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Yoongi has been sitting at the foot of his bed, hunched over his laptop for more than half an hour, unaware Jungkook woke up and is looking at him. He sleeps over a lot, more often that not. He says he never sleeps as soundly as he does when he can feel Yoongi’s presence next to him. Says he doesn’t dream and this is the only way his mind can rest. But it’s rare they both don’t work on the same day, one of them always having to wake up early and stir the bed to make it to work on time.
But even on this calm rainy morning, Yoongi is restless.
Jungkook moves a little, just enough to stretch his bare leg and nudge Yoongi’s thigh with his foot.
Yoongi looks up instantly, questioning eyebrows rising at the same time. Jungkook is looking at him from up down, head tilted on his favourite pillow. He raises his hands a little, though, signing lightly in that lazy, shorted sign language they use when they’re just the two of them.
He doesn’t speak, doesn’t have to when he has Yoongi’s attention. Can I stay here for Christmas?
Yoongi’s eyebrow rises higher. “Here?” He repeats, words coming out of his mouth naturally though his hands move up too. “In my apartment?”
Jungkook nods slowly, almost pouting and nervously fiddling with his hearing aids.
Jungkook never cried because of the holidays, but this year is different. It’s the first time he’s going to spend Christmas away from his family and spending it alone makes him anxious. He’s been open enough about it that Yoongi couldn’t let it go or say no.
“But I’m taking a train ticket for you,” Yoongi replies, and Jungkook frowns, staring in confusion. “You didn’t think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?”
Is this why you've been mumbling to yourself about overpriced tickets?
When Yoongi closes his laptop to crawl back in bed, Jungkook grins happily. "The day I stop forgetting you can lipread so well is the day I'll know peace."
Over the few years of knowing him, Yoongi never really thought Jungkook would ever meet his family. He found himself daydreaming sometimes, crafting secret scenarios in the hidden back of his mind and heart, where he would meet them on a special occasion, sporting a new status. Something much more intimate than being a best friend.
Something he tucked down in shame when he caught himself growing too fond of it.
But. The time has come, and Jungkook isn’t sure he should come along. Especially not for Christmas. Christmas is for family, he says, and from what I know, now I’m on my own.
He keeps texting Yoongi, begging him for his parents’ number just to make sure they really don’t mind him coming over. And Yoongi gives in, asks his parents to reassure him and they tell him they were the first to suggest it – and though Jungkook doesn’t believe it, it’s true – and that he shouldn’t worry about that.
And ff course Jungkook waits until the last moment to pack, panic texting Yoongi about how the weather is in Daegu and if he can wear anything he wants. Yoongi replies that the only thing he should worry about is surviving a whole week surrounded by his terribly loud sister’s family.
Good thing I’m deaf
It’s like I’m meant for it
It makes Yoongi laugh, and the night before leaving, they barely sleep. Excitement has burned away every shoot of fear in Jungkook’s flesh and Yoongi’s heart pounds so loud he can’t hear the sound of the city outside. He reminded his family that Jungkook can hear a bit but still needs to know where sound comes from and see people talk to understand what they're saying. Everyting will be fine.
Jungkook is the first to arrive at the train station and Yoongi finds him waiting, tucked in a black fluffy coat too big for him. His face is hiding behind his printed scarf, his pink nose peaking just above. The closer he walks up to him, the more Jungkook looks delighted and excited and devastatingly pretty.
Inside of Yoongi’s chest, his heart squeezes, feeling like it’s been filled with air and a hand is holding it tight tight tight.
Jungkook sits next to the window and takes his sketchbook and pencils out, lays them on the small table he’s allowed with his seat. He fiddles with them, sharpens their nib, jab his fingertips with them. He does everything but draw, eyes too focused on the scenery unfolding behind the glass, widening to take everything in.
Yoongi doesn’t even try to talk to him. He’s wearing his headphones and he knows it’s useless to try and communicate with Jungkook when he's so deep into his world. He doesn’t mind, though. The most important is that the pink rimming his eyes seems to fade away with every mile the train washes down.
Yoongi talks about Jungkook, times and times and times again, bragging about his gentleness, his sharp mind and the light he loves to take in to pour a thousand of times brighter into the world and on paper. He talks about his colours, the way he sings off key because he doesn’t care about being tuned.
He talks endlessly about how his friend is all colours and light and vibrations, and he doesn’t know if he loves or fears the way his mother smiles when she sees him walk out of the train. How she looks like she’s known him far longer than he has.
Every trace of the last days has faded. Joy has replaced worry in the set of Jungkook’s eyebrows and his smile has erased all the questions he had about being welcome and Yoongi being sure he wouldn’t be intruding or overstepping.
