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“Sweetheart, who takes care of you when you’re hurt?” Yoongi asks, voice low, voice soft, voice caring and sorry. “Here,” he says, gently bringing Jeongguk’s hand up to his lips – kisses his scarred knuckles – “and here,” Yoongi places his palm above Jeongguk’s beating heart. “Who takes care of you when you’re sad?” Jeongkook’s heart beats loudly, strongly, rhythmic, but a little fast. “Will you let me? Will you let me take care of you and love you when your heart is tired, when it’s hurt? When you’re hurt?”
Physically it hurts, but emotionally, it hurts just that much more. Emotionally, it feels as though it’s always hurt, as though it’s never quite stopped hurting.
Having to do it all on his own, always having to do everything on his own. Treat his own wounds – physically and emotionally – take care of himself – physically and emotionally – always. No matter how difficult, how tasking, how strenuous, Jeongguk’s always had to manage on his own, because how else is he meant to survive and get by if he’s not there for himself, if he’s not there to take care of himself when no one else will.
Emotionally, the hurt is always there. It’s just a matter of how present, how on the surface or below a sea level of murky consciousness it all is at the time. Sometimes, on particular days, the emotional hurt is just a quiet buzz that is hardly audible, hardly detectable, hardly felt; Jeongguk gets by okay on those days, even though he knows those days are the calm before the storm, the anxiety that is bubbling and building up for everything to crash and burn and fall apart awaits him on the other side. He knows this well, knows it like the back of his scarred hand – from tripping and falling as a kid and not treating the wounds properly, from his multiple part-time jobs that didn’t care about his wellbeing, from carelessness and accidents and few purposeful attempts at trying to feel something, anything, in a world that turned dark and dull so early on for Jeongguk – knows it like the same password he has for all his accounts, knows it like the one phone number he has plastered into his memory, knows it like all the words and phrases and insults people have used to talk about him both behind his back and to his face. Jeongguk knows. How could he not, when this is the very way he’s lived every single day of his life ever since the day he decided to run away.
Physically, he ran, but didn’t get too far.
Metaphorically, he ran away a long time ago.
One door closes, but another doesn’t open. It’s supposed to, or so they say, or so they claim, or so they want you to believe. But the door closes, stays closed, and hasn’t opened since, hasn’t opened ever again, and neither has any other.
They say that one door closes and another one opens, that when one chapter is finished, another one begins. A new chapter of your life, with new opportunities, new challenges, new beginnings, new people. But, this one door closes, and it’s one heavy fucking door, because it’s been shut tight since the day Jeongguk closed it, since the moment Jeongguk decided to shut himself away from the world, shut everyone out, shut the world out, shut it all away.
For good, he had told himself.
For good, he had to tell himself. This is for your own good and for everyone’s sake, he decided to hide away from the world because that’s what he thought would be best, that’s what he felt he had to do in order to protect himself from the world that has relentlessly hurt him.
Sometimes Jeongguk wonders if the idea of safety and this sense of belonging are things he will ever experience in this lifetime. Because for all the years he’s been alive, these two concepts, ideas, feelings, things – whatever they are – have always felt so foreign and any associations of them painful, uncomfortable, uneasy, unfamiliar.
Lots of things have been painful. Lots about life has caused him so much pain and discomfort and sadness in ways that words can’t seem to ever explain, in ways that can only be felt and understood through shattering experiences of words unsaid, feelings trapped inside his very being, love desperately searching for places to reside only to be shoved away and rejected and told it’s too much.
Jeongguk has always felt like he was too much. Too much, and then not enough at all. People think he’s too much, people think he feels too much, thinks too much, expresses too much, cares too much about all too much. And when they really get to know him – or when they think they know him – he’s not enough, not smart enough, not capable enough, not adaptable enough, not good enough.
He’s too much, and then he’s not enough at all.
There’s no winning to this game. Not that Jeongguk is here to win, not that could care any less about winning – the competitiveness left him a long time ago – because there’s no need for that, there’s no point to that, there’s no real meaning in any of that, in any of this. At least he doesn’t think there is, hasn’t felt like anything he did held any meaning at all. Hasn’t felt like he held any meaning at all.
Jeongguk wants to believe that someone will like him for the way he is. Someone in this world full of people will accept him for who he is, not think he’s too much or not enough, not think he’s unlovable, not think he’s unacceptable, not think he’s a failure and a lost cause.
Someone in this world full of people will love him for exactly who he is and how much love he has to give. Someone will accept him for exactly how he’s like and what he likes and what he thinks and what he feels and they will not find him to be too much or not enough.
Jeongguk wants to believe. He has to believe it or he doesn’t know how else to go on, how else to continue living while thinking like this and believing the things he shouldn’t.
Happy endings might be for the fairytales, but Jeongguk can still hope, and wish, and believe that he does deserve a happy ending, too, and not just an ending that is happy but also a storyline that involves happiness here and there, sprinkled throughout, mixed into the sad and the difficult and the painful memories, laced into the different hours of his day, weaved into all the different stages of his life as he continues to grow and experience and learn and live rather than merely survive.
