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it's october first and the apartment is as quiet as a grave, expectant. yoongi can't sleep — his sleeping pattern tends to grow increasingly chaotic as october approaches. instead, he walks around the dorm, arms full of junk that could possibly be somehow hindering. hoseok forgot a knife in the sink, and one of their trophies has really sharp edges. yoongi's shoving everything inside a closet when he hears the weak yelp coming from the bathroom.
it has started.
"jungkook—" he calls, feet scrambling towards the closed door. "open the door."
"just a cut, hyung, don't worry—"
"open it." jungkook has half his face white with shaving foam, a streak of crimson dripping down his neck and a very apologetic look. "are you fucking kidding me, jeon jungkook."
"it's just—"
"you don't even need to shave," yoongi sighs, exasperate, taking the razor blade from jungkook, while his other hand holds onto jungkook's chin, turning his face to better look the cut on the side of his jaw. it's small, he'll live. "wash it up, come on."
the living room yoongi drags jungkook to has almost every furniture bubble wrapped. every edge and every glass and every pointy contour has been taken care of, rugs have been taken away, outlet covers have been spread around the entire apartment — it should be safe. the couch huffs when yoongi pushes jungkook down on it, and he's holding a cotton ball against the bleeding. "it's nothing, really, hyung. it doesn't even hurt."
"it's october," yoongi points out omniously. "you can't just go around holding a razor."
"i know," jungkook mumbles, flinching just slightly when yoongi sprays the wound wash on his skin, mostly because it's cold, a little because it actually hurts. his tone of voice is repentant, and yoongi's touch becomes gentler. "i'm sorry, hyung."
"it's okay just — don't do it again."
he's worried — they're all worried — because it's so easy for something to go wrong, for something really bad to happen, and yoongi doesn't like to think about it very much, if he can avoid. his heart aches with a barely a thought of it. he's seen jungkook hurt, and it shook him too bad.
the band-aid looks a bit funny on the side of jungkook's jaw like that, but it'll have to do. yoongi touches his skin, examining. "my mom used to kiss the bruises i'd get, when i was little," jungkook comments, almost absent-mindedly, except not in the least. when yoongi meets his eye, there's a dare hiding away inside his pupils. "to make it better."
maybe they're a little bit too close, yoongi realizes. he feels his cheeks heating up, involuntarily. "i'm not your mom."
"still."
the word lingers heavily around them. yoongi's saved by a very sleepy-looking taehyung, who immediately flings himself (very gently, very carefully) on jungkook, mumbling good morning, hyung, and what did you already do to your face, you punk. "don't let him break anything, taehyung," yoongi orders, jokingly, but seriously. it's been october for around six hours, and jungkook has already hurt himself once. it'll be a rough one, yoongi reckons.
it's october fifth and jungkook has accumulated twenty-seven small cuts, two weird-looking purple bruises on his arm they have no idea how they came into existence, and one small fracture (left pinky, nothing major). yoongi counts his wounds every other day, grabbing onto jungkook's limbs, pushing his sleeves up, pulling at the hem of his shirt. jungkook doesn't try to stop him.
they avoid planes, cars, buses, and the company plans their concerts and schedules considering jungkook's strange misfortune. october drags itself, each day longer than the one before, and jungkook gets restless, they all do. "hyung," he says, and yoongi glances up immediately. the apartment is quiet, too quiet. jungkook is holding one leg slightly up. "i think i sprained my ankle."
yoongi sighs deeply, putting down the notebook he's been working on. "— sit, i'll get ice."
the ice helps a bit with the swelling, and jungkook goes on about how twenty-thousand people get that same injury every day when yoongi scolds him for jumping out of his bed, i mean, really, stop jumping altogether, kook.
"it should be fine if you rest," yoongi mumbles, jungkook's leg still on his lap, his fingers cold from holding the ice pack against the warm skin.
"rest is the only thing i do in october, hyung," jungkook groans, fidgety, toes curling and uncurling. it's a struggle for him, yoongi guesses, to be that grounded. jungkook is made of thrill rides and raw energy.
"you're not even going to school?"
"no," the reply is mushy. "i could get hurt."
