentally says the wrong thing on camera…
She wants to call Lexie. If she were to find out what Dilara is tempted to do, she would shut her down so quickly that she’d feel stupid for considering it in the first place.
Dilara’s thumb hovers over her phone screen, frozen. Lexie had messaged herself right after Quali but Dilara hadn’t wanted to talk just then. It matters not, because the next second, the phone is at Dilara’s ear and she hears ringing. It rings and rings, but eventually goes to voicemail. She closes her eyes; even the sound of Lexie’s voice on the outgoing message helps a bit.
Dilara needs familiarity. Comfort.
Taehyung had tried to talk to her earlier in the night. The moment Yoongi had finished cooking, she’d inhaled a small bowl of food while he called the others inside and by the time they’d finally trudged in, she was already washing her bowl and stacking it back in the cabinet. She’d also quietly volunteered to wash the dishes after, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude to Yoongi, not realising that somehow, Taehyung was also on dish duty.
It was fine for a bit, silently washing and rinsing and wiping dishes side by side. Dilara could see him giving her lingering looks, each glance making it clear that he wanted to ask about Quali, until she finally asked him to quit it. He asked, sincerely, if she was okay, if she wanted to talk and she knew it was because of last night, but… giving him comfort was one thing. Taking it from him had the potential to spiral, especially when her feelings for him were getting more and more confusing by the day, so she had no choice but to forcefully decline.
When Taehyung tried again and reached for her hand in the warm soapy water in a presumably comforting gesture, Dilara yanked it back without thinking and, wiping her hands on the dishcloth, stalked away without a word. She doesn’t regret it, exactly; she’s still angry and she’s still hurt, and the last thing she wants to do is let him forget it.
“This is stupid,” she mutters, seeing her breath condense before her. She turns back towards the house and starts walking towards the front door when it opens. Startled, she halts to see Min Yoongi standing in the doorway, the porch light like a halo above his ice blue hair.
“What - what are you doing up so late?” Dilara asks him, genuinely bewildered. “It’s almost one am.”
“I could say the same to you,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes and sounding slightly disgruntled. He walks down the steps and stops a couple feet away from her, shoving his hands in the pocket of his oversized coat and shivering. “You know it’s freezing, right?”
“I - yes.”
“So… what are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” she asks, thoroughly confused.
“I saw you from my window,” he says shortly. “I thought I was imagining it but then you tried to kick a rock and missed, so I knew it was you.” Ignoring her mortification, Yoongi looks around at the foggy front yard. “So what is it? Is it about Qualifying?”
Dilara’s immediate instinct is to deny but when she doesn’t answer, he seems to take it as confirmation.
“Do you want to talk about it, then?” He sounds only mildly concerned, giving her enough room to decline if she wants. “It’s okay if you don’t,” he adds after a moment, “but at least come inside before you freeze to death.”
So they talk about it. Or rather, Dilara talks and Yoongi patiently listens. They sit near where she and Taehyung were last night, but the distance between them is much more respectable. Yoongi is way easier to talk to than she’d ever thought; even if there are things she mentions that he doesn’t understand, he listens, asking questions and letting her vent thoroughly.
“Can we not talk about this anymore?” she asks after she finishes talking about the last time she’d received online hate, all the way back in Spain this year when she was going through her heartbreak-induced slump.
“Okay.” Yoongi exhales before speaking. “For what it’s worth, the hate will never stop.”
Dilara doesn't look up. “Gee, thanks.”
He shrugs. “There’s always going to be someone, somewhere who thinks what you’re doing is shit,” he says in a matter-of-fact way. “There’s absolutely nothing you can do to make everyone happy. Not a thing.”
“I don’t care about making them happy ,” she mutters. “It’s just unfair because they have no idea what it’s like in the car.”
“Exactly. They don’t. So their opinion means nothing, especially when it’s a troll halfway across the world that’s mad because you’re way further fulfilling your dreams than he is. Or she,” he adds thoughtfully.
“You don’t sound like this affects you at all,” she remarks after a moment, referring to the magnitude of hate she’s sure BTS probably gets. “Is all the anger reserved for Agust D?” she quips.
Yoongi grins, gummy smile flashing. “Something like that.”
“Maybe I should take up rapping.”
“You drive cars at ridiculous speeds. What’s a better outlet for your anger than that?”
