There is a light that never goes out

by monoxxide

Summary:

"Jeongguk!" the manager ardently insists from some corner of the dressing room. "The van is waiting for y— no shit, did he fucking doze off on the table?"

"Don't worry hyung, you guys can leave," Yoongi says, aloud. Uncomplaining. "I'll take Jeongguk home."

He has had a few beers so far, and several shots of whiskey, since the supporting band is from a small town somewhere in Ireland and the post concert party's alcohol has been on its members. He's been toasting with Irish doom metal musicians just half an hour ago, and even though there is now a slight buzz in his head trying to confuse him of whether he should keep on drinking or head off instead, he does not complain.

Yoongi never refuses any alcoholic beverages, not when he loves whiskey, not when it's free, not when he can take even the strongest of it. Not when the concert has been a fucking success for both bands, sold out tickets since day two. A smirk of pride and the slight drunkenness makes the corner at one side of his mouth curl up.

"Did you guys get everything ready?"

"Jimin is picking up the spare amp cables from the stage."

Taehyung speaks from the couch, his bare feet on the wall, knees slightly bent and supported along the top of the black leather on the couch. The position looks really awkward, animal-like, but it seems soothing to his joints.

"Are you staying with him?" Asks the manager.

He's staring at his phone, scrolling through some app, listening to music through a single earpiece as if he didn't just play at his own concert. Taehyung nods nonchalantly, agreeing, or mimicking the rhythm of the song, not caring if the manager really gets his answer or not.

Taehyung is a great guitarist. Yoongi doesn't downplay the fact just because the guy is now sprawled across the couch instead of picking up his mess from the dressing room. Military boots, belts, kerchiefs, spiked necklaces, a couple of tank tops with different animal prints.

Yoongi already has everything in his backpack, a single black bag, large and compact enough to keep all his belongings. He doesn't need too much when they're going to play. This dressing room is great for all seven of them, but there's no need to leave your makeup and your second pair of fishnet socks everywhere. Either way, Yoongi's nature is more discreet.

"Jeongguk, the van is ready."

For concerts, he usually wears black. Skinny, straight, dark, black, torn or worn pants; plain black t-shirts, so the sweat spots are not so noticeable. Dark plaid shirts maybe, black sweatshirts if it's a bit cold, although it's never really cold when they're on stage. Yoongi's fingers are sweating and wetting the frets of his guitar around the fourth song.

"Jeongguk?"

The manager insists. Yoongi doesn't bother to let Jeongguk know they are requiring him, just as he has nothing else to collect because he doesn't care so much about his clothes on stage anymore. It's not the guitarist that people look at anyway, it's Jeongguk who takes care of that role already. Yoongi goes on stage, and plays, and feels the music, gives their fans what they want to hear, what he wants to convey. He has a good time, he gets excited, even a bit turned on sometimes if the crowd is active and the mosh nicely synchronized.

He lives off the screams, the painless kicking and shoving out of sheer euphoria of the people in the middle of the pit, the front-row people who prefer to close their eyes and slowly get carried away by the music instead. He lives off eyes wide open to them, tears of ecstasy, jaws falling slack when he can show off with a guitar solo.

But he's certainly no longer going to wear uncomfortable see-through tops, spikes on his wrists, or tight belts. He is cool like this. Jeongguk is the hot guy, and enjoys to be it. Jeongguk is the one who deserves to be looked at and drooled over anyway.

Two staff from the concert venue are there leaning against the wall, waiting for the band members to vacate the room. They are not really in a hurry, none of them are. Yoongi just doesn't have anything else to do here, but sometimes he is scolded for leaving without saying goodbye. They have played their music, they have celebrated it. Maybe a couple more drinks wouldn't hurt either.

Carelessly he fingers his back pocket, finds his pack of cigarettes. He takes one out, puts it in his mouth, looks up. The taller staff guy shakes his head at him. He points a finger at a sign in the room which specifies indeed that smoking is prohibited. Yoongi rolls his eyes and gives a sigh that almost drops the cig to the ground.

All the lights are on, everyone walks from one place to another, picking up things, leaving others, staff, members, cleaners, the barman. Yoongi really could do with getting out of here and maybe having three more drinks.

"Jeongguk!" the manager ardently insists again from some corner of the dressing room. "The van is waiting for y— no shit, did he fucking doze off on the table?"

At that, with honest interest, Yoongi raises an eyebrow. He returns the unlit cigarette to its little box house with its other twelve siblings and shoves the pack back into his ass pocket, then passively enters the conversation. Behind the large center table that serves as a dresser and closet, taking a step to the left and ignoring Namjoon who keeps moving in a zigzag towards him looking for his phone, next to the sofa where an unconcerned Taehyung hums some song, right there is a smaller table too.

Full of leftover concert brochures, belt chains, cell phone chargers, half-empty water bottles. A Jeongguk too. Lying on his arms on the surface of the table, sitting in the chair that barely endures his posture. Certainly asleep.

"As if this was the first time he naps on a table," Seokjin comments to the manager.

He is done to leave too, he has been the first to finish picking up and getting ready, along with Yoongi.

"Fuck, somebody wake him up, come on."

They don't have the money for two vans, just as kicking members of the group is also not feasible, so a single van takes the role of a taxi twice every concert night so it can take them all home. Whoever finishes first leaves. It's fair. Yoongi takes another big sigh and places his guitar appropriately on his shoulder. So long since the clock is ticking it starts to get heavy.

So ridiculous that he's still here waiting for nothing when he's the only member who has brought his own car. One of the many advantages of playing in your own city, too.

"He's gone really wild on stage tonight, of course he would drop dead like a child now."

"Yeah, well, and the ten shots in a row that Patrick has challenged him, maybe," Hoseok replies.

"Who was Patrick?"

"The blond one."

While the others talk in the background Yoongi tilts his head to find Jeongguk again among the people and the movement.

"The vocalist?"

He purses his lips and frowns to get a better look. The boy seems sound asleep. Red cheeks from heat, or alcohol, or blood pressure from having his head pressed against the table and his arms.

"No, the bass player, the one who did the backing vocals."

Yoongi swallows and bounces the guitar on his back to place it properly on his shoulder again, and starts walking then. He walks up to Namjoon, gets past him, and then the multipurpose table as well. He walks cautiously among Jimin who has already arrived with the wires, among Hoseok and their manager who collect things from one side to the other. He takes short, calm steps toward the couch, to the side of it. Yoongi walks over to Jeongguk, and the fucker is really asleep. And none of the fuckers of his members have woken him up yet.

Yoongi stands next to the table, and takes one last deep breath. Jeongguk doesn't notice him, even if the air from Yoongi's lungs rocks his bangs and tickles his nose.

His cheeks are really flushed, looking soft, pressed against his own arms. Puffy eyes, puffy lips, sleepiness and whiskey, long pretty makeup eyelashes. Yoongi stretches out a hand, and lacking precaution he pokes Jeongguk's face. Then again, he pokes with a finger the rosy cheek that peeks out of his self-embrace and waits, and then pokes it a third time. It's brief. It's warm too.

"Someone please wake up that fucking kid," yells the manager from across the dressing room. "Seokjin, get in the van already, for fuck's sake."

The man is understandably anxious, but Jeongguk is lost deep in a shit hole of dreams.

"Jeonggukie." Yoongi then decides to grab his shoulder and shake it, however the boy hardly notices. "Jeongguk, come back to life."

He shakes him harder and finally manages to wake him up, somehow, because the only coherent thing coming out of Jeongguk is a groan of annoyance at not letting him stay asleep on the comfortable hard surface of the dirty table.

"Jeon Jeongguk, your dearest manager is going to scold you."

"Mmh, don't care," he mutters, high-pitched and lazy.

Yoongi arches his eyebrows at him and looks back past his guitar case for a moment to make sure they're still alone.

"He's going to scold me too if I don't wake you up."

"Well, fuck you then."

A half-resigned, half-amused laugh draws a wide smile on Yoongi's face. He shoves him further, makes Jeongguk's body wiggle, so much until he's complaining again.

"I've already sung for tonight, hyung, my work is done, fuck off."

"You cannot sleep just anywhere like a beggar."

"Watch me do it."

It would be infuriating if Yoongi had something better to do, and if Jeongguk's lisping voice swearing through his drowsiness wasn't so contradictorily cute. But it doesn't really matter to him now.

He takes a breath and holds it for a moment in his lungs and then slowly releases it like getting into the right yoga position. Jeongguk seems to have fallen asleep again, yet Yoongi is still grabbing him with his hand flat on his shoulder. The skin feels hot under his shirt, too close since the fabric is too thin. One of those see-through black shirts, the ones Yoongi refuses to wear anymore. That is Jeongguk's job anyway. Who better than the most handsome man in the world to take on the role of visual for the band.

"Hey, Yoongi!" the manager's voice tightens like a screw up his ear. "Did you fucking wake him up already or what?"

He keeps his hand palming the smooth curve of his shoulder. Gives a quiet, slow sigh. Black and red lines come out under his hand, thin, thick, outlined and filled, shaded. Inked. Yoongi opens his fingers and beneath them appears part of the tattoo of beautiful blood-red flowers that go down to Jeongguk's biceps. Darkened since the translucent fabric covers it.

Yoongi swallows. Blinks to the side to stop looking at the boy before answering. It should be part of his obligation as an older friend. He has nothing better to do anyway.

"Don't worry hyung, you guys can leave together," he says, aloud. Uncomplaining. "I'll take Jeongguk home."

He's done it before, too many times for it to be an odd thing. The context those times, however, was completely different. Jeongguk takes a relieving-sounding deep breath and shifts slightly on the table. Yoongi should remove his hand. He does.

Those times, when touching him wasn't so clashing, Yoongi would grab Jeongguk with both hands instead, he would gather strength he has not and would lift him up, hang him from his shoulders even if the effort would have to be excessive. Yoongi would always draw all his patience and strength, physical and mental, just for Jeongguk.

If their vocalist was drunk and sleepy as he is now, well, then Yoongi would take him to his car, buckle him up like a toddler for Jeongguk would get so lazy to do it himself. For he was aware Yoongi would grumpily but happily do it for him.

He'd just sit in the passenger seat with his eyes closed, and would raise his arms so that Yoongi could wrap the seat belt around him, because Yoongi would always do anything for him, unconditionally.

Stupidly. Now Yoongi knots his fingers into fists. Now he stands in front of Jeongguk, keeping half a meter of emotional safety distance. Back then he would softly wake Jeongguk up, put him in his car, drive him to his apartment, undress him and put him in his own bed; Yoongi would undress with him, and get under the covers with him, and hold his waist from behind and kiss the blood-red flowers at the curve of his shoulders until the drowsiness disappeared from Jeongguk.

Until the boy turned around to look at him, until he got whiny and impatient, until Jeongguk hugged him and kissed him more.

Until the real night began for Yoongi when after a successful concert they ended up having drunken sex in his bed, or lazy blowjobs in the living room, or a quick make out and jerk off session in the car if Jeongguk happened to wake up on the return trip and could endure it no longer.

It was a life for Yoongi, Jeongguk's kisses in the hangover mornings, the silly songs he sang in the shower to annoy him, cold breakfasts of strawberry milk and pizza leftovers, the noon rehearsals. Being able to hold his hand, grab his waist, grip and squeeze the inside of his thigh without being a mistake. The secrets, the faked public image, the true lust for each other that fans believed to be just a performance whenever on stage Jeongguk got too close to the lead guitar's face to sing.

Yoongi loves music above all things in the world; he loves his guitar like an own child, his band more than his own family. Back then, wrongfully, as he never should have, he loved Jeongguk even more.

"Hey." He pokes his cheek once more, and it's still so warm. It makes his amused smile fade. It makes Yoongi swallow bittersweet. "Get up, lazy boy, I'm taking you home."

It's so different to touch him now. It's so uncomfortable to feel Jeongguk's skin now.

Jeongguk takes a deep breath and holds it inside until moaning it out, stretching the muscles of his arms. They are all beautiful memories, almost all of them, until in the end everything got screwed up. Like everything good in Yoongi's life always gets screwed up.

But that was almost a year ago. At least their vocalist is still there, making music with them. At least they're able to talk to each other again, at least Yoongi no longer feels his heart painfully clutching every time Jeongguk walks through the door, he learned to heal. At least now Yoongi can look him in the eye. At least Jeongguk is still as pretty as ever.

"Can't I just crash on that couch?" 

"There's a bit of me here," Taehyung replies from the very place, the bare soles of his feet still touching the wall.

Jeongguk yawns.

"And why can Taehyung hyung stay here while I can't?"

"He's not staying here, he—" Yoongi looks around, still crowded with people. Jimin keeps pacing the room, carrying wires and hard boxes, but there is no longer a trace of Seokjin or Namjoon, or Hoseok, or the irritating voice of the manager for a moment. "He's waiting for Jimin, they are also going to leave now. Come one, let's go."

Jeongguk yawns again, eyes red and wet when he opens them a bit, they shine like jewels through his eyelashes, as if about to cry. He is quick to tear up, gets moved easily, but that's not the reason. He has already cried a little today, with excitement, happiness, or ecstasy, or acting, during the next-to-last song, an acoustic ballad, the one that has the most meaning for their fans.

A few years ago that song also had a lot of meaning for Yoongi. It is the song that goes only with lead vocal, guitar and a slight drum base on the bridge and chorus. It was their unit song, long ago. It was the song that Yoongi and Jeongguk practiced alone, it was their song, almost literally, performed by the two of them alone on stage if Namjoon wasn't in the mood to pick up the drumsticks.

If they wanted to rest for a few minutes, dry their sweaty faces and chests, drink quietly, smoke a cigarette; when that song came up in the setlist the rest could go to the dressing room, because only Yoongi was needed to play for Jeongguk. Only the vocalist's voice with the melody of his guitar was necessary to have the audience with bright eyes, breathless, singing along with them.

Yoongi didn't purposely write that song for Jeongguk, that was long before he became important to him. But, at every concert, he'd dedicate it to him, since inadvertently their singer started being the reason for his love songs. Even though he never said it. Even though no one had to know it.

"It's cold."

"Get your jacket."

"I don't know where my jacket is."

"If you didn't have the habit of dropping your things anywhere you would know where it is now."

Now that song has lost all the fucking meanings for Yoongi, and also for Jeongguk. And Jeongguk's tears, well, that's the charm of him. He is sensitive, and everyone knows it, he's easy to burst into tears, and the performance is much more appealing if the boy is able to drop a couple of teardrops with the last chorus. He's honestly stunning when crying. The cheers from the crowd have been really satisfying tonight.

"Shit, it's damn cold."

Jeongguk is shivering, but Yoongi is aware that it is only the inevitable cause of cooling down after falling asleep on a table in an open room wearing only a thin see-through shirt and after drinking several beers and ten shots of Irish whiskey.

"Then get up and run, move your muscles, that will warm you up."

All this has already lost its meaning a long time ago, and it is better this way. If songs are just empty words, they don't hurt. If the heartbreak of his lyrics, if the yearning and passion of the verses he writes are all lies, then it does not become painful at all when playing them in front of unknown people. He is here for the music, solely and nothing else. And because his band is literally the best thing he's ever had.

"You are mean, hyung."

The best he has left, at least.

"I am pragmatic."

"Don't you have a hoodie to borrow?"

A shy chill makes it cold for Yoongi too. He swallows, shifts focus from the round, puffy eyes to the wall behind Jeongguk.

"No, just this one I'm wearing."

It almost caught him off guard. The boy turns around in the chair towards the couch, towards Taehyung, shrinks and hugs himself to find natural warmth like a mountaineer lost in the high snow. This is not odd, it should not. It should have been odd a long time ago, maybe, less than a year ago, when everything broke completely and for good. For the sake of the band Jeongguk never called Yoongi his boyfriend, just like Yoongi never did with Jeongguk. But there were a series of non-verbal guidelines, innate moral contracts.

Certain relationship rules, even though a commitment didn't exist at all. They were just kind of casual, no-strings-attached. No lovers, just sex buddies, just sheer sex, just the fun of it. Just the painlessness of it. Yet they used to give in, to give more, unnecessarily, for it was all unconditional, and it always paid off.

If Jeongguk was sleepy, then Yoongi would take him home. If he was hungry, he would quickly take some bills out of his pocket. If he was cold, well, Yoongi would take off his jacket and get frosted up for him instead. If any of this happened to Yoongi, Jeongguk would do it all for him back. Apart from the fucking, the subtle shared intimacy, the naive hugs and unintentional comfort, it was what they had together. It was what completely screwed Yoongi up.

It's been almost a year, and it's not odd anymore, but there are still ashes inside it. The burned foundations of something that was built, and that for Yoongi was standing in such a rigid and reforced, fortified way. Jeongguk asks Taehyung, but only receives murmurs and disinterest. He's not even finishing his words, they're slow and slurred, there's still drunkenness in his speech.

"Come on, Jeongguk," Yoongi gestures with his hand for him to stand up. "I'll turn on the heater in the car."

The boy's things are weirdly packed in his backpack already, most probably by the doing and will of Hoseok, or the manager, or anyone with a good enough heart to take pity on the drunken singer who can't stand with his eyes wide open in a chair. Jeongguk gets up, and before he crosses his arms again to defend himself from the cold, Yoongi can check with his eyes that he's really cold by the state of his nipples pressing uncomfortably against his shirt.

He's been there already, he knows how they work. How they change from dark pink to light brown when they harden around the little metal barrel, how sensitive the tender skin of his nipples can become when they are no longer soft and unbothered. Pleasant if it is a tongue that brushes them, especially so for the added sensitivity of the piercings, but close to painful if it is a rough cloth that rubs them mercilessly.

Jeongguk really deserves it, Yoongi thinks, but he feels otherwise. Back then he would hug him, even if it was a little, he would pass his hand around his shoulders or around his waist, he would try to warm him up even if his hands were also cold. Yoongi clings to the strip of his guitar case instead. He closes his hand tight around the hard fabric and resists the urge to put it on Jeongguk's shoulder blade to rub it.

He can't be the one who's always there, not only because once he was used to, physically, emotionally although he had no reason to. When Jeongguk finally picks up his backpack they start walking towards the exit, slowly. Jeongguk's bones must literally be frozen.

Yoongi shouldn't be the one to keep taking care of his nipples, rubbing him until he's warmed up, giving up his hoodie, waking him up and taking him home. It'd be not that odd anymore, for they are friends again, but everything still has a strange limit. Jeongguk may have buried the intimate memories, but the earth from the grave is still fresh for Yoongi.

Perhaps Jeongguk no longer remembers how it felt, since he had nothing to patch up, and replaced Yoongi with others. Jeongguk has already tried other mouths, and their consequent cocks, most likely. While Yoongi has been basing his sexual frustration on his right hand for almost an entire year because his mind was occupied by the same fucking body, the same fucking lips around him, the same breathy moans to his ears over and over again, Jeongguk has already kicked the lack, as he should have.