"yeah, you could, i guess." jungkook stares at the muted television, and yoongi stares at him. seeing jungkook remotely wistful tends to puncture holes in his chest. "don't get too depressed, okay?"
he gets a scoff in return. "i'm not." but jungkook's tone of voice implies the sort of unhappiness that makes yoongi's heart weak with pain. he reaches out, then, touching jungkook's hair, touch careful, but tender. jungkook's eyes focus on him, full of questions. when yoongi doesn't say anything, doesn't really evade or ward off like he usually does, jungkook shifts on the couch, until his body is firmly pressed against yoongi's, head on his shoulder, breathing into the collar of his shirt. yoongi lets him cuddle, even if it means jungkook can feel his heartbeat and how it flips into a chaotic mess inside his chest. "i'm going to do that resting now, hyung."
"yeah, you do that, kook."
jungkook falls asleep, yoongi just falls.
it's october eleventh when yoongi wakes up to a body climbing into his bed. the mattress dips, his blankets get pulled, a tentative arm slides around his waist, fingers curling on the fabric of his shirt. "i had a nightmare," jungkook's breath feels warm against the back of yoongi's neck, and it makes his stomach fluttery. "i'm sleeping here."
"— okay," yoongi nods. "tell me."
"i hurt everyone."
"that won't happen."
"how do you know, hyung?"
he doesn't know, that's the truth. yoongi isn't a good liar, but he forces the words out with faked calmness anyway: "i'll keep you away from trouble." jungkook exhales, seemingly less anxious, pulling yoongi closer until their whole bodies are touching. it should feel awkward, intrusive, even, but it doesn't. yoongi wishes it did, so it'd be easier. "did you get hurt today?"
"no," jungkook replies, nose touching the crook of yoongi's neck. "not really."
"good."
"— but my pinky still hurts."
yoongi can tell jungkook's fishing for something — compliments, reassurance, touches. he gives in to it pretty easily as usual, taking the hand that's still holding onto his shirt, bringing it close to his face, close enough to kiss the side of jungkook's finger. jungkook's breath hitches. "that'll make it better," he says, breathy himself. "now sleep, kook."
"can you hold me?"
the pause lingers. "yeah, i can hold you."
they shift against each other and yoongi tries not to look into jungkook's eyes because he's downright flustered. jungkook shrinks against him, humming in content. yoongi dares to press a kiss between his shoulder blades, pulling his shirt down just the slightest. jungkook shudders all over. "that'll make it better," he repeats. there's no bruise there, just jungkook's skin and its softness.
"hyung, i—"
"goodnight, kook."
it's october eighteenth when jungkook falls ill — he spends the night at the hospital, and yoongi doesn't get a minute of sleep, not until he's back, looking pale and sickly. food poisoning. something seokjin cooked, or the take outs taehyung brought in, they don't really know, and it doesn't really matter. yoongi lurks around jungkook the entire day, hands always holding water bottles and thermometers. "i'm feeling fine already, hyung," jungkook hisses when, for the fourteenth time within a very short period of time, yoongi orders him to drink more water.
"you don't look fine."
"it's october."
yoongi exchanges a look with seokjin, who only shrugs. there are good days, and there are days where jungkook is prickly. yoongi is pretty sure he can't kiss his bad mood away — he wants to, though. "are you going to stand there all day and sulk?" seokjin asks, arms crossed. jungkook has settled himself between yoongi and seokjin's beds, on the woollen rug, yoongi's spare pillow under his head.
"maybe."
"well — i'm going to go do some laundry," seokjin tries, and he's not that good of an actor.
"don't forget the fabric softner, hyung," it's jungkook's reply, placid and monotone.
it's apparently too much for seokjin, because he huffs and leaves, and yoongi stays behind, staring at the nonchalant form of jeon jungkook. he still has the hospital wristband on him. it takes yoongi a few minutes to scavenge for scissors, and then he's kneeling beside jungkook, holding his hand, and jungkook has a look on his face, all dark eyes and implying stare. yoongi cuts the wristband, pretending unaffectedness. "we're just taking care of you," he says, voice low.
"— i'm sorry."
"do you need anything?"
jungkook licks the corner of his lips, and yoongi doesn't know where else to look. "kiss it better, hyung."
ah, yoongi wants to, he really wants to. but the door behind them is open, he can hear voices in the next room. so he leans in, kissing jungkook's forehead instead, barely a brush of his lips, the stingy sensation spreading and fading away quickly, much like the pain after a paper cut.
it's october twenty-second and it's almost the end. the inhabitants of the apartment seem more relaxed, less frightened. nothing major happened, jungkook's in one piece, a few bruises, some deeper wounds, but nothing crippling. yoongi sits beside him on the couch, taehyung is on his other side, jimin is spread on the floor, hoseok is napping on the armchair. a movie yoongi has lost interest in plays on the television. jungkook's fingers draw patterns on the palm of his hand under the covers.
