golden boy

by bellamees

Summary:

when jeon jungkook was born, every planet was aligned, a perfect chart for a boy made of stars (literally, there are talks, stars for skin and gild for blood) (yoongi somehow believes them).

Notes:

this is a weird thing of a thought at the back of my mind after rewatching a couple of episodes of black mirror, and i started writing a bit after jungkook released decalcomania. so it's heavily inspired by those things.

(everyone stops when you come around— they hold their breath for you.)

 

there are exactly three hundred and seventy-two pictures of jeon jungkook staring at one min yoongi. he feels small under them, as if he’s made entirely of paper. the prettiest boy in the world , the headlines say. when jeon jungkook was born, every planet was aligned, a perfect chart for a boy made of stars (literally, there are talks, stars for skin and gild for blood) (yoongi somehow believes them). the led on the buildings shift, and other three hundred and seventy-two pictures of jeon jungkook flutter, different set of smiles, different set of costumes. yoongi sighs heavily, feeling the rain splatter near his feet. he tosses the cigarette butt away, eyes looking from jungkook’s cheerful expression to how it goes down the nearest drain. he sighs again. cheer up, hyung, his phone chirps in, jungkook’s voice automated to feel his mood swings. “i’m alright,” he replies, words slurred in a mumble. “it’s the rain.”

 

there’s a 4% chance that it will stop in the next thirty minutes, jungkook tells him. yoongi huffs, going back into the store. the bell rings after him, a noise that seems to be engraved in the makings of his soul. when the bell rings again, he doesn’t startle. it’s near three a.m. as he rounds the counter, watching the blurry image of a person walking the aisles with hands stuck in pockets of an oversized sweatshirt. oversized, huh . yoongi raises his eyebrows, inhaling, eyes sharp. he doesn’t miss the moment something slides in the hooded person’s pocket by the beer fridge. yoongi smirks. “do you need any help?” he asks, over the counter, loud enough he’s heard throughout the store.

 

“no,” the voice is boyish, but slightly trembly. it’s a boy, then, maybe a teenager. yoongi can deal with those. there’s a moment of stillness in the air, and then they’re both moving fast, and yoongi hears the gasp as soon as he pushes the boy against the glass of the entrance door, arm pushing against his throat, pressing. the boy squirms, strong enough to almost push yoongi away. 

 

“unless you’re paying, i’m not letting you go,” yoongi asserts, pressing harder, feeling the stranger’s hand on his waist, grabbing. his nostrils fill up with the strong scent of perfume, sickly sweet. yoongi’s phone vibrates in his pocket, and jeon jungkook’s voice breaks through their heavy breathing. sudden heart rate increase, please say yes to call for help. the boy looks up, then, eyes very wide and very brown. don’t say yes, they say, almost softly so, pleading. “i won’t,” yoongi tells him, then. “if you pay.”

 

“i have no money.” the black mask hides most of his features, and yoongi presses a bit more, making him gasp again. “ i’m sorry .” he raises his hand then, the one still hiding in his pocket. yoongi glances sideways to the can of beer he holds. “that’s all— that’s all i’ve taken, i promise—“

 

cheap beer . yoongi’s eyebrows rise, arm losing pressure. the fingers grabbing at his side tug on his clothes. please say yes to call for help . “i don’t need help,” yoongi says a moment later, and he hears the boy sigh, eyes closing, head falling back against the glass. his phone vibrates cheerfully as if agreeing. “i’ll let you go if you don’t run off.” 

 

“— okay,” the boy nods.

 

it’s a bit of a moment before yoongi does so, slowly untangling his arms, stepping away. the boy’s chest rises and falls rapidly. his hair is somewhat long, yoongi can tell, escaping from under his hoodie, the same colour of bitter chocolate of his eyes. “now—” the shove comes unexpected, and the beer can explodes as soon as it hits the ground, spraying yoongi’s jeans as he stumbles backwards. the bell rings harshly as the door closes, and yoongi inhales, confused, watching the boy go.

 

(when namjoon walks in to take over the morning shift, he sniffs the refurbished air. “have you been drinking on the job again, hyung?” he ponders, raising an eyebrow. the touchpad by the door read his fingerprint, welcome back to work, kim namjoon-ssi , says jungkook’s voice. 

 

yoongi scowls at him, looking away from the empty can of beer that’s been sitting next to him since after he finished mopping. “this kid came in to steal some beer,” he mumbles, unamused, poking the aluminum. jeon jungkook’s number one beer , it says on the side. but then again, and yoongi glances towards the many packaged foods with the same sayings on them, jeon jungkook seems to like a lot of things. “but he— ran away.” outside, an insipid, colorless sort of sun drifts through the high-rises. the streets are still wet, puddles reflecting every jungkook picture outside. yoongi sighs before signing out, great job tonight, min yoongi-ssi , jungkook tells him. “thank you,” he mumbles, before stepping out.)

 

 

considering how colourful jeon jungkook makes the world around them seems like, min yoongi’s looks rather dull and opaque in contrast. his apartment is a block of gray and glass, the insides like human boxes. he wakes up slowly, eyes glancing at the ceiling. it’s blank, of course. he can hear the neighbour down the hall complaining about something, market prices, perhaps, and jungkook’s muffled voice replies a moment later. it makes yoongi laugh weakly, for a moment imagining jungkook there, living just a few doors down, wearing loose hanboks over his clothes, hole in his slipper. then yoongi stops, inhaling. like nine billion people— he’s utterly in love with the boy on the screen. it’s no good to imagine. his sheets ruffle as he sits up, finally. it’s almost four in the afternoon. the sun that slithers in through a crack in the blinds is pale. “save—,” he yawns. “sleep patterns.” sure, hyung , jungkook’s voice replies, happily. but— you’ve slept almost ten hours . yoongi looks down at his hands, embarrassed. that’s too above average . a small pause. is everything okay? “just tired. quiet mode, please.”

 

the television that he turns on while making coffee shows images of a world that belongs to one person. yoongi switches the channels until he finds a movie, one from years ago, before jungkook. he doesn’t pay attention to it, the subtitles passing by unnoticed. it’s almost six by the time he’s making into the shop for another shift, and namjoon pats his back before leaving quickly, friends waiting outside for drinks. the store is coloured pink from the huge led lights with jungkook’s newest marketing campaign. euphoria , it reads, in yellow, his smile bright. yoongi smiles back, before blushing, aware of the cameras. a few people step in, yoongi makes small talk with the ahjumma that sells fried shrimp at the stall at the end of the street, smiling as she pushes him a portion. late night workers stumble in to eat something warm. yoongi munches on cold shrimp. at exactly three, the bell rings in again. yoongi looks up from his phone. 

 

it’s the same hoodie, the same black mask, the same bony fingers showing from under long sleeves. yoongi’s heart speeds, bewildered. the fucking nerve , he thinks, frowning. the boy stirs into movement, disappearing behind shelves, and yoongi’s eyes focus on screen, watching him walk towards the beer fridge again, and pick up one. this time, though, the boy walks over to the counter, putting the beer can softly in front of yoongi, who looks up at him. “can i see your id?” he asks, after a pause. the boy in front of him seems to suck in his breath, finding yoongi’s eyes.

 

“i don’t— i don’t have one.” the stuttery sentence makes yoongi huff, amused. i don’t have one . of course he doesn’t. “but i’m twenty-three, i promise,” the urgent sort of tone in his voice makes its pitch go higher, and suddenly he doesn’t sound twenty-three. yoongi stares. 

 

“you should have your id on your phone,” he points out, leaning in, arms folding over the counter. “i can’t sell you if you don’t show me.” a strangled sort of noise seems to leave the boy’s throat. “— do you at least have money this time?”

 

at this, the boy nods, vehemently so, and strands of brown hair wisp around his face. the fifty thousand won yellow bill is folded neatly. “that’s all i have,” the reply is small, apologetic, even. all i have , yoongi thinks, ironically. the beer costs less than five thousand. the colours of the screens at the side of the building shift, deeper magentas shading the boy’s hoodie. yoongi can’t help but look outside, wanting to see what kind of smile jeon jungkook would offer him then. “— do you like him?”

 

the somewhat blunt question leaves yoongi flustered. he grabs the money, fiddling around with change to have something to do with his hands. he doesn’t have enough of it. no one uses money anymore, anyway. “what’s not to like,” he replies, shrugging. “it’s jeon jungkook.”

 

“he bites his nails,” the information is given almost sharply. yoongi finds the boy’s eyes, the shape of them uncannily familiar. yoongi hadn’t noticed the deep purple under heavy eyebags, or the eyeliner, smudged with glitter, but now he does  his mouth opens to say something, eyebrows frowning, but the boy is faster again. he grabs the can of beer, pushing it into his pocket. “keep the change for the trouble, ahjussi.”

 

“ yah , wait—”

 

but he isn’t fast enough once again. the bell rings, and the boy is gone, swallowed by the periwinkle coloured shadows of the world outside.

 

(“does jeon jungkook bites his nails?” the question is uttered to the silence of his apartment. it’s hours later, too many of them, but yoongi can’t seem to find himself tired enough to sleep. his phone replies, in jeon jungkook’s voice, i don’t bite my nails, hyung , and a second later, there’s over a trillion images of my hands online. open pictures? yoongi feels slightly nauseated. “no, leave it.” then he adds, quickly: “quiet mode.”)

 

 

the boy returns weeks later. albeit not wearing the oversized hoodie, yoongi can tell it’s him, from the way his face isn’t visible, and the way he steps in carefully, only the tips of his fingers showing up under the sleeves of a jacket. the bell rings. yoongi had thought about him, for some reasons and others. he thought about him and wondered— why, who . “welcome back,” he decides to say, although his tone remains flat. the boy closes the door softly. he only nods, already turning towards the fridges, and yoongi watches him go through the cctv screen. this time, when he reaches the counter, he has two beers on his hands, and a credit card. the name on the card reads kim taehyung. “this isn’t yours, is it?” yoongi asks, as he presses the card against the reader. the boy winces, starting to mumble words, yes, it’s mine, i mean —. yoongi turns the screen towards him. “that’s not you.”

 

it isn’t, not really, the picture showing the boxy smile of a boy with vivid blue hair, eyes so very different, less naive, maybe. the boy seems to pale, stepping backwards. “i’m sorry, i didn’t—,” he moves his hands vaguely. “please don’t call the police.”

 

yoongi offers him the card back. “i won’t,” he sighs. “what’s your name?”

 

“— it’s not important,” the boy shakes his head. “i— i’ll just go.”

 

“i was about to go outside for a smoke,” yoongi says almost carefully, pushing the beers towards the boy. his eyes have widen into round shapes. they’re cleaner, tonight, too, yoongi notices briefly. no make up. “you can have those if you want. i’ll pretend i didn’t see you leave.” that’s the kind of behaviour that could get him unemployed, but yoongi only searches for his cigarettes in his pockets, casually rounding the counter, their height difference not going by unnoticed. he’s lighting the cigarette outside when the bell rings again. yoongi startles when the boy sits down next to him on the nearest plastic chair, turning it sideways so yoongi can’t really see his face. 

 

“— do you want to drink with me?”

 

a smile can’t be helped, and yoongi huffs, feeling his cheeks somewhat hot. “you were buying that to ask me out?” he asks, glancing sideways at the boy hiding his face with his hoodie. the mask is left on the table. yoongi takes a drag, looking away and up to jeon jungkook’s many expressions. the boy doesn’t reply, but he offers the beer can quietly. “might as well, since i’m buying,” he chuckles, grabbing the can, feeling warm fingers against his own. the boy seems to laugh weakly, too. the sound of the lids opening echo in the empty alleyway street. they’re both bathed sunshine yellow from the screens, despite the heavy, dark night above them. jeon jungkook and his colours. “— do you smoke?”

 

“no,” he hears the boy gulp down his beer, then adds, weakly: “i can’t.”

 

“good on you,” yoongi comments, inhaling. the beer tastes bitter and watery all at once, and all it does is to leave a weird taste on his tongue as it goes down. they’re silent for sometime. the led screens flash again, sunny yellows all around. jeon jungkook’s summer package will be available soon— fun in fiji! “— aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

 

“what’s yours, ahjussi?”

 

“ah, min yoongi,” he answers, taking another sip. yoongi thinks he sees a bit of a profile when he looks back at the boy, waiting for his name in return, a slightly bigger nose, a lip ring, maybe. maybe it’s just the colours playing on yoongi’s irises, but the boy looks golden and— wonted, somehow. he seems to notice the stare, pulling the hood closer, turning the other way. “you’re really suspicious when you do that.” yoongi points out. “you’ll always get caught stealing that way.”

 

“i’m not going to do it again,” the tone is embarrassed. “i—,” he seems to ponder, and yoongi sees when he looks up at the variety of images showing jungkook in fiji. he sniffs, and doesn’t carry on, slender fingers curling around the beer can harsher. 

 

“you don’t like him,” yoongi observes, almost softly so. he wishes he could see the boy’s expression change. 

 

“i don’t know him,” the reply is also soft. 

 

“neither do i, but i like him.” there’s some silence afterwards, and yoongi thinks he might have sounded too— honest. he decides to change the subject, then. “—are you going to tell me your name?” no words follow his inquiry. yoongi sighs. “that’s fucking rude.” he puts the beer can back on their shared table, and yoongi doesn’t expect the boy to move, or to reach out, touching his fingers softly. yoongi startles, pulling his hand away almost immediately.

