Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Do you remember the very first time I laid my eyes on you? You were tucked away in the corner of the library, the hood of your winter jacket pulled over your head, earphones plugged in, looking a lot older than me. You should’ve seemed unapproachable, a little intimidating even. But you smiled at me so kindly and all I saw was comfort. 

Jungkook did. He remembered what his stepmother said the day he moved from Busan to Daegu, an event in his life that Jungkook would later be much more thankful for. 

Her voice was silver and sweet, her presence reassuring as they stood in Jungkook’s new bedroom, where the walls on his side of the room were still white and bare. The house smelled like freshly baked bread and cardboard, one scent coming from the kitchen and the other coming from the other places of the house, where Jungkook and his father had started to unpack their moving boxes. 

“You’ll love it here,” Aecha had said, an arm on Jungkook’s shoulder, a confident smile on her face, her flowery dress flowing due to the winter wind escaping through the open windows. 

Jungkook hadn’t believed her then. Of course, he didn’t. He was in a new house, in a new town, where the traffic rushed faster and the floors creaked differently and it smelled like humid green instead of salty blue. His mother was in Japan, his friends were back in Busan, and he was about to go to high school for the first time, which was even more nerve-wracking now that every sense of familiarity around him was either gone or had changed. 

So, of course, he didn’t believe his stepmother. Their relationship was still growing; he didn't yet know that she was right about basically everything back then. 

It would take him some time to figure out how right she was. Days staring outside the window of his classroom and painting on his easel in their little garden until he would find a new kind of familiarity, one that consisted of homemade food and libraries and shared earplugs and hot humid summers. 

Just like everything else in this city, his school was different. It was a high school instead of a middle school, for starters, located in a building that once used to be a textile factory, but was completely redesigned. He was placed in an all-boys class, that was loud, and his too-tight uniform bothered him throughout all his classes. He remembered lunch breaks being the worst, the canteen overcrowded with nowhere to sit, all those people there socializing so overwhelming to Jungkook that he chose to sit in the library instead. 

It was the only place in the entire school building where the traces of the old textile factory could still be seen. The walls were bare and made out of deep red bricks and the floors creaked even though they were made out of concrete, paint stains spattered on them that must've been there for years. The old wood that was left from the renovation from the rest of the building was recycled into tables to sit at, and Jungkook didn't know how, but it still smelled faintly like chemicals. 

Maybe it was because of that slight off-putting smell, or maybe it was simply because the room just wasn't very appealing, but the library seemed to be the only place in the entire school that wasn't crowded. When Jungkook entered it, on his first day, his metal lunch tray in his hands, there was only one other boy there. He sat at one of the wooden tables in his winter jacket with the hood pulled over his head, headphones in his ears and a thick notebook and pen laid out in front of him. He looked serious, concentrated, so caught up in his work that he didn't even notice Jungkook entering the room. 

And not being noticed was exactly what Jungkook wanted at that moment, so he sat down his tray with doenjang jjigae that looked underwhelming and made himself comfortable behind one of the old wooden tables. 

He was hungry, the seemingly endless first half of his day making him starving. So, after getting his art supplies out of his back to entertain himself during his lunch break, Jungkook took a spoonful of the doenjang jjigae that looked a bit sad and put it in his mouth. 

The bite was followed by a frown of Jungkook’s eyebrows, and his upper lip getting pulled up. 

Of all the dishes Jungook ever tasted in his life, this was one of the most memorable ones. He could still taste it in his mouth, sometimes, when he thought back to that day. Doenjang jjigae was supposed to be earthy, a little sour and salty, very umami, and a little funky. This dish was none of that. It was bland, boring, and just… tasted like water with barely a hint of soybean paste thrown in it. 

(Part of Jungkook still wondered why he, and many other students, ate that. Another part of him was glad he did, because:)

“It’s disgusting, isn’t it?” a low, raspy voice suddenly said. 

When Jungkook looked up, he found the boy opposite looking at him. One of his earplugs hung out of his ear now, and the hood of his jacket was pulled down, revealing short black hair with an undercut. 

Jungkook remembered that the first thing he noticed about the boy was his fair, pale skin, and then his skinny frame, and then his eyebrows that were thick and low set, matching his cat-like eyes. He remembered thinking he looked cool, edgy almost, and something about his expression looked even a bit bored. 

Boys like that didn’t talk to Jungkook back then, so Jungkook was so surprised by this guy speaking to him - cool and definitely older and a little stoic and quiet-looking - that he didn’t even answer him. He just looked at him with his big eyes. Not his smartest move, but it wouldn’t matter anyway. 

“The food,” the boy clarified, his tone steady, his eyes on Jungkook’s stew. 

Letting his own eyes follow the boy’s gaze, Jungkook looked at the damping doenjang jjigae sitting there in the metal lunch tray, the mushrooms and one piece of tofu floating in it. He looked up again, then, the taste of soybean paste water still in his mouth, and nodded his head. 

Headphone-guy let out a single chuckle. “It always is on Mondays. The chef gets Mondays off so we get a substitute that can’t cook for shit. The food is always under-seasoned and overcooked. I swear they do it on purpose. As if Mondays aren’t bad enough.”

Jungkook looked at his food, and then back at the boy again, who looked so much more worn into his black and purple school uniform than Jungkook did, and, for the first time that day, he smiled. He smiled, liking that this guy was talking to him, feeling some kind of tension he’d been holding the entire day wash off him. “It’s pretty bad,” he said. 

The guy smiled back, and Jungkook noticed the cute gums the stretch of his smile revealed. Back then, he thought that was very contrasting to the vibe he gave off. Later, he’d come to realize that that wasn’t very true at all.

“Are you new here? 10th grade?” the boy then asked. 

Jungkook nodded. “Yeah.” He fumbled with his purple tie that was way too tight around his neck. His uniform still smelled so new. “First day.”

“That was pretty clear,” the boy responded, a hint of teasing in his voice. “First lesson for Hogong High school: always bring your own lunch on Mondays.” 

The smile on Jungkook’s face widened a bit. There was something about the boy sitting in front of him that was comforting. Jungkook didn’t even feel awkward, even though the guy was a stranger and definitely older than Jungkook. Even though he looked… a bit intimidating, stoic, with the way he was sitting there, his winter jacket on and his headphones now completely pulled out. “I think I’ll remember that,” Jungkook answered. 

The boy smiled back. It revealed some of his gums again. He looked cute. 

“Wait,” he said then. He shifted in his seat, moving until he grabbed something from the floor. It was his backpack. He roamed through it, for a couple of seconds, the rusting the only sound in the room. Eventually, he pulled out a sausage bread in 7-eleven packaging and two packed Orion choco pies. “Here,” he said as he held out the bread. “You can have half of my bread and a choco pie. I’m not that hungry anyway.”

Jungkook’s eyes were probably wide again when he shook his head. Now that he thought back, he was so glad that that boy had the extra choco pie, and wasn’t that hungry, and that the stew was disgusting. But back then, he was way too shy to accept something like that from an older stranger. 

“Oh, but you don’t have to,” Jungkook had politely declined. 

The boy let out one of his casual chuckles again, low and a bit raspy and a sound that sounded very pleasant in Jungkook’s ears, even though he didn’t yet know why. “It’s fine,” he dismissed. “New kids shouldn’t have to eat disgusting food on their first day. They’re shitty enough, I don’t want you to starve on top of that.”

Jungkook hesitated for a second, until eventually, he said, “If you’re sure.”

“Just take it,” the boy replied, the red and white packaged choco pie in his outstretched arm. 

“Okay.”

Thus, Jungkook walked towards him for the very first time, the floors creaking under his black and white striped slippers, the library quiet and old and chilly. He took the choco pie in his hands and his fingers brushed against the boy’s pale, veiny, bony hands as he did so. The touch was cold but Jungkook remembered the slight shock, the light buzz that travelled from the pads of his fingers all the way to the spine of his back when their fingers brushed against each other. 

It was unfamiliar back then, like everything was in that new town, but Jungkook sometimes still longed back to the feeling of the boy’s fingers against his. 

Eventually, the touch stopped, and Jungkook held the choco pie by himself, and the boy looked at him with expecting eyes before he said, “Sit.”

Jungkook did. 

He sat down on one of the old wooden chairs and pulled the chair closer to the table, the chair legs creaking against the floor as he did so. The boy was much closer to him now, and he looked a lot less intimidating from close by. Jungkook could see pink shining from underneath the pale skin of his knuckles as the boy unwrapped the sausage bread from its plastic bag and tore the white, fluffy, deliciously smelling filled bread in half. 

The boy handed Jungkook half of the bread, but before Jungkook had the chance to take it, he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Jungkook,” Jungkook responded. He got handed his half of the bread after his answer. 

“I’m Yoongi,” the boy - Yoongi - said. “I’m a third-year student. You can call me hyung.”

“Thank you for the food, Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook answered. There was a smile dancing on his lips, a shy but genuine one, one that would make its reappearance much more often. 

Yoongi smiled back at him in the same way. “You’re welcome, Jungkook-ah,” he said. 

And so they sat in silence, each munching on half a sausage bread, abandoned pens and notebooks on the old wooden tables in front of them. Some crumbs of Jungkook's half of the bread fell down on the table, and as Jungkook picked them up with his thumb, he realized that a kernel of corn had fallen down on Yoongi’s open-faced notebook. As he picked the yellow vegetable up and put it in his mouth, his eyes roamed around the words scribbled down on it. 

“What’s this?” Jungkook asked, letting his thumb trace the ink scrawled on the pages. The words must have been scribbled down vigorously because Jungkook could feel how the paper dented around the hangul letters. 

Yoongi followed his gaze and answered, “Lyrics.”

“You wrote this?” 

“Yeah,” Yoongi answered. He took his other notebook that had been laid open on the table and pushed it towards Jungkook. This one was thicker, the cover made out of faux black leather and the pages whiter than the yellowish ones from the other notebook. It was fuller as well, the book opened towards the end, blank ink words that struck a chord in Jungkook’s heart written down in messy handwriting. “I’m a songwriter. Producer. Creator.” A shyish chuckle escaped Yoongi’s lips. “Or, I want to be. I want to go to an arts university and study music.”

Jungkook let his eyes wander around the pages, even dared to turn the page and look at what had been written previously. The notebook felt used in his hands, like it had experienced struggles and anger and joy with Yoongi, and Jungkook gave himself a moment to truly read the lyrics before he said, “It’s good.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi said. He grabbed the notebooks again, closed them, and stashed them away neatly on the corner of the table. As if he had decided that Jungkook had seen enough. “Your dialect,” he said instead, switching topics. “It sounds different. I noticed earlier. Are you not from Daegu?”

Jungkook swallowed the last bit of his sweet and savoury bread before shaking his head. “No,” he said. “I’m from Busan. I moved here this winter.”

In response, Yoongi studied Jungkook's face as if he was trying to derive his birthplace from his features. Jungkook remembered liking the way Yoongi’s eyes followed his facial lines. It made him feel seen. “Why?” Yoongi asked. 

“My dad just got married,” Jungkook responded because it was as simple as that. “My parents are divorced.”

It was silent for a moment. Although divorces weren’t really frowned upon in Korea anymore, especially under the younger generation, they still weren’t that common. Especially if adultery wasn’t involved, like in Jungkook’s case. 

Then, Yoongi, who had picked up the last bits of his bread, asked, “Do you like it here?”

Jungkook shrugged. “I don’t know yet. It’s… different. I don’t know anyone.” He stopped talking for a moment and considered if this was something he should be saying to a stranger he hadn’t even met three seconds ago, but saying it out loud felt good. Yoongi didn’t seem like the type to judge. “I feel like an outsider. My bedroom isn’t even mine. I moved into my stepbrother's room. We share it.”

Now that the bread was finished, Yoongi’s full attention moved to Jungkook. He looked at him again, up and down, from his big brown eyes and short hair to his slim body that was hidden behind his school uniform. His eyes were neutral, unreadable, like a cat studying you from across the room. 

Then, Yoongi did something Jungkook had never expected him to do. He rested his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, squeezed it through the fabric of his clothes and said, “This library can be yours. Your spot.” He let his hand travel down a bit until it was on Jungkook’s bicep. His fingers were still cold, veiny and bony, but Jungkook remembered how warm it had made him feel. “Nobody ever comes here. You seem like the kind of person that likes the quiet.”

Jungkook was, but, “Isn’t this your spot?”

“Yeah, but I don’t mind sharing,” Yoongi said. He picked up his choco pie, unwrapped it, and then pointed at the choco pie he’d given to Jungkook, “As you can see,” he added with a smile. He took a bite of his pie, and Jungkook watched him as he chewed and swallowed before Yoongi added, “This place is big enough for the two of us.”

Jungkook looked around, took in the racks with book covers he didn’t recognize and the old computers that he wasn’t even sure still worked. He watched his lunch tray, pencils and notebook on the table opposite of him, abandoned, and then inspected the door. It was closed, but he knew that behind it, there was an overwhelming current of students ready to go to their classes. 

