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words couldn’t ever be enough to describe anything yoongi feels– anything. they’ve never been enough, because yoongi feels a lot. they weren’t enough when he first gained consciousness and felt the weight of his affection for his mother crush him, when he failed to express how much the simple presence of his friends in the slowly-complicating chapters of his life meant to him, or when he couldn’t thank that one professor in college enough for changing his life, or when he’d read a book and the act of expression couldn’t breathe life into the flood of emotions he’d feel, or when he watched jeongguk’s skin turn a faint red under the warm sun of may, one of the many mays he’d lived through or was to see, his fingers long and nails neat, dark hair kissed lighter by the daylight. yoongi hadn’t thought of words so utterly useless until that moment, when jeongguk angled his body to the sound of yoongi’s voice, listening, listening, and listening. yoongi wasn’t used to speaking much anyway, but all words ever created failed him then, when jeongguk smiled and the picture of it was burned forever into yoongi’s mind. from that day onwards, jeongguk was a vision of joy in every memory yoongi had of him.
it’s a strange twist of fate, because here he is, many years later and across the world, at a loss for words yet again, in front of jeongguk, who’s smiling like he’s always done in yoongi’s memories. jeongguk is smiling at something someone next to him said, and his hair is longer, but he still smiles with his eyes first, and his hand still tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear, and he’s still so, so devastatingly lovely, and yoongi’s still so, so terribly tongue-tied.
yoongi feels a lot, did he mention that? he does, overwhelming emotions the petals of a cherry blossom forever in full bloom, its eternal spring out of his control. memories flood in like a river rushing to meet its sea, and he stands there, the soft sunlight and the music in his ears rushing to paint jeongguk in the prettiest of ways. yoongi’s always thought such encounters happened in books and movies, and never having experienced one himself, somehow expected shock and loud expressions– hugs, tears, surprise, perhaps. he didn’t expect to be caught up in such a fateful encounter, let alone the quiet thrum of hope and hopelessness, past memories engulfing him so gently, the soft twisting of his heartstrings, everything mild and kind in its unfolding.
but he should’ve known, that if it were to ever happen, him and jeongguk meeting again, it would be under the sun, and jeongguk would meet his eyes slowly, his own widening for a fraction of a second before crinkling ever so slightly at the corners. he should’ve known that it wouldn’t happen any other way, for that would be injustice to the memories he shares with jeongguk, to everything jeongguk is.
yoongi doesn't speak, but jeongguk turns towards him anyway, still listening to everything he says and everything that escapes the bounds of speech.
when yoongi meets jeongguk again, five years later and on the other side of the world, he’s smiling then, too. he smells like the sun and everything yoongi’s failed to find in anyone else.
-
“hi,” says jeongguk, and yoongi’s mind rushes to compare this voice to the one he hears in his brain, but yoongi’s hearing it and it’s real, it’s here, and what a relief yoongi’s hearing it again.
yoongi finds his voice through a thick veil of emotions, and his face mirrors jeongguk’s smile, like it always did, the back of his neck hot. “hi.” he sounds all too choked up, and attempts to gather himself, for the sake of not burdening jeongguk if not for himself. “jeongguk, it’s– it’s been so long. hi.”
the other nods, eyes softening. “it has, yes. how– how’ve you been, hyung?”
yoongi’s clasps his hands together to hide their nervous trembling. “i’m okay,” he manages, then continues when jeongguk watches him expectantly, “i’ve been okay, jeongguk. it’s, um– i’m sorry, i’m finding it hard to believe we’re meeting like this.” he stops squeezing his own hands, a huff of laughter escaping him amidst the slow realisation that pours over him, taking over every inch of his being.
jeongguk shifts infinitesimally closer, as if done unconsciously, and nods again, taking a few seconds to speak again. “i know. it hasn’t sunk in on me yet.” he offers comfort in the form of empathy, and after a pause, asks, “yoongi-hyung, what’re you doing here?”
he blinks at the unexpected question, suddenly too aware of the sweat on his palms. “i live here.” perhaps the answer is even more startling than the question, because jeongguk’s eyes widen, and it takes yoongi all the way back to seeing his eyes, wide and almost round, for the first time, and so many times after the first one, and then only finding them in the dearest parts of his heart, most beloved. but it’s here again, so simple yet so real, and the space around yoongi’s heart feels tightened once more, pressing in in in. “i moved here three years ago, jeongguk. i– haven’t been home for a while,” he says the last bit without meaning to, and thinks jeongguk, yet again, listens to all he said and didn’t, as though the hole he left inside of yoongi was never vacant, and he’s inside like he never left, listening, close, closer. “and you?”
