Archive of Our Own ^beta

The world doesn’t collapse when it happens. There’s nothing but deafening silence sitting heavy on Jungkook’s shoulders. He’s just come out of the shower, thinking about what to do before sleeping when his phone starts ringing. Towel around his hips, he takes it in his hand, reading the caller’s ID. It’s Hwayoung’s parents. They’ve had his number since he called them to pick him up for her birthday a couple years ago. They only call him on New Year’s Eve and on his birthday. He knows something’s wrong and, for a second, he’s petrified, unable to unlock his phone.

“Hi?” He says, voice unsure, water dribbling down his chest and legs.

“Jungkook-ah?” It’s Ayeong, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Eomeonim, are you okay?”

“It’s Hwayoungya ; there’s been an accident.” She sounds strained and Jungkook’s chest constricts. He hears her shakily breathing. “She passed.”

Jungkook feels like he’s been disconnected from his body, organs replaced with lead. His feelings are gone and he can barely remember to breathe.

“I’m so sorry.” He says, brain silent. “What happened?” Words fail him.

“A drunk driver crashed into her car as she was coming home from our place.”

He closes his eyes.

“She died on her way to the hospital.” She continues, and her voice breaks. He can hear her hiccups, feels his own breath coming out shakily. He’s not sure he can feel his body anymore. He sits on his bed.

“When can I come, eomeonim?”

“The funeral’s in three days.”

“I’ll be here in two, bring you food, anything to help you. I’ll stay at a nearby hotel.”

She faintly huffs.

“Don’t be daft Kook-ah, stay in our guest room.”

“But, the rest of your family?”

“They live close-by.”

“I’m so sorry.”

She stays silent for a second.

“It’s not your fault.”

“How’s Hyunwoo abeonim?”

“Ah. Like me. I don’t think we’ve realized yet. They didn’t let us see her.”

“Oh.”

“I wish I could see her.” She continues, and breaks down, crying, and it’s what tips Jungkook off, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“This doesn’t feel real.” He tells her weakly.

“No. It doesn’t.” She’s fully crying now. “I feel like she’s going to call any minute to tell us she got home safe.”

Jungkook wishes he could hold her between his arms, do something, anything, to bring his friend back.

“I’m gonna—” She sharply breathes in. “I need to call other people.”

“Of course, eomeonin, I’ll be here in a couple days. You’ll be in my thoughts and heart.”

“Jungkook-ah.” She sighs. “You’re a sweetheart.”

“Thank you. Take care.”

“You too.”

He lets his phone fall down next to him on the covers, eyes unfocused. His brain is filled with static, thoughts jumbled, like a wave receding before a tsunami. Hwayoung. He was supposed to see her a couple days later, celebrate their achievement together. Their graphic novel was coming out in a few weeks, something they'd worked on for almost two years, and, just like that, he no longer had anyone to celebrate with. . 

He stays still for what feels like an instant and an eternity at the same time, unable to move a muscle, breathing shallow. Everything's blank. When he finally snaps out of his torpor, he realizes more than an hour flew by. He's received texts.

He puts on a shirt and some underwear, scrolling down his phone screen.

real life little chick : kook-ah, still on for the end of the week?

Jimin sent it an hour ago in their group chat.

wise old man : the little one isn't talkative tonight

cunning old man : joon-ah don't use this as a pretext to spam us with plant pictures

dreamy koala : ??? i wasn't 

dreamy koala : but if you were to be interested, i have some 

2021 basquiat : you're so sexy when you're a nerd

literal sunshine : he's always a nerd, are you implying he's sexy 24/7 ?

2021 basquiat : what if i am?

cunning old man : there are so many things wrong with this statement but i won't kinkshame you. tonight. 

Jungkook reads the texts but they feel so distant from his life, eons away from the void filling his chest. He replies on autopilot. 

me : i don't know how to say this

me : hwayoung passed earlier tonight 

me :  i won't be here, i'm going to the funeral in her hometown 

cunning old man : shit kookie, i’m so sorry

dreamy koala : i know how much she meant to you. i'm sorry. can we do anything ?

me : ah. no. i don't know. i don't want to bother 

wise old man : i'm coming over. with drinks.

Jungkook laughs weakly.

me : i should put on some pants maybe 

He puts on some sweatpants and lies flat on his bed, staring at his ceiling for a while. Even though he's said it, he can't believe what's happening. She can't be dead. 

He stares at the minutes passing by on his bedside table clock, and there's only one thought looping in his mind. 

It can't be true, she can't be dead. It can't be true, it can't be true, it can't—

His intercom rings, he painstakingly gets up, figuring Yoongi's here.

"Yeah?" He says, pressing the button. 

"Delivery for Jeon-ssi?”

Jungkook frowns.

"Uh. Okay, sure. Third floor on your right."

He unlocks the door. 

A few minutes later, a delivery man hands him a paper bag and leaves after wishing him a good night.

He goes to sit at his desk and opens the bag. Inside, there are bungeoppangs, hotteoks, chappsal donuts, strawberry rice cakes, yakgwas, gyeongdans, and there's even some banana milk. He sighs, and feels the corners of his lips tugging up. There's a little card.

to our dear friend, take this as a token of our love until we can hug you. jiminie & taehyungie.

He shakes his head, fond, where did they even find an open bakery at this hour..? 

me : thanks for the treats guys.

real life little chick : love you

2021 basquiat :  to pluto and back, because pluto’s farther than the moon

Jungkook's phone buzzes, a new conversation opening. It's Namjoon-hyung.

dreamy koala : hey 💕. i can't imagine how you feel right now.

me : not much yet, haven't processed

dreamy koala : let me come tomorrow, batch cook you something so you don't have to think about it. do chores around your house. you don't need those with what's happening.

Jungkook’s chest constricts, eyes closing. He's always so sweet to him, god. 

me : you don't have to do that, you know

dreamy koala :but  i want to. because i care about you. 

At any other time, Jungkook’s  heart would've beaten faster, he would've stored this sentence in his mental file called Everything sweet Joonie-hyung's ever told me , but he's still crippled with shock, overwhelmed and, frankly, not in the mood to nurture his years long puppy crush. 

me : okay. yeah, okay. not too early

dreamy koala : hyung's coming with the big guns isn't he ?

me : i sure hope so

dreamy koala : i'll pick up a frappucino with extra shots then, and make sure you drink enough water

me : wish i could marry you right now

dreamy koala : now, now, don't let pain shroud your judgement. we both know how batch cooking is going to end 

me : calling jinnie-hyung who'll already have prepared food for me ?

dreamy koala : yeah. i'm good for support but, let's be honest, you don't want me during a zombie apocalypse.

Jungkook smiles for real this time. It feels good to be talking to him;  it’s grounding. 

dreamy koala : hyung should be there soon. don't hesitate texting me. even shitfaced drunk. sending you a virtual hug

me : hugging you back hyungie.

Jungkook eats some of the treats and musters the courage to turn his music on. He plays Tove Lo. Hwayoung loves her.

… 

Loved.

Shit.

He pictures her singing in her pyjamas, hair unruly, after a day of working together, jumping on his bed, full of life and love.That energy's gone now

This is what breaks the dam. She's gone. For real. He's crying. It should feel freeing but it only hurts like hell. He'll never laugh with her again, dream about becoming absurdly successful artists, cry together over pictures of beefy men and stunning women, talk until they pass out from exhaustion sharing secrets. So many of his secrets she's about to take to her grave. It makes him sick. Literally. He runs to the toilets and throws up. He doesn't know if he's crying from pain or throwing up. Is there really a difference ? Does it even matter ? He throws up until there’s only bile left in him, gasping for air, pathetically sobbing over the toilet bowl. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but, at this point, the entire evening is relative, time-wise. Time has stretched since Ayeong eomeonim called him, and yet, it feels like he’s stuck at the exact moment she told him Hwayoung wasn’t alive anymore. 