 

“— did those hurt?” and he means the tattoos on yoongi’s hands, the black ink under his skin almost faded with time now. yoongi knows he’s blushing, from the way his cheeks burn. 

 

“no, yes, i mean— some of them,” he replies, oddly stuttery. the boy stands, then, knocking down his can, picking it up quickly. the flicker of movement revealing traces of his face. yoongi stares at the familiar shape of his chin. the mask is quickly put on again. their eyes meet. “leaving?”

 

“it’s— late.”

 

“— alright.” a polite bow follows, and then the boy starts walking away. he stops a few meters ahead, coloured like the sea that bathes fiji. his hands, by the side of his body, are curled into fists. yoongi watches him, curious. he seems to be wanting to say something— and so he turns, looking at yoongi from behind his mask, eyes big and brown and— pretty . “forgot something?”

 

“my name,” there’s seem to be some internal fight happening inside the boy’s mind. he struggles to put words out, groaning. “my name—”

 

“you can lie,” yoongi offers, seeing him struggle. “i don’t mind.”

 

the boy’s eyes widen. he looks at the multiple faces of one jeon jungkook. there’s— pain, when his gaze goes back to yoongi. pain and confusion, perhaps. sadness, maybe. “— jeon jungkook.”

 

for an instance, yoongi doesn’t understand properly. for an instance, he believes . it’s only an instance. he smiles, then, chuckling lightly. “alright, jeon jungkook .” the boy, now named, or not, smiles with his eyes. they crinkle at the corners, like rumpled sheets. it’s cute. “take care.”

 

(“do you know if jeon jungkook’s in south korea?” he asks namjoon a few hours later, helping him with the stock they received early morning. namjoon shrugs. “i don’t think so, he probably lives in florida or something.” it makes yoongi crack a smile. “— florida? ” namjoon finishes labeling a row of instant noodles, the new prices in red just like the colour of jeon jungkook’s suit on the big screen outside. “he’s not ours anymore, is he?” namjoon comments, stretching his arms. “jeon jungkook, play my heavy rotations,” he asks loudly. ah, good choice, namjoon-ssi! , jungkook’s enthusiastic voice fills the corners around them. yoongi doesn’t say anything else. he’s not ours .)

 

(it happens more often then— the late night visits. sometimes, jeon jungkook sheds them orange light as the other jeon jungkook buys them beer, and they drink in comfortable silence. sometimes it’s blue, and they talk about the weather. one time, and it’s vivid purple, and yoongi stares at the way his eyes look that night, make up bringing them to light, and thinks he likes the way he looks. “are you in college?” he asks, and it’s turquoise. “— dropped out,” jeon jungkook replies. yoongi nods, understanding. “would you change your life if you could?” the question is sudden. yoongi ponders, taking a drag of his cigarette. “— maybe.” he glances over at the boy. “would you?” “yeah.” there’s no hesitation. yoongi stares for a minute, then looks away. the big led screens turn to black for a second, and, for the first time, they’re colours real.)

 

 

the boy wrongfully named jeon jungkook shows up days later again, carrying a backpack this time, mask white, the cheap kind. they greet each other with nods, like they now do, but yoongi can’t help but think he’s happy to see him. it’s an incoherent thought, he reckons. they don’t know each other that well. they don’t know each other at all. “i have more money today,” jungkook tells him, same low voice and shy demeanor. there are four beers on the counter. yoongi notices the plastic on jungkook’s hand almost right away. 

 

“you got tattooed,” he blurts out, snorting. jungkook allows his hand being taken, if only briefly, as yoongi runs a finger over his reddish knuckles. one of his fingers has a human heart on it. the other, a black band, like a ring. a triangle, and letters. “those are good.”

 

“i— have a favour to ask,” the tone he uses is polite and stoic, like something rehearsed. yoongi lets go of his hand. “but— have a drink with me first.” the beers are paid for, with money, money that was shoved into a pocket of his bag with too many other bills. yoongi doesn’t comment on it, doesn’t want to pry. he grabs his cigarettes and they walk outside, towards the plastic, cheap furniture that awaits them. the weather is mild, the last days of summer quickly building up to autumn. on the screens, jeon jungkook is smiling against the endless blue ocean. it stains everything celeste. “i have money.”

 

“— you said that already, jungkook-ssi ,” the mention of the name makes the boy wrongfully named jungkook flinch, as if he’s being scolded. yoongi lights up his cigarette, taking a long drag. “what did you want to ask?”

 

“i’ll— it’s yours, the money, if—,” he stammers, stopping to gulp down his beer. it drips down his chin, and yoongi can see, before jungkook turns his face away, hiding. “i— i don’t have a place to go.” oh , and yoongi raises his eyebrows, holding his beer just an inch away from his lips. “it’s not for long, just until— just until—” there’s a lot of strangeness in the way jungkook speaks. there’s fear in his vowel endings, there’s shame in the way his words meet. yoongi feels— pity, suddenly. it overwhelms him. “it’s not for long.”

 

“did you,” yoongi starts, clearing his throat. “— did you do something bad?”

 

“m—maybe, i mean— no , not bad, but—”

 

“here,” and the cigarette is offered, burning ashes falling onto the cement sidewalk. “you sound nervous.”

 

for a moment there, yoongi expects another i can’t . but jungkook reaches out this time, fingers bringing the cigarette against his mouth a moment later, and yoongi can’t see, because his hoodie covers his side. still, he watches, waiting. jungkook coughs, smoke curls around him like spirits. “that doesn’t taste good,” he complains, weakly, voice hoarse, passing the cigarette back. 

 

“no,” yoongi agrees, laughing weakly. “we don’t smoke because it tastes good.”

 

“i ran away,” jungkook breathes out, waving out the smoke that still sits about him. “i— don’t know where to go.” yoongi sips his beer, not knowing what to say. “i don’t have anyone.” parents , yoongi wants to offer, siblings . jungkook’s words seemed too final, though, yoongi also has no one else, besides namjoon and their coworking friendship. although — in hindsight, maybe he doesn’t have anyone else either. his eyes flutter towards the screens where jeon jungkook’s smile is framed in time, frozen forever, warm and caring and there. i’m not alone . “it’s only for some time.”

 

yoongi thinks back to his apartment, the box within a bigger box, the double bed that feels too small, the lack thereof of homely objects. “— okay,” he agrees, then, not fully understanding why. “you might have to sleep on the floor.”

 

“i don’t mind the floor,” jungkook sounds lighter, and he looks up, to the billboards and the screens. “thank you.” a sniff follows. 

 

“— are you going to cry?”

 

“no, i— just a cold,” soft chuckling is heard, and it makes yoongi break out into a smile. he leans in, to press their cans together. “cheers,” jungkook mumbles, bowing. “i’ll— buy you another round soon, min yoongi-ssi.”

 

jungkook hangs around until daylight starts dripping into the horizon in colours as bright as the summer in jeon jungkook’s world. he’s fallen asleep, head buried in his arms against the table outside. yoongi observes how his breathing is paced, and how his hair flutters as the breeze moves by. at some point, he goes outside to put his own jacket over jungkook’s shoulder. mornings are getting colder, and the boy sounds sick enough. namjoon arrives then, eyeing suspiciously the sleeping figure on the table, and yoongi, cigarette alight, standing next to him. “a friend,” yoongi announces, nonchalantly. “— i’ll grab some food before i go.” nothing is truly said to him, namjoon just choosing to ignore his bad habits of taking from their stock, going inside with a short huff. yoongi presses his cigarette butt against the wall. “jungkook,” he calls, kicking jungkook’s ankles softly. “come on, time to go.”

 

“yes, hyung,” the words are muttered almost robotically, and yoongi stills the slightly upon the sudden intimacy. jungkook doesn’t seem to notice, standing up, barely awake. yoongi waits for him to move, which he doesn’t, not on his own— so yoongi curses, breathy, grabbing the backpack and jungkook’s wrist, pulling him along, towards the train station. it takes jungkook a block to fully wake up. when he does, he seems to wince, pulling his hand back, holding it against his chest as if it’s burnt. yoongi looks behind his shoulder at his wide, panicked eyes. now that the led screens can’t colour him, the boy not named jeon jungkook looks— sickly, big, dark rings under his eyes, eyelids heavy and puffy, skin blemished, but pretty coloured like honey. the hairs on his eyebrows are messy, just like the loose waves framing his face. “ah— train,” jungkook starts, looking around. there’s some people outside, but not a lot. it’s too early for residential areas to be awake. yoongi fully turns, hands hovering as if jungkook’s a scared dog he needs to appease. “i don’t have— i don’t have a phone.”

 

“we can buy you a card,” yoongi pats his arm, resuming his walk. jungkook falls into step with him a moment later. “are you scared of the train, or—?”

 

“i don’t— no, i’m— i’m not, it’s fine,” he tugs the the mask upwards on his nose. it’s jeon jungkook’s hologram who greets them at the station, smiling so broadly it makes yoongi blush. jungkook stares, eyes crossed. the card he gets it’s one of the latest, with fiji and jeon jungkook on a summery shirt. a sigh escapes his lips once they’re in the train, head falling back against against the glass of the window, arms clutching his backpack firmly. yoongi stands right in front of him, in the space between his knees, allowing himself to observe the lines on the boy’s face when he closes his eyes. it isn’t like yoongi to reach out and touch someone’s forehead with the back of his hand, but he does it anyway. jungkook’s eyes open. “i’m okay.”

 

“— alright.” the hand is withdrawn. jungkook’s forehead felt like burning. next station: sinsa, exit to the left, jeon jungkook’s voice tells them. “that’s us already.”

 

“gangnam?” jungkook asks softly, not truly a question but a wondering said out loud, when they’re stepping out. it’s a fair mistake. gangnam is expensive, with high rises full of celebrities and the one percent. yoongi has just got a good deal at a box. they walk for a while, besides fancy looking restaurants that are still closed and modern smart houses, and alleyways with screens where jeon jungkook can charge your phone for free. yoongi’s building is a gray block, glassy on the outside where the good apartments are. his doesn’t have windows to the han river not too far. it barely has windows. “it’s— small,” jungkook offers, sucking in his breath. he seems to realise the comment, startling, glancing at yoongi nervously. “it’s good.”

 

“it is small,” yoongi nods, smiling, and the lights flicker once he steps in, turning on gradually. he installed those himself. the television turns on, too, some variety show on cooking. jungkook leaves his bag against the small couch, and the door is finally closed. “— are you hungry?”

 

“— yeah.”

 

it isn’t always that yoongi gets to cook for someone. it’s been years, actually— since when he was twenty-two and sharing an apartment with other college students, making taehyung and jimin food when they were cramming, just before he himself dropped out. still— it is odd to have jungkook hovering over his shoulder, or indecisively chopping up vegetables to his side, holding out kitchen tools for him. yoongi makes japanese curry, and the rice cooker beeps not too long after. they let it sit for a while, yoongi handing jungkook bowls and chopsticks so they can eat at the counter. “it smells good,” jungkook comments, from behind his mask, watching yoongi serve his portion.

 

“you’ll have to take that off to eat,” yoongi says, putting the bowl in front of him gently. “— or are you planning to hide in the bathroom?”

 

“hide,” jungkook mumbles, looking down at hands that tightly grasp is bowl. “i— you’ll kick me out.”

 

yoongi pokes jungkook’s forehead with his chopsticks. “eat well, then.”

 

he eats alone, the boy wrongfully named locked up in the bathroom. it smells of curry later, when yoongi is showering, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. they don’t talk much, and yoongi makes him a bed out of blankets on the space left in the bedroom. the couch is too small,and jungkook too lanky. at some point, they’re both laying down, muttered goodnights and soft breathing. yoongi can’t sleep. it’s noisy— jungkook’s presence. it’s more than the voices of his neighbours coming through the thin walls. he shifts on the bed, slowly approaching its end. jungkook’s fully asleep, exhaustion seemingly heavy in his bones. he has long eyelashes, yoongi notices, visible even in the dimly lit room with curtains closed. his hair is a mess of really thick strands of dark brown. yoongi sighs, then turns away.

 

 

it is a beautiful afternoon outside , jeon jungkook’s voice says brightly from his phone left on the kitchen counter. seoul hasn’t seen a sunny day like this in so long with the rain— hyung! enjoy it! yoongi huffs, stirring his coffee. “i will,” he answers. jeon jungkook giggles in return. he’s burnt his coffee, the water too hot, and the bitter taste makes him frown. “i’m not going to work today, haneul-ssi is taking my shift,” he comments, walking over to his lonely window, opening the curtains. the sun is weak on that side of the building, his only view the rooftop of another apartment, the clothing hangers full of colourful socks. haneul-ssi is pretty, don’t you think? “quiet mode,” yoongi says, after a moment, bothered. from the bedroom, jungkook emerges, scratching his eyes. 

 

“you talk to him,” he comments, stretching long limbs, the shirt lifting, revealing a patch of skin that is pretty coloured. yoongi looks away. 

