Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It’s not her fault.

Jeongguk caught himself chanting the same phrase over and over in his mind as his mother began her daily routine of hovering and prodding. It’s something that he’s found himself subconsciously doing more often than not as the days go by. Today, though, he’d found himself less patient than normal. With each unnecessary temperature check, with each finger pricked, and with each weighted look she’d give the unwavering results, the mantra grew into crescendo.

It's NOT her fault.

It’s NOT HER fault.

It’s NOT HER FAULT.

Jeongguk’s glare was especially sharpened as it settled on his mother scribbling illegible scripture onto her notes with a pinched expression. She must have felt the sting of his stare, breaking her concentration to look at him quizzically, but Jeongguk fled her gaze. Instead he fixed his focus at the stray seam on his pajama leg, tangling the loose thread around his finger until it turned red.

“Your blood pressure is higher than usual today.” His mother informs, assumedly, to him. Jeongguk swallows a scoff. Actually, Jeongguk swallows down any form of response. Of course his blood pressure was elevated. He was agitated and doing the bare minimum to conceal it. He wasn’t sure if that was a confrontation or a simple observation for his mother to scribble down in her copious notes. In the end, he doesn’t dignify it with a response.

“Did you sleep well?” Her tone is not one of warmth, far from a gentle inquiry of his general well-being and mental state. No. She was probing, searching for the potential cause of his pressure spike. To this, he’d simply nodded. Yes. He had indeed been sleeping well until he was stirred awake by the soft glow of light emitting from his bedside lamp, a needle in his arm while his mother withdrew blood from him. For what reason? He didn’t know. But sleep evaded him even after she had long gone.

His ears cling on to her sigh, heavy and deep gutted before she finally gives the scribbling a rest. “We probably shouldn’t push your limits today, then.” She announces, the statement singed in finality. Jeongguk almost asks what ‘limits’ he was teetering on pushing, but doesn’t, for obvious reasons. “I think it’ll be better for me to get you ready for the day. There’s no need to strain yourself.” She declares, rising from her seat with a grunt. Jeongguk snaps the string off his pajama pants.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Jeongguk treads softly, eyes focused on unraveling the thread from further cutting his blood circulation. The light hue of purple painting around his finger a visual representation of how his throat feels, clogged and threatening to choke from all the words lodged in there.

Usually he wouldn’t bother objecting, knowing there’s no arguing against these things. He knew his mother well enough by now to forfeit any expression of rebellion, but he didn’t want what little independence he has to be stripped away at the first sight of abnormality. Especially today, of all days. Today, he was supposed to be officially recognized as a man, but instead he was still being treated with fragility. The thought infuriated him more than his previous birthday’s usually did. And today’s date wasn’t being acknowledged by either of his parents, no less. 

Perhaps their blatant obtuseness was the true cause of his spike in annoyance this morning. If it was, he would never say.    

“We don’t need the unnecessary risk, Jeongguk. You shouldn’t negotiate when it comes to your health.” His mother rebuttals, already reaching in his cabinets for fresh towels and linens. He doesn’t protest any further, easily bending to the whims and wills of his mother, watching her peel the sheets and pillow casing from his mattress. She was the good doctor, after all.

The truth was, Jeongguk had no idea how to deny his mother’s wishes, often opting to submission versus vocality. Early on, he learned his obedience and cooperation wasn’t a matter of choice, but essential. It was vital that he heed his mother’s warning, following her regiment of care without question. And he listened, often times to a fault. He hated his inability to simply question his mother, but she’d always reassure him that the extremities were necessary. She knew how to take care of him best, and even if he hated the codependency she often installed in him, she was the only person he could trust.

He was a Doll, but a broken one. If he had a label, it would read, ‘Handle with Care’. It wasn’t his mother’s fault he needed to be treated accordingly.

Reluctantly, Jeongguk abandons the cushioned window alcove to assist his mother in tucking the fitted sheet to the opposing side of the mattress before facing her disapproving glare. Without another word, he allows her to finish the task of dressing his bed alone, standing around idly as the room wafts with the scent of fresh laundered linen.

He watches her static expression, unchanging and cold was her neutral default. She didn’t wear wrinkles or crow marks like other women her age, simply because she didn’t bother smiling or frowning most days. Flat and unapproachable was the aura of demeanor she carried with her at all times. Perhaps refusing to be challenged or phased by anything emotional was her beauty secret.  

On most days, he would be patient and understanding towards his mother’s forceful efforts. But yet again, he finds himself burning in irritation at being unable to gather himself without his mother’s insistence. It was his twentieth birthdate, but instead of being celebrated for becoming a man, he was being infantilized, not even being entrusted with the task of washing himself without his mother hovering.

Opinion was only a word. Desire was only a concept. The world was only a place, which he had no part in. Neither of his parents entertained his longing for independence. But his mind was his safe place. He could conjure the most beautiful fantasies without his parents' interception, no matter how bizarre it was from his current reality. It would encourage him to act impulsively and irrationally, his mother had decided for him, but not even his parents could stop the onslaught of deviant thoughts that assaulted him daily.

On the surface, he expressed nothing but gratitude for the life he didn’t ask to have, grateful for the lengths his parents went to ensuring he survived another day. And his appreciations weren’t untrue, yet the darker constructs of his mind wondered about so much more than simply surviving. Only in his mind was he safe to challenge this ideology. His opposing thoughts to his mother’s demands could be as loud as he wanted. But he wouldn’t dare utter a single syllable of it.

Jeongguk allows himself to be pushed and pulled around like a lifeless doll, while his mother hums calmly to herself before tending to the bathtub. “Go ahead and take off your clothes so I can toss them in the laundry.” She instructs indifferently, as if he were just a simple test subject – not her son. He proceeds to strip out of his pajamas, standing idly and nude, toes curling against the cold and sterile tiles while awaiting further instruction.

His mother says nothing more, operating around the young adult like he was merely a wall she took notice to avoid; twirling around him in a dance, decorating the bathwater in bubbles and Epsom salt, scooping up the discarded pajamas as if they were a soiled mess before briefly exiting, returning with a fresh washcloth and towels for the floor and a clean Jeongguk.

He watches his mother place the towel onto the countertop before peeking into the bathtub. “You should be fine to step in now.” She advises before briefly exiting the bathroom again. Jeongguk was grateful for the slither of privacy allotted, stepping in without hesitation. He eased his way down cautiously, bracing himself for engulfment of warm sudsy water. His mother did know how to prepare a relaxing bath, he’d give her that. But he’d much rather be taking a shower in the company of his own solitude.

Moments later, his mother returns with a cushioned stool, normally used around the house as a booster step for high areas, placing it alongside the tub to better assist her son. Jeongguk promptly ignores her, continuing to sponge off all the areas he can reach on his own. Regardless of his obvious reluctance, she dampens the washcloth to begin toweling at the younger’s back.

Besides the continuous sounds of the bathwater being disturbed, the bathroom was silent. His mother was completely focused on the task at hand and Jeongguk’s mind was floating places far from the present. He felt like a child, it was easy to remember the past when his mother would fuss over any and everything pertaining to him and his health. Thinking back now, absolutely nothing has changed.

His very existence was reduced to relying on someone – mainly his mother – to take care of him. His every breath was the result of someone else’s sacrifice. It was a somber truth he couldn’t seem to escape, no matter how old he grew.

“Did you know that today is my birthday?” Jeongguk finds himself breaking the intense silence before he can stop himself. Unsurprisingly his mother’s ministrations on his body don’t stop, once she’s set her mind to do something nothing could get in the way of her accomplishing it.

“Of course I didn’t.” Is her immediate response, yet Jeongguk doesn’t feel the slightest bit relieved or flattered. Surely, refusing to acknowledge today’s date was worse than forgetting altogether. At least this time, he had the decency not to voice his thoughts. “Every day you’re granted is special, not just today.” She concludes, firmly. Jeongguk didn’t understand his mother’s growing indifference.

Jeongguk had been aware that every day was a gift. He did not lack self-awareness. It wasn’t like he demanded a celebration or anything, but the date was normally recognized, and acknowledgement was granted. That alone had always been enough.
 

His mother’s movement comes to a halt, her eyes glossing over with more emotion than she’s normally willing to put forth. “I’m sorry.” The apology comes suddenly, completely taking Jeongguk by surprise. He didn’t solicit for one, but he appreciates it, nonetheless. “Birthday’s… have become increasingly hard for me to digest.” She confesses without interrogation, although she seems reluctant to admit it herself.

She relinquishes hold of the washcloth, allowing it to float atop the bathwater without further purpose before slouching against her seat. Jeongguk watches her intently, almost invitingly for more information she’s on the brink of spilling. “Watching you grow into a man before my eyes,” she pauses in appreciation, damp hand caressing over her son’s cheek calmly, “It makes me think about your brother.” She smiles sullenly, and Jeongguk tenses underneath her touch.

She sighs, sniffing loudly before withdrawing her hand. “You’ve grown so finely, Jeongguk. I really am grateful for every day I have with you. I’m sure your brother would also be so handsome.” She smiles off to herself, hands picking at the microscopic lent dirtying her pant leg. Jeongguk is as stiff as a board, the flick of a finger against his body would break him. “You must know, I’ve never wanted this for either of you. This is not the life either of you were meant to have. But you must understand–” she stops herself before she can become hysteric, inhaling deeply before settling her gloomy gaze upon Jeongguk again. “I just can’t go through burying a son again.”

The feeling is like being doused in a barrel of iced cold water at random times of your life. It’s breathless, overwhelming and all emerging. You can never anticipate the shove, but once it comes, you’re drowning and swallowing ice. It was cold, like everything else in this house was. At times like this, Jeongguk didn’t even feel like a person, but a living reminder of what could have been and what has since been lost. And hadn’t the heavens taken enough from his parents? Was the universe really so cruel that it had to make him such a heavy burden to handle so soon after his brother’s death?  
   

Jeongguk felt like a mere reminder of the life his brother was robbed of; his own existence nothing more than cheap imitation. More often than not, Jeongguk felt like a shell of a son.

Mourning. It was a foreign concept to Jeongguk. He had been too young to understand the gravity of losing someone in life that was so significant to him. A two-year-old wasn’t capable of grieving like a grown man would from the sudden loss of his first born. He didn’t feel in denial or enraged like a mother would, searching for solutions that could no longer be implemented, looking for someone to blame for such an untimely tragedy, begging the heavens for mercy. Jeongguk couldn’t mourn with his family. He didn’t understand the implications of his parents' tears. He didn’t understand what losing his older brother felt like, only what it meant.

His life was no longer his own. His survival was now a measurement of his parents own success. At least, it’s what his life felt reduced to. And it was unfair to feel resentment instead of gratitude for his parents' willingness to go through such lengths to ensure he could live another day, but with crippling shame and self-loathing, Jeongguk had wished he had been the one who died all that time ago. But he’d never admit that, not to anyone, never outside his own head.

There’s a hole in his family. One of them was gone forever, and in his place was nothing but unresolved pain and trauma. Everything now was the aftermath.

Jeongguk felt too insignificant to fill the gaping hole Zeha left behind in his parent’s hearts. Though admittedly, he had no existing memories of his deceased brother, it was undeniable that his parents went through a great effort to make it so. There were no photographic evidence that his brother had even existed, the proof only deep within his parents' own memories. It was easy to forget what one doesn’t want you to remember. 
 