Physically, Jeongguk looks at the scars – some old, some not as old, but all healed by now – on his knuckles and his knees and his arms and legs left as a reminder, as proof, of all the times he’s gotten himself injured. Mostly from carelessness, not as much from recklessness, and most memorably and most recently from a motorbike accident from just a month ago.
The week before he met Yoongi.
The wounds are no longer fresh, but the scars still are, look the part. Because new scars look different from old ones, with the skin newly formed, not nearly as worn, a little shiny and a couple of shades lighter than the rest. Different, almost out of place with how obvious it doesn’t blend in with the rest of his body. It’s weird when Jeongguk thinks about it, especially when he thinks about it too hard the way he thinks about most things too much and for too long.
It’s weird, and Jeongguk doesn’t think that that particular accident has become a memory that he tried to suppress. Unlike many of his earlier memories that only much later into adulthood has he come to the realization that he’s unconsciously repressed so much to the point of completely forgetting. Gaps in his consciousness. Empty folders that used to contain files upon files of memories wiped clean. Momentarily, not forever. Hidden and relocated and shuffled around only to resurface much later, almost completely unannounced.
Then, later on, years later, the memories and all the hurt and the frustration and the resentment come crashing down on him from nowhere. He’s confused to say the least. Time no longer seems linear, and maybe it never truly was. Jeongguk isn’t sure anymore.
Now, with Yoongi gently running his fingers across Jeongguk’s scars, Jeongguk feels himself spiraling. This dizzying sensation that makes his head feel heavy and light at the same time, and his limbs liquid. Jeongguk thinks hard about this feeling, tries to figure out if it’s a bad emotion or one that is actually normal and nothing to freak out over.
He thinks it’s the latter.
Yoongi’s touches are warm on Jeongguk’s skin. It’s a nice sensation, that’s for sure. A little ticklish, just because Jeongguk is not the most touchy person nor is he very familiar with physical contact, but it’s reassuring, the way Yoongi handles him with so much care and tenderness and what he thinks he’s starting to understand as love that is true.
“Yeah,” Jeongguk finally answers after a long time; overwhelmed with emotion is an understatement. “I know I’m not the best at expressing how I really feel and letting my needs be known or heard, much less met. But I’ll try, I’ll really try.”
“Thank you,” Yoongi runs his fingers through Jeongguk’s fringe, but doesn’t tuck the strands behind Jeongguk’s ear knowing that it’s a safety thing, the way Jeongguk likes having his fringe in his face so that he doesn’t feel entirely exposed, and adds, “for trying even when it’s hard, for continuing to give it your all even when you’re tired, for being honest with me and trusting me enough to tell me all that you do. As much and as little, I know it’s not easy or the most comfortable thing to do, but I see you and I hear you. I’m here for you and I’m so, so proud of you, Jeongguk.”
Jeongguk sighs, and slowly looks up to meet Yoongi’s eyes. And maybe it’s the way Yoongi looks at him, maybe it’s the way Yoongi views him, maybe it’s the way Yoongi sees him. The way Yoongi really sees him for all that he is, through and through, that has Jeongguk feeling so overwhelmed and a little bewildered at how anyone can look at him like that– with so much hope and patience and love in their eyes.
No one before Yoongi has ever looked at him like this. Any looks he’s received were full of judgement and disapproval, full of disgust and this hatred so deeply rooted in people that he hopes he’ll never empathize or sympathize with because he knows first-hand how toxic and painful to be on the receiving end, and he’d never want anyone else to experience such agonizing hurt.
It’s not that Jeongguk doesn’t cry often or easily. He does, he really does, but he also always holds back, and waits. Letting out your emotions is not something you should ever really wait and put off until later, but Jeongguk is so used to dealing with his feelings and emotions when he’s finally away from people, when he’s alone and where he feels safe, that has resulted in these releases of emotion coming delayed and amplified. Sometimes for hours, sometimes for days, and sometimes for months. As bad as it is, and as bad as it gets, Jeongguk unintentionally lets it all build and build, pile and pile, and when it finally reaches its breaking point, Jeongguk knows – and hates to admit – that he’s pretty sure he has once again hit rock bottom or perhaps lower than the last time. A sad, record-breaking, nothing-to-be-proud-of all time low.
When Jeongguk does cry, it’s never pretty.
But to be fair, Jeongguk has never felt pretty. Just anything but.
When Jeongguk cries, it’s always a seemingly sudden and unexpected outburst that once he starts, it’s almost impossible to stop, because everything that he has been holding onto, all the good and the bad and everything in between that he forcibly pushed away to deal with later, comes pouring in and tipping over the little boat in the middle of the sea.
It’s some of the rarest occasions for Jeongguk to be crying in front of someone else. The very few times he did as a child, when he ran to his parents crying only to be scolded or completely dismissed and ignored, were also the last few times he cried in front of another person. The guilt and the embarrassment and the shame that resurfaces each time are more than enough for him to want to run away and hide.
