Chapter Text
The photo was taken on Taehyung’s eleventh birthday. On that night, they had snuck out of the front door dressed in all of the warmest clothes Taehyung could find and sat on the front porch to watch the snowfall, the tiny specks illuminated by the streetlights.
Yoongi was taller back then, and in the photo, he has his arm wrapped around his friend, pulling him against his side, with a blanket draped over both of their shoulders, shielding them from the cold. They mustn’t have been as quiet as Yoongi thought because Taehyung’s mother had taken the photo without them noticing, only to send it to Yoongi’s mother the next morning.
The frame is old, the photo even older, but it’s of the two of them, suspended in a singular point in time, and it was perfect. Nothing else existed in that moment but them and the snow, and if Yoongi tries hard enough, he can close his eyes and pretend he’s still there, and everything is okay.
But it’s not. They were happy in the photo, but that was then and this is now, and the two boys of then seem so far away from the ones of right now.
Yoongi hears the front door opening. He carefully sets the frame down on his nightstand and stands from his bed, peeking his head out to the kitchen in time to see Taehyung stumbling through the front door.
Taehyung doesn’t see him at first—Yoongi wonders when the last time was that he did—and it’s only when Yoongi is at his side, taking his arm and draping it over his shoulder, that Taehyung gives him a smile. Bearing most of his weight, Yoongi leads them both into Taehyung’s bedroom, right beside his own.
“Why’re you still up, hyung?” Taehyung asks, his speech slurred and his breath smelling of alcohol. Yoongi has to turn away to escape it.
“I was just working, Taehyungie.”
A lie.
It was the first lie he had ever told Taehyung. It happened over two months ago, when this first started happening, and he has been telling it ever since. He doesn’t stay up to work. How can he get anything done when he’s too worried about whether or not Taehyung will fucking make it home? Even when it gets to six in the morning and the sun peaks in through the cracks behind the old, dirty curtains, Yoongi stays awake. Even when he has to start work at eight, he always stays awake.
He can’t sleep until he knows Taehyung is asleep and safe in his bed. And even then, sleep doesn’t always come. Only a wall separates them but it feels cavernous sometimes.
“You’re the best, hyungie,” Taehyung mumbles as Yoongi lays him down on the bed.
“Yeah, yeah,” Yoongi says, his voice softer than he would like. “Now, stop squirming.”
Yoongi tries to take Taehyung’s shoes off, but he sits up and bats Yoongi’s hands away. “Careful, hyung,” he whines, pouting. “They’re expensive.”
“I know they are, Taehyungie,” Yoongi sighs, placing a hand on Taehyung’s chest and pushing him to lay back down. “Hyung’s got it.”
He manages to wrangle Taehyung out of his clothes and get him under the covers before he leaves to fill a glass of water. “Who were you with tonight?” he asks when he walks back not the room. He hands the glass to Taehyung and waits until it’s empty before taking it back.
“You wouldn’t know them, hyung,” Taehyung says, laying back down against the pillows.
Yoongi just hums. Of course he wouldn’t know them. Maybe he would if Taehyung bothered to introduce him to any of his friends, but he doesn’t. Yoongi knows a few of their names, has seen their faces on ads and billboards on his way to work. None of them know who he is. Taehyung probably hasn’t even mentioned him to his model friends.
Does he matter so little to Taehyung?
He shuts that thought down. He knows Taehyung needs him, knows he wouldn’t be able to take care of himself if it weren’t for Yoongi doing his laundry, cooking every meal, making sure he gets to bed at the end of another night spent out, drinking with his supposed friends.
He never leaves. No matter how bad things get, he never leaves. Yoongi loves him too much that he doesn’t think he has it in himself to leave, their hearts tethered together with an invisible string, keeping them close but so far away.
“Stay with me?” Taehyung asks, grabbing a hold of Yoongi’s wrist with a hand so gentle. And Yoongi has never been able to say no to him, no matter how badly he may want to. He climbs into bed and lets Taehyung curl himself around him, his chest pressed to Yoongi’s back, an arm thrown over his waist, and long fingers splayed on Yoongi’s stomach.
