Chapter Text
It’s the third night in two weeks that Jungkook comes back past two o’clock, this time with a split lip and a slowly forming bruise smeared against his cheekbone.
“Kookie,” Seokjin says as soon as he opens the door, arms spreading instinctively to pull Jungkook in, to protect the youngest of them from whatever shit he’s gotten into this time. Jungkook brushes his hands off easily, eyes lacking any sort of emotion.
“I’m fine, hyung,” he says briskly, shouldering past Seokjin into the room. Seokjin wants to push, wants to insist that actually, he’s not. But instead he bites his tongue and closes the door behind Jungkook. When he turns back around, Jungkook is already out of sight, and the bathroom door is closed. Seokjin rubs at his forehead with the back of his hands, massaging away the headache growing there.
“Jungkook’s back?”
It’s Taehyung, wide eyes looking far too awake for the hour. Seokjin doesn’t need to check his phone to know it’s past three am – he’d checked every five minutes that Jungkook had been out.
“Yeah. He’s in the bathroom now.”
Taehyung hums in response, gaze on Seokjin but eyes distant, seeing elsewhere. The silence is full of things neither is willing to say – things like how Jungkook keeps managing to do this and where he’s getting these bruises from and why he won’t just let them help him.
“It’s just one bruise as much as I could see. His lip was bleeding, but it looked like that was all.”
Taehyung nods, uncharacteristically quiet. “Should I go talk to him?” he says eventually, voice a whisper.
Seokjin gestures to the closed door. “Be my guest – I doubt you’ll get much though.”
Taehyung nods and Seokjin watches as he walks over to the bathroom, knocking on the door twice, knuckles gentle on the wood. He says something soft, mouth pressed against the crack of the door, and eventually it opens slowly and Taehyung slips inside. The door closes behind them, and Seokjin sinks onto the edge of the bed where Yoongi and Jimin are still sound asleep. Hoseok’s passed out on the fold-out couch bed. The room smells like Yoongi’s favorite lavender-scented candles and old furniture.
“Kid’s back?”
Namjoon sits down on the loveseat across from Seokjin, splaying one leg over the arm of it, holding a mug of coffee in his hands, like he has something against sleep. Seokjin’s pretty sure coffee doesn’t affect Namjoon anymore though, he’s downed so much of it. It probably circulates through his system just like blood, no longer something Namjoon wants but something he needs to function.
“Yeah. Taehyung’s in the bathroom with him,” Seokjin answers. He’s tired, suddenly. Very tired. His head feels heavy and he tries to stretch away the worry that had built in each and every cell of his body while he’d been waiting, statue still, for the sound of keys in the door lock and the door opening to show Jungkook in one piece on the other side.
“What are we going to do about it?” Namjoon asks, stirring his coffee with the end of a half-gone sucker, cotton-candy pink in the swirling brown.
“Fuck if I know. He won’t say shit,” Seokjin says. He tries not to curse around the others, but with Namjoon he doesn’t care.
“Mm. He has to talk eventually, or one of these days he’s going to show up on our doorstep dead.”
Seokjin feels himself lock up at the casual way Namjoon says it, closes his eyes and squeezes so he doesn’t have to think about the possibility, however real it may be. Namjoon watches, eyes sharp over the rim of his coffee.
“Seokjin,” he says when Seokjin doesn’t make any move at opening his eyes again. “Seokjin, we won’t let it get that far.”
Namjoon watches as the older boy’s face slowly relaxes, tension leaving his expression but not his shoulders, which are still tight against his neck. Namjoon knows a lot of things, but mostly he knows Seokjin feels responsible for them, all of them, even when they’re stupid enough to go picking fights with people and then not telling why. Jimin lets out a loud, coughing sort of snore before burrowing his face further into his pillow. Yoongi adjusts, turning on his side so his back is facing Jimin, and the two sleep on, unaware. Seokjin glances back at them, and his face takes on the smallest hint of a relief.
“Promise?” he says when he turns back around. Namjoon wants to promise, he does. He wants to wipe off the desperation from every muscle of Seokjin’s body, wants to make Jungkook swear he’ll be safer next time, wants to tuck all of them into bed besides Yoongi and Jimin and Hoseok and be sure that they’re warm and safe. He knows it must be what Seokjin feels all the time, that instinct to protect. Namjoon swallows it down, but the desire to spare the others pain is why he nods to Seokjin.
“I promise,” he says, words tasting bitter on his tongue. Seokjin stares at him for a few moments. In the dark of the room, his eyes seem to burn holes, and Namjoon hopes for all of them that this will be a promise he can keep.
“Jin – go to sleep. I’ll make sure Tae and Kookie-ah get to bed alright. You did your part, now get some rest.”
