Archive of Our Own ^beta

when namjoon asks him who his type is, yoongi doesn’t really think about it. in his head, he’s always had this idea that whoever he’d end up with would be someone - anyone, he didn’t care - that would have the same interests as him and would keep his interest. someone he could talk to.

“okay,” namjoon rolls his eyes, “but i meant, like - appearance wise.”

“yoongi-hyung is an ass and legs man,” hoseok laughs, booming, and yoongi shoots him an annoyed glare but doesn’t correct him because it’s...true.

thing is: half his friends are obsessed with finding someone for him to date or even just fuck. he’s pretty sure that at this point, they just want him to spend more time with real people rather than the glow of the computer screen on saturday nights and coffee. but yoongi doesn’t really? give a fuck? and he doesn’t really want to go looking. there are a shitton of other things to do and so little time to do them; so when namjoon and hoseok and taehyung ask him about his ideal type and who he wants to date and if he wants to go on a fucking blind date -

“no thanks,” is his consistent and constant dry answer. because he’s the oldest of their group, they all shut up and comply unhappily. he has no idea why his friends are so crazily invested in his fucking private life, but whatever.

the person in yoongi’s mind that he’ll be with - because, honestly, he’s thought about it the way other twenty-something year old guys do, someone to hold at night and someone to get your rocks off with, yoongi isn’t any different in that aspect - is a foggy figure. it could be both male or female, but he really has no damn preference. somehow he’s always expected it to be someone his age or maybe older; he’s always found sophistication attractive, the sleek aesthetic beauty of the city something to covet. so, if he thought of that person, he thought it would be someone like him: with dark clothes and urban style. he thought he would find the attraction growing in him by underscored colors and muted purples, blues, grays.

he does not expect the attraction he feels when he first meets jeon jungkook.

they’re in hongdae when it happens; yoongi is in his thickest coat, trying to pull it closer so he doesn’t feel the autumn breeze too much. there’s some sort of festival going on right now; he’s not sure about what, though. originally, he came here to scope out other musical indie artists, but now he’s caught by the revolving lights and colors. it’s only 3 in the afternoon, yet it makes the entire world seem bright and full of life.

there’s a lot of people dressed in numerous ways; dressed in elaborate and eye catching clothing, their bows oversized, shoes sequined. dressed in ways yoongi might have never thought of people dressing before. half of them are women, and half of them are men. some of them show off skin even though it’s cold, but yoongi supposes that with all the walking and waving they’re doing, they probably don’t feel it.

that’s when taehyung says, “hey, there’s jimin!” and he starts waving at the crowd brightly, nearly jumping in place. namjoon has to hold taehyung back so that he doesn’t run into the crowd and accidentally cause a scene. (taehyung is causing a scene anyway.) “yo, jimin! looking good, man!”

as the festival continues on and the people keep moving around, there’s a boy with wide cheeks and a white smile that waves back at taehyung. yoongi has to blink for a moment; he’s a little bit shorter, wearing a black and white striped shirt that’s obviously too big for him and shorts - shorts, of all things, and boots that have more buckle on them than actual leather. on his neck is a sleek black choker with a tiny silver pendant; the only color on him is his bright shock of orange hair.

“taehyung!” jimin calls back, obviously excited. “oh my god, you actually showed up, you punk!”

“screw you!” taehyung says, elated, and then give each other a fond hug. yoongi and namjoon hang back just like that, looking at each other with perplexed glances. it doesn’t matter much: taehyung pretty much knows everyone.

when they pull away, taehyung has an arm over the other’s shoulder. “hey, guys, okay - this is my best friend in the entire fucking world, jimin! we met in class on the first day of semester and i’m telling you, it was meant to be, man.”

“friendship that can kill,” jimin fistbumps him, laughing. “nice to meet you, i’m park jimin. i’m a fourth year and the only reason i can do this shit is because i just filed for graduation, but then the learning doesn’t stop there, ha.”

“congrats,” namjoon says, smiling a little with his dimple. “i’m doing my ph.d in psychology here. kim namjoon.”

jimin shakes his hand, eyes wide. “you look super young for a thirty year old.”

“that’s cause namjoon-hyung is like, twenty two. he’s a genius. fucking insane, man.”

“whoa,” jimin boggles.

“this is yoongi-hyung!” taehyung motions excitedly at yoongi.

“hi,” he says, shifting from one foot to the other. “my name is min yoongi. i’m twenty three, doing my masters in musical theory.”

jimin also shakes his hand; it’s a firm grip. he has a big smile and an almost infectious attitude - just like taehyung.

“so cool to finally meet you guys,” jimin rolls his eyes pointedly at taehyung. “tae talks so much about the kind of shit you guys get up to. pretty sure he doesn’t mention me because half the stuff we do he’s too embarrassed to talk about,” jimin gives a toothy grin, which - honestly even gets yoongi kind of intrigued. taehyung’s face goes red and he slaps a hand over jimin’s mouth.

“stop,” is all he says feebly.

namjoon snorts. “listen, me and yoongs couldn’t care less about prying the info from your hands. be glad that hobi had work or else you would never hear the end of it.” it’s true. hoseok is invested in everyone’s lives.

jimin pushes taehyung aside fondly and says, “anyway, i gotta get back - i completely left jungkook alone near the dancing crew and he’s going to get pissed off at me.”

“you left jungkook alone? i’ll come with you!” taehyung turns, beams, “hyungs, want to come too?”

that’s how yoongi and namjoon end up going around the area looking for some bright eyed kid, by the way jimin explains him. yoongi is still baffled by how he and the other people that are wearing just as much as jimin is are not cold in this weather; yoongi feels like his nose is about to fall off. namjoon snorts and tells him that he just feels the cold too much, more than normal people.

who they end up finding, yoongi finds, is a dark haired boy with long legs and an umbrella. he’s holding it by his side, the strap dangling from his fingers, a beige and white backpack on his shoulders; he has an annoyed look on his face when jimin finally runs up to him.

“jungkook, forgive hyung, i saw tae and i couldn’t help myself!”

the boy, jungkook, rolls his eyes. “hyung, let’s just go home,” he mutters.

he, too, is wearing shorts like jimin, except his somehow looks shorter because of the shirt he’s wearing that brushes down against his thighs. it’s just a simple white shirt; he’s got on black and white converse and pastel blue socks that go up to his ankles. there’s a matching blue piece of cloth in his hand.

other than that, though, his hair looks kinda windswept and he looks a little bit messy and unpleased at the fact that he’s messy, constantly smoothing down wrinkles in his shirt and rubbing at his knee like he got hurt.

yoongi doesn’t know why, but he can’t look away.

in fact, namjoon has to physically edge him with his shoulder so that yoongi remembers to move again along with taehyung, jungkook, and jimin, the three of them heading toward some sandwich shop.

“hyung, i don’t want anything to eat,” jungkook says, sticking close to jimin. he gives taehyung a perfunctory glance and a small smile, but to namjoon and yoongi he doesn’t partake in any more conversation after his introduction. that’s all fine by namjoon, who shakes his hand. yoongi draws back into his more reticent self, nodding at jungkook’s brief, “my name is jeon jungkook. please take care of me.”

“you say that now, but then you’re going to pick off food from my plate,” jimin admonishes. he hums a little. “say, kook, do you have your jacket on you? the leather one?”

“no, i’m not cold,” jungkook replies, and all yoongi can think is how the fuck.

“here, man, you can borrow mine,” taehyung says, fumbling with his army green jacket so he can put it over jimin’s shoulders. jimin grins at him and accepts it gratefully. even with the cold breeze, he’s still walking fine, jumping in place a little when they have to stop a couple times for the crowd to thin out. jungkook, for his part, doesn’t look cold at all.

at the toast place, they sit at one booth while namjoon goes to place everyone’s orders, jimin paying for jungkook’s meal. yoongi finds himself across the youngest, flickering over his dark hair to see namjoon far off in the distance at the counter. jungkook takes out lip balm - cherry flavored - and puts it on, swiping it over his bottom lip in one easy sweep. not that yoongi is watching.

he hands it over to jimin, who also uses it, before taehyung takes it out of his hands and laughs. “don’t you have a pack of these, jungkookie?”

“he’s obsessed with lip products.”

“am not,” jungkook argues, taking it back. the guilty look on his face, though, is telling enough. yoongi finds himself smiling; everyone has that one awful obsession they can’t get rid of. his personal poison is all kumamon-themed things, truthfully.

“so, yoongi-ssi, what do you like doing the best at school? you’re doing your masters in music, right?” jimin asks, trying to make conversation to fill their empty spaces.

“yeah,” yoongi says. everything else after that falls flat, yet jimin doesn’t seem perturbed. taehyung slaps him on the shoulder and says, “yoongi-hyung is always like that, a man of few words. well, verbally. some of the time. he’s chatty when he’s eating.”

yoongi gives him a look that goes entirely over taehyung’s head. from the corner of his eye, he can see jungkook smile.

namjoon comes back with their sandwiches and squeezes his big frame into the seat next to yoongi. he pushes out a quick, “sorry, hyung” when he accidentally tips over the napkin holder, causing taehyung to scramble to fix it all before they fall on the floor.

at the end of the night, they all share contacts and kakaotalk ids. jungkook is a bit ways taller than him but tends to stick to the back of groups, a wallflower even with his bright colors. he picks at his kumamon phone case and waits for the rest to finish before waving back once with jimin as they leave, disappearing into the night.

taehyung watches after them leave with a strange look; yoongi catches it for a second before he wipes it from his face. namjoon elbows him in the side. “you didn’t tell us you had a crush, tae.”

for one thing, they both expect him to deny it. taehyung has never been good with who he likes and who he doesn’t like; often times, yoongi has seen him vehemently deny his like for someone in the studio room when someone teases him about it, face turning an awful shade of red. he denies, denies, denies. at first they all thought it was general denial, the type some shy kids do when they don't want to admit their soft crushes, but now - after a couple of years - yoongi knows that it’s got something to do with the fact that taehyung’s dad is an asshole, and being raised by said asshole has left some scars.

so it comes as a surprise when taehyung says, “yeah.” that’s all, staring off in the distance where jungkook and jimin’s forms have disappeared. “i do. but i don’t want him to know.”

it’s a first. a quiet sort of tantamount strength that leaves both namjoon and yoongi quiet in it’s wake. they look at each other and nod, namjoon putting a hand on taehyung’s shoulder in a silent agreement. yoongi pats him on the shoulder and says, “c’mon, kid. we’re heading home.”

/

the next time that he sees jungkook is in the school’s cafe. there’s a large, wide open space for all the students to sit, encompassed by the low hanging walls and the large floor to ceiling windows, bringing in natural light. jungkook is sitting in a corner, his legs folded beneath him as he types away on his laptop with it’s baby blue case. he looks like a spot of color against the grayscale walls and steel fixtures. yoongi stops a little bit in surprise, unable to help but stare at the headphones over jungkook’s ears, the way he clicks away on his laptop without a care. he looks like the typical college student, but he also looks - a little bit alone.

sitting cross legged on the floor is not really yoongi’s style, seeing as how he rarely does it in public - why sit on the floor when chairs exist? - but he sighs and makes an exception. jungkook ends up pulling his headphones away when he notices someone sitting next to him, and blinks at yoongi in confusion as the elder opens up his bag to get to his lunch.

