Work Text:
It’s not the most embarrassed he’s ever been around his hyung, but Jungkook still wants to curl up into a tiny ball of trash and throw himself away when Yoongi’s plumbing snake comes back up the shower drain covered in knotted chunks of permed black hair.
“I said this would happen if you grow it out,” Yoongi deadpans, totally non-plussed while Jungkook wraps the offending clog in a plastic bag and audibly gags. “It’s your own hair.”
“It’s disgusting.”
Yoongi reels in the belt, sets the augur on the bathroom floor. “Welcome to home ownership.” He tests the tap, and like magic, water runs down the drain like there was nothing wrong in the first place. “Good as new.”
Technically, it is new, because Jungkook’s entire shower decided to implode the night before an important audition and Yoongi replaced half the pieces. Not only was it clogged to oblivion, but when Jungkook tried turning off the tap it wouldn’t budge shut, leaking dramatically and filling the tub almost three-quarters while he frantically Googled how to fix it himself. Then he remembered that Yoongi seems to keep a collection of common hardware bits and bobs for situations just like this, and he made the call.
He cried, desperate in his fear of flooding his downstairs neighbour’s apartment (he’s as mean as he is old, and Jungkook’s pretty sure he’s at least a thousand…), and Yoongi reminded him he could just shut off the unit’s water for the night.
His hyung is pretty much a genius.
Jungkook thanked him frantically, already humiliated, and Yoongi insisted on coming over to fix it right then because they both had plans in the morning. Which he tried to refuse, but Yoongi was firm, and he’s never been able to deny his hyung a thing. The same way Yoongi never denied him.
“I feel like ‘thank you’ doesn’t cover this,” Jungkook grumbles while Yoongi screws a cover back on the drain. His hair’s still damp from his earlier shower, but at least it’s not dripping down his face like it was when Yoongi arrived (which he blamed his hair for the tear-stains on his cheeks).
Standing, Yoongi reaches into his back pocket, retrieves a little purple drain-catcher shaped like a starfish. “Just use one of these from now on, shouldn’t happen again.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t think to turn the water off. I’m so stupid.
“You’re not stupid. You just didn’t know.” Yoongi’s washing his hands, and Jungkook mentally smacks himself for not wiping down the sink before he came to the apartment.
He groans. “I’m 28 years old, I should have figured it out.”
“I don’t think there’s a special ‘plumbing secrets’ birthday manual.”
“How do you know all this, then?”
Yoongi shrugs. “My dad taught me most of it. We didn’t have money to pay for repairs, so we did it ourselves. Just kind of… picked up the rest as I went along.”
Which is just it. Yoongi’s always been good at stuff that Jungkook couldn’t begin to understand, like he had this intuition for household maintenance and general life skill knowledge. “I think you secretly read repair manuals in your spare time, like how Joon-hyung knows everything about crabs.”
“Well, I definitely have more spare time than I used to.”
That’s probably as good a place to start as any:
Min Yoongi got dumped.
He was supposed to stay with Beomsoo forever. They bought an apartment, raised a dog, probably would have gotten married if that was an option in South Korea. Which didn’t stop them all (all being Hoseok and Jin) fantasizing about it, making travel plans to different parts of Europe, effectively planning their best friend’s nuptials. Then a month ago Beomsoo texted the group chat and said he was leaving for Los Angeles, that he wasn’t coming back, that he didn’t feel like staying friends but please be there for Yoongi, he needs you more now than ever.
Pfft. As if Yoongi needed that boring, mediocre aspiring pop star. Thinks Jungkook, a probably also mediocre aspiring... singer? Does it count as being a pop singer when you record child-friendly translations of American radio hits for a station no one’s heard of?
Jungkook’s not entirely sure what he wants to be, but he knows the answer lies somewhere in the arts, somewhere in music. It’s where he fits best, even if he hasn’t quite worked out his own piece of the puzzle, feels like somebody already finished the puzzle without him, like it’s too late to start a new one. Which is dumb, since he’s not even 29 and realistically he’s got a good five decades left to endure. It would just be easier if he knew how he’d endure them, if he felt like he was on his way at all.
At least he’s not boring. Well, Jungkook hopes he isn’t boring, is pretty sure he’d know if everyone around him secretly thought so, knows they’d ghost him if he were. Thank heavens for honest friends. Though Jimin did say he’s been more predictable lately, waking up and going to work, and lather-rinse-repeat. So, he switched it up, got Tae to take new headshots, sent them to a few agencies with the demo he made a year ago. He wants to record a new one, would ask Yoongi tonight if it weren’t for the sudden solemness in his face.