Seokjin looks like he wants to argue, but eventually just sighs and nods, mumbling something about Namjoon being right but also being an annoying shit. Namjoon grins, and Seokjin stands up from the end of the bed only to walk a few paces to the side of it. Jimin, even in sleep, left enough room for a third body, so Seokjin adjusts himself easily under the covers. Jimin makes a noise and scoots closer to Seokjin instinctively, and Namjoon doesn’t miss the way Seokjin’s entire body seems to slowly sag down into the mattress, content in knowing that, for now, things are fine. Or at least as fine as they can be.
Namjoon watches until he’s positive Seokjin is asleep, and a fourth steady breath joins the trio. Namjoon doesn’t finish his coffee, dumps out the now lukewarm liquid into the sink, popping his almost worn away sucker into his mouth. It drips with the taste of espresso and bubble-gum, and he resists the urge to smash it into crystals beneath his teeth. Instead, he lets it melt away slowly in his mouth, eyes trained on the bathroom door until it’s opening again. A strip of light escapes into the dark room, painting the carpet with white, and then the light is obscured by the shadow of a body squeezing its way out. The door closes again, and Taehyung stands there in the almost darkness, looking exhausted. When he spots Namjoon, he makes him scoot over on the loveseat so that there’s enough room for the both of them. Namjoon doesn’t complain as the younger boy presses hard against his side.
“He’s such an idiot,” Taehyung breathes eventually, everything in his voice as tight as the rest of his body.
“Is he alright?”
Namjoon feels rather than sees the shrug of Taehyung’s shoulders against his ribs. “I don’t know hyung. I don’t know so much when it comes to him anymore. But I mean physically, yeah, I think so. He was a bit snappy when I tried to touch his side, so he’s probably bruised up there too. But he at least let me clean his face off a bit and give him some painkillers before kicking me out to shower.”
Namjoon nods. Neither of them say anything for a while, but Namjoon knows their thoughts must be going in the same direction, focused on the same thing. The locked bathroom door is a very solid barrier between them and their maknae, hard and unmoving, and if it affects Namjoon the way it does, he knows Taehyung must really be suffering. He’s always been one of the most emotional of the bunch, wearing his heart on his sleeve, and combine that with the close friendship he’d built up with Jungkook…
It has Namjoon expecting the soft sniffle from Taehyung, the way his fingers twist into Namjoon’s sweatshirt, how he buries his head against the space between Namjoon’s back and the couch cushion to hide the fact that he’s crying. It’s obvious anyway, but Namjoon decides not to comment on it. Instead he reaches out a hand and runs it through Taehyung’s hair.
“He’ll be fine, Tae,” he says after a moment.
“I know,” Taehyung responds, but the shake in his voice says otherwise. Namjoon tells him to go to sleep at least three times, but Taehyung refuses to until Jungkook’s out of the bathroom. No one in the apartment has a set sleeping spot, but on nights like these where Jungkook is late and some of them stay up until he returns, any sort of usual sleeping arrangements are thrown out the window. Seokjin, who normally shares the bed in the second room with Namjoon or Yoongi, is tucked in the bed that is always full of some combination of three people, often the youngest. Whichever two end up sharing the couch bed sleep comfortably knowing that they’ll probably have a real bed the next day. None of them really mind the couch though – even though it’s springy and a bit tough, it’s better than what some of them are used to.
It’s unspoken that tonight, Namjoon will be on the couch with Hoseok. There’s no way anyone will be able to peel Taehyung off of Jungkook’s side for the next few days, and so the two usually find a way to sleep next to each other in one of the available areas until Jungkook’s bruises fade to a barely there yellow.
They wait in silence until the sound of the shower running stops. A few minutes later and the bathroom light flicks off. The door opens with a creaking noise that reminds Namjoon he needs to buy something to grease up the hinges, and when Jungkook steps out in the cover of darkness, Namjoon can almost pretend not to notice the darkening stain marring the side of his face.
Namjoon stands up, and for Jungkook’s part, he doesn’t back away when the older approaches. He tries to stand tall, defiant almost, damp hair hanging over his eyebrows, shoulders tight beneath the baggy white T-shirt. Instead of saying anything, Namjoon reaches out quickly to poke his finger against Jungkook’s side. As Taehyung had predicted, Jungkook flinches back with a bit of a hiss. Namjoon feels his eyes narrow.
“Do I need to ask what I’ll find under your shirt?” he says. He’s aware of Taehyung behind him, one hand clenched in the fabric of Namjoon’s sweatshirt.
“It’s not a big deal, hyung,” Jungkook says under his breath, gaze staring flatly just over Namjoon’s shoulder.
“Yes it is,” Namjoon snaps automatically. He knows it’s useless, knows trying to hammer self-worth into Jungkook’s head is just about as difficult as forcing Yoongi to express actual emotion or Hoseok to stop with the fucking puns, dammit. But the words are there every time, always a mixture of exasperated and angry and guilty and afraid and tonight is no different.