“um,” jungkook starts, “yoongi-ssi, right?”

“right,” yoongi says. “sorry, there’s no space and you’re the only familiar face around.”

it’s true; at this time, nearly all of the seats are taken. yoongi’s staying at the university until at least eight today, though, so he doesn’t plan on leaving just to come back. a waste of energy.

he cracks open his bowl of soup and then gets to his kimchi packet. he feels a little bit like he’s 19 again and he’s sitting on the floor of his dorm room, feeding himself underneath the seedy overhead light while his roommate is trying to study for his test tomorrow morning. yoongi keeps this to himself. jungkook goes back to his music, slipping the headphones on once more. yoongi is halfway done through his music before jungkook pulls down his headphones, both of them this time, and turns to yoongi.

“this doesn’t bother you?”

yoongi closes his soup bowl with a sharp snap of its lid. “what doesn’t bother me?”

jungkook makes a wide movement where he gestures to all of his body. to the pale pink shirt he has on underneath his denim overalls, the ends of which are rolled up to his calves. he’s got on converse with socks the same color as his shirt underneath. there’s a black choker wrapped around his neck made of thin lace.

yoongi is - still confused. “what?”

jungkook pauses, his eyebrows furrowing. his mouth is pink. yoongi remembers, vaguely, how jimin said the younger had an obsession with lip balm. yoongi wonders if that extends to lip tints, too. “this. what i’m wearing.”

“why the fuck would i care?” yoongi deadpans.

jungkook tilts his head when he looks at yoongi considering, and then he smiles. “true.” he closes his laptop and sets it in his bag; yoongi watches his limbs move, his hands gently putting all of them away in what looks like a packed light beige and white bag. “some people have a problem with it, so i just had to ask.”

“that’s shitty,” yoongi says, for a lack of anything else to say. he moves uncomfortably as jungkook sits cross-legged now, leaning against the wall.

“when does your break end, yoongi-ssi?”

“around two thirty.”

“mine ends at two,” jungkook says. “what a coincidence, huh?”

yoongi doesn’t believe in coincidences, no matter how often they may happen. he shrugs in return and continues to sit at a ninety degree angle from jungkook, wiping his hands off on a napkin. he feels warm, which is good, faced with the slow cold moving in with the end of autumn.

“aren’t you ever cold?” yoongi asks instead, aware of the exposure of jungkook’s collarbones, the tiny sliver of skin between the tops of his ankle socks and the bottom of his rolled up denim.

jungkook nods; “sometimes, in the winter, usually. i don’t get cold easily.” as if to prove a point, he pulls up his hands, covered in pink sweater paws. then he smiles again and worries his bangs, the tips of his fingers barely peeking through his clothes. only his pinky finger has nail polish on it, a sort of grayish pink that glimmers if you don’t look at it too closely. he fiddles with his bangs, shaking his head to fix errant strands, before resting his hand on his lap where it was before. a nervous tick.

“well, don’t get sick,” yoongi adds quietly. far be it from him to tell someone else what to do.

jungkook’s mouth curls up in assurance. “don’t worry, i won’t!”

“no one’s worrying here.”

“okay, yoongi-ssi,” jungkook says, a teasing note in his voice.

“just call me hyung, kid, i’m not used to people calling me yoongi-ssi when i’m sitting on the floor for them.”

“hyung,” jungkook agrees, not saying a word about how yoongi let out a piece of information that he was trying to keep to himself; that he sat on the floor for jungkook, not for himself. but jungkook doesn’t seem to notice, so yoongi relaxes his shoulders and takes off his beanie. while he’s doing that, jungkook says, “you’re a nice guy, hyung.”

“where’d you get that from?” yoongi says, wincing when he accidentally drops his beanie on the floor. damn, that’s dirty as fuck.

jungkook shrugs. “i dunno. i guess when someone sits next to someone else because they seem alone that makes them a nice person, you know? you could have gone outside or sat somewhere else. you could have pretended not to know me, but you didn’t.”

yoongi can’t wrap his head around that; who would pretend not to know you? how could someone not want to know more about someone who looks this interesting, who wears bright pretty clothes and looks so obviously put together when everyone else doesn’t?

“you’d be surprised,” jungkook remarks, and yoongi stiffens to think he said that all outloud. thankfully, he didn’t, just the first part. “you won’t believe the things i’ve been called just because i like wearing pink. and shorts.”

yoongi frowns. “that’s not fuckin’ cool. i’d expect that kind of shit from high school, but in college?”

“yeah,” jungkook bites his lip. “i mean, i’m used to it. not many people can look as good as i do, you know?” he gives a trembling little smile at that, a look that seems like it can crack at any moment. yoongi doesn’t know why he feels so fragile, why jungkook bares so much of his heart at first meeting, but it makes yoongi stop in his tracks. he’s heard words like that before - false confidence to hide insecurity inside, a cover to close up wounds and burn them away.

“anyone gives you a hard time,” yoongi starts, “just tell me.”  

jungkook snorts. “what can you do, yoongi-hyung? we just met.”

“i’ll punch ‘em.” he deadpans.

that, at least, makes jungkook’s smile seem a little bit more genuine. “okay, i’ll be expecting big things. lots of heroics.”

“yeah,” yoongi says, unaware of what exactly he’s signed up for, but knowing that if it can get him a smile like that again, he doesn’t really mind.

jungkook ends up texting yoongi a picture of him over kakaotalk, sitting with his bowl of take out soup and his scowling down at his hand where he got some kimchi (kimchi fucking stains, shit). since they’re still sitting across from each other, yoongi sends back a picture of jungkook typing on his phone and looking like the typical stupid teenager.

this, somehow, is what begins their relationship.

yoongi means relationship as in friendship. it’s an odd friendship but then again, what is a ‘normal’ friend anyway? there are odd texts sent to him in the next few days up to saturday. jungkook’s profile picture is of him with a periwinkle sweater (he’s amazed he even knows what color periwinkle is) and a big plush bunny covering the lower half of his face. his background is that of a ferris wheel from an angle. yoongi’s is pretty much just a selca where he doesn’t look shitty and his background is his dog.

jungkook sends him pictures, mostly; a lot of them are dumb memes and random pictures he takes of the world around him, the light hitting the top of a steel building, little birds prancing around his feet. sometimes he sends screenshots of posts that are transphobic and homophobic and says i don’t know why i look at these; they just hurt, but i can’t stop. it’s catharsis, yoongi realizes, looking at the hate and somehow realizing that it’s for you, internalizing that hurt because maybe somewhere inside of you, you believe that you deserve it. but jungkook doesn’t. he doesn’t deserve to feel like shit for just being who he is.

he sends back stupid things (in his opinion) and short responses with choice words about what he thinks about those posts, and jungkook is almost always ready to respond. somehow, they delve into talks about this stuff, about jungkook and how most of the time he likes using him/he, but then there are some days he wants to be called she/her (those days are few in between, yoongi also learns) and how jungkook just likes pretty things, like pastel colors and lights and accessories and how just because he likes those things, other people get to tell him who he is.

it’s not fair, hyung, jungkook texts him, once, when they’ve stayed up until 2am to talk about it. it’s not fair that someone judges who i am from how i look.

yoongi, mind half gone from the lack of sleep, wonders what he’s doing. wonders why he’s talking to jungkook because he feels out of his depth. he’s always tried to let people be who they are without judging them, because he found that when he didn’t even know himself, how could he judge others? but then here’s jungkook, who presses at every boundary, who yoongi can already tell is passionate and hardworking and stubborn just from the week he’s known him.

you look pretty, is what yoongi texts back, and as soon as he sends it, he doesn’t know why he did. in fact, he blankly stares at the sent words before shooting up in bed, rubbing the back of his neck and cursing slightly to himself. for the longest time, jungkook doesn’t answer; there’s no waiting sign that says that jungkook is responding, but the little number one beside his text is gone; jungkook definitely saw it.

yoongi thinks about his awful tendency to say stupid shit after 1am, and wishes he had someone to stop him from making bad decisions. then. jungkook texts back, do you think so? and there’s. definitely. some sort of flirty inflection there. yoongi thinks about writing something back, something witty and maybe something cool, but then he thinks about jungkook smiling at him, the tip of the iceberg, and -

he finds himself answering honestly. yeah, i do.

jungkook sends back a smiley face.

yoongi goes to sleep like that.

in the morning, he has four texts; three of them from jungkook, one of them from namjoon.

jungkook’s says: hyung, there’s this art gallery that i want to go to. i really like painting, and i have three tickets. i gave one of them away to a friend who lost his, but jimin and taehyung don’t want to go, so will you go with me?

not that i wouldn’t have asked you in the first place, because i really would have, but i didn’t want to bother you! and usually jimin and taehyung hyungs indulge me more so

you must be asleep, good night then!

and namjoon says: yo hyung, do you have any chocolate chips?

namjoon’s was sent at four am. yoongi honest to god doesn’t want to know.

to jungkook, he doesn’t even think twice; when and where? he knows that jungkook doesn’t want to offend him by making it seem like he was a third option, and it’s quite obvious from the way he’s sent a bunch of stickers in between. indulge, he’d said. not actually enjoyed. yoongi is brushing his teeth when he gets an answer (and he completely didn’t rush to finish so he’d get to his phone faster, ha, he’s not in that deep); jungkook texts him the address and a tentative, is three okay?

yoongi has a feeling that even if it wasn’t okay, he’d clear his schedule for the kid anyway. he texts back a confirmation.

/

it’s getting to be the end of october and the wind is starting to pick up even more. yoongi waits in front of the large art gallery while looking out toward the stairs, wonderingly looking at all the sights before him; there’s a large fountain that’s a pleasure to just gaze at. there’s a lot of other people there that simply mill around, some of them coming in and out of the exhibit. yoongi reads the name on the information card even if he doesn’t recognize the girl. she’s got a tough life, this and that, and her work is based on the the struggles she had transitioning from being an orphanage to the adopted daughter of chaebol.

jungkook shows up a moment later, in a white shirt patterned with tiny ice creams of different and varying colors, tucked into a - skirt. a light pink skirt that ends a couple of inches above the knee. he’s got on knee high white socks with two cerulean stripes at the ends and a couple of simple silver bangles on one wrist. there’s nothing else on him except for his white sneakers and his usual beige backpack.

yoongi blinks and thinks, isn’t he cold? when he looks back at jungkook’s face, the other looks just a touch bit pleased before he stands next to yoongi, the shoes making him still a bit taller than normal.

“still he/him, please,” jungkook says quietly, and yoongi nods. he opens the door for jungkook and they both walk into the heated hallways. the walls are a soft white, dimly lit by the circular lights above. there are words printed onto the walls that yoongi skims over in his cursory glance of the place; the floors are made of light wood that give the place some color. jungkook grabs onto his elbow briefly, pulling yoongi in a certain direction.

