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The apartment is dark when Jeongguk steps inside, shuffling out of his shoes. He sets his keys in the misshapen bowl sitting on the end table beside the door, and they clink lightly against the other two sets already inside.
His eyes, puffy and a little sore, are already adjusting to the dim light as he locks the door behind him, staying as quiet as possible. He’s not entirely sure what the protocol for this is.
Every time before when Jeongguk came over, at least one of them was awake. They gave him the spare key and told him to use it comfortably, but he’s only ever invited himself inside when they’re up to greet him.
Sometimes, Seokjin and Yoongi are in the living room with the TV on, their favorite fluffy pink blanket thrown over their laps. Seokjin grins at Jeongguk when he sees him and says, “Ah, JK, food is on the way. Come sit with hyungs while we wait,” and Yoongi will pat the couch cushion beside him.
Sometimes, Seokjin is the only one home, puttering around in the kitchen while he hums to himself. Jeongguk will call, “Hi, hyung,” from the entryway as he toes his way into the set of red slippers they keep just for him and Seokjin’s humming will cut off, turning into, “Jeongguk-ah, come taste-test this for me.”
Sometimes, it’s just Yoongi, hunched over the keyboard in the spare room with his headphones clasped over his ears, still in his striped pajamas. Jeongguk greets him with a kiss on the top of his head, and Yoongi for some reason never seems startled, always just looks up and smiles and says, “Hey, baby.”
But tonight, the apartment is quiet and Jeongguk slides his feet into his slippers and makes his way down the familiar short hallway to their room, steps uncertain.
The door is cracked open, and Jeongguk’s heart is beating too quickly in his chest as he stands outside of it, hesitating.
He feels like an intruder.
He feels like he doesn’t belong here.
But he doesn’t want to go back to his apartment either. He tried going there first. He got back from the gym and showered and stood under the too-hot spray of the showerhead and whispered to himself that he was fine, his professor didn’t think he was incapable despite his criticism of Jeongguk’s project— that the knots in his stomach weren’t there for any truly logical reason and the thickness in his throat could be swallowed away if he tried enough but—
It didn’t work. He doesn’t want to be alone.
But maybe he shouldn’t be here either.
He stands at the door, one hand outstretched for the knob to push it open further, shaking. They told him he could come any time. They told him, but Jeongguk’s mind whispers different things.
You’re going to ruin it, his head says, small and scared, a tiny thing crouched in the back of his skull, trembling. You’re going to ruin what you have with them.
Jeongguk squeezes his eyes shut, lets his hand fall back to his side, and shrinks into himself in the dark of Yoongi and Seokjin’s home.
When they gave him the spare key-
[Jeongguk nuzzles into Yoongi’s touch, pushing his face into Yoongi’s neck as Yoongi tangles his fingers in Jeongguk’s hair, petting him gently.
Yoongi’s laptop is still open on the coffee table, but he’s abandoned it in favor of cuddles, which Jeongguk considers an accomplishment.
They’re talking about nothing, really. Yoongi’s voice rumbles in his chest and sends low vibrations through his throat, and Jeongguk could listen to him for hours and hours.
“—concert next Tuesday,” Yoongi says, and Jeongguk feels his ears perk up.
“You’re accompanying?” Jeongguk asks, blinking through sleepiness and straightening up. “Can I come?”
Yoongi smiles, delicate pink mouth curling up in the corners. His eyes are soft and cat-like, ringed with sleeplessness but always gentle. “I think you have class then, baby.”
Jeongguk frowns. “It’s in the afternoon? I can skip.”
Yoongi snorts. “It’s not worth skipping classes for.”
“I want to see you play,” Jeongguk insists, and he rests his chin on Yoongi’s shoulder and goes a little cross-eyed trying to pout up at him.
“You see me play all the time.”
“Yeah, but—”
The front door opens, effectively cutting off Jeongguk’s case for ditching his class on art history. The professor doesn’t take attendance, and it’s not even for Jeongguk’s major, so Jeongguk fully intends to watch Yoongi accompany the children’s choir instead.
“Hey, hyung,” Yoongi says as Seokjin enters the apartment.
He’s dressed in his work clothes, crisp white button-up that emphasizes the broad line of his shoulders and black slacks, soft dark hair pushed away from his forehead. “I want food,” Seokjin says, instead of greeting either of them.
“Ramen?” Jeongguk suggests.
Yoongi flicks his ear. “There’s more to life than cup ramen, Jeongguk-ah.”
