Work Text:
Part One:
The rain was coming down in sheets. Thick, grey skies pressed low over Seoul, blurring traffic lights and smearing the city in fog. Jungkook stood by the school gate with his hood up, his bag heavy on one shoulder. His sneakers were soaked through. His socks squelched.
It was only his second month at this new school. It still felt like a foreign planet. The language wasn’t the issue — he knew Korean, obviously. But the way people spoke here was different. Fast, sharp-edged. Kids laughed in packs, crowded hallways and lunch tables, while he hovered around the edges, waiting for a silence that never came.
No one talked to him today.
And he failed his math test.
He sniffed and hunched his shoulders lower, pulling his hood tighter.
A car horn chirped twice across the street. He didn’t react.
Then someone yelled: “Kook-ahhh!”
He turned toward the sound.
Seokjin was leaning out the driver’s window of a beat-up SUV, waving a bright red umbrella like a flag. He was grinning from ear to ear.
Jungkook blinked. His throat tightened.
He crossed the street fast, keeping his head down against the rain. Seokjin leaned across the seats and flung the passenger door open.
“There’s my favorite high schooler,” Seokjin said, tone lilting, teasing.
Jungkook climbed in, shaking like a wet cat.
“You look like you lost a fight with a hose,” Seokjin added, cranking up the heat. “You alright?”
Jungkook hesitated. Then gave a shrug.
Seokjin didn’t push. He never did.
He just reached behind the seat, pulled out a towel, and dropped it into Jungkook’s lap. “Dry off. Then we’re getting hotteok. I need sugar.”
Jungkook hid the smile that tried to form.
Fifteen minutes later, they sat in the car, windows fogged up. The scent of cinnamon, brown sugar, and rainwater filled the space.
Seokjin licked syrup off his fingers. “Okay, spill. Who do I need to fight?”
Jungkook stared down at his lap, hands cradling the paper wrapper. His voice came out small. “I failed my test.”
“Ah.”
“Seonsaengnim handed it back in front of everyone. It was—” Jungkook’s throat closed up again.
Seokjin didn’t say you’ll do better next time or just study harder.
He said, “That sucks.”
Jungkook blinked at him. “...Yeah.”
“And it was math, right?”
Jungkook nodded.
Seokjin popped the last bite of pancake into his mouth. “Perfect. I suck at math too.”
Jungkook frowned. “But you went to college.”
“Exactly. I sucked at math in college.” He grinned. “Which means I’m the perfect hyung to help you cheat the system.”
“Hyung—”
“Kidding. Mostly.” He paused, then softened. “We’ll figure it out. Together. Okay?”
Jungkook stared at him for a second too long.
Then looked away and whispered, “Okay.”
Later that night, Seokjin made dinner.
He didn’t just cook — he performed. He stirred with flair, taste-tested with exaggerated swoons, and narrated the process like a cooking show host with a cracked mic.
“Here we have the world-renowned Chef Kim, adding a pinch of salt to the world’s best ramyeon. Oh! The artistry!”
Jungkook watched from the counter, face slowly blooming with real amusement. The kind that reached his eyes.
After dinner, Seokjin passed him a neatly wrapped cookie from his stash. “Don’t tell Namjoon. He thinks I stopped buying sweets.”
“You said you stopped buying sweets.”
“And yet, here we are. I’m a man of mystery.”
Jungkook bit into the cookie.
It tasted like everything he missed about home — sweet, soft, familiar.
He looked up at Seokjin then, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, scribbling on a pad with his glasses perched low.
The ache in Jungkook’s chest quieted a little.
“You’re not gonna get in trouble for all this, right?” he asked, voice low.
Seokjin looked up. “Trouble for what?”
“Picking me up. Cooking. The snacks.”
Seokjin blinked, then smiled. Not his usual broad, camera-ready grin — but something quieter. Warmer. “There’s no such thing as too much hyung duty.”
Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek to keep the tears down.
No one had ever said that to him before.
A few weeks later, he got another test back. This time, he passed.
It wasn’t a perfect score. But it wasn’t a failure, either.
Seokjin whooped loud enough to scare a neighbor. “My baby genius! My scholar king! Wait, this calls for celebration.”
“What kind of celebration?” Jungkook asked cautiously.