 

“— everyone talks to him,” he reasons, turning to pour coffee onto a second mug, the handle chipped. he offers it to jungkook a moment later. jungkook holds it with both his hands, blinking. drinking the coffee requires taking off his mask. yoongi waits. “look, you can’t hide your face forever—”

 

“you’ll throw me out,” jungkook says once again, sitting down at the bench. the counter stands between them, but they’re close enough yoongi can see the deeper purples have left the skin under his eyes. he’s better rested, maybe. “i— it’s complicated.” he seems to think for a moment, and he inhales deeply a few times. yoongi sips his coffee, waiting. they’re quiet for a while. your coffee is getting cold , yoongi mumbles, almost done with his. “i’ll take it off.” jungkook announces firmly, mug against the counter. “don’t— don’t think ill— of me.” his fingers grasp the mask, and they’re trembling. he looks absurdly hurt. 

 

“do you want me to do it?” yoongi offers, quietly. “like a plaster.”

 

jungkook’s eyes light up the slightest. “— yeah, that’s— yes.”

 

so yoongi reaches towards him, brushing jungkook’s fingers away gently. jungkook stares, holding his breath. the mask is pulled down quickly. “there,” yoongi starts, finger still hooked over the fabric, now against jungkook’s throat. “done.” he’s about to smile, he’s about to say something else, to grab onto his coffee and put it in the microwave so he can finish it— but then, then he looks, and he sees . he sees past the blemished skin, the pale colours of dry lips, he sees the shape of them, so familiar, the famous beauty mark, the way the composition of his face is like a painting everyone has seen, the living monalisa of their century. jeon jungkook is a real boy, one without strings. yoongi stops breathing, and his heart races. 

 

“ please ,” jungkook, the real one, the one in front of him who is suddenly not wrongfully named, has wide eyes, tone pleading. “please, yoongi-ssi, don’t— don’t throw me out.” it’s complicated , he had said. it is , yoongi agrees. when the most famous boy in the world is sitting at your kitchen’s counter, it’s complicated . yoongi suddenly feels too aware, too regular, too normal. jeon jungkook breathes all wrong. he looks panicked and his ears are red. “i— it won’t cause you problems, i swear. i won’t— i just—“

 

so yoongi does what he does best— compartmentalise it . he swallows, grabbing jungkook’s mug. “i’ll heat it up,” he says. the noise of the microwave sounds too loud in their silence. “i don’t know your reasons, and i won’t ask.” jungkook sniffs. yoongi’s heart feels achy. “but you can’t stay long.” the microwave beeps. yoongi places the hot coffee in front of jungkook again. “— i’m sorry.”

 

jungkook nods, head down. the television shows images of the colourful world jeon jungkook lives in. yoongi thinks the real boy looks rather grey in comparison— grey like yoongi’s home, and yoongi’s life. “thank you for not throwing me out right away,” he mumbles, looking up, finding yoongi’s eyes. “i— will repay you.”

 

“you’re a billionaire, might as well,” and yoongi huffs. jungkook smiles, sipping his drink. “i’m— taking the night off today,” he announces. “i don’t know your plans, but—“

 

“they’ll,” and jungkook looks over his shoulder, where the television shows the news, some announcements about the stock market and the plummeting of chinese commodities. “they’ll notice soon,” the plastic wrap over his knuckles are bloodied. “i rather stay in, if you don’t mind.”

 

“i don’t mind.” yoongi’s coffee has gone cold, too, but he finishes it nonetheless. “you need to clean that, or it’ll get ugly.” jungkook doesn’t take his hand away when yoongi touches his knuckles again, barely, just enough to find the texture of plastic against his fingertips. “i need to run errands, but— you can stay. there’s some food left, and i suppose you can watch television.”

 

“— what are your books about?” jungkook asks, and he means the small bookshelf where the television stands, full of old spines and yellowed pages.

 

“architecture,” yoongi grabs jungkook’s mug, taking them both to the sink. “some are stories.” the youthful lines on jungkook’s face are full of curiosity. “i think you’re too young to read them.” a sudden blush spreads over jungkook’s cheeks, his eyes rounding up. “no, it isn’t— it isn’t—,” the idea that jungkook thinks he reads porn makes him crack a smile, laughing weakly. “they’re just a bit— grim.”

 

“— how old are you?” jungkook tries, walking towards the shelf, pulling out the sorrows of young werther . his fingers touch over the letters, and he flips the pages.

 

“twenty-seven.” nothing is said in return. jungkook continues to look through his books, particularly interested in the ones with floor plans and blueprints. those are yoongi’s favourites, too. finally, after what it seems like too long, yoongi moves, stirring into life, remembering he has things to do and that the afternoon will end. he can watch jeon jungkook exist through screens outside, through his myriad of faces and hairstyles, to his voice in the train. “just don’t break anything.”

 

the boy rightfully named jeon jungkook smiles, a poster boy all around. “i won’t.”

 

he leaves not too long after, hair still damp from a shower, clothes wrapped around him, a bag hanging from his shoulder. jungkook hasn’t moved much, sitting against the small couch, book in hand. the television is off. see you later , jungkook says, absentmindedly. 

 

the bank denies his loan, once again, and it’s fine , yoongi thinks, bitterly, he’s too old to go back to the life he dropped. namjoon allows him to steal beers from the store, and the television there shows images of an interview with jeon jungkook at some foreign land, sitting up straight against a tall chair, looking charmingly out of reach. he doesn’t sit like that in real life— rather, he’s got slumpy shoulders, and he hunches over his food. yoongi can’t help but smile. he goes grocery shopping for two, which is odd, and his money isn’t all that much. 

 

by the time he’s back home, the sky has dropped into inky darkness again, staryless, because the city is bright enough with jeon jungkook to blind even the galaxies above. he finds the boy right away, sleeping on the couch, a book perked dangerously on loose fingers, hair messy. he’s wearing his mask. yoongi puts down the groceries, sighing as he walks into his bedroom, grabbing a blanket. jungkook doesn’t wake up, still. yoongi stares at him. his heart feels like it’s made out of wood suddenly— so he turns away, letting go of the strange feelings that burn on his cheeks. 

 

“— welcome home,” jungkook says sleepily, an hour later, when yoongi is starting to chop vegetables for a stew. the book falls to the floor with a dull thud , and jungkook scratches his head. he looks— lost. “ah,” he mumbles, looking around, sniffing. “i’m—“ he pulls down his mask, tentatively, glancing yoongi’s way. “what time is it?”

 

“almost nine,” yoongi replies, softly. “you sleep a lot.”

 

“it’s— been a while,” jungkook stands, and he seems to notice the blanket that was wrapped around him, fingers touching the fabric for a moment too long. yoongi looks away, occupying his thoughts with dinner. “i don’t get to sleep much.” yoongi only hums in reply, trying not to feel so sorry, it’s his job, he chose it, he’s rich . he sees jungkook approaching with the corner of his eye, sees when he sits down in front of the counter, head perched against his hand. “— do you have a girlfriend?”

 

it’s an unexpected question. yoongi stops cutting, for a second, blinking. he resumes a moment later. “no,” he answers, reluctantly.

 

“you cook well, it’s— nice.” jungkook steals a slice of carrot, and yoongi can hear him chewing. “— can i shower?”

 

“— yeah.” they look at each other for a moment before jungkook nods, grabbing another slice of carrot before standing up, stumbling on his own bag before picking it up. “there are towels under the bed, in the drawers,” yoongi tells him, a bit louder. jungkook’s reply is echoed from the bathroom, yeah, found them . he takes a long time in there, yoongi reckons, longer than he would himself. his mind drifts to his electricity bills, shoved in the back of his closet. when jungkook joins him again, the stew is done. his hair is dripping down the towel that sits around his neck, and he’s wearing a white shirt, the tag still hanging from it. “do you want me to cut that off for you?” yoongi offers, as he sits in front of him. jungkook looks down at himself, raising eyebrows. yeah , he mumbles. yoongi silently walks around the counter, reaching out to slice the tag with the cutting knife he was chopping carrots before. the price is in euros, and it looks expensive. “— there.”

 

“thank you,” jungkook smiles weakly, hands already grabbing the bowl served for him. “you’re,” he thinks for a moment. yoongi raises his eyes to look at him— after showering, the last remains of make up have left his face entirely, and it’s clean and more boyish than before. he’s pretty, the one called jeon jungkook. prettier now, even, with his blemishes and slight sunburnt nose. “you’re— kind.”

 

it surprises him, that small bit of a compliment. yoongi stops mid-action, spoon in the air, dripping. he blushes, and it’s obvious. “— yeah, thanks,” he pushes the words out. “how is your food?” yoongi watches as jungkook takes a big spoonful of stew, chewing happily.

 

“good,” he says, swallowing. “really good.” yoongi can’t help but smile, nodding. “i’ll wash the dishes.”

 

“alright.”

 

“and i— i have money,” jungkook announces, almost gently. their eyes meet. “in my bag, a lot of money.” yoongi swallows. “it’s yours, all of it— for bills.” no, it’s fine, you don’t have to— , yoongi starts, ashamed suddenly of wanting the cash, heart racing at the prospects of it. jungkook rises from his seat, rushing to the bedroom for a minute just to come back with a small black bag. inside, more money than yoongi makes a year. his stomach feels weird. he puts his bowl down. “i don’t know if that’s enough, but— please, have it.”

 

his fingers touch the piles of bills, scared that it’ll disappear. yoongi inhales slowly, thinking about the bank loans, thinking about his electricity bills, thinking about the things he can’t afford for a better living. in front of him, the most important boy in the whole of their world, pockets so full of money they’d both drown with the weight. jungkook waits, eyes big and harmless. you’re kind . yoongi pulls his hand away. “i’ll let you know when the bills come,” he mumbles. “you can pay me, then.”

 

“— can i call you hyung?”

 

another unexpected question. it is as if jeon jungkook doesn’t know social cues, or has little care for them. still— and yoongi knows he’s still blushing, the unrelenting feeling not leaving his chest— he nods, shrugging. “yeah, it’s okay.”

 

“ hyung ,” and they stare at each other for a moment, before jungkook is bowing heavily, all those ninety degrees making yoongi uncomfortable. “thank you for having me.” yoongi blinks, but then he huffs, smiling. he reaches out a hand, tentatively at first, and jungkook flinches the slightest when yoongi touches his hair, giving it a light pat. 

 

“just don’t go around stealing beer,” he says, watching as jungkook’s face lights up into a smile, and he sits down again, grabbing his bowl. i won’t, i promise , he mumbles, between chewing. “— eat well.”

 

(“are you seeing someone?” namjoon asks, a few days later, as yoongi grabs the bags of cheap beer jeon jungkook seems to like. he almost let it all slip from his arms, the question flustering. “what— why?” the way he seems discomposed by such trivial question seems very obvious, and namjoon’s eyebrows arch. “you’ve been taking more beer than usual, and you don’t even like those,” he comments. “— bring her over some other time, hyung.” yoongi sighs, stomach fluttering. “it’s not— it’s just a flatmate.”) 

 

 

“how was your life— before this?”

 

it’s been ten days of cohabiting. it’s peculiar, for better word. jungkook’s— mostly tired. he yawns a lot. yoongi has to bring him blankets to all the surfaces he falls asleep on (the couch, especially, but also with his head against the kitchen counter, and halfway up against yoongi’s bed, and once perked by the communal washing machine in the basement). yoongi’s phone doesn’t greet him good morning that much anymore. the real jeon jungkook is right there, most of the time waking up, too. other times he just mumbles incoherent words, turning away and going back into slumber. it isn’t too awful, yoongi thinks. he’s getting used to the way jungkook breathes. 

 

the question is posed on the eleventh night, then, another night off. they’re awake late, used to yoongi’s inhuman schedule of night shifts. jungkook turns to look at him. it’s a question posed out of thin air, yoongi reckons, mostly because he’s growing curious— they’re watching the strange life of jeon jungkook on television, and yet the boy sits next to him, legs folded under his body. “before you?” it’s an even more deviant question. yoongi blinks, shaking his head negatively. no— before /you/ . “ah,” and jungkook looks back at the television. it’s his summer programme in fiji, episode one, a late night rerun. it’s on every channel— a global release, bigger than the last episode of game of thrones. “i don’t remember much.” 

 

“did you go to school?”

 

“yeah,” yoongi watches how jungkook picks on the fabric of his sweatpants. “i— didn’t get to graduate, couldn’t study,” a snort follows. “i went to the graduation ceremony anyway. the school allowed, for good publicity.” the ache that bothers yoongi’s heart is far too alike pity, again. he doesn’t enjoy it. “i suppose i don’t need school— for that.” his eyes are staring at himself, big goofy smile at someone off camera who’s splashing water at him. his lips curl into the softest smiles. “that was a good day, i guess.”

 

“i don’t remember much, either,” yoongi discloses. “before you.” their eyes meet again, and yoongi notices suddenly the couch is too small. the apartment is— his life is. and jeon jungkook, pretty and real, is too big for all of it. “i remember not having you— him,” he looks back at the screen. “it was dull.”

 

“i’m not like him,” jungkook sighs, shifting the slightest. no, you’re not , yoongi agrees. the jeon jungkook that sits on too small of a couch is long haired, steals beer, runs away to get knuckle tattoos that are finally healing properly. “— i don’t know what i am.” yoongi can relate to that. “hyung,” the word is uttered airily. he’s still not used to it, to hearing it with inflections so real. “— can i go to work with you?” ah, the erratic kind of questions. “it gets boring here.”