No matter how many times Yoongi told him No, you’re more than welcome, They’re gonna be so happy to finally meet you, Please stop I’m not doing this for charity, Yes I want you to come, Jungkook still had doubts.
But if they are still lingering on his face and in the back of his mind, Yoongi doesn’t see any of them, and he hopes his parents walking to them up the platform will give him the answers he needs.
“Jeon Jungkook,” his mother says, grinning and waving like she would to a dear friend she hasn’t seen in years. “At last we meet!”
Jungkook can’t help his wide happy smile from burning his cheeks. Shy and flustered but shamelessly delighted when Yoongi’s parents talk to him with the bit of sign language they learned. It’s not fluid, even a little stuttering and unassured, but when the car falls silent for a moment, Yoongi catches him exhaling and rubbing his nervous hands on his thighs.
He fights the urge to grab and squeeze them but crossing his father’s gaze in the rear mirror convinces him it’s best if he doesn’t. Jungkook doesn’t need to know his family is convinced they are together. He’s already nervous enough.
Or is he the more nervous one? Because Jungkook looks comfortable enough now, talking with his mother like they’ve known each other forever.
Maybe they do. Maybe for some reason Yoongi shared more about them than he thought he did.
The first night goes smoothly. Yoongi’s sister and her family are only coming the next day and he’s glad it gives Jungkook some time to adapt and get used to the place and his parents. Though he doesn’t seem to really need it, navigating the flat and conversations as smoothly as ever.
It’s almost painful.
He talks and moves and exists like he belongs and was always meant to find himself right here and now. It’s easy for Yoongi to know his parents adore him with just the way his mother smiles at him whenever he says something, or the way his father looks at him even if the only thing he does is raise an eyebrow.
And Yoongi gets it. Everybody always falls for Jungkook and Yoongi was just one out of many.
It was unexpected and sudden, but easy and wonderful. Yoongi found himself wanting to be pulled into his space again, and again, and again, until Jungkook’s face would light up the galaxy whenever he would see him approach.
Which didn’t take long either.
It took a little time for them to fit for each other though. Yoongi never believed people were made for each other. He’s convinced it takes a little work, a little patience, and a lot of understanding. And that sometimes people don’t work together.
But they did.
Jungkook gently smoothed Yoongi’s edges, with soft eyes and dazzling smiles, sneaking his way and carving a spot to himself in his life and in his heart.
Yoongi didn’t really see it coming, didn’t expect a soul as beautiful and big and charming as Jungkook to want to stay close to him. But every day, Jungkook chooses to love him and Yoongi chooses to keep his feelings deep deep down his heart.
He didn’t fall like everybody else falls for Jungkook. He fell hard, painfully and desperately.
But in the end, maybe that’s how everybody falls for Jungkook. He’s devastating.
“You were right,” his father says as he walks into the living room, where Yoongi has been reading since Jungkook went to bed. He turns the big light off to let them bathe in the warm soft light of Yoongi’s mother salt lamps and comes to sit in the chair next to his son with a deep sigh of relief.
Yoongi lifts his head up from his book. It’s weird seeing your parents grow old, and he found it seems to happen faster now that he lives away from them.
He watches the loosened lines of his eyes, his forehead marked with the worry he went through, his sharp eyes riddled with laughter, some of it they shared together.
“He’s very sweet,” he says, laying his eyes on him with a knowing look Yoongi knows too well. “Incredibly gentle.”
He’s trying to get him to say or admit something. Yoongi knows he won’t be going to bed with the taste of secrets on his tongue and his feelings on his lips.
“I had a feeling before I met him. You love him, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says, almost scoffing. “He’s my best friend.”
“People don’t look at their friends the way you look at him.”
Yoongi shifts uncomfortably in his chair, the cushion behind his back suddenly feeling like a threatening weapon. He looks down at his book and pretends to be going back to reading, but he can’t focus with the lingering look his father is giving him.
It’s patient and encouraging. His father is always patient and kind, always helping him make sense out of him rather than reading him out loud.
“He and your mum were talking about you earlier,” he eventually says. “I won’t tell you what they said, I’m just saying – I saw the way he looks at you too.”
Yoongi looks back at him and sags a little. “Don’t make me hope.”
His father smiles softly, breathing through his nose as he leans his arm on the armrest and rests his chin on his palm. “You can’t always put your own feelings on the side, son.”
“If I told him and he didn’t love me back, I’d break everything we have. And I like it all.” Yoongi looks down. “I don’t want to lose him.”
