I decided to do a little something and I thought I’d share. I didn’t start using procreate until a few months ago and I’m still crap at people but I just loved this MV so much and wanted to recreate this. 💕
title: yoongi’s interlude: fugue (pt. 4)
pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)
series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 | fugue pt. 1 | fugue pt. 2 | fugue pt. 3
rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au
summary: he would do anything for you, even if that means leaving your light... to venture into his dark.
note: fugue—in music, a compositional procedure characterized by the systematic imitation of a principal theme in simultaneously sounding melodic lines ; a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment.
note 2: we are finally, finally here. the fourth and last part of yoongi’s second interlude. it’s heavy, it’s deep, and there’s even new main storyline content at the end. 3tan is right back to our main schedule now and seriously i could cry (okay spoiler alert i did lol)
warnings: language, tension, reader being the baddest, chains :)) bc why wouldn't there be!!, kissing as a warning, yoongi pov of The Scene, and another yoongi pov of Another Scene, emotional moments, a certain character makes an appearance??, main story content weewooweewoo, fluff, so much fluff, there's just so much in here
nsfw warnings: under the cut!
drop date: april 7th, 2026, 7:17pm est
word count: 12.5k :))
nsfw warnings: yoongi nsfw pov :))), oral (f rec), unprotected, choking, slapping, egging on because it's yoongi, multiple orgasms, ......love making................., protected, multiple rounds bc they're in fuckin' love what can i SAY!, yoongi's mouth is a warning?, reader's reactions are also a warning??, anyway, chains again, and so much care too<33
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You ignore him and get right to work. And he feels like absolute shit.
Why are you doing this? Why aren’t you running? Why are you choosing to stay when he’s been nothing but ice cold?
Garbage bag in hand, you waste no time gathering up his mania. Do you even see the blood? Do you not care about what just happened?
No. It’s not that you don’t care.
It’s that you care too much.
Instead of leaving him to drown, you dive in right after him, swimming deeper and deeper and not caring about saving yourself. And as Yoongi can only stand there, he feels unable to move. Unable to breathe. Waiting for you to turn around and go back up for air but you don’t and it’s killing him.
It’s when you come back with a broom that he finally snaps into action, gripping your hand that holds the handle and exhaling at your hot touch.
You’re too good to him. “Stop.”
“No.”
Which makes this so fucking hard to watch. “Just go, please.”
“No.”
Fuck. Your stubbornness stabs into his chest. Over, and over, Yoongi can’t bear to have you witness this yet he’s pained just begging you to leave. It’s layers and layers of hurt and frustration but you. Keep. Swimming.
Don’t drown with him. Don’t follow him into the dark.
The crinkle of glass surrounds your feet and it’s too much to bear. He can’t even feel his toes he feels so numb, but having you see all of this pains him to no end because he’d been trying so hard to keep this side of himself from your welling eyes.
How foolish.
But if you’re gonna stay, at least let him clean his own shit. Aren’t you supposed to be home? At Yuri’s? Your brother is just as cut and banged up as he is, shouldn’t you be there with him instead? “I got it.”
“Let me do it.”
“Your brother needs you.”
“Yeah, well, I already tore the fuck into him and I’m gonna do the same to you.” As you yank the broom further from his control, you growl out a command so potent Yoongi can’t even push back, “So sit down.”
Sit down? He’d rather do anything else right now. Kiss you. Make you leave. Grab hold of you and never go anywhere else.
In the end, he can’t do shit. Because you’re a beautiful tempest and he’s letting your storm run free in his living room. It’s for good, for good, for good. Fuck, everything hurts. This is all for good.
That is all he can tell himself before dumping his battered body at his dining table.
With each piece you pick up, one by one, you clean out his wounds, you suck up the pain that’s festered for so long with tear-soaked cheeks and spit it all out with your quiet rage.
The adrenaline from facing serious injury and possibly something worse still courses through Yoongi’s veins. He can’t even sit still, fidgeting in his chair and raking shaky hands through damp strands.
With one look at your face scrunched with worry, he can’t take it anymore. You have to leave. You have to, have to, have to. Caging you next to his dining table, he stops your strides with finality. “You’ve done enough.”
“I still need to—”
“Just.” He looks away from your tears. “Go home, doll. I can’t do this tonight.”
“Do what? I’m helping you.”
If nothing else is working? There is one way to do this. A way that will change how you perceive him and not in a positive light at all. Light would require at least some semblance of warmth or care. This solution is completely void of it.
It’s only five words. Only six syllables. But all of them sting and poison him on the way out, because this is downright caustic,
“Who said I needed it?”
You immediately recoil.
Shit, shit, shit, this isn’t him. This is fucking ludicrous but he can’t stop himself from surging forward with muck on his legs.
“Yoongi, what? Are you serious?”
“You think I’m joking?”
“You’re kicking me out? What happened to saying you’d never do that, huh?”
“I say a lot of things.”
Fuck. That wasn’t what he…
…Fuck.
Well. That’s it then. You’re smart, way smarter than you give yourself credit for. Which means you’ll pick up on that vibrant red flag he just swung with both arms and abandon him completely tonight.
Nodding, you look away, shaking your head in a way that tells him he’s two seconds from getting snapped into pieces. And Yoongi knows he damn well deserves it. “You know what? You do say a lot of things.”
Walking away, you start to… organize his things? “Like how perfect I am.” You keep going, shifting things around with a tone so alarming his heart may have beat a little. “And how there’s no one else.”
After a second, you face him again. And it seems like you are wanting to sling heat around too because you know what you’re saying isn’t true and it’s pissing him off. “Those are just words, too, huh?”
You are perfect. There is no one else.
If those were just words he wouldn’t have risked his life to—
What a fucking shit show. He can’t speak of what went down tonight so this is going nowhere.
With this insane dilemma looming over his head, Yoongi is fully aware his next laugh is anything but nice. “Nah… Not tonight.”
“Not tonight what.”
“We aren’t doing this tonight.”
“The fuck we aren’t. Where are you going?”
“Nowhere.” Yoongi shifts his head, hiding the very obvious cuts that he’s starting to feel more and more the longer this scathing verbal sparring goes on. “But you’re going home.”
Laced in this silence, there’s still rage. There’s still passion, and it’s a fine line because he hates himself for getting to this point and he doesn’t understand why you’re still here and won’t leave him. So stubborn, so like him, so unbelievably loyal and good and everything he needs to be.
But you say something that lights his chest and kicks his brain into gear, because he can’t even believe you continue with complete nonsense,
“So this is how it happens, huh. Now I’m just like everyone else.”
Both feet firmly planted and shoulders rising a little higher, Yoongi faces you head on, feeling the most alert he’s been since you rushed in. The fire in his chest licks at his lungs, propelling smoke all the way to his ears. “You’re gonna go there?”
Your response is immediate. “I am.”
And it takes everything inside of him to not explode. Treating you like everyone else? You know that’s bullshit. So if you’re just saying all this to fuck with him, it’s fucking working. The only thing he can come back with is a single syllable because if he says anything else, it’s gonna lead to hell fast. “Wow.”
Suddenly, you dig into the offensive, the chasm between the two of you shaking under the weight of your argument, “You think I wanted to come here? After what all of you did?”
“Do you even know?”
“No! But how the fuck would I? You don’t tell me shit!”
“That’s cus—”
Fire spews from your lips, scorching everything at his feet and rendering him speechless yet again, “I can take care of myself. But none of you told me about that dude from the court. None of you.”
Fuck. Yoongi knows this, he’s the one that started this whole conversation in Jimin’s car—
“If I had known? That whole Dalo thing could’ve been avoided and I would’ve ran.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. It’s all coming back. Everything he did led to this, including not telling you shit, and you’re more hurt than he even imagined. The self-loathing has reached a new high, and he can feel blood from where his teeth bite into his tongue.
Didn’t he just kill the shadow in his room? Why is he still struggling to breathe?
“And today? You know how fucking scared I was? If I… I…”
Yoongi can’t do anything but stare, and stare, and stare some more.
He’d been so focused on getting you out of there and keeping everyone safe that he didn’t even think about how afraid you were. How terrified you were after you left in screams and tears that he can still hear ringing about his head.
“You know what?” Your empty laugh sends shivers to his fingertips. “Forget it. You’re not even listening anyway.”
And Yoongi finally snaps with another flitter of sparks. Because he is and he knows but this isn’t how he wants to speak to you. Not with a canyon of hurt and desperation between your hearts. “I swear to—I just said not tonight.”
“No, I get it. I do! You want me gone. Sure. See you in three more months.”
…What?
No. No, no, no, that’s not what he means. You gotta take him at face value. He just means not tonight so you don’t have to see him at his lowest and he doesn’t want to show this monstrous side of him that’s hurting you all over again. “Are you serious?”
But why would you take him at face value? Why would you give him any slack right now? He sure as fuck doesn’t deserve it with the way he’s treating you. Fuck, he’s even slipping on things he would never do. What the fuck is wrong with him?
“Yes, I am. Trying to help you but it looks like you don’t even want that. So good fucking bye.”
This is what he wants, right? This is what he was fighting you for this entire time? He got what he wanted. You’re going back up for air.
Now he just has to seal your decision the only way he can. Because nothing else has worked so far and he’s been too cowardly—or just fucking sensical—to go here.
But with a vice clamped around his lungs, he does. Blackout shutters around his soul, Yoongi utters a sentence he would never, in any other circumstance, ever say to you. A question that sends white hot tears to the corners of his tired eyes.
“Who asked you?”
Ice fills the chasm between.
Your eyes penetrate into the deepest parts of him, staring him down like he’s a stranger and rightfully so because this isn’t him. Fuck, this isn’t—this isn’t him and he is crumbling into ashes at your feet but he can’t bear to let you witness him like this another second.
When your response shakes, Yoongi feels his heart give out. “Who asked me? Who asked me.”
This is the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life. “That’s what I said.”
How is he still on both feet when you’re looking at him like that? Your silence carves out his heart, but this is how to finally get you to leave. To run. To rid yourself of this burden sinking him lower, and lower, and lower.
“You know what? Kiss my ass, Yoongi.”
Rock bottom. It hurts.
None of the hits he took tonight compare to the anguish this is putting him through. Absolutely nothing will. Yoongi is starting to fight out of his own chains because he can’t stand being in them.
The damage has already been done but he’s drowning now. Get out. Claw a way out!
Dead silence rings in his ears, reaching a stinging buzz and crashing into the sound of rain and thunder. His body is thrashing out of his mind and clawing a way to the surface.
But you drift further. And further. And further. The waves between you both crest high and fall fast, and Yoongi’s vision swims as he sways. You’re almost gone. Good. Good. You’re almost gone for good.
…For good?
No. No no no, that’s the farthest thing from good fuck fuck fuck.
Yoongi can’t even recall his body tearing through the ocean of his living room so fast but he’s already at the door, slamming it shut and grasping your body for dear life. It all happens so swiftly that his fingers catch between your back and solid wood, his nails stinging from the pain and his ears ringing from your outright shouting—
“God, what the fuck! I told you to—We didn’t hear from you for hours and I—I didn’t know if you were okay—”
The heart in his chest plummets with each weak thump of your hands. “Whoa, hold u—”
“I thought the worst and I—didn’t even get a chance to—I finally told you want I wanted and you—Fuck—”
Yoongi’s finally alert. He’s awake. He’s staying afloat and now he needs to pull you ashore because you are flailing in your own current of emotion. It takes everything for him to think straight and just get you to— “Just listen—”
“Don’t ever do that again! I don’t wanna lose you and today was so fucking scary and I’m not, fucking, leaving—”
Thank god.