“...Pajamas. Ice cream. Kung Fu Panda marathon.”
Jungkook smiled. “You always say that.”
Seokjin shrugged. “It’s the perfect film. I don’t make the rules.”
That night, curled up on the couch under a shared blanket, Jungkook laughed until he cried. Not because the movie was funny — it was, but he’d seen it before.
It was the warmth of the blanket. The rhythm of Seokjin’s laughter beside him. The comfort of not being alone.
He tucked closer and whispered so quietly it barely reached Seokjin’s ears:
“I love you, hyung.”
Seokjin blinked, then softened. He reached over and mussed Jungkook’s hair gently.
“I love you too, bunny.”
---
Part Two: A few years later
There were crumbs in the sink again.
Seokjin stared at them, jaw clenched. The sponge sat in the corner of the basin like it was mocking him, shriveled and slightly damp. He could already smell the sour milk in the coffee mugs scattered across the counter. A fruit fly hovered lazily in the air.
It was supposed to be a two-person job.
He pressed the back of his hand against his forehead and sighed through his nose, then checked his phone again.
Still nothing.
He let the screen go dark and flipped it face-down on the table.
They’d made the plan days ago, even confirmed it last night. Clean up the dorm together — just a few hours, scrub down the kitchen, vacuum the main room, maybe finally tackle the mystery stink in the bathroom. Seokjin had blocked off his whole afternoon for it, even turned down plans with Hoseok.
Jungkook had smiled at him then, all soft bunny teeth and lazy charm. “I’ll be there, promise.”
Now it was nearly one p.m.
The dorm looked like a landfill, and Jungkook was still MIA.
Seokjin didn’t want to be annoyed. Really, he didn’t. He tried to think of reasons: maybe Jungkook was asleep. Maybe he got caught up at the studio. Maybe he lost his phone. But even as he reached for those excuses, they felt flimsy. Insincere.
Because this wasn’t the first time.
Lately, Jungkook had been floating in and out of things. Showing up late to dance practice. Zoning out during meetings. Forgetting promises like they meant nothing. And whenever Seokjin tried to bring it up, Jungkook would blink at him like a confused puppy and apologize in that quiet voice that made Seokjin feel like an asshole for even mentioning it.
But now, standing alone in the middle of the living room with a pair of rubber gloves and a mop bucket, Seokjin didn’t feel guilty.
He felt done.
He yanked the trash bag out of the bin and tied it with a harsh tug. The sound of plastic ripping echoed through the quiet space.
If Jungkook wasn’t going to help, fine. Seokjin would do it himself.
He started with the kitchen. The sink was full of plates, most of them Jungkook’s — the telltale egg yolk stains, the half-drunk protein shakes, the cracked plastic bowl Seokjin told him to throw away two months ago. He scraped crusted rice into the trash, hands moving fast, breathing faster.
The sponge squelched against the plates. The hot water burned his fingers where the glove had a hole.
Still no text.
He didn’t even realize he was muttering under his breath until the words came out loud: “Every fucking time.”
The words didn’t feel satisfying. They just made his throat tight.
By the time the kitchen looked decent, he was sweating. He pulled the gloves off with a wet slap and tossed them into the sink. Didn’t even care that the sponge fell in after them.
He moved to the living room.
Blankets wadded on the couch. Gaming controllers tangled in their charging cords. Half a cookie under the coffee table — and not the fresh kind. Seokjin grabbed the vacuum and shoved it into the wall socket harder than necessary.
The motor whined to life, filling the dorm with noise. He liked it better that way.
No silence. No space to think.
He ran the vacuum over the floor in stiff, angry lines, too fast for it to do much good. The cord tangled around his foot and he cursed, kicking it loose. A lamp rattled as he bumped the table. He didn't stop.
Eventually, the battery light blinked red. He yanked the plug free and stood in the middle of the room, breath coming short. His shirt stuck to his back. His knuckles were white around the vacuum handle.
Still. No. Text.
He didn’t know what pissed him off more — the flakiness, or the radio silence.
Seokjin prided himself on being dependable. He showed up. He kept his word. He did the hard, thankless jobs because someone had to — and he never once asked for recognition. But it would’ve been nice, just once, if someone remembered. If someone gave a damn.