Behind him, he can feel Taehyung’s fingers dig harder into his back. Namjoon should take the discreet hint to back off, to lecture Jungkook in the morning, when he’s not so guarded and hollow-eyed. Taehyung, after all, seems to get more out of Jungkook than anyone else. As it is, Namjoon’s default emotion isn’t compassion like Taehyung’s but anger, and he feels it in every fiber of his being. He knows he’s not mad at Jungkook – more mad at the situation itself, the fuckers that keep leaving Jungkook like this, the fuckers that Jungkook, for some reason, won’t let the others help him with.
“And I’m not going to just sit around as you let your lack of self-preservation skills get you into some mess you can’t walk away from,” he adds, words harsher than he’d intended.
Jungkook’s eyes narrow the slightest bit. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Namjoon laughs, the noise tasting wrong against his lips. Taehyung is nudging desperately, but he uses a hand to brush him off. “And I wonder why that is, Jungkook. It may have something to do with the fact that you’ve been living here for months now and still don’t tell us shit.”
“It’s my shit to tell.”
“And you know who pays the rent on this place? Me and Seokjin and Yoongi and Hoseok to some extent but not you, Jungkook. Is it so wrong of me to ask one small favor – I mean, I think we’d all sleep easier knowing whoever beats the shit out of you won’t show up here one night to fuck with all of us. Or do you like the thought of putting us in danger too?”
Something in Jungkook’s eyes flashes, quick hurt followed by anger followed by the lack of anything at all. “Thanks for the help, hyung.”
The door to the spare room slams shut and Namjoon does nothing but watch it, blood boiling. He’s about to march over and demand answers when Taehyung pinches hard underneath his arm.
“Ow – fuck Tae, watch it!”
“Why don’t you just listen to me?” Taehyung says, voice sharp.
“I’m not going to let him keep evading this.”
“Oh, and your strategy of yelling at him in the middle of the night worked so well.”
Namjoon goes to protest, but Taehyung has a point there. The guilt comes in with a rush like it always does, and he looks away before Taehyung can notice it.
“Whatever. Just – go in there and make sure the kid’s ok. Tell him I care about him too.”
Taehyung sighs, and Namjoon suddenly feels like the younger one. “He knows hyung.”
Namjoon’s doubtful, but he doesn’t say anything as he watches Taehyung slide into the room, giving him one last look before the door’s closing again. Namjoon wants to bang his head against it, but instead he just turns on the balls of his feet and stalks over to the couch bed. He jumps when he makes to slide in and spots wide eyes staring up at him.
“Seokjin? I thought Hoseok – “
“You guys woke us both up. We switched spots.”
“Why?”
“Because Hoseok didn’t want to sleep next to you for fear you’d take out your anger on him.”
Namjoon snorts.
“And because we decided I’d do a far better job of calming you down than he would.”
Namjoon feels something tug in his stomach and lowers himself onto the couch bed, ignoring the way it creaks under his weight. Neither he nor Seokjin are among the touchiest members of the group, but somehow laying there, almost a foot apart, still feels close.
“I just – I don’t know what to do with this situation anymore, hyung,” Namjoon admits to the darkness. He’s facing the ceiling, but can tell that Seokjin is looking at him.
“I know Joon. Neither do I. I don’t think getting mad helps though.”
“I’m not mad at him,” Namjoon bristles. A warm hand reaches out to flick at his elbow.
“I know that you moron. But he might not.”
Namjoon realizes the truth of Seokjin’s words. Realizes above all else, he just wants everyone in the apartment to be ok, to be warm and to be full and to be bruise-less for at least a few days.
“But don’t worry – we’ll figure it out,” Seokjin adds softly. Namjoon finally turns to look at him, at lips that curve into the softest of smiles and hair that falls messily into his eyes.
“How do you know that?”
Seokjin’s smile widens a bit. “Because you promised me so.”
Namjoon has the weird feeling of wanting to punch him but also wanting to hug him. He settles for grunting and turning on his side, facing away from Seokjin. Seokjin turns his back to Namjoon as well, and it’s like that that they fall asleep, spines arched into each other.
.
When Yoongi wakes up, it’s to the knowledge that he’s shoved between not one, but two heavy, snoring bodies. He remembers with a sudden clarity why he always claims the couch bed and refuses to sleep in the three-person one.
Hoseok’s closest, so he shoves out his foot against the boy’s shins. Hoseok doesn’t wake up, but he does make a face and move his legs a bit, giving Yoongi more room to throw the blankets off of him and slowly disentangle himself from the mess of limbs and sheets.
He’s pretty sure his breath smells, and he’s also pretty sure he must have fantastic bed-head, but the only thing he really cares about right now is food. And coffee. And maybe kicking both Hoseok and Jimin in the balls for squeezing him in the middle like that.
Later, he decides. For now, he just stumbles over to the kitchen, scowling when the coffee pot isn’t already on brew. He flips it on and leans against the counter, waiting for the tip tip of water and espresso to fill the glass pot.
“Goodmorning sunshine.”