Right here, right now, with Jeongguk’s tears threatening to fall, with the tears welling up in his eyes, waiting for that tipping point when the little boat flips, Yoongi leans forward and plants a feathery light kiss on Jeongguk’s forehead, exactly the way he knows Jeongguk likes most, and always gets shy after. More of a gentle touch than a proper kiss, but the softness of it all, the reassurance, a quiet gesture that speaks volumes, the amount care and thought–
The little boat flips, not into a terrifying sea of darkness that Jeongguk has grown all too familiar with, but into Yoongi’s warm and welcoming arms.
Jeongguk thinks about the motorcycle accident from a month ago, thinks about having to patch himself up, thinks about having to go to the doctors on his own when he could barely even walk, thinks about how difficult and frustrating it was to shower because he only had his right arm to use while his left was still sore and painfully stiff, and still had to be extra careful as to not get the wounds and the bandages wet (impossible), thinks about climbing up and down the steep and slippery stairs of his dingy, rented apartment with no elevator, thinks about how expensive the medical bills were, thinks about his poor motorcycle still waiting to be repaired, thinks about whether he’ll be too scared to bike again, thinks about his pathetic self and his pathetic life and his pathetic luck.
Jeongguk thinks about meeting Yoongi a week later, at the coffee shop he frequents, when he tripped and spilled his drink on the staircase going up and dropped his backpack that he can only wear on his right shoulder because his left side is still sore and practically useless, and a very kind stranger helped him up, then helped pick up his belongings, then helped him get a new drink.
It was a lot of helping, and Jeongguk sure felt bad and sorry about it. About all of it. Felt like a burden, felt like a total idiot, a complete dumbass. Felt like a useless piece of embarrassing shit. Felt like he didn’t deserve such a kind stranger’s help even though said kind stranger kept saying, it’s okay, it’s okay, but are you okay?
Jeongguk almost said no he is not okay at all, he is the furthest from okay, can’t remember the last time he was or felt okay. But he will spare this poor, innocent stranger from Jeongguk’s pathetic and sad life story. So instead, he said, yeah I’m fine, thank you so much for your help, and he sure meant it, he really did, because no one is or should feel obligated to help him yet this stranger took the time and effort to, but when the words left Jeongguk’s mouth, he wished it didn’t sound so sarcastic and bitter.
The stranger didn’t seem to mind too much, though. Just helped Jeongguk carry his backpack and a new, not two-thirds empty drink, to an empty table.
“Here’s okay?” he turned around to ask Jeongguk, who had just been following closely behind the stranger without saying anything or really questioning and thinking too much into it; he just wanted this encounter to end soon so that the stranger can be on his way and not burdened or inconvenienced by Jeongguk’s own inconvenience.
“Yeah, here’s fine. I can manage, don’t worry. You’ve helped a lot already, thank you,” Jeongguk said as he tried to awkwardly adjust himself on the chair so that the uninjured half his body is firmly on the chair while the wounded half is slanted and weirdly elevated. It must look as uncomfortable as it feels, he’s sure, but there’s no other way for him to sit without putting pressure on the wounds, so he just has to manage, just has to deal with the discomfort, he supposes.
“Okay, well, take care,” the stranger said kindly, and before leaving, he halted for a second, turned around, then added, “if you need anything- I could- No, nevermind.”
Could what? Jeongguk wanted to know the rest. The curious part of him, the curious side of him that’s eager to learn about people and hear their stories, and maybe that makes him nosy, but he’s just curious by nature and interested in human nature, and the little bit of hope and optimism left in his being about his own happy fairytale ending may be the last thread he’s holding onto. All this is besides the point, really, but Jeongguk couldn’t help but wonder, couldn’t help but want to know more, want to find out just what the stranger had to say.
Maybe he didn’t want this encounter to end because he can be a little selfish at times – on the very rare occasion, although this might not even be what it means to be truly selfish – but it’s been so long. It’s been far too long since Jeongguk had met anyone that didn’t make him feel small and meaningless. It’s been far too long since he’d met someone that saw him and didn’t turn away. It’s been so long that Jeongguk’s not sure about any of it, was never really sure to begin with, so once again, he felt himself holding onto and grasping desperately at anything that seemed relatively good, or perhaps just not downright terrible.
Jeongguk tells himself over and over again, has to remind himself again and again, that people, strangers or not, being nice is not a reason to fall blindly in love with them. That Jeongguk himself deserves kindness no matter what, and people being kind is the bare minimum they can offer and not to be confused with anything more than that; the bar is already so low, Jeongguk doesn’t and shouldn’t have to lower himself or his standards just to latch onto any chances of love and validation and acceptance for simply being.
This didn’t stop him from wanting to know what the stranger was going to say, what he had and has to say. Jeongguk being intrigued by people is a normal thing, because even though he’s not one to necessarily interact and jump head first into a pool of people, he does like to observe and watch, listen and learn. And this stranger exudes such a rare, calm aura that Jeongguk can’t help but be so drawn to and curious about.
A moth flying straight into flame, Jeongguk thought then, reckless and uncaring for its own safety and aftermath.
A moth flying straight for warmth, Jeongguk thinks again, yearning for a split second of comfort even if it meant the end.
