Work Text:
Kim Taehyung [09:13] good morning hyung are you going to tell jungkook that youre in love with him today
sent to Kim Taehyung [13:42] no
Kim Taehyung [13:46] goddamnit
Kim Taehyung [13:47] wait did you only just wake up now what the fuck
♡ ♡ ♡
Min Yoongi met Jeon Jungkook in a conference room of the BigHit building some six or seven years ago.
When Yoongi is lying to himself, he thinks that he probably fell for Jungkook during the group’s holiday to Norway, or maybe a little before then, when BigHit wrote some convoluted plot for the two of them during the HYYH era. It’s easier to settle for that, to make it sound as though it happened as a result of spending more time together, developing as he grew to know the kid on a deeper level.
When Yoongi is being honest with himself, he knows that he fell for Jungkook in that same conference room. It’s harder to explain that, what with the age difference, the circumstances, the fact that they didn’t fucking know each other.
Everyone knows that Yoongi is desperately in love with Jungkook. Hell, Yoongi thinks that Jungkook has probably figured it out, obtuse as he can be. Yoongi has woken up to texts from the other members nearly every day since their debut, encouraging him to confess. He knows they mean well, knows they only want him to be happy, but that doesn’t change anything. He’ll never confess. He can’t, no matter how much he might want to. He won’t do that to Jungkook.
The sad truth is that their society wouldn’t accept them. An ordinary gay couple would be most likely shunned and mistreated, let alone an idol gay couple. Jungkook doesn’t deserve that. Jungkook is bright, beautiful, smart and funny. He’s as fiery as he is gentle, charmingly cheeky, he’s hard-working and diligent and so, so caring. Jungkook is a good person that deserves to be treated as such, by everyone he meets. Yoongi would never be so selfish as to take that away from him.
So, he waits it out. Surely he’ll get over Jungkook someday. Until then, he patiently dismisses the encouragement of the members, pretends he doesn’t see Jungkook’s curious, searching gaze, and does his best not to make it too obvious.
He’s fine. Really, he is. It doesn’t hurt all that much.
♡ ♡ ♡
Yoongi had kind of needed distracting, to be honest, his head doing that thing where it just doesn’t give him a break, doesn’t let him focus on anything other than the way Jungkook had smiled at him that morning, to the point where a dull throbbing had started behind his eyes. It’s not been a very productive day. That’s why, when Jimin had asked him if he wanted to watch a movie together, Yoongi had practically jumped at the chance. Anything for a bit of respite.
He hasn’t really paid attention to the movie so far. It’s something kind of generic and cheesy, some kind of space princess kidnapped at birth storyline. It’s easy to tune out, though Jimin seems absolutely hooked, practically hanging off his seat as it unfolds. Yoongi’s just on his phone, idly tapping away at some rhythm game. It’s mind-numbing. Exactly what he needs.
The door to the dorm clatters open noisily and the sound of laughter bounces from the walls; Jungkook and Hoseok, by the sound of it. Yoongi braces himself, fixing what he hopes is a neutral expression on his face, willing away the swarming nervousness in his stomach. He pretends not to notice the knowing glance Jimin throws his way.
Hoseok bursts into the lounge, greeting his friends happily. He sits on the sofa beside Jimin, gently needling at the boy’s ribs to get some attention. Jungkook drops into the seat beside Yoongi – of course he does – and heaves a contented sigh, tugging his feet up onto the cushions.
“What are you watching?” he asks.
Yoongi doesn’t look up, doesn’t dare. He shrugs.
Jungkook probably feels a little snubbed, as he falls silent, curling into himself. Yoongi immediately feels guilty. He clears his throat awkwardly, locking his phone and pushing it into his pocket. “Where did you two go?” he says, hoping it sounds conversational.
“Hobi-hyung treated me to dinner,” Jungkook replies, brightening up at his hyung’s interest. “We went to that bulgogi place by the station.”
“You like it there,” Yoongi says, though he doesn’t know why. Jungkook nods happily, and they fall back into silence.