Doing the one thing that may shut you up and quell your worries, Yoongi smashes his lips against yours, pushing into you so hard water leaks from his eyes. Because you still have to go at some point, which means this could be his last taste in a long time. “I swear to—”
You almost lost him.
Which means he almost left you behind.
What the fuck is he doing fighting you?
Anger from today and frustration with himself seize the reins, and he yanks you back to have you against another wall. There’s madness skimming along his bones and firing in his bloodstream. And Yoongi welcomes all the energy you’re unleashing in return, raking through his hair and his skin and blowing his eyes all the way out.
He doesn’t even recognize his voice as he rips out a question, “Can’t fucking listen, can you?”
“No.”
When you shove him back, Yoongi can feel his soul go obsidian, welcoming the way you tug him into a ravaging kiss, tearing at your clothes because he can’t stand to be even one layer beyond your skin.
What the fuck is happening? You have to leave. Didn’t he just fight for you to go? What’s his body doing? Suddenly his hand is around your throat and his heart booms at the spark in your eyes. Fuck, he needs you. Fucking hell, why do you have to be so fucking devoted? “Shouldn’t even fucking be here.”
“When has that ever stopped us.”
Don’t say shit like that.
Yoongi drags you backward and into his dining table, careful to not trip you up on the way. As much as he’s relishing your rebellion, there’s a part of him that’s still terrified. “He’s still home.”
“So?”
“Shouldn’t you—”
“Then kick me out!” His hand lets off your throat now. And for a second, he can’t speak. “For real. Let me go. Fucking do it then.”
Gripping a bit tighter again, Yoongi gives out of control at your groan. Fucking shit, this is breaking him down so fast and you didn’t even have to do anything. All you had to do was defy his words and call every single fucking bluff he had.
Because he wanted nothing more than for you to be right here. Nothing else matters. Not the wounds on his body, not the catastrophe of his place, not the thunder and rain outside.
Only you. “You aren’t gonna leave me alone.”
You meet his eyes with fire.
“Are you.”
The look on your face tells him everything he needs to know. No words are exchanged as the atmosphere sparks and fizzles, and yet, Yoongi understands every single fucking word.
The moment you walked in, Yoongi had already lost. “Goddamn it.”
Giving into the most primal of urges, the most savage of needs, tension snaps with a burst of orange and red. Claws and fangs glint in the night, rage and passion clutching each other before crashing down together.
Devouring you and letting you have your way with him is ecstatic, a high, all consuming and Yoongi doesn’t know when anger morphs into desperation. But it does, it does, it does, and the outpouring of frustration and relief and realization that you’re here is draining him exactly how he wants.
Taking while being taken. Worshipping while being worshipped. Everything he’d been feeling over the last three months funnels into this very moment and spills out of his system like an open, gushing wound. Toxins and pain runneth over, releasing and freeing and letting his bones free to stretch and grow again. Though battered and bruised, Yoongi feels whole again. Like he never was, or always was? With you.
Was this all he had to do?
All he had to do was let you in?
You come undone, then you unravel beneath him again. The sight he thought he’d never see again unfolds in front of his very eyes and Yoongi drinks you in like a man starved on the brink of collapse. Maybe he still fucking is, because the burn he feels in his body won’t quell. The pain in his soul won’t ebb. The sobs in his ear won’t stop.
Wait, fuck fuck, that’s you? “Baby.”
You don’t quit, so he calls you again. And when nothing else works, Yoongi cracks out your name with a snap and grabs your chin to bring you back. Shit, he should’ve been paying attention.
Fuck, you look so exhausted. He knows he’s responsible for that pain in your eyes. That anguish in your brows. But Yoongi will deal with that once you’re coherent and present again.
It takes you a bit to come back to him, but you do like the strong, fierce one you are. Fuck, you’re incredible even in your weakest moments. Something he’s come to love and aspire to match.
When you beg him to not kick you out, Yoongi feels chains tug his heart taut. Pulled in so many directions, he feels the need to take deep breaths himself, and he’s so caught up in your pleas that he births a new nickname that has his brain spiraling,
“Breathe, angel.”
No time to think about that now. The only real explanation for him saying it out loud is the fact he’s thought it so many times his brain decided it needed to be set free.
You tell him he’s perfect the way he is, and Yoongi falters. Everything you say while in his arms and fighting tears will be burned in his memory forever, and he’ll let those words carry him onto softer shores, sparkling and welcoming just like you.
He doesn’t even realize he starts to cry until you tell him it’s okay. And he lets himself rest in the solace of your embrace until he remembers that you came in through the pouring rain.
When you offer to share the blame? That’s when Yoongi can’t fight it anymore. This beautiful, blooming soul in his arms is radiating enough light to wash away his darkness. He has no choice but to surrender to you—his life, his devotion, his everything.
Of course you would offer to share the blame. It’s so inherently you that Yoongi’s emotions run down with the shower spray, and he clutches onto you like life would stop as soon as he let go.
Water. Sunlight. Warmth.
From the mud in his chest, reaching up towards his beloved, Yoongi finally feels new life bloom.
—
—
Darkness no longer clouds the edges of his eyes, and he can see moonlight crisper and more ethereal than he’d ever seen it before. Washed ashore, lying still, and staring at a sea of stars, Yoongi thinks his view almost looks as pretty as you. But he realizes this is because it is you. He’s there in your eyes, amongst those flecks of light. It’s breathtaking. It’s…
You give him a tiny smile before turning to leave his bedroom. And Yoongi follows with his vision swimming.
This feeling…
You’re both in the kitchen now, his feet planted on warm tile as you grab your phone to do whatever’s in that beautiful brain of yours. God, you’re ethereal just standing there, so gorgeous, so present. His life’s most precious gift. “What shall we eat… Stew? Or, wait—”
Yoongi watches as you give him a once over. “Actually, let’s figure you out first.”
As you speak, he can’t offer anything. He can’t even move, because something is growing in his chest and it’s starting to feel like he’ll burst. “Okay, let’s see. You’re breathing fine, so no bruised ribs. Umm…”
This feeling… It’s an urge. It’s an irrevocable emotion.
It’s all you. All Yoongi sees is you. Light. Shine. Glow. The rainbow that came after the rain, casting color and new life into his dulled existence and clearing his mind of all sludge. His ribs are battered, but this has been the easiest he can breathe.
“It looks really bad there, though. You sure you can move right?”
How does that even make sense? How do you manage to make him second guess his life at every turn? He can be happy, even if it doesn’t make sense now.
Your radiance is just beyond his cracked, clawed walls, and this need to fight his way out is stronger than it’s ever been. You deserve his best. You want every piece of him.
Every version of him.
Throat burning and breath short, Yoongi runs across his mind, footsteps unimpeded towards the door he’s been waiting behind, clenching his fist around the knob and yanking it all the way open to pull himself through without resistance and turning towards the shimmering expanse across his eyes.
“Okay, so no bruised ribs, and according to this you don’t have any broken bones. And nothing fractured, either, thank god—”
And sunlight conquers the dark.
“I love you.”
You stop as soon as his heart thrums, pulsing with purpose, with the intention of keeping him full and alive because that’s exactly how he feels.
Alive.
You question what he says, but Yoongi doesn’t answer with words. The emotion pooling in his eyes will have to suffice, because if he says what he really wants to say? You’d probably run from how ahead of himself he really is.
So instead, surrounded by a kitchen that has seen the worst and best of him, Yoongi simply repeats out loud what’s been fact for months now,
“I love you, doll.”
It’s okay that you don’t move. It’s okay if you don’t say anything back.
He almost lost you. And you may have almost lost him had it not been for everyone else there. To even be able to confess is a blessing in itself, and even if you don’t reciprocate, Yoongi is more than fine with that. Because he’s still on this earth, in this lifetime, and this version of him was able to find this version of you.
And he’ll do it again, and again, and again.
“And you don’t have to say anything. I know I don’t deserve to. I can’t be everything you want. Or need. Or whatever the fuck I’m trying to say. But I just needed you to know because I can’t fucking fight this shit anymore—”
When you rush to embrace him with the utmost care, it proves too much to hide anything else. Yoongi’s walls fully fall with the tears from his eyes as you cry into his skin. Words bump and collide into each other as he fails to express how grateful he is to be alive and to be in your arms. It’s too much to bear. It’s too much to convey. All he can do is fucking sob. “Goddamn it, I love you—”
“Yoongi—”
“—so fucking much.”
You didn’t deny him. You didn’t look repulsed, or disappointed, or angry. All the fears that berated him for days prove useless and wrong and there’s no better feeling that exists in the spectrum of human emotion.
Orange and blue coalesce and intertwine, and his mind shines with a rainbow of iridescence, scintillating and bounding like the suncatchers in your eyes.
With his next blinks, something happens that renders his mind speechless.
He slowly looks beyond your shoulder and sees a figment of himself—a younger version with big dreams and a battered heart—standing at the edge of his kitchen and donning a look of trepidation.
Before realizing that everything’s going to be alright.
Yeah, kid. Everything is more than alright.
And this only makes Yoongi cry harder, and he watches himself grin before offering a simple nod, walking out with hands in his pockets and fading footsteps.
Healed.
“Yoongi.”
His name leaves your lips so cracked that it hurts him in the best way. It takes all of him to hold you tight, finding shelter from his own shower of tears in the crook of your shoulder.
This is what he’ll remember forever. Your outpouring of emotion receiving his biggest fear with warmth. He should’ve seen this coming, but darkness and trauma has a damn good way of beating your expectations down into dust. Just like the glass shattered across his living room floor not too long ago.
You still haven’t said anything. But this is more than enough. This is everything Yoongi could ask for and he’s cherishing every millisecond he gets with you in this newfound life, this life beyond his own, this eternity.
“Yoongi, I—”
He swoops in to catch your words in his mouth, and it’s in this very moment that he realizes that he’s terrified of anything you have to say back. Is that ridiculous? Is that unreasonable? He doesn’t care. There’s a chance these past three months have changed your mind and he’s not ready to hear it if that’s the case.
Just stay here with him and let him love you. Just stay here by his side and let him watch you with a vision finally unclouded.
Yoongi backs you up into the opposite counter, smothering you with everything else he wants to say but can’t. Because anything else he wants to confess still scares the living shit out of him.
Your breathy words already hit harder when you finally speak again, “I… I can’t… Yoongi—”
He can’t either. Whatever you’re about to say, he fucking can’t, either. Holding your head, he plants his forehead on yours. “I’m sorry,” he rasps out, hoping you can tell he means it, for everything. “I won’t ever be able to say that enough.”
“Baby,” you hiccup, resting a hand over one of his. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
How can he ever make all of this up to you? The distance, the shutout, the shutdown, the way he tried to get you to leave. All of it weighs his heart down and forces out apologies to his brain. Over, and over, he can only say sorry. And he’s so fucking relieved that he gets to tell you because he made it out and they all survived.
“It is.” You squeeze his hand, and he immediately calms. Inhaling your natural scent, he lowers his lids as you whisper, “You’re okay, so I’m okay.”
All you wanted was for him to be okay. And all he needed for that to happen was having you right here.
This is deeper than love.
After he plants a warm kiss on your temple, he feels so goddamned overwhelmed he has to ball his fists. “I just—fuck.”
“Babe,” you say with the softest care, “I’m here.”
“I know.” He sighs, smushing into your lips and holding you so tenderly, yet so tight. As he laps at your tongue, salt coats his lips and he knows what it means.