Oh. Duh.
Jungkook changes the subject. “Guess I wasn’t a plumber in my past life.”
Yoongi chuckles, blinking away the obvious melancholy of what he said before. “I’m sure you had other talents.”
“Like what?”
“You were probably good at whatever you did.”
See, this? This is the problem. Yoongi is always so fucking nice to him, never lets him get down on himself despite the clear fuck up his life has progressively become. Yeah, Jungkook’s got a decent gig at the station. His parents helped him out enough with money that he bought a cruddy apartment on the outskirts of Seoul, was able to furnish it with hand-me-downs and a growing collection of plant life (that Joon-hyung swears will bring him luck). But he’s not going anywhere, hasn’t grown since college, is in the same place he was four years ago when he had the dumb idea to play it safe.
When Yoongi met Beomsoo, and Jungkook figured he should quit pining and settle down himself.
Jungkook stands too, taking the drain-catcher and bowing shallowly just to make Yoongi laugh. “I’ll take your word for it.” He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, feeling more awkward now than when Yoongi first showed up. He’s grateful he at least had the wherewithal to throw a hoody and some joggers on before Yoongi came, having FaceTimed him still stark naked from the busted shower. Yoongi had blushed, kept his eyes at the bottom corner of the screen where Jungkook knew he was carefully staring at his own tired eyes, his fluffy blonde hair. He was probably about to go to bed. “Thank you again, hyung. Seriously.”
“You know I don’t mind.”
“You say that, but it’s still not fair of me to call you this late.”
“It’s like, 10pm.”
“It was 10pm, now it’s at least 11.”
“Wow,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, “that’s way past my bedtime.”
It’s past Jungkook’s too, considering his early day tomorrow. He got a call from a new agency downtown, one claiming to be up-and-comingand promising success to all signees. They have one artist doing really well right now, a girl also from Busan, with a lilting voice that seems way to sweet for radio. She’s good, and the songs are good, but she’s young and pretty and probably exactly what they’re looking to find again.
Jungkook shudders, feels the familiar buzz of anxiety in his chest, the shadow in his head.
He asks Yoongi, “Think you can make it a little later?”
It’s so selfish, because Yoongi’s probably exhausted, but Jungkook’s not sure he could sleep all riled up like this. And it’s been over a week since he last saw Yoongi, the elder always cooped up between work and home, so it’s a good excuse to spend some time together.
They used to see each other all the time. They met when Jungkook started college, 20 years old and dumb as a rock, but talented enough to get hired by the Music Production department to record demos for the Master’s students. At first, he was sure Yoongi hated him. He never laughed at Jungkook’s jokes and wouldn’t say a word about his music, pretended like the lyrics came from nowhere, wouldn’t mention inspiration. Hell, Jungkook was sure Yoongi hated everybody until he caught him in the library, trading notebooks with Namjoon and smiling fondly at the choreography Hoseok was already making up for their future tunes.
As a trio, they were intimidating, but Jungkook knew Hoseok from his Dance elective and Namjoon was his Theory TA and eventually they started seeing so much of each other that Yoongi didn’t seem so scary anymore. He wasn’t cold, he was shy, and slowly Jungkook broke through his hardened shell to find the soft, generous hyung within. Yoongi showered him with compliments, invited him into the studio outside of class for private projects, even gave him the buzzer code for the studio that hired him fresh from his degree.
Their group became Jungkook’s home. Hoseok came with Jimin and Joon came with Tae and Yoongi came with Jin and soon all seven were inseparable, spending weekends at each others’ homes until eventually they all split off into roommates (or more in the case of Hoseok and Jin, who fell in love immediately after moving in to the hotel where Jin worked).
Jungkook lived with Jimin and Tae. The Puppy Pile, Hoseok affectionately dubbed them, and he wasn’t entirely wrong. They lived out of each other’s pockets, struggling through audition after audition until Jimin joined a major dance company, leaving for a year to tour. Alone with Tae, their bond grew deeper, which really blew Jungkook’s mind considering how close they already felt. Tae and Jimin were the same age, but he always felt more in tune with the younger, like it was them against the world. Two brats against their hyungs. And soulmates, in a way, not only in their similarities, but in acceptance of their differences, the joy they found in each other’s weirdness.