Yoongi looks up to find Seokjin smiling at him. Seokjin, of course, manages to look completely put together, having emerged from the bathroom with hair swept to the side and face freshly-washed and breath probably smelling of mint toothpaste too. Yoongi hates him, really. That’s why he begrudgingly pulls another coffee mug out of the cabinet and sits it by his own, an open offer to make Seokjin’s coffee for him. Seokjin nods in response, going over to the other side of the kitchen to pull out a few pans and get started on breakfast for all of them.
Yoongi’s not a morning person, but he’s significantly closer to being one once he has his coffee. The machine beeps that it’s done and Yoongi pours his black and Seokjin’s with added cream and sugar. He places Seokjin’s mug near the stove top so that he can reach it and leans against the counter. Yoongi takes a few sips of his own dark roast before nodding towards Seokjin.
“How did last night go?”
Seokjin doesn’t look up from the eggs he’s beginning to scramble. “In what sense?”
“Well when I went to sleep, you still had a stick up your ass waiting for Jungkook.”
Seokjin’s grip on the spatula tightens a bit before he lets out a long, long breath. “Yeah. He showed up around three.”
“How bad was it?”
Seokjin shrugs. “Not really. A bruise and a bloody lip as far as I know. Not as bad as it could’ve been.”
“But still bad.”
“But still bad,” Seokjin echoes, eyebrows furrowed as he tosses the eggs together. “Namjoon screamed at him a bit.”
“Ah, so that’s what I heard.”
Seokjin looks over at Yoongi and grins. It’s the same grin he’d had when Yoongi had first met him. Then, Yoongi had been alone on the street with nothing but a wad of cash and a change of clothes. Seokjin had approached him like he was a cornered animal, and Yoongi had rolled his eyes at it then, but still, there was the odd desire to sprint, to run away like a stray dog might before capture.
He quickly realized the older wasn’t out to capture though. Seokjin gave him some warm food and that grin and told him that if he wanted breakfast the next day, just to be at that same bench in the morning. Yoongi had snapped at him to go away, but he still ate the warm rice and meat when Seokjin had left. He told himself it had nothing to do with more potential food and everything to do with the bench being a comfortable sleeping spot, but either way, he was still there the next morning and, as promised, Seokjin showed up with a plate of breakfast, still steaming in the cold fall air.
It had lasted for a week and a half before Yoongi caught some sort of cold virus and Seokjin, against Yoongi’s better judgement, hauled him up into his apartment. He got better quickly but Seokjin, besides being good at cooking and apparently nursing people back to health, was also uncannily good at convincing people to do what he wanted.
What he wanted was for Yoongi to stay. So Yoongi, tired and alone and still a bit cold, stayed.
A few months later and he was still staying – they had even moved into a bigger apartment and Yoongi could’ve called it quits then, but something in him refused to allow him to leave. So he got a job and offered to help pay rent and Seokjin’s smile lit up his entire face as he gladly accepted.
Namjoon hadn’t been a lost puppy story, rather an old friend of Seokjin’s who had gotten, for lack of a better word, disowned by his family. He paid rent easily, and even bought the adjoining bedroom and bathroom for the three of them to share, making the space feel almost too big, spacious.
It had only been a month after Namjoon had moved in that Seokjin adopted his new stray. His name was Hoseok and he was high off of every prescription drug Yoongi could think of. The three of them helped him ride off his withdrawal – Yoongi still can picture a sweating, screaming Hoseok if he thinks about it – and then the offer had come up.
Hoseok had refused and left. And then come clambering back one day with eyes glazed again. The process repeated once more before Seokjin convinced him to stay. It seemed what Hoseok really needed, more than any sort of medicine, was a family. Seokjin could offer that at least. If he kept the medicine cabinet locked and didn’t tell Hoseok where the key was, well, that was ok too.
Taehyung and Jimin came as a pair – half-brothers who looked nothing alike but had the same warm, laughing spirit. Dead parents and a few abusive relatives later and Seokjin had scooped the wandering pair up as well.
It was a dead-beat family of sorts. Sure, some of them smoked a bit too much and Jimin never replaced the toilet paper roll and Hoseok made the worst jokes and Namjoon broke everything in his reach and Taehyung bounced off the walls with a weird sort of energy – but really, Yoongi didn’t mind. They all shared one thing in common, and that was undying gratitude to Seokjin.
Who had gone along and brought in a seventh kid when they had all unanimously agreed the apartment had gotten as full as it could get.
Yoongi’s first impression of Jungkook wasn’t much, because the kid was unconscious and bleeding and beaten within half of his life. Seokjin had gone to med school for a while and Yoongi had steady hands and the two of them managed to patch him up. When Jungkook woke up, his fists were flying. He landed a lucky hit on Namjoon before he was out the door, barreling down the stairs by two and only stopping when he tripped over his own feet. Crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, Seokjin tried to talk him down, explain what had happened, where he was.