“over here, hyung,” he says, and yoongi notices a glint near his hair; a tiny clip with dotted white gems, holding back his parted bangs. it rouses something - almost curious in yoongi. he follows after jungkook, listening to the steps of his shoes as he leads them through the halls.

they get to a gallery that is different from the others; the walls are all a matte black inside of white, and the words are written all over the place instead of just in one. jungkook stops to look at them for a while, then says, “i usually don’t like coming to art shows. i like painting, but not art shows. so it makes jimin and taehyung-hyung annoyed when i ask them to come with me.”

yoongi makes a noise to show that he’s listening. jungkook continues, “since i come to them rarely, halfway in between i get bored. that’s why people don’t usually like coming with me.” he shrugs, kicking something beneath his feet. “thanks for coming, hyung.”

“no problem,” yoongi says automatically, but it’s obvious that it means more than just helping a friend out. jungkook smiles, hesitant at first, before he heads into the crowd of people standing near a curator, their eyes focused on the man talking rather than on the new figure in between their ranks, standing below a couple of tall guys but taller than most of the women in between. yoongi joins him after a moment. somehow time that seem like it's being wasted feels like there is a reason to them after all.

jungkook is entranced by the paintings in front of him, but just as he said about himself, he gets his fill before he looking distracted. he turns this way and that, pulls at his bag straps, shuffling around. it’s almost like he has to keep moving or else he’ll feel like he’s trapped or held down. yoongi finds himself just staring at the other rather than at the paintings or pictures or portraits of juxtapositions between the rich and the poor. criticisms from someone who has lived both lives and went out displeased with both.

jungkook heads back, looking after a certain picture. in it is a man with his face have covered by the shadows, cleaning up a shattered glass chandelier in a glass house. he himself is dirty and covered in scratches and dust, but everything he touches seems to be clean. yoongi stands next to him as the curator moves away to the next exhibit room. the picture’s name is glass ceiling. he doesn’t know, for sure, why jungkook’s attention is so piqued; all he can do is stand beside him and look at the tiny details of the photograph. yoongi, as an amaeteur photographer himself, can appreciate the way the broken glass on the floor crinkles and folds, glimmers in barely there light. it feels like a light, airy picture, but there’s a darkness in the man’s clothes right in the middle that makes it seem bleak.

“i came here for this one, hyung,” jungkook says suddenly. “i really wanted to see this one. glass ceilings.”

“it’s beautiful,” yoongi says, because it is, in it’s own defunct way.

“my older brother is the model,” jungkook tells him quietly. “you can’t see his face, but that’s him. he models on and off, and i always find where his galleries are in seoul if he’s in one of them. this is the third one in the year so far.”

there’s a tone in his voice that screams don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch, but yoongi thinks jungkook brought him because jungkook doesn’t look like he has much friends and he needs someone, yoongi supposes, to hold him up, to be behind him, someone to hide next to. whenever he’s seen jungkook, he’s always either with someone or covered by his headphones and his phone and his laptop. clutching onto the straps of his backpack like it’s a lifeline.

“want to take a picture?”

jungkook looks away, blinking. “take a picture of a photograph?”

yoongi shrugs. “you can send it to your hyung, show him you came.”

for a while, jungkook is quiet. then he says, “my hyung doesn’t want to see me again.”

this doesn’t bother you?

or maybe, maybe, he needs someone to keep him from breaking, even if that someone has to be a stranger. glass ceilings.

yoongi reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. casual touches, but his bones jerk like he’s touching something that shouldn’t be touched. ignoring it is a matter of reminding himself that people are people are people are people -

“want to get coffee?” he asks, eyes flickering down to jungkook’s hands, where his knuckles have turned white from holding onto his bag. “i think you’re a little bit cold.”

jungkook doesn’t get cold easily, but yoongi knows that if you get used to being freezing for so long, it feels like nothing anymore.

there’s no coffee shop nearby that doesn’t serve exorbitantly expensive coffee (even though the cups are fucking small) so yoongi and jungkook end up taking the train to a less expensive part of town and heading into the first chain coffee shop they see - which just so happens to be starbucks. yoongi doesn’t like going to starbucks (the coffee there always tastes a bit burnt) but he’ll take whatever he can get. jungkook doesn’t get any coffee, chooses to calm himself with a hot chocolate dashed with cinnamon for the fall season. whenever he moves, yoongi can see the lines of his limbs. it makes him feel guilty; how is jungkook not cold?

he gets his answer when he passes jungkook his drink after picking it up. his hands are as cold as ice.

yoongi gives the younger an unimpressed stare at jungkook doesn’t react to. “when were you going to say you were - “

“i’m not cold,” jungkook says quietly. “a little weather doesn’t bother me, hyung.”

“your hands are freezing.”

“maybe you’re just too warm.”

“you could get sick,” yoongi says, and he doesn’t know why he cares so much. sure, he himself hates being cold, but what does he care if someone else is cold? he never has before. seeing people on the streets for so long has made him immune. hardened parts of his heart. even yoongi becomes used to things. he gets sick easily and he hates it, because getting sick means doing less work. means more to catch up on later. yoongi is not good with stress, finds it pressing down on him like rocks on his spine, like hands squeezing the air out of his lungs.

“i won’t get sick, i have a good immune system,” jungkook replies, taking a pointed sip of his drink.

“you’re wearing a skirt. you’re gonna get cold no matter what.”

his cheeks get a little colored, faded. “there’s shorts attached to it,” he says, almost defensive.

“next time, just wear something that you won’t freeze in,” is all yoongi is saying, before his mouth catches up to his head. he stiffens for a moment, but jungkook either doesn’t care or hasn’t noticed his little slip up. next time.

the problem with yoongi is that he gets too attached, too quickly. he gets close to people, the way they speak and the way they tell their stories, without opening up too much of himself in the process. the problem with yoongi is that he feels stuck in one point of time while everyone else is moving on, leaving him behind in the dirt. yoongi finds himself thinking about people who have long stopped thinking about him, and thinking about people he will never meet.

“okay, i’ll make sure to do that, hyung,” jungkook says eventually, reaching up to fix the clip in his hair. his hands are almost the same size as yoongi’s, but he uses his fingers in a much more flighty way, fingertips touching the edge of things with utmost precision, with light caresses, almost like he wants to not be there at all.

yoongi realizes that jungkook has a way of melting into the background if he tries hard enough. sure, people stare, people look around and trace their eyes over the pleats in jungkook’s skirt and his thigh length socks and his nicely done hair, but they don’t come over and talk to him as jungkook hunches over and makes himself seem smaller. the oddest juxtaposition he is, just like that photograph; glass ceilings, trying to hide but unable to be left unnoticed. clad in bright colors yet wanting to blend in with shadows. trying to be who he is and hiding himself at the same time.

must be exhausting, yoongi thinks, and buys him another hot chocolate wordlessly, even takes the train with him home, even walks him to his dorm building entrance. yoongi’s feet follows him and he’s not entirely sure why, still standing there a minute after jungkook waves at him, half smiling in thanks, disappearing into the dorm hall.

/

namjoon comes out of his room after a good three days of being shut inside and gives yoongi a bleak look. after that, he attempts to find something to eat for himself, but there’s only so much that’s in their fridge when both of their cooking skills amount to making ramen and heating up frozen food. yoongi hears namjoon groan all the way from the kitchen, even with his noise cancelling headphones on.

waiting a moment for the younger to come out, yoongi is entirely unsurprised when namjoon leaves the kitchen with a pitiful look on his face, his eyes strained with dark circles underneath him. yoongi snorts into his sleeve. “welcome back.”

“you have no business preaching at me, yoongs,” namjoon grumps, rubbing his eye. “why’s there no food.”

“probably ‘cause i ate it.”

“and you didn’t buy more.”

yoongi shrugs. “it’s your turn for groceries.” he also left countless bowls of ramen outside namjoon’s room and energy drinks, but the other certainly doesn’t count what he’s eating when he’s in the zone. yoongi doesn’t care much - he gets the same exact way, after all. “if you want, i’ll go with you to the convenience store to pick up shit, but i’m broke.” at least until he gets his next paycheck, that is.

namjoon groans, but agrees. still in his ryan pajamas, a woollen blue shirt and a deep green jacket, he looks like an explosion of color. yoongi kind of winces looking at him. even though he said he wouldn’t pay for anything, he still takes his wallet. there’s a convenience store near their apartment but they rarely go there, knowing that there’s way too little choices inside it’s shelves. it’s also a little shady, with it’s beaten up exterior and the constantly flickering lights, so the both of them take the two block walk to the nicer and bigger convenience store that often has samples of new things sometimes and yoongi’s favorite ramen.

the walk is brisk and a little bit too cold for his liking; winter has never been his favorite season, as he hates being cold and wet, two things that winter is too much off. yoongi shoves his hands in his pockets and feels the edge of his phone out of habit. namjoon is muttering something underneath his breath as they walk, possibly muttering more of his goddamn paper to himself - yoongi doesn’t know how he hasn’t lost his mind, yet.

there’s a warm blast of air in his face when he enters. yoongi breathes it in and sighs happily when he feels the chill start to dissipate from his skin. the floors have been cleaned recently; their shoes squeak across the linoleum floors, making lots of noise even though they’re the only two left there this late at night. the cashier doesn’t seem to give a fuck, so neither does namjoon. in fact, he purposely drags his feet just to hear it again. yoongi snorts: is this guy really doing his phd? namjoon heads straight for the instant meals section; he must feel up to something more than just hydrated soup base and noodles. yoongi shrugs and heads over to the beer section, because he could really use a goddamn drink.

thankfully, all the drinks are placed in the fridges in the back of the store, or else he would have never seen the second figure paused in front of the milk section. yoongi barely gives them a glance until the figure turns and - well, he recognizes that face.

the reason why he didn’t originally notice jungkook at first is because he isn’t dressed like himself. he looks way different in a big, oversized gray hoodie and faded blue jeans and black boots, a lollipop pushed to the side of his mouth. other than that, he’s got his hood up, he’s slouching over, and he doesn’t really seem like he wants to be here. yoongi doesn’t know how to feel, but he knows that it’s not something pleasant. jungkook really likes his colors and his put together appearance - why would he look like this now?

as jungkook takes out two bottles of strawberry milk from the fridge, yoongi blurts out, “jungkook?”

the younger turns upon reflex, startled, and yoongi sees a bright purple bruise on his cheek. the surprise in him is quickly turned to indignance and then to panic as jungkook’s eyes widen and he pulls down his hood immediately, turning around to start running away. yoongi swears and follows after him, cursing the kid’s long legs.

he wouldn’t have been able to catch him if it weren’t for jungkook backtracking at the door and putting the strawberry milks he’d taken out on the slanted surface underneath the window, which just made them fall in his haste. then he had to pick them back up while the cashier was giving him the stink eye, and by the time yoongi actually stood right beside the door, there was nowhere else to go.

“the fuck happened to you,” he starts, inhaling, reaching out to hold the crook of jungkook’s elbow before he realizes what he’s doing and removes his hand so that it hovers a centimeter or two above.

“um,” jungkook shuffles from side to side, now holding the strawberry milks in the cradle of his arm, “nothing, hyung. an accident.”

an accident, he says.

