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This summer, he met Yoongi.
Jungkook remembers their first meeting so clearly, like a Polaroid snapshot in his mind: He’s standing on the train platform, no one’s there to meet him, his phone is dead, and there’s a guy in a funny black Panama hat standing in front of him. He's the only one in the crowd who doesn't seem to be in a hurry, absentmindedly fiddling with his phone.
Jungkook gathers his courage to ask to use the phone, and the stranger has enough trust to hand his phone over to awkward Jungkook, who's so anxious that he almost drops it. After a quick call—“Yes, Mom, yes, you got the date of my arrival wrong, thank you very much!” — Jungkook hands back the old Samsung and, with the sunniest smile and a bright “Thanks!”, says as easily as if introducing himself to a classmate —
“Jungkook. And you?”
The stranger hesitates but extends his hand and shakes Jungkook’s palm firmly.
“Yoongi.”
Jungkook is flooded with the gentle June sun, and, for some reason, he feels that this summer is going to be wonderful.
Probably the best ever.
That evening, he pulls Yoongi’s number from the call log on his mom’s phone, just to say thanks again — but, for some reason, that thank-you sparks a bunch of random messages that they toss back and forth like old friends. For the first couple of days, he thought his messages were driving Yoongi crazy, but then everything somehow worked itself out (perhaps with the help of a triple serving of lamb skewers that Jungkook treated Yoongi to at the best restaurant in Haeundaegu).
And somewhere between their meet-ups with Yoongi, under the sun setting lazily on the horizon, somewhere between June and July, between dusk and dawn, between missed movies at the outdoor cinema and endless conversations about music (even though Jungkook’s a fan of Apple Music’s Top 100, and Yoongi’s got three Notorious B.I.G. vinyls) —
Somewhere in between, so Jungkook wouldn’t know for sure and could only truly realize it when he felt himself rolling downhill like a tiny pebble in a landslide —
That’s when it all happened.
He remembers how Yoongi's smile faded — as if the full moon had disappeared beyond a heavy cloud — when he first said, “I love you,” and Yoongi didn't seem to know how to react, so he didn't say anything — he just shrugged and fell silent.
Saying it for the first time was tough — something heavy and thick clung to his throat, choking his voice. Then it got easier. Maybe because, with each repetition, the words lost their sparkle and magic until they became something ordinary and simple — something you say between “see you later” and “call me when you get there.”
Jungkook counted it as a tiny victory when Yoongi stopped flinching every time the word “love” left his lips, though he didn’t dare hope for more.
One endless July night, they sprawled on the roof of the apartment building, and Jungkook counted the stars, tracing the silhouettes of familiar constellations with his finger. Yoongi jokingly checked him with an interactive app displaying a map of the night sky, and they laughed together when Jungkook couldn’t guess or name a constellation he had just made up.
“Is there a rabbit constellation?”
“Only the Hare. But it’s kind of the same thing, right?” Jungkook replied questioningly, searching the sky for a silhouette that resembled long ears. “We can draw it over there.”
“Then it’ll be Jungkook’s constellation,” Yoongi replied with a quiet laugh.
And Jungkook didn’t ask why.
An hour before dawn, as he kept gazing at the stars — and they at him — he saw, out of the corner of his eye, that Yoongi wasn’t looking at the sky but at him —
And it seemed so silly and romantic to him that a surge of happiness washed over him, the roof, and their striped blanket, flooding the trees in the windless silence.
He wished the night would never come to an end, because there was no warm summer day that could replace a quiet, starry night —
But everything comes to an end eventually. And it seemed to him, then, with the glint of Canis Major in his dark eyes, that his longing would also come to an end; that maybe Yoongi would feel the same way — he's always so caring toward him and always laughs at his silly jokes —
But just like after the summer solstice, when the days start getting shorter and the nights only get longer, so their summer — after reaching its peak of euphoria — began to wane.
It was still just as warm, and by August, even though rain was promised, it never got any chillier. Something had shifted imperceptibly, and once again, Jungkook realized it too late to be able to grasp and bring back. Something he’d held so carefully in his hands had turned into sand, rapidly slipping through his clenched palms.
