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Summary
His favorite days are gentle, and warm, and bright bright blue. They are gummy smiles, a laugh too loud for the body it comes from. Low words spoken like poetry, spoken like a promise. We’ll leave. We’ll leave. One day, we won’t have to stay anymore. These days are cold. These days are warm. They’re Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. But Sundays. Sundays are the best days. Saturday nights are spent quiet, holed up in his bedroom, waiting. Knowing what Sunday means.
Sunday means the short ride to the field far enough out of town that there’s enough space between his heart and his house to feel safe.
Sunday means a thermos of hot chocolate, split, shared carefully, evenly, between the two of them.
Sunday means Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.