Chapter Text
living without yoongi has become a bit of a routine now. well, it has almost been a year.
jungkook hates himself for becoming used to being without him. he despises himself for almost forgetting what waking up each morning to the smell of breakfast felt like. the thing about yoongi is that he loved quietly, sweetly, and carefully. jungkook had become used to the smell of eggs in the morning, but now he’s gotten used to the stale smell of the air instead. he’s still in the same apartment they shared, he couldn’t bear to leave. but staying hurts just as much.
it’s almost been a year, jungkook has been counting the days. 360 days. almost a whole year since he got the call. it terrified him, the hushed whisper of the nurse asking if he was jeon jungkook. he responded that he was, fearing for the worst but hoping for the best.
the nurse has responded, kindly, but nothing could be kind enough, that he was listed as min yoongi’s emergency contact, and that yoongi had been pronounced dead.
dead.
just like that.
that morning he was still making eggs, he was humming a melody that jungkook knew but couldn’t quite name. he had asked him and yoongi smiled, eyes crinkling in that same way jungkook adored, “it’s can’t help falling in love”. jungkook smiled back, and started to hum along, picking up the dishes and washing alongside yoongi, shoulder to shoulder.
jungkook went to work, leaving yoongi at home to rest. realistically, yoongi should’ve stayed at the hospital after his last intensive surgery for a couple more weeks. still, they let him come home early on the condition that he stay at home all the time.
he didn’t mind as long as he could stay with jungkook.
jungkook was still at work when he got the call. who knew that it only took 50 seconds for his whole world to come crashing down?
it has been almost a year since those 50 seconds had past, and he can still remember every single word out of the nurse’s mouth before he hung up.
she finished with, “i’m so sorry for your loss”, as if it softened the blow.
sure, she’s sorry. of course she is! she doesn’t know yoongi, hasn’t known him for the past 2 decades, but of course she’s sorry that he’s dead. what else can she say?
jungkook didn’t believe it. must be a fucking prank call, right? either way, he would go to the hospital to give this nurse a piece of his goddamn mind. how DARE she tell him that his family, the only one he had left, was fucking dead? he scoffed, this joke was not funny in the slightest!
he knew it probably was true, fuck, yoongi had been battling lymphoma for the past 4 years, but the survivorship rate after 5 years was fucking 70% for someone with stage III like yoongi. 70 fucking percent. jungkook had convinced himself that yoongi would beat it, fuck of course he would. he’s yoongi.
so he chose not to believe it, not to agree with the blaring signs telling him what he so painfully knew in the bottom of his chest.
what else could he do?
he turned into the parking lot of the hospital, hastily parking his car and jogging to the entrance, the automatic doors opening into the shiny white waiting room, the fluorescent lights burning his eyes.
he walked up to the desk, meaning to say so much, but only being able to gasp out, “someone called me.”
the receptionist looked at him with a hint of sympathy, knowingly acknowledging his situation, before asking, “what’s your name?” and typing for a bit on his computer. the receptionist picked up the phone and whispered something, something jungkook couldn’t quite make out.
“you can sit in the waiting room there, someone will be out to talk to you shortly.”
so he sat. it was only 5 minutes later when someone had rounded the corned into the room and called out his name. he stood, ready to point a finger into their chest and yell about the scare he had gotten, when he saw the bracelet in their hand. yoongi’s bracelet.
shit.
the realization hit him, the time he had on the way over not being used to absorb the weight of the words he had received. it was as if each moment was a bullet to his chest, breaking apart each part of his heart until there was nothing left to salvage.
he wanted to collapse, to fall apart, to break into a million pieces all at once. but he didn’t. he stayed still, too still, as if nothing had happened in the first place. the only thing giving him away was the rush of tears pouring from his eyes. he didn’t bother to try and stop them, and he also didn’t bother to wipe them away, letting them stain his cheeks like buckets of paint, except the result wasn’t beautiful art. no, instead, he was left with stains all over his hands, his heart ripped out and broken into unmendable pieces.
losing a friend was hard. losing your best friend was worse. and losing your family, fuck, it was like the world was ending.
so how did he manage to lose all three in one go?
he felt his eyes stare into the bracelet in the nurses hand. it had been a gift to yoongi from jungkook ten years ago, on his 18th birthday.
happy birthday, hyung.
he handed the bracelet to yoongi with a bright, genuine smile.