So, when Tae kissed him halfway through their weekly Totoro re-watch, Jungkook figured it was fate. He figured that he wasn’t getting any younger, that he was 24 and hadn’t made it yet (as if that were when it got too late). He figured that he’d been pining after Yoongi for four years, and if they hadn’t gotten together yet they probably never would.
He was the first to find out about Yoongi’s date with Beomsoo. Hell, Yoongi was at his apartment when he swiped right on the guy, complained how he was nearly 30 and should settle down. But Yoongi was successful, had a career that he liked, had a place of his own by then. He was the right kind of adult, ready to move into a proper relationship, and Beomsoo fit into it. He liked music, was a decent singer. Had wealthy parents and didn’t have to worry about rent. Wanted to move into a house, get a dog, do all those grown-up things while he pretended not to care if he got famous. Jungkook saw through that right away, was sure Yoongi did too, but it didn’t change the fact that Yoongi liked him.
They bought the house. They got the dog. They worked all week and threw dinner parties on weekends. That was it, the reason Jungkook never stood a chance. Yoongi’s forever relationship—effectively his marriage, because what else do you call it when you’re two men who live together, sleep together, and pay taxes together? Say you love each other, tell everyone you know.
Jungkook gave in, gave his all to Tae. And they were happy for a while, a whole year, before he realized that the love he had for Tae never changed from when they met. Their sex life was virtually non-existent, and not just because Jungkook didn’t like a lot of sex in the first place, but because he didn’t see Tae that way, wanted to go back to what they had before. Wanted to snuggle his friend, not his boyfriend. Talk about his dreams with someone he couldn’t hurt for wanting more.
It came crashing down without a fall, Jimin returning from his dance tour. Less than a week later, Tae crawled into bed and sobbed in Jungkook’s arms, said he was so sorry, that he loved Jimin since forever, that he thought it was just childhood fantasy, nothing real.
And Jungkook realized he’d never loved his best friend more than in that moment. Loved him for his honesty, for his commitment, for his never-ending hope. He hugged Tae tight and dumped him with a smile, and they both laughed at their own tears. Jimin tiptoed through the apartment after they split back into separate rooms, anticipating a fight that never came, an uproar after their year-long romance. Hell, Jungkook and Tae had to sit him down and explain that they were really stupid to think they fell in love, this is what happens when you disappear.
I won’t do it again, Jimin promised, and he didn’t. He stayed in Seoul, and eventually Tae got the nerve to confess, and Jungkook lived with them until they very kindly said, We’ll never kick you out, but we want to get married, and we think we should do that on our own.
That was last year. Jungkook got the job at the radio station. He got the mortgage from a generous bank. He turned 28, and somehow that hurt the most, because really… what had done in the meantime? He kept shitty jobs and barely auditioned after the one that got away, a record deal that wanted him to play guitar.
He kept pining after Yoongi, but that would always be a problem.
Until… it isn’t.
“I don’t want to intrude,” Yoongi recites, but he’s already striding out of the bathroom toward Jungkook’s bright pink couch (Jimin insisted he take it to the new place, since it’s the most comfortable—Jungkook falls asleep there most nights playing Among Us). He looks ridiculous settled there, bleached hair tucked into a blue beanie, oversized red plaid shirt clashing horrendously against the suede.
Jungkook thinks he looks amazing. “No intrusion. I wasn’t going to sleep until I dried off, anyway.”
“Don’t you have the Belift audition tomorrow?”
“I perform better when I’m tired. Makes me less self-aware.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I’ll take your word for it.” He tucks his legs under himself, and he’s so small that when Jungkook sits down the couch presses him higher, light as air. It’s a cute sight, if it weren’t for Yoongi’s threatening glare that clearly says shut up about it.
“You’ve lost weight,” Jungkook quips, and normally it would be a joke, except Yoongi does look thin these days. Oh no, he really shouldn’t have brought it up—
“Nine pounds.” Yoongi shrugs. “I haven’t been exercising. Taehyungie says I should get another dog.” Beomsoo took theirs to America, the asshole.
“Walking would make you lose more.”
“No, I mean…” he trails off, seems to struggle over whether or not he should say any more. “The company might be motivating.”
Yeah, Jungkook really shouldn’t have mentioned it. “You can come to the gym with me?”
“Thanks, but I value my life. 5-pound dumbbells are more than enough effort.”