 

the poking of his ribs make jungkook squirm, laughing weakly. “is my apartment too boring for your billionaire suite lifestyle?”

 

“— a bit,” and jungkook chuckles, holding yoongi’s wrist to avoid getting poked. “please—?”

 

“— aren’t they looking for you?” the fingers around his wrist loosen up just enough to slide, and then jungkook’s pressing against the palm of his hands, and yoongi feels like there’s a current of lava under his skin. hand holding seems intimate— jungkook doesn’t seem to mind. he carefully and slowly fits his fingers into the spaces between yoongi’s, testing how they look together, pulling gently. why , yoongi wants to ask, don’t , he wants to say. jungkook’s touch is too sweet. “jungkook—”

 

“i like your hands.”

 

it’s— baffling, to say the least. yoongi feels his chest fill up to the brim with the sort of purple haze the books he reads only mention briefly. “aren’t— they looking for you?” yoongi tries again, swallowing.

 

“probably,” jungkook nods, pressing their fingers together. “they have enough footage to last a while.” the way he says it, paired with the off-putting emptiness in his expression— it makes yoongi wonder. when he asks, it’s carefully:

 

“— do they hurt you?” the boy on the screen looks too happy to be hurt. the colourful jeon jungkook, then with shorter, brownish hair, jumps in the pool. the real jungkook, stained by the colours on the screen, scoffs.

 

“no, everyone is nice,” his smile is animated, a cut out from the one on the television. it fades, after a second or too. “— am i a bad person for running away?” 

 

“you’re not a bad person.” and yoongi knows that— blindly, maybe, but he does. still, he adds, jokingly: “you felt bad for stealing cheap beer,” jungkook giggles. “you came back— even paid for them.” their hands are still entwined, a good sense of warmth between them. yoongi doesn’t mind it. “you— you keep a lot of people from feeling too lonely.”

 

silence follows, for a while, broken only by the voice of jeon jungkook and his friends on the screen. yoongi startles the moment jungkook moves, putting his head on yoongi’s shoulder, his hair tickling yoongi’s neck. “can i—?” the question is small. yoongi feels his breathing shift patterns. he nods, nonetheless. you can . “are you lonely?”

 

“no,” the reply is somewhat earnest, yoongi likes to believe. “i have— him, you.” 

 

“me?”

 

“the other you,” their hands are starting to sweat. “and you, i guess.” he huffs. “a stray dog.”

 

“ah, hyung,” jungkook whines, chuckling. “i’m not a dog.”

 

there’s not much else to talk about, yoongi reckons, and it’s not long until jungkook’s nodding off, head bending forward, heavy with sleep. yoongi lets him, watching the other jeon jungkook on screen for a long while, scuba diving at a coral reef that somehow hasn’t got destroyed by people just yet. his eyes are smiling behind his snorkeling mask. what did you find? someone asks him, as they climb into the boat again. that jeon jungkook exhales, shaking his head. a bracelet of some sort , copper in colour. a treasure , and jeon jungkook shows it off, and his eyes are full of— wonder, perhaps, unyielding joy. yoongi looks down at their hands, and he lifts jungkook’s sleeve the slightest. the bracelet hangs slightly loose around his arm. he sighs, then tries and shakes jungkook awake. “let’s go to bed, jungkook.” it’s already past three, and no colours drift in from the cracks between his blinds. the bedroom feels too frigid. jungkook stumbles on his makeshift bed— yoongi holds onto his sleeve, over the bracelet. “it’s— cold, don’t sleep on the floor.”

 

jungkook understands. “— alright.”

 

it’s a double bed meant for one. the space between them is small. they lay side by side, backs against the rough mattress, eyes staring at the nothingness that the ceiling provides— no holo screens, no plastic stars, no jeon jungkook animated posters. “when did you go to fiji?” yoongi asks, then, after some time. jungkook isn’t asleep yet. “your hair—“

 

“last year,” he seems to smile when he says it. yoongi turns to look at his profile. it’s pretty, too. “i wanted to grow it out,” his fingers come to touch loose strands. “i like it like this.”

 

“it’s nice,” yoongi swallows. “— you look nice.” jungkook glances his way, then turns his body completely, knees touching the side of yoongi’s legs. that proximity makes yoongi nervous. “— what?” he flinches when jungkook touches his eyebrows, following the contours of his bone structures, the tips of fingers warm. yoongi blinks, staring hopelessly. jungkook’s thumb run under his bottom lip, and he inches forward just slightly on the pillow— but then he seems to recall their reality, startling, pulling his hand away urgently, finding yoongi’s confused expression.

 

“i’m— sorry, good night,” he mumbles, quickly turning his back to yoongi. 

 

“good— night,” yoongi responds, after a moment, turning the other way as well. his heart needs help, beating inconsistently against his ribcage. he inhales deeply, pressing his eyes closed, feeling the heat of jungkook’s body. it’s incongruous, the feeling. yoongi barely sleeps.

 

 

the nights at work aren’t suddenly just hours clocked in his schedule, jeon jungkook’s voice greeting him in cheerfully. there’s jeon jungkook there— the real one and the billboard one, the real one wearing an apron yoongi lent him, stocking merchandise for a cookie brand’s newest release, or smiling at the ahjumma who runs the shrimp stall, or touching yoongi’s fingers loosely and unassumingly whenever he comes close. the billboard one stains everything a shade of pretty green, bright smiles all around in eternal summer. it’s been a month of this— of being drenched in the presence of jeon jungkook, his smell enthralled in all his clothing, his colours in his irises. yoongi hasn’t heard the voice on his phone in so long. “— i’m going out for a smoke,” yoongi announces over the shelves where jungkook is working at something, pocketing his cigars, leaving. the bell follows him, then again, when jungkook does. he hands yoongi a beer. “you’re not wearing your mask,” yoongi comments, glancing his way.

 

his face isn’t completely exposed, still hidden under a hoodie, coloured all the shades of green jeon jungkook offers them. it’s okay— yoongi knows his face much better now. the way his hair gets messy in the morning, the way his eyes get puffy for a few hours, and he ices them with patches, the way his skincare routine is methodical, i tend to blemish , the way he tosses and turns on the bed when he’s having a rough night. “it’s late enough,” jungkook shrugs, opening his can. it is late enough. almost five.

 

“—no news?”

 

a soft sigh. jungkook drinks. “no news.” it’s been over a month, but the jeon jungkook inside the screens hasn’t changed. the tv shows still run, the behind the scenes images, the oversea concerts that were probably filmed too many days ago, shown as live. yoongi stares up at the led screens, and it’s like looking at the past. “do you think people would like me— like this?”

 

“i would,” yoongi replies without thinking, and his first reaction is to sit very still, bluntly aware of himself. “i mean— the world, everyone— they love you.” love . such a foreigner concept all of a sudden. yoongi also fees that love. the love for someone you can’t touch, the love that keeps you company when it’s dark, the love that isn’t love at all,  but feels like it. “they would— they would like you.”

 

“— do you love him like that?” yoongi looks down at the can he’s holding, how the beer is probably getting warm, sweating against his palms. ashes drift onto his pants, clinging. jungkook watches as he takes a long drag. “i’m sorry, i—“

 

“i— do,” the beer tastes ashy in his mouth. “it isn’t the same now that i— it isn’t the same anymore, though.” 

 

jungkook snorts, gulping down his beer in one go, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeves. they shouldn’t be talking about all of this. it isn’t good at all. “we’re really bad at this.” yoongi pretends he doesn’t know what jungkook means. the poster boy on the led screen smiles at them, winking. summer fun with jeon jungkook, episode 4, out now . it’s not summer anymore— the weather rainy and humid and odd. “hyung,” jungkook’s voice is tempered. yoongi looks at him. “i paid your bills— i,” and yoongi finds himself getting paler immediately, stomach knotting. “found them in the closet, they were overdue, so—“

 

“you don’t have to,” the words are weak. “don’t.” he feels embarrassed and unkempt and improper. “ fuck , you shouldn’t have—“

 

“you— take care of me, i want to— take care,” jungkook lowers his eyes, abashed. “of you.” taking care isn’t the word , yoongi wants to point out. he’s too nervous to say anything, there’s too much warmth inside of him, clashing with shame and with gratefulness. “i never paid a bill before,” the way jungkook words his sentence is soft, like he’s trying to stir the conversation away from the ill parts. “the lady at the post office thought i was crazy.” it makes yoongi snort, chuckling, despite of it all. “— there are holograms, i didn’t— i didn’t know.” holograms of jeon jungkook, he means. “it was a strange experience.” yoongi huffs again, smiling a little. he takes a sip of his beer. it’s lukewarm. “— are you mad at me?”

 

“— you don’t have to pay my bills.” still, he shakes his head negatively, bringing the cigarette close to his mouth again. “i’m not mad, just embarrassed.” jungkook reaches out, taking the cigarette, taking a drag himself. yoongi watches his lips, the redness of them, even in the green limelight. “why— me?” jungkook raises his eyebrows. “why not go to your friends or—“

 

“i don’t know,” yoongi observes how he takes another drag, smoke coming out of his nose instead. he takes the cigarette away, then, it isn’t good for your throat . the ashes spread all over when yoongi puts it down. “you— are real.” a pause. “you’re kind.”

 

“they’ll eventually find you,” yoongi looks about them, at the red dots spread that belong to the myriad of cctvs. “there are cameras everywhere.”

 

“what if— i don’t want to go back?” 

 

the notion of it all makes yoongi laugh. it isn’t possible . the world they live in only works because of jeon jungkook— the voices in their devices, the products on their shelves, they all belong to the same person. it is unfathomable to imagine not having jeon jungkook’s colours shading the streets he walks on. but— but then there’s the real boy, the one without strings, sitting there, next to him. “do you like what you do?”

 

“i like music,” the answer is simple. “i’m being selfish,” he mumbles. 

 

“it’s not selfish,” and yoongi finishes his beer, making a disgruntled noise. “it’s your life, you can do whatever you want with it.”

 

“i want to,” jungkook thinks for a moment. “pay your bills,” he starts quietly. “sleep on your bed.” yoongi looks away, blushing. “eat the food you make.”

 

it’s a suggestion of an offer, yoongi understands. let me stay (with you, maybe) . “you don’t have to pay my bills to eat the food i make,” yoongi pushes air out of his lungs, and they feel crippled. he stands, then, shifting on his weight. jungkook looks up at him, and there’s some sort of red seeping through the greens that shade them, staining his cheeks. the whites on his eyes are clear and inquisitive.

 

“and— to sleep on your bed?” for a second, yoongi doesn’t know how to respond. his heart feels funny. he pockets his cigarettes again, and crumples the empty beer can, already starting to walk away. jungkook holds the straps of his apron, though, lightly. yoongi stops, looking down at his feet. “— hyung.” the sigh that comes out yoongi’s lips is warm. “i don’t know if i can want these things.”

 

“you can,” jungkook’s hold gets tighter, just lightly, as if he’s startled. “there’s nothing wrong with it.” yoongi brushes his hand away, though. “come on —we have labeling to do before you go.”

 

labeling , jungkook nods, looking puzzled. they resume work, somewhat like strangers, avoiding the pressing topics that seem to unfold about them like pretty ribbons— the fact that jungkook wants to sleep on yoongi’s bed, and the fact that sleeping isn’t entirely what he thinks of. yoongi feels put under an increasingly harsher light, one that exposes all the corruption under his own skin, all the thoughts he only thinks at night, all the loneliness that isn’t lonely when you have jeon jungkook. he feels— dirty. a few steps away from him, the real jeon jungkook, the hoodie he’s wearing belonging to yoongi, reads the label of a newly released bag of chips. it doesn’t have his face on it. it’s foreign, probably (pepsi is foreign and yet it has jeon jungkook all over it, yoongi thinks, briefly, and coca-cola, too, and—). “—have you had this one?”

 

“no,” yoongi replies, staring. jungkook turns his head, meeting his eyes. “take one for later if you want.” the smile he gets make yoongi blush. it looks too much like the smile he gets from the trillions of images of jeon jungkook on the internet, his browser history probably filled with them. clean it, delete everything, get rid of that smile . “you should go home, it’s going to be daylight soon.”

 

“— yeah, alright.”

 

the store, bathed in green, gets immediately colder when jungkook leaves, bell ringing after him. the first faint rays of bleak sunlight start pouring in not too long after, bringing with them a sleepy looking kim namjoon, his apron folded in his hand. you look good today, namjoon-ssi , jeon jungkook’s voice tells him, excitedly. yoongi winces. “you don’t look good today,” namjoon points out, jokingly, walking towards the counter. “— rough night?”

 

“kind of,” yoongi agrees, yawning, untying his own apron. “but we labeled all the new stock, there’s just—” but namjoon is eyeing him weirdly. “what?”

 

“— we ?”

