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Yoongi’s pencil is expertly tracing lines on paper, sketching out a design for an excited eighteen-year-old who thinks getting a tattoo is some rite of passage, but his mind and his heart are elsewhere. He’s preoccupied with thoughts of the impending end of the lease he has on the building that is home to his tattoo parlor and how resigning is going to be a chunk of this year’s profits but how moving and starting over would be more expensive. He’s preoccupied with thoughts of the broken heater in his shitty loft and how he’s constantly freezing and piling on sweater after sweater and sock after sock in order to stay warm and how lips turn blue and fingers shake and creak with the cold but also how a voice dipped in honey says, “It’s okay hyung, we can just share body heat.”
Yoongi's mind is racing with thoughts of bills and lack of money and want of something better and his heart is in the hands of a (freshly turned) nineteen-year-old who is currently at his parent’s for a rare weekend of family bonding and ignoring his inquiring texts of how it’s going and driving him crazy.
If three years ago, when Yoongi had been just on the cusp of turning twenty, someone had told him he would own a pretty successful tattoo parlor and have a just barely of age boyfriend he would have laughed at them hard enough he probably would have had an aneurysm.
But Yoongi supposes even with the strange turn of events that was his life, failing to make it on the music scene even though he had lived and breathed music (still does if he’s being honest) that he doesn’t mind so much. Or wouldn’t mind so much if his boyfriend would fucking text him back even if it was just one of this stupid ‘v’ emojis he was so fond of sending.
“That looks great!” the client exclaims and Yoongi realizes in his almost stupor he had unconsciously managed to sketch out what turned out to be a pretty okay; a simple crescent moon with a weird geometric shape in the middle.
Yoongi nods as he glances at his phone, void of any new texts, and huffs before turning his eyes towards the excited eighteen-year-old, “Bobby is just finishing up a piercing and then he’ll be free to do your tattoo.”
The client and his friend, who Yoongi is pretty sure he’s seen on a billboard before for some cosmetic, take a seat and Yoongi leans back from the counter, running a hand through his freshly dyed brown hair. He’s contemplated texting Taehyung but he knows the little shit would tease him for being, “a concerned grandpa,” which would prompt his own little shit of a boyfriend to do the same. Yoongi smiles a little at the thought just as the door swings open with a gust of wintery wind.
“Hey,” he starts, “What can- Taehyung?”
Taehyung’s cheeks are windswept and red and even though he’s smiling he looks worried, “Hey hyung. Have you, uh, have you heard from Jungkook?”
An ugly, heavy feeling immediately settles in Yoongi’s stomach and he stands up from his chair so fast it knocks backward into the wall with a loud bang, “No, I thought he was still at his parents.”
Taehyung nods and blows into his icy hands, tip of his nose chapped, “I thought so too but he has texted me in a few hours and I’m just… I didn’t know if maybe he had let you know he was staying there or?”
Yoongi realizes that this isn’t normal, that Jungkook wouldn’t have been at his parents for four hours without letting one of them know what was going on and his heart constricts. He picks up his phone and dials his most frequently called number and bites his lip when it immediately goes to voicemail.
“Shit-”
“I’m sure he’s okay!” Taehyung interjects, but his expression says otherwise, “His phone probably just died and he’s on his way back now.”
Yoongi is trying to keep his breathing calm but he hasn’t from his boyfriend all night and neither has Taehyung and Yoongi is starting to feel sick to his stomach.
“I’m sorry hyung, I didn’t mean to-to make you upset or anything,” Taehyung’s voice betrays him and lets Yoongi know just how upset Taehyung is too.
“Have you asked anyone else about him? Jimin or Hoseok?”
Jungkook is pretty good friends with his fellow classmate and dance team member and dance team instructor.
“I haven’t asked them yet,” Taehyung shakes his head.
Yoongi is out of options; with Jungkook’s phone dead or turned off, there’s no way to know where he is and asking any of his friends is just going to worry everyone and Yoongi almost feels like he’s going to puke.
“Okay. Okay,” Yoongi sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck in frustration, “Okay, go back to the dorm Tae, he might be there. Let me know if he is, okay? Okay, fuck, okay.”
Taehyung nods and watches Yoongi for a few seconds, before turning on his heel and letting in more cold before the door seals shut. The client and his friend are gone and Yoongi doesn’t remember seeing Bobby but it doesn’t matter because all Yoongi can think of is Jungkook and the fact that he’s missing.
“Goddammit kid,” he growls to himself as he puts his jacket on and shoves his phone into his pocket, “you’re shortening my life expectancy here.”
-
Yoongi’s feet are killing him and he can’t feel his face (or his fingers for that matter, even though they’re buried in his pockets) and he’s tried calling Jungkook even though each time it goes straight to voicemail and he’s just trying not to panic.