He flushes the toilets, struggling to stand up, and washes his tear-stained face.

He looks at himself in the mirror.

He looks like shit.

Walking back into his room, he drinks water, Tove Lo still singing in the background. 

The intercom rings for the second time tonight and Jungkook croaks out a “Yeah?”, to which Yoongi replies “It’s me.”. He’s in front of him a couple minutes later, bottles of tequila in each hand.

“Hey.” Jungkook tells him, and he feels so tired, like he’s about to crumble. He feels like sandpaper dust, can taste himself in his mouth, and it’s disgusting.

Yoongi puts the bottles down and takes a step forward.

“There. Can I hug you?”

Jungkook looks away for a second. Can he ? He can’t feel his body anymore.

“I’m not sure I’m here right now.”

His friend takes his hand between his, thumb running over it.

“Let’s take care of you.”

Yoongi closes the door behind him, looking at the treats on Jungkook’s desk.

“Did you manage to eat some ?” He asks and Jungkook shrugs, playing with the strings of his sweatpants.

“Actually… I did, but my body didn’t hold it in.”

“Ah…” Yoongi takes the treats and moves them on the couch’s coffee table. Jungkook sits on it, unable to think, and Yoongi joins him. “I’ll keep them close, if you feel like eating. Do you wanna drink ?”

“Yes.” Jungkook replies before thinking. “My brain’s a mess right now.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Jungkook pinches his lips.

“You can talk freely.” Yoongi adds.
He sighs.

“It feels like there are two me’s right now. A part of me is absolutely disconnected from reality, unable to process that Hwayoung’s...that she’s gone. And the other, god, it feels like I’ve been hit by a train or something. My whole body’s aching and I feel like I’m going to get crushed by the pain in my heart. The mix of both? Makes me want to curl up on myself and scream for a solid five hours. So yeah. Drinking myself numb sounds like a good plan.”

“Okay. Okay, I can do this for you.”

Yoongi opens both bottles, gives one to Jungkook and takes the other, clinking their bottles together.

Time continues to trickle down Jungkook’s fingers, but, now, it slowly fades into oblivion, as he drinks directly from the bottle, throat burning, mind clouding more and more as he gets inebriated. Yoongi doesn’t force him to talk about Hwayoung. If anything, he lets him be, allows him to be consumed by silence and void. Though he does take control of the music, and Jungkook’s grateful for his choices, playing calm songs verging on sad without bringing him further down. Jungkook doesn’t know how to formulate what he’s feeling, so he doesn’t. As he becomes drunk, his mind becomes static, the weight of death heavy on his chest but not inking his entire mind pitch black anymore. It feels like his bottle won’t ever be empty. Maybe Yoongi gave him more, he doesn’t know, doesn’t want to know, wants to forget everything up to his name. At least the silence isn’t uncomfortable with Yoongi - it never is. Their shoulders are brushing and his friend hums over the songs, lulling Jungkook into relaxing a little. Sometimes, he speaks up, tells him about the artist playing but he doesn’t try soothing him or rationalizing his pain. He gets that Jungkook needs space to process, that the alcohol buffers the impending devastation, just for one night.

He doesn’t know when it happens but he starts dozing off, curled around his bottle that Yoongi gently takes, a hand tenderly brushing Jungkook’s arm.

“Let’s get you to bed Kook-ah.” He tells him, voice low and gentle, guiding him up.

Jungkook groans, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Do you want me to stay over ? Joon-ah’ll be here around lunch.”

He groggily shakes his head.

“No… I think I need to be alone, a little.”

“Okay darling.”

Once Jungkook’s wobbling over to his bed, he lets himself crash onto it, wiggling out of his sweatpants and crawling under the covers. Eyes and nose peeking up from under them, he stares at his friend.

“Thanks hyung. For tonight. For being here.”

“Of course.. Never forget I’m a text away from you.”

“Yeah. Sure thing… Thanks.”

“I’ll be leaving.” He tells him, features soft, a tender smile devoid of pity, and Jungkook’s eternally grateful to him. Yoongi disappears into the other room and, soon after, Jungkook hears the door opening and closing.

He falls into a dreamless slumber.

When he wakes up, head throbbing, mouth tasting like dirt, body heavy, he blinks a few times, staring at the ceiling. Nothing’s changed, and yet, he feels like someone clawed through his chest and tore it apart. He rolls out of bed, shoulders slumped, and drinks water on his way to the living room. The morning sun’s pouring through his windows, making the ambient dust floating shimmer in the air. Everything’s still. His friend’s dead and there’s nothing he can do about it. His throat’s tight but he can’t seem to cry. He cried out of shock last night, but now he feels so empty, inhabited by grief, and it takes so much space in him, he’s not sure there’s anywhere left in him to cry. He sits on his couch and eats some of the treats Jimin-hyung and Taehyung-hyung sent him. They’re good. It feels good to have something in his stomach other than alcohol. He checks his phone. He slept for six hours, it’s not even ten yet. He should shower before Namjoon arrives. It takes a while for him to get motivated, struggling to carry his body to the bathroom, slowly undressing, getting under scorching hot water and washing himself in painfully focused circles. Once he’s done, going through the motions like he’s not even here, he puts on a fresh shirt, puts his sweatpants back on and crawls under his duvet again. He’s spent all of his energy eating and getting clean. He lies there, watching the tree outside his window dance with the wind, leaves ruffling against one another, and he feels so tired of existing. He dozes off, half asleep, half awake, stuck in a painful limbo where his chest feels tight, making it hard to correctly breathe. An hour passes, another, maybe even one more. His phone buzzes once, twice, thrice before he finally looks at it.

dreamy koala : incoming

dreamy koala : i’ll be here in ten

dreamy koala : thinking about you

Jungkook sighs, not replying. He feels like he carries the weight of the world on his stomach.

When he opens the door to Namjoon, his precious hyung, it feels like that weight lightens just a tiny bit. Namjoon and his sturdy body, his reassuring presence. He’s carrying a bag but Jungkook doesn’t invite him in, instead, he walks forward and Namjoon immediately understands, opening his arms. He cradles him into his embrace, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, a hand on the back of his head, thumb stroking back and forth. Jungkook nuzzles his collarbone, eyebrows furrowed, and Namjoon’s a catalyst, has always been. Jungkook’s pain seems to bundle around his throat, crystallizing into something sharp and pointed, , and before Jungkook realizes, he’s falling apart at the seams, shaking, choking around air as tears well up in his eyes and fall down his cheek, hot and burning, down onto Namjoon’s perfect cream shirt. Namjoon holds him tighter, silent, lips pressed to his head. Namjoon and his comforting, soothing presence. Namjoon and everything he means to Jungkook. Namjoon, standing outside of his flat, bag abandoned on the ground, the only string attaching him to reality, body hot against Jungkook’s ashy one, hands so soft around him as he’s only made of broken asperities, shattered into a grieving pile of nothing. His arms around him giving him a human shape as he feels himself disappearing, overwhelmed by utter loss, completely overtaken by it.

He doesn’t know how long they stand like that, half-outside of Jungkook’s flat, but Namjoon lets him be, lets him cry until he’s exhausted, until his tears have dried out and his body stopped shaking. He waits until Jungkook takes a step back, head low, gesturing for him to come in.

Namjoon walks in, fingers grazing at Jungkook’s hand. At any other time, his entire body would’ve felt aflame, heart beating faster, but now, now it feels like the only thing grounding him.