“Okay,” Jungkook answered. “Okay, I’d like that.”

Jungkook remembered. He remembered the taste of bland doenjang jjigae, the smell of convenience story quality sausage bread, the sound of fingers drumming against the table. The look of the black ink dented into the white pages and the feeling of Yoongi’s cold yet warm hands on his arm. He remembered it like it was yesterday, his first expression of Yoongi; someone who could be a kind hyung, but also someone who was quiet and a little edgy, the sweetness and cuteness and softness hidden behind the layers of his winter jacket and school uniform. 

He remembered the next day, when he came back to the library. His tie a little less tight around his neck, a tray of food that actually smelled good in his hands, and a bag of freshly made cookies from his stepmother’s bakery in his back as a thank you for Yoongi sharing his lunch. He remembered going straight to the table Yoongi was already sitting at, a metal lunch tray in front of him too, walking past the table he sat at yesterday. 

He remembered how they shared smiles and conversations. How Jungkook asked Yoongi about this high school, and about living in Daegu, and about his music. Yoongi answered all of his questions, patiently, in between bites of rice. And Yoongi asked Jungkook things too, about Busan and his family and his art and his teachers and classes. 

He remembered the days after that too, in the same library, at the same table, the smell of chemicals still in the air and his uniform still tight around his body. He remembered Yoongi letting him listen to his music and he remembered sharing his art. 

He remembered the proud look on Yoongi’s face, that next Monday when Jungkook opened his backpack and pulled out bags of crisps and jellies and sweets instead of actual food. 

Jungkook remembered every lunch break from that year. Not necessarily all the conversations or the menu of that day or when they’d laughed or just sat in silence. But he remembered what it represented. 

His safe space.

Do you remember the first time you brought me somewhere? We snuck out of that party that reeked of booze, sweat, and my discomfort.  Your mother's pick-up truck brought us to that old book store, where we wandered around the shelves and talked all night. You looked right at home in between the ancient oak shelves with books that held a million stories. It was the first time I realized you were more than just a friend. 

Jungkook did. He remembered their dinner at the kitchen table - homemade kkorijjim - the rich, deep smell travelling through the apartment. Jimin on his right, dressed in that yellow flannel shirt that he would wear until they had holes in them, his stepmother plating up and his father in front of him, still in his suit. Jimin had been the one to bring it up, of course, so much more social than Jungkook was. A birthday party of a friend of a friend. Jungkook still didn’t know how Jimin exactly knew the guy, but apparently, that didn’t matter here. 

Jimin has always been good at getting what he wants. Even Jungkook eventually grew helpless against his pout. He was smart like that, a little shameless even. But still, their parents didn’t think the party was a good idea. 

Except Jimin was adamant about going. He pulled out his puppy eyes and his pout and his higher-pitched voice until, eventually, he dropped his wooden chopsticks on the table with a thud and proposed, “What if I take Kookie with me? It would be good for him to make some friends. He has been having lunch in the library instead of the canteen, you know.” 

And that's how Jimin got permission to go to that birthday party, as long as Jungkook promised to stay by his side. 

(Jungkook still begrudged Jimin for being a snitch. His dad scolded him a lot for being too shy afterwards. But he didn't blame Jimin for dragging him to that party, because it ended up being one of the most meaningful nights of his school year).

The celebration was located in someone’s house - he never found out whose - and Jungkook still remembered the sensory overkill; alcoholic drinks flowing in clear plastic cups no matter the age and the bass of a trot song blasting through the speakers. More people were present than the room could hold, and back then Jungkook was sure the air quality was below legal requirements because he felt hot and stuffy and a little claustrophobic. 

Later he found out that he just got like that whenever the room was too crowded. 

The furniture was pushed aside, creating a make-shift dance floor where terrible dancers asked for attention. Girls were dressed in skirts too short and tops too cropped and the guys had way too much product in their hair and wore an overdose of cologne. The lights were dimmed, the only source of lighting head-ache worthy rainbow-coloured disco balls and Christmas lights. Red balloons were stuck to the ceiling and getting either popped or sucked up for the helium every three minutes or so. Jungkook couldn’t even walk in a straight line; the place was too crowded with people and obstacles that consisted of empty cans of beer and bags of chips on the floor, making it difficult for him to get from one place to the other. 

It was a disaster. 

Jungkook's spot for the night was a quiet corner where a giant cactus had its home. He wondered if the plant survived the night, considering that Jungkook kept dumping the sugary alcoholic drinks Jimin tried to feed him into the soil. One of the red balloons was in his hands, decorated with a sharpie that Jungkook always carried with him. He played with it, like a sad kid abandoned in the mall by his mother, as he stared at the clock on the wall, waiting for the minutes to pass by. 

Jungkook felt miserable that night. He was alone and uncomfortable and that feeling like he didn’t belong here increased every time he watched Jimin smile and laugh with strangers in the corner. He missed his home. He missed Busan. He missed middle school. He missed the birthday parties of his old friends where they just went to an internet café and ate hamburgers. He missed the age when parties were only something older people did. Jungkook remembered it being one of his worst nights in Daegu, until:

“Jungkook?” 

There, coming out of the haze of people and music and bad lighting, came someone dressed in a ripped up jean jacket and ripped jeans. His black hair was hidden by a baseball cap with a skull on it, worn-out black converse on his feet, and a plastic cup filled with coke in his hands. His voice was a bit hoarse and low, tone a bit bored, pitch barely audible over the loud music. But Jungkook could recognize that voice anywhere.

“Hyung?” Jungkook let out. As he looked up, he found Yoongi standing in front of him, a small smile dancing on his face. 

Jungkook recalled being so relieved to see Yoongi there, to see a familiar face, to see someone that he actually felt he could be himself around, that instead of letting his shoulders sink down, he spontaneously let the decorated red balloon fly out of his hands. It flew away, thanks to the helium in it, but it didn’t get the chance to travel far - it got caught on the needles of the cactus, making it pop. 

Yoongi stared at the red plastic remains of the balloon stuck on the spiky cactus before he shifted his attention back at Jungkook, whose back was still stuck to the wall. “What are you doing here?” Yoongi asked. “You look piteous.” 

Jungkook smiled. If it were anyone else, he would have been offended by the statement. A little hurt, even. But this was Yoongi, his hyung. The guy Jungkook had been spending every lunch break with ever since he got here. He knew Yoongi, even back then, and this was just who he was: straight-to-the-point honest. 

So he sighed and let himself sink further into the wall, wishing he could disappear into it. Turn into liquid and get absorbed by the bricks. It was such a shame that even today, nobody had invented a way to teleport out of places yet. “Jimin brought me here,” he replied. “He said it would be fun.”

Yoongi looked at him with raised eyebrows. Ever since the start, he could see straight through Jungkook’s bullshit. “Is it?” he questioned. 

“No,” Jungkook confessed. He dared to take in more space and let his back slide against the wall until he landed with his butt on the floor. The carpet was dirty, crunched up chips and spilt alcohol in between the woven nylon, and his stepmother would probably scold him for getting his pants dirty, but Jungkook didn’t care. It was her fault for forcing him to come to this party. “It sucks.”

It made Yoongi crack a smile. It was one of his cute smiles, with his gums peeking out under his lips. He sat down next to Jungkook and petted one of his knees in comfort. “Welcome to the parties,” Yoongi said. 

Jungkook turned to look at Yoongi like he had all the answers. It felt like he did, back then, to teenage boy Jungkook. “Why do people enjoy these things?” he asked. “I can’t hear myself think. The playlist is terrible. It’s too hot and too crowded and there are so many people here but I don’t know any of them well enough to try to talk to them and I’m so awkward and god, it’s terrible. I’m terrible.” He looked at the scene in front of him, people dancing and throwing balloons in the air and passing drinks and laughing and looking so different from how they do behind their desks in the classroom. “I can’t even find something to drink because everything is either contaminated with beer or soju. Probably both.”

“You’re not terrible,” Yoongi promised silently, reassuring Jungkook in a way that he was so good at. He extended his arm that held his plastic cup and said, “Here. Take my coke. I didn’t let anyone touch it.” 

Jungkook took the coke, letting his fingers brush against Yoongi’s bony, cold - always cold - ones in the process. He drank some of it, relieved to feel his throat get less dry, and then asked, “Why are you even here? I thought you avoided crowds like the plague.”

“I told you about my hagwon friends, right? Namjoon and Hoseok?” Yoongi asked. Jungkook nodded. Yoongi had told him how he went to hagwon to prepare for his CSAT. For some reason, he seemed to hate it less than high school. “They saved my ass during an unexpected assignment, so I owed them. I’m their designated driver.” Yoongi let his back sink against the wall as well, in such a way that his jean jacket touched Jungkook’s white T-shirt, and added with one of his chuckles, “Not going to lie. When I opened the door and saw everyone dancing to Gangnam Style, I almost ran away.”

Jungkook rested his head on Yoong's shoulder, shyly so. They weren't that comfortable with physical affection back then. But Jungkook remembered how it used to feel, the bony structure of Yoongi's shoulder poking against his cheekbone, the fabric of his jean jacket only slightly softening it. It should be uncomfortable, but it wasn't. It was Yoongi. "I would love to see you dance," Jungkook joked, a smile dancing on his lips.

The laughter coming out of Yoongi's mouth could be felt by the shaking of Yoongi's shoulders against Jungkook's cheek before it sounded through the room. Yoongi nudged Jungkook's leg with his knee - blue jeans against black - and said, "Please, I twerk better than 90 per cent of the girls here."

And god, Jungkook loved this side of Yoongi. This playful side, that only people close to him got to see. It was rare, often masked by the stress of school and finals and universities and troubles at home. Jungkook always treasured it when it appeared. 

"We're going to dance together someday, hyung," Jungkook promised. He got out of Yoongi's space, just so that he could look at him - see the rainbow-coloured flecks from the disco balls dance on his face - and he wasn't surprised when he saw that Yoongi wasn't meeting his gaze.

"Is that so?" Yoongi asked, one eyebrow perked up, the beginnings of a smile dancing on his lips.

Jungkook nodded his head convincingly. "Yeah," he said. "One day, when we're at a cool party with cool people and good music and we don't feel like we have to hide in the corner. We're going to dance together and everybody is going to wish they were us." 

“Jungkook,” Yoongi answered, voice low, serious. “Don’t worry about people wishing they were you.”

That made Jungkook smile. “I know,” he answered. “But I just thought that it would be cool.”

“Okay then,” Yoongi said, always giving Jungkook whatever he wanted. “We can do that.” He looked at the party happening in front of them - people raving and laughing and jumping in the red, blue and purple lighting - and then back at Jungkook, who still didn’t look like he belonged here, and added, “This party isn’t fun though.” 

Jungkook returned to his spot against the wall with a sigh. He sat closer to Yoongi this time so that not only the fabric of their clothes were touching but also the flesh underneath it. Yoongi’s shoulder felt warm, shooting its heat through tiny sparks into Jungkook’s skin. Jungkook leaned towards it, pressed his shoulder closer, even though then, Jungkook was too young and naive to understand what that sensation meant. 

“God,” Jungkook groaned as he let the back of his head rest against the wall. He stared at the room, dark and crowded and loud and the opposite of where Jungkook wished he was right now. “I wish we could escape to our table in the library right now.” 

Back then, Jungkook didn’t know Yoongi well enough to know that his words would spark an idea within Yoongi. That a sentence like that would lead to an adventure, a night away, wandering through new places like they would do so many times. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Yoongi asked, nudging his knee against Jungkook's leg. 

"Of course I do," Jungkook replied, nudging his knee back, watching the contrast between light and dark denim, paler and tanner skin, pink and yellow undertones. "But I'm with Jimin. I can't leave until he's ready to go. Which won't be for another three hours or so."

It was silent between them for a moment. Jungkook could hear Yoongi think. And then, the contact between them disappeared, the sparks of heat travelling through fabric vanishing immediately. Yoongi stood up, right there in front of him, and said with a serious face. "I can get you back here in three hours." He looked around the room until he found Jimin, who was dancing with Taehyung. "Or I can just bring you straight home after we're done."

"After we're done where?" Jungkook asked, his voice loud to make it audible above the bass of the music. 

Yoongi adjusted the black baseball cap on his head before he reached out his hand, a silent invitation for Jungkook to take. "I know a place," was all he said.

Jungkook remembered how he looked around. Took in the loud music and the smell of alcohol and how hot he felt. People dancing and having fun and standing so close to each other because there simply was no space. The gnawing feeling on his heart, that told him that he didn't belong, that he should go back, to home, home-home, far away from here.

Then, he remembered his gaze landing on Yoongi, who was looking him in the eyes for once. Eyes sharp yet soft and inviting and trustworthy. Making Jungkook feel like he could lie his soul bare. Making Jungkook feel closer to home than he had all night. 

