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Rain pours down through the open balcony doors in the bedroom, drenching his head with cold, wet raindrops as he sits, slumped against the glass windows. He’s not sure what hour of the night it is anymore, the sky too dark and too cloudy to maintain a true sense of the world surrounding him. His body had been fading in and out of consciousness, only semi-attached to the concept of why he was even exposing himself to the terrible weather in the first place.
Jungkook breathes in the heavy earthy smell permeating the air and digs his fingers into his scalp, as if he can remove the pressure thumping against his skull. It’s always times like this where his body feels inexplicably empty, for some reason. His heart thuds against the inside of his chest, aching and forlorn, waiting for someone he knows won’t come.
This is what happens when Jungkook is alone.
He’s been alone for a week now and he still has not gotten used to the striking absence of his sweet boyfriend, Yoongi. His presence tethers Jungkook’s drifting soul back to reality so easily. But his absence always makes Jungkook float, his mind so far from his body and his daily functioning wavering into a void of nothingness.
It’s not Yoongi’s fault. Jungkook is aware enough to acknowledge that he should be better about taking care of himself when he’s alone. If Yoongi caught him here, he would ruffle Jungkook’s hair, tug the windows firmly shut, and ask what he’s doing there in the first place, maybe complain about catching a cold. Him being gone is not his fault, either.
More so, his absence is a defect of his success. Jungkook is incomparably less-important next to him. Yoongi’s talent and skills carry value in his industry. He broke through the barriers he was trapped under, he became acknowledged as the rap genius he always was. But Jungkook—he still fights every single day to be acknowledged by the art critics of Seoul, to be seen as more than a mere street artist.
The secrecy of their love weighs on Jungkook, too, as he ducks his head to let the light droplets cover his neck and run down his back. He can hear Yoongi’s scolding and forces himself to smile, filled with the ache of his distance.
He thought Yoongi was only going to be gone for four days. It’s been seven and Jungkook is still alone.
Jungkook wouldn’t be this hung up on the extended trip if he was told about it. If Yoongi made the effort to call him amidst the foreign promotions. If he hadn’t found out through pictures uploaded to Instagram and kind, appreciative words extended out to his fans. Jungkook would have survived if he had felt loved, but this distance—this disconnect—is pushing him over the edge.
It’s not Yoongi’s fault, though. Him sitting out on the balcony and getting soaked by rainwater is not Yoongi’s fault.
But the rain subsides, at some point, shaking him out of his selfish trance. Jungkook blinks slowly into the gray sky and neglects his shivering body. He ponders what Yoongi might be doing right this second. Perhaps, eating breakfast in another timezone. Or putting on a small performance for his fans who sometimes see him more often than Jungkook does. An even more bitter part of him wonders if Yoongi ever sleeps with anyone else.
He breathes the fresh, crisp air into his lungs and smiles distantly when the moon peers through the thick clouds for a fleeting moment. Jungkook clings to that sliver of light and clutches his knees to his chest.
When Yoongi is here, he feels more loved than anyone else on this earth. Jungkook easily falls into sync with Yoongi which has come with months of practice. But since they’ve achieved that balance, it’s been a seamless yin and yang, this push-pull dance that only the two of them know the moves to. Yoongi has always understood the ins and outs of Jungkook’s complicated brain.
But without him, his own thoughts become a prison he cannot escape. A gaping hole opens in his chest and swallows his mind, controlling every doubt he has about Yoongi’s absence. Loneliness festers there and Jungkook can’t shake it. He can’t escape the fact that he hates being alone in the first place; being without Yoongi is a million times worse.
He knows his fears must be untrue, especially the most outlandish of them. He knows that he is prone to assuming the worst in situations he has no control over. He knows there’s no way Yoongi could know he gets like this unless he says something.
Alas, Jungkook also knows that he would rather suffer than worry Yoongi while he’s away.
The brisk air becomes too chilling to bear, so Jungkook clambers to his feet and shuts the balcony doors, staring at the moon once more before it slips back into the darkness. He tugs the curtains back in place, wary of the puddle forming around the spot that he was sitting in, and takes off his shirt to change into something dry.
“Jungkook-ah?” a call comes, soft and concerned.
The sound of his name echoes in Jungkook’s head and he turns his shoulder, expecting Yoongi’s voice to only be a figment of his imagination.
Yoongi is clutching the handle of his suitcase and his backpack hangs precariously over one shoulder, his soft features accentuated by the glowing yellow light spilling out from the lamp. Neither of them move, but Jungkook knows that Yoongi must be thinking that there’s something wrong. It’s a shame that Jungkook is not brave enough to admit that something is wrong.
