Work Text:
“...Cute?”
The crowd goes wild, erupting in loud coos and shouts of affirmation, screams and wails to release the pent up emotion that inevitably balloons when faced directly with how unbelievably adorable Kim Seokjin is.
From his lounge seat across the stadium Jungkook watches with still-fond eyes, a strong pang of affection in his heart even after nearly two years. The concert is coming to a close now, ending much the same as it had the past three nights—thunderous applause as Seokjin leaves the stage with dozens of flying kisses and declarations of love, and an upbeat song that continues to loop, ushering fans to the exits.
It was a good show. It always is.
Gradually the masses filter out, the music grows quieter, but Jungkook stays. He stays past the cleanup, he stays while Namjoon leaves to fetch the car, he stays when the song stops and the screens go dark, huddled in his cushioned seat, present for Seokjin even though he’s long gone. Jungkook stays behind now, like he’d stayed after the previous concerts.
Like he wishes he’d stayed all those months ago.
“Namjoon hyung said you weren’t leaving.” Taehyung materializes suddenly and plops into the seat behind him. Jungkook didn’t even hear him coming, but he can smell the familiar waft of Taehyung’s subtle cinnamon cologne. “You know Jin hyung isn’t here, right? He left as soon as he got off stage, you remember how this goes.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook nods, eyes forward. “I know.”
“Jin hyung knows you were here tonight, did you know that too?”
Jungkook pauses. This information is new to him, though he supposes there’s no one else who could have passed it along. “No. Did you—”
“He knows you were here last night, and the night before,” Taehyung continues. “And every other stop on his tour so far.”
Jungkook fidgets slightly, tugs his mask up to sit more securely over his face. Maybe it’s strange to still attend his ex-husband’s concerts, but it would feel stranger still to not come and support Seokjin. Taehyung doesn’t sound angry or displeased with Jungkook’s actions, his voice carefully nonchalant. Their group of friends had remained intact after the divorce, but Jungkook can’t help the feeling sometimes that there’s a clear split in who got who, like children divided between selfish parents.
“If he wants me to stop, I won’t come anymore,” Jungkook murmurs.
For a long, pregnant moment, Taehyung doesn’t speak. The air between them isn’t tense but there’s a certain heaviness to it, a tinge of sorrow that propagates like a raincloud, petrichor on Jungkook’s tongue. Then, finally: “I think you should talk to him.”
“Huh?”
“Seokjin hyung. I think you should talk to him,” Taehyung repeats, like Jungkook isn’t stunned into a silence of disbelief. He pauses for a second, contemplating, and then claps a big, familiar hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. Warmth bleeds through the thin fabric of his blouse, and it sets Jungkook’s heart to aching with the reminder of things he’s lost. “I’ll tell Joon hyung where to take you, it’s not far from here. He’s in room 712.”
“Hyung won't want to see me,” Jungkook says thickly. It’s been so long.
“You don’t know what he wants, Jungkook,” Taehyung counters. He stands to leave. “Go see him and find out for yourself.”
—
Standing in the carpeted hallway, knowing that Seokjin is just on the other side of the door, feels surreal. And not in a good way. There was a time when Jungkook would carry the second key, would be inside too tapping moisturizer into Seokjin’s cheeks, or hatching Pokémon on their respective consoles, or on his knees between Seokjin’s legs to help him relax. They would’ve eaten together and made plans to go sightseeing, always brimming with excitement to be able to publicly hold hands and sneak a kiss or two in a city where no one knows them. Jungkook would cheekily suggest a shower together, always “to save water hyung, it’s economical”, and Seokjin would indulge him with rolled eyes, and later at night they’d squeeze together in the same bed, soft with sleep and sex and all the infinite love in the universe between them.
Somehow those years feel wasted now, such a distant time in Jungkook’s memories that if he so much as attempts to reach out to touch the edge of them, they dance and slip away from his searching fingertips.
There’s an awful, horrible second where Jungkook believes his knock will go unanswered, and he’ll have to slink away back downstairs where Namjoon promised to wait. But then, against all odds, the door swings in to reveal Seokjin in his colorful loungewear, and—god, it’s been so long since Jungkook has been so close, since he’s been able to take in the raw beauty of Seokjin in front of him, imperfect and real and his .