He would cry but he can’t.
Yoongi doesn’t sleep that night. He stares ahead of him at the polaroids on the wall, most of the two of them, some of only Yoongi. All of them were taken back when things were simple, when things were easier and Yoongi was happy—when they were both happy.
Yoongi wonders where the fuck everything went wrong.
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Yoongi doesn’t remember a time when he didn’t love Taehyung. It seemed, from the beginning, that they were meant to be. There was no specific time, no singular moment in his life that Yoongi realised he was in love with his best friend. It didn’t happen slowly, and it didn’t happen all at once. It was just always there, always existing between them from the moment they met.
It’s always been them.
He should’ve seen it coming, should’ve recognised the signs, but he was too in love to notice until it was too late.
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It happens again a week later, only this time, Taehyung isn’t alone. He stumbles into the apartment with a guy Yoongi vaguely recognises from somewhere, clinging to his back, their hands on Taehyung’s shoulders, and both of them giggling to themselves. Yoongi can smell the alcohol from where he’s sitting all the way across the room on the living room couch.
Taehyung is stumbling and Yoongi is frozen to the spot. His heart is beating too fast in his chest and something in his bones aches to reach out but he can’t. He can’t do anything but sit there, his mouth agape, and stare.
“Oh, hyung,” Taehyung says when he notices Yoongi’s presence in the room. “Sorry if we woke you.”
Yoongi wants to say that he’s been up for hours, that he’s sent four texts and called twice, and didn’t get a single reply. He wants to say something, but nothing comes out, and before he’s able to form a single word, Taehyung is already leading his friend into his bedroom and closing the door.
Yoongi’s heart breaks a little bit that night.
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Yoongi was happy in Daegu. It’s where he grew up, where his family is, and where every memory of his childhood is attached to. He never thought he’d leave, never really planned for it. But then Taehyung told him his plans to move to Seoul to try his luck with modeling and Yoongi was blind and in love and he packed up his whole life to follow his best friend to the city without a second thought.
Yoongi didn’t know what to expect, neither of them did, but then Taehyung was signed to an agency and his career was skyrocketing faster than either of them could’ve imagined and suddenly life was different. It should’ve been okay but somewhere along the line, Yoongi was left behind. Now he’s stuck, constantly trying to catch up to the boy he watched grow up.
It wasn’t a losing battle from the start.
They should’ve been okay.
They were supposed to be okay.
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It becomes a pattern.
Taehyung comes home during the night, anywhere between three and six am, and Yoongi puts him to bed. Taehyung asks him to stay, always, and Yoongi wishes he could say no but he can’t so he never does.
That’s on the nights that Taehyung comes home alone.
When he shows up at the apartment with someone else in tow—usually one of his model friends that Yoongi has seen pictures of but never actually met—Yoongi is brushed aside, hushed words whispered from Taehyung telling him sorry if we woke you up, and we’re okay, hyung. Go back to whatever you were doing.
Yoongi wants to say please stay. Just stay with me for one night because I can’t handle this alone.
He doesn’t.
He doesn’t tell Taehyung that he was awake, waiting for him to come home because it’s been two weeks since they spent a night on their crappy couch watching equally crappy movies. He doesn’t say that they haven’t eaten breakfast together in six days because Taehyung is always either rushing out the door to a photo shoot or sleeping off a hangover. He doesn’t say that every single time Taehyung walks through that front door with someone else clinging to his back, arms around his waist and lips on his neck, that his heart breaks more and more, and he’s not sure how much more damage it can take before he crumbles with it.
Yoongi doesn’t say any of this.
Loving Taehyung used to be the easiest thing in the world, easier than breathing and easier than dreaming, but now love feels like a vice wrapped around his heart that squeezes tighter and tighter every single day, and someday soon, the pressure is going to be too much and his heart is going to collapse in on itself and destroy everything around it.