You’re here. He almost got you to leave. And you almost did and he finally, finally, finally fought for you to stay.
Yoongi plants kisses all over your skin, marvelling at how perfect you are even if you don’t believe it. You’re everything. And he’s so drawn to you that he can feel his body responding without pause.
But he won’t give into those urges unless you want him to. He can live off your little breaths, your roaming hands, your small hitches as he keeps peppering love along your canvas. This can be enough to keep him going well into the next year or ten.
His name leaves your mouth in a sigh, your back arching just how he loves. “If you only knew,” he whispers, laughing to himself as he wraps an arm around your side.
“Knew what?”
“Nothing, babe.” He captures your lips again, and he can feel that you want what he wants. And his heart pulses in double time. “You’re so—fuck.”
His hands find yours as he starts to walk to the bedroom, leading you and loving how your fingers slot into his perfectly. When you both reach the bed, you stop him with a little question of concern, “Are you sure?”
“I’ll be alright, doll.” There’s nothing but care in his movements as he lowers you down, transfixed by how beautiful you are in his sheets. The fact that you’re down to do this again after taking him so well has his mind spinning. “As much as I think you enjoyed the first time, this time will be better.”
Giggling, you read him like a story you’ve memorized, “You enjoyed it more than I did, I think.”
“I don’t think so.” A lie. “Lemme get a cond—”
“It’s okay.”
…What did you just say?
Yoongi needs clarification on what the fuck you just said because he is now convinced this whole night is a dream and he’s hallucinating you in his bed and he’s gonna wake up to none of this happening at all because what the fuck did you just say? “...What?”
“We don’t…” You swallow, and his heart stops completely at your next sentence. “We don’t have to this time.”
There’s no fucking way. “You sure?”
Cradling his face with the softest of touches, you confirm with a smile so shy Yoongi wants to shield you from the rest of the world, “Just for a little bit.”
And you add something he absolutely needed to hear because his breaths haven’t resumed. “I trust you.” When your eyes slightly waver, Yoongi crumbles at your last words, “And I want to, if you want it, too.”
Of course he wants this. But hearing the suggestion come from you? That’s new, and he’s not complaining in the least. “I want what you want, doll.”
“Then it’s okay.”
His fingers. They’re already fucking shaking.
But Yoongi’s not going to say anything to change the trajectory of this moment. Something about his bedroom feels different, as if it’s been plucked from this universe and placed in a separate pocket of time where only the two of you exist.
You aren’t wavering in your gaze. All you do is stare with pools in your eyes as he slowly peels clothes from your legs and his own. Determination is all he can see, and that solidifies his confession that he’ll keep saying again, and again, and again.
Can you hear how breathless he sounds? Can you feel every shiver running up and down his spine? Do you notice how he could disintegrate at any moment?
But before you both do this for real, he has to be absolutely sure. One last time.
And you respond without him having to ask. “Yes, my love.”
After a kiss he’ll remember forever, Yoongi kisses you back, taking his time and inundating your lips with every bit of him that he deems good. There’s a mix of emotion as he positions himself, and he has to fight the shakes when he feels the velvet touch of your folds.
Holy fuck, he’s not gonna last. He already knows this won’t take long purely based on the way he’s already fighting hard to keep his fucking composure.
But you’re so slick that it doesn’t take much for him to slide in, and the feeling of being fully molded into you is so incredible he could pass out. What the fuck. “Holy fucking shit.”
“Yoongi—”
“Fuck.”
You’re already clenching around him. Oxygen can’t even reach his lungs. There’s no greater feeling in the world than what’s vibrating in his bones, getting to feel the person he loves just like this. Whole. Yoongi feels so whole and he knows you’re fighting to prolong this feeling just as hard as he is.
Which only makes this shit even harder goddamn.
Your giggle barely reaches his ears, “You good, baby?”
He turns to watch your eyes, wondering when the fuck he got so close and wondering if he’s still even living. “Yeah, just...” He stares before finally taking a breath, exhaling hard from exertion alone. “Just this is about to make me bust.”
When you laugh, your admittance coaxes a long, lopsided grin, “I was just thinking the same, holy shit. We’re not good at this.”
Now that is a fuckin’ lie on your part. “No. You’re too good at this. I can’t even move.”
“Yes, you can,” you whine. “You wreck my shit all the time.”
Fucking hell. You have to know how much power you have in that whine. Preventing himself from coming inside you legitimately hurts at this point. Not that he’s complaining but god. “Doll, if you keep talking like that, I’m pulling out.”
“Okay, okay,” you surrender, giggling again and making him weaker and weaker.
His voice is so strained it’s embarrassing. “You’re a little too perfect right now.” When you shake your head, he will not have any of that doubt in his face. “You are.”
“Nowhere close.”
You don’t wanna do that. Facing you nose to nose, Yoongi taunts, welcoming this distraction from busting in your beautiful folds. “Say that again and see what happens.”
“Is that what you tell all the others fuck!”
Fuck, you take his thrusts so well. His cock is outright throbbing now. “What did I fuckin’ say?”
“What—”
Another launch has your mouth flopping open, and Yoongi can’t think straight anymore. All he can spit out is everything as raw as you’re taking him, “You think there’s someone else? Hmm?”
He pushes forward again. And your expression makes him moan so guttural it even gets himself going. Grabbing your chin, he feels sweat under his fingers as he vows, “You’re gonna regret saying that.”
You just laugh, and Yoongi groans at his next thrust and how deep he goes. When you taunt him again, he can only glower with pride, thrusting up again and sending you twisting and thrashing in passionate waves. “Uh huh.”
“Make me then,” you gasp for air. “Make me really sorry.”
How could he ever deny you?
His hands find your body before he dives, breaking loose and ramming into you as hard and fast as his hips allow. The pain in his side rises which each swing, but that doesn’t matter. You feel so perfect around him he thinks he can stay here until he’s physically yanked from this plane of existence.
Heaven. “Taking me so well like this.”
“I—”
“So fucking tight.”
Animal instincts scratch along Yoongi’s brain, blurring his vision and buzzing his actions into staccato jolts. When your jaw hangs, the first thing he thinks to do is smack your cheek, and he grunts when your eyes darken three shades,
“Do it again.”
Did you just—
“Do it again,” you growl, moaning to the sky when he obliges a second time oh fuck you’re cutting his airway and it careens him into carnal bliss.
Fuck, the pain feels good. So good that everything roars in his core and he turns completely primal, forfeiting all sense of decency and ravishing you exactly how he wants and exactly how you need. What the fuck is his shirt still doing on your body? That needs to go. But too much time would be wasted getting it off, but he can settle with shoving it up and devouring your chest just like this oh yes.
“Oh, fuck, Yoongi!”
“Uh uh.”
“Please—please—”
Lapping at your tits is one of his favorite things at this point. Almost as natural as embracing you and holding down your beautiful wrists just to watch you preen with a smile. Because this is exactly what you do now, teeth shining in the night and eyes creased and slicing through his beating, beating, beating heart.
Yoongi’s sure he’s stuttering out words that praise you, but there’s nothing truly registering in his head other than your sinful, angelic sounds. Truthfully, these moans you’re puffing out are enough to send him over the edge because you sound so fucking pretty.
“Baby,” you gasp. “I’m close, I’m—”
Shit shit shit, he’s gonna— “Shit.”
The last braincell he has commands his entire body, lunging up and pulling out of his newfound home before spilling mercilessly onto your exposed stomach, shuddering and shivering from lust and passion and something else scarier than the rest.
Hearing nothing from your lips, Yoongi finally regards you with ragged breaths.
You look so in shock. And he’s so exposed and snapped lucid that he is now downright shy. “Fuck,” he shakes out with a laugh. “Thought I could hold out.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure, laughing light and offering a smile. “Oh my god, I promise.”
Something must now be very wrong with him, or the wiring in his brain has been changed. Because every time he sees your lips? There’s an innate need to kiss them. It’s almost blasphemous if he doesn’t.
Fuck. He winces on the way down. There’s no doubt you saw that, which sucks. He doesn’t want you to worry about him, those lines on your forehead don’t need to be there.
“Stay there, beautiful.” Shit, getting out of the bed hurts even worse now. I’m not done with you.”
“Baby, are you sure?”
He’s sure. You don’t need to lift a single finger tonight unless it’s for him to kiss.
Walking to the bathroom and facing away, Yoongi can finally let his strong demeanor drop, wincing fully and squinting his eyes in pain. But it should subside in just a bit. Going too hard was probably the worst decision, but there was no way he was passing that shit up if you wanted it.
From the time he comes back to sit on the bed, to wiping your face and your stomach, Yoongi doesn’t feel your stare let up even once. Which is fine. This is the most calm he’s ever felt in his life, cleaning the love of his life after a connection he didn’t expect to have until you both had reached another milestone.
But as soon as he stares back, that’s when you look away. And it’s so adorable his heart beats a shade of lavender. “What, love.”
“I just… nothing,” you whisper.
“Tell me.” You’re not hiding anything from him now—fuck, he probably shouldn’t lie on this side. But fuck it. “I wanna know.”
Well. Not on your watch apparently. You command him to lie on your other side, and he’s not gonna be told twice. Shit is hurting like hell right now.
But he settles at your side, ears perked and awaiting your every syllable. “It’s a secret.”
Huh. “A secret?”
“Mmhmm.”
Well, this is definitely not what he expected. But anything to entertain and amuse you. Anything you want to tell him, he’ll bring to his grave. Lifting your chin, he softly rubs your cheek before whispering, “I can keep those, you know.”
That smile is why he fell in love. “Okay, I’ll tell.”
Why do you look so mischievous right now? Who is this cute ball of sudden energy? Are you not as exhausted as he feels? Yoongi is sure he could fall asleep in your arms right now without so much another breath—
“I love you, too.”
…What?
The stop of a clock.
Absolute silence.
Soon, every star in the sky glows brighter, the moon shining beams into his room and coating your body in heavenly light. It’s so piercing and true that Yoongi feels little pricks at his eyes, desperately hoping he heard you correctly because if he didn’t, his body would crumble and wash away with the tide.
“And you deserve more than I could ever give.”
Oh.
He heard you right.
And all he can see is you just beyond the sand under his fingertips, eyes reflecting tangerine and summer sparks and everything he wants to be.
He doesn’t remember rushing forward, he doesn’t remember kissing you. But he’s locked on your quivering mouth, not faring much better and very sure his tears are coating your tongue, too.
What the fuck does he say? Every word in every language he knows abandons him, too stunned at your confession and reciprocation that he can only show what he feels in his movements.
Fuck sleep.
He’s giving you every ounce of his energy tonight.
This is how he can thank you. For caring about him, for not giving up on him, for not leaving him when he was at his absolute lowest.
For loving him.
For loving him.
The pain ceases to bother him. Because he’s joining you in the sea now, diving deep between your legs and lapping at your every wave of pleasure. All he can think about is how you taste like magic, like devotion, like home. And buried in your core and away from your moans, he can let his tears flow, eyes scrunched and fingers gripping your thighs as if you’d leave as soon as he lets go.
When you say his name, Yoongi says nothing. Because he still cannot find it within himself to speak. If he does? You’d surely run. Getting ahead of himself is the theme tonight, and there’s no telling what he’d say next if he doesn’t keep his tongue occupied with your ebb and flow.
He really could go all night just like this.
And that thought is so natural that it doesn’t even phase him.
Your hands jut into his hair before you come on his tongue a second time, and the groan he pushes out rumbles his entire being.