Now that he was already involved and half of the situation, he just wanted to know. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it? It wouldn’t hurt to know a little more, would it?
“I- um,” Jeongguk started, but had no idea what he actually wanted to say, and now they’re awkwardly looking at each other, Jeongguk still sitting crooked and uncomfortably on half his ass while the stranger stood beside him, not too close or too far away, shifting his weight from his left foot to his right foot, then right foot back to left foot.
“I work as a nurse at a traumatology clinic,” the stranger took out his business card and handed it to Jeongguk. “I know it’s not my place, but I just thought that if you needed any help…” he sounded hesitant and unsure, as if the words leaving his own mouth are not words he can understand himself. “It doesn’t seem right for me to be offering though. It probably just seems like I’m trying to get customers for our clinic. I don’t know. I didn’t want it to come off that way, but I guess there really isn’t any other way to take it, huh. Sorry about that, you can just throw my card away or something.”
“No, it’s fine, thank you,” Jeongguk studied the business card – Min Yoongi – printed in the very center, and underneath, Registered Nurse, along with the name of the clinic, a phone number and an address. “I might actually go have a check up some time since I’ve just been, you know, trying to manage on my own, and that’s not going too well, I don’t think.”
Upon hearing Jeongguk say that, Yoongi had this expression on his face that looked like a mixture of worried and confused and maybe sad, Jeongguk’s not so sure, doesn’t know this Yoongi person enough or at all to be able to tell what such an expression really meant. “Can I ask what happened, and when? Just to get an idea,” Yoongi asked kindly and respectfully, and now that Jeongguk knows Yoongi is a nurse, it made all the more sense that he was so careful and attentive and observant. “If you don’t want to talk about it that’s totally understandable. I know it’s really not my business and you have no obligation to tell me anything.”
Jeongguk didn’t understand what got to him that day, or what exactly it was about Yoongi that made him want to tell this person that he had just met and embarrassingly tripped in front of all about the motorcycle accident, the before and the during at the after, that he hadn’t told anyone about – not that he really has anyone to tell – but for Jeongguk to open up like that, relatively easily and without much hesitation, and to talk so freely about himself without feeling like he was being judged and his wounds torn open again elicited this feeling that he thinks is what it must be like to play the game of trust fall.
Just when you shut your eyes tight, bracing yourself for the impact, they catch you. Firm and sure.
The little boat flips. Jeongguk falls. Not into the sea, but into Yoongi’s arms that were ready to catch him.
“I got you,” is what Yoongi says now, and is what he said then, when Jeongguk went to the clinic to see him and get his wounds checked and properly treated. “You’re not a burden, when you’re here, when you tell me how you feel, when you express your needs, when you show how you truly feel, when you voice your concerns. You’re not a burden, and I can promise you that.”
Every day, Jeongguk looks at the scars splattered across his body like spilled paint, and on most days, it doesn’t bother him, thinks of them as souvenirs, mementos of sorts that tell a different story about a different time of his life. Something to remember, something to look back on, something that proves his existence is real and he is indeed a real, physical being living on this planet.
But some days, he hates them. Despises them so much, because they’re a physical reminder of things and times and events and people that are not worth remembering, yet they’ve left permanent marks that just don’t go away with time. Like memories, they fade over time, and get a little hazy and unclear and not so obviously in the forefront, screaming in your face, but Jeongguk is stubborn and has very little patience when it comes to himself; there is still so much pent up anger and resentment and confusion he is still processing to this day.
Everyone has a limited amount of patience and courage they can garner each day, and Jeongguk feels like he’s already exceeded his quota for today, for his whole life, years ago.
Jeongguk is calm and reserved by nature, chooses to be quiet and private, but on days when the nervous energy and the frustration is boiling too strongly inside his being, even he has a hard time keeping his emotions at bay. Not that he should feel like he has to, not that he should feel bad for expressing his emotions, not that he should feel shame and guilt for feeling, but–
He wakes up a little angry, gets out of bed a little frustrated, a lot irritated. At just what? He’s not entirely sure. But he sure feels off and he knows it, can’t seem to contain it either.
His bed has always been exactly where it is since he moved into this apartment. Not once has Jeongguk tried to adjust or rearrange his room, so it doesn’t make any sense to him that he kicked the footboard of his bed while walking past it this morning.
“Ouch, what the fuck?” Jeongguk curses under his breath, and proceeds to bump his hip on the doorknob of his room door on the way out.
Everything in the entire universe is made of matter, so everything – including Jeongguk and his stupid bed and his stupid door and his stupid mug that he just dropped – is made up of atoms that are constantly vibrating, so Jeongguk supposes it makes sense in that way that there are days when he feels himself more shaken up and shaky than others. Or maybe it’s just his anxiety getting the best of him. Whatever it is, he’s not having a good day, and his day merely just started.