“Seokjinnie-hyung and Hobi-hyung cooked budae jjigae, I’m only the messenger, even though I proposed to help.”

Jungkook feels the corners of his lips tug, a faint smile.

“They didn’t let you?”

Namjoon laughs, short and silent, eyes creasing.

“I was only allowed to wash the dishes afterwards. I would’ve bought dessert, but Jimin and Taehyung told me about their care package.”

“Yeah. I’m lucky.”

Namjoon takes the food out and Jungkook sees the steam coming out of it as he opens the tupperware.

“You know we’re your friends.” He tells him as he takes out some bowls and chopsticks. “That’s the least we can do.”

Jungkook hums, takes his phone out.

me : <3

literal sunshine : i’m virtually smooching you

cunning old man : not me because that’s gross but maybe sending a flying kiss for you

2021 basquiat : tell us if you need anything

real life little chick : literally anything

wise old man : as long as i get a hangover day, i’m not so young anymore

cunning old man : you withering man

wise old man : you’re older than me

cunning old man : but i don’t age

literal sunshine : is this  about you being a vampire again ?

Jungkook gives his phone a lopsided smile and ignores the vibrations as he puts it in his pocket. Namjoon readied everything while he was texting and Jungkook joins him to eat.

Namjoon’s silence is different than Yoongi’s. Yoongi’s feels comfortable, safe, a little commanding at times, but Namjoon’s feel like home. He radiates warmth and care, something so full of life Jungkook can only feel a little more present with him in the room.

“So, you’re going to Hwayoung’s parents early?” Namjoon asks, cautious.

“Yeah. Tomorrow. The funeral’s in a couple days.”

His friend seems to mull over something. He puts his chopsticks down, cautious.

“I understand you going there alone for obvious reasons, I mean you had a special bond with her and her family, but if you need me to accompany you, I’ll come.”

“Ah.” Jungkook sighs. “Hyungie.” He bites his bottom lip. “I think I need to do this alone. I don’t know how long I’ll stay with them and I don’t want to take more of your time.”

Namjoon nods, lips pursed.

“Of course. But if you need anything, I’ll run to you.”

Jungkook closes his eyes. God, it’s hard not to be head over heels for him, even under the thick layers of devastation. He’s so genuinely sweet.

“Thank you.”

Namjoon tells him about the sun on his way here, the way wind tickled his nape, children running past him. He brings life into his home, and Jungkook blinks hard, tears prickling. Namjoon’s always been his lifeline, so full of life and hope and resilience. He listens to him, filling himself with his mundane stories, eyes trained on him long after they’ve finished eating. Namjoon keeps on talking after they move to Jungkook’s couch, careful not to bore him but also focused on keeping his mind busy. He tells him about the latest books he’s read, the artists he’s discovered, filling Jungkook’s phone notes with music recommendations. Their calves are grazing as they’re sitting facing each other, and Jungkook’s mind sidetracks. He stares at Namjoon’s clothes, his earthy tones, the comfortable looks of his pants, brown and large, complementing his cream shirt in the softest way. He’s gotten more relaxed these past months, and it shows in his style, in the way he dresses, gentle and caring, and it makes Jungkook want to crawl in his lap and snuggle up against him, fall in a torpor that’ll last months. Jungkook smiles faintly, lets himself soak in Namjoon’s reassuring presence, tries focusing on his years-long pining instead of the tempest menacing to overtake him if he does anything close to turning around to face it.

Namjoon stays for a couple hours, voice like stitches over Jungkook’s gaping wounds. When the end of the afternoon comes, he suggests he and Jungkook go for a walk. Jungkook’s exhausted, he shakes his head.

“I won’t have enough strength for this, and I have to pack.”

Namjoon nods, understanding.

“Sure. I should leave you alone to prepare.”

He leans forward, hand splayed over Jungkook’s shoulder, before caressing it a few times, light and feathery.

“We’ll keep in touch, yeah ?”

“Of course.”

He doesn’t leave just yet, making sure Jungkook has enough food for the night, hugging him tight, triple-checking to be sure he doesn’t forget anything. He closes the door on his radiant smile, eyes half-closed, so peaceful. He carries that peace in his heart as his loneliness comes back to shroud him. He figures grief is a solitary experience but that he doesn’t have to be entirely alone in it.

He prepares his bag, packs for five days, just in case. It takes him a while, he’s disoriented. He stares at his clothes for a long while, distressed. What are mourning clothes? What should he wear? What shouldn’t he wear? He runs his  hands over his pile of shirts, a slight tremor in them. After debating about what he should do, he takes four black shirts and a white button-up with a black tie and a black jacket for the funeral. He shoves a sweater and a hoodie, both black, in his bag, and haphazardly throws underwear and socks in it. Once he’s done, he realizes the sun’s setting. He discards his bag on his bed and opens his window, leaning over the railing, staring at passersby walking in the streets. None of them know about his loss. Maybe they’re going through something similar, he’ll never know. But these people ? Their lives are going forward, and he feels like he’ll never know the feeling of time flowing again. He’s got this suffocating impression that his life is now shaped by loss, organs replaced with mourning, blood tainted with bitter tears.

He doesn’t remember how he fills time before dinner, absent-mindedly eats, and scrolls on his phone without paying attention to anything for hours before he collapses in his bed. His dreams are filled with him running through mazes, trying to find something, or someone. It’s exhausting, he runs, lost and desperate, and wakes up as he sees Hwayoung’s profile around a corner, out of reach, his alarm tearing him out of sleep.

He showers mechanically, has time to eat some of Jimin and Taehyung’s pastries with some hot chocolate before leaving. On his way to the train station, he listens to a playlist Hwayoung had made for him, something she’d called hopeful pining , energetic songs, mostly about love. She’d always known about Namjoon, and she had a habit of humoring his feelings, making him feel understood. 

He hops on his seat for the countryside, watching the travelers on the platform before the train leaves.

He lets himself think about her, how they’d seen each other from the very beginning. He remembers the first week in art school, where he’d been doodling people around campus, phone unlocked on Melon, listening to music. She’d sat down next to him, bumping his shoulder, startling him.

“Troye Sivan, uh?” She’d said, smiling in a secretive way. “I listen to Janelle Monáe more.”

She’d held his gaze, biting her bottom lip, eyes searching for something. He’d tilted his head to the side.

“I also like Kevin Abstract.”

Her smile had gotten bigger, contagious.

“How not to mention Frank Ocean ?”

He’d grinned.

“And Kim Petras.”

“We could go on for ages.” She laughed. “Actually, not that much. Another one to conclude ?”

“Sam Smith.” He’d replied, and, for the first time since he’d enrolled, he felt really hopeful about his time there.

“I’m Hwayoung.” She said, extending her hand.

“Jungkook.” He shook her hand.

She had an asymmetric bob cut and neon pink eyeshadow. He immediately found her terribly cool.

Starting from there, they were attached by the hip, working together, listening to classes together, spending hours at each other’s places drawing together, sharing about their lives.

She came from Namwon, dreamt of becoming famous, like they all did, and he’d fallen in love with her artstyle almost immediately. She enjoyed watercolor and curves, her art always full of life and energy. When he was more drawn to a realistic way of drawing, focused on telling real-life stories, carefully excluding his secrets, she painted them out in the open, expressing herself on womanhood, and her sexuality. She never feared standing up for herself and she’d helped him gain confidence in himself. She’d been forget-me-not flowers protecting raspberry bushes, helping him grow into the man he was today.

He remembers the first time he’d opened Instagram, his feed’s algorithm betraying him and showing him Namjoon’s latest selfie, something absurdly sweet where he posed with a dog. She’d laughed.

