Work Text:
“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.” - Norman Cousins
[Jungkook, 11:36 pm]: I'll be there soon hyung :) Just running a little over time at work
[Jungkook, 11:36 pm]: I’ve missed u like hell
[Jungkook, 11:38 pm]: Order a takeout ready <3
//
He doesn’t really remember much of that night. Bits and pieces come back to him while he sleeps; they float through his dreams with piercing clarity, waking him to an erratic heartbeat and salt stained sheets.
Some things are clear, and he remembers them so vividly that he feels as though he’s reliving them.
Some things are blurry, and he doesn’t know how to explain to everyone that he feels as though he’s missing parts of his memory.
These are the things he doesn’t remember:
#1: what he ordered for himself.
#2: where the takeout went after everything.
#3: what the police said to him.
#4: how Hoseok got into their apartment.
These are the things he does remember:
#1: what he ordered for Jungkook.
#2: the takeout man knocking on their apartment door. Taking the food off the takeout man. Giving the takeout man money. Setting up the takeout on their table.
#3: the police knocking on their apartment door. Taking in what the police say. Giving the police a statement. Feeling his entire world shatter like glass.
#4: Hoseok holding him close to his chest. Tears soaking through their rug. Fingers digging into the palms of his hand. Blood staining their rug.
#5: the pain.
He’d heard once before that the pain of losing someone was worse than any physical pain you could possibly bear. He’d never experienced death before but had experienced breaking his collarbone, so he had always disagreed.
He was so, so wrong.
It’s seering. A pain so hot that the burn marks are visible across your skin. He doesn’t know how to explain it; how can he? When all he remembers is seeing white, white, white, feeling the back of his skull erupt with blooming goosebumps, watching as the air left his body because their apartment was cold and Yoongi had forgotten to turn the heating on because Jungkook was always there to tell him to do it anyway and now he wasn’t.
It’s dramatic, to say the least, when his body gives out on him after he closes the door to the police. He just… crumbles. Let’s gravity do its thing and drag him to the ground without an inkling of remorse, the pain in his throat, chest, eyes, head— everything outweighing the collision with the floor.
That’s where Hoseok finds him when he lets himself into their apartment– his. His apartment, now. Curled up on the floor, shaking with every breath, right by the door.
“I’ve got you,” he’d whispered, pulling Yoongi into his lap gently. A hand finds its way into his hair and fingers link through fingers and Hoseok holds him so close that he almost forgets where he is. What has happened. But then he doesn't. “I’ve got you
something,” Jungkook smiles, hands behind his back in a teasing manner. He does this all the time - Yoongi’s used to it - but the way he bounces on the balls of his feet and scrunches his nose up always makes Yoongi’s heart speed up.
Yoongi watches from the couch. He’s spread out across the surface; hair ruffled, t-shirt crumpled, lips swollen, and honestly a little let down. He’d been making out with Jungkook for what seemed like minutes, hours, days – time didn’t exist with Jungkook, there was only now – when a song had come on shuffle and ultimately caused Jungkook to push himself out from under Yoongi and scramble to the kitchen.
Yoongi had panicked. Who wouldn’t? Your boyfriend of a month and a bit (a month and 13 days if he’s being technical) suddenly stops sticking his tongue down your throat for no apparent reason and runs off into the kitchen.
They hadn’t been dating long, not even as long as Yoongi and his last boyfriend had lasted, but Yoongi felt like he’d already jumped in at the deep end with this one.
He’d been paddling all his life, too scared to take his feet off the ocean bed. His head always bobbed at the surface, a sort of unknowing reassurance that if something were to go wrong he could all swim back to shore with little struggle.
Jungkook had dragged him under without warning or preparation – the water engulfing his entire being – and Yoongi found that he didn’t care. Nor was he scared like he thought he’d be. Instead, he let the water fill his lungs.
Jungkook had returned, obviously. Yoongi knew he was going to. Sock covered feet had padded their way from the kitchen back into the living room and stopped dead in front of the couch, arms hanging behind his back and a shy smile plastered across his face.
That’s where they are now. Seconds apart, both hearts racing, grinning at each other like they’re each other’s worlds. (They are.)
Yoongi grins up at him. He sits up and spreads his arms over the back of the couch, lolling his head against the cushions. “What is it?”
Jungkook, almost embarrassed, looks like he’s second guessing himself. Hesitation brews in his eyes like a storm. Yoongi reaches out and grabs Jungkook’s jean clad thigh, rubbing his thumb over it soothingly.
Jungkook checks himself and hands Yoongi the box, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. His fingers pull at one another as Yoongi turns it over in his hand. “It’s only something small.”
Yoongi guessed that already. The box fits easily in the palm of his hand, it’s matte black plastic covering not really giving much away. There’s no lock or packaging that needs to be removed, only the need to lift the lid up and reveal what’s inside.
So that’s what he does. Opens it up and peers inside, nothing but a smooth fabric covering the surface. There’s a small pebble cushioned in there. Yoongi looks up at Jungkook.
“From when you first kissed me. By the –“
“Train tracks,” Jungkook says, glancing at his feet. He’s bouncing on the balls of them again, though this time it’s more of a nervous habit rather than borne of out excitement. He chews on the inside of his cheek. “By the train tracks.”
Yoongi tips the pebble into his hand, turning it over so that his eyes can take in every last scratch. Every last indent. Every last detail. It’s minuscule in size, honestly, about the same as a pea. Or maybe two. But Yoongi feels the weight of it add to the feeling of this growing something in his stomach.
He puts the pebble back into the box and reaches out, almost clumsily, for Jungkook. His hands find some sort of purchase – he doesn’t know where, doesn’t really care – and he tugs, bringing Jungkook hurtling into his lap.
Jungkook huffs out a laugh, one as soft as midnight rain, and situates himself properly. His legs straddle Yoongi’s thighs and his arms hang loosely between them. An almost bashful demeanour radiates off of him. Yoongi pinches his hip gently.
“It’s wonderful,” he says, trying to catch Jungkook’s eye. Jungkook is looking at his lap, though a small smile is playing cautiously at his lips. Yoongi hooks a finger under Jungkook’s chin and forces his gaze up. “Hey. I love it.”
“I just wanted you to know,” Jungkook bites at his bottom lip again. Yoongi reaches strokes his thumb over it. “That it means a lot to me. That day. You mean a lot to me.”
It’s only been a month and a bit (a month and 13 days) but here Yoongi is, falling faster than he ever has before, drowning in the deepest parts of the ocean. Here he is with Jungkook.
He kisses him softly, eyes dropping closed of their own accord. The feeling in his stomach threatens to overflow into the limited space between them and he knows that if he stops kissing Jungkook for just one second that he’ll spill. He’ll let the ocean water escape him. So he kisses him like there’s no tomorrow.
“Maybe,” Jungkook mumbles against him, his breath tickling Yoongi’s upper lip. Yoongi nips at Jungkook’s bottom lip before he continues. “We could go back there. The
train tracks are old, and cracked, and unsafe when Yoongi visits them again. They’ve always been that way, haven’t been in use for god knows how long, but Yoongi can’t help remembering a time where he related them to feelings of youth, and soundness and safety.
That was always because Jungkook was weaved within them.
He’s without anyone; came on his own to clear out the mess that is his head right now. He told Namjoon he was going to the store to get some more milk, because ever since the – incident, Yoongi hasn’t been able to sleep alone. It’s a bummer for his bills, since Namjoon and Hoseok moved in, but he reckons the company outweighs the loss of a bit of cash.
He’s avoiding them. He’s not proud to admit it but he has to because it’s painstakingly obvious. He’s been avoiding them for weeks, not wanting to have to sit down and talk about what’s happening, what’s going to happen, what’s happened because he’s lonely and he’s so fucking scared and he’s afraid he might break. They’re the only sense of consistency he has left in his life and he still can’t get himself to look them in the eye. Not now, it’s too soon.