“huh?” jeongguk starts, the fragmented conversation in words said and unsaid more than he can keep track of. yoongi understands, because not having spoken to jeongguk in so long, it feels rather jarring to be let inside the walls created by distance and letting go. “um– i’m here for my masters. i moved not too long ago.” yoongi’s subtle surprise isn’t missed by him, because he smiles, adding, “i left when- for the military. getting back into academics and, i don’t know, normal, was harder than i thought, but. here i am.” he touches his ear, an air of bashfulness about him, in faint reds.
yoongi doesn’t ask what propelled jeongguk into enlisting early, especially when he would often go on to speak in great lengths about the exploitation that forms the basis for any military in the world to work, not when he looks like it took him courage to admit to it. he also doesn’t ask what happened in the years it took jeongguk to find himself again, but the weight of everything between now and five years ago is something both of them feel, settling around them like a heavy cloak. they share the press of it, welcoming the understanding they split between each other, words and their expression rendered unnecessary.
he nods, offering the ease of not requiring explanations he only hopes jeongguk’s had during all these years, and lets himself be pulled into the orbit of one jeon jeongguk again, just like all those years ago. many things are the same; the instant rush of feeling wholly understood, the tug at his heart, jeongguk’s smile and tanned skin, his deep brown eyes that demand all of yoongi’s attention and care, the way the world feels like it’s slowed down around him. but many things are different, too, and yoongi welcomes the contrast to sit snug in his chest; the familiarity of his being, the lack of trepidation he felt when he wanted to string together as many words known to him during their first conversation, the way he memorises jeongguk’s face all over again, comparing it to the one he had etched in his memory all this time. it’s new in the way jeongguk looks at him, all his unadulterated longing and unconcealed joy at having been found again, tracing yoongi’s face with wide, telling eyes, crinkled at the corners, and the way he says–
“i’ve missed you.”
-
and so it unfolds, the night eternal and the two of them invincible, free of the bounds of wrong time, of hopelessness and the tides of desire never reaching the shore. here, now, they’re simply yoongi and jeongguk, surrounded by a sea of possibilities and relief and hope, so, so much of it. maybe, yoongi thinks, fate works in funny ways when you’re away from where it all started. as if it forgets, as if you meet for the first time on different land, among different people, as if it starts all over again, but for the first time. it makes him laugh, and jeongguk, surveying the collection of houseplants in his living room, turns at the sound of it. he smiles for reasons unknown to himself, perhaps, just that his body is accustomed to yoongi, just as yoongi’s is to jeongguk, as though all the years in between temporarily fade out of existence, leaving only room for the warmth of jeongguk, close and real, the way yoongi’s hands itch to reach out, yearning to be received with the same want.
“when did you start collecting all these plants?” jeongguk asks, coming back to seat himself next to yoongi, turned ever so slightly in his direction.
’”hyung, when did you start collecting books?”
yoongi hums, laying down next to jeongguk on the carpet, both watching the piles on his shelves, taking up the entire left wall of his dorm.
“i can’t remember, maybe ever since i started reading. it’s hard to let go of the books i’ve written on. feels like giving away a piece of me.”
jeongguk nods understandingly, eyes transfixed ahead of him.
they watch the shadows of the books change places as the sun goes down from the window, leaving darkness in its wake, but kind enough to leave enough light that allows yoongi to trace the outline of jeongguk’s profile with his eyes when he turns his head to the side. jeongguk doesn’t return his gaze, but smiles as a way of letting him know that he knows, that he’s allowing it because he gets it. yoongi’s heart swells to sizes he thought it incapable of reaching.’