"hyung," he hums, leaning closer, the tip of his nose scraping against yoongi's jaw, seemingly unplanned, but completely deliberate. yoongi feels himself blush. "could you help me change my bandages?"
"ask seokjin-hyung," yoongi replies quietly. "i'm watching the movie."
jungkook huffs. "— but they're itchy."
"ask—"
"it's starting to hurt, too."
if there's one thing jungkook does best is to play with yoongi's weakness for him. at the very mention of pain, yoongi turns to look at jungkook, their faces close. "okay," he nods, pulling jungkook up with him, dragging him by the wrist to the bedroom, closing the door behind them.
jungkook has two deep cuts on the side of his body, a result of slipping in the bathtub and breaking the glass door two days ago. he got stitches, too, twelve of them. yoongi cleaned the bloody mess he left behind. "take off your shirt," he stammers, because it feels weird to say it, even though yoongi is always pulling on jungkook's shirt to check on his bruises. jungkook complies, sitting on the bed.
kneeling in front of him, yoongi touches the skin over jungkook's ribs, feeling him quiver. the cuts are ugly, but healing. he works silently, under the scrutiny of jungkook's stare. sometimes jungkook flinches, hissing. "you're being a baby," yoongi tells him, clicking his tongue.
"i'm not," jungkook snorts. yoongi finishes bandaging him, knees hurting against the carpet. "are you going to kiss it better, hyung?"
yoongi has to look up to find jungkook's eyes and all the things in it, hands still holding onto jungkook's sides. he knows very well what jungkook's doing, and still, like always, like it'll always be, probably, definitely, he gives in. the kiss is placed sort of awkwardly, right between the eighth and seventh ribs, but it makes jungkook sigh nonetheless. "you're warm," yoongi says, eyes closed, lips still against jungkook's skin. "did you take the meds?"
"yes, hyung," jungkook's breathing has turned mildly shallow.
when yoongi pulls away, he looks like a red mess. "that'll make it better."
or it won't.
it's october twenty-fifth when yoongi hears the sniffing coming from the bathroom. it's half past two, he's just back from the studio, the apartment should be sleeping with its occupants, but somebody's crying. yoongi doesn't really have to ask. "jungkook, open the door."
"i'm okay—"
"open it." jungkook has red, puffy eyes and a sheepish look on his face when the door swings open. he doesn't really look into yoongi's eyes. "talk."
yoongi speaks in orders, jungkook blurts out unsure words. he tried helping out in the kitchen earlier, caused a mess because death is after him, hoseok cut his hand, taehyung stepped on shards of broken glass. "fucking curse," he stutters, voice cut with weak sobs, and yoongi is making him chocolate milk, because he can't trust himself to sit still around jungkook these days.
"we're almost through it," yoongi pushes the mug towards jungkook. "it isn't your fault."
they sit in silence, jungkook drinks the milk, yoongi watches him from the other side of the table. it's sort of a been there, done that situation — october most often than not ends up with tears and late night cooking. this time, though, it is only the both of them and the ghosts of lingering touches and healing kisses. "can i sleep with you again, hyung?" jungkook asks when he's finished.
"yeah, sure," yoongi nods, smiling. jungkook looks less sadstruck.
seokjin is asleep, but they don't make any noises, tiptoeing around the bed until they're both tucked in and yoongi's arms are around jungkook, because jungkook — taller, broader jungkook — likes to be held, and yoongi — smaller, thinner — likes to feel him against his chest. he doesn't kiss jungkook this time, because they both fall asleep too easily, each other's breathing tangling, nighttime's lullaby.
("morning, hyung," jungkook mutters when yoongi's eyes flutter open, voice raspy filled with sleepness. they must have turned during the night, because jungkook's facing him, face close, breath hot. "seokjin-hyung told us to go have breakfast."
"are you feeling better?" that's all yoongi really cares about. he follows his ritualistic process of checking jungkook's wounds, and jungkook follows his ritualistic process of giving yoongi control of his body. the cuts on his ribs are still purple and crusty and overall disgusting, but aside for that, jungkook's mostly in one piece.