Jungkook allowed them to feed him and give him some warmer clothes, but disappeared later that day when no one was looking. Seokjin didn’t smile, not that real smile at least, for three days, until Taehyung called him to the window and sure enough, there was Jungkook, head down and hood up and shoulders tense and obviously trying to hide a limp.
It took convincing since he wasn’t unconscious this time, and as soon as Seokjin decided his ankle was sprained and not broken, he was out again, albeit with a few painkillers in hand. A week, and Jungkook was spotted again. He didn’t come with them this time, actually screamed at them to leave him alone loud enough to attract attention. So they did. Yoongi could see the hurt in Seokjin’s eyes, but the older boy would never do something he thought wasn’t wanted. Until Jungkook showed up at their door three and a half weeks later, eyes drooping and leaning against the wall, blood dripping from his nose into his mouth. There wasn’t an explanation, and he didn’t look ready to offer one, but he didn’t flinch away from their eye contact this time or look ready to bolt either. The third time in the apartment seemed to do the trick, and oddly enough it was Taehyung that convinced him to stay. Jungkook accepted, but Yoongi could never shake the feeling that he wasn’t really present, that he was living in the same space as them but not living with them all the same. He was quiet and always sleep-deprived and no one knew anything about whatever it was he was dealing with. Yoongi wasn’t one to approach people, but he had watched Jungkook from a distance, watched him enough to know that it had been a few months now, yes, but the boy wasn’t planning on staying here for much longer.
Which was a real bummer, because Taehyung had taken a liking to the kid. So had Yoongi, if he was willing to admit it. And maybe the rest of them too.
For once, Yoongi thinks Seokjin has maybe bitten off more than he could chew with this one. He’s about to say as much when Jimin comes stumbling in, rubbing at his eyes.
“Wah – is that bacon?” he asks, looking considerably more awake. Yoongi rolls his eyes.
“You sleep like a koala bear, you know that?”
Jimin looks over and grins. “But koala bears are cute, you know.”
“And overly-clingy when one just wants a good night’s sleep with a bit of personal space.”
Jimin laughs, clapping Yoongi on the shoulder. “You chose the wrong bed then, hyung.” Yoongi glares and Jimin just keeps smiling, plopping down at the table, resting his head against it.
“Jiminnie, are the others awake yet?” Seokjin asks, flipping the bacon that Jimin is eyeing carefully.
“Yeah. Hoseok-hyung I think is lying in bed playing Pokémon Go. Or he was just mumbling about Pikachu, I don’t know. Could be either one really. Namjoon-hyung was complaining about his back being stiff.”
“Of course he was,” Seokjin sighs.
“Yeah – hey, did Jungkook-ah come back last night? Tae was about to lose his mind last I saw him.”
“Yeah. They’re both in the spare room.”
“Mm,” is Jimin’s only reply. “Well, I ought to go make sure they aren’t fucking in there.”
Seokjin splutters. “Jimin, god, don’t say stuff like that.”
Jimin smiles innocently. “What? Why not? It’s true.”
Yoongi has noticed Taehyung’s seeming fondness of Jungkook as well. Although he’s pretty sure it’s much more platonic than Jimin likes to tell himself, and he’s also pretty sure fucking is the last thing they’re doing.
Either way, Jimin hops towards the door and throws it open, letting in the light. “Goodmorning sleepy heads!” he says in a sing-song voice, and Yoongi smirks at the twin groans he hears from the previously dark bedroom.
“Ah Tae Tae, you look absolutely disgusting!” The sound of a pillow hitting someone, and more laughter. “Come on you two, Jin-hyung’s cooking bacon.”
Jimin hops back out, and as soon as he’s in the kitchen again, his face instantly falls. Yoongi forgets how easily he can put on a front of happiness until he lets it slip away like this when he’s troubled. Right now, his eyebrows are furrowed and his lip between his teeth.
“Have you seen Jungkookie?”
Yoongi shakes his head. Jimin lets out a low sort of breath and shakes his head.
Hoseok joins them, already complaining about not catching any Pokémon, as if lying in bed unmoving was going to help that situation much.
“Really, at least a Bulbasaur or something. The world is a cruel place,” he says, shaking his head. Yoongi slaps him in the arm because he can, and Hoseok just laughs.
“Ah hyung, I like your hairstyle! What do you call it – help I just got electrocuted? I think that would be a good name.”
Another slap, but Hoseok doesn’t stop laughing, and now Jimin is joining in, the two thinking of creative new names for Yoongi’s bedhead. Namjoon lumbers in and immediately makes himself some coffee, dimly adding “a bird nest made of shit” to the list of things Yoongi’s hair resembles, making both Hoseok and Jimin crack up. Yoongi glares and Namjoon just shrugs before grabbing his coffee and sitting down beside the other two.