“i don’t know, i kind of developed the habit as i went. can’t remember when exactly it started.”
jeongguk nods, and both of them watch the collection of mismatched plants, unconsciously breathing in tandem.
-
yoongi looks up from the fridge, shaking his head as jeongguk suggests getting takeaway. “jeongguk, seriously, i want to. it’s really no issue. i have everything i need here,” he reassures, unsure of how to move past the formalities of uncertainty and growing apart, then pivots the conversation to lighter notes. “plus, who knows where else would you eat homemade food all the way in america? i wouldn’t dream of missing it if i were you. it’s korean food over, i don’t know, mcdonald’s or whatever.” the words feeling foreign on his tongue, an odd recollection of what once was.
jeongguk shifts his weight from one foot to the other, a small frown finding home between his eyebrows, still unconvinced. “they have korean restaurants here too, hyung,” he says, voice small. yoongi sighs.
“yes, but i don’t mind cooking, jeongguk-ah,” the name slips unconsciously, and so he rushes to fill silence, ears burning. “let me, please?”
’”you pay every time. seriously, it’s not even funny anymore,” jeongguk huffs, his breath coming out white, the tip of his nose red.
yoongi laughs, bumping their shoulders together. the smell of lamb skewers and december clings to their clothes, creating memories yoongi is unaware will bind to him for years to come.
“you’ll pay next time, i promise.”
jeongguk rolls his eyes without menace. “yeah, calling me dirt poor would’ve been more credible.”
“just let hyung buy you meals, jeongguk-ah. i wouldn’t pass on the opportunity if, i don’t know, jin-hyung was kind enough to shower his generosity on me, which is pretty impossible.” jeongguk snorts at that, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“but let me pay for at least something,” he says, catching yoongi’s gaze but not holding it for longer than a few seconds. his insides are all twisted, conscious only of the other.
“why don’t you help me fix that light in my washroom? i can’t reach it, you know. help your poor old hyung out,” he offers, smile widening as jeongguk groans, pushing yoongi slightly. “what?”
jeongguk eyes him skeptically. “i know you can reach it, you literally changed it yourself when you first moved in. but fine, i’ll help you out.” he sighs, their shoulders touching. “one day, hyung. one day i’ll have bribed the ahjumma before you can even begin to register what happened.”
as long as there’s always the possibility of meeting, yoongi thinks, and the night envelopes them in its coldness, kind and tranquil in its happening, as if stretching the hours they have together, no clocks to measure time.’
“alright,” jeongguk huffs, a small smile playing on his lips now, easily replacing the frown. “but you’ll let me help.” he lets himself inside the open kitchen, looking misplaced all of a sudden. yoongi doesn’t mean to stare, but the picture of this jeongguk in the middle of his kitchen, grown and so obviously alien to the space yoongi’s lived in for years, freezes everything in his being. he looks and looks, as jeongguk busies himself with fetching the ingredients, heart threatening to beat out of its ribcage, drinking in the image of this intimate act of simply having him here, helping him cook, unable to tell himself to get used to it.
how could he? with all the years in between, he’d grown accustomed to seeing the other only in dreams: sweet and far-fetched, or in the vastness of his memories, vivid and fabulous, but not like this, not in flesh and bones. jeongguk’s sweater clings to his form, his hair soft and tucked behind his ears, cheeks tinged pink with the heat of the apartment. how could he force an act of normalcy on himself when his heart wants nothing more than to skip the uneasy part of learning how to coexist again, make up for all the time lost, walk up to jeongguk, and press their lips together in a sweet kiss?
he wonders and wonders– would it still feel like a mistake? and even if it does, would he want to do it again? or would they surrender to the inevitability of letting go, giving away pieces of themselves again?
words have never been enough, and even if they were, yoongi thinks they could never do justice to jeongguk. kind, beautiful jeongguk, who likes like he’s materialized right out of yoongi’s imagination, so unbelievably pretty.
he breaks out of the trance when jeongguk asks something about the ingredients, and yoongi goes to help, leaving a pool of red where he stood earlier, as bright as it always was, ever since he’s known to love.