And maybe just like that song no longer has a meaning, a rub on the back, a gesture as simple as borrowing a hoodie, for Jeongguk is also nothing.

The effort has redeemed Yoongi, although he sometimes falters. It's not love anymore, it's just habit, and that strange feeling that he can't erase. He is much better now, he is fine now. He no longer thinks of looking for Jeongguk with his eyes when they are drunk in some pub, Yoongi has found better porn than thinking of fucking Jeongguk's mouth to satisfy his needs.

As they walk to the exit the waiter waves at them with some quote of encouragement that Yoongi can barely understand, the guy from the wardrobe yells at them something from one of their songs. They both smile and say goodbye back, both pretending they are not dying to get out of there, each for different reasons. It has been almost a year, and it is no longer weird among them. Should not.

Unfortunately the inside of the car is as cold as the frozen wind on the street. This is what happens when they give concerts during the darkest seasons, that the venue heats up like a furnace of breaths and excitement; they sweat, they get wet and shed some clothes, and when they open the door of reality they sometimes catch a cold. It is so difficult to be an artist. They always receive blows from whom and where they least expect it.

"Open, open, open."

"I'm trying."

"Hurry up, hyung, I'm going to freeze standing."

Yoongi tries, he's cold too, he's trying to put his hand in his pocket but it is not easy while carrying a heavy backpack and an even heavier guitar on his shoulder.

"Did you pick up all your stuff?" He asks Jeongguk.

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Really sure?"

"Agh, yeah, whatever, I'll come back tomorrow if I left something behind, just open the car."

His voice is faltering, breathing, he's moving restlessly in place, hugging himself, ducking his head down to avoid the chill of the height. As Yoongi finally takes the car key out of his pocket he opens the doors for Jeongguk, and like a snail drying in the wind he quickly gets into the metallic armor and curls up in the passenger seat, shivering, pretending he's shivering more than he really is. Yoongi rolls his eyes and gets in the car too.

Something so simple as this is was always like it is right now, but in a completely different context. Yoongi would never speak too much when he was driving, he doesn't do it now, talking while driving distracts him. He would back then just let Jeongguk do the storytelling role inside the car, but now there is nothing to talk about.

Yoongi presses the radio on button when the engine is running, lets the last song he left playing resume. It's Violent Femmes' debut album, track number 5. He doesn't pay attention to it, just like Jeongguk doesn't seem to pay attention to anything around.

It would be him back then who would choose the music too. Yoongi did not allow anyone other than him to touch his car, not even Jeongguk has rode this little beast too many times. The music, however, it was all for Jeongguk. He was always getting into Yoongi's car already with the phone in his hand, ready to show him any new songs he had discovered, any new title he was planning on doing a cover of. It was nice.

Listening to Jeongguk humming from the passenger seat of his car, singing some verses not as the famous singer of their band but just for him, involuntarily but sincere, that was really nice too. Track number 5 on Violent Femmes' debut album doesn't sound so nice right now.

The distorted guitars, the smooth snare base, the high-pitched voice. The friction of the wheels on the asphalt, the horns of the cars, the traffic light beeps. They drive in deep silence accompanied by a muffled, annoying background noise. Yoongi heaves a sigh and moves on to the next music track.

Jeongguk's apartment is in a quite remote area of the city, seems even more at a late hour like this. It's a bit tricky for him to find a parking space in the street for he has to dodge scaffoldings and other construction equipment and badly parked motorcycles but eventually he manages to do it. Yoongi listens to five thousands more Violent Femmes' tracks until he's able to stop the car, and by then he already hates the band.

"We've arrived."

"Mh mhh."

"Jeongguk, are you sleeping again?"

"No." He mumbles, lazily.

"Wake up, you are home."

"I'm not asleep."

"Well, then move your ass."

An annoyed click of his tongue and a slow sigh is Jeongguk's thanks for the free ride from the concert avenue to the very door of his building almost a whole city away. The boy takes his time, and that's almost another whole song. He takes long puffs of air until he manages to wake up completely; he rubs his face, combs back his black bangs with his fingers, takes off the belt and shifts in the seat to put his hands in the right pocket of his pants.

It's hard since the garment is too tight, rough dark denim fabric tight-fitting his toned legs as he clenches his muscles up to reach deep into the hole of cloth. Yoongi presses his lips and moves his eyes to the opposite window.

It's a while until Jeongguk gets nothing, so tries with the left pocket. Nothing there either. He frowns wearily and lifts his ass to touch his back pockets afterwards. Then he leans over and opens the first pocket on his backpack. Then the other one. Then the rear pocket. Then he picks up the backpack and puts it on his lap to open the main pocket and dig into the mess.

"What are you doing?"

"I can't find the keys."

"Oh. Great," Yoongi wryly complains, lifting his hands slightly from the steering wheel and dropping them on the circumference again. He told him before. He cared for no reason about him and yet he gets nothing out of it. "Couldn't you have looked for your keys earlier?"

"You dragged me here, I was napping."

"You couldn't stay in that place sleeping, Jeongguk, you're not a fucking child."

"Then why didn't you just leave without me, anyone else would have taken care of me and now you wouldn't be here wasting your time."

An incipient chill tries to go down his back, but it settles in the heat of the car. Yoongi turns his head entirely to the side in a quiet gesture of irritation so as not to look at Jeongguk, but still watches him out of the corner of his eye, and from the reflection of his hands on the front glass. He keeps searching hard inside the bag among his sweatpants and spare shirt, and his sneakers, his wallet, his cologne, and his toothbrush.

"Shit," Jeongguk chews, face puffy and flushed. Papers and a couple of bracelets fall from the inside onto the floor of the car. He finally gives up with another long sigh, louder, one that displays the pain of resignation. "I'm sorry." His eyes close, his eyelashes brush his cheekbones. "I really can't find them."

They open up when he speaks again, round and brighter. Jeongguk looks at the misted glass, and his lips are drawing a sad downward arc. Yoongi squeezes the steering wheel with his fingers until the material creaks. He's pursing his lips as well at his words.

It's tiring just thinking about having to come back tomorrow to that place, waking up early in the morning to get there first thing before some jerk throws the keys in the trash, but he no longer has responsibility for that. He should not. This is Jeongguk's problem. After almost a year Yoongi has nothing to do with Jeongguk's own issues anymore. Yet feels so rare.

"It's okay," he tells the boy. "They are not going anywhere. Most probably the staff people have already found them, tomorrow you will get them back."

They remain friends, as they once were, and like the rest of his bandmates he instinctively cares for Jeongguk. It is not a wrong thing to do, but it is just uncomfortable within the current context, difficult to handle. Yoongi is still worried that Jeongguk will lose his things, Yoongi still feels the obligation to take care of him if Jeongguk is sleepy, if he is cold, if he is hungry, if he falls and hurts himself. But all that, everything has a strange limit now.

He can't just hug Jeongguk to warm him up because he forgot his jacket like Jimin does, he can't just pay for Jeongguk's drinks when he's broke like Hoseok does. It could all lead to a false undertone, some unwanted intentions, Yoongi can't just randomly slap their singer's ass like Taehyung does because it could be misinterpreted.

He won't look at the passenger seat anymore. There is a car behind, waiting for them to leave so the driver can take that parking spot. Yoongi turns the wheel and rapidly gets back into the road.

"Where are we going?" Jeongguk asks, motionless in the quiet moment, eyes trying to frown naive at the rear mirror.

"Belt," Yoongi reminds him.

Quick Jeongguk is fingering the walls of the car to find the seat belt. The silence lasts for a few seconds until Yoongi decides to answer, primarily putting all his senses on the road. It's started to drizzle, and the company and timing aren't particularly reassuring to drive. He is still excited about the concert. He is still confused by the drinks. He still trying after almost a year that this isn't fucking weird anymore.

"We're going to my apartment."

"Ah." It is just a sound, without emotion. A thud of a dry voice. Jeongguk calms down, sits back comfortably and yawns before continuing. "And why are we going to your apartment?"

Yoongi scoffs.

"Where do you plan to sleep tonight if not?"

"Oh," Jeongguk stutters. "Oh, true." He brushes his face with his hands again, trying to fully wake up. The heating has completely warmed up the bubble inside the car, he is no longer shivering. "Thanks," he gives to Yoongi.

And sounds sincere. Perhaps embarrassed by the silly loss. Yoongi replies sincerely too.

"Hm."

They are not in bad terms anymore. They were never really bad, it's just that the beginning of the end was so painful. It was painful to see Jeongguk and not being able to approach normally, intimately, like when they had something. It was painful and so weird to see him and not be able to smile at him with a meaning behind.

Putting the strands that annoyed Jeongguk's face behind his ear, having Jeongguk's head resting on his thigh after an intense afternoon of rehearsal. To think that none of that would be possible anymore, Yoongi couldn't just get used to it.

The band had a really bad time because of him, and that is precisely what they were trying to avoid with their non-commitment, but for months he couldn't be in the same place as Jeongguk and not feel. Because it was not just that for Yoongi. Not just sex, not just fun, not just laughter and no pain.

Yoongi isn't precisely feelingless. Yoongi is cool-headed, but has such a damn hot heart. He wears a steady armor of responsibility and meticulousness, but fiery emotions within his chest always on the verge of exploding. He is fine with that, they are useful for making songs, he usually controls them. That day, he couldn't. Jeongguk really managed to bring out the worst in him.

They just couldn't afford it, that's not their world. If they want to make a living from music, they have to stick together. Healthy, without secrets, without stupid tensions, without repressed feelings. Without falling in love, because fucking love always ends up screwing everything up. And hate and grief are so hard to forget.

It was all for the sake of the band, Yoongi understood it, Jeongguk also, friends work better together than lovers, problems are better solved with no romantic feelings involved. If something went wrong, it could really end everyone's dream, and when those feelings are unrequited that's almost bound to go wrong.

And so what they had was just sex, and fun, and no shred of pain. That's why Jeongguk never fell in love. That was the deal.

It wasn't fair to Yoongi either, for his sanity he had to temporarily break apart, until everything stopped being weird and Jeongguk stopped hurting in the end. It only cost him months of drowning, of being unable to surface. Repeated memories of Jeongguk's face at that moment, his expression of fear, when that day Yoongi could not control his heart and a few words ruined everything.

It's just that he couldn't keep pretending his whole life. He couldn't just shut up and lie to Jeongguk, and take the sex, and the fun, and the painless moments while he was in pain.

He really achieved a victory, as the time passed Yoongi could rise from the depths. Thanks to his excruciating effort and Jeongguk's precautions, and the fact that Yoongi had to find out in one way or another about all the guys that Jeongguk was hooking up with, little by little the wounds were stitched up. They made those scorching feelings go numb. Made that Jeongguk went from being everything to him to utterly mean nothing to Yoongi.

Now, such a past intimate moment as having Jeongguk sitting next to him in his car feels so cold, but he's still his friend, his hyung, the lead guitar in his band, the guy who writes half of the songs that Jeongguk will sing. They share work and passions, and a bond that cannot simply be broken after so many years. Yoongi met Jeongguk once, and they were friends first.

That he has seen the boy naked and open for him, that he has had Jeongguk's cock on and inside practically all the places of his body doesn't mean that the beginning and a new future cannot be sewn together and fixed. So far they really did a good job.

The album is long finished by the time they park in Yoongi's apartment parking lot. He doesn't really notice the awkward silence that has been with them all along, his thoughts have been too loud throughout the trip, and Jeongguk has been too quiet to interrupt them.

It is the drowsiness after alcohol, the inevitable exhaustion of having spent more than two hours singing and performing on stage. Jumping, screaming, headbanging, kneeling on the dirty black floor, kicking all the cables and speakers. Jeongguk is tireless when they play, and that comes at a price afterwards.

Yoongi hopes it's so, and doesn't complain. It's been almost a year since their conversations with Jeongguk stopped making much sense. They cover everything from musical chords to the shopping list, to sharing photos of their dogs in group chat and some casual calls from the younger to ask about another of his hyungs. Yoongi doesn't complain, nor can he judge him. Jeongguk is doing the right thing, and the best he can.

They say that a break up does not have to leave any stain when the friendship is strong enough. They say that two exes can naturally remain friends if they're both fully healed and willing. Yoongi and Jeongguk were not even a couple. That law cannot be applied to him. Yoongi has loved Jeongguk so much, too much to simply erase all the remains of those memories. He has been his only true love, the only person he has ever loved at all.

Yoongi can't complain. He's gotten over it, and keeps seeing Jeongguk almost every day, and the boy seems happy, truly. The band is more successful than ever, he's really inspired these days. Everything is colored pink. 

Does Yoongi miss the beautiful moments of receiving the affection of someone who seems to care for you? Does he miss the unexpected back hugs, nose rubs and neck kisses? Staying up all night just to listen to the voice of someone through the phone speaker? The tireless sex? The best blowjobs he has ever had? Well, a little, yes. Quite.

But the loss has been for a greater good. They assumed so, and Yoongi hopes it is. Thoughts get stuck in the pit of Yoongi's mind when they are standing in front of the door of his house.

"Hyung?" Jeongguk yawns again. Yoongi tilts his head towards him. His lips are wet and rosy. "Why are you so slow tonight to do the stuff?"

He must also be tired, that's it, physically and mentally, because of the beers, the shots, the laughter and the euphoria of the concert. Having played more songs than those written on the setlist, having a guest tonight. Yoongi puts the backpack on the ground to look for his keys.

As they enter the apartment Jeongguk stays behind to let the owner pass first. And that, that's what feels weirdest about the night. Yoongi walks in and turns on the light, and looks back, and has to nod to invite Jeongguk in. As if he had never entered this place, as if he had never taken the liberty of sticking in the keys of Yoongi's apartment on his own. As if he hadn't spent whole days here, weeks.

As if Jeongguk had never hit the switches from all the rooms, as if he had not used this toilet before, the shower, as if he had not been rammed there by that owner countless times, as if Jeongguk had never lifted Yoongi up to fuck him on the kitchen's counter.

"Leave your things in my room, you will sleep there."

And Jeongguk nods, shy, prudent, as if he had never stained the couch cover with soju and cum, as if he had never played video games on Yoongi's living room TV sitting on the carpet wearing only underwear.

"Can I...?"

"Shower?" Yoongi anticipates.

"Yeah."

"Sure."

Jeongguk clears his throat. Doubts for a moment.

"I'm going to use the bathroom now."

"Okay."

It's the weirdest thing of all. Jeongguk hasn't entered this place for almost a year when he used to do it almost daily before, and those contradictory feelings inside Yoongi are colliding and not really fitting together.

With bare, hesitant steps he disappears down the hall to the room, the only bedroom. It is a small apartment, designed for a couple, or for a single Yoongi. It is enough for him and what he has now. Yoongi leaves his backpack and his guitar on the floor, rests it against the wall, he waits standing upright and frozen until the light in his room turns on, until the thud of Jeongguk's backpack dropping into a corner makes its appearance, until the the light turns off again and it is the bathroom door that opens and closes, separating Jeongguk from him once more.

Yoongi huffs out in relief. In uncomfortable concern. He rubs the last of his molars with the tip of his tongue and lets out another sigh, open-mouthed, wet and silent. Almost draws a laugh to himself, ironic, sarcastic against his own blurry thoughts. This is okay, they're okay. He fingers his back pocket and grabs his cigarette packet.

Everything is fine, everything must be fine. Almost a year has passed, and everyone is as they always were. Happy, excited, more glorious than ever. The new songs are fucking good, the new riffs Taehyung comes up with really put Yoongi out of a job sometimes. Sales and streams prestigiously increase, as do their followers on social networks. They are a nice band, Yoongi is fairly proud.

His phone vibrates somewhere inside of his jacket. Yoongi takes out the lighter first, cups the cigar tip with one hand to light it, stopping the nonexistent wind inside the room from blowing the flame, a habit, and sits on the sofa in front of the coffee table.

 

Taehyung [01:12]:

u okay?

 

He does not scoff, nor rolls his eyes, nor does he make any gestures. Yoongi looks at the phone screen, keeps looking at it when he brings the cigarette to his lips to take a drag, and keeps looking at it with the same nonchalance when the cloud of white smoke clouds the message for a moment. He types calmly to respond.

 

Yoongi [01:13]:

why wouldn't i be?

 

The water from the shower faucet starts running after the toilet flushes. It violently runs through the pipes inside the walls of the living room and kitchen like an enraged water snake. The sound is so terrifying that sometimes Yoongi believes he sees the wall move and the paint dust fall to the floor. It is a comfortable and sufficient apartment for a couple, for him alone, but it is old and creaky. A few classic rock bands posters, two Pokemon cushions, a new television, and a tie-dye couch cover won't change that fact.

 

Taehyung [01:13]:

i never even believed you came to be okay at all

 

That's what makes Yoongi laugh, finally, bitter and smoky. He takes another drag on his cigar and blows the smoke in a resigned, brotherly sigh. He's fine. He is handsome, kind of hot, his bank account is not doing bad lately, he is the guitarist of an alternative metal band founded by him and his best friends, fun motherfuckers who are handsome and hot too and who do music really well.

His apartment is still cheap, his dog is healthy and happily living in his hometown. He has plenty of cigarettes left for tomorrow. His ex, for whom Yoongi still has undeniable feelings, is currently in his bathroom washing up and getting ready to get into his bed. If Yoongi looks at his life in perspective, he is really fine. Why wouldn't he be?

 

Yoongi [01:25]:

bullshit

 

The bathroom door opens when he's finished his cigarette.

"I'm done here."

"Okay," Yoongi answers, loud so Jeongguk can hear him from the hallway. He is done too.

He just has to grab some blankets, get himself a suitable cushion. He would give Jeongguk pajamas, but after years of messing around with them during bedtime he is quite aware that the boy does not wear pajamas to sleep if the heat is on. He won't ask him, he doesn't want to even encourage that conversation, he doesn't want Jeongguk to remind him.

Yoongi squeezes the butt of the lit cigarette against the bottom of the ashtray to put it out for good and discards the phone somewhere on the couch before standing up and taking his turn in the bathroom.

Long minutes later, longer than he had planned, Yoongi is finishing drying his hair with the towel in front of the bathroom mirror. It's a bit of a mess, but finally clean after having sweated the hell out of himself through every song.

The water poured out barely lukewarm after Jeongguk's quick shower. It is what this apartment has, that it is hardly for a couple, just for a single person, and that is why they used to shower together. To make the most of the hot water, to lengthen the range of sex time. It's not until a few months ago that Yoongi didn't dispose of the little bottle of lube that was next to his shampoo.

The sudden distress of wondering what Jeongguk would have thought if he had found it there still, sticky, half empty, pink, familiar; it makes him breathe the shame out and loudly.