It’s quiet, for a moment, and that’s fine. The two of them are used to silence, especially around each other. But usually they’re working on something, or separate things, or watching a movie. And they could do that now, except Jungkook wants to talk for some reason, is sick of hiding inside his own head. Maybe Yoongi’s sick of it, too. He takes a deep breath and says, “You know, I get lonely sometimes.”
Yoongi never really looks phased. Even when he’s shocked he plays it off as easy, cool. Which he’s doing now, except he must be just a bit surprised. Jungkook tells him everything, but he doesn’t often talk about his feelings, about the bad ones. Yoongi knows they exist, has shared his own experience over time, over lamb skewers. In songs he let Jungkook sing first. They’re just not usually this blunt.
“You can always call me, Kook-ah,” Yoongi tells him easily. “And you know you’re always welcome.”
“I know,” Jungkook concedes. “But I wasn’t going to show up at your house just because I felt down. You have a life, too.”
“Not so much anymore.” Yoongi snorts. “I’ve recently realized how boring I am.”
“Are you kidding?” Jungkook has the urge to stand, but instead he pressed his back into the arm of the couch, forces himself to keep the small distance he’s created between himself and Yoongi. It’s the only thing keeping him sane, probably, considering how much more he wants to say. “You’re like, the coolest person I know. You produce half the shit on the radio.”
Another snort. “The shit?”
Jungkook sighs. “You know what I mean. Me, on the other hand: I sing kid’s songs all day and play video games all night. That’s boring. There isn’t even a cat here. Well—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Fine.” He laughs. “Now it’s me who’s almost 30, and I don’t even feel the need to settle down because it’s like I haven’t started yet.”
“You’re turning 29,” Yoongi reminds him gently. “Wait until you’re my age, then you get an existential crisis.”
“At least you’re not as old as Jin-hyung.”
“Small mercies.” There’s more silence, but this one’s because Yoongi’s getting contemplative, the way he sometimes does when they drink whisky—
Oh, dammit. “I’m a terrible host!” Jungkook cries, leaping off the couch. “Do you want something to drink?”
“It’s fine,” Yoongi insists, but Jungkook’s already opening the fridge.
“Let’s see… I have… a couple beers Jimin left last weekend?”
“I’m not in the mood to drink.”
“Okay, then…” Jungkook pushes aside his collection of banana milks to see what else there is. “Some dubious grapes, that’s kind of like wine, right?”
A snort. “Kind of.”
“There’s… leftover tofu stew?”
“Too heavy.”
“Pumpkin purée?”
“Fuck no.” Yoongi sighs. “Kook-ah, I don’t need anything.”
But you deserve everything. “Nonsense! You’re my guest. How about…” Ah, perfect. “I have tangerines.”
Jungkook grasps two, one for each of them, and tosses the nicer one to Yoongi. He catches it easily, and as Jungkook returns to the couch he rolls the fruit back and forth between his hands. Big, deft hands, the same Jungkook’s been dreaming of for years.
He’s too busy staring to realize when Yoongi murmurs, “I know how you feel. You know I do.”
Yoongi starts to peel. Jungkook says, “I remember.”
“Then you remember I was freaking out, worrying about dying alone, about not being successful enough at that age. As if there’s a time limit on those things.”
“You don’t think there is?”
He considers it, because Yoongi’s always honest, no matter what. “On some things, sure. I probably won’t become an Idol now, or play the young lead in a drama.”
“Was that on your list?” Jungkook giggles.
“Now it never will be.” Yoongi smirks. “What I’m saying is, of course there’s opportunities I missed, but it’s because I spent that time on something else. Making decisions as they came and making choices that I need to trust were right for me back then. Like dating Beomsoo.”
He didn’t want to go at first, called Jungkook before their first date to complain about having to dress up, said he’d rather stay home and write some lyrics. But Jungkook pushed him, said he should be brave, didn’t expect their date to go as well as it did (if he had, he probably would have invited Yoongi over, force him to watch a movie). It was supposed to make Yoongi happy, make him feel proud of himself for going out of his comfort zone. It wasn’t supposed to be… the One.
Jungkook wanted to be that. He was barely weeks into dating Tae and he already knew he wanted it to end, knew he wanted Yoongi instead, knew the night they were messing around on Tinder that if he wasn’t with Tae he’d be making a move right then and there (even if he probably wouldn’t have, the anxious bean he was back then). He convinced himself he still had time.