It’s freezing as he sits down, though that could partly be the result of him leaving the house in nothing but joggers (his) and a t-shirt (Jungkook’s). Goosebumps rise over the skin of his arms, the nippy winter breeze settling around him like a security blanket. Though he doesn’t feel secure at all.
His phone buzzes manically in his pocket, the loud sounds a deafening contrast to the silence of the tracks and the trees surrounding it. He pulls his phone out and ends the call, not even bothering to look at who it is.
Instead, he brings up his voicemails. He tells himself that this has to be a form of masochism, that listening to these will do nothing but cause pain and hurt and desperation. But he does it anyway, cradling the phone in his icy hands.
There’s static at first – the sound of rustling coming from the other side of the phone – then a burst of laughter. Yoongi smiles down at his device.
“Sorry, sorry. I know I said I’d leave you alone. I just–“ more shuffling, the sound of a door locking, shoes being kicked off. “I miss you. God, that sounds so cheesy. We just saw each other.”
Yoongi grins, a watery laugh escaping his lips.
“Anyway, text me, yeah? We can plan tomorrow or something.”
Yoongi clicks on the next one. This is definitely masochism.
Jungkook’s whiny voice rings through the speakers, “Hyung. Stop ignoring me.”
Yoongi’s own voice following, “I’m literally right here.”
“Pay attention then.”
“Make me.”
The sound of Jungkook moving. Yoongi’s shocked laugh, swallowed down by Jungkook’s lips on his.
The next one:
Jungkook, obviously close to tears, “I don’t want to fight anymore. Please come over.”
The next one:
“You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
And the next one:
“Busan is boring without you. You should’ve come.”
And finally:
“I miss you so fucking much it physically hurts.”
Yoongi locks his phone. He can’t see the screen anyway, the tears falling like a waterfall now. He tries desperately to stop them. Looks up at the sky and blinks hard.
It’s getting dark. The stars poking out of the clouds, the moon hanging beautifully in the sky. He hears his phone buzz again, wants to kick it across the train tracks. He answers it.
“Hi,” he hates how small his voice sounds. How obvious it is that he’s not okay.
Namjoon stays silent for a moment before trying, gently, “We have plenty of milk in the fridge, hyung.”
“I know,” Yoongi admits, and promptly bursts into tears. He buries his head in his knees and sobs. “Come and get me. Please, come and get me
from work?” Jungkook suggests, voice a little playful down the line.
Yoongi pulls his phone away from his ear to check the time. 6:45 pm. He raises an eyebrow. “You’re early.”
“Well I asked to finish early. Wanted at least a little bit of time with you before you leave.”
It’s Christmas time, and Yoongi has to go back to Daegu for two weeks to see his family. He’d asked Jungkook to come with him, to meet his parents, but Jungkook had to go to Busan a few days later anyway, so it wouldn’t have been practical.
Family visits aren’t all that bad, Yoongi’s just dramatic and doesn’t like travelling for too long. He has Holly - his dog - and the nostalgia of home to accompany him. He just doesn’t have Jungkook.
It’s scary - how dependant he’s become on the boy - how fast he’s fallen for him. They spend nearly every waking hour together. Whether it’s just chilling at Yoongi’s apartment, going out to town, or curling up in the swimming pool of the abandoned house to watch the stars, they can’t seem to separate themselves.
That’s why this trip seems so daunting to the both of them.
When Yoongi eventually picks Jungkook up – because of course he does, he’s fucking whipped and cant say no – he doesn’t take him back to his. Instead, he takes them to the abandoned house just up the road, watching as Jungkook’s face lights up in the passenger seat. He squeezes Yoongi’s thigh tightly, dripping excitement all over the dashboard.
“I don’t have a blanket this time,” Yoongi states as he steps out of the car. The winter breeze nips at his ears and cheeks and he pulls his beanie further down his head.
“S’okay,” Jungkook shrugs, shivering already. His chin is tucked into his scarf, hands rubbing together to keep warm. He looks utterly endearing. Yoongi swallows roughly. “I have you to keep me warm.”
Yoongi scoffs, cheeks burning like a flame. He’s glad Jungkook has his back turned to him otherwise he’d sure get made fun of. “That’s so cheesy.”
“Only for you, babe.”
The house is massive; a four-story mansion of sorts that still oozes richness even in its derelict state. It’s quite dated, the decor and furniture representing that fully, but it’s still more beautiful than anything Yoongi has ever set eyes on.
(Maybe not Jungkook.)
The living area is open planned, the kitchen visible through a hole in the far left wall. Whether it’s intentional or just that result of years of decay, Yoongi doesn’t know. A classical grand piano sits in window, dust covering everywhere except the keys. Yoongi plays it too much for dust to gather there.
“The swimming pool is gross again,” he hears Jungkook shout for the other side of the house. He doesn’t know how, but he’s already sitting at the piano bench. A magnetic-like pill always has him gravitating towards it, even if he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. “The rain really fucked us over.”
A melody fills the room almost immediately, the sounds bouncing off the walls with clear precision. Yoongi thanks the acoustics of the house, relishing in the echoes of the chords as he plays them.
He’s played ever since he could walk. Loved every piano he has ever come into contact with. Admired every chord that has ever been produced by them. Played until his head throbbed, eyes stung and fingers ached. He’s dedicated his entire life to the piano, regrets nothing.
He remembers Namjoon asking him once: “Do you believe in soulmates?”
He’d nodded and answered, “The piano is my soulmate.”
He feels a weight on the bench beside him, turns to look. Jungkook sits there, a small smile and doe eyes. He’s looking at Yoongi.
He reaches up carefully and plays with the hem of Yoongi’s beanie, letting his fingers brush lightly across his temples. “You make ugly faces when you play.”
Yoongi shoves him, hard, and Jungkook’s laugh is more beautiful than any song he’s ever played. He laughs as he clings on to Yoongi, trying to not fall off the bench. He laughs when Yoongi grabs his wrists, and brings one to his lips. He laughs when Yoongi whispers come here, and pulls him closer. He only smiles when Yoongi kisses him, and lets himself drown in happiness.
It’s not heated – it’s not the right moment for that – instead the two just sit there, holding tightly onto jumper sleeves or scarfs around necks and slowly take each other apart with the timid drag of their lips and measured roll of their tongues.
No matter how many times he’s destined to kiss Jungkook, Yoongi knows that he’ll never, ever get sick of it. He loves the way they fit perfectly. He loves the taste Jungkook leaves on his tongue. He loves the sounds that fall from his lips. He loves how Jungkook’s hand roam. He loves. He loves. He loves.
He really does fucking love.
Jungkook moves to pepper soft kisses along the juncture of Yoongi’s jaw and neck, nipping at a sensitive bit of skin there. Yoongi lets his head fall backwards, his hand grabbing at Jungkook’s hair, urging him on. Jungkook complies and moves further down.
It wasn’t supposed to get heated. Not on the bench at least. But then Jungkook bites down on Yoongi’s neck and Yoongi pulls his hair a little harder and Jungkook finds his way into Yoongi lap and Yoongi’s gripping his waist so hard that he’s pretty sure he’s going to leave bruises and Jungkook’s making sweet little noises in his mouth and–
“Jesus fuck,” Yoongi pants, pulling Jungkook further into his lap. Jungkook sighs and grips at Yoongi’s shoulders. Yoongi leans up to kiss him again. “I love you so much.”
He freezes, lips stilling against Jungkook’s. Jungkook has frozen too, eyes wide and looking down at Yoongi from his position on his lap. His lips are swollen and his hair is sticking up in awkward angles and he’s so, so flushed. Yoongi almost wants to looks away. He doesn’t.
Jungkook blinks, then – after what feels like years – finally speaks. “What?”
“I love you,” Yoongi repeats, keeping eye contact with Jungkook. His heart is racing 100mph and his palms are breaking into a sweat but he stands his ground. Looks up at Jungkook like he has for months.
