Work Text:
It’s uncharacteristically quiet in Yoongi’s apartment and he can’t think; can’t stand to suffer in the silence of his bed- especially when it still smells like him. He supposes his balcony isn’t much better, but at least the distant hum of traffic provides some white noise for his mind to wander with; the hazy skyline and sharp chill of October weather something else for him to focus on.
His fingers are twitching, hands wringing together uselessly as he fights the urge to reach into his pocket; to put a cig between his lips and light it.
“Why don't you just do it already?” a voice calls from behind him and without looking, Yoongi knows it's Namjoon who's joined him on the balcony. “We both know you're itching for it.”
“I promised I would quit.”
Namjoon snorts and lights up his own cigarette, inhales deeply and when he exhales, Yoongi follows the wispy smoke trails with his gaze.
“Did you make that promise to yourself, or him?” he sneers.
“Fuck off, Joonie.”
Although he doesn't acknowledge the question, the brash deflection must speak for itself because Namjoon laughs again, short and breathy, and nods knowingly. He takes another drag.
“Y'know you don't have to bend ass backwards trying to make him happy anymore, right hyung?” the younger reminds him then. Yoongi can feel his gaze, concerned and heavy on the side of his face; he refuses to look his way.
“Don't you have something better to do?” Yoongi bites out, snatching the cig from his friend's long fingers, lifting it to his lips and drawing in a deep breath. The carcinogens burn his throat and he coughs like he had on his first in high school; it's been awhile since he's properly smoked.
Namjoon only scoffs again, reaching over to ruffle the older boys hair, who worms away from the contact.
“Get some sleep, hyung,” and he's gone, clambering back inside through the patio door, the irritating squeak of its hinges only a slight comfort that maybe his dating life isn’t the only thing in shambles.
He takes another drag of the cigarette, looks back out over the smog-faded city skyline, and pretends that he’s fine.
He’s not fine; that much becomes obvious to his friends, or at least what’s left of them. Apparently, when Jimin left he regretted to inform Yoongi that that also meant taking half of their friends with him.
But maybe he’s just bitter, if he’s really being honest with himself. Deep down he knows it’s only fair that Jimin gets to keep his friends too; that Yoongi would be the selfish one if he really expected Jimin to find all new companions, leaving their mutuals all to himself.
Despite the fact that hangouts gradually drop from six to five to four to three, Yoongi’s just plain bad at hiding things. Seokjin sees through him like glass when he lies over lunch- yes, I’ve been sleeping well, hyung; no I haven’t been smoking again . His attentiveness to Yoongi’s emotions is actually quite unnerving; when he shows up with soup and tissues on most of Yoongi’s worse days when it’s a miracle he does anything more than cry, Yoongi begins to wonder if he really does have some motherly sixth sense.
Namjoon is just about as suffocating as his boyfriend is, but he shows his affections in a way easier for Yoongi to stomach. While Seokjin reads him like a book and offers warm drinks and an ear for Yoongi to rant away at, Namjoon doesn’t always understand when Yoongi’s upset, but tries to nonetheless. He’s the one who’ll show up at Yoongi’s doorstep unannounced and unapologetic at three o’clock in the morning and binge-watch awful dramas with him and if Yoongi breaks down somewhere near episode five, he’ll sit with him and won’t mention it in the morning when he brings Yoongi a new pack of cigs and some ramen. The older boy appreciates that Namjoon respects his wishes enough to keep it that way, even if it does distress him more than a little that his best friend is hurting so much.
He doesn’t see Hoseok much, and when he does not much has changed; Hobi is still the cheeky bastard he used to be before, if not a little more stubborn in his attempts to get Yoongi to smile. Taehyung and Jungkook are out of the question however, and again, Yoongi gets it. He doesn’t blame them really, but it’s hard not to curse them out some days when he wishes everything could just go back to the way it was before. Before he and Jimin had broken up, maybe even before they’d started dating. But no, Yoongi could never wish that, because even if it would save him so much grief, he would never take back any of the time he spent happy with Jimin.