“Holy fuck, baby—!”
Your waves crash onto the shore yet again, magnificent and beautiful and sparkling. Even though he’s as close as he could possibly be, Yoongi needs to be closer. So he gets up and lets your cunt breathe as he smothers your lips once more, pouring adoration into your lungs and sacrificing air to do so.
“Fuck.” He needs you. Yoongi can’t control the dragon in his chest that yearns for connection again, even though he knows this one cannot mirror the last. So he gets up to grab a condom, instantly thinking about how shy you were to show him which ones you got when you re-upped.
Fucking good ones, that’s for damn sure. He can pretty much feel all of you if he thinks hard enough, even with these on. Minx. “Don’t take this the wrong way.”
“Oh, I already know.”
“K. But god, I fuckin’ want to.”
The look in your eye is familiar. And the words you say are even more so. “One day.”
Fuck, he loves you.
And for the rest of the night, as much as he can muster, Yoongi shows you just how much. At least, he hopes you can tell from the way he makes love to you, each stroke intentional, each touch of your face tender, each look in your eye full of yearning even though you’re right there with him.
Is it possible to want someone when they’re right there?
What does that mean? How does he feel so fucking hungry when he’s so full of you?
It almost—almost—scares him how he can’t get enough of your body. But it’s probably your soul that he’s holding instead, and you have so much that he can’t carry it all.
Yoongi’s eyes burn, but not in a blaze of fire. They burn like a hearth, like a calm flame in the heart of a house.
Because he’s finally home.
—
—
Spent, satiated, and still wanting more but letting rest take over his tired bones, Yoongi finds himself next to your shimmering eyes and roaming fingers. God, he loves when you play with his hair. If there was one thing that could always calm his storm? This would be it.
That, and your hums. He could live indefinitely in your song.
“I’m sorry for yelling,” you finally whisper. When you catch his eyes, you shift from one to the other. “But I really was so mad at you. All of you.”
He doesn’t blame you one bit for that. “I know.”
“I don’t wanna lose you.”
Ah. Will he ever tell you how close that was to happening? Why does that one question make him feel so fucking guilty? “It won’t happen again.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
As he holds your gaze, Yoongi thinks it’s better to wait. But he can at least explain why things went down the way they did. Why you had to be sent away. “They were gonna follow us home if we didn’t, babe,” he says with certainty. “We all knew that.”
“Oh, fuck.” Don’t cry. Everything is okay now. Please don’t let this burden you. “I didn’t… I didn’t think about that.”
His silent pleas don’t work, because of course you would cry for them. That’s just who you are, and there’s zero need to change that.
But it doesn’t make this situation less painful. Sitting up, Yoongi has to hang his head between his knees to hide his guilt. “You don’t need to think about shit like that,” he murmurs, remembering something else he can tell you that’s okay to divulge. “But we talked after you told us off. We won’t hide that from you anymore.”
“Thank you…”
A brief touch on his shoulder turns into a calm yet firm hold of his arm. You’re slowly unraveling him, just like a fruit that reminds him of you, and he’s brought into your loving warmth without a word.
The two of you don’t need to exchange those so much anymore. Not when he can sense what you need, and when you can read him better than anyone ever has.
Only one person knows him more.
And finally remembering there are other people in the world—including the only one he fears—douses him with a splash of water.
He’s way too deep now. He really has to do something because if he gets pulled away from you ever again, his heart may as well get ripped from his chest.
“Thank you for letting me in.”
Yoongi’s eyes still.
“It was raining really hard.”
Fuck.
There have been multiple doors opened tonight. Not just the one he finally yanked himself through. And with each swing of solid wood, his heart began to breathe easier and easier, its beating stronger and fuller.
But with this last door? This one you just opened with a whisper and a soft touch?
His whole body freezes. Because it’s a swift punch to his already pained ribcage and all he can do is leak sentences from his eyes.
“Babe?”
Only you can affect him this potently. Only you can bring him to his knees.
“Hey. Look at me.”
He doesn’t want to. Fuck, he’s way too timid and fragile right now to even turn your way. Yoongi feels as if all his layers have been stripped bare, lying in one piece around him and exposing his vulnerable state.
But he obeys. And he can feel the slip of warmth on his face before you spring into action,
“Oh, fuck, come here.”
He’s gathered in your arms and it reminds him of many things. Like the tug of warm rushing water, and the first time he realized how he felt about you.
But above all, it reminds him of the loving embrace of his mother, one that he’s been swooped into every time he needed her most.
And this singular comparison knocks him off balance entirely.
“It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, pressing his face into your neck and soothing him when he doesn’t utter a damn word. “I’m not mad anymore, okay? I’m just glad you’re alright.”
How does one respond when an angel speaks to them? Is it possible to form words when your heart lodges itself in your throat? This proves too difficult. And Yoongi is trying so fucking hard to keep himself in one piece.
Too late. He can’t stop his nose from a sniff. But it’s okay, because he knows he can be like this with you. He can let go, because you’ve always allowed him to be wholly himself.
For the first time, in a very long time, Yoongi feels…
Protected.
He doesn’t have to be strong right now. He doesn’t even have to pretend to be more okay than he is. He can just be and that in itself gives him the most comfort he’s had in years and years.
The answer was always you. How many other times can he materialize this singular solution in his mind?
Infinite, infinite, infinite times.
“This isn’t about that, doll,” Yoongi croaks, burying wet eyes further into your shoulder. “It’s just…”
He almost can’t finish what he’s saying. It takes everything to shove it out because he wants to truly say everything he feels. Consequences and potential reactions be damned.
The truth remains.
“It’s so fucking better when you’re here.”
When you choke out a sob, his body responds, “I sleep better. Eat better. Fuck, I even feel better even if nothing else changes.”
“Yoongi…”
“It’s true.” Every single bit of it. The truth is so concrete in his chest that he can barely breathe. Sighing, Yoongi sniffs again before letting his weight fall into your loving side. “I mean that.”
You smooth a hand over his hair. Something that he’s missed so fucking much. “Then… Those three months…”
“One day, I’ll tell you everything,” he offers, surprising himself because there’s so many things that will scare you shitless. But what’s done is done. The future is now, and immediate changes are in order. “But from now on, you can be here whenever you want.”
Skimming along his strands, you cheekily ask, “So I can come to those parties you host, too?”
Oh? You know about those? It makes sense, since your brother did attend some and stayed for a bit. “Those weren’t my idea, by the way. Jimin made me.”
You’re silent as he gravitates to your shoulder, inhaling your scent while kissing its curve. “He was worried. And hoping you would show.” Again, you don’t speak, leaving room for Yoongi to keep revealing more and more of his unending string of thoughts, “I knew you wouldn’t. But… I did hope to see you, too.”
As you resume your gentle touches, your chest rises and falls before you finally talk, “It’s okay. It would’ve been too obvious.”
What, that he missed you? That he wouldn’t have left the same room you were in? That his eyes would’ve drifted to you because the rest of him couldn’t? “What would’ve.”
“That I wanted you all to myself.”
Oh. The two of you are so similar. “You already have that.”
Voice softer and more timid, you respond, “You know what I mean.”
Of course he does. In fact, he wants to see how you’d act if there was nothing holding you back. Because if it were him? Everyone would know who has him cuffed up and chained down, and just how much he fucking loves it—
“My brother was the one that invited me,” you blurt. “To come to those, I mean.”
Wait.. He what? “Huh.”
“I know.” You absentmindedly take his hand and kiss along his ridges, staring off into space and time. “It makes me wonder if he knows.”
Does he? Yoongi doesn’t think so, considering he himself is still alive and breathing semi-fine.
Back in the parking lot, though, things could’ve gotten suspicious as hell once that fucker started mentioning you to him. But the guy from Dalo taunted him first on the court way back when. Of course he’d single him out.
But still… When your brother told him to get out of the car, he probably lost two of his nine lives. “What if he does?”
You turn, eyes wide. “Does he?”
Focusing on your lips hovering over his fingers, Yoongi runs through every scenario in his mind. The most glaring thing he can think of just happened in your front yard, but your brother told him to break up with his ex. So there’s no way he’d think you were even an option.
So the most obvious answer, thankfully, would be, “No.”
Relief lowers your shoulders. “Okay. But you’re sure I can stay?”
Ah. He forgot about this single scheme he cooked up days ago, as soon as he was told your brother would be heading out for a surprise trip.
Getting to tell you in person? This makes his heart sing. “Who do you think you bought those groceries for?”
Jackpot. That expression is fucking priceless. “What?”
Yoongi cannot believe he almost let you leave. If you had walked back out into the rain, his future would have looked much different. And, frankly, quite fucking bleak. “I get you for a week, right?”
It’s just for a second, but the wheels spinning in your head can plainly be seen. He can’t help but laugh at the way you scrunch that cute ass nose as you burst,
“You sneaky little—”
That look. The look you have when you’re nothing but happy? He wants that permanently etched into your features forever. There’s nothing else he wants more than to keep you shining and shining.
Giving in to your kisses, Yoongi loses himself in the best way, melting against your lips and feeling warmth pool in his chest.
Is going behind your brother’s back one more time still mutinous? Yes. But this will be the very last time. All the sneaking, all the hidden truths, all the little lies will be over soon enough.
You need it to be, your brother deserves for it to be, and Yoongi yearns for it to be.
“One day,” he murmurs, caught in a sudden determination to rewire his whole framework for your sake, “I’ll be better.”
“Don’t make it just one day, silly.”
Did you just… What did you just say?
Clutching a little bit of his shirt, you whisper with complete devotion, “We’ll make it as many as we can.”
It’s not enough to say he loves you.
What he feels digs seven leagues farther into his soul, carving out a haven shaped like you just so he can permanently keep you there. Safe. Protected. Glowing like the pop of fireworks and the shine of sunlight through summer leaves.
Yoongi’s not quite sure of a lot of things. Unfortunately, one of those includes knowing when exactly he’d be okay. Be truly, one hundred percent okay.
But he’s sure of one thing, and that’s your word. If you’re with him, you’re with him. He’s known this for awhile now, but it doesn’t hit him until tonight, right as you fought to stay while staring his monsters in the eye.
A light laugh lands on his hair, and Yoongi wonders where your mind is. Probably wandering and trying to find his own, since he knows he drifted off just a bit.
“At least. Until the day I get to meet my cat.”
Yoongi’s brows perk up at your confidence.
“Then I’m running away with her.”
Is that right? Maybe he believes you, but who is he to surrender so easily? “Oh, yeah?”
Your pout is priceless. “Yeah. But I’m starting to think she ran away already and you won’t fess up.”
A laugh leaps out of his chest, because technically she did but ultimately came back. You really don’t know half of it, but he has time to tell you everything. Even the parts he doesn’t want to. “She’s still here!”
“Lies.”
“How much are you betting, doll.”
“How much are you willing to lose, babe.”
Alright, he’s had enough. The urge to tickle you roars again, and he doesn’t have to keep his hands to himself. “This much,” he says with his attack, loving your bubbling laughter, “Maybe I’ll make you leave after all if you’re gonna be a problem.”
“You did threaten to kick me out before.”
Yoongi stops on your soft curves. “Huh? When?”
“That day I showed up.” Your eyes crease as you watch him stare far into your eyes. “Said you were gonna kick me out for hustling you.”
Oh, fuck, he did!
The laugh that rumbles from his belly is so fast and loud that his side hurts like hell fuck but he can’t help it because the giddiness gets the best of him. Damn, he really did say that the very first day. From day one, he’s been such a liar. “I should’ve!”
