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Jeongguk is ten years old and his fingers are cold.
He thinks they’re cold because the chains of the swings are freezing, and he’d forgotten to bring gloves with him to school. But he hadn’t thought he’d wait this long for his brother to show up. The sun is starting to set, flurries of snow collecting on Jeongguk’s eyelashes, and his brother still isn’t here.
The other kids have all left already, hand in hand with their moms and dads to their warm cars. With their pictures to show off and hats pulled tight over their ears, one by one his classmates left for the night.
Jeongguk thinks he should head home on his own now, since the sun is setting and he’s not supposed to stay out past dark. But he’s also not supposed to leave without his brother, who hasn’t been this late to pick him up since they began to do this following their mother’s promotion last fall.
“Hey, kid. Are you frozen?”
There’s someone leaning on the gate, he looks big but everyone looks big to Jeongguk. “I’m not frozen.”
“Just making sure,” the boy says, a lazy grin on his features. “You weren’t moving.”
“It’s not fun to swing alone.”
“No?” The boy opens the gate. He’s dressed in a thin jacket and a blue beanie, and Jeongguk notices with a scowl that he remembered to bring gloves. “Can I swing with you?”
Jeongguk frowns, giving the boy a very serious look. “Are you good at swinging?”
“I’m the best.”
“No way,” Jeongguk says. “I’m the best swinger.”
“Prove it.”
It’s not easy to swing when it’s so cold out, when Jeongguk’s fingers are bright red and there are snowflakes falling in his eyes. But he’s competitive at best so Jeongguk pushes off hard and pumps his legs, trying to get the swings to move as high as possible.
The boy follows suit, but he doesn’t swing nearly as high. Jeongguk finds himself laughing, giggling when their pace of swinging matches, and then cackling when he goes faster. The boy has a small smile and his ears fold beneath his beanie. Jeongguk swings so high the chains go slack as he approaches the top, but he doesn’t mind. He likes to try to wrap around the top of the swing set, even if his dad says it’s impossible.
“See!” Jeongguk exclaims, breathing heavily as he drags his feet to bring his swing to a stop. “Told you I was the best.”
“You beat me,” the boy says. “You did well.”
“Are you older than me?” Jeongguk asks suddenly, remembering all the times his mother scolded him to mind his manners, to be polite.
The boy shrugs. “How old are you?”
“I’m ten.”
“Then yeah, I’m older.”
“You’re my hyung!”
“If you’re lucky.” The boy extends his hand, and Jeongguk holds his right elbow with his left hand as they shake. “I’m Yoongi.”
“My name is Jeongguk and I like to draw!”
Yoongi smiles again. “Are you lost, Jeongguk-ah?”
“Nope! I’m waiting for my brother.”
“I see.”
“Hyung, do you like worms?” Jeongguk asks, swinging slowly. He’s too cold to swing as hard and high as he wants to and he wants summer back. “I don’t like worms. There’s a boy in class who eats them and says I have to eat one, too, to be in his secret club.”
Yoongi hums, holding onto the chain of Jeongguk’s swing. “You don’t have to eat a worm, Jeongguk.”
“Would you eat a worm?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Why would I?”
“Don’t you want to be in a secret club?”
Yoongi takes off his beanie, runs fingers through his hair as the snow picks up. He holds out the hat for Jeongguk. “Here.”
Still swinging, Jeongguk looks at the hat with a frown. “What?”
“Take it.” Yoongi waits until he does. “Put it on. There, now you’re a part of my secret club.”
Jeongguk giggles, the hat warm on his head. He hadn’t realized how cold his ears were before. “I like your secret club. Where does it meet?”
“Right here. Whenever you want to swing.”
“I always want to swing.”
“Then I guess we’ll always be meeting.”
The daylight is fading fast, snow collecting on the ground and on Jeongguk’s shivering fingertips. His coat is wet from the slush. Jeongguk is going to tattle on his brother for this.
“Hey, Jeongguk-ah!” There’s his brother, standing by the gate with a lollipop. “Let’s go home.”
Jeongguk hops off the swing, running as fast as he can to the other side of the playground. He stops halfway there, turning around to face Yoongi, where he’s still sitting on the swing.
“Bye, hyung!” Jeongguk waves, and keeps waving until Yoongi does, too. “I love you!”
That’s what his mom says every morning and every night, and again whenever Jeongguk leaves to play with friends. He shouts it again, because Yoongi didn’t say anything back, waits until Yoongi shouts, “Get home safe, kid.”
Jeonghyun hands him a lollipop as he leaves, takes Jeongguk’s backpack to carry it home. Jeongguk remembers the beanie when they’re already too far to turn around.
Jeongguk is sixteen and the leaves crunch beneath his feet.
“I know you’re following me.”
“I’m not! I just happen to be going this way.”
“Your house is on the other side of town, Jeongguk.”
“I want to go the long way.”
Yoongi stops and waits for Jeongguk to catch up with him. “At least walk next to me.”
Knocking their hips together, Jeongguk grins. “Aw, hyung. You like me that much?”
Yoongi curls his knuckles beneath Jeongguk’s chin gently. “Nope.”
They walk together, no destination that Jeongguk can see clearly, but he could never keep track of Yoongi. Sometimes he sits on a bridge and stares at the sky for hours. Sometimes Jeongguk sees him sitting in the window of a convenience store, ignoring his food and tapping out a rhythm on the counter. He never explicitly gives Jeongguk permission to sit next to him but he doesn’t turn Jeongguk away. He’ll share his food or snacks, give a coat if Jeongguk forgot his, or let him tag along for dinner or sit in the park with his friends.
He’s supposed to go home after school but his parents always work late and they won’t notice. And Jeonghyun spends most of his time with his current girlfriend of the month before he’ll graduate at the end of the year. Jeongguk doesn’t like to be alone and Yoongi offers company without making Jeongguk feel stupid for wanting it.
“Come on,” Yoongi says quietly- he’s always speaking quietly, like he doesn’t want the world to hear what he has to say, not yet. With a hand on the small of Jeongguk’s back, Yoongi leads him into a convenience store.
Jeongguk hadn’t even realized they’d gotten back to town, too absorbed in watching the leaves fall off the trees as they walked. Yoongi was always walking around, drawing inspiration from everything he sees and finds. Drawing inspiration for what, he wouldn’t tell Jeongguk.
They collect a few things of ramen, a couple kimbaps, and some cookies and sit at the window. Yoongi pays because Jeongguk hasn’t gotten his allowance this week. Yoongi pays even when Jeongguk has his allowance.
“Hyung, where are you going after graduation?”
Yoongi slurps his noodles. “Nowhere, probably.”
Rolling his eyes, Jeongguk knocks their shoulders together. “Are you leaving the city?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says. “I’ll go to university in Seoul.”
“Can I hang out in your dorm?”
“Don’t you have your own friends?”
Jeongguk thinks of Taehyung and Jimin, two upperclassmen who pulled pranks in the hallway and got Jeongguk detention a few months ago from accidental involvement. They’d broken him out by distracting the teacher, and then took him out for ice cream as an apology. Taehyung had declared them best friends by the end of the night and keeps Jeongguk from staying cooped up in the empty house all day.
Jeongguk thinks of Namjoon, a friend of Yoongi’s from a nearby town. He laughs loud and inspires Yoongi and Jeongguk wonders if Yoongi loves him. They’ve all hung out before, mostly by accidentally running into each other, but Jeongguk likes nights like these the best.
“Yes,” Jeongguk stays instead. “I have lots of friends.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You don’t, either.”