Gone are the conversations about their days as they eat dinner together, as are the lazy Sunday mornings when Taehyung would wake up early and creep into Yoongi’s room, wrap himself around the older, and they would sleep the morning away together.
Yoongi never asks Taehyung about his day anymore. Taehyung never asks about his.
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Taehyung climbs into his bed one night in late July—at a normal time, much to Yoongi’s surprise. Instead of saying anything, Yoongi rolls onto his side and lets Taehyung wrap himself around his back in the way he knows Taehyung likes it.
“Hyung,” Taehyung whispers, his breath tickling the back of Yoongi’s neck. “You’ve been acting different lately. Quieter than usual. I don’t know what you’re thinking.”
Yoongi hums. This isn’t something he wants to get into right now. Taehyung has always been observant, always picking up on other’s feelings and changing the mood and environment to fit their needs. It’s not like Yoongi has been particularly subtle, but he’s surprised that Taehyung has been paying him enough attention to notice.
Still, he isn’t sure that he has the emotional energy in him to keep himself from falling apart at the first utterance of the problem. He doesn’t think he has it in him to hold himself together long enough to have a proper conversation.
He deflects. “I’m just tired, Taehyungie,” he sighs, exhaustion evident in his voice. “Hyung’s getting old, you know.”
There’s a pause as Taehyung presses closer, wraps his leg over Yoongi’s. “Hyung, you… You’d tell me there was something wrong though, wouldn’t you?”
He wouldn’t. He’s not ready to deal with the fallout of what telling the truth would ultimately bring. There are too many memories, too much history, and Yoongi doesn’t have anything else to hold on to. Taehyung is all he has. Taehyung is all he knows.
“Of course, Taehyung-ah.”
It’s the second lie he’s ever told Taehyung. It only hurts a tiny bit more than the first.
Taehyung’s arms wrap tighter around his waist like he’s scared that Yoongi will float away in his sleep. “Hyung, I love you a lot,” he whispers, and Yoongi swears he feels soft slips press against the back of his neck. “You know that right?”
Yoongi feels the familiar tug of his heart, the burn behind his eyes, the pain in his chest. He takes a deep breath and hopes that Taehyung can’t feel the rapid beating of his heart. “I know,” he whispers, not trusting his voice. “I love you, too.”
Taehyung sighs, rubs his cheek on the back of Yoongi’s neck. “I’m tired, too,” he mumbles against Yoongi’s skin, his lips grazing Yoongi’s neck again. “So tired, hyung.”
Yoongi doesn’t let himself think too much about that. His chest aches. “Get some sleep, Taehyung-ah.”
“That’s not…” He trails off and Yoongi realises that he’s holding his breath. He forces himself to exhale as he waits for Taehyung to speak, but he doesn’t. He turns around in Taehyung’s arms so that his face is hidden in Taehyung’s neck, and wraps his arm around Taehyung’s waist.
Taehyung sighs, his previous thought forgotten. “Goodnight, hyung.”
Yoongi ignores the twinge of disappointment he feels in his gut. “Night, Taehyungie.”
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“Hyung,” Taehyung starts over breakfast one morning—a rare occurrence these days—as he sets his chopsticks down, “I wanna talk to you about something.”
Yoongi’s stomach flips but he tries to act nonchalant. He hums in response.
“I think we should move,” Taehyung says, trying to catch Yoongi’s eyes but Yoongi looks anywhere but at the younger. “Someplace nicer. A little bigger, you know?”
Yoongi stills, coffee halfway to his lips. He sets it down and looks all around their small apartment that has become his home—their home. His eyes wander from the photos hanging from the walls that paint pictures of their lives, to the chipped plaster and stained carpet that tell stories of all of the carefree nights and lazy mornings. He looks at the space filled with cheap, second-hand furniture that they managed to get their hands on when they first moved in, back when they had nothing but each other.
“What’s wrong with this place?” he asks, carefully lifting the mug to his lips again and praying that Taehyung doesn’t see the small tremor in his hands. He feels sick and off-balance—like a rug has been pulled from beneath his feet or a car that has driven a little too fast over a bump in the road.