Jungkook doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. His chest rises and falls unevenly, and Yoongi can almost hear his heartbeat. Though that might be his own. Jungkook moves his hands to Yoongi’s neck slowly letting them wander over his jaw and cheeks, his thumb catching on Yoongi’s lower lip. He rests his hands on Yoongi’s face and stares, eyes searching for something Yoongi can’t decipher.
Yoongi almost says something, an attempt to explain, to apologise, but Jungkook doesn’t give him a chance because he’s leaning in again and kissing Yoongi so hard that he sees stars.
Yoongi melts into Jungkook, clinging onto his arms just below the elbow, and lets himself swallow the water of the unrelenting sea. Jungkook kisses him hard but slow, a wave of emotions trying to be conveyed into one kiss Yoongi gets it. He’s gotten it for months.
Minutes later, hours later, Jungkook pulls back. Not far enough that their lips stop touching, but far enough that he can look into Yoongi's eyes. Their noses bump slightly, lips brushing against each other with every slight movement. Jungkook’s breathing hard and his grip on Yoongi’s face is unmoving. He pecks his lips once more before speaking.
“I love you too,” he mumbles, so quietly that Yoongi almost misses it. He doesn’t, though. His stomach swoops low and high. Butterflies come nowhere near to the amount of fluttering in his stomach. “I love you.”
“Come to Daegu with me,” Yoongi says against Jungkook’s lips. “Come to Daegu and I’ll come to Busan.”
Jungkook nods wordlessly, pulling Yoongi in for another kiss. And another. And another. “Your parents will be okay with that?”
“Of course,” Yoongi nods, brushing Jungkook’s bangs out of his face. “Yours too?”
Jungkook looks down, shrugs, “Probably. Even if they aren’t, it doesn’t matter. I just want you there.”
“They’ll love you,” Yoongi assures him, squeezing at his hips softly. “Well, Holly will definitely love you. But hopefully my family
are visiting,” Yoongi says, curled up in a ball on the couch again. Jimin sits at the bottom, cradling Yoongi’s feet, and Hoseok is sitting in the chair opposite. He can hear clutter and chaos erupting from the back room, Namjoon and Seokjin setting up their stuff there. “They’re bringing Holly. Where’s Tae?”
“He’s coming now,” Jimin pats his foot. “Just picking up some extra food.”
Yoongi lets his head fall on to the arm of the couch, jolting with the force he’d let it carry. His eyes sting and are most definitely puffy. When are they not these days? He shifts his feet around in Jimin’s lap, craving to be touched just a little longer. Jimin traces his finger up Yoongi’s leg.
The door to their apartment — his apartment opens gently, as if opening it with any more force would cause the whole building to crumble into a million and one pieces. Yoongi wishes that it would.
His mother pokes her head through the doorway, a sad look on her face, and Yoongi wants nothing more than for her to turn back around and try again. Try again because her looking at him like that is not what he wants.
He wants her monthly visits where she barged in with Holly and engulfed Jungkook into a hug so tight that Yoongi could feel the force of it from the other side of the room. He wants her to sit with them and ask about their lives while his dad makes them drinks in the kitchen and Holly lays across Yoongi’s feet. He wants Jungkook to wrap his arms around Yoongi’s waist after they’re gone and rest his head on his shoulder, whispering a teasing “they like me better than you.”
He wants normality to drag him into the deepness of the ocean again.
Instead, he gets: “I’m so sorry, baby.”
When Yoongi was younger, around 5 or 6, his grandmother died. She’d lived a long life, dying at 98, and had been quite poorly towards the end so it wasn’t unexpected. That didn’t mean it hurt less.
Yoongi didn’t understand at first. Why was his mother crying in the middle of the night? Why couldn’t he do anything to make her happy? He’d even tried to dance with Holly. That always worked, but it didn’t this time. She was inconsolable and it pained Yoongi to see his mother in such a state. His heart ached for her to just smile once more, to take his hand and spin him around the room, to laugh at his dad’s jokes at the dinner table, to go back to the warm consistency they’d had before.
He didn’t understand. Now he does.
The boys leave after a while, suggesting that Yoongi spends some time alone with his parents, and although Yoongi protested at first, he let up and let them go.
His dad offers to make them some drinks and disappears out the kitchen. His mother takes his hands and brushes a thumb softly over his cheek, probably wiping away a tear he didn’t know had fallen. She looks at him with clouds in her eyes.
“How are you feeling?”
Empty. As if he had been dragged around the streets on the back of a bus and everyone had taken their turns to stamp on him as he went by. He felt cold all over, the familiar warmth of the ocean ripped away and replaced by the chilling sensation of nothingness, floating through the air as if nothing around him was real. He felt a pain so deeply burrowed in his chest that he was certain he was bleeding from the inside out, an everlasting gash inside of him that filled him with agony so hot that he could feel himself melting. He felt nothing.
“I’m fine.”
His mother brushes her lips along his knuckles as she speaks to him, her voice a soft whisper amongst antagonistic thoughts. “Talk to me.”
He stays silent, letting the sounds of the kettle boiling out the kitchen fill the spaces between the words because it’s less tormenting than speaking his thoughts. His mother doesn’t let go of his hand.
Holly takes his usual seat at Yoongi’s feet, wagging his tail enthusiastically and Yoongi wants to grab him and hold him tight because at least he’s acting as though nothing has changed. At least looking at Holly Yoongi can pretend that everything is the same.
“Do you feel like you’re drowning?”
Yoongi startles, shakes his head. He takes a while to gather his thoughts.
“When you’re drowning your reflexes tell you to open your mouth, to breathe. But not until the last moment. When the pounding in your ears is so persistent and the pain in your head is near unbearable, that’s when your body reacts. That’s when you drown,” Yoongi stares at a picture hanging on the far left wall as he speaks, tracing over the lines of Jungkook’s face.
His mother listens intently, keeping his fingers locked with her son’s.
Yoongi continues, “I was drowning. He pulled me right under and opened my mouth before my body could even get the reflexes to kick in. I’d been holding my breath for so long, mom. Letting him in meant filling my lungs up in the process. Now, I can’t breathe without feeling as if i’m falling apart.”
His mother looks at him with wide eyes, tears brimming at the edges. She looks so helpless, so lost. Yoongi wants to take it all away from her and let her go back to her normal life instead of mopping around the place after her son. She squeezes his hand so tight he’s afraid he’ll crumble.
"I'm not drowning. It's the fact that I can finally breathe now and I hate the feeling of the air returning to my lungs after being so full for so fucking long. I got so used to drowning and now I'm bobbing on the surface while he's sunk to the bottom and I don't know what to fucking do.
Before, it was like I was teetering on the edge for years. I could swim back to the surface and never involve myself with the sea ever again or I could open my mouth and let myself sink to the bottom of the ocean. Instead I just waited, making myself hold my breath for as long as I could, until my head felt as though it was about to explode, because I didn’t want to let the water in. But when he came alone I did anyway because it’s a reflex.”
“Sounds like agony,” his mother says.
“It was him,” Yoongi hears himself speak, doesn't remember saying the words. “A little bit of agony was worth it.”
His father returns a few moments later, carrying a tray with their mugs on into the living room. He places them down on the table in front of Yoongi, causing him to look up from his position on his mother’s shoulder.
It’s when he spots four mugs, a force of habit by his dad, that he lets himself finally breathe.
“Who’s… this?”
Jungkook hesitates, his actions seemingly skittish compared to the calmness that had settled over the two while they’d wandered through the streets of Busan. Their hands had brushed dubiously, searching for warmth in the wintry air of late December, but their fingers never found the courage to lace together. Nevertheless, Jungkook had an amenable smile that tugged at his lips every time his gaze drifted to Yoongi. Yoongi smiles back every time.
Now though, Jungkook stands in the doorway of his parents house looking like a all-consuming fire in a winter wonderland. The juxtaposition is almost jarring.