He dresses up in the bathroom, fights the uncomfortable feeling of his skin being still too damp to use clothes, but it's the safest thing to do, it's not like Yoongi is walking naked around his apartment when he has guests. And then, two twenty on a Saturday morning, once he's finally ready to go to sleep after giving a concert, there he is, standing in front of his couch with the living room lights on and an empty bottle of soju and an dirty ashtray full of cigarette butts on the table next to where he's about to rest his head.

It is not the first time that he sleeps on a couch, he's taken a nap many times on the old chester of their studio. He has also been a college student. He has been drunk at Hoseok's place many times, he has struggled to use Jimin's tiny couch together with Namjoon to get some hours of sleep before dawn. It's only a little more disappointing if it's your own couch that you have to sleep on.

Much more when Yoongi has not found a more appropriate blanket than a couple of large towels and Ditto's cushion as a pillow. Yoongi drops the things down on the armrest. Touches it afterwards. It is hard. It's a fucking hard couch where he's forcing himself to sleep because of fucking worrying about someone he wouldn't have to in the first place.

"Hyung?"

The light in his room is off. Yoongi clears his throat reflexively and leans his body backwards enough to peer out into the hall, and the door of his bedroom is open but there is no light coming out of it. His heart begins to beat again.

"Yeah?"

"Come on."

"What?"

"Are you coming?"

His forehead furrows like the brow of a confused infant. It's the voice, sounding too far away and muffled, Jeongguk pressing his face against the pillow, or him speaking in his dream. Yoongi lets go of the towel and fixes his pajama top to walk into the short interior of the dark hallway. He ends up in the doorway of his room, and the light bulb in the living room is not enough to illuminate the entire square but a strip of light makes his slippers at the foot of the bed and the figure of Jeongguk curled under his blanket on the mattress visible.

The boy is looking at him. Eyelids half raised with interest, eyes bright from the weak beam of light coming through the door and from their natural brightness.

"What did you say?" Yoongi asks.

He uses a low voice, pointlessly. Jeongguk tilts his head on the bed to get a better look at him. The skin area that is exposed from his shoulder peeking out under the cover is bare. He never uses pajamas, but Yoongi knew that already.

"Why are you taking so long?" Jeongguk says, mutters, whiny, in a small voice too. "I'm sleepy."

"And what are you waiting for? Does the living room light bother you?"

Jeongguk takes a slow breath, tucks it into his lungs, and then releases it in a lazy breathy laugh.

"No, idiot." His eyes close as he subtly grins. "I'm waiting for you to come to bed."

"Oh." Suddenly the second hand on the kitchen clock has always ticked. "I'm sleeping on the couch," Yoongi stammers, pointing his thumb behind his back.

"What?"

"I'm sleeping on the couch," he repeats, calmly.

Jeongguk remains silent for a moment, tilting his head at him, narrowed eyes, trying to understand the words. As calmly Yoongi waits. It's fucking cold in the hall. Feels fucking cold pretending to be calm when he's actually shaking inside.

"On that uncomfortable couch?" Finally Jeongguk realizes.

"Yeah."

"Hyung."

Yoongi sighs and wets his lips.

"What."

"You can sleep here."

"And you on the uncomfortable couch?"

"No, idiot."

Jeongguk's voice sounds different. It's mellow, soft and reassuring like velvet. It is the bed, or the trace of alcohol, or the pleasant hot shower that only he has been able to have. Yoongi waits for something else. He pretends a priori not to understand the implication of the request, but he's no stupid.

"You can sleep here, and so can I, next to you," Jeongguk finishes clarifying.

And a sincere scoff comes out after being trapped for a few seconds in Yoongi's throat. It sounds rushed and nervous, he was impatient to blurt it out.

"Don't be an idiot," Jeongguk tells him again, "there is room for three in this bed."

"Yeah, but you move in your dream like a fucking dog sleeping."

"Dogs don't move sleeping, come on."

"They do sometimes."

"Okay, but I don't."

Yoongi doesn't like this, this dangerous game. It's uncomfortable, and it makes him nervous, and it tightens ropes and knots on his chest that he shouldn't even have inside. He does not like the implications, what is not said because it is already known for both of them, the underlying meaning of the past experience.

Of course Yoongi knows that Jeongguk's body is unruly in dreams, because he has slept with him countless times. He has endured his kicks, embraced his restlessness, witnessed the not so little times he has talked in his sleep.

"Hyung..."

Of course he knows that he sleeps without a shirt, and without pants, and of course Jeongguk knows that the heating in the living room doesn't work properly, because he has slept in this apartment more than many times.

A bitter snort makes his look back past his shoulder. The light at the end of the short hall is still on, and his throat is beginning to tighten a knot of anxiety that makes it difficult for him to breathe. This is not as simple as it may seem to Jeongguk, they are not in need, he really doesn't mind getting his back strained and twisted for one night if that avoids getting close to those unavoidable weird limits between them that he can't pull down.

Yoongi looks at the light in the living room, he really spends too much time looking there, avoiding the boy who expects a ridiculous acceptance for something that he knows doesn't lead to anything good.

"I'm sorry, you're right, it's my fault after all, this isn't fair to you," sounds behind his neck, again the same voice, from the bed. Yoongi turns his head quickly. Jeongguk licks his lips and keeps saying, "I should be the one sleeping on that couch."

He leans over the pillow, he grabs the end of the blanket and pulls it down to his waist, he slides up and sits on the mattress with the real intention of getting out of bed.

"No, no, wait," Yoongi clenches his jaw. Stops Jeongguk with a hand gesture. Breathes out with his lips pressed and closed, clicks his tongue in thoughts that he won't make words. "Okay, I'll sleep here with you."

He is, indeed, a fucking idiot. But Jeongguk knew that already.

"I won't even brush your foot." The boy says. He rapidly slips in again and slides onto the bed to the other end, almost aligning his body with the edge of one side of the mattress, prematurely avoiding contact.

"I know."

The lights in the living room are turned off in the few seconds it takes Yoongi to reach the entrance of the apartment and return. He can't help it. Worrying about Jeongguk if he's cold, if he's sleepy. Hating it when he's hurt, hate when he's sad. Being a complete jerk and falling for each of his fucking whims, right from the start.

It's what's left of him still inside. Back then Yoongi pretended, he acted cool, he looked calm, cool-headed, and meticulous, because he is, but also completely the opposite on the inside. Yoongi was crazy about Jeongguk, everything about him, his kindness, his good nature, his precious heart. The way he touches things, the way he smiles.

The way Jeongguk gets excited about everything, the way emotions are so visible on his face. When he's happy his smile can't grow bigger, you can see his teeth even if there's nothing to laugh about. When he's aroused his eyes get wet, his lips swell and turn red, his cheekbones flush. When he's sad, his pupils lose their shine. Big, round dark eyes, they open wider than ever.

They get scared. They lose the ability to lie. When Jeongguk is sad, Yoongi has to look away, for he could do any damn thing for him, even what is impossible. He looks up at the wall now when he gets into bed, avoids those eyes.

There is no light, but they are not completely flooded by blackness either. Yoongi can visualize the bed, he can spot the person on the other side of the mattress, the outline of his body under the blanket from his shoulders to the tip of his feet.

That's the reason why he had such a hard time quitting Jeongguk. He was deep in the bottom for him, hooked to the gills. He couldn't help it, even without promises or responsibility he needed him to be okay, and needed Jeongguk for himself to be okay above all things.

Yoongi has left his phone in the living room, and if he keeps a complete silence for a moment he can feel the device vibrating on the table; sporadically, there must be someone messaging him. There is no going back, nor does he want to waste any more time awake. He slides down into the covers, miles away from Jeongguk, and stares at the ceiling with wide eyes and total lack of drowsiness.

No feet rubbing, no hot breath, not even the weight digging in the surface of the mattress, not even the slight warmth of feeling someone sleeping near. It is so different from back then. It is so... nothing. Two people who happen to be lying in the same four square meters, wrapped in the same blanket and trying to get high on sleepiness.

Yoongi can't do it, he didn't study the theory, he never practiced it before, doesn't know how, not even after a year. He can't sleep with Jeongguk and just not sleep with Jeongguk, it's not comprehensible for him. It's not easy. It hurts. It hurts to breathe as it has not hurt for so many months. This has been the worst idea, and if he stretched out his hand he couldn't even touch Jeongguk. It hurts for nothing.

"Hey, hyung."

"Huh?"

Yoongi swallows and it makes a noise since the trachea is so tight inside his throat in that position. Moving is not an option either. Turn to the side, look straight at where Jeongguk is. Finding his eyes now that he has rolled over on the pillow. Simply unviable.

"Can we talk?"

"No."

Yoongi blurts out, zero previous thinking, sheer defense instinct. Jeongguk's gotten a little closer.

"No?"

Jeongguk has slid slightly to his side under the covers. Not to have to raise his voice, or to hear Yoongi's better. Or just because he's not feeling weird about this, about anything between them anymore, because this means nothing to Jeongguk. Yoongi's ribs begin to stop the blows from the inside.

"I mean. Yeah." His heart is beating ridiculously fast and strong from one second to the next. It must be unhealthy. "About what."

"You know…" He is tense, face up, although Jeongguk moves again to get a little closer. He seems to be well intentioned. He is not hesitating, they are not suspicious movements. "What happened before."

Jeongguk is confident, sure that it's not wrong, and that's why he comes closer, and because he has no idea how sick Yoongi is in every way. He hears his soft, familiar breathing, and soothes the weirdness by clearing his throat and swallowing again in that unpleasant way.

"What happened before?"

Yoongi is completely aware that he does everything correctly. He doesn't approach Jeongguk if he doesn't have to, he doesn't talk to him about things that can be misunderstood. He's learned not to put his hand on his shoulder for more than a few friendly seconds anymore, he no longer looks him in the eye for more than a fraternal thousandth.

He couldn't go wrong with Jeongguk, he couldn't make a shameful move; he's shaking now, expecting the worst, still sure of it.

"During the concert… performing There is a light? Didn't you notice?"

Jeongguk lifts his head a little to look into his eyes, but the contact is not reciprocal. Yoongi licks his lips and glances at the ceiling corner. Clasps both of his hands on top of his abdomen.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Hyung..." It's the title of that song, their song. The song that was their song in the past, the one tonight they played alone, the two of them, as they do almost every concert. Yoongi's chest becomes congested until getting him frozen and breathless for a moment. "I got the lyrics wrong in the third chorus."

But as fast as it has knotted his esophagus to rip, the feeling dissipates when Jeongguk rests his ear on the pillow again.

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

The worry bubble bursts and comes out like a mocking, high-pitched laugh from Yoongi's lips.

"Excuse me, tell me again? I don't think I heard you well."

"Fuck, don't tease, you already heard it." Jeongguk shrugs, raises his arms to hug his own head and tie himself into a bow of limbs. "I'm so sorry."

Their feet brush for a brief moment due to the nervous movement. Yoongi laughs again, sarcastic, quietly, this time allowing the grin linger in his expression. He indulges and turns his head to look at the boy.

"Why are you saying sorry for that?"

"Aren't you guys mad at me?"

Yoongi turns a bit more, rolls his body to be lying down on his side, lawfully facing Jeongguk.

"For getting confused in some lyrics?" He shoves his hands under his cheek and the pillow. "That's fucking stupid, Jeongguk."

He is trying to say something, darting his pupils, searching for words with his eyes. The bedroom is dark, but like most things in this apartment the blinds are cracked too.

"Fuck, no, everyone was— everyone was singing along with me, the audience, everyone, and then I go and sing the line of the first chorus, you know, if you close your eyes, blah blah blah, we'll always be the way we were that night," he talks fast, rushed, moving his lips more than words come out of his mouth. "And I had to sing but if I close my eyes, blah blah, is it just a dream?, and asshole me just repeated again that line and—"

His voice is starting to sharpen. Yoongi frowns, lets out a breathy giggle to ease the sudden tension in his lightning-speed speech. Jeongguk keeps blinking rapidly, keeps looking down at his hands and towards Yoongi's clothed chest.

"Fuck," he swears again, "and everyone singing that other line, the correct line, and looking directly into my eyes, you know how fucking embarrassing that is? Fuck, I thought you guys were embarrassed of me too. I was— I wanted to die."

The smile fades from his lips. The boy is nervous, too nervous, pointlessly, he is making the mattress shake without actually moving his body. It's his breathing increasing in pace, and his heartbeat becoming loud thumps instead of blood pumping.

Yoongi remembers the performance for that song perfectly, it was only a few hours ago. He remembers how he played, he remembers people's faces and Jeongguk's beautiful voice. He remembers the melody, the humming of the final verse, but he doesn't remember that mistake. He remembers too the sad smile at the end, he remembers the sparkle in his eyes, lights and emotions.

Yoongi remembers that Jeongguk had tears on his cheeks, as it happens to him on stage sometimes during intense moments of happiness or nostalgia. Yoongi didn't realize that Jeongguk had gotten the lyrics wrong, but remembers perfectly that he was crying. And it wasn't just an acting, or excitement, or nostalgia. It was utter embarrassment. Just like he is crying now.

"Oh, no, Jeongguk, come on, don't do that." Involuntarily his hands come out of the gap under his jaw to travel to the boy as the first tear falls big and makes a thin puddle under his lashes. "Hey, come on, don't cry."

He holds him, tries to comfort him. Yoongi grabs his arm for more than a few seconds, opens his hand on Jeongguk's biceps, and only half of the area under his palm is still covered by the blanket, and his stomach churns a bit since it's the first time in months that he's able to feel Jeongguk's bare skin with his fingers.

He's about to fix that. Tuck Jeongguk up to his neck and so be selfishly able to keep his hand on him for a little longer. But the boy slides off before Yoongi can do anything. Jeongguk sobs louder and blows the hot air out of his lungs, and slips forward until his forehead collides with Yoongi's sternum. 

It doesn't make a sound. It just strangles Yoongi's cardiovascular muscle so tightly that his toes curl when repressing a whimper. Because Jeongguk sobs again, and breathes hard once more, and reaches a shy hand up to his belly to grab his shirt there, and Yoongi's abdomen curves inward from the closeness, and the feeling of the touch, and Jeongguk's warm hand clinging to the fabric, and his foolish tears darkening it.

Hyung, close friend, old fuck buddy. Yoongi is already unable to contain himself from hugging him. He squeezes his eyelids, closes his eyes shut, and does, a little. Yoongi raises a hesitant hand with trembling fingers, and looks out of one eye to properly place it on Jeongguk's head. Cups the warm back of his head.

And if he's honest, he presses it to his chest too, Jeongguk's face, a little. A little more.

"Stop being dumb, Jeonggukie." He has to clear his throat to speak. It's dry, it's very dry. "Don't cry over nonsense." It's dry and sore, he swallows again. Jeongguk's hair smells so good. He presses with his hand a little more so he's closer. "All performers make mistakes sometimes, so do we." It smells like his own shampoo, and Jeongguk's skin, and traces of his perfume; Yoongi inhales deeply, it is his favorite smell. "We also make mistakes sometimes."

It has been his favorite smell for so long, for years, Yoongi closes his eyes again and feels strong chills hammering his body from the highest peak of his head to his toenails. He loses the control of his mind for a moment.

"No."

Jeongguk murmurs tight against his chest, muffled words, lips brushing the fabric because Yoongi is squeezing more than the boy is leaning on, because he completely loses control for a moment. Quickly then he loosens his grip, lets go of Jeongguk, licks his lips repeatedly and blinks his wide eyes.

"No what?"

"You guys never make mistakes," Jeongguk tells him. Unbothered by the pressure. He moves under the blanket to get back closer by himself.

Yoongi backs off a bit regardless. As a precaution, just in case. It is the overwhelming situation for Jeongguk, naturally, not meant to be confused. He looks down, he can't see anything because Jeongguk is ducking his head, but the sound of his crying is exaggerated. He keeps sniffing nervously, Yoongi keeps noticing the widening of the tear spot on his pajama shirt.

It's the alcohol, and the sleepiness, and the weakened emotions after something as exciting and moving as a concert. It is Jeongguk, an extraordinarily sensitive boy, the fact that he cares about the little details. It's the physical reality that Yoongi's pounding heart against his face isn't providing any comfort either.

"We do, lots of times," he tells him. And his back arches subtly when Jeongguk decides to wrap his arm around his waist to complete the hug. "You can't imagine how many times I end up making up the song notes. Hidden valley? That part before the bridge? I once found myself playing Schubert's Ave Maria's melody. Did you know they share the same chords?"

It's a quick laugh, wet, sniffled, breathy and precious, blown against his chest the response. Not meant to exist so soon. Jeongguk coughs and lifts his hand buried between the mattress and his body to awkwardly wipe away a few tears.

"And the audience never notices, does it?" Yoongi continues. "Of course not."

"But guitar is something else, hyung, with the reverb and the echo of the venue a mistake is hardly noticeable."

"Just like the lyrics, who cares?" Suddenly his voice rises in pitch, as do Jeongguk's responses. The boy is lightly burying his fingers in the small of Yoongi's back. He returns his hand to Jeongguk again. "Very likely most of them were listening to their own yelling voices."

He places it on the nape of his neck, opens his hand and carefully holds Jeongguk there, where his shoulders are born. Jeongguk's neck is thick, but his hands are bigger. Back then it was a perfect place for him. His heart is still too loud, and unable to go unnoticed when he has Jeongguk gluing his chest against his, but he is not alone in making noises.

"I guess."

And Jeongguk knows him very well, currently probably better than his mother, and he knows that physical affection has never been his strong point. He knows that it is not always easy for him to suddenly be touched by new people. He knows that Yoongi's heart could be hammering in his chest for more than the obvious awkward reason.

Yoongi swallows and speaks to him again.

"And if they didn't, well, then fuck them. You are the singer of your songs and you will sing them however the fuck you want."

The giggle inevitably comes back, although from the way Jeongguk struggles to laugh it seems like he really wants to hold it back. Yoongi smiles with him. It soothes him. It relaxes his muscles for a few moments. It sounds beautiful, so appealing, Jeongguk's lazy, crying laugh and tears drowning in his throat. It has been his favorite sound for so long, for years.

The boy separates from Yoongi, just a little, he moves his limbs enough to be able to climb up on the bed and reach Yoongi on the pillow.

"Do you really believe it works that way?"

"Didn't Kurt use to change the lyrics of some of Nirvana's songs live?"

The smile is already so obvious on his face, amused and happy, sweetily paying attention to Yoongi's attempts, flushed cheeks by the sudden pointless effort of sobbing and the remains of embarrassment. Jeongguk sniffles and drops the last tear from his eye, no longer owned. Yoongi doesn't give it too much importance, he's seen tons like that along their years of friendship. He applies the machinery of his mind to appreciate Jeongguk's beautiful face from such a short distance instead.