-
“i think i’ll get going,” jeongguk says, looking around, a little discombobulated, traces of uncertainty in his voice.
yoongi thinks of everything he wants to say, everything that threatens to spill and stain everything around them. he thinks of telling jeongguk to stay, of asking if he found anyone, of telling him everything that happened in the last five years, asking him to do the same, of asking– did you know i have letters in my diary i never sent, and all of them start with your dearest name? and i never forgot to think about you, not even for a day, did you? had i imagined everything wrong, made it bigger than it was? when you kissed my face like a lover does, did you regret it? did you regret we never kept in touch–
instead, he simply nods, and the look of disappointment that flashes across jeongguk’s face isn’t missed by him. he doesn’t know what to do with himself, a dangerous storm brewing inside him. looking at jeongguk only weakens his resolve, so he averts his gaze, the lid on the vessel of words unsaid trembling.
’”i think i should go,” jeongguk slurs, tongue heavy and lisp more pronounced. they didn’t drink much, leaving them only tipsy, but yoongi can handle his alcohol much better than jeongguk can, so he offers to call jeongguk an uber. jeongguk waves his offer away, putting on a show of defiance by crossing his arms and frowning when yoongi does it anyway. yoongi laughs easily, bringing him his shoes.
“hyung,” jeongguk says as yoongi bends down to tie his shoelaces, and yoongi hums. “hyung,” he repeats, and yoongi is forced to look at him, straightening up. with jeongguk’s height, he has to tilt his head back slightly, encouraging him to go on. jeongguk seems to fight an inner battle before finally speaking again, the corners of his lovely mouth downturned. “won’t i see you again?”
yoongi’s chest constricts, the tips of his ears burning. he laughs it off, gaining back his composure after being thrown off so suddenly. the words on his tongue are scalding. “of course you will, jeongguk-ah. i’ll only be a few hours away–”
“no i mean, when– hyung, i won’t see you in college anymore, and you’ll move out of the dorms, and. i don’t know, hyung. with yeeun-noona, and–”
“hey,” yoongi cuts him off, placing what he hopes to be a comforting hand on jeongguk’s arm, and the other flinches. yoongi tries not to feel wounded, continuing, “you know i’ll still be around, right? it’s not–”
his phone rings at the same time, announcing the arrival of the uber rather unceremoniously. it propels jeongguk into motion, and he ducks past yoongi, headed for the main door. yoongi follows quickly, confused and hurt and hopelessly in love. it’s wrong, he knows, but this might be the last time he sees jeongguk for a while, and he can’t let him go without a proper goodbye. grabbing jeongguk’s wrist just as he slips past the door, he turns him around, and yoongi, once again, finds himself at a loss for words. everything stutters to a stop, and when jeongguk tries to pull his hand back, yoongi doesn’t let go.
jeongguk finally looks up, and something in yoongi shatters in that moment, never to be whole again.
“hyung, i should go,” jeongguk says thickly, although his eyes betray his words. “please.”
every minute they’ve spent together comes down to this moment, every conversation they’ve had, every time he’s made the other laugh, every meal they’ve shared, every time one has skipped classes to see the other. yoongi knew he was playing a dangerous game. he knew he’ll have no one to blame but himself, and he’ll hurt jeongguk in the process, but yoongi isn’t good with words, never has been. so he showed. he spoke less and did more, because he’d be able to speak more if he didn’t feel so deeply intertwined with the other, if he felt less than he did.
all of it comes down to this moment, and yoongi stops thinking, taking refuge in the touch that bridges their bodies and souls, the gap created by distances and fears and intolerance of the world. he pulls jeongguk close, who follows, who always follows. up close, yoongi thinks he could count jeongguk’s lashes, if given the time. if given this liberty, he’d count his lashes and when he was done, he would count them again, and again.
jeongguk smiles, as it comes easily to him, and leans in. yoongi closes his eyes despite not wanting to, wishing he could freeze this moment for eternity. soft lips ghost over the skin of his cheek, caressing, before they press fully. everything in him stills– the need for words, his endless thoughts, the twisting of his insides, replaced by fondness and longing and terrible sorrow. nothing else feels real, or important. the moment seems to stretch on forever, but then, even before the warm press of jeongguk’s mouth is gone from his skin, yoongi begins to lament the loss, heart protesting against the injustice of the world it was born in, yearning for the moment that lasted too short.