Jungkook’s mother stands in the way of the two of them, cutting them off from the rest of the household as if letting them in will disrupt the peaceful amity they’ve spent so long building. Yoongi almost introduces himself as Jungkook’s friend, as someone who’s here to just keep him company, but then Jungkook’s arm finds it way round Yoongi’s waist, anchoring him down.
“This is Yoongi,” Jungkook says, his face tilted up defiantly. His hand squeezes at Yoongi’s waist, as if he’s looking for some confidence. Something to keep him going. “He’s my boyfriend.”
Jungkook’s mother blanches, face blank. She looks at Jungkook like she’s expecting him to scream IT'S A JOKE and be done with it. It’s only when Jungkook doesn’t move that her face slips into something much more cold and distant.
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I just said,” Jungkook’s voice has dipped into an icy cold disharmony rather than the pleasant euphony that had surrounded him before. Yoongi brushes his shoulder against Jungkook’s own. “Is there a problem?”
It was a stupid question, Jungkook obviously already knowing the answer, but Yoongi understands the underlying optimism that laces Jungkook’s words like a thin thread. He understands the need to dig deep and confirm the notion that the people he’d looked up to for the majority of his life had finally given up on him, cast him away in a toyetic manner.
By the way Jungkook’s mother walked away, the way Jungkook slumped helplessly into Yoongi’s side, the way the air left his body like it was the last burst of life left in his body, Yoongi knew that Jungkook had lost what meant the most to him.
The days spent with Jungkook’s family were awkward, to say the least. Jungkook’s older brother, Junghyun, was the most tolerable. He was nice, even, choosing to treat the boys no differently than usual. He talked with Yoongi about music for hours on end and let Jungkook beat him at video games. Jungkook said it felt like home.
Jungkook’s father was never rude; he never explicitly said anything that was pointed to hurt the two boys, but he was dismissive. He chose to ignore rather than engage which was better in some ways and worse in others. Yoongi could feel the weight it was putting on Jungkook’s shoulders, the way he’d deflate. His dad would acknowledge him and not Yoongi, would introduce Yoongi as a friend of Jungkook’s to visiting friends and family members, would walk out of a room whenever they were being affectionate. Yoongi knew the extent of the pain Jungkook was flooded with.
Jungkook’s mother was the worst. Yoongi won’t go into detail but the fact that she’d separated them into different bedrooms and talked to Jungkook all night about her colleagues pretty daughter who’s single and majoring in music didn’t necessarily rub well with him.
It’s 3:27am when Yoongi’s bedroom door opens, the light from the landing illuminating the room for a quick moment before plunging itself into darkness again. The pattern of footsteps a familiar sound to Yoongi’s ears. He shifts up the bed and pulls the covers back.
Jungkook climbs in, his feet cold against Yoongi’s shins, and Yoongi finds that he doesn’t care when a shiver wracks through his body at the contact. He reaches out blindly, hands fisting in the front of Jungkook’s shirt, and finds comfort in the cotton material under his fingertips.
They stay like that for a while; Jungkook’s legs tangled with Yoongi’s and Yoongi’s hands gripping at Jungkook’s front. They’re quiet, just the sounds of the odd shuffle and steady breaths clouding the still air around them, and Yoongi finally feels comfortable.
His eyes trace the outlines of Jungkook’s face –features softened in the twilight– and soon enough his fingers follow, dancing to songs of utter love and safety across his skin. Jungkook turns his head and presses the slightest of kisses to the base of Yoongi’s thumb, lips barely brushing the skin but it’s enough. It’s always enough.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Jungkook murmurs, and the whole world pauses in peaceful tranquility to hear him speak. He touches a hand to Yoongi’s waist, relishing in the feel of skin against his fingertips.
Yoongi shuffles closer and cups Jungkook’s face, his thumb brushes across his cheekbone. “Me neither.”
“Missed you too much,” Jungkook’s voice is strained, as if he’s close to tears, and when Yoongi catches his eye it’s evident that’s what it is. “I’m too used to falling asleep next to you.”
Yoongi’s heart breaks at the sadness in his voice. It’s true, Jungkook has been spending more and more time at Yoongi’s apartment, making up excuses so bad that Yoongi can’t help but grin like a fool every time he does. He goes home every now and again, to shower and to eat properly or to grab things for class, but he mostly just stays at Yoongi’s. His clothes lay scattered across the bedroom floor, there’s an extra toothbrush next to Yoongi’s, Jungkook’s favourite cereal stands amongst the others.
It almost feels like home.
“We don’t spend every night together, Kook,” Yoongi offers, tiptoeing around the subject in fear of saying the wrong thing, of breaking the harmony of delicate words spoken into the dead of night. “We’ve gone much longer than a few hours.”
“I know, but–“ Jungkook sighs and cuts himself off, pulling back from Yoongi to look him in the eye. His face is a broken canvas, ripped at the edges and torn down the middle, but still a work of art. He taps Yoongi’s side nervously. “I’m sorry. About my parents. About my mother. If I’d have known she’d be this bad I wouldn’t have brought you here. Not that I’m embarrassed of you, it’s just that– I’d rather you not have to deal with it and like– it’s not fair that you- you have to deal with it because you’re so wonderful and great–“
The rest of his sentence is cut off by the firm press of Yoongi’s lips, sealing the words in his mouth and making sure he swallows them down. Yoongi grabs both sides of Jungkook’s face and kisses him slow and tender, conveying all his feelings into the movement of his lips. He feels Jungkook relax into his touch, the tension seeping from his body with every drag of Yoongi’s lips against his own.
Yoongi pulls back after a while, searching Jungkook’s face in the dark, and swipes his thumb over Jungkook’s cheekbone where a stray tear rolls.
“You don’t ever need to apologise to me about your family,” Yoongi says, his eyes not leaving Jungkook’s, and he tries to say it with all the force in the entire world because Jungkook deserves to feel it. “This is not your fault.”
Jungkook’s breath comes out uneven. “I wish she would at least try, you know? I wish she could just see that you make me happy.”
Yoongi presses a kiss to his nose before he speaks again.
“I’m sorry.”
“It was bad enough coming out to her. Explaining what I meant when I dropped the whole pansexual bombshell,” he sounds tired, looks it too. He laces his fingers through Yoongi’s. “Imagine it. A woman, who’s only now wrapping her head around the term bisexual has her son come out to her as pansexual, a whole new identity. She said it was just a pretentious way of saying I hadn’t found the right girl yet. Funny.”
Yoongi tightens his grip on Jungkook’s fingers, brushes his lips against his knuckles as he speaks. “I’m sorry.”
“I love you,” Jungkook says with utter certainty. Yoongi feels it settle in his core. “I hope you know that.”
“I love you, too,” Yoongi replies with grounding truth. “So much. And your family isn’t going to change that.”
“Can we go home?”
He means Seoul. He means back where things are familiar and less hostile and comfortable and where he can just be. For Jungkook, home isn’t here anymore. Not with the hushed conversations behind closed doors and looks of dismissal at the sight of open affection. This is not home, this is just a house.
Yoongi nods, lips brushing against Jungkook’s nose as he speaks. “We’ll go tomorrow. We’ll pack in the morning, catch a train and I’ll take us
home doesn’t feel as familiar as it used to. There’s no other way to describe it apart from the fact that Yoongi can’t shake the feeling that he’s stepped into a stranger's house instead of his own. He’s disconnected from everything within these walls and he doesn’t know how to explain that standing in the restroom of a convenience store at 1am in the morning feels more comforting than his own bed at what’s supposed to be home.
It feels hollow even though there are 5 more bodies wandering around its cramped halls. Yoongi can’t bear to stand in one room for more than a few seconds if no one else is in there to distract him because the memories andfeelings are so sharp that the pain attached to them is an almost tangible thing.
He’d said he was okay for the boys to go out for a while; a bit of fresh air, a change of scenery, and he was okay with it. He thought he was okay with it, but it’s been a little over 2 hours and he can already feeling the sickening despondency looming over his head like a strong cloud ready to burst.