 

yoongi raises his head, noticing his own stupid freudian slip. “oh, i mean—”

 

“so you have a girlfriend,” namjoon looks entirely too happy about his own discovery— even though it isn’t a proper discovery, as there’s nothing to be discovered other than jeon jungkook, the real boy, and yoongi’s haunting feelings about him. “wait, is it haneul-ssi—”

 

“it isn’t a girlfriend, it’s— a friend, he came over, and—” but customers come in mid-explanation, saving yoongi from his own stuttery lies. he escapes quickly, waving a hand at namjoon from behind the small group of elementary school kids that come for banana milk every morning. he thinks about the bed that awaits him, how it’s probably already in use, one side cold, one side warm. he thinks about jungkook wanting to use both sides of it, in some ways or others. yoongi misses the screens that wish him a good morning, three hundred and seventy five different faces of jeon jungkook, his voice a constant hum everywhere. have a good-day!, please keep it to your left at all times, the weather forecast for seoul is 20ºC today— a mild day, everyone!, next station: sinsa . yoongi goes home to find jungkook in his bedroom, and he stands up from the bed quickly when yoongi shows up at the threshold, toes curling against the carpet. “— i thought you would be sleeping by now.”

 

“i was— waiting for you.”

 

he looks clean, and tired, and expectant. yoongi stares, stares at the collar of his expensive t-shirt, how gangly it looks, the way his skin is pretty freckled just where his neck meet his shoulder, how the fabric clings to his form just as much as it hides it. jungkook has never shown what’s under his clothes willingly— apart from stage outfits messing up a few times probably for very purposeful marketing stunts, the body the world knows so well isn’t known at all. yoongi starts, reminding himself to look away. “i need a shower,” he says, stirring into movement. “— have you had anything to eat?”

 

“leftovers,” jungkook nods. “there’s some for you in the microwave.”

 

“alright, i’ll— i won’t take long.”

 

he doesn’t take long, and when he stands at the counter to eat some twenty minutes later, jungkook follows, sitting in front of him. yoongi thinks it’s too early to be drinking alcohol, so he offers jungkook the chocolate milk he brought. they share a box of it, passing it back and forth, silent for a while. the apartment building is noisy, and the sun comes in more strongly, perforating the blinds with golden hues. the television is on mute, but jeon jungkook is on it. yoongi’s phone rise to wake at the end of the counter, hyung, you should try and sleep, keep your sleep patterns healthy! , jeon jungkook’s voice says through it. the real jungkook looks its way, eyebrows raising. it’s been a while since yoongi heard it, too. “quiet mode,” he says, and the phone screen flashes before resuming into black. 

 

“i recorded over a million expressions,” jungkook says absentmindedly, as if in thought. “i record new ones every day, or i did before, every day ,” he looks back at yoongi, some smile in his face. “isn’t it funny that i recorded that sentence for you even before we met?”

 

“you didn’t recorded it for me,” yoongi huffs. “you recorded it for everyone who owns a samsung.” he puts his bowl at the sink, ears hot. jungkook watches him intently, watches him walk around, picking up stray clothes left around, watches his brush his teeth, watches him change the channels until there was no more jeon jungkook on the screen. yoongi’s stalling. ignoring the pressing issue. “you should go to bed, it’s late,” he comments, looking at jungkook sitting next to him, eyelids heavy. he reaches out to touch jungkook’s long strands of hair, pushing them away from his face, not expecting jungkook to lean against his touch, searching for it. “i like your hair,” yoongi tells him, quietly so. a slit of sunlight colours jungkook’s eyes an unbelievable shade of golden. he’s all golden, jeon jungkook, gilt for blood, they say. yoongi’s eyes glance down at the redness of lips, and he thinks, bitterly, on how much it’d hurt to know what they taste like. 

 

“hyung,” jungkook calls, touching yoongi’s fingers, tugging on them. “— come with me?”

 

and to bed they go, yoongi entering the bedroom first, slow, unsure steps, knees touching the bed frame. the mattress seems too tough under his weight, too bluntly aware of how nervous he is. he moves the slightest, to offer jungkook space, not expecting how close they are, not expecting the way jungkook looks at him, not expecting how they both lean in carefully, exploring what close really means, noses touching, hands hovering. “do you know what this means,” yoongi asks, swallowing, his breath against jungkook’s. jungkook nods, inching forward, and his hand touches the side of yoongi’s thigh. “— it’s not because you paid my bills,” yoongi finds himself wanting to say. “it isn’t bought.”

 

“i— didn’t pay the bills thinking— no,” jungkook stammers, eyes widening. he buries his face on the crook of yoongi’s neck. “i’m sorry if—“ he’s still mumbling when yoongi touches the back of his head, entwining fingers with locks of dark hair. “i like you,” jungkook mutters, still hiding. “you’re kind, and i—“ 

 

i like you . he says it so easily. yoongi feels his throat dry when he huffs. “you haven’t known me long enough for that.”

 

“hyung,” he raises his head again, and jungkook looks red and red and red, like the colour of the cover of his last christmas ballad. “—take the compliment,” and the unexpected remark makes yoongi snort, laughing weakly. jungkook’s expression soothes into a smile, one that makes his eyes curve. yoongi reaches out, touching jungkook’s chin, thumb just under his bottom lip, over his branded beauty mark. he knows jungkook’s staring at him, touch firmer on his thigh, moving upwards only ever so slightly. it’s— ghastly how such small gesture affects yoongi, how it’s easy to recall to nights where he couldn’t think of anything else but how jeon jungkook looked on the screen. 

 

“can’t we just go to sleep?” he asks, weakly. 

 

“yeah,” jungkook nods, sighing with longing.  

 

and so they’re once again facing opposite ways, as they do every night since they started sharing a bed, backs against each other. yoongi has his hands under his pillow, and his body feels wired. feels— turned on, in too many ways. “jungkook,” he starts, then. jungkook hums in return, and maybe he turns around to look over his shoulder, from the way the mattress dips. yeah? “it’s different,” the words are slurred. “with men.”

 

“i know,” do you? “— i’m not stupid.”

 

“that’s not what i mean,” yoongi turns, too, until they’re fully facing each other again. jungkook’s hand comes to tentatively touch yoongi’s hipbone, fingers playing with the hem of his sweatpants. 

 

“i had a girlfriend, two years ago, for publicity,” yoongi remembers. remembers clearly the day the scandal was brought about, the way it made the whole world wonder if jungkook’s found his reason to begin, who was she, was she korean, or a foreign love affair — then her identity was reported, an up and coming south korean actress, pretty as one can be, and her career was burned down and buried in two weeks, never to be heard of again. jeon jungkook’s former girlfriend, that’s her name now. “we sat in the car a lot, didn’t talk,” jungkook huffs. “once— once she said we just— should do it, for the sake of it,” yoongi watches his brows pinch together. “i guess i realised it, then.”

 

“— did you do it?”

 

“yeah,” he nods. “it was bad.” it makes yoongi smile, though, thinking that the one jeon jungkook, aligned planets and golden blood, couldn’t escape the awkwardness of a first time. “they won’t let me talk to her anymore. i wanted to apologise.”

 

“— do you like her?”

 

“no,” jungkook leans closer, until their heads are on the same pillow. his leg wraps around yoongi’s. “i like you .” the way he says it, so earnest and unabashed, it makes yoongi feel things odd. increased heart rate, do you need to call for help? , his phone, hiding under his pillow, vibrates, startling him. it makes jungkook snort. “do you need to call for help, hyung?” the voice is the same, although breathier and closer. voice not recognised, please say it again .

 

“i don’t need help,” yoongi sighs. his phone beeps cheery. yoongi touches jungkook’s forehead, following the bone structures that were handcrafted by the gods themselves. “do you know how pretty you are?” jungkook blushes a bit, coming even closer, and yoongi’s thigh is between his legs and everything is so very warm . he touches his nose to yoongi’s. it makes yoongi smile, suddenly too fond. fuck , and his heart skips a beat.

 

“— kiss,” jungkook mutters. “can we—?”

 

“yeah.”

 

in the high of yoongi’s most feverish wet dreams, he never thought kissing jeon jungkook would feel like it does. jungkook’s careful with the way he moves, not daring to go deeper, barely offering his tongue that tastes like chocolate milk and mint from their shared toothpaste. yoongi sighs again, into it, the stuttery kind of sigh, the wanting kind. jungkook nibbles softly on his bottom lip. “sorry, i’m— nervous,” jungkook tells him, opening his eyes, finding yoongi’s. “i’m better than this—“

 

“you don’t have to be good at everything.”

 

“—how do you like it?” and yoongi thinks of telling him the truth— i don’t know yet , his own experience limited to nights where things got too lonely and yoongi would flicker through soulmate apps sponsored by jeon jungkook, trying to find someone to fill the needs that would slowly eat him up alive. it has always been something quick and easy, nothing else attached, no bed sharing afterwards, no lingering smell of perfume on his pillows. jungkook leans in again, offering another kiss, slow and deep and nice. “like this or—“ he mutters, kissing again, kissing more roughly, pushing himself closer, and yoongi feels his body twitch. “like this?”

 

“like that,” yoongi nods into the kiss, enjoying the way jungkook’s lips curve. “jungkook,” he starts, heart beating oddly. “we don’t have to do this if—“

 

“i— i need it,” there’s shame in jungkook’s voice, and yoongi’s eyes flicker open. jungkook’s look troubled and resented and hooded with want. “ i need it. ”

 

he can tell how much he needs it from the way he slowly grinds against yoongi’s leg, and yoongi thinks his face looks even prettier when there’s urgency in his frown. “take off your pants,” yoongi asks, voice low. jungkook is quick to comply, tossing away gingerly the pants he’s wearing, and yoongi touches between his legs softly, making him coil, biting down his bottom lip. “other than that girlfriend, you—“

 

“i’m never alone,” jungkook’s breath hitches as yoongi touches over fabric. “and i’m not— they don’t know what i— ah— “ it’s exquisite the way jungkook’s let out the breathy inflection, the way it sounds pained and lyrical all at once, and if it were in a billboard, it’d have been burgundy and hot. yoongi kisses his neck, feeling jungkook cling to his clothes. “ want , they don’t know what i want—“

 

“what do you want?” the touches on the hem of jungkook’s briefs has him stilling, breathing nervously.

 

“this,” he whines when yoongi settles for kissing the crook of his neck, hand not moving any longer. “i need it.” he understands, the need. it’s wildfire shaped like a body, and it burns brighter than jungkook’s posters at night. he wants to pin jungkook down and fuck him— but that’s jeon jungkook, the most important boy in the world. if something of the sorts ever came out to the public eyes— or even, or even: if jeon jungkook is just buying time, bored of his life for an instant, leaving when yoongi is fully attached, cutting off the roots that have engraved in his lonely heart. the thoughts soak his skin, and his mind, and yoongi blinks, pulling back swiftly. “ hyung, no —“

 

“you’re— jeon jungkook,” yoongi swallows. jungkook searches for him with his whole body. “i can’t—“ the moment drags, until jungkook sighs, face hiding against yoongi’s neck. he moves, awful slow, and yoongi feels how needy he is. 

 

“i’m not him,” he mutters, finally looking up, meeting yoongi’s eyes. he’s blushed out. “ hyung .” yoongi’s own body is too alight now, burning dry. they stare at each other for what feels like too long. “please—“

 

“are you going to leave?”

 

it’s just for some time , jungkook had said. you can’t stay long , yoongi had put. it’s been some time. yoongi’s insecurities suddenly feel heavy. jungkook shakes his head. “i don’t want to go back.”

 

“— what if they find you?”

 

“then i’ll—,” words go amiss, and jungkook struggles to find a train of thought. there are contracts, and deals, and in the world ran by jeon jungkook and his colours, nothing is that simple. society’s poster boy is what he is— a boy, all strings attached, a face on the big led screens outside a building. yoongi reaches out, touching his hair gently. i know , he tells him. he doesn’t. jungkook’s hardships are nothing like his own. their lives are nothing like each other’s. it’s silly to think otherwise. “i’m sorry, i— i overstepped—“

 

“you didn’t,” they move awkwardly. still, yoongi leans in, kissing jungkook’s lips softly. he tastes good. yoongi regrets ever knowing what it feels like. “let’s just go to sleep for now.”

 

“— alright.” the sheets rustle as they move, each to their side, movements boxy and strange. the window provides a slit of light already, shading the walls a meekly white. yoongi hears when jungkook stands up, and when the bathroom door closes, and the bed feels immensely colder, and there’s so much space . “i’m— going to sleep on the floor,” jungkook announces once he’s in the bedroom again. yoongi doesn’t reply.

 

 

fans grow worried as there are no reports of sightings of pop idol jeon jungkook for over five months , the reporter says it on the television. yoongi’s taking the night off, the screens outside unlit. he raises his head, eyebrows coming together. from the bedroom, jungkook comes out, shirtless as he hasn’t finished getting dressed. his hair is so long now that he’s tied some of it in a bun, and the lose strands got wet in the shower, sticking to his face. it is rumoured that the artist has a secret affair, but critics expect new music to arrive, as jeon jungkook’s company has confirmed his presence at the grammys next week, and, quoted, a mind-blowing performance . yoongi huffs. “please say hello to rihanna for me,” he comments, smiling, but it fades when he sees jungkook’s expression. “ jungkook .”

 

“i’m worrying people,” he says, looking yoongi’s way. “they don’t deserve it.”