For someone so attentive and careful, so calm and calculated on most occasions, it confuses even himself when carelessness and clumsiness overwrite the data in his brain, and all the signals and pathways get momentarily wiped clean, resulting in Jeongguk being uncharacteristically absent-minded. Sometimes, he thinks that maybe this is who he really is, that he was never meant to be so attentive and careful – so robotic – that being so overly calm and calculated isn’t natural, that there is this part of him, this side of him that has always wanted to break free of these acquired characteristics that are really a defense and coping mechanism for things hidden much deeper within his consciousness.
Jeongguk picks up the broken pieces of ceramic carefully, tries not to get too poetic and melodramatic about these shattered pieces even though he’s innately a very emotional person to begin with, realizes it’s the mug Yoongi gifted him, wants to cry but instead laughs to himself so utterly defeated because this all feels like such a funny joke, all the events that happened just this one morning feel like such a joke. His life feels like such a joke. And Jeongguk only really knows how to laugh it off as a coping mechanism, as a way of not letting his emotions get the best of him, as a way of putting off feeling. He’s doing it again, and he knows it, but bad habits stick to you like gauze sticking to a not-yet-scabbed wound. Unfortunately and painfully so.
The day goes by not exactly in the blink of an eye, but while Jeongguk is in the middle of sketching a new draft for his upcoming project, unable to focus at all, still thinking about his poor pinky toe that took all the damage this morning, still thinking about the bruise that is most certainly forming on his hip because it hurts when he leans on the couch the wrong way, still thinking about all the things he hasn’t done, all the tasks still unfinished, all the messages and emails he has to respond to, all the errands he hasn’t run because it’s been raining days on end and he hates the rain, all the projects he started but didn’t finish because what, he has fear of commitment and he’s not afraid to admit it, to himself, that is.
Jeongguk peers out the window. It looks so dark he’d guess it’s late at night, but the dark clouds and heavy rain make the whole city look like it’s forever stuck at nighttime. Just this depressing and gloomy landscape that seems to reflect how he feels on the inside so accurately.
He hopes it’d stop raining soon.
He wonders if Yoongi remembered to bring an umbrella.
Jeongguk’s phone buzzes suddenly and it startles him, so deep in thought yet so distracted by everything else he forgets phones do that, ring and buzz.
[Yoongi, 7:46pm]
hey
just got off work
how was your day, gguk?
[Jeongguk, 7:49pm]
hi
it was okay
(hit my toe on the footboard, walked into my door, dropped my mug)
kind of okay
how about you?
do you have an umbrella? rain’s heavy
[Yoongi, 7:51pm]
:(
are you hurt?
work was alright, the usual
yeah i’ve got one
want me to bring dinner over?
[Jeongguk, 7:52pm]
oh
sure
sounds good hyung :(
[Yoongi, 7:53pm]
okay :)
i’ll see you very soon
missed you
[Jeongguk, 8:01pm]
missed you too
a lot
Yoongi shows up with dinner and a warm smile on his face when he sees Jeongguk. It must be cold and windy outside, heavy rain and all, yet Yoongi’s smile looks so warm and bright Jeongguk feels like he can’t look at it for too long without feeling lightheaded.
They know they both look far too tired, the exhaustion reflecting off both their faces, but very much the smiles, too.
Very much the smiles, too.
At the sight of Yoongi, standing right before him, with a smile so genuine and directed at him, takeout in one hand, umbrella in the other, Jeongguk sure wanted to continue smiling and say hi, welcome home, I missed you, but instead says, voice raw and shaky – only then did he realize he hasn’t spoken all day ever since he muttered ever so quietly an ouch what the fuck this morning – “I dropped the mug you gave me, I’m really sorry. I tried to glue it back together but some of the pieces were too small, and it just wouldn’t…”
Jeongguk’s eyes are downcast, unable to meet Yoongi’s eyes any longer. The rational part of him knows that Yoongi won’t be mad or disappointed, maybe sad, but not sad because the mug is broken, but sad because Jeongguk is sad? But, the illogical and emotional and conditioned part of him, the bigger part of his existence that is overshadowing and bleeding into his psyche, makes him feel and think and believe otherwise.
He wants to fight it, but when it comes to his three options of fight, flight, or freeze, Jeongguk is always stuck frozen and rooted into the ground below his very own feet.
Sometimes he wishes the ground would actually open and swallow him up. To just take him, free him from all of this.
The two of them are not standing too close or too far apart, but even from where Yoongi is stood, he can visibly see Jeongguk’s whole body trembling.
Yoongi leaves the wet umbrella by the door, puts the food down, and walks up to Jeongguk slowly and calmly, says, voice soft and not the slightest bit mad, not the slightest bit disappointed, “Oh, Jeongguk,” and feels his heart hurt seeing Jeongguk like this, knowing how sorry and guilty he must have felt all day and even now, knowing that he must have tried so hard to fix it, which means–
Now, up close, Yoongi can see clearly the bandaids on Jeongguk’s fingers, can almost feel the pain himself. Both the physical and the emotional.
Now, up close, Jeongguk isn’t running away or refusing Yoongi’s closeness, which is always a good start, even though a good start isn’t always easy, and a good start isn’t always simple, and a good start doesn’t guarantee that the rest will be just as easy or simple.