So, he took Yoongi's hand, which was still cold even in this unbearably hot living room, and said, "Okay." He got up from the ground, dusted the crushed chips of his jeans and said, "Okay, let's go."

Jungkook remembered. He remembered Yoongi helping him navigate through the crowded house until they finally stood outside, crisp cold air making the tips of their noses turn pink. He remembered how Yoongi took him to his parents' car, an old pick-up truck that didn't have much longer to live, the leather seating torn and the smell of old lady perfume lingering in the air. He remembered the drive, silent, with Jungkook being wide-eyed and amazed, but not scared, never scared, with Yoongi's hand so close to his thigh. 

He remembered standing in front of the building, old and tall and narrow, located in an abandoned alley downtown. It was dark, light rain drizzling down onto them, the barely-drops illuminated by the orange street lanterns. "Where are we?" Jungkook asked, not recognizing the scene, still too unfamiliar with this city.

"Namjoon's father's bookstore," Yoongi answered like it was obvious. As if they weren't standing in front of a closed shop downtown in the middle of the night.

Jungkook walked towards the windows and peeked inside. It was dark and hard to see, but he could identify the shapes of a cash register, shelves, and tables filled with books through the single panels. "Okay. Why are we here?" he asked.

"You said you wished we could escape to the library," Yoongi explained. Jungkook watched how Yoongi squatted down and took a loose clinker brick out of the street. He retrieved something from underneath it and presented it to Jungkook. "This isn't the library, but it's close enough."

The orange light shining from the lanterns revealed the true identity of the object, and soon enough, Jungkook realized that it was a key. "We're breaking in here?" he asked, eyes widening. 

Yoongi shrugged his shoulders and came up from his squat. "It's not breaking in if you have a key."

Jungkook looked at Yoongi with questioning eyes. How naive he was back then, thinking that they wouldn't do this a thousand more times. "Do they know you have the key?" 

"No," Yoongi said, but he didn't look like he cared. He never did about things like these.

"I'm pretty sure that still makes it illegal, hyung," Jungkook replied, though he didn't ask Yoongi to take him back home. He was curious about what was hidden behind the emerald green door. Even if that meant sneaking in.

Yoongi laughed at that and soft and low chuckles escaped into the night air. He reached out for Jungkook, just to briefly brush his hand over his lower back and promised, "We'll be fine. I do this all the time."

And then, before Jungkook knew it, Yoongi stuck the key into the keyhole and twisted it, the noise of the door unlocking audible in the quiet street. He pushed the door open, slowly, and as it creaked he went through it, gesturing for Jungkook to follow him. 

He did, with Yoongi leading him, who switched on the lights that first flickered for one, two, three times before they lit the store. Yoongi guided Jungkook through the building, silently so, as he let Jungkook take in his surroundings.

And - upon taking in the ambience of the store - all of Jungkook's previous apprehensiveness went away. Even now, he wished he could go back and relive those nights with Yoongi spent in between the oak wooden shelves coloured in dark, emerald green paint. He loved the feeling of roaming around the - what seemed like - hundreds of books, all Korean, all classics, ranging from Eat A Peach to The Vegetarian. He only ever read the ones he had to for school, but he loved the feeling of paper against his fingers, the scent of fresh or old ink hitting his nostrils. He stole the old ones, sometimes, the ones in the back that couldn't be sold, meant to be thrown away instead, and turned the unwanted lettered pages into art.

The building of the store might be small, but it was four stories high, three of them filled with books and paperware and the top one a storage room, which was where Yoongi took him. The room smelled musty and dusty, and it had two windows, one square and with a windowsill you could sit on, looking out on the roofs of the buildings neighbouring them. The other window was a round, small one, giving them a view of the street, the raindrops that had started to grow bigger visible against it.

The ticking of the rain was loud against the fragile windows and thin, low ceiling, but it fitted the mood somehow. So as Jungkook sat down on the wooden floor, feeling a little bit like Peter Pan in Neverland, he didn't feel the need to raise the volume of his voice when he asked, "Do you really come here all the time?"

Yoongi had settled down on the windowsill. His face was dark in this barely lit room, but he blended right in with his ripped jacket and jeans, his baseball cap now off his head and revealing his short black hair. Jungkook thought about how well the shop fitted him, holding a million of stories like he felt Yoongi did sometimes. 

Maybe that’s why Jungkook used to love coming down there so much. Every time Yoongi took him there, it was like Jungkook read a new chapter about him.

Yoongi’s voice was just as quiet as Jungkook's when he answered, “I come here at night, sometimes. To study when I have a test or to write music if I’m stuck.” 

Jungkook looked at Yoongi, with his unreadable expression and indescribable aura that Jungkook didn’t quite know how to read back then. He thought about all the stories Yoongi told him, about school and Hagwon and him going to second-hand music shops to find CDs and taking walks around the river in the evening. There seemed to be a pattern. “You’re not home a lot, are you?” Jungkook asked, tentatively so, not sure if Yoongi appreciated him asking that. 

“Home isn’t exactly my favourite place.”

Jungkook got up from his spot and walked towards Yoongi. He settled down right in front of him, on the floor still, looking at how the yellow light from the ceiling shone on Yoongi’s pale cheeks. “How come?” he asked. 

There was contemplation happening on Yoongi’s face for a couple of seconds before he chose to answer. "Last year, my dad invested in this company that, well, doesn't exist anymore now. He lost all his money. And now the mood at home just... isn't the best. My parents are pretty mad at each other, still. Dinners and stuff are often pretty tense, so I kind of just tend to avoid them.”

“I didn’t know that,” Jungkook confessed. He shifted on the floor, folding his legs cross-legged in such a way that his knee touched the inside of Yoongi’s lower leg. There was that feeling again, that sparkling heat, even though now, the room they found themselves in wasn’t stuffy and hot but abandoned and chilly. 

A shy, barely-there smile formed on Yoongi’s lips. “Now you do.”

“Thank you, hyung,” Jungkook replied. He appreciated Yoongi opening up to him.

But Yoongi just shrugged, indifferent, hiding how significant this actually was. Trying not to show how nervous it made him that it was so easy to tell Jungkook this stuff. How he’d taken him here, to his special place, without giving it as much as a second thought. 

“My dad would be so mad if he found out I was here instead of that party,” Jungkook interrupted, looking around the dusty room again, wondering if the time on the clock hanging above the door was right. 

“Oh, my parents too,” Yoongi replied, chuckling, showing his gums. “They think I’m having a sleepover with Hoseok. They’d kill me if they found out I was here with you.”

Naturally, it fell silent again. They sat there for a second, in the dusty attic of the bookshop, rain ticking against the fragile windows, yellow lighting giving them just enough light to see the shadows on each other’s faces. Eventually, Yoongi’s leg nudged Jungkook’s knee, the difference in shades of their jeans barely visible in the darkness. “What about you?” he asked. “It must be hard coming here from a different family and all. Didn’t it used to be just you and your dad?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook answered as he looked up. “My parents divorced when I was ten.”

Yoongi looked at him, his skin pale even in the warm tone of the lighting. “How come?” he asked, expression open, ready to listen. He always was.

Jungkook plucked at the threads of his ripped jeans when he answered with, “My mother works abroad a lot. She’s in Japan fifty per cent of the time and in the US twenty per cent of the time. My dad was sick of having a relationship with someone who was never there. He told me that he felt like he spoke to my mom’s answering machine, or her assistant, more often than her.”

“Were you sad? When your father filed the divorce?”

"Yes and no. They're my parents. In your mind, they're supposed to be together, you know?" he spoke softly. "But things also weren't really different for me. I saw my mother the same amount, just… not with my dad around. I'm just glad my parents didn't fight a lot."

Yoongi looked at where Jungkook's fingers slowly made the rips in his jeans bigger and asked, "Isn't it weird though? Having a whole new family? With Jimin and your stepmother and all?"

"I mean, yeah, of course. My dad works full time, so I went from being by myself the majority of the time to suddenly being part of a family of four." One of the threads holding Jungkook's jeans together snapped, making Jungkook stop fumbling with it, thinking about how Aecha would be mad if he destroyed his pants any further. "But it's kind of nice. Having them there, eating homemade food together for dinner every night."

That made Yoongi chuckle, the sound beautiful in the eerily quiet room. "Yeah? Did you used to live off instant meals?"

"Yeah," Jungkook admitted, a little sheepishly, as he looked up from his pants and faced Yoongi. "My dad tried, sometimes, but he didn't have the patience to cook."

"I'm a great chef," Yoongi replied as he straightened his back. "I'll make you dinner sometime. My brother taught me."

Yoongi did cook dinner for him, one day, on a rainy Saturday afternoon. Delicious eomuk soup and pajeon, making both Jungkook's heart and belly full.

"Your brother is in college, right?" Jungkook asked, choosing to ignore the warm feeling in his belly at Yoongi offering to cook dinner for him. 

Luckily, Yoongi went with his diversion and nodded his head in response. "Yeah," he said, "Here in Daegu. He still lives at home."

"What's his major?"

"Business management."

Jungkook nudged the inside of Yoongi's leg with his knee, lightly so, and with a teasing smile on his lips. "Then he can be your manager once you're a famous producer," he joked. 

Yoongi matched his smile. It was a close-lipped one, pushing his cheeks upward, making them full. Soft-looking in contrast to this dark ambience. " If I manage to get into the music program at SNU."

"You'll get in, hyung," Jungkook promised. He dared to move his hand, letting it dance above Yoongi's thigh before he landed it on the lower side of his knee, bare skin touching Jungkook's fingertips and tough denim touching his palm. "You're good."

Something shifted between them, then. Yoongi's gaze met Jungkook's, which was rare, and Yoongi's sharp, normally confident and unbothered eyes softened around the edges, making him look smaller, fragile, almost like Jungkook had finally managed to break through the cover of his book. "You really think so?" Yoongi asked, vulnerable, insecure. It was the first time Jungkook saw Yoongi like that. 

For a moment, Jungkook didn't know what to do with it. He had yet to learn how to behave around Yoongi when he got like that. But he tried, as he traced the in-seam of Yoongi's jeans all the way to his ankle. "I do," he said. Yoongi was good, really good, and he worked hard. Jungkook had no doubt he would get in. "You know what song of yours is my favourite?" he asked.

Yoongi shook his head, but he did it with an amused smile on his face, making Jungkook think that whatever he was doing was helping.

"It's a new one, I think," Jungkook replied as he looked at Yoongi, who didn't blend into the dusty attic filled with books anymore but stood out instead, skin suddenly lit by orange lanterns from outside, as if his vulnerability was making him shine.

It reminded Jungkook of the moon, as he sang the lines of one of Yoongi's songs.

" This eternal night with no end in sight. It's you who gifted me the morning. Now can I hold your hand?"

When Jungkook finished, a hint of the melody still floating in the dark air, he found Yoongi looking at him. It was another look he didn't quite know, or more so didn't quite expect, because Yoongi looked… surprised. Puzzled. A little taken aback. 

"Where did you hear that?" he asked, avoiding Jungkook’s gaze again, busying his hands with the sleeves of his ripped jacket instead.

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows. Ever since school week number two, Yoongi had started showing him his work. Jungkook listened to it so much, he thought he knew it all by heart by now. "It was on the USB you gave to me," he said. Then, carefully, "Why? Was I not supposed to say that?"

Then, Yoongi said something Jungkook never expected him to say. Even now, Jungkook didn't think he could've seen it coming. Yes, the air was different, there on that top floor of the old book store, as the smell of rain outside mingled with the scent of oldness and paper. And Yoongi felt different, in some way that Jungkook couldn't describe. But Jungkook never expected Yoongi's soft and low voice to say this;

"Well, the song is about you. So I guess you, more than anyone, have the right to listen to it."

Jungkook remembered how he felt back then. The memory was printed in his brain like the words on those books there. In italics, with emphasis. Pressed into the pages with emotions of surprise and revelation and confusion and warmth and flattering and some special connection that to this day, Jungkook couldn’t define. 

It’s about me? He remembered thinking. Yoongi was so shy in showing his emotions back then, there was no way sixteen-year-old Jungkook could’ve picked up on that. It would take him a whole lot longer to finally do so. To notice the soft smiles and gentle touches and how Yoongi’s mood always perked up when Jungkook was around. How Jungkook was the only person that Yoongi ever really felt he could be himself around. How they understood each other by posture or expression alone, no words or explanation needed. 

Young, naive, unknowing Jungkook couldn’t even pick up on that when he re-sung the rest of the lyrics in his head. 

All he could think about was how it made him feel. 

“You wrote a song about me?” he asked, out loud this time, suddenly seeing Yoongi in a whole other light. 

In a light that was so stunning, all of a sudden, showing Yoongi’s kindness and sweetness and intelligence and confidence and the way he always managed to feel Jungkook at ease. Showing his attractiveness, his cuteness, his full cheeks when he smiled and his fierce eyes when he was focused. Revealing all the times Yoongi said something to Jungkook to make him feel better and warmed his heart, all the times he taught Jungkook something and sparked his mind, all the times he touched Jungkook and Jungkook felt those sparks of heat dancing in his bones. 