But it was like his parents lived those memories every day. Memories that Jeongguk weren’t privy to. Whether this was to shield him from feeling that loss or bred out of their own reluctance to let their eldest completely vanish, Jeongguk didn’t know. But it gave Zeha such a prevalent presence even in current day, often times it felt like his family was living with a ghost.

Jeongguk wasn’t apathetic to loss or ignorant to pain. Not everything lost in his life could be erased by his parents, such as Zeha had been. Where Jeongguk could not sympathize with his parents' pain, his parents could not sympathize with his. He didn’t mourn his brother, but that constant etch on his conscious of missing someone due to their lack of presence was what allowed him to empathize with them. Jeongguk was constantly missing a life he’d never truly had, except his parents didn’t give him that same empathy in return.

His parents could come and go as they please, venture out into the world. Maintain careers, make friends, visit places Jeongguk had only seen on t.v. or through the virtual lens of the internet. They didn’t understand the envy that rumbled within him from being refused the same basic privileges. That wasn’t his role, after all. No. He was meant to be the understanding one. No one was meant to understand him.

When it all boils down to it, not even Jeongguk knows what’s wrong with him, fully. Only that a week after his family buried their first-born, he himself had been flailing with sickness. A fever that could not be broken. As a doctor, even his mother had been riddled with what to do other than rushing him to the hospital. She spent a full week by the toddler’s side, and yet no other physician had a satisfactory answer as to why he had fallen sick or if it would be a reoccurring condition in the future.

Despite her insistent demand, they had refused to conduct further tests, pleading that any unnecessary treatment would be more harmful than beneficial at that point in time. But plagued with frustration, she had discharged him from the hospital against medical advice and dedicated her entire personal leave of absence for grieving to treat Jeongguk herself, with the help of well-known acquaintances that shared her profession.

Even to this date she’s dedicated her entire life to ensuring his recovery. After her extensive research into his declining condition coupled alongside her vigorous testing and treatments, she’d came to the medical conclusion that he lacks the proper immune efficiency to live life like an ordinary person could.
 

As simple as the declaration had seemed, she feared and confirmed that his case was more severe and far more complex than any diagnoses would claim. Her next measures were extreme but completely necessary. She had always been proud, would always berate the previous pediatricians in her retellings to Jeongguk, insistent that thanks to her taking matters into her own hands something as monumental as his diagnosed condition wasn’t missed.

It was a cautionary tale. A tale that Jeongguk had grown weary of hearing over the years.

She would constantly defend all attempts to care for Jeongguk, reminding him that he had no idea how it felt to bury his own child, that there was no way she could go through it again. Not if she could help it.

But what if it had been him involved in the accident instead? Would his family still function the same as it’s always had, had Zeha been here in his shoes instead? Would his mother still stress over the eldest until she drove herself sick, dedicating every spare moment of her time catering to him? Or would she allow him to be youthful and full of life, easing calmly into retirement while Zeha went off to college? Jeongguk couldn’t help such intrusive thoughts, especially with nothing better to do than roam the familiar territory of his home.
 

Would his father be more involved in Zeha’s life, showering him in praises and support as he guided his son to growing into a fine young man? Or would he still be a drunk who hid off into his room, wishing to be anywhere but near his family, only to later cry silently when he thought he was the only one awake to hear them?

What would it be like for his family to have a son that was perfectly healthy? Who could venture out into the world all on his own? Make a name for himself? Make mistakes? Make his own friends and family?

You can’t mourn someone you’ve never known, but you could feel immense loss. He felt that lack of presence his brother had in their family. It was made apparent every day that he was missing. But he also felt the loss of a life he never had, missed how the sun felt on his skin, how fresh cut grass smelled while dressed in dew tickling his bare toes, how running without care amongst his peers made him feel invincible. He missed that, and yet he never had that either.

Jeongguk had been understanding. It was who he was, after all.

It wasn’t his mother’s fault that he was susceptible to viruses, that his immune system was too weak to fight against anything that it was safer to keep him in a controlled sterile environment twenty-four-seven.

It wasn’t her fault that he could never step a foot outside because that would most likely result in his demise.

It wasn’t her fault that he had no idea what it felt like to have his brother buried at the tender age of eight.

It wasn’t her fault that no matter how hard he tried to pick his brain to remember what it was that he lost, he had absolutely no image or memory of his older brother, of the outside world.

What would it feel like to not be a prisoner by design? What would life be like if Jeongguk was the one that died?

“…gguk. Jeongguk, honey, are you feeling okay?” His mother’s concerned tone lures him back to the present, the back of her hand resting against his forehead finally registering to his mind. “My God, you’re completely flushed. I think you’ve soaked long enough, huh?” she notes rhetorically, standing to unravel the folded towel for Jeongguk to wrap in. “Why don’t you come out now before you get feverish.” It wasn’t a suggestion, Jeongguk notes, before gradually making his way out of the bathtub.

His thoughts were spiraling, soaring to the depths of his mind he’d rather not explore in the presence of his mother. He allows himself to be pampered and babied in silence, willing the better part of his conscious to rest as he stares up at the ceiling. But the thought is dark and lingers unforgivingly. What would it be like if he weren’t the one here today?

“Why don’t you rest a little more, yeah? It’s obvious you’re not feeling up to the day.” His mother deduces calmly from the bedroom door frame, watching her son lie statically across the fresh laundered and made-up bed, sprouting the comfortable clothing she assisted him in. “I’ll bring breakfast up when it’s ready.” She pauses for reaction, but ultimately is met with silence.
 

“I took the day off for your birthday, so I’ll be in my office otherwise if you need anything. Tomorrow is business as usual.” She informs before softly closing the door behind herself.

Jeongguk allows his eyes to fall shut naturally, exhaling a deep and slow breath from his lungs. “Happy Birthday Jeongguk.” He wishes himself, before guiding himself to a brief morning nap.

___

Like a spring, Jeongguk jolts awake, eyes shifting accusingly across his room before settling back down, rejoicing in his solitude. It doesn’t take long for him to sniff out his breakfast, a lukewarm bowl of oatmeal garnished with cinnamon and apple slices placed along his bedside table for him to indulge in at his own discretion. He takes it into his hand carefully, before deciding that eating at the nook of the window would be a much better option.

While scooping a generous serving into his mouth, he drags a throw blanket to drape over his shoulder before settling into the alcove. Jeongguk loved to be out in the open, as much as his condition allotted, which usually meant resolving himself to the nearest window. It’s how he kept up pace with life outside, nosing around at the neighbors, watching the seasons change slowly day by day, seeing the cars come and go in cycles.

Due to the severity of his condition, long ago, his mother invested in vast windows that stretched from the hardwood floor to the ceiling. The thick paned glass acted as walls in both Jeongguk’s bedroom and private lofting area. The windows were airtight and impenetrable, ensuring that not even a speck of dust from the outside world could collide with Jeongguk. With the Jeon’s private ventilation system, his mother felt no need for the windows to function outside of cosmetic purposes. Though he was restricted to the house due the extremities of his limitations, the generous spacing of the windows allowed him to see more than most, as ironic as it sounds.
 

He’d seen a bird build its nest, working vigorously at it day by day, pecking only the strongest of twigs to fly up to her carved space in the tree. He had seen a peacock waltzing down the street like it wasn’t a majestic bird, peeking into the homes of his neighbors, much like himself. It gave him a good laugh, even inspired him to pick up his camera he hadn’t touched in ages and take some photos. He’d even seen lightning strike down a tree in the lawn across the way during a particular nasty thunderstorm.
 

But his mother still valued their privacy, installing heavy blackout drapes that hung over every window to deter any onlookers.
 

Jeongguk didn’t much care for the curtains, residing to never use them during the day. Most people shielded the outside world from pouring through their windows with curtains, he had observed. It was something he never could understand. Jeongguk loved inviting life in. He enjoyed the morning hue that bled into his eyes to wake him, he enjoyed looking at people doing the most mundane things, and even enjoyed the curious glances that were occasionally sent his way.

His mother reprimanded this behavior, of course, lecturing on about how rude it was to stare unabashedly at people. It was poor manners, apparently. It was yet another thing he couldn’t relate to. He knew personally, he didn’t mind the curiosity in which usually drew people’s attention towards him. It never went beyond innocent gazing. But he knew his mother didn’t like him entertaining the thought of the outside world. He had an inkling suspicion that the drapes where to further shield him from life outside these walls than from nosy neighbors, but never argued such a claim.
 

In the end, they’d simply compromised. When the sun sets, he’d draw the curtains to a close, waiting ‘til morning to have his day in the filtered sunlight. But in the dead of night, when no one but him lied awake, he’d open them again to fall asleep with the moon and awake with the sun. He was sure his mother knew, with all the sporadic late-night visits to his room. But if she did, she’d never said so.

Gently, he traces the glass, outlining the shape of the sun with the tip of his finger. It was cold to the touch, a feeling Jeongguk could never get accustomed to. He didn’t have memories of real warmth. He’d almost wondered if his parents would allow him to stand outside to feel the heat waves caress his frozen skin as a birthday wish, if only for thirty seconds. For as long as Jeongguk could remember, everything has been this way. Pane of glass thick enough to block out the warmth of the sun, he should be used to being cold.

He sighs then to himself, removing his hand from the glass to finish the remainder of his brunch. Never in a million years would they allow that to happen. His birthday be damned. He couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t craving something new in his life. Maybe it was the fact that today was his birthday that put everything in a hyper perspective.
  

Which is why Jeongguk nearly chokes on the last mouthful of oatmeal, eyes widening comically when he takes notice to the moving U-Haul truck that drives up the street, parking right in front of the house alongside his.
 

The house had been vacant for months, Jeongguk remembers. An elderly couple had lived there prior, even before Jeongguk was born. But after Mrs. Evans became widowed, she decided to downsize and sell the property. He’d silently watched the process for months, different realtors inspecting and renovating the property to sell at optimal value on behalf of the elderly woman before she inevitably left it all behind. At the time, it was the newest excitement Jeongguk had witnessed in their neighbor, seeing as things stayed relatively calm and sound.
 

And now, it would appear that the house was purchased by a new family, and they were moving in today. Jeongguk’s attention was successfully captured, carefully discarding his bowl on the nearest surface to practically glue his face to the scene. His breath fogged the glass where his mouth was aligned, jaw dropped in pure awe while his palms were completely molded against the window’s face.

The rear end of the truck was facing him, taillights glaring red and white to signal the engine was running and vehicle was in reverse-motion. For a moment, Jeongguk feared the truck was going to cave in the garage door before the truck came to a jerking halt. He waited patiently with bated breath, wanting to see first-hand who his next door neighbors would be.

The passenger side door was opened suddenly, Jeongguk’s eyes trained and focused, and a man steps out, landing lightly onto his feet. He was strawberry blond and lean, his fingers running through his fringe without a care before stretching his tired limbs. His plump mouth opens in a yawn, signaling the ride was tiring and restricting. His attire is tight and dark, his fashion sense appealing to Jeongguk, although he didn’t think it was appropriate outfitting to move heavy furniture and boxes in.

It isn’t long before the strawberry blond is joined by another man, a head taller and broader than the man he’s standing directly next to. His hair is dark and hidden beneath a cap, eyes wide and optimistic as he laid an encouraging hand on the shorter’s shoulder. The man spoke out of a pillowy mouth, words Jeongguk could neither hear nor decipher. He was at least more appropriately dressed for the occasion, since his sweats were baggy and white shirt loose fitting.