Jimin and Hoseok seem to have settled down, Jimin having shifted to lean against the elder, both enraptured by the movie. Yoongi does his best to focus, but he’s hyperaware of Jungkook at his side, fidgeting slightly, as he always does. He rocks slightly in his seat, then reaches up to scratch at his nose with the knuckle of one finger, then pushes the air around inside his mouth, puffing out his cheeks one at a time. Yoongi wishes he didn’t notice these things. He isn’t even looking at the kid.
After maybe fifteen minutes, Jungkook stretches out a little more, squirming beneath Yoongi’s arm and curling into the elder’s shoulder. Yoongi stiffens at once, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice, letting out a relaxed sigh. He doesn’t know what to do with his hand, and awkwardly rests it over the back of the sofa, avoiding having to touch Jungkook. He just – he can’t, okay, he can’t, he won’t do that to himself. It’s hard enough having Jungkook’s warmth so close, his cheek pressed to the elder’s chest, inches from his thumping heart. Oh god, he can smell the perfume Jungkook must have put on before leaving for dinner, something fresh and floral and so painfully Jungkook.
Yoongi can feel his face burning, can feel, bizarrely, a lump forming in his throat. He shifts uncomfortably, but Jungkook doesn’t budge. “Crushing me,” he grumbles. It’s a lie, of course. It isn’t like Jungkook weighs a lot, muscles and all. Jungkook probably realises this, as he scoffs quietly and otherwise ignores Yoongi entirely.
How hasn’t Jungkook heard the way his heart is hammering against his ribcage? How can’t he feel the way that Yoongi’s blood is boiling beneath his skin, heat radiating off his body in waves? Jungkook does this all the time, he always curls up to the other members, he’s an affectionate kid. It’s fine. It’s fine it’s fine it’s fine –
Yoongi eases himself out from beneath Jungkook, curling his hands into fists to disguise the way his fingers shake. “Bathroom,” he chokes out, and he can’t look at the younger, can’t look at anyone. He leaves the room hurriedly without a backward glance, and he doesn’t leave his bedroom for the rest of the day.
♡ ♡ ♡
Jung Hoseok [10:22] hyung
sent to Jung Hoseok [10:25] no
Jung Hoseok [10:26] i didnt even say anything yet!!!!
sent to Jung Hoseok [10:27] then go on?
Jung Hoseok [10:29] today, hyung? will you tell him?
sent to Jung Hoseok [10:33] no
Jung Hoseok [10:34] youre impossible
♡ ♡ ♡
It’s a normal day. The members are spread out across their practice room, the walls wide and white and calming. Yoongi’s doing okay. Seokjin’s at his side, flicking through the wiki page for some drama he’s become hooked on, rambling away about the plot. The AC is on full, soothing against the sweat still drying against Yoongi’s skin. It’s been a tiring practice so far, but Yoongi’s kind of thankful for it. He’ll take any distraction he can get, these days.
The maknaes are laughing on the other side of the room, still standing before the mirror and fooling around. Yoongi doesn’t know how the hell any of them still have the energy to throw themselves around like that. Maybe it’s an age thing.
It isn’t like he’s watching them or anything, he can just hear them. He can hear Jungkook’s high, goofy cackling, the kind that escapes him when he throws his head back, the kind that wracks through his whole body. He can hear the kid’s footsteps, distinguishable from Jimin’s because they’re heavier, from Taehyung’s because they’re more deliberate. He can hear whatever music they’re playing, and he knows it’s from Jungkook’s phone because he’s heard that same song drifting beneath the bathroom door when the kid showers late at night.
Seokjin nudges him, and when Yoongi looks up, the elder looks unimpressed.
“Sorry hyung, did you say something?” he asks quietly.
Seokjin rolls his eyes and leans back heavily in his seat, pushing his phone into his pocket. “You realise you’re impossible to talk to when Jungkook’s in the same room, right?” Seokjin says drily, raising an eyebrow. Yoongi shushes him hurriedly, gripping the elder’s forearm as he glances around to make sure no one is listening. “Oh, relax. Everyone already knows.”
“S-still,” Yoongi replies stubbornly. He’s too far gone to deny it, at this point. Even he can see that. “Don’t.”
The elder leans forward, his expression softening. One large hand comes to rest on Yoongi’s shoulder, massaging at his still-aching muscles.
“Would it be so terrible if he knew?”
