Work Text:
Yoongi has never been great at math, never cared for anything past division (because he needed to quickly calculate how to equally divide seven when sharing food with a group of seven ravenous people).
But he really likes counting. Whether it’s counting his breaths, how many pens he has, or how many steps he takes.
Counting helps him settle his mind, reminds him, grounds him.
It’s especially helpful for the days when he needs to take a breather, take a step back. Sometimes he just counts the numbers over and over like a mantra, breathing them in and out deeply and slowly.
But if Jeongguk’s there with him, he’ll let Jeongguk hold him, intertwining their fingers together. Letting Yoongi fold Jeongguk’s pretty fingers as he counts and murmurs aloud. Sometimes Jeongguk places a small kiss for every number Yoongi counts, patiently waiting for Yoongi to quietly settle back into himself. Other times, he falls asleep still holding onto Yoongi.
Yoongi rubs his eyes a little too hard and ends up seeing spots as he blearily looks at the dark studio. It’s past 12 am and he’s been holed up in here for so long, getting more exhausted and frustrated as the time dragged on. The project still isn’t finished and he’s not satisfied with how it sounds.
The building’s air conditioner is on full blast and Yoongi shivers, grabbing the blanket on his couch. He wraps it around himself and winces when the fabric catches on the hangnail of his thumb. It’s an angry red from earlier, with all the anxious picking that Yoongi was subconsciously doing. It throbs more now as Yoongi stares at it, like it wants to let Yoongi know he’s overdoing it again. That he should just go home.
Yoongi feels wound up like his strings are pulled taut and at any ginger movement, they’ll snap off. There’s a slight headache coming on and he blinks hard at the screen again.
His phone vibrates on the desk and it’s Jeongguk calling. Yoongi puts him on speaker.
“Hey hyung, when are you coming home?”
Yoongi rubs his face, “I still have to wrap up something so like an hour or two at most? I’m sorry, don’t wait up for me.”
Maybe Yoongi should have another cup of coffee, wonder if it’ll set his jittery nerves on edge or help him fix this problem.
Jeongguk’s voice comes out softer, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, it’s just. You know, been stuck in here for too long,” Yoongi adds a weird nervous laugh that does anything but reassure himself.
“Do you want to count with me, hyung?”
Yoongi tenses and sucks in a breath, he’s fine, it’s fine. Doesn’t want to worry—
“It’ll help me sleep too. You know I like hearing your voice to help me sleep.”
Yoongi breathes out, waits a beat too long in the shared silence.
“Is that okay, hyung?” Jeongguk’s voice comes out quietly.
“Yeah, of course it’s okay,” Yoongi rushes out, pulls the blanket tighter.
“I’m ready whenever.”
So Yoongi takes ten measured breaths and counts—
“One.”
The sleepy voice that Yoongi so often hears on their lazy weekend mornings. Mumbling, unfocused, and so sweetly unguarded. Not that Jeongguk ever really had a problem with that.
But Yoongi always thought it was so intimate, hearing someone’s morning voice like that. When they’re not quite conscious yet, a little vulnerable, a little bare.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk would mumble out, eyes barely open, face scrunched from the morning sunlight filtering through. Reaching for Yoongi if he wasn’t already within his often overheating grasp (which Yoongi doesn’t mind since he always runs cold), or burrowing his face even more into the crook of Yoongi’s neck and hair, inhaling deeply and immediately falling back asleep.
“Two.”
The moles on Jeongguk’s face. Yoongi likes to lightly trace them across his face, counting them out, reminding him of scattered stars that can be traced into a constellation.
“What kind of constellation looks like this?” Jeongguk would joke.
You, you, you.
“Three.”
The way Jeongguk makes coffee for them. Dark and bitter for Yoongi, sweet and mellow for Jeongguk. Even if the coffee sometimes comes out watery or a tad too bitter, Yoongi will savor it anyways. Yoongi will sometimes ponder why it tastes sweet but he thinks it’s just the way Jeongguk makes everything a little sweeter.
“Four.”
How Jeongguk wears his heart on display, so willingly and freely giving his love to those around him. And sometimes, Yoongi would look at him and wonder how so much love and warmth could fit into one person. But he knows the answer—seeing it in his gazes, his smiles.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Jeongguk would ask if he catches Yoongi.