“do i look dumb to you?”

jungkook’s face flushes with embarrassment, and it clashes with the purple bruise on his face. he looks like he’s trying to sink back into his clothes and hide forever, using a hand to pull down his hood over his dark bangs. despite himself, yoongi softens his tone. “c’mon, i’ll buy those for you.”

“i have my own money,” jungkook mutters, but allows yoongi to take him to the cashier without further question or protest. namjoon meets them there, standing right behind them when he notices yoongi standing with jungkook. he starts with a, “oh, hyung, someone you know - jungkook?”

yoongi gave him a look that said explicitly not to ask, and thankfully namjoon’s sensibilities always show up when he needs them most. jungkook had just nodded in hello, his head bowed and turned away from namjoon. probably to hide the bruise blossoming on his face.

“we can eat outside,” namjoon shows his finished ramen packet, steaming hot and making yoongi’s stomach rumble in muscle memory at the smell of it. he glares down at his stomach; he ate like, an hour ago. jungkook pushes past yoongi and pays quickly for his own drinks, holding them close to his body inside their plastic bag.

“i thought you were going to get something more than that?”

“so was i, but then they fixed the ramen station and they finally had those soft boiled eggs i liked, so i figured why not? i’ll buy the groceries next time, hyung.”

yoongi waves it away. “not a problem by me.” he sets down the two strawberry milks in front jungkook, who quietly followed after them and sort of hung around like he was unsure when he could make a run for it. yoongi doesn’t want him to feel like he has to stay here, but he also doesn’t want jungkook to go home. something about him is off. yoongi doesn’t know if it’s the clothes or if it’s how he won’t look yoongi in the eye, but he doesn’t want to let jungkook go until he has some answers.

namjoon eats by himself, slurping down his food like a heathen. yoongi gives him an unimpressed look that makes a smile flicker on jungkook’s face. the one that he’s still trying to hide from namjoon. yoongi figures that it’s not a good idea to bring it up in front of namjoon, so he pretends to get up and stretch his back, groaning in faux pain. “i’ve been sitting all day, i’m going to take a quick walk around the block. you better keep your ass here, kim namjoon.”

there’s a muffled, “yes, hyung” from the general area of namjoon’s mouth, so yoongi leaves him be. “jungkook, want to come with me?”

jungkook, who had been fiddling with his strawberry milk, playing with the straws endlessly, looks up and then says quietly, “okay.” his voice in general is always quiet, always polite. yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever heard jungkook say something very loudly as of yet.

they end up staying quiet until they’re a little bit farther away from namjoon. that’s when yoongi asks quietly, “who did that to you?”

“i said it was an accident, hyung.”

“i’ve been in high school fights, jungkook. who did that to you?”

there is a moment where jungkook won’t even look up, his chin nearly touching his chest. he shrugs eventually, the movement jerky and unsure. “a couple of guys. no big deal.”

“you’re purple across the face,” yoongi says evenly.

“nothing a little makeup can’t fix,” jungkook replies. he shuffles behind yoongi and says, in a much softer voice. “it’s fine. i’m fine.”

yoongi doesn’t think so. it’s odd not to see jungkook in his soft, warm colors. he belongs in that, yoongi thinks, because jungkook looks pleased and happy when he’s wearing them. if he likes it, then fuck whoever else matters. but it’s one thing to know this, and it’s another to actually follow it. yoongi knows it’s not the easiest thing in the world to brush aside everyone’s comments - it’s even harder to do it when someone sets out to physically hurt you.

at least jungkook doesn’t ask him why he cares. yoongi doesn’t know how he’d be able to answer. they walk around for awhile in silence, yoongi quietly bracing himself against the night chill and jungkook looking unaffected by it all, quietly sipping on his milk.

“did you at least take care of it properly?” he starts, looking at the purple and wishing he could almost touch it, see if it hurts as much to feel as it hurts to see.

jungkook nods, puffing up one cheek so that the other doesn’t seem as noticeable. “i’m not five, hyung. i can take hits and scratches.”

except that’s not a hit or a scratch. that’s an ugly bruise to the face. something that could have been a lot more dangerous if jungkook wasn’t careful, or if some bigoted idiot was dumb enough to - to not watch his strength, because despite what they say or do those bullies don’t want to get in trouble either - and how hilarious is that? that there are bullies, even in colleges, even in real life, hating you for just being who you are?

yoongi purses his mouth and his responses falls flat. jungkook notices this too, because a warm flush steals onto his ears. he finishes his first bottle, throwing out the empty leftovers into a nearby trashcan, his plastic bag containing the other still swinging from his arm.

“i was wearing a dress yesterday,” he says quietly, low enough that his voice is almost inaudible with the wind. he shuffles his feet, and yoongi is starting to realize that he does that when he’s anxious or nervous. “it was a cute dress. jimin-hyung bought it for me from a thrift store. it’s because i don’t like buying dresses by myself, but i like wearing them. i felt - i was a girl yesterday. i felt like one, and wearing jeans made me feel - “ he cuts himself off, shrugging. with a listless expression. “most people leave me alone. sometimes they give me bad looks, or call me ‘fag’ or ‘tranny’,” he explains, “but...sometimes they like to pick fights. and then this happened.”

words like those don’t seem right coming out of jungkook’s mouth. yoongi realizes that he’s rarely heard jungkook curse, and hearing such vile language come from his lips while he looks this sullen makes yoongi himself feel out of place and discomforted. he can’t imagine what jungkook feels when he says those things back, repeated them all the time, hearing them in his head over and over on repeat. right now, he just looks glum, downtrodden.

“i’m sorry,” yoongi says, feeling guilty though he isn’t sure why. it’s not his fault that jungkook was - assaulted? but he feels guilty for it anyway, like he himself by being a korean male is somehow in the wrong of what someone else who identifies that way has done.

jungkook shrugs. “there was nothing you could do. i...wanted to feel pretty, and that’s what i got for it.” here, he sniffles a little. “i’m just really sorry to jimin-hyung, because they ruined the dress. ripped it and everything. jimin-hyung said that it wasn’t a big deal, but it was.” jungkook’s fingers touch the bruise. “does that scare you, hyung?”

“what does?”

jungkook shrugs again. he’s looking down at the floor but he’s not going to cry, no. he’s just going to stand there, tired, empty. “that sometimes i want to call you oppa instead?”

yoongi releases a breath. he thinks about jungkook, the little light in him that shines bright when he’s doing what he loves, when people compliment him, when he stands tall - to his full height - and knows he looks good and walks like he knows he looks good. when he smiles despite everyone staring at him, their noses wrinkled in disgust. it’s so hard to find someone like that, yoongi thinks, it’s so hard for anyone to find someone like jungkook. why do people want to burn down everything that’s good?

“no, kid, it doesn’t scare me a bit,” yoongi replies. “and the people that really mind won’t be scared either. it’s nothing to be scared of.”

jungkook opens his second bottle of strawberry milk. they’re still quite far away from namjoon; yoongi can see the small figure of him in the distance, doing something on his phone now that he’s ramen is done. he’s got himself quite preoccupied, but he won’t move from that chair. not until yoongi’s back or until he has to go piss. whichever comes first.

“where do you live?” yoongi asks. “me and nams will take you back.”

“i room with jimin-hyung,” jungkook says uncertainly. “we live in the same building as taehyung-hyung, if you know where that is. you really don’t have to - “

“trust me, neither of us wants to go back home right now,” yoongi tells him wearily. he doesn’t think he can focus anymore, and namjoon’s only going to go home and sleep now that he’s stomach’s been full and he’s out of his room.

jungkook nods mutely.

“for the record,” yoongi starts, “you look better in pink.”

maybe jungkook doesn’t believe him, but it makes him smile all the same, a simple turn up of his mouth underneath his hoodie.

they go back to namjoon, this time jungkook not bothering to hide his face from the other, simply sipping at his strawberry milk and finishing it up in record time. when namjoon sees them, he cracks his back getting up and mutters a small “ow, fuck” before standing up straight and turning to them with a relaxed smile. “i feel good. like i could sleep for about thirty hours.”

“keep yourself awake, sleeping beauty,” yoongi throws his keys at namjoon, who catches it clumsily. “hold onto those. we’re going over to taehyung’s.”

“don’t give me your keys, i’ll lose them,” namjoon groans.

“lose them and i’ll kill you.”

“hyung there is literally no way i can win here.”

“i have no more space in my pockets.”

“what? what for?”

yoongi goes in and buys two more strawberry milks. the cashier gives him an unimpressed look, but he could give less of a fuck. when he returns outside there’s obviously something in his pockets but namjoon doesn’t call him out on it, only grumbles to himself and carefully clips yoongi’s keys into his belt loop so he doesn’t lose it, like the other four times yoongi has given him his keys. when namjoon starts leading the way, getting a call from someone this late at night about his paper or whatever, yoongi stops next to jungkook and taps him gently on the head with a milk bottle, his arm reaching up all the way to brush knuckles against his soft, dark hair.

“me?” jungkook points at himself, and yoongi shrugs. “you didn’t let me buy the other ones. did you think i forgot?”

taehyung’s building is in a slightly less nicer part of the area that they’re in, but that place is run with university students. because taehyung is going to probably go to the same school after he gets his bachelor’s degree, he’s just renewed his lease for the year. yoongi knows all this shit because taehyung had called him up at four am one night and asked him in a hurry: “hyung how the fuck do i adult?!?” suffice to say, yoongi told him to stuff it and to call again in the morning. taehyung gets worried about the oddest things, sometimes.

they enter the building easily and when namjoon goes to text taehyung, jungkook stops him with a quiet, “he’s in jimin’s room right now, i just texted them to leave the door open.”

jungkook feels a bit more comfortable around namjoon now that namjoon knows about the bruise on his face but hasn’t said a word about it, hasn’t even given it a curious look. that’s one good thing about namjoon: his sensibilities. they work when needed. jungkook leads them up to the fourth floor, first door on the right, held ajar with the keypad still active. jungkook presses down on it to auto-lock it again and goes inside, yoongi and namjoon following after him curiously.

the inside of jimin and jungkook’s apartment is spacious and clean. he has a sneaking suspicion that it’s mostly because of jungkook, if the way he’s seen the kid be over aware of every wrinkle in his clothes. the place is small, like most apartments in seoul and especially like most apartments in the university district, but the furniture is sparse enough that it doesn’t seem like it’s overcrowding everything.

“how much was the security deposit on this thing?” yoongi asks, impressed despite himself. even though it’s small - the mat where he puts his shoes is crowded with both him and namjoon standing there - everything looks fairly brand new.

“you don’t want to know,” jungkook grimaces. “jimin hyung and i still have nightmares about it, sometimes.” he flips his hood down and puts his hands in his pockets. yoongi withholds a smile when he notices jungkook’s socks are white with pale aquamarine stripes.