“You really should’ve.”
“Played me from the very start. You happy with yourself?” Of course you nod. It’s attractive in the best and worst ways, and soon he’s not gonna know what to do with the confident version of you. “Course you are.”
“You love it.”
“I do.”
The sentence he wants to say next is balancing on the tip of his tongue. But it’s even more fun to dangle in front of your awaiting eyes, knowing you have a feeling of what he’s gonna say.
So he just bites his own lips before pulling you in for a kiss. “Thought I was gonna say it, huh.”
“No! …Maybe.”
Adorable. “Guess what.”
Yoongi doesn’t even acknowledge your suspicion before seizing your mouth, kissing you deep and feeling the arch of your chest into his. Fuck, he loves when you do that. It’s one of his favorite things, even more so when it happens right here in his bed.
If it ever happens again in yours…
After a few passes, he raises himself, planting a hand at your side and slotting a leg in between yours. God, your skin. It’s so smooth against his, and yet, you’re so unbelievably strong. So firm. So loyal. It’s never going to fully click that you’re doing this all for him.
There are multitudes of what Yoongi wants to say to you. But you two have all the time in the world now. He’s gonna shower you with so much appreciation and adoration that you may not know what to do with him. And that’s perfectly okay.
When he lets up, you move wet lips to whisper, “What were you gonna say?”
Drawn to your nose, Yoongi gives in to his urges yet again and kisses you there, letting loose and firing another confession into the dark night sky, “I just fucking love you, doll.”
Oh. You’re trying to duck him now? That’s not gonna work, but it’s fucking cute as hell. “You can’t hide now, babe.”
“I can!”
Nah, you can’t run. He has more to say and he’s gonna say it to your face. Or ear. Whatever is willing to take in his sparkling, booming declarations, “I love fucking you, too.”
“Yoongi!”
He can’t help but laugh now, holding you tighter and snuggling his nose into your scent. Inhaling, inhaling, exhaling relief. Relief that you are here and relief that he is, too.
That second of terror, not knowing if he was going to survive? It feels so far away and right on his heels all at once. It’s a strange feeling, wondering if the universe intentionally gave him a second chance and now wondering why. Clearly, he now has some soul searching to do.
But two things are for sure: music, and you.
And to Yoongi, they are one and the same.
“I miss you.”
What?
Looking down at your head, Yoongi wonders if he wandered too far, “How? I’m right here.”
You lower into his chest, and he feels his heartbeat quicken. “I still miss you.”
Fuck. He knows how that feels.
Feeling the rush of melancholy, he embraces your sides, knowing that there’s a goodbye to every hello and he knows your dreading this part just as much as he is.
A flare of blue streaks across his chest. Something burning so hot and searing a decision on the inside of his lungs.
And fuck, it’s already making him shake. “I can’t do shit like this anymore.”
You completely still in his arms, and he knows why. But this is the only way he can get all of this out because it’s frightening and he’s running from the one sentence he has to say out loud.
“I wanna do this the right way.”
He can’t fucking stop his breaths from studdering, and you push up to check on his current shake,
“What are you saying?”
Just say it. Just fucking say it. He’s ready to walk into fire, knowing a piece of him might disintegrate into ashes. “I’m saying I’ll tell him, doll. Just me.”
It takes a second or two for you to realize what he says. And he gets that. This is sudden, and it’s throwing him into a new state of panic that would destroy him if you weren’t there warming his skin.
The gleam of your tears gives him a will to breathe.
And Yoongi swallows every shadow and doubt before taking the first step towards freedom, famine, or both.
For you, for you, for you. Always and forever, for you.
“I’ll tell him everything.”
More water engulfs your eyes as you fall silent, and Yoongi can’t quell the beating in his chest. Are you shocked? Scared? Just as fucking frightened as he is?
Because he has a lot coming for him and there’s no way around it. He just has to hope to everything in the universe and beyond that he can withstand whatever hell your brother will unleash.
And the guilt waiting for him on its haunches. “Babe?”
“I’m just…” Your brows deepen as your face scrunches, but what you say makes him blink twice. “I can’t…”
Yoongi’s heart is millimeters from the ground. “What?”
When your hand grips your chest, he feels his whole world pulse with the urge to protect you. You look so scared of something, and it’s probably the same as what’s haunting him. He wishes things were different, he wishes he did things better, he hates himself for—
“I love you so much it fucking hurts.”
Oh.
You… That’s all you’re thinking about? Him? His throat sears through at how wrong he was. How the fuck will he ever deserve you?
“Maybe cus I’m scared as shit,” you confirm one of his worries, clenching another beautiful hand over your chest. “Or maybe one heart isn’t enough to hold it all.”
If that isn’t the fucking truth.
Just saying the words will never be enough. Like it’s laughable how much he feels for you, what he would do for you. The way he went from a bruised heart to growing another just for you inflates his battered ribcage and leaves him breathless. “It’s been hurting for me, too,” he croaks, chest constricted by the rivers on your face. “A lot longer than three months.”
When your palm reaches to cup his cheek, Yoongi can’t hold back the tear that falls into its ridges. Because his capacity for emotion seems to be limitless around your tender heart. You’re his safe haven, his hearth, his home where he can be himself and not feel like he has to hide.
You’re his everything. And he’s simply yours in every sense of the word.
“I just wish I was here for those,” you whisper with leaking eyes that match his. “I missed you, Yoongi. I didn’t want to say much, but… It affected me a lot more than I thought.”
“I know,” he responds, cracked and broken beyond repair. “There’s nothing I can say that can change what I did.”
Your sniffles stab like knives.
“But listen. Hmm?” He shifts to kiss the inside of your palm. “Never again.”
When you can only nod, his lungs collapse. “Serious. And you’ll know how serious by tomorrow. K?”
“K,” you breathe out, silent as you watch him pepper more and more kisses along your wrist between inhales. His plan will be fully done by the end of the day tomorrow. There’s a bit to do, but he’s got time. Everything will be worth it just to keep you happy and at peace.
And maybe this will help him get there, too.
“Come here, doll,” he whispers, shutting both eyes when you rush to his lips before he even finishes the plea. And your mouth pins his in the best way, smothering with salt and a deluge he laps at, sucks in, smushes closer with a hand to your head.
When you break away, Yoongi gulps in air as you do the same, hearing your soft sniffs and still wishing things had been done differently.
But he can’t change the past. And the present is more than he could ever ask for. So there’s no point in dwelling on the roads you both took to get here.
“I love when you call me that,” you admit, breaking into his thoughts.
“Doll?”
“Yeah.”
“Kinda picked up on that.” Ah, you’re trying to hide one more time? Do you know that’s never gonna fly with him? “Huh, now we’re shy again?”
“Always.”
“We both know that’s not true.” Yoongi laughs until you latch onto his neck, and blood speeds to his groin as he instantly loses himself in a groan. He doesn’t even register his head kicking back until his words come out strained, “Fuckin’ hustler, fuck…”
When you chuckle, your vibrations send jolts along his limbs, activating every fucking cell and lighting up his brain until it’s completely blank.
“Gotta live up to my name somehow,” you joke, pulling away and leaving a cold patch in your wake. “But seriously, that’s all you get. We have to sleep.”
“What, you don’t wanna see the cat anymore?”
“I never said that!”
You’re way too easy, but he’d be the same exact way. The last time he got you both up to see your little gift, she wasn’t outside. Will she be there now?
With tired muscles, you both get out of the bed, and he holds out his hand to guide your zigzag waddles through his apartment that he can finally breathe in.
“Wait,” you halt with your arm. When Yoongi obeys with a look, you turn to him and show off how logical you are, “There’s probably glass still.”
He nods, resting you against his door before fetching slippers from his closet. And it hurts like a bitch to lean down, but he slips your pair on so you don’t have to move. Rather him than you anyday.
And that look of pure adoration he gets in return will always be fucking worth it.
God. Things really are better when you’re here.
He can’t believe how stupid he’s been.
With the proper footwear, both of you slowly make your way through his place, and Yoongi shifts his vision around to check for any large shards of glass to navigate you around. Somehow, it looks like you got most of the damage out. But some tiny specks and chips still remain, and he notes to get them soon—
“If she’s not out there again, I’m gonna cry.”
Yoongi laughs before squeezing your fingers. “Me, too.”
Finally, you both get to the door, and his hand stays flat on the wooden striations for a little longer than necessary.
How wild to think things could have gone to shit entirely. How foolish of him to even fight for you to leave.
But, after a moment of him looking down at the doorknob and you giving him the space to pause, Yoongi opens the door and gives a small peek outside.
Bingo. “Stay there,” he commands, and he leads you forward until you forget he’s there.
Because the damn cat now commands all your attention, lapping at a water bowl until she looks at you. There’s a moment when he knows she’s cautious, but it doesn’t last long before she’s curious enough to inch closer to your side of the door.
Of course it wouldn’t take long. Yoongi knows how magnetic and gentle you’ve always been. Maybe if he didn’t resist it so fucking much before, he wouldn’t have had to separate himself in the first place.
“You’re so little,” you whisper. “Hi, baby.”
He smiles down at you both as the little one sniffs at your finger, feeling a calmness in his heart that seems secure and permanent. Is he allowed to feel this way all the time?
Maybe if he had done things right and told your brother everything first. And maybe he should stop digging this hole and stay in the moment, goddamn.
“Do you have a name yet?” You ask her instead of him, scratching behind an ear and giggling at a purr. “Did your dad give you one?”
…Dad?
Yeah, digging that hole is probably smart. He’s gonna need a whole grave for that one.
But Yoongi swallows before answering for the one that can’t speak, “I’ve just been calling her cat.”
When you glare over your shoulder, it’s immensely more cute than intimidating, which causes him to laugh and the cat to scurry a bit away. “You named my cat Cat?”
“Nah, just nothing permanent. Figured you’d wanna do that.”
“We can do it together.” Lips pursed, you sit in thought as she comes back, plopping on her side so you can rub her belly. “It would mean more that way.”
“Cat means cat,” Yoongi shrugs out, before promptly getting swatted at and laughing. “Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” You yawn before saying goodbye for now, and judging from the look of yearning on your face, Yoongi knows you’d rather bring her inside. “See you again soon, cat named Cat.”
Cute.
Maybe something short and sweet? Miss Dion has been calling him something a lot lately... And it could fit with how nice this cat is being around you.
“Sugar.”
You peer up before blinking. “Wait, that's so cute. Where'd that come from?”
Well. You didn't say no, so he's sticking with it.
Smiling, Yoongi helps you up before you both step back inside. “I’ll explain in a bit.”
That seems to quell any other conversation about it, so you let him lead you back to bed.
Only he doesn’t do that. Instead, Yoongi leads you just a few steps forward, letting you both stand in the living room and take in the aftermath of his mania together.
Your hand comes down to grip his in a comforting hold, and his shoulders immediately relax. "I don't know what led to this," you start slow, rolling words around in your mouth and plucking them very carefully. Even though you don't need to. He deserves to hear your every critical thought. "But I wanna know..."
When Yoongi turns to face you, he isn't prepared for your question,
"Did it help at all?"
Mm.
It's not that he can't answer because it's too hard. The reason he can't answer you right away is because he doesn't quite know the real answer. Does he feel better because of what he did? Or because you're here, like he said before? "I'm not sure yet," he decides to respond truthfully.
Eyes slipping down to your fingers looped in his, Yoongi admits with quiet confidence, "But none of it mattered as soon as I saw you."
Once again, with one look, he finds himself swimming in those beautiful eyes. Because you don't see him with pity, or rage, or even disappointment. You just... see him. You accept him as he comes.