"You are the best singer, Jeongguk, no one has the right to say otherwise." He's being utterly sincere. For Yoongi it's true. For the reason he's the singer of his band, and because he owns the most beautiful, mellow singing voice. Breathy and perfectly controlled, emotional at the highest moments and hot and aggressive on the bridges of their wildest songs. Yoongi feels at ease after a long time. He needed this. "And if some asshole is daring to say anything bad about you, well, then they'll have to say it to hyung first."

Needed to feel him vulnerable and be the only one to help him, shelter him and be useful to Jeongguk. Yoongi especifically missed that, more than he should, more than he admits, more than the sex, more than the endless nights of passionate kisses. He so missed being able to make Jeongguk feel loved.

"So stop crying over fucking nonsense, will you?" And maybe that gets him a little more excited than necessary, and maybe he doesn't consider the future overthinking consequences of his actions during the sleepless hours alone after tonight, for he lifts his hand from Jeongguk's back and brings it between them two to wipe the tears from the outer side of the boy's face with his thumb. "Just worry about the important things, which are unfortunately still a lot."

It is not a delicate gesture, he is too nervous inside to completely control his movements. Yoongi brushes and harshly strokes the skin on Jeongguk's cheek clean with his thumb, turns it red, makes him tilt his head out of annoyance, yet Jeongguk doesn't erase the wide, bright, lazy smile from his face.

The water from his tears and the warmth of his blush, it all mixes and remains in Yoongi's fingers for the ensuing seconds when he doesn't know where to put the arm anymore. During the not-that-short time of silence after the action it is noticeable how Jeongguk's lips slowly close to turn the halfmoon into a melancholic smile.

"You're always so good to me, hyung," Jeongguk tells him, soft and bittersweet as another apology. "I don't deserve it."

His hand freezes in midair. His fingers curl automatically, warm but stiff. He decides to leave his arm bent up in the little gap among their bodies.

"No... no, I'm not."

He is not. Not even now. He is taking advantage of Jeongguk's weakness to be able to comfort him as he used to when they were hooking up; stealing Jeongguk's humiliation just to make himself feel good, for an instant, calming down the abstinence of no longer being able to be Jeongguk's shoulder to lean, even though the memories of tonight will be painful for more than many days.

"You are," the boy says, nodding, equally unhappy, but his smile grows wide again as he has still more words to explain. "You gave me a ride not to be scolded, and I had nowhere to go and you brought me here and everything."

"That's… nothing," Yoongi scoffs. "Anyone would have done the same."

Jeongguk protests back with a grunt.

"Hyung," he rolls his eyes, more a gesture to erase the blush of his cheeks than showing any irony. "I'm trying to thank you here."

"And I'm trying to make you realize that there is nothing to be thankful for."

"Would you shut up?" Jeongguk's smile turns into a treacherous straight line curling at the corner of his mouth, trying to feign annoyance. He lightly punches Yoongi's chest with soft clenched fists, looks past his shoulders to avoid his gaze. "What if Seokjin hyung would have done the same for me, I just want to thank you, okay?"

Yoongi smiles, satisfied and relieved. The blow is mild hard, but barely felt at first. Remains rumbling on his ribcage inside for a while. Begins to turn into something else. It enlarges and spreads to the organs under his chest when Jeongguk slowly blinks and turns his eyes to him again. He smiles at him, silently. Yoongi's smile faints.

There are no more words to say. The conversation ends there. The jokes, the sudden closeness due to the fleeting circumstance of emotional fragility. Jeongguk could already break away, go back to the corner on the mattress, as promised, as Yoongi would too. They should be sleeping by the time.

He doesn't move. Neither of them does. Quite the opposite.

Yoongi wets his lips, swallows, can't help but stop faking the smile that gets troubled when instead of returning to the previous sleeping position Jeongguk breathes in and leans closer to him on the pillow, leaving a whimper being his search for a new comfort.

And he is still smiling. He nests his wrists bent up in the crook of his neck, gets a new place and the same sad smile, but it looks sincere. And too close not to be uncomfortable. Too close to be looking at anything else. The sensation inside Yoongi's chest remains, makes him tense up out of nothingness.

Because it's silent, quiet, but something weird is happening. Jeongguk's eyelashes no longer flap, he narrows his eyelids and keeps the sparkle of his eyes on Yoongi's pupils only, and lets the seconds pass just with the sound of their breathings, and everything stops making logical sense. He waits, silently, with a smile and a flushed look. And to get closer and comfortable under the covers, Yoongi can feel Jeongguk's knees brush against his.

This is ridiculous. It is because no hyung would do this with Jeongguk without it being something obviously awkward. He has already had his moment, the tears and the comforting are over. He must go back to his place, but he won't, and Yoongi won't say anything about it.

"What." He finally asks, nonchalant, mildly.

And although for another hyung this may be just traces of alcohol, and drowsiness, Jeongguk's usual playfulness, and the inevitable calm after distress, for Yoongi this isn't normal, and his heart, his body reactions won't act normal.

Jeongguk just keeps staring, intently, and the pressure of Yoongi's blood increases with the strong throbbing of the muscle, and his limbs get stiffed, and his throat dries up, and his eyes will not be able to struggle for longer not to go down an inch on his face so as not to leave a latent weird connotation of why he would be glancing at Jeongguk's lips at a short, awkward distance like this.

"Nothing," he gets from Jeongguk, and his teeth nibble the skin of his bottom lip, happy, or naughty.

And Jeongguk mustn't even know that he's playing with him, and even if it was the case, this is really not a game, not for him. Yoongi takes a deep breath and nervously licks his lips, the ease of just a couple of minutes ago lasted just one and fades now for good to tie in his windpipe a bow of anxiousness.

He can perfectly feel the warmth of someone next to him now. Can't feel anything else, can't see in the weak dark other than his eyes curved in the smile, red and bright after crying, staring only at him, not trying to doze off but waiting, and sliding to him, ridiculously subtle, closer in the pillow as the kitchen clock keeps ticking steps away from the room.

He's so obvious he has to know Yoongi is noticing. He has to know what he is doing. He's not trying to conceal it, he's deliberately approaching, still smiling, still looking into his eyes like he's waiting for something more.

There's nothing to wait for. This is more than ridiculous. Yoongi is forced to blink away, several inches to the side, away from Jeongguk for this to stop being the fucking weirdest. He coughs, half a nervous laugh, half all the worries in the world hammering his throat like a machine gun.

"Are you drunk?" He asks the boy, trying it to sound like a joke.

There's a quiet, breathy, amused huff of laughter that brusts softly from Jeongguk. He waits a bit to answer, letting the sound of his lazy laugh linger.

"You don't have to worry, hyung," says. Still shaky by crying, weak from relaxation after the regrets subsided. Jeongguk inhales slowly and moves a bit to get his hand under the pillow. "I'm not going to kiss you or anything."

He tells him that, smiling. So sweet, so innocent, slow but as confident as ever. He says that to him, and falls concerningly silent again, and Yoongi licks his lips and swallows repeatedly because he has to make any noise to brush off the feeling.

"I know."

Because his throat is dry and his tongue nervous, and restless lashes barely let his pupils focus on the wall or the closet or something that is not Jeongguk. He knows he won't. Of course, he didn't even wonder about it. Even if for him it feels weird they are not here for that, that is nonsense. He'll be probably used to cuddling with Hoseok, with Taehyung, he will sleep close to Jimin after weekends parties, or hug Namjoon on that tiny couch like it's nothing.

That's just Yoongi's problem, the one he couldn't fix not even after almost a year. The pain of not being able to treat him like someone else. Cuddling, hugging, sleeping with him like it's nothing. It is not just nothing to Yoongi.

What happened with Jeongguk had to end for a reason, and for the same reason it won't happen again, nor Jeongguk is willing to. Nor does Yoongi want it to happen, as it would hurt immensely. Yoongi couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear not falling for him miserably back then, and for that same fucking reason there's no chance he could even wonder about kissing the boy in a present tense.

Of course Jeongguk isn't going to kiss him now, there was no need to clarify, Yoongi is not stupid. He is just nervous, having a really bad time.

If his chest is trembling and making him breath shakily is because he's so nervous to have his ex-hookup right there in front of him, sharing his oxygen, tangling his limbs so they don't touch the other. If his heart is adding decibels with the seconds it is because he is too weak inside to endure having Jeon Jeongguk in his bed just like any other could.

As if they hadn't experienced this more than a million times, but in a completely different context. As if he didn't remember his smell, or the sound of his sleepy laugh, as if Yoongi no longer had to be responsible. As if the familiar sensations and memories weren't hitting his head inside.

Jeongguk giggles again, that mischievous soft laugh with a hint of nerves. He sniffles the remains of his crying, nibbles on his tender, reddened lips, still slightly swollen. He raises his hand, and takes the liberty of unnecessarily brushing away one of the strands that falls down Yoongi's forehead. It was no nuisance. It is on purpose. It is a deliberate, nervous gesture, just for the sake of faking normality.

Yoongi is no longer smiling, not even trying. He couldn't. Hardly his eyes try to stay still without blinking somewhere other than in the dark drawings on the wood of his closet doors. Jeongguk lowers his hand to Yoongi's cheek, follows it with his eyes.

He drags his fingers down to his jaw, barely brushing his knuckles against the skin, watching it travel; he takes it to the neckline of Yoongi's pajama top. Jeongguk grabs there, shyly tucks his fingers wrapping the collar of the shirt and breathes nervously; he holds his smile, and Yoongi keeps his eyes fixed on the wall and the shadows and the clothes discarded and stacked on the chair in one corner of the room because Jeongguk's face is too unfairly close.

"Though, you know," he tells Yoongi, "if I gotta be honest," curling his feet, squeezing with a soft fist the fabric. Quivery breathing, an attempt to a giggle, or a sincere sigh, a restless squirming under the covers. "I'd really want to kiss you right now."

And he is not that strong. His armor of responsibility, maturity, cool head and rational thoughts are not that tough to fight his emotional drives. Immediately Yoongi's eyes dart anxiously under his eyelids and meet Jeongguk's. Big, round, bright. Trying not to blink. And further down, parted, wet lips of Jeongguk, swollen from having cried and from the closeness and warmth of sharing the same pillow.

And from the daring words, and from nibbling on them so much. This is not okay. This is not funny, neither the way he smells, nor the way he tightens his fingers on his shirt, nor how he is not moving but does not stop tensing and loosening his muscles, slightly arching his back to reach closer.

Yoongi sighs heavily, licks his lips to press them together, to chew the air, to open them later and not say anything. He is shaking like crazy, Jeongguk must be feeling it under his hand. The rustling of the sheets and the clothed movement of the feet of the bed cannot exist on their own. He is so still, but so restless too, he's unconsciously squirming.

Sliding unnecessarily on the pillow to meet Jeongguk at a point where there is no gap between them, but withdrawing at the same time because this is so fucking stupid. There are no longer undertones, they are not subliminal words, double-intended gestures. They don't need to assume anything, they both clearly know what is happening. His heart is beating so hard the pain rises to his throat.

"Don't do this to me, Jeongguk."

Swallowing hurts. They both know that Jeongguk is playing with fire, and that Yoongi is not stopping him when he should. It's the drowsiness, and the slight confusion from the alcohol, and the vulnerability after the stress and the crying, and Yoongi for being an idiot who could never quit Jeongguk. But Jeongguk doesn't stop smiling, even if his smile is no longer true, even if it is no longer one of happiness or joy.

He is smiling at himself, at his hypothetical intentions, at his what ifs, at his fingers inadvertently pulling down the collar of Yoongi's shirt and at his eyes that do not stop searching for Yoongi's mouth. And then he denies. Jeongguk shakes his head at him, just a little bit.

"I told you I'm not going to kiss you." Nervous, breathy voice, suddenly worked up when he speaks words.

Yoongi is short of breath. He opens his mouth and takes in a deep breath of air, puffs out his chest and finally manages to look away. He is being bothered, he is being played, he should be straightforwardly shoving the covers down and getting out of bed, grabbing his towels and his Ditto cushion and sleeping on the couch, safely and pain-free, as he had planned.

He remains staring up at the wall again however. He inhales deeply and seals his lips with a bite of rage from his front teeth, and looks away from Jeongguk.

He is not even rejecting a proposal, he doesn't have to do anything or give him an answer; the boy is not going to kiss him. He's said it, and has not the need to be lying. But controlling feelings is the most difficult, especially when you are a rational person treacherously ruled by emotions, especially when your heart is burning your bones to ashes.

Especially now that Yoongi is breathing Jeongguk, and it would be so easy to just lean in and ease the pain and the restrained craving of almost a whole year.

Another deep sigh also comes out of Jeongguk's lungs when his body finally seems to calm down a bit. He breathes out a quiet laugh to palliate the built tension. He ducks his head, looks into the ridiculously narrow gap between their bodies and stays like that, breathing hot on Yoongi's chest where the fabric is still wet from his previous tears. And doesn't let go of it.

Jeongguk loosens the grip of his fingers on the shirt only to tighten the fabric inside his fist again, flustered by Yoongi's nervous breathing and his own subtle squirming. This is no longer strange or awkward, this is just inevitable. They have had a relationship of physical intimacy for a long time, it is natural for that pricking sensation to return in moments of susceptibility or drunkenness, for both, feelings or no feelings involved.

The bold jokes, the daring thoughts. Jeongguk has always been playful, he has always been the savage one, he has always been the one to mess around. The one to touch first, the one to dirty glance, the one with wicked smiles. That's why he wouldn't stop by himself, that's why Yoongi must immediately get out of here. But that smell.

Jeongguk ducks his head and stays like that, showing his crown to Yoongi, and just as unavoidably Yoongi turns his face to his previous position on the pillow to reach him. His chin brushes against his forehead, his nose against the start of Jeongguk's hair, where two dark strands part and fall beautifully across his forehead covering the end of his eyebrows.

He should get out of bed and go back to the safety of the living room, otherwise he's really going to regret it. He's going to die tomorrow regretting it, but he can't help it. Not for a few seconds at least. Yoongi closes his eyes and indulges himself, takes a breath, and inhales him, smells him, brushes his nose along the line of his hair up his forehead, and it smells amazing, and it's so warm, makes his abdomen arch inwards.

Jeongguk's skin is soft and warm, it always was. Smooth with small, almost negligible traces of past pimples, wound marks, scars, moles. Yoongi climbs down a little more, parts his lips and lightly brushes them across Jeongguk's forehead, a little lower to his brow. A little lower until reaching the bridge of his nose. His back arches. His chest swells nervously with a painful bubble of air. He can't keep going, can not do this, he's going to regret it forever.

"Hyung."

But it's even harder to be able to have the control of his mind having to fight closeness too, intimacy once more. He can't resist against Jeongguk, he's not a great fighter.

It has taken Yoongi almost a year of his life to be able to share his friends and his career with Jeongguk normally, without feeling burned alive when seeing him, without missing him to death at night, and that was possible because of his own seclusion and a colossal safety distance. This is breaking many laws. This is being counterproductive and harmful.

"What." Yet he won't leave.

Yet he won't break their position. It's just the slightest move to go lower, he's craving it. He's dying to feel it again, Jeongguk's soft, round cheeks, the tip of his nose, his cupid's bow. The beautiful shape of his upper lip, the tender flesh of the lower one, the warmth, the taste. It is torturous. Yoongi takes a deep breath, closes his mouth, sighs heavily through his nose to the side.

This can't be happening to him. Sensitivity is growing at his fingertips, so willing and ready to touch the boy, the sensation running through his skin, the inevitable squirming of his body under his blanket, the same involuntary movement in Jeongguk.

The brush of their feet, the clogging in his chest, the heat rising to his head and making him dizzy, the dangerous tingling in his belly, the inevitable interest in his crotch growing hard. Jeongguk lets go of his hand but doesn't move away from the shirt. He drags his palm flat open down to his chest and stops at the level of the heart. He squeezes, a little, anxious, expectant.

Sliding his face up to the pillow he meets Yoongi's gaze, blurry focuses, so close their noses are brushing. This is so stupid. They are not technically kissing, but there is no rational excuse for being so close that just one nod of his head would bring their lips together.

"Nothing." Jeongguk sighs with him, high-pitched, almost a giggle, or an attempt at it. Eyelids lowered, searching his mouth with his eyes, casually targeting it, just in case.

Yoongi tries to swallow, he tries to lick his lips because they are dry, because they're sore and hurt, but he can't work on himself but look at Jeongguk's lips instead, at how he has also decided to wet them, at how he looks down at Yoongi's mouth and keeps his own lips wet and safe and ready by nibbling on them.

Those lips have been his so many times, it was so normal before. The need to reach them is immense and destructive. Yoongi needs to touch them, once at least, once more before Jeongguk won't think of him anymore, before with the years they grow older and their paths separate, just brush them one more time before Jeongguk meets someone else, before his lips will have another owner.

Despite the aftermath. Despite that if he reaches them, if Yoongi tries to kiss them, the nights that come will have to be of alcohol and smoke, and sad boners and endless heart pain. Despite that he will regret it for all eternity. Despite that it will hurt to death to relapse again, to deeply fall into the hole, right now Yoongi's head solely thinks of getting a bit closer.

Slowly but deliberately Yoongi raises his free hand and takes it to Jeongguk's neck, thick but his hands are bigger, and cups his jaw, just a little, goes up and brings his thumb to his chin, and drags the skin down, and goes up a little more to touch the outline of his lower lip, and presses there, and pulls the lip down until revealing his lower teeth. And Jeongguk allows it, all of it, as he used to back then, and raises his chin even more for him.

"Fuck." Yoongi mouths it. It's just a gasp. A voiceless swearing.

Jeongguk is unintentionally pulling his shirt so much that the fabric tears somewhere at the collar and makes a noise. He is lethargically writhing under his blanket, shyly trying to intertwine his legs with Yoongi's. And Yoongi is completely overwhelmed. His eyelids are struggling to stay open. His body is struggling to stay still.

"Fuck." His heart to continue pounding, his thighs to hold back the throbbing of his cock. "Tell me anything so that I can get out of here right now," he tells Jeongguk. Pleads him, breathy and shaky, rubbing with his thumb across the curve of Jeongguk's bottom lip, because he won't be able to do it himself.

He's not that strong, he's miserably weak for Jeongguk. Hypnotized by his features, by the heat, by the scent, the rapid breathing, the violent pounding of Jeongguk's heart, struggling to get the last sane part of him out of the pit of his mind. But it's impossible. He is about to burst, and Jeongguk doesn't help him, Jeongguk shakes his head at him, Jeongguk shoves himself glued to him and and keenly shakes his head.

"Get me out of this bed, Jeongguk."

"No."

Sharp, nervous, fast.

"Please."

"I'm not going to kiss you."