“You’re all… dripping,” Yoongi says after a few more seconds, rubbing his tired eyes and dropping his backpack. He leaves everything in the doorway and meets Jungkook by the balcony door. “What were you doing?” He smiles faintly, running his fingers through Jungkook’s damp bangs, warmth seeping from his touch. “You could’ve gotten sick.”
Jungkook swallows the lump in his throat, the one that’s begging to ask Yoongi why he was gone for three extra days, like the answer will make a difference.
“I left the doors open by accident and came back to close them,” Jungkook lies, pushing past Yoongi’s shoulder to toss his wet t-shirt in a corner somewhere. He grabs his towel from the edge of Yoongi’s bed and dries his body, his hair, back turned. It’s easier this way. “Sorry. I know you don’t like it that much when I’m here while you’re gone.”
If Jungkook weren’t so attuned to Yoongi’s every move, he would have missed the small hitch in Yoongi’s breath. “That’s not even true,” he says slowly, like he’s still processing the fact that Jungkook is here in the first place. “I don’t mind at all, actually. There’s a reason you’re the first person to know when I change the code to unlock the door.”
Instead of answering, Jungkook ignores him, digging through Yoongi’s drawers to find something clean to wear. The last thing he wants is to create any problems.
“Jungkook,” Yoongi calls gently, his footsteps light against the hardwood floors. His hand presses against Jungkook’s shoulder, pushing him back to face each other once again—except Jungkook keeps his chin low and eyes lower, because he can’t bear to look at him. “Is something wrong? I’ve never seen you like this.”
The question echoes in Jungkook’s brain. Is something wrong?
Yoongi steps closer, cradling Jungkook’s jaw in the palm of his hand. “Jungkook-ah,” he says, guiding Jungkook’s chin upwards until there’s no choice but to look into his eyes. Jungkook can’t bear the worried shadows shrouding his face; can’t bear that he’s at fault for that look. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Jungkook insists through a sharp breath, extracting himself from Yoongi’s careful hold to continue drying off and getting dressed.
“Don’t do that,” Yoongi warns, barricading the path to the bathroom with his body, looking up at Jungkook in disbelief. Disappointment rolls off him in waves, and Jungkook tries to think nothing of it. Tries to pretend that it’s not his fault. “You know I don’t like it when you do that. When you blow me off and act like you’re fine and perfect when you’re clearly not.”
Jungkook does not act like he is perfect. In fact, he is frustratingly aware of his imperfection. He tries to fill in the holes where his inadequacy drills through him, but it’s easier said than done.
Not when he’s forced to watch the murals he creates get covered with generic white paint. Not when Yoongi is receiving an award on TV and Jungkook is curled up in his bed, heavy-hearted and alone. Not when every single effort Jungkook makes to find success is undermined by someone better than him. Not when he’s nearly lost all hope for himself.
No, Jungkook is far from perfect.
“Jungkook—”
“I can’t tell you,” Jungkook says softly, hanging his chin low, avoiding Yoongi’s stern and steadfast gaze. He watches as if Jungkook is made of steel, when really he’s more delicate than a porcelain plate. Jungkook cannot handle that stare. “I can’t because you wouldn’t understand.”
But Yoongi has always been one to challenge that notion. “Try me,” he says, stepping closer, sliding his hands into Jungkook’s cool grasp. His fingers twist around Jungkook’s palms like a writhing snake, tight and unrelenting. “Even if I don’t understand, I still want to know. Then at least I can try my best to understand. And we can figure it out from there, together.”
The soothing words settle over Jungkook’s heart, the tension going slack. He remembers exactly why he loves Yoongi. “I just…” he starts, and his voice tapers off with hesitation, still not daring to meet Yoongi’s eyes. But Yoongi squeezes his hands, and he gathers the courage to try again. “I just don’t know how to handle it when you’re away for so long. When I’m alone for so long.”
“Hey…” Yoongi’s voice is tender with warmth, his right hand traveling up to hold Jungkook’s face. His fingers, so careful, trace the lines of Jungkook’s frown. “I thought we talked about this last time… You’re not alone, Jungkook-ah.”
“This is what I mean, hyung,” Jungkook says with a sigh, fighting his urge to pull away, to leave. To let Yoongi wonder why he’s so broken. Maybe then Yoongi will leave and Jungkook will truly be alone and everything will stay hopeless, and—why does it always seem like Jungkook is praying for his own demise? “You won’t get it because you’re not here when you’re not here. You don’t know how I feel when you’re gone, and I—I can’t.”
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t handle it,” Jungkook confesses. “You being gone for long periods of time, I don’t know how to handle that.”
Yoongi’s breath shudders, but he doesn’t speak. It was something Yoongi talked about when they first started seeing each other a few months ago—his quiet fears of someone leaving him simply because they can’t manage the fame aspect of dating him. Jungkook never promised anything, but he told himself that he could do it. That he could love Yoongi and be with him and not feel burdened by Yoongi’s fortune and fame.