And one day, when he gets the courage to look you in the eyes long enough, he'll be able to see himself the way you do, too.
"Let's rest, my love," you whisper soft. "I'll yell at you in the morning, I'm too tired to do it now."
There it is.
Chuckling, Yoongi obliges, shivering at how you address him and following whatever you ask. "Good. You're the only one allowed to kick my ass."
"As it should be."
When he's the one that leads you to the bedroom, his heart beats strong. But when you're the one that tucks him into bed with a kiss to his forehead, Yoongi's pulse becomes so tender it robs him of words.
"Hey... I'll always be here, you know," you murmur, sliding a warm hand over his bangs. "Even if it doesn't feel like it, I'm right here. All you have to do is close your eyes, and just..."
When he does, the press of your lips on his damn near brings him to tears. He commits this feeling to every memory center lodged in his brain, and this moment instantly locks itself as one of his deepest, most cherished ever.
"Remember that."
Eyes flittering open, Yoongi softly brings you in for another kiss. "I will, doll."
Your smile gives him purpose. "Good."
And for the first time in months and despite a hurting side, Yoongi sleeps right til the time he has to wake up, without even a breath or pulse out of alignment.
Because his drift to sleep had been a peaceful one, and the only thing he dreamt, felt, or thought of was you.
And the way you told him you loved him.
-
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fin :')
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fugue thoughts!! we did it!! | join the server!
a/n: we freakin' did it i love them i love them i love them!! yoongi's whole interlude is done and it was a monster in itself. now we're back on to the main storyline and honestly i am both relieved and yet still so tender for this yoongi. of course, there are other big situations we have to get ourselves into, but we are in the home stretch of three tangerines so let's finish this all out with a bang bang bang and lights in the sky :'))
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feedback box:
⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated!
⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think!
⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like!
⇥ here!
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more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ three tangerines masterlist
a/n 2: we did this for 3tanfugue3 and the energy was great! just like last time, some of you guys suggested that we have post goals to encourage interaction. no one voted against it last time (honestly, you guys were super encouraging so thank you!) so let's go again!
note goal: same goal as last time, 800 notes is the goal, so when we hit that, 3tan13 will be dropped as soon as it's done! thank you all for reading and would love to hear any thoughts: what did you like about the chapter? how did a certain scene make you feel? what are you excited to see next? any shares, comments, tags, and reblogs with commentary count, and i appreciate anything you guys have to say.
My head hurts from all the crying I just did 😭 There is so much to process, I can’t even start to write all the things I’m thinking and feeling. BUT!! The part that killed me, the part that made me put my phone down and just sit and cry, the part I hold so close to my heart because it feels so incredibly personal to me is
“With his next blinks, something happens that renders his mind speechless.
He slowly looks beyond your shoulder and sees a figment of himself—a younger version with big dreams and a battered heart-standing at the edge of his kitchen and donning a look of trepidation.
Before realizing that everything's going to be alright.
Yeah, kid. Everything is more than alright.
And this only makes Yoongi cry harder, and he watches himself grin before offering a simple nod, walking out with hands in his pockets and fading footsteps.
Healed.”
I’m crying again now 😭 this was beautiful as always. Thank you.
I decided to do a little something and I thought I’d share. I didn’t start using procreate until a few months ago and I’m still crap at people but I just loved this MV so much and wanted to recreate this. 💕
I don’t remember ever seeing the notifications of the likes and reblogs for this or maybe I just block it out in my mind because I was so embarrassed to share something I made. BUUTTT thank you to everyone that liked it and especially those who reblogged it ❤️ It’s been almost two years so maybe I’ll make something worth sharing here again.
Here it is and I really hope it doesn’t disappoint!
You were curled up on the leather couch in Yoongi’s studio, legs tucked under you, hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over your hands, and a forgotten book in your lap. He was at his desk, spinning lazily in his chair while some melody looped in the background. It was one of those nights you two fell into without planning, pizza boxes, convenient store donuts, and the kind of comfortable quiet that only existed between people who were tightly woven into each other’s lives. This had been the normal for you two since you became close friends many years ago.
You were scrolling on your phone when he spoke.
“Hey.”
“Hm?”
“Go out with me.”, he asked, nervously fidgeting with a string hanging off of his t-shirt.
You snorted so hard you almost dropped your phone, “Yeah, okay, grandpa. I think it’s getting past your bedtime. You’re getting delusional.”
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t say something smart back in response. He just stared at you, dark eyes steady, mouth soft, “Y/N…I’m serious.”
And you…laughed again. Because what else were you supposed to do? Yoongi was a hot, wealthy, successful, globally-adored idol who dated other beautiful, talented idols and models with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. Meanwhile, saw yourself as average looking on your best days and you taught English to tiny humans who wiped their hands, sticky with mystery substances, on your pants to make enough money to just barely survive. You lived in completely different universes.
“You’re adorable.”, you said, waving him off, “But no you’re not. You don’t like me like that.”
His jaw flexed, “I do.”
“Sure.”, you said, giving him a bless your delusional little heart look, “Are you drunk?Let me smell your coffee cup. I thought we agreed not to drink tonight.”
He swiveled toward you, pushing himself up from the chair, “Y/N, I’m not drunk.” Then he pointed a finger at you, annoyed, determined, cute, “Within a year, I’m going to get you to believe me. And when you do?”, he paused, smirking, “You’re going to be my girlfriend.”
“Right.”, you snorted, “Good luck with that.”
And so began, The Year of Yoongi.
—You woke up to someone pounding on your door like they were being chased.
When you opened it, hair a mess, wearing last night’s oversized dress shirt that definitely didn’t pass for pajamas, you found Yoongi standing there with two coffees and the most suspiciously innocent look you’d ever seen on him. Behind him, the hallway was still dark. Birds weren’t even awake.
“Morning Sunshine.”, he said, sounding way too cheerful for someone whose sleep cycle was basically a cryptid.
“Yoongi.”, you croaked, “It’s seven. As in seven a.m. As in the sun hasn’t even fully committed to being alive yet. Why are you here?”
He offered you the coffee like a peace treaty, “Because this is the first month I start convincing you.”
You blinked at him, “Convincing me of…?”
“Go out with me.”, he said immediately.
You nearly dropped the drink.
“Oh my god.”, you muttered, stepping aside to let him shuffle into your apartment, “You’re really doubling down on that whole ‘I really like you’ bit.”
He set his coffee on your counter and looked directly at you, “It’s not a bit Y/N.”
You took a long, steadying sip of your drink. It was perfect, your exact order, just the way you liked it. Of course he got it right.
“Okay, so let me get this straight. You woke up early, bought coffee, came to my apartment, and are now demanding I date you.”, you questioned.
His mouth lifted in a tiny smirk, “Pretty much. And…I brought banana nut muffins.”
You groaned into your hands, “Yoongi, this is…this is adorable, but you know I don’t believe you. You’re…you. And I’m just…me.”
He only shrugged and took a sip of his drink and handed you a muffin, “I’ve got eleven more months.”, he said casually, “I’m not worried.”
You snatched the muffin out of his hand and took a large bite to occupy your mouth before you could say something you’d regret.
He smirked, smug as hell.
And that was Month 1.
—You didn’t even know he was going live that night.
You were sprawled on your couch grading vocabulary quizzes from your third graders, when your phone started exploding.
Your best friend (non-Yoongi) group chat was blowing up so loudly your notifications practically vibrated the couch into another room.
Did you see??
OMG OMG OMG
HE MEANT YOU, RIGHT??
RIGHT???
Y/N???!!! Hello!!!!!
Everyone has always said it would happen!!
Then came the link.
You clicked it…and there he was.
Yoongi, sitting in his studio chair, hair messy, dim lighting soft on his face.
He was reading comments, doing that stoic-soft half smile he never admitted he practiced in the mirror.
And then you heard it.
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” he said, brushing his bangs back, “Not yet.”
More emojis flooded the chat than a sane person could handle.
“But I am trying to ask someone out…”, he smiled.
You froze. Like, physically froze. One of your papers slid right off your lap and landed on your open box of takeout noodles and you didn’t even care that you were now forced to give that student an automatic A.
“She doesn’t believe me though.”, he continued.
Your friends were still blowing up your phone. He leaned his cheek on his hand, looking dangerously soft for someone talking to millions around the world.
“Yeah, she thinks I’m joking.”, he let out a tiny, annoyed sigh, “I’m not. I wouldn’t joke when it comes to someone’s heart.”
You felt heat climb up your neck.
He kept reading comments, “No, she’s not an idol. Yes, my mom adores her. No, I’m not giving you guys her name.”, he said with a smile, “But she knows.”
A pause. You slapped a hand over your mouth so you wouldn’t scream. And then, because Yoongi was Yoongi, he looked right into the camera with those deceptively romantic eyes and said, “So, if you’re watching this…and I know that you are…go out with me?”
Your soul left your body.
Later that night, you stormed into his studio without even texting first. He looked up from his computer, eyebrows raised like nothing chaotic had occurred.
“What?”, he said.
“You!”, you pointed dramatically at him, “You asked me out in front of, like, a million people!”
“One million two hundred thousand and eight.”, he corrected calmly.
“Yoongi!”
He shrugged, smug, “I needed to ask you this month Y/N. Time’s ticking.”
You groaned, “You can’t just…just…publicly procure a date request like that!”
His lips twitched, “Did it work?”
“No!”
“Okay.”, He spun in his chair once, “Next month, then.”
You threw a Shooky shaped stress ball at his head.
He laughed when it bounced off his shoulder and onto the floor.
And that was Month 2.
—You didn’t even mean to overhear it.
You were just dropping by the studio to return the hoodie you “borrowed” last week (which totally wasn’t on purpose and definitely didn’t smell like him in a way that made you consider keeping it forever…and he definitely didn’t purposely spray it with an extra spritz of cologne and purposely leave it where he knew you would see and smell it like some kind of weird bait to catch a wild Y/N in a love trap).
The door wasn’t fully closed, so you pushed it open gently and nearly face-planted when you heard your own name.
Not spoken.
Sung.
In Yoongi’s voice.
On a track.
Your hand flew to your chest like you were a Victorian widow about to faint.
Yoongi sat at his desk, headphones around his neck, eyes closed, bobbing his head slightly as the demo played. You heard the warm, low rasp of his voice layered over soft synths and then, clear as day:
“…and I swear, Y/N, I’d wait forever if you let me…”
You choked on your own spit.
Yoongi’s eyes snapped open as he spun in his chair, “Oh. Hey.”
“Oh hey?”, you sputtered confused by his calmness, “You…you…you…WHY IS MY NAME IN YOUR SONG?”
He blinked, “Because I’m using it to ask you out this month?”
“You could’ve done that with a text message!”, you said dropping down onto the couch.
He frowned, “That’s boring.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, because apparently you were a malfunctioning fish now, “It’s…it’s a whole song, Yoongi.”
“It’s a demo.”, he corrected you as if that really mattered.
“It’s a DEMO ABOUT ME.”
He turned back to the monitor, hitting the space bar to pause playback, “Not entirely about you.”
Your shoulders relaxed slightly, “Oh.” Then he continued, “Just mostly.”
You made an unholy noise.
He spun back toward you, hands behind his head, looking way too pleased with himself, “So Y/N.”, he said casually, “Go out with me?”
“Absolutely not.”, you squeaked, because your brain was fried, your heart was having palpitations, and your legs felt like uncooked noodles.
He nodded like he expected that, “Alright. Thought I’d try.”
