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Jungha (she realizes with a start that this is her name, Jungha) tucks her hair behind her ear and looks at herself, smoothing down her little skirt, thrown over fishnet tights. She wouldn’t ever wear this out, but—she takes a photo, purses her lips out in a kiss and winks, and just… looks.
She looks masculine, is her first thought. Her jaw is too sharp, her pose too forced, but under that—she looks like herself, she realizes, or the beginning of herself.
She sends the photo off to Yoongi and turns off her notifications, too nervous to see his response but knowing she’ll want it later.
She turns this way and that, watching herself, and—
She isn’t there yet, but she’s on her way.
**
It started like this:
Jungkook looks at himself in the stream window. His hood is pulled over his head, and in the dim light of the room it almost looks like he has long hair.
He stares for a too-long second while the Overwatch loading screen spins, and he smiles. “Maybe I should grow my hair out,” he considers, turning his head from side to side. “Do you think I’d look nice?” he asks, glancing at the chat.
A message pops up, catching his eye. oppa you’d look so pretty!!!! the fan has sent, and he’s filled with an unexplained, inexplicable warmth, pleasure flooding through him.
Before he can examine it too far, the game loads. He turns back into streamer mode, and the moment of hope and euphoria leaves.
(He leaves his hood up, though, and when he catches his own eye in the camera he can’t help the way his smile brightens.)
**
Maybe it started like this:
Jungkook groans into his hands, the roughness and depth of his voice bothering him in a way he doesn’t know how to describe. He’s editing a highlights video from his last stream, and something about it is bothering him, makes him feel itchy all over.
He shuts his laptop and heads to the kitchen, nearly stomping there (even as young as it makes him feel). Maybe he just needs to eat, he thinks.
While he waits for the water to boil for his ramyun, he thinks, I wish my voice were higher , and he can’t pinpoint the cause but just the thought of it soothes him.
**
Or maybe, really, it started here:
Jungkook attends a party with Taehyung, holding tight onto his hand. The host of the party, Yoongi, dressed in a black pleated skirt and a blazer, welcomes them in with a bright gummy smile.
Jungkook stares for too long, he knows it even as he’s doing it, eyes wide and mouth open a little. Yoongi gives him a weird look, but he can’t explain it; he just feels seen, even as he’s looking at someone else.
“Hey,” Yoongi says later, leaning against the wall. He hands Jungkook a cup, filled with sweet-smelling root beer. “You doing okay?”
Jungkook’s never been shy, really, not even around pretty men (and god, Yoongi’s the prettiest man he’s ever met). He’s tongue-tied now, though, only managing to get out, “I… don’t know where Taehyungie-hyung went.”
Yoongi laughs, leaning in close as he does it. “He’s making out with my roommate,” he says, rolling his eyes. “They’ve been dancing around each other for months.”
This, at least, Jungkook can talk about. “Oh, Seokjin-ssi? Finally,” he groans. He pouts, though. “Why haven’t I met you before, if you know Tae-hyung?”
Yoongi shrugs, joining him in leaning against the wall. He swirls his own glass around, though Jungkook is pretty sure it’s just ice at this point. “I don’t know. Maybe they wanted to keep me away from the pretty baby,” he teases, winking at him. “I’ve heard a lot about you, though. Taehyungie never shuts up about you.”
Jungkook doesn’t know how to say I’ve never heard your name before and I’ve never been sadder about anything , so he just laughs and shrugs, taking a sip of his root beer. “Well, he—I never shut up about him, either,” he says softly. “We’ve known each other for a while, and I just don’t have a lot of—people,” he laughs, wincing at himself. “Sorry, fuck. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”
“I don’t think being honest means there’s anything wrong with you,” Yoongi considers. His name is called and he winces, holding loosely onto Jungkook’s wrist. His thumb presses against Jungkook’s heart tattoo, and he half-smiles. “But… if you go down the hall and out the window, you can climb up to the roof. If you need a break or anything,” he offers, shrugging before he walks off.
