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There are few things that Yoongi does that aren’t endearing to Jungkook. From his faux-annoyance and cool façade, to his ability to explain and dissect complex emotions through beautiful metaphors, to the way he struggles with eye contact and bluntly speaks his mind.
It had been scary at first, when they met in that tiny dorm. Yoongi seemed so much older, and so unapproachable. But the first time he invited Jungkook out for lamb skewers, his features softened by shyness, and Jungkook had seen his hyung smile for the first time, he knew he had nothing to worry about.
It seemed as though the more Jungkook grew into an adult, the more Yoongi started acting like a kid. Perhaps he didn’t feel the need to try so hard anymore, that he knew the other members loved what he was on the inside, and he had less to prove to the world. He could finally let down his barriers, and Jungkook was so enamored with what he saw that it led to a blossoming romance.
It was, nay is, gradual, the two taking it slow and one step at a time. Jungkook always gives him time, lets him realize that he can be himself around Jungkook and the younger would understand. Jungkook is forever unfazed that he prefers to look everywhere but his face, or that the words I love you have rarely left his lips and only occasionally show up in text, or that sometimes he can only tolerate holding hands or even no holding at all on a bad day. Because he knows it doesn’t come from a place of malice, it’s simply who Yoongi is, and he recognizes the declarations of love that anyone else might not notice.
The way he offers to treat Jungkook to dinner or a night in when the younger’s feeling down. The way he nearly vibrates with excitement as he talks Jungkook’s ear off about sports or European architecture because he trusts the younger so much and knows he won’t be annoyed with him, and offers Jungkook the same courtesy when he talks about his new favorite musician or video game.
This new habit, though, has Jungkook stumped.
Jungkook doesn’t know the first time it happened, just that he noticed it once it became a pattern. The first time it really sticks in his mind is when he decides to surprise Yoongi for his birthday. He makes his way slowly down the hall toward his studio, lugging the long and hefty package that came in just in time. His arms start to shake under the weight, but overtime at the gym has prepared him for moments like this.
He knocks on the Genius Lab branded door, and is surprised when a staff member opens it for him. But upon peering into the room, Jungkook spots Yoongi at his desk, fiddling around with a music track.
Yoongi turns around as Jungkook enters, maneuvering the package awkwardly but gently as to not bump it against the doorway, and the staff member returns to setting up the banners for Yoongi’s vlive later. Yoongi eyes the package inquisitively.
Jungkook smiles and sets the package on the floor at Yoongi’s feet. “Happy birthday!”
“I told you, you didn’t have to get me anything.” The pout that swells his lips melts Jungkook’s heart.
“Just open it,” he giggles. “I like getting you things.”
Yoongi cocks his head up at him, his expression deadpan. “You couldn’t have saved this for the live? Would have been cute for the fans, don’t you think?”
“Well I can’t get thank-you kisses when you’re live, can I?” A smile stretches Jungkook’s mouth and he rests his fists on his hips. “Open it, hyung.”
Yoongi picks up the package with care, and makes room on his desk to lay it down. “It’s a keyboard, I can already tell.”
Jungkook snickers. “Well open it anyway!”
Yoongi cuts the tape and opens the box, pushing the padding out of the way until he comes face to face with the packaging of the keyboard. He blinks in surprise when he realizes what he’s looking at: a highly-rated, professional-grade keyboard he had been looking into getting himself. Jungkook knows nothing about keyboards. How did he get this? “Whoa…”
“Do you like it?” Jungkook asks shyly. “I did a ton of research and this one was most commonly recommended by professional musicians and producers.”
“Well if you were looking for thank-you kisses, you sure know how to put the work in.”
Jungkook’s heart flutters as Yoongi turns around and shyly leans in. At the same time he presses a deep kiss to Jungkook’s lips, he also grabs his hand and presses his thumb tip into the side of it, a few centimeters below his index knuckle.