Not anymore, really, but paradoxically his all the same.
God, Jungkook still loves him.
“Jungkook.” Seokjin is pleasant and polite and somehow that hurts more than if he were bitter or even petty. If he were mad then that means Jungkook is something worth his anger, worth feeling something even if it’s reproach. “Taehyung told me you were coming.”
“I didn’t think you’d see me,” Jungkook says, nearly whispering, afraid to disturb the peace between them as Seokjin walks into the room, waving for Jungkook to come in too.
“He didn’t give me much of a choice, said it’s time we finally talk like adults, whatever that means,” Seokjin shrugs, “but.” He glances back over his shoulder, watching Jungkook quietly shut the door. “I can’t say it’s not good to see you.”
And if that doesn’t have Jungkook’s heart fluttering up a storm behind the cage of his ribs, like he’s the same doe-eyed, eager-to-please college freshman meeting Seokjin for the first time. “It’s good to see you too hyung. It’s, uh, been a while.”
“Yes,” Seokjin agrees. “It has.”
Now they’re both inside, standing a meter apart, and Jungkook feels incredibly awkward to be in this space. The hotel is unfamiliar to Jungkook, all sleek dark wood and brushed silver accents with touches of home where Seokjin has been—an unzipped luggage at the foot of the unmade bed, clothes half folded and half stuffed in disarray, coats hung up and slippers haphazard by the bathroom door. A mostly eaten dinner is spread across the small table by the window, the curtains drawn open and the view of the stars outside outshining the hotel lamps. As much as he’d yearned for the chance to speak with Seokjin all this time, now that he’s got it, Jungkook doesn’t know what to say. He bristles with the eagerness of having this chance, he just doesn’t know what the chance is for.
“I heard you’ve been coming to my shows,” Seokjin throws him an easy life preserve. “Thank you, that means a lot.”
“Yes, yeah I have,” Jungkook latches onto it eagerly. Complimenting Seokjin is safe and familiar, as long as he doesn’t mention the tracks that croon of raw heartbreak. “You were great tonight hyung, the new album sounds amazing. It, um. You can really tell that Yoongi hyung helped to produce it.”
They share a small fond laugh, and in that preciously brief moment the scenery fades back to how things used to feel—normal, comfortable, easy. Then just as abruptly it pulls back and they’re standing here again, arms folded defensively, divorced and distant and with Jungkook unable to get a read on Seokjin.
Before they can lapse into more uncomfortable silence, Seokjin quietly asks, “Did you come just to congratulate me?”
“..no.”
“Then why?”
Jungkook chews his lip. “Taehyung hyung told me to.”
“So, what, Taehyung tells you to see me and you do? That’s all it takes?”
“No,” Jungkook frowns, “No I wanted to see you, I just—I didn’t think I could.”
“Why? You need permission or something?” Jungkook can’t answer, because he doesn’t know how to explain why the answer is yes. Seokjin huffs. “You really wanted to see me?”
Of course he did. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I..” Jungkook doesn’t quite know how to answer this either. I miss you. I miss what we were. I still love you and I don’t know what to do about it. I came to you because you’ve always been my safe space. I want to see you smile. I want to make you smile. “I miss you a lot, hyung.”
Seokjin sighs. His arms drop to his sides and he looks at Jungkook with something tired and close to pity in his eyes. “I told you we could still be friends, you know. I didn’t cut you out of my life, you pulled away.”
Jungkook cringes, because. Yes. It’s true. After they finalized the divorce Jungkook had all but disappeared into himself, the gravity of what had happened crushing down like a vice around his heart. If Hoseok weren’t so persistent Jungkook doubts he would’ve seen anyone for weeks before deciding to emerge from his little cave. “I did, but I—”
“But what? Why are you really here?” Seokjin pushes, hands on his hips now. “You could’ve just texted, or called. My number is still the same. What is it that you want from me?”
“I don’t know, I’m sorry, I just…”
“You finally miss me and you thought you could come up here, and hyung would make it better? Is that it?”
That’s not right but Jungkook doesn’t know how to begin to explain the heaving mess of want and regret in his heart, so it may as well be true. He feels very small. The room is still and he wants nothing more than to curl in on himself and become a little tiny ball that Seokjin can kick out of his room, and down the hallway, and out of his life, but no. Seokjin looks resigned, the remarkable facade of calm finally giving way to something a little more broken.