Jungkook’s got a whole list of reasons in his head why everything isn’t the way it used to be, but the main one is that, when he hugs Yoongi, squeezing his ribs in a ring of his hands, Yoongi never returns the hug with the same strength. He’s silent more often, looking away. He keeps the conversation going with a detached tone and no longer laughs at Jungkook’s jokes.
Jungkook figures Yoongi is probably tired of him — all his childish maximalism — while Yoongi has big dreams, goals, and ambitions — what the hell does he need a student for? And he doesn’t understand at all why, if everything he thinks is true, Yoongi still hasn’t said it out loud — and what’s more, he never refuses to meet with him.
Maybe he's bored —
Maybe something happened to him, and Jungkook’s better off not getting involved —
And it weighs him down for no reason, pressing him to the ground like the midday sun.
Sometimes, it feels like he’s got no one closer than Yoongi.
But more often than not, behind the wall of his self-isolation, Jungkook knows almost nothing about Yoongi. Only the surface stuff — what he lets everyone see.
That he’s a cat person, and, like a big purring cat, he loves being scratched behind the ear. That he loves the fading beauty of autumn and the rustle of dry leaves, and that bright daylight always blinds him, even when the sun’s hidden behind a cloud. That he'd never trade his old headphones for a fancy Bluetooth speaker and would rather eat a stale rice cake than seriously listen to a trot radio station for even a day. That he always confuses Venus and artificial satellites with stars and hates the yellow color — every time he pretends to frown when Jungkook shows up in his favorite sunflower-colored T-shirt.
Trivialities —
Sometimes, it feels like, behind all that, he can’t quite see the real Yoongi.
Even more often, he thinks that Yoongi only spends time with him because spending the summer alone is unbearable. He thinks there’s nothing special about him, and that anyone else who happened to be around at the right time could’ve taken his place. Someone he could take care of, like an annoying little brother — buy ice cream for, take to late-night movies, and share music with on his player.
Jungkook drops “I love you” casually, as if by accident — Yoongi collects his confessions like wildflowers.
Maybe they’re just not pretty enough for Yoongi, Jungkook thinks. Maybe they’re bright yellow, and Yoongi hates that color. Maybe he needs to try harder —
And he keeps trying.
He tells himself: Love can’t be unhappy, which means everything’s fine. That’s only partially true, because he keeps stealing touches and random phrases that warm him up from the inside more than the most scorching heat.
What’s even worse is that, somewhere deep down, he still has hope, and he hates himself for not being able to give up, for finding any excuse to convince himself that Yoongi still cares: when Yoongi prefers his company to everyone else’s; when he’s the only one Yoongi texts in the morning and knows his home phone number.
But sometimes, when they’re melting under the August sun on the tin roofs of parking garages, Jungkook feels a pang — as if he could physically touch this field of withered flowers of his love; and he thinks — things’ll get better. He’ll leave in September to study, and everything will be fine.
Maybe nine whole months without Yoongi will burn out everything alive in him — if, of course, there’s anything to burn.
Not seeing him — it'll be easier.
He repeats this to himself like a prayer as August flies by — as if the whole summer fits into one endless, sunny day.
They’d planned to go to the oceanarium before his departure, but somehow it didn’t work out. Jungkook, of course, doesn’t blame Yoongi for this, but instead of packing last night, he sobs in his room, bent over a suitcase, hoping that by dawn he’ll dissolve into nothingness.
His parents accompany him to the platform for the Busan–Seoul train. To his surprise, Yoongi’s also there — only, standing a little apart, as if not with the rest of them, studying the train station’s columns and display boards. His farewell hug is almost intangible, but Jungkook presses himself against him with his whole body and whispers that he’ll write when he gets to campus. Yoongi just nods.
For a moment, it feels like Yoongi might walk across the platform, take Jungkook’s face in his cool palms, and, unfazed by anyone’s presence, kiss him until he feels sparks under his eyelids. As if he’d been concealing it — for some purpose — all this time, that he also loves, and, at the moment when Jungkook is about to leave for a long time and far away, he finally decides to admit it.
So foolish.
The only thing keeping Jungkook from bursting into tears is the fact that his parents are there.
And the remnants of his dignity, probably.