“You could lose him either way,” his father says after a moment of silence. “Sometimes silence hurts deeper than words.”
Yoongi stays silent at that. His fingertips run along the edge of the page he stopped at, his eyes wandering over to the wedding pictures displayed on the bookshelves. His parents and his sister. All of them happily married lovers who started out as friends.
“If you really were to lose him, wouldn’t it be better staying true to yourself?”
Yoongi realises the light of his room is still on when he switches off the bathroom’s and walks to his bedroom. He slowly opens the door so Jungkook can see he’s coming in if he happens to look this way, but he finds him scrolling through his phone.
He locks it when Yoongi gets into bed though, tossing it near his pillow and smiling at him.
“You’re not sleeping?” Yoongi asks, a pull of fear stirring in throat. There’s no way Jungkook could have heard him and his father talk but. What if. What if what if what if.
Was waiting for you to come.
His lips slowly curl into a soft sleepy smile.
Read to me.
When Yoongi lays down, Jungkook shifts closer to put his hand on Yoongi’s chest.
He likes doing this when they sleep together, says he likes the rumbling of Yoongi’s deep and raspy voice when he’s tired and loves feeling it on his skin.
He’s always found comfort in thunder, sometimes leaning his forehead to the windows on stormy days.
Yoongi doesn’t protest. He leans into Jungkook’s touch, their breathing steadying and harmonizing in no time. He reads for a few minutes before he feels Jungkook becoming heavier and leaning deeper into him, his lips slightly parted with sleep.
Yoongi moves slowly, putting his book near his pillow so he doesn’t disturb him. He only slides down his pillow then and pulls the comforter up to cover his arms.
“I love you,” he says, hoping Jungkook can feel that in his skin too.
“Do you speak like this because you can’t hear?”
Jungkook huffs out a laugh, shoulders briefly rising to his ears. He tilts his head and looks at Yoongi’s niece with a thoughtful hum.
“Like what?” He asks, but when Minyeo opens her mouth and tries to blow her cheeks to imitate his round choked words, her mother’s eyes blow out as she rushes to her daughter and covers her mouth.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Danbi says, looking up at Jungkook with pleading eyes.
She then looks back at her youngest daughter and gently squeezes both her cheeks in her hand. “Don’t say such things, it’s rude. He can read your lips if you articulate well enough speaks like this because you don’t know sign language and so you can understand him.”
Minyeo hums, staring at Jungkook with her four years old curious eyes. She doesn’t say more, until her big sister tilts her head in response to Jungkook.
“So are you my uncle’s boyfriend?” She asks, and both her mothers burst into confused and flustered excuses. Jungkook’s face widens and Yoongi wants to throw himself through the window.
Chaeryeong frowns, looking genuinely upset when Danbi grabs her arm. “You talked about it in the car!”
Jungkook looks at everyone like he’s trying to know if he understood right, and obviously he did. And the more he understands that he did, the more thoughtful his eyes turn.
It’s scary how well Jungkook and the girls get along. He plays with them a lot, lets them style his hair with glittery butterflies pins that he doesn’t take off for the whole day, asking Yoongi if he thinks he’s pretty until Yoongi’s flustered and admits it, which makes the girl giggle happily.
They ask him to teach them sign language, only wondering about random words most people wouldn’t use in casual conversations. But Jungkook looks really pleased about it and even shows them how to swear, which of course make them burst into delighted and ecstatic laughter.
“I’m sorry for my nieces, kids are ruthless,” Yoongi says when comes the end of the afternoon and he finds himself alone with Jungkook in the kitchen. His hands brush into his black hair, unable to settle once they’re done speaking.
Jungkook laughs, definitely happy. It’s fine.
He pauses while Yoongi finishes drinking his tea and his smile kind of disappears, turning a more serious shade of him.
What if I was your boyfriend, though?
“What?” Yoongi almost chokes on his drink and coughs.
Jungkook shakes his head with a thoughtful smile. Yoongi startles as Danbi’s face pops through the door frame. She’s grinning, unaware of what she just interrupted. “Hey, wanna watch Frozen? I’m gonna make popcorn!”
Of course Jungkook acts like he didn’t say anything for the rest of the evening. And Yoongi – Yoongi spends the whole movie watching him, looking for anything that would let him know he’s thinking about what he said too. A tilt of his mouth, a glint of his eyes. But there’s nothing but sheer happiness because Frozen is one of his favourite movies and he wouldn’t even need the captions anymore to hum along.
And like a wave finding the shore, Yoongi breaks.