Taehyung comes out of the room first, eyes still half-closed and hair (hopefully) even more ridiculous than Yoongi’s. Jungkook follows, and Yoongi does his best not to react to the too dark, too large bruise streaked from his temple to the bridge of his nose, nor the obvious cut from his bottom lip to the middle of his chin, nor the very stiff way he’s carrying himself.
He does feel like hitting someone though. Preferably whoever did this to Jungkook, if he has to choose. He thinks it’s ironic, honestly, how he sees Jungkook like this so often and still can’t get over the fresh anger he feels each time.
“Morning hyungs,” Taehyung says, voice deep and raspy from sleep. Jungkook doesn’t say anything, just plops down in the seat beside Hoseok. Hoseok looks like he wants to make some sort of comment about the purpling stain, but instead just wraps an arm over Jungkook’s shoulders and pretends it isn’t there. No one talks for a few long moments. Namjoon is nursing his coffee like it’s alcohol and not-so-subtly staring at Jungkook, who refuses to return the look. Jimin and Taehyung are having some sort of silent eye conversation, which seems to be their thing, and Seokjin is still wordlessly cooking them all breakfast.
“I heard there was bacon,” Jungkook says eventually, and Yoongi watches the room relax when Jungkook finally talks, voice tired and scratchy, as if nothing has happened, as if his face isn’t hurting like Yoongi is sure it must be with the look of the bruise
“You heard correctly,” Seokjin says too-brightly, putting down a huge plate of bacon in the middle of the table. It’s still sizzling and scorches Yoongi’s mouth when he plucks up a piece, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t taste amazing. They all take the time allotted for breakfast to properly wake up, Seokjin scooping them plates of scrambled eggs as Yoongi sets out everyone’s preferred drink of choice – milk for Jimin and Hoseok, orange juice for Taehyung and Namjoon, water for Yoongi, apple juice for Jungkook. Seokjin just sips at his coffee, looking content. Yoongi’s sure he likes mornings like this the best, where everyone he cares about is together in one room.
The conversation is light and easy, but Yoongi watches as Seokjin’s smile drops a bit and he takes on his Eomma-Jin look. He adjusts how he’s sitting in his chair, takes two more sips of his coffee, and then puts the mug down on the table.
“Do we need to talk about this?” he says bluntly, gesturing to Jungkook or, more specifically, his bruise.
“Nope,” Jungkook responds, popping the p. Seokjin doesn’t seem to like the answer, but Taehyung glances over with a loaded look. A look that Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does and chooses to ignore it. With him, it could honestly be either way.
“I think we need to talk about it,” he says, actively not looking at Jungkook this time, instead forking around with the eggs on his plate. Hoseok’s arm is still over Jungkook’s back, and he squeezes the boy’s shoulder, a non-verbal form of reassurance.
“Good for you hyung,” Jungkook says, and Jimin visibly winces.
“Jungkook-ah, don’t talk to your hyung that way,” Yoongi corrects automatically.
“Oh, so now you two are taking sides? Tag-teaming me or something?”
Jungkook’s fork is still in his hand, but he makes no sign of moving it, speaking his words directly down towards his plate but loud enough for everyone to hear. By some strange chance of nature, Taehyung isn’t directly at his side. Instead, it’s Jimin who is gnawing at his bottom lip and Hoseok, who just keeps squeezing Jungkook’s shoulder over and over again.
Namjoon doesn’t say anything, and the air is tense, and when Yoongi turns his head he sees that Seokjin is giving him that pleading look that says fix this.
In the end, Seokjin is too nice. He’d never say anything, never be one to lecture or press, if he thought it was making the other person upset. And Namjoon, Namjoon’s too aggressive, lets his emotion towards the situation bleed into anything he’s trying to say, making everything come off as fuel waiting to be sparked into fire.
Yoongi likes to think he’s nothing like either of them in those ways. He’s not soft enough to fear telling someone what they need to hear, but he has control over his emotions so that they don’t rub off on everything he does and says.
It’s why he’s often looked at to diffuse situations like these, situations where everyone is feeling but no one knows how to accurately express it in a way that doesn’t feel intrusive or angry.
Yoongi’s specialty, luckily, is not expressing emotion at all.
“Jungkook. Namjoon isn’t doing anything wrong by asking you about this. It’s not like we don’t see the bruise on your face. We do, and we care, so we’re going to want to talk about it.”
He feels Taehyung’s eyes on him and sees in his peripheral the younger boy nodding along with his words. Jungkook doesn’t speak, knuckles white.
“In the end, it’s your choice if you do. Just know that lying to us or refusing to open up does you more harm than anyone.”
Hoseok opens his mouth to add his input, looking hesitant, but Jungkook cuts him off. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says.
Which Yoongi had expected, so he looks at Hoseok and nods. Hoseok understands his meaning, and so he taps Jungkook on the shoulder lightly.
“Ok, we don’t have to. But you at least have to tell us where you’re hurt so we can patch you up.”