 

“it’s not your fault,” he reassures him, dropping the cutting knife he was chopping celery with, walking closer, a hand coming to touch jungkook’s neck, just over where he’s gotten a new tattoo. “nothing is your fault.” nothing , not the colours changing to black outside, not the slight plummet of south korea’ stocks, not the people who have started camping out in front of his company’s building. nothing .

 

“— i’m— maybe i need to go back,” the words slice like a sword through ribs and hurt all the same. yoongi inhales, but nods, and maybe it’s just how silent it is for a moment, but he hears his heart shatter, ringing in his ears like a bell. “for a while, maybe.”

 

compartmentalize it . “— yeah.” he pulls back, the sudden proximity to jeon jungkook daunting. yoongi feels nervous and out of place and small, small like the convenience store he works at, tucked in an alleyway no one walks by after two. and jungkook— jungkook’s blaringly enormous. “if you want to, i’ll— i won’t stop you.”

 

“i know,” jungkook sounds sadstuck, horribly so, empty all of a sudden. yoongi blinks, not understanding. “hyung,” he turns, staring at yoongi’s eyes. “i still have a lot of money, use it for your bills.” no, wait, what are you saying— “i’ll get dressed,” the sudden change of topic leaves yoongi dizzy. “— what are you making?”

 

he moves away, going back into the bedroom, and the noise of drawers opening find yoongi’s ears. his heart beats awry, beats like he’s having a mild heart attack. his phone is quiet. no one will come for help. “kimchi fried rice,” he replies, voice stammering, and gets a hum for an answer. “don’t—“ yoongi’s voice breaks. there are too many things he doesn’t understand all of a sudden, but the sense of loss burning under his tongue is the worst of them. “don’t forget to put your dirty clothes in the basket,” he says, instead of all the things he want to say. 

 

“of course,” and jungkook huffs, amused. yoongi walks over quietly, into the bedroom, watching him change into one of yoongi’s t-shirts. “it won’t change,” jungkook says after a moment, and he sounds apologetic. “staring at me, hyung.”

 

“i don’t want you to go.”

 

“i don’t want to go,” he pulls the shirt down his torso, hair falling from his bun. “but i— i don’t think i can ever—.” he sighs, sentence remaining unfinished. i can’t ever be free . yoongi does what he needs to do, then— he slides his arms around jungkook’s waist, hugging. “ hyung .” 

 

they fit together nicely. “if you have to go, go,” yoongi speaks carefully, and his head has started to hurt. “i won’t keep you.” it’ll hurt, yoongi knows. he’s grown attached, the worst attachment of them all, he’s grown to love not only the boy on the screen but the cut out version of him, the one made of flesh and bones and gilt for blood. 

 

“i don’t want to go to the fucking grammys,” jungkook chuckles, tone self-deprecating. his arms wrap around yoongi thightly. “they’ll— it’s stupid,” a small snort. “they’ll hate me.” yoongi can hear jungkook’s beating inside his chest, rapid and strange like his own. “and people— they’ll hate me, too.”

 

“they love you,” yoongi raises his head a bit, lips finding the warm skin of jungkook’s neck. 

 

“— i love you,” and the words are offered freely, the strings flimsy on jungkook’s limbs. yoongi stills for a moment, eyes wide, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you . “i want you,” he continues. “i want to sleep on your bed, and eat your food, and pay your bills,” yoongi reminds himself to breathe. “i want those things.”

 

“— alright.” it’s alright just for a while. “i love you, too.” jungkook breathes out slowly. “we should go eat dinner, the rice will burn.” they eat — quietly, yoongi thinks, almost like the first night when jungkook locked himself in the bathroom so his face wouldn’t be uncovered. it’s both comfortable and odd. it’s been six months now, even their quietness feels full. yoongi puts some more spam on jungkook’s bowl, jungkook picks a slice and offers him, instead. he smiles when he eats. the television has been muted, and the colours that leak from it stain the walls reds and purples and blues. “i won’t stop you,” yoongi resumes their conversation as quietly as their silence. “if you have to go.”

 

“i know,” jungkook sips his water, lips wet. he moves to pick up their empty bowls, and when he walks behind the counter, he stops to kiss yoongi’s cheek. yoongi blinks, blushing. 

 

“ yah— ”

 

“thank you for the food, i ate well, hyungnim,” he chirps, and yoongi huffs, feeling flustered and timid and small all of a sudden. jungkook washes the dishes quickly, and yoongi showers in the meantime. their routine is pleasantly synchronized. yoongi thinks about how he’ll replace it, how empty it’ll feel once jeon jungkook is gone. maybe he won’t leave , he thinks, wishful, knowing it’s the wrong thing to do. jungkook is picking up the blankets for his bed when yoongi comes out of the bathroom, and they stare at each other for a moment, and jungkook’s eyes travel down yoongi’s half undressed body. “don’t sleep on the floor.”

 

“it’s fine, it isn’t that cold yet—”

 

“sleep with me, jungkook.”

 

it’s rather embarrassing to wait for jungkook’s next move, it’s rather embarrassing to stand still while he walks the short distance between them, it’s rather embarrassing to have him tentatively hold onto yoongi’s hips, then down, fingers playing with the hems of his pants. “yeah,” jungkook mutters, leaning down a bit, just enough their lips touch. “hyung,” he continues, and yoongi swallows the air in his words. “i want to do more than sleep.” 

 

it’s kissing that they fall onto bed, fumbling with blankets and heavier duvets jungkook picked up at the salvation army. the warmth and the need are still there, from all those nights ago, when yoongi denied them of trying. “do you want me to fuck you or—,” he thinks of asking, hands carelessly grabbing at the sides of jungkook’s body, feeling him squirm. 

 

“i don’t know,” he doesn’t sound scared, just unsure. “think later,” and jungkook’s voice gets a bit hoarse, and yoongi’s hands slide under his shirt, pressing sensitive skin. he shudders, coiling into himself. “not there,” the airy words are weak. yoongi pinches a nipple between his fingers, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough jungkook moans, trying to back away. “— why is it so good—“ the broken sentence sounds more like a thought said out loud. yoongi chuckles. “take it off.” the shirt slides upwards some more, until yoongi can lift it off jungkook completely, and suddenly he can see what is so private and so pretty, the defined lines of jungkook’s stomach, the way there’s just the softest trail of hair down his navel, his skin all honey coloured. “you’re the first one,” he says after a moment, seeing how yoongi stares. “to— see me like,” but i’m not , yoongi wants to say, the coordi noonas, the stylists, all the hands that so often touch skin. “like this.”

 

“you’re the first person i ever loved,” yoongi offers in return, and it’s true. he loved, loves, past and present, the poster boy and the boy underneath his borrowed clothes. jungkook smiles, huffing, colouring red all over. 

 

“do i make you begin, hyung?” he asks, cheeky, despite the embarrassment in his consonants.

 

“yeah,” and they kiss again, a bit hungrier this time, a bit deeper, rougher, like yoongi likes. “ you are the cause of my euphoria ,” he chants halfway, giggling, hearing jungkook giggle alongside him. “— take off your pants.”

 

“wait, i—,” jungkook pulls back, swallowing. “i want to try something first.”

 

“— alright.” there’s expectation in the way yoongi waits, staring at jungkook, how he bites his bottom lip, and he pushes yoongi back, just a bit, until he’s sitting on the bed, and jungkook gets closer to kiss his neck, and his hands come to rest on yoongi’s thighs, and he spreads them a bit open. there’s expectation in the way they stare at each other once jungkook starts sliding his pants down, and yoongi lifts himself off from the bed for a second, to help. there’s expectation in the way jungkook dips his head, down and down and downwards, and yoongi’s head immediately tosses back, fingers clutching sheets. “ ahng— “

 

jungkook’s tongue is warm and wet, his teeth grazing against sensitive skin, and for a while he doesn’t dare much, for a while he tests what makes yoongi breath wrong. he finds his way, until yoongi fists a handful of his hair, tugging firmly to keep him going. “— hyung,” jungkook sounds hoarser than before. yoongi’s hold gets loose. there’s an obscene trail of saliva connecting him to yoongi’s body when he pulls back. “i don’t know what i’m doing.”

 

“i know,” a flicker of shame illuminates jungkook’s eyes for a moment. “but it’s good, it’s—,” there’s a sheen to jungkook’s lips, body fluids making it redder than they are, and darker in the corners. like that, he’s nothing like the boy in the billboards. there’s nothing of jeon jungkook in jeon jungkook when he’s in between yoongi’s legs. he scratches jungkook’s scalp lovingly. “it’s good.” so jungkook goes on, without asking, and yoongi’s hips jerk the slightest, and he lets out a stuttery sort of noise filled with want. the knowing sort of pull starts to gather lower down, the very telling one. “that’s enough,” he asks, faint, and it makes jungkook chuckle, and his throat vibrates, and it’s good, good, good . 

 

“you’re blushing, hyung,” he says it, raising himself from the bed, placing a kiss to yoongi’s collarbone. “it’s pretty.”

 

“do you want me to make you blush?”

 

a short, timid nod. “— yeah.” so it’s jungkook’s back against the headboard, and it’s his fingers on yoongi’s hair, and he’s more vocal than yoongi, and yoongi thinks, for a glimpse of a moment, that the walls are thin, that the people around don’t know they’re hearing jeon jungkook moan like that. it’s— exhilarating. he likes the saline taste of his skin, and how he trembles when yoongi dares to dip a bit deeper. “ good , yes,” he stammer, chuckling, and yoongi feels his lips curling, too. “better than,” and yoongi, for a second, thinks he’ll mention someone else. “better than i expected.”

 

that makes yoongi laugh. “— you expected it?”

 

“— kind of,” jungkook sighs, his head falling back against the wall, a pleased expression on his face. then he glances down, biting his bottom lip. “hyung,” yoongi sits back, thumb wiping the corner of his mouth. “i want to stay with you.”

 

“— let’s think about it later,” yoongi offers, hands already searching for jungkook’s legs, pulling them closer, and jungkook inches forward, too, and their kiss is salty and raw and jungkook hums against him. jeon jungkook is everywhere, yoongi wants to tell him, he’s omnipresent in people’s lives. but of course, leaving isn’t the same as leaving , not for yoongi. the body he holds onto feels like it’s already beginning to fade away. “can i fuck you?” he asks, softly.

 

“— does it hurt?”

 

he pulls back, watching jungkook’s eyes for any hint of fear. there’s just a bit of it in dilated pupils. “it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

 

“i want to,” and jungkook stares back, and his hair is a mess of damp strands. “i might be bad at it,” he presses his lips together, worried. “— i’ll probably be.” he huffs. “i was the first time—“ he’s still talking when yoongi touches his fingertips to lean stomach, and he’s still trying to connect his words when he gives jungkook a few slow strokes. jungkook bites his lips, pained expression on his face, a shivery ah leaving his mouth. 

 

“we can do whatever you want,” yoongi nudges the skin of his neck with his nose. “i can jerk you off and we’ll go to bed,” jungkook shakes his head, i don’t want to go to bed . “you can fuck me, i don’t mind,” the offer has jungkook opening his eyes again, hand grabbing yoongi’s wrist to steady his movements. “i just want to be with you.” 

 

“a bit more of this,” he seems to find the will to say, forehead falling against yoongi’s shoulder. “and then— ah ,” he chuckles. yoongi smiles. “then—“

 

“yeah,” yoongi agrees, even though jungkook doesn’t finish his sentence. the strokes are slow and steady, despite jungkook’s grip urging him to go faster. whenever his breath hitches, yoongi lets go. at the fifth time he does it, jungkook lets out a distressed whimper, teeth digging into the crook of yoongi’s neck, not too hard it breaks skin, but hard enough it makes him coil. “— yah, vampire ,” he complains in english, but his voice is tender. “i’ll stop if—“

 

“no, it’s— don’t ,” jungkook raises his head again, and he looks flushed, the stain of it all down his chest. “just—you’re teasing me too much,“ he breathes out, embarrassed. “i want to—“

 

“yeah?”

 

he kisses yoongi instead of replying, sweet and soft and slow, and it’s sweet and soft and slow that they touch each other, it’s sweet and soft and slow that colour their movements, and jungkook’s moans soak up the walls. at some point, and yoongi has his fingers touching places that make jungkook shiver and writhe, he grabs onto yoongi, needy, fuck me, fuck me, please — 

 

— it’s already dawn when they lay side by side, breathing awkwardly, and jungkook’s cuddled against yoongi’s side, and they’re sweaty and sticky. it feels good. wholesome, yoongi thinks. he feels like crying, though. wholesome things don’t last. “i didn’t know it felt this way,” jungkook says, a bit breathless still. “was it,” he looks up, finding yoongi’s eyes. “was it good for you?”

 

“yes,” yoongi huffs, smiling. “do you mind if i smoke?”

 

“— no.”

 

yoongi slides out of bed, then, and he’s somewhat comfortable in his nakedness, walking into the living room to crack the window open the slightest. there’s a quietness outside, the type that prequels a noisy day. yoongi finds the pack of cigarettes besides the television. he’s taking the first drag when jungkook joins him, sliding his arms around his waist, naked body draped in stained blankets. they both smell of sex, the briny kind of scent that sticks to bodies after a long night. yoongi breathes out, feeling jungkook place his chin on his shoulder. “want some?” he offers, but jungkook shakes his head. i can’t . “we should shower.” a hum is his reply. “does it hurt anywhere?”