“Jungkook,” he says quietly, “You’re the one who filed for divorce. I don’t know what you want me to do.”
The reality of it is stifling.
“....I didn’t want it.”
And that’s really the crux of it, isn’t it? It was a moment of weakness, a whirlwind of blinding emotion when Jungkook had the papers drawn up. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, one big drastic action to solve all their problems, the decisive cut of a butcher’s knife coming down to cleanly divide them, except it hadn’t been clean at all. The thing they don’t tell you is that when your life slowly melds and blends with someone else’s, when it goes beyond possessions and preferences and into the very fabric of your soul melting with another’s, when the threads are intertwined in a weave that tight—it’s impossible to extricate yourself from it, to separate where one person ends and the other begins. When the threads tangle to become one, even a sharp cut can’t undo the stubborn twist of individual fibers, it can only sever the stitches holding two parts together.
Because Seokjin is ingrained in everything Jungkook does. He’s in the brand of toothpaste that Jungkook continues to use and the cords of the deep blue living room rug that they chose together, the splashes of color in his wardrobe amongst the achromatic, the early morning alarm so he remembers to eat breakfast. He’s in the way Jungkook sits up that much straighter even when he’s just gaming on the couch, the way he instinctively picks up on potential wordplay in innocuous sentences, the way he holds his fork in his right hand and his knife in the left. Seokjin is in the patience that Jungkook’s learned, the acceptance of mistakes as something equally as beautiful and important as perfection, the grace and kindness he’s always extended to others that he’s gradually learned to grant himself.
Seokjin is as much a part of Jungkook as the air he breathes, and Jungkook knows he made the biggest mistake of his life when he filed for a divorce that he didn’t want.
“Hyung, I didn’t want the divorce,” Jungkook says again, with more confidence now. What a relief to finally confess this after keeping it to himself for months upon months, the guilt of ruining the single best thing in their lives finally exposed to open air.
But Seokjin looks wounded to hear it, and the small triumph Jungkook felt in admitting it aloud dissipates instantly. “What did you want, then? Did you want to force me to fight for you?” Seokjin turns and begins pacing, and it sends a miserable dread sinking in Jungkook’s gut. It feels too much like the beginning of all the many arguments they had in the weeks leading up to their divorce, but this time Jungkook knows better, and he has nothing to lose so he swallows it down.
“I only wanted you,” he says, but it’s a soft murmur that gets lost in Seokjin’s next words.
“I’ve always done everything for you, within reason,” he carries on, running a worked up hand through his hair, the pigtails long gone. “I only ever wanted to give you everything you want, everything you deserve. I would never have gone against your wishes Jungkook, I loved you, if you wanted a divorce then who was I to say no?”
“My husband,” Jungkook responds, and Seokjin shoots him a withering look as if Jungkook had made a flippant joke, but he means it. “Seokjin—”
“I thought you weren’t happy,” he interrupts, voice cracking. Jungkook’s mouth snaps shut. The stars in the sky twinkle innocently, and Seokjin’s broad shoulders hunch in. “We were fighting so much, we hardly ever saw each other, and I—I wasn’t too surprised when you served me the papers. I thought you wanted out, and, god, did you really think I’d keep you tied down if you asked to leave?”
“But I shouldn’t have asked, I—I thought it would help,” Jungkook admits helplessly. “I thought we were too broken, and you would be happier without me, I don’t know—hyung I’m sorry, I—I wasn’t thinking. It seemed like the solution to all of our problems, you said—do you remember? You said it was a wonder why we were together at all if all we did was yell at each other. You said I brought out the worst in you.” Jungkook can recall it with an almost painful vividness, the hurt in Seokjin’s expression and the violent ache in his own chest to hear those words. It had been a hellish day, and coming home only to fight with Seokjin had compounded the fatigue. That evening after they’d run out of lashing words to hurl at each other, Jungkook had stormed out to seek a divorce lawyer.
Seokjin winces, looks properly chastised and genuinely remorseful. “I’m sorry, Jungkook. I should never have said that, no matter how angry I was. It’s not right.”