Jungkook stares after him, eyes catching on the hem of his skirt—not sexual, really, just admiring how it makes his legs look.
I wish , he starts to think, and shuts the thought down before it can come out.
It’s only another few moments before he thinks to head upstairs like Yoongi suggested, glass drained. He refills it with water from the bathroom sink, wincing at the bright sharp antiseptic scent that greets him, and finds the window, climbing the rickety fire escape up to the roof.
It’s freezing, is the first thing he notices. It’s nice, though, and he sits as close to the edge as he dares, looking out over the city. When he tilts his head back, he can smell smog, and smoke, and the snow that’s hopefully going to come tonight.
He lays back, resting his cup on his belly, and lets his mind go blissfully blank.
(Yoongi finds him, later. He laughs softly and wakes him up just enough to guide him downstairs, putting him to sleep on the couch and kissing his forehead.
“Good night, Kook-ah,” he whispers, and there’s the ghost of his fingers in his hair, and Jungkook is alone.
When he wakes up a few hours later, he grabs his phone and sneaks out in the near-dawn, the almost-light.)
And after, he means to apologize to Yoongi, he really does. He asks Taehyung for his number, but gets only Ooooh, the baby has a cruuuuuush? for his efforts. He does, probably, but he has a crush on almost everyone who’s ever been nice to him; he just wants to apologize.
At the end of the conversation, though, he’s bright red and feels flayed open, and he just… doesn’t end up talking to Yoongi, as much as he wants to.
**
That’s how it started, and for a while it just simmers in him. It simmers, and simmers, until—Jungkook is watching the moment in his stream where he realized he looked pretty, and—
I want to look pretty, followed by, like a girl looks pretty.
He freezes, making a soft sound, fingers pausing on the keyboard. Girl, the thought bounces around in his head, girlwomanamiawoman?
And just like that, she—yes, she realizes.
She promptly freaks the fuck out, standing up and pacing around her apartment. She’s not scared, even, so much as overwhelmed.
She remembers, then, orange hair and a black pleated skirt, and before she can second-guess herself, she’s out the door and in her car.
The drive isn’t long at all, and she barely thinks during. She plays music, a playlist Taehyung made for her to calm her down when she’s anxious, and lets the notes wash over her, fill her with a gentle softness. She’s almost calm, by the time she gets to Yoongi’s.
Yoongi is the one who answers the door, in a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt. “Hey,” he says, and—
“Are you a woman?” she blurts out, and claps her hands over her mouth, wide-eyed.
“What the fuck—Jungkook, I don’t know what—” he starts to say.
“Because I am,” she cuts him off, voice trembling. She hunches in on herself a little, looking down at the ground rather than at his face.
Yoongi’s voice is much more measured, sweet, when he says, “Do you want to come in?”
It’s that, the softness in his voice, that makes her burst into tears, ridiculous and loud sobs being ripped out of her chest.
Yoongi laughs a little, sounding frankly dumbstruck, and guides her inside. He bends down to take her shoes off, and she’d make a joke about the view if she weren’t still crying, trying to get herself to breathe but only hiccuping despite all her efforts.
By the time she finally manages to calm herself down, they’re sitting on the couch. She’s still sniffling, but she’s breathing easier, tissue in hand and the box next to her. “I’m suh-sorry,” she starts, blowing her nose, “um. I’m sorry if I hurt you, hyung,” she says, blinking at him with wide, wet eyes.
He tilts his head, smiling gently at her. “It’s okay, Jungkook-ah,” he says softly, reaching out and petting her hair, his thumb brushing under her eye. “It’s okay, oppa isn’t hurt at all.”
“Op-oppa?” she asks, muffled with how stuffy her nose is, and she blows her nose again, making a disgusted face at all the snot that comes out.
He cackles, and even that feels kind, feels sweet. “Oh, you adorable thing. Of course you can call me oppa,” he says, grabbing her used tissue and getting up to toss it, pushing the box toward her. “You can wash your face in the bathroom, if you like. I’m gonna make us some hotteok, how does that sound?”