He sank onto the edge of the couch, arms on his knees, head bowed.
A memory crept in, uninvited.
Jungkook at fifteen, barely more than a kid, clinging to him like a shadow. That boy never would've left him hanging. That boy used to thank him just for making ramen. That boy used to light up when Seokjin walked into the room.
Seokjin dragged a hand through his hair and stared at the door like it had wronged him personally.
“Fucking hell, Jungkook,” he muttered. “How hard is a damn text?”
He told himself he wasn’t going to wait. That he’d finish the rest and call it done. But his legs didn’t move.
He just sat there, glaring at the empty doorway.
The mop bucket still waited in the hallway. The bathroom was next. He could already smell mildew from here.
Seokjin pushed himself up with a grunt and grabbed the rag off the armrest. The couch still had crumbs. He swiped at them with unnecessary force, the fabric pulling taut under his hand.
Every minute Jungkook stayed gone, Seokjin’s anger coiled tighter. Not like fire. Like stone. Heavy. Solid. Cold.
And underneath it, something worse: disappointment.
He didn’t even realize he was biting the inside of his cheek until the taste of blood hit his tongue.
He spat into a tissue and tossed it into the trash.
Then went back to work.
Alone.
---
Part Three:
The front door clicked open with a carefree little clack.
“Hyung, you won’t believe this,” Jungkook called out, voice bright and unbothered. His laugh bounced off the hallway walls. “Jimin got locked out of the studio and—”
Seokjin stood still in the hallway, rag in hand, chest rising and falling with short, controlled breaths.
Jungkook appeared in the doorway, grinning, hoodie halfway off his shoulders. There was an energy to him, like he'd been riding a high — maybe coffee, maybe good company, maybe the thrill of forgetting real life for a few hours.
“—he had to call Hoseok-hyung like, five times before—”
“Look who finally managed to show up.”
The words dropped like cold water.
Jungkook blinked, the smile not quite fading yet — just stuttering, unsure. “Uh… what?”
Seokjin didn’t answer at first. He just turned back to the couch and tossed the rag down, movements too sharp, too tight. He brushed past Jungkook and headed for the kitchen. Cabinets slammed open. A drawer squeaked as he pulled it.
Jungkook frowned and followed him in. “Hyung, what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Seokjin barked a laugh, biting and humorless. “You really don’t know?”
There was a second of silence, the kind that made the air in the room go heavy.
Jungkook’s voice went quiet. “Did I… forget something?”
Seokjin rounded on him.
“Wow,” he said, arms crossing tightly over his chest. “You really don’t remember. That’s amazing, Jungkook. Impressive, even.”
Jungkook flinched at the sarcasm. “Hyung—”
“You promised to help me clean today,” Seokjin snapped. “You said you’d be back by noon. I turned down plans for this.”
The words hit like little slaps. Not violent — just sharp, precise, meant to sting.
Jungkook’s mouth opened, then closed. “Shit. I—I forgot. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“That’s not the point!” Seokjin’s voice cracked on the last word, raw with frustration. “This isn’t about this one time, Jungkook. This is every time. You keep doing this — saying things you don’t mean, making promises you don’t keep, and acting like it’s no big deal!”
Jungkook’s face crumpled in confusion and guilt. “I didn’t do it on purpose—”
“That doesn’t make it better!”
Seokjin threw his arms out, eyes wide with disbelief. “God, do you even hear yourself?”
Jungkook shrank a little. “I said I’m sorry…”
“No, what you said was, ‘Hyung, I’ll help you, promise.’ And then you disappeared without a word.” His voice dropped to a mocking lilt. “‘Oh, oops, I forgot.’ Cool. Great. Thanks, Jungkook. Super reliable.”
Jungkook’s hands trembled slightly at his sides. “I didn’t mean to hurt you…”
“Yeah? Well, you did.”
Seokjin stepped forward now, pacing like he couldn't hold still, couldn’t contain the way his chest heaved with every breath. “Do you know what it’s like? Sitting here alone, scrubbing toilets and vacuuming up after everyone like some goddamn maid, while you’re out laughing and playing around like you don’t have any responsibilities? Like nothing you say actually means anything?”
“I didn’t think it was that big of a deal…”
The sentence hung there. Innocent. Honest. And so completely, utterly wrong.