He’s ready to burst.
It’s like he’s become a secondary character in his own motion picture. What the fuck can he do? He’s sat back and let his story unfold in front of him and it’s only taken until now to realise that he’s never really been apart of it, only watched for the sidelines as plots thickened and characters were introduced. Everything around him seems to be happening for a reason while his side story has come to a jarring halt. He was once a protagonist, but it’s evident that storyline died a while ago.
He misses Jungkook.
He hasn’t cried, yet, which is an achievement in itself due to the verifiable truth of: that’s all he wants to do. Sure, a few tears have slipped but he hasn’t cried. He wants to scream at the top of his lungs until his voice gives out, he wants to thrash about and smash everything in plain sight, he wants to curl up into a ball and never speak to anyone ever again, he wants to walk for miles and miles until he’s far away from everyone and everything. He just wants to fucking cry.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he wanders through the halls of their– his apartment, dragging his fingertips against wallpapered walls in hopes of feeling something other than this smouldering desolation that threatens to consume him whole. He wants to punch a hole in the wall, see a physical representation of his anguish, but in lieu of breaking his knuckles he picks up his phone and holds it to his ear. The person on the other end answers instantly.
“I lied,” Yoongi says, and he sounds so worn out.
Taehyung breathes slowly down the line. “Don’t lie anymore, hyung.”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
Taehyung arrives almost immediately after. He doesn’t bring any of the boys, only himself and calming finality of what Yoongi has become: dependant on his friends.
He wraps himself around Yoongi on the couch, burying his face into the crook of his neck and letting Yoongi’s hands travel under his jacket. They’ve always been touchy-feely with each other, ever since they first met. But Yoongi’s feeling touch starved to a new extent and Taehyung can feel it in the way the older boy clings to him with tangible desperation.
The oven dings– Yoongi had put in a pizza for himself– but neither of them move to acknowledge it. Instead, they stay tangled with each other, breathing in each other’s scents.
It’s Taehyung who breaks the stillness first, his voice gentle and barely above a whisper. “Have you spoken to Soyeon?”
Yoongi bristles uncomfortably, pressing his face further into Taehyung’s chest.
Jeon Soyeon is Jungkook’s mother and Yoongi’s worst enemy. Though never stated out loud, it was painfully obviously that Soyeon didn’t approve of her son being pansexual or his relationship with Yoongi. Yoongi could’ve dealt with being disliked by Jungkook’s mother, he’d been disliked by many people in his life before, but the fact that she was so violently against her son’s sexuality never sat comfortably with Yoongi.
Yoongi’s silence spoke plenty.
“Yoongi,” Taehyung sighed. He lifted himself away from Yoongi’s grip to look him in the eye. “You have to discuss funeral arrangements.”
Yoongi flinches violently, pushing Taehyung away from him. He scoots up to the opposite side of the couch, pulling his knees under his chin. A ball of security to protect him for the outside world. He feels cold without Taehyung by his side.
“No.”
“This isn’t a yes or no situation, Yoongi. You were his f—“
Yoongi cuts him off harshly, spitting venom with every word. “I know what I fucking was to him. What he was to me. But did she care? No. She hated my guts, Taehyung. Still does. You really think she’s going to want to discuss funeral arrangements with someone she didn’t even fucking like?”
He regrets his words as soon as they leave his mouth, watching as Taehyung shrinks back into the arm of the chair, trying to get as far away from him as possible. Yoongi doesn’t blame him; he’s scary when he’s mad and this is no exception. Yoongi reaches out for his hand, tangles their fingers together.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and means it. “I’m so fucking tired. I’m so scared. But those aren’t excuses, you’re trying to help”
Taehyung relaxes, pulling the elder towards him again. His hands find Yoongi’s hair and he combs through the strands lightly. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. He can feel his body trembling, his chest constricting. He feels his world crashing into itself again and again and again.
Taehyung keeps combing his fingers through his hair, the touch a bit more prominent now, and Yoongi wonders if he can sense that Yoongi’s close to losing it. Close to giving in entirely. His eyes stay shut.
Like this, it’s easy to forget where he is. It’s easy to pretend that the steady breathing above him is that of the man he loves, that the fingers dancing along his scalp have deeper intentions than a friend comforting a friend. It’s easy to pretend that nothing is wrong, that nothing has changed, that every single thing is the same as it always has been. It’s easy to pretend, yes, but God does reality hurt when he resurfaces. Yoongi draws in a shaky breath.
“I miss him so fucking much,” he says, and then begins to cry.
After a while, he hears Taehyung mumble, “Let’s get that pizza out of the oven.”
“Fuck it,” Yoongi sighs, tears staining Taehyung’s shirt. “I hate pizza anyway.”
“What do you mean
you hate pizza? Pizza is the greatest,” Jungkook sounds irrevocably offended and Yoongi’s can’t stop fucking smiling even though this is technically an argument.
He’s sitting at the bottom of the bed watching as Jungkook studies for his finals. Jungkook is 23 in a few months. They’ve been together for three years. Jungkook’s graduating next month, hopefully with a degree in Sociological Journalism and two languages under his belt, yet here he is, sat on Yoongi’s bed passionately arguing about what snack foods are the best.
It started because Yoongi, being the caring boyfriend he is, popped his head into his room to ask Jungkook if he wanted anything to snack on while he was revising. The younger looked up, eyes tired but sparkling as they landed on Yoongi, and nodded. Yoongi asked what. Jungkook replied pizza. Yoongi pulled a face.
And now they’re here.
“It’s soggy,” Yoongi counters, biting the side of his cheek to stop the smile threatening to take over his face.
“Not when it’s cooked right,” Jungkook huffs and crosses his arms, but then throws them out in frustration, sending a pen flying across the room. He doesn’t notice. “Hyung.”
“Yes, my love?”
“What do you mean you don’t like pizza?” He’s whining. It does something to Yoongi’s stomach, makes it swoops painfully low. His body vibrates love, love, love, and he can’t believe an argument about pizza is bringing this much emotion to him.
Yoongi taps his foot against Jungkook’s thigh. “It tastes like feet.”
“You taste like feet,” Jungkook grumbles, and shoves Yoongi’s foot away defiantly.
“Nice retort. Original. Not what you were saying the other night.”
Jungkook stutters, cheeks burning bright, and he crosses his arms over his chest again, this time defensively. Yoongi throws his head back in a fit of laughter and crawls towards the younger. Jungkook makes no fight against him as Yoongi crawls into his lap, but turns his head to the side when Yoongi dips down to kiss him. Yoongi chuckles against his skin.
“You’re being a brat.”
“Am not.”
Yoongi pinches his sides and Jungkook squirms, hitting Yoongi’s chest playfully. Yoongi grabs his wrists and holds him still, leaning in so that his lips just hover slightly over Jungkook’s. Jungkook lets out a sigh.
“Show me how to make a proper pizza then, smartass,” Yoongi whispers, hands falling to Jungkook’s shoulders.
“Okay,” Jungkook mumbles, and takes Yoongi’s bottom lip between his own.
Jungkook’s hands find Yoongi’s waist on reflex, almost as if it’s second nature to him now, and Yoongi melts into the familiar heavy feeling. The slow drag of Jungkook’s lips is deliberate and Yoongi knows Jungkook is doing it because Yoongi was being annoying.
Yoongi aches for a quicker pace, grip on Jungkook’s shoulders tightening to the point of possible bruising, but Jungkook ignores it. He continues nipping softly at Yoongi’s lips, drawing little gasps out of the elder every time his tongue skims over his lips, holding Yoongi’s hips still every time they try to move.
Yoongi huffs into Jungkook’s mouth and pulls back, fingers hooking under Jungkook’s chin to tilt his head up towards the ceiling. The younger lets out a noise of surprise, but doesn’t try to resist. Yoongi leans in and attaches his lips to the juncture of skin between Jungkook’s shoulder and neck.