“I know.”
“Hyung, I want ice cream.”
Yoongi digs into his pocket, pulls out a few bills and hands them over. Jeongguk comes back a minute later with two different cones. They eat quietly, Jeongguk a little too fast until he has to stop due to a brain freeze.
“Namjoon and I are going to be roommates at university,” Yoongi says. Jeongguk finds himself pouting. He knows Namjoon skipped a grade. He wishes he could skip three grades so he can graduate with them, but he’s still a kid in Yoongi’s eyes. With worsening skin and teeth that might still need braces, Jeongguk isn’t cool enough to go to college with Yoongi.
“I want to leave Busan,” Jeongguk says, staring at the wrapper of his ice cream.
Yoongi makes a noise of understanding. He’s collecting their trash but Jeongguk will be the one to throw it away. “Right now?”
“Not right now. I don’t want to make my mom sad.”
“Mhm. How’s your brother?”
“He says he’s going to marry his girlfriend.”
That gets a laugh out of Yoongi. “Didn’t he say that about the last three?”
“Yeah.”
Jeongguk likes Yoongi’s laugh, even though he hears it sparingly. In the hallways at school, Jeongguk always tries to get Yoongi to laugh, sometimes enlisting the help of Jimin or Taehyung to do so.
There’s more that Jeongguk wants to say- that he thinks he should say- but their friendship has always been easier without words. They share music more than anything, but Yoongi never tells him to shut up when Jeongguk shares stories. Not like his brother, who is more interested in living it up before university, or his parents, who are more concerned with their careers before anything else.
Yoongi watches Jeongguk trace the back of his hand. “Where do you want to live, Jeongguk?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I think the states, but I’m not good at English. My mom says I could stay with her in Japan when she’s there.”
“Japan is nice.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you get enough to eat?”
“Yes, hyung.”
They walk to a nearby park, Jeongguk spreading his schoolwork out on a table to work on his projects. He hates drawing for assignments, so he ignores them, even though they’re a few days overdue, and sketches what he sees, instead. He sees worms, burrowing under leaves and twigs. He sees a butterfly, perched on the edge of a flower. He sees Yoongi, hunched over some sheet music with his hair, a faded brown now, falling into his eyes.
His sketchbook is embarrassingly full of sketches of his friends. There’s Taehyung, baking cupcakes and swearing there was no weed in them but not letting Jeongguk have one. There’s Jimin, dancing in the living room. His brother, sitting on his phone to text his girlfriend. None of his parents, though, who are never home long enough for Jeongguk to get a good sketch.
But there is more of Yoongi than anything else. Jeongguk thinks he does a good job hiding his crush when they’re spending time together but if Yoongi sees the pictures then Jeongguk will have to burn the entire book.
“That doesn’t look like homework,” Yoongi says, collecting his sheet music. It’s getting late. There’s no one waiting for Jeongguk at home. “How are your classes?”
“I’m failing math but my art is being featured in the end of year showcase.”
Yoongi’s face lights up, like it does whenever they talk about art or music together. Like it does when Yoongi finishes a song, even if there’s no one he’s going to show it to. “Yeah? You have to attend, right? I’ll come, too.”
“Really?” Jeongguk keeps his palm over his sketch. “Hyung, you’ll come?”
“Of course, Jeongguk-ah. You never show me your art.”
Jeongguk never shows his art because it’s childish. His style isn’t refined and he still needs to trace faces to get them perfect.
“Will you bring me flowers?”
“Do you want flowers?” Jeongguk nods. “Then I’ll bring some.”
Jeongguk’s phone rings and Jeongguk is surprised to see that it isn’t Taehyung calling. It’s his mom, she’s home for the weekend and wants to take him to dinner. “I have to go, hyung.”
“I’ll walk you to the bus stop.”
“I’m not a kid,” Jeongguk scowls, shoving his pencils and book into his bag. “I can walk to the bus on my own.”
Jeongguk loops his fingers around Yoongi’s wrist as they walk. Yoongi lives the direction of the opposite bus line but he waits at the bench with Jeongguk. They share headphones and Yoongi introduces him to the underground rappers he’s been listening to lately.
“Bye, hyung,” Jeongguk says, stepping onto the bus and swiping his card. “I love you.”
“Have a good night, Guk-ah.”
Jeongguk is twenty-one and he’s ready to give up.
He never regrets becoming an art history major more than when finals come around. And they’re always coming around. Every semester. Every semester Jeongguk falls into the trap of thinking he’s safe, and suddenly he’s got four exams on art theories and artists and different movements and no brain cells left to study with.
“Dude.” Taehyung pinches his nose, only letting go when Jeongguk twitches violently.
“Hey!”
“Just making sure you’re alive. I don’t think you were breathing for a good five minutes.”
“I hate art.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
Jeongguk snorts. “You don’t drink.”
Taehyung pokes the back of his pencil at Jeongguk’s chest. “That’s not the point.”
The point is that they’ve been cooped in the back corner of the library for the entire day. Jimin stopped by earlier to drop off coffee and Namjoon brought them pens because Jeongguk forgot to bring pens. They’ve been studying for the same three finals, both art history majors while Jeongguk is minoring in literature and Taehyung is double majoring in photography. He’s glad they share a lot of classes; it helps him feel less lonely since moving to Seoul for university.
The point is they often wonder if they’ve made the wrong decisions. Jimin was going to be an engineer and a dancer and Yoongi had already started making a name for himself at a small studio in Gangnam. Jeongguk just wanted to draw. Taehyung just wanted to take pictures. So why were they sitting in the library, eyes bleary and hurting, with pages and pages of historical artists and their accomplishments spread out between them?
“I’m going to drop out.”
Taehyung nods. “Same.”
“We can live in a box with Yeontan.”
“Yeontan gets his own box.”
“Okay.”
Jeongguk drags over his flashcards and they start to quiz each other. Slowly, gradually, students begin filing out of the library. The couple in the shelves leaves sometime after nine. The girl stressing over math formulas leaves a little before ten. Even the kid who’d been sleeping leaves a few minutes before eleven.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk says, when all the letters of his notes have started to blur together. Taehyung makes a noise to say he’s listening. “How did you confess to Jimin hyung?”
Taehyung laughs, quietly and gently. “I asked if he wanted to get dinner, and when we got there I said this one was our first date. He sighed very hard and said we’ve been dating for six months already.”
“What?”
“He said all the times we got ice cream, when we went to karaoke or kissed- hell, that time we slept together. They were all dates. It’s our year anniversary next month.”
Jeongguk stares like Taehyung just grew a third head. “What the fuck.”
“I know,” Taehyung says sheepishly. “Sorry, I know that won’t help you with Yoongi hyung-”
“Whoa, what?” Jeongguk looks up from his notes. The moon hangs high in the window behind Taehyung. “What makes you think this is about Yoongi-?”
“The way you look at him, maybe?” Taehyung folds his hands beneath his chin. “The way you’ve followed him around since we were kids? Your entire face lights up when he wants to share music with you, you call him hyung more readily than you do for Jimin, you only want to show him your art projects. Or, and this is my strongest evidence, when you’re drunk you talk about how badly you want him to kiss your nose while you hold his hand.”
Jeongguk feels his cheeks burn. “Oh my God.”
“Which is disgusting, by the way. All these years trying to get you to embrace your inner hoe and you want to hold hands.”
“Shove it.” Jeongguk pushes his study guide in Taehyung’s face but Taehyung is laughing. “You’re terrible and I hate you.”