“Hyung, this place is tiny,” Taehyung says between bites of the breakfast Yoongi made before he disappears off to a photo shoot. Yoongi always makes sure that he eats enough because he never knows what time Taehyung will be home, and he isn’t sure if he has time during the day to eat. He opens his mouth but Taehyung beats him to it. “And besides, I’ve been getting lots of good work lately and your company keeps growing, so why not? We can afford it now. We’re finally able to do what we wanted.”
This isn’t what Yoongi wants. It’s the truth—he knows it’s the truth—but this is what Taehyung wants. Not Yoongi.
As much as Yoongi likes to think that Taehyung needs him, he knows that it’s always been the other way around. Yoongi has always been trailing behind Taehyung from the moment he was old enough to start dreaming of the future. Wherever he went, Yoongi always followed. Nothing else ever mattered to him. Taehyung chose where they would eventually move to, Taehyung chose the apartment, and Taehyung was the one who filled it and made it a home. Their home.
If it made Taehyung happy, Yoongi was happy. Why does this feel different?
“But you love this place,” Yoongi says, thinking back to the early days of Taehyung excitedly unpacking the few things they had and rearranging everything just how he wanted. Yoongi knows that the apartment isn’t the nicest—far from it, really—but it was the first thing that was solely theirs and Yoongi knows how much that means to both of them.
Or how much it used to mean to both of them.
Yoongi sees the sadness that flicks across Taehyung’s face for barely a second. “I know, hyung, I do. But… Bogum said—“
“What did Bogum say?” Yoongi snaps, cutting him off mid-sentence, only realising his mistake when it’s too late.
Taehyung freezes, food halfway to his mouth as they both stare at each other with wide eyes. Yoongi has never raised his voice at Taehyung, has never so much as snapped or interrupted him in the years that they’ve known each other. This is the first, and they both know it.
Something has changed between them.
Yoongi watches as Taehyung’s fallen expression turns from shock, to hurt, and then to defiance. He sets his chopsticks down and sits up straight, his shoulders squared. “He says that I shouldn’t live in a place like this when I don’t need to. He said I can do better.”
Better than you.
Yoongi can’t even argue with that because he knows it’s true. Taehyung could have the world at his feet if he wanted. But where does that leave Yoongi? Will he be on the ground, staring up at Taehyung with the rest of the world, the only trace of him left behind in the photos on the walls?
Where does Yoongi fit into the world if he isn’t following Taehyung, trailing behind, just too far out of reach?
“Hyung,” Taehyung sighs, brushing a hand through his hair, “we can do better than this.” He looks tired—too tired for someone his age, someone in his position. He gestures around the apartment and Yoongi can’t do anything but stare at Taehyung and wonder when he got so far away from him. “Think about it, okay? Some extra space would be good for us, hyung.”
But Yoongi doesn’t want extra space. He doesn’t want to be any further away from his best friend than he already is. He looks around his home; at the lamp beside the couch that the old woman next door had gifted them when they ran out of money, and the tiny, brown couch that they had picked up off the street on their first day in Seoul, at the bookcase in the corner that Namjoon had given them to store all of Yoongi’s novels and Taehyung’s magazines when they ran out of room on the coffee table and kitchen counter.
It’s been months since Yoongi read anything. It only collects dust now.
Everything in their apartment has a story—the story of them—and Yoongi isn’t ready to give any of that up.
“But I love this place,” he finally whispers, looking up at Taehyung.
Taehyung sighs and reaches across the table for Yoongi’s hand, giving it a small squeeze. “We’re better than this place, hyung,” he says before going back to his breakfast.
Yoongi brings his mug to his lips and sips his cold coffee. It’s never tasted so bitter.
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Later in the night, after Taehyung has been picked by a couple of guys from his work, Yoongi crawls into bed. He doesn’t fall asleep straight away, he doesn’t even pull out his phone to mindlessly scroll through Twitter until Taehyung comes home, undoubtedly drunk and with a new partner that Yoongi will able to vaguely recognise from somewhere.