His strength dissipates and leaves his body in a resigned laugh. Ironic, pained. Yoongi licks his lips, cups and squeezes Jeongguk's face with his hand.

"No, you won't."

But he's not so sure about himself. He could collapse at any moment, he's about to, and Jeongguk really doesn't want that. They ended up what they had for a reason, they had to separate for the same reason for which now no one should allow Yoongi to lean just the necessary inches towards his mouth.

That would only be counterproductive, dangerous, unhealthy, it would only allow all those stupid feelings to come out again that should never have come out of Yoongi to begin with. He doesn't have to be responsible for Jeongguk anymore, since he's the savage one, the joker one, the kid who falls asleep anywhere, the one who forgets his jacket at Seokjin's place and his phone in the taxi back seat.

Yoongi just has to be responsible for himself, and refrain from doing something that is going to put the band at some risk and mess with his mental health. But Jeongguk is so difficult. Jeongguk raises his hand and carries it on top of Yoongi's on his face, grabs Yoongi grabbing him, squeezes his wrist, looks into his eyes only to blink down and look at his mouth again.

Jeongguk keeps being so difficult and doesn't stop squirming next to him, gluing to him, allowing him feel his body awkwardly close, like no hyung would, encouraging a smooth grind into him, rocking his hips up and pressing his erection to Yoongi's own hard cock under his pants.

"Hyung."

So difficult and so stubborn, always. And so stubborn Yoongi too. And so stupidly weak for him, since the dawn of time, and Jeongguk so sensitive, and so perfect, and so precious when he cries.

"Jeongguk."

"Please, you kiss me."

"No, Jeongguk—"

It's those Irish dudes' whiskey, and the drowsiness, the concert weariness, and the growing anxiousness that this should all be so fucking weird, because they were the ones who decided to end it all so long ago.

"Please."

It is the meeting again with past sensations, it is the so overwhelming approach after having remained several steps away during rehearsals, pubs and parties. It is Yoongi and his stupid idea of bringing his ex-hookup to his bed with the gullible intention that nothing would happen, it is him losing the battle once again what now gets his knuckles wet from the hot tear that runs down Jeongguk's cheek.

"This isn't fair," Yoongi tries, can't help but brush his nose closer as he speaks, and it hurts more than he loves it, "this isn't fucking fair," yet he doesn't back off.

He doesn't pull the blanket, doesn't jump off the mattress.

"It is." Jeongguk barely whines, he blinks fast but can't open his eyes more than halfway, "it's just us here."

He speaks, trembling, with the most beautiful, mellow voice; hot and aggressive, the same voice that sings their songs, the same one Yoongi adores. He speaks and arches his body, subtly pushing one knee and pressing himself with Yoongi until there is no more space between them than the heat of Jeongguk's bare skin and Yoongi's ridiculously hard cock taking responsibility for his feelings.

Yoongi tries to arch back, concealing the shameless instinct from the boy's restless, nervous movements. He squeezes his hand on Jeongguk's jaw to fight the urge to lower his hand and grab him elsewhere to properly draw and press him against him as he would do back at those moments.

The same moments, in this same bed, but in a completely different context. When Jeongguk used to smile at him before going on stage, when he used to kiss the corner of Yoongi's lips before getting out of his car. When Jeongguk came to this old, crappy apartment with food and a new video game that they wouldn't play because they would end up in this same bed, exchanging endless kisses and dirty caresses, opening up for each other, with or without feelings involved.

Now every single one of those feelings, all feelings of him are gathering together, killing Yoongi from the inside out.

Jeongguk doesn't insist. He waits. He writhes slowly, he tenses and loosens his muscles. He, with wet eyes; parted, sad lips, with flushed cheeks and puffy pads, burning skin and a competently hard boner. He, taking the best and worst of Yoongi, snatching his life from the moment he decided one drunken rehearsal night to lean on his shoulder and confess naughty things to him.

The same Jeongguk that Yoongi was dying for back then, the same one that he is dying for now. The same who used to cry over nonsense, the same who is senselessly tearing up now.

"Don't you want me?" He asks. And the question sticks into Yoongi's heart and crotch like two sharp stakes. "Don't you still love me a little?"

He's not that strong, even though he manages to pretend otherwise and thus deceive the rest, Yoongi is easily hurt. He is hurting now. He gets mad, he gets angry and it stings, he squeezes Jeongguk's jaw and mouth until drawing a silent groan from him.

Of course he does, of course Yoongi wants him, of course he still loves him like a fucking asshole, and Jeongguk has been aware since the damn day Yoongi had to screw it up by he letting him know. Of course Jeongguk knows the reason for his stealth glances during the band's hangouts, knows why Yoongi leaves rehearsals alone and before anyone else, he knows perfectly why it is now Taehyung who teaches him to play the guitar on Wednesday nights.

Painfully Yoongi swallows.

"Are you sure this is what you really want?"

Jeongguk nods, quick, nervous, sniffling. They both know the consequences, they both know the circumstances and the problems that led to it. Jeongguk's panicked face, Yoongi's chest ripped open. The impossible commitment, the unrequited feelings and their subsequent dangers. Jeongguk was never just a whim. He is not being one now for Yoongi.

"Yeah." Jeongguk licks off a second weakened tear that trickles down his nose. "Want you to tell me again." He licks his lips and swallows the salty water, he struggles to get out of Yoongi's grasp and lean in to brush his mouth, "tell me you love me again."

It pricks like needles. Yoongi can't bear those words, he has no idea what he's saying, it is not a passing feeling, it is not a fancy, not just the instinctual drive of his body, it's not just the arousal and naive need to have sex with Jeongguk, it is not nothing, but shame, regret, sheer fear of being in pain again.

It's the best thing he's ever had what Jeongguk is asking for again to take it one more time and then leave it forgotten in the staff room like a coat; that he shared a past with the boy is the one thing he needs to fondly remember, erasing all those horrible lump-in-the-throat days of impossible yearning and longing after the break-up.

But Yoongi isn't a nice warrior. He's never been.

Yoongi huffs out loudly and leans in before Jeongguk can finish cleaning his face, he cups his jaw and presses the hollow behind his ear and his cheeks squeeze, and his lips puff up for him, and Yoongi gets them, he parts his mouth and gently captures them, leaves a kiss, or a weak attempt, but the stab to his heart and the twitch of his cock are painful enough to quickly make him stop.

"Fuck." Yoongi swears in a whisper, like it's something new, and it certainly isn't, so he swallows and opens his mouth again, and leaves another kiss but this time Jeongguk moves slightly as well. "Fuck," again, he tries again, tests if it hurts too much, tries to lean down and brush Jeongguk's lips again to see if he can take it.

In a matter of thousandths of a second Yoongi is lost, completely lost at the bottom of a dark pit with no way out. Jeongguk whines, and Yoongi leaves another peck, and once more, greedily keeps trying, barely a brush each time, and Jeongguk whines higher with every attempt at a kiss, anxious, eager for something more.

He moves with him, rocks his hips and clenches his nails on Yoongi's clothed chest as their lips touch, and the blood from Yoongi's body stops flowing from his heart to focus on his cock. Yoongi swears, and gets so mad, and squeezes his face and kisses him again, kisses him more, deeper, he opens his mouth and their tongues are obscenely touching and rubbing wet together, actually kissing, just like they used to do.

Jeongguk's taste is the same, it hasn't changed one bit. Although others have passed through here, the softness of his lips, the rhythm of his movements and the pace of his breathing, everything is so the same as back then, Yoongi knows it all.

Jeongguk's hand is harshly dragged down Yoongi's abdomen below his navel to get under the garment to touch and scratch the skin, and that's when he closes his eyes completely and stops controlling himself.

Suddenly Yoongi has no brake. Suddenly all he can hear is the slick noise of the kiss, the biting, the desperate breathings, their mouths opening and closing on each other's, messy, wet, dirty; the hoarseness of his breath, the shy and inevitable whines of Jeongguk searching for more.

He lets his mind and self-control discarded anywhere on the ground, and hastily lowers his hand to take it to Jeongguk's ass and there squeeze the flesh, and press, more, glue him against his hips, against the center of his body, making him moan in the kiss, half a giggle, half pure vulnerability.

Right away Jeongguk's body is responding easily, as it always used to do, deliberately grinding into him, getting more and more on top of him. The kiss is broken so that Jeongguk can better position himself and pounce at Yoongi's neck with a gasp, quickly and without asking, taking a hand to the waistband of his own underpants and sliding the garment up under his ass and tight around his thighs.

It is not necessary to warn or question it, Jeongguk won't ask for his permission to pull his cock out, he doesn't need it. They were so used to this before, it was the natural thing to do. Jeongguk grabs Yoongi to get him completely under him, and while Yoongi tries to get rid of his pajama pants Jeongguk kisses his neck and lower, he licks it, scrapes the curve of his neck with his teeth, he sucks so hard that leaves painful marks there.

A strong wave of arousal makes Yoongi groan. He looks up at the ceiling and tries to calm the rush of want that floods through his veins. Jeongguk is so unfairly hot, everything he does, he always was, on stage, on bed. He always drove Yoongi crazy. He always made him feel like nobody else, he always left him wanting more.

The touch of his bare chest in his hands, finally and once more, the slight but firm curve of his muscles, the little metal obstacles on his nipples, his smooth, inked skin, the drawings of different shapes and sizes that adorn his arms and shoulders, part of his back and chest like a beautiful pattern.

Every flower, every celestial body, every musical symbol. The menacing tiger on his biceps, the dainty swan on his ribs. Yoongi gasps to the ceiling, not even needing to see him to perfectly know what his body looks like, where it starts, where it ends.

Every dimple, every slight lump of bone, the location of every tattoo, the backstory of every scar. It wasn't just sex that Yoongi had with Jeongguk back then, it was exploration. Learning. Yoongi carefully admired Jeongguk's body in every hasty fuck in pub toilets, every orgasm in the back of his car at any dark, lonely place.

He drags his hand down Jeongguk's side outline, lower to the hollow of his hip. His own words etched into his skin forever. The small but precious tattoo of Jeongguk's favorite song from their band. His favorite line, the one he sings, the one Yoongi wrote for him. It is still there, of course, it cannot have gone anywhere, even if Yoongi did.

Yoongi lowers his gaze without moving his head, runs his thumb over each of the inked letters. The gesture arches Jeongguk's abdomen inwards. His cock is just inches to the side, as hard and gorgeous as ever, sensitive, eager; Jeongguk grinds obscenely against Yoongi's own demanding bulge confined under his pajamas, kissing his neck so rushly, as if there is a clock counting down on his bedside.

He sucks, he marks, he is there, again, devouring him as he would before so many times. Yoongi's back arch, his hips buck upwards in pleasure, searching for Jeongguk, meeting his thrusts, the desperate rub over the thin layers of clothing, and he could perfectly come just like that if he kept going.

It's his lips, always warm and gentle, sometimes split by his habit of biting them; it's his teeth, it's his hands, his tattooed knuckles and his short nails. His prudent strength, his shy insistence, it's Jeongguk's manners, the way he touches him, just having a look at him the only thing that was capable of driving Yoongi crazy, what is getting Yoongi out of his mind now.

Jeongguk goes down his throat, lower to his still clothed collar bone since Yoongi hasn't even bothered to undress before trying to get his cock out. They don't need it, Jeongguk just pulls the neckline down and kisses, sucks, bites, Jeongguk just overhastily insists and keeps humping against Yoongi's leg to desperately find some kind of relief.

Hesitation is not necessary, they've already been so used to this, the urgency, the hastiness, the wanton need. Yoongi indulges him, as he was always willing to do, he wraps his hand around Jeongguk's cock, and he's so hard and big from the arousal, but his hand is bigger, so sensitive to the touch that Jeongguk's lips tremble against Yoongi's neck in a weak moan as Yoongi starts to jerk him off.

"Hyung," he is shaking, weak, but so strong the hands that hold Yoongi still against the mattress and the heart beating loudly against his ribs. "Hyung, please say that you love me."

Breathy, worked up, voice tight and scratched. Wet lips looking to kiss Yoongi's jaw and seeking his lips, wet cock thrusting into his fist. It's the alcohol, and the crying, and too many strong emotions that Jeongguk is wrongfully feeling and that Yoongi needs to immediately shut up.

Yoongi grabs his face, brings his mouth to his own to kiss him, so damp, open-mouthed, full of anxious breaths and little gasps of itching pleasure.

"Fuck me, Jeongguk."

"Hyung."

Yoongi's tone drops lower.

"Fuck me."

And Jeongguk forgets his own request and groans in response, coughs, gasps a faint laugh, drops his forehead against Yoongi's, and when his cock throbs inevitably at those words Yoongi's fingers are wrapping it and feeling the twitch.

He will not fall again. Yoongi is not going to be the same asshole for him again. Although this mistake is already huge enough, although after what is about to happen everything will turn into smoke and alcohol and pitiful jerking off and pillow tears over memories, he is not going to open up again for him, no more.

"Can you?" He asks Jeongguk, insisting, wetting his lips and looking into his eyes.

Jeongguk stops still above him, hot, hard cock in his hand, arms resting on the mattress on either side of Yoongi. He looks at him without answering, and although it takes only a few seconds, a moment into the round and bright stars he has as eyes seems like an eternity.

"Yeah," the boy gasps, "yeah, yeah," rapid breathing, high-pitched words.

He sniffles and fills his lungs with air, fast, nervous, looking up and down at Yoongi during a confused moment. He turns his head towards the bedside table and reaches his hand to the drawer but it's not as close as he thought.

He does not get to touch the table so he leans in and reaches out an arm and his whole body, clumsily kneels on the mattress towards the nightstand, still tied by his own boxers around his thighs, and pulls the small metal knob of the drawer, and opens it, forcibly, reaches in and carelessly rummages through the stuff inside.

Hand cream, a pack of tissues, condoms, a spare wallet, an old key ring, empty lighters. Jeongguk eagerly searches in the dark for the little plastic bottle of lube that experience made him perfectly know it's there, among the rest of things that as a collateral consequence he's violently throwing out of the drawer, still enduring Yoongi's hand that continues to pump up and down on his cock, weakening and energizing his movements at the same time.

"Shit." It's there, but Jeongguk can't find it. He swears out of anger, and pleasure, and with a harsh, abrupt movement he pulls the drawer until the whole wooden box drops off on the floor in a noisy fall.

Jeongguk bends over to the floor and finally grabs the lube. Most likely he broke a screw or two in the drawer mechanism, but Yoongi will worry about that later. Jeongguk doesn't waste time or breathe, he goes back to Yoongi, he squirms in his hands stroking his cock and his waist, he awkwardly uncaps the thing and pours some on his fingers, anxiously gasping for air, wetting them to his knuckles, smearing the liquid so that it is not so cold.

The position is troublesome to get naked but the adrenaline rips off Yoongi's pants and throws them against the wall, quickly having him meet Jeongguk's eyes, and his trembling lips, and the erratic movement of his chest.

Jeongguk's tongue pokes out, licks his lips; he quickly leans in to drop himself on Yoongi and bring his mouth to his neck, places himself between his legs, grabs under one of Yoongi's thighs and lifts it, presses it against him, making him encircle his waist with his thighs. 

Jeongguk handles him, buries his nails in the meat, and one of his hands is sticky, and the other so eagerly grabbing Yoongi's ass on the mattress and squeezing the flesh before spreading his cheeks. It is equally cold at first, but quickly warms up. His skin is too burning not to. Jeongguk sweeps his middle finger across his rim and leaves no time for sensations, he gets the hole wet enough with the lube and right away he is sliding the coated digit inside.

And that feeling. It has been almost a whole year. Yoongi closes his eyes and gasps, hoarse, arches and opens his legs more for him, and quickly Jeongguk is sticking another finger, and fucking him with them, because he already knows where to go, and where to touch, and although Yoongi has been too many months without having someone else's dick up his ass Jeongguk really knows how to make him feel pleasure right from the first second.

"Ah, fuck," it's Jeongguk, the knot of sensations exploding. He falls his forehead to Yoongi's abdomen and swears aloud with each silent swear from Yoongi. He's not careful, he doesn't need it either. He shoves his fingers in quickly, deep and fast and deliberate, makes Yoongi's hips rock up and shake under him. "Hyung—"

He warns him, or asks him, but doesn't need any of it, he will do whatever he wants, as always, and as always Yoongi will be happy to please him. There's no answer, just loud, wet panting. The chills that are hammering through Yoongi's body wouldn't let him speak much either.

He just gasps, starts raising his hips in a poorly coordinated motion but relieving enough, meeting Jeongguk's fingers half-way, three experienced fingers thrusting fast and eager inside him, brushing against that spot that Jeongguk knows better than himself.

Yoongi tells him nothing, he grabs Jeongguk's wrist, pushes the hand upwards, Jeongguk's fingers even further inside him, and Jeongguk moans on the spot by the action, parted damp lips on his body that as a reaction bite into the flesh of his chest. Jeongguk shoves Yoongi's shirt up to his shoulders, gives a flat lick to one of his nipples, crooks his fingers inside him and draws a deep groan from Yoongi.

He's rock, metal hard against Jeongguk's abdomen, he's not going to last long, he might lose all his libido and his mind for good if he keeps stretching the prep for a second longer, he needs more, he needs Jeongguk, whole, his cock inside him, his hands grabbing his hips, his mouth kissing him forever. He needs him in his bed forever, but Yoongi will take care of that later.

The missing him part, and the harsh recovery, and the harshest abstinence. He can't think about any of it now. 

Yoongi's fingers grip hard on Jeongguk's waist, pushing and bringing him up, letting him know, and Jeongguk quickly crawls to his chin and his mouth to kiss him and line himself up between his legs. His lips are hot from torturing his nipples, used and tender, the sensation of them on him is dizzying.

It would be so quiet if their hoarse breathings weren't flooding the room with frantic, raging noises. Jeongguk swallows from his saliva and abruptly breaks the kiss, shaking hands groping along the messy sheets and bedspread, desperately looking for the bottle again and just as eagerly he pours lube into his hand.

It spills over the mattress. It slips down Jeongguk's forearm, stains the sheets he had washed just a day ago. Yoongi will worry about it later. He doesn't have more time to take care of the furniture and bedding before Jeongguk is gripping the base of his cock with a shaking hand and slipping the head just inside Yoongi's rim.

It is hard, wet, hot. There isn't a lot of resistance either. It slides out again only to quickly get back in, pushing in all the way, deep inside Yoongi until their bodies collide, completely glued together for a few mind-blowing seconds.

A long, deep, quiet groan leaves Yoongi, pressed against the hollow between Jeongguk's nose and cheek. He can't keep his eyes steady under his lids for a long moment. Raw pleasure, pure bliss. Jeongguk buries inside him completely and quickly starts to fuck into him before the hands of the clock stop.