“I have pictures, too,” Taehyung continues, like Jeongguk isn’t currently trying to will the ground to swallow him alive. “I’ve been waiting for one of you to confess so I can start sending them out as Christmas cards.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I will and you’ll love them.”
“I just-”
Jeongguk doesn’t even know. He thinks Taehyung might get it, from the way his smile softens and he reaches out to hold Jeongguk’s hands. It’s not that easy. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with Yoongi, it feels like something that has been there as long as Jeongguk can remember, sitting in his chest like flower seeds and blooming without fail every spring. His body feels like a garden filled to the brim with Yoongi’s favorite flowers and the ugly ones they both laugh at.
Like the flowers Yoongi handed Jeongguk the first time his art was ever showcased. It was a small event, just something at school meant more for parents and for the kids to get a little experience but Yoongi had kept his promise and brought Jeongguk yellow flowers. His mother had sent three bouquets to the house to apologize for missing it. His father hadn’t even known it happened. Jeongguk pressed and kept one of the yellow flowers in his favorite book.
“I like him so much, hyung,” Jeongguk whispers. And it’s the first time he’s said it aloud, always keeping the words tucked inside his heart, where no one can overhear. No one can tell him he’s stupid for harboring such feelings for someone so much older, someone so different, too similar.
“I know, Guk-ah,” Taehyung says, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of Jeongguk’s hands. “I know you do. You should tell him.”
“No way.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
“He could hear me.”
Taehyung laughs gently and stands up, gathering all of their notes and study guides. “He could be in love with you, too. And if you tell him, you can get your nose kisses.”
Jeongguk allows himself to be led out of the library, into the balmy and humid night. “Don’t use nose kisses against me.”
“I’ll kiss your nose right now.”
“At least commit, asshole.”
Outside the library, Taehyung grabs Jeongguk’s face and before he can react, plants a sloppy kiss to his nose. Jeongguk wails, wiping at his nose as Taehyung drops his bag and heads in the direction of the dorms. Jeongguk collects his stuff and follows.
“Talk to Yoongi.”
“No.”
“Talk to Yoongi.”
“No.”
“Don’t talk to Yoongi.”
“No.”
“Hah-”
“Wait-”
Taehyung holds up a phone and Jeongguk recognizes his case. “Your phone has been going off for at least an hour. It’s probably the love of your life.”
“Fuck off.” But it is Yoongi, sending a few texts to ask how the studying is going, if he needs anything, if he’s okay since Jeongguk hadn’t answered. “I’m gonna go see him. Let him know the studying didn’t kill me.”
“You could text him.”
Jeongguk doesn’t answer, flipping Taehyung off as he crosses the street instead of continuing straight down the street to the apartment Taehyung shares with Namjoon. His dorm room sounds even less appealing. The apartment Yoongi and Seokjin rent is nicer, a better couch for Jeongguk’s back, he rationalizes as he catches the last subway train.
He takes the elevator up six floors because he’s too exhausted to think about taking the stair, leaning against the wall as the day catches up to him. He hopes Yoongi isn’t wired with caffeine working on a project.
When he knocks, it takes a few minutes before the door opens and Yoongi stands there, hair a mess and eyes barely open. “Jeongguk-ah?”
“I’m alive, hyung.”
“I can see that.”
“You texted.”
Yoongi tilts his head. “Three hours ago.”
“Yes.”
With a sigh, Yoongi opens the door to let Jeongguk in. “Hungry?”
“I’m okay.”
Jeongguk chucks his backpack onto the couch and kicks his shoes off in the hallway even though Seokjin hates when he does that. Yoongi’s clothes are too small to borrow so Yoongi keeps some of Seokjin’s pajamas in his dresser.
The bed smells like Yoongi as Jeongguk wraps himself in blankets. Yoongi follows slowly, turning off the lights and kicking Jeongguk’s clothes to the side of the room so they don’t trip over anything. He used to complain when Jeongguk did this, but lately he hasn’t said a word about it, grumbling and tugging his blanket back but at the end of the night letting Jeongguk have his way.
He likes this more than the couch, where he used to crash on nights he stayed over too late studying or working on art projects. It was Yoongi who first led Jeongguk to his bed, instead, saying he wouldn’t be a very good hyung if he let Jeongguk break his back. And Jeongguk likes this, wrapping himself in Yoongi’s blankets that smell heavily like him. Sometimes they smell like week old coffee and Jeongguk doesn’t let Yoongi fall asleep until they wash the sheets.
“Stay on your side,” Yoongi mutters, pushing at Jeongguk’s shoulder.
“Nope.” Jeongguk flops onto his back, Yoongi humming where he’s curled up by Jeongguk’s side. He stares at the ceiling, the pencils stuck up there from whenever Jeongguk gets bored. “Hyung?”
“Yeah?”
He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Everything Taehyung said in the library has been playing in his head and he can’t shake the idea that Yoongi might like him back. Or Yoongi hates him and will kick him out, make him walk across campus alone and cancel their pancake breakfasts.
“I love you.”
“Love you too, Guk-ah.”
Sometimes Yoongi says it back, ruffles Jeongguk’s hair or squeezes his hand. For more than a year, Jeongguk wouldn’t say it, embarrassed about being so open with affection in his first couple years of high school, but Yoongi- god, Yoongi- had asked with half a smirk if he’d done something to make Jeongguk stop loving him and the phrase was back. Yoongi could never do anything to make Jeongguk fall out of love.
“No, hyung, I-” The words get stuck. Jeongguk balls his hands into fists and hides them beneath the blankets. If he’s said it for this long and Yoongi hadn’t understood, what would make this time any different? “I mean it this time. Like- for realsies. Ultimate bromo.”
Yoongi props his head on his hand. “Is this a new Twitter meme?”
“I’m in love with you.”
Yoongi is- he’s quiet, starring at Jeongguk as if he can’t comprehend anything he said. Then he moves, shoves his face into his pillow and his cheeks burn bright red, much like Jeongguk’s. Yoongi asks, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Jeongguk says, and every word burns a beautiful fire within his lungs. “Yes, I- For so long, hyung. I just- a lot. I love you. A lot. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, you’re older and in grad school and working in the city and I still can’t draw a nose without making it look like a carrot-”
Yoongi’s hand falls softly to Jeongguk’s cheek, thumb touching the side of his nose. “Do you model them after your own carrot nose?”
“My nose isn’t that big,” Jeongguk mutters. Embarrassment sits in his stomach, but- Yoongi isn’t laughing. “I’m sorry, hyung. We can go to sleep, I think I left a toothbrush in your bathroom can I get it in the morning-?”
“Jeongguk-ah, at least let me answer.”
“Oh, yeah. Please be nice, I’ll cry if you’re mean.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Yoongi laughs. “God, Jeongguk, I’m so relieved.”
“Relieved?"
“I love you, too. Fuck, Jeongguk. I’ve loved you for so long.”
“I-” Jeongguk lets Yoongi tilt his head, catches sight of Yoongi’s wide eyes and red cheeks and boop-able nose. “This is a mean joke.”
“It’s not a joke.”
“Pinky promise?”
Yoongi holds up his free hand, and Jeongguk links their pinkies together. “Promise.”
“Holy shit.”
Jeongguk laughs, curls onto his side and shoves his face into Yoongi’s neck to hide it but Yoongi knows. He feels so warm; Yoongi’s arm a welcome weight on his waist and he can’t- he can’t believe it.