So, he swallows down sobs and chokes back tears; tells Namjoon and Seokjin that he’s fine. He spends most of his days in his room in a bed stripped of sheets because he can’t stand the smell yet can’t bring himself to wash; his nights awake on his balcony smoking pack after pack of those goddamn cigarettes. His lungs burn and his head hurts and some days Yoongi thinks he deserves it.
Some days though, he wishes he could get better, even though he knows he’s not strong enough to stop and make that change himself.
Mostly he just wishes Jimin would come back.
Yoongi wakes up one morning to the sound of his washing machine running and the smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen. For a moment, he’s delirious enough with sleep to imagine Jimin’s back at the apartment; happy and bustling around in the morning sunlight like he used to. The illusion fades as quickly as it appears and leaves Yoongi with a sour taste in his mouth.
He sits up in bed, but doesn’t do much else; just glares at the door and hopes that whoever is on the other side will leave once they’ve filled their daily “put up with Min Yoongi’s bullshit” quota.
By now, he should really know better that hope isn’t worth shit, because his door opens a moment later and Namjoon waltzes in like he owns the place. He throws a pile of clean clothes at Yoongi and they hit him in the face, landing in his lap in a wad.
“Get up,” Joonie says, crossing his arms.
Yoongi stares at him blankly. “What?”
The younger shakes his head, pink hair flopping, “You heard me, hyung. Get off your ass and get dressed,” he walks further into the room and unfolds his wrists. Reaches a lanky arm down to grab Yoongi around his bicep and pull him from his solitary nest of blankets. “You’re coming out with us today.”
And Yoongi digs his heels in then, the balls of his feet seeking desperately for traction on the carpet without much luck.
“No,” Yoongi says. And again, “No, no, no, no, no-”
“Yes,” Namjoon interrupts, shoves a beanie down over Yoongi’s hair to hide the overgrown roots. If he’s being frank with himself the beanie is a blessing since he hasn’t washed his hair in a few days, but he tears it off his head as though it’ll deter Namjoon anyway.
“No, Joonie!” Yoongi screams like a child, flinging himself back onto the bed, or at least attempting to. Namjoon catches him by the waist before he can get anywhere and carries him over his shoulder into the kitchen, Yoongi cursing and hitting him all the way.
When the taller boy sits him at the table Yoongi glares at him again, “I fucking hate you.”
“Nah,” Namjoon shrugs and disappears into the kitchen. Yoongi knows if he really wanted to, he could probably manage to slink back into his room and lock the door before Namjoon noticed, but even that just seems exhausting. Then again, that’s all anything has been lately; absolutely exhausting.
“Good morning, Yoongi,” Seokjin greets him as he glides into the room, placing a cup of coffee- black with way too much sugar, just like he’s always liked it- in front of him. Yoongi takes the cup of coffee but grumbles anyway ( go fuck yourself, Jin-hyung ).
Namjoon wanders back into the room, with a mug in his own hand and a granola bar hanging out of his mouth.
“Yah! That was my last one you pig!” Yoongi berates him, throws the spoon off the table at the lanky boy. Namjoon only snickers and ducks behind Jin, who rolls his eyes.
“Good,” Jin says, “now you have no choice but to come with us. You need to get out and you need groceries.”
Yoongi opens his mouth to object, but when the elder fixes him with a stone cold stare, he shuts his mouth and sips his coffee grumpily. However, when Jin is sufficiently more distracted berating Namjoon for not getting Yoongi dressed (Yoongi swears they act like a married couple and he’s their kid) he whines: “I don’t want to go outside.”
“Too bad; go get dressed and maybe you can have these back?” Jin holds out Yoongi’s last pack of cigarettes between a thumb and forefinger and doesn’t look at him; the bastard doesn’t even blink.
“How did you-?”
“You sleep like the dead. Now go change or I’m flushing them.”
It’s safe to say that willingly or otherwise, Yoongi’s only ever changed quicker twice in his life.