Seokjin’s mouth opened. Then shut.
He stared at Jungkook — really looked at him — and something in his face twisted.
“Of course you didn’t,” he said, quiet and deadly. “Because I’m just your hyung. The one who picks up the slack. The one who cleans up after you. The one who never makes a fuss, right?”
“Hyung—”
“I’m not your fucking doormat, Jungkook!”
Jungkook flinched like he’d been slapped. His eyes went glossy, lips trembling. “I said I’m sorry…”
Seokjin saw the tears gathering, and some small, still voice inside him screamed 'Stop. You’re hurting him. Stop.'
But it was already too late.
His fury had momentum now — a runaway train, too loud to be reasoned with.
“Sorry isn’t a fix-all,” he spat. “You don’t get to keep disappointing people and wiping it away with a cute ‘sorry,’ like that makes it okay. You’ve changed, Jungkook. You’re not that sweet little kid who used to care. You’re careless now. Selfish. And I’m sick of being the one you always let down.”
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Jungkook stood frozen in the hallway, tears falling freely now. He didn’t even try to hide them. He looked like a kicked dog, small and quiet, as if curling in on himself might make the pain go away.
“I didn’t know you felt like that,” he whispered.
Seokjin didn’t reply.
He was still fuming, still breathing hard — but as he looked at Jungkook now, something ugly twisted in his stomach.
The sight of Jungkook’s silent sobs, the way his shoulders curled and eyes dropped to the floor… it made something crack.
Seokjin swallowed, throat thick.
He hadn’t meant to go that far.
But now the damage was done.
He turned away — not because he didn’t care, but because if he stayed, he might crumble. He might reach for Jungkook and undo it all.
And he wasn’t ready to be forgiven.
“Don’t worry,” he muttered as he grabbed his coat from the hook. “I’ll clean the bathroom, too later. Since I’m so fucking good at being invisible.”
Then he walked out.
Jungkook didn’t chase him.
---
Part Four:
The door to the dorm creaked open.
Yoongi stepped inside with his hoodie still half over his head, headphones around his neck, the low hum of a beat still echoing in his mind. He hadn’t planned to come back this early, but the studio speakers had started giving out, and frustration had chased him back home.
He kicked off his shoes without looking up—and froze mid-step.
A sound. Barely there. Ragged. Wet.
Yoongi paused, back tensing.
It wasn’t unusual to come home to chaos — someone burning noodles, Jimin shouting at a game, Taehyung screaming because of a bug — but this wasn’t that.
This was… soft. Guttural. A quiet ache, trying to hide itself.
He rounded the corner and found Jungkook.
Curled into the wall at the far end of the hallway, back pressed to the plaster, hoodie hood tugged over his head. Knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them. Shoulders trembling. His face was hidden, but Yoongi could see the way his chest heaved, the way his body shook in silent waves.
For a moment, Yoongi just stared.
Then he slowly stepped forward and knelt beside him.
“Kook?”
No answer.
Yoongi placed one hand, tentative, on the younger boy’s arm.
Jungkook flinched like he hadn’t even known someone was there.
His face tilted up just enough for Yoongi to catch a glimpse — red eyes, soaked lashes, cheeks streaked and raw. His bottom lip was trembling, bitten through in one spot, his breath hitching uncontrollably.
“Hyung—” he choked out, voice cracking like glass.
That was enough.
Yoongi sat down fully, without another word, and reached over to tug Jungkook into his arms.
Jungkook came easily.
Collapsed, really.
He curled into Yoongi’s side like it was the only solid ground left, shaking with every breath. His hands fisted into Yoongi’s hoodie like he was afraid Yoongi would leave too.
Yoongi didn’t speak. Just held him. One arm tight around his back, the other smoothing up and down his spine in slow, steady motions.
He hadn’t done this in years.
Not since Jungkook was fifteen and came home from school silent and pale, refusing to tell anyone what happened until Seokjin had coaxed it out of him.
But this moment asked for it.
This wasn’t a moment for lectures. Or teasing. Or tough love.
This was the boy Yoongi had watched grow up, now crumbling quietly in his arms.
After a while, the sobs started to slow.
Still choked, still broken, but less like he was drowning. More like he was just exhausted from treading water too long.