“What’s that shit-eating grin on your face?” She’d said, leaning to stare at his screen. “Is he your boyfriend?” and it had made Jungkook bark out a laugh.

“Never in a million years.” He’d replied, blushing.

She’d leaned on her hand, smirking.

“You like him.” She’d stated, as simple as that, revealing the secrets he’d been keeping for years from his friends. He’d licked his lips, terribly red. “Oh my god, you really like him! I wanna know everything.”

So he’d complied.

“His name’s Namjoon. We’ve been friends for years, actually, I have a group of friends...very chaotic, but I love them dearly. And, well, I’ve liked him since I’ve met him.”

“Love at first sight.” She’d sighed dreamily.

“Actually, it was the first time I went to Yoongi’s and I didn’t know he had a roommate, so, he opened to me, leading me through the flat, and there comes out the most sublime creature I’ve ever seen, tall, beefy, so so handsome, wearing nothing but boxers.”

“No.”

“Yeah. You know what came out of my mouth?”

“Please tell me it was embarrassing.” She’s holding back a laugh.

“I said wow, thighs . Nothing more. Yoongi barked out a laugh and Namjoon looked terribly puzzled for a second before smiling, and there , it was there, at this exact moment that I fell in love, when I saw his dimpled smile and the gentle crease of his eyes, and I knew I was doomed from there.”

She’d hummed, grinning, 

“So, nothing ever happened?”

Jungkook shrugged.

“Not really, he’s, well, he’s him and I don’t think he sees me in that way.”

She’d nodded and that was that.
Starting from there, she’d been updated on every heart-hammering moment, every interaction that had had him longing, terribly and stupidly in love with one of his best friends.

It was easy talking with her, they liked the same artists, had the same dreams, were both bisexuals, enjoyed video games a little too much for the sake of their grades, and absolutely loved each other.

After finishing art school, they’d kept in touch, seeing each other at least once every couple weeks, and, one day, Jungkook had told her : “Let’s create a graphic novel together.”

She hadn’t laughed, instead, they’d started working on sketches together, a scenario, something tangible that had morphed into a very real project, something that was coming out a couple weeks away from now. A story of a bisexual woman in modern Seoul, finding love in the nooks of a library.

And she wasn’t there anymore.

He stared at the scenery flying by.

She left her before they could celebrate together. She’d left him alone to navigate a world that was too scary at times to be walking alone.

He let his head fall against the window, tugging his bucket hat over his tear-filled eyes.

The sun was setting when he arrived at Aeyong eomeonim and Hyunwoo abeonim’s place.

She embraced him in a hug as soon as she opened the door and Hwayoung’s dad sadly smiled, waving his hand.

“Didn’t you bring your boyfriend?” Aeyong eomeonim asked, eyebrows knit together.

Jungkook huffed.

“He’s not my boyfriend, but he wanted to come.”

She clicked her tongue, closing her eyes.

“The way you talk about him, I always think you’ve been together for eons.”

“Don’t put salt on his wounds.” Hyungwoo abeonim said, with a falsely annoyed tone.

He takes his bag and carries it to the guest room.

“I brought tons of food, including some that my friends offered.”

“That’s very sweet.” She replies. She has the same smile Hwayoung had whenever she was pleased.

He barely has time to take off his shoes and take out his food before the doorbell rings and half-a-dozen people swarm in. Jungkook recognizes some of them, aunts, cousins. 

After that, Jungkook’s taken into a whirlwind of feelings, discussions, and people. They all cook together, drink together, and time flies by. It’s late into the night when they finally talk about Hwayoung’s death. Her parents recall the exact police explanation, tearing up. Everyone’s teary-eyed or crying, and the evening shifts into recalling moments spent with her. It feels weird to hear sides of stories Jungkook heard coming out from her mouth : her cousins and her explorations of the region, the scraping of knees, the first tooth lost, the celebrations with the uncles and aunts, how mischievous she was, devilish plans he’d heard during long nights spent with her. Her parents show family albums, pictures Jungkook saw the first time he came here, where Hwayoung tried hiding the most embarrassing ones. Jungkook takes out a copy of their graphic novel and they take the time to read their work, appreciate how much of themselves they put into the story. Her mom wants to give the copy back to him but he gently takes her hands, tells her to keep it.

Their family leaves, slowly, until there are only the three of them left and Hyunwoo gestures to his wife that it’s time to rest.

Jungkook falls asleep in their guest room, and he’s grateful he’s not sleeping in her teenagehood room otherwise he thinks he would’ve cried until the sun rose.

The funeral doesn’t feel real. He can’t believe the body of his friend is being cremated, has trouble uttering his eulogy, manages to tell it before crying again. Everything’s unbearably painful, and he feels powerless in the face of her parents’ loss, people who have welcomed him so many times like their own son, being so utterly devastated, and there’s nothing he can do to soothe their pain.

He stays a couple days more, shares pictures they took together, stories of them working on their graphic novel, cooks them meals and does their laundry, anything to alleviate the burden of their pain.

When he leaves them, he’s trying not to cry, and they ask him to keep in touch.

He feels like his heart’s been broken in a million pieces and that nothing will mend it together again.

He spends the next couple weeks cooped up in his flat, half-heartedly replying to his publisher’s calls. At least, they’d prepared the interviews beforehand so Jungkook doesn’t have that to worry about, talking about his friend, their creation, now that she was gone. His friends swing by, one every day, bringing food, doing chores, bringing a movie. They don’t make him talk if he doesn’t want to. The excruciating pain morphs into anger first in the face of what he’s lost, how unfair it all is. It lasts a few days and declines to see anyone. But then, maybe worse, he starts thinking it should’ve been him, and not her, oh so bright and lively and amazing, that should’ve died in that car accident. The thought overpowers him as Jimin and him are doing face masks. He tells him about it and Jimin spends two hours reassuring him. The next day, Namjoon’s home with a book for him : H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald. Jungkook reads it, a story about loss, and grief, and mourning, but also hope. It helps him. So, that’s where he’s at, calmer, but terribly sad, with a gaping hole instead of his heart.

When the book officially comes out, all of the group comes to his place and asks for autographs.

It sells well, there are a lot of articles, and mostly, he receives tons of messages coming from LGBT readers, moved to tears, happy to see such a story being published. Jungkook accepts those messages, but it feels incomplete without his friend by his side.

Weeks pass and his friends don’t stop by as much, he doesn’t cry as much, manages taking care of himself, but the pain? It’s still fresh and overwhelming.

Jungkook acts like a fool a month and a half after the book comes out.

Namjoon’s come by his place with take-out. It’s summer and he’s wearing a mint green shirt and linen white pants. He’s brought vodka and fresh juice to make cocktails. They spend the evening talking about modern art, listening to soothing music, windows open, the noise of the city pouring into the flat. Namjoon’s absurdly handsome, starting to tan, and his smile is blinding. So, after one too many cocktails, Jungkook thinks about Hwayoung, how she always told him that Namjoon was too great for him to pass the opportunity of telling him how he felt. He feels like he owes it to her, to be honest with Namjoon. But he’s drank too much, and Namjoon’s all beautiful smooth skin, and delicate nape, and chestnut hair falling into his eyes as he questioningly stares at Jungkook who’s stopped talking. Jungkook doesn’t think it through when he leans in, crosses the distance between them, and tries kissing him. But Namjoon puts a hand on Jungkook’s shoulders, inches away from his face, and he’s sporting a sad smile.

“Jungkook-ah. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Jungkook’s heart sinks in his stomach. 

“We’ve drank too much, and this is not what you want.”