Jungkook hesitates for the slightest bit before he lets out a breath and puts his fork down. He looks up then, for the first time the entire morning, and his doe-eyes are always bigger and younger looking than Yoongi remembers. Yoongi’s artistic side appreciates the way the purple contrasts directly with the black of his hair, the white of his skin, a beautiful smear of vivid color. The sensible side of him thinks it’s ugly and painful and will take too long to fade away.
“I’ve got the bruise and the cut, obviously,” Jungkook begins after a moment, eyes only on Yoongi. “I think – I think my ribs may be a little banged up, and uh – “ he reaches back, fingers grazing at the nape of his neck, “it kind of hurts back here a bit. I don’t remember being hit there, but yeah.”
“Mm,” Namjoon says eventually. “We’ll look at it after breakfast, hm?”
Jungkook’s eyes flick over to Namjoon’s, some sort of angry reluctance in them, but they all know it’s Namjoon’s way of apologizing, so eventually Jungkook nods.
“Ok.” He picks up his fork and shovels some egg into his mouth and they don’t mention it again. But Yoongi’s used to this. Used to avoidance and arguments that are settled with no real resolution and heads that butt over the stupid stuff, yeah, but over the important stuff too.
“So hyung. Did you have any luck with the Pokemon last night?” Taehyung prompts Hoseok after a few moments. And nothing’s worse than the tirade that that question brings. Still, it’s comfortable and it’s easy and Yoongi finishes his breakfast first, putting his dish in the sink and going to work on the mess that is apparently his appearance at the moment.
He hears them cleaning up in the kitchen, talking and laughing and people walking around, getting dressed and swapping daily schedules and people come in and out of the bathroom, Namjoon to look for his toothbrush, which has apparently gone missing, and Seokjin to shuffle through the medicine cabinet, no doubt looking for pain relievers and anything else to help Jungkook.
Eventually though, it’s Taehyung that works his way in, and for a while the two are silent. Then –
“Thanks hyung.”
Yoongi pretends not to know what he’s talking about. “With what?”
Taehyung elbows him in the side. “You know. With Jungkook. He gets defensive and stuff and I don’t know, sometimes the others just don’t – “
“You don’t need to thank me Tae.”
Taehyung rolls his eyes. “As noble as that is of you to say, I am, so deal with it.”
Yoongi laughs a bit, giving Taehyung a small grin in the mirror. “Kookie’s alright then?”
Taehyung shrugs a bit. “Is that idiot ever really alright?”
“True.”
Taehyung’s smile grows, but it still feels wrong. If Yoongi were Seokjin maybe he’d reach over and pull the obviously distressed boy into a hug. But he’s not Seokjin, he’s Yoongi, so instead he just goes back to washing his face. Taehyung works at the sink beside him, brushing his teeth and going as far as to style his hair a bit.
“Mm – going somewhere?” Yoongi prompts.
Taehyung grins. “Yeah. Job interview at that day care I was talking about. I can’t look too ugly.”
Yoongi nods. “Good luck kid.”
“On the interview or not looking ugly?”
Yoongi smirks into the mirror. “You choose.”
Taehyung laughs and that’s their morning. Namjoon has work today at the gas station a few blocks down, and will probably make a stop at the music studio at some point during the day too. Seokjin has a shift at the café from eleven to four thirty. Yoongi doesn’t have to go into the studio at all today. Jimin had mentioned going to run a few errands and Hoseok was checking into the retail store to work the better part of the day.
Which left Yoongi and Jungkook with no plans. Jungkook was yet to get a job, partly because he was still so young, partly because Seokjin insisted he didn’t need one, and partly because no one was going to hire a too skinny kid with obvious bruises fresh on his face. It was the summer too, and while no one had asked if Jungkook still went to high school, it wasn’t a concern now. Most of the time, he snuck off during the day to who-knows-where.
Today, Yoongi has other plans.
When the apartment is vacated, Yoongi knocks on the door to the bedroom that Jungkook had slept in that morning. A grunt answers, so he opens it up.
Jungkook is lying on the bed, pencil hovering over his journal and eyes not meeting Yoongi’s through the curtain of hair covering them.
“Jungkook,” Yoongi says.
“Mm.”
“Hungry?”
Jungkook pauses what he’s doing, looks up curiously at Yoongi.
“Lamb skewers?” he asks, something hopeful in his voice.
Yoongi allows himself a grin.
“Yeah, why not?”
Jungkook smiles for the first time that day.
.
“Here.”
Jungkook looks up, mouth half full of food, cheeks bloated to fit it all. Yoongi rolls his eyes, slides his phone across the table.
It’s a routine they’ve developed. Taking Jungkook to eat, showing him a new song Yoongi’s been interested in, listening to the boy’s opinion. They have similar tastes in music, he’s discovered, and when Yoongi finds a particularly good song he always remembers to bring it to Jungkook. When he’s listening to music is one of the only times Jungkook seems truly at peace.