Finally the engine is shut off, the two men’s heads turning in the same direction expectantly, waiting. Just like Jeongguk found himself doing. The anticipation was bubbling within him, and for a moment he wondered what he was really this excited for? He had watched previous people come and go throughout the years, so the scene wasn’t entirely new. But admittedly, it had been a while, excluding Mrs. Evans. This was the most excitement he’d felt in a while.

The strawberry blond laughs suddenly, causing him to lean into the taller/broader man beside him. It temporarily blocked Jeongguk’s line of view from the newcomer, until the shorter settled himself down enough to part way.

It was like a beautiful sculpture being uncloaked for the very first time, revealing a platinum blond male with a gummy smile. He was fair skinned, much fairer than the other two men. His clothing was ill-fitting, wearing nothing spectacular in pursuit of the task at hand, Jeongguk presumed. His frame was absolutely hidden, his hair was a fluffy mess, and his clothes were already stained with dirt specks. And yet, Jeongguk was entirely encapsulated.
 

If for nothing more, than his adorable smile. Jeongguk feels his neck creeping with heat as a smile of his own grazes his lips at the scene.

Men.

Three men where moving in to be his new neighbors.

The were all handsome, he begins to think. Each one of them were uniquely attractive, he grew immaturely jealous. But what he really noticed was that they were all also Korean. There weren’t that many people of color in this neighborhood, let alone Asians. It made them all seem all the more accessible, even if he knew that wouldn’t be entirely possible.

Although he could admit it, quite begrudgingly, that all the youthful men were beautiful in their own right, as he continued to observe them quietly, no one even came close the blond man’s cute smile.  

___

Jeongguk can’t even begin to describe the type of pull he gets toward his new neighbors journey. He had always imagined what it’d be like to move, to travel, to change his surroundings even if only temporary. Within his home, he had already familiarized himself with every nook and cranny the interior had to offer. He knew where his mother stored his medical supplies, knew there was an undisclosed hole in the wall behind a mounted picture frame, even knew where his father stored his hidden cupboard of alcohol. He had roamed the walls of his home comfortably for as long as he could remember. Wandering was one of his many pastimes.

But this was new.

The men didn’t look too much older than him, which made him a bit envious, but that was easily quelled by his overgrowing curiosity. Jeongguk watched them trek loads of boxes and furniture tirelessly from the safety of his window, the three men squabbling amongst themselves in frustration and pinched expressions.

Jeongguk could only imagine the task at hand was tedious, but he enjoyed watching them, nonetheless. The platinum blond in particular seemed impartial to the drama, easily maneuvering around the two flustered men in favor of productivity. Jeongguk admired that. Before he knew it, he found himself smiling at the man’s feigned indifference, watching his reactions closely to further catch a reaction. The man might have been rolling his eyes, but a soft smile grazed his lips when he thought he was out of sight, shaking his head indignantly. He was amused. And so was Jeongguk.

The blond had intervened only a handful of times, distracting the heated two men with mandatory water breaks, and quick gathered snacks. It seemed to help settle them all, to which the blond would smile that dazzlingly adorable smile in victory.

He found himself even more enthused when he realized the blond had coincidentally taken the bedroom directly across from Jeongguk’s.  

Jeongguk found the trio all the more endearing, having observed their dynamic all day. They were working tirelessly to achieve the same goal, and even though their temperament fluctuated throughout the day, they still looked after one another and made amends.

The small group was nearly finished, and it was at that point that Jeongguk had even realized he’d ended up watching them the whole day. The sun was beginning to set, and any minute now his mother will call for him for dinner. But yet, he wasn’t ready to peel himself away from the sights.

He knew he was staring. His knees were beginning to ache, and his bladder was protesting against any further delays. Jeongguk knew this entrancement went beyond his average daily watching. He was bordering lurking, and although any given day he’d argue his staring was harmless, even he was making himself uncomfortable with his sudden lack of ability to take the scene for what it was and simply move along.

What was worse, was that his interest in the lean strawberry blond and broad taller had since vanished. His eyes trailed intently on the platinum blond, and the platinum blond only. The man was deeply intriguing, there was something about his mannerisms that made Jeongguk want to look with closer inspection.
 

The blond had sweated from exertion, gritting his teeth in gripe to deal with the constant physical labor. But he’d come back for more, like some sort of masochist, often relieving the accompanying men of their own heavy loads to transport himself instead. He was a silent brooding man, but so obviously compassionate. He was an ominous, generous, patient lover. Jeongguk saw that easily in the way he carried himself. He was a force, but not imposing himself. He was the mediator between two strong conflicting personalities, and Jeongguk figured he had to be twice as strong to manage.

His façade was stony, and yet Jeongguk had observed so many moments of pure softness ooze from within the man. The way he kept scolding the strawberry blond for taking on loads that were clearly out of his means, or the way he had rushed to the taller’s side when the man tripped over his own feet before carefully guiding the winded taller to steal a few moments of rest.

Jeongguk had wondered then, what would it be like to talk to such a man? Would he be as friendly and welcoming as he appears so with those two men, or would he be abrasive? There was so much more to the man than what met the eye.

Finally, the strawberry blond and dark haired taller worked vigorously to maneuver a mattress into the room across the way from Jeongguk’s, the two straining and yelling instructions to bypass the obstacle of boxes littered throughout the bedroom. Jeongguk watches with a tense expression, hoping that no one gets hurt, and nothing is damaged in the process. But the two men prevail regardless of the strained effort.

Jeongguk can’t contain the smile that breaches his features when the trio celebrate with boisterous laughter and giddy hugs. They practically bounce off of one another, embracing each other tightly. “To new beginnings.” Jeongguk finds himself acknowledging outside of his head. His smile falters just a bit, fingers going back to trace along the cold glass aimlessly. Here he was, witnessing a new family’s fresh start, when he was stuck in the same place. He could never be like them.

He pulls his gaze away from the drawn clear shapes back onto the others, only to discover that only one man remains. The Platinum Blond. He glanced up in time to watch the man go weightless against his bed, the springs of the mattress bouncing the man a few times before he completely melts against it. His mouth falls open in a sigh, his body exhausted from the day’s workload, before stretching his limbs out fully across the space, almost like a cat would.

“What are you doing?” the voice is coarse and accusatory, causing Jeongguk to stiffen from sudden fear. “You’d do good to answer me, boy.” And he knows any patience his father might’ve had before entering his room has long since vanished within the timespan of a second.

Jeongguk flinches away from the window to sit stealthily still, controlling the rapid rate of his heartbeat as he respectfully looks into his father’s eyes. The man’s stare was steely cold, glare irritated, and eyebrow pinched in impatience. “I’m sorry.” Jeongguk settles for, watching the man lean unamused against the door frame, the bottle clutched in his hands sloshing in all the empty spaces. The sound is rather small, but it echoes in Jeongguk’s ears like a drum, mocking him. He gulps, “I didn’t hear you knocking.” Jeongguk excuses.

“Did I say I knocked?” his father asks snappily, and Jeongguk knows better at this point than to answer. The man stares at his son for a pregnant moment, before crossing his arms over his chest, the bottle’s content slapping against the glass like tidal waves. Jeongguk tries not to analyze how much of the liquor has been drunken. “I don’t even know why your mother allows you to have a door.” The man nearly sneers, but Jeongguk knows he’s mocking his mother’s eagerness to assist him. “Are you even allowed to wipe your own ass anymore?” the question is rhetorical and belittling.

Jeongguk says nothing. He works hard not to give even the slightest reaction, knowing that even an exhale of breath that’s too loud would be enough to set his father off. The man smirks in satisfaction at berating his son, but quickly grows bored of it.

Much to Jeongguk’s silent dismay, the man invites himself further into his son’s room, scrunching his face up at this and that before arriving next to the window alcove Jeongguk is playing statue at. “So this is where all my money goes, huh?” His father again asks rhetorically, eyes scrutinizing the room. “And to think you turned into a man today. Wouldn’t know it by looking at this room. It looks like it belongs to a spoiled twelve-year-old.” His father tsks and Jeongguk tenses, fingernails digging into the pillowy cushion beneath himself.

He dares not say a word. Jeongguk knows nothing good would come out of it. Not when his father was in one of his moods, which apparently he was in today.

His father stares down at him and Jeongguk stares back, trying his hardest to mask any negative emotion he was currently feeling towards the man. His father was not the man to make faces at. Jeongguk is the first to break eye contact, unable to uphold the man’s glare for long. His father huffs, almost as if he were disappointed the younger didn’t step to challenge him.

The man drags his gaze away from his son in favor of peering out the window, a snort escaping his nose alongside a sarcastic chuckle. His expression falls to contentment as he sighs in understanding. “Ah, now I see.” He hums more off to himself than at his guilt-ridden son, his neck and cheeks glowing a beet red from being caught. “So you’re a peeping tom, are you?”

“No!” Jeongguk quickly objects, his embarrassment heavily laced in his tone. His father is rightfully taken aback, seeing as his son normally endures the verbal taunting rather than acting reactionary. As quick as it came, Jeongguk shuts his mouth as quickly, a deep seeded shame blooming inside his chest.
 

His father’s gaze hardens as he states his accusations bluntly. “Don’t lie to me, boy. Do you think I’m fucking stupid? Or blind?!” his father glowers down, practically hovering over him to get uncomfortably close to the younger’s face. “Do you!?”

It’s automatic that Jeongguk molds his body against the glass, visibly trying to shrink away from his father’s advances. Jeongguk swallows his whimper and fear to intelligently form a response. “No.” he answers despite himself.

His father looms over him for a few more seconds, his expression morphed in pure audacity. His father leers out of the window again before deciding he’s had enough of being in his son’s face. “I get it though.” His father says with ease, and Jeongguk tries especially hard not to sharpen his glare at the man. “You feel you’re a man now,” his father pauses, bringing the opening of the bottle to his awaiting mouth, a generous swig washing down his throat, “it’s only natural to have those urges.”

His father begins to stagger backwards towards the exit of Jeongguk’s bedroom, continuing to watch his son’s burning expression on his way out. Jeongguk was absolutely livid, but above all, he was ashamed. “Do you think anyone would feel sorry for you if they knew you were a creep?” His father mumbles underneath his breath before suckling at his bottle. Jeongguk was used to his father’s malicious comments, but his heart clenches at the insult. Was he really being a creep?

The smug expression that morphs his father’s face let’s Jeongguk know the man is marveling at his own expense. As much as he tries to quail the onslaught of sadness and anger, he can’t help but allow a slip of emotion flicker, even if for a moment. He didn’t understand why the man found so much joy in his own misery. Even so, he’d never challenge the man’s authority over him. Even if he did abuse it.

“Why don’t you wave to your little admirer and come down. Your birthday feast awaits you.” His father snickers before mimicking a butlers bow. The sarcasm wasn’t unbeknownst to Jeongguk. He watches patiently and unmoving as his father rises, the man rolling his eyes as he proceeds to finally leave.

A slow and bitter breath expels from Jeongguk’s mouth, when really, he wishes he could scream instead. He finally relieves the tension from his fists, his nails unclenching the cushion beneath him. He tries to steady his breathing to not further upset himself. The last thing he wants is to instigate a fight between his parents because his father hurt his feelings again.

