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It doesn’t fit.
Despite Yoongi’s disgruntled rotating of the box, spinning it every which way and even at an angle that shouldn’t have been humanly possible, it was impossible to close the hatch of his trunk.
Yoongi — four time college Tetris champion, was currently standing in the parking lot of his now ex-boyfriend’s apartment complex. He had his hands full of the only tangible remnants from their relationship, hair strewn across his vision as a result of the strange July rain that showed no sign of stopping.
He wasn’t exactly feeling like much of a winner.
“C’mon now,” he grits his teeth, water wicking off the tips of his fingers as he attempts to shove the cardboard box further into his trunk. It doesn’t budge, and the rain only causes the brown outers to sag.
Sighing, Yoongi hovers over the box, catching his reflection off the pane of a photo frame that sits haphazardly on the top. It’s a strange juxtaposition, seeing the photo of his own smiling face pressed against the once-familiar flush of Seokjin’s cheeks. They had fit perfectly back then, like Tetris pieces.
The reflection, however, revealed a much more frazzled Yoongi. One who no longer had the same naive glint in his eye, or the soft creep of a blush fanning the tips of his ears. Instead, it revealed a Yoongi who was absolutely exhausted from making multiple trips to Seokjin’s apartment complex, sweeping the property of everything that had ever belonged to him and leaving only the ghost of a memory behind.
That had been the plan anyways. A quick three step process.
Step one, grab his shit and shove it into his car. Fill every inch of space in the tiny hatchback with bits and pieces of everything he had ever held close to his heart in the past three years.
Step two, walk back upstairs and tuck his key in the tiny hidden crevice between the Welcome mat and the grooves of the wall.
Or, not his key anymore. Yoongi had to stop saying Seokjin’s spare apartment key was his key. It was just a spare key that had to be returned to Seokjin.
Step three, get in the driver’s seat, shift the gear into motion and drive away from the home that had once housed morning kisses, midday cuddles, and nightly caresses. From the home where Yoongi had found his heart, only to lose it somewhere in the naive embrace of a lover.
Yoongi didn’t think he would cry until step three, but right now, he’s not sure what’s bound to break down first —the rain-rocked rogue box in his trunk, or him.
In a futile effort to follow the rule of thirds, Yoongi grunts as he gives the box another shove, hoping it’ll finally line up properly.
The photograph only mocks him as it slides off the top, slipping between the box and a container of Yoongi’s clothes.
He’s almost mortified that he can’t get the box to fit even when properly aligned. Normally, the number three seldom failed him.
Although there were definitely times when it did.
Yoongi’s and Seokjin’s relationship itself had always consisted of threes. Three kisses every night, three years together, and three special words every single day.
I love you.
And then there were the Three Stages.
There was the beginning — meeting at the campus bus stop, Seokjin holding an umbrella over a very distraught Yoongi’s head as he lamented about leaving all his umbrellas in the library. This had been followed by Seokjin paying for Yoongi’s transit fare as the latter realized that he’d also managed to leave his bus pass behind.
This prologue then melted into Yoongi embarrassingly falling asleep on Seokjin’s shoulder as the latter rode the bus all the way with him to the second-last stop, missing his own stop sixteen red lights and uncountable sleep-murmured words from Yoongi later.
Then there was the middle — finishing their degrees (Yoongi’s in psychology, Seokjin’s in finance), and taking the time to do things that felt inherently theirs. Like hiding and finding spontaneous plane tickets around the apartment, or euphoric skinny-dipping in the endless blue ocean. Or simply, Yoongi’s hands finding Seokjin’s every night, lacing their fingers together.
Sometimes these nights were full of rapid-fire chatter, and sometimes they were just quiet. Not a bad quiet. Just their quiet.
And then, finally, there was the end.
There was no curtain call, no thanking of the audience and the hush of bated breath as the lights went down and the actors took one last grand look at the theatre.
Instead, the ending of this story was much more simple.