It’s one of Zion T’s new singles, and Yoongi knows that the artist is one of Jungkook’s favorites that Yoongi’s introduced him to.
“Have you heard this one yet?” Yoongi asks. Jungkook just shakes his head, clicking play. Yoongi lets him listen, goes back to eating his own food, but glances over enough times to gauge Jungkook’s reaction. His eyes are closed, and he chews slowly as he listens. Like this, Yoongi can stare without getting caught, allow himself to really look at Jungkook without the other getting defensive.
The bruise looks worse up close. It’s already swelling painfully, and the small cut on his chin and lower lip stings a bright, inflamed red. The back of his neck, according to Seokjin, showcases a similar gash. Seokjin had examined his ribs earlier too, deeming them not broken, probably just a bit bruised, but Yoongi knows he’s in pain by the stiff way he sits.
He feels the familiar anger. Like this, Jungkook is just a kid, a kid who enjoys music and lamb skewers and shouldn’t be hurt like he is.
“It’s good hyung.”
“I thought you’d like it.”
“Zion T-sunbaenim has a good voice. I always like the songs you show me from him.”
“You do, don’t you?”
Jungkook nods, looks back down at his plate.
“You know you could tell me.”
Jungkook looks up, confused.
“Who’s doing it. You can tell me. I wouldn’t let the others know, but sometimes talking about these things… it’s cathartic.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Wanting is different than needing.”
Jungkook snorts, shakes his head. “Really hyung. I’m fine.”
“Are you?”
Jungkook meets his gaze, something heavy in his eyes, something too old for him. “Yes. I am.”
“You don’t have to leave either.”
At that, Jungkook tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing.
“What do you mean? I’m not g-“
“I’m not an idiot, Kookie. You’re biding your time. You’re planning something, and it doesn’t involve staying. I don’t know why and I don’t know what it is, but I do know it’s gonna break Jin-ssi’s heart.”
Jungkook crinkles his nose. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Yoongi sighs. “Of course you don’t.” He leans forward a bit. “But if you ever decide that you do, I’m here.”
Jungkook doesn’t thank him, doesn’t say anything, just fiddles with the zipper of his jacket until Yoongi decides it’s time to go back.
.
They eat dinner all together. Taehyung’s gushing about his interview, about children, and Jimin makes it his job to tease him in every way possible. Jungkook sees right through it though – each joke made with too fond eyes and a barely contained smile. Yoongi’s on his phone, fiddling with his dinner, Namjoon’s reading something, Seokjin and Hoseok are listening intently. Jungkook’s trying to listen, really, he is. But his head is buzzing and he can feel his hands starting to shake and he doesn’t trust himself to hold down anything he eats.
It doesn’t go unnoticed. Jimin gives him a look, and then glances down at Jungkook’s plate pointedly. Jungkook just responds with a blank stare, feigning ignorance. Jimin’s head tilts, a question in his eyes, something sharp with concern, and Jungkook looks away.
He feels the nerves steadily growing in his stomach. His phone buzzes against his thigh, and he doesn’t check it, already knows who it is, what it says. He forces himself to take a deep breath, squeezes his hands together underneath the table.
Don’t let them know, don’t let them know, don’t be weak, for once, don’t be weak.
As soon as dinner’s over, he scrapes what’s left of his food (too much) into a Tupperware for the next day. He sits on the couch. He stands up. He goes to the bathroom, splashes water in his face, paces back and forth, pulls out his phone.
‘i’ll be right there’ he sends. He doesn’t look at his reflection in the mirror as he walks out.
It’s Hoseok who stops him. “Hey kiddo – where are you walking so fast to?”
“Couch bed.”
“Really? The others are in the living room – I think Jimin’s started up some sort of Mario Kart challenge.”
Jungkook swallows. “Sounds fun, but I’m kinda exhausted right now, think I might go to bed early.”
“It’s only, like, seven though. You’re already tired?”
Jungkook’s used to lying. It doesn’t mean he likes it. So he just nods. Hoseok looks suspicious, but Jungkook refuses to balk under his gaze. Instead he widens his eyes, pulls the innocent mask, dares to look confused at why Hoseok’s acting the way he is.
Jungkook’s good at manipulating people these days.
In the end, Hoseok just ruffles his head. “Alright, well sleep tight then – and pray to God you don’t get Jimin as a bed-mate.”
Jungkook forces a grin, waits until Hoseok is gone. He hears chatting still in the kitchen, and someone else is in the bathroom now, laughter from the living room in the adjoined apartment. For a moment he debates staying, staying the whole night, no running, no hiding, just resting and playing and allowing himself to relax.
His phone vibrates, he bites his bottom lip. It’s a wonder he’d managed to shake the ever-clingy Taehyung, even been able to dodge Jimin’s look. It’s a wonder he’s alone right now, out of the always peering eyes of his hyungs. He can’t waste all of that for nothing now.
He makes sure to grab his keys and lock the door behind him.