Hurried, anxious, eager. The slap of skin on skin is intoxicating, too intense to think, too fast to kiss. With each thrust the blanket slides off the mattress a bit more till slipping off the bed, with each thrust Jeongguk shoves Yoongi upwards, gradually climbing up onto the pillow and ending up almost sitting. the legs of the bed make screeching noises when dragging on the floor, the headboard hits the wall leaving loud thumps to the other side.

Yoongi groans, gasps loudly against Jeongguk's skin, hot and faltering. He hugs Jeongguk's neck, arms looping around his head, and tightly tangles his fingers in his already long, dark locks, brings his mouth to his chin, to Jeongguk's mouth, but they only manage to stay there, lips pressed open against each other, choking with their own breaths.

The boy is shaking, effortly moaning, hastiness and pleasure. With both hands he grabs Yoongi's ass and inner thigh firmly and lifts him even higher, pushing him back until with a dull sound Yoongi's back is hitting the headboard, thankfully made of foam-filled fake leather; Jeongguk pushes Yoongi up out of eagerness until he's kneeling on the mattress and fucking him against the wall.

The pleasure is overwhelming, the satisfaction raw and naked, the moans Jeongguk lets out are breathy, and wet, and low, aggressive, as in those songs, of effort and sheer need, of lust and the inevitable desire to ruin each other, just as it was back then.

Suddenly the pace changes, brusquely. His cock sinks in deeper, but it almost remains buried there for a still moment. Jeongguk lets out a short, high-pitched moan. A whine, unintelligible swearing, angry, troubled; he scratches Yoongi's skin with his nails, harshly digs his fingertips on Yoongi's sides as he slows down his thrusts to a stop.

There's a reason. Yoongi knows how he feels. It's his face, the swelling of his lips, the wet gleam in his eyes. The wrinkles on his brow, the clenching of his jaw. His dirty expression. Experience made Yoongi know Jeongguk's bed demeanor, his habits, his likes and dislikes, his reactions. He knows now Jeongguk is so close, risking to cum with every single motion. He's heard that desperate sound countless times before.

"Fuck."

It's too soon. It's been barely a few minutes, less than that.

"Don't hold back," Yoongi encourages him nonetheless. But Jeongguk has completely stopped. Yoongi tilts up his face and kisses him, open-mouthed, lazy and breathy. He recognize his innocent intentions, his obstinacy and each of his stupid decisions. "Don't hold it, Jeongguk." Yoongi orders him.

He knows when he's truly liking it, when he's close, he knows when Jeongguk is about to come by how his skin reacts, by how his cock grows harder, by how the mellow sound of his breathing gets hoarse and strained.

The boy responds to the kiss, swallows into Yoongi's mouth, grips hard his hips and lowers Yoongi's body on him to be impossibly inside him but doesn't move. The seconds of lack feel like decades, the tightness of his cock inside a torture. So deep he can feel the dangerous throbbing, so clenched around him he can feel the trembling out of pure arousal of Jeongguk's legs.

He's always been like that, Yoongi can't change him. So preciously stubborn, so insistent, so strong-willed, so good to him, from the first moment, always. With every quick fuck on the studio's old chester before the rest came back, on every boring hangover Sunday in front of his television.

Jeongguk doesn't move, stays safe and inside, gorgeously hard, and one of his hands goes down and gets past the narrow gap between their bodies, where untouched and painfully twitching Yoongi's cock rests on his abdomen.

He wraps his hand around it, firm and determined, and starts stroking him with fast motions, moving easily with the precome leaking since they started grinding their bodies together.

Yoongi sighs deeply at the relief it brings. He feels heavy in Jeongguk's hand, sensitive and full with his cock deep inside him. He lowers his hands up to Jeongguk's ass and tucks them under the underwear he's still wearing halfway on his cheeks, pulled down just enough to get his cock out and ready to fuck Yoongi.

He squeezes the flesh, harshly, hurting, he presses Jeongguk against him, more inside him if even possible, and instinctively bucks his hips up, searching for a better friction, and the slight thrust has Jeongguk moaning and jerking his body in alarm.

Yoongi could come just from that image. He is about to do it. It's Jeongguk, his hand, always so delicate and careful on him, yielding, pleaser; soft, tattooed fingers quick and firmly jerking him off.

It's the face of his impending orgasm, the sheer pleasure in his expression; it's the way he restrains himself, desperately trying to reach Yoongi's climax before his own. It's his hard cock pulsating inside him, it's his cheeks burning, his gentle mouth, his lips, hot and damp, tender, trying to kiss him but failing awkwardly.

It's all of him that drives Yoongi crazy, what weakens him completely, what is wrecking him now. Jeongguk must have noticed. Jeongguk is the only one who knows Yoongi in bed. He must've realized, since suddenly he thrusts his cock back into him and the sensation travels along Yoongi's spine as a lighting bolt.

He makes a high-pitched, heartbreaking sound come out past Yoongi's lips, and inadvertently he's cumming thick and so hard against his own abdomen and chest, shuddering in his hold and tightening around Jeongguk's cock, wetting with cum the inked crown and smiley face of Jeongguk's fingers.

He doesn't stop for long, lingered seconds. Jeongguk groans, relief and animal arousal, drops his forehead on the hollow of his neck and hugs him tighter, finally fucks into him faster, harder, firm, the last desperate thrusts, harder, short but deeper, making his back collide with the headboard to be cumming at last.

His eyes close softly, his jaw drops slack with pleasure. Long, paused spasms tense Jeongguk's abdomen and the muscles of his tights, trouble his breathing. His heart is beating brutally against his ribs and rumbling in Yoongi's chest. The movements start slowing down when sensitivity is unbearable.

Jeongguk fully stops as he's finished, and waits inside Yoongi for a little longer. They breathe, and keep breathing, gasping for air. Afterwards, there is only noisy silence. And the violent, inevitable throbbing of their hearts. The effort, the adrenaline, the arousal remains, the premature shame.

It's dark. His eyes are yet to open. Yoongi licks his lips, dry, sore, lacking saliva to swallow. He can only breathe. He can only hear Jeongguk's erratic breathing too, practically flattening him on the mattress, still inside, still hard, pulsating cock weakening as slow as his lungs.

His throat hurts like he's breathing fire. The seconds are endless because neither of them dares to look at the other for an obvious lengthened moment. And because no words can come out until they catch their breath.

Finally Jeongguk slides out, careful, gentle, frightened; he moves away from Yoongi, backs off, enough so that their bodies are no longer obscenely attached. And silence. Pure silence drenched by adrenaline.

This is absolutely ridiculous. Jeongguk moves away on the mattress, emptied of blankets or sheets, awkwardly dropped to the floor. He sits up, cock flushed and sticky, just like his hands, just like the skin on Yoongi's chest, thighs and ass.

The image is blurry and dark, but he was so used to it to forget the feeling. Yoongi has witnessed this moment more than a thousand times, he's dreamed about it a thousand more afterwards. When it was all over for them, equally ridiculous fantasies where Jeongguk still wanted him, where he couldn't help but come back and want him back.

Yoongi has imagined so many times what it would be like to be able to fuck Jeongguk one more time. And they were all stupid, doubtlessly unviable, dangerous scenarios.

"Why are you doing this?" Yoongi's question is huffed out. Incredulous, suddenly, as overwhelming as the blow of reality.

And it's not just to Jeongguk. It's rather a why are we doing this. It's a what did I just do, what did I just allow, but he won't admit it out loud. At least when he dreamed of it the sex took more than ten minutes. He got his dick sucked, he ate Jeongguk out, deep and lingered till come him undone, they spent a nice, long night together. This, however, is a fucking mess, in every way.

He's uncomfortably wet between his legs, lube and cum, and still wearing his pajama shirt, staining underneath now that it has dropped onto his abdomen previously stained from his own orgasm, and his face is burning and his neck is aching from the bite marks that Jeongguk has left. Yoongi is looking like a complete asshole after making the wrong decision.

"I don't know." Jeongguk sutters, looks him in the eye, but barely meets his gaze. He brushes back the hair that covers his forehead and part of his eyes with his fingers, closes his eyes, huffs out, "fuck, I don't know," says, louder.

Yoongi is an asshole who just threw away the excruciating effort of almost a year, deep into the trash. His body suddenly goes ice cold. He knew this would happen, he was aware that this bitter feeling would return afterwards, but not so quickly. He would at least want his pants on. It falls like a ball of lead from his chest to the bottom of his stomach. He just screwed up his life for another year.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," mutters Jeongguk, looking around, nervously trying to find something, "Sorry, I'm a fucking jerk, this definitely shouldn't have happened."

It's paper, one of the packs of tissues that belonged to the drawer and that thanks to Jeongguk's arousal strength are now lying on the floor. Jeongguk hastily cleans himself up and without looking at him, barely looking at his own crotch and belly from which he is cleaning the mixture of sticky remains.

It's not his fault. The only one responsible for Min Yoongi is Min Yoongi himself. It's he who has given in to temptation, since he seems not to have a brain but a heart and a cock, and just a couple of tears and a naughty giggle have been all it takes to bring him to his knees.

Jeongguk rolls the tissues into a ball and throws it on the floor, gets up and steps through the room ducking for his clothes.

"What are you doing?" Yoongi asks.

He bends his legs on the mattress and covers himself, ashamed of the coldness of the room and the loneliness of the bed. Confused because after cleaning himself and pulling up his underwear, Jeongguk is zipping up his pants too.

His black see-through shirt, badly buttoned and stained after the concert with Jeongguk's sweat and damp hugs from the band members, his mint color socks, his cell phone that he left on the desk next to his backpack.

"Wait, what are you doing, where are you going."

"I'm sorry hyung, I'm so sorry."

"Wait, Jeongguk."

He gets dressed, fully, he is leaving the room. He doesn't look him in the eye, he goes out of his way to just look at the ground and avoid Yoongi's gaze from the bed.

"Hey, wait."

Yoongi kneels on the mattress to reach him closer, but in big strides Jeongguk reaches the living room, the narrow kitchen, walks the microscopic distance between the bedroom and the exit and before Yoongi motions to step on the floor the knob of the front door makes a noise.

In silence he waits, sitting on his lap. He hears the plank of wood sliding down the carpet, opening to the outside. He hears the rustle, the rubbing of leather boots, laces quickly getting tied. He hears Jeongguk standing up, breathing out. Hears the door close again.

Yoongi doesn't dare to look up. He remains staring at the stained sheets, at his bare knees. Loneliness is cold. The sticky liquid that still wets his ass cheeks and the inner part of his thighs as well. Silence falls heavy on him.

He already knew this, he was aware. He was perhaps conditioned by feelings but completely sane when he got into this bed with the only guy he shouldn't get too close to, when he turned the wheel to bring Jeongguk to his apartment. He shouldn't have the right to feel like fucking shit right now.

Gently he inhales, fills his lungs with air. It is still tainted by sex. It still smells of lube, the scent remains of Jeongguk's perfume that not even the shower has been able to remove, but the natural heat of his body no longer remains in the sheets.

Now everything is cold and dark. Now Yoongi barely sees the street lights coming through the cracked blinds.

He takes some tissues and cleans himself. He throws off his pajama top, stained with so many things, useless for sleeping. He gets the time to feel fairily dizzy. Abandoned like never before. It feels awful, oddly unusual, even though he lives alone every day since he was able to earn enough to pay the rent on his own.

Jeongguk however, when they started the band he was still in college. He used to live with a couple of roommates, a boy and a girl his age, and before Jeongguk bought his own car, it was Yoongi who was almost always in charge of taking him home. Long before he looked at him with different eyes. Long before Jeongguk got drunk and brave one night, and made him discover that he wasn't just the youngest member of the band.

With heavy limbs, Yoongi gets out of bed, walks barefoot to the living room.

Those moments were the ones he fondly cherished. When they didn't seem to fit together when hanging out with the rest, when Yoongi and Jeongguk barely exchanged words during soju and beer hours beyond those of professional drummers and singers.

And back then Yoongi would be the one who would save himself a bit to be able to drive. And back then Jeongguk would fall asleep, and he would rest his head on any armrest, on any thigh. Sometimes it was Yoongi's turn too, and he would have Jeongguk asleep on the carpet and on his lap.

And back then Yoongi wouldn't understand, he wouldn't think beyond what he saw. He was not willing to lower his gaze to Jeongguk's lips and imagine that they would serve for anything other than smiling. Back then he would just poke Jeongguk's cheek, innocently, and wake him up. And Jeongguk would complain.

Back then Jeongguk wouldn't want to wake up, but he would end up doing it, because it was that strange moment when he and Yoongi had to be alone in his car, the only moment when Jeongguk could show him the millions of random things they had in common. The millions of passions they really shared. The millions of reasons why they actually fit together.

Yoongi was the one responsible for both of them, but Jeongguk has always been the sincere one. The one who could never hide anything from him, not even the smallest word. The one who on a certain night looked at him first, the one who leaned first on his shoulder. The one who whispered in his ear, the one who gave him a dirty smile and a dirtier idea.

Yoongi inhales again, deeply, and when the clean air comes out from his lungs he decides to contaminate them with nicotine and arsenic, ammonia and all that disgusting shit that every cigarette in his pack contains.

He needs to get another pajama, or maybe shower again if the hot water has returned. Maybe the water pouring over his head clears some of the horrible sensations as well. Without even looking he grabs the pack and lighter from the table, takes out a cig and puts it between his lips.

Memories of just a few minutes ago. The same ones Yoongi is perfectly hearing, hot breath, hotter skin, desperate moans, pleasure, effort, anger, fear. The living room fills with a roar of silence.

"Shit." Yoongi remembers something else.

Jeongguk has no keys. And he's gone. He's gone and left him half naked, wet and wide open, past the middle of the night, and the stupid has not even a place to go.

Another swearing escapes chewed and unintelligible, serving as an urgency trigger for his movements. Jeongguk has always been the funny one, the crazy one, the one who does cute silly things when he's drunk, the one who has stupid ideas when he's down.

Yoongi quickly drops the cigarette unlit and returns to his room, looks for his underpants on the floor, the pants he left in the bathroom after the shower, a clean shirt and any random hoodie in the closet. It is dark, and cold. Yoongi hits his bare toes against the leg of the desk, and a clenched, angry fit strongly hits the surface, holds the pain for him and presses his lips close to not swear anymore.

He doesn't have to be more responsible for Jeongguk, even if he doesn't want the boy to make stupid decisions, even if it's almost four in the morning and he's alone on the street, wearing thin transparent top clothes and no jacket, without keys to his apartment.

In a jaded minute he has his car keys in his pants pocket and the front door closed behind his steps. Yoongi can't help it. He was always the one in charge of taking him home, and he will always be the asshole in love with Jeongguk. It's inevitable, he's already going after him.

The same record starts playing again as soon as the car's engine is started. At first he doesn't care, he ignores the intro track while he nervously turns the wheel looking out the rear window to quickly get out of the parking lot of his building.

It is when he has endured three background songs that the music becomes completely unbearable. His thoughts are too loud, the irritation too big to fit his head. With the entire palm of his hand he presses the buttons on the radio, fails to turn it off, uses four fingertips instead, fails again, hits the device another couple of times. The music abruptly stops.

Yoongi drives fast, having to climb down to the real world every few minutes to stop stepping on the accelerator so hard. Luckily the streets are empty at this late hour, but the city is fucking big nonetheless. More than six hundred thousand square kilometers of travel that Yoongi is trying to circumscribe around the possible paths that Jeongguk would take to get back to his apartment. If he's actually trying to get back to his apartment.

At this time of night Yoongi really isn't sure how his head works. Not sure why everything that has happened has happened either, and the first path option is completely Jeongguk-less. Quick maths for time and distance and the boy should still be less than halfway there. Yoongi takes a deep, pained breath and turns around.

The second option makes him drive even faster. He skips a couple of empty traffic lights and runs to the next intersection, and enters one street, turns into another, slowly but hurriedly looking at the loneliness from one side of the window to the other searching for a twenty-four-year-old guy dressed as if summer would have come five months earlier.

He is about to swear again. Yoongi slows down the speed and enters another street, parallel to the avenue, and fingers his pocket to get his phone. He didn't want to do this, it'll be completely useless. If he calls him now, pig-headed Jeongguk won't take the call.

Luckily, before the struggle to lift his ass as high as possible as the seat belt allows and being able to put his fingers into his pants pocket to get his phone while driving is over, Yoongi sees someone walking down the street.

Looking like a twenty-four-year-old guy, wearing dark clothes, and too light for autumn, arms crossed, slightly bent forward. From a distance and through the glass he sees a tiger, blood-red flowers, hanja. He sees his muscles under the cloth, he sees the same belt chains hanging as the singer of his band was wearing at the concert.

Yoongi rolls down the driver's window, and accelerates slowly until he's at his level on the street. He drives at the low speed that Jeongguk walks, in silence, looking at him determined to hear something from him, but Jeongguk doesn't look to the side, and he's too obvious at pretending, ignoring a car chasing him down a lonely street. Yoongi squeezes the steering wheel material with his fingers.

"Aren't you cold?" He asks him, aloud from inside the car.

There's no answer. Jeongguk doesn't reply. He clenches his jaw, looks away. Doesn't avoid Yoongi noticing that his eyes are puffy. He is not angry. He's just making the stupid decision, and Yoongi has already witnessed a few of those. Trying to stay calm he sighs, looks ahead, wheels slowly rolling to the end of the street.

"Jeongguk."

"I'm not cold."

"Of course you are."

"I deserve it."

Yoongi's voice softens. He lets out a giggle, a bitter one, to keep from crying along too. This is so ridiculous. The neighborhood security guards must be having a good time watching them through the street cameras.

"Don't be an idiot, where are you even going?"

"Home."

Yoongi sighs again.

"You don't have your keys."

And makes Jeongguk stop. Not suddenly, the words echo in the open space and suck the force of Jeongguk's footsteps to a complete stop as he realizes. The car stops too, in the middle of the road. Fortunately no one is stupid enough to be walking around there a few hours after dawn.

He doesn't take out the keys, he doesn't turn off the engine. Yoongi pulls the handbrake and opens the door slowly, looking both ways before standing up, just in case, and selflessly approaches Jeongguk. He is hugging himself, shivering with cold. It is the remains of alcohol, and the weakness of having been crying. Tender vulnerability after sex.

It's the awkward situation of two ex-something who have made a mistake, and his habit of forgetting things anywhere.

When Jeongguk looks troubled, when he could use a hand, he never means to seem so, he's born too obstinate for that, afraid of being a burden. But his eyes, his cheeks and his lips, too sensitive and sincere to be able to conceal it.

With the years, the experience of friendship, the band and the many moments together of intimacy got Yoongi the ability to read even the smallest turbulence from him. And he was in a moral charge back then, but has no reason now to be responsible for Jeongguk anymore. He doesn't have to pamper him, he doesn't have to always protect him. He is not meant for that.