Jungkook didn’t remember how it happened; how his heart took over his mind and his logical sense for just a minute and he got up on his knees and leaned into Yoongi’s space. How he leaned in close, intending to kiss him. To kiss his hyung, his friend, although he’d never even kissed anyone before. 

But he remembered stopping himself just in time - not pulling back but just hanging there, in the air - as the voices in his brain caught up to his actions. 

He was trying to kiss Yoongi. 

Sixteen-year-old Jungkook, who has never kissed anyone in his life before, nor had the desire to, was trying to kiss Min Yoongi. 

His friends kissed, back in middle school. Jimin kissed Taehyung all the time. But Jungkook, he just… never got it. Never felt like that was something he should be doing too, back then, just didn’t feel a craving for it. 

But he definitely did just then (he still does). 

Only… Yoongi was his friend. He was his hyung. He was… he was a boy. 

Did he really want to kiss Yoongi?

Yoongi who was…

Who was smart and talented and understanding and intelligent and an incredibly good musician. Who was funny and a good listener and made Jungkook feel so at ease. Who made Jungkook feel fully Jungkook. 

And even now in this yellow lighting from the ceiling that was dimming down, like it couldn’t keep up with all that was happening in this room, he looked so cool in his ripped jeans and ripped jacket but soft and sweet and kind underneath all that. Yoongi’s hands were twisting with the sleeves of his denim jacket and they were bony and veiny and pink at the knuckles and god, Jungkook just wanted to hold them. 

He wanted to hold Yoongi’s hands. 

He did. 

Jungkook started to get out of his trance, leaned back, and settled down on his butt again, giving both him and Yoongi their space back. He searched for Yoongi’s hands, found it, and intertwined his veiny bony pink fingers with his own, which were smudged with black ink from drawing earlier. And although Yoongi complained about being cold all the time, his hands were warm. 

Yoongi was his friend. He was his hyung. He was a guy. 

But he was Yoongi. 

He dropped Yoongi’s hand, eventually, a little taken aback by all that was happening in his brain and heart and insides. Though he did dare to look up, to take a peek at Yoongi’s face, staring at him from underneath his bangs. 

And Yoongi… he looked back at him like he knew something was going on inside Jungkook’s brain. A lot of things, perhaps. He looked a little guilty, too, almost, maybe regretting writing that song about Jungkook. Maybe blaming himself for showing him, telling him, confessing it. There was some hurt too, in his expression, maybe from the way Jungkook had leaned in and then pulled back again. 

But he also looked like he understood. 

“Do you want me to bring you home?” he asked, tentatively, sensing that Jungkook needed to be someplace else. Someplace without him there. 

“Can you?” Jungkook asked. He felt guilty, back then, for ruining that night. It took him some time to realize that he hadn’t ruined anything at all. 

Yoongi touched his shoulder and then held onto it when Jungkook didn’t flinch. 

“I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

Jungkook remembered. He remembered the drive home, silent, the engine making more noise than either of them. He remembered his body, stiff and cold, feelings and thoughts and conflict coursing through it just like the drive to the party that night. He remembered Yoongi, watching him, stopping at a traffic light and passing him an old hoodie from the backseat, touching him briefly, making Jungkook think that everything was going to be okay. 

He remembered talking to Jimin some dark night the week after that. Because Jimin kissed boys, proudly and with more confidence than anyone Jungkook had ever met. Jungkook wasn't so anxious anymore, the voices that argued in his mind dimmed down, but he still needed someone to talk to. 

He remembered the room, lit by Jimin's blue night lamp when Jungkook asked Jimin when he found out he was gay. He remembered Jimin's words, so important even to this day, about how sexuality was a spectrum. And although Jungkook didn't tell Jimin it was about him, or about him wanting to kiss Yoongi, Jimin knew. Jimin always knew. And he remembered what Jimin whispered to him then, in between the four thin walls of their shared bedroom.

"You're young, Jungkook. You can take however long you need to figure out where you stand on that spectrum. And no matter where you land, it's okay. You're valid. I'll still love you. Even if you're still hovering above it."

Jungkook remembered. He remembered his anxiety vanishing after that night. He remembered liking seeing Yoongi in this new light, finding something exciting about it. Remembered finding excuses to touch him, to sit closer to him, to let their fingers brush together. Remembered his daydreams, and his nightdreams, and the sketches of a certain cat-eyed person in his notebook. Remembered how good it felt to crush on him. 

Do you remember the fear in my eyes the very first time we snuck into the city pool? Late May with my heart in my chest and water dripping off the tips of my hair. Back then I didn’t know what I was swimming to. But now I know; I was swimming towards you. 

Jungkook did. Sneaking out of things only to sneak into other places became their thing, so of course, he remembered. He remembered the beating of his heart and the rush of adrenaline through his veins whenever they did. The amazement whenever Yoongi took him somewhere new; an abandoned parking lot, the park in their district after closing time, or the rooftop of the café across from their school. 

He remembered all of it, every adventure, every escape, every time he watched Yoongi smile and had the urge to stop time and stay still forever. Every time they talked until it got way too late and Jungkook sleepily rested his head on Yoongi’s shoulder, bony shoulder against baby-fat cheek. And every time he started to like Yoongi a little more - by something he said or the way he looked - and it got harder and harder for Jungkook to hide his newfound feelings. 

But he remembered this night in particular, because it was special, in so many ways. 

Their destination was a building clad in white brick tiles located in the middle of a neighbourhood, even though they were far from downtown. Fences were built around it and something resembling a red slide stuck out of the walls. Something about it reminded Jungkook of an abandoned playground, and as he walked closer, almost tripping on the holes in the road, he read the logo printed on the frontage. 

Palgongsan Swimming Pool, it said. 

When the realization hit him, Jungkook’s hand rapidly reached out for the sleeve of Yoongi's T-shirt. He tugged on it, bringing him close, and whispered, " This is where we're going?" His eyes must've been big, deer-like, and terrified. He recalled the feeling of nerves that bubbled up in his stomach when it got clear that Yoongi was planning to sneak them into an indoor swimming pool. 

"Figured we could use a refreshing dive with this heat," Yoongi said casually, always so casually with things like this, like he couldn’t care less that they were standing in front of a closed swimming pool in the middle of the night without anyone knowing where they were.

"Hyung!" Jungkook whisper-whined, tugging a little more on Yoongi's sleeve, wrapping his fingers around the wrist. He looked at the building again, the high fences and tall walls and lack of windows. This was so different from sneaking into the book store. "What if we get caught?" he whispered.

"Relax," Yoongi replied, voice low and just above a whisper. He bumped his shoulder against Jungkook's, noticing Jungkook's nerves, always noticing. "People sneak into this pool all the time," he explained. He walked a little closer to the fences, pointed at the rusty metal and said, "The security is shit."

Jungkook followed Yoongi towards the metal fence. Around two meters high, horizontal wires across it, no barbed wire on top, relatively easy to climb. There seemed to be no cameras attached to it, although having to look for them gave Jungkook another reality check about what they were about to do. 

A touch on his shoulder. It was Yoongi’s hand, not cold for once, now that the temperature had increased, but still sparkling. "Do you want to go home?" Yoongi asked as he rubbed Jungkook’s shoulder.

Jungkook didn't want to go home. Jungkook wanted to be wherever Yoongi was, at that time. And if Yoongi wanted to break into the city pool, then that was what they were going to do.

"No," he said, shaking the metal fence with his hands, testing its stability. It stained his hands with dirt. "I want to go in," he added with faked confidence. 

It made Yoongi look at him, right at the fear in Jungkook's eyes, his sharp eyes piercing. He was trying to distinguish the fear from excitement in Jungkook's eyes, and he must've seen enough determination in them because a smile appeared on his face. "I was hoping you'd say that," Yoongi replied. “Come on, help me up the fence.” 

Jungkook did. With his heart beating in his chest, he helped Yoongi up the fence, the shaking of the metal loud in this silent neighbourhood. And when Yoongi landed safely on the other side of the barrier, it was Jungkook’s turn. He climbed up by himself, the fence giving him enough support despite the rust. The way back down gave him a little more trouble though, because he remembered that he hadn’t brought any swimwear, and the thought almost made him lose his balance. But Yoongi steadied him, with his big hands on Jungkook’s small waist, giggling in his ear, hot breath against his skin, telling Jungkook that he could just swim in his T-shirt and boxers. He continued to guide Jungkook down ever so carefully, always so carefully, sticking by Jungkook’s side until they found themselves inside the pool. 

Sneaking into the building was scary, but oh, was it worth it. The pool was old, definitely not the most beautiful one in the city, but it was still impressive, there in the dark, in the middle of the night, with just him and Yoongi being there. All the lights inside were turned off but the ones in the pool were still on, giving the pool this beautiful blue hue. Patterns of the blue waves reflected on the walls and ceilings, giving the place almost a magical feel. The water was high, almost flowing over the sides, and the white square tiles of the floor were wet and slippery like they had not been dried properly after closing time. 

That place looked like it was a dimension between reality and fantasy. Jungkook felt like he was, that night, with his mind, with his body, with his actions. It still felt surreal when he thought back. 

“Woah,” Jungkook exclaimed. He felt a laugh bubble in his chest and let it out, letting himself giggle like a young child because he simply couldn’t believe his eyes. “It’s stunning, hyung,” he added as he turned around and faced Yoongi with a smile bigger than he’d had all semester.

Yoongi had an equally entranced look in his eyes. “I know,” he said. “It’s pretty cool.” He kicked off his converse and socks, letting his bare feet touch the cold tiles on the floor. He watched how Jungkook hurriedly did the same and said with a soft smile, “I was hoping you’d like this.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jungkook asked with a grin. He let his toes wiggle in the shallow layer of water on the floor, the temperature cold but not shockingly so. Then, he reached for Yoongi’s sleeve, the fabric hanging around his fingers in a paw, and settled his fingers in between the striped pattern on the cotton. “I love it,” he admitted. 

Then, with a true teenage boy smile on his face, Jungkook tugged on Yoongi’s arm and dragged him along. They almost slipped in the process, the floor slippery because of the water on it, but like a dance, they balanced themselves and ran over the shallow layer. And so, hand in hand, smile to smile, they roamed around the edges of the pool, the showers, the slide, the lockers, even the office of the staff that had been left unlocked. Everything was dark and old and definitely not pretty in daylight, but oh so magical that night. 

“I can't believe I’m here,” Jungkook said. They were crouched down near the poolside, slightly outside of breath from running around. Junkgook stuck his hand into the pool, just to test it. The water flew around it. Cold and smooth and flowing past his fingers without resistance. It reminded Jungkook of Yoongi and him, sometimes, the threading of water against his interdigital folds. Easy, pleasant, comforting, refreshing. The ability to have so much impact but at other moments choosing to not do anything at all. 

He heard Yoongi laugh fondly behind him. “It’s just a pool, Jungkook. It’s not like we’re in some parallel universe.”

“It feels like it, though,” Jungkook whispered, mostly to himself, not sure if Yoongi heard him say it at all. 

Maybe he did, because Jungkook felt slender fingers tracing the T-shirt that was stuck to his back. “Don’t you want to go in for a swim?” Yoongi asked, his voice suddenly right behind Jungkook, waves of his voice tickling the hairs of Jungkook’s neck. 

It made Jungkook sit on his butt, his pants already wet anyway. He looked at Yoongi, who was pretty like this, waves of blue reflecting on his pale skin, lips pinker than normal because he’d been biting them, trying to hide his laughs. But his gaze flew back to the water again, inevitably so, the pool so inviting and almost sparkling with magic. 

When he looked back at Yoongi again, he nodded his head, but hesitantly so, the reality of them being here illegally catching up to him again. 

Yoongi just chuckled back fondly, tracing Jungkook’s slightly sweaty spine with one of his fingers before he stopped touching him altogether. “Go ahead Kook,” he said, the pet name seeming so natural in between those four walls. “No one is ever going to know we were here.”

And that was true; no one but them knew about that night. So Jungkook got up, took a deep breath, let the air fill up his lungs. He got rid of his pants, leaving him in just a T-shirt and his black boxer shorts, and he ran. He ran, and he jumped, those two seconds in the air the most alive he ever felt, before he plummeted into the water, leaving a shower of splashes around him. 

He swam for what felt like ages, cold water rushing against his muscles, droplets of water falling from the tips of his hair, his fingers trying to reach for the white tiles with those dark blue guidelines on the bottom. He swam, around the pool a dozen times, making the water around him move and splash, the feeling making him breathless in the best way possible. 

He swam, as Yoongi watched him from the poolside, his feet dangling in the water, twinkling water reflecting in Yoongi’s twinkling eyes. He swam, by himself, the only one in this big pool, until he didn’t want to swim alone anymore, and started to convince Yoongi to come in the water with him. 