yoongi smiled back, whispering, let’s live long, shall we?
ironic, huh?
he whispered, “where is he”, not quite trusting his own voice to be stable.
the nurse led him down the hallway, passing him the bracelet as he went along. he kept his eyes on the bracelet as they went along, his fingers tracing over the fabric of the threads, digging the material into his palm. his nail punctured skin.
they stopped in front of a door, the nurse leading him in. someone was lying there, heart monitor deathly silent, a sheet of plastic covering their face. but jungkook knew, jungkook knew it was yoongi.
it was like all the stars in the universe had burnt out at once, and the weight of their explosion collided with the thump in jungkook’s chest, knocking all of the wind out of his lungs. he couldn’t breathe. no, no way. this can’t be.
how could the universe be so cruel to take him away from me?
jungkook still asks himself that question to this day.
he repeated it in his head over and over on the way to the funeral. the words pounded in his head as he stood above the coffin, and they continued their procession when he traced his fingers over the engraving of the headstone.
he’s never stopped counting the days since that night, and he doesn’t think he ever will.
in some ways, life has gone on. he’s made friends, gotten out of his shell, even gotten a new job.
it took all of his strength not to break down and shut out the world for the first two months. that’s exactly what he did for a month or so, but he had to pull himself together. because even though yoongi would stay forever 28, he was still growing older, each and everyday.
when yoongi was first diagnosed, they sat down together for a cup of coffee, except yoongi was the only one drinking it while jungkook blubbered over his words and stained his cheeks with another mosaic of tears, wetting the dried ones over again.
i’ll be okay, don’t worry about me.
jungkook half laughed and half sobbed, his heart clenching. how can i be okay, when there’s a possibility that you’ll fucking die?
i won’t, because i’ll get through this. 70% survival rate, right?
70% survival rate, jungkook repeated, sinking the words into his skin.
at times, it felt more like yoongi was comforting jungkook. the past 4 years had been hell for the both of them, but jungkook always felt guilty for being so weak. he wished he could have supported him as much as he felt supported.
we’ll be okay, yoongi repeated, over and over and over again, as if he was not only convincing jungkook, but convincing himself.
jungkook sighed into yoongi’s chest, pulling him tighter.
we’ll be okay, jungkook repeated, at nothing but a mere whisper. he didn’t sound so sure.
he still didn’t have the answers he was looking for when it came to how yoongi died specifically, did his heart just give out?
did he suffer?
there was so much jungkook wanted to say to yoongi, so much he needed to say. but something he had also wished for but never seemed to have enough of was time.
he wishes, before anything else, that he had more time.
it had been two years after his diagnosis, and yoongi didn’t seem to be getting better. it was a cold december when yoongi told him.
when i die-
don’t say when hyung.
yoongi sighs, rubbing his iv-attached hand across his forehead.
he snaps his head up, annoyed and pained. jungkook-ah, i’ve been in the hospital for the past 3 months. i feel like shit, each step feels like death, i’m just…i’m so tired.
jungkook looks at yoongi, lips slightly parted, heart broken in pieces. he closes his eyes and then stares at the ground. he feels so helpless. hyung, if you die, i won’t have anyone left.
kook-ah, when i die, i want you to promise me something, yoongi whispers.
promise you’ll live life on, promise that you’ll be happy, be the happiest person in the world. yoongi smiled, his eyes crinkling in that same way that jungkook absolutely adored. i want you to be happy jungkook-ah.
he cleared his throat before adding one last thing.
and kook, please promise that you won’t forget me.
yoongi had gotten better that time, almost beating it.
almost.
jungkook couldn’t help but feel helpless while he watched yoongi suffer. there was nothing he could do. absolutely nothing.
after he died, he still felt helpless. the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint yoongi, but promising to him that he’d live on, be happy, it was the hardest thing in the world.
the only thing he could seem to fulfill was never forgetting him.
he saw yoongi wherever he went, whether it was just when he woke up, to when he walked in the park, noticing the same flower yoongi adores was in season. or when he passed by a shop and noticed a shirt yoongi would adore, getting excited to buy it for him, only to realize that he didn’t need to anymore.
even the speck of dirt on the concrete sidewalks seemed to remind jungkook of him.
he wishes he knew how to turn seeing him into a good thing, turn the memories into good ones.