He’s right, of course. In fact, it’s exactly what Chris Park would say. Save it for the track, D . She doesn’t have her support system here, but it occurs to her that she’s also not completely alone.
“Is he telling the truth?” Dilara asks suddenly, needing to find out.
“About what?” Yoongi doesn’t ask whom she’s referring to and for that she’s glad.
She shrugs. “Everything. Being sorry, making a mistake, the Jennie thing…” She trails off, swallowing. “How he feels…”
“I think so.” When she doesn’t respond, he sighs deeply, as if unable to believe he’s being dragged into this childish drama. “I mean, I’m sure he’s sorry and we know his thing with Jennie wasn’t real,” he elaborates, as though counting items off a shopping list. “She was nice but I don’t know who he was fooling trying to date her. As for how he feels…” He gives Dilara a sympathetic shrug. “That’s only upto you to decide.”
“But what do you think?” Dilara presses.
Yoongi looks slightly surprised that she wants his opinion this badly. “Well… I think he still cares about you. A lot, in fact. I think he’s still in love with you, although I think you’ll have to get him to admit that to you,” he continues, apparently not realising how her heart rams against her ribcage. “But I also didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to do what he did. Going by his actions today, though, I’d say he still really cares about you.”
Dilara says nothing, replaying his words. “Hang on,” she says slowly. “What actions today? Wait, Yoongi - did he ask you to talk to me tonight?” By the way he freezes momentarily, she knows she’s right. “You have got to be joking.”
“Why is that so bad?”
“It’s - it’s the principle of it.”
“What principle?”
“If I wanted to talk to him, I would’ve.”
“And you’re not. He knows that. He said it looked like you had a rough day and since you don’t have your friends here, you might need someone to talk to.” Yoongi shrugs. “Was he wrong?” When she doesn’t answer, he chuckles, gummy smile flashing once more. “Or was he totally right ?”
“Shut up,” she mutters, making him snort. “And… no, he wasn’t wrong. But he wasn’t totally right either,” she adds, although she doesn’t know what to back that up with.
Yoongi doesn’t even ask. “So stubborn,” he remarks softly, his eyes on the frozen lake.
“Well, do I at least have your word that you won’t tell him what we talked about?”
“Tell who?” he asks innocently.
Dilara gives him a look. “Jungkook’s boyfriend. Can I trust you?” she asks, even as he laughs.
“Of course you can,” he says easily, standing up and offering her a hand. “And, seriously, it’s almost two am. You should sleep.”
She doesn’t argue and takes his hand, trying not to stomp behind him as they walk back to the house. “The grass is really slippery, by the way.”
“What’s that now?”
Dilara stops a few steps behind him as they reach the porch. “You said you saw me kicking a rock and missing. It’s because the grass is really slippery.” She pauses, somewhat conscious of what she must be sounding like. “I don’t miss.”
Yoongi stares at her, his mouth twitching. “Noted,” he says finally, reaching for the door handle and twisting it. “Okay, did you know this locks from the inside?”
She blinks. “Are you telling me we’re locked out here -” She glances at her phone “- twelve hours before the German Grand Prix?”
“Don’t worry,” he says calmly, typing on his phone. “I’m messaging on the group chat. Someone or the other will be awake.” He waits for a moment before chuckling, a little disbelievingly. “Okay, I was right.”
Dilara regards him suspiciously as she hears soft footsteps from inside. “Who is it?”
“Jungkook’s boyfriend, who else?”
“Perfect,” she mutters, as the door swings open to reveal the aforementioned boyfriend, a black beanie over his hair, black glasses and - she realises with a slight shock - the black hoodie she’d returned to him earlier this year. Contrary to what Yoongi made it sound like, Taehyung doesn’t look like he was on the verge of sleep at all.
He asks Yoongi something in Korean, his eyes on Dilara, to which Yoongi murmurs a reply before clapping her on the shoulder and heading inside.
“Thanks,” she mutters to Taehyung, moving to follow Yoongi, when Taehyung stops her by grabbing the edge of her sleeve.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly, eyes bigger than ever.
Dilara wants to roll her eyes and tell him that she knows he asked Yoongi to talk to her, but she doesn’t know what purpose that would serve. So after a moment’s hesitation, she nods, gently taking back her hand and going into her room.
—