The train starts moving — Jungkook waves, pressed against the window — Yoongi, under his gaze, purses his lips and lowers his head.
As soon as the platform disappears from view, Jungkook’s remaining strength leaves him. He feels drained, as if Yoongi had pressed a knife into him along with his embrace. He sits there, motionless, the cold glass against his forehead, and with a distracted, cloudy gaze watches the houses drifting away and feels how his heart falls to dust.
Instead, a numb, gnawing feeling of emptiness and an irrepressible longing settle inside him; soon, Jungkook will realize that this emptiness acts like a black hole after a supernova explosion — it absorbs everything he tosses into it. New people, hobbies, dance classes, awkward dates with a classmate, the lingering warmth left by Yoongi — everything gets drawn in and chewed up.
ꔹ ꔹ ꔹ
Jungkook calls Yoongi, and about half the time, he gets through. Jungkook feels like Yoongi is annoyed with him — he answers so curtly, and his grainy webcam image, drowning in pixels, doesn't convey any emotion.
He’s worried about Yoongi; he’s afraid that without his annoying, noisy love, Yoongi will shut himself off completely — in an isolated system, entropy can only increase — and nothing good will come of it. As much as Jungkook wants to hug Yoongi, the 325 kilometers between them cannot be narrowed by a single embrace.
He makes his last call in November; there are five previous missed calls in the chat.
Sometimes, it feels like he’s causing a tragedy out of nowhere.
Sometimes, it feels like he’s been broken and scarred himself.
All his relationships with other people are totally messed up — he can’t interact with anyone without thinking that it would be cooler if it were Yoongi. He can’t watch a movie without wondering whether Yoongi might like it. He can't listen to a single stupid pop song without imagining how Yoongi would hate it, blasting out of every ramen shop.
Sometimes, he just wishes he could hear the raw truth —
I don't love you.
It happens, Jungkook.
It happens.
These words won’t knock the world off its axis — they’ll just finally allow Jungkook to start moving forward. Until then, he’s stuck in an endless summer day where Yoongi’s smile is as blinding as the midday sun, and the world swirls around him like a giant, nauseating carnival ride.
ꔹ ꔹ ꔹ
In early December, with the first snowfall, Jungkook, stumbling home after a night out, drunk and angry, rubbing the bite on his neck, blocks Yoongi and deletes his phone from his list of contacts. He thinks it’ll bring him some relief — whatever was between them was over long before it even began —
But for some reason, he still misses Yoongi.
Probably because he still dreams about Yoongi.
Usually, Jungkook doesn’t see his face, but he knows for sure it’s him; and all the dreams feel like a twisted mirror of their sunny days. He dreams of summer, the warm touch of the sun on his face, and Yoongi’s hands in his own. Every time, he wakes up tired, like from the depths of a nightmare, and the phantom feeling of Yoongi's touch lingers on for several hours.
It is always sunlit there, and Yoongi holds him just as tightly as he did in the first month of their friendship. The person who saw him leave for Seoul, averting his gaze, does not exist there.
Jungkook wishes he could dissolve entirely in these dreams.
ꔹ ꔹ ꔹ
At the end of December, Jungkook visits his parents and decides to stay for a couple of days. He starts to think he’s going crazy because he sees Yoongi in every passerby, every person in line at the store, every random stranger on the bus — everywhere.
This is just a ridiculous crush, he thinks.
It’ll pass.
Back in Seoul, he gets drunk at a classmate’s party; he wants to erase himself, forget who he is, slip out of his body — but the nameless kisses on his lips taste so bitter that, as soon as he realizes what he’s doing, he immediately rushes home —
And he ends up sitting in the shower in the middle of the night, scrubbing away the touch of a stranger.
ꔹ ꔹ ꔹ
In February, Jungkook returns to Busan for winter break after his exams. A cyclone has swept in, bringing blizzards and icy sea winds — he can feel it blowing right through his sweater and winter coat. By the time he reaches Yoongi's place — just a five-minute walk from the bus stop — he's covered in fine, wet snowflakes that sting his face.
At some point, he feels like Yoongi conjured the blizzard just to keep Jungkook away from him.