Yoongi looks up into Seokjin’s kind, concerned face, and glances over at Jungkook. His heart plummets, as it always does when he looks at their maknae. He’s still laughing, his face sweetly scrunched up as he grins at Taehyung, all oversized front teeth and crescent eyes. Then, Jungkook looks over at Yoongi, catching the elder’s eye. His smile brightens even more, impossibly, something lighting up in his eyes and a pretty flush colouring his cheeks. He lifts one hand, waving shyly, before Jimin tackles him from behind and captures his attention once more.
Yoongi startles as Seokjin shakes his shoulder slightly and his gaze drops to the scuffed white floor. He swallows thickly.
“Yeah. Yeah, it would.”
♡ ♡ ♡
He isn’t sure what time it is, but it must be late. Or early. He hasn’t moved in a while, but he’s alright, really. He didn’t splash out so much on the chair for his studio for no reason, after all. He’s comfy enough, albeit a little thirsty, a little tired. The song he’s working on isn’t far off a place where he’d be happy to leave it for another time. Might as well see his train of thought through to the end.
He takes his glasses off and sets them on the desk before him, pressing his fingertips against the aching hollows of his eyes. Namjoon will probably give him grief for straining his eyes again. He’s been a little irresponsible of late, spending more and more time at the studio, and though he says it’s just to prepare for their next comeback, he knows the truth. It’s likely that everybody else knows the truth, too, and they just humour him to keep the peace.
It’s getting harder and harder to spend time with Jungkook. Yoongi’s always tried to reason away his feelings, tried to brush them off as something that will fade with time. Whenever Jungkook laughs because of something he’s said, whenever Jungkook seeks him out in a joyful moment, or a sad moment, whenever their hands brush during choreography or when they’re all crowded around the dinner table, his insides feel all mixed up. He sometimes finds it difficult to breathe through the sheer feeling suddenly clamping around his heart, clogging up his lungs, the spaces between his ribs, the hollows of his collarbones. Yoongi had hoped it would pass, but it hasn’t. It’s getting worse.
He doesn’t want to jeopardise the dynamic of the group, but he’s sort of caught between a rock and a hard place. If he confesses, the dynamic will be affected anyway. Say Jungkook returns his feelings; the other members might not want to spend time with them anymore, and if it was leaked, if the media caught wind of it, the group would probably disband. Jungkook would be outed for the rest of his life, would face criticism and stigma and ignorance, all because of Yoongi. It’d be Yoongi’s fault.
Even if Jungkook doesn’t return his feelings, things will change. What if Yoongi grows to resent Jungkook? What if Jungkook is freaked out by the admission that his hyung, who he’s trusted to raise him well all these years, has been harbouring feelings for him? There are too many variables. He can’t do it. He just – has to hope that it’ll go away. Surely it’ll go away. Nothing lasts forever.
The bell to his studio door rings and he lets his hands fall away from his face, blinking away the lingering phosphenes in his eyes. He gets to his feet, stumbling a little from the stiffness, and moves over to the entrance, patiently unlocking and opening the two soundproofing doors.
It’s Jungkook. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. The maknae always has a habit of appearing whenever Yoongi is thinking about him – which is, you know, all the time.
“Hi, Yoongi-hyung!” he says brightly, much too loud for this time of night. He’s holding a cup of coffee, his name scrawled messily on the side. The smell of caffeine wafts towards Yoongi tantalisingly and he almost groans.
“What are you doing here so late, Kook?” Yoongi asks, his voice rough with underuse.
“Ah, I left my headphones here,” Jungkook explains. He holds up his other hand, his fingers wrapped around a tangled white wire. “And I knew you’d still be here, hyung, so I brought you coffee.”
There’s that lump in Yoongi’s throat again, the one that won’t disappear no matter how thickly he swallows. He just stares at the cup, unable to meet Jungkook’s gaze, even as his own hand reaches out to take it from the younger. He takes off the lid, as though to check the contents. Jungkook’s bought him a large americano, his go-to order, his favourite, and as he takes a sip the welcome bitterness coats his tongue, warming him as it slips down his throat.
When he finds the strength to look up, Jungkook is still smiling patiently, his cheeks a little pink, maybe from the cold outside. Yoongi clears his throat.