The younger shudders beneath him, hands flying up to Yoongi’s hair to hold him in place. Yoongi sucks at the skin lightly, relishing in the breathy moans that slip past Jungkook’s lips. There’s a flash of teeth now and again, Yoongi biting down on the sensitive parts that he knows Jungkook likes, set on leaving a mark on his boyfriend. He almost does until Jungkook moves under him and shoves him off.
“Hey, you okay? Did I do something wrong-“
Jungkook springs off the bed, holding his hand out to Yoongi. Yoongi takes it, confused. Jungkook smiles. “Pizza.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
They wander down to the kitchen, fingers linked, and Yoongi trails behind, grumpiness making his steps sluggish. Jungkook leads him through the corridors as if the apartment is his own, as if he knows every in and out of every single crook of the place. Yoongi feels an unexpected warmth rise in his chest at the revelation, rooted so deeply within him that he’s sure he’ll burn out.
Jungkook lets go of his hand once they get to the kitchen, instead opening the freezer up and stepping up on his tiptoes to see the top. His fingers skim over the icy interior, brushing part of it on to the floor, and Yoongi can’t find it in himself to tell him off for it because his shirt is riding up his side and his hair is a mess on top of his head and he’s poking his tongue out in concentration like he always does and—
“Fuck.”
Yoongi’s voice is teasing when he replies. “None there, baby?”
Jungkook huffs and brushes his cold fingers over Yoongi’s neck, making Yoongi yelp loudly. Yoongi swats his hand away, kicking gently at his calves as Jungkook makes his way out the back garden– sock covered feet strolling through the damp grass.
Yoongi settles back into the chair and grins, the warmth from before even more evident now. He knows he loves Jungkook– has ever since their first kiss– but lately his love has been growing a little out of control. Mutated from a sapling into a jungle, stems and branches and beautiful flowers escaping through the cracks in his ribs, and he doesn’t know how the fuck to stop it before it becomes all consuming.
Maybe he wants it to be all consuming.
Jungkook comes back a few moments later with a pizza box in hand. He’s leaving wet footprints across the tile floor of the kitchen as he’s saunters over to the oven, grinning over his shoulder at Yoongi. Yoongi blinks at him.
Jungkook screws his nose up at the squelch his socks keep making– Yoongi’s heart constricts in his chest– so he takes them off and throws them at Yoongi.
Yoongi swats them away, face burning as Jungkook’s laughter fills the room like a symphony. “You’re despicable.”
Jungkook’s doubled over with laughter, clinging onto the pizza box as if his life depends on it and Yoongi feels so, so in love that it physically hurts him. The ocean water washes over him with familiar comfort.
He reaches out absentmindedly, fingers curling in the belt loops of Jungkook’s jeans, and he pulls him towards him, Jungkook still giggling breathlessly. He takes the pizza box out of his hands and sets it on the table behind him, running his hands up Jungkook’s bare arms to get his attention. It does, Jungkook looks at him through tear brimmed eyes and a smile so seemingly bright Yoongi is convinced he could go blind.
“Where the fuck did you find the pizza?”
Jungkook bites his cheek to suppress another laugh. He reaches behind Yoongi and grabs the box again, despite only just letting go of it. He pinches Yoongi’s arm to get him to let go of his belt hoops and runs back over to the oven, heating it up and preparing the pizza before turning back to Yoongi. He looks smug.
“The garage. Did you know your neighbours have a freezer in there?” He picks at the plastic covering the pizza, frowning until it comes off. Yoongi lets out a surprised laugh.
“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, throwing his head back. “Jesus Christ. It’s almost as if you live here.”
Jungkook’s demeanor changes and he shuffles awkwardly on his feet as he slides the pizza into the oven. He doesn’t look up when he says:
“Would that be so bad?”
Yoongi’s mind short-circuits, every thought that was swimming through his brain comes to a halt in mere seconds, focusing on the remnants of Jungkook’s voice which now bounces off the kitchen walls and floor. Jungkook’s fiddling with the heat of the oven, and Yoongi knows it’s to avoid eye contact because the pizza is already in and cooking.
“What?”
Jungkook coughs awkwardly, running a hand through his already fucked up hair. “I mean, I assumed this would be something we’d do in the future, you know? But we’ve been together for three years and I love you, so. Why not speed it up a bit. Would that be so bad?”
The short answer is: No, it wouldn’t be bad at all.
Yoongi’s thought about it in the middle of the night when he’s at his loneliest, when he’s shopping for groceries and picks up Jungkook’s favourite ramen without hesitation, when Jungkook walks in without knocking after a long day at college and rests his head in Yoongi’s lap like it's the most natural thing to do. Yoongi’s thought about it a lot.
He’s thought about what it would be like to turn over and wake up next to Jungkook, knowing that there’ll be no rush for him to leave. He’s thought about nights where Jungkook would bring back a takeout ready for the both of them after their long days, not having to ask to stay the night. He’s thought about Jungkook’s things being mixed with his own, picture frames weaved with antics from both of their lives. He’s thought about Jungkook calling this home.
The long answer is:
“It wouldn’t. No.” Yoongi says, and he watches as Jungkook melts into the sound of his voice. He drops his hands from the nervous fidgeting at the oven. “But are you sure you know what you’re asking?”
Jungkook flinches, head whipping in Yoongi’s direction. He looks offended, eyes blown wide and a crease forming between his eyebrows. Yoongi wants to smooth it out.
“Of course I do,” Jungkook speaks with pure clarity, a sense of certainty that’s Yoongi feels resonate in his core. “This isn’t just an off-hand thought, hyung.”
Yoongi cringes, sitting up properly in his chair. “You’re still in college.”
“And my lease will be up on my apartment once I’m finished. Which is soon.”
“Your job is on the other side of town.”
“I’m managing now, aren’t I?”
“We’ll argue more.”
“And we’ll work through it,” Jungkook huffs in frustration, cheeks burning from embarrassment. “Just say you don’t want to live with me and move on. God, I wish I’d never brought it up.”
Jungkook paces to the further end of the kitchen, taking a plate and two cups out of the cupboard. Yoongi stands up and grabs his shaking hands.
“Hey,” Yoongi says, tugging gently at Jungkook’s wrists. Jungkook tips his head forward and hides behind his bangs. Yoongi’s heart swells not for the first time. “Hey, that’s not what I was trying to say.”
“It sure sounded like it,” Jungkook whispers, sounding small and so unlike the Jungkook Yoongi has grown to know. He knocks his feet together.
Yoongi feels an overwhelming force of nostalgia hit him. He’s taken back to three years ago when Jungkook kissed him against the train tracks and panicked so badly that Yoongi had to take him back to his apartment and make him a hot chocolate to calm him down. Jungkook had seemed small then, nervous and upset. Exactly how he is now.
Yoongi brings a hand up to Jungkook’s cheek and brushes a thumb over the damp skin there, closing his eyes for the slightest of moments when Jungkook leans into the touch.
“I want you to move in, Jungkook. I want you to be apart of my life in every way possible and it scares me,” Yoongi says, his voice trembling, and he wonders how the fuck they got to this from pizza. “But this isn’t something that can be decided within a few seconds. This isn’t a romance movie.”
Jungkook bristles, defensive walls rising around him again but Yoongi knows where the cracks are. “I know, hyung. I’m not stupid. This isn’t something that’s just come to mind right this second.”
“I know you’re not stupid. This just needs to be discussed properly.”
Jungkook nods, looking at Yoongi for the first time since their argument had started. He looks sad, but a little less anxious than he originally was. He brushes his lips against Yoongi’s forehead, the lightest of touches spreading heat through Yoongi’s bones.
“I’m sorry for dropping that on you like that,” Jungkook’s words are muffled against his skin, hot breath fanning over his forehead.
Yoongi tilts his face up to knock noses with him. “I’m sorry I reacted badly, I didn’t mean to.”
“I know, hyung.” Jungkook sighs, and presses his lips against Yoongi’s softly.