Jungkook nods, accepting the apology when before he may have argued that one wasn’t necessary. “But it’s true, isn’t it? And hyung I said some really nasty things too. We brought out the worst in each other and we never even tried to fix it.”
“Like we are now?” Seokjin replies drily. He takes a heavy seat on the bed, and rests his forearms on his knees. “I don’t know if there’s anything left to fix. Or if it’s worth fixing.”
It’s like a lightning strike in Jungkook’s chest, both paralyzing him and shocking to life a burning desire to prove otherwise. Because despite all that’s transpired, all the hurt and the vitriol, the two years of agonizing separation and regret—this is still Seokjin. This is Jungkook’s favorite hyung, his lifeline, the driving force that got him through his most grueling courses and the hardships of deadend jobs, his reason for staying in Seoul when the city felt too big for his dreams and all Jungkook had was Seokjin’s hands holding him afloat; not his first love but his true love, his best friend and his soulmate, his partner and his everything all rolled into one enormously beloved human being that is Seokjin.
He’s seen Jungkook at his best, on top of the world, and at his absolute devastating worst, and every spectrum of sentiment in between, and still proclaimed his love for all that Jungkook is. They’ve had years to build the most solid foundation of a relationship, from friendship into boyfriends into husbands, and Jungkook has never, not once, stopped loving him. Considering all of this, Jungkook isn’t quite sure where things could have gone wrong, because if love isn’t enough then what else does he have?
He says as much, and Seokjin chuckles, the sound of it empty and mirthless.
“It wasn’t our love, Jungkook. There was more than enough of it between us both, we were just..young. We worked so well together when we were dating, but we didn’t know what it meant to be married and tied to each other like that.”
“We’re still young now,” Jungkook reasons.
“Yes, but you’re not the same.” Seokjin looks at him, really truly looks at Jungkook, a drawn out minute to drink him in. “And neither am I.”
Jungkook isn’t too certain what that means for them. So he says the only thing he can think of that he knows and trusts with his entire being. “Seokjin, I still love you. I’m not sure I ever stopped.”
Seokjin doesn’t seem surprised. Jungkook braces himself for rejection, doesn’t dare to hope for reciprocation, but Seokjin just leans back on his hands with a small sigh. He pats the spot of duvet next to him and Jungkook takes a hesitant seat. There’s a respectable amount of space between their legs but Jungkook still holds his breath to be so, so close to the person he’s been dreaming of.
“When I got the papers, all I could think about was the night you told me that you regretted ever proposing. After that I figured it was only a matter of time before you left. I was waiting for it, honestly.” Seokjin scratches idly at his cheek, eyes downcast. All Jungkook sees is muddy guilt, disappointed that he’d made Seokjin feel cast aside like nothing. “I thought we could be okay as friends, I never wanted to lose you even if it meant I couldn’t have you. I still cared about you, how could I not? It’s not like the divorce flipped a switch and we were immediately estranged. But you disappeared and suddenly all I got was updates from Jimin letting me know you were still alive and in the country.”
Jungkook winces, but he bites his tongue and lets Seokjin speak.
“Sometimes I thought we just weren’t compatible enough, you know? That we made a mistake along the way and misjudged our romantic relationship, or something. Isn’t marriage supposed to be the final test, the last hurdle to overcome together?” Seokjin scoffs at his past self’s foolishness. “But that’s not what it is at all. We jumped into it because we were in love and it seemed like the next logical step. And maybe it could’ve worked out, who knows? But with our careers going in different directions, and moving into a new space before we were ready for it, being young and immature…”
Jungkook nods along, because everything he’s saying is right. It’s a snarled mess of threads, each one a small issue that tangled with another, and another, until it all became an overwhelming knot of everything wrong and grating that contributed to their breakup. And it’s hard to pick them apart to uncover what’s unimportant and what needs to be addressed, what was external and what was internal, between them. The very best Jungkook’s brain can come up with right now is, “The problem wasn’t really us, but…at the same time it was.”
“Something like that,” Seokjin quirks the tiniest smile like he understands perfectly what Jungkook is trying to say. He probably does. He always has. “And now we’re here. Two years later, and you’re saying you love me and miss me.”
“I do.” Jungkook’s conviction is strong.
“I’m guessing you want to get back together?”