He stares up at the ceiling, instead. He doesn’t want to be mad. He’s proud of Taehyung, he really is. He’s good at what he does and success came to him much quicker than it comes to others, which is not something to take lightly. He wants to be happy. He wants to be able to smile at his best friend and actually mean it, but he can’t.
Because this isn’t his best friend. His best friend doesn’t let success get to his head. His best friend doesn’t care more about what others think than what he wants for himself. And his best friend doesn’t treat him like this—like a burden he’s dragging along, a dead weight to be thought of below him. His best friend doesn’t do that.
His best friend is kind and always puts others before himself, even if it hurts him. His best friend is generous and never hesitates to do anything he can to make someone else feel better. His best friend is smart and observant, and always knows the right things to say, the right things to do, and the right ways to love.
Yoongi wants that person back, but he’s not sure that he still exists.
It’s only an hour later that Taehyung opens the door to Yoongi’s bedroom and slips inside. Yoongi considers pretending to be asleep, but thinks better of it. It’s not like Taehyung to be home this early. He lifts his head and watches as Taehyung kicks his shoes to the corner, takes his shirt off, and climbs into bed, looking tired and worn.
“Bad night?” Yoongi asks, letting Taehyung get comfortable before settling beside him.
“No, it was okay,” Taehyung says, but his voice gives him away. “You’re in bed early, hyung.”
Yoongi hums. “Was tired.”
Taehyung’s arm slides over Yoongi’s stomach and around his waist. “Can I tell you something?”
“Anything.”
“I feel like I don’t really fit in with the others, hyung.”
Yoongi opens his eyes and looks up at Taehyung. “When have you ever cared about fitting in?”
Taehyung shrugs. “Since it mattered, I guess.”
Yoongi sits up, twisting around to look down at Taehyung. “You’re perfect, okay? Anyone who tells you otherwise isn’t worth your time. You know why you’ve gotten to where you are? It’s because you’re different from the others. Are they putting these thoughts into your head?”
Taehyung shrinks in on himself. “No, hyung. It’s not their— I don’t know. I just feel out of place sometimes. Like I don’t really belong.”
Yoongi sighs, irritated, and lays back down beside him. “If those people were really your friends then they wouldn’t be making you feel this way.”
It’s Taehyung’s turn to sit up. “Hyung, you don’t even know them, so that’s not fair. Is this about what Bogum said? Because maybe he’s right. Maybe I am better than this,” he says, gesturing around the room, at all the things so incredibly Yoongi, “so maybe you’re the one with the problem.”
Yoongi flinches at the last part. Taehyung looks almost apologetic for a moment before he gets out of bed and storms out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. The frames on the walls shake with the force. Yoongi doesn’t cry.
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It’s only a month later that they move into a new place, an apartment much bigger than what Yoongi ever wanted. He liked the first apartment that they had looked at, but Taehyung had been excited over this one. Closer to the middle of the city, he had said. Of course, Yoongi had agreed.
He sits on the end of his bed, the old frame in his hands, holding onto it so gently like he’s scared it will break. It’s the only photo on display in the whole apartment. Taehyung hadn’t put any of his old polaroids up on the walls. When Yoongi asked about them, he shrugged and answered, “I’m not sure, hyung. Must’ve gotten lost in the move.”
But that was a lie. Because almost a week later, Yoongi had found them in an old shoebox, hidden in the bathroom cabinet underneath the sink, tucked behind bottles of hair products, and pushed to the back like they were merely something to be forgotten—like he was something to be forgotten.
Yoongi had cried himself to sleep that night.
He places the frame back down on his nightstand and looks around the room. It’s big—way more so than his last, cramped bedroom. It’s empty, too. He still hasn’t unboxed most of his stuff. This place doesn’t feel like a home, not like the other one had. It’s too big, too quiet, and he feels himself disappearing into the corners, fading away into the walls like the ghost of all their memories.