“do you want a drink?” he asks, motioning to the sofas just as jimin and taehyung appear from the bedroom, both of them looking sleepy. yoongi would make a dry joke about what they were doing in there just to see taehyung flush and splutter, but there’s book lines pressed onto taehyung’s cheek and jimin has highlighter stains on his fingers. it’s obvious that they were just studying; the red eyes and droopy faces can attest to that, too.

as soon as taehyung sees the both of them, however, his face brightens. “oh, hyungs! you’re here! oh man, i should have brought down some of that soju i had upstairs - see, i told you soju is always important - “

jimin rolls his eyes. “and what are you going to do, getting drunk this late at night, kim taehyung? don’t you have a paper due tomorrow.”

“what,” taehyung scoffs, “no, lies. who told you this?”

jungkook coughs and hurries to the small kitchen to get glasses of water. jimin snickers. “anyways, whatcha doing here, guys? long time no see, though?”

namjoon shrugs. “i finished up some work so me and yoongs went out to eat. well, i ate. yoongi found jungkook at the same convenience store and they went for a walk by themselves, leaving me all alone,” namjoon sighs in faux sadness, and yoongi’s eye - twitches. he glares at the younger, staring holes into the side of his head, because -

“ooooh really,” taehyung starts, a very familiar tone in his voice. “that’s interesting, hyung. i didn’t know you and jungkookie knew each other that well.”

before yoongi can finish his sentence of, “i text him sometimes - “ namjoon buts in with, “they went to some art gallery a couple of days ago together, too.”

yoongi will murder him. “you - “

namjoon snickers. “you left your ticket receipt on the coffee table, hyung. i know you don’t go to places often, so someone must have taken you. then i heard you mumbling about it when you slept.”

“oooooh,” taehyung and jimin say together in perfect unison, simultaneously leaning forward. yoongi will kill all of them. he’s going to become a mass murderer because of the people in this room. jungkook arrives with a tray of glasses and a bottle of water and juice, stopping when he sees that the room is filled with taehyung and jimin pushing each other meaningfully and sharing raised eyebrows. there’s also a deathly aura coming from yoongi that speaks of untold horrors. namjoon just looks content.

“i’m just gonna leave this here,” jungkook puts down the tray on their low table. he doesn’t pour himself a glass, because he still has the banana milks that yoongi had bought for him earlier - jungkook had laughed when yoongi gave them to him, saying that he drank strawberry milk, not banana, and yoongi had made this face like he was berating himself and started to take it back before jungkook reached out to keep them both in his palms. “i’ll take it anyway,” he had said, because he didn’t mind banana milk either.

since then they’ve sweated and condensed so that the outside plastic has a thin film of water over it, one that wets his fingers whenever he shoves his hands in his pockets and dampens the inside of his hoodie, but jungkook doesn’t have the heart to take them out.

at first it’s awkward there, but then taehyung and jimin start talking about their life, and namjoon pitches in and asks questions about details he should already know but has been steadily off course about because of his self imposed exile into his room - something he does all the time, according to yoongi - to which namjoon had snorted and said, “that’s like the pot calling the kettle black”. jungkook leans against one the sofa sitting perpendicular to the one namjoon and yoongi are seated on so that he can get a clear view of the hitch hikers that he picked up on the way home. it’s around ten pm right now, he notices blearily from his phone, but he already feels tired. jimin and taehyung are still wide awake, however. jungkook yawns and tries to look like he’s listening, but he’s long stopped contributing to the conversation. yoongi notes him nodding off halfway through namjoon’s story about some teacher’s assistant doing something stupid back when he was doing the masters portion of his program, and it barely takes a moment before jungkook’s chin is hitting his chest, his eyes succumbing to exhaustion.

jimin interrupts namjoon’s story by saying, “gosh, he’s already asleep.”

taehyung shrugs. “i’ll go put him in his room; he’s gonna get a neck cramp if he sleeps over there. i learned that the hard way.” he looks so awfully serious about that, but why and where did he ever sleep sitting up? taehyung takes jungkook’s arm and puts it around his neck, turning around to take the younger on his back. jungkook’s body is loose and limp, and as he leaves, yoongi notices that he still has the drinks yoongi bought him in his pockets.

before he has a chance to say anything - and what would he say, anyway? oh, i bought him those, and he’s been holding onto them this entire time even though he could have put them away when he was in the kitchen, you should take those out before they spoil so he can actually drink them - yoongi turns his attention to namjoon, who leans forward and asks seriously, “is jungkook-ssi okay?”

jimin is quiet for a while, fiddling around with one of the empty cups. then he starts, voice trepid, “jungkookie got hurt yesterday ago by some assholes who can't mind their own business. he’s been a little tired since then and...he’s been wearing taehyung’s old stuff.”

“and he doesn’t usually, does he?” namjoon asks, already knowing the answer.

jimin laughs. it sounds a little bit wet. “namjoon-hyung...people are always going to hate us because of what we wear. me and jungkook and every other guy that likes wearing pastel fashion are always going to be spat at and called ‘faggot’ on the streets or have someone push by them purposefully in the hallway. it’s ‘cause people think that they can classify who you are just by the shit you wear, not who you actually are. so what, me and jungkook like cute things? so what, we like wearing pink and big sweaters and skirts sometimes? why is that a big deal?” jimin sniffs, wiping a bit at his eyes, “but people have to make a big deal because apparently, there are only two genders in the world and you’re supposed to be the one you’re born with. everyone who doesn’t fit is unnatural.”

the silence after that is a bit tense. jimin looks and sounds bitter, his shoulders hunched over in a picture of dislike.

then namjoon adds in a fairly light-hearted voice, “actually, there are five biological ‘genders’ right now. sexes is the proper term i believe.”

yoongi snorts, tired. “of course.”

“biologically - “

yoongi smacks him over the head.

this, at least, makes jimin laugh, keeps the shadows out his eyes for a little bit longer. taehyung comes back into the room and sits right beside him. “he’ll be okay by tomorrow,” he predicts, but yoongi can’t forget the awfully harsh line of his mouth.

/

sure enough, yoongi spots jungkook standing on line to buy something at the school cafeteria on monday afternoon. he’s staring at his phone - a white and blue striped case, much like his socks - and not paying attention to anyone in front of him or behind him. what’s different too is that his hair is a completely different color.

instead of the inky black yoongi is used to, he sees honey-brown locks that seem soft to the touch, trimmed up and cut well, bangs framing his forehead. jungkook is in darker colors than normal, with white pants and leather brown boots, slightly darker than the flat, oversized beige pullover he wears on top. underneath is a small black and white striped turtleneck that gives him a warm look. the closer he gets to jungkook, the more he sees an uncharacteristic flush on his cheeks - is that makeup? yoongi doesn’t fucking know.

“hi, hyung,” jungkook greets him, clicking his phone shut. “did you eat?”

“i didn’t,” yoongi eyes him again, unable to help himself. “are you in line to pay for anything?”

he doesn’t see anything in jungkook’s hands at first, but then the other raises a small cup of something - it looks like bubble tea, and since when did they have a bubble tea place in the cafeteria? jungkook laughs when he sees yoongi grimace. “what, don’t like sweets?”

“no.”

“that doesn’t sound like hyung at all,” jungkook says, his mouth perked up in a small smile, almost as if he can guess yoongi’s alter-ego rap name from just one look. it makes yoongi uneasy and huffy. before the elder can say anything, jungkook adds, “if you don’t mind, i’ll just pay for this and then we can sit.”

yoongi wants to say something to offset the terrible rose blooming on his face and ears, like why do you think we’re going to sit together, kid - but then he realizes that he’s been sitting with jungkook for a couple of weeks now during this time, has subconsciously began to look forward to it. yoongi even forgoes buying actually good food to eat the shitty subpar lunch the cafeteria has. his wallet has been saving up because of it, yet he hasn’t even noticed. jungkook’s presence has made it easy for yoongi to forget a lot of things.

so yoongi says nothing and keeps his mouth shut because he’s a dumbass for realizing this now, perusing the napkin stand and feeling bereft. jungkook comes out a moment later, stuffing money into his white wallet that he puts back into his bag easily. jungkook falls easily into step with him and they both automatically head toward the next free table with two seats, which happen to be by the windows. jungkook sets down his drink and yoongi takes out the leftovers he put in his bag from last night, rubbing his eyes in a bit of fatigue.

“you okay?” jungkook asks, quietly concerned.

“yeah,” yoongi says, “just a bit tired. got to work on that project, after all, and papers don’t write themselves.”

“truer words haven’t been spoken,” jungkook sighs wistfully.

with a throaty laugh, yoongi shakes his head. “that’s right, aren’t you almost done with midterms?”

“i have three exams and two papers due,” jungkook groans. “i don’t want to do any of them. i started my art history paper and...it’s not turning out too well. our professor is way too harsh about grading, even though he’s great in class...”

yoongi listens to jungkook talk about his classes in between sips of his sweet drink, his sweaters covering his hands up to his knuckles. he has on small earrings, yoongi realizes, three in one ear and two in the other. they’re all silver except for the main ones on his earlobes, which hold two tiny autumn maple leaves. to celebrate fall, no doubt. for some reason, yoongi finds this - of all things - cute.

jungkook is explaining to him the premise of his essay when yoongi feels a turn of fondness in him. this is such a bright kid. he’s got a look in his eyes that says he actually enjoys what he’s learning; yoongi hasn’t seen that in a while, it feels like. he’s always hanging around people that look like they’re living zombies, living off coffee and energy drinks to get through the next day. sometimes school feels like a frustrating chore. jungkook makes it seem like a love-hate relationship, something he admires and frustrates about. he hasn’t felt that way about school in a long time. yoongi’s almost forgotten what it feels like to be so passionate about something that it takes you away.

when jungkook finally dies down about his rant, he smiles sheepishly and says, “sorry, hyung doesn’t want to hear about that, right? how was your day?”

“i told you, tiring,” yoongi replies, amusement marking his tone.

jungkook flusters, “hyung, that’s not what i meant and you know it. like, how was your day? was it nice? did you like, get a muffin for free or something?”

“i don’t like sweets that much, remember?”

jungkook opens his mouth, then closes it. “huh, i remember you telling me this, but for some reason i can’t get myself to believe it.”

yoongi snorts. “why’s that?”

the younger shrugs. “i dunno. i guess it’s because you’re a nice person, so in my mind, it must mean that you like sweet things.” when yoongi raises an eyebrow, jungkook shrugs and picks at the plastic cap of his bubble tea. he looks a little embarrassed. “don’t ask me why, it’s one of those weird head things that happen. like when you associate a song with like, a train ride or something, because you’ve heard it on the train so many times that your brain just remembers it there.”

“so someone’s who has been consistently nice to you probably also liked sweets?”

jungkook wrinkles his nose. “don’t - hyung, let’s stop talking about this.”

yoongi coughs out a laugh, feeling it bubble from inside of him. “you were the one that brought it up.”

“i know, so now i’m ending it.”

the rest of their conversation goes somewhat similarly. yoongi realizes that he has nothing to do after this, and jungkook’s class has just been cancelled by his professor, so they both smile consideringly at each other and tip over scales, watch the sun grow dimmer and more pink in the sky as it turns to an early twilight. because yoongi ate little and jungkook burned off all those calories of his drink with talking, they both agree to get street food from one of the vendors as it turns into four o’clock, knowing that it’s the wrong time to eat - too late for lunch, too early for dinner.