They get halfway through their little field trip before Yoongi can safely say that he was right in thinking that going out would be a bad idea. Seokjin and Namjoon drag him into the supermarket frst, where they force him to buy actual groceries rather than the sad excuse of coffee, ramen and nicotine his diet had been reduced to. They go out for lunch, just wander around the city for awhile and Yoongi only excuses himself for a smoke break three times in the five hours that they’re out; he’s kinda proud of himself honestly.
Then, Namjoon decides that he needs a crepe and of fucking course, when Yoongi walks up to buy as a thank you for both boys putting up with his shit, he’s there.
Park fucking Jimin is standing by the shop window, giggling like the happiest person on the planet into Taehyung’s shoulder while Jungkook yells at them from line. He’s facing Yoongi, but with his face shoved into Tae’s collar, he hasn’t seen him yet. It would be too easy to just turn around and walk away; to walk back to Namjoon and Jin and tell the younger boy that he can get his own fucking crepe.
It isn’t easy though because of course Yoongi freezes in his skin like the coward he is; freezes just like he had every time Jimin had said I love you. Because of course that’s the first place where Yoongi’s racing mind goes; right back to what had caused him all this heartache to fucking begin with. If he hadn’t been such an emotionally constipated coward- if he’d have just been able to repeat those three simple words back to Jimin- maybe he wouldn’t have been in this mess to begin with. Maybe he wouldn’t have lost half his circle of friends, a large chunk of his heart, and all of his dignity.
“Yoongi?” a voice softly calls, and Yoongi doesn’t have to look up to recognize the voice. He blinks himself out of his daze, unclenches his fists from around a crumpled bill, and realizes his eyes are wet as he stares blankly at the sidewalk.
“Hey, Jimin,” he replies weakly, voice failing him and cracking pathetically on the last syllable.
He curses himself a thousand times over in his head, probably not for the last time in this incredibly awkward interaction.
Yoongi finally forces himself to look up, and Jimin is in front of him now. Tae and Kookie have stayed back by the shop’s front, trying and failing miserably to look uninterested in the conversation about to occur. If Yoongi had a little more life left in him, he would playfully tell them to fuck off like he had before, but it’s not the same as it was. It never will be, he supposes.
“It’s… It’s good to see you; you look well,” and God, if that’s ever a lie, but bless Jimin for trying. In every way Yoongi looks as pathetic as he feels, faded out and unwashed hair mashed flatly beneath a hat and dark circles to spare, Jimin looks as great; carefree smile, fresh dye job, and well rested as ever.
Yoongi hates himself a little more just looking at him and laughs awkwardly, “Yeah, right. You look great too.”
Yoongi’s gaze wanders to Jimin’s face then, and the younger catches his gaze, making eye contact for the first time in the awkward encounter. His smile slips a little when he sees just how swollen Yoongi’s eyes are; he looks sorry, almost.
“Look, Yoongi-”
“Don’t,” the elder warns, expression dropped from a forced smile probably closer to a grimace to stone-faced. “Don’t you fucking dare, Park Jimin.”
“-I’m sorry,” he finishes regardless and Yoongi could tear his hair out. Drop to his knees and scream himself hoarse in the middle of the street.
But he doesn’t. Instead says, “Don’t be; you seem happier.” And with a pitiful excuse of a wave goodbye, resigns himself to leave as quickly as possible.
Namjoon can get his own fucking crepe; Yoongi’s going home.
He’s chain smoked seven cigarettes and is lighting up his eighth when Seokjin barrels out onto his balcony, expression dark.
“Min fucking Yoongi, how dare you storm away like that and leave-”
“Fuck off, Seokjin,” Yoongi interrupts, turns to the other. He can’t even blink before his cheek suddenly stings, his cigarette tumbles from his lips to the ground, and Seokjin is lowering his hand; he actually fucking slapped him.
“No,” the elder boy scowls, “You’re going to fucking listen to me; I’ve tried being nice. Now shut the fuck up.”