He doesn’t know why he’s heading there. Maybe the bottomless void of an exploded star within him, starved for human warmth, needs to finally reach out and absorb all the hurt so it can crumble from an overload — since nothing else can satisfy that hunger.
Jungkook feels a nervous tingle under his skin as he presses the doorbell: once, twice, three times — just like he got used to doing over the summer.
Yoongi doesn’t open it right away — behind the flimsy door, Jungkook hears his quiet footsteps. He opens the door slightly, without even asking who’s there, like he doesn’t care who comes in. He has an empty look in his eyes; the only thing reflected in them is Jungkook himself, ridiculously towering over the hunched figure in a worn-out black sweatshirt. Yoongi curls up in it, hugging himself as if it’s armor against the world outside.
Jungkook stands there like an idiot — no one greets him. He looks at Yoongi, who stares anywhere but at him, and he feels the void inside him expand, filling his entire existence, down to his fingertips.
It feels like the most humiliating moment of his life, but he forces himself to move, taking a couple of shaky steps, and gently wraps his arms around Yoongi’s forearms, breaking through his guard. Yoongi's arms are pliable, almost lifeless — Jungkook breaks through their protective barrier and embraces Yoongi as tightly as he can. It’s like, by pulling him close to his chest, he can fill all his emptiness and throw a spark where the flame once burned —
Jungkook shuts his eyes.
His “I missed you so much” slips from his lips in a whisper — he is talking more to himself; and then, he suddenly feels Yoongi clinging to his embrace — wet, snowy, Jungkook didn’t have time to take off his winter coat — and tries unsuccessfully to get a grip on the slippery fabric under his shoulder blades.
When he pulls himself out of Jungkook's arms, Jungkook doesn't hold him, letting him go naturally. Of course, Yoongi doesn’t want to hug him — why would he? — but Yoongi quickly unzips his winter coat and slips under it with his palms, pulling Jungkook back to him, pressing his cheek right under his jaw. Jungkook exhales, tightening their embrace; but now, it’s not him clinging to Yoongi — it’s Yoongi clinging to him, as if Jungkook were merely a ghost of the storm and would melt away as soon as Yoongi warmed him up.
“I missed you, too,” is the first thing Yoongi says when he finds the strength to slightly pull away from Jungkook and look him in the eyes — for once in a long time.
It feels like he’s still asleep in his room in Seoul, in the depths of the university campus, and even the whirring of the sprinkler machine in the morning can’t wake him up. That he never left, and will wake up soon, exhausted by his dreams — and won’t find the willpower to get out of bed.
But Yoongi is real — his heart is pounding so fast and so loud that Jungkook can feel its echo against his ribs. His touch, when he helps Jungkook untangle himself from his wet coat, feels real. And the hand that finds his own is not a dream, either — Yoongi clasps their palms tightly, intertwining their fingers, and pulls him deeper inside the apartment.
The kitchen feels warm. Amidst the monochrome — the white snowstorm outside the window and the gray cabinets — the only bright spot is a scattering of faux flowers on the black countertop, bright yellow, like the color of Jungkook’s favorite T-shirt.
Yoongi flips the kettle on and slips out of the kitchen, leaving Jungkook blinking at the unfading vine. A minute later, he’s back with a laptop, setting it on the table between the cups. Jungkook stares at the screen; a conversation with him is open.
All the latest messages have a red flag — none of them have been delivered.
“You blocked me, didn’t you?”
It’s rhetorical, but Jungkook nods slowly anyway.
“I guessed, of course,” Yoongi says, visibly nervous, and turns away to the boiling kettle.
“You don’t have to say yes, but… Can you read everything I wrote?” He turns around with the kettle in his hands. “Please.”
It definitely can’t get any worse, he thinks, and nods, moving the laptop closer and swapping it with the cup.
𝕞𝕪𝕘 [𝟙𝟝.𝟙𝟚 𝟚𝟛:𝟜𝟜]
how’s it going?
𝕞𝕪𝕘 [𝟙𝟠.𝟙𝟚 𝟙𝟝:𝟛𝟝]
hi
𝕞𝕪𝕘 [𝟚𝟚.𝟙𝟚 𝟚𝟙:𝟚𝟛]
I was thinking I had internet issues, but it seems you blocked me
𝕞𝕪𝕘 [𝟚𝟝.𝟙𝟚 𝟘𝟘:𝟝𝟞]
I don't know why I'm writing this, but I miss you so much
𝕞𝕪𝕘 [𝟚𝟠.𝟙𝟚 𝟘𝟛:𝟚𝟜]
Jungkook, forgive me.