Seokjin snorts, but he walks toward the couch and leans over the back of it to kiss the top of Jeongguk’s head.
Yoongi tilts his face up to catch Seokjin’s lips with his own, and Jeongguk can’t help but grin as he watches them.
“I’m going to change,” Seokjin says when he pulls away, full, pretty mouth a little shiny from the kiss. “And then dinner.”
“Barbecue?” Yoongi asks, stretching.
“Barbecue,” Jeongguk agrees.
“You got it,” Seokjin tells them with finger-guns before disappearing down the short hall to the bedroom.
When he resurfaces, he’s wearing Yoongi’s giant black sweatshirt and a pair of what Jeongguk privately refers to as Seokjin’s thigh-jeans, because they’re ripped at various places including his upper-thigh. His very upper thigh.
“Nice,” Yoongi mutters, gaze roving up Seokjin’s legs.
Jeongguk giggles, nodding. “My favorite pair of pants.”
Seokjin’s ears go pink. “Stop staring, you lecherous creatures. I’m hungry.”
They go to the restaurant on the corner of the street, and Yoongi and Seokjin take turns grilling meat and making lettuce wraps for Jeongguk and for each other, Seokjin extremely animatedly telling a story about his co-workers fighting over sales while he shoves a giant wrap into Yoongi’s mouth.
The night is warm when they walk back to Seokjin and Yoongi’s apartment, and Jeongguk pulls out his phone to take a few pictures of the fading sunset beyond the rooftops.
Seokjin and Yoongi, a few steps ahead, talk quietly to each other, and Jeongguk snaps a picture of their backs, too, feels himself smiling as he catches up to them.
“There’s something we want to give you,” Seokjin says when they get inside, closing the door behind them.
Jeongguk blinks.
His birthday is months away. He doesn’t remember complaining about not having something. When he does Seokjin will drop by Jeongguk’s tiny studio apartment with a new blender, with a better drying rack, with new headphones.
“Don’t feel pressured,” Yoongi adds as he goes to the bedroom, and Jeongguk trails after him with Seokjin behind.
Jeongguk frowns, because there’s been nothing even once that has made him feel pressured by Yoongi and Seokjin. It’s what makes them different than anyone else before. It’s part of why he trusts them.
“Okay,” he says slowly.
Yoongi sits on the bed, messily made, and reaches in the nightstand drawer.
Seokjin wraps his arms around Jeongguk, squeezing his waist gently, and Jeongguk leans back against his chest, brow still furrowed.
Jeongguk can feel the lines of tension in Seokjin’s body. He’s nervous , Jeongguk thinks, which seems strange, and the familiar curl of fear begins to creep through Jeongguk’s lungs.
But before it gets too far, before it squeezes like a tangle of vines, Yoongi finds whatever he’s looking for and says, “Here.”
There’s a key in Yoongi’s outstretched hand, glinting silver.
Yoongi and Seokjin live in an old building. There’s a keypad on the door of Jeongguk’s apartment, but to Yoongi and Seokjin’s, they still use manual keys.
Silver keys.
Jeongguk stares, mouth popping open though no words come out.
Seokjin is motionless behind him.
Yoongi’s hand is outstretched.
Jeongguk’s vision blurs. “Oh.”
Yoongi smiles at him, soft and gummy and gentle. “Whenever you want to come over, Jeongguk-ah. You’re part of our lives. We want you here whenever you want to be.”
“Oh,” Jeongguk says again, and he feels tears rolling down his cheeks.
Jeongguk leans forward, stepping away from the warm circle of Seokjin’s arms, and takes the key from Yoongi, clasping it in his palm.
“Are you crying?” Seokjin asks, voice pitched unnaturally high—worried.
“No,” Jeongguk hiccups.
Yoongi laughs, just as soft as his eyes, and tugs Jeongguk’s arm until Jeongguk folds himself forward, knees on either side of Yoongi’s legs as he sits in Yoongi’s lap and buries his face in his boyfriend’s neck.
“It’s good crying, hyung,” Yoongi says, his voice a low rumble in Jeongguk’s ear. “Stop making that face.”
“Well, I couldn’t see him,” Seokjin squawks. “How was I supposed to know if he was happy or distressed—”
“Happy,” Jeongguk sobs. Yoongi pulls him even closer to his chest. “Really, really, happy.”