They stay there for a while, pressed up against each other, holding on to each other, for what seems like hours, but Yoongi knows it’s only been a few minutes when the oven sings behind them.
Jungkook detached himself from Yoongi’s grip and sets about preparing the pizza. Yoongi grabs the squash from the fridge and pulls the chairs out at the table. The pizza is out of this world.
“God,” Yoongi groans, mouth full. He closes his eyes in pure bliss and Jungkook kicks him under the table. “This is amazing.”
“See, I told you.”
Yoongi takes another bite, talking around the food in his mouth. “When you move in make this all the time please.”
Jungkook chuckles, wiping at the corners of his mouth. “When I move in we’re changing the curtain in our bedroom. I didn’t want to upset you but they’re fucking gross.”
Yoongi breaks into a smile so big and wide that it hurts his cheeks. Jungkook smiles back too. Yoongi laughs and laughs and laughs and
laughing isn’t something that Yoongi does nowadays. He chuckles at pictures of Yeontan that Taehyung shows him, he huffs whenever Seokjin tells one of his god awful jokes, he smiles when Jimin grumbles about coffee in the mornings, but full out laughing isn’t something that comes as easily anymore.
He glances at himself in the passenger seat mirror. He looks awful; eyes puffy, bags under them black, skin pale and taut, his hair a mess even though Hoseok had combed it for him. He feels awful, too; his heart beating so hard he’s sure he’s about to have a panic attack, his head pulsating, his throat dry, his body aching with every breath. He’s a mess.
Him and Taehyung are outside the venue for the funeral– the rest of the boys having already gone in– waiting for the right time to go in. Yoongi doesn’t want to. He really fucking doesn’t want to.
He’d listened to Taehyung in the end and texted Soyeon with a simple: he likes dahlia flowers. he likes the colours cherry red, black and white. his favourite song is paper hearts by tori kelly, play it for him. he’d want a wake.
Soyeon hadn’t texted him back.
Taehyung laces his fingers through Yoongi’s and squeezes his hand tight, eyes whispering a silent question amongst the deafening quiet in the car.
You ready?
Yoongi closes his eyes and nods his head.
The venue is beautiful; decorated with delicate fairy lights, rows of chair with cherry red coverings and dahlia’s everywhere. There’s a soft murmur of voices that fill the room as everyone filters in; He was just a boy. He had so much ahead of him. Such a wonderful kid. The heavy sadness hanging in the air surrounds Yoongi like a curse. He feels sick.
He knows people are staring at him, wondering who he is, because they’re Jungkook’s family and as much as Jungkook had wanted them to know Yoongi and to know about them he— Jungkook’s parents had out a stop to that.
So, they stare and whisper and Yoongi has never felt more uncomfortable in his entire life. He wants to leave. He wants to pretend this isn’t happening. He wants to wake up from this fucking nightmare.
If this was a family do or a wedding or anything Jungkook would sling his arm around Yoongi’s waist, press a kiss to his hair and turn to these people with a smile as bright as day and say: “This is my boyfriend, Yoongi.”
Except this isn’t a wedding and Jungkook isn’t here and even though he’s surrounded by people Yoongi has never felt more alone in his entire life.
He spots the rest of the boys across the room, huddled together and seemingly in deep conversation with someone. He tugs on Taehyung’s hand and leads them over. almost turns back when he realises who’s there.
Jungkook’s mother and father stand hand in hand, sharing low words with the boys in front of them. They look unbelievably tired, fragile too. Despite himself, Yoongi feels a sting of remorse for them.
It disappears, though, when Soyeon catches his gaze.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says, and means it. Even if their relationship wasn’t the best, Jungkook loved his parents. He hoped they loved him too.
Soyeon’s grip on her husband's hand tightens. Her gaze is venomous. “You’re not welcome here.”
Jungkook’s father steps closer to her. “Soyeon…”
“Excuse me?” Yoongi mumbles. He’s pretty sure he misheard her. He has to have misheard her. There’s no way he couldn’t have. Taehyung’s grip tightens on his hand.
“I said,” Soyeon raises her voice just slightly. “You’re not welcome here.”
The people around them hush themselves into silence, and Yoongi feels it pressing down on his chest like a boulder. He stands up straight, willing himself to stay calm, stay collected, don’t fucking cry.
Namjoon turns to look at him, grounding him with calming eyes, and Jimin does the same, taking a step away from Soyeon, his posture hostile.
Yoongi’s voice is a slight bit wobbly when he speaks again. “Why’s that?”
“Because, this,” Soyeon says, throwing her hands up in the air. Her face is crimson, Yoongi’s is sure his is on the verge of it too. “This is all your fault. If he had just been going back to his own apartment–“
“My apartment was his apartment,” Yoongi keeps his voice low, catching on to the people around them inching closer. “He lived with me.”
“You were just some boyfriend of his. A phase,” Soyeon spits, tears welling up in her eyes. Not out of grief, but anger. Her voice bellows through the venue. The room is silent. “A toy with which he wanted to experiment. Something he would come to his senses with and get over.”
“I’m his fiancé!” Yoongi shouts, his voice echoing against the walls. He’s crying. Not out of anger, but grief. Everyone’s fucking attention is turned to them. He wants to scream. “I was his fucking fiancé.”
Soyeon’s eyes widen, mouth agape. “Wh–“
“And don’t even try to pull that shit of ‘you roped him into it’ because I didn’t. He proposed to me. He asked me to marry him because he loved me and I loved him,” Yoongi barely registers Taehyung’s hand on his shoulder, holding him in place. “That’s more than you ever did.”
Yoongi realises the harshness of his words, but finds that he doesn’t give a shit. Jungkook’s parents had cut him off completely when they found out that he’d moved in with Yoongi, telling him to call them when he has made the right decisions in life. Jungkook had cried for hours, sobbing into Yoongi’s shirt until it was soaked through and then some more.
To see them disown their child over his happiness was something that Yoongi could never forgive, no matter the circumstances. And these circumstances were the worst they could possibly be.
“I was there for him while you shut him out. I was always there for him, through thick and thin. You think I don’t blame myself for what happened? You really think that?” His voice drips gasoline, ready to be ignited and start a blazing fire. “Because I do. Not a day has gone by where I haven’t blamed myself for it. What if I’d met him halfway? What if I lived closer? What if he hadn’t met me at all? I think about it every single day.”
Soyeon stands silently for once, her open mouth now clamped shut in defiance. She looks like she’s been hit by a bus. Hoseok touches his wrist gently.
“I loved him more than I have ever loved anything. I have as much right to be here as you do. Even more so, I personally think. So, stay away from me for the rest of the day. I don’t want to argue. This is his funeral after all,” Yoongi looks both parents up and down once more, scoffing loudly. “Show some fucking respect.”
His anger is an almost tangible thing as he walks through the rows of seats and finds his own, situated somewhat near the back. He curses Soyeon and her selfish nature for that, but has no energy left in him. He fiddles with his ring,
spinning it around his finger. It’s something he does almost mindlessly now, something that’s grown into what he would consider a habit. The feeling of the cold metal against is skin is grounding, and though he struggles sometimes to convince himself that it’s real, it always reminds him of what he has.
Jungkook had proposed on a whim. Well— not a whim exactly but rather he’d planned it, taken Yoongi out for a romantic dinner, panicked the entire lead up to it, chickened out, and then proposed as he came while Yoongi was buried deep in him later that night back at their apartment.
Yoongi likes to say he chose that moment to propose because his dick has magical powers. Jungkook argues that it’s because the pleasure was getting to his brain. Yoongi thinks that’s the equivalent to what he said anyway.
A tiny: “Marry me, hyung.” whispered into cotton sheets and an open night. Yoongi will never forget how good it was to hear those words.
Yoongi had cried– and Jungkook loves to tell everyone– he’d cried so much that Jungkook had began to think that he’d said the wrong thing, had overstepped boundaries, had misjudged everything leading up to this situation. He hadn’t. Of course he fucking hadn’t.