I’m so stupid.
all this time, I thought I was doing the right thing, but I made a mistake, and now you’re in Seoul and don’t want to know me.
𝕞𝕪𝕘 [𝟚𝟠.𝟙𝟚 𝟘𝟛:𝟛𝟟]
And you’re absolutely right.
𝕞𝕪𝕘 [𝟚𝟠.𝟙𝟚 𝟘𝟛:𝟜𝟙]
I don’t deserve you accepting my apology
𝕞𝕪𝕘 [𝟘𝟚.𝟘𝟙 𝟚𝟚:𝟙𝟘]
Are you okay? Maybe my message will get through?
𝕞𝕪𝕘 [𝟘𝟝.𝟘𝟙 𝟘𝟚:𝟛𝟚]
I’m sorry
Jungkook, I’m so sorry
𝕞𝕪𝕘 [𝟙𝟘.𝟘𝟙 𝟘𝟙:𝟙𝟝]
you know, I thought about getting there, but then I figured you’d be busy with exams and you’d be annoyed to see my dumb face within ten steps of you.
𝕞𝕪𝕘 [𝟚𝟘.𝟘𝟙 𝟘𝟝:𝟚𝟝]
I found out you were here a month ago
your mom told me
she was surprised I didn't know
𝕞𝕪𝕘 [𝟚𝟘.𝟘𝟙 𝟘𝟝:𝟜𝟜]
And you know what? I don’t think you’ll ever come back, so I probably won’t get another chance.
Jungkook, I love you.
I was afraid you’d leave and find someone better.
I thought it might break my heart.
and I didn’t allow myself to hope.
I thought it would reduce the pain
but no
It broke
me
my entire life
Forgive me
I hope you can
because I can't
Jungkook's heart is like helium balloon—he feels like he's floating somewhere under the ceiling, while reading the last line:
𝕞𝕪𝕘 [𝟘𝟙.𝟘𝟚 𝟘𝟚:𝟝𝟚]
I hate flowers,
but they're yellow and they remind me of you.
He stares at the screen for another thirty seconds, locked on one point, forcing his chest to breathe through the jolt of anxiety. Yoongi sits next to him, hunched over like he’s trying to make himself smaller. Jungkook silently shifts his gaze to him. Yoongi speaks, forcing himself to straighten his posture and look at Jungkook instead of the wall behind him:
“Nothing I wrote binds you to anything, but if you can, forgive me.”
“Is that true?”
Yoongi nods.
“I forgive you,” Jungkook blurts out quickly. “Can I kiss you?”
Yoongi’s eyes widen, like a startled animal caught in the headlights.
“What?”
Jungkook exhales — what did he expect, anyway? —
“Forget it.”
Yoongi shakes his head, and then, slowly realizing what has been said, rushes to his feet — the chair falls beneath him, and he pushes it away, almost tripping. Everything happens faster than Jungkook realizes — hands pulling him by the collar of his sweater, Yoongi’s lips on his — dry, soft — Yoongi kisses him cautiously, keeping a distance between them, separating them with his own clenched palms — ready to be pushed back at any moment — but Jungkook parts his lips to meet the kiss — his palms on Yoongi’s face, and at their touch, Yoongi relaxes and leans in. Under his weight, Jungkook presses his back against the wall, and, as soon as Yoongi tries to pull away, Jungkook catches him again, and again, and again.
His inner void can’t absorb so much light — it vanishes, and all Jungkook feels, his whole body turning into pure nerve, is the warm touch of Yoongi’s lips on his own, in a slow, languid kiss.
Yoongi finally pulls away, just enough to look Jungkook in the eyes, just to ask:
“Will you remove me from the block list?”
“I’ll look at your behavior,” Jungkook laughs, with a silvery smile, gently kissing the sly smirk off Yoongi’s lips, absorbing his monochrome, and returning only color —
Yellow, like the brightest summer flower.