Yoongi’s well aware of that, and he’s okay with that. He’s willing to stay for as long as Jeongguk will have him, he’s willing to try without forcing anything either of them truly want or are ready for, he’s willing to do a hell of a lot for Jeongguk. He’s willing to do a lot for the people he cares about. He’s willing to do a lot for love.
Jeongguk is still looking at the ground, at his very own feet, but now with Yoongi’s feet in the frame too. Without lifting his head, he steps half a step closer to Yoongi, then buries his face into the juncture between Yoongi’s neck and shoulders, voice muffled when he whispers, “Hi, welcome home. I missed you.”
“Glad to be home with you. Missed you too,” Yoongi’s arms come up to gently but surely wrap around Jeongguk’s shivering frame, holds him there, holds him for a long while, will hold him for however long Jeongguk wants and needs to be held, and feels Jeongguk gradually stop shaking. “Wanna sit down and rest? I’ll take a look at your hands if that’s okay with you.”
“Okay,” Jeongguk complies rather easily. “It’s not too bad, I promise. I made sure to clean it with saline solution first and put ointment on it like you taught me.” Jeongguk doesn’t want Yoongi to worry, but knows that no matter what he says, Yoongi will still worry because he cares. And for that, Jeongguk is truly, ever so grateful. To have someone that cares for him and cares about him. To have someone that listens and sees him for who he is. To have someone that shows him there is love that is pure and gentle and patient, and not tainted with selfishness and the intention to take advantage of those who are deeply hurt.
Jeongguk knows that either way, Yoongi will still want to take a look at the cuts just to be sure, just to make sure that the wounds are being treated and handled properly, just to make sure Jeongguk is really okay and not just saying that for Yoongi not to worry.
“Good boy,” Yoongi hums. “I believe that, I believe you.”
And Jeongguk is thankful, although he can’t help but still feel embarrassed and ridiculous for everything that happened today, and feels bad to let Yoongi see him like this, and for making him work overtime because Jeongguk was not have a good day whatsoever and the stubbornness doesn’t subside even when he’s tired. Neither of them have had dinner yet, and Yoongi’s had a long day at work, and Jeongguk just wants–
Jeongguk just wants.
Jeongguk wants a lot of things, he thinks. Yearns for it, longs for it. Doesn’t necessarily admit to all of it, but there are a lot of things he sure wishes for. Not necessarily anything materialistic, doesn’t think any of the things he truly wants are material items. It’s hard to put into words this feeling of want, this deep longing for happiness that doesn’t come from physical, material things.
The apartment is quiet, the way it usually is because the two of them enjoy the calm and the serenity that is hard to find and harbour in this boisterous city and this demanding world. Yoongi holds Jeongguk’s hand in his as he carefully cleans every little cut on Jeongguk’s fingers, focusing all the attention on being as gentle as possible even though Jeongguk is good at handling pain and Yoongi knows that too.
It’s so very quiet, apart from the sound of Yoongi taking off the plastic covering of bandaids.
It’s so very quiet, apart from the sound of their breathing.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk breaks the silence with a whisper, because it’s so quiet he feels like anything he says, anything he does, will disturb the stillness of the room, will shake something in his very own heart. He observes Yoongi’s movements, his delicate hands, how dexterous Yoongi is. “Can I tell you something? An honest thought?”
“Of course,” Yoongi looks up to meet Jeongguk’s eyes, and brushes Jeongguk’s fringe out of his face. Gentle, tender.
“We’ve been together for several months now, and...” Jeongguk sounds shy, and he’s fighting the instinct to run and hide and say, nevermind, it’s nothing, but this is Yoongi, and Jeongguk trusts him, and trusts in them, and he’s sure about this too, so he has to say it because he hasn’t said it yet even though he’s thought about it a lot and thought of all the ways and times he can say it but couldn’t fight the fear or find the courage to. Yoongi wears this soft smile on his face whenever he looks at Jeongguk, and Jeongguk thinks he might melt into a puddle before he can get any words out of his mouth, thinks, this is exactly why I haven’t been able to say it out loud because you look at me with eyes filled with so much love and I can’t comprehend it sometimes, and, “I love you.”
The whole world stills, and they’re both holding their breaths. Jeongguk almost can’t believe he actually – finally – said those words out loud, and now that he’s said them, voiced them aloud into the universe, in front of Yoongi, his initial and immediate reaction to anything unfamiliar is fear and panic. But instead of forcing that fear back down, instead of pushing the panic away, he’s suddenly overcome with relief and this sense of peaceful tranquility, so unlike the dangerous waves that constantly threaten the safety of the little boat.
There are suddenly teardrops falling onto their joined hands, and Jeongguk swears he’s not crying, or maybe he is, he’s not even sure. And then Yoongi is quickly retracting his hand from their joined ones to wipe the tears away from his own face.
Jeongguk nearly panics then, and when he looks up to meet Yoongi’s eyes, it’s to see that Yoongi is indeed crying, but he’s looking right back at Jeongguk, with this fond look in his eyes and a smile just as fond.