Though every part of his body was pleading not to, Jeongguk couldn’t help but chance a final glance over his shoulder. His large eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets when the platinum blond man is already staring at him through his own window, a frown marring his pretty features as he glares ahead at Jeongguk.

Heat rises from Jeongguk’s cheeks to the tips of his ears, the humiliation scorching through his entire body as the man tilts his head in acknowledgement of his staring. Jeongguk drops his head enough to hide his doe eyes behind his long and dark fringe, his wavy locks acting as a shield. Even without looking, he knew the man was still staring directly into his window; directly at him!

Do you think anyone would feel sorry for you if they knew you were a creep?

And for once in his life, Jeongguk didn’t like the feeling of falling under somebody’s gaze. Jeongguk blindly reaches for the edge of his drapes, and as he does, he thinks this is the only time he’s been willing to close them out of his own volition.

As he began to pull them, he pauses, the urge to lift his gaze one last time was scarily strong. Not even Jeongguk understood what was so compelling about being glowered at in anger. Maybe he felt he deserved the disapproval, or a scolding for knowingly invading one’s privacy. Maybe the weight of the other’s scowl was too heavy to ignore.

Whatever the reasoning, Jeongguk does look again, his grip on the curtain slightly trembling in nerves. As expected, the platinum blond man’s expression is still pinched in a frown, waiting for Jeongguk’s doe eyes to meet his again.

But as their eyes interlock again, the man’s hardened stare softens considerably, the blond straightening his head to openly accept Jeongguk’s eyes on him. The man’s eyes are piercing, deep, and searching. Jeongguk has to put substantial effort not to break away. It seemed the man had a question in his stare, and he was looking to Jeongguk for the answer.

Jeongguk gulps nervously from the intensity of it. The look wasn’t unkind, but it did make Jeongguk feel exposed. Naked, even. No one has ever tried to read him so openly before. People have been curious, yes. He had been examined, sure. But not like this. Never somebody trying to study him, learn him. It was invitingly intrusive, yet invasive, nonetheless.

Before he can panicky pull the curtains closed, the man makes movement. It’s small and barely noticeable at first, but Jeongguk does catch it. A small wave. Or more so, the wiggling of a few fingers.

Jeongguk comes to a full jolt halt, blinking rapidly in disbelief at the genuine gesture, albeit a bit shy. The platinum blond’s features completely soften then, his demeanor surprisingly welcoming the surprised younger. Jeongguk burned impossibly brighter at the attention, nodding in affirmation to the greeting. He didn’t know what else to do.

Apologize, maybe?

The blond recaptures his attention with a bolder wave, Jeongguk snapping back his focus. He watches the man point directly at him as if the target was his chest, Jeongguk’s heart accelerating at the impending suspension. The blond repeats the movement a few more times before making an ‘ok’ sign with his fingers. The man throws it all into a sequence and it all makes better sense.

‘You okay?’

Jeongguk is hesitant to answer, glancing over his shoulder to be sure neither of his parents can witness the interaction between him and this stranger he was peeking in at. The coast was clear, and it made his palms sweaty. Of course he wasn’t okay, and the fact that this man was asking meant he had seen the interaction between him and his father. He was absolutely mortified, but he proceeds to nod anyway.

The blond didn’t seem all too convinced, so Jeongguk made his nodding more insisting, erecting his thumb in confirmation.

The platinum blond seemed to be pondering something before he quickly departs from the window to scramble through one of the many boxes stacked around his room. Jeongguk assumed his lessoned was learned, proceeding with closing his drapes. But the blond gestured for the younger to wait, his index finger waving wildly in the air while he searched through different boxes frantically.

Jeongguk tries to wait patiently, but he was becoming anxious. He knew it had been a minute since his father fetched him for dinner, and he didn’t want the man to come back looking for him. Least of all his mother. He nibbled at the dying skin on his bottom lip, looking over his shoulder every other second until it seemed the blond man found what he was looking for.

A notepad and marker.

The man huffs out from the brief sprint, smiling almost embarrassedly at the frazzled display before focusing his attention to the notepad. Jeongguk watches the man uncap the marker with his teeth, using his mouth as a placeholder while he scribbles quickly down on the paper.

Once he’s finished, he recaps the marker before flipping the notepad over, pressing the paper against the face of the window for Jeongguk to read, clear as day.

I’m
YOON-GI

The notepad read, the scripture neat and bold against the otherwise blank sheet of paper. “Yoongi.” Jeongguk tests the name out on his lips, watching the man nod in approval even though Jeongguk knew the man couldn’t hear him.

Debating it over for a moment, Jeongguk decides to do the same. He looks over at his desktop littered with loose papers and pens before gesturing for the other to wait as well. He waits for the blond’s acknowledgement before leaving the safety of his alcove to acquire the aforementioned pen and paper.

He writes his name quickly, and frowns at how sloppy it turns out, but it’s otherwise eligible. He hurries back to the window, nearly slapping the loose paper against the glass, waiting patiently for the man to read it.

JEONGGUK

He watches the blond’s eyes light up in familiarity, the man mouthing the syllables of his name with ease as if he’s said it a hundred times before. He also mouths a handful of words which Jeongguk can’t quite decipher, shrugging and shaking his head at the lack of understanding.
 

The man pauses, seeming to realize his fault before turning his attention to his notepad again. The same scene of the blond uncapping his marker and scribbling down fast. He too, seemed to be in a rush.

Jeongguk’s suspension is held long before the platinum blond is revealing the notepad again, the haste in which he presses it against the window causing the notepad to shift a bit clumsily to a tilt.

A r E YOU
KO r E a N

Jeongguk smiles knowingly, nodding his head proudly. The blond mirrors his expression, something akin to familiarity seeping through his features, that same gummy smile that entranced Jeongguk from the beginning making a reappearance.

A fondness blooms inside of Jeongguk, but his face morphs to one of regret. He looks down at his loose paper sullenly before writing back to the blond.

I HAVE TO

GO

Jeongguk hates the fact, but it's true. If he spent any more time entertaining the other man, both of his parents would come hunting him down in reaction to his inconsideration. He was positive he didn’t want that. Apologetically, Jeongguk reveals the paper to the window again, biting his bottom lip in anticipation to the other’s reaction.

A dawning look of understanding flashes across the other as the man nods in acknowledgement. The blond allows the notepad to fall idly at his side then, smiling one last smile before Jeongguk. Jeongguk returns it gladly, his heart pitter-pattering in his chest. Regretfully, he brings the curtains to a close on the man’s pretty face.

He sighs, room temporarily emerged in darkness until he flickers on the lap. “Yoongi.” Jeongguk says the man’s name again. “윤기” He tests again, adding the proper accent to his pronunciation.

He thinks that name suits the man well. Jeongguk knew his Korean was flawed and unpracticed. Hell, he still lacked the ability to read hangul, but he knew the blond had a pretty name. It was bright, alike the smile he possesses. “윤기” Jeongguk practices again, but he was falling under the suspicion that he just liked hearing the blond’s name out loud.
  

A deeper part of him was still embarrassed by the whole ordeal of things. He felt placated with the other being so nice about the incident. Pitied, even. But there wasn’t a day in his life where he wasn’t pitied or made to feel ‘less than’. There was a larger part of him that was grateful for the stranger’s kindness.

No. Not stranger. “Yoongi.”

___

Yoongi carefully descended the stairs to join the others, his legs wobbly and arms spent from the laborious task of trekking heavy boxes and furniture all day. A loud shatter accompanied with a surprised gasp encourages the blond to walk a tad faster.

Of course, he’s met with the sight of a grimacing Jimin at the foot of the scene, an irritated Jin hot on his trails. “Dammit, Jimin! When the box says “Fragile”, maybe don’t toss it on the floor without care!” Seokjin accuses frustrated, wiping the sweat from his brow as he assesses the damage scattered across the hardwood floor.
  

Yoongi finds himself shaking his head disapprovingly for the umpteenth time today, cautiously approaching the two before kneeling down to rummage through the box in questions, Jimin’s face reddened from irritation and exertion. There was damage, yes, but non-excessive. Simply a plate broken in half and the handle of a mug chipped. Truthfully, the blond was just tired of the two bickering all day.

“It was an accident, Jin. You don’t have to be an ass about it.” Jimin grumbles, not bothering to contain his eyeroll before bending to gather the small fragments of scattered porcelain into his palms carefully.

“Watch your mouth.” Yoongi finally intervenes, addressing his younger brother directly. “Don’t let the states make you forget where you come from.” He continues disinterestedly, before turning his attention towards the glaring eldest. “It’s not so bad, hyung. But the heat is making you cranky.” He jokes pointedly, accepting Seokjin’s offered hand to properly stand upright. “I told you we should have hired movers.” Yoongi reminds, watching his eldest brother housing his hands on his hips while rolling his eyes.

“And spend more money than I have to?! Like hell I would! Not when you two brats work for free.” Seokjin declares with finality before storming off back to the kitchen. Both Yoongi and Jimin exchange looks before deciding to let it go, the blond moving to discard the plate.

“형!”

“English, Jimin.” Yoongi sighs, relieving Jimin of the box he’d just dropped prior. Jimin gladly hands it over to the older, rolling his eyes too. “Out of all of us, yours is the one that needs work.”

“What difference does it make inside the house, talking to you?” Jimin asks sassily, but complies, nonetheless. “He’s been picking at me the entire day. It’s starting to really get on my nerves.” The strawberry blond vents, picking up another box labeled ‘kitchen’ to follow the older.

“He’s just stressed. He forfeited most of the money to finance this move.” Yoongi easily excuses, placing the box on the gradient kitchen countertop, followed by his younger brother. “Plus, I’m starting to get really annoyed with you two fighting, so stop being disrespectful.” He arches a knowing brow to which the younger concedes to. “And Jin,” he directs to the elder, the man briefly stopping his tasks to glance at the platinum blond, “quit snapping on Jimin. It isn’t his fault we didn’t hire movers.”

“I know.” Seokjin sighs, taking a break from stacking the glasses in the cabinet. He turns to his brothers then, smiling apologetically before running a stressed hand down his face. “I’m sorry.” He breathes out, sincerity laced in his tone. “I just wanted everything to go perfectly, you know? Things were supposed to go smoothly so that you two could look back at this moment and just be, happy. This is our fresh start. I wanted it to feel seamless, but I’m just… I feel a lot.” He admits, grabbing the edge of the countertop to support his weight against.
 

Jimin’s frustrated express melts to concern as he watches his eldest brother drop his head in shame. The strawberry blond searches for his older brother’s gaze in question, sharing a glance between Yoongi, the two younger brothers agreeing silently not to interrupt the eldest. The silence is tense as the two men wait patiently before the eldest turns to face them, a glossy expression taking over his false composure. “I didn’t protect you guys then, but I’m trying to change that now.” Seokjin needless confesses, and the atmosphere around the trio sours immensely. “I thought dad had stopped, you know? I thought you guys would be okay there–”
 

“Stop.” Jimin damn-near demands it, and for once Yoongi finds himself completely agreeing with the younger. The strawberry blond makes his way over to their eldest, not thinking twice about embracing the man. Yoongi observes the warm sight silently, a small smile etching his lips as Seokjin leans his head in the crook of Jimin’s neck.