pulling back, jeongguk stops to let his gaze sweep across yoongi’s face, and involuntarily, yoongi begins to reach out again, to comfort himself or the other, he doesn’t know, but before anything can get past the thickness of his throat, jeongguk is gone, leaving his ghost and the lingering touches on yoongi’s skin in his wake.
yoongi does not have the courage to follow him out and stop him, his actions loud and for a terrible, unforgiving world to see. he blinks, and only then registers that he’s crying. he doesn’t know how long he stands there, letting the weight of it all creep up on him slowly, and when he can no longer find the strength to hold himself up, a sob racks through him, the harrowing suspicion of this being the last time he saw jeongguk growing until he’s on the floor, curling on himself, a pool of red all about him, knowing he’ll never be the same.
it’s only later that he finds jeongguk’s message in his phone, and yoongi reads the confession more times than he can count, until his eyes start burning and he can’t read any longer. the confession comes at the price of losing him, and yoongi, blinded by his grief, curses a god so cruel he’d only allow to love with conditions, curses the world and everything it offers.
it is also the last time yoongi hears from the younger, the ghost of him to linger forever.’
before he stands up, though, jeongguk shifts uneasily, and yoongi waits, patient. there’s a vacuum created by the air about him, his need to ask. yoongi swears he will answer most honestly, whatever it is. finally, jeongguk speaks, words unsure and quiet, “was– um. did yeeun– did she ever–”
yoongi nods, and jeongguk falls silent. “i told her myself,” yoongi tells him, and jeongguk’s eyes widen. when yoongi doesn’t elaborate, he nods, moving to stand. yoongi’s heart begins to protest, begging him to do something, to stop him, to ask him to stay, for the spaces he leaves in yoongi’s life are never filled again, vacant save for the ghost of him. yoongi never learned how to fill them.
“right,” says jeongguk, repeating it once more before wiping his palms on his thighs, moving towards the front door. yoongi follows slowly, watching jeongguk’s back move, the way his hair seems to have a mind of its own, stopping just above his shoulders. his ears are adorned by silver and steel, ink on his knuckles, and yoongi keeps watching, doesn’t know how to tell him to stay so he can learn the newness of him, trace the lines and touch the cool silver on his warm skin. it demands courage yoongi has always lacked, has never had, and so he makes a desperate prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in, for words or for him to be brave, for anything to save from the loss of love again. if jeongguk were to look at him, yoongi’s not sure what he would find. a believer? a jumbled mess of prayers and hopes, strings all about him, red and coiled and burning? or would he simply find yoongi, just him, still hopelessly in love, still speechless?
caught up in the self-imposed miseries and tethers, he doesn’t seem to realise the other has stopped, only starting when he turns around to look back at him, air knocked out of his lungs, a shiver running down his spine despite the warmth that surrounds him. around them, everything halts, and it comes down to this– jeongguk’s hands that still in front of him, the slight gap between his lips, his eyes that stay glued to yoongi’s, and yoongi doesn’t look away, couldn’t even if he tried.
“yoongi,’ jeongguk says, pleads, asks, yoongi can’t tell. he steps closer, allowed inside his space easily. his lungs rattle, and looking into his eyes, he’s suddenly untethered, the sea he’s enclosed inside working a storm, provoking god and daring anything to step in. yoongi is made of it, he thinks. he’s made of this storm and the storm is him, and so he raises a hand to trace the younger’s face with his fingertips. jeongguk doesn’t close his eyes at the contact. instead, he steps into the storm orchestrated for him, reducing it to a drizzle, and leans into the touch, searching for something within his eyes yoongi’s not sure he has. he lets him, lets himself be dragged, headfirst and fast, by the ghost of their past, pulled by the freedom of this night, of this place, of the endless possibilities offered to them by fate, perhaps as a way of apologising.
suddenly, the years between the gentle growth of their adoration for each other, the quiet ways they’d loved, and now don't feel at all that long. yoongi, for a moment, wonders what could’ve been, had fate played out differently. had he forgotten jeongguk, had they never recognised each other again, had jeongguk never stumbled into him– but he finds that it was bound to happen. how could it not? strange are the ways love finds those desperate, again and again. how could it not find them, when jeongguk was meant to be here, at his doorstep again, as if everything that happened afterwards conspired to bring them back to that very moment, to restart, to fix.
the storm gives way for the sun to rise, enveloping them in a gentle embrace, warm and urging.