“No, no, why, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Are you in pain?” Jeongguk scans Yoongi’s face, then his hands, then his body, and reaches his hands up to cradle Yoongi’s face gently, the feeling of panic unable to leave him, the fear of Yoongi being hurt somewhere, the fear that maybe he’s the one that caused it. “Yoongi?”
“It’s okay, I’m okay. Not hurt, not in pain, I promise,” Yoongi reassures him, with eyes still glistening with tears, and places a hand above Jeongguk’s. “Just felt a little overwhelmed. Relieved, grateful, so lucky, to be here with you, to be with you, to be able to love you, to have you love me back? I love you, too, so much.”
Now, it’s Jeongguk’s turn to tear up, and he’s surprised at himself for feeling then registering and releasing these very emotions, right then and there. It’s a little shocking to him, a little scary, a little overwhelming too, to feel so much and to show all that he feels in front of someone else. But this is Yoongi, who is the most patient and loving and gentle person Jeongguk has come to know. And Jeongguk wants to return these feelings, wants to show them, express them, let them be known, let them be free and out in the open because every time Yoongi tells him that he’s deserving of love and kindness and happiness, Jeongguk wishes the same exact things and more for Yoongi too.
“Thank you,” Jeongguk feels the need to say. “And, I’m sorry for breaking the mug you gave me. It was so special to me. It was my favorite.”
“That’s okay. It happens to all of us, no need to apologize. I’ve dropped so many mugs in this lifetime you can’t even imagine,” Yoongi chuckles, and that gets a smile out of Jeongguk. He leans forward and kisses Jeongguk’s forehead. Soft, and fond. “You’re so special to me, Jeongguk. You’re my favorite.”
Jeongguk blushes, feels his whole face getting flushed with so much emotion, so much feeling. How rare it is for him to feel this way, so open and vulnerable in front of somebody else. Feels shy, feels warm, feels this way around Yoongi a lot, it seems. It’s not a bad thing. It’s not a bad feeling. It’s new, and unfamiliar, but the idea of it isn’t so scary when it’s Yoongi he’s with.
“You’re my favorite, too,” Jeongguk admits, many times in his head before, and out loud for the first time. Either way, it’s true, and Jeongguk doesn’t want to hide that anymore.
Outside, the rain is still pouring down with no intention of stopping any time soon. With a storm on the way, the trees sway left then right at nearly snapping angles, and the pompous droplets of rain knock on everyone’s window knowing they’re that unwanted guest. Lightning flash like paparazzis chasing after the latest gossip, and the thunder loud and tremorous enough to shake the very core of your being.
Jeongguk couldn’t be more glad to be in what he can now – after so long and never quite believing there will come a day where he can – call the safety and comfort of his own home with Yoongi curled up next to him on the couch, fast asleep after having dinner, after a long day at work.
Jeongguk looks out the window at the familiar city drenched in rain, and feels this contrast. Feels, not a contradiction like he would in the past, but a contrast, a difference, a change. He looks at Yoongi’s peaceful sleeping form and feels this slow and steady wave of relief, feels this warm and comforting tenderness flow through his veins, feels the storm inside his heart calming down after so many years of unending turmoil and destructive repercussions.
This little boat floating alone in the middle of the ocean has stayed afloat for years on its own, even when the currents are heartless and uncaring towards its safety, even when the circumstances are harsh and furthest from ideal for survival. Even when everything threatens the very security of this little boat, knowing that it is alone, worn out, and hurt, the little boat, though having flipped countless of times, refuses to sink.
Sometimes, Jeongguk feels like he is sinking.
Sometimes, he feels like he is doing everything in his power to swim and stay above water, yet instead of air, he is swallowing water.
Sometimes, he feels like his body is so heavy and lifeless that the moment he really does sink, he will just go down down down, never capable of coming back up again.
But, here he is, here he still is, breathing air into his lungs instead of gulping down water to fill them up. Here he is, still hanging on and still feeling and still very much alive. Maybe that is enough. Maybe that has been and will always be enough.
Yoongi stirs in his sleep, and searches for Jeongguk’s hand to hold. Yoongi has a habit of doing that, and Jeongguk finds it so incredibly endearing it almost hurts when he thinks about it too hard. And when Yoongi sleepily and successfully finds Jeongguk’s hand, he will hold on and give it a gentle, reassuring squeeze before shuffling closer to Jeongguk’s side and falling back asleep with a content little smile on his face.
They’ve fallen asleep together like this many times before, and Jeongguk thinks that there is love that is true and love that is pure and love that is kind in this world. That the kind of love that he’s always longed for and imagined experiencing one day does in fact exist, because everyone, even himself, is deserving of love that feels right, and is right.
I’m going to give myself another chance, Jeongguk thinks to himself, firmly. I deserve to give myself another chance at this.
Because there is this part of him, the inner child in him that has been neglected for so long, that has always needed love but never quite felt any of it growing up, that has lacked the support and care and comfort that is meant to soothe the hurt and ease the pain but only ever received dismissiveness and indifference or anger and accusation instead.
