Chapter Text
hoseok likes to tell stories that goes beyond the norm, likes to give kids a chance to feel represented, not weird, okay. at least for a while.
yoongi just admires him from afar. watches him tell his stories of princesses riding the backs of giant birds, of ancient colonies of dogs on the moon.
he never approaches hoseok. just listens. appreciates the difference he’s making. appreciates the glimmer of hope he brings to the eyes of the children.
each friday, as hoseok is leaving, he smiles at yoongi. sometimes he waves. yoongi smiles back. and that’s that.
the kids slowly disperse. some are picked up by parents. others trudge on home by themselves. yoongi stays.
he lives for his library. has put his whole heart and soul into making it his, and his only.
he strokes the backs of his books in a soft and gentle way only a man who once had nothing and now has everything he ever wanted can.
(and if he stares at the sofa hoseok occupies so often just a bit longer than he should, well, there’s no one there to see it.)
one day, as hoseok is leaving, he brings a book to the counter. yoongi helps him check it out under his name, gives him the usual smile. and that’s that.
except it isn’t.
next friday, hoseok doesn’t show up.
yoongi receives a phone call from a number he doesn’t recognize, from a person he doesn’t know.
“is this min yoongi?” they say. “hoseokie- jung hoseok. he can’t come in today.”
“okay,” yoongi responds, although he wants to ask why. “that’s okay.” they hang up. and that’s that.
the weekly storytelling was put on hold.
after three months of nothing, yoongi considers stopping it for good. storytelling friday without hoseok wasn’t storytelling friday.
yoongi spends his days in the library. and when books don’t occupy his thoughts, nor music, it is the argument between his heart and mind that fills them.
a part of him misses hoseok. another part of him thinks maybe not seeing him anymore is for the better.
(and how can yoongi help the fact that he is, always has been, and probably always will be, a man who follows his heart?)
so he cares for his books. he cares for his music. he hopes for a day where hoseok returns. and that’s that.
then one day, a friday (not storytelling friday, just friday), there’s a knock on the door well after yoongi’s closed up for the night.
it’s a man, and before yoongi can say anything, he introduces himself as kim seokjin. he asks if he can come in, just for a while.
yoongi stares at him in disbelief. he knows that voice, has heard it before (“hoseokie- jung hoseok. he can’t come in today.”)
yoongi lets him in.
they stand in silence. yoongi looks at seokjin. seokjin looks at anything but yoongi, eyes drifting around the library.
he’s gathering his thoughts, and yoongi lets him. seokjin sighs, turns to yoongi, and tells him everything.
that hoseok had been getting better. (“better?” yoongi wants to ask, but stays silent.)
that hoseok had been improving so much. (“improving?” yoongi wonders, but doesn’t ask.)
that hoseok had been fighting so hard, every day a struggle. (“...had,” yoongi thinks, freezing up.)
“in the- in his- he,” seokjin’s voice trembles as he pushes a book towards yoongi. twenty thousand leagues under the sea. “he wanted you to have this back.”
slowly, yoongi grabs the book, clutches it in his hands. he stares at it, trying to process everything (he had he had he had he had he—)
seokjin opens his mouth as if to say something, but nothing gets said. his bottom lip quivers as he draws in a sharp breath.
“i’m- yoongi, i- i’m so-“ seokjin’s face is a bright red, trying to hold back. brows knitted, his entire being shaking. “i’m so sorry.”
“i don’t-“ yoongi gulps, throat too dry. “i don’t understand,” he finally says (lies). “i don’t understand.”
suddenly, seokjin gasps, and it seems like all restraint in him breaks all at once. still holding onto the book (hoseok’s book), yoongi watches as the man, older than himself, breaks.
body shaking with sobs, he tries to speak. “yoongi i’m so- god, yoongi i’m so sorry. i’m so fucking sorry, i should’ve- i should’ve done more, i-“
and then, seokjin looks up at him. their eyes meet. and what yoongi knew all along (he had he had he had) is confirmed.
“he’s dead, yoongi,” seokjin manages. “he’s gone, and i- i’m so sorry, so fucking sorry, i-“
seokjin backs up, hands trembling as he tries to rid his face of the tears that just keep flowing, clinging to his lashes and falling off his chin in fat droplets.
seokjin tries for a smile (oh so painfully) and yoongi wants to scream, wants to curl up into a ball and disappear.
and when seokjin keeps the unsteady smile, waves his hand goodbye, and leaves, yoongi can’t help but be reminded of hoseok (he’s dead he’s dead he’s dead)
letting out a shuddering breath, the book (hoseok’s book) falls out of his hands. yoongi stares at it in shock, tears pooling in his eyes, blurring his vision. slowly, he slides down against a bookshelf to sit on the floor.
legs pulled tight to his body, his face cradled in his hands, yoongi cries. sobs wrack through his body, snot runs from his nose, and he cries.
hands end up in his hair and he pulls, hard. nails scratch harshly over his arms, over scars long since healed, and he’s filled with a sudden urge to- (no no no no NO NO NO)
he feels like throwing up, finds himself on all fours, heaving, choking on air, choking on love that will never be returned.
and that’s when he sees it. tucked between the pages of hoseok’s book (it must have been his favorite—), there’s a piece of paper. urgently, yoongi reaches out for it.
it’s a handwritten letter. yoongi reads it. then he reads it again. his tears leave stains on the letter which shakes in his weak hold.
he holds the letter, clutches it against his chest, right against his beating heart. miserable sobs escape his body as he slowly pulls himself up to stand on weak legs.
taking a deep breath, yoongi steels himself. without looking back, he rushes out the door, lets it smash against the wall and bounce back, not quite closing itself.
on unsteady legs, min yoongi runs down the street, rounds a corner. and that’s that.