Yoongi kept his voice low. “Talk to me.”
Jungkook wiped at his face with his sleeve, but it only made the skin redder.
“I messed up,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I—I told Seokjin-hyung I’d help him clean and… and I forgot. I was with Jimin and we were just hanging out, and I didn’t think about it until I walked in and he was just—he was already angry, and I didn’t get it at first.”
Yoongi didn’t interrupt.
Jungkook kept going, the words tumbling out unevenly, still laced with hitching breath.
“And then he started yelling. And it was like—I tried to say sorry, but he just—he just kept going. Said I never mean what I say, that I let people down, that I don’t care anymore. He said I’ve changed.”
Yoongi’s jaw tightened.
Jungkook blinked fast. “I didn’t mean to forget. I just—he sounded like he hated me.”
“He doesn’t,” Yoongi said immediately. His voice wasn’t soft. It was sharp. Certain. “He doesn’t hate you.”
Jungkook buried his face into Yoongi’s shoulder again.
“I know,” he whispered. “I just… I’ve never seen him like that. He left. He just walked out.”
Yoongi’s arms tightened around him.
That did it. His anger flared — slow-burning, cold rather than hot.
He didn’t explode. That wasn’t his style. But something beneath his ribs coiled tight and stayed there, buzzing like a live wire.
He knew Seokjin. Knew how much he loved Jungkook. But still — he made him cry like this.
Jungkook sniffled and sat up slightly, shoulders hunched. His face looked stripped down — bare, undone. His hands tugged at the sleeves of his hoodie like he was trying to disappear into them.
“I know I mess up sometimes,” he whispered. “I just thought—I thought he knew I didn’t mean it. I didn’t think he’d say those things.”
Yoongi didn’t say “You didn’t deserve it,” because Jungkook wouldn’t believe him. Not right now.
He just nodded and gently touched the back of Jungkook’s neck. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
For a long while, they just sat there.
Eventually, Jungkook’s breathing steadied. His head leaned against the wall. He looked drained, like his bones had been hollowed out.
Yoongi stood slowly, stretching out his legs, and glanced down at the boy on the floor.
“You gonna be okay if I talk to the others?”
Jungkook hesitated. “You’re telling them?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi said. “Not to start drama. Just to… let them know.”
Jungkook nodded slowly. “Okay.”
He didn’t try to follow. He didn’t argue.
Yoongi paused in the hallway, glanced back once.
Jungkook’s head was tilted back against the wall, eyes closed, hands resting in his lap. He looked like a cracked porcelain doll — pieced back together, but still delicate.
Yoongi turned away and walked down the hall.
His fists clenched.
He’d talk to the others, yeah.
But Seokjin? Seokjin was gonna have to answer for this.
---
Part Five:
The dining table was unusually quiet.
The clatter of silverware echoed too loud in the silence. Taehyung’s chopsticks scraped across his plate, and he didn’t make a single joke about it. Jimin poked at his rice. Hoseok sat stiffly, barely touching his food.
Namjoon kept glancing from one end of the table to the other, lips pressed into a hard line.
Only Seokjin chewed normally, trying too hard to act like he didn’t notice the tension. He hummed a little under his breath—off-key on purpose—because sometimes, when everyone else shut down, someone had to break the ice.
“I heard someone snuck the last choco pie from the snack cabinet,” he said, tilting his head dramatically. “I won’t name names but I have… suspicions.”
No one responded.
Taehyung didn’t even smirk.
Seokjin’s eyes flicked around the table. Jungkook was there, sitting quietly between Jimin and Yoongi, hoodie up, sleeves over his hands. He hadn’t looked up once. His bowl of soup sat untouched in front of him.
Seokjin licked his lips. Forced a smile.
“I’m just saying,” he tried again, “if I go into that pantry tonight and it’s empty, we’re going to have a problem—”
“Hyung,” Hoseok said sharply. “Just stop.”
The words landed like a dropped knife. Everyone froze.
Seokjin blinked. “I’m just—trying to lighten the mood—”
“Yeah, don’t,” Yoongi said. His voice was flat. Cold.
Seokjin stared. “What the hell is going on?”
Namjoon finally set his chopsticks down. He didn't look angry—not yet—but he looked exhausted.