He’s checked all the logical places he thinks Jungkook would go: obviously the practice room, where his boyfriend can lose himself for hours on end and only give Yoongi an apologetic smile when he drags Jungkook’s sweaty ass out of there; he tried the internet café a few blocks from the campus, where he knows Jungkook and Taehyung sometime play League when they’re avoiding their school responsibilities; he tries the bookstore Jungkook buys all his manga from, the manager greeting Yoongi warmly and asking about his boyfriend and hardening the stone in Yoongi’s stomach; the barbeque place the two of them frequent is also a bust because it’s just closing and empty and the owner sees him and his sullen expression and gives him enough food for two days but all he can think of is Jungkook could eat all of it in one sitting.
Yoongi’s not a crier but if there was a reason to cry this would be one. Yoongi has no idea if Jungkook is okay and he can feel the pressure and welling behind his eyes.
By the time he returns to the tattoo shop, taking the stairs by the side that lead to his apartment, it’s almost midnight and Yoongi hasn’t heard from Jungkook in five and a half hours and it seems like Yoongi is in for a long night of worry and no sleep.
As he pulls his keys out, jostling the bag full of rapidly cooling meat, a little sniffle catches his attention and he glances up towards the top of his steps to see a figure huddled there, knees drawn to their chest and head buried in their arms. But he would recognize that figure anywhere, has spent hours upon hours admiring it dance to ridiculous choreography, has spent hours running finger tips lightly over goose bump ridden skinned, has kissed every square inch of that face.
“Jungkook,” Yoongi breathes and it’s like a breath of fresh air when dark eyes meet his own.
“Hyung,” the whisper is broken, a crack of a voice and in the low light Yoongi has by his door so he doesn’t trip over his feet coming in, he can see tear tracks, blue lips, and what looks to be a vicious bruise blooming over Jungkook’s eye.
“Jungkook Jesus fuck are you okay what the fuck happ-”
“Yoongi hyung,” Jungkook cries and raises his arms, stretched out towards him and shaking, akin to a little kid asking to be picked up.
Yoongi has heard Jungkook say his name in various ways; stretched out and elongated when he’s whining and wants something, reverent and awe inspired when Yoongi gives in and plays a song for Jungkook on the piano, soft and breathy when Yoongi digs fingers into tender, over used legs after hours of practice. Yoongi has licked his name from Jungkook’s mouth more times than he can count, has been called every variation of grandpa he can think of, has had Jungkook’s eyes tell him stories without Jungkook ever having to open his mouth.
But Yoongi has never, never (ever), heard Jungkook sound this sad and heartbroken and defeated and Yoongi wastes no time in pulling Jungkook up and into his chest, arms wrapping tightly around his boyfriend as he sobs into neck. Fingers clutch and slip at his back, unable to get a good grip on the fabric and Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut as Jungkook’s legs almost give out and Yoongi is the only thing holding him up.
“Fucking Christ Jungkook how long have you been sitting here? You’re so cold, fuck, you’re so cold, come on, let’s get you inside,” Yoongi is babbling, trying to maneuver them so he can unlock the door and pull the shivering, shaking, sobbing boy into his apartment.
It’s dark and freezing and the heater is still broken and Jungkook will still be cold but it’s not outside and that’s a start. Jungkook’s body seems to finally realize how cold he is because he’s started shivering and it hasn’t stopped, a constant tremor of little shakes down his spine as he soaks the collar of Yoongi’s jacket with salt. Yoongi rubs a hand up and down his back, in what he hopes is a soothing and warming motion because Jungkook’s clothes are ice cold.
“Come on baby, let’s get you out of these clothes okay? You’re freezing,” Yoongi’s voice is low and soft and Yoongi guides Jungkook the short distance to his room.
The lamp casts shadows on Jungkook’s face, but it’s enough that Yoongi can still his black eye. Yoongi runs a thumb lightly just under the bruise and Jungkook whimpers, turning his face away. It takes Yoongi’s breath away in the worst way possible.
With a little coaxing Yoongi gets him to change into spare clothes Jungkook keeps around, sweatpants and a hoodie that are a little cold but infinitely warmer than what Jungkook had on. A little color has returned to his face and his lips are pinker, but he’s still shaking. Yoongi isn’t sure if that’s from the cold or from the crying.
“Here, lay down,” Yoongi pushes the covers back and guides Jungkook under them, the boy’s hand clutching at his arms like he’s a lifeline even if he won’t look him in the eyes now. Yoongi straightens up and goes to move away but Jungkook is holding on steadfastly.
“Hyung don’t go,” he starts crying again, a rough edge to his voice as he pulls Yoongi back to him, “Please don’t leave me, hyung, please don’t-”
Yoongi shushes him, placing slightly warm hands on Jungkook’s cheeks so he can pepper kisses over his boyfriend’s face, “Relax Jungkook, I’m just going to get you something to drink okay? I’ll be right back baby, I promise.”
Jungkook is shaking his head, pulling at Yoongi to lay down with him and Yoongi sighs, giving in. He sheds his jacket and crawls over Jungkook, sliding under the covers and settling beside Jungkook who almost climbs on top of him, smooshing his face into the crook of Yoongi’s neck as he wraps an arm and a leg around him.
Yoongi hums as he runs his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, resting his other hand on Jungkook’s lower back and rubbing circles at the tense muscles. It’s warmer under the blanket and Jungkook’s shivers have subsided, though he’s picked up hiccups in lieu of crying. If Yoongi wasn’t so worried, he would think the little jostle of Jungkook’s body would be cute.