Yoongi moves his hand up Jeongguk’s arm, turns his face away from his neck to look at him and Jeongguk is so fucking tired and he has ten more chapters to review in the morning but he never wants to stop looking at Yoongi’s face.
“Can I kiss you, Guk-ah?”
Jeongguk chokes on his quiet, “Y-yes,” and then Yoongi is moving, closing the distance between them to press his lips gently to Jeongguk’s cheek, and then his nose (finally,) his eyelids- one after another- before he kisses Jeongguk, soft and warm, sends electricity soaring to the tips of Jeongguk’s toes.
When they break apart, Jeongguk sighs. “Oh my god.”
“Good?”
“Again.”
“Demanding, baby.”
Jeongguk likes the sound of that, grinning widely as Yoongi leans in to kiss him again, hand on the back of Jeongguk’s neck to keep him close. He pulls away and Jeongguk tries to chase that distance, and Yoongi allows him another quick kiss before pushing his chest lightly.
“You need to sleep,” Yoongi murmurs. “Class and studying in the morning.”
“Tae and I are dropping out.”
“You can stay on his couch.”
“Mean.”
“Goodnight, Jeongguk,” Yoongi says, and he’s grinning. He strokes his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair, soft and careful enough to make him shiver.
Jeongguk snuggles close. “I love you, hyung.”
“I love you, too.”
Jeongguk is twenty-four and he can’t fucking focus.
He’s gripping a pencil tight enough to break, staring at the portrait he’s almost finished with. He just needs to finish the shading, fix up the eyes a bit, and his final project of university will be done.
It’s easy. Jeongguk still has a week to finish. He should be done.
But Yoongi’s hand on his thigh is distracting him.
His colored pencils are scattered on the coffee table, the yellow pencil lying on the portrait of Yoongi’s nose. Jeongguk wants to move it, but his hands are clenched at his sides because Yoongi said he’s not allowed to touch.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk gasps, as Yoongi’s fingers dance up to Jeongguk’s crotch, stroking his cock where he’s hard behind his jeans. He kisses below Jeongguk’s ear and Jeongguk whines.
“Don’t you have a picture to finish, baby?”
Yoongi grips his cock, smiles against Jeongguk’s neck. He’d just gotten home from the studio, joining Jeongguk on the couch to watch him draw for a while. When his hand fell to Jeongguk’s thigh he should have seen this coming, knows what kind of a mood Yoongi gets in when he writes a good song, when Jeongguk draws him.
“I-” Jeongguk whines, hips kicking as Yoongi strokes his cock gently. He needs more. Yoongi knows. “I can’t-”
Yoongi scrapes his teeth against Jeongguk’s neck, nibbling a mark he’d left there a few days ago. “You have a deadline, though.”
“I- shit- I have time.”
“So you can take a break?”
He taps his finger over the head of Jeongguk’s clothed cock, making Jeongguk jolt where he sits. Jeongguk nods, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.
“Hyung, p-please.”
“Please what, bun? You have to ask for the things you want.”
Jeongguk drops his head, thoughts swimming as he watches Yoongi’s hand work lightly over his cock. “P-please, Yoongi hyung. Touch me.”
Pulling back, Yoongi props his chin on his fist, elbow resting on the back of the couch. Jeongguk’s chest heaves, slumping where he sits, worked up from Yoongi’s constant touches, quiet words in Jeongguk’s ears.
“I am touching you.”
With a whine, Jeongguk looks over, knows the contrast drives Yoongi wild. Jeongguk, eyes shining and body slick with sweat and Yoongi, fully dressed and pristine, working Jeongguk to the edge like he’s doing him a favor. “I need more,” Jeongguk gasps. “Please.”
“Hm,” Yoongi murmurs, brushes Jeongguk’s hair away from his eyes. “More like this?”
Yoongi carefully unbuttons Jeongguk’s jeans, slips his hand beneath his boxers to take Jeongguk’s cock into his hand. Jeongguk’s hips kick- Yoongi’s hand is always so cold, especially against Jeongguk’s flushed skin. He grins against Jeongguk’s cheek, nipping at his ear as Yoongi strokes Jeongguk slowly.
It’s not his favorite way to get off, especially when he’s with Yoongi and they’ve got better things to use, but he loves Yoongi’s touch, loves how much time Yoongi is willing to spend to work Jeongguk up, edge him until he’s crying or make him come again and again until he feels that he can’t breathe. It depends on the mood Yoongi is in, whether he’ll be mean or let Jeongguk come without a fight.
Yoongi plays with the head of Jeongguk’s cock, strokes his hand down the shaft and twists his wrist on the upstroke, plants his other hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder to keep him still. Jeongguk moans, throwing his head back on the couch as Yoongi digs his thumb into the slit.
“Please,” Jeongguk gasps again, voice tipping into a whine. His thighs are shaking, stomach contracting but Yoongi’s hand is moving too slow. “Hyung- I- fuck- wanna come, please.”
“Already, bun?” Yoongi sighs, as if disappointed, and Jeongguk’s head lolls at the tone. He taps Jeongguk’s cock against the bottom of his t-shirt. “We’re just getting started.”
“You’ve been teasing me for an hour,” Jeongguk complains. He wants to touch so badly, wants to wrap his own hand around Yoongi’s and jerk off faster, come all over their hands, but Yoongi is extra mean when Jeongguk breaks orders.
“Want me to stop?”
“No!”
Yoongi presses a soft kiss to his neck. “Then be good, baby.”
With that, Yoongi tightens his grip on Jeongguk’s cock, stroking fast and paying extra attention to where Jeongguk is most sensitive, letting his fingers drag over Jeongguk’s balls and nipping at Jeongguk’s neck. And Jeongguk moans, hands clenched by his shaking thighs, whining Yoongi’s name loud enough to drown out the slick sound of Yoongi’s hand on his cock.
Jeongguk feels boneless, body straining where Yoongi touches him, head feeling light. He turns his head for a kiss that Yoongi happily gives, licking into Jeongguk’s mouth with fervor.
“Shit-” Jeongguk breaks the kiss with a gasp, thrusting his hips up in time with Yoongi’s pace. Yoongi scrapes his nails down Jeongguk’s thigh and he wails. “Shit- I- oh, oh, hyung, don’t stop- fuck- please-”
“Come for me, Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi murmurs, voice low in the way that drives Jeongguk crazy. “Been so good. You can come.”
Jeongguk comes with a whine of Yoongi’s name, spilling white over Yoongi’s hand and the dips of Jeongguk’s muscles. Yoongi strokes him through it, kissing Jeongguk’s cheek and nose and whispering praises to his slick skin, until the pleasure begins to border pain and Yoongi pulls his hand away.
“Hyung-” Jeongguk turns for a kiss, desperate and messy, before he moves, throwing a leg over Yoongi’s waist to settle in his lap, to kiss deeper, to grind his sensitive cock against Yoongi.
“Want to finish your picture now, baby?” Yoongi says the words against Jeongguk’s mouth, grinning teasingly.
“Want you to fuck me, hyung.” Jeongguk wiggles in his lap, feels Yoongi’s hard cock beneath his ass. “Please- I- hyung, need it.”
“Okay, okay,” Yoongi laughs, slides his hands beneath Jeongguk’s shirt to stroke his flushed skin. “Need time to recover?”
“No,” Jeongguk shakes his head. “No. Just want you.”