 

“just— a bit uncomfortable,” jungkook mumbles, yawning. “can we shower together?”

 

“yeah,” yoongi nods, taking another drag. “i’ll wash your hair.”

 

“i want to do it, next time,” yoongi doesn’t understand at first, so jungkook completes his line of thought, and his cheek feels hot against yoongi’s. “you, i mean— i want to—fuck you.“

 

“maybe later,” they laugh weakly, swaying. yoongi blows smoke out of his nose, feeling strangely cracked. there won’t be a later. jungkook kisses his neck, smiling against skin, hands travelling south, and southern still, chuckling when yoongi’s breath gets caught on his throat. “— jungkook .”

 

“ hyung ,” the word is airy. yoongi puts out his cigarette in the already dirty ashtray. “come on, let’s shower.”

 

they do shower, at some point, and yoongi doesn’t think much about electricity bills as he stands under the water, feeling it run down his back, scorching hot, just not as hot as jungkook’s mouth, or his tongue, or the way he feels. it’s broad daylight by the time they’re in bed again, wasted and tired and smelling of yoongi’s favourite shampoo. he’s aware of the deranged beating of his heart, but his phone was forgotten at the kitchen counter at some point, so there’s no jeon jungkook’s voice questioning him about it. the jeon jungkook’s he’s wrapped around breathes easily. yoongi sniffs at the nape of his neck. “you smell good.”

 

“i smell like you,” jungkook sounds sleepy. yoongi has left the window opened, and the blinds, pulled down, swaying softly in the breeze that comes in, filling the apartment with quiet thuds and white sunlight. “— hyung,” he calls, after a moment. yoongi realizes he’s drifted off. yeah? “i’m going to write you a song.”

 

it’s an innocent enough sentence, but it’s also the start of the ending arch of their narrative. yoongi blinks, staring at the mane of messy hair that is spread against the pillow, at the tattoos peeking from under the collar of an old, expensive shirt. “— are you?”

 

“and then i’m going to retire and come live with you,” jungkook continues. yoongi’s heart misses a beat, stumbling. “can i—?”

 

“— yeah,” yoongi swallows. he feels like crying again. his breath feels hotter than it should be. “let’s just sleep for now?”

 

“i’m tired,” jungkook nods, mumbling. 

 

it’s sooner than later that jungkook falls asleep. yoongi listens to the way his breathing shifts to deeper tunes, to the way his body completely relaxes against him. yoongi inhales, feeling the cracks in his heart get bigger. he places a kiss on jungkook’s neck. “— goodbye, jeon jungkook.”

 

(he stirs awake too many hours later. the room is hazy and blue. yoongi knows right away that his bed is emptier than before. he turns, anyway, searching— there’s nothing, no one. he sighs. the television is on in the living room, some programme about the architecture of european churches. his phone beeps right away the moment he steps in. hyung! you’re finally awake , jeon jungkook’s voice greets him happily. you slept through your work schedule, so i sent an automated message to your boss. “— thanks,” his voice doesn’t feel right. yoongi sniffs. don’t forget to take care of yourself . yoongi nods to no one in particular. he grabs the cigarette pack, moving towards the couch, letting himself on it. it smells like jeon jungkook still. the lump down his throat gets bigger, and yoongi’s eyes are glassy. hyung , his phone calls again. it almost sounds real. i’ll write you a song, please cheer for me . yoongi stares at the images on the screen, but they all look watery. he sniffs again. “yeah, i will,” and then— and then min yoongi cries.)

 

( you know that i can’t show you me, give you me, i can’t show you a ruined part of myself, once again i put a mask and go to see you— but i still want you. the fingers that hold onto the microphone have no tattoos. his hair is shorter, too, not a lot of it was cut away, but it isn’t long enough the way jungkook liked. he looks more polished and beautiful than before— unreal, yoongi reckons, he looks made of things that aren’t flesh and bones. it’s late, it’s too many months later, the performance has happened at some place in the united states, an ocean away. yoongi realises he’s clutching on the fabric of his pants. it’s full winter now, outside. the store is drenched in white and grays from the big led screens. jeon jungkook’s new single— the truth untold, out now . he isn’t smiling. he looks magical. yoongi swallows the things he feels. it’s been too long. there’s nothing else there, not even a song, this song, it isn’t for him. jeon jungkook is just a voice in his phone.)

 

the bell rings around nine. yoongi is too busy doing namjoon’s late cash up to look up. a humid, warm breeze comes in alongside whoever steps inside the store, breaking through refurbished air. it’s almost september now, but it’s still hot. a flash of light makes him blink, and he looks up finally. jeon jungkook isn’t coloured anything specific— the led screens on the side of the building were removed after christmas. since then, it’s been grey. still, it’s jeon jungkook , his face bare of masks but full of defining make up, his clothes different, stage clothes , and there’s a small group of people outside the windows, a black van awkwardly parked as if to contain the small crowd. another flash. yoongi blinks. “what— what are you doing here?”

 

“i’m done,” jungkook steps closer to the counter. “i’m done with this.” he touches the glittering jacket he’s wearing. “i miss you.” someone steps around the windows, pointing. a girl films with a big camera, her face covered by a mask. yoongi blinks, confused.

 

“ jungkook —“

 

“i want to pay your bills and eat your food and sleep on your bed,” the sentence is said without a pause for breath, and jungkook gets close enough to splay his hands over the counter, no tattoos. his hair, his hair is different, slightly lighter brown, still long enough it curls at the ends. he’s blushed and tanned, and yoongi feels like his lungs have stopped working, a hole in them, blood dripping out, blood and love, love and blood, he doesn’t know which is which. “i made you a song—”

 

“i listened to it,” yoongi nods, staring into wide brown eyes that look with such urgency at him. “it was— beautiful,” his fingertips touch jungkook’s, but his glance moves to the people outside. he starts pulling away, but jungkook holds them firmly back. “jungkook, they’re—”

 

“they’ll go away, eventually—”

 

“but we’re—” different , yoongi wants to say. you’re gild, i’m brass .

 

“let me,” jungkook’s voice sounds just slightly urgent. someone walks in the store. jungkook, you have to leave right now . yoongi glances over jungkook’s shoulder, to the man that’s coming in, and he doesn’t hear the bell. there’s others coming in, taller men, bulkier. security guards. yoongi feels— strange. feels like this isn’t real life, but a weird nightmare that lasts a second and a lifetime all at once. “let me stay with you.”

 

“i—” he doesn’t know what to say. stay with me, stay with me, his mind screams. someone wraps a hand around jungkook’s arm. yoongi involuntarily grabs onto jungkook’s wrist, as if to keep him there longer. “stay, stay —” the pull on jungkook’s arm seems strong.

 

“i’m sorry for the trouble, we’re going back now,” the faceless people are saying. jungkook allows them to take him, walking backwards. yoongi grabs until he can’t grab anymore. “jungkook, get in the car—”

 

the phone in yoongi’s pocket awakes. do you need to call for help? and it’s jeon jungkook’s voice. the television, on mute, shows one of jeon jungkook’s older music videos. every brand on the store’s shelves has jeon jungkook’s face on them. the boy being taken away isn’t any of those people. he’s— yoongi’s, just as much as yoongi is his. “don’t go stealing cheap beer—” he stutters, purposefully, and jungkook’s eyes widen in recognition, before he gets turned and taken out of the store. people follow him towards the van, voices calling, jeon jungkook, a moment please, jeon jungkook, look here, jeon jungkook — yoongi swallows, heart racing, and it races until way after they’re all gone, the lingering girls snapping pictures of him, the van and its souped-up carburetor smell and tinted windows. 

 

he waits, then, until three a.m., to nothingness.

 

(there are articles, and his face blurred on the media. he’s a family member , the company says. yoongi scowls, disgusted. jeon jungkook doesn’t have an affair with another man . it dies down quickly, in days, as quick publicity stunts are put in place— jeon jungkook is seen having lunch with a woman in another country, a new single rumour leaks, the company drops an interview that reads mostly fabricated. in days, no one remembers the convenience store and the man jeon jungkook went to search for.)

 

he waits for almost two weeks for the bell to ring. it’s a different kind of sound, when jungkook comes in. it’s— jungkook’s sound , that bell. yoongi lifts his eyes from his phone screen almost immediately. it’s five past three. jungkook is wearing his mask, and his hoodie, and there’s a backpack hanging from his shoulder, and another being carried on his hand. his boots look old. his eyes look tired. they greet each other with short nods. then jungkook moves, going towards the fridges. he grabs two cans of beers, and brings them to the counter. “— can i see some id?”

 

there’s a short moment before jungkook huffs. yoongi doesn’t wait any longer then, grabbing the strings on his hoodie, pulling him against and over the counter, to kiss over his mask. it makes jungkook giggle. “— hyung .” yoongi’s smiling, too. “my contract,” he says, when yoongi stands back again. “i— made a deal.” they stare at each other. “i’ll pay your bills, and eat your food and sleep on your bed,” yoongi blushes. you don’t have to pay my bills . “once a month i’ll be away for a week to record things, until— until they don’t need me anymore.”

 

“you’re jeon jungkook,” and yoongi had said that too many times. “they’ll always need you.”

 

“as long as i stay with you,” he slides the beers closer to yoongi. “— do you want to have a drink with me?” he grins, toothy and pretty. “i’m asking you out.”

 

“i was going out for a smoke anyway,” yoongi replies, in feigned nonchalantness. jungkook drops his bags behind the counter. they walk into the warm night. he is overdressed, but he doesn’t take off the hoodie that hides his features. yoongi lights up his cigarette, smoke curling. he doesn’t offers it to jungkook, this time. the sound of their beer cans opening resonate on the darkened buildings. he looks up. “you can almost see the stars now.”

 

“hyung,” they’re sitting close enough that jungkook can touch yoongi’s ankle with the tip of his shoes, moving upwards just barely. “do you want this?”

 

“i want you,” yoongi doesn’t think before replying. it’s the truth. jungkook huffs, a hand touching his hair under the hood. “you, and jeon jungkook,” that makes jungkook chuckle. “— i missed you.”

 

“i’m sorry i left without saying goodbye,” jungkook takes a big sip of his beer, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. “i thought— it’d hurt.” a small pause. “it hurt anyway.”

 

yeah, it hurt . yoongi lived the next few days mostly like a colourless ghost— transparent and void, and namjoon didn’t comment on his bleak expression after the second day. then he started speaking to his phone again. “yeah,” he says, then. “you’re here now.” they look at each other, and jungkook breaks into a pretty smile, one from the billboards that used to colour them. he slides his chair closer, the noise of plastic against cement cringey in their ears. yoongi sighs when jungkook puts his head on his shoulder, breathing in deeply. 

 

“yeah, i am.” his fingers take the cigarette, and he takes a drag, coughing after a moment. “that still doesn’t taste good.”

 

“it won’t ever taste good,” yoongi takes it back, and he turns his head to kiss the top of jungkook’s head. “do you still remember how to organise the shelves?”

 

“older fabrication date to the front,” jungkook replies almost immediately. “— do you still have a spare apron?”

 

“yeah.”

 

they go back to work at some time, and it’s as if time passed was a mistake they quickly erased. jeon jungkook was never gone, min yoongi never felt lonely. they talk— not much, like when they first met, just quiet questions and shy answers, i heard you won a grammy, yeah, for the song i wrote you, it’s my grammy then, hyung!, and they work alongside each other, yoongi stealing glances at jungkook as if he can fade away at the next second. the sun is rising when jeon jungkook’s voice chirps in, preceded by the bell above the door, ah, namjoon-hyung, welcome back!. yoongi raises his head, yawning. “you’re early today.”

 

namjoon is scratching his eyes. “yeah, thought i’d get something to eat before work.” he blinks, his vision probably focusing, and it focuses on jeon jungkook, arms over the high counters by the window, head buried in them, asleep. “— your friend is back.”

 

“yeah.”

 

“good, he does a good job cleaning the fridges,” namjoon comments, touching his card to the reader. ah— namjoon hyung, you’re so early! yoongi thinks if he’ll ever hear the sleeping jeon jungkook say those words out loud himself, and not through machine. probably not. “want to have some coffee together?”

 

they smile at each other, and yoongi nods. they’re halfway through cold cans of americano coffee when jungkook stirs awake, raising his head. he looks behind his shoulder, frowning at them, and yoongi pales a bit at his exposed face, and namjoon stops talking. there’s a moment of quietness that follows. “hi,” jungkook clears his throat, and he glances at yoongi, looking just mildly panicked. “i’m—“

 

“the friend,” namjoon nods. for a second there, yoongi thinks he’ll connect the dots, that his face will light up with recognition, and that he’ll make a mess of it. “i’m namjoon,” he waves, and jungkook bows, eyes still searching for yoongi’s, wide. “you do a good job here, maybe you should take hyung’s place.”

 

“ yah, kim namjoon— “

 

it makes jungkook chuckle. “i already have a job,” he replies, but bows again. “but i don’t mind helping when i come here.”

 

“come more often, then,” namjoon turns, stretching, leaving his empty coffee can on the counter. “jeon jungkook,” yoongi’s stomach drops, and he can tell jungkook flinched on his seat. i can explain, it’s not — “play my heavy rotations.” great choice, hyung!