She laughs wetly, wiping at her eyes with the dry tissue and nodding. “Did—did Taehyung tell you the way to my heart is through food?” she asks, pouting.
Yoongi grins, bright. “He might have mentioned,” he teases, winking and shuffling into the kitchen.
She stays where she is for a long second, smiling to herself. So he—he asked about her, maybe, she realizes, and has to rush into the bathroom to avoid squealing.
Still, as she washes her face, she can’t help the grin on her face, wide enough that her poor cheeks hurt.
They bring the hotteok out onto Yoongi’s balcony.
“Careful,” Yoongi warns when he sees her eyeing them, “they’re hot and you’re gonna burn yourself.”
She scoffs. “Oppa doesn’t trust me? I’m tougher than I look,” she insists, cheeks puffed out and lips pursed. She grabs one and—drops it immediately, surprised by just how hot they are. “Fuck,” she pouts.
Yoongi’s giggling, nudging her with his socked foot. “What was that about being tough?” he teases.
She pouts further, holding out her fingers. “Oppa blow on them, make them better?” she asks, voice as cute as she can get it.
Yoongi smiles at her, doing as she asks. His voice is nearly unreadable when he says, “Ah, Jungkookie, you’re gonna be even more dangerous now.”
With the way he’s looking at her, though… she doesn’t need to ask.
(Later, when they’ve relocated into Yoongi’s room, Jungkook says: “I just felt like you were the safest bet, like—like I had to get it out and I knew you’d be good to me.” She glances at Yoongi, heart beating faster. “Sorry if that’s weird, or anything.”
And Yoongi laughs again, voice careful and gentle. He rolls forward on his desk chair, taking her hand in his own. “Oppa’s always here for you.”
When he kisses her fingertips this time, she swears she can feel sparks, can see the future: she’s going to fall head over heels for him.)
Jungkook doesn’t remember falling asleep, but suddenly there’s a hand in her hair and she’s being ripped out of a nice sleep. The man—Seokjin, she recognizes, though she’s only met him once—ruffles Jungkook’s hair and murmurs, “Hey, little guy, you want a ride home?”
Jungkook groans and burrows her face in Yoongi’s chest, shaking her head. “W’na sleep here,” she mumbles, yawning big. “Oppa’ll let me, hm?”
Seokjin laughs, nodding. “Yeah, okay,” he whispers, dropping a kiss on both of their heads and leaving, shutting off the light as silently as he can.
Within the next minute, she’s asleep again.
***
“Do you want to wear something of mine?” Yoongi asks her, when they’ve gotten past Seokjin and Taehyung ( use protection you heathens! Seokjin yelled, and it made her laugh, high and desperate) and the door is locked behind them.
She looks down at herself, her tattered jeans and huge hoodie, chosen for the way they hide her body. “Do you have anything that would fit me?” she asks softly.
Yoongi grins, nodding. “Yeah, sweet girl,” he promises, heading to his closet. “I like my skirts and stuff a little long, so—they should fit you. And,” he adds, a little sly, “if I see anything, I’ll make sure to avert my eyes.”
She gathers up all her courage, and says, “You… you wouldn’t have to, oppa.”
Yoongi goes still and catches her eyes in the mirror, a slow smile on his face. “I’ll keep that in mind, then,” he says quietly.
The moment is tender, fragile, and Jungha (she’s realized it, now, and wears the name like she’s always had it) is about to say something, but—there’s the sound of breaking glass in the living room, and she frowns, turning toward the door.
“Let them deal with it,” Yoongi says, soft and a little pleading.
She pauses, her fingers dragging on his soft duvet. “Okay,” she whispers back, smiling back at him, her cheeks turning pink. “Oppa wants to keep me all to himself?” she asks quietly.