Turns out, he didn’t.
“You don’t think Beomsoo was a mistake?” Jungkook finds himself asking, because Yoongi’s offered him a lot so far and maybe it’s because he wants to, needs to, feels the same urge to open up that Jungkook does tonight.
Yoongi spends more time unraveling his tangerine than answering. “I think I chose him for the wrong reasons.” He leans over the coffee table, a wooden contraption Seokjin found on the sidewalk, and deposits his tangerine peel on a dirty plate. Again, Jungkook feels his cheeks burn up—his place really isn’t fit for guests. Then Yoongi bites into a slice of the orange fruit and a little bead of juice runs down his chin.
It happens in half a second: Jungkook hasn’t sat back down yet, busy peeling a tangerine of his own, so it startles them both when he bounds onto the couch and wipes the juice from Yoongi’s face.
He’s practically in Yoongi’s lap, one knee slung over his thigh and thumb against his chin. “Thanks,” Yoongi whispers, and it takes absolutely everything in Jungkook not to pounce, to shove their lips together and take what he’s wanted for so long. But they’re talking, decompressing, and it’s not quite time. Not just yet.
Rolling off his hyung, Jungkook sits cross-legged on the couch, closer now than before. Yoongi’s always let him sit just a little too close, let him poke and prod at his clothes without telling him to fuck off like he does with the others. Lets Jungkook do a lot of things he doesn’t let the others do. “Why did you pick him?” It’s the only way to ask—Yoongi implied that he had a choice, that there was someone else. And there’s hope in that, for Jungkook.
Hope it’s not too late.
“He was easy,” Yoongi answers. “I think, deep down, I knew it wouldn’t work forever. Definitely knew before the end. But I thought I could put the work in. He was always talking about that, how he didn’t believe in soulmates but he thought you could make any relationship last with enough communication, enough ‘tenacity’.” He says it in air-quotes, and Jungkook can hear the words in Beomsoo’s voice, feels the urge to gag. Yoongi continues, “I don’t necessarily think he was wrong, but I think he missed the biggest part.”
Jungkook swallows. “What’s that?”
“Trust.” Yoongi eats another slice of his tangerine, spares a glance for Jungkook’s own untouched one, half-peeled and hardly as appealing as Yoongi’s pink lips, his drawling tone. “You can communicate as much as you want, but if no one’s saying anything real, then what’s the point?” He sets the rest of his fruit on the table, like he lost his appetite halfway through the story. “I don’t think I knew everything about Beomsoo, and he couldn’t know everything about me.”
“I don’t trust people enough,” Jungkook admits. “I need to start doing that.”
“I don’t think there’s a time limit for these things, Kook.”
“I keep a lot of secrets.”
“I know.”
It’s comforting, that Yoongi hears what Jungkook doesn’t tell him, doesn’t need all the details to know when he needs help. Because Jungkook hides so much of himself, so many of his fears. Doesn’t complain because it doesn’t solve anything, but doesn’t know how to fix things either. He’s anxious all the time—anxious about his age, his career. About all the dreams his parents had about him and how they don’t know he likes boys. His mother worries constantly that he’s losing time, needs to find someone, needs someone to take care of him.
“You take such good care of me, hyung.”
Yoongi closes his eyes, sighs, smiling. “It’s my job.”
“It’s not. It never was. I was just a voice for your songs, you didn’t have to be my friend.”
“Tell that to Hobi, he insisted we adopt you.”
That’s not far from the truth. “Still, you did so much for me. Took me under your wing, taught me so much.”
“I didn’t teach you shit.”
Which is the actual truth. Yoongi never taught Jungkook anything because he couldn’t correct him for anything. First it was the added riffs on his songs—Jungkook wasn’t supposed to improvise, but Yoongi said he had strong musical intuition, that it added the right style.
Jungkook asked for piano lessons in his third year, thought it would give him an edge on the competition. Yoongi taught him all the scales and Jungkook failed at all of them, because Yoongi couldn’t scold him when he pressed the wrong key or held his fingers the wrong way. Needless to say, he never learned piano.
He tried to learn a lot of things because he wanted to do everything his big small hyung could do. Always thought it would bring them closer, pull them together. And Yoongi offered expertise freely, spent the time walking him through music production, cooking, woodworking—even how to sew. But Yoongi never criticized him, never told him when he did something wrong, and he never got any better.