“Because.” Yoongi would mutter, slightly embarrassed by being caught like that.
“It’s because I’m too good looking, huh?” Jeongguk would tease.
“Yeah, yeah.” Yoongi would roll his eyes.
“Knew it.”
And because Yoongi likes to tease back, likes to watch Jeongguk get shy, he says, “Because you’re beautiful.”
And Jeongguk would duck his head to hide his face but Yoongi will relish the way Jeongguk shyly smiles.
“Five.”
The way Jeongguk fits snugly into Yoongi’s arms. Even though Jeongguk’s bigger, he sometimes likes to make himself feel smaller in Yoongi’s arms. Curling into Yoongi’s chest; little puffs of content sighs as Yoongi cards his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair just the way he likes it.
Yoongi will never say no to snuggling up with Jeongguk, especially when Jeongguk pouts up at him.
“That’s unfair,” Yoongi would mildly complain.
And Jeongguk would tilt his head like he doesn’t know what Yoongi’s talking about. But in the next moment his lips would curve into a smile, knowing he’s won like always.
“Six.”
Yoongi isn’t very fussy with scents but he always found himself drawn to Jeongguk’s smell. But if someone were to ask him what Jeongguk smells like, he wouldn’t know how to describe it. All he’d be able to say is that:
it smells comforting, like Jeongguk. It fits him.
That it makes Yoongi cling to Jeongguk tighter. That it makes him often dig out Jeongguk’s sweater that’s so oversized Yoongi ends up swimming in fabric, but it’s even better because he gets to be gently hugged by Jeongguk’s sweater and scent.
“Seven.”
His infectious laughter, so bright and unfiltered. How he laughs with his whole body, folding himself over, not holding back. Trying to tell the story in between bouts of laughter so that his friends can partake in the joy with him. And when Jeongguk’s laughing like that, whatever cloudy mood Yoongi was in stills for a moment to let the sunshine in.
“Eight.”
Jeongguk is just as tactile as Yoongi. Jeongguk likes to deny it, saying Yoongi was the touchier of the two and Yoongi doesn’t argue, just rolls his eyes and holds out his hand to let Jeongguk lace his fingers and win.
Jeongguk muffling his laugh into Yoongi’s shoulder, the lightest tug on his sleeve when he wants to get Yoongi’s attention, or when he would occasionally tuck Yoongi’s hair behind his ear.
“Nine.”
That specific face Jeongguk makes when he’s eating something tasty. His eyes get bigger in wonder and delight, his cheeks rounding out cause of all the food, looking up at Yoongi and saying through his mouthful, “This is delicious hyung, try it.” And he would grab a little too much in his excitement to feed Yoongi that Yoongi ends up mirroring Jeongguk’s chipmunk face. But Yoongi’s too endeared to do anything about it. Savoring the food and purposefully stalling a bit just to see Jeongguk’s eager and impatient expression when he asks, “Isn’t it good, hyung?”
And Yoongi would have to nod because he’s still chewing. And when he answers properly, he’d say “It’s delicious Jeongguk-ah.”
“Ten.”
How even when Yoongi was ashamed but determined, he carved out his small heart, a tiny thing that’s been patched over haphazardly and still trickling out in places, and offered it to Jeongguk. He squeezed his eyes shut, hands trembling, willing to bleed for Jeongguk too but terrified of what may happen.
And Jeongguk looked at it with such reverence, such care, and gently gave it back to him and said, “I’ll help you take care of it too. But please take care of your heart Yoongi hyung, and make sure that you also give it all the love it needs too.”
Yoongi opens his eyes, feeling a little more like himself again, the buzz in his mind fading away, his hunched shoulders relaxing.
Later, Yoongi will go home and quickly wash up. He’ll carefully slip into bed so as not to wake a lightly snoring Jeongguk but Jeongguk will know anyways. Jeongguk will turn to the other side so he’s facing Yoongi and open his arms. Even though the summer night’s humidity is stifling, Yoongi will curl up into Jeongguk’s chest and breathe evenly.
But for now, this is enough.