“doesn’t matter,” yoongi says, shoving away jungkook’s concerns. “we can eat whenever want. who cares.” at that, jungkook gives him a small smile that’s startlingly nice, showing off his front two teeth and a peek of the bottom row. he starts humming while they’re in line for hotteok, and yoongi turns to him with a watchful eye.

“nice voice,” he says mildly, and jungkook - doesn’t stop humming, only pauses with a brief ‘thanks’ that tells yoongi he’s heard it before but has never put any weight into it. he probably thinks yoongi is just saying it to be nice, but he’s not - since when does he ever say anything to make someone else feel better when it’s not true? - yet yoongi keeps his mouth shut. he has a feeling that jungkook would just brush it aside.

the hotteok is filled with cheese and meat and it’s not healthy but jungkook looks bright eyed at the thought of eating it. yoongi pays when jungkook grabs hold of their orders, yelping a little at how he burns his fingers after grabbing them too quickly. the vendor ahjussi clicks his tongue at him and hands yoongi a small ice pack - really just a napkin with a couple of ice cubes in it - and tells jungkook to be more careful, son.

jungkook huffs and hands the now warm packets to yoongi. he grabs the makeshift ice-pack and puts it on his affected fingertips, looking sullen.

“shouldn’t have been so impatient, then,” yoongi says, and jungkook sends him a look that tells him he feels like he’s been smacked between the eyes.

“this isn’t working,” jungkook sighs, staring in envy at the hot pancake that yoongi takes a bite out of. “yoongi-hyung, can you - “

yoongi waggles the other one in front of him, and jungkook groans. he sets the ice-pack down and winces, looking at the red skin, and yoongi feels a nudge of worry at that. jungkook looks at his fingers - ringless - and says, “well, it’s not too bad now. should be okay within a couple of minutes. don’t eat mine, hyung!”

“i won’t,” yoongi says, thought he doesn’t sound like he really means it. jungkook looks at his portion of the food pointedly - the kid takes his meals seriously - and then hunches in on himself a bit more, bracing himself against the cold. then, right in front of yoongi’s eyes, he pushes a finger inside his mouth, sucking at the end of it, mouth cherry colored and pursed.

yoongi almost chokes, feeling an uncharacteristic light-headedness rise. jungkook’s eyes flicker to him and his finger comes out of his mouth with a pop; “what’s wrong, you okay?”

“keep the ice-pack on, kid,” yoongi says, after coughing the wayward food down his throat.

“the ice all melted, hyung. it’s fine, i always do this when i burn my fingers.”

“it happens more than once?”

jungkook shrugs, purposefully evading the question. “i was going to say, hyung, do you mind - uh, just bringing it close so i can take a bite out of it? my other palm still kinda hurts.”

yoongi should say no. the thought of his fingers close to jungkook’s mouth gives him tiny shivers he’s sure is something close to attraction. the thought lingers on the edge of his subconscious, constantly teasing him, yet not truly making it to the surface. it’s only when jungkook’s stomach gives a loud rumble that he relents. he holds out the wax paper with jungkook’s portion, watching - unable to help himself - as the other leans down to take a bite, not completely pulled away yet, using his slightly reddened fingers to tear off the melted cheese so that he can slurp it into his mouth. even though the show is childish and only makes jungkook’s cheeks puff up with food. yoongi’s alarmed to feel a rush of something down below, like a warmth pooling in his gut.

he’s overly aware of the length of jungkook’s eyelashes, the curve of his lower lip where he’s put some sort of lip color, the way his laughter goes high pitched at the end and his cheeks bunch up even though he himself doesn’t like it. yoongi realizes his attraction here and then and it leaves him staring blankly at the boy beside him, helplessly watching him make a stupid face with his puffy cheeks before snapping it on camera to whatever friend of his.

it leaves yoongi feeling exposed and found at the same time, walking jungkook back to the dorm where he’s meeting classmates for a project, and then holding his backpack while the other tries to find which pocket he put his phone, waving bye as jungkook disappears into the residential hall, another person in front of him leading him away from yoongi’s line of sight.

he thinks it’s a problem. it should be a problem. yoongi wonders what he’s doing and - and he doesn’t know how to make himself stop. doesn’t know if he even wants to.

/

he doesn’t tell anyone about it. ever since exams came around and people started finding that they needed to focus on their studies again - namely hoseok - yoongi’s been left alone for the most part about dating. he doesn’t think of himself much in terms of being a boyfriend or rather someone a person wants to date. he knows he’s not the most attentive of partners, that sometimes music takes preference, and he doesn’t like doing pda much. he finds it hard to express his feelings without sounding like a standoffish jackass sometimes. he’s closed off. hard to reach. that’s what all his past relationships told him, from his brief relationship with a girl in high school to the numerous one to two month relationships he’d been in in college, ranging from engineering boys to office worker girls and everything in between. he doesn’t have a good rap sheet, and despite feeling attraction, he’s never been that good at expressing it. he gets jealous a bit easily and he’s gruff and quiet. not the kind of person someone feels like sticking around for the long term with.

all these self insecurities are reflected when he looks in the mirror; average height, looks, stature. he’s another passing face in the crowd and honestly, he likes it that way. min yoongi likes being unknown. agust d or suga or gloss - the numerous names he’s used - likes the stage, uses his charisma and charm as an attractant rather than how he looks. it’s about how you draw them in, not what draws them in. min yoongi wants to stay by the sidelines to breathe easy.

jungkook makes it easy to breathe.

his newfound knowledge of himself doesn’t change anything. he’s good at internalizing shit like this - at keeping it to himself and bottling it up so that he won’t be affected, blindsided, at another time. yoongi sighs and rubs the back of his head as he drinks his afternoon coffee, knowing that he probably shouldn’t but not giving a fuck anyway.

namjoon is eating lunch and scrolling through his phone. yoongi feels something on the tip of his tongue, like he wants to say something but finds that he can’t, when the doorbell rings.

“you expecting anyone, hyung?” the other asks, looking up briefly before cursing underneath his breath.

“no,” yoongi says, but goes to get the door. it’s for him anyways, he realizes, as jungkook is standing behind it, his hair unstyled and his face bare - yoongi only realizes it when he sees jungkook now, how fresh he looks, bright eyed and bushy tailed - in a gray university sweater and white jeans. he’s wearing a backpack that’s light purple. when yoongi opens the door, his mouth pulls up in an automatic smile. “hey!”

“jungkook,” yoongi starts, unprepared for the rush of fondness that floods through him. “what’re you doing here, kid? come in.”

“thanks, sorry for intruding,” jungkook calls out in their small apartment. “hi, namjoon-hyung!”

“jungkookie,” namjoon dimples at him, briefly ruffling his bangs. those look unstyled too, with no product or fancy style. in fact, everything about jungkook seems like subtle charm right now, like he just rolled out of bed.

“i came right here after my 9am class ended,” jungkook tells them, settling his bag on one of the chairs. “taehyung op -....hyung gave me your address, i hope you don’t mind.”

“not at all,” yoongi says, mind caught on the little slip. he frowns but jungkook continues, “last time we met, hyung, you left one of your folders outside and i picked it up, but it was late at night and i forgot to give it back to you.” he starts rummaging in his bag, pulling out a steel water bottle and a couple of black notebooks while namjoon snorts, “wow, typical.”

“you should not be talking,” yoongi shoots back, glaring. inwardly, he’s sort of panicking; what the hell did he leave behind? how did he not even notice? yoongi thinks about how yesterday, and -

there it is, a purple folder right out of jungkook’s bag himself. yoongi coughs a little and recognizes it immediately - it has drafts of his final project in there. he hasn’t touched it in a couple of days because he didn’t really want to look at them at the moment. sometimes it’s easier to come back to things after he spends some time away from it. yoongi was planning on getting back to his old notes tomorrow, but he wouldn’t have even realized it was gone until then.

“thanks,” yoongi manages to choke out, taking the folder from jungkook’s hands without making it seem like he’s dying on the inside. shit, shit, that was two months of work and drafting in there, how the fuck had he missed it? even though he tries to keep it under wraps, he doesn’t think he can hide how relieved he is when the folder is finally back in his arms. the last minute and a half was quite a rollercoaster.

“no problem,” jungkook says, curling a hand over his backpack strap. he pushes aside his honey-brown bangs as they shuffle into his eyes. “i figured you would be over in arms about it. i texted you, but you didn’t answer.”

yoongi curses softly under his breath. “sorry, i turned my phone off yesterday. was trying to focus on my work.”

namjoon puts a hand on yoongi’s shoulder, which has been tense in the course of the entire conversation. “thanks for the drop off, jungkook-ah. want to stay over a bit?”

“unless you have class,” yoongi adds, knowing that it’s a friday and jungkook probably has better things to do, he’s doesn’t want to keep the kid back and let him see just how boring yoongi’s life is, why the fuck would namjoon even -

jungkook shakes his head, eyes brightening. “no, i only have one class today, which is why i just got up and did whatever,” he gives a sweeping hand motion down his body, indicating his less than usual put together state of dress. “i was honestly just going to go home and play video games or something.”

“well, you can do that here,” namjoon offers. “i’ll be going out with seokjin-hyung for a while, and i’m pretty sure that even though yoongi-hyung says he’s doing work, he’s really playing that america game on his desktop.”

automatically, yoongi scowls. “fuck you, that’s not it’s name. at least get the syllables right, you’re fuckin’ fluent in english - “

“you play armo?” jungkook cuts in, his voice bridging on excitement. “holy shit, me too!”

“wait, fuck, seriously?”

“yes,” jungkook is practically bouncing now. “it’s an old game, i know, it’s like 6 years old and games barely stay online for that long, but the game’s engine hasn’t gone irrelevant yet - honestly it was ahead of it’s time - “

“yes,” yoongi agrees, straightening, completely agreeing, “yes, fuck i played since beta and i haven’t gotten sick of it yet. sure, sometimes i stray but i always come back.”

jungkook sets down his backpack. “did you download the new expansion yet?”

“that’s...what i did this morning,” yoongi admits in a hushed voice, even though somewhere in the course of their conversation, namjoon had left them both alone to their own devices. yoongi stretches, having felt much more light for admitting that he’s not exactly been doing his work but rather playing an mmorpg online, working out the crinks at the small of his back.

“it’s so much fun,” jungkook admits. “i got my main to the new level cap, but i’m still trying to get my alt there. it’s much harder even though my alt is a weapons-damage type, because i can’t get into the new dungeons as easily as i could on my heal main.”

yoongi is astounded. he doesn’t know if he’s breathing or not, but after he coughs a little, he’s sure that he’s still alive - somehow. “i have a tank that i just raised to level cap,” yoongi offers, and he’s not above yelling at himself shut the fuck up but why would he, holy shit, jungkook actually plays armeria online and he can’t believe there’s someone else in the world that still likes it other than him. “if you want - “

“yes,” jungkook says immediately, then flushes. because he’s barefaced, it shows up as patches on his cheeks and nose. adorable. clearing his throat, the younger says in a level tone, “i mean. i just left my old guild, you know? they were some...homophobic dicks,” he shuffles a little bit awkwardly. “and no one wants to take a chance with insta-ing with a healer. kinda sucks.”