The feeling of Yoongi’s hand there stirs something inside Jungkook, some familiarity, but he’s too woozy from the kiss to ask about it. All he can do is watch as Yoongi tucks the box safely away until he can set it up.
“L-Let me know if it works okay, hyung. I can always return it.”
“It’s perfect. I already know it is because you got it.”
Jungkook thought maybe the butterflies in his stomach would quiet down over time as they settled into their relationship, but he was wrong.
Jungkook notices it again when Yoongi is having a bad day. It happens sometimes, where little things build up throughout the course of the day and he is forced to ignore them until he can’t. It’s most common when he is faced with a situation that is difficult for him to endure, but it’s part of idol work and no one else complains.
In this case, it’s an episode of Run that takes place in a swimming pool, and they’re doing a water sports tournament. Volleyball, water gun fights, floaty races and more to win a voucher to the hotel resort that’s sponsoring them.
Jungkook notices Yoongi is picking at his fingers before the director’s briefing is even over.
But Jungkook is proud—Yoongi puts on a brave face as he always does. He flashes a wince and a playful declaration of “I hate water!” as he sinks into the pool, which Jungkook can already tell will spawn a hundred more cat-related memes. He banters and plays along, participates as much as he probably should. But Jungkook can see cracks in the façade as the day rolls on, especially when they break for lunch. He notices the grimace in Yoongi’s face when they see the extravagant catering for their meal, which can only mean they’ll continue to film, and Yoongi will have to brave it for longer.
They do get to dry off and change into some clean clothes for lunch, which seems to improve Yoongi’s mood when he is no longer suffocated by the soaked clothes clinging around him, the chlorine irritating his skin, the sting of cold. But he still looks tired, possibly his social battery draining—he hardly eats any of the ssamgyeopsal provided for them, hiding his lack of appetite by helping with most of the cooking on the central griddle and passing it to the others.
Finally, after a few more hours of games come to an end, the winner is chosen—Jungkook and especially Yoongi have no idea who—and they wrap filming with the outro. They’re eventually herded back to the van for the long drive home. They don’t get to shower before leaving, but they are dressed down by the stylists, so at least Yoongi doesn’t feel the need to peel his own skin off at the tight and oily texture of the makeup. Despite this, Jungkook can tell that he is done. He lays limp in his seat, awake but unresponsive, and won’t let Jungkook touch him. Jungkook respects the distance, but keeps an eye on him over his phone.
The sun has gone down by the time they return to the dorm, but they’re all hungry and the fridge and cupboards are bare. Some scroll through their phones looking for restaurants.
“It’s not often these days we’re all done at the same time like this,” Namjoon reasons. “We should all go out together.”
Jungkook frowns and looks down the hall, where Yoongi has disappeared to and likely locked himself in their shared bedroom. “Hyung, can we order in? Yoongi-hyung looked a little worse for wear.”
Some looks are exchanged between members before Seokjin speaks up. “He did look tired earlier, but doesn’t he usually like it when the house is empty and silent when he needs to recharge? I don’t say that to be selfish. I actually think he’d like it more.”
Jungkook sighs and looks back down the hallway. “I’ll ask him, not sure if I’ll get an answer.”
He’s grateful to find the door unlocked, as if Yoongi knew he’d have to let Jungkook in. Jungkook is careful with the door, opening it as slowly and quietly as he can, grateful it had been greased recently. He finds the room lit, but dimly so, plunged into warm amber hues. He closes the door again and finds Yoongi curled up under the bedsheets despite the warm room, his outfit already in the laundry, most likely wearing his softest sweats and favorite fleece blanket under the thick duvet. He almost looks asleep, if not for the distant eyes.
Jungkook kneels in front of Yoongi and slips a delicate hand under the elders because he knows words are near impossible right now. “Once for no, twice for yes, and I want you to be honest with me,” he whispers. “The others were talking about going out to dinner, and I know you’re not up for it. Would that be okay with you? Do you want to be alone right now, have the place to yourself?”