Yoongi urges him to lie back on the couch with a strong hand on his waist. He tugs off Jeongguk’s jeans and unbuttons his shirt just enough to ruck it up his chest, to bite his nipple as Jeongguk squirms beneath him. Hands tangled in Yoongi’s hair, Jeongguk pulls him up for a kiss, legs falling open for Yoongi to fit between them. For a minute they just kiss, Yoongi cupping his hand over Jeongguk’s cheek and letting his weight rest on Jeongguk’s chest.
“Lie back,” Yoongi says, kissing Jeongguk between each word. “Let hyung take care of you.”
Jeongguk leans over to grab his jeans, pulling out a couple packets of lube and pressing them sheepishly into Yoongi’s palm. “I hoped.”
“You’re so cute, baby.” Yoongi kisses his nose and Jeongguk hopes he ignores his fierce flush. “Lie down for me.”
Yoongi coats his fingers with the lube, keeps his other hand on Jeongguk’s thigh to keep his legs spread. Jeongguk moans at the first press of Yoongi’s slick finger to his hole, sighing as he pushes in. He kisses Jeongguk’s hips, his stomach, takes the head of Jeongguk’s cock between his lips as he pushes a second finger into Jeongguk’s ass, and then a third once he’s stretched the rim.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk whimpers. He kicks his heel into the small of Yoongi’s back. “Take your shirt off. Wanna see you.”
“Yeah?” Yoongi leans over, struggles a little to kiss Jeongguk properly. “Fuck, this was so much easier when you were shorter than me.”
“We didn’t have sex when I was shorter,” Jeongguk points out, pouting as Yoongi pulls out his fingers to undress.
“We kissed that one time.”
Jeongguk throws his arms over his eyes, willing the memory away. “I was seventeen. We were playing spin the bottle.”
Yoongi is laughing, plants his hands on Jeongguk’s hips to kiss him again. “You begged me to bring you to a cool college party, drank one beer, and passed out in my lap. It was adorable.”
“If you love me at all you’ll let that story die.”
“I love you anyway, Guk-ah.”
“Then can you fuck me now?”
“Hm,” Yoongi kisses his cheek, his bottom lip, and then his jaw. “I guess so.”
Before Jeongguk can complain, Yoongi is chucking off his shirt and letting it fall somewhere on the floor, then helping Jeongguk out of his own. “Hurry up, gramps. I’m not getting any younger.”
“I will leave you here,” Yoongi says, aiming a soft slap to Jeongguk’s thigh. He whimpers, cock hard and leaking onto his stomach. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”
“We don’t use them much anymore,” Jeongguk says, running his hands over Yoongi’s back. “Please, I can’t wait anymore.”
“Okay, okay,” Yoongi laughs, sitting back to line his cock at Jeongguk’s slick hole.
Jeongguk lets his arms fall, hanging over the arm of the couch as Yoongi pushes in slowly, running his nails over Jeongguk’s thighs when he bottoms out. Jeongguk moans loudly, legs tensing around Yoongi’s body.
“Move- hyung- hn- please.”
Yoongi holds Jeongguk’s hands over his head and thrusts in hard, pushing deep in Jeongguk’s ass as Jeongguk moans, sighs out Yoongi’s name and falls into the pleasure. He fucks Jeongguk hard and fast, slipping his fingers into Jeongguk’s mouth when he gets a little too loud. His legs stay locked around Yoongi, pulling him closer, babbling around Yoongi’s fingers.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk gasps, spit collecting at the corner of his mouth.
Yoongi uses his thumb to push the spit back into Jeongguk’s mouth, drags his wet fingers to Jeongguk’s chest where he tweaks and pinches at Jeongguk’s nipples, punching out loud whines every time.
“Feel so good, baby,” Yoongi murmurs, sucking a dark mark onto Jeongguk’s neck. “Fuck, so tight around me.”
“Shit- ah-“ Jeongguk cries out when Yoongi hits his prostate, changing the angle of his hips to abuse the spot. “Oh, oh- hyung, please- more-”
Yoongi fucks him harder, sits back and holds Jeongguk’s waist to pull his body down in time with his thrusts. Jeongguk’s body shakes, head falling back as his chest heaves, a moan catching in his throat when Yoongi touches his cock.
“So- fuck- beautiful, bun. Look so good on my cock.”
“Hyung,” Jeongguk whines, head falling to the side. Yoongi grinds deep in his ass and Jeongguk loses his breath. He can feel his orgasm building fast, cock bobbing with every thrust. “C-Can I come? Please?”
Yoongi takes Jeongguk’s cock in his hand, strokes him messily as Jeongguk’s legs seize up and he grabs at Yoongi’s wrists, his waist, thighs- anywhere to touch Yoongi before he comes hard, adding to the mess on his stomach as his back arches. He cries out, Yoongi’s name mixed with a plethora of curses.
It doesn’t take Yoongi much longer, burying himself deep in Jeongguk’s ass before he comes, moaning Jeongguk’s name like a song Jeongguk never wants to stop listening to.
He kisses Jeongguk’s sweaty forehead, pulling out and grimacing at the cum that leaks from Jeongguk’s ass. “We need to shower.”
“Cuddle me.”
Jeongguk lets him wipe down both their chests and the inside of Jeongguk’s thighs before locking his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders and pulling him close. They kiss softly, lazily, Yoongi running his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair as they catch their breath. Yoongi kisses Jeongguk’s nose and grabs the blanket that Seokjin always leaves on the back of the couch.
“You’re so beautiful, Guk-ah.”
“You’re a cheese,” Jeongguk mutters, cheeks warm. He curls against Yoongi’s shoulder as Yoongi pulls him close, trails his fingers over Jeongguk’s arm. They don’t have much room on the tiny, worn couch, Jeongguk lying more on Yoongi than on the cushions. Yoongi had bought a new soundboard instead of a better couch. “Seokjin hyung’s going to kill us.”
“Won’t be the first time.” Yoongi glances at the portrait sitting on the coffee table. “Who’d you draw again?”
Jeongguk lets out a whine, trying to hide his face in Yoongi’s shoulder. “You know that it’s you, hyung.”
“Yeah?”
“I told you a month ago. And that’s your flannel.”
“Thought you stole it.”
“It doesn’t fit me anymore,” Jeongguk shrugs.
“I resent Seokjin hyung for taking you to the gym.”
“I’m getting swole.”
“Go away.” Yoongi pushes at his shoulder, shoves his grinning face away. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” Jeongguk kisses his cheek and gathers the blankets at his waist. It’s a struggle for him to roll off the couch, crawling over Yoongi’s body and sitting on the floor with a thump. Yoongi is concerned for a moment before Jeongguk ruffles his hair, grabs his shading pencil, and fills in more squares of Yoongi’s flannel. “Hyung, you’re coming to the showcase, right?”
Yoongi curls his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair, stroking softly, almost sleepily. “Of course, love. Are your parents coming?”
Jeongguk shakes his head, tongue poking out as he focuses. “Mom can’t leave Japan before the deal is signed. I don’t know where dad is.”
“I’ll be there,” Yoongi promises. “I’ll bring the hyungs, too. Make giant signs with your face on them. One of them will have a collage of your nudes.”
“’Kay.”
Buried beneath scrap paper and too many cups of old hot chocolate, Jeongguk’s phone lights up. It’s another three texts from Taehyung and one from Jimin saying they’re allowing upcoming graduates to start setting up their artwork for the end of year showcase. Jeongguk tosses down his pencils and grabs his boxers where they landed beneath the coffee table.
“Guk?”
“I gotta meet Tae and Jimin hyung,” he says. His jeans are stained with cum. Jeongguk disappears into Yoongi’s bedroom to get dressed, leans down to kiss Yoongi when he comes back. “We’re going to set up for the showcase. Don’t go back to the studio, hyung. It’s late.”