“You can’t just insert someone’s name into a song. There are rules. Artist rules. Friend rules. Human rules.”, you argued.
“You didn’t like it?”, he asked.
“I didn’t say that!”
His lips curled, soft, smug, knowing, “Hm.”
You pointed aggressively at him, “Take it out.”
He traded, “Say yes and maybe I will.”
“YOONGI.”
He threw his hands up, “Fine, fine. I’ll… consider it.” You glared at him because you knew good and well he wasn’t removing a single vowel, consonant, syllable, or breath that sounded like you.
And he knew you knew.
And you knew he knew you knew.
He leaned back, folding his arms behind his head, “Next month?”
“Next month.”, you muttered, defeated.
He smiled.
And that was Month 3.
—You’d been fighting off a cold for a few days, stubbornly insisting you were “fine,” right up until you woke up feeling like you’d been hit by a truck, run over again, and told to smile about it.
You texted Yoongi to cancel your usual weekly hangout in his studio.
You: “Can’t come today. Dying. Send condolences.”
He answered in less than a minute.
Yoongi: “Unlock your door.”
You blinked. “You’re not coming over…”, you typed back, but before you could finish, your doorbell rang. When you opened it, there he was: black mask, enormous hoodie, hair tucked under a beanie, arms full of grocery bags like some devastatingly handsome personal nurse.
“I brought soup.”, he mumbled, “And medicine. And tea. And those stupid cookies you like.”
You stared at him, “Yoongi… you didn’t have to do all this.” He brushed past you into the apartment, “Month four, remember? This counts.”
You groaned, “You’re using my near-death experience as one of your monthly attempts to convince me?”
“Absolutely.”, he nodded, “I knew you were getting sick so I planned on coming over and doing this anyway.”
He set everything on the counter like he lived there, then turned to you and frowned, “Wow you look terrible.”
“Wow. Not very Romantic.”, you replied.
He rolled his eyes, but his gaze softened as he reached out and pressed a hand to your forehead.
His fingers were cool.
His touch was gentle.
Your breath caught and not because of the fever.
“Y/N you’re burning up.”, he said quietly, “Go sit down.” You shuffled to the couch, bundled yourself in a blanket, and watched him move around your kitchen with easy familiarity, making soup like he’d done it a hundred times. When he returned, he handed you a steaming bowl and a bottle of medicine.
“Eat.”, he ordered, “Then take this. Then sleep.”
You eyed him, “You’re staying?”
He sank onto the floor beside the couch, back against it, stretching his legs out with a small sigh.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
There was something in the way he said it soft but stubborn, tender but matter-of-fact, that made your chest flutter.
After a while, he looked up at you, that lazy smile nudging at the corner of his lips.
“So?”, he said, “Will you go out with me now?”
You snorted, “Yoongi, I’m congested, freezing but sweating, and possibly contagious.”
He shrugged, “Didn’t ask for your medical history. I asked if you’d date me.”
“No.”
He sighed dramatically and slumped back against the couch, “Fine. Eight more months to go.”
But even after you said no he stayed the whole day, making sure you ate, making sure you took your medicine, watching dumb movies with you while you dozed off. At some point you woke up with your head on his shoulder and his hoodie draped over you like a blanket.
And he didn’t move an inch.
That was month four.
—It started with a downpour so violent the sky might as well have been throwing a tantrum.
You had stayed late at work prepping lesson plans and totally forgot your umbrella. Your school was close to a subway station, but the three-block walk between the two felt like crossing an ocean in the weather.
You texted Yoongi half-jokingly: “If I drown, on my way home, tell my students I loved them.”
You expected a teasing reply about how you always forgot your umbrella.
Maybe a “lol rip.”
Maybe a meme.
Maybe nothing because he was always working.
What you did not expect was a black car pulling up beside you ten minutes later, window rolling down to reveal Yoongi with soaked hair, a hoodie plastered to his shoulders, and an expression caught somewhere between irritation and worry.
“Get in.”, he said.
You blinked at him, “Why are you…wait, are you wet??”
“My car is in the shop. I had to take one of the company cars that was parked in the garage up the street.,” he muttered still annoyed, “So I had to run in the rain.”
“You RAN? In the rain?”, you asked surprised.
“You texted you were drowning!”
“That was a joke!”
“I didn’t know that!”
You stared at him knowing that he 100% knew you were joking and was playing dumb.
He stared back like you were personally responsible for the existence of weather. You got in the car, dripping everywhere. He blasted the heater immediately.
The ride was quiet at first. The soft kind of quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable, just thick with something neither of you ever acknowledged.
Then he said, grumbling, “Next time, just call me and ask for a ride.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
“You never bother me Y/N.”, he shot back…quick, sharp, too honest.
Your heart stuttered.
The windshield wipers kept rhythm as the city blurred past. Rain streaked down the windows, the streetlights casting warm gold over his face.
“You didn’t have to come, you know.”, you whispered feeling bad that he went out in the rain and cold just to pick you up.
He glanced at you, jaw tight, “Yeah…I did.”
You felt yourself swallow.
This man…this wildly famous, insanely busy, chronically tired man had sprinted through a storm because you sent one dramatic text as a joke.
You stared at your hands, “So… I guess this is Month Five’s attempt?”
He smirked, “Pretty good one, right?”
“Borderline heroic.”, you chuckled, “But still no.”
He scoffed but didn’t look disappointed, just determined, in that quiet Yoongi way.
“I’ve got time.”, he murmured.
He ended up following you into your apartment to make sure you didn’t “slip and die on wet floors.”
You called him even more dramatic than you.
He pretended not to hear.
Before he left, he tossed you one of his dry hoodies from his car. It smelled just like him. “Wear that.”, he said, looking anywhere but at you, “You’ll warm up faster. It’s expensive which means it works better.”
You didn’t miss the pink tucked under his ears as you slipped on the hoodie.
And that was Month 5.
—You didn’t even invite him.
You were at school prepping for your class’s little end-of-semester performance, a bunch of adorable, sugar-charged kids singing an English song with choreography that looked more like interpretive flailing. You and the kids had worked really hard on it and you were a little bit excited to say the least.
Parents were coming.
Other teachers were coming.
Everyone was coming.
But certainly not Min Yoongi. Or so you thought.
You were herding your students into two uneven lines when some of the moms gasp behind you. You turned and promptly short-circuited.
Yoongi stood there in all black, hair perfectly styled to look not styled at all, hands shoved in his pockets with a watch that cost more than a year of your rent shining brightly on his wrist. He was staring at the mini-chaos around him like he’d stumbled into a parallel universe and regretted his choice.
“Yoongi??”, you blurted, “What are you…why…who…how…?” He shrugged, “You said you had an important performance today.”
“I did not invite you!”, you half sighed half laughed. “You don’t invite me to half the things I show up to.”, he said without shame, “Where do I sit?”
Before you could answer, three of your smallest students ran straight at him like little missiles.
“Teacher Yoongi!!”
His eyes widened in the same way someone’s might widen if a bear ran toward them.
“Why do they know my name?”, he hissed. You had the nerve to smile, “Because you’re super famous, their moms are all in love with you, and…I use your life as an example in class sometimes.”
“What kind of example?”, he questioned.
“You don’t wanna know.”
Kids clung to his legs. Tugged his sleeves. Told him he was handsome or at least that’s what they hear. One asked if he was your boyfriend. Yoongi nearly malfunctioned.
Then, then one little girl, grinning with two missing front teeth, placed a sticker smack on his cheek.
A pink, glittery heart sticker. You could practically hear his soul leave his body. “Why…”, he began slowly, “Did she just mark me like I’m her property?”
“She likes you.”
“I can tell.”, he scoffed trying to hide his smile.
But he didn’t take the sticker off. Not once.
He sat through the entire performance with it sparkling on his face like the world’s cutest brand label.
After the show, you found him outside the classroom, surrounded by your students who were giving him drawings they’d made “for Teacher Yoongi.” Crayon portraits. Crooked hearts. Stick figures. One pink bunny drawing that included very strict instructions to give it to Jungkook.
He held every single one like they were priceless artifacts.
“Why are they giving me gifts?”, he whispered.
“Because you’re nice.”
“I’m not nice.”
“You ran through the rain last month to get me.”, you smiled. He glared at the floor like it offended him.
When the last kid finally left, he walked toward you, arms full of crooked art and his black Valentino dress shirt now covered in various colors of glitter.
“So Y/N…”, he said, clearing his throat, voice low, “Month Six?” You smiled, “Yeah?”
“Go out with me.”
Your heart squeezed painfully wanting to say yes, but the old insecurity stuck like glue.
“Yoongi… you shouldn’t…”
He cut you off gently, “I didn’t ask if I should. I asked if you would.” You looked away, “No. I still can’t.”
His shoulders tensed. Just barely, “Okay.”
He said it softly, without anger, without disappointment just that quiet acceptance that somehow hurt more.
But when he turned to leave, he tapped the glitter heart sticker still stuck to his cheek.
“Tell your kids.”, he said, “I liked it.”
Month 6 was done.
—It started with a migraine.
A truly evil one, the kind that made light feel like swords and sound feel like a personal attack. You’d texted Yoongi earlier to cancel your usual Thursday hangout, telling him you were going home to sleep it off.
He just replied: “Okay. Drink water.”
Which was very “Yoongi trying not to show he’s worried,” so you smiled at your phone and went to bed.
You expected that to be the end of it. But around 9 p.m., your doorbell rang.
You opened it slowly, blinking through the dim hallway light and there he was. Hoodie. Sweatpants. Hair tucked under a beanie. Holding a small paper bag like it contained the meaning of life.
“You look like death.”, he said gently.
“Thanks.”, you croaked, “That’s so sweet.”
He stepped inside before you could stop him, “Sit.”
You frowned, “You’re so bossy when you’re worried.”
His cheeks colored pink quickly, “And you’re annoying. Sit.”
You sat. He handed you the bag.
Inside was:
The exact migraine-safe tea you always bought
Your favorite extra salty comfort snack
A favorite cookie dough ice cream
A soft, fluffy weighted headband that could be microwaved to heat it up
And…A tiny bottle of lavender oil you mentioned one time helped you relax.
You stared at the items, throat tightening, “Yoongi…how did you…?”
“When you tell me things Y/N,” he said simply, “I listen.”
That shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did.
After he made you some tea and gave you some more pain killers he guided you to your couch, dimmed the lights without asking, and sat beside you, close, but not too close. Just enough that you could feel warmth radiating from him.
Then he held out his hand, “Give me.”
“Give you what?”, you asked confused.
He tilted his head, “Your head.” You blinked, “Yoongi, no…”
He sighed, “Do you want relief or not?”Reluctantly, dramatically, you lowered your head into his palm earning a small chuckle from him. He gently cupped your temple with the cold pack, fingers brushing your hairline with the kind of tenderness you absolutely were not emotionally prepared for.
You let out a shaky breath you didn’t mean to.
He heard it.
His voice softened immediately, “That helping?”
“Yeah.”, you whispered.
Silence stretched between you. Warm. Heavy. Dangerous. After five minutes, his thumb began to stroke small circles at the edge of your brow, completely unintentional, completely natural, and completely lethal to your self-control.
You turned your head a little. He froze. Your eyes met.
And for one terrifying, brilliant second, he leaned forward just slightly, just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make his gaze drop to your mouth.
Just enough that if you moved a hair closer, he would kiss you.
But he didn’t move. And you didn’t either.
He cleared his throat first, pulling back so fast he almost dropped the ice pack.
