Chapter Text
Not everyone deserves a good life. Jeongguk thinks that if he had the choice, he wouldn’t want one. Wouldn’t really matter that much either since the majority of his life has revolved around staying alive long enough to say that he’s survived the day.
Not that it’s anyone’s business either though.
Jeongguk thinks that, even if he was born in a big house, with both of his parents instead of neither of them, he would still find his way here.
“Are you sure?”
Jeongguk raises his eybrows at the boy who’s holding out the small joint. A decent sized one too. No fucking roach that boys usually offer.
“You worried ‘bout me or something?” Jeongguk scoffs, “That’s a first.”
And it’s true. No one ever really cares enough at these things to be worried about anyone. If anything, the fact that anyone is here is another nail in the coffin. Really, all they are is relying on strangers. Dangerous, yes. Relieving? Absolutely.
As long as no one recognizes the fragility of a human life, it doesn’t matter too much if you drink or smoke, or pay for the more expensive stuff in little bags.
“Listen, I know this isn’t really your scene. How old even are you? Fuckin fiftee—“
“Making sure you don’t hit on a minor?” Jeongguk narrows his eyes at the boy. His vision is a little blurred, spinning and careening itself atop the muddle of earth and concrete that this party is being held at. Jeongguk thinks that he’s been a lot worse. This is fine.
“That’s not—“
“Not that it’s any of your concern” Jeongguk inhales. Holds it for a second longer than he definitely should have. Releases it into the boy’s face. Man’s face? Jeongguk isn’t sure anymore. The colors his eyes are trying to see are hard to un-smudge. Looks like a mosaic, “I’m seventeen. Almost eighteen.”
Jeongguk hopes the guy can see that he’s not too fucked up. Not that Jeongguk believes in having standards when he’s drunk off liquor anyways, but he still thinks it should be worth something if Jeongguk has to wake up next to the guy in the morning.
This one doesn’t look to bad. Enough to fuck maybe..
“Almost?”
Jeongguk smiles. The one that makes the men at these parties smirk, make them get closer, lips to his ears hot with desire. He never understood the fascination, but apparently he’s fucking adorable when he shows his teeth. Whenever any of the men fuck him though, they tend to let out murmurs of “bunny”, “bun” and the such. Jeongguk thinks that is what is going through the guy’s head right now.
“First of September. ‘M a Virgo”
“Cute”
“I know”
The span of space and distance from Jeongguk and the man—Jeongguk can see it now, the way the stubble spans the sharp jaw line and weary eyes—minimizes to a breath’s distance. Close enough to smell the burn of whiskey on the man.
Jeongguk quickly determines that the smell will be worth the night if he can get just a little bit more drunk. A bit more faded.
“Can I take you home?” The man grips the tight lining of the shirt that Jeongguk is wearing. If the thing can even be considered a shirt. It’s basically just see through soft fabric that does little to nothing in the fading winter weather. Spring is right around the corner anyways.
And, like Jeongguk doesn’t believe in any other word that exists within the English language, he tips his head back and breathes out slow and steady.
“Please”
Yeah, Jeongguk doesn’t believe in life being good. But if heroin’s got anything to do with it. It’ll makes things a hell of a lot easier to bear.
————-
The first of September stings like a wasp, and the day that Namjoon gets out of the backseat of his mother’s Subaru, he feels like the boy who left here three years ago. Tall and tender, lanky and golden, a heartbeat away from destroying his entire world for the fêel of a soundboard, a beat, a chorus.
Namjoon breathes in and thinks of summer and what he’s missed.
“Not much” his mother reassures him. A gentle hand on his face, like if she blinks, he’ll disappear all the way off to London again. Studying abroad never really rubbed his mom the right way. Namjoon places his palm on hers. A quiet reassurance that places his heart in a deep ache and a splendid soak.
He is back home.
Unpacking his boxes from his old room in London is like a chore that manages to take longer than it really should. Mostly because with every ratty undergraduate tee, and a cracked CD case, the flood of Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi tips deeper into Namjoon’s palm. Steady and quick.
“So, the first thing you do when you finally manage to get home is to unpack one box, and then get emo enough to call me? Joon, we literally saw each other less than twenty hours ago god.”
“Is it now a crime to call a friend that I miss? That’s unfair.” Namjoon sets his phone near his ear and lets his shoulder hold the weight as he unpacks the closest box to him.
“It is when we’re literal roommates and we sleep in the same bed.”
Namjoon’s heart does a small jump when Yoongi’s drawl reaches his ears. It’s stupid, he knows, to have a lingering there that should not have happened. It really is quite cliche, the way Namjoon’s life has become a drama. Hoseok would love this.
“How is that my fault? You’re the one that wanted more space to do yoga or whatever it’s called.”
“It’s called meditation you uncultured pig.” A scratchy sight across the line, “No wonder you moved back home for the year. Your mind isn’t being taken care of properly.”
Namjoon continues to pick up the pieces of his heart that manage to slowly chip away with every syllable Yoongi says, just like the CDs in the big brown box labeled “Muzic stuff uwu” in Yoongi’s messy handwriting. Namjoon thinks its endearing. Yoongi had been the one to organize his stuff before he left London. Said Namjoon would find a way to completely mess up everything if he packed himself.
“I moved back to get away from the capatilist culture of the music industry. You of all people should be supporting this break from society.” Namjoon thinks that the colors of his wall, a light beige, seems to slowly be splattered with his heart. A left over of the years of high school. Finally coming to light after three years of being absolutely desolate, “I gotta drop by Home Depot later and get paint. The color of my walls scream ‘emo joon’”
“ I do support you, it’s just so last minute don’t you think? Also, Aw emo joon. An era I will never forget. Also Also, get blue, I heard it’s supposed to calm you or whatever.” Yoongi sounds just as sleepy as ever through the phone and Namjoon finally finds the time to think of the time difference between them. It’s not too intense, but Yoongi likes to sleep until he physically cannot anymore.
“Yeah yeah, what is life if there are no risks right? Please don’t harass me. Blue. I’ll keep that in mind.” Namjoon has barely made a dent in the box he’s been working on because of the very short phone call he’s having, but he thinks if it takes him the rest of the year to fully unpack, he wouldn’t mind a single bit if Yoongi was the one to distract him.
“Listen, you’re being a huge pain in the ass right now, so I’ll call you later alright?” In a language that only close roommates or siblings or pining lovers tend to use, Namjoon makes sure to let Yoongi know he loves him in a small quiet way. The same way the tides of the ocean meet the sand in greeting. A quick hello, a somber goodbye.
Yoongi grumbles a goodbye and says he won’t miss Namjoon’s snoring one bit tonight before the dial tone rings clear and loud.
Namjoon’s never the one to hang up first.
Thinks that if he did, then there would be little to no poetic lyrics to use in his songs.
Namjoon takes a week to fully unpack. Posters and CDs litter every surface. Almost like he never really left.
It’s only when his mom comes in does he remember he wanted to paint his walls and will have to reorganize everything all over again.
Life is good, Namjoon thinks.