Right. Right. Maybe it’s better to let Namjoon think he’s not wanted this for as long as he’s known him. He clears his throat.

“You’re right. Sorry.”

Namjoon caresses his arm, makes it all the more painful, with his tender smile and his dimple showing.

“It’s okay.”

It doesn't come up again, and Jungkook's too crushed with grief to really care about heartbreak on top of it. His publisher convinces him of doing a few signatures. He halfheartedly accepts. This recognition was what they dreamt of, he owes it to Hwayoung.

People asking for a signature are very sweet, they don't pry, don't ask intrusive questions. Instead, they thank him, thank them both , for the story they created, the warmth they handed over to the readers, the poetry they tried breathing into it. And there's this woman who, instead of asking him questions, or talking about her feelings, hands him a graphic novel. Jungkook frowns.

"Maybe this could help you in some way." She says and he reads the title. In Waves by AJ Dungo. 

"I can't accept." He says, smiling, but she smiles brighter.

"I read it already, please consider it as a gift, after creating such a heartfelt story."

It makes him huff. Hwayoung would've liked her.

"Thank you, then."

Weeks pass, signings fiddle, new graphic novels coming out, new authors to invite. Jungkook returns to anonymity, carrying his grief with him. He's not burning with pain and mourning anymore, but his insides are charred. There's nothing left of him aside from this gaping void inside him, this loss. But it gets easier. Easier to clean his flat, to eat, to wake up in the morning. 

It's around that time that Namjoon stops by his place. Summer has made him tan and even more handsome than usual. His smile is blinding, seeds planted behind his bones, flowers ready to grow into new organs, illuminated by this man's presence. Jungkook closes his eyes, tries to soak him in, the warm sun of Namjoon being himself. 

"Kook-ah." He starts, handing him the iced frappuccino he got him on his way here. "Are you free next week?"

"I suppose so. I'm trying to find a new project. I have bills to pay."

Namjoon hums.

"How long have you been cooped up here?" He asks and Jungkook counts the months since Hwayoung passed. 

"Three months." He replies, wincing.

"Let's take a week out of here." Namjoon puts a hand on Jungkook's shoulder, thumb circling its shape. "Take some vacation."

Jungkook huffs.

"Just you and me?" He asks, and closes his eyes. Hwayoung would have screamed if she'd known. 

"Yeah. You and I. Let's go to the beach. I'm taking care of everything."

Jungkook licks his lips.

"Okay.” He squares his shoulders. “Okay, hyung, let's do it." 

The warmth in Namjoon's gaze makes him feel cared for, protected.

He reads In Waves the night before leaving. Dungo intertwines the history of surf to his girlfriend’s story, her passion for the practice, their love story and her fight against cancer. It’s heartbreaking. He can feel his love for her, and Jungkook weeps, silent, turning each page with utmost care. He thinks he understands why this woman gave this graphic novel to him. He understands that this was a way to say goodbye, to tell her story, keeping her alive in the minds of others. 

He falls asleep, mulling over the thought, wakes up, still thinking about it, carrying it under the shower, on his way to the train station, greeting Namjoon. He’s wearing a straw hat, a striped tank top, and beige shorts. He looks so comfortable, it makes Jungkook feel warm, and definitely like he shouldn't have been wearing an all-black fit. Namjoon embraces him in a hug, cheek pressed against his, and he smells so good, something light, faintly sweet, very fresh. Jungkook closes his eyes, hugs him back.

He follows him to their wagon, sits next to him, and takes his sketchbook out.

“You’re drawing again?” Namjoon asks, a book on his lap.

Jungkook hums.

“I think I got an idea, but I want to collect inspiration first.”

The train starts moving and Namjoon opens his book, The Secret History . Jungkook stares at him for a while before starting to sketch. He draws the wagon, the people sitting in it, busying themselves with music, movies, books, and sketches Namjoon, focused. His long fingers covering the book, turning the pages, the way he juts his chin, engrossed in the story. An hour passes and Jungkook’s pages are filling up, until Namjoon dozes off, book lying on his chest. He draws him sleeping, face relaxed, neck craned to the side, head against the window, a hand curled around his book, the other on his lap, half-closed.

It feels good to be drawing again. He takes notes in the margins of his drawings, ideas coming to his mind he doesn’t want to forget about. He keeps scribbling until he feels tired. Closing his sketchbook, he puts away his material and joins Namjoon in his nap, lulled by the train noises.

He wakes up to his friend’s hand on his lap, light and gentle. As he blinks awake, he realizes he ended up sleeping on Namjoon’s shoulder. He doesn’t get away immediately, savors the contact against his cheek, the softness of his skin.

“We’re almost there.” His friend tells him, almost whispering.

“Already?” Jungkook asks, straightening up and scrunching his nose, slightly disoriented.

“Yeah. I wanted to read more but I slept the entire way through.”

Jungkook smiles.

“How many books did you pack for a week?”

Namjoon frowns for a second.

“Less than intended.” He replies, cautious.

“How many? Six like the other time?”

“I wanted to have some choice.” His friend replies, a bit indignant. “I only took three this time.”

Jungkook huffs, Namjoon’s terribly endearing.

Namjoon picked a charming place for them to stay in, five minutes away from the beach, a nice bed and breakfast with a spacious bathroom, lights pouring from the windows, and the sound of waves whenever you have them open. They share a room, two beds next to each other, and Jungkook sits on the one closest to the window, bag next to him.

His friend hums, staring at the garden in front of their room.

“You have an entire schedule ready for us, don’t you?”

Namjoon chuckles.

“It’s light, but, yeah, there is one. I would hate seeing you bored.”

Jungkook breathes in shakily, warmth blooming inside him, Namjoon in his mind. Gentle, caring, brilliant Namjoon. Namjoon who turned him down two months before.

“So, what first?”

Namjoon turns around with a lopsided smile. He’s been waiting for him to ask the question.

“What about a walk on the beach without our shoes?” His smile turns into a grin, to which Jungkook can’t help but smile.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Put your sketchbook in my bag.”

Jungkook hums.

“You’re confident I’ll want to draw.”

His friend laughs, walking up to him, crouching before him, hands on his knees.

“Kook-ah, I know you. Once you’ve set your mind on something, you’re unstoppable.”

It makes him smile.

“You really think highly of me, uh?”

Namjoon closes his eyes, smile illuminating his entire face.

“I do. And I’m being objective.”

The sand is hot under their feet, but not burning. They zigzag between people soaking in the sun, tanning, kids building castles and running around their parents, teenager groups listening to music together. Jungkook stops Namjoon a few times, fingers curling around his wrist.

“Just a moment.” He asks, and Namjoon materializes his book out of his bag.

Jungkook sketches, captures these moments of life forever in his sketchbook, the sun falling down on their bodies, their relaxed smiles, the curves of their bodies, the balance of the scenery before them. Namjoon plops his head on his shoulder, watches him draw.

“That’s so impressive.” He tells him, lips grazing at Jungkook’s ear. He suppresses a shiver, licking his lips.

“Just ideas, moments I don’t want to forget.”

“Can’t you take a picture?”

“Ah, you know a drawing can capture some kind of emotional essence out of something.”

“Its soul.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m looking for. A feeling.”

Namjoon hums, still not moving.

“They feel wistful. Your drawings.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to hum. He closes his sketchbook and they start walking again.

Namjoon walks leisurely, guiding him to a calmer part of the beach, where seagulls flock together, and elderly people try catching mussels.

“Is that how you feel?” Namjoon asks after a while, when there’s no one around anymore.

“What?” Jungkook asks, he’s forgotten what they were talking about, soaking the moment in.

“Wistful?”

Jungkook ducks his head, looking at the waves crashing onto the shore.