“Yoongi, hyung, come on, it’s fun!” Jungkook tried. 

But Yoongi shook his head, not at all convinced by Jungkook’s begging. “It’s not fun,” he said. “You know I hate water.” 

“But look how pretty the water is!” Jungkook exclaimed as he swam closer towards Yoongi, water threading right before him. “It’s all illuminated and the waves are dancing and no one else is here.” He placed his palms on Yoongi’s thighs, wet hands on dry fabric, creating dark patches. “If you’re ever going to swim, you should swim here.”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi said, chuckling. He looked at Jungkook’s eyes, which were big and sparkling, the waves reflecting in them. “I’m not going in.” 

A pout formed on Jungkook’s lips. He looked at Yoongi, a little disappointed by Yoongi not wanting to come in the water, feeling a little lonely here in the pool all alone. “Then why did you bring me here?” 

Yoongi leaned forward, closer, the colour of his eyes suddenly a different shade, the smile on his lips a softer kind. He touched the spot under Jungkook's wet chin with his finger, the action not as teasing as it should be. “To see that look on your face,” Yoongi confessed, his voice suddenly low and quiet, bouncing off the walls of this abandoned pool. 

Blood rushed to Jungkook’s cheeks and he felt his heart skip a beat. With his hands still on Yoongi’s thighs, he let himself sink down in the water again, trying to hide how much Yoongi’s whispered words affected him. He could hear his heartbeat intensely like this, under the surface, and he could tell that it was quickened. Faster, not because of the swimming but because of Yoongi, who kept doing all these unexplainable things to him. 

When he submerged again, he took Yoongi with him. Tugged on his ankles underwater and slowly dragged him over the edge of the pool until he was in the water with him, right in front of him, their faces suddenly a lot closer. Yoongi didn’t complain, didn’t even say anything, just rested his back against the border and let Jungkook float in front of him. 

“Hyung,” Jungkook said, still flustered, even more now that Yoongi was so close to him. “You can’t keep saying things like that because I-” He stopped there, his heart drumming in his chest, afraid he would say something he shouldn’t confess. 

“Because you what?” Yoongi asked, the words more whispers of breath than anything else. 

And Jungkook’s heart was beating fast because Yoongi was so, so close. Jungkook could count his eyelashes like this, a water drop or two stuck in them. “Because I-” he tried again, but failed, obviously failed, as he finished his sentence with a short intake of breath.

Then, all at once, everything became too much. The scent of chlorine in the air and the fluorescent lights that bounced off the waves of the pool. His heart bonking against his ribs. Yoongi, resting there, his skin pale and pink and the tips of his black hair wet and dripping down his cheeks. His striped T-shirt clinging to his chest, showing how broad his shoulders actually were, making him look like he could protect Jungkook from everything. 

And Yoongi was looking at Jungkook, so intensely, but it wasn’t like he usually looked at him. It was different. It all felt so different. 

Yoongi didn’t look at Jungkook like he was his dongsaeng. Like he was a cute clumsy awkward teenager. That night, he didn’t look at Jungkook like he was just a friend. 

His gaze was darker, more intense, drawing Jungkook in. And god, Jungkook remembered so well how it made him feel when he looked back. Tingles all over his body, his heart thumping in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. This incredible pull, this want, this need to get closer to Yoongi. To comforting, funny, sarcastic, smart, Yoongi-hyung. 

This urge, this itch to kiss him. To kiss Yoongi, who he’d never kissed before, even though he’d dreamed about it. Even though he’d never really kissed anyone before. Let alone a guy. And he didn’t know how to, but he knew he wanted to. 

He wanted it so bad. 

And Jungkook might remember that feeling but he had no recollection of how he actually got from his spot in the pool to Yoongi’s spot against the railing and he didn’t know where he got the courage from to actually kiss Yoongi, but he did. 

He did, and he managed for it to be good, so good, and he managed to not get surprised when grabbed his waist and kissed him back.

Jungkook didn’t remember how long the kiss lasted. He didn’t even remember how he managed to stay afloat during it. But he remembered the look on Yoongi’s face when he pulled away. 

It was soft. It wasn’t disgusted or surprised nor scared nor angry nor weirded out. It was so, incredibly, sweetly, soft.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi said - whispered - over the lulling sound of water crashing against the walls surrounding them. 

“Yeah?” Jungkook answered. He had swum away again, apparently, creating a distance between them. Fumbling with his hands, suddenly hyper-aware of what he had just done. 

“You just kissed me,” Yoongi spoke. 

“I know.” A bubble of panic appeared in his chest and an “I’m sorry,” escaped past his lips. 

But Yoongi grabbed Jungkook’s wrists and pulled him closer towards him. He moved his fingers to Jungkook’s hands then, holding them. They were cold again, the water lowering their body temperatures. “Why are you sorry?” he asked. 

“Because-” Jungkook started but then stopped again. “I shouldn’t have-” Another stop. Then, “I should’ve asked you first. I’m a guy. And you’re a guy. And I didn’t know if you were-” A breath escaped past his lips. Not a full one, but a panicky, frustrated one. “I didn’t even know I was until-” He stopped again, giving up this time, just looking at Yoongi with his stupid, big eyes instead. 

“I am,” Yoongi answered. “And I’ve known. I hope that’s cool.” He readjusted his fingers on Jungkook’s hands ever so slightly, almost unnoticeable, but Jungkook was hyper-aware of everything at this point. “I didn’t know you were too.”

“I- Yeah. I didn’t know, but I know now. I’ve known for a little. And I’m… I’m cool. I really am.” He stopped tripping his legs, the trick of staying afloat too much of a challenge right now, and let his tiptoes hit the bottom of the pool instead. He wasn’t quite tall enough, only his head reaching above the surface, and he frustratingly spat out some water before he said, “I mean, I don’t exactly know.” He looked at Yoongi again, so magical still in this blue illuminated light and whispered, so insecurely, “But… I know… you. I know you.”

Yoongi, frustrated by watching Jungkook struggle to keep his head above water, pulled on Jungkook’s hands, slender fingers pressing into his thenar web spaces. He guided Jungkook until he was next to him, having the railing for support. “You do?” Yoongi asked, keeping their gazes connected despite Jungkook trying to shy away. 

Jungkook tried his best not to blush, but he knew he failed. He stared into Yoongi’s eyes, feeling his heart somersault in his chest as he did so. It still seemed like they were in a parallel universe. “Yeah,” he said, finally gathering up the courage to form whole sentences. He held onto Yoongi’s hands a little tighter, liking the way it felt. “Since I met you, really,” he confessed. “I realized when you took me to Namjoon’s library. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About doing this with you. I realized that that wasn’t very… friendly.” 

A soft smile danced on Yoongi’s lips and Jungkook could see the way his eyes softened. It made him push out a breath in relief. “I didn’t have a realization, really,” Yoongi said, voice just above a whisper. “I just- you kept following me around. With your big eyes and hands full of ink stains.” He let out a laugh like he couldn’t believe himself, couldn’t believe this situation, and added, “You just kept sitting with me at the library like you didn’t want to be anywhere else and I didn’t realize until it was too late.”

Jungkook swam a little closer to Yoongi, daringly so, feeling his heartbeat in his chest for a whole different reason. He rested his hands on Yoongi’s shoulders, fingers plucking on the wet fabric of his striped T-shirt, and bumped Yoongi’s forehead with his own for just a second before he drifted away again. “I didn’t want to be anywhere else,” he confessed. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi asked, eyes closed, voice low, the water drops on the side of his face twinkling. He looked surreal. Everything about that night seemed surreal, but it wasn’t. It actually happened. Jungkook still had the souvenirs of it. Still had the T-shirt he wore that night. Still had the towel they stole from the pool. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook replied, beside Yoongi again, resting his head on Yoongi’s shoulder, feeling Yoongi’s bones prick into his cheek. His insides were tickling him like his wet hair against his skin, in the best, butterfly-like way possible. 

They fell silent, the waves bouncing off the edge of the pool lulling them into this magical trance. Everything was dark but them, because they seemed to be alight, secret confessions whispered in between those four pool walls glowing them up. Jungkook remembered it, that indescribable feeling, that tingling feeling Yoongi left on his lips after kissing him, the places where Yoongi’s hands had touched him still hot. 

“What now?” Jungkook asked, eventually, after spending a while thinking about him and Yoongi in this new, different light. “I’ve never done this before.”

Yoongi flexed his shoulder, making it bump against Jungkook’s head just the slightest bit. He reached out for Jungkook’s hand again, cold slender pink fingers against smoother, smaller ones. “Now we get out of here,” he said. “Because it’s getting late and I don’t want us to miss the last bus.”

And so they got out of the pool. They dried themselves off with the fluffy towels with the city pool’s logo on them and Yoongi lent Jungkook a spare, black hoodie that he’d brought in his backpack because Yoongi was always prepared for their adventures. They climbed out the same way they came in, through the faded red slide, through the outside area, over the fence again. 

When Jungkook’s Timberlands landed on the broken-down concrete street with a thud, the air hot and humid still despite the late hour, he looked at Yoongi under the yellow streetlights and asked for a second time, “What now, hyung?”

"Nothing has to change if you don't want to," Yoongi replied as he fumbled with the sleeve of his red flannel that he'd changed into.

Jungkook hesitantly reached out for that flannel, and let his fingers cling to the excess fabric around Yoongi's skinny lower arm. "What if I do want to?"

“Then that’s okay too,” Yoongi said as he took a step towards Jungkook. “What do you want to change?”

“I want to kiss you again,” Jungkook confessed before he could let himself worry about it too much. Because he did, he did want to kiss Yoongi again, to feel those pink soft lips against his. It felt awesome. 

Yoongi smiled at him, looking a little shy all of a sudden. Cute. Like his cool-hyung facade just disappeared for a second. “I can do that,” he said. “Was that your first kiss?”

Jungkook nodded.

"Was it good?" 

Now it was Jungkook’s time to get shy. It was good. As a matter of fact, it was one of Jungkook’s favourite kisses ever. Not the best kiss, probably to his own fault, too messy and rushed and excited and clueless. But it was one of his favourites. "Yes," he said, blushing, shovelling the tip of his Timberlands in the hole in the road.

"I can show you more," Yoongi replied, over-confident in the way he was sometimes. The words gave Jungkook this blush on his cheeks, this funny feeling in his tummy.

They had started walking towards the bus stop, the orange street lights guiding them, one of them flickering on and off every once in a while. "Hyung," Jungkook asked as they reached the stop. He could see the mint green owl bus arriving in the distance. "I want another thing to change."

"What is it?" Yoongi asked, looking at Jungkook from underneath his towel dry fringe. 

"Can you stay over?" Jungkook asked, hiding in Yoongi's black hoodie but daring to step closer to him at the same time. "Sleep with me? In my bed?" He let his sweater paw touch Yoongi's sweater paw and added, "My parents are asleep. They won't notice. Jimin won't mind either."

Yoongi's fingers slowly escaped from the red fabric of his flannel. They reached into Jungkook’s sleeve, pulling the tips of his fingers out as well and intertwining them together. 

"Okay," he said, as a soft promise spoken into the night.

Jungkook remembered. He remembered Yoongi coming back into his room that night, Jimin still asleep, the blue night lamp still burning. Jungkook couldn't get enough of Yoongi that night, that newfound experience of kissing him, being close to him, having the permission to touch him. Eager to learn, to find out what Yoongi liked, what he liked, how he could be better like the perfectionist he undeniably grew out to be. Quiet, under Jungkook's white sheets, the air conditioning buzzing, the smell of chlorine still in their hair.

Jungkook remembered. He remembered what it felt like, kissing Yoongi. To have those soft pink lips on his. He kissed as he rapped, sometimes, smooth and rhythmic and skilled and switching it up every verse. Other times he kissed like he talked, slow and lazy and slurred together. It always left Jungkook breathless, dizzy, lips and every other place on his body touched tingling. Like he was in that place in between fantasy and reality again, just like that night in the pool.

Jungkook remembered. How things changed but stayed the same nonetheless. How they kept sharing lunch together in the library and shared art and music and sneaked out of places only to sneak into other things. How they kept doing all that, but how they would make out during those adventures, and cuddle during those lunches, and how Yoongi would tell him he was pretty in the middle of a conversation. How Yoongi climbed through his bedroom window more and more, and how Jungkook developed a habit of not being able to sleep without having Yoongi in his arms.

Jungkook remembered what it was like, dating Yoongi. Wonderful and beautiful and one of the best things that ever happened to him. Something that he treasured, even now, when he found himself in the darkness of his own bedroom, no blue night lamp there, no Yoongi there to warm him.

Do you remember what we told each other? Thinking that we would never end up like them. Thank god, we didn’t, at least not in the way we thought. You let me down gently, and I will forever be thankful for that. 