Yoongi huffs out a laugh, turning back with an armful of clothes. “Yeah, I do,” he agrees softly, tossing the pile onto the bed. “You go ahead and get changed and I’ll hide in the bathroom, okay? I don’t wanna make you… I want to give you time before you show me, if you need it.”
Jungha smiles, blushing lightly and ducking her head. “You’re so sweet to me, oppa,” she says softly. She shoos him into his ensuite then, looking through the options he’s given her—a beautiful pink fuzzy sweater catches her eye, along with a cream-colored one that looks so soft. She giggles at it, fingering the material and letting out a satisfied sigh.
She pulls her top off—she’s terrified when she has it over her head, but she knows no one will come in, that it’s just her own anxiety—and slips into the large sweater, giggling softly at how it feels. It’s so big on her, big in the best and most comfortable way. She kicks off her pants and… doesn’t put anything else on her legs, loving the feeling of it at the top of her thighs. The way it hits makes her feel decidedly feminine.
“I’m ready, oppa,” she calls lightly, knocking on the bathroom door with a pleased sound. “And… I’m not wearing pants, so if you want me to put some on, you should say it now.”
There’s dead silence for a long second. “No, um—that’s fine, sweet girl,” Yoongi promises, clearing his throat behind the door. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
She pouts, though she knows he can’t see her. “Oppa,” she whines, voice as nasally as she can get it, “come on. Get out here and tell me how pretty I am in your clothes?”
There’s a small crashing sound, but then Yoongi’s there, cheeks pink and hair a mess, just… staring at her. “Oh, look at you. My beautiful Jungkook,” he whispers, taking her hand gently and turning her this way and that, looking at her from every angle.
The name makes her wrinkle her nose. “Jungha, please,” she says quietly, as polite as she can.
And Yoongi smiles, petting her cheek for a second, other hand sliding down her side. “My beautiful Jungha, then,” he says, words as careful as ever. He leads her to his mirror, chin hooked over her shoulder and arm wrapped around her middle, hand splayed out on the fabric. “You look so lovely in my things,” he whispers, nudging his nose against her cheek.
Jungha giggles, feeling lighter than air, tilting her head back. “Oppa,” she whispers, turning to kiss his head, resting her hand on top of his.
Yoongi makes a little sound, smiling wide. “Will you stay the night again?” he quietly requests, kissing her neck.
She nods. “As long as I can, um. Sleep in this,” she says, voice going sweet and shy.
He hugs her tighter for a brief second. “Whatever you want, little one,” he says, and… she believes him.
She pouts a little bit, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What if I want oppa to cuddle me?” she asks.
Yoongi laughs, watching her with something she doesn’t recognize in his eyes. (If she had to put a name to it, well, she’d call it love.) “Of course, sweetheart,” he says.
She climbs under the covers, listening to his soft gasp when more of her legs are revealed, and… she feels good.
***
As the weather grows warmer, so does their friendship. Jungha comes out to Taehyung, and gets to know Seokjin, and—her life is good, she thinks.
Naturally, when she gets herself into a lull of complacency is when it all goes to shit.
She’s at the end of her latest stream (she’s playing Sims, now, to the delight of some of her viewers and fury of others). She’s saying her goodbyes, voice carefully low, practiced.
oppa you’re so handsome!!! comes one chat, and she laughs it off, checking herself out in the little viewfinder. She felt… pretty, today, put on a tiny bit of makeup behind her giant glasses and has her hood pulled up like a wig again, and—it all crashes around her, it feels like.
She hardly registers the goodbyes, the logging off.
She wraps her blanket around herself and just sits, staring dimly at her computer background (a photo of an iceberg that Hoseok sent her, from his and Jimin’s spur-of-the-moment honeymoon a couple years ago). She needs to get up, knows that she needs to move and at least stretch her legs, but she’s unable to move.
That’s how Yoongi finds her; he knocks gently and comes into her office, deep frown on his face. “Hey, Jungha-yah,” he whispers, his hands so warm and solid on her shoulders. “Hey, my sweet girl, how are you doing?”