But it is something human, unconditional. The desire to protect what one doesn't want to lose. Patterns, dependence, shortcomings. Inevitably he puts a hand to the zipper of his hoodie.

"Can we talk? I just want to talk."

The piece glides easily and silently along the metal strip until the garment is split in two. Right away he is taking it off, offering it to Jeongguk. Right away Yoongi is shivering with cold himself.

The boy looks down at the black fabric.

"I'm afraid to talk."

Yoongi makes a gesture, lifts the hoodie, insisting. And as if it were something offensive, a quick silent tear falls from one of Jeongguk's bright, reddened eyes, wetting the roundness of his left cheek up to his jaw. It was already there before, maybe for minutes, Yoongi has only triggered it to drop.

"Take it, come on," with a click of his tongue he tells him, stepping forward. "I'm not going to scold you or anything, for fuck's sake, I was also involved in the sex part, you know."

He is not mad at Jeongguk, or in the least disappointed, just irritated with himself. Confused, with the stupid thing that has happened, with the words used, with the affected feelings. Yoongi only needs to clear up a few things to at least be able to sleep tonight. Or to selfishly steal more time with Jeongguk.

Finally, although just as hesitantly, Jeongguk takes the hoodie, and some muffled footsteps begin to make a noise from one end of the street. Yoongi downplays them. He's waiting for a response, honestly impatient, trying to make the slightest noise as he would in front of a stray cat.

It is before Jeongguk has put on the hoodie however that the steps are not only moving shoes but voices as well. Known terms, familiar names. The two of them exchange glances for a moment when someone utters a certain specific word. Yoongi looks over his shoulder to the side to make sure of the not so probable but expected.

"Shit," he chews beforehand.

"Dude, isn't that Jeon Jeongguk?"

One of those people has realized first. It is not a strange coincidence. They just had a concert downtown, fans from all over the country and abroad have come to see them, and Yoongi doesn't really like to brag, but they are doing quite well lately.

"Oh my god, Jeon Jeongguk? Jeongguk!!"

Of all the eleven million people who inhabit this vast piece of the world at this time, some of them are also nocturnal. And some of those nocturnal ones also listen to their music.

Same boots, same black, see-through shirt, characteristic tattoos exposed and visible enough, standing next to that other shorter guy who plays guitar in his band. Of course Jeon Jeongguk is recognizable anywhere.

"Hey, Jeongguk!!"

The boy tenses, but doesn't move, just looks at the ground and the other side, quickly putting on the hoodie and trying to hide his face from them, still useless. And maybe Yoongi should not be the only one responsible for Jeon Jeongguk, friend and partner of dreams, but at least for the singer of his band.

So he rests an open hand on Jeongguk's shoulder, and gives a couple of comforting squeezes, draws him and guides him and his bag towards the car before that group of people approaches asking for a photo, an autograph, or some random proposal a bit more indecent due to the late hour of the night and the amount of alcohol that most likely they have ingested.

Yoongi locks the car almost a second before Jeongguk closes the passenger seat door as he's inside. Tonight is not one of those nights, nor can they afford them anymore. No crazy parties with casual fans, no public clubs after concerts. They can no longer. Nor would he want to see anyone other than Jeongguk right now.

The screams increase and follow the car as he releases the hand brake and drives off. Yoongi continues forward and fast, faster as he shifts gears, drives down the street, breathing around an uneasy heart, becoming even more nervous by the disconcerting lights of the avenues and the restless movement of Jeongguk's leg on the seat.

He looks to the side intermittently, to the street and the signals, to the boy, to his limbs fretfully vibrating. Jeongguk's bag is poorly tucked into his lap. Yoongi looks sideways and grabs it, too bulky, hindering any movement, and the sight; he snatches it and drops it on the back seats.

Jeongguk is restlessly stamping the car floor, shaking his feet and knees, interlocking fingers to unclasping them right after, staring out the window with wide eyes and back as if people could run after a car at eighty kilometers per hour.

"Belt," Yoongi reminds him.

Blindly, silent and mechanical, Jeongguk pats the wall until he grasps the belt strap and secures it around his lap with a click. Still he doesn't say anything. He breathes out, he only breathes out, and with any music playing in the background his breathing sounds too loud, and too troubled.

Yoongi keeps driving forward, stepping the gas on the road, straight ahead, stepping harder, running away from the lights, straight on, squeezing the wheel with strong, cold hands, hearing Jeongguk breathe, too fast, faltering, licking his lips every time Yoongi makes the odometer hand go up again.

There is no one chasing them, there is no one following them, there are no cars after them, only the ones that Yoongi passes, only the ones that Yoongi leaves behind in the city to enter the darkness ahead.

"Hyung."

Further ahead until the maximum speed allowed is no longer a two-digit number, until the lights become monotonous and jerky, of a single color, until the rest of the cars disappear completely and there is only them in the road.

"Hyung, where are you going."

"Huh."

"Where are you going."

They are alone, for now. Yoongi darts his head towards the window and only sees the darkness of the empty night.

"I don't know," they've entered the highway, he's not sure which way or which direction, "wasn't thinking." It's Jeongguk's contagious nervousness. The unstoppable jerking of his knee, the rodent nibble of his lips. "Talk to me now."

The way he grips the seatbelt at the level of his chest, separating it from his clothes as if the rub stung.

"While driving?"

As if it wasn't just hard fabric but chains, squirming restlessly on the passenger seat. Yoongi is not gazing to the side, only feels Jeongguk's next to him, only perceives the movement, but it's enough to have his heart beating strong and as accelerated as the car engine.

"Yeah."

It is a surge of sudden overwhelm. It wasn't those people, it wasn't the screaming or the exposure.

"And what exactly should I say?"

Just anything would do. Just a bit more time, like back then. Yoongi doesn't move his eyes from the road.

"An explanation for what's happened, for example."

"What used to happen before all the time," Jeongguk quickly spits out.

And he is not wrong, at all, but the answer is not what Yoongi was expecting to hear. He sighs again, irritation and nerves.

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Not the kind of absurd conversation he expects to have. Yoongi loosens his foot on the gas. The odometer slowly descends to rest at a steady speed. There are no proximate exits on the road, there are no nearby intersection signs. He has no idea where he is going, he just wanted to get as far away as possible without returning to confine Jeongguk in that cold, old apartment like the beast did with the beauty.

The thick silence is not reassuring, and the speed noise colliding with the windshield too irking. Jeongguk continues to knot his own fingers as if they were ropes, head ducked down, saving more words. Yoongi parts his lips to start again, but he's cut off.

"It happened because we both wanted it to happen, that's it," Jeongguk says, determined.

And that's not really wrong either. Barely. Yoongi was tied up. He was forced by the brainless, unfair feelings of him, and the mechanical memories of his body, the inevitable reactions of his instincts at having Jeongguk so close and pliant.

"I didn't want it."

"You didn't want it?"

Sad voice, small, breathy, disappointed.

"I mean..." Yoongi interrupts himself. He didn't want to, but well, of course he wanted to. He wanted it more than anything, he's been wanting it for almost a fucking year. He is not wrong at all. "I didn't want it to happen just that way."

He doesn't want to have a hangover the next morning either, he doesn't want to fill his lungs with black smoke every time, but he keeps smoking, and partying with alcohol, and doing all those negative and unhealthy things that his weakened human condition can't help but trip on over and over again.

Jeongguk is one more addiction. He was for him, and so Yoongi fell deep into it, and could never recover. He had almost succeeded, he thought he had, but relapse has been stupidly inevitable.

"Sorry," Jeongguk mutters. Low, tight past his pursed lips. Yoongi hears him over the noise of the car engine and speed.

"No, I'm the one who's sorry," he retorts, louder, more serious. "I'm sorry that I can't be the way you want me to be. I'm sorry from the beginning."

There is nothing to look forward to. The road has no curves, it is straight and empty, chopped white stripes in the middle, lighting up as they come with the lights of his own car. It is the only direction. Jeongguk sniffles, brushes part of his hair back and behind his ear.

"You're talking without knowing how I feel."

"No, Jeongguk, you do things without knowing how I feel." His hands clench on the steering wheel, without any need. Yoongi inhales air to speak, huffs it out, turns his head to blindly look out of his window, takes another breath. "If it could just be a fuck, I swear to you—" He must already know, Jeongguk is not an idiot. Neither is Taehyung, no one around him is. They know that Yoongi is not that good at pretending, that he has never recovered. "But I can't control it, I– I've tried, okay? Fuck, I've been trying for a fucking year." He gasps out once more, a wry laugh, a bittersweet sigh. "And now you come again, and play, and you break me, you break everything that I've tried to rebuild, and asshole me can't even keep his dick in his pants the first chance he gets."

He almost runs out of oxygen. His veins are pulsating and blood is rushing through his limbs, ashamed of the already obvious confession and for having to end it like this. He wasn't meaning any of this just a few hours ago, after the concert. He just wanted Jeongguk not to doze off cold and awkward on that table. He just wanted the boy to sleep in a bed, an actual one, comfortable and protected by four walls, with no one to scold him or talk rude to him.

"Fuck," Jeongguk bursts out, voiceless.

Yoongi was just trying to protect him tonight, as he always used to do, ever since he and Namjoon met a college art student who shared the same passion for music, who was nice and cute, with cool piercings, with pretty tattoos, with dreams, who happened to sing like angels do.

In charge of taking him home, waking him up, searching for his lost things, drooling and losing his mind over him. Jeongguk sniffles, heaves, muffled, tilts his head to the other side.

"Fuck, I can't fucking cope with this." He leans forward, bends his body as far as the belt allows and stifles a groan, swallows another, grabs his throat and squeezes for more air, contradictorily. "Stop the car."

"Jeongguk."

"Stop the car, hyung, I'm suffocating."

"I can't stop here."

"Please." He has his cheeks still wet, puffy, his lips red and shiny, bitten. "Please, I need to get off."

Yoongi takes his eyes off the road for intermittent seconds to stare at him, uneasy knees, high-pitched voice, whines drowned out by his own attempt to maintain normal breathing. He's struggling to stay still, and it's making Yoongi so nervous, but the road keeps going forward and just straight, and he has no power over it.

With a deep hoarse sigh Yoongi pushes the accelerator to the floor until surpassing the speed limit, silently, driving as fast and as calm as he can so as not to disturb Jeongguk further. It doesn't take long to come. After passing a couple of fleeting cars Yoongi is tapping on the blinker to take the first visible exit. He clenches his jaw, takes an attempt at a calm sigh while ignoring Jeongguk's futile effort to stay seated.

There is a gas station sign, another for a water park several kilometers away in a nearby city. Yoongi chooses the first one, heading to a service area. And he hasn't even been able to hit the brakes all the way when Jeongguk is already opening the door and launching himself out for air.

"Wait! Shit."

He's gone before parking. Yoongi surrounds the place with the passenger door open a little more until he can stop the car next to a wall, somehow sheltered, and so he also gets out to chase Jeongguk.

"Jeongguk— wait, listen to me."

The place is cold as fucking hell, and the shirt he chose so thin. This is ridiculous, all of this, from the start. Since Jeongguk couldn't find his keys, since he decided that putting him to sleep at his apartment was a good idea. Since he agreed to get into bed with him because the couch was too hard, since he had to wipe his fucking tears away like he's still responsible of everything.

"I can't do this, hyung."

He reaches for him, grabs his arm, dressed in his own hoodie. Looks around, there's no one.

"Listen to me."

"I miss you so much."

"Jeongguk."

He gets the boy to turn around and stare at him, still holding tightly to his wrist.

"I can't— I miss you."

Still heaving, still gasping for air, dry drops that get restrained at his eyes but swell his cheeks and make them blush. He is a tough guy, the toughest when necessary, and now is not one of those moments. Jeongguk is a sincere guy too, utterly honest, just as Yoongi has known him. He fights when the fight is required, tireless and to the end. He shows his tears and his ugly whines when he needs to let his frustration all out.

Now the emotions are out of control, senseless and unintentionally pouring on the ground. Jeongguk's chest is shaking badly. Yoongi grabs the back of his neck with one hand, grips harshly at the hair on his nape, makes him look up straight and still.

"I'm here, I'm with you guys, I never left the band. That I am not so close anymore doesn't mean—"

"No. I miss you and I," Jeongguk blurts.

"—that I'm not cool with you or anything."

"I miss us, " he says, louder. Sharper. Jeongguk wets his lips, and they must be sore, tender and red from his fidgety front teeth. Yoongi doesn't look away before hearing it. "I want you to love me again."

And that's a whole error. He doesn't look away before he can help but feel it. A soured chill of disappointment, long and lingered, creeping from the crown of his head down his shoulders to the tips of his fingers. Yoongi is speechless for a moment, making his lips move silently to no avail.

"That's..." his eyelids don't drop. Jeongguk's dark pupils are too bright, piercing his head. "That's selfish. It hurts me, Jeongguk."

His hand loosens on his neck. It goes down, limp, little by little and without strength, off of the boy. His body is freezing on the outside from the icy wind, on the inside from his own fault. Jeongguk is crying, but there are no tears.

"It hurts me too, a lot," he tells him.

And he could cry too if his veins and eyeballs weren't frozen, since the pain he feels right now in his chest is unbearable. He can't do this, not again. He can't hear those words said like nothing, like this is all just a dumb mistake, a funny one, a painless one.

Jeongguk's lips tremble trying to find a more appropriate argument. They end in a pathetic effort.

"I love you too."

Yoongi takes a step back.

"No, Jeongguk. You don't." He was always the crazy one, the funny one. The daring one, the risktaker, the one that pushed and tried, just in case. "Don't say things without thinking."

"I'm fucking serious."

"And I'm just trying to get it right."

"Won't you believe me?" Jeongguk takes the stolen step forward, raising his voice, desperate by the helplessness interrupting the work of his lungs. "Won't you believe me like I did when you told me the same thing? Isn't what I feel that important?"

He is so nervous, shivering, but not from cold, mist coming out of his words as he speaks. And his eyes grow so big, wide open, bright and scared. Pure, sincere, so telling. Yoongi has hurt for a long time, he has tripped so many times, he just screwed up all the effort of almost a year just a moment ago. Can't just give up so easily again.

"I'm just saying—"

"How should I put it?" Jeongguk shuts him up. "I'm fucking in love with you, Min Yoongi, what else do you want to hear? I can't fucking take it anymore."

It takes Yoongi a good bunch of seconds to swallow everything. It's his expression, Jeongguk's face, the sadness in the shape of his lips, his nose flushed with rage, his eyes slanted in disappointment. It is not how he had imagined it. It is nothing like he had portrayed it in his fantasies.

It can't be denied, for years, all this time, Yoongi has so many times fantasized about Jeongguk confessing. With him realizing that he felt the same way, with him falling in love with him, being as crazy about him as Yoongi is. But none of this was in his head. This is an absolute mess.

When Yoongi imagined it there were no retained tears, no frown of annoyance. There was no confusion, there was no yelling in a rest area in some lost kilometer of the highway. The gas station operator must be listening to them from his booth. This is just ridiculous.

"What are you talking about."

Jeongguk scoffs, dry, ironic, closes his eyes and combs his hair back with his fingers.

"I was so scared, just wanted it to be just sex and fun, I swear, and that was it, that was the deal, but you had to fuck it all up, and fuck me up ever since."

Yoongi's eyebrows rise in bewilderment. Murkiness, or anger, or a stab of pain.

"What the hell?"

"And then I couldn't say anything and you decided to finish... our thing, and you left, and I missed you so much I wanted to die," Jeongguk heaves as if crying, but no tears come out, he just looks at the sky, he puts his hand on his forehead and rubs harshly, tries to swallow air to keep breathing. "What should I have told you then, 'please hyung I've changed my mind, I love you now, come back' two fucking months later? I'm just a fucking asshole."

He is walking around in circles, stepping on an invisible pattern under his feet on the asphalt, breathing hoarsely, heating the incoming oxygen to exhale faint white clouds of carbon dioxide, moving his hands uneasily from his waist to his throat to his forehead to push away hair that bothers his sight.

"Can you calm down please?" Yoongi has no words. Hardly any thought. "You're gonna hurt yourself."

Low, slowly, emotionless. Pretending. He raises a hand, hesitant, reaches out to Jeongguk. The boy is not looking at him, he has not looked him in the eyes for several minutes. He doesn't look at his hand, makes no effort to have him within his field of vision. He is speaking to the wall and to the night sky.

"I'm sorry."

"Jeongguk, please, come here."

His head refuses the request with a shake, breathing heavily through his lungs choked with anxiety. He is trying to get everything out, while Yoongi is swallowing it all and hurting tremendously inside. But this is totally out of place. It is the scene that he had not imagined, one that he didn't even consider. It's something beyond his control.

"Sorry for being so selfish tonight."

"Give me your hand," Yoongi insists, offering his own.

"I'm so sorry for hurting you again, I'm a complete stupid fucking jerk."

At that, unintentional and accidental, a cough of laughter bursts and comes out of Yoongi's throat and pushes a startling tear out of his eye. He covers his mouth with a closed fist, brushes his nose with his knuckles. He is not having fun. It is hurting so much and he's spilling out of his organs.

"Yeah, funny, isn't it?" Jeongguk says, and smiles, tries, but as quickly the smile turns down and his entire face scrunches, getting him suddenly sobbing, teardrops blatantly coming out. "Great, I'm a goddamn child."

The laugh that Yoongi was trying to hold back comes out inadvertently again, but this time soft and resigned. Everything is awful. Jeongguk's anxiousness, the way he looks, the way Yoongi is not being able to answer him and deepening the wound. With a big, wet sigh he sniffles and cleans the traitorous strip of dampness down his cheek, and finally reaches out to grab Jeongguk's hand himself and draw him closer, at least to get him to look into his eyes.

"You are not."

"I've been crying all fucking night."

"And swearing."

"I'm fucked up, it's my right to swear."

"Do I need to wash your mouth?"

"Since when do you care so much that I swear?"

He has stopped crying. He was about to explode just a few seconds ago, but now Jeongguk is squeezing Yoongi's hand instead, and although his cheeks are wet and glowing from the red and yellow lights of the big neon gas station sign, he's no longer crying.

"You have an image to maintain."

"It is you who writes the cussing of the lyrics that I sing."

"Should I cool it on the cussing then?"

"No— no," Jeongguk's voice drops. He squeezes his hand tighter, not looking down. Yoongi returns the squeeze, holding his eyes. "I like your lyrics as they are."

It is very cold. It's a chill that reminds him, and the chattering of his teeth, and how hot Jeongguk's hand is from all the pent-up emotions. The point is, Jeongguk isn't precisely feelingless. He's innocent, naive sometimes; upright and prudent on the outside, but extremely passionate and fiery on the inside. If he opens up, if you manage to touch the interior of him, Jeongguk is downright on fire.