Yoongi’s fingers are slow, tired, but manage to squeeze Jungkook’s hand twice.
“You would like the extra silence?” Two squeezes. “You’re okay without me?” Two squeezes. “Would you feel left out?” One squeeze.
Jungkook slips his hand away, knowing he’s asking a lot of Yoongi already, and so grateful for his cooperation. “Thank you, hyungie. I’ll bring you something back, okay?” He gives him a gentle peck on the forehead and leaves the room, shutting it carefully behind him.
Jungkook follows the others when they pick a nice restaurant and request a private room. It isn’t a busy night for them, so it’s easy to get in without a reservation. They sit around the large table, drinking and bantering, giggling at the way Namjoon grimaces at the lobster. They all feel Yoongi’s absence, but they know he’s doing just fine being allowed to recharge by himself—he always looks so exhausted and miserable after a rough day, and bounces back a lot quicker if he can be by himself while he’s in “factory reset mode,” as Jimin calls it.
“I have half a mind to make a phone call to PD-nim about today,” Seokjin huffs over his pasta. “He knows Yoongi doesn’t like swimming.”
“We’re all taken out of our comfort zone sometimes, hyung,” Namjoon replies. “I don’t think Yoongi-hyung would want you to make a big deal out of it.”
“I just hate seeing him like that,” Seokjin mumbles.
“Me too,” Jungkook mumbles over his steak. “He acts like it’s not a big deal, but…sometimes I wonder what he isn’t telling even me.”
“I think we all do,” Namjoon says solemnly.
Dinner is peaceful, and allows everyone to wind down. The waitstaff bring boxes, and Jungkook scoops the last of the lobster, hanwoo and kimchi to bring home to Yoongi. Once everything is paid for, they leave quietly to their waiting van, and make the journey home under the dark sky.
When they return to the dorm, Jungkook picks up a pair of chopsticks and heads straight to the bedroom, and opens the door slowly. He sees Yoongi sitting upright, browsing his phone. The elder perks up at the smell of the food as Jungkook approaches the bed.
“Feeling better?” Jungkook asks.
“Yeah.” Yoongi scoots over, so Jungkook joins him under the sheets.
“I brought you some leftovers, hope that’s okay.”
“Good. Better with the smell.”
Jungkook figures that talking is still a bit hard, if the slurred slowness of his words is any indication, but he can tell he meant that he prefers food without a strong smell in his current state. He passes the box and chopsticks off to Yoongi. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Cats.”
Jungkook giggles. “Of course.” He finds the remote and turns on the TV, then opens Youtube and searches for cat videos. He tries to find new ones, even though Yoongi doesn’t mind repeats.
As the screen becomes filled with adorable stumbling kittens and adult cats acting silly, Jungkook’s eyes drift to his own feline. He smiles at the videos as he picks at lukewarm food, and his body physically relaxes back into the realm of normalcy.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Jungkook says.
Yoongi grabs his hand then, almost as if he’s trying to hold it, only to press a finger into a certain spot before returning to his meal. Jungkook looks down at his hand in bewilderment.
“Hyung…what was that?”
“I’ll tell you if I need something” was all he said, his gaze transfixed on the TV.
The truth finally comes out in the darkest hour, both figuratively and literally.
Jungkook doesn’t know why he has days like this. There’s usually a catalyst, but they’re often unpredictable and almost always happen at work, where he can’t avoid them. And whenever an incident triggers upset, he feels as though he should be able to handle it, which makes him feel worse.
There’s no reason why he should feel anything other than flattered when the talk show hosts keep hyping him up, showering him with praise for his many talents. But each playful compliment about his paintings or singing or dance moves feel like a blow to his chest, a voice growling in his head: Lies. Lies. Lies.