“my system is at home, though,” jungkook continues, face downturning. “it’s kinda tough ‘cause i’m used to playing on a desktop than a laptop.”

“i have a second fucking system,” yoongi says. “jungkook. you seriously - ”

“then i hope you don’t mind me staying,” jungkook replies with a beatific smile.

that quickly changes when they get online, rushing to yoongi’s bedroom/studio to play. there’s a plate with his breakfast that he never cleaned up that jungkook completely disregards, setting himself down cross-legged on yoongi’s couch like he belongs there, leaning back and stretching as yoongi logs out of his account on his own system - the nicer one - and heads over to the older computer system that he uses purely for fun, like movies and games. “that one’s open,” yoongi calls out as he starts up the game.

jungkook cracks his knuckles and sits down in yoongi’s chair, leaning back all warm and prepared, fingers flying over the keyboard.

they spend the next two hours clicking over the keyboards and yelling at each other until namjoon sends him aggressive texts to ‘shut the fuck up’. with both of them already filling in the two most important places in the 5-party role, their queue takes almost no time. while jungkook is making awful faces as the screen as one of their players makes awful comments about the others - all the while blaming jungkook for it, as he’s the healer - yoongi moves to the side a little bit and that son of a bitch dies in a minute. jungkook snickers and prances right over them, not bothering to res.

“that’s cold,” yoongi says right after, blocking another mechanic from the second boss. jungkook shrugs and says, “don’t insult the healer.”

it takes around a half hour for them to finish, dealing with that one player that gets increasingly more aggressive throughout the game. the problem with expansions is that it brings all the assholes like these online. and while yoongi usually ignores it - there’s no point getting riled up over some assholes on the internet - the player that’s been bothering them says something awfully derogatory about women - enough so that yoongi doesn’t even want to repeat it - and he hears jungkook say, “we’re the only ones keeping you alive, fucker,” so inaudible that comes out as a mutter underneath his breath.

again, the player dies, and they share the boss drops among four of them instead. yoongi quietly takes whatever drops he has and sends them to jungkook; he doesn’t need them anyway. another player, one who’s been quiet for the most part, types in the chat box: toxic af. sorry about him, heal. :/ and jungkook leans back against yoongi’s chair.

“good job,” jungkook says, looking over to beam at him as if he wasn’t cursing and being attractively vindictive online. something has been off throughout the whole night, and yoongi realizes that it’s because he hasn’t heard jungkook call him ‘hyung’ at all. not even once throughout the entire night.

yoongi wants to ask do you want pizza, maybe, because i’m starving but what comes out is: “you can call me whatever you want to, you know.”

still clicking away at his computer, jungkook pauses for a moment, eyes skittishly moving over to yoongi’s. for a moment his shoulders curve in and it looks like he’s about to deny it, but then he laughs slowly, ears red, “i - i just didn’t think...” trailing off, he bites his bottom lip and shrugs.

“i don’t want to misgender you,” yoongi tells him. “i don’t want to hurt you and - you have to tell me. i won’t know otherwise. you can call me whatever you want.”

slowly, a tiny smile grows on jungkook’s mouth, the profile of him illuminated by the computer screen. “thanks, oppa.”

yoongi feels something warm on the back of his neck. “so - should i just. she?”

jungkook’s quiet minutes make the back of yoongi’s neck sweat; he usually doesn’t care much if he hurts someone else’s feelings - well, not too bad, at least, if he’s not close to them - and even though he’s known jungkook for like? what? a month? a month and a half? he somehow wants to be someone good in his eyes. he doesn’t want to be the person to constantly overlook what jungkook wants.

“yeah, she,” jungkook says. she leans back in yoongi’s chair, crossing her legs on top to sit more comfortably. “sometimes - most of the time, i use he. but sometimes...”

yoongi shrugs. turns back to his computer. “you don’t need to explain yourself to me, jungkook. i don’t need a reason to make you happy.”

the last part comes out before yoongi can catch up to the skipping stones his brain is throwing. yoongi tries to shrug like it’s nothing but his words are making his ears heat up and he accidentally elbows the open bottle of water left on the table. he swears loudly and watches as it falls, dripping over the counter, thankfully not anywhere near his electronics. he hears jungkook laugh behind him and thinks absently, that’s what i wanted to hear.

they finish a couple of more dungeons, jungkook switching in the middle to her alternate character of a bloodthirsty axe-wielder, and she’s just as adept at that as she is at playing healer. they make a pretty good team, and yoongi throws a packet of chips in her direction for a congratulations. jungkook catches it with an easy swoop in the air. eventually, at the end of their fourth dungeon, she yawns and unfolds her legs, cursing.

“dammit, my legs are asleep,” she says, rubbing the back of her knees. she checks the time. “oh, man, i should, uh...probably be going?”

yoongi peers at the time. it’s not too late, but it’s definitely a lot more than he expected. “do you have class tomorrow?”

“well, not until the evening?”

neither does yoongi. he shrugs, all casual-like, and says, “well, i was just going to watch a movie, so if you wanted to stay...” he lets himself trail off, wincing at how stupid he sounds. why. why does he sound like a fifteen year old, he already graduated college -

jungkook perks up. “do you have ironman?”

yoongi blinks, taken out of his reverie. “ah, well, i think so?” there was a period in time namjoon got vaguely into marvel and bought all the marvel movies, but yoongi remembers that with a grain of salt. “don’t think i’ve ever seen that, though.”

at this, he knows he’s said something wrong, because jungkook gives him the widest eyed look of horror he’s ever seen. it’s sort of cute and ominous at the same time. yoongi rubs the back of his neck. “what?”

“we have to fix this immediately,” jungkook says, eyes serious.

that’s how yoongi finds himself, three hours later, blearily waking up to a dark tv screen still on the dvd player menu, his head lolling against the couch’s armrest. there’s the blanket yoongi pulled out of his room because it was starting to get cold in the living room (fucking drafts) and the bowl of popcorn jungkook somehow magically found in his cabinet (it still tasted fine?). yoongi feels warm and settled, and when he looks down, notices a tuft of honey-colored hair on his chest.

“j’ngkook?” he murmurs, and the body on top of him shifts. jungkook’s body is between his legs, her head resting near the crook of yoongi’s neck, on his heart. her arms hang limply off the side of the sofa. jungkook’s breathing is soft and easy, and yoongi doesn’t have the courage to wake her up. plus, she looks so at ease. it’s not like yoongi feels uncomfortable either, so...he leaves it be.

he tries to pull up the blanket higher, though, because jungkook’s cheeks feel a little cold, and is surprised when another hand does it for him. yoongi peers through the darkness and sees namjoon there, pulling up the blankets gently, careful to smooth it underneath jungkook’s chin -

except namjoon doesn’t have hands like that. nor does he have orange hair.

jimin gives a little smile and puts a finger to his mouth: quiet. he disappears into the dark room and yoongi falls asleep again, head cushioned at an awkward angle, warmth spreading through his bones.

/

“hyung, if we went to a pc cafe, do you think they would let me eat three cups of ramen on a discount?” jungkook asks, holding a magazine high over his face. he’s leaning back against yoongi’s sofa in pink and white jeans and a big white sweater. when he looks at his magazine - it’s a comic book, yoongi corrects himself - he sighs and lets it fall over his face.

yoongi shuts the lid of his laptop, rubbing his eyes. they feel strained, for sure. “they’d probably make you pay more, in all honesty.”

jungkook groans underneath the pages, arms flopping everywhere. his feet are encased in white socks with blue stripes on them. they’re a pair that yoongi has seen often; he must be fond of them. “i don’t want to spend money, but i don’t want to stay at home, hyung.” which explains why he’s over here so often.

in the next week, there’s a sudden shift of things, the like movement of the earth underneath yoongi’s feet. namjoon starts spending a lot more time at jimin’s place, taking his books and his philosophies and beating it. yoongi has a lot more free time in his free apartment, but that doesn’t always make it better. sometimes it’s worse, calling out for someone and noticing that there’s no one there. then jungkook drops by again to play their games and - and it just happens, the staying over. the ordering in takeout. the watching movies.

somehow, yoongi has a pair of jungkook’s clothes and pajamas in his room, an extra toothbrush, one of jungkook’s textbooks left at his bedside table.

“well, what do you want to do?” yoongi is up for anything if it means not having to work on his paper. it’s his last thing due before break begins. for jungkook, all his finals and things have already been done and finished with.

after a moment of quiet, the younger pulls the comic book away from his face so that it’s leaning against his stomach instead. he peers up at yoongi’s bland ceilings and makes a considering expression. finally, he offers, “well - since it’s december...maybe we can do something winter-y?”

“winter-y,” yoongi deadpans.

“stop, hyung, you know what i mean.”

yoongi snorts. “what, exactly, does ‘winter-y’ mean, huh?”

jungkook defines ‘winter’ in these ways: snow, cold, lots of ice, snowball fights, hot chocolate and coffee, shop skipping, looking through windows with their noses pressed up against the glass, fog condensing breaths, carols and music, bright lights in the early dark days. he rambles all of these things - “hyung! we can go window shopping! i’m broke as fuck but we can still look at nice things!” “hyung, we could get holiday specials for cakes and stuff! i always wanted to try peppermint mocha cake?” - and yoongi just looks at him fondly, and his bright eyes that look at skies and stars with things that yoongi never has. at him on yoongi’s couch so easily, body limp and loose, his laughter loud and unrestrained.

he looks beautiful.

the thought comes to yoongi as a stray, wistful murmur at the back of his subconscious. so deeply into his thoughts he barely notices how jungkook looks at him then, face fond, his mouth pulling up in a smile, genuine smile. affectionate. warm. always, always warm.

“whatcha doin’, hyung?” he murmurs, leaning forward to drape his body this way and that across the arm of the sofa nearest to yoongi. “are you writing music?”

“no, but i want to,” yoongi confesses. “i was thinking about going back into my studio to work on a track but...it’s been giving me trouble. guess i just need to step back from it for a while.”

jungkook’s mouth purses, first, like he’s unsure of what he wants to say, and yoongi has - yoongi has been around him long enough to know that he should wait, just until jungkook inhales, asking hesitantly, “do you think maybe i could...hear it?”

although he looks like he regrets asking, yoongi doesn’t forget that wide, curious expression that was there the first time he talked about his music. somehow, he thinks jungkook would understand.

“course you can,” is what he replies with. “studio?”

they clamber there, jungkook pulling at the hem of his sleeves, smelling like candy cane and nutmeg. on his neck, yoongi sees, is a thin velvet choker with a tiny peppermint with pink and white stripes. he hadn’t even noticed it before.

yoongi feels strangely nervous as he’s opening up the files. he didn’t think he would have been nervous about showing jungkook what he considers to be an accumulation of his life’s work and knowledge, but he is. the fact that jungkook has slowly come to be one of his best friends and closest advocates makes him worried about showing the younger this side of him - flashes of things, of emotions that he’s always kept locked up inside, from both his friends and his family, vulnerable only to him. it’s one thing for a stranger to not like your work and turn away; it’s another for your friend to do so.