Seokjin had found a job at an accounting firm. Corporate shit, seemingly nothing out of the ordinary.
However, they had both quickly come to learn that working white-collar jobs didn’t leave room for many other colours. No pink kisses, no amber crackling hearths, no more dazzling blue skinny-dipping.
Instead, corporate jobs drained the life out of a person. Took their livelihood and ran it through the office shredder, taking the pieces and shredding them again.
And so, Seokjin would return from work, with very little to hold his shredded pieces together.
Yet, that was the thing about Seokjin. He had always been ambitious, in everything from pursuing Yoongi, finishing his studies, and work. So despite falling apart, Seokjin was determined to do better. Go further. Climb.
Yoongi, on the other hand, had always been someone who enjoyed staying grounded. The view from down low was always serene, painted with bright splashes of colour. But from up high, these colours were no longer as crisp or detailed. They all blended into one another, and the little things disappeared from view altogether.
Little things like entwined hands, or the smell of domesticity and adornment during the sweetest Saturday breakfasts were not things one could see when they were peering down from the highest rung of the corporate ladder.
Soon, Seokjin made it so far up that he even lost sight of Yoongi.
And so, that was the ending that had led Yoongi to this coda, the weight of Seokjin’s spare key sagging his pockets down, and the rain beating down on Yoongi’s skin making him feel so incredibly tiny in the abyss of his jacket.
Sighing as a shiver crawls up his spine, Yoongi pushes his hair out of his eyes and tries shoving the box again. This annoying brown cardboard entity truly was the bane of his existence, as was everything in it. Things that Yoongi had packed away hastily, all of them feeling heavy despite being relatively light.
One, two, three shoves and —
“Yoongi?” a voice fills Yoongi’s ears, and he hates it.
Hates that he knows exactly who it is, and hates the way that his heart still races at the sound of his name leaving a mouth that used to give him the best kisses.
“Seokjin,” he replies wearily.
Seokjin must’ve just gotten off work. It was around that time, and he was dressed in a white button up and well tapered pants, with a deep blue tie finishing the look off. It felt odd to see Seokjin wearing something so vibrant.
Yoongi watches as the rain starts to seep into Seokjin’s outfit too, pressing his shirt closer to his chest.
He wonders if Seokjin’s clothes feel nearly as heavy as his own.
Seokjin smiles gently. “I didn’t know you were coming by to get the rest of your stuff today, Yoongi.” Fidgeting with the base of the tie, he regards Yoongi with a careful expression. “If I’d known, I would’ve suggested coffee.”
“Ah.” Yoongi says, biting his lower lip. “I figured you were busy.” There’s an unspoken as usual that hangs in the air.
Seokjin pauses, as if to offer some kind of half-assed phrase, like you know I always have time for you, Yoongi. But he holds his tongue, and a part of Yoongi seems to break underneath his rain-soaked skin.
Corporate jobs were known for being full of snakes. People willing to stab each other in the back, mouths full of lies.
Yoongi wonders how Seokjin had made it as far as he had, given that he could never tell a lie.
Even now, Seokjin couldn’t just lie to him.
Tell him that everything would be alright. That this ending could still be rewritten.
“Trouble getting it to fit?” Seokjin gestures to the box that was currently jutting out of Yoongi’s truck, and Yoongi lets out a small laugh. “That obvious, huh?”
“Just a little.” Seokjin grins, his eyes creasing to reveal his deep set of smile lines. Yoongi finds himself looking away.
The rain was starting to come down even harder, and Yoongi wouldn’t be surprised if by night, it turned into hail.
He needed to get out of here before the icy precipitation cracked his windshield.
Or worse, he cracked under Seokjin’s steady gaze.
“You know,” Seokjin says slowly, “you could just leave the box here.”
Yoongi blinks. “All of this stuff is mine.”
“Yeah.” Seokjin clears his throat, the rain matting his jet-black hair onto his forehead. “But you could come back another time,” he pauses, as if there was something else woven into that sentence.