“You shouldn’t have left the dorms so late,” he says gruffly. Jungkook’s smile fades somewhat.
“Sorry, hyung, I just – needed to come here anyway, and I was – I was worried about you here on your own,” the maknae replies. His voice isn’t as bright as it was before, and that does something strange and painful to Yoongi’s chest.
It’s his fault, he knows it is, and he doesn’t know why he’s doing it, but he can’t stop himself. “I’m always here. You don’t need to worry,” he shrugs. Jungkook hangs his head, staring down at the floor between his feet. “Go home and get some rest, Jungkook.”
“Yes, hyung.”
Jungkook turns to leave without looking up at his hyung and god, Yoongi could cry, he doesn’t know why he’s doing this, doesn’t know why the coffee is shaking furiously in his grip. “Thanks for the coffee,” he calls, belatedly, but he doesn’t know if Jungkook heard.
♡ ♡ ♡
The next morning, Yoongi wakes up after only a couple of hours’ sleep. Everything aches, all over, but the worst is his head, a dull throbbing behind his eyes. He thinks that’s probably what woke him. He groans, throwing his arm over his face.
The room is silent. Seokjin must have left for the gym already, leaving quietly so as not to rouse Yoongi, though it turns out that wasn’t all that necessary as he’s awake anyway. He pushes himself up into a sitting position, groaning again. He should go and find some painkillers from the kitchen, get a glass of water – when was the last time he had a drink of water, goddamnit – then he can return to the comfort of his bed and hopefully get a few more hours of rest.
He eases his aching body from the mattress and pads across the room, barefoot, still rubbing groggily at his eyes. The dorm seems pretty quiet, most of the other bedroom doors still closed; it must be early. As he walks along the corridor towards the communal living area, something catches his attention; someone’s already in the lounge, and it sounds like – like they’re crying.
Yoongi pokes his head past the corner of the wall and spots, on the far side of the room, Namjoon, reclined on the sofa, Jungkook in his arms, the maknae’s face buried in the leader’s shoulder. Neither of them seems to have noticed Yoongi’s presence.
Jungkook’s shoulders are shaking.
“I know, Kook, I know. We’ve tried, we’ve all tried,” Namjoon says lowly, his hand carding through Jungkook’s hair. His face is creased with exhaustion and concern, as though he’s been comforting Jungkook for some time. “Maybe you could try?”
“He pushes me away, hyung, every time,” Jungkook sobs. His voice is barely audible, muffled as it is against Namjoon’s shoulder, but Yoongi can hear it, can always hear Jungkook, no matter what he’s doing. He doesn’t know what they’re talking about but it has something uncomfortable coiling in his stomach – guilt, white-hot and unrelenting. “Everyone says – says he loves me, but are you sure? Are you sure he doesn’t – doesn’t – hate me?”
“Kook-ah, nobody could ever hate you,” Namjoon chides gently. Jungkook pulls back, and Yoongi can’t see much from this angle, just one blotchy, tear-streaked cheekbone, the maknae’s eyelashes peppered with tears that reflect in the early morning light. Jungkook tries to argue, but Namjoon speaks over him, his voice calm and stern. “Hyung’s reasons are his own. It’s not your fault.”
Yoongi’s mouth has gone dry, bone-dry. Jungkook’s crying because of him, because of how he’s treated Jungkook, not just recently but for months. He knows he’s held the kid at arm’s length, but – but that was to stop this from happening, to stop Jungkook from getting hurt. He never wanted this to happen, never, never wanted Jungkook’s perfect face to streak with tears because of him. His heart is heavy, aching, and he feels bizarrely close to tears himself. He has to hold onto the wall for support, feeling like he might slump to the ground if he isn’t careful.
“It hurts,” Jungkook whimpers, falling back into the safety of Namjoon’s collarbone. “Every time I see him, it hurts. Why won’t he just tell me, hyung?”
Then, Namjoon catches Yoongi’s eye over the top of Jungkook’s head. His face hardens and he gestures down to Jungkook with his free hand as though to say, ‘yeah, hyung, why won’t you just tell him?’
Yoongi runs.