Yoongi laughs quietly, curls his fingers against Jeongguk’s jaw to kiss him again. “Text me when you’re coming home and I’ll order food.”
A week later, Jeongguk stands nervously in front of the five pieces he submitted for his final. Days ago, he thought these were his best, worthy of being showcased, and today as parents and students and professors mill about and judge, he’s wishing he chose anything else. The biggest piece is the one of Yoongi, hunched over his desk in the studio and working on a song. It’s Jeongguk’s favorite.
There’s the flash of a camera and Jeongguk blinks, looking over to see Seokjin holding Jeongguk’s DSLR and grinning. He’s not alone, Namjoon and Yoongi on either side of him. Across the room, Hoseok and Jimin are at Taehyung’s corner.
“There he is,” Seokjin all but shouts. “Our little Michelangelo.”
“Hyung,” Jeongguk complains, hiding his face from the subsequent rapid-fire pictures that Seokjin starts to take.
Namjoon taps the frame of one of Jeongguk’s paintings, the flower with half its leaves on fire. Jeongguk had drawn it after listening to the first song Yoongi had produced entirely on his own. “These are really amazing, Jeongguk.”
Jeongguk ducks his head, feels warmth spread across his cheeks. “Thank you.”
Yoongi waits until he thinks the others are distracted enough before he comes closer, before he tugs out a small bouquet of yellow flowers from behind his back. He presses them into Jeongguk’s arms, tilts his head to kiss the corner of Jeongguk’s mouth.
“You’ve done so well, Jeongguk-ah. These are incredible.”
“Thank you,” Jeongguk murmurs. “I’m really glad you could come.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“I love you.”
Yoongi smiles, soft and sweet and more gums than teeth, and cranes his neck to kiss Jeongguk’s nose. “Love you, too.”
The camera flashes again, their friends loudly complaining that no one wants to see their disgusting affection.
Jeongguk is twenty-six and he’s tired.
The waitress has been to their table four times, but each time Jeongguk has asked her to come back, they just need a little more time, they’re waiting for someone. Jimin has had six beers already. Hoseok is begging to let them order an appetizer. Jeongguk says no. Yoongi isn’t here yet and they never order without him.
“It’s been three hours,” Seokjin points out, as he did when it had been one hour, and then two. “Call him again.”
Jeongguk does, but his phone goes directly to voicemail. “He’ll be here soon. He promised.”
Jimin and Taehyung share a look before they’re flagging down the waitress and telling everyone to order. Jeongguk moves to object, but Taehyung points out that it’s getting late, they won’t have the table all night, he’ll order Yoongi’s usual.
He keeps checking his phone, replies to the messages from his mom and his brother and gets his hopes up every time the device buzzes. The others don’t seem to notice that he’s not really eating, pushing the food around on his plate because he’d ordered something he doesn’t really like and Yoongi isn’t here to switch plates with him. Or, if they do notice, they’re nice enough not to comment on it. Hoseok is talking about his dance studio, Namjoon about the teaching offers he’s been getting, Seokjin telling stories about his time in the military.
Jimin keeps feeding Taehyung, both of them giggling, all but sitting in each other’s laps. They’d gotten married two weeks ago, simple wedding bands on their fingers, just to see what married life was like. Taehyung had shown up on Jeongguk’s doorstep at four in the morning to be a witness and they’d gone to McDonald’s for ice cream to celebrate.
Jeongguk kind of wants to strangle them.
“Jeongguk-ah.” Seokjin is piling his extra veggies onto Jeongguk’s plate. “How’s grad school going?”
“It’s okay,” Jeongguk says, doesn’t mention that he’s thinking about enlisting early. “A lot of work.”
Conversation moves onto something else, doesn’t stay on the same topic for long, and Jeongguk just doesn’t have the energy tonight to keep up with it. His phone hasn’t made a noise in almost an hour. Jimin keeps looking at him like he knows.
A few workers clear the table, leaving the beers and half empty bottles of soju.
“Jeongguk-”
“I got an offer,” Jeongguk says quietly. Jimin and Taehyung lean closer, Taehyung taking one of Jeongguk’s hands into both of his. “From London. Someone wants to commission me for a few pieces. Told his friends about me, too.”
Jimin grins. “That’s amazing, Jeongguk!”
Taehyung asks, “Have you told Yoongi?”
And Jeongguk- hasn’t. He hasn’t mentioned to his boyfriend of almost six years that he’s gotten a job offer on a different continent. That it could keep him out of the country for more than a year if everyone wanted something from him. Taehyung seems to realize this first, glancing at the others to make sure they can’t hear before he stands and crosses the table, sits very close to Jeongguk.
“You need to talk to him,” Taehyung says. Jimin is nodding; of course Taehyung would pass along any updates Jeongguk gave. “Jeongguk, you- this, this isn’t-”
“You have to see it, too,” Jimin whispers. “Jeongguk, you’re not happy.”
“I am,” Jeongguk insists, glaring at Jimin. “I’m happy. He hasn’t been home a lot, that’s all. He’s busy with comeback season.”
“He’s always busy with comeback season,” Jimin says dryly.
It’s true, mostly. Yoongi had been hired by a relatively big entertainment company more than two years ago and had worked his way from tiny contributions to a few songs to being in charge of albums for the company’s groups. But with several groups always needing new songs, Yoongi’s time had been stretched thin.
More often than not, especially lately, Yoongi slept in his studio and Jeongguk only saw him if he visited. He brings Yoongi food and coffee, sits on the couch like he used to do in the shitty studio space Yoongi rented out in Busan. They’ll talk, but unlike high school, Yoongi insists that Jeongguk head home at the end of the night. He used to fall asleep on the couch, wake up to Yoongi’s fingers soft in his hair and smile on his face, but now they’ll walk home together in the cold. Or Yoongi will promise to get home within the hour and Jeongguk still wakes up on the couch at home, alone. He doesn’t like the bed when Yoongi isn’t there to share it.
“Talk to him,” Taehyung repeats. Beside them, Seokjin is laughing at a joke that Hoseok looks ready to murder him for.
Jeongguk looks at the ring on Jimin’s finger, the matching one on Taehyung’s. “Do you think he’d marry me?”
“Of course,” Taehyung says. “Couples have rough patches. You love him a lot, Guk, but I don’t like seeing you sad.”
Jimin scoffs “And I don’t like that he’s not here on your fucking bir-”
“Hyung,” Jeongguk hisses. “Shut up.”
Jimin fixes him with a glare but doesn’t say anything else, and Jeongguk thinks it’s just in time because at that moment Seokjin and Hoseok stand up, and Namjoon comes back carrying a cake with too many candles on top.
There are thirty-four candles on the cake but it makes Jeongguk laugh. Makes him laugh even as his stomach constricts and he feels like crying. They set the cake in front of him, singing too loudly and giving him light slaps on his shoulders and the back of his head.
Jeongguk folds his hand and wishes Yoongi was here.
He blows out the candles.
Everyone claps and someone dips their finger into the icing, plopping some onto Jeongguk’s nose. They cut the cake and share the fruit, push small gifts into Jeongguk’s hands even though he’d told them not to get him anything.
When they leave that night, after the staff had finally had enough and kicked them out, Jeongguk gets a hug from everyone. They make loose plans to meet up again, Taehyung promising they’ll take him out for breakfast in the morning, or that he can stay at their place if he wants to. Jeongguk tries to smile, hugs them again, and thanks them for the night.