Then, the night Yoongi came over to his apartment, pressed against him shoulder to shoulder and complained about his love life, Jungkook asked not for lessons, but advice. Said he was worried about hurting Tae, scared he didn’t love him enough, that he was confusing friendship feelings for romantic feelings and how am I supposed to tell the difference?
Trust your gut, Kook-ah, Yoongi told him. You haven’t been wrong yet.
“That’s true. You’re too nice to me, how am I supposed to improve?”
He expects Yoongi to laugh, to steer the conversation somewhere else. At least to smile, his little one that looks like a square bracket on its side. Instead, Yoongi frowns. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I know I can come off pretty strong.”
Yoongi is a critical person. He’s the first to tell you when you’ve misquoted a film, or promoted fake news. Hates wrong history or bad interpretations of song lyrics. Was especially critical of Beomsoo, who sang pretty well but had no technique, and when Yoongi gave him tips he acted like he was above it, said if you know so much, why don’t you do it yourself?
“Guiding someone and criticizing them are two different things.” Jungkook feels restless, fiddles with his tangerine until juice spills out of it, sticky in his palms. He sets it down, licks his fingertips. Knows that Yoongi’s watching, knows better than to wait again. Tonight could be his chance. “Can I tell you a story, hyung?”
Without pause, Yoongi says, “Yes.”
Here it goes: “I used to be good at everything. Like, when I was a kid. I don’t mean decent or capable or anything like that, I mean I was just good. At everything, even things I’d never tried before. Art and music were so easy, and then I got into sports and all the coaches wanted me on their team. I could read books that were way ahead of my age level, and I used to actually be good at math, believe it or not.” He’s awful at it now—he’s pretty sure they all are, in their adult years. Even Namjoon messed up a currency conversion on their last group trip and ended up spending most of their budget on an overpriced hotel (thank goodness for Jin’s creative cooking skills, or they all would have starved). “My teachers loved me. My parents were happy, were proud when I won contests or awards, were grateful for my scholarships. I got into our University because I could afford it, and then I met all these other people who were good at the same things I was good at, and I didn’t know how to handle it.”
He wrings his hands, kind of wishes he still had the tangerine to play with, clenches his fists. This isn’t going like he wanted it to. He wants Yoongi to yell at him, to tell him he’s right, that he’s too late, that that he’s nothing special. Wants the criticism Yoongi refuses to offer, always has.
Yoongi twitches like he might reach out. Doesn’t. “That happens to lots of people, Jungkook-ah. It doesn’t make you any worse at things just because other people are good them too.”
“I know that. But it scared me so much, and my parents didn’t set me up for failure. They raised a gifted child, not the adult I was gonna be. I’m an adult, I need to move. I need to decide what I want to do with my life and just stick to it, you know?”
“You shouldn’t settle for something that doesn’t make you excited.”
“I could get excited about the radio station.” He’s been there for more than a year. His coworkers are nice. The paycheck keeps getting better.
“But does it give you room for growth?”
“I’m past the growing phase.”
“Does that mean I am, too?”
“Of course not—oh.”
Weirdly, it’s now that Yoongi smiles. “Look at me on paper: I’m 33. I just lost my long-term boyfriend. He took the dog. I’ve worked at the same company since graduating University.”
“They keep promoting you. You’re kind of a big deal.”
“My songs are a big deal. Nobody knows who I am. I get a paycheck, no clout.” His smile grows. “But Kook-ah, I’m happy. Because I didn’t rely on him to make me happy. Didn’t rely on awards or some made up ladder of success. You know how long it took for me to get here, you know how I struggled in school.” He does—Yoongi confessed to their whole group one night, when Namjoon found his antidepressants. He cried and told them everything, all the sordid details, and Jungkook’s never been so proud of him. He was so brave.
He’s still so brave. “I know. I know it’s not easy for you. I’m sorry for complaining.”
“You’re allowed to be afraid. Things aren’t always going to be okay. Fuck, I’m terrified all the time too, worried I’m not going anywhere. Especially since Beomsoo. But I’ve survived so far. I’ve learned that growth doesn’t always come in big changes. Sometimes it’s little things, like trying a new recipe or visiting a new city. Meeting someone that makes you laugh. Or—”
His eyes dart to the corner of Jungkook’s living room, where a painted black guitar rests against the wall, stacked on a pile of un-watered plants and only half-read novels. But it’s right next to Jungkook’s favourite chair, an old grandad’s recliner he inherited from the unit’s last owner. Which means he practices all the time.