“Ah.” He shrugs. “It’s still very hard, but I don’t feel painfully hollow anymore.”

He climbs on a very large rock, sits on it, water licking his feet, and Namjoon joins him.

“So, how do you really feel?”

Jungkook, hands splayed behind him, looks up to the sky.

“I feel like she left and took everything that made me human with her. The fire inside me has subdued, you know. Loss isn’t overwhelming me anymore, but everything just feels… bland. Every emotion is muted, tainted with sorrow. But, at least, I’m feeling things other than grief now.”

Namjoon hums, carefully wrapping an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders.

“I know how much she meant to you.” He says, and Jungkook peeks at him. He’s staring at the expanse of water, following the waves with his gaze. “I wish I’d known her better. She really sounded like someone great.”

“She was. I’m sorry I didn’t bring her along more often.”

Namjoon smiles privately.

“Don’t apologize for liking to spend time alone with her.”

Jungkook hums.

“Guess it’s too late to regret, now.”

His friend nods.

“Wanna sketch?” He asks him, already taking his stuff out of his backpack.

Jungkook draws the sea, its movement, its life, birds flying above. He crawls back and sketches Namjoon sitting, legs in the water, the sun making him almost shimmer. He’s unreal. So beautiful, a frail perfection he tries to capture. Once he’s done, Namjoon takes a picture of him back on the edge of the rock, enjoying the moment. He posts it on Instagram, simply captioning it with a Namjooning with Kookie-ah . They stare at the sea for a long while, silent. The sun is low in the sky, the day drawing to its end. Jungkook’s fingers graze at Namjoon’s, and he can only think of Hwayoung rooting for him, all the pep talks she’d given him and that he’d never cared to listen. Her hopes for him and how wrong she’d been in the end. Jungkook’s happy with being Namjoon’s friend. Being around him, enjoying the incredible person he is already is enough. He’s a flower blooming under his gentle gaze, his tender movements, his careful gestures. Namjoon’s solar, and Jungkook can only close his eyes, raise his chin, and soak him in.

They stay like that for a while. 

When the sun starts to disappear behind the horizon, Namjoon turns his head to look at him, face open and inviting.

“Drinks and dinner? I’m buying.” He says, smiling, and Jungkook smiles in return.

The sun is crimson by the time they arrive at the place. Namjoon gestures at an empty table outside and, soon after, they receive the cocktails they ordered. Namjoon plays with his straw, deciding on what to eat, grimacing at the large selection of seafood. It makes Jungkook chuckle, voice rough. He hasn’t laughed in so long. Slowly, the electric lights turn on, throwing shadows on Namjoon’s face, lashes looking longer, and Jungkook stares at his lips as he brings his drink to them. Jungkook squints.

“You’ve been working out, haven’t you?” He asks, and Namjoon ducks his head, shy.

“Been a couple months.” He replies, straightening up.

Jungkook licks his lips. He doesn’t say half the things on his mind. All of it is too revealing, and Namjoon already made him understand he didn’t feel the same thing. He settles on something as neutral as he can.

“Well, you look good.”

His friend grins.

“Really? It’s nothing much, but I’m trying to build some muscles.”

Jungkook eats some of his food before speaking again.

“I should go back to the gym.”

Namjoon makes a slight movement towards him, fingers uncurling, but he stops on his tracks.

“Take your time.” He says instead.

“I have to keep on living.” Jungkook replies, shakily breathing. “She would’ve berated me already for being so sad.” He laughs sadly.

“Grief takes its own time.” This time, Namjoon finishes the gesture, delicately wrapping his fingers around Jungkook’s forearm. “She would’ve understood. From what you told me, she was strong-willed, but she also was tender.”

Jungkook looks down, losing himself in his memories.

“Yeah. She was.”

He takes the dinner to unwind, relax with his friend, the smell of the sea enveloping them as Namjoon catches him up with his life, tells him about the books he’s read, the customers he’s had. It’s simple and very healing for him ; little by little, the tears in his heart are being mended.

They walk back to their bed and breakfast leisurely, hands grazing, and Namjoon’s patient gaze trained on him. It’s almost overwhelming, what he wishes he’d had, what he’s lost. It’s bittersweet, but not crushing anymore.

He takes a long shower, tries getting rid of the sand in his hair, lets the water trickle down his body, washing his thoughts away for a handful minutes. He’s asleep by the time Namjoon comes back from the bathroom.

Namjoon’s sitting on his bed when he groggily wakes up. He looks like a child on his birthday, eyes shining, trying to hold in a smile. Jungkook blinks awake, feeling himself smile.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s have breakfast and then go to the aquarium.”

Jungkook huffs.

“How long have you been awake and since when have you been all jittery at the bottom of my bed, counting the minutes before we could go to the aquarium?”

Namjoon bites his bottom lip, grinning.

“An hour and I prefer not replying to the second question.”

God, in an alternate reality, Jungkook would’ve crawled on the bed and given him a small peck on the lips. Rusty, he feels his heartbeat pick up speed, the desire to be closer to him alive and burning inside him. The fire had never died out, but grief had reduced it to a small candle flame for some time.

Jungkook takes his pyjama shirt off, rummaging through his bag to put a clean one on. He dresses up and Namjoon glances at him while he does so. The breakfast is delicious. There are homemade pastries, various blends of tea and coffee, healthy breakfast choices. Namjoon eats so quickly it makes Jungkook laugh. He tries matching his speed, and as soon as he’s finished, Namjoon’s tugging him out by the wrist, under the amused gaze of the house’s owner.

The aquarium is amazing. They navigate through ocean blue lightning, sea creatures surrounding them. Jungkook draws dozens of them, sketches Namjoon’s wonderfully enchanted face, the way his eyes have galaxies shimmering inside of them as he coos at every animal he sees. His sketchbook looks like a study of nature coupled to a study of Kim Namjoon. It’s very revealing, how open and easy-to-read his heart is. Namjoon tells him every single sea creature fact he knows and Jungkook has to clench his eyes shut because every damn information he gets makes him want to spend the rest of his life with him. 

They eat something quick once they get out of the aquarium, dazed and amazed. Namjoon walks backwards, happy, looking like an excited child.

“Do you want to go swimming this afternoon?” He asks, and Jungkook can only agree in the face of someone looking so hopeful.

Namjoon being half-naked isn’t something he’d thought about, at least, not since his friend had passed. When he sees him undressing on the beach after having done a detour by their place to change, he can imagine how she would’ve reacted, chuckling and pinching his arms, whispering to him something along the lines of you’re getting beet red, are you sure you’re not having a sunstroke? with a terrible grin on her face. So, there he is, staring at Namjoon, Namjoon who’s been working out, muscles defined, made of 90% legs, arms too toned for his own good, and, always, his charming smile as he extends a hand to Jungkook, helping him get on his feet.

Namjoon, who doesn’t let go of his hands as they get into the water, bodies tensing as they laugh with how cold the sea is, who dives head first into the water before coming up and grinning at him. Namjoon, his entire existence, and how much Jungkook is in love with him. Flowers blooming in his chest, plants growing where ashes laid before, nature nurtured by his friend, shaping him into a human being again.

Namjoon who takes him in his arms and carries him between them, jumping over the waves, laughing, neck exposed, so full of life, as Jungkook tries to protest.

“You are going to drown us both..”

Namjoon laughs harder.

“The salt in the water will help us float!” He says, carefree, and Jungkook grins, holding onto Namjoon, arms wrapped around his neck.

Namjoon and his solid body against his flank, something at the same time tantalizingly erotic and so very safe. Namjoon, who feels like a home to come to.