His apartment is a little too far to walk, but Jeongguk walks anyway. He passes girls giggling on their way into clubs, guys standing outside stressing over messages from girls without trying to appear that they’re stressing and he remembers the month when Jeongguk wanted to experience this, too. He remembers Taehyung doing his makeup and Jimin dressing him, both giddy and a little drunk as they led Jeongguk into the club. He’d drank, he’d danced, Jimin and Taehyung had left without telling and Jeongguk had called Yoongi to pick him up.
He’d expected Yoongi to be annoyed, inconvenienced at being summoned so late. But Yoongi had helped him into the car, had stroked his hair and held Jeongguk’s hand, and had let him fall asleep in Yoongi’s bed. And Jeongguk-
God, Jeongguk had been so enamored. So in love. He almost confessed that morning, but he’d gotten sick and Yoongi still didn’t kick him out.
It was always Yoongi. Had always been Yoongi. Everywhere Jeongguk looked, he could remember thinking about Yoongi, going with Yoongi, talking about it with Yoongi. How he’d always wanted everything with Yoongi-
“Hey! Watch it!”
A bicyclist swerves dangerously close to Jeongguk and he stops. He stops in the middle of a side road and watches the guy ride away. There’s no moon tonight.
A hand covers Jeongguk’s when he reaches for the front door, and Jeongguk is surprised to see that it’s Yoongi, who’s smiling behind his mask when they make eye contact.
“Hey, you,” Yoongi says, gently pushing Jeongguk’s hand away to unlock the door. “I didn’t know you’d be late.”
“Dinner ran long,” Jeongguk murmurs, hanging his coat on the rack.
Yoongi sorts through leftovers in the fridge, frowns at everything that had gone bad. “You ate, then? Good, I’ll have to go grocery shopping this weekend.”
Jeongguk showers and makes a cup of tea while he waits, sitting on the counter next to the kettle. Yoongi looks exhausted when he leaves the bathroom, wearing one of Jeongguk’s hoodies over a pair of joggers. He’s still so beautiful, hair wet and eyes droopy.
“How was work?” Jeongguk asks.
“Had to rework an entire debut album,” Yoongi says, holding up two different bottles of wine before seeming to decide against it. “The company wants to push up a comeback, too. I have to finish eight songs by the end of next week and I’m only satisfied with the songs I’ve written for one of the girl groups. And they’re not having a comeback for two months.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. What about you? You had class today, right?”
Jeongguk shakes his head, pouring out two mugs of tea and grabbing the honey. “No school on Fridays, remember?”
“Right.” Yoongi wraps his arms around Jeongguk’s waist, stands on his toes to peek over his shoulder. “I’ve got a couple days off next week, I can cook something for your birthday.”
Jeongguk closes the honey. “Hyung.”
“Yes.”
He gives Yoongi the tea with extra honey- (“Extra sweet for my sweet honey hyung.” “Get out of my sight.”) -and takes a sip of his own even though it burns the roof of his mouth. He says with a little more conviction, “Hyung.”
Yoongi frowns, blowing on his own tea. He opens his mouth and then closes it, and Jeongguk watches as realization blooms on his features. “No,” Yoongi says, hurriedly pushes his mug into Jeongguk’s chest to dig his phone out of his pocket, sees the missed calls and the messages and the time. “No, fuck. Oh my God, Jeongguk. Shit- I, I’m so sorry, baby-”
“It’s okay, hyung-”
“No, it’s not. I missed your birthday.” Yoongi shoves his hand into his hair, breathes out heavily as his expression darkens. “Fuck, those dinner reservations. You were looking forward to that.”
Jeongguk shrugs, clutching both mugs to his chest. “We still went.”
“Jeongguk…” Yoongi gently takes the mugs, takes Jeongguk’s hands, and traces his eyes and the slope of his nose with the tip of his finger. “I’m so fucking sorry. I lost track of time, of the date, and I- I know that’s no excuse. I’m so sorry.”
“I know, hyung.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” Yoongi says, tilting his head to try and catch Jeongguk’s eye. “Whatever you want, Guk-ah. Right now. Wherever you want to go, just say the word.”
Jeongguk laughs, but it’s a little uncertain. “It’s after midnight, Yoongi. Everything is closed.”
For a long moment, Yoongi just stares. Jeongguk can see it- the regret and the apology overpowering the exhaustion in Yoongi’s eyes. Then he grabs his phone again, opens the messaging app between their bodies, typing something quickly before he turns the phone off.
“There.”
“What was that?”
“I called out for the weekend,” Yoongi says, pressing soft kisses to Jeongguk’s cheeks and his nose. “I’m all yours. Your gift is still at the studio, though-”
“Hyung.”
“Yeah?”
Jeongguk lets his head hang on Yoongi’s shoulder, sagging into his hold as Yoongi wraps his arms around him, still listing everything they can do for the next three days to celebrate Jeongguk’s birthday. “Thank you.”
Yoongi clicks his tongue, places his hand on the back of Jeongguk’s neck. “Don’t thank me, baby. I fucked up-”
“Just say you love me,” Jeongguk says- begs- because he needs this.
“You know I do.” Yoongi squeezes him close. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
Yoongi leads Jeongguk to their bedroom, leaves the tea forgotten on the counter. He kisses promises into the arch of Jeongguk’s neck, sets an early alarm for everything he’s planning tomorrow. Jeongguk curls up, curls close, shuts his eyes and tries to ignore how cold Yoongi’s hands feel where they’re tucked beneath Jeongguk’s shirt.
Jeongguk is twenty-eight and he’s cold.
That’s his fault, really. He hadn’t turned the heat on this morning and he’d left his favorite blanket in the kitchen when he’d answered the door for his food. He’s back in bed, where he’s very determined to spend his entire day off lazing around and eating good food.
His phone keeps buzzing, Taehyung asking if he’s heard back from those commissioners and Jimin asking if he’ll join them for dinner. After a few weeks in London last year, Jeongguk hadn’t received any commissions from his first client’s friends, but his name was becoming more known. People hired him for wedding pictures, anniversary pictures, Taehyung paid him for the drunken portrait he’d done of Jimin. He was getting there.
So he ignores them for the most part, puts on a movie and makes a list of errands he needs to get to tomorrow. There’re a few leaky faucets around the apartment he needs to fix. Rent is due in three days. He needs groceries.
Jeongguk changes the movie halfway through, gets bored twenty minutes in, and changes it again. He’s got a pile of takeout on the other side of the bed; blankets sprawled around him, and fuzzy socks on.
He’s got pictures from a wedding that he needs to edit and send to the couple but Jeongguk wants to take a nap, honestly. He wonders if Taehyung would bring him ice cream.
When the bedroom door opens as the movie credits roll, Jeongguk startles and throws his chopsticks in the direction of the noise.
Yoongi quirks an eyebrow, and looks from Jeongguk to the chopsticks now lying on the floor. “Good to know you can defend yourself.”
“Hyung,” Jeongguk says, surprised. “I didn’t know you’d be home.”
“Didn’t I text you?”
Jeongguk checks his phone. “No.”
“Oh.” Yoongi drops a kiss to Jeongguk’s head as he passes, padding across the carpet to the attached bathroom. “Sorry, love. Join me in the shower?”
“I just showered,” Jeongguk lies.
“Mh.”
Jeongguk bites back the comment sitting on the tip of his tongue, about how Yoongi hasn’t been home in a week. How Yoongi’s been home five days in the last month, coming home late most nights after Jeongguk has fallen asleep, and leaving before he wakes up. Seokjin made a joke earlier in the month that Jeongguk was lucky to have his own apartment, to not have to deal with roommates.