He catches Jungkook’s tears during Christmas Eve’s dinner. Jungkook doesn’t sob and actually doesn’t make a sound. He just frowns over his food with tears dangerously hanging on his thin eyelashes after he mutters a few thank yous for inviting him and having set a spot for him at the table.
At first, Yoongi thinks it’s because there’s too much noise. It doesn't matter how Jungkook can't heart a lot of things, too much noise still takes a toll on him.
But it’s because of a smile from Yoongi’s mother and a sentence made of shy hands telling him you’re part of the family now.
I’m fine, I’m fine, he nods when Yoongi lays his hand on his thigh under the table.
He tries his best to smile and look happy, but Yoongi knows his smile tastes bitter on his lips. He knows how badly he would rather be in his family than here and it hurts. It hurts because Yoongi would rather have him here than anywhere else.
Jungkook’s eyes are still a little red when everyone goes to bed and they’re the only ones lingering in the living room. The fire cracks in the corner, and it’s only the light of its flames and the lights of the tree pouring over the room. Jungkook lies in the couch, looking way more peaceful than he did earlier. Calmer and a little sleepy.
Yoongi just finished washing the dishes and sneaks around the tree to pick one of the presents. It’s neatly wrapped in kraft paper, a small heart drawn next to Jungkook’s name in glittery black ink.
He sits next to the couch and puts the gift on Jungkook’s chest. Jungkook looks at him, doe eyes wide with surprise soon blurred by a happy smile.
“I might hate the holidays, but you don’t, so here’s your gift,” Yoongi says, and his hand brushes Jungkook’s sweater when he brings them down. He fights the urge he has to pull him close and kiss his glossy lips.
Maybe he should tell him tonight.
You do that every year. Jungkook grins though, head tilting with fondness. He takes the package, neatly and carefully wrapped and sits up. He’s still wearing the pins, still looking painfully pretty. Like his own version of a Barbie doll, blond and glittery hair clashing with his black tracksuit.
Jungkook screeches when he opens his present. It’s a whole set of dragon toe-socks, a dozen of them custom made because dragons and toe-socks are two of Jungkook’s favourite things in the world. He grins, slowly unfolding each pair to look at the details and appreciate the fabric.
I love them so much, he giggles, claps his hands a few times and suddenly bolts up and leans over the armrest to reach and grab the package he brought and slipped under the tree the night before, when everyone was asleep.
It’s a mess. There’s tape everywhere and it makes Yoongi’s chest tighten because Jungkook loves doing things on his own and craft everything he can himself, but gift wrapping was never his thing. He doesn’t care about covering his heart with something pretty when everything that matters is inside.
He stares eagerly, watching Yoongi’s fingers carefully unfold the paper. He’s too slow, Yoongi can see his fingers twitch with impatience on his lap.
There are probably miles of wool knitted in this package. Miles of wool and thousands of shades, blues and soft toned oranges. It’s a blanket, a large and heavy one. It must have taken him months to make. Years, maybe. Yoongi doesn’t want to face this possibility.
He scoffs, the air burning his throat. “Fuck. You make it hard to fall out of love with you,” he mutters.
Jungkook straightens and looks at him in disbelief. He stares, dumbfounded, until Yoongi briefly looks up at him and shakes his head, cheeks burning bright. Sorry.
“I know your lips like my own. I never misread you,” Jungkook says because Yoongi won’t look back at him now. He’s a coward. He’s not ready for any of this.
He’s not ready to lose Jungkook tonight.
“Sorry, I’m just – I’m gonna sleep,” he says, but Jungkook sits up on his knees and reaches for his hand and catches it.
“Wait,” he says. Yoongi stops and looks at him, face so flushed it makes Jungkook’s eyes shy away. “Wait.”
He scrambles up and holds his hand to make sure Yoongi is going to wait for him before silently running to their bedroom. He comes back with his sketchbook, pressed to his chest like the most precious treasure. And somehow it is. Yoongi hasn’t seen all of it, but he knows how much Jungkook cares about it. He knows how much he himself does because of what it means to Jungkook.
Everything Jungkook loves, he does too.
Jungkook seems to hesitate, though. His fingers nervously fiddle with the split corners of the book, worn by the hundred times it’s been shoved into Jungkook’s backpack, thrown on his desk and table. Love and art have use it so much that Yoongi doesn’t dare touch it when Jungkook eventually hands it out.
Look at it.
It’s not a question, not even a permission, but it doesn’t sound like an order either. It’s an invitation, and right now there’s nothing more important than this. Nothing more important that what Jungkook will tell him through his art.
And Yoongi is scared.
He knows this is one of those important shifting moments. The sun will rise tomorrow, his nieces and sisters will wake up, his heart will still beat the same and loosen around Jungkook, but the world will look different.