Yoongi shuts up.
Jin seems to give him a minute to try and argue. Eventually though, he seems content that the younger male is going to listen. He sighs and leans heavily against the railing beside Yoongi.
“First things first, I don’t what the fuck happened today, but regardless I’m still your hyung and you’re going to show me some goddamn respect. It’s been months and Namjoon and I have been endlessly patient with you and tried to help you through this, so don’t you dare turn your anger on me. I get that you’re hurting and believe me Yoongi, I’ve been there, but the way to go about fixing things isn’t to treat the people around you like garbage. You’re a grown ass man, not an emotionally stunted toddler; fucking act like it.
“Secondly, I’m sorry that I hit you. But Yoongi… I’ve tried everything else; Namjoon and I have tried everything else. You don’t listen to reason, you don’t respond to gentle encouragement, and you don’t talk about things by yourself. You just sit out here and sulk all night and sleep all day; you’re destroying yourself and I can’t fucking stand to watch it anymore.
“Third, don’t ever fucking worry Joonie like that again. I know you think I’m motherhenning you, but when you disappeared without a word and ignored our calls… Let’s just say that if I hadn’t found you here, Namjoon was ready to start checking hospitals,” Seokjin’s voice breaks at that and Yoongi’s heart drops. He feels sorry, but doesn’t say anything.
“Finally, I don’t know what happened earlier to throw you back down in the gutter again, but whatever is was, you can talk to me about it,” the elder boy pauses. “You understand that right? That you don’t have to shoulder all of this alone? It’s okay to tell people what’s on your mind, you know.”
Yoongi reaches up to scratch his cheek and finds it wet before he realizes he’s started crying. Desperately, he tries to wipe his eyes before Seokjin looks over, but realizes halfway through that the older boy is already watching him knowingly. He smiles sadly and just uncrosses his arms,holds them out feebly.
There’s a moment where Jin just waits, arms open, and Yoongi just stares, sniffling. It ends as soon as it begins though, and Yoongi falls into the taller boy’s embrace.
He lets himself cry then.
Neither boy knows how long they stand there, but by the time Yoongi pulls away with swollen eyes and a wet nose, they’ve sunk down to the cold floor and the streetlamps have begun to flicker on across the road.
Even when he pulls away, Yoongi stays close to his hyung’s body, Seokjin’s hand gently threading through his hair.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Jin finally asks, quietly. Yoongi nods.
“I saw Jimin,” he admits and something unreadable flashes across Seokjin’s eyes before it’s gone again. “He looked so unaffected by all of this; it just hurt.”
Jin doesn’t say anything, so Yoongi takes it as his cue to keep talking; leans onto the other’s shoulder while a hand still absently strokes against his nape.
“It bugs me, I guess. To see him so okay with all of this when he was always the emotional one. He’s gotten over it so quickly while I’m stuck; suffering and burning my life away smoke after smoke and goddammit hyung- it’s not fair. When I wake up, I’ve either been dreaming of him or I wish I hadn’t woken up at all; either way I’m miserable… I guess I always am now.
“I miss him so much hyung and I don’t know what to do without him. I just- I don’t know what to do. Please,” turns and mashes his forehead into Seokjin’s shoulder as his breathing becomes ragged again, “just tell me what to do…”
“I’m sorry Yoonie,” Seokjin pets the younger’s head again and squeezes him in a side hug while the other still nuzzles into his arm, “but you’ve got to figure that out on your own. Either you can try and get over it yourself or you can try talking to him again, but living like this-” he points his foot absently towards the discarded pack of cigarettes- “isn’t an option.”
Seokjin doesn’t say anything more but Yoongi doesn’t blame him; he’s grateful, in a way. He feels better just to have even just voiced all of the thoughts that had been eating away at his head and heart. Out in open, he supposes they hurt less.
Regardless, he can't think of anything he really wants to say in response so instead, he joins Seokjin’s hand with his; twines their fingers together “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
More quiet and then- “Hyung?”