But the truth is, despite Jungkook’s love for Yoongi, he finds himself comparing them more often than not. Trying to measure his lack of success to Yoongi’s abundance of it. He’ll never amount to that, and he’s afraid that one day, Yoongi will decide that it’s not enough for him and Jungkook will be alone. He’ll drown in his loneliness.
“You should have talked to me,” Yoongi says, like that would have truly made a difference. “I could have reassured you in some way.”
“You can’t change the fact that when you’re far away, I feel disconnected from you. I feel like I can’t reach you and that you’re just… gone. For good.”
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi says suddenly. He forces Jungkook’s gaze on him. He’s worried; afraid, even. “I’m not gone, though. I’m right here.”
Jungkook is quicker to respond than he imagined. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?” He asks, more desperate than accusatory. “Why did you ignore me instead of telling me that you were going to extend your trip? And making me feel like a fool for hoping that I actually meant something to you, when maybe you don’t feel the same things I feel for you.”
“That’s not true,” Yoongi says, conviction in the way he grasps Jungkook’s face with both his hands and presses their lips together, one small peck that might cure everything if they were in a fairytale. “You mean so much to me.”
With a gentle nudge, Yoongi guides Jungkook back to his bed, and together, they sink into the firm mattress. Jungkook sniffs and wipes his watery eyes, tucking his face into Yoongi’s neck for support. Just feeling Yoongi’s steady, solid heartbeat beneath his palm is enough to bring clarity to his foggy mind. To stabilize his erratic thoughts, the chaos in his mind.
“Hyung,” Jungkook calls after a few minutes, as all Yoongi has done since they sat down is patiently stroke the back of his head, fingers twisting his hair.
Yoongi hums softly and says, “Yes, Jungkook-ah.”
“I’m afraid that what we have isn’t good enough for you,” Jungkook admits, the unbidden words pressed against the soft skin of Yoongi’s neck. He hopes that the truth doesn’t drive Yoongi away. “And I’m… I’m afraid that if I can’t show people that I’m worth it, I can’t have the things I want in life.”
“Life doesn’t work like that,” Yoongi says, knowingly. “You don’t need other people to tell you that you’re worth it. You just need to believe it yourself.”
Jungkook sniffs. How is he supposed to believe that when it feels so far from the truth? “I’m not a good artist,” he murmurs, selfish as he holds onto Yoongi just a tad tighter. Maybe it’s all his imagination, but he thinks Yoongi holds on tighter, too. “I’m not talented enough, and I—I’m not a good boyfriend, I don’t have as much money or success, and if your fans found out that you were in love with me, then I would ruin your image. It would be my fault. I’m sure of it.”
“That doesn’t matter, Jungkook-ah. No one’s opinion matters other than yours,” Yoongi says in that soothing, reassuring voice of his. He takes Jungkook’s chin in his palm, lifting his head so they’re facing each other once more. Jungkook refuses to let his hand fall from where it rests on Yoongi’s heartbeat. “Nothing is your fault. I can tell you that you’re good enough for me. That I love you. But if you don’t truly believe that, then it will never get us anywhere.”
“I know.” That’s the part that scares Jungkook the most, maybe. “I know these things, as facts. I just don’t know how to believe it.”
Yoongi squeezes the nape of Jungkook’s neck and offers a small, teasing smile. “I love you,” he says, and it feels like the first time all over again.
It feels like Jungkook sitting in the passenger seat of Yoongi’s car after getting picked up from work, sharing a box of steaming tteokbokki, humming along to a song stuck into his head. Yoongi turned to him, relaxed, a smudge of tteokbokki sauce on the corners of his mouth, and said, “You know I love you, right?”
“I will tell you as many times as you need me to,” Yoongi says, sealing that statement with a soft kiss, almost like a promise. Jungkook’s breath shudders as he exhales, and comes back to this moment. The cold air floating around Yoongi’s bedroom and the shadows falling delicately across his cheekbones. “And for the record, you are the best artist I have ever met. I’ve never seen someone tackle a two-story building like you do.”
For the first time in days, Jungkook puffs out a small laugh. “At least I know I have one fan,” he says, pressing closer to Yoongi’s warm frame.
Yoongi kisses his cheek and whispers, “Be patient with yourself, okay?”
“Okay,” Jungkook says, and finds that he truly means it.
He wants to be patient. He wants to understand why he sinks into an abyss when he’s alone. He wants to love, and be loved, without any complications. The mere thought of having belief—of having faith—may be the only thing that is keeping him going right now.
As he settles down against Yoongi’s shoulder, watching the moon peek out from between the clouds once more, he feels a tiny flame flickering against his ribs and decides to call it hope.