Jungkook doesn’t say anything anymore. He takes a deep breath and crouches, helping himself down with his hands to sit next to Yoongi and crosses his legs. His eyes don’t leave him but his hands come up to cover his ears.
He does that when he’s anxious and the loudness of his heartbeat overwhelms everything else. When Yoongi opens his mouth and drops the sketchbook for a moment to sign, Jungkook clicks his tongue and frowns, swatting at Yoongi’s hands so he just does what he’s told.
“Okay, okay,” Yoongi says, nodding and looking down at the sketchbook.
It’s not like he doesn’t know what it is. Jungkook showed him plenty of his art pieces, asking him for opinions and sometimes guidance or just wanting praise and feedbacks. And Yoongi indulges all the time. He loves the way Jungkook paints and draws the world, the way he sees it.
But he is also aware there are way less things he’s seen than things he hasn’t. He never put too much thought into it. He wondered sometimes, but knew it was too intimate, full of secrets he wasn’t meant to see and know.
He opens it, unaware he’s holding his breath.
It’s on every page he never saw. Lines of blues and orange, shades of sky and ocean and fire and amber, etched on paper, tracing him. His face, his eyes, his hands, his shoulders. He’s here, everywhere, small sketches and fully detailed portraits. He tries to count them, but he loses track as he turns the pages.
Those are the same colours Jungkook used for the blanket he made him.
“They’re your colours,” Jungkook says softly, words round and running off. “You’re made of them.”
What does it mean, Yoongi wants to ask, because he needs to be sure. He doesn’t want to see in them something he wishes for but is too scared of brushing and breaking.
He looks up and finds Jungkook’s eyes staring at him, searching for something. His hands leave his ears so he can draw. I’m in love with you.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Yoongi asks, and he tries his best not to let his hands shake.
Jungkook raises his eyebrows, almost offended. Why didn’t you?!
Yoongi smiles, and his heart is so full of love and fondness that it floods all around his lips, spilling on his cheeks and dripping down his chest. “I was scared,” he says, hands a little more assured.
Me too.
“I think I still am.”
Me too.
Jungkook smiles too. It’s soft, and small, as delicate and fragile as this moment. He holds his hands out, waiting for Yoongi to take them in his. When their fingers lace, Jungkook’s skin feels like poetry and Yoongi’s heart sings.
“So what do we do now?” Yoongi asks and his hands twitch to accompany his words but Jungkook refuses to let go.
Jungkook looks up to the ceiling and sighs longingly. “I want to do so many things to you!”
Yoongi slightly gasps, quickly pulling at his hands to make him look back, unconsciously leaning into him. “You can’t say things like that! My parents are right behind this wall!”
Jungkook laughs, hiccupped and grinning and Yoongi can’t do anything but smile and tenderly run his thumbs over Jungkook’s palms.
They sit here for a while, Yoongi inviting Jungkook under his new favourite blanket and holding him so close to him that it still feels alarmingly big around them.
Jungkook gently pinches Yoongi awake around 4am. They fell asleep over the couch cushions, so comfortably tucked into one another that they both shudder at the sudden loss of the other’s warmth when they stumble up to go to bed.
It’s still dark through the windows, and their hands quickly find each other again. Yoongi wears his blanket over his shoulders and Jungkook doesn’t ask to let himself under it too, wrapping his arms around Yoongi’s waist to pull him close.
Yoongi tenses for a second, startled by how the galaxy changed direction in a matter of minutes. And all it took was a blanket made with patience and kindness.
He wants to ask for how long Jungkook has been working on it, wants to know if he planned on confessing with it, but when he stops near the hallway and turns to look at him, Jungkook smiles and presses a fingers to Yoongi’s lips.
“Shut up and look at the mistletoe,” he whispers because his hands refuse to let go.
There’s no mistletoe, but Yoongi doesn’t have time to check before Jungkook kisses him like he’s never been kissed before. He kisses him like he’s wanted it forever and suddenly it doesn’t matter how much time he spent knitting this blanket. All that counts now is the air they share.
When they make it to bed, sharing kisses they stop counting and cradled under the blanket, their hands untie to touch and kiss and explore and cover Jungkook’s mouth when his voice breaks into moans way too loud to be let free in a family house.
They make Yoongi smile and laugh into another kiss, Jungkook sighing in relief and finding his usual spot in Yoongi’s side. He presses a gentle kiss to his chest and closes his eyes, his fingers finding Yoongi’s easily.
He’s learned to knit and secure his threads together over the last year. He’s not letting these ones unfasten.