Jeongguk has spent so long feeling lost and alone, sometimes still feels just as lost and even more alone and lonely than ever before, but he wants to believe that this is all part of the process, that this is part of growing up and growing into who he is meant to be and who he has always been before the weight of the world came crashing down on him, the burden all his to carry alone, that feeling this way isn’t a forever type of thing, that he has done the best he can despite the circumstances beyond his control, that the storm will pass and the waters will calm and the little boat will be safe and sound again.
“What time is it?” Yoongi mumbles, voice soft and low and groggy, rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, lays his head back on Jeongguk’s shoulder and yawns. “How long was I asleep for?”
“Nearly ten p.m. Not long, maybe half an hour?” Jeongguk shifts his body a little lower so Yoongi can rest his head more comfortably without straining his neck. “We should go to bed, you have an early shift tomorrow, right?”
Yoongi hums in agreement, sounding so tired, but he’s getting up anyway, sitting up and yawning again.
“Jeongguk,” he turns to look at Jeongguk now, and maybe he sounded a little more serious than usual that has Jeongguk’s body stiffening suddenly, and eyes going a little wide, a little too unsure and startled. Then, Jeongguk is studying Yoongi’s face, his expression, and his body language, realizes that there’s no actual danger or threat in the situation, and tries to release the tension in his body.
All of this happens in a matter of a few seconds only, and Jeongguk knows that to most people it’s not obvious or noticeable at all, or it’s something they see but choose to ignore. But Jeongguk sees the worried look in Yoongi’s pretty pretty eyes, and knows that Yoongi can tell something is wrong.
Jeongguk knows that Yoongi can tell because Yoongi is observant, and because Yoongi notices things about Jeongguk, and because Yoongi pays attention, and because Yoongi cares.
“I’m okay,” Jeongguk says, meaning to reassure Yoongi, but sounding a lot more like he’s saying that for himself to hear. “Sorry, I can’t help it sometimes. It’s just that...” Jeongguk tries to explain, but finds that he doesn’t know how, doesn’t have the words for it, tries not to get frustrated at himself for not knowing how to explain his own thoughts and actions properly.
“Hey, it’s alright,” Yoongi’s voice is as soft as the clouds you’ve always imagined sleeping on would feel like. “You don’t have to talk about it, and you don’t owe me or anyone an explanation. But if you ever want to talk about it, if you feel okay to, ready to, comfortable enough to, I’m always here to listen, anytime.”
“Thank you,” Jeongguk means it, and knows that Yoongi meant every word he said too.
They get up from the couch, throw away the takeout boxes, take turns showering, help each other dry one another’s hair, get into Jeongguk’s bed that is too small for Jeongguk alone, but somehow just right when it’s the two of them together.
Summer berries, fresh citrus, rain and breeze. The apartment falls into that comfortable silence once again. The one that is calm rather than frizzy, the one that warms your soul rather than chills your bones, the one that is soothing rather than screaming inside your head.
“Hyung?” Jeongguk asks quietly, not sure if Yoongi is still awake and not wanting to wake him if he has already fallen asleep.
“Yeah?” he gets a response from Yoongi right away, just as quiet, just as soft as a mere whisper. Yoongi turns to his side to look at Jeongguk, to try and read the expression on his face, because Jeongguk’s voice is laced with hints of uncertainty and maybe a little bit of fear too. But it’s dark out, and it’s dark in, and all Yoongi can see is the faint silhouette of Jeongguk’s body.
“Could you…” he starts, and trails off. Fading out like a pen running out of ink. “Nevermind."
“You can tell me, Jeongguk,” Yoongi offers, but doesn’t force it, doesn’t press on. Just offers a hand for Jeongguk to hold, literally and metaphorically, for when and if Jeongguk needs it. “You can tell me whatever you want. I'm here to listen, here to help, here for you. Whatever you need.”
Yoongi doesn’t say more, doesn’t push further, lets the offer be open for Jeongguk to take if he wants to, leaves his hand out for Jeongguk to take if he wants to. Doesn’t demand anything from Jeongguk, doesn’t place expectations. Does give him space, does give him time, does give him love and patience and kindness because Jeongguk deserves all of that and so much more.
And, Jeongguk, who is quiet and reserved when he is deep in thought, when he is thinking hard and processing and trying to figure things out and make sense of them, when he is unsure and uncertain and afraid. Instead of screaming out loud for help, instead of calling out, Jeongguk is silent, is used to being silenced.
But here, he finds Yoongi’s hand in the dark, and holds it. Holds on.
Now, he voices his thought. Out loud.
“Hyung,” he tries again. “Could you hold me for a little while?"
“Of course,” Yoongi replies, kind and loving and so selflessly certain. “Come here.”
“Feels nice,” Jeongguk says, warm against Yoongi, comfortable in his gentle embrace. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” Yoongi kisses Jeongguk’s forehead. Always softly, always kindly, always comforting. Sweet and secure, in a way that Jeongguk is still trying to process, still trying to comprehend that he’s capable of experiencing love so kind and enveloping.
“Can I tell you something? Another honest thought?”
“Mhm. Anytime.”
“I think I found home with you."
"Me too, sweetheart. Feel the same about you."