He isn’t this amazing, multitalented being. He’s a performer with chronic muscle pain, who cheats on his diets and watches Netflix on days off instead of engaging in hobbies like his other idol friends. He’s the baby of the biggest band in the world and gets treated as such all the time. He’s not some grand super genius, he’s not—
He meant to hold it together until Yoongi fell asleep, to cry quietly where no one can hear him. But as he drips tears and hiccups into his pillow, he suddenly feels the mattress shift behind him, and a warm hand weighs down on his waist. He squeaks, unable to contain the terrified and humiliated sobs as his walls crumble down.
“’M sorry…”
“Jungkook-ah, talk to me.” Yoongi’s voice is garbled with sleep, but so worried and upset. It makes Jungkook cry harder, guilt piling on his anguish.
He sits up, and Yoongi turns on the light. Jungkook stares at his lap. “It’s just…everyone says all these things about me. Says there’s nothing I can’t do. I’m the golden maknae and amazing and so talented… But I can’t do everything. And I’m gonna slip up one day, and all that buildup’s gonna fall away, and it’s a long way down. And I’ll have nothing…”
Yoongi waits until he’s sure Jungkook is done speaking. “No one’s going to do that to you. The fans love you, and the institutions will too if they know what’s good for you. I swear some ARMY will defend you with their life.”
“But they don’t know me!” Jungkook coughs out a sob and rubs at his eyes. “I love them and all, but…they don’t know. All the stuff I don’t do on camera, they don’t know!”
“I do.” Yoongi reaches out and grips his hand. “I know that you left home as a teenager to pursue your dreams, with no idea on where it’d take you. I remember when you were my dinner buddy who joined me for lamb skewers every chance we got with our meager earnings. I look at you and think about how you can eat four bowls of spicy ramyeon in one sitting, or how you leave your socks all over the apartment, and yes I know it’s you because literally no one else here wears toe socks.” He lets out a long sigh, pushes the complex feelings into words. “I…think about how much more fulfilling my life is with you in it. Not because you can dance or sing or anything. Just because you’re you, and really, isn’t that enough?”
Jungkook sobs softly and slowly leans into Yoongi, his tears soaking into the warmth of his oversized shirt. Yoongi’s hands are careful on him, unsure of where to lay, but keeping him close.
They stay like that until Jungkook can breathe, when he feels lighter and a bit softer. In his calmer but more sensitive state, he becomes aware of Yoongi’s hand gripping his own, rubbing his fingertip into the flesh in the same spot where he always does. He stares at it, watches the motion, when he realizes something he’d never noticed before—Yoongi’s finger is pressed over the purple heart inked into his right hand. Somehow he’d never questioned it, barely even noticed it. But all this time, there’s been some sort of purpose to the spot that the gesture fell on.
“Wh…What are you doing?” Jungkook’s voice is muted and wavering from crying, but inquisitive and healing.
“Hmm?” Yoongi hums, and Jungkook flips his thumb up to catch his finger.
“You always do that. You press my little heart. What does it mean?”
“What does it mean?”
“Mm.”
Yoongi fidgets against him, uncomfortable, words scrambling in his chest. “Well…that purple heart. I always saw it as your love box.”
“My love box?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi replies. “The entry point for where you receive all your love. I’m just making a deposit.”
Jungkook feels his chest flutter, a million butterflies bursting forth and swarming inside him at the revelation. All this time, all these gestures, and that is what Yoongi has been trying to tell him? How could he have been so blind? He was fine with not hearing it verbally, but knowing Yoongi has been saying it in his own Yoongi way makes his insides feel like sugar and pixie dust. He looks up at Yoongi, his smile genuine and cutting through the former tear tracks.
“I know what you’re trying to say. God, you make me so happy!” Jungkook cups his face, and pulls him into a passionate kiss. Yoongi presses the tattoo harder, and it feels as though there is nothing beyond their little bubble of light, two perfect souls floating around peacefully and needed nothing but each other.