The two continue to inhale each other in before parting, chuckling at the divulged intimacy. Yoongi loved his family best when none of them were fighting. It sickened him when they took out their heightened emotions on one another, and even if Jimin and Seokjin were the main perpetrators, Yoongi admittedly did it too.

“But I don’t regret moving us across the country!” Seokjin declares, feigning extra excitement than what he actually feels right now. Yoongi wishes he trusted them enough to allow himself to be vulnerable instead of always bearing the weight of their burdens. “With this new job, new city, will come new opportunities! It’ll be tough for all of us in the beginning, but assimilating is the best way to adjust, okay?” He reaches for Jimin’s shoulder, massaging encouragingly before setting his gaze on the blond.

Yoongi says nothing, and neither does Jimin. Nothing is needed to be said for the three to read one another. “I can’t change what happened with dad, but I can do this for you two, okay? I’m just asking that you two give this fresh start a real chance. Maybe you can enroll back into school, Jimin,” Seokjin begins to suggest. “And you,” he directs to the blond. “Maybe you can find a music teaching job, just like back in Seoul. We’ll be settled in, in no time!” he finishes off enthusiastically, turning around to continue unpacking the kitchen supplies.

The sudden discussion surrounding their father makes Yoongi’s mind wander back to that boy across the way. He was in his new bedroom at the time when he seen movement in his peripheral. At first, he had been annoyed at the fact that the window didn’t have any blinds or a curtain rod for drapes to hang. But then he’d seen a man, pressed against his window with another in his face. The older man reminded him of his own father, up and personal in the cowering’s face, imposing his intimidation to appear domineering.

But Yoongi knew better. He knew men like that were the real cowards, hiding behind their fist and anger rather than acting rationally and in the best interest of everyone. It’s easy to feel alone under such volatile circumstances. He assumes that’s why he reached out like he did, which wasn’t typical for him to do. He’d rather buy curtains and keep them closed, day and night. But now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Now,” Seokjin’s boisterous voice pulls him from his training thought, “Which one of you wants to go panhandling to our neighbors?” He questions his brothers as if it was the most basic question.

“What are talking about?” Jimin asks, face scrunching up in confusing at what his eldest was asking exactly. At least Yoongi wasn’t the only one.

Seokjin wiggles two cans of kimchi in his hands, as if making an obvious statement, but the meaning was lost on both younger men. “Did you guys not want to eat tonight?” He snaps offended. “We don’t have money for takeout, I can’t go grocery shopping until this weekend, and we don’t have a can opener!” the eldest rants, passing each can into a respective brother’s chest, the younger’s blinking dumbly at the explanation. “So go beg for one! Now! Chop, chop!” His brother claps in their faces like dogs before dismissing them to return to his task.

Jimin just grumbles to himself, grabbing the blond’s hand as he beelines for the exit of their new house. “I hope you didn’t think I was doing this myself.” He states pointedly, making sure he slams the door shut behind them. “I’ll take the lead.” Jimin appoints himself the leader, finally releasing his brother’s hand.

Yoongi wasn’t too sure about that, but he didn’t have the strength to argue. They walk through the driveway before Jimin comes to a halt, circling around indecisively before settling to head directly to the house on the right.
 

To the boy from earlier house. Jeongguk’s house.

Yoongi grabs his brother by the shoulder firmly, stopping the younger in his tracks before the strawberry blond turns over to glare at him. But Yoongi’s only focus is on that house, admittedly hesitant. After observing the way that older man treated Jeongguk, it made him anxious to put his brother in a similar situation. Not after everything.

Jimin silently analyzes his brother’s reluctance, “왜?” He asks the blond in confusion, looking cautiously at the house ahead. “윤기? 안녕~!” He waves his hand in front of his brother’s face as the older continues to frown at the house.

“It’s nothing.” Yoongi finally says, but the frown was still deeply etched onto his face, making him seem disingenuous. “I just think these people might be assholes, is all.” He grumbles, sparing his younger brother a glance. “And if you’re going to talk to people, you’re going to need to do that in English.” Yoongi needlessly reminds.

“Well, let’s just pick a different house.” Jimin attempts to resolute, attempting to lead in the opposite direction before being stopped once again by Yoongi’s strong grip. Not going didn’t sit right with Yoongi either. He knew there was a part of him that wanted to speak with the boy from across his room directly. “Okay, seriously?!” Jimin snatches away before huffing frustrated at his brother. “Look, I’m going to do the talking anyway, okay? If they get snippy, we’ll just go somewhere else.” Jimin decides.

With the decision made, Yoongi goes to follow closely behind his brother, watching uncomfortably as he rings the doorbell.

___

The dining table was silent, nothing but cutlery hitting porcelain to fill the tense space. Everyone was eating solemnly, Jeongguk was very aware that his family could only stomach so much time together before severely exhausting themselves. His father kept his eyes peeled on his plate of food, barely withholding a frown as he picked through his vegetables like a displeasured toddler, chasing every bite with an over generous swallow of the paired wine.

Jeongguk was still unsettled from their prior interaction, but he didn’t dare show it. If his mother caught wind of it, there would be an even bigger problem, and he didn’t want to be dragged in the middle of it. Or deal with the consequences when his mother eventually left him alone with him.

The man was never shy to express the burdens of which Jeongguk placed on the family. He made sure that his son knew that all help provided by him was done so begrudgingly. His father was a man of few words and even fewer affections, but all his expressions toward his son were hostile and vile, usually fueled on by his bottles of liquor. And Jeongguk was forced to return the inflictions with nothing but respect out of apprehension of the man.

Fortunately, the two never usually sought one another out without his mother present. His father simply didn’t bother with him unless he was feeling particularly foul. No matter how sour the interactions left Jeongguk, he did nothing but endure the tongue lashings. It had never escalated to physical violence, but when his father would crowd his space with bald fists and ill intention, he had always feared every encounter would be the time his father crossed the thin veiled line.
 

But no matter how intimidating his father could be, his antics did nothing but frustrate his mother. If Jeongguk had been somewhat frightened of his father, then he had analyzed on more than one occasion that his father was easily troubled by his mother. Her tongue was just as vicious, if not more so.

Jeongguk silently assesses his mother’s glowering demeanor, her glare hardening as she witnesses his father playing over his food. The atmosphere intensified, yet she says nothing, reaching to the right side of the placemat for her own sip of wine. Her dead stare never stops watching the man, even as she calmly swallows the red wine sip by sip. His mother was upset, and specifically at the man across from her, that much Jeongguk could tell. What he wasn’t sure of, was why?

“Is there something wrong with the food?” His mother addresses his father quizzically, but there was a hint of suspicion laced in her tone. Both Jeongguk and his father knew her better than that. Jeongguk’s shoulders shrink into himself, praying that at no point he’s acknowledged. He figured this could go south rapidly fast.

His father expels a large amount of air from his lungs, seemingly inconvenienced at having to speak. Unhurriedly, the man equips his napkin to dab at his mouth, an unnecessary action considering he’d barely touched his meal. He discards the used napkin on the tabletop carelessly, replacing it with the remainder of his wine to occupy his hand. “I’m sorry, dear. But I don’t recall saying something was wrong with the food.” He replies, feigning politeness, but really, it’s passive aggression.

This conversation was about to get really petty, really quickly. Jeongguk decided to start taking larger bites out of his food so that he could escape the situation altogether.

“Well, you’re picking at your food, darling. I think it’s more than obvious that there’s something you don’t like.” His mother scowls behind her wine glass at her husband. His father rubs at his dark stubble, feigning contemplation, his mouth smacking wetly around nothing but the aftertaste of his consumed wine. The sound was mildly annoying to Jeongguk, but not nearly as much as it seemed to provoke his mother.

“Well, since you mentioned it, this meal isn’t really up to my taste.” His father admits, twirling the residue of wine in the glass as if considering something deeply. He wasn’t. He was being an ass, and Jeongguk knew this wasn’t going to end well.

“I made a meal Jeongguk enjoys,” she states matter-of-factly, Jeongguk hiding behind his dark long locks. Dammit, it was only a matter of time before one or the other said something stupid at his expense. “it is his birthday, after all. Not yours.” His mother adds, and it’s like the two can’t help themselves. They just antagonize until they both explode, and Jeongguk did not want to get caught in their aftermath.

Jeongguk pretends he doesn’t feel his father’s weighted stare as he lures more food into his mouth. “His birthday dinner, huh? Do you even know how old the boy is–”

“Of course I do!” His mother rebuttals without hesitation, her anger pouring into her tone without filter. However, as petty as the accusation was, she failed to provide a proper answer of Jeongguk’s age. He sinks further into his seat, knowing sooner or later he too would be dragged in the middle of this.

“Well sorry if I didn’t know! You’re the one that walks around here treating him like a damn child!” His father out bursts with a slap against the table, and Jeongguk’s face littered in shame at the truth of the matter. “And what about Zeha, huh?! Do you even think about him anymore? Do you even know how old he would be today?!” It’s a low blow, even Jeongguk stiffens at the implications of those words.

“Don’t you even DARE! Don’t even speak his name!” His mother lightens with fury, the sound of the chair legs scraping loudly in the dining room. His mother practically jumps to her feet, the only thing separating the two is the stretch of table between them. Jeongguk is uncomfortable in the worse way, his muscles tensing with the insistent urge to bolt. “I’m serious, Jaeyoung. Don’t you dare start something with me that you can’t finish!”

“Start with you?!” His father also rises to his feet, leaning the weight of his palms against the face of the table. “Chaehyun, when was the last time I was able to start anything with you and finish?!” His father belts, and Jeongguk grimaces. He didn’t even want to think further about what that was supposed to mean.

His mother scoffs, “Do you not understand that you disgust me? Just the thought that we share the same breath space repulses me!” She argues vehemently, her words lashing against his father like a whipping chain, the man visibly flinching. “Do not mistake my tolerance for affection!” She adds, a plethora of emotions flying over her face and out of her mouth. “You’re so inferiorly jealous of your own son, that you begin acting like one yourself! I can’t even rely on you to take care of him! Do you think any of that turns me on?!” His mother is screaming, nearing hysterics.

Jeongguk softly pushes his plate away, his appetite long gone. He didn’t like this; he didn’t like this feeling filtering throughout his entire being. Misery. Jeongguk was miserable.

Suddenly, the sound of the doorbell resonates throughout the entire house, everyone falling eerily silent as their attention is drawn to the front door. Almost impatiently, the doorbell rings again, causing his mother to sigh tiredly as she hurriedly fixes her appearance. “Not a word.” She demands with finality, neither Jeongguk nor his father objecting as the older man sits back down in his seat.

___

To Yoongi’s surprise, a woman answers the door, neatly dressed and primmed. She was fairly beautiful, but older than both Yoongi and his brother. He studied her facial features subtly, looking for any resemblance between her and Jeongguk. If there were any, they were minor. It would seem the ravenette boy next door looked more like his father. But there was no question in Yoongi’s mind that this woman was his mother.

“Yes? Can I help you?” The woman asks directly, a frown marring her face as she looks between the platinum blond and his younger brother.

Jimin plasters a smile on his face, one that was overly polite yet charming. “Yes, actually. We’re sorry to disturb you, but we’re your new neighbors that just moved in today.” Jimin begins to explain, which was truthfully too much information for Yoongi’s taste, but he took the opportunity to glance around the woman. This didn’t seem to go unnoticed by her, though, the woman cracking the door to only leave her head exposed before the blond can wonder why there were two doors to bypass the entrance. Yoongi refrains from rolling his eyes.