He just- Jeongguk hadn’t even thought Yoongi would come home tonight. Truthfully, Jeonggk hadn’t thought he’d see Yoongi for the rest of the month.
Something-
Heavy. Settles in Jeongguk’s stomach. He stares at the blank Netflix screen on the TV, mounted on the wall in front of the bed, catches sight of his expression and it scares him.
How long has it been?
How long since Jeongguk had jumped up at the sound of Yoongi getting home? How long since he’d dragged Yoongi onto the bed to kiss him silly, just at the sight? How long since they’d showered together, giggling and slipping and taking turns kissing each other against the slick shower walls?
He can’t remember.
He can’t place a time when it had been excitement that filled Jeongguk’s entire body at the sight of his boyfriend.
Jeongguk doesn't feel anything tonight.
“Are you hungry?” Yoongi towels his hair dry. Steam billows from the bathroom behind him as he digs around for some clothes.
“No.”
Yoongi kisses his jaw as he climbs onto the bed, grabbing the remote to search through their movie suggestions. He’s saying something, talking about work and asking Jeongguk about commissions. Jeongguk forgot to say he was dating someone when a stranger hit on him at a coffee shop. Yoongi’s rookie group just got their first win. The sheets don’t smell like Yoongi anymore. There is a good chance Yoongi will be nominated at award shows at the end of this year.
“I don’t want this,” Jeongguk blurts.
His hands are shaped into fists in his lap. He was cold earlier and now he can’t breathe, feels suffocated and sweaty and trapped.
“Okay?” Yoongi laughs quietly and nudges Jeongguk’s knee. “We can watch a different movie. Do you want to listen to the album I finished tonight? You can always tell which songs will be hits-”
“No, hyung, I-”
Jeongguk stops, he stops because pebbles are sinking in his stomach, ripples making his body shake where he sits. He can’t speak around the flowers that once made his chest feel warm but now they tear at his lungs, thorns poking him. He wishes he could choke on the petals, thinks it would be easier than this, than sitting next to someone he doesn’t feel anything for.
“Baby?” Yoongi touches the back of his hand to Jeongguk’s forehead. “Are you feeling alright? Love, you’re warm-”
“I can’t do this anymore,” Jeongguk manages, takes the words by the throat and throws them into the room. He’s crying, he realizes belatedly, when a tear splashes the back of his hand. Yoongi lowers his hand. “I-I can’t, hyung. I- I’m sorry, I-”
“Jeongguk-”
“You have to see it,” Jeongguk gasps, echoing words from so long ago. “We- We’re not, we don’t-”
“Jeongguk- breathe. You’re okay.”
He can’t. He’s not. He flinches when Yoongi reaches for his hand, and- and then Yoongi starts to get it. Yoongi sees it. Like a neon sign on Jeongguk’s forehead, Yoongi sees it.
“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk says. He’s crying harder now, the opening of a fucking Disney movie playing in the background. “I’m so sorry, hyung, I- I’m not- I’m not happy.”
And that’s- that’s all it comes down to, isn’t it?
He was happy once, he knows it. He was happy when Yoongi asked him to move in. He was happy to sit with Yoongi for hours, work on music and art and spend time with his favorite person. He was happy to lean against Yoongi- to rely on him- knowing that Yoongi was there for him, that when he held out a hand Yoongi would be there to hold on tight.
Now.
Now Jeongguk isn’t so sure.
Now there’s no one to pull him back.
“I understand,” Yoongi says very quietly. “Jeongguk-”
“I’m tired, Yoongi. I’m so tired,” Jeongguk gasps. “I tried, hyung, I really wanted-”
This time, Jeongguk leans into Yoongi’s hand on his cheek. Yoongi whispers, “You don’t have to explain, Jeongguk. I- get it. Is… is there anything I can do? Anything I can change?”
Jeongguk shakes his head, finally blinks his eyes open and regrets it when he sees that Yoongi’s are wet, red-rimmed. He looks so small sitting there, an entire ocean away, and yet Jeongguk feels even smaller. He could never ask Yoongi to give up his dream- his passion.
“No.”
And that’s- it, really.
Yoongi slips almost soundlessly from the bed, changing into jeans and a t-shirt and grabbing a jacket from the closet. He stops, one arm in a sleeve, and puts it back to grab one that isn’t Jeongguk’s.
“I’ll- I’ll crash at Hoseok’s, okay? Ba- Jeongguk, you can have this place, if you want. I’ll take my name off the lease-”
“No, I-” Jeongguk shakes his head again; watches Yoongi pack a backpack through blurry vision. He thinks he hears Yoongi sniffle and feels any resolve he might’ve had begin to crumble. “It’s okay. Really. My mom offered me her place in Busan.” Jeongguk mentioned before how she’d sold the house two months ago. “She’s moving to Japan.”
Yoongi stands at the edge of the bed, pulls a beanie over his head, a familiar blue beanie that Jeongguk can’t place. He’s crying, too; takes a few minutes to manage to say, “Okay. Okay, if you need anything- I’ll- we’ll.”
“I know,” Jeongguk says. He feels sick, wants to take it all back, wants to take it all back.
“I- Yeah.”
Yoongi reaches the door, and before Jeongguk can stop himself he blurts, “Hyung.” Yoongi stops, looks over his shoulder, and Jeongguk- through his tears and his messy nose, his heaving chest and regret regret regret whispers, “I loved you. More than anyone else, Yoongi, I- I loved you-”
“I know.” Jeongguk thinks he watches Yoongi’s expression soften, closes his eyes as Yoongi walks to the edge of the bed again, carefully, carefully, holds Jeongguk’s face in both of his hands. He presses the softest, faintest kiss to Jeongguk’s forehead. “I love you.”
Jeongguk doesn’t move.
He can’t move, holds his breath until he hears the front door shut and lock and then-
Then he finds his phone on the bed and he breaks at the wallpaper, Yoongi smiling gently at Jeongguk where they sit at his soundboard, on the rare occasion when Yoongi helped teach Jeongguk how to make music.
Jeongguk dials a number, cries as he waits for the line to connect-
“Buddy the Elf, what’s your favorite color?”
“Hyung.”
“Jeongguk? What’s wrong, are you crying?” Taehyung was laughing before but now he’s serious, asking if Jeongguk’s okay, what happened, where is he, is Yoongi there with him-
“No,” Jeongguk says, and his voice is pathetically weak, words drowning beneath his tears. “Tae, I- fuck, I-”
“Oh,” Taehyung whispers. “Oh, Jeongguk-”
“It hurts.” Jeongguk fists at his shirt, where something empty takes up too much space. “Hyung, it hurts.”
“Jimin-ah! Jeongguk did it-” The rest of whatever Taehyung says is lost as Jeongguk cries, as he holds his head and he cries and wipes his nose on his shirt, and oh. Oh. It’s Yoongi’s shirt. “I know it hurts, baby. Jimin’s coming to get you, okay?”
“Tae-”
“I know, Gukie. I know. Do you want hyung to stay on the phone with you?”
Jeongguk nods, knows that Taehyung can’t even see him but he can’t find the strength to reply. Taehyung talks and Jeongguk tries to listen. When Jimin gets there he holds Jeongguk close, helps him pack a few bags, stops Jeongguk from breaking his phone against the wall.
The portrait of Yoongi hangs just inside the front door.
Jeongguk looks away as they pass.