♡ ♡ ♡
Kim Namjoon [11:39] come home hyung
Kim Namjoon [13:06] he loves you
Kim Namjoon [14:55] youre fucking hurting him, just tell him
Kim Namjoon [17:14] please hyung
♡ ♡ ♡
Ever since Yoongi was a kid, he’s had this habit of planning escape routes, wherever he goes. He’s always found comfort in knowing that there’s somewhere he can go, somewhere safe and alone and reliable, if things get too hard. In his childhood home, it was at his piano. In their first dorm, it was the roof of their building, with a dizzying view of the Seoul skyline. Now, the members have figured out every potential hiding place in their new dorm, memorised the route to every park within a five-mile vicinity, and Yoongi’s had to outsource.
So he takes the train. Maybe it’s a little strange, but he finds a wonderful sense of anonymity on public transport. Nobody recognises him here because nobody’s looking, everybody has somewhere to be, something to do. He tucks himself away in a seat of the O-Train, the sightseeing route that loops from Seoul, to inland Korea and back again. His face is hidden behind a black mask and his hair is covered by the hood of his jacket, and nobody spares him a second glance. Usually, he’d take a notepad, taking the time to jot down any lyrics that come to mind, but this time, he needs peace, needs to get out of his own head for a few hours, so he sits quietly and watches the world flicker past the windows.
He must have been riding the train for hours now. Hardly anyone’s in his carriage; an American family, their faces glued to a window; a tired businessman, his eyes closed; an old lady, her gnarled fingers working at a patterned scarf; a pair of young women, seemingly deep in conversation. The sky is darkening outside and the train lights are beginning to flicker to life overhead. Yoongi hasn’t moved in a long time, and his ass is just a little bit numb, but he barely notices.
Jungkook.
He doesn’t know what to do. The whole purpose of this stupid self-preservation thing had been to spare their feelings, to keep the group together, to save Jungkook from a broken heart. He hadn’t intended to hurt the kid so badly. Every time he closes his eyes, Yoongi sees the tears in Jungkook’s eyelashes, sees the trembling, shuddering, heaving of his shoulders. Every time there’s a lull in chatter, he hears Jungkook’s sobs, hears the hopelessness in his voice.
’He pushes me away, hyung. It hurts.'
Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. His chest feels painfully tight, like he can’t breathe again, only it isn’t because of Jungkook’s laughter this time, and it’s so much worse. He doesn’t want to go home, he can’t face the members, can’t face Jungkook.
When he opens his eyes, his gaze falls on the two young women sitting on the other side of the train. They’re pretty, he thinks idly; one has long, glossy brown hair and a pair of glasses balanced on her nose, the frames heavy and dark. The other has her black hair cut into a bob, just skimming the soft curve of her jawline, her limbs long and graceful in stillness. He hadn’t noticed before, but they’re unusually close together despite the empty space around them. Their feet overlap, playfully nudging together, and their hands are linked in their laps. Their faces are close, seemingly getting closer by the second, and then Yoongi watches as they kiss, chaste but lingering.
He looks away in panic. What if somebody sees them, somebody that isn’t him, somebody mean and ignorant and old-fashioned? His gaze darts around the carriage, just to be sure, but nobody seems to be paying attention. The American family are babbling excitedly about something or other, gesticulating wildly at some tourist map. The businessman is still dozing in his seat, his briefcase slipping from his lap. The old lady, she’s noticed, though her face isn’t hard or unkind; she’s actually smiling as she looks at them, something close to pride in her gaze. Yoongi frowns.
He turns back to the couple. They don’t appear to have looked away from one another, not even for a moment, so if somebody had been glaring at them, he doubts they’d have noticed. They just stare at each other, their eyes so warm and adoring, soft smiles playing at their lips. Yoongi isn’t sure he’s ever seen anybody look so happy, look better together, look more like they belong.
It’s like somebody has switched on a light in his head.
He needs to get off this train.
♡ ♡ ♡
The dorm is quiet and dark by the time he gets home. Everybody must be in bed, but Yoongi pays no heed. He all but slams the door behind him and thunders through the corridors, not bothering to take his shoes off – blasphemy – and heads straight for Jungkook’s bedroom door. He’s panting, having ran straight from the station, but he doesn’t have time to catch his breath. He’s wasted so much time already, god, so much time.