“Don’t act like you don’t know,” he said. “You know damn well what you said to Jungkook.”
A beat passed. Then another.
Seokjin’s stomach dropped. His mouth opened, then closed again.
“I didn’t—”
“You screamed at him,” Jimin said, voice tight. “You tore into him for something stupid and you didn’t stop. He was crying, hyung.”
Seokjin looked at Jungkook automatically, but the younger didn’t lift his head.
His chest started to squeeze, slow and painful.
“I was frustrated,” Seokjin said. “He—he promised he’d help me, and he didn’t show up, and it’s not the first time. I—I snapped, okay? I’m human.”
“And so is he,” Yoongi bit out. “But you treated him like shit.”
“I know—”
“No, I don’t think you do know,” Hoseok said, voice unusually sharp. “He was sobbing when Yoongi found him. Curled up in the hallway like he thought you'd never speak to him again.”
Seokjin’s vision started to blur around the edges. His throat closed up.
He opened his mouth, then looked down.
He couldn’t lift his gaze anymore.
Namjoon ran a hand through his hair, leaned his elbows on the table. “I get that you were angry. I’ve been angry at Jungkook too. But that doesn’t mean you get to unload everything on him like he’s disposable.”
“He’s not,” Seokjin croaked. “He’s not—I know he’s not.”
His voice shook. His hands, too.
He stared at his bowl, breath catching, heart hammering.
No one spoke.
Across the table, Jungkook finally moved. Slowly, quietly, he stood up.
Seokjin didn’t look up until he felt someone kneel beside him.
Jungkook.
Still in his hoodie, still quiet, but his hands reached out and tugged gently at Seokjin’s sleeve.
Seokjin looked down, eyes wide, lip trembling.
Jungkook didn’t say anything at first. He just leaned forward and rested his head on Seokjin’s lap. Carefully. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Seokjin made a sound like something broke open inside him.
His hand flew up to cover his mouth. His shoulders shook.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “Jungkook, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean it, I was—I didn’t mean any of it, I swear to god—”
“I know,” Jungkook murmured, eyes closed, face pressed against the fabric of Seokjin’s jeans. “It still hurt.”
That destroyed him.
Seokjin’s body folded over, arms wrapping tight around Jungkook’s back as he sobbed—loud, broken, uncontrollable. Years of holding himself together, of being the strong one, the funny one, the one who took care of everyone else—crumbling all at once.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “You didn’t deserve that, you didn’t deserve that—”
Jungkook shook his head. “I should’ve texted. I know I messed up. I just… I didn’t think it’d make you hate me.”
“I don’t,” Seokjin said. “I don’t, baby. Never. I was just so—so tired, and I took it out on you, and I’ll never forgive myself for it.”
“You don’t have to forgive yourself,” Jungkook said softly. “Just don’t do it again.”
“I won’t,” Seokjin choked. “I promise you, I won’t.”
His arms were trembling as he held Jungkook tighter, forehead pressed to his shoulder, tears soaking into the fabric of his hoodie.
Around them, the room was silent.
Yoongi wiped his eyes discreetly. Jimin reached over to squeeze Taehyung’s hand.
Namjoon rubbed at his nose, looked away.
No one said a word.
They didn’t have to.
Jungkook finally leaned back, just far enough to look up at Seokjin’s face.
His own eyes were rimmed red, but he smiled. Soft and small.
“Hyung,” he said, “can we just stay like this for a while?”
Seokjin nodded immediately, chest still heaving. “As long as you want.”
He pulled Jungkook back into his arms.
The youngest curled up there, warm and quiet, and didn’t move.
And slowly—like the weight of their hearts had cracked open and spilled everything out—the tension in the room began to melt.
Part Six:
No one said anything.
They didn’t need to.
Yoongi gave a small nod, barely perceptible, toward the hallway. Namjoon caught it, stood up with his bowl in hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Hoseok followed with quiet steps, setting his spoon down so gently it didn’t make a sound. Jimin nudged Taehyung with his knee, and they rose wordlessly.
Not a single glance passed between them as they left — just subtle coordination, quiet feet against the wooden floor, the faint sound of the fridge door opening somewhere in the kitchen.
They didn’t say, 'Give them space.'
They didn’t have to.