And Jungkook, for the first time since Hwayoung died, laughs. It’s a full laugh, well bodied giggles that don’t die out even after he chokes on some water, Namjoon’s arms tightening their hold around him. He laughs and Namjoon joins him, as they have fun in the water.

They crawl back to the shore, spent and exhausted, but they’re both grinning, lying down on their towels, arms grazing along their bodies as they try regaining some composure. 

“Thanks for this.” Jungkook smiles gently, looking at the quick rise and fall of Namjoon’s chest.

“We still have a handful more days of this. Be prepared to relax.” He looks up to his face, and his friend’s grinning, eyes half-closed, the sun shining on him. He’s wet, water beads merging, forming rivulets down his skin, and Jungkook wants to trace their paths with his fingers.

“What’s the plan for tonight?” He asks instead and Namjoon hums.

“I was thinking of eating outside, and then get drunk while we stare at the sea for hours.”

“Hyung, if it were possible, I would’ve asked for your hand in marriage right now.”

They laugh, and when it dies out, Namjoon’s left with a private smile on his face.

“I’m trying to help in my own way.”

Jungkook reaches for Namjoon’s fingers, entraps a couple of ones between his, soft and careful.

“You know, earlier, it was the first time I really laughed since… you know. Since she died. It’s also the first time I say it out loud. That she’s dead. Not using any convolution.”

“Oh.” Namjoon licks his lips, intertwining their fingers together. “Guess I’m not doing a work too shabby, then.” He gives him a lopsided smile. “And, I’m really proud of you. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you.”

Jungkook half-shrugs.

“Didn’t have a choice. But it’s getting easier.”

Namjoon shifts closer, moves his hand, carefully, on Jungkook’s waist.

“Let’s keep on taking care of you.” He says with the most gentle tone, so nice it almost makes him forget the fire in his loins from this faint contact.

They make a quick stop at their bed and breakfast to wash the salt off their bodies and put on some regular clothes before leaving for dinner. They sit on a bench and eat kimchi-ppang, bindatteok, and gyeran-bbang before buying alcohol and walking back to the beach. They sit in a calm area far away from any gathering, the only light coming from the full moon, and open a bottle of wine. They drink in silence for a while, making out the foam glinting as it reaches the shore, listening to the sound of the sea enveloping them.

“I think I know what I want my next graphic novel to be about.” Jungkook says, after a while.

Namjoon hums.

“I think I need to do something about Hwayoung to properly say goodbye to her.”

Namjoon hands him the bottle from which he drinks.

“Is that what the research is for?”

Jungkook nods.

“Yeah. I think I wanna talk about her and about the process of grieving as a whole.”

Namjoon’s sitting straighter as Jungkook finishes the bottle. He opens another one.

“I feel like, by making her come to life once again, I’ll be able to fill the gaping hole she left in me.”

His friend drinks and shares the bottle, Jungkook follows his lead. He’s feeling lightheaded, more prone to confession.

“It must have left you distraught, after all, you’d been together for a while.”

Jungkook blinks, unbelieving, turning his head to face Namjoon who waves a hand in the air.

“I mean, you never told us anything, but, assuming how close you were and how much you talked about her, we could safely deduce you were an item.” His voice’s starting to get frantic, his hand gestures too. “It’s totally fine not to have told us anything, it was none of our business. But you know how nosy we can be.” He concludes apologetically.

Jungkook stares at him, jaw hanging open, before barking out a laugh, snorting, and drinking a large gulp of wine.

“Hwayoung and me? Dating?” He laughs some more, but now, it’s sadder. He’s thinking about her. “No. We never were. Never wanted to. She was my best friend, a bit like you guys but at the same time absolutely nothing like you. We were partners in crime, united as a team on a ruthless market. We were each other’s backbone, been through hell and back together, but, if anything, we were each other’s dating enablers.”

Namjoon stares in disbelief.

“But you never seemed to be dating anyone.” He says, voice faint, like his entire universe changed in its balance.

Jungkook huffs, drinking more before handing him the bottle from which Namjoon drinks rapidly.

“I helped her a lot, and she supported me.”

Namjoon’s face under the moonlight seems ethereal, hair unruly, falling over his scrunched eyebrows.

“Supported you?”

Jungkook pinches his lips before licking them. It’s now or never , he thinks, knows Hwayoung would’ve been proud of him.

“It was never her I was in love with.” He owes it to her, and he owes to Namjoon to be honest. “My love doesn’t have to be reciprocated;I’m not waiting for anything. I simply can’t help these feelings.”

Namjoon’s face is frozen in something indecipherable, something vulnerable, with a smidge of pain, lips parted, eyebrows drawn together.

“So, there is someone.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

Jungkook clenches his jaw, closing his eyes for a second.

“Hyung, being by your side is everything I could hope for. I’m not asking for anything more. I just want to be your friend.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, he wraps a hand over Jungkook’s knee, like he needs to regain his balance.

“Me?” He says.

Jungkook’s heart is hammering in his chest. He nods.

“And I know you don’t feel the same way towards me ; it’s okay. It really is. But I think she would’ve wanted me to tell you, to not live my life with any regrets.”

“Jungkook-ah.” Namjoon clears his throat. 

“I would understand if it made you uncomfortable.” Jungkook swallows around his tight throat. “It never was my intention, but you deserve to know.”

Namjoon’s free hand finds Jungkook’s shoulder.

“I need you to stop this train of thought.”

“Sorry hyung, I can’t help it.”

“No.” Namjoon clenches his eyes shut for a second. “Not your feelings, but you saying you don’t need anything more, that I don’t feel the same way.” The hand around his knee moves to find Jungkook’s free shoulder. “Kook-ah. These feelings, I share them too.” He shakily breathes out. “I’ve shared them for years.”

Jungkook feels like the sky just expanded tenfold.e feels dizzy and is finding it hard to breathe.

“You do?” He asks, and it’s his turn to whisper.

“How could I not? Brilliant, adorable Jungkook, with your doe eyes and your gentleness, your dedication and artistry.”

“And you didn’t say anything.”

“Because when you met Hwayoung, we all assumed you'd started going out together given how close you were..”

Jungkook stares at him in silence before laughing. The laughter doesn’t stop until he’s got tears in his eyes.

“God, she would’ve loved this. She would've found this equal parts tragic and hilarious. Do you know how many hours she had to sit through of me waxing poetic over everything about you?”

Jungkook leans in, presses his forehead to Namjoon’s.

“So, you have feelings for me?” Namjoon asks again, holding his smile back.

“Yeah. And you do too?”

“Stupidly so.”

“But you turned me down.” Jungkook states, confused.

“You were grieving, I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut.

“God, I thought you weren’t interested.”

Namjoon caresses his cheek with the back of his palm.

“Oh, darling.” He says, cupping his face.

“How long?” Jungkook asks, wrapping his arms around Namjoon.

His friend laughs, a bit sad.

“Years? Since we met, I think.”

Jungkook groans.

“And you?”

“Since we met too.”.

Namjoon huffs.

“We are slow, aren’t we?”

Jungkook smiles.

“Like spring after a very long winter, flowers blooming.”

Jungkook feels vulnerable, frail. He unlocks his arms, retreats a little.

“I think I need time to process this.” He says, and he’s met with Namjoon’s tender smile.

“As much time as you need. Do you wanna go back to our place?” He asks, and Jungkook nods.

Namjoon extends a hand to help him stand up. They walk back, hand in hand, and Namjoon’s hand has never felt softer nor warmer.

There's a newfound delicacy to their movements around each other. Namjoon holds the bed and breakfast door open for Jungkook and his shoulder brushes against Namjoon's chest. He stops in his tracks, heat rolling off of his friend, looks up into Namjoon's eyes to see him staring at Jungkook  with a mixture of longing, tenderness, and an edge of sadness. Jungkook feels this in his heart. 