“Unfortunately,” Jimin drags on, “we don’t have a can opener at the moment and was wondering if we might be able to borrow one? Or even if you could open it for us, that would be much appreciated.” His brother concludes finally, showing the aforementioned cans of kimchi.

She looks between the two men again, hesitant, and overly cautious. She didn’t seem like she wanted to accommodate their needs at all, leaving the two brothers in suspense for either acceptance or denial. She seems to concede, albeit reluctantly. “Just wait a moment.” But before either of them can reply, the door is shut on them.

Jimin and Yoongi exchange a look between one another, but otherwise don’t openly say anything.

After a moments time waiting, the door is opened again, just a crack. “Here.” She hands the can opener to Jimin, the strawberry blond bowing politely as he accepts it carefully.

For a moment, Yoongi wonders if the woman is aware that her son’s father likes to push around his weight on their son, or if she’s willingly complacent. She was overly cautious and suspicious. That type of paranoia doesn’t just come from nowhere. “Is your son home?” He finds himself asking before he can stop himself, both the woman and his brother looking completely taken aback.

“윤기! 뭐하세요?” (Yoongi! What are you doing?) Jimin snaps, trying to keep his tone under his breath. But before Yoongi can answer, the mother is already glaring directly at him.

“No, he’s not.” She answers pointedly, being much more open about her accusatory preconceptions. “And furthermore, I don’t appreciate you leering into my home. Or showing up at my doorstep so late at night!” she alleges before gripping the edge of her door. “I’d like it if you two gentlemen left now, and not to return.” And with that, the door is once again slammed in their faces.

Jimin blinks stupidly at the door before trailing his eyes down to the can opener being held in his palm. He looks to his brother, questioning. “Again, Yoongi, what the hell were you doing?” he hisses before grabbing the blond’s hand to quickly lead them away from the woman’s property. “I said I’d do the talking, remember?! And then you, what? Go off and ask her about her son that you seen from outside, or what?” Jimin accuses too, which wasn’t exactly untrue, so Yoongi doesn’t protest against the facts. That is what happened, after all.

“Not going to lie, Yoongi. Not your brightest hour.” Jimin adds before storming into their own home. “Come in here!” the strawberry blond shouts from the inside. Yoongi sighs, he wasn’t particularly in the mood for an interrogation.

___

Jeongguk watches his mother come out of the air pressurizer with a huff, annoyance etched onto her face as she practically slams the door shut. The automatic locking mechanism taking effect immediately, allowing her to stalk her way back over to the dining table. Jeongguk didn’t know who was at the door or what they wanted, since the air pressurizing door didn’t allow for him to ease drop and he was too nervous to openly creep over with his father sitting right at the dining table to witness him.

“I see you’ve met the new neighbors, too.” His father snickers unkindly, sending a knowing glance his son’s way who pretends not to hear the man.

“Jeongguk, if you’re finished eating, then go to your room.” His mother orders, per usual, only this time Jeongguk is all too eager to comply. It seemed both his mother and father were planning on having a long night of drama ahead and he wanted no part in it. If he was being openly exonerated, then he’ll gladly take it.

“Goodnight mom.” He quickly kisses her cheek; the woman barely being moved by the affection as she openly glares at the man across the table whose helped himself to another glass of wine. “Dad.” He acknowledges the man out of respect as well and is expectantly ignored.
 

Jeongguk nearly takes the stairs two steps at a time as he hurriedly ascends them. He can hear his father starting off their next round of arguing behind him and doesn’t think twice before entering his bedroom and closing the door. He would lock it too if his door actually had one.

There was nothing but the soft glow from his bedside lamp illuminating the room, and Jeongguk almost frowns at the lack of moonlight bleeding into the rather dark space before his earlier memories hit him like a wall of bricks. He had closed them, which he rarely ever does, because the mortification was too much to bare to keep them open.

He eases his way towards the window alcove, wondering briefly if the man really did just come over. Or if he was perhaps asleep and wouldn’t mind him reopening his curtains. Or even if the blond cared at all what he did or didn’t do.

Jeongguk loved falling asleep with the stars and moonlight illuminating his room in the darkness. It was like a cozy blanket a child needs at night; he wasn’t sure he could sleep without it. That’s what he told himself, at least, just before grabbing the edge of the drapes and carefully pulling them open. It wasn’t because he wanted to see Yoongi again. Not at all. Especially not when he knows his father is going to throw him under the bus to further his own argument.

He wouldn’t be caught dead that way.

To his surprise, or maybe excitement, the platinum blond is in his room, sitting at the edge of his bed facing towards the window as he idly rummages through a box resting between his legs in clear disinterest.

Yoongi.

The man must have noticed the soft light pouring from Jeongguk’s room, because the lifts his heavy head from unpacking not a second later, the man’s face lightening up in recognition. Jeongguk watches Yoongi abandon his task completely, a smile widening against the blond’s mouth as he walks up to the window to greet the younger properly.

And it’s strange at first for Jeongguk, the younger not used to greeting people so causally like the other man might. It was a strange feeling, but not a bad one. He was afraid to welcome it so invitingly, but when the blond waved at him, bold and smiling in genuine fondness, Jeongguk couldn’t help returning the gesture with a smile of his own. He did like Yoongi’s smile, after all.

The platinum blond turns swiftly, seemingly in search for something as he circles around his room again and again. Jeongguk tries to spare the man of his giggles but figured if the man knew he looked like a puppy chasing his tail, he’d laugh too.

He watches Yoongi duck down before plopping up just as fast, like a winter orchid blooming in winter. The blond wiggled the retrieved marker in his hand to show off to the younger, Jeongguk nodding in understanding to what he was searching for. Yoongi was trying to find his notepad and marker to speak to him again. Something akin to happiness flushes through Jeongguk at the other man’s effort.

It seemed though, with the constant arranging things and unpacking his room, the blond misplaced the notepad. Yoongi looks to him through the window, almost at a loss on what to do before the other seems to brighten with an idea.

Jeongguk watches the blond uncap the marker, yet again with his teeth, as he takes the tip of the ink to window as if it wasn’t an inconvenience. Jeongguk’s jaw drops in amazement as he patiently waits for the other to finish vandalizing his own property.

613-143-2022

Jeongguk stared in disbelief, the number on the bold display staring right back at him. Tempting. He waits with bated breath, the weight of his cell phone in his pant pocket suddenly becoming heavier as his palms begin to twitch in anticipation, seemingly making the decision all on their own as they hang idly at his sides.

What was he supposed to do now? Surely the other wasn’t implying to call and speak with him.

Jeongguk was frozen, eyes lingering on the blond as the man caps the marker cheekily before signaling a thumbs-up. Yoongi’s smile was calm, expression welcoming, demeanor patient. He points more deliberately towards the bolded numbers graffitied onto his window before gesturing to call, making a phone out of his fingers before nodding insistently.
 

Jeongguk was sure he was burning now, his entire body feeling hot as he allows his hand to slip into his pocket to retrieve his cell phone. But all he could do was stare at the blackness of the off screen. Why was he hesitating now? Was it because deep down he knew his mother wouldn’t approve? His father was already digging him a grave, he was confident about that, but this would just be digging himself deeper.

But this wasn’t running outside and being reckless with his health. He was safe, so long as he stayed in the house. Most importantly, he wanted to talk to the man with the pretty smile next door. Jeongguk had been living this life for twenty years now, he knew better than to exceed his limitations. He could grant himself a phone call. It was almost embarrassing how much he wanted to.

Jeongguk proceeds to press the power button alongside his cell phone, sliding the lock screen to access entry to his device. He dials the blond’s number carefully, eyes pulling forward to confirm the digits of the number is correct. His thumb hovers over the call icon, Jeongguk raising his gaze towards Yoongi once again. Their eyes fall in sync as the blond brings his own phone towards his ear. Waiting. Perhaps, even, anticipating.

Jeongguk presses the green phone icon to successfully call the other man.

Yoongi answers, of course, but he stares inherently calm at the wavy haired ravenette. Jeongguk’s breath hitches when he attempts to break the silence, both male’s breathing falling in sync with one another, soft and unhurried.
 

Jeongguk’s gaze turns curious then, analyzing the other in wonder. A sheepish smile grows on Yoongi’s face, his hand practically fly to his nape as he rubs at himself, overtaken by his episode of awkwardness. It’s at that time that Jeongguk recognizes the blond is nervous, the man self-soothing as his initial confidence depletes as quick as the shyness invades.

Jeongguk didn’t mind, it wasn’t like he was fairing any better. It was quite endearing to watch, though he realized it was at the other’s expense. But it made Jeongguk surprisingly comfortable without feeling the restraints to be perfectly sociable. He knew he didn’t exactly have an abundance of experience. Yoongi was a lot braver than he even realized, and right now Jeongguk was admiring that about the blond.

“Hi…” the voice that comes through the receiver of his phone is breathy, deep, and hesitant, another long stretch of silence following. But Jeongguk is delighted to hear it, a genuine smile adorning his lips as he watches the platinum blond pair the greeting with an awkward wave, very reminiscent of the first one he offered to Jeongguk earlier in the evening.

Jeongguk welcomes him with his own wave, his hand barely moving as he suddenly becomes paralyzed by his own onset of nerves. “Hi.” Jeongguk beets red and his neighbor mirrors his expression, both chuckling in the pool of awkwardness they’re drowning in.

Yoongi clears his throat, eyes widening almost comically before pointing at the ink lingering on his bedroom window. “Do you think that can come off?” His voice feigning concern. “It wasn’t a permanent marker… I don’t think.” He grumbles, analyzing the marker’s labeling before tossing it away somewhere off in his room. “Oops.”

Jeongguk released the most guttural laugh he had heard himself make, his head falling back as he chuckled loudly into his intercom unabashedly before slapping a hand to his mouth in attempts to stop himself. It was certainly an outrages thing to be so tickled by, and yet it took a serious effort to calm down. “Oh no.” He takes a moment to breathe. “I don’t mean to laugh, but… You think about that now, huh?!” He wipes at his eyes that teared up during his laughing episode.

“What if someone dials me looking for a booty call?!” Yoongi excites exaggeratedly, clutching at his neck very reminiscent of an elderly woman being so scandalized she’d clutch her pearls in astonishment. Jeongguk’s laugh filters to the other’s receiver as it did before at Yoongi’s display of humor. “I hope you won’t think little of me. I’m not a cheap date… Unless I’m paying.” He adds.

Jeongguk is devastatingly winded, beginning to fear that he’ll attract the attention of either of his parents. And that, he didn’t want to happen, knowing that both would be equally agitated by the ordeal. Truthfully, Jeongguk didn’t know what to expect, but he really didn’t expect Yoongi to be like this at all. The man was genuine and humorous, pushing his own nerves aside to be playfully inviting, making him laugh again and again. This could be dangerous. “And why do I believe you, too.” Jeongguk agrees, all in fun.

“Because it’s true. Although now, I feel like I should be offended you don’t want proof.” Yoongi playfully jests along with the doe-eyed ravenette, smiling gummily at the younger’s bright expression.