“Yes, Yoongi?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Yoongi.”
It takes another week for Yoongi to actually decide what he want to do going forward and in that time, he at least tries to get better. He was right before; he isn’t able to do it by himself, not really, but he doesn’t have to. He’s got Seokjin and Namjoon around to help him out.
Seokjin doesn’t change tactics with him much, but eases off a bit when Yoongi starts to initiate things himself. Even through changes as small as getting out of bed or showering, Jin seems proud and lets Yoongi progress at his own pace, as long as he’s putting in an effort.
Namjoon however, does a complete one-eighty in the way he treats Yoongi. In all of the ways Namjoon had previously enabled Yoongi’s destructive behaviour, he denies now and for that, Yoongi is thankful. No longer does Joonie bring him cigarettes or let him sulk away in bed, but helps in different ways- ways that actually help him heal. Namjoon gives him gum when he starts to itch for a smoke and texts him to wake up and eat something everyday at noon. He stills sits up with him to watch shitty dramas when he can’t sleep, but now asks if Yoongi is okay; in return, the elder is honest with him.
It’s not a huge shift in the mess that has become Yoongi’s life, but at least when he sits down and decides to call Jimin he’s clean shaven and wearing some pants.
It’s not a hard choice to make, really because whether he likes it or not, Yoongi does still care about Jimin; loves him actually, even if he’d too much of a chickenshit to admit it out loud. So no, it’s not a hard decision to make, but that doesn't make the process any easier.
Yoongi sits on the couch with his phone in hand for thirty minutes , thumb hovering over the call button next to Jimin’s name. Eventually he hits the button when his fingers shake so much that he nudges it by accident. He panics for a moment and contemplates hanging up, but it’s too late.
“Yoongi?” Jimin’s voice calls faintly and Yoongi raises the phone to his ear; prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that he doesn’t make a complete ass of himself.
“Yeah, it is. Hi Jimin,” he manages and the line goes quiet for a minute. There’s muffled whispering as though Jimin’s put his hand over the speaker and Yoongi’s stomach lurches.
“Hey Yoongi… What’s up?”
I can’t do it , he realizes. I can’t do it I can’t do it I can’t do it I can’t - “Would you be willing to meet me for coffee tomorrow? To talk?” Oh my God I did it I did it I did it.
“Sure,” Jimin says and Yoongi lets out the breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding.
“Okay.”
“Alright.”
… Shit, what the fuck is he supposed to say now? “Okay,” he says again and he mentally smacks himself for being so pathetic.
Jimin laughs quietly on the other end, but it doesn’t sound malicious like Yoongi had imagined it would; it’s soft and sweet just like Jimin is, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Yoongi.”
“... Okay.” And Yoongi hangs up before he can embarrass himself anymore.
He spends the rest of his afternoon with his face pressed into his couch cushions screaming and cursing himself for being such an idiot.
Thirty minutes: that’s how long Yoongi promises he’ll wait when he sits down in a booth with a cup of black coffee and looks for a head of orange hair. If Jimin doesn’t show within half an hour, Yoongi will resign himself to the embarrassment of being stood up by his ex and leave. Maybe he’ll go home and adopt himself a cat to keep him company for the rest of his lonely, miserable life.
He’s just decided that he’ll name his first cat Jam (he’d be an orange tabby, possibly) when his booth is no longer empty because there he is; Jimin is sitting across from him. He glances quickly at a clock on the wall; he still had seventeen minutes to go.
Then he looks back to Jimin and- “You’re brunet” he says suddenly because it is; the pastel orange replaced by a pretty brown that suits him way more than Yoongi would like to admit.
Jimin laughs, similar to he had yesterday over the phone, “And you’ve gone grey,” the younger boy retorts. He's smiles slightly around the lip of his drink as he sips it.
Yoongi nods, brushes his fingers over his silvery bangs. He had heard changing your hair was a good way to get over breakups and when he’d mentioned it to Namjoon, the taller boy had been all too eager to help him re-dye the washed out mint and ragged roots.