 

both yoongi and jungkook exchange relieved glances, and jungkook huffs, smiling. they leave not too long after, each carrying one of jungkook’s backpacks, arms full of plastic bags with food and cheap beer. “do you think he’ll— notice?” jungkook asks, as they sway softly in the train, side by side. his face is properly covered. jeon jungkook’s face stares at him from a sign on the window. 

 

“probably not,” yoongi shrugs. 

 

“it felt good,” jungkook admits, and his eyes are smiling. “like when i told you,” he sniffs. “like i’m a real person.”

 

“you are.” he nudges jungkook’s side, playfully, with his elbow. it is mildly cloudy when they get home. the window was left opened, so the apartment doesn’t feel so stuffy. yoongi turns on small fan next to the television anyway. “— hungry?”

 

jungkook cocks his head, smiling. “always.”

 

“go shower, i’ll make us something.”

 

they start moving into slots known from before, the domestic sort of dance in too small of an apartment. jungkook walks closer though, holding onto yoongi’s wrist to kiss his cheek, a gesture that makes yoongi blush, and smile, and feel— uttermost happy. he hears the water running like a song as he quickly tosses a few vegetables into a pan, lips ever curled. jungkook hums a little tune, and it echoes. hyung , yoongi’s phone calls in jeon jungkook’s voice. it makes yoongi startle. your mood charts have improved . “yeah? it must be the weather.” indeed, the weather can improve 75% someone’s mood, jeon jungkook comments. yoongi’s about to silence the electronic voice, but it adds: don’t silence me again, i’ll miss you . it’s— strange, and yoongi stills, feeling off, chill down his spine. he looks back at the phone. the screen is blue. “i— don’t feel like talking,” he swallows. the screen fades into a darker purple, listening. “quiet mode— please.” it’s all black, then. yoongi looks back at the food he’s stirring. 

 

“—were you talking to your phone again?” jungkook’s voice is too familiar to the one in his device, and yoongi startles again. he sighs, bothered by the weird feeling under his skin.

 

“yeah,” he replies. “can’t drop the habit.”

 

arms slide around his chest, and jungkook sniffs his neck, body warm and smelling of clean. yoongi feels at ease, slowly. “that looks good, hyung,” jungkook comments, pressing their bodies together. yoongi huffs. “— what?”

 

“nothing,” but it is something — it is how their bodies fit together nicely, it’s jungkook’s warm breath close, it’s the smell of yoongi’s shampoo on him, it’s dinner, and it’s a box within a box that feels a little bit like a home when he’s not that lonely. “do you like stir fried vegetables? i didn’t ask.”

 

“i like everything you make,” jungkook’s hands slide a bit down, rubbing against yoongi’s belly, then just slightly a bit down, thumbs hooking under the hems of pants. “i like everything about you.”

 

“later,” yoongi smiles, sniffing. “let’s eat first.”

 

they eat— their slow dance of quietly offering each other food, the counter between them, yoongi standing up, jungkook sitting down. “—what did they say when you went back?”

 

jungkook’s eyes lift to meet yoongi’s. “that they were waiting.” he shrugs. “they asked if i had fun being a real person.” yoongi blinks, confused. “it’s— what people say about me, isn’t it? that i’m not real.”

 

“you’re real,” and yoongi pokes his cheek with his chopsticks. jungkook coils, chuckling. “see, flesh and bone.”

 

later , when they’re already in bed, loose clothes feeling tight around their bodies, jungkook pulls back from the kiss, staring at yoongi’s face for a moment too long. what’s wrong—? “thank you,” he seems overwhelmed, somehow. yoongi doesn’t understand. “for— taking care of me.” he only nods in return, touching his nose to jungkook’s. i’ll take care of you . “you’re kind.”

 

“jungkook,” yoongi places a kiss at the corner of jungkook’s mouth, where it curls prettily when he’s smiling. “i want you to,” he swallows. “sleep on my bed, eat my food,” jungkook chuckles. “pay my bills. sometimes, not always.”

 

“— what else?”

 

if what books say it’s true, yoongi has ultimately given up all five keys to his heart, and they’re all hanging from the copper bracelet jungkook brought from fiji a lifetime ago. “you, i want you—“ they kiss again, and kissing is good, but kissing is pure gasoline to an all consuming fire. their limbs push and pull against each other, getting rid of clothes, touching in places that drag out exquisite kinds of sighs, and yoongi finds his body completely pliant under jungkook’s weight, legs wrapped around his hips, panting. “use your fingers, first,” he explains, softly, guiding jungkook’s hand down, free hand palming the blankets for the bottle of lube they lost amidst their messy making out. “here,” yoongi’s voice comes out strained. jungkook pulls back, yoongi’s legs still over his own, and he’s all blushed and staring. 

 

“when you did it, it felt good,”  jungkook sounds nervous. “what if—what if i’m not good at it—”

 

“it’s okay, i’m— i’ll help.” yoongi gasps as he feels the strange sensation of being touched in places too sensitive. his back arches the slightest as jungkook pulls his finger in painfully slow, then out again, tentatively, yoongi’s own fingers guiding him. “ ah , that’s— just keep going,“ his words stutter when jungkook goes a bit deeper, and it makes yoongi chuckle nervously, toes curling. “ fuck— “

 

“— good fuck?” jungkook’s voice is coated with confidence, and he kisses the side of yoongi’s knee, smiling. yoongi bites his lip, nodding, eyes closed. “hyung,” yoongi sighs, forcing himself to look . “tell me.”

 

“a bit more,” jungkook’s movements get less careful, and yoongi’s mind goes into overdrive when he leans down, licking a patch of skin that feels like burning. “fuck, good— “ it’s sloppy for a second time, sloppier than the first, and they laugh when jungkook fails to put it in without looking, and yoongi tosses his head back, groaning, when he does, feeling iron on his tongue from biting the inside of his cheek. jungkook breathes heavily, muttering nonsense like it’s a prayer once they start moving, a choir of this feels— ah— it’s— hyung, hyung— , and yoongi only nods, grabbing onto his hips to urge him to move faster, and rougher, a bit rougher, please . jungkook’s strong enough to hold him down, and strong enough to keep his hands away as he fucks him, and yoongi thinks he’s never known such bliss until he comes, jungkook’s stroking him gently, his head buried against his neck, leaving love bites on tender skin. “don’t stop,” he offers, weakly, because jungkook hasn’t come yet, his body is still wired. “it’s okay,” yoongi adds. 

 

“won’t it hurt,” jungkook moves just gently, and yoongi inhales sharply, body oversensitive. they both shiver. “you feel good,” a bit more, then, a bit more, yoongi mutters, dazed, legs weak. it doesn’t take jungkook much longer, and his body falls against yoongi’s, exhausted, his chest moving rapidly. yoongi brings his hand to touch jungkook’s hair lovingly as he trembles with the waves of euphoria, scratching the scalp as he likes. “you feel good,” jungkook mumbles again, sighing. “hot and—,” the next word is uttered so low yoongi almost misses. “tight.” it gets them both blushing. jungkook’s all made of shades of red when he lifts his head again. his eyes are wide. “i mean—i don’t—“

 

“jeon jungkook, play that again,” yoongi laughs as he says it, and the phone forgotten on the bedside table comes to life in blood orange, the recording of their words sounding too loud suddenly. hot and—tight . jungkook looks outraged, hyung— . “quiet mode,” he exhales. “don’t get upset.”

 

jungkook’s looking at the phone. “—is he always listening?”

 

“i suppose so,” yoongi moves a bit, and jungkook finally pulls out, flinching, letting out a contained ah, fingers grabbing a bit more firmly onto yoongi’s side. “how much money i’d make if i just—“ and he touches jungkook where he’s still sensitive, making him let out a soft whine. “record you.”

 

“— a lot,” jungkook laughs weakly, snuggling against yoongi again. they’re so tangled yoongi isn’t sure what body parts belong to him anymore. all of his are jungkook’s and vice-versa. “hyung,” the word is soft-spoken. yoongi hums, starting to feel heavy with sleep. “we should get cleaned up.”

 

“yeah,” he mumbles the reply, agreeing. “— don’t go away again,” yoongi doesn’t know why he says it, but he does. “please.” nothing is said in return, the silence overbearing. yoongi waits a bit longer, for jungkook to move, for him to raise his head, eyes dark, for him to pull on yoongi’s wrist until they’re both standing up, naked and sticky, stumbling into a too small of a bathroom. he’s in love with the way it happens now, the familiarity in having jeon jungkook’s body to touch, the uncanny way their hands meet. “if you weren’t so young, i’d ask you to marry me,” he ends up saying, unabashed, watching as hot water trickles down jungkook’s face, fingers full of shampoo as he washes jungkook’s hair. they stare at each other. 

 

“we’re not allowed to get married here,” jungkook comments, and there’s some sort of sadness in his tone, some sort of distress. “and i’m not that much younger than you.” yoongi tugs on jungkook’s hair, making it into a soapy mohawk, and it drags giggles out of both of them. “— i’d marry you, hyung.” 

 

yoongi’s heart beats in pace with his breathing— weakly, and trembly, and full of warmth. “okay,” he nods, bringing jungkook into a hug. “but we’re wasting electricity now.”

 

“i’m a billionaire,” jungkook says, cheeky.

 

“yeah, but i’m not.”

 

(there are exactly three hundred and seventy-two pictures of jeon jungkook staring at one min yoongi. it’s past four in the morning, and the led screens are back on the side of the building. they flicker, all at once, showing videos of jeon jungkook’s newest single, recorded with a lesser famous global artist. yoongi takes a drag of his cigarette. his phone stirs in his pocket. a live feed from jeon jungkook’s personal app. he raises his eyebrows, tapping the screen. jeon jungkook’s face is now so familiar that yoongi recognises the lines under his eyes that are telling of lack of sleep, and that he’s smudged his make up with sweat. he looks over his shoulder, at the well lit convenience store, at the boy at the counter, long haired and pretty, same lines under his eyes, focused on the screen of his phone. i thought we could chat for a bit , jeon jungkook says, smiling. i wanted to tell you something important . yoongi swallows, fully turning now. jungkook glances up from his phone, for a moment. “don’t do it,” he mutters. there’s someone i want to marry . the blush that creeps under yoongi’s skin feels hot. he taps the screen, shutting the app off, letting out a huff, lips curling involuntarily. jungkook joins him not too long later, quietly so. yoongi’s heart is beating at light speed. “you’re too young.”

 

“i can wait,” jungkook leans into yoongi’s personal space, kissing his cheek. the pictures flicker, all red, red, red, some song about being in love, he hasn’t listened to it yet. “i just wanted them to know.” the screens flicker once again, a live transmission from a foreign reporter. we’re live broadcasting this from new york right after jeon jungkook’s shocking announcement , they both look up, hands entwining. apparently the young singer is set for marriage. details on the mystery girl were not revealed. “that was fast.”

 

“i’m a mystery girl,” and yoongi snorts, amused. “jeon jungkook,” and jungkook looks down at him, still smiling, but his eyebrows arch. “play a wedding march.” the phone answers right away, the song seeping through the colours about them, white and beautiful. hyung —, jungkook mutters. “would you do the honour to help me label the new products we received this afternoon?” for a second, jungkook blinks, confused. then he starts laughing, pulling yoongi close for a kiss that is stained with chuckles, and he nods, i’ll help you label forever .)

( i’m both of them , jungkook is saying. his hair is tied neatly, clean. yoongi watches him through the telly. i’m jeon jungkook and i’m— myself . the interview is sort of quiet, different from the screaming fans and flashes that usually populate the backgrounds with their multitude of colours. it’s an intimate one, about intimate things. jeon jungkook turned twenty-five and the world is watching. but right now— right now i want to be myself more than i want to be jeon jungkook . the interviewer hums, words being missed in the loud silence that follows. why is that? jungkook shifts slightly on his chair. the handheld camera focuses on his face, the way he looks tired a bit, nervous a bit. i’m not alone anymore . yoongi exhales. he looks sideways, to the boy asleep on the couch next to him, mouth agap, in too small of an apartment, a box within a box. there’s a ring on his fourth finger, just over the tattoos he's got again. yoongi touches his hair, petting soft strands of it. jeon jungkook blushes on camera. yoongi misses it, staring at the sleeping form of real life jeon jungkook, his chest rising and falling accordingly. “i’m not alone anymore, either,” he smiles softly. the phone next to the television comes to life, screen lilac. hyung , it starts, and yoongi looks its way. you talk to him , it carries on. yoongi huffs. “yeah.” you sound happy . “jeon jungkook,” yoongi mutters, not to wake up jungkook. “unistall, please.” the voice on the phone is gone half a second later. jungkook stirs awake a moment later, eyes fluttering open. 

 

“hyung,” he calls, voice so similar to that on yoongi’s phone, but so different at the same time. “you still talk to him.”

 

“i won’t anymore,” he sighs, pulling jungkook close against him. “i already have one jeon jungkook.” it makes jungkook smile, still sort of sleepy. “it’s enough.”)

Notes:

i like to think jungkook pays for yoongi's education, later on, when yoongi finally agrees to accept it. they never move out from the box, though. it's theirs.

i'm @sugahighs if you must scream at me.