“Since when do you play guitar?”
There’s only one honest answer. “Since you started, like a month ago.” Yoongi posted a photo on Instagram, his own dark-painted instrument a perfect contrast again his pale skin.
Suddenly, Yoongi is cackling, practically falling off the couch in his hysterics. Jungkook doesn’t know what his face is doing, but he’s pretty sure he’s got the Bambi eyes Namjoon always points out, can feel his chin drop really far. “What the fuck?”
Yoongi collects himself, barely. “I barely know three chords. I only bought the thing to spite Beomsoo, prove it wasn’t even hard.” He shrugs. “Turns out, it’s hard.”
“You’ve only done it for a month.”
“I learned the easy chords and got discouraged. But it looks like you’ve been practicing?”
“Yeah.” It’s like his legs are moving without him, but Jungkook gets up, settles into the recliner and grabs his instrument. Maybe Yoongi’s hypnotized him, is controlling his every move, but the way he grins when Jungkook balances the guitar in his hands is enough to press his callouses against the strings, strum once just for effect. “I’ve wanted to learn for years, ever since BigHit turned me down.” That was four years ago, just before Jimin got the job of a lifetime. Before Tae kissed him in the living room. Before Yoongi moved in with Beomsoo. “I’m not very good.”
“That’s okay,” Yoongi says, because everything’s always okay with Yoongi. “Play me what you know.”
He’s got a pick in his sweatpants pocket, so why not? It’s a kid’s song, but an old one. From both of their childhoods, despite how Yoongi likes to pretend he’s from a different era. Jungkook’s memorized the simple chords, has gotten pretty good at maneuvering his fingers, doesn’t scratch the strings as much when he progresses. And he can sing along, after lots of practice, even if he has to look at his own hands just to focus.
The song ends, and it’s only then Jungkook feels anxious, wonders why the fuck he’d perform a song he barely knows on an instrument he barely plays and in front of his crush of all people—
“That was amazing.” Yoongi’s sitting on the edge of the couch, eyes gentle and smiling soft and hands just too far to reach.
“I’m really bad at it.”
As usual, Yoongi won’t let him skulk. “You’re perfect. I’m sorry, Jungkook-ah, I’ve always thought that.”
“When I was a kid, sure.”
“You’re not a kid anymore. You’re a man. And you’re still perfect.”
In that moment, Jungkook knows this is his best shot. And honestly... he’s ready for it. Sure, he’s still a ball of anxious energy wrapped in an oversized black hoodie, but Yoongi’s right: there’s no point worrying about your next mistake. It’ll come, whether you want it to or not. You just prepare to survive it.
“Hyung,” he breathes, “tell me what I’m doing wrong.”
“I don’t know how to play guitar—”
“No.” Jungkook stands, paces slow across the room, stops in front of Yoongi. “Tell me why I keep trying to say I love you but can never get the words out right.”
Yoongi has this devastated look on his face, and at first Jungkook’s heart drops into his stomach because his hyung is furious, is going to say, Sorry, Kook, I have to go. I don’t want to see your stupid face ever again. But then Yoongi’s jaw drops open and he throws his head back and he’s laughing again and—
“You fucking brat, you should have told me!”
Beomsoo used to make fun of Yoongi, talk about how he had another crush when they met, that he had to fight for Yoongi’s affections. Which didn’t seem true at all, because Yoongi was set on Beomsoo from the start, singing his praises, planning a future. But he never denied it was true when Beomsoo said it, would stare at the restaurant menu while his boyfriend laughed and laughed and wondered what happened to the poor bugger.
And one time, at a dinner four or five months ago, Yoongi looked up across the table to where Jungkook watched him back. Swallowed and forced a little nod, like they both knew something the other wasn’t saying, like one day they would tell each other proper.
Funny how it all shakes out.
“You should have told me you love me,” Yoongi whines, cheeks pinker than the couch and nearly falling off the edge, “because oh my god, I love you! And I fucked up too, and I’m sorry it took so long, and now we’re finally here, and... could you come down here, please?” Jungkook does, crawls into Yoongi’s lap like he isn’t twice the appropriate size to do so. Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind, grasps his waist like he’s precious, like he’s wanted this for... yeah, four years. The touch is so welcome after an entire night of holding back, is so safe and warm and Yoongi that Jungkook wonders how he ever lived without it. Then Yoongi says, “Hyung’s going to kiss you now, okay?” and it’s amazing he lived without that, too.