which brings him to today, five days from the one year anniversary. anniversary seems like a terrible name, too happy, too often associated with good things. is there a word to describe how a year passing without the best part of your life felt?
jungkook knows that if he spends more than a passing thought on yoongi, he becomes an emotional wreck, the grief socking him in the stomach.
grief comes in waves, but his never seems to completely fade into the shore.
he sits in the living room, nursing a cup of tea. he never could drink coffee quite the same anymore, it doesn’t taste right. yoongi always had a special way of making it that no one seems to be able to replicate.
he glances at the door across the hall from his, the door before the room yoongi used to live in. he hasn’t gone in very much since it happened, only to dust, make sure everything stayed the same, stayed perfect.
he even left the cd in the player, an old and loved copy of yellow by coldplay.
look at the stars, look how they shiiiiiine for you! jungkook belted, holding a hand to his chest.
they were sitting at the floor of yoongi’s room, yellow blasting from the speakers of yoongi’s cd player. they stared into each other’s eyes, hearts bursting with a type of love neither of them quite understood but that they both knew existed.
you know i love you so! yoongi screamed, standing up, arms outstretched. he pretended to play the guitar and spun around, putting on a show.
for a sad song, we’re having way too much fun. jungkook observed, though his grin was stretched so wide.
who cares, you make everything better. yoongi whispered, sitting back down in jungkook’s lap. i’m never sad when you’re with me.
before his diagnosis, the pair had a lot of moments like these. now, every memory is tainted, dripping with the melancholic syrup of sorrow. jungkook can’t seem to think of the time before lymphoma without the reminder of death creeping up his spine. he hates how much that damn illness has come to control him, even when it doesn’t affect him anymore.
but it does still affect him, because even though yoongi is gone, the knowledge that they could’ve had everything if not for fucking cancer, that knowledge is something that persists in jungkook’s thoughts every day. he wishes he knew how to forget.
he stands, opening the door to yoongi’s room, he watches as the dust that had settled over the last few months suddenly rises in the air. the moonlight shines in from the window, slightly shaded by the sheer curtain draped over it.
his feet back out, as if knowing of the pain they were going to endure. but his mind had decided, he needs this. he needs to confront it. he needs to really say goodbye.
he walks to the cd player, clicking play on the buttons, having to use slightly more force as the mechanics were not used to 360 days of handling.
look at the stars, look how they shine for you.
jungkook falls back, his body falling onto the bed. with a groan he feels a hard thing poking into his back. the fuck did he keep in his bed?
he rolled around, unfolding the bed sheets to uncover a plastic folder, labeled “for jungkook”.
a will?
that’s the first thing that popped into his head, as he couldn’t figure out anything yoongi would write out for him.
he sat on the ground, opening the folder. a letter fell out and onto his lap, labeled “open me first”. so he did.
dear jungkook,
i’m writing this on my last day.
you’re probably wondering how this happened, why i died, all that shit. it’s okay, don’t worry. i didn’t tell you it was getting worse, i didn’t want you to worry. i wanted to live my last moments like i was living, not like i was dying.
it was selfish of me, i know. i’m sorry.
the last thing i want for you is for you to suffer. i’m assuming you found this a while after i died, and that you probably left my room to be a shrine for my existence. i know you too well kook.
you’ve been suffering a while. losing you is also going to be hard for me, harder than you know. the funny thing is, i’m not afraid of dying. i haven’t been for the past four years. rather, i’m afraid of going somewhere without you. i don’t know how i’ll go on without you. i know you feel the same.
there’s a dvd in the folder, please watch it. i can’t write well, but i say everything in that video. i need you to watch it. i know it’ll be hard, but please do it for me kook.
you’re stronger than you think. i love you, i’m sorry.
- yoongi hyung
jungkook hadn’t realized he was crying until the telltale drops fell onto the paper. how could he have waited so long before cleaning yoongi’s room? what if he found this earlier? would that have changed anything?
perhaps it was fate.
he slides the dvd out of the case with blurry eyes, before standing and hurrying to the living room to slide it into the player. he didn’t know when yoongi burned the dvd but it didn’t seem like very long before he passed. as his image blinked on the television screen, jungkook almost had to shut it off, all the air falling out of his lungs.
yoongi was sitting on the floor of his room, wearing his favorite hoodie (it had originally been jungkook’s but they both decided it fit yoongi better). he ran a hand through his hair, freshly permed and dyed blonde.