Taehyung doesn’t come home that night. Or the one after that.
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Yoongi wakes up to the sounds of Taehyung stumbling into his bedroom and falling into bed beside him, the telltale signs of alcohol on his breath. Yoongi rolls over to escape the smell and check his phone. The screen blinks back 6:24 am.
“What are you doing?” he asks, agitated. He closes his eyes and tries to get comfortable but he knows he isn’t going to be able to get back to sleep.
Taehyung hums and throws his leg over Yoongi’s, his hand falling heavily on Yoongi’s waist. “Mm, cuddles,” he slurs, trying to shift closer.
“Go and cuddle one of your other friends.”
He doesn’t mean to say it, nor for it to come out so harsh, but he’s said it now and nothing can take it back. He knows it’s cruel but he needs to be up for work in an hour and this is the first time Taehyung has been home in three whole days. He’s barely been able to sleep but he was finally able to, and now…
He’s just not in the mood.
“But they don’t like cuddles, hyung,” Taehyung whines, and Yoongi can basically hear him pouting. Taehyung pulls Yoongi closer and settles behind him. “And you give the best cuddles. Please, hyungie, just for tonight. I’m lonely.” He presses his lips against the back of Yoongi’s neck and whispers, “Please cuddle me, hyung.”
And so Yoongi does. He rolls over and lets Taehyung cuddle into his chest and fall asleep as Yoongi stares up at the ceiling. He realises with belated heartbreak that this is the first time he’s ever felt uncomfortable sharing a bed with Taehyung.
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It’s been two months since they moved into their new apartment, but it feels like years at this point since they were in their old place, lounging around in bed on Sundays and sitting in comfortable silence over breakfast before Yoongi needed to rush out for work and Taehyung had to leave for a photo shoot. Days upon days of just enjoying being together and sharing the life they were building are now gone, all of their memories packed away in boxes or left to fade away in the corners of Yoongi’s mind.
And Yoongi is alone. He’s so fucking alone.
The food he makes for Taehyung ends up either being thrown out or sitting in the fridge because Taehyung doesn’t come home for days at a time. The laundry he washes and folds sits on the corner of Taehyung’s bed until Yoongi can’t bear to look at it any longer and he puts it away, himself.
In the mornings before he leaves for work, there’s only one mug to clean, only one plate to stack.
The apartment stays empty because Yoongi can’t bring himself to unbox his things and settle himself, pretending that this is his home when in reality he feels like a stranger in it, a ghost haunting the empty hallway and too-high ceilings. There are no stains on the carpet, no dents in the walls, or scratches in the furniture that represent them having ever been there.
Too many nights are spent falling asleep on the couch—brand new, too big for just the two of them—because he waited up for Taehyung only for him to never come back, not so much as a text message to let Yoongi know that he’s safe.
On the nights that he does come home, Yoongi watches as Taehyung slowly falls apart. The dark circles beneath his eyes are bigger every time Yoongi sees him, and he’s lost weight, too. He’s stopped taking care of himself and his friends don’t do anything to stop him from destroying himself. They don’t care. And he isn’t home often enough for Yoongi to help him.
He keeps telling himself that it’s okay. It’s okay that he’s being forgotten because no matter what happens, Yoongi loves Taehyung. He can handle the hurt for as long as Taehyung is still relying on him. Yoongi will give and give, offer up every last piece of himself until there’s no more left to give if it means fixing this.
Even if it destroys him.
And it does. It kills him slowly, little by little as the days drag on. He stops making food for himself, knowing that there’s not going to be anyone home to share it with. He stops sleeping because Taehyung is never there to climb into his bed and ask for cuddles. He spends all of his time in his studio, terrified of going home to an empty apartment and spending the long hours with nothing but empty walls to keep him company.
The hardest part comes with the admission that he needs Taehyung a whole lot more than Taehyung needs him.
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Six days. Six whole fucking days pass before Taehyung finally comes home, tripping over his designer shoes in the entryway—Yoongi doesn’t bother to pick them up anymore—as he stumbles into the apartment.