The mattress shifts, and Jeongguk lifts his face to find Seokjin sitting beside them. “Good,” Seokjin says, and he reaches up with his perfectly crooked fingers to wipe Jeongguk’s cheeks.
“Are you sure?” Jeongguk asks, and he knows he sounds watery and uncertain, but he needs to ask, because his place in Seokjin and Yoongi’s life always feels like a gift he doesn’t deserve.
“I’m sure,” Yoongi tells him, deep and steady.
“Me too,” Seokjin says.
There’s so much Jeongguk can’t give them. So many ugly, terrible thoughts that linger, telling him that he has nothing to offer, not even his body.
But here they are, saying they want him to be welcome in their lives in a very concrete way. They’re handing him a key to their home.
Jeongguk feels the jagged edge of the key digging into his palm, and he sits back on Yoongi’s thighs and uncurls his fist to look at it. “Thank you,” he tells them. “Thank you.”
Seokjin kisses him first, the brush of feather-light lips against his jaw before they move to his mouth.
Jeongguk’s eyes flutter shut, because kissing Seokjin is sweet and bright and full of the things that Seokjin has a hard time putting into words, wings that flutter in Jeongguk’s chest, in Jeongguk’s heart.
Yoongi puts a hand on the back of Jeongguk’s head next, gentle but clear in intent as he guides Jeongguk back to him, pulling him into a kiss that’s slower, firmer, an anchor that can keep Jeongguk steady.
“Love you,” Jeongguk breathes. “Love you both.”
Yoongi and Seokjin murmur the words back.]
That was almost two months ago.
Jeongguk’s dropped by several times using the key they gave him, but never like this. Never in the dead of night because he needs them.
So he stands outside their bedroom door, choking on the mass of things that have been building inside him through the day, through the week.
They already give you so much, he tells himself, and he bites his lip through the panic building behind his ribs. They’re so patient with you when you have nothing for them. Don’t take more.
Jeongguk swallows a sob, but now his breathing is coming in short bursts, sharp pain in his chest and his stomach is rolling.
He darts blindly across the hall and into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaning against it, panting as he drags the back of his sleeve across his face.
Yoongi’s sleeve. He’s wearing Yoongi’s shirt. The plaid one.
His fingers won’t stop trembling as he fumbles for the sink tap in the dark, turning the water on and leaning over, splashing his face as his body shakes.
He wants to crawl into bed between them.
He wants Seokjin to wrap an arm around him and he wants to pull Yoongi against his chest and he wants them to tell him that they love him, even if his head is always working against him, even if he can’t give them sex, even if he’s a deadweight in their relationship.
Jeongguk sinks to the tile floor, knees to his chest, one hand over his mouth to try to stifle the sobs ripping out of him.
He shouldn’t have come here.
He should’ve gone back to his apartment.
He’ll leave.
He’ll pull himself together and go, and they’ll never know he was here—
“Jeongguk?”
Jeongguk lets out a watery gasp before biting down on his lower lip harder.
“I’m coming in.”
The door opens, gently tapping against Jeongguk’s back, but Jeongguk doesn’t move. He keeps himself curled over.
“Jeongguk-ah? Baby, are you hurt?”
Jeongguk shakes his head, face buried in his knees.
Yoongi’s hands are gentle, always gentle, as they run through his hair. “Okay. I need you to breathe with me. Slowly.”
Jeongguk nods.
“In,” Yoongi says, and Jeongguk fills his lungs as much as he can when they feel like they’re collapsing behind his ribs. “Out.”
Jeongguk listens to Yoongi, focuses on his voice, tries not to throw up when he thinks, You’re causing trouble, you woke Yoongi up, you’re so selfish.
It takes minutes.
Or at least Jeongguk thinks it does. He feels like he’s been scooped out, hollow and floating somewhere above himself.
“Are you with me?” Yoongi asks.
Jeongguk nods into his knees.
Yoongi’s hand is still on his head, and he gently pets Jeongguk’s hair. “Is it okay to hold you?”
Jeongguk nods again.
Yoongi wraps himself around Jeongguk, still warm from the bed. He smells like a lavender bath bomb, smells like Yoongi .
Yoongi hums something low and raspy and keeps Jeongguk in his arms.
“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk whispers when he feels like he can make words again.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Yoongi tells him, and there’s a kiss pressed to Jeongguk’s temple. “I heard you come in earlier. Glad I came to check.”
Jeongguk sniffs and rubs his face against Yoongi’s shoulder, against the soft fabric of his sleep shirt. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“You didn’t. Couldn’t sleep.”