“here,” yoongi’s hands shake a little as he hands over a pair of headphones. jungkook’s fingers brush against his own, almost like quiet reassurance, and yoongi watches him settle them over his honey-brown hair.

turning back, yoongi clicks play.

he doesn’t look at jungkook while he’s doing it, nor does he look at jungkook while he pulls on his own headphones and listens to the sound of himself over the system. he left the unfinished song for later, because he sort of - sort of wanted to show jungkook what he’s already done, what he already considers a masterpiece. yoongi taps fingers on his knee nervously, knowing that the way he sounds over audio is different from real life, it’ll always be different - his mind and his ears tell him two different things - and he forces himself to look at the balances, at the notes, as they play. the lyrics fade into the background, his painful words becoming one with the track itself.

when it ends in a low, vibrating stutter, yoongi feels like something has eased in his lungs. it’s over. whatever jungkook feels about it, he feels, and yoongi can’t do anything to say otherwise. he takes off his headphones and leaves them around his neck, turning and shrugging, “so that was the first track of my - “

there are tear tracks on jungkook’s face.

it stops yoongi short, the sight of his cheeks glistening underneath the studio light. jungkook, when he notices yoongi’s cut off words, startle and look at him (he was staring at the screen beforehand). immediately he tries to wipe the tears away from his face, and something burns at the base of yoongi’s gut, at his ears, the back of his neck. something like disbelief, something like panic.

“are you okay? shit, why are you crying?” yoongi leans forward to do something, comfort him somehow, but his brain is whirring with does that mean it’s bad? shit, does he hate it? god, it’s awful, isn’t it - there’s just so many things wrong - no one wants to hear about you -

“it was just really good, hyung,” jungkook replies, slightly nasally, sniffling. he rubs at his eyes while yoongi is struck dumb. “it’s really, really good. i - you’re so talented?”

“nothin’ to cry over, though,” yoongi mutters, a hint of his daegu accent slipping out. he’s flustered. he says it’s nothing to cry over but yoongi remembers his own frustrated tears, drunk off his ass, sleeping on the floor of bathrooms - crushing debt - sometimes the emptiness takes you over so much that tears are unnecessary, just extra energy, more that the world takes out of you.

jungkook doesn’t say anything in turn, keeping the headphones on his head, and - and yoongi likes him. yoongi likes him so much.

“want to hear another one?” he asks quietly.

“please,” jungkook replies.

yoongi watches him, now, as he listens to the deepest porous places of yoongi’s heart inscribed in audible note. how he tilts his head as he listens, as if the musical beats will fall into the recesses of his ear if he does so. eyes fluttering shut and open, always looking down, focusing not on the visible but the sound, the words. notes in the background. music, music, music.

he doesn’t have nail polish on, yoongi notices. there’s no jewelry on him except his choker and the twin silver hoops through his earlobes. he has little to no makeup, possibly none at all today. simple. yoongi thinks that jungkook has a lot of masks; thinks that even though he wears bright colors and pale pink, lavender, periwinkle - something about him is guarded. kept closed away. little things, freckles, moles, errant hair, bunny teeth, bags underneath his eyes. sleepless, tired, weary from reaching out hands to grope for something in the dark that is never there.

and they’ve never talked about it. somehow, it wasn’t something that they had to leave in words. yoongi thinks - thinks this is what it means, what it means to be -

he doesn’t need words for jungkook. while they have always been his life and his blood, he doesn’t need them with jungkook. in a way his music and his moments have always been about hiding himself and simultaneously trying to rip out everything he is into the open. with jungkook, there’s nothing like that - no urge to purge in - no need to explain his feelings. jungkook smiles and yoongi smiles and that’s all they need, is that what - is that what? - what it feels like -

some things aren’t explained in words.

“i liked the last track,” jungkook says when the entire mixtape, however half finished and cracked it is, dies down. “it was my favorite.”

yoongi swallows dryly. “that was the one that i’ve been having a problem with, actually.” figures, jungkook would like the one song that yoongi is still trying to piece together. jungkook has a way of picking those loose threads out, yoongi thinks. bringing back shards of glass.

the other shrugs. he looks like he has something to say, so yoongi pokes him and tells him to go on. he’s a big boy - he can handle a little criticism.

“what about the chorus, and the refrain?” jungkook asks. “you could use a vocal there.”

the song is dreamy, airy. like a fairytale. wanting to grab something that’s far away. “haven’t found the right voice.”

jungkook shrugs. “it’s a thought.”

“i’ve thought of it before, too,” yoongi admits. “it always seems like it’s missing something. but i can’t ever find the right voice.”

jungkook’s mouth perks up in a half smile. “no one ever does.”

/

yoongi knows, in hindsight, that jungkook does music and dance and art. he’s seen the dance in the soft lines of his body that yoongi watches too much, the lean slope of his shoulders and the tapered line of his waist. he knows that jungkook likes doing art, tracing patterns on the angled bone of yoongi’s wrist, using ink and paint that stains his fingers from time to time. he sings, too, yoongi knows that in theory. he doesn’t hear jungkook sing. the way yoongi keeps his raps and his tracks to himself until they’re whittled and honed to perfection - jungkook holds his own songs that way, close to his heart, embedded in his ribcage like threads through holes. hums to himself and softly murmurs pop songs and r&b songs underneath his breath, fiddling with things when he does so. the mark of a musician: absentmindedly bringing back the prose to their throats when there’s nothing else to fill the silence.

so yoongi never asks. it’s like the way jungkook never asked to see his music - yoongi had reached out for him to do so first. somehow, someway, they get closer, two poles revolving around each other, hands outstretched. he likes the fit and feeling of jungkook’s fingers in his own. they’re right.

jungkook, one day, brings over his easel and his blank canvas and his paints. in his dark blue sweater and gray sweatpants, he’s lacking in color. whatever is lost is made up for in the brightness of his eyes. yoongi opens up his living room for jungkook to use to his pleasure, thinking that he’s opened up much more than just that to jungkook as well. namjoon is nearly never in their apartment now. jungkook takes out a tarp he left last week and spreads it over the floor; takes his shoes off, his socks, wears no sandals; yoongi sees the curve of his ankle and then looks away. he pushes up the sleeves of his sweater and, for the first part, sets his easel down very low so he can sit cross legged on the ground.

“what are you making?” yoongi asks, a cup of coffee in his hand.

“it’s supposed to be a self portrait,” jungkook replies, fingers smoothing over the stapled edges. “i’m doing watercolor, i think.”

“any reason why?” trick question: there’s always a reason why.

jungkook just smiles. it’s odd, seeing him with his color.

yoongi, despite himself, runs his hands through jungkook’s hair, ruffles them beneath his fingers. it’s a stray move that he’s found his body doing of it’s own volition recently. jungkook’s hair has long faded with it’s honey-blonde, settling into a darker shade of brown. he doesn’t clip up his bangs. jungkook, for a moment, leans into it and closes his eyes. when yoongi lets go, he rights himself and doesn’t turn around to see yoongi disappear into his studio to give him some privacy, but yoongi has a feeling that he knows anyway.

an hour later when yoongi’s coffee is gone and he’s only gotten a twelfth of his way through his work, yoongi heads into the kitchen to get another cup. he catches a glimpse of jungkook kneeling in front of his canvas, a litany of colors on the white space; blue, pink, red, green, all pale, washed out, like pastel -

yoongi wishes he had his camera. he hasn’t taken a photo in a long time, but he wants to, right now. jungkook’s color is not there because he’s putting it in his art. he hears a tiny little song, like a hum, come from jungkook’s mouth. it’s quiet, like a whisper, and yoongi can barely hear it if he’s not controlling his own breathing to do so.

somehow, he doesn’t end up with his new cup of coffee. no, instead he’s sitting on the couch, right behind jungkook, space and air separating them both. jungkook is in his own world, fingers dexterously working; sometimes he uses a paintbrush, sometimes he uses his fingers. fine details are smaller bristles; curves are used with the side of his finger. at first yoongi thinks it’s just a mismatch of color, but soon, he sees the side profile of someone appear. it’s a familiar one; the nose, the soft mouth, the wide eyes. it’s jungkook himself - a self portrait, he had said - coming to life in color.

there’s no black in the portrait, not until jungkook finishes his face and then heads onto his neck. yoongi doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here, motionless, enraptured by the dance of jungkook’s hands, the slow swish of water from his bowl, the crinkle of tarp as jungkook moves, his soft singing.

the top is a wondrous color made for wonderland books and castles. something like a little boy or girl’s dream; worlds large and beyond imagination - that’s the color, yoongi thinks, bright carmine and jasmine, cerulean, cerise, amethyst. lines of jungkook’s face, hair, going from pale to darker, there, a shine to his mouth, a sort of gleam in his half lidded eyes, looking down at something off canvas. from there the lines get blurrier, less compact, colors mixing into deeper, heavier shades, eventually fading into a matte black. there’s nothing else. nothing else.

jungkook leans back finally, his shoulders slumping, and yoongi realizes it’s been three hours. he hasn’t gotten anything done. jungkook’s fingers are a mess, his wrists even worse, and when he turns to yoongi there’s a spot of blue on his chin.

“i’m not done,” he says softly, and he sounds upset at that.

“you did a lot,” yoongi replies. “maybe just - step back. take a look at it with new eyes.”

“i’ve been here for so long,” jungkook marvels, inhaling with a shudder, carefully touching the screen of his phone. “i got so many messages. maybe i should leave...”

and yoongi - stares back again at the portrait. “it’s beautiful,” he says, voice distant, his mind repeating yes but you more so, more so, more so -

“it’s not done,” jungkook mulls. “it never will be, i think.” he shuffles until he’s leaning back against the couch, his hair tickling yoongi’s nose from where he’s leaning against the armrest.

“you got a little,” yoongi mumbles, reaching over to tilt jungkook’s head up, thumb rubbing at the blue spot on his chin. his heart is expanding. there’s purple on his temple and a bit of red on his cheek, but yoongi doesn’t think the last one is from paint. jungkook stares at him, wide eyed, before turning around so yoongi can easily get to the blue paint better.

yoongi marvels at the length of his lashes, the subtle fullness of his bottom lip. “gone now,” he says, voice a little hoarse, and when he tries pulling away, jungkook grabs his hand. keeps it cupped at the side of his face. he’s so warm. so real.

“thanks,” jungkook says, and yoongi wonders what jungkook is thanking him for. his fingers are still caked with wet paint, and the burst of pastel color spreads onto yoongi’s skin in soft finger shapes. he leans a little bit forward and brings jungkook’s face closer to his own, close enough that the tip of jungkook’s nose is touching yoongi’s. it’s a little bit chilly. his eyes have strange lights in them. there are small freckles and acne scars on his face. the apples of his cheeks are pink. when yoongi leans in, he closes his eyes, tilting his head, and yoongi meets him halfway - and his mouth is as soft as yoongi always thought it would be.

jungkook smells like strawberries. when he smiles, he’s open and free, but in between the cracks there’s secrets he’s keeping to himself, dreams and hopes and songs.

yoongi thinks he can spend an eternity trying to find them.