“Where have you been?” he asks, his voice weak as his hands shake in his lap. He stares at Taehyung from his spot in the far corner of the couch, the same spot he’s been in since he got home.
“I’ve been out, hyung,” Taehyung mumbles as he walks into the kitchen, grabs a glass, and fills it with orange juice from the fridge—one of the only things in there.
Yoongi stands and shuffles over to the kitchen counter, his arms crossed. “Out where?”
“Hyung,” Taehyung whines, stepping around Yoongi and flopping onto the couch.
Yoongi follows after him, his stomach twisting. “Taehyung-ah, you haven’t been home in days.”
“Please, hyung,” Taehyung says, putting his feet up onto the coffee table. He lays back and rubs at his eyes. “My head hurts too much for this.”
“It’s six pm, how are you hungover?” He stands over Taehyung, arms crossed over his chest.
“What do you care?”
And Yoongi snaps. “I’ve been worried sick about you! The only way I knew you were still alive was because you were posting on your fucking Instagram. You couldn’t take five seconds to send me a single text? And since when do you talk to me like that?”
“Since you started breathing down my neck!” Taehyung yells, standing from the couch and getting close to Yoongi, looking down at him.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
“Fuck this,” Taehyung mutters under his breath as he steps past Yoongi, rubbing his temples with his eyes squeezed shut. “I should’ve just stayed with some friends.”
Yoongi grabs his arm and stops him from walking away in the middle of whatever this is. “What fucking friends? How can you call any of those people your friends when they’re letting you do this to yourself?”
“Help me then!” Taehyung yells, eyes welling with tears. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing and even you’ve given up on me. At least they pretend to care.”
“Don’t do that,” Yoongi spits. “Where are they when I’m carrying your ass to bed at four am? Who takes care of the apartment that they didn’t even fucking want in the first place? Who risked their entire career by following you out here, only to watch you throw every part of yourself away to please people who don’t even care about you?”
Taehyung stares at him, unmoving and not saying anything. And now that he’s started, Yoongi can’t stop himself. He’s crying, hot tears running down his face but he doesn’t care.
“Where were your friends last week when you were throwing up all over the bathroom floor? Where were they last month when you were too hungover to show up to your photo shoot? And who stayed home to look after you? It’s always me!” He chokes on the last word, his voice cracking. “And you know why I do it? I do it because I think surely somewhere, beneath all of this shit, is the person I fell in love with. Where’s that person, huh? Because if you can’t give him back to me then I’m out that fucking door tonight, and I’m not coming back.”
He’s full on sobbing now. He hides his face in his hands because he can’t bear to look into Taehyung’s eyes and see what’s there. He can’t do it.
“Hyung,” Taehyung whispers, stepping closer and reaching his hands out, but Yoongi pushes them away.
“Don’t call me that,” he says. “Tell me why I should stay. Give me one reason.”
“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says, his voice cracking. Yoongi forces himself to look up at him. His eyes are wide and scared. He’s crying, too. “I’m sorry, hyung. I didn’t— I didn’t mean what I said.”
“Then why did you say it?”
Taehyung takes a shaky breath. “Because I’m tired, hyung. I’m so fucking tired. And I thought… I thought I could handle all of this, but—“
Yoongi stands there, waiting. “But what?”
“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says, staring down at the floor. “Please, don’t leave.”
Yoongi takes a step back. “I have to.”
Taehyung follows him and takes Yoongi’s hand. This time, Yoongi lets him. “Don’t go, hyung. I need you.”
“I know,” Yoongi says, untangling his fingers from Taehyung’s. “And I need you, too. But I shouldn’t. We shouldn’t be relying on each other, Taehyungie. I… I need to go.”
And with that, Yoongi grabs a coat from the hook beside the front door, slips his shoes on, and leaves Taehyung for the first time in his life, telling himself that this is for the best, and pretending he can’t feel the way his heart finally breaks in two.