“Sweetheart what happened?” he asks in a low voice and Jungkook’s arm tightens around him.
Jungkook’s eye lashes are wet and Yoongi can feel them fluttering against his skin, an almost ticklish feeling.
“He-he…” Jungkook starts, voice a hair higher than a whisper and Yoongi’s lucky he’s trained his ears to pick up on subtle sounds (from years of composing and trying to pick out every background sound in any song he hears) or he would have missed it, “My dad he… he called me a fag.”
Jungkook hiccups and Yoongi scratches lightly at Jungkook’s scalp in a way he knows Jungkook likes.
“I-I told them I w-hic-wanted them to meet you,” he cries, words a little slurred as he works himself up again, “And-and he got mad, h-hic-hyung, he got so mad and he. He told me that-that he cou-hic-could accept m-me wanting to waste my life with dance but th-that he wasn’t going to hic have a fag for a son.”
Yoongi pulls him closer as he nears hysterics, smoothing a hand down the length of his spine.
“He hit me.”
Yoongi exhales hard through his nose, turning so he can press his lips to the crown of Jungkook’s hair.
“He hit me hyung,” Jungkook’s voice hardens a little as he clutches at Yoongi’s chest, “My own father hit me because… because I found happiness and love and acceptance in a place he deems unworthy.”
Jungkook quiets down, lets Yoongi pet and kiss him.
“He called me a disappointment and told me I wasn’t going to amount to anything,” Jungkook says quietly, apparently all cried out but sounding so, so tired, “He told me he doesn’t want to see me anymore.”
“Good,” Yoongi can’t stop himself (can never stop himself when it comes to Jungkook), “Good. I can’t believe that asshole could say- Jungkook you are not a disappointment, you are so good at what you do and you’re so happy when you do it and you have a job for Christ’s sake and you’re still doing well in school and I can’t-”
He can feel the curve of Jungkook’s smile and shuts up and then Jungkook says, “I don’t want to see him anymore either.”
Yoongi nods and presses another kiss into Jungkook’s hair and Jungkook finally lifts his head so they can look at each other. His eyes are rimmed red and the black eye is pretty nasty looking, starting to yellow around the edges and swell, but Jungkook is still smiling.
Nothing needs to be said, even though Jungkook murmurs a quiet, “Thanks hyung.” Yoongi merely leans forward in response and Jungkook’s lips pucker for a kiss that lands on his eye instead, eyelid closing as Yoongi kisses at the tender skin.
“Taehyung’s worried about you,” the words ghost across Jungkook’s face and Jungkook’s one open eye flutters against Yoongi’s cheekbone, “You should probably give him a call and let him know you’re okay and staying here tonight.”
Jungkook smiles and turns his face so he can kiss Yoongi’s cheek, “Can I use your phone? Mine died.”
“It’s in my jacket on the floor.”
Yoongi watches Jungkook’s back muscles shift as he stretches to retrieve said jacket and before Jungkook can turn back around Yoongi slides his arms around Jungkook’s waist to anchor him in place. Jungkook doesn’t fight it, just melts back into Yoongi’s arms and, despite being taller, shuffles until the top of his head is resting just under Yoongi’s chin.
Jungkook talks to Taehyung for a long time, voice low and soft as Yoongi rubs at his stomach and chest, placing periodic kisses to the top of his boyfriend’s head. Yoongi listens with a dumb, fond look on his face as the events finally settle over Jungkook until he falls asleep on Taehyung’s, the other voice carrying lightly through to Yoongi. Yoongi gently plucks the phone from Jungkook’s slackened fingers and brings it to his ear.
“He fell asleep.”
“Oh,” Taehyung sighs, “Well, that’s good I guess. I can only imagine what he’s been through. He really looked up to his dad when we were younger, you know? It’s sad, really.”
Yoongi hums, almost glad that the side Jungkook has fallen asleep on hides the black eye.
“Thank you hyung,” Taehyung starts, voice holding some deep seated emotion and Yoongi wonders if he’s about to start crying, “You’ve really helped Jungkook come into himself and yeah, this is the less than preferred outcome but at least Jungkook knows now and can move on without them.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi whispers, voice catching and he clears his throat to try again but only comes up with, “He’s a good kid.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi can almost hear the smile on Taehyung’s face, “he is. I’m glad someone else loves him just as much as I do.”
Yoongi can’t believe he’s having a Moment with Kim Taehyung, the moron who dragged his and Yoongi’s (at the time) future boyfriend’s drunk asses to Yoongi’s little tattoo parlor and demanded they tattoo 'dat boi' on Taehyung’s chest with a matching meme on Jungkook’s.
“Good night hyung,” Taehyung tells him, “sleep well.”
“Good night Tae.”
The line goes dead and Yoongi is left with Jungkook’s slightly nasally breathing. He smiles as he kisses Jungkook’s temple, resigning himself to the fact that he’s going to have to suffer and sleep in jeans.
The shit he does for this kid.