Jungkook did. He remembered the hurt in his eyes when Yoongi talked about it; his parents, and the way they fought each other, and how Yoongi felt like he had to walk on eggshells in his own house. How often Yoongi came knocking on his bedroom window, seeking comfort or distraction, so glad that Jungkook was there to listen or let him laugh.

He remembered one night in particular, the one of Chuseok, bellies full but still a somewhat empty place in their hearts.

“Do you ever get scared?” Yoongi had asked him.

It was midnight, and they were lying down with their backs on the grass of the soccer field they’d sneaked into. A wind too cold for this time of year rustled around them, making Jungkook curl deeper into his hoodie. “About what?” he replied. 

Yoongi looked at him, his beanie hiding a big part of his face. If it wasn’t for the darkness, Jungkook would’ve seen how tired he was. “That you’re going to end up like your parents,” he explained. 

Jungkook stole a glance at Yoongi before he stared at the sky again, trying to count the stars that weren’t there. His mother had flown in from Japan for the weekend. She’d booked a hotel room nearby just so that she could spend the holiday with Jungkook. It had been awkward when she walked into their new house that was so different from their old home in Busan, all Aecha and no trace of her left in Jungkook’s father's life. 

“Sometimes,” Jungkook answered. They had acted like strangers at dinner tonight - his parents - with the way Jungkook’s dad had pretended to not know that his mom couldn’t eat shellfish and Jungkook’s mom kept mispronouncing Aecha’s name. Jungkook appreciated his mother coming here, but he wished his parents could just address the history they had. 

“Your mom was here for the weekend, wasn’t she?” Yoongi asked him. 

Jungkook nodded his head, even though Yoongi couldn’t see it with the way both their gazes were fixed on the sky above them. “Yeah,” he said. “She came in two days ago and is leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

“How was that?”

Jungkook smiled, thinking about how good it felt to hug her after not seeing her in person for months. “It was really nice to see her again. I missed her. She bought me Sumi Ink and promised to teach me how to use it,” he answered. “Dinner with her and my dad and my stepfamily though, was...”

“Awkward?” Yoongi finished for him after Jungkook wasn’t able to. He moved his head to look at Jungkook instead of the sky and found Jungkook nodding at him with a not-quite satisfied smile.

“Yeah,” Jungkook confirmed. “I know my parents stopped truly knowing each other when my mother got her position in Japan. And they haven’t really spoken since the move, but I don’t understand why they pretend that they didn’t mean everything to each other, once, when they were young.”

Jungkook got it; his parents' relationship got stranded. They lived in different time zones, not literally but metaphorically. It didn't work, which was something that Jungkook didn't like but understood. But what he couldn't wrap his head around was how they moved on so quickly. As if they were never ready to fight for it in the first place. 

“Maybe that’s too painful to think about," Yoongi offered.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

It fell silent again, the dead noise from the traffic helping them ease in and out of conversations. It took a car or three to pass by the relatively quiet road across them before Yoongi let a humourless chuckle escape past his lips. "What a holiday," he started. "You had to endure an awkward dinner, I had shatters of broken glass on the floor."

The words, but more so the fragile way they came out, made Jungkook steal another look at Yoongi. It was dark, but still, Jungkook could detect the dark circles under his eyes, the messy hair peeking from underneath his beanie, and the skin on his cheeks that looked even paler than normal. It's been worse, lately, now that deadlines and exams were approaching and Yoongi had to deal with that on top of his home situation.

Jungkook wished he could do more for him, sometimes. To drag him away, really, not just for the night but for forever. To escape from all the burdens and pressures and hurt for good.

But he couldn't - could only hope that Yoongi would get into university so he could create a new life there - so he just rolled over on the grass instead. One of his legs and an arm was what he threw over Yoongi to cuddle him close, and he held Yoongi silently for a moment before he asked, "Was it that bad?"

Jungkook could feel Yoongi shrug underneath him. "It could've been worse," he replied. "The glass was old anyway." The glass really wasn't the problem, they both knew, so after Yoongi took a breath he explained, "My mother didn't appreciate my father calling her out for buying a new outfit." 

"My brother was there though. He cleaned up the mess and calmed them down. There was not a lot of fuss after that. Just a tiny mishap in a pretty nice dinner."

"But it still sucked," Jungkook filled in for Yoongi before he could even fully finish speaking. He reached out for a Yoongi's hand, which was occupied with picking blades of grass out of the perfectly mowed field and let their fingers intertwine.

Yoongi nodded his head. "It's just a crack in their wedding China, but it's the millionth one and I wonder how long it’s going to take for it to finally burst.” He shrugged his shoulders again, although this time, he finished the movement by wrapping his arms around Jungkook’s upper body. “I'm just waiting for it to happen, at this point," he confessed, voice quiet, fragile, much different from the confidence he usually carried around him.

The way the words came out made something crack inside Jungkook as well. "I don't know how you deal with it. Your parents arguing all the time." Jungkook's parents' divorce hurt him, sure, but, "At least mine split silently."

A beat of silence passed, in which Yoongi unintertwined their fingers and started to trace the doodles made of blue ink on Jungkook’s skin instead. "It's been easier to deal with ever since you've been here," Yoongi confessed eventually. He sighed, the breath a mix of despair and frustration, "I just hope that I don't end up like them later. When I'm older." His fingers stopped tracing Jungkook’s for a second, as they lingered on a purple heart Jungkook had drawn on his hand while doing his homework this morning, before they continued again. "Holding grudges and blaming each other for things that cannot be changed anymore,” Yoongi elaborated.“They have discussions about the tiniest things. It's like they don't even know what forgiveness is anymore." 

"It's like they don't even know each other anymore,” Yoongi finished as he stared at the air above them, the sky pitch black and dark and empty, not even a single star granting them their light.

Jungkook’s head was resting on Yoongi’s chest as he talked, and he could feel the vibrations of his voice as he talked. It was nice. “I get that,” he said, words partly muffled by the fabric of Yoongi’s jacket. “The second part. About feeling like they don’t even know each other anymore.” It reminded Jungkook of this afternoon. He thought old habits never died, but apparently, the habit of everything falling into place whenever he was around his father and his mother, did. It just wasn’t the same anymore. “My parents have that too. As if it’s too much effort to try to understand each other anymore. To just listen.”

“People don’t listen enough these days,” Yoongi concluded, sadly, not liking that it was true but knowing that it was. 

“I do,” Jungkook argued. He tilted up his head and moved it so that he could look at Yoongi. His eyes were sparkling with sincerity when he repeated, “To you, I do.” He meant it, even now, even years later, even when they became so different from what they were. 

And those stars in Jungkook’s eyes were enough to make the pitch-black sky above them a little less dark, so Yoongi smiled, actually smiled, both of relief and of this ever-growing fondness for the boy in front of him. “I know,” he replied, and leaned down, planting a soft kiss on the crown of Jungkook’s head. “I know.”

“Can you promise me something, Kook?” Yoongi asked after Jungkook rested his head back on Yoongi’s chest. 

“Hmm?” 

“Can you promise me that we won’t end up like our parents?” he asked. His arms were wrapped around Jungkook’s waist, and he seemed to squeeze a little tighter when he added, “That we won’t fight each other about stupid things? That we won’t become strangers in our own relationship? That we won’t make each other a less better version of ourselves?” 

Jungkook moved again, rolling over until he was fully on top of Yoongi. Their noses were nearly touching, but not quite, not yet, as Jungkook nodded his head decisively. “I promise,” he said. “I promise, hyung,” he whispered as he let their noses touch, and then their lips, sealing one of the only promises that they actually kept. 

Jungkook remembered. He remembered the night Yoongi came to him, telling Jungkook that his mother had decided to live with his grandmother for a while, out of town, in the countryside, saying that Yoongi should stay here to focus on his studies. He remembered the confusion in Yoongi’s eyes, as if it had just then hit him that his parents really might not be able to make it work. Jungkook had told him about his parent’s divorce that night, in detail, not excluding the ugly details for once. Telling Yoongi that it would be different, and weird, but that things would be okay. 

Jungkook remembered. He remembered the first time he got reminded of his promise. A Sunday night, an approaching exam, and a very stressed Jungkook. Yoongi had told him something that he hadn’t wanted to hear, even though it was very true. He’d gotten mad, stupidly so, yelling at Yoongi about what a know-it-all he could be sometimes. It was their first real fight.

Jungkook remembered, how later that night, it was him that came knocking on Yoongi’s bedroom window, for once, apologizing with tears in his eyes. Yoongi had forgiven him, of course, with a kiss on his cheek and a joke about how he could use this as lyrical inspiration, hiding how scared the thought of fighting Jungkook again really made him. Hiding the fear that came with thinking about being apart from Jungkook like his parents were apart right now. Not acknowledging that soon, the physical distance between them would be much greater than his parents’.

Do you remember the taste of my lips the time we kissed during the first snow? The weight of my ribs pressed against your hips in the backseat. I told you I loved you that day, as we watched the snow fall on the mountain tops. I still smile when I think about it.

Jungkook did. He remembered the thrill he felt when he watched the very first flake of snow drizzle down the sky. White and delicate and elegant. Snow was rare in Daegu, but it was rarer in Busan, and Jungkook hadn’t had a proper snow experience since he was six years old. 

The city looked beautiful, a thin white layer of fluff covering every surface, the sun in the blue sky reflecting off the white, making the days bright despite the cold. Jungkook remembered being mesmerized as he walked around the streets in his big black padded jacket and the red woollen scarf that his grandmother had knitted for him, which still smelled a bit like cinnamon. 

Yoongi told him that the snow looked even prettier on top of Palgongsan mountain. So that’s where they went, on a Saturday afternoon, in Yoongi’s family’s pick-up truck. Radio on, soft acoustic music playing through the speakers. Blankets on the backseat and hot yulmucha in thermos cans to fight the cold. 

Jungkook laid between Yoongi’s hips in the backseat, a red plaid blanket on his lap. His arms and hands were covered in ink doodles from his Friday afternoon match class, the black lines appearing from underneath the sleeves of his burgundy hoodie. He could feel Yoongi’s chin on top of his head as they looked out one of the windows, watching how the snow dribbled down on the forest around the mountain. 

The song on the radio changed into another one, one that Jungkook didn’t like, which made him tilt his head and ask in Yoongi’s hair, “Hey, can we listen to your new song again?”

A fond laugh escaped past Yoongi’s lips. The air that came with it tickled Jungkook’s skin. “Why do you like that song so much?” Yoongi asked. 

Jungkook smiled to himself and settled a little further in Yoongi’s hold. “Because it’s so different from what you mostly do.” The song was produced in an acoustic style, and Yoongi wasn’t spitting words but rapping softly and harmoniously instead, almost like he was singing some parts. It had a romantic feel to it, and a nostalgic one too, something that fitted perfectly with this weather. Jungkook loved it. 

“Well, I was advised to broaden my genre. So that’s what I did,” Yoongi replied. His slender fingers traced the ink lines on Jungkook’s knuckles, giving Jungkook goosebumps. Yoongi leaned a little further into Jungkook’s space, just so that he could whisper in his ear, “Besides, I have a pretty inspiring muse. Makes writing soft romantic songs a whole lot easier.”

Despite the cold, Jungkook’s cheeks grew hot. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe that his boyfriend wrote songs about him. Great, sweet, award-winning-worthy songs. 

Jungkook tried to hide his blush by the thick fabric of his burgundy hoodie as he asked, “When do you get your college acceptance letter?” They’d arrived at the period where all the college entrance exams were graded and submitted, and now all Yoongi had to do was wait and see if he got into a scholarship for the music program at SNU. 

“This week.”

“Hmmm," Jungkook hummed. He still avoided thinking about it; Yoongi going to university. It was selfish, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. Even though he was so happy that Yoongi would finally make his way out of here and start the best music program in the country, that Jungkook was so sure he would get into.

(He could help it now, now that he knew what those years did to Yoongi, how much better it made him. How much better it made them.)

But Jungkook didn’t comment on it then and chose to focus on the present rather than overthink the future. He still didn’t know whether or not that was a good decision, but it was a decision made, as he settled a little further into Yoongi’s hips and watched how Yoongi reached for the aux cord to plug his phone in. 

Soon enough, the first chords from Yoongi’s song could be heard through the speakers. A soft guitar-like melody with Yoongi softly singing on it, words that would later transform into raps. 

As Jungkook listened to the nostalgic-vibe song, he still thought about how everything was going to change once the semester ended. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he also knew that it wasn’t going to stay the same, no matter how hard Jungkook tried to hold onto it. 

But - as Yoongi continued to gently tickle the doodles made on Jungkook’s hands with his cold fingers - Jungkook also thought about how not even a year ago, he was so desperate to hold onto everything in Busan that he didn’t want to let go. But he did - let go - eventually, and look where it brought him. Everything might change, but everything had already. 

Jungkook thought back to two weekends ago when he came home on a Friday afternoon after an afterschool music-art session in the library with Yoongi that had turned into an afternoon make-out session and he found his grandmother sitting at the kitchen table. She’d come all the way from Busan, just to see where her grandson lived now. Jungkook remembered the conversations he had with her after he told her that he had a boyfriend.