He is doubting now, hesitating in his movements, in the blink of his eyelashes, in the focus of his pupils. Yoongi takes a step forward so as not to freeze on the spot. He hugs him, barely, he comes forward to bring their bodies closer in an armless hug, chest to chest and heads touching.

He is warm. Wearing his hoodie, lucky him. Inside the garment it must be even warmer. Yoongi closes his eyes, slowly opens them, looks over Jeongguk's shoulder, at the darkness that stretches behind the last parked cars that must belong to the store assistant and the gas station attendant since the place is lonely as anywhere would be at this time of night.

His heart is still beating fast. So loud and dangerously powerful that the rumbling even crashes into Yoongi's chest.

"Calm down."

"I'm trying."

He lets out a sad giggle, a breathy one. Swallows, raises a hand to grab Jeongguk's arm at the inside of the elbow.

"I can't believe you are telling me all this right now."

Jeongguk bends it at the contact, grabs Yoongi's arm as well in response.

"How am I supposed to start this conversation long after we finished? You would've told me to fuck off."

"I don't know," Yoongi blinks quickly, puts his other hand on Jeongguk's side, wrapping his waist with his fingers. This should no longer be weird. "Maybe I would have figured something out."

This just is as before. This is his Jeongguk, the same he used to have. Approaching him, sharing a reason, allowing him to put his hands on his body and leaving them there, without a countdown of seconds until reaching a limit of awkwardness.

"Wouldn't you have been mad at me?"

Jeongguk tilts his head, rests his cheek against Yoongi's cheek.

"Probably."

It is soft and round, warm. The slight touch warms him up inside.

"I'm sorry for that day, I should never have hurt you, that was so jerk of me."

"I should never have spoken out about feelings when it was all about fucking in the first place," Yoongi tells him.

Jeongguk raises a shy arm and puts it around his shoulders. It binds the hug like glue.

"No hyung, you were so good to me and I freaked out."

"It was for the sake of the band."

"Fuck the band," Jeongguk cuts him off, abruptly, leaving a blade of cold air between the two of them and the muffled words to his ear. "I tried really hard for the sake of the band and I can't stand it anymore."

His body tenses noticeably, his breathing becomes troubled for the seconds that the statement lasts, and lingers for another seconds. Yoongi subtly turns his head to the other side.

There is a temporary gap of a few months during which Yoongi did not show up at rehearsals. It was fine, everything was fine, no concerts in sight, they had the release of their last album months before that, they all could rest if the situation required it.

Yoongi kept in touch with the members, but at a distance as safe as sheer absence. He missed so many afternoons with his friends, so many hamburger and spicy ramen dinners at Hoseok's place.

There were so many club parties that Yoongi missed, so many funny anecdotes and memories that he lacks. So many of those nights that Jeongguk didn't go back to sleep in his own apartment. So many guy's phone numbers Jeongguk has had to delete. Many other things that none of his friends ever wanted to tell Yoongi, as a precaution. Just in case it would hurt.

It did, equally. It still does. Yoongi wonders if all of those really happened for the sake of the band. His hand clenches tightly around the boy's waist.

"Do you love me then?" He sniffles, and asks. Serious.

This is definitely not how he imagined this scene, and Yoongi has imagined it hundreds and hundreds of times. Everything was perfect in his mind. It was all silly misunderstandings and innocent lies. Everything was solved in the best way.

"Yeah."

Painless, no sharp memories, no fear of everything being a failure again.

"So say it," Yoongi tilts his head back, pushes Jeongguk's chest to look into his eyes. "Say it to me, Jeongguk."

"I love you." He says so. Fast. Round eyes, wider than ever.

It just can not be real. This simply cannot be real, it is insane. It's just one of Yoongi's fantasies, damaged and placed in the worst scenario. It is not true.

"Tell me again." He can't just believe it so easily.

A sigh comes out of Jeongguk's nose, hurt and disturbed. He's flushed, reddened, puffy face. His lips swollen and chapped, his pupils darting nervously, laborious work to keep his gaze on Yoongi.

"I love you."

Small, slow mouth, self-conscious words. Withdrawing his voice. Completely clumsy and embarrassed. This can't be real, this is a fucking joke.

"Fuck."

A cackle brusts on Yoongi's throat, dry and painful. Rapidly his eyes wet with embarrassment and disbelief.

"Don't laugh at me," says Jeongguk, serious, just as soft, and Yoongi can't help but laugh even more.

This is so incredibly ridiculous, that's it. He can't help the lightness of his chest, the weakness of his muscles, Jeongguk's dumb face looking at him that way. As precious as ever. So careful with him, such a big heart becoming so small in his hands with the right actions.

So damn cute uttering those words, now that they are for real, after the cry and the anger, after the swearing and some beers and ten whiskey shots, after making such a miserable mistake tonight, after running away from his apartment without a coat or keys. Yoongi can't help but laugh.

"Hyung!" Yoongi can't keep his laugh from being sharp, loud, can't help another couple of tears from falling off his eyelids because this is amazingly ridiculous. "Oh my god, don't fucking laugh."

Jeongguk protests, slaps his shoulder and makes him take a step back; teary-eyed, annoyed, but inevitably holding a curl of laughter on his lips too. Flushed, disheveled, wearing an expensive sweat-stained shirt and a cheap borrowed hoodie. Looking is so beautiful, all of him.

Yoongi rubs his knuckles and the edge of his hand down both his cheeks to dry them. Fuck the band. His members are the luckiest motherfuckers, the best at making music, and the best friends. If they want Yoongi to stay sane they won't be able to allow him to spend another day keeping a stupid safe distance from Jeongguk.

Yoongi sighs laughter and bitterness, leans up, planting a stray kiss to the underside of Jeongguk's bottom lip, and feels how the boy tenses completely. He wants to ask if it's okay, but leaves another kiss instead, almost inadvertently, slow and open-mouthed on Jeongguk's lip.

No permission is required, it was never necessary. It may catch Jeongguk by surprise, but as a second reaction he ducks his head, bringing their lips together in a gentle, lingering kiss, answering him, giving him an affirmative, since it's okay to kiss him if Yoongi wants so.

The air is so cold Yoongi can feel his mouth burn when they're pressing together. It breaks soon, lazily they stop moving, and lazy they licks the remains of the brief contact. Jeongguk cups Yoongi's face with his hands, exhales a deep sigh. He rests and glues his forehead against Yoongi's. Leans in, leaves a small kiss himself.

"But you still love me too, right?" He says, still hesitant, quietly gasping from cold and nerves, and capturing Yoongi's lips in a row of endless light kisses. Just in case.

Yoongi can't help but laugh. He wants to cry with laughter, it's struggling not to. Softly he draws a dangerous smile into the kiss, takes a deep breath and lowers his eyelashes before they get wet. Everything he had imagined was nothing like this. They would be in a nice place, a quiet one, without the background noise of the road and the wind colliding with the trees and the steel plates of the gas dispensers.

At Jeongguk's room, or in the old chester of the studio. They would talk, and not even a hint of bad feeling would remain in his chest. Jeongguk would embrace him, kiss him, kiss him with a force that would take Yoongi back, so keen and excited he would have to grab the armrest to keep from falling backwards.

Jeongguk's lips are going cold now. Bitten, parched, trying to keep glued in a kiss with Yoongi's out of mistrust and ignorant of what will happen next. Yoongi would like to hold him properly, he would like to kiss him deeply, intensely, he would like to meet his mouth again after almost a year and give him all the kisses that he has missed, but his limbs hurt, feel heavy. It's so cold he's lost sensation in his nose.

His hand clenches tightly in the slight curve of Jeongguk's waist.

"Aren't you cold?"

Following the trembling of his body Jeongguk's head nods quickly, lips brushing against Yoongi's cupid's bow. He is wearing his hoodie, Yoongi just a thin shirt. He feels neither the tip of his nose nor his nipples under the fabric. With a glance past the strands of hair falling from Jeongguk's forehead he's able to appreciate the timid orange color of the sky behind the gas station building.

"Do you want us to go?"

"Already?"

"It's about to get light."

Yoongi sniffles, steps back just a little to bring his hand to Jeongguk's face and combs with his fingers those locks back. The hair is smooth and clean, manageable, after removing in the shower the styling water residue that Jeongguk usually sprays on for concerts.

The boy blinks at him, sluggish, turns his head to look at the sky as well.

"Where?" He seems unconvinced.

"My place sounds right?"

He looks tired too, drowsy expression. It is the fatigue of the concert, and the alcohol afterwards. The interrupted nap, the crying, the hasty sex. It's running away, and screaming in the middle of an empty service area at six in the morning. Yoongi gets so far apart that Jeongguk has to step up and grab his hand not to let him go completely. Just in case.

"Sounds nice."

It shouldn't be weird now, no undertones, no chance of misinterpretation, no subliminal messages. They are on the same line, in the same place, open and connected by their hands. Yoongi looks at him, Jeongguk keeps his eyes on his boots, chewing on his lower lip.

This is purely ridiculous, and soon it will be twenty-four hours since they woke up to start the last rehearsals before the concert. Wary, concerned, overcautious, just like they were when they started the band. Many attempts, many falls because they never really knew how to do it.

Even now that they are professional musicians, now that they already have three albums released and several national tours and some international tours as well, they still lack experience for many things. They keep getting up at seven in the morning to start rehearsing and have everything ready and properly checked before the concerts.

Instruments, microphones, channels, acoustics, lighting, stage structure, outfit comfort. Just in case.

Yoongi doesn't let go of Jeongguk's hand just in case, not even when they are already walking. They don't speak, they haven't said anything but nonsense about the past and poor confessions. He's not even sure what they're doing, or how they're going to do it, or what will happen tomorrow when Jeongguk wakes up in his bed again, like he used to do back then almost a year ago.

He has nothing prepared, nothing checked and ready to act. He doesn't have a manual, he doesn't know what Jeongguk is expecting from him. He doesn't know what he should do. He is naked on stage, in front of an audience and without instruments.

It is when they are in front of the car that their hands have to separate as well as their paths. 

"I could use a coffee before driving." Yoongi speaks words now, as if nothing.

His body is tired, but his mind is racing at two hundred kilometers per hour.

"I want one too."

Empty hands fumble over his pants pockets searching for his car keys. As he gets them he presses the button to open the doors, quickly motions to get in and lock himself, starts the engine, without even buckling up, a surge of haste making him turn on the heat first. When gripping the steering wheel he can't feel his hands.

"You wait for me here then. I'll get the coffees and we'll leave."

This should not be weird, but it's so weird if it's not it. Yoongi drives to the door of the gas station store, and talks to Jeongguk like nothing happened. As if the months of seclusion and smoke had not existed, as if the awkward moments during rehearsals and the tears when we got home weren't a thing.

"Put sugar in mine," says Jeongguk. His voice is barely above a whisper.

An imperceptible pained noise escapes Yoongi.

"Sure."

He knows it already, americano with a lot of sugar for him, he's known his coffee choice for years. He's his friend, his hyung, and he's been much more. With a sharp sixty-degree turn, Yoongi stops the car in front of the store's large glass door. The reasons all have run away after tonight, but the feeling never did. Even if he's not so sure now what the trouble was that started all of this. Love him and care for him, unconditionally, the same as he does now.

Yoongi swallows bittersweet, and pulls the brake with a rough noise.

It is empty, illuminated and without people other than the clerk, since half of the sky is still almost black. A sigh and a sympathetic look at the boy's round eyes is what Yoongi leaves before getting out of the car.

"Good morning."

The doors open automatically for him, close after his steps in.

"Morning," he replies to the guy.

The temperature is pleasant in here. There is a low radio station sounding in the background, playing some pop music, several rows of shelves of snacks and magazines, the flickering neon lights of soda and beer can refrigeration machines. The coffee machine is behind the counter.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, uh, two hot americanos, please."

He doesn't have his phone, but in a small box on the store's muted TV screen it can be seen it's just struck six thirty in the morning. It is Sunday. They are too far from the city for anyone to come now. The drowsiness is suddenly gone, a bit.

Yoongi shoves his hands into the back pockets of his pants, emptied of his pack of cigarettes and lighter. The car is still visible from his position if he leans his back backwards.

"Early bird, huh?"

The dark, shiny bodywork, the reflection of the flashing lights on the wet ground. The guy turns around and puts the paper cups in the machine.

"Yeah, more or less."

Jeongguk is there too, he can see him, leaning against the car door. With the crown of his head crashing against the windowpane. It shouldn't be weird now, to have him there. He's lived this before, countless times, even after the break up, like the rest of the members too.

They've also had Jeongguk comfortably lying inside their cars, for sure. The kid just lays everywhere. Yoongi stopped being responsible for Jeongguk's rides, but none of the rest left the work at any time.

Right now, however, when Yoongi swallows he doesn't know why there is a lump in his throat. The dark liquid begins to fall with a dripping sound in the first of the glasses. Now just like before, since they were really nothing. They weren't called anything. Jeongguk was that boy Yoongi had sex with from time to time. The boy who would enter his apartment without asking permission, the one who would creep into his bed whenever he was bored.

"Will you want sugar packets?"

He's the same one that's waiting for him in his car now. The same one who sulked about nonsense, the same one who used to sit next to Yoongi in the studio, who rested his head on his shoulder when he was sad, without needing to exchange any words. He is the same Jeongguk, he's not changed a single bit. It is his Jeongguk who is waiting for him in his car right now.

"You know what," Yoongi answers the guy, head turned and eyes beyond the glass door. "It'll be just one coffee. No sugar."

His eyelashes are down and brushing his cheekbones. Jeongguk has dozed off. Of course. He can't judge him, he never could. Not when he came to rehearsals with purple marks on his neck from someone else. He was doing the right thing, for the sake of both of them and the band. Jeongguk has always done his best.

The coffee is bitter and scalding like bubbling water in a pot when he takes the first sip. Yoongi stays at the driver's door for a moment, delays a couple more minutes to breathe the polluted air from the gas station calmly before getting into the car. Scared of returning. He tries another sip, cold wind freezing his nose as his lips burn.

He waits for a moment, drinking his coffee, leaning against the car. This is no longer weird, he supposes. This is an end, and a new beginning. Jeongguk wants to, and so does he. They want something in common, he supposes.

Although it'll have no name or label. Although Yoongi is scared to say one out loud in case Jeongguk might slip out of his hands again. He's been for years, but now he's definitely not used to this.

Minutes later, once his coffee is halfway empty, silently and carefully not to wake up the person sleeping in the passenger seat he gets in. He fastens his seatbelt, checks the rearview mirror. They are alone. This seems like a lie. Jeongguk's calm breathing next to him tries to make him believe that it's not.

As he steps on the accelerator to get to a stable speed on the road he grips the steering wheel tightly. There is a tiny tremble to his lower lip. Feels as though he's about to think again, no doubt to blame himself some more for anything that is happening. To deepen into the wound. Yoongi shakes his head before he can. Sighs aloud, tries to divert the thought away from where blame may lie.

This is fine, he's fine. He has Jeongguk here, he can get used to it again, whatever comes. He just needed to feel certain things again, little by little careful not to hurt, but he's ripped himself open, torn completely at once, meeting Jeongguk again with hasty fuck against the headboard instead of a few words first. A simple kiss, a soft drink in a quiet café along with the truth could have been nice to start with.

He's obviously in pain, but it's been for the greater good, he supposes. Now he can go back to those things that he needed. Jeongguk close without being awkward, primarily. His head and his hair tousled on his lap when he's tired from rehearsal breaks, the goodbye kisses.

His hand on Jeongguk's thigh. Squeezing the inner side, keeping him close, telling him without words he's there. Feeling that, even if only a little, he has certain rights over others. A shared intimacy. A unique bond.

Yes, it's selfish of him, but Yoongi needs Jeongguk all to himself again. To do all those things again, Jeongguk allowing only Yoongi to do those for him. The road is still quiet. Yoongi secretly fulfills one of his wishes, and checking the rear view mirror that no car is coming he reaches out his right hand to put it on Jeongguk's thigh.

The boy is still sleeping, eyes completely closed and snuggled into his own arms pressed between his head and the door. Yoongi looks at him for a moment. Stunningly handsome. Looks at the road for another few seconds. Looks down at his hand on Jeongguk's leg afterward.

The black pants hugging his thigh tightly, the warmth of his skin under the fabric rapidly reaching his fingertips and palm. Yoongi squeezes, ever so slightly, squeezes the inner flesh with his fingers and feels it again, what he felt before.

Grabbing Jeongguk, touching him, and knowing that they shared a bigger reason. That the boy would feel it different with him, different from the rest of the hands, from the rest of the hyungs. Those things that only Yoongi would do to him, because only with him nothing would be awkward.

Slowly he sighs. His chest is still congested, wet with tears that he has not shed. There's no reason anymore, he supposes. Everything is fine. Jeongguk is in his car, and is going to sleep in his bed again, like he used to do. He's going to wake up next to him, and he's going to stay there, until time permits, yet the silence is pressing and uncomfortable. He really wants to believe all he said is true.

A second deep sigh makes him look at the road. Yoongi gives another squeeze, and carefully climbs up the material of his pants, feeling the hard curve of Jeongguk's leg under his fingers. And suddenly bumps into something else.

A hard obstacle. Yoongi furrows his brow, confused. He brings his eyes to what he's touching, and it's a hard little lump in Jeongguk's pocket, and it moves as he pokes it. Yoongi moves it, blindly makes it open, not a single piece but a few pieces of metal spreading like a fan under the rough material of his pants. Yoongi feels his stomach sink. It's a keyring, and Jeongguk's apartment keys hanging from it.

The boy coughs lazily in his sleep. He shifts in the seat, sniffles, clears his throat, close-eyed. He unties his hands from the hollow under his jaw, brings one of them to his leg. Carries it over his pocket, where Yoongi's hand is, and grabs it. Jeongguk drowsily raises his eyelids and looks at Yoongi, and gives him a faint, sincere smile, snatching his hand to squeeze it strongly.

They've been there all along. His damn keys in his damn pants pocket, and he knew it. But Jeongguk doesn't open his mouth to answer the silent question. He takes another breath, and turns his face with the intention of falling asleep again. His fingers spread and interlace with Yoongi's, both hands clasped together and resting on his thigh.

At some point Yoongi will have to let go to grab the wheel, or to shift gears. If cars start to appear as he enters the city he will have to switch lanes, definitely using both hands to drive.

But for now this is fine. Yoongi is so fine. What it'll come after waking up this afternoon, whatever happens tomorrow, what the next few days hold, he will take care later. Now having Jeongguk asleep in his passenger seat doesn't feel weird. Yoongi takes a deep breath. Even though it hurts, it feels better than ever.

He looks at their clasped hands, looks up at the highway past the wheel, and prays that this stretch of road will last forever.

Notes:

thank you a lot for reading ♥

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