He hammers on Jungkook’s door. He can hear bodies shifting in the rooms around him, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to have responded within three seconds, so he lifts his fist and hammers again, and keeps hammering until he sees the light switch on through the gap under the door.
The door swings inward and Jungkook is standing there, his hair fluffy and unkempt with sleep, his eyes scrunched up against the light. “Hyung?” he mumbles confusedly. Behind him, Yoongi hears other doors opening, hears the pad of bare feet against the floor as the other members investigate. “What – what time is it?”
“Jungkook,” Yoongi says. His voice is much too loud in the silence of the night, and Jungkook winces a little, rubbing at his face sleepily. God, he looks so beautiful. “I’m in love with you.”
In the space of three heartbeats after he speaks, nobody speaks, nobody even moves. Jungkook’s eyes widen, his brow furrows and his hand drops to his side. “Uh – what?”
“I’m in love with you,” Yoongi repeats calmly. His heart thunders inside his chest, tremulous and nervous but determined.
“Are you drunk?”
He snorts. “No.”
“Are you – sleepwalking?”
“No.”
“Then – then –” Jungkook stammers. Yoongi can almost hear the cogs whirring in the maknae’s mind. “Then you – you’re really – confessing?”
“Yes,” Yoongi says, and it feels like – god, like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, like his lungs have cleared, like his stomach has settled and his heart has pierced itself back together. Just for the sake of it, he repeats himself, “Yes.”
“No.”
Jungkook snaps the word, his face contorted with anger. His eyes fill with tears and he takes a step towards Yoongi, rounding on the elder, and behind him, Yoongi hears one of the members gasp.
“No, Yoongi,” Jungkook says again, punctuating his words with a jab against Yoongi’s chest. The moisture catches in his eyelashes again and Yoongi is mesmerised, barely notices the pain against his sternum, because jesus christ Jungkook is perfect, so perfect, and he can’t believe he’s taken so long. “You can’t just – wake me up in the middle of the fucking night and – you’re telling me you’re in love with me, after years – years, Yoongi, of pushing me away and keeping this stupid fucking wall between us. I need you to tell me what the fuck changed your mind, what the fuck managed to get through to you when nobody else could, and it had better” – jab, “be fucking” – jab, “good” – jab.
Yoongi’s grinning. He doesn’t know why, but he can’t stop smiling, even as the first tears roll down Jungkook’s cheeks.
“I was on the train,” he says calmly. “There was a couple. Girls. They kissed, and I thought – I don’t know, I thought there’d be uproar, I thought somebody would rip them apart and call them disgusting, but nobody did, nobody cared. They looked so happy, Jungkook, I never thought about that, I never thought about the happiness, I only ever thought about the pain, but – if there’s a chance I can make you that happy, I have to do something. I have to try.”
Jungkook’s face has softened somewhat, though he still scowls down at his hyung. His eyes flicker between Yoongi’s, searching, cautious. He takes a deep, steadying breath. “You really mean it? You’re telling me that you’re in love with me? For real?” he asks, his voice wavering.
Yoongi nods, still smiling like a fucking lunatic. “Yeah, for real.”
Jungkook’s next exhale comes as a sob, and his hands grab either side of Yoongi’s jaw clumsily, and then they’re kissing, like the girls on the train, chaste but lingering and sweet, so sweet, sweeter than honey. Yoongi’s arms wrap around Jungkook’s waist tightly, one fisting in the back of Jungkook’s t-shirt, the other pressing, wide-palmed against his ribcage, keeping them close together. He can’t stop smiling and, after a moment, he feels Jungkook smile too, watery and wonderful.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“That’s what gets him? A random fucking couple?”
“Fuck this, I’m going back to bed.”
“Jesus fucking christ, Yoongi, finally.”
The bedroom doors close behind them, one by one, until it’s just Jungkook and Yoongi, Yoongi and Jungkook, kissing gently in the near-darkness.
When Jungkook pulls back, his gaze is soft and warm, sparkling with happiness, and his thumbs brush over Yoongi’s cheekbones tenderly.
“Took you long enough.”