Jeongguk’s breath still shudders when he inhales, but it’s slower now. He can feel pieces of himself falling back into place again.
“Bad head day?” Yoongi asks.
“Yeah.”
Jeongguk knows Yoongi has his own bad head days. He knows there used to be more of them, too. Yoongi’s bad head days are different than Jeongguk’s, though. Yoongi sometimes just doesn’t get out of bed when they happen, or he’ll lock himself in the second bedroom with the keyboard and won’t come out for hours.
On those days, Seokjin told Jeongguk that there’s nothing they can do other than be there for when Yoongi’s ready to talk, to be within arm's reach so he remembers that he’s not alone, even if he feels that way, that he’s loved, even if he feels unlovable.
Seokjin’s bad days are ones where he gets a little sharp around the edges, a little too tired of trying to be level-headed and happy. They mostly happen when work is rough and making him out in overtime. When he comes back from the office like that, Jeongguk and Yoongi let Seokjin go to the bedroom alone, and they make dinner while he showers, put on one of his favorite animes or dramas when he comes out with wet hair and a worn face, and just let him be quiet and tired without asking anything more of him.
They all have them. But Jeongguk knows his make him more of a burden.
“Bad head days are the fucking worst,” Yoongi murmurs instead of asking Jeongguk for more, instead of prying for information.
Jeongguk huffs out a ghost of a laugh. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “They really are.”
They stay there, curled together on the bathroom floor, until Jeongguk whispers, “Can we go to bed? Or will that wake Seokjin-hyung up?”
“He’s awake,” Yoongi says. “Or he was, when I said I would come check on you.”
Guilt squirms in Jeongguk’s chest. “I’m really—”
“Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi cuts him off. “Don’t apologize. And help me up, my knees hurt and I’m old.”
Jeongguk laughs at that, real this time, even if his limbs feel still wrung out like a dish rag and his head full of cotton. He clambers to his feet and offers a hand to Yoongi to pull him upright as well.
They step into the hallway only to find a Seokjin-shaped silhouette in the doorway to the bedroom.
“Hey, JK,” Seokjin says, and it’s soft and quiet even though there’s no one to worry about waking up anymore.
Jeongguk rubs his eyes, shuffling forward. “Hyung.”
Seokjin has a mug in his hand. “I made honey tea.”
Jeongguk feels his lip wobble, and he bites it again even though it’s sore from his teeth digging into it before. “Thank you.”
Seokjin pushes the mug into Jeongguk’s hands, comfortably warm instead of hot. He must have made it a while ago, waiting for Yoongi and Jeongguk to come out of the bathroom, giving them space.
“Thank you,” Jeongguk says again, and Seokjin leans forward to brush kisses beneath Jeongguk’s eyes, strong arms enveloping Jeongguk in a hug with the mug of tea clutched between them.
Seokjin doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. Not like this.
They don’t turn the lights on, but they crawl into bed together with Jeongguk in the middle, careful not to spill his tea.
“I’ll make breakfast tomorrow,” Seokjin says, adjusting the blanket.
“Did you buy eggs today?” Yoongi shifts so his shoulder is pressed against Jeongguk’s.
“Yeah. And more tofu.”
“Good. Taehyung ate all of it last time he was here.”
“Well now we have plenty.”
“Need more bananas though.”
“I got those, too.”
Jeongguk listens to them talk and holds onto his tea for a moment before he blurts, “Is this really okay?”
He can feel them both look at him in the darkness, even if he can’t make out their expressions very well.
“Is what okay?” Seokjin asks.
Jeongguk stares down at his tea, hands still unsteady, so he rests it in his lap against the soft blanket.
“I… I woke you up. Because I came in late. Because I had a bad day and then I had a panic attack in your bathroom because I can’t— can’t handle my own head sometimes.” Jeongguk hates the words even as he speaks them, pathetic and insecure and everything he doesn’t want to be in front of Seokjin and Yoongi. “All I do is take from you,” Jeongguk says, throat tight again. “I don’t even have sex with you. That alone was enough for Jinhyuk to break up with me, but you put up with that and the breakdowns and the fact that I’m just a university student with nothing to offer—”
“Jeongguk,” Yoongi says, and it’s quiet and fierce and almost angry , and Jeongguk wants to bury himself beneath the blanket and disappear. “I love you. I love you.”