“I hope it’s not real, grandpa,” Jimin jokes and Yoongi blinks back into focus on him. His hands are wrapped around his drink, sweater sleeves covering everything but his fingertips; he looks so cute that it physically hurts Yoongi to think about how he can’t comment on it anymore.
“Yah, I’m not a grandpa; you’re just a kid. Probably a child with that height…” he teases back, choosing to force himself over the lump blossoming in his chest.
“You’re only a centimetre taller than me!” he protests, giggling. Yoongi smiles.
“God, I almost forgot how much I love your laugh,” he mumbles without thinking and freezes immediately. Jimin stills across from him too; guiltily locks his gaze Yoongi’s. Jimin’s seems afraid, and Yoongi knows his own eyes reflect nothing but embarrassment and pain.
“Yoongi-”
“No, hold on. That wasn’t appropriate of me to say, but I do need to seriously talk to you. About… this,” he gestures lamely between the two of them, and Jimin flushes.
“Okay,” the younger agrees, then looks at Yoongi expectantly.
“Firstly, I wanted to say I’m sorry. For before, for anything I’m about to say and if it upsets you, and really, just in general. I’m sorry I was such a second-rate excuse of a boyfriend,” he says, looking at Jimin while the other boy blushes again, staring into his coffee. “And I’m sorry I waited so long to say this; you shouldn’t have needed to wait so long for me to get my head out of my ass and apologize.”
“Yoongi- you don’t-”
“Please, Jimin,” Yoongi says, practically begging. “Please just let me say this; I need to do this.”
Jimin doesn’t say anything more, but nods quietly.
“The other thing I needed to say- I need to say,” he corrects himself in an afterthought because this definitely isn’t something that was happening past tense- it’s in the now and it hurts. “I miss you Jimin.
“I miss you in every sense of the word and it hurts me so much to not be with you.” Yoongi looks down into the ripples of his coffee as he continues to speak, too embarrassed to look Jimin in the eye now. “I miss the way you used to look at me in the mornings, or the way you’d hum pop songs under your breath when you came home from work, or the way you played with my hair as you fell asleep. I miss you so much it hurts, and I’m sorry- so, so sorry I neglected you and made you feel like I wasn’t still with you. Because I was- I was with you every step of the way and I’m sorry I didn’t show it better.
“I’m sorry I was too much of an emotionally-stunted idiot to tell you how lucky I was to have you or how much I loved you. Just- I’m sorry.”
The silence that follows makes Yoongi’s skin crawl, because all of the nasty parts of his brain are reminding him that Jimin hates him now, but he doesn’t look up; too self-conscious to see Jimin’s reaction to how pathetic he is.
“Hyung- Yoongi-hyung look at me, please,” and he does. Jimin doesn’t look disgusted, ashamed, or even upset with Yoongi; he just looks sad, and yet he’s smiling.
“Do you mean that? Do you love me?”
It the same question Jimin had asked him the night they’d broken things off, but this moment doesn’t mirror that one at all. Jimin’s tone is gentler now, his face clear of tear tracks, and most importantly, this time, Yoongi doesn’t hesitate.
“Of fucking course I do; I love you so much, Park Jimin.”
“Took you long enough, dumbass,” Jimin says, and he's leaning over the table, hugging Yoongi with all his might, uncaring as his scarf dips into Yoongi’s coffee.
“Oh thank God,” Yoongi breathes, and wraps his arms around Jimin’s shoulders, crushing the younger in a hug he never wants to release. “Jimin, I’m so sorry.”
“Shh,” he laughs, “we covered this part. It’s okay, Yoongi. I’m okay, you’re okay, we’re okay; it’s all okay.”
Yoongi hugs Jimin a little tighter and finds himself finally agreeing: it is okay. And when they walk out of the coffee shop together hand in hand, Yoongi realizes he doesn’t have to lie anymore.
He is fine, and he’s not even pretending.