For a beat, the heavy pitter-patter of nature’s tears is the only thing filling the silence, before Seokjin speaks again. “When you have more space.”
Yoongi shakes his head, pulling his jacket closer to his chest. “Nah. I’m sure I can figure this out.” He laughs quietly, the key in his pocket banging against his leg. “Ten minutes, and I’ll be out of your way.”
For good.
“It’s raining,” Seokjin points out, gently nudging Yoongi out of the way. “Just leave it here, Yoongi. I’ll take it back inside.”
Seokjin places his hands on the sides of the box, pulling it out of the trunk and against his taut chest in an effort to keep the sides from falling apart.
If only those same hands had held Yoongi with the same enthusiasm, instead of being filled with stacks of documents. Perhaps their relationship wouldn’t have unravelled at the seams.
“It’s fine, really.” Yoongi’s own hands snake around the other half of the box, giving it a firm tug.
“Yoongi,” Seokjin’s grip tightens, rain starting to soak into the cuffs of his sleeves. “Just leave it. It won’t go anywhere.”
And neither will he, apparently. Which is the last thing Yoongi needs.
“I got it, Seokjin. Really.” He pulls the box back, giving a good yank as Seokjin’s hands briefly let go, before the latter’s hands fly back onto the side of the box, teeth gritted and face dripping with precipitation.
It feels like a game of tug and war, the way they pushed and pulled the box, the contents inside starting to come loose, a couple things dangerously close to spilling over.
It’s a little fitting, Yoongi thinks to himself.
The last stretch of their relationship had been all about this, with resistance on both ends. Yoongi desperately pulling Seokjin back to him, pulling him back into his arms after a fatigued day at the office, while the latter sulked away to the bedroom alone and pushed and pushed and pushed.
One, two, three rounds of this game and —
“Shit!” Yoongi lets go of the box, watching in horror as something that had been dredged up amongst their petty war surfaced to the top.
He watches as out comes a tinier box, Tiffany blue and velvet in texture.
He watches as it jumps right out, this ridiculously small thing that was easily the heaviest thing in the larger cardboard box.
Watches as it soars through the air, hitting the pavement and following a river of rain that had formed on the ground.
Watches as it pops open, watches as it comes rolling out.
A simple engagement ring, studded with a single sapphire set in the middle, rolling forward, forward, forward until it stops, the booming clatter of the silver band against the concrete seeming to overpower the sound of the torrential downpour.
And how convenient it was that it had been the tip of Seokjin’s work-mandated dress shoe that had caused the ring to stop rolling, coming to a richoteing pause right at the base of Seokjin’s feet.
Suddenly, the rain feels suffocating. Even with two feet firmly planted on land, Yoongi feels as if he’s drowning, a surge of panic and sadness bubbling up in his lungs.
Seokjin doesn’t say anything, eyes firmly fixated on the ring at his feet. He stares at it for seconds that seem to drag into eternity, quietly putting the cardboard box back down.
At this point, both of them are drenched, water wicking down their faces.
Yoongi’s never been thankful for the rain before. But in this moment, he’s relying on the veil of the weather to hide one simple fact that would’ve been obvious if it were sunny.
He’s crying.
Hot tears streaking down his face, mixing with the cold precipitation seeping into his skin, he watches Seokjin as the latter stands completely still, eyes unwavering.
Then, he watches as Seokjin slowly bends down, picking the band off the floor and cradling it in his hands, as if he had just found an injured bird.
Carefully, he stands back up, and only then does Yoongi get a better look at him.
He’s not sure if it’s the weather, or a trick of the light.
But it appears that Seokjin is also crying, the smile lines on his face morphing into puffy bags that reflected years of workplace anguish and the inability to keep his favourite person by his side.
“I’m guessing this was supposed to be mine…?” Seokjin laughs quietly, voice strained.
Yoongi stares at his own feet. “Yeah.” He reaches up to massage the nape of his neck. “It’s an ugly ring though, so...was probably for the better.” He laughs as well, but it comes out rather flat.