“i– i always regretted not stopping you,” yoongi whispers, and jeongguk’s breath stutters in his throat, eyes bright and full of all this perfect desire, trapping galaxies inside. yoongi cups his face, and this time, yoongi thinks, he does have the liberty of counting his lashes. he smiles to himself at the fleeting thought, and jeongguk mirrors it. yoongi’s heart grows impossibly fond. “jeongguk.” jeongguk hums, the sound of it trapped in the small space between them. when he doesn’t respond, jeongguk huffs, abashed, turning a faint shade of red. “jeongguk-ah.” without the bounds of judgment, free to love and to be loved, even saying his name ignites a spark in his chest, unbridled and right.
“yes, yoongi?”
he feels the younger’s hands come up to his sides, tentative at first, made confident with yoongi’s encouraging movement, leaning into the touch. “i’m sorry,” says yoongi, and when jeongguk blinks confusedly at the apology, head tilting to the side, yoongi inches closer, so close they breathe the same air. “for being so late.” it makes jeongguk smile again, so close and just for yoongi to see.
it’s the same smile he presses against yoongi’s mouth, and yoongi thinks, everything happened the way it did for this, and maybe, he wouldn’t have it any other way. the warmth and desire that engulf them– it was meant to happen here, in this moment, just like this. the contact leaves him lightheaded, and he’s almost grateful when jeongguk pulls away for a second to say, “we’re here, hyung. it’s– it’s all i’ve hoped for.”
when they kiss again, it isn’t like the first time, and yoongi thinks nothing could ever exceed this, but then jeongguk kisses him again, and again, and oh, he’s wonderful, he thinks. how absolutely wonderful, how perfect. their lips move together, hands desperate to find purchase, to touch, to sear everything they touch and leave burns never to leave their skins. yoongi pulls him flush against his own body and tries to memorise the details of him all over again, but entirely different this time. it’s impossible to distinguish where he ends and jeongguk begins.
when the need to breathe inevitably pulls them apart, yoongi is faced with jeongguk’s heavy lidded eyes, his red mouth, and flushed face. despite himself, yoongi thinks jeongguk looks the prettiest he’s ever seen him, but then jeongguk looks up, disadvantaged by the step in the entrance, and yoongi abandons all thoughts of rationality, entangling his fingers into his hair, closing the gap again, impossible not to now that he knows, now that he’s had him.
jeongguk follows easily, smiling into the kiss. the years bleed into this– jeongguk’s smile pressed against his own, the relief, the simpleness of their desire. yoongi has never been good with words, but if he were, he’d describe jeongguk in the gentlest words he could find, the loveliest, the kindest. he’d say, to love jeongguk is to breathe, it is. and maybe he’s imagining it, but jeongguk still smells like the sun. even in the middle of winters, he’d always smell like he carries the sun inside. yoongi can’t ever run out of analogies for jeongguk, and maybe, one day he’ll say all of them to jeongguk, when they sit under the sun and jeongguk’s eyes look like pools of honey, just like they’ve always had, and yoongi wants to breathe him in in in, he’ll let the words spill and the tides of desire will have reached the shore, and yoongi will say everything he’s ever wanted to say.
but now, here, it’s enough to convey it in the press of his mouth against jeongguk’s, in the way his fingers curl perfectly against the curve of his face, the way their chests meet and legs push forward to intertwine and everything connects, everything loud and quiet and wonderful. so perfectly wonderful.
he’ll have enough time for words later, he thinks, as jeongguk steps back inside. every step he forces them to take becomes a mend, every kiss a new start, every shared breath a retrieve for all the spring days they’ve missed. jeongguk kisses him, unhurried and tender and deep, and through the press of their lips, allows them to experience every missed chance and every season, every touch and every laugh shared, every book read together and every night spent close, and yoongi drinks it all in, the terrible joy of holding him close, so close, and never letting go again.