Jungha shrugs, wrapping her blanket even tighter around her.
Yoongi, seemingly knowing just what she needs from him, nods. “Well, oppa can make you a snack,” he offers, “or some tea, or coffee, if you want, or we can just get up and cuddle, but… you can’t keep just sitting here. You’re gonna be so sore tomorrow.”
She looks up at him blankly, her face devoid of emotion. “Carry me?” she asks, and for once she isn’t playing around, isn’t just trying to get him to call her cute. She doesn’t think her limbs will move, at this point, will carry her into the living room.
Yoongi smiles, small. “Of course, sweetheart,” he whispers. He spins her around in her desk chair and lifts her up, one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. She’s cradled to his chest, his easy movements slowly but surely bringing her back to reality.
By the time she’s on the couch, a mug of tea in hand, she’s moving a little, giving him a small smile. “Sorry,” she says, and winces at the rough quality of her voice.
Yoongi frowns, cupping her cheek. His palm, she notices again, is just so warm. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. Do you wanna talk about it?”
She curls up as small as she can get, resting her cheek on her knee. “I don’t like… um,” she starts, clearing her throat. “Streaming, I have to act so—so masculine.” She frowns. “I hate it.”
Yoongi sighs softly, pulling her close until she’s resting against his chest. “Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers, and “my beautiful girl,” and enough loving sweet words that she slowly feels like she’s brought back to center. “I have a gift for you,” he murmurs, “when you’re ready.”
She frowns, looking up at him. She has tears in her eyes, but they’re not falling yet. “I’ll take it now, if you’re sure,” she says, frowning gently.
He smiles at her and pats her knee, getting up to grab it. He hands her a nondescript brown bag and sits down again. “If you hate it, just tell me,” he murmurs softly. “You don’t have to like it, okay?”
She laughs quietly and nods, opening it with a pleased sound. It’s… “Oh, oppa,” she whispers, eyes wide. It’s the softest dress, a deep purple crushed velvet that she already knows she’ll feel so pretty in. “This…” She trails off, fingers reverently tracing over the fabric.
“Do you like it?” Yoongi asks.
She clears her throat, closing her eyes for a second. She nods fast, unable to speak for a long moment. “It’s too much,” she whispers, “it—this is such high quality, oppa, you should keep it for yourself.”
Yoongi’s frown deepens. “Why would I do that? I want my beautiful girl to wear it,” he murmurs, rubbing her back with a soft, encouraging sound.
She suddenly, desperately feels like she owes him, like she needs to repay him. “I’m not—I can’t pay you back,” she whispers. “I don’t—especially if I come out, I’m already looking at moving soon, a-and I’m going to lose all my subscribers—”
He pulls her into a tight hug, the dress pressed between them. “I don’t care about that,” he whispers, kissing her hair over and over, uncaring of how sad-sweaty she is. “I just want to give it to you.”
“I’m not…” She trails off, trying to find the best way of putting the words together. “I’m not worth this,” he whispers.
Yoongi cups her cheeks, looking into her eyes. He has the saddest look on his face, and it takes him a long moment to whisper, “Jungha, you… you’re worth so much. I’d buy you anything, give you everything if it meant you’d be even a tiny bit happier.”
She can’t answer that, can’t do anything but climb into his lap and hold him, letting out muffled gasps into his shoulders. “Thank you,” is all she can say, “thank you, oppa. Thank you.”
Jimin, all the way across the world, seems to know exactly what Jungha needs. He sends her an email, empty except for:
Hey sweet girl!! I heard you were having trouble. This is one of Hobi-hyungie’s best friends, she’s apparently incredible and more similar to you than you might otherwise think~~ let me know how you like her!!!
Below it is a link to a YouTube video. It’s an introduction to… a botany channel? Jungha rolls her eyes but sits down to watch it.
