ONE ROCKSTAR PER ROOM

4. jungkook

"What if we go like this?" I ask, and play it, even though it doesn't even fit into our song. I play the tune Yoongi wrote six years ago, and glance across the room, waiting for a reaction. I expect him to explode, throw a fit, try to punch me.

But he doesn't do anything. Doesn't look up, doesn't bug.

"No?" Jimin says, frowning. "This makes no sense."

I look up again. Play a little bit more of the song. Nothing. Fuck him.

"I know," I grumble.

Fine, you asshole. I will find a way to expose you.

"We'll work on it," I say. "Let's go get some food that isn't tasteless hotel noodles."

"I'll stay," Namjoon says. "Buy me some dumplings."

I scramble to my feet. "We'll buy whatever we'll find nearby."

"And what we'll be able to afford," Jimin adds. Paying for that hotel and practice room sucked us all dry – we put all the money from our last three gigs in and I added my last two salaries from my part-time at a comic store. Now we're living off of ramen packs and the cheapest edible, and safe, meat we can find.

Jimin and I walk for a while, until we find the most affordable looking Korean restaurant – Hangaram. The elderly lady welcomes us with the widest grin, complimenting chains dangling around my hips and Jimin's blazing red hair.

We tell her we will get takeout, and she gives us two menu cards, which we carry to the small table at the very back.

"Now, are we buying for everyone?" I ask.

"You wanna sponsor Yoongi's food?" Jimin chuckles when I make a face. "But it would be common decency since we share all the rooms, right?"

"Just say you wanna get fucked later and-" I stifle a laugh when he kicks me under the table. "Fine. Let's get them something. But ask your rich hook up to pay back."

Jimin rolls his eyes, but doesn't say he won't do it, so I keep the sugar daddy joke to myself and we move onto going through the menu. Jimin says we should take kimchi jjigae and beef Bulgogi, six portions of each, but I tell him we absolutely can't fucking afford it right now.

"Three of this and three of this? We'll fight for Bulgogi if we have to. Or we'll share," he says.

"This for Luna. She likes it," I say, pointing to the smoked salmon salad at the end of a menu card.

When he says nothing, I look up, only to find him looking at me, eyes almost exploding. "How do you know what Luna, your biggest nemesis, likes?"

"I don't know," I say, not really getting the confusion. I know a hell lot of things about Luna. I might know her better than myself, in many ways. "I heard her say it one day."

"And you remembered it?"

"I remember everything about her," I say, looking at the side dishes part of the menu.

Only when Jimin answers I realize how it sounds. "Oh, I knew it, you're down bad."

Like I'm writing love songs about her.

I can laugh it off. I can tell I'm just playing around and don't actually know jack shit about her. But it doesn't go through my throat, and I don't look up either, and Jimin catches up.

"Oh shit, you actually are," he whispers, like no one can hear him.

It's not that I don't trust him or Namjoon. Being in the band did bring us closer in the past three years, but I don't feel like any of them are those kind of friends to me I would trust wholeheartedly and tell everything. We are friends, but it stops at some point, before it can reach too deep.

I don't entertain deep and close relationships – friendship, family, romance – since the shit with Yoongi went down.

"Can we drop it? It's not like I should be," I mumble, eyes never leaving the words on the menu card. If he reminds me for the third time I'm down bad, when I know damn well it's pointless, I will lose all appetite and start crying.

"Why not?"

"Shitload of reasons. First and obvious, Yoongi."

"Fuck Yoongi." Jimin frowns, but his forehead smoothens immediately. "Not literally, though."

"Yeah, not literally and not metaphorically." I stand up, cutting the topic short. "I'm going to order. We're done with the conversation."

"Sit back down."

I snort. "Stop watching those fucking TikToks."

When we bring all the food back to the practice room, and I tell Luna to have a break and that I will let her practice into our scheduled time, I might be silently trying to make up for the fight yesterday. Just because everyone sees rivals in us doesn't mean I don't actually feel bad when we fight.

I hate it, and I wish we could just... talk. I'm not a talker, never have been one, but she makes me want to spend days and nights talking about everything and anything.

"Here, that's for you," I say, when she agrees on a break. "Your favorite."

"My favorite?" she asks, eyebrows creased.

"Salmon, isn't it?"

Now her eyes grow wide. "How do you know it's my favorite?"

"I just do." I shrug and move to sit on the couch and stuff my own feelings with Bulgogi I have to share with Taehyung. I refused to share with Yoongi so Jimin took it upon himself.

I know she watches me, probably thinking how I know what coffee she drinks and what food is her favorite. And I could list a few dozens of her favorites and her habits that I know, that I noticed over time, because my eyes are on her whenever it's possible.

Because I know that's all I can do, watch from afar and hope she's doing alright, drinking the best Americano, eating the best food, having a good sleep and writing songs that make her smile proudly.