He remembered the conversation he had with Jimin, a couple of days before that, in the blue light of Jimin’s night lamp.

Remembered how sure he was then. 

“Hyung?” Jungkook said in the comfortable silence of the car, the outro of Yoongi's song ebbing out. 

“Hmm?” Yoongi answered, lips still pressed against Jungkook’s hair, his breath still making Jungkook feel ticklish. 

“I think I love you.” 

And his response was so incredibly and perfectly him , because Yoongi stayed silent. He stayed quiet, not at all surprised, super chill, until he eventually murmured, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook breathed out. He didn’t feel like he thought he would feel when he said it, but he preferred this. He preferred how confident it made him feel. He preferred how normal it sounded. “I asked Jimin what it’s like to be in love. Because of Taehyung and all. He said it’s like being in the middle of a good book. To just want to curl up into it, to be desperate to know more, to not be able to put it down until you know every single detail. No matter the ending.” A smile, right on Jungkook’s lips, as he remembered the twinkle in Jimin’s eyes when he said it. As he remembered the twinkle in his own when the words made so much sense. “I feel that way about you too.”

“And then I asked my grandmother when she came to town the other weekend,” Jungkook continued. “Because she’s old and wise and of all the people I know she’s the one that has been married the longest.” He reached for Yoongi’s hand, the one that was still tracing his knuckles, and let their fingers dance together as he said, “She said that love is communication and understanding and willingness to improve. That it feels like you have someone to rely on, no matter what. That love is closeness and togetherness and very comforting.” A breath. Not a shaky one, but a steady one. One that was sure. “And that’s also how I feel about you,” Jungkook confessed. “So I think that means that I love you.”

“Good,” Yoongi replied, finally, his voice low and a bit raspy ever since the cold weather started and Jungkook’s favourite sound in the world, even now. He kissed the side of Jungkook’s forehead, making Jungkook melt. “Because I love you too.”

And that made Jungkook turn around in his hold, all the way until his chest touched Yoongi’s tummy and the two of them were face to face. Yoongi felt warm, in the comfort of this car. “Yeah?” Jungkook asked, knowing that his eyes were big at that moment. “You want to get to know me like your favourite book? You want the communication and the understanding and the work?” 

The smile that danced on Yoongi’s lips that afternoon was soft. It was fond and sweet and those cute gums of him were showing and it made Jungkook feel so good inside. “I do,” Yoongi answered, tucking away some of Jungkook’s escaped hairs as he whispered the words in the air. 

Jungkook’s smile widened. He shifted in his position until he laid a little further on Yoongi’s body, their noses touching now. Yoongi’s lovely fabric softener scent hit his nose. “Are we going to stay together forever like my grandmother and grandfather?” he asked, so young and naive and stupidly in love back then. 

Yoongi smiled again, in that magical way of his. Something was twinkling in his eyes, something only meant for Jungkook, something that even to this day, Jungkook wished he could paint or draw or describe. He couldn’t, the look too complex, but he did know that it used to make him feel like he was the most precious person in the world. The most precious person in the world, there, wrapped up in Yoongi’s arms and Yoongi’s blankets in Yoongi’s family’s pick-up truck, protected from the cold snow that was drizzling down outside. There, in that safe haven that they had created for each other. 

“You’ll always have me, Jungkook,” Yoongi whispered, then, right against Jungkook’s lips. He continued to close the space altogether and captured Jungkook’s bottom lip with his ever so softly. The kiss tasted like the yulmucha from their thermos cans, warm and comforting and winter-like, making Jungkook melt into it like the snow that was melting on the cap of the car. 

They kept kissing, the rest of that afternoon, as the hours on the car radio ticked away and soft acoustic music kept playing through the speakers. As the drizzle of snow turned into a big storm and then calmed down again, the roads slippery and dangerous as they drove home. As slowly, every leaf in the forest around Palgongsan got covered by tiny white snowflakes, just like every piece of Jungkook got covered by Yoongi, every one of his touches embedding into Jungkook’s skin like a tattoo. 

Jungkook remembered. He remembered the high he was on when he got home that night. All oxytocin and serotonin. A smile that couldn’t be wiped off his face as Jimin and he heated frozen potato cheese corndogs and illegally streamed Marvel movies on Jimin’s laptop. The warm giddiness that he felt when he told Jimin about that afternoon. He didn’t sleep that night, stayed up texting Yoongi for hours and hours instead.

Jungkook remembered. He remembered all the other ‘I love yous’, some whispered in the darkness of Jungkook’s bedroom, cuddled up to each other, moments away from falling asleep, Jimin’s blue night lamp painting Yoongi’s cheek blue. Others, in the canteen, between bites of rice as they laughed about silly jokes. A lot of them, in the attic of the bookstore, where they still came a lot, to make music and art and to kiss and to talk until the sky turned into that beautiful midnight blue colour. 

Jungkook remembered. He remembered how it made him feel, every time those words left Yoongi’s lips. Precious, appreciated, special, strong. Tingles in his chest and blushes on his cheeks and warmness in his tummy. Magical. 

How much he missed those words getting whispered into the shell of his ear. 

Do you remember? The evening after we came home from watching the snowfall on the mountain, my family's pick-up truck out of gas and my boots stained with salty snowy slurry. My lips still tingled from all the times we kissed, and the promises we made to each other were fresh on my mind. I’ve never felt so ambivalent. 

Jungkook didn’t.

Yoongi, however, did. He remembered the dark blue colour that painted the sky as he walked into the hallway of his apartment complex. He remembered the absence of his brain as he opened his mailbox out of habit, having not expected to have a letter addressed to him fall out of it. 

But there it laid, on the linoleum, on fancy stationery, Min Yoongi written on it. 

He opened it, immediately, after seeing the logo that was printed on the corner of the envelope. His heart was beating in his chest and his palms were sweaty despite the cold as his fingers struggled to neatly tear the paper apart. 

Dear Min Yoongi, it said. I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as a student at Seoul National University. 

He remembered it as the day his dream came true.

He was so happy that day, the smile on his face making his cheeks hurt. He recalled how the first thought that popped up in his brain was calling Jungkook, so he did, there in the apartment hallway, melting snow stuck to his boots. They celebrated on the phone, laughing and cheering and high on happiness. Yoongi was proud of himself but Jungkook was prouder, always prouder. Always looking at him like he'd hung the stars in the sky. 

They hung up, eventually, because Yoongi had to go upstairs to deliver the news to his parents, hoping that this would lighten the mood in their home for at least a couple of weeks or so. But, as Yoongi walked up the stairs in search of his apartment that night, light flickering on the ceiling, he recalled the promise he made to Jungkook that afternoon.

“Are we going to stay together forever like my grandmother and grandfather?” Jungkook had asked him, his eyes so big and full of love, his heart on his sleeve, hidden between the doodles he always drew there.

“You’ll always have me, Jungkook,”  Yoongi had said. He had meant it, still did, with every cell of his being. Jungkook had become everything to him these past few months. He had brightened up his world so much, with pretty smiles and adorable laughs, and shy touches and comforting glances.

Yoongi always said that Jungkook was like a ray of sunshine peeking through the shadow of a big, old oak tree. Unexpected, warm, shy, playful, and so very much welcomed. Yoongi still thought about Jungkook every time he saw a play between shadow and light. Some memories were just too strong.

But now he got a college acceptance letter on his name, destination Seoul, 237 kilometres away from here. 

And Jungkook might always have Yoongi, but the question was how close by.

Do you remember the tears in my eyes the very first night I slept without you? You were going to be miles away, and I was so afraid that I'd never feel like this again. 

Jungkook remembered. He remembered the restaurant where it happened, one of his stepmother’s favourites, and rightfully so. A Japanese hole in the wall restaurant, family-owned, with beige walls and dark wood panelling. Flyers and posters and children’s drawings were stuck to the walls and wooden tables were positioned way too close to each other. The scent of boiled pork was strong in the air, lingering between the notes of a B'z song. The streets outside those four walls were cold, but the heating was on, so that and the broth of their dishes warmed them up. 

Bowls of Donburi and Tonkotsu ramen stood in front of Yoongi and him, the damp coming from the broth making Jungkook’s cheeks feel hot. It was February, the temperature outside below zero, the wind the kind of cold that penetrated right through your skin. The academic year had ended, all tests and projects and presentations done, and Jungkook was about to leave for Busan to visit his mother in two days.  

Sixteen days were left until the new academic year started. Sixteen days, of which Jungkook would spend ten in Busan. Sixteen days, until everything would be over.

Jungkook knew what was coming when Yoongi told him they needed to talk on the phone last night. He just… hoped to put it off a little.

Which was why he picked up the soft-yolked egg from his bowl of ramen and placed it in Yoongi’s bowl. It was out of habit, Jungkook preferring hard-boiled over soft, always giving his runny yolked eggs to Yoongi whenever they ate them together. Yoongi wordlessly accepted it, and then, equally out of habit, assembled the perfect bite on his chopsticks and fed them to an open-mouthed Jungkook, Jungkook always wanting to taste the things he didn’t get to order.

“Thanks,” Jungkook murmured around the food in his mouth. 

Yoongi smiled softly at him. “You could’ve just asked to have your eggs hard-boiled, you know,” he said as he mixed his extra egg in his bowl of ramen, enriching the broth even more with the creaminess of the yolk. 

“You know I hate making requests to the waiters,” Jungkook replied as stirred the noodles through their broth. "I'm too awkward for that."

"I could've asked it for you," Yoongi answered, effortlessly, because he always did. He was always the one to order food and buy tickets and talk them out of weird situations.

It was the reason why Jungkook looked down at his bowl of ramen. He knew he could've asked Yoongi - he would've asked Yoongi - but, Yoongi wouldn't be here anymore soon. He would need to rely on himself for those kinds of things now, no matter how much he hated it.

Both of them started on their dinner, the food still hot and burning their tongues, but worth it, because eating meant that they didn't have to talk. It made the atmosphere quiet, the lyrics from the song sounding through the speakers the only words being spoken, until Yoongi asked, "When is your train to Busan leaving?"

Jungkook swallowed his bite of noodles and answered, "In two days." He knew Yoongi knew that, because he had told him at least twice already, which must mean that Yoongi was trying to postpone the conversation they were about to have as much as he was.

The fabric of Yoongi's jeans brushed against Jungkook's leg. It was intentional, soft, a touch of comfort in this awkward air. "Is your dad coming with you?" he asked.

"No," Jungkook said. He played around with the noodles in his bowl, not really eating them, and added, "He and Aecha are going to Jeju island. Just the two of them. Jimin will be staying with Taehyung and his family."

"You must be happy to see your mother again," Yoongi commented, already sounding way too formal for Jungkook's liking, like he didn't know everything about Jungkook's family and more. Like Jungkook hadn't cried in his arms, once, when he couldn't see his mother on her birthday because she was stuck in the States.

Jungkook nodded his head, then. "I miss her," he said, but he was looking Yoongi in the eyes as he did so. Part of his sentence was directed at him, secretly, for the future, trying to let Yoongi know because he was afraid that there wouldn't be a chance for him to say it once Yoongi was gone.

Yoongi looked back at him, his sharp eyes soft around the edges, the darkness in them having gotten easier for Jungkook to read over the months. They held their gazes, for just a second, and Jungkook remembered how much he wanted to stop the awkward dance they were having that moment and beg for Yoongi to just... stay.

But he didn't - thank god, he didn't - didn't even get the chance to because Yoongi broke their eye contact and stuffed his mandu-like cheeks with another bite of chicken, egg and rice.

And so they went back to eating, Yoongi's leg warm against Jungkook's under the table, their bodies craving closeness while their minds were already trying to prepare them for the distance that would come. They chatted about graduation; the way Yoongi's uniform got torn to shreds, and the banner Jungkook made him, and the dinner at the barbeque restaurant. Yoongí's brother was moving out, so that was something they talked about too, the promise they'd once made about eating dinner with all their families together ignored because it would never come true anyway.

They were each about halfway through their bowls when Yoongi brought it up. Jungkook remembered how the song on the radio had switched to a dramatic ballad, melancholic and sad, those changes the last push for the air to shift into something darker.

"So," Yoongi said as he positioned his chopsticks on the placemat in front of him. He watched the contrast of the light wooden utensils against the dark paper for a moment before he looked up, fixing his gaze on Jungkook. "I leave for Seoul in nine days," he said, voice low and heavy in the quiet restaurant.

Yoongi had found an apartment in Seoul. A studio, just for himself, small with floors and built-in closet space made of wood and black window frames. It was perfect. When Jungkook first saw it through the tiny pictures on his phone screen, he imagined the two of them living there, together, for just a second. A second of perfectness before he got reminded of reality again.