Hours later, she emerges from her Kim Namjoo-related black hole a changed woman. She’s beautiful, obviously, but what strikes Jungha about her is how confident she is, how she performs her femininity in a way that feels achievable, not alienating.
She’s a little bit in love, she realizes. She follows her on Twitter and sends her a DM (hello namjoo-ssi! i’m a twitch streamer and i’m thinking about coming out as a trans woman, would i be able to pick your brain and ask for your advice? i think you’re so cool and honestly i want to get to know you lol (and don’t worry i’ll absolutely pay for your time!)
She smiles to herself, something warm unfurling in her. Maybe she can do this.
***
“You should just ask to move in with Yoongi,” Taehyung says, kicking at her ankle, when Jungha is complaining about not knowing where the hell she’s going to live.
She groans, glaring ineffectually at him. “It’s too soon! And we aren’t even dating,” she pouts, throwing a pillow when it’s clear the pout isn’t as effective as it once was.
Taehyung rolls his eyes, throwing the pillow right back. “Yah, that’s just because you’re too scared to ask him out,” he mumbles.
She smiles a little. “I’m waiting for the right time, actually,” she admits quietly. “I want to feel like myself, before we go there. He’s… I think he’s special, oppa,” she whispers.
Taehyung’s smile turns soft. “He is, and so are you,” he promises quietly, stretching his leg out until his foot brushes hers. “But you’re special already. You don’t have to be anything else for him, you know?”
She shrugs, watching him. She thinks of Namjoo, her easy confidence, and the way Yoongi looked at her and just… knew. “I think I might,” she admits.
***
Jungha is resting on Yoongi’s couch, her head in his lap. She’s staring at the ceiling while Yoongi watches something she’s not all that interested in, her mind a world away. Her fingers brush over the velvet of her dress; she still hasn’t been able to wear it in public, but she feels safe in it here, like this.
Suddenly, she recognizes that there’s an anticipatory silence, and she zones back in, blinking at him. “Repeat that?” she asks, cringing at herself.
Yoongi smiles. “I asked if you wanted to move in with me,” he says softly. He brushes his knuckles over her cheek.
She swallows, watching him. “That depends,” she says quietly, and fuck, it’s now or never isn’t it? “I like you,” she whispers. “I like you a lot, oppa, and I don’t want to move in with you and have this, all the time, and not have you know how I’m reading it.” Her voice shakes, but the words are blessedly out, and the ball is in his court.
Yoongi stares at her, his fingertips even gentler as they move across her skin. (Reverence, she recognizes suddenly, he’s caressing her cheek, and… Oh.) “Jungha,” he whispers as he gathers her into his arms, as he wraps his arms around her and buries his face in her neck. “Baby, I’ve only been waiting for you to ask.” His voice is rough, rough like he wants to cry, like he cares, and—
Jungha kisses him, cupping his cheeks, needy and desperate but—gentle, too, a first kiss that promises more, that promises safety, a future.
She kisses him, and lets herself fall just that bit more.
***
She starts moving her things in that very night.
Before long she has a drawer of her own, her hair products living in the shower and her streaming setup on the other side of his studio. Her viewers comment on how happy she looks, how much more relaxed. She hasn’t come out yet, but—soon, she thinks, soon she will, and she’ll have Namjoo holding her hand virtually and Yoongi in her corner the entire way.
She curls up under the cheap blanket, leaning against Yoongi. They’re watching the sunset, a weekly tradition of theirs that they’ve agreed to keep up until it gets too cold to come out here. They’re on his roof—soon to be hers too, she realizes with a bit of delight. She takes a sip of her wine, chilled with a few heart-shaped ice cubes, and relaxes against him, rolling her neck around.
Yoongi kisses her hair and presses his thumb against her heart tattoo, smiling. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asks her, and she feels the warmth of his words all throughout her.
She giggles quietly, biting her lip. “I’m just… happy,” she murmurs, tipping her head back and smiling at him. “I’m really happy, oppa.”
He kisses her, and pulls her closer, and—
That’s it. She lets herself be.