“I..don’t know. Maybe not…not yet, but,” Jungkook rubs his nose, fists his hands in the thick comforter. “I want to have you in any way I can. Even if you don’t want me. I made a mistake and I knew it, so I ran away, but it didn’t even solve anything. It just made a bigger mess and I know that now.” Really he’d known it as he was huddled under his blankets, spending the night single and alone for the first time in ages, but now he’s prepared to acknowledge it and take responsibility.
“We should’ve communicated more,” Seokjin muses. “Instead of trying to think for each other. I should’ve talked to you about the divorce instead of signing right away but—I was angry too, and hurt that you wanted to end things. Deep down I knew it made sense and that made me angrier.” He flops onto his back and digs the heels of his palms in his eyes. “I could’ve asked you, and I could’ve fought for you. I would’ve, I don’t know why I didn’t. It would’ve saved us a lot of grief. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too, hyung. But both of us know better now,” Jungkook insists, because they do.
Seokjin side-eyes him warily. “Jungkook, time doesn’t magically make all of this better. Just because you’re here and we’ve grown and we still love each other, doesn’t mean we can just go back to how things were.”
“No,” Jungkook shakes his head in agreement. He doesn’t say anything about Seokjin loving him too, even though it sets off breathtaking sparks of hope in his chest. “But would we really have grown if we just went back to normal? We’re both different people hyung, you said it yourself. Whatever we have will be different too. And improved.”
“And healthier,” Seokjin adds. It draws a quick snort of laughter from Jungkook and Seokjin looks surprised, like he hadn’t known he was still capable of making Jungkook laugh like that and hadn’t realized how much he missed the sound of it. “Ah, Jungkook. When did you get so wise, hm?”
“I learned some of it from you, the patience, and thinking more rationally before acting,” Jungkook shrugs, “But I learned a lot of that on my own too.”
“Yeah, you did,” Seokjin says softly. His eyes are fond and gentle, not as guarded as before. “Not my little Jungkookie anymore, are you?”
“I am,” Jungkook feels bashful, the atmosphere tender beyond his expectations for this evening. All the rubble has been laid bare and they have the right tools, they just need to put in the work to repair it. “Just..older and smarter. You are too. Still my hyung, but..”
“Mm,” Seokjin hums in acknowledgement, sounding content and tired. “So. What now?”
“Um. I don’t know, we..can I take you out on a date?” Jungkook lays down shyly, his body curving in as he gazes up at Seokjin’s face. There’s no rulebook on how to get back together with your ex-husband, but they seem to be doing alright so far.
It makes Seokjin laugh, at least, and Jungkook has to turn to hide his own smile in his bicep. “You don’t think that’s too fast, huh? There’s a lot we need to discuss. And I can’t promise that we won’t fight again.”
“I know that,” Jungkook says, muffled. “I just want the opportunity to talk. I just want you.”
“Still bold,” Seokjin jokes. Jungkook waits, but he doesn’t say anything more.
“So? What do you think?” he prompts gently. “It can be a friendship date, or a get together with everyone else, or—or a meetup at our coffee shop—”
“A date is fine, Jungkook,” Seokjin breathes, and then takes another deep breath. He stares up at the ceiling and swallows hard, hands clasped over his stomach. “You know, I think the hardest thing I learned in the past two years is that I won’t ever love someone the way I love you. I think you’re it for me, and that’s scary because what if things go wrong, and you leave again? I don’t know if I can handle that.”
“I won’t leave,” Jungkook swears, “Not this time.” Not when Seokjin is it for him, too.
“You can’t promise that,” Seokjin argues. “And I wouldn’t ask you to. I just….ah, I don’t know. Hyung is tired, tonight was a lot to take in.” Jungkook holds out his hand on the bed between them, knuckles against the scratchy sheet and palm up in a silent peace offering, waiting with bated breath. It takes a second before Seokjin accepts it gingerly, loosely lacing their fingers in the same simple way he always used to. It feels like a small victory, the first fragile step towards something new and rebuilt, a breath of fresh air after years of living in shadow. “This doesn’t fix everything,” he reminds Jungkook, a warning with no bite. “There’s still a lot of shit to figure out.”
“I know,” Jungkook smiles agreeably, the happiest he’s been in ages. “But this time we’ll figure it out together.”
They're not there yet, but they will be.