Seokjin noticed only when he looked up and realized the table was empty. The room was empty. The only thing left was the low hum of the heater and Jungkook, still sitting close with his arms curled into Seokjin’s lap.
The silence now wasn’t tense.
Just still.
“Did they… all leave?” Jungkook asked, not lifting his head.
Seokjin looked toward the hallway, nodded.
“Guess they got sick of my crying.”
Jungkook made a small sound — something between a snort and a tired exhale. “They were just giving us a moment.”
Seokjin leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, trying to stop the burning behind his eyes again.
It didn’t work.
His voice came out hoarse. “You didn’t deserve any of that. I keep thinking about your face when I yelled at you. You looked so… scared.”
Jungkook didn’t answer right away.
He lifted his head slowly, hoodie slipping down, and crawled up onto the bench beside Seokjin. He turned sideways, knees tucked under him, and reached out with one hand to gently touch Seokjin’s wrist.
“You don’t yell like that,” he said. “Not ever. That’s why it hurt so much.”
“I shouldn’t have said any of it,” Seokjin whispered.
Jungkook nodded.
“Yeah. But I know you didn’t mean it.”
Seokjin turned his wrist so their hands could link together, fingers curling tight.
“I mean it when I say I love you,” he said. “I mean it every day. I’ve loved you since I found you crying in the practice room during your first week and you didn’t know how to ask for help.”
Jungkook blinked fast. “That was years ago.”
“And I still remember how it felt,” Seokjin said. “You were this little ball of nerves with your huge hoodie and your wide eyes, and I remember thinking, 'If I don’t take care of him, who will?'”
Jungkook’s mouth trembled. “You did take care of me.”
“I want to keep doing it,” Seokjin said, “but I have to learn to do it better. Not just when it’s convenient. Not just when I feel like I’m in control. Even when I’m tired. Even when I’m angry.”
He pressed their joined hands to his chest. His heart thudded against Jungkook’s palm.
“I’m sorry I made you feel like you’re a disappointment,” he whispered. “That’s the worst thing I could ever say to someone like you. You’re not. You never have been.”
Jungkook looked down at their hands.
“You didn’t make me feel like a disappointment,” he murmured. “You made me feel disposable.”
Seokjin flinched.
Jungkook’s voice cracked a little when he added, “I thought, if one slip-up makes you give up on me, then maybe you were just pretending to care all along.”
“No,” Seokjin said immediately, panic crawling up his throat. “I would never pretend—never. You are everything to me. You—God, Jungkook, I was stupid, I was overwhelmed, I didn’t know how to explain it without turning it into an attack, and that’s on me. That’s my fault. I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel like that again.”
Jungkook didn’t cry.
But he looked like he might.
He leaned forward until their foreheads touched, breaths mixing in the space between them.
“I forgive you,” he said quietly. “But I need you to talk to me when something’s wrong. Not bury it until it explodes.”
“I’ll try,” Seokjin promised. “And you have to tell me when you're overwhelmed. When you need help. When you're forgetting things because you're overcommitting.”
“I’ll try too,” Jungkook said.
They sat there like that, foreheads pressed together, breaths synchronized. For a long time, nothing passed between them except warmth and the occasional, hiccuping sigh.
Then Jungkook shifted slightly.
He moved closer on the bench, tucked himself against Seokjin’s side, arms slipping around his waist.
Seokjin let out a shaky breath and wrapped his arms around Jungkook’s shoulders. Held him like he was something fragile, something precious, something irreplaceable.
Because he was.
“I really do love you,” Jungkook whispered. “Even when you’re yelling. Even when you’re being an asshole.”
Seokjin let out a watery laugh. “Wow, romantic.”
“You started it.”
“Fair.”
They sat like that until Seokjin’s breathing evened out, and the last of the tremors left his hands.
Eventually, Jungkook said, “Do you think the others are waiting for us to come out?”
“Definitely,” Seokjin murmured. “Probably betting on how long we’d cry.”
“They’ll lose.”
“Because you’re a champion crier?”
“Because I could sit here forever,” Jungkook said.
Seokjin squeezed him tighter. “So could I.”
And for the first time in days, maybe longer, it felt like things were going to be okay.
Not perfect.
But okay.
And they’d take that. Together.