And Jeongguk absolutely adored that the gummy smile he was seeing now was directed at him. “And how would you prove that? By taking me out on a cheap date or maybe perhaps using me as an ATM?” Jeongguk jokes before he realizes what it is he’s saying, his own words leaving a pang on his chest. Who was he to complain if either-or happened, playful intent or not? Both would be a dream of a lifetime for him.

Yoongi doesn’t catch whiff of the slight change of atmosphere, chuckling along while shrugging. “Now wouldn’t that be efficient. Cheap date or not, I would show you a good time.” Yoongi admits, albeit brazen and suddenly confident.

Jeongguk’s heart flutters at the declaration before clenching harshly inside his chest, never having been under this type of attention before. He was unbelievably flattered and flustered, but he couldn’t entertain this conversation any longer. “I’m afraid that would be very much impossible.” He declares sullenly, but with finality. He hated how much he mimicked his mother right now.

“Well, never say never.” Yoongi tries to keep the conversation light and lively, carefully watching how the younger teethes at his bottom lip while slowly trailing the outline of his room. The blond doubts the younger has even realized he’s started pacing. “I mean it,” he suddenly declares, the urgency to be the ravenette’s lifeline overcoming him. He needed the other to recognize that he’d be willing to be there for him, should he need it. “Come over whenever you’d like, and I’d treat you somewhere fun. Although I’m not really familiar with the city y–”

“I’m afraid in my case I can confidently say never.” Jeongguk interrupts snappily, and he realizes he’s never been in this predicament before. Everyone he’s ever interacted with was well versed about his condition and inability to go outside. To him and his household, it was common knowledge.  

He wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed. Hell, this was something he’s been conditioned to live with for the entirety of his life. However, he wasn’t sure people outside of his parents and in-home nursing staff would understand. In fact, he knew not everyone had the patience to endure such limitations; his father was living proof of that.

Yoongi was taken aback by the younger’s sudden sourness, but he doesn’t push the ravenette for further explanations, wanting the other to confide in him about his struggles at his own pace. “Would that bother you?” Jeongguk suddenly asks, and Yoongi becomes even more curious than before. “If I never could come over, would you still want to talk to me? Like this? Could we even still be friends?” Jeongguk clarifies as the onslaught of questions pour out of him, fueled by insecurity and uncertainty. But Jeongguk felt the need to ask anyway.

Yoongi’s expression stiffens, the boy across the way staring expectantly through the window directly at him. “I don’t see how we couldn’t.” he pacifies, but Jeongguk doesn’t seem convinced, continuing his slow pacing. “I used to struggle to get out of the house too.” The blond admits, watching the younger make an expression of surprise before searching for the other through the view of the window. Yoongi chuckles embarrassedly, his hands nervously ruffling his hair. “Actually, I still struggle with that today.”

Jeongguk was short of bewilderment. He couldn’t imagine someone having the freedom to come and go as they pleased, but simply couldn’t. Or maybe it was the fact that Jeongguk understood that more than he cared to. That feeling of entrapment was excruciating. Neither of them were decorated with physical restraints, and yet they were imprisoned, nonetheless. Bound by their restrictions. Jeongguk was longing to know more about the platinum blond.

Jeongguk was drawn to his alcove, knees digging into the plush cushioning below him as he settles back against his calves. He was in direct line of sight to the blond, but he didn’t shy himself away from the man’s stare. Yoongi looked gentle, vulnerable even. It was hard for Jeongguk not to press up against the glass.

The platinum blond followed Jeongguk’s lead, legs drawling him backward until he connected with the edge of his bare mattress, eyes still glued to Jeongguk’s frame as he allowed his bottom to lead him downward. He knew the ravenette was silently asking for an elaboration. Yoongi sighed deeply, “My brother seems to think moving here across the world is magically going to fix all of my problems. I guess there’s an even larger part of me that wants to believe that it’s true.” He speaks slow and softly, almost as if admitting in a whisper to the darkness an unheard truth. “But the unknown has always made me anxious, to the extremities of nausea. Facing ostracization, not outright knowing people’s true intentions, or feeling rejected in every sense of the word.,” Yoongi proceeds,

“The truth is, I don’t know how to live and I’m too scared to try. I’ve been conditioned my whole life to survive, that going beyond that is just too much.” Yoongi exhales harshly as if trying to conceal a deeper emotion.

Jeongguk breathes with him. He had never expected that from the blond man. The other’s bravery was larger than Jeongguk could have ever imagined, confiding in a complete stranger as honest as he had was admirable to him, and it grew the adoration Jeongguk already felt along the surface for the man.

Jeongguk watches the man from across the way brush a hand down his face before completely flopping back against the naked mattress. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I even said all of that.” The blond attempts to display amusement, but even in the short span of speaking to the older, Jeongguk knows he’s slipping on a façade to hide behind. Perhaps presenting himself as nonchalant and assertive was one of the man’s many armors. Jeongguk didn’t feel like Yoongi needed them with him.

There was no way Jeongguk could honestly say he could relate to the blond’s emotions and fears, but he did feel comforted by them. In a way, he had also felt ostracized. It felt like he was punished every day of his life for being sick, made to live in isolation forever with a mother that troubled over him and a father that was troubled by him. In a way, he had also been conditioned to simply survive. That had always been their priority as a family; that Jeongguk lived to see another day. But at the end of the day, that wasn’t living at all.

If anything, it made him yearn for life outside his home, not fear it.

“You don’t have to apologize for having feelings.” Jeongguk speaks softly into the intercom, his voice traveling through the blond’s receiver to wrap around him like a blanket. He didn’t think Yoongi should be so dismissive of them. Jeongguk actual found the blond to be quite quaint and shy, but also so raw. He loved the rawness. But his curiosity was once again piqued.  “What made you step outside of those emotions and speak to me?” And perhaps the question was rather straightforward but given the other’s expressed hesitance on the ‘unknown’, he’d like to know where Yoongi gathered the courage to step outside of his comfort zone to speak to him directly.

Yoongi sat up at this, peering back over through the wide-eyed ravenette’s window. “I’m not sure.” He answers first, honestly. He analyzes the younger’s soft features, searching in his eyes as if they held the answer to the question. “I just felt like I really wanted to know you.” It’s a direct reasoning, and it make Jeongguk’s ears flush a rich red.

“But don’t you find me creepy? I know you must have gathered that I had been watching you.” Jeongguk’s voice is quiet, and his eyes evade the other’s darker one’s at the confession. He thought the blond sparingly kind to not mention it himself, but if he truly didn’t know, now he did. Shame was again building inside his chest. “My intention wasn’t to spy or anything. I just… spend a lot of time at my windows, watching the sky mostly. The sun, the moon, the stars, how it all glides by.” Jeongguk explains honestly, although he did fail to admit he was captured with by blond.

The platinum blond man hums thoughtfully. “We’re new to the neighborhood. If you think you’re the only one that gave us some stares, you’d be wrong about that.” Yoongi explains rather simply, not excusing the act but not slighted by it. “What honestly caught my attention was that man in your room.” Yoongi treads lightly, but his heart thumps a tad bit more aggressively at remembering the sight of the boy cowering to the older man who loomed threateningly over him.

The line was silent, but with the two in perfect sight of one another, there wasn’t really a place for Jeongguk to hide. Yes. His father was in the room, making a very degrading show to be seen. He almost wishes he never mention it at all. “That was my dad.” Jeongguk clarifies instead, and nothing more.

They stare at each other for another pause, the silence falling between the line once again. Yoongi doesn’t want to cross the line by throwing accusations around, but he also knew what he saw didn’t sit well with him. He didn’t want to project his own experiences onto the ravenette, when in truth he had no idea what type of interaction he had witnessed.

The tension was growing and Jeongguk didn’t like it. He didn’t have an answer or excuse for what the blond may have seen transpire between him and his father, so he silently urged the older not to push further.

Yoongi allowed the silence to stretch on between them for a minute or two longer, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Not when he and the other were holding a silent conversation visually with one another. But Yoongi was conflicted. He had no right to pry, but he couldn’t in good conscious let it go. “My father used to keep my younger brother and I close to him. If it was beyond his eye’s reach, we weren’t allowed there, to say the least.” Yoongi begins, his back slow lowering back down against his mattress. He stared up at the ceiling, white and stale but so easy to look at. “I think I can honestly say that man hated us but was more terrified of losing us like he did Seokjin and mom.” He chuckles, only now the humor is dry and unamusing.

Jeongguk listens attentively, his heart thrumming in his chest uncomfortably at the blond seemingly sinking into an unpleasant place. An exhaled breath is heard from Jeongguk’s receiver, the younger giving his knees a break and shifting on his bottom, pulling his knees to his chest to rest arm against as he waits.

“Seokjin is my eldest brother. Jimin the youngest.” Yoongi briefly explains, Jeongguk nodding along although he wasn’t sure the blond could see him from his new acquired angle. “My dad didn’t treat us like his children, but like his possessions. His to own, his to keep, his to break,” Yoongi carried on, his tone carrying the obvious disdain he felt for the man. “He swore he loved us all, equal and nothing less, but –” and it seems the blond gets a little choked up, giving himself a moment. “When it was all said and done, he’d blame it on the alcohol, before he stopped apologizing altogether.” Yoongi powers onward.

Jeongguk stomach clenches for the other’s pain. Hates how much he understands exactly how the other feels. Except his father didn’t make excuses for himself or his actions, but instead his mother would in his stead. He knew alcohol fueled his father’s aggressive ambitions but was merely a silent observer when he was sober. At the end of the day, he had only assumed the man loved him.

“And I loved him to pieces anyway because that’s what I was taught to do. Even if he had a sick way of loving me back. Forgive and forget, you know?” Yoongi goes on, his snicker sounding wet and sad. Jeongguk hums in agreement, and the blond sniffles in reply. “But I was exhausted. I wasn’t allowed a life that wasn’t revolved around that man. No friends, no dreams, no jobs, no leaving unsupervised or without a dire reason. I was condemned to that house. But he was the devil I knew, so I knew how to survive.” Yoongi circles back, adding another layer to his earlier declarations. It made just a bit more sense to Jeongguk.

“But then he said he wanted to get better. To quit drinking and lashing out like he did. We had all heard that before so many times.” The blond drops down to a whisper as if he was meaning it for himself, almost like a reprimand. “On the outside, I wasn’t all that optimistic. I needed to see the change before believing it would just come, just like that. But he was so serious, more than we had ever saw him to that point. I think we all couldn’t help but get our hopes high and believe him.” Yoongi sighs, his free hand finding his chest to soothe the invisible ache.

“Are Seokjin and Jimin the men that were with you today?” Jeongguk finally decides to ask, though he had enough comprehension to already know the answer to that.

“Oh?” Yoongi hums, an affirmation. “The brunet is Seokjin, and the rose blond is Jimin.” He further specifies to which Jeongguk hums. For some reason, this put his mind to ease, knowing that the other had his brothers beside him during this difficult transition. “When my father said he was going to change, he became more lenient with our restrictions. We no longer needed supervision or a dire reason to leave the house. Seokjin didn’t skip a heartbeat to leave. He said he couldn’t wait for any more chances to pass him by, and with dad doing better we would be fine.”

And it’s in the way the man says it that indicates things weren’t fine at all. That much was alluded to. Jeongguk is at a loss for what to say, nothing comforting coming to mind. He wishes so bad that he could embrace the blond. Tell the man how beautiful, brave, and inspiring he was. Because Yoongi really was something, Jeongguk gathered. He couldn’t have wanted more from being able to interact with the male.