hey. so i hope you read the letter first. i’ll just- he sighs. i’ll get started.
i’ll start with what happened say, uh, last month? i went to the doctor for a routine checkup. usually you would come with but this time i think you had a lunch with taehyung. i did everything in my power to make sure you committed to those plans, and, well, i’m glad you did. i went in, did the tests and shit, and the doctor told me thatit’s gotten worse. like a shit ton worse. like one month to live worse.
yoongi laughs, dry and like he’s gasping for air. it didn’t hit for a while. my first instinct was to not tell you. and i’m glad i didn’t. up until my last moments, you never pitied me, never acted as if i was dying. i was always so annoyed when you did that, even though i know you can’t help it. i’m glad i didn’t tell you.
yoongi stands up and walks somewhere off camera for a second, before the telltale opening guitar of yellow starts playing. he sits back in front of the screen, eyes misty and a far-away look on his face.
Look at the stars, look how they shine for you
i know i’m dying kook. i can feel it. i know it’s going to be soon. fuck, it may even be tomorrow. i’m filming this before it’s too late, before i’m gone, and- he pauses, eyes looking at the ground, and before you never know what i’ve wanted to tell you for forever.
yoongi stares back at the camera, tears actively falling out of his eyes now. i’m in love with you.
and in this moment, jungkook feels his world stop. he can’t move his muscles enough to pause the video. he watches as yoongi’s face morphes into a sob, wishing above anything else that he could be there to put a hand on his shoulder, and tell him everything would be alright even if it wasn’t.
and kook, i know you love me back. i can tell. you’re- yoongi laughs again, his voice shuddering, pain coating the sound. you’re an open book. the way you look at me, the way you hug me, i know you love me back.
did he love him back? jungkook’s throat closes in itself, the air around him suddenly absent.
he remembers looking at yoongi with such adoration, such endearment, that he felt his heart swell. it was like yoongi was the water and jungkook was the man in the desert, and jungkook couldn’t get enough of him.
as the realization hits him, he finds himself in the same position as he was on the day of yoongi’s death, his heart clenching, tears running and running to no avail. there is no end.
it’s at this time that yoongi starts talking again.
i’m selfish, i know i am. you know, for a while, i thought you would figure it out yourself. but when it became obvious you wouldn’t, i still didn’t want to tell you. you see, i also just realized this. love is a fickle thing, isn’t it?
For you, I'd bleed myself dry
so i’m in the last month of my life. i could spend it with you in my arms either way, but one way leaves you with the death of a friend, and the other leaves you with the death of the love of your life. i can’t possibly make you hurt more kook, please try and understand me.
yoongi clears his throat again, wiping his wet cheeks with the sleeve of his jacket. maybe it’s fate. maybe we were never meant to be together. lymphoma is a son of a bitch, huh?
yoongi sets his face in his hands, eyes trained on the ground. all we could is wish for more time, and we didn’t even get that.
Look how they shine for you, and all the things that you do
the song ends, and yoongi lets it play out. it’s silent now. deafening.
he whispers, jungkook-ah, please live well without me. i can’t imagine a world without you in it.
he pauses, as if his next words hold the most weight in the world. remember when i made you promise to try and be happy? to live well? and to never forget me? i want you to promise me something else now.
he stares into the camera, his entire soul bared to jungkook’s.
i want you to be happy, so jungkook-ah, his voice gets caught in his throat, as if he needs to force out his next words.
he starts again, eyes so watery they could fill an ocean. jungkook-ah,
please try to forget me.
the video ends, the screen turning black.
jungkook sits back. the darkness seems to envelop him, the grief yet again hitting and beating him up until there’s nothing left but his heart, yet again broken into pieces. he had spent so long trying to mend it, sew it back together again, but all it took was a couple of minutes for all the stitches to burst, the thread too weak.
maybe it was fate, maybe they were never meant to be happy.
he lies down on the ground, his head touching the rough strands of the carpet. it’s at this time he’s reminded of something yoongi said often, “life is tough, and things don't always work out well, but we should be brave and go on with our lives.”
there’s nothing to do but go on, even if it feels impossible, he must.
jungkook stands, walking back to yoongi’s room, and presses play on the cd player, yellow playing once again.
he lets the song drift him to sleep as he lies on the ground of yoongi’s room, the words ringing in his ears.
you know i love you so
you know i love you so
you know i love you so