“Ah.” Seokjin fidgets with the band between his fingers, biting his lower lip in thought. “I like it, though.”
Yoongi shrugs, wincing as a rather large raindrop whips into the corner of his eye. “You can have it, I guess.” He pauses, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath to stifle the sadness that was threatening to escape. “It was supposed to be yours anyways.”
“I see.” Seokjin’s voice is hoarse, and leaves little room for doubt. He was definitely crying.
Then, a ghost of a bittersweet smile etches itself onto Seokjin’s lips.
“It’s so much nicer than the one I had picked out for you, Yoongi.”
Then neither of them speak, their shaky breathing among the fall of rain the only thing that reminds either of them that they’re not alone in this parking lot.
A million thoughts rush through Yoongi’s mind. Seokjin’s words had grabbed onto his heart in the cage of his chest, promptly twisting it and causing a sharp pain to flood his entire body.
He wonders what it looked like. Seokjin’s ring for him. Whether it had a plain band, or something more intricate.
Seokjin was ambitious. It was probably something elaborate and crafted with utmost care.
And then Yoongi wonders about when Seokjin bought it. At what stage of their relationship had the thought of marriage crossed his mind?
For Yoongi, it was stage two. The day they’d gone skinny dipping in the depths of the dazzling blue ocean, cold water flushed against their naked skin and hearts laid bare.
But what about Seokjin? Had it been sometime in stage one? The day he laid eyes on Yoongi at the bus stop?
Like Yoongi, had it also been stage two, with Seokjin’s lips on Yoongi’s — pillow soft and muttering promises of forever?
Or perhaps Seokjin had realized that he had wanted to marry Yoongi during stage three. The very end.
When it was too late.
“It’s raining,” Yoongi says quietly, foot nudging the soaked box at his feet.
“Yeah,” Seokjin crosses his arms over his chest, as if desperate to retain a sliver of warmth.
If this were the old times, they would’ve just hugged each other, Yoongi teasing Seokjin for not bringing a jacket.
But it wasn’t the old times, and Yoongi simply watches as Seokjin shivers.
It reminds Yoongi that he should go, and Seokjin should get back into his apartment before the rain worsens.
Seokjin makes an effort to gingerly bend down and collect the box in his hands, hoisting it up, and this time, Yoongi doesn’t fight him.
“I should put this somewhere dry before any of your things get ruined,” he smiles, a strange juxtaposition to the melancholic expression that painted the rest of his face.
“Sure. Thanks.” Yoongi clears his throat, sighing deeply. “I still have the key, so I’ll just swing by whenever I’m around the area next, I guess.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I’ll be home, anyways.”
Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you have work?”
Seokjin’s grip on the box tightens. “I quit.” He chews on his lower lip, eyes surveying Yoongi’s face, as if trying to remember every detail. “Today, actually.”
“Oh.” Yoongi breaks his glance, but he can still feel Seokjin watching him carefully. “You loved that job, though.”
“Yeah,” Seokjin says quietly, voice gentle and teeming with an emotion that feels so raw that it causes a lump to form in the back of Yoongi’s own throat. “But I realized it didn’t make me as happy as...other things.”
With a small smile, he adjusts the box and gives Yoongi one last look.
Yoongi looks up to meet Seokjin’s eyes, and for a split second, his mind plays him a reel of their memories all over again.
Three years of bus-stop slumbers, gentle hands woven through locks of hair, sweet kisses and souls fusing into one.
And then it stops, memories tapering off just like the ring had clattered to a rolling stop on the pavement.
“I guess I’ll see you soon…?” Seokjin asks carefully, and Yoongi swallows the tears that threaten to overwhelm him once again.
“Yeah. Soon enough.”
Seokjin smiles. “Perfect.”
And with that, Seokjin turns around, and Yoongi watches as both Seokjin and his box get further and further away, until they’re even smaller than the tiny spark of hope that’s ignited itself in Yoongi’s ribs.