“That’s what this move is all about. Celebrating our emancipation. Seokjin’s just trying to make it right with us, but deep down I think he knows that it isn’t his place.” Yoongi finally peels his glossy gaze away from the ceiling, lazily pulling himself up with the help of his elbows, deciding then to lean his weight back against them. He seen the ravenette had balled up comfortably. It was the perfect cute sight he needed to see after rehashing all that grief. “I learned the hard way that not everybody that claim to love you has your best interests in mind.”

Jeongguk listened, eyes glazing over in consideration. “But do you think your father loved you?” Jeongguk didn’t realize how insensitive and rude that question seemed until it had already passed his lips and through the intercom, arriving past the receiver to Yoongi’s ear. “Wait, that sounded–”

“Recently I heard, that just because people love you, doesn’t mean you feel loved by them. If the man loved me or not, I guess doesn’t matter. What good does it do to feel for another if those emotions are not properly conveyed?” Yoongi answers instead, his own eyes lost in another memory. “What good did it serve to love me, if he made sure I never felt loved by him?” He poses instead.

Jeongguk didn’t expect that to strike his heart as powerfully as it did. It resonated within him powerfully. That question was an answer within itself. What good did it serve to love someone with the best intentions if it was in the worst ways? It’s not that he didn’t know his parents loved him. Even as cold as they both emotionally were toward him; he knew they loved him, including his father. But it was more of a fact than a feeling. He felt his mother’s obsession more than affection. He felt his father’s resentment more than his father’s kindness. In the end, Jeongguk knew he was loved, but he didn’t feel loved, and that guilt ate him alive every day. And he’s never muttered a word about the feeling.

Almost in an instant his eyes welled up with tears. He tried to blink them away in rapid successions in attempts to stop, but its futile. The urge to cry is so significantly strong that it hurts, his heart and throat constricting tightly causing him to croak painfully. To have that tender emotion actualized through someone else’s words was overwhelming. He slaps a hand to his mouth, his eyes widening as they blur impossibly more with stubborn tears.

“Jeongguk.” The voice calls so delicately, tone soft and sweet, he thinks it’s the first he’s heard the man say it. Jeongguk almost curses, his eyes being lured to fixate on the platinum blond whose expression bleeds concern. He felt so pathetic to cry, more so because the tears he sheds aren’t for Yoongi, but for himself. “Jeongguk. It’s okay. You can talk to me.” Yoongi entices, standing from his bed to stand as close as he could to the window. He wishes he could embrace the ravenette, allow the man to cry in the crook of his neck instead of watching the other helplessly.

“I’m sorry, I–” Jeongguk gasps when he hears a door slam, his head turning towards the source. His parents. He silences his sobs, but his tears continue to fall. He listens closely, waiting for the slightest sign of footsteps approaching his bedroom. After a minute he doesn’t here any, but it doesn’t make him any less wary. He was supposed to be to bed at least an hour ago, and it makes him wonder where had the time gone? He had talked with a stranger seamlessly for over an hour and counting, connected with the man on a level he hadn’t with anybody in his entire twenty years of life.

Instead of crying for himself, mourning the affection of his parents, he found himself smiling a teary-eyed smile. “You don’t have to apologize for feeling.” Yoongi retorts back to the younger, causing the man to smile more genuine in remembrance to the comforting words he offered the blond earlier.

“Thank you, Yoongi.” And Jeongguk thinks it’s the first time he’s addressed the other by his name. The blond glows under the starry-night sky. “I’ve never talked to anyone like this in my life.” He chuckles, albeit wetly. And if it wasn’t dangerous before, it was deadly now. Things he’d never dreamed of saying outside of his noggin were threatening spill out from the tip of his tongue. He never had the desire to share any of it before, and that’s why he didn’t trust himself right now.

He’s not brave like Yoongi.

“I’m sorry if I’ve crossed a line and made you uncomfortable.” Yoongi’s deep tone is sincere, his face scrunching apologetically.

Jeongguk shakes his head adamantly in disagreement, “You didn’t.” He sniffles strongly to contain his crying nostrils. He knew he’d be scolded by his mother for inhaling his mucus in favor of blowing into tissue had she been there, the thought causing him to wipe at his nose against the forearm of his sleeve. He looked a mess and felt a mess too, but when he refocused his attention back onto the blond, he was met with a non-judgmental and kind expression.
 

“You know,” the blond begins, his fingers tracing a line up and down his window mindlessly as he articulates his next thought, “the cruelest thing the human mind can do, is work to make you feel alone.” He pauses, tongue poking out to lick at his bottom lip, contemplating. “The lengths the brain will go to just to isolate you from people, just to feed that continuous thought of loneliness, when in reality there are hundreds of thousands of people that feel the exact same way. Maybe even millions.” Yoongi continues, his ministrations on the window coming to a halt as he searches for Jeongguk’s doe eyes.

Jeongguk can only offer a hum in agreement, leaning his head against the thick paned glass of the window. He had never been completely alone in his entire life, yet he couldn’t deny that he felt lonely, even more so when he was surrounded by his parents and nurse. He felt alone in his experiences and in life, but there was a physicality aspect to it too. His isolation was undeniable, kept stored away in this glass box like some sort of safety hazard, merely for people to spectate but not touch.

But there was something indeed comforting about the fact that this man, who travelled from the other side of globe, so happens to end up right next to Jeongguk’s home, going through many similar trails in life.

Jeongguk shuffled his knees closer to his chest, clenching tighter onto them to embracing something. “It may not be my place, but I want you to know that whenever you feel like you don’t have anyone else to talk to, I’m only across they way.” Yoongi concludes, albeit it shyly. His hand is ruffling at the back of his blond hairs, eyes looking everywhere but at the ravenette, his expression schooled but his cheeks a rose blush.

A wide smile spreads across Jeongguk’s lips at the endearing sight. He knew the blond was hiding his conveyed affections through his nonchalance. Jeongguk really didn’t know why he found it so extremely adorable.  

“Thank you.” Jeongguk can’t help the blush that rises to his own cheeks. He was floored and flattered that this man was truly making an investment into him. Perhaps, this was the excitement he was hoping would come today. In a tight package of a U-Haul containing three brothers with one particular blond meant to shake up his world off its hinges. He smiled again, eyes searching for those deep piercing one’s until they finally interlock. “You made this birthday one I will never forget.” Jeongguk’s heart spins at the admission. Yoongi’s eyes light bright at the younger’s confession. “But I have to go–”

“Today was your birthday?” Yoongi asks in surprise, Jeongguk laughing softly at the other’s amazed expression, the blond’s eyes widening comically while allowing his jaw to drop as low as it’ll hang. Once again he acts scandalized, and Jeongguk tries his hardest to conceal his abrupt laughter to not draw attention from his agitated parents. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? How old are you?” Yoongi rushes out in one, not trying to hold up the younger but having an insistent need to know.

“I’ve turned twenty.” And Jeongguk’s surprised by the sudden apprehension his tone takes. It was something of which he was originally proud. But after the disappointing reactions he received from both his parents and coming to the slow realization that he’s spent twenty years of his life being trapped by his own circumstances, he was almost embarrassed now.
 

But Yoongi’s expression only dissolved into fondness, which made Jeongguk a little less insecure. “You’re a man now.” Was the blond’s immediate response, and it made Jeongguk flush crimson. It was true, another fact he took pride in, but it made him feel strange to be acknowledged the way he desired to be seen. Not necessarily a bad strange, but still a foreign feeling.

Jeongguk glanced around his room in distraction to rid himself of the fluttering in his gut when he caught the time on his digital clock. The hour was nearing midnight, the red numbers glaring mockingly as the fluttering gave way to a sinking dread. A part of him was pleasantly surprised that the two got along well enough to talk well into the night seamlessly, but Jeongguk knew his mother. Arguing or not, he knew his mother would make her rounds soon, even if to simply peek on in. He wasn’t restricted to a particular bedtime, but his mother did insist he got his seven to eight hours of sleep. And furthermore, if she were to walk in on the scene that was taking place, she would be nothing short of livid.

Jeongguk looks back to the blond’s sweet features regrettably, a sigh escaping him. “I’m sorry, Yoongi, but I really have to go.” Jeongguk sulks and he knows he does. He didn’t want to end the conversation so abruptly. He wasn’t even that tired. He ignores the irony that instantly bestows him when he yawns contradictorily.

Yoongi nods in understanding, yawning himself contagiously from witnessing the younger do the same seconds ago. “Happy Birthday.” He forces past the yawn, the words stretched and tone deep, sprinkled with exhaustion. The blond shakes it off to give one final sleepy smile to the ravenette. The imagine of the blond and his brothers unloading heavy boxes all day flooding Jeongguk’s mind. No wonder the man was tired. “Goodnight. Sweet dreams, Birthday Boy.” Yoongi adds slyly, making Jeongguk smile inwardly.

“Goodnight.” Jeongguk returns, waving shyly and cheeks flaring. It was his birthday, and he had every right to enjoy his birthday wishes. In fact, Yoongi was the first and only person to wish him. “And thank you.”

No more words were spoken, but both men held their cell phones to their ears, nonetheless. Jeongguk felt reluctant to hang up the phone, and that unwillingness was also present in Yoongi. Neither parted from their window either. And it made quite the tension between the men. It was almost awkward, yet there was nothing but comfort felt as it washed over the ravenette. But he knew he couldn’t linger too much longer.

“Talk to you tomorrow?” Yoongi finally breaks that calming silence between them, and the question was clear as day. Jeongguk would be lying if he claimed he wasn’t shocked by the proposal, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip at a lost for what to say. He never expected conversation to be shared between them, let alone last for hours. The prospects of another night like this to come delighted him.

“I mean… if you’d want to. Of course. I think I’d like that, actually.” Jeongguk eventually agrees, and his heart is pounding. He knows his parents wouldn’t approve of this, but at this moment, he thinks he couldn’t care less. And that’s scary to him.

“Then, talk to you tomorrow.” Yoongi says in definite, small pretty smile settling on his lips as he waves the younger off. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Jeongguk returns, heart thrumming in anticipation for tomorrow. This time, though, he does pull his cell phone away to press the red phone icon laminating the screen to end the call. He felt better doing so with the promise of tomorrow.

Jeongguk watches the blond finally pull the phone away from his awaiting ear, his arms falling at his sides before tossing his phone aside on his bare mattress. Yoongi smiles, that bright and gummy smile, offering a final wave across to his dark haired neighbor. The blond turns then, his shoulders drooping significantly at the lack of progression of unpacking his room, causing Jeongguk to snicker one last time. Even if he does feel a little guilty for consuming so much of the blond’s time.

Jeongguk untucks himself from the nook of the window, abandoning his throw-blanket and cushioned pillows alike. He notes how there was no longer that desperation to close his curtains to hide away. So like many nights before, he leaves them open, inviting the stars and all things bright to sleep with him.

His bed wasn’t directly aligned with his window, so he loses sight of Yoongi’s bedroom and the male himself. He stares up at him ceiling, not a word crossing his lips or mind. Just a wave of an overwhelmingly warm feeling spreading across his chest. And then, he does it again, “윤기.” He sighs softy, before reaching over to extinguish his bedside lamp.

___