He swallowed a sip of his broth like a bitter pill. This was it, he thought to himself as he set the bowl back down on the table. He looked up at Yoongi, not right into his eyes but at a black lock of hair that was covering the side of his face instead, and made himself smaller on instinct, hiding his hands and body in his dark blue sweater.

"I know," Jungkook responded, his voice coming out small, sounding almost like a whisper. Back then he hated how vulnerable he was throughout that entire conversation, but looking back, he was actually proud of himself for handling it like that.

Yoongi's hand moved on the table. It came close to Jungkook's, which was hidden in the sleeve of his sweater, and touched it, almost. 

"Do you remember what we promised each other?" Yoongi asked. He sounded vulnerable. Determined, set, but vulnerable. "The night of Chuseok?"

Jungkook took a shaky breath. Of course, he remembered. Something shifted between them after that night, something important, the both of them going from boyfriends to something deeper, a connection Jungkook wasn't sure he would find again.

"Of course I do," Jungkook said, the volume of his voice low. Something inside him told him that his voice would crack if he raised it. He couldn't let that happen. Not yet.

Yoongi's leg pressed a little closer against Jungkook under the table. Action hidden, but there. It send those stupid sparkles through Jungkook's legs, and at that moment, he hated it. "I said I'd never fight you and you said that you would never let us become strangers in our relationship," Yoongi said.

Hearing the words coming from Yoongi's mouth again like that made Jungkook shift his attention from the lock of Yoongi's hair to his actual eyes. Yoongi's expression, unreadable to some (to Jungkook too, once) had so many emotions in them. His eyes weren't sharp but sad and the corners of his lips were turned downwards. Jungkook wanted to reach out, close that tiny distance between their hands and just hold Yoongi's fingers, but he wasn't sure if he could. Not at that moment.

A sigh escaped Yoongi's lips then. It sounded a little frustrated, like Yoongi couldn't find the right words to say.

"I want to keep that promise, Kook." Yoongi reached out for him, then, finally, and held Jungkook's hand through his sweater paw. Yoongi's fingers felt like they always did. Slender and bony and veiny and cold. They held onto Jungkook's palm firmly, squeezing the skin. "Shit, I do. But I don't think I can once I start university. Seoul is far away, and I'll be busy, and you'll have your own things. I don't want us... Fuck, I don't want us to become strangers Kook."

There it was. The tsunami that Jungkook had been watching on the beach for too long had come, flooding Jungkook's heart with emotions. A destructive wave powering right on this dinner table, in this peaceful restaurant, having no business being here at all.

He clung to Yoongi's hand. He held onto it, tightly, moving his other hand and folding it over their intertwined fingers as well. His eyes closed for a second as he did so, hanging on, savouring the feeling of Yoongi's cold fingertips pressed against his.

When he opened his eyes again, his voice was even more unstable than it was seconds ago, and all that could come out of it was a hoarse, "I know."

"Fuck, Kookie, you're going to be staying here for two more years and I don't want you to have a boyfriend in another town that won't be able to see you. I don't have a car, you can't even drive and train tickets are fucking expensive. I'll be so busy with all my stuff and we won't be able to see each other that often," Yoongi rambled on, almost speaking as fast as he did in his raps, though lacking that confidence in his voice. "I thought about how we could make this work. I really did. You mean so much to me Jungkook. I don't want to... shit, I don't want to live without you. But I'm just-" he stopped there, just for a moment, refolding their hands together and making sure that Jungkook was looking him in the eyes. Once Jungkook did, Yoongi said, "I'm scared we're going to ruin what we have if we try. And I don't want to ruin this. It's... it's too special to destroy."

"I know, hyung," Jungkook replied, his voice soft and wobbly but clear enough for Yoongi to finally hear. Because he did know, and everything Yoongi said was true. He wished he could stay with Yoongi, or that Yoongi could stay here, but that just... couldn't happen.

"You know?” Yoongi asked, a hint of surprise laced through his deep voice. He looked at Jungkook like he didn't expect him to react this way. He probably thought that Jungkook would argue, or cry, and be more upset about it. To be honest, before today, Jungkook thought so too.

Jungkook nodded his head. Some of his bangs fell into his eyes but he didn't bother to push them away, thinking that maybe they could act as a curtain to hide under. "I want to," he said, voice just above a whisper. "I really really want to, hyung." A cold shiver ran down his spine, the broth that was still steaming in front of him not doing its job anymore. The smell was starting to make him nauseous, too. "But I know I'm going to hold you back if we stay together. I don't want that."

Yoongi did reach out for that pluck of hair. He tugged it away, delicately, his hand lingering on Jungkook’s cheek. "You could never hold me back, Jungkook," he whisper-spoke, although the words sounded firm, confident, and so honest.

It was the cause of a soft smile that started to dance on Jungkook's lips. A blush too, even, on the cheeks that Yoongi was tracing with the pad of his fingertip. He averted his gaze, staring at the non eaten noodles swimming in the broth, and swallowed down the lump in his throat as he said, "Maybe I won't, but our situation will." 

Yoongi's hand slid down his cheeks and landed on the table instead. Some parts of them were still touching - their legs - but it was subtle, the tingle it gave Jungkook already fading away. Jungkook wished he could hold onto it, bottle it, store that spark away in a box under his bed as he did with the rest of the stuff that reminded him of Yoongi.

"God," Yoongi murmured. "If only you were two years older."  

If only you were two years younger, Jungkook thought to himself. As much as he would love to chase Yoongi to the capital city and see him accomplish greatness, the thought of staying in high school together seemed much safer to him. He just wished there was more of it. More of the lunches in libraries and convenience store runs on Mondays and nights writing music and making art in the dusty attic of Namjoon's father's bookstore. More of the climbing fences to discover hidden gems in the dark and sneaking through each other's windows to steal cuddles and kisses when the clock stroke past midnight. More of time, most of all, and more of Yoongi.

But instead of saying all of that Jungkook just bent his head and let the hairs fall in his face again. "Yeah," he said, his voice more of an empty breath in the air than anything else. 

The restaurant fell silent after that. Just empty noise of pots clinging in the kitchen and guests talking tables away. Spoons hitting plates and a car driving by outside. 

"Should I drive you home?" Yoongi asked eventually, putting an end to the conversation. 

Jungkook shook his head. "I can walk," he said. The thought of Yoongi driving him home seemed too much at that moment. He didn't think he could get out of that old pick-up car if he stepped into it now. There were too many memories engraved in the leather seating of the chairs and the dust that covered the radio.

Yoongi seemed to understand that because he didn't press it like he usually would. "Okay," he said instead. "I'll pay."

And then he got up, and he walked away, and even though he only went to the cash register on the other side of the room, the sight was like a dagger twisted through Jungkook’s chest. Because Yoongi was walking away, not to the bar but to a city hours away, and Jungkook knew it was happening but it was getting more real by the second. His brain had been preparing for this ever since Yoongi got his college acceptance letter but it was like suddenly - now that the conversation was over and all Jungkook could see was Yoongi with his back turned towards him - his heart was catching up as well.

A cold shiver ran down his spine and Jungkook had to close his eyes because they were pricking with tears, and Jungkook couldn't cry, not here, not in the middle of a restaurant where he was now sitting at a table all by himself.

Not when Yoongi was still here, because Yoongi shouldn't feel guilty about chasing his dreams, and the way they parted should be peaceful and not like a dark ink stain that ruined the book that described their story.

But it was hard, not to cry, when Jungkook got up and felt Yoongi’s touch still lingering on his knees, and when he got his jacket and found a crumpled up wrapper from a choco pie in there. It was harder, when he wordlessly followed Yoongi outside because he didn't know what to say and didn't know if his voice was even able to form words if he did. 

It was the hardest, when the doors opened and a hit of bitterly cold wind blew right into Jungkook's face, the low temperature making it physically hurt, and both Yoongi and him were awkwardly lingering by the entrance because this was it, this was the part where they would bid their goodbyes, and neither of them wanted this to end yet.

It was nearly impossible, when Jungkook swallowed the lump in his throat and said in a voice that didn't even sound like his own, "Well, goodbye then."

Their arms were close to each other, close enough to reach out and touch, close enough to cling to the other's sleeve and just… hold on. Neither of them did though.

"Goodbye Kook," Yoongi replied. "Have fun with your mother."

Jungkook closed his eyes again. He couldn't care less about his mother right now. Not when it cut down on the time he had left with Yoongi.

"Have fun in university," he forced himself to say, feeling the tears in his waterline. "Do great things for me, okay?" 

Yoongi gave him one of those non-real smiles where only one corner of his mouth went up. "I'll show everyone the songs I wrote about you."

And Yoongi shouldn't have said that, not then, because it hurt , thinking about other people would get to enjoy those special moments between them but Jungkook wouldn't be able to anymore. It fucking hurt, because this was really it, and he was really going to lose Yoongi, and they would never experience a moment again that Yoongi would later make a song about.

The first tear slipped past Jungkook’s waterline, and soon came the second one, and a third, and then a whole lot more, transforming his last vision of Yoongi into a blurry one.

"I'm sorry," Jungkook said as a choked up sob, because he shouldn't cry, not yet, not when Yoongi was still standing in front of him. "I'm sorry I just-"

He looked at Yoongi, through his tears that made his brand new ex-boyfriend more spots of colour than sharp features, and he forced himself to blink the salty drops of water away because that wasn't the last memory he wanted to have of Yoongi. He wanted to remember his sharp eyes and eyebrows, and his soft cheeks and lips, and the pinkness that always shone through his pale skin.

He wanted to remember the way he looked at Jungkook, even through the brokenness, and the way he touched him, always like Jungkook was the moonlight in his nights.

"Can I kiss you?" Jungkook asked as he wiped the tears out of his left eye with the palm of his hand. "For one last time? Just so I… just to make sure I never forget?"

Yoongi didn't verbally answer. He just nodded his head, tears in his own eyes, and stepped into Jungkook's space, giving Jungkook silent permission to do whatever he wanted.

And Jungkook did. He started by placing his palms on Yoongi’s cheeks, trying to memorize the way the soft skin felt against his fingers, tracing a thumb against Yoongi’s cheekbone as he did so. Then, as a rush of wind blew their hair out of their faces, he closed the distance between them, cold salty lips against colder pink ones, savouring the way Yoongi firmly placed his hands in the dips just above Jungkook's hips.

They didn't kiss for long, because after a couple of moments Jungkook realized that this was the last kiss he would get from Yoongi, ever, and he broke out in an ugly sob right against Yoongi’s lips. He fell into him instead, his head against Yoongi’s bony shoulder, his fingers clothing Yoongi's grey scarf, trying to take in as much of the fabric softener scent as possible.

"I love you, Jungkook," Yoongi whispered against Jungkook's hair. His voice sounded like he was crying but Jungkook knew that he was not, which made it worse, because that meant that Yoongi was trying to stay strong and Yoongi shouldn't have to do that.

Another sob escaped Jungkook’s lips. "I love you too, Yoongi-hyung," he whispered against Yoongi’s neck, his words wet with tears. "So much." 

Ultimately, Jungkook unfolded himself from Yoongi’s hold. He wasn't crying anymore, but his cheeks were still wet, the bitter-cold wind making him feel like the traces of sadness were about to freeze against his cheeks.

"I should go," Jungkook said as he had his palms back into his sleeves, making himself smaller. "I'm going to try to fold myself into your moving boxes if I stay any longer."

A smile formed on Yoongi’s lips. This time, it was an actual genuine one, a hint of a chuckle escaping with it and all. "I would love to see you try," he joked.

"Don't say that," Jungkook replied as he wiped his wet cheeks with his sweater paw. "I don't want you to say things you don't mean."

"I'm sorry," Yoongi responded. He fixed his gaze on the concrete underneath him, diverting his gaze, looking guilty. 

"It's okay," Jungkook said. "It really is okay, hyung," he repeated, the sentence a reaction to so much more than what Yoongi had just said.

Yoongi looked up, and they shared eye contact for three perfect seconds, the shyest signs of smiles on their faces, the way Yoongi looked at him giving Jungkook a tiny spark of warmth in his cold body.

And then, after those three perfect seconds ended, Jungkook turned around, forcing his body to go against all laws of gravity, and walked away.

He walked away, away from Yoongi, away from what they had and what they had shared, away from the first love he'd ever known.

Away from the person, but not from the memories. Never from the memories.

Jungkook remembered. He remembered how cold he felt, later that night, the thickness off his blankets doing nothing at all to battle it. Somewhere throughout their relationship Jungkook had gotten so used to falling asleep in Yoongi's arms. To have a comforting body pressed against him. But now his bed was empty, cold and dark and empty, and he wasn't able to fall asleep because the memories kept clouding his mind.

Memories, because Jungkook remembered everything. 

Everything. Every look. Every touch. Every word and every kiss and every promise whispered in the dark. Every adventure at night time and lunch during noon. Every song written and every picture drawn and laugh shared. Every time Jungkook felt something new and every time Jungkook felt that new thing become familiar. 

He remembered Yoongi, in his whole being, the person he still missed some nights.