“Very okay.”
“Make it worth my while,” Yoongi mewls, and they’re actually kissing and it’s just like the fantasy except with real warm lips and quick, stolen breaths, and honestly just the right amount of tongue like are we really this compatible?
Jungkook comes up for air first, because he hasn’t done anything like this in years and hasn’t truly wanted it for longer. Yoongi lost his beanie somewhere in the ordeal, has long strands of blonde hair falling in his wet, dark eyes. Pressing them off his face, Jungkook whispers, “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“You’re right, I should have said something. Should have said it four years ago, before you went out with him.”
“Should have said at literally any point in the last four years, but sure, that would have good timing. Hell, should have said it five years ago, or six even. Whenever!”
Um. “Really? You wanted me back then?”
Yoongi’s sort of crying, like his eyes are conspiring against the rest of him, his voice still completely solid. “I don’t know for sure. But I would have tried, if you’d asked. Would do anything for you, Kook-ah.” He rests his forehead against Jungkook’s shoulder, nuzzles in just like the fantasy they might both have had forever. “Would have dumped Beomsoo in a second.”
“You said you loved him.”
“Yeah. But you’ve always been different.”
He lets Jungkook crawl out of his lap, and this time when he settles onto the couch, he does it pressed against Yoongi’s side, threads their fingers together. “Different how?”
“You listen to me when I’m not saying anything. You listen so well when I am that I’m terrified of saying something to scare you off. And you keep saying I’m incapable of criticizing you, and maybe you’re right, but it goes both ways, you know?” Jungkook doesn’t. Yoongi explains, “I hear you when you talk about me. Tell the others about the work I do like it’s something important, some achievement. It’s a lot to live up to.”
“I didn’t realize.”
“Neither of us did.” He sighs. “You have an audition in the morning.”
“Yeah.” Jungkook rubs his thumb over Yoongi’s larger palms, reveling at the feel of skin on skin, at the warmth of a person he’s wanted for so long. “I’m trying to be better at being brave. Trying not to psych myself out of doing new things.”
“There’s always time, Kook-ah. You have to stop worrying that it’ll run out.”
Jungkook nods. “Look at us, after all?” he teases, shaking their joined hands back and forth in reference.
Yoongi turns his head, and it drops, and Jungkook knows what he’s going to say before he says it, steels himself for the blow. “I need a little more, okay? I… I love you, I’ve always loved you. But I was with him for a long time, and it’s only been a month, and I want to make sure I can give you everything you deserve.”
“You don’t have to give me anything. You already give me so much.”
With a sad little smile, Yoongi shakes his head. “I’m not ready to give all of myself over just yet. I loved Beomsoo, but I didn’t trust him enough. And I trust you completely, but that doesn’t mean I trust myself. Does that make sense?”
He doesn’t need to ask. “Of course it does. I’m sorry I threw this at you now.”
“Why, so you could wait another four years?” It’s a welcome ridicule. They both giggle before Yoongi sighs again. “I don’t know how long I need. I don’t know what I want us to be in the meantime.”
“Nothing has to change,” Jungkook tells him. “I mean, what was going to happen if I never said anything? If you didn’t?”
“I would have spent some time being sad, then working it out, then going back to being your friend. Thing is, Kook, something did change.” Neither of them knew a clogged drain would turn into a love confession, but here they are, hand in hand. “And I’m glad it did, but this is a big deal, and I don’t want us to rush into it just because it’s exciting.”
He’s right. “Okay.” He tries lightening the mood again. “Not like I have a choice. I’m not getting any younger, after all.”
It’s worth Yoongi’s chuckle. His ever-fond gaze.
“Do you want to stay over?” Jungkook asks, bolder now than ever. “It’s like, midnight.”
“Oh my god, that’s so late.”
“I know, how will we get through tomorrow? Two old guys like us?”
Yoongi agrees to stay the night. Crawls into Jungkook’s bed because he knows how he’s wired and that it doesn’t mean something has to happen (even if, for once, he wouldn’t mind it if it did). But he does hold Jungkook’s hand in the dark, squeezes it to say he’s still there, whispers, “I’m sorry you’re still waiting on me.”
And Jungkook squeezes back, inhales, tell him, “I never waited. You’ve always been right here.”