“Say it again,” Yoongi had mumbled after he’d pulled Jungkook closer, pressing his lips across his jaw, his nose, his cheeks, his eyes, his neck, his ears, his lips. Always his lips. “Ask me again.”
Jungkook had buried his face in Yoongi’s neck, embarrassed. “You already said yes.”
“I know,” Yoongi kissed him again, a lingering peck of his lips. “Ask me again.”
Jungkook had pulled back, a blush dusting his skin in the lamp lit room, and looked at him. Properly looked at him. His eyes drifted across his face, his shirtless chest, the sheets bunched up at his hips, the moles spotting his skin. He really looked at him, and Yoongi felt his love like the warmth of the sun.
“Will you marry me, Yoongi?”
“Yes.”
The ring is just a silver band, a single diamond forged into it, and Yoongi loves it with every fibre of his being. Jimin tells him over the phone that Jungkook had been taking on extra shifts in work for months to afford it, had been planning this since the start of last year. Yoongi kisses him softly after hanging up.
He fiddles with it a lot; he supposes it’s the calming sensation it brings him, knowing that his future is so secure. He also supposes it’s the fact that he’s so in love that he’s afraid he’ll burst.
Yoongi always thought that being in a relationship would be scary. Being that open and that truthful with someone was always a hard pill to swallow when it came to Yoongi and his antics of bottling things up until he had no more room for them. He was not a secretive person– he didn’t hide things out of spite. He hid them because he was afraid.
He’d grown so accustomed to hiding his feelings, his thoughts, his likes, his dislikes, himself that when Jungkook came into his life with an open heart and an open mind, it was hard for him to adjust to the ‘no secrets’ rule as he felt as though there were no secrets he was keeping.
He was keeping loads.
An anxiety riddled so deeply within him that he’d almost accepted it as normality, as a way of life. A love for music that was earth shaking and passionate. Insecurities with self control and handing himself over to someone else. Feelings of self doubt in the simplest of things.
So many secrets.
Jungkook had been there, though. He’d always been there. Even when Yoongi had bad days and pushed him away with harsh words and jabs aimed to hurt, Jungkook was still there. Yoongi felt as though he didn’t deserve such unwavering trust and love from the younger. Jungkook always proved him wrong.
When Jungkook asked Yoongi to marry him, Yoongi had waited for that pooling anxiety to seep into his stomach, to constrict his lungs, to cloud his head. An anxiety that screamed at him to not give himself over, to not tie himself down, to not let one person be accountable for him.
He waited and waited and waited but it never came. Instead, he greeted the proposal with a settling warmth.
Saying yes was the easiest thing Yoongi had ever done in his entire life. (Except falling in love with Jungkook, of course.)
Now, he looks up and sees Jungkook staring at his hands, the youngers eyes a little wide. Yoongi stops playing with the ring, grabs his coffee instead and his stomach swoops st the nose the metal makes when it hits the china.
“What?” he says over the top of the mug after Jungkook’s staring get a little too much. Jungkook doesn’t stop staring, though, only blinks slowly.
“I’m marrying you,” Jungkook’s voice is a fragile thing. Yoongi can hear the disbelief seeping through the words. He wanders over to Yoongi’s desk and take ahold of his hand, thumb skimming over the cool metal. “You’re marrying me.”
Yoongi bites his lips to suppress his smile. “I sure hope I am. I already put the deposit down for the venue.”
Jungkook rugs at his hands lightly, grinning down at the elder. “I’m marrying you.”
“I’m marrying you.”
It’s a shame, really, that there is no definite way to describe love. Yoongi would love to articulate just how much Jungkook means to him. People say it’s like floating within the clouds, a weightless drift through dreams and reality. It’s like walking through an empty park on an autumn evening, pink hues staining the air around you and coating you in warmth. It’s like waves that don’t stop crashing into the shore, submerging you with every movement.
Love is an unexplainable thing.
Love is a terrifying thing.
Love is a
wonderful thing.
Again, the train tracks are cold, but Yoongi pays no attention to the bitter air as he curls into himself.
Taehyung sits at his side, head resting gently on the elder’s shoulder, and his eyes droop with a weighing tiredness that seems to filters through all the boys sat around. Jimin lays stretched out, pebbles no doubtedly digging painfully into his back, cheek presses against Namjoon’s thigh. Hoseok sits to the side, touching a single surviving flower as though it may crumble under his touch. Seokjin sits in the middle, clutching a packet of some sort of food with gloved hands.
It’s cold– freezing, even– but they can’t go home. Not yet.
“You’re sure you’re ready?” Jimin’s voice bounces off the tree trunks lining the tracks. His voice is gentle, careful not to disturb the serenity that has surrounded the seven– six. The six of them.
That’s a good question, because: is he really ready? Jungkook’s funeral was nine months ago and he’s been piecing himself back together ever since. He’s been doing well, too. His therapist had warned him that this could undo months and months of work, going back and reliving what he used to have. But Yoongi has to do it, has to put his mind at rest.
He clutches the papers close to his chest, hands shaking with more than just the bitter cold that wracks the evening. “Yes.”
The papers are folded neatly, crumpled here and there, and there’s a slight tear on the corner of the second one but they’re absolutely perfect. Adorned with almost unintelligible handwriting, letters looping so closely together they almost look like scribbles. Yoongi can make it out though, he had years of getting used to Jungkook’s shopping lists.
The first line reads: “Hello. I’m Min Jungkook.”
Yoongi’s breath hitches. He expects to feel a wave of grief, a rush of pure i miss him so much I can’t breathe, and it’s there; he can feel it thrumming through his veins, but it coated by overwhelming love, lessening the blow. Taehyung laces his fingers through Yoongi’s. Yoongi continues.
“You should probably all know that because, you know, I’m the groom. But if you didn’t know that— Congrats on being able to sneak in. I hope the food and the open bar lives up to your expectations.”
Yoongi lets out a watery laugh. Of course, he thinks. Of course he’s making a joke in his wedding speech
“Ever since I was young, my parents always told me: ‘Jungkook, one day you’ll find a girl who shines as bright as the sun. Someone who will drench you in warmth.’ and I believed them. I set about searching for this sunrise girl that I’d been told about, waiting for the rays of light to hit my skin.
Then I met Yoongi.
He had silver hair back then, and it shimmered when the light caught it just right. God, I thought he was so beautiful. I still do.”
“That’s so fucking cheesy,” Seokjin says, though tears threaten to spill down his cheeks.
Hoseok lets out a huff, picking a chip out of Seokjin’s stash. “He always was a walking cliche. Made me nauseous.”
Hoseok isn’t wrong. There were times where Jungkook would say so something so outrageously sickening that even Yoongi– who’d grown immune to it at this point– felt a shiver wrack his body.
A quiet you’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen mumbled into the still morning air.
A loud declaration of well, Yoongi and I are soulmates so during an argument with Jimin over partners.
Making sure everyone knew that oh, he’s my boyfriend.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
And although the initial shock of the words harvested slight embarrassment at such public displays of affection, Yoongi always found his heart seizing up with pure love every single god damn time Jungkook opened his mouth.
He loves him.
“He brings me comfort in my darkest hours, guided me when I’m lost, and unlike the sun– which comes and goes– he was always there. Like a moon.
You see, I was told my entire life to fall in love with the sunrise. Instead, I fell in love with the moonlight.”
Yoongi grasps the papers with shaky fingers, his chest heaving with sobs that won’t release, and he screws his eyes shut for just a moment. Jungkook smiles back at him in his head. He almost doesn’t feel alone anymore.
“Yoongi-hyung, I love you more than anything in this entire world. You’re my best friend, my lover, my soulmate.”
You’re mine too, Jungkook,Yoongi smiles softly down at the crumpled pages. He cradles them as if they’re precious jewels. In many ways, they are. You’re mine too.
“Here’s to our forever, hyung.”