"i'm feeling better, hyung," the reply is soft, and jungkook gets closer, boyish features pretty under the hazy morning light coming in through the windows. when yoongi doens't look away, jungkook gets flustered, a bright redness to his cheeks.
"don't get shy on me, jeon jungkook."
"— maybe you should kiss it better, hyung."
yoongi does so, lips touching the corner of jungkook's mouth, just between what's right and what's wrong. jungkook stiffens, eyes wide, blushing furiously. "don't get hurt today.")
it's october twenty-eighth, and jungkook looks happier, even after falling the small flight of stairs in front of the company's building. three purple bruises on his left arm, a scratch on his knee, and yoongi pulls him closer the moment they're alone to kiss it all better. "i'm not kissing that nasty knee," he says, though, making a face at jungkook's legs.
"just kiss me, then," jungkook blurts out, voice anxious, reliant on yoongi's approval. yoongi feels himself stiffen, nervously.
"you could kiss me for once, my head hurts," he finds himself saying, jokingly, not really hoping for anything, but wondering how far jungkook wants to take the game they've been playing. jungkook looks completely in distress, a mess of shyness and too much yearning. "i'm kidding, let's go—"
"okay." yoongi freezes when jungkook tentatively touches the side of his face, as if not knowing exactly what to do with his hands, and he pulls yoongi slowly and softly until he's kissing his forehead, and then his eyebrows, and eyelids, and cheekbones, hands holding tighter, daring to scrape at the back of his neck, trailing very delicate kisses all over yoongi's face. yoongi feels like he's on fire. "— does it feel better, hyung?" the question is posed in between fluttery touches of his lips against yoongi's jawline.
the answer comes out so breathy is barely audible: "yes."
yoongi thinks he would've lost the game if only one of their managers' voices hadn't rang outside, too close to them, making them quickly disembroil, hearts racing against ribcages. jungkook seems completely hassled, which results in four new injuries throughout the day. yoongi never really had a headache, but now he does.
it's october thirty-first, and it's ten hours from the end. yoongi burns his fingers on the frying pan. "shit—" he hisses, shoving his hand under cold water. seokjin mumbles seems like you're catching up with the curse, and yoongi huffs in return. water does nothing for his burn, so he leaves seokjin to do the cooking, dragging himself to the bathroom.
jungkook comes to stand on the doorway, watchful. "that looks ugly, hyung," the comment is a bit awkward, shy, even, and yoongi shrugs at jungkook, spreading burnaid gel all over his hand. "do you need help?"
"not really."
there's nothing to do, besides waiting for the gel to dry or whatever it does. jungkook holds yoongi's hand, though, staring at the burnt fingers as if they're precious. next thing he knows and yoongi has to hold his breath in, lungs complaining, because jungkook blows at his fingers, hot air from his breath constrasting vividly against the coldness of the gel. it's exquisite and painful and oh so pleasant. jungkook seems to realize yoongi's disordered respiration, because he steps away, bewildered. "sorry, i just—"
"maybe you should kiss it better."
it's yoongi who closes the door, locking it behind them. "hyung, i—"
"just don't move around much, this bathroom is a hazard for you," yoongi cuts in, and when he kisses jungkook, he can feel him laugh. it's a somewhat rushed kiss, yoongi doing all the leading, jungkook doing all the copying, eager, golden student. he kisses like he's waiting for the world to collapse around them. it's still october, anyway. "go slow," yoongi breathes against him. jungkook pulls away just slightly, tongue still hanging out, breathing heavy through his mouth, forehead against yoongi's. "— i need to go back to cooking."
"let me sleep with you, hyung."
yoongi would rather not think about it much, but he nods rapidly, and then they're untangling their limbs, the pain on the tips of his fingers long forgotten, and seokjin doesn't comment on the disheveled sight that is min yoongi when he returns to the kitchen, huffing and in disarray.
(it's november fourth and jungkook gets scolded by the coordi noonas, you're all purple, wasn't the curse over last week, you should be careful, and yoongi shrinks two seats away. they dress jungkook in ruffled collars and long sleeves, and later on the day, when they get to find time for themselves, jungkook pretends to be mad. it doesn't last that long. "stop being a baby," yoongi tells him, tugging at his fancy blouse. jungkook opens his mouth to complain a bit more, yoongi bites on his bottom lip to stop him. "i'll kiss it better.")