They change into pyjamas, brushing their teeth in silence, glancing at each other, shy smiles playing on their faces.

Namjoon has feelings for him. It floats in Jungkook's mind. Namjoon, imperfectly perfect Namjoon, endearing, brilliant and funny Namjoon cares for him in the same way.

He carries that thought to bed, whispers his goodnight in the darkness of their room, the moon still coating everything with a layer of surrealism. 

He mulls this realization over and over for what seems like an eternity, climbing plants intertwining with flowers, growing in every nook and cranny of his body, hope like shimmering bubbles tickling him. His grief holds hands with this newfound feeling, something akin to hope, pure undistilled joy. The difference in these feelings should've made him feel confused, but, somehow, it made sense. Life isn't two-toned, it rather expands in a myriad of colors, some darker than others, bright ones underlining the preciousness of it. He carries his mourning with this discovery, this revelation filled with love and vitality. 

He wakes up, less confused than in the evening, heart at peace, suffering and joy combined being fertile ground for the garden that has been blooming in his chest. For the first time in months, he doesn't feel charred anymore. Namjoon isn't some magical cure and Jungkook wouldn't want him to be, but he's a catalyst, giving shape to his paralyzing grief, turning it into a celebration of Hwayoung's past life, and Jungkook's fragile one. He wakes up and sees Namjoon staring at him. When he realizes he was caught, he blushes, looking down at his phone. It makes Jungkook smile. 

Maybe things are going to be okay. 

They eat bungeoppangs on the beach and Jungkook joins Namjoon in trying to catch crabs, grinning at Namjoon's open happiness, taking pictures of him, of them, which he sends to their friends. 

He catches Namjoon staring multiple times, hands halted in their gesture, bated breath. Jungkook licks his lips. Now he sees how much he longs for it too, the proximity, contact, shared feelings.

Namjoon brings him to a hanging garden in the afternoon, the sound of the waves a distant echo of his heart, green married to exquisite colors. He tells him about the story surrounding this garden, grinning, so very happy, and Jungkook's internal wildflowers bloom along his skin, shivers running down his nape as he closes the distance between them, taking Namjoon's cheeks between his hands and leaning in. He feels like an explosion of colors, like a garden full of life as he feels the softness of Namjoon's lips against his, the way they fall open and Jungkook closes his eyes, leaning his head to the side, hand curved around the back of his nape, pressing him closer. He's blooming and Namjoon's hands find his waist, tugs him closer, shakily breathing. There's no one else in the garden, people favoring the beach on such a sunny day. This magical moment is theirs alone. Jungkook runs a hand down Namjoon's chest, feels the muscles under his fingers, the warmth and safety of his body. He presses impossibly closer, tries to fade into Namjoon's reassuring presence. Namjoon's licking at his bottom lip, tentatively bolder, and Jungkook grins, meeting him halfway. For the first time since Hwayoung's death, he forgets everything, escaping from his own mind, he only exists where Namjoon touches him. He bares himself entirely, vulnerable and eager, and Namjoon holds him, cares for him. 

When they pull back, Namjoon gently smiles at him, eyes almost closed.

"Hey." He tells him, making Jungkook smile wider.

"Hi." 

Jungkook feels like seeing an entirely new side of Namjoon, impossibly gentler, softer, reassuring. If loving him had been breathtaking until then, he can only dreamily stare at Namjoon's open fondness. 

"Wanna grab ice creams ?" Namjoon asks him and Jungkook licks his lips, holding back a grin.

"Yeah. Okay."

They spend the end of their afternoon leisurely walking around, exploring the small city's shops, holding hands. It's so simple and yet, Jungkook feels at peace. Dinner is spent texting their friends, sending a picture of Namjoon kissing Jungkook's cheek and their chat explodes in different variations of their friends waiting for this moment to happen and a fight between them over who will be the best men at their wedding. It's lighthearted and fun, Jungkook tries to soak it in.

Back to their room, Jungkook feels hesitant, coming out of the shower to Namjoon reading in his bed, glasses propped on his nose.

The day has felt so tender, yet so frail. He’s not sure what he can ask for. But then again, with Namjoon, he feels like can be himself, wholeheartedly.

"Hyung?" He says tentatively.

Namjoon looks up. Jungkook shifts on his feet, unsure, but Namjoon smiles, moves to the side and pats his bed.

"Come." He tells him, and relief washes over him. 

There's something infinitely intimate in the way his body curves around Namjoon, forehead pressed against his shoulder, arm braced over his stomach as Namjoon keeps reading, pressing kisses to his head once in a while. He falls asleep, warm, and can only think of the bright smile Hwayoung would've given him if she'd known. 

They wake up early, Namjoon’s body cradling Jungkook’s, fingers tracing the line of his spine as he blinks awake. Jungkook has never taken the time to observe him in the morning. He’s handsome, in the quiet way dew sits atop grass as the sun rises, pink coloring his cheeks, hair tousled, bundled under the duvet. Jungkook’s fingers travel down his collarbones, the center of his chest, and lays his hand over his heart, eyes closed, feeling his heartbeat. He can faintly hear seagulls outside, children playing, but nothing really exists save for Namjoon’s presence, his tender gaze, his faint smile. Jungkook feels at home.

He brings him to a local museum, filled with 18th century paintings that Jungkook sketches. They go back swimming, jumping together over the waves, kissing between them. The sun is bright and warm on Jungkook’s skin, and he feels alive. He feels his broken body slowly mend in appreciating the small things in life again, with the support of his friends, the presence of Namjoon.

It’s their last day there and they’re having dinner by the harbour, Namjoon pointedly eating pastas, trying to ignore the couple eating mussels next to them. Jungkook looks at the ships, distractedly, when Namjoon clears his throat, awkward.

“Jungkook-ah.” He says, but he’s glancing away, cutlery put aside. There’s a blush on his cheeks, creeping over his tan.

“Joonie-hyung?” Jungkook replies, mimicking him.

Namjoon breathes in, eyes closed, and opens them again, now looking at him, gentle and determined.

“Would you like us to go out?” He says, and Jungkook huffs.

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing these past few days?” He asks.

“No. I mean, being my boyfriend.” He continues, and his smiling, lips pinched, embarrassed.

“Oh.” Jungkook feels himself burning crimson. “Oh.” Is all he manages to say for a minute. And then he grins. “Yeah. I’d love that.

Their friends are confused. They thought they'd cleared that up days ago. The feud over who's going to be the best man resumes.

Jungkook sleeps on Namjoon's shoulder on the way back.

He spends the next weeks cooped up at home, but he's not a shell of himself anymore, he has a story to tell. So he gets to work, prepares the outline, the story of a brilliant woman who helped him grow into who he is today. He talks about hope and love and draws her tenderly, pours all his feelings and care into his graphic novel.

Some nights, his friends invite themselves, cook him dinner and spend the evening with him, laughing, full of life and love. Most of these nights, Namjoon stays until morning, kissing his eyelids goodnight. They map out each other's bodies, reveal secrets kept for years, and Namjoon makes him talk about her, share fond memories he decides to include in his project.

Weeks turn into months, snow covers the city, shrouding it in silence, and Jungkook hits send. His publisher replies as the sun goes down behind the buildings.

When summer comes again, Namjoon and all of his friends throw him a party, ambushing him into getting autographs. He takes his graphic novels between his hands, the story he's carefully told, given the utmost care, and it still hurts, but he's carried on, letting himself bloom again. 

To Namjoon , he writes, thank you for making me come home to the sound of waves.