Jeongguk shudders, but he’s pressed between two warm bodies.
Seokjin gently tugs the tea out of Jeongguk’s hands and places it on the nightstand. “I love you,” Seokjin says. “There’s no ‘putting up with you.’”
“Jinhyuk was a fucking asshole ,” Yoongi says, and he’s definitely angry, but he’s taking Jeongguk’s hand now that it’s free. “We don’t need to have sex with you to be with you or to love you. The things he told you were poison, and I swear to God I’ll keep reminding you of it every time you forget.”
“I still advocate for murder,” Seokjin mutters, and his arm snakes around Jeongguk’s waist, curls around his side. “Jimin already agreed he’d help me hide the body.”
“Not helpful, hyung,” Yoongi says, but it makes Jeongguk give a watery laugh. Yoongi squeezes his hand. “And this… this notion you have about only taking from us. It’s wrong. You give me and hyung yourself. If you’re thinking of gifts or things money can buy, I don’t give a shit. Neither of us do. What you bring to this relationship—the three of us together—is you .”
Yoongi and Seokjin see him as enough, somehow. Just him. Jeon Jeongguk. Anxious, asexual, frequently uncertain about everything in life Jeon Jeongguk. It’s almost unbelievable.
“And you laugh at my jokes even when Yoongi doesn’t,” Seokjin adds, whispering like it’s a secret.
Jeongguk smiles the tiniest bit before he realizes he needs to ask them the question that’s been lingering, growing and festering. He needs to ask it now.
He braces himself with a slow breath and then forces out, “Are you sure you want me with you? Are you sure you don’t want to go back to when it was the two of you?” His voice is small but surprisingly steady.
“Yes,” Seokjin says. “I’m sure.”
“I’m sure,” Yoongi tells him, and he doesn’t sound angry anymore. “I want you.”
“Do you still want to be with us?” Seokjin asks.
“Yes,” Jeongguk whispers, and he feels himself trembling with relief. “Yes.” He lets out shaky exhale and turns to bury his face in Seokjin’s shoulder.
“Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi says, and it sounds like he’s choosing his words carefully. “How long have you been keeping all this bottled up?”
Jeongguk shrugs, not lifting his head because Seokjin is warm and smells like the brown sugar lotion they keep in the bathroom cabinet and Jeongguk's breathing is finally starting to even out, waves of exhaustion crashing over him. “It’s always been there. But on bad days I think about it more.”
“And today was a bad day?” Seokjin asks.
“Yeah. I got a really harsh critique from my film editing director. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. He’s hard one everyone, but I couldn’t stop thinking that I should’ve dropped film two years ago, but now I’m about to graduate and I don’t have a job lined up and— I guess I just spiraled. Little things after that.”
Yoongi runs his thumb along the back of Jeongguk’s hand and Seokjin kisses the top of his head.
“You needed boyfriend-time,” Seokjin tells him. “Quality boyfriend-time.”
Jeongguk feels his lips tug up at that for a moment. He nestles further into Seokjin’s shoulder. “Yeah. But then I started spiraling in that, too.”
“You can tell us when it happens, Jeongguk,” Yoongi murmurs. “I know it’s hard to talk about it, but when your head tells you that you’re unwanted or don’t have something to offer, we can be there to remind you it’s not true. Because it’s not. You’re wanted. You give us your heart. You’re loved.”
“Okay,” Jeongguk says, and Yoongi is his anchor that keeps him from drifting outside himself and Seokjin is the pair of wings lifting his heart from the hollow cave of his chest. And the nasty curl of fear in the back of his head is quiet, leaving room for Seokjin and Yoongi’s words instead. “Thank you.”
“For what, bunny?” Seokjin asks, and ah , Jeongguk’s face still heats when Seokjin calls him that, even when he’s exhausted.
“For loving me.”
“Oh, baby,” Yoongi whispers, and leans over to kiss Jeongguk’s cheek. “Thank you for loving us.”
“Tea,” Seokjin says. “And sleep. We can talk more tomorrow.”
Jeongguk nods, takes the mug from Seokjin, feels a little bit like himself again— like the person who is so much more than these days make him feel.
They murmur soft words and trail gentle touches over each other, and Jeongguk drinks the honey tea Seokjin made him until his eyes start to droop.
He falls asleep in their arms, loved, the sound of Yoongi’s heartbeat against his ear and Seokjin’s steady breathing behind him.
Loved.
Loved .
(He’ll use the key more after tonight.)