“Month Seven.”, he said softly, eyes flicking away, “Go out with me.”
“Yoongi…”, you whispered, because your heart was pounding and your head was foggy and you couldn’t think straight, “You know I can’t.”
He nodded once. Sharp. Quiet. Understanding but hurting at the edges, “Okay. Next month, then.”
You didn’t know it yet, but he stayed in your apartment until you fell asleep, sitting on the floor beside your couch, arms folded on the cushion, head resting near your shoulder, watching you take slow even breaths. You woke up alone, but a new cold pack was still tucked gently against your temple.
And that was Month 7.
—You were both just grabbing dinner at a neighborhood tteokbokki place he loved. It was in a back alley just outside of the main city, owned and operated by a few elderly women. You figured it was going to be relaxed, simple, maybe a little teasing like usual.
But the moment you walked in, Yoongi stiffened.
The new waiter noticed you immediately, a tall, sharp-jawed guy with dimples that could start a minor revolution. He smiled right at you, bright and a little too eager.
“Table for two?”, he asked, eyes lingering. You didn’t think anything of it. Yoongi absolutely did. You didn’t catch the way his jaw clenched or how he stepped slightly closer to you like he was ready to body-check someone into a wall. The waiter led you to a booth and set down menus. Then he lingered. “You look familiar.”, he said to you, leaning a little too close, “Have we met before? Maybe at…”
Before he could finish, Yoongi slid one menu onto the table with a snap. “She hasn’t met you.”, he said flatly. The waiter blinked at him, awkwardly laughed, and finally took the hint, leaving. You turned to Yoongi, eyebrows raised, “Are you good?”
He stabbed a piece of fish cake with his chopsticks like it had personally betrayed him, “Fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I am.”, he said with the tone of someone who was absolutely not fine.
You bit back a smile, “You sure? Because that guy was just being polite and you looked like you were about two seconds away from throwing him into the soup.”
He leveled a glare at you, “He was flirting.”
“He was not flirting.”
“He was absolutely flirting.”
“Yoongi…”
“He hovered. He smiled like a golden retriever. He asked if he knew you.”, he pointed his chopsticks at you, “That’s a bad attempt at flirting.”
You laughed and he grew even more annoyed. You reached across the table and nudged his drink toward him, “Relax. You’re acting weird and I don’t like it.”
He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again…clearly arguing with himself internally.
Then the waiter came back with your orders, flashing that too-bright smile at you, “You seriously look really familiar.”, the guy said again, leaning in, “Are you a teacher? I think you taught English to my little sis…”
And that’s when Yoongi broke.
He slapped his palm onto the table hard enough to rattle the plates, “Can’t you see she’s busy?”
The waiter blinked, “Um. Oh. Okay. I was just…”
“She’s with me. We’re eating dinner together.”, Yoongi said. The guy looked between you two, sensing tension, but wisely backed away.
As soon as he left, you burst out laughing, “Yoongi, what was THAT?” He stared at you, face flushed, eyes wide, breathing like he’d just run a sprint he didn’t prepare for.
Yoongi looked at you for a long second. A long, vulnerable, irritated-at-himself second.
Then he blurted it—
Loud.
Fast.
Messy.
“Go out with me.”
Your breath caught, “Wait…what?”
“You heard me.”, he crossed his arms, staring down at the table like the napkins were causing him personal pain, “Month 8. Go out with me.”
No matter what, disbelief was your instinct, your shield, “Yoongi…”
He looked up finally, eyes surprisingly earnest beneath the frustration, “Don’t say no yet. Just… think about it.”
You exhaled softly, “Yoongi, I can’t.”
He closed his eyes like he’d expected that answer, like it stung but didn’t surprise him.
“Okay.”, he whispered, “Still not giving up.”
He didn’t speak much for the rest of the meal, but his leg brushed yours more than once under the table, like he needed the reassurance you were still there.
Month 8 was a no go.
—Yoongi had called it “doing you a favor,” but the second you walked into his apartment and saw him standing there in a black tuxedo that should’ve been illegal for him to wear, you were pretty positive you were the one doing him a favor by not passing out and ruining his night.
Just before you were getting ready to leave you were fixing your bracelet when you caught him staring. Not a casual look, one of those slow, wondering, soft-edged stares that would have meant something if you didn’t know Yoongi better.
“What?”, you asked, glancing down at your shimmering red dress like maybe you’d spilled something on it. He blinked, like he’d been zoning out, “Nothing. Just…”, he scratched the back of his neck, “You look incredibly beautiful.”
Your brain short-circuited for a second, then you forced a laugh, “Relax, it’s just a dress. I got it on clearance too.”
But Yoongi didn’t laugh. He just watched you a beat longer, jaw shifting like he wanted to say more. Like he almost did. Then he grabbed his wallet, muttered “let’s go,” and the moment dissolved.
You had the time of your life at the award show.
Backstage, he kept a hand gently at your lower back so you didn’t get trampled by managers and stylists. When people talked to him, he would glance at you every few seconds like he needed to make sure you hadn’t wandered off or evaporated. He made sarcastic comments under his breath just to make you laugh. He introduced you to people like you belonged there with him.
Every time someone’s flash went off, the two of you somehow leaned closer. Like instinct.
Somewhere between the second and third performance of the night, you caught yourself thinking:
If he asks again…I’ll say yes.
This time, you wouldn’t chicken out.
The after party wasn’t loud, just comfortably buzzy. Yoongi wasn’t drinking much, just nursing the same glass and sticking close to you like you were the only person in the room who didn’t exhaust him.
He was warm. Gentle. Making sure you ate and stayed hydrated. Touching the small of your back when he leaned in to hear your jokes. Smiling at you in that soft, real way he didn’t use on anyone else.
Your heart was doing backflips.
And then…
Of course.
She drifted over. A new sensation. The new IT girl. Gorgeous. Petite. Skin too perfect. She greeted him with voice like honey, a fond little “Yoongi Oppa,” and he answered with that sweet tone he almost never used on anyone but you, soft, teasing, familiar.
You felt it like a bucket of cold water.
Right.
Right.
That’s his world. His real world. Beautiful people with big money and talent stuck together. They dated, got married, and had beautiful talented children.
You were…what? A friend he brought along. A plus-one. A convenience. An easy way out of the rumor’s got too much. You stepped back a little. Gave them space. Convinced yourself it didn’t sting.
When she Walked Away. Yoongi turned back to you immediately, eyes searching, like he was making sure you were still there.
He smiled. Nervous.
“Hey.”, he said quietly, “So Y/N, I was thinking…”, he rubbed his thumb over the rim of his glass, “Go out with me.”
There it was. The thing you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t run from again.
And yet…your chest tightened.
Your voice betrayed you, “No.”
His face fell, not dramatically, just a tiny, stunned flicker he tried to hide.
“Oh.”, he said softly like he truly expected a different answer this time, “Okay. Yeah. No problem. Next month right?”, he forced a laugh.
He didn’t push. Didn’t guilt you. Just nodded, swallowed, and looked away for a moment like he was steadying himself. And you hated, hated, how much it hurt you to hurt him.
You were thankful that month 9 was over.
—Winter slapped the city early that year, cold enough to sting your nose after just a couple minutes, pretty enough to make you forget that last month ended with you telling Min Yoongi “no” when you meant “god, absolutely yes.”
You’d barely seen him since the award show. Not because he was avoiding you, Yoongi wasn’t the dramatic type, but because he was…different. Quieter around you. Careful, like you were a glass he wasn’t sure he should pick up again.
So when he texted you on December 3rd, it threw you.
Yoongi: You free tonight? Need your opinion on something.
You stared at the message for a good five minutes, wondering if it was a trap. Or worse, a lead in to a talk. You typed “yes” before you chickened out.
He met you outside your apartment, bundled up in a scarf and beanie, looking small and warm and unfairly cute.
“Come on.”, he said, barely meeting your eyes, “It’s a ten-minute walk.”
“Where are we going?”
He just shrugged, “You’ll see.”
Classic Yoongi: Quiet, but his gloved hand drifted close to yours as you walked, like he kept forgetting and remembering he wasn’t supposed to touch you like that.
You followed him through the city until you reached the park, specifically, the park that looked normal eleven months of the year but turned into a winter wonderland in December.
Lights everywhere. Glowing reindeer. A skating rink. Little food stalls serving soul warming items. Kids running around like sugar-fueled goblins.
Your heart did something stupid and hopeful.
“You brought me to the Winter Village?”, you asked. He didn’t look at you, “I told you I needed your opinion.”
“On…what? Whether to get hot chocolate or green tea?”
“No.”, he said flatly, “On this.” And then he pointed.
There was a booth selling handmade ornaments, glass, painted, delicate. Yoongi stepped closer, awkward as if he wasn’t sure this was a good idea anymore.
“Y/N, I wanted to get something for you.”, he said quietly, “For your tree. But I couldn’t pick one without you.”
Your brain short-circuited again, because…what?
“You want to get me a Christmas ornament?”, you repeated.
He nodded, cheeks pink from the cold…or maybe something else, “Last year you said your tree looked boring because your ornaments were cheap. Thought you might want…something nice.”
You stared at him, feeling warm in places that had no business being warm in 20-degree weather.
“Yoongi…that’s really sweet.”, you smiled. His mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile, “So pick one.”
You found a delicate hand blown glass ornament shaped like a grumpy little cat wearing a red Santa hat. It reminded you of someone. When you thanked him, he just bumped your shoulder and muttered, “Yeah, well…don’t drop it like I know your clumsy self will.”
The two of you wandered the village for a while, sipping hot cocoa, pretending everything was normal. Then you made the fatal mistake of stopping by the ice rink.
He looked at it with the most offended expression you’d ever seen, “No.” You nodded, “Yes.”
“I’m not doing this again.”, he said, sounding traumatized by a memory you hadn’t witnessed.
“You never even tried.”, you rolled your eyes.
“I don’t need to try to know gravity hates me.”
You laughed, “Please?” His eyes flicked to the ice, then to you, and you watched him lose the battle with himself in real time, “Fine Y/N. But if I die, I’m haunting you.”
He was terrible. Like newborn-deer-on-rollerblades terrible. At one point he slid a full two feet and grabbed onto you like you were a life preserver. His hand caught yours, warm, strong, and his other hand landed on your waist to steady himself.
You froze.
He froze.
The world didn’t.
Snow drifted around you, Christmas lights reflecting off the ice, and Yoongi was looking at you like he was trying really hard not to cross a line he’d drawn for himself because he had to.
“Yoongi…”, you breathed.
His jaw flexed, “You should’ve said yes last month.”, he murmured.
Your stomach dropped, “I know.”
He swallowed, eyes flicking to your mouth for half a second just long enough to hurt, “So will you go out with me?”
You opened your mouth, everything in your body telling you to say yes, but you shook your head.
He nodded and you swear you saw him deflate in real time. “Come on.”, he whispered, pulling his hand from yours slowly, like letting go cost him something, “Let’s get off the ice before I break both of my legs.”
Month 10 was done.
—It started with Yoongi knocking on your apartment door like he was trying not to break it with fury.
Three firm taps. No text beforehand. No “hey, you home?”
You opened the door, ready to tease him about being dramatic. But one look at his face, tight jaw, hard eyes, shoulders tense under his coat, and all your jokes died.
“What’s wrong?”, you asked.
His voice was grim and quiet, “Y/N…You went on a date?”
Your stomach dropped so hard and fast you felt dizzy, “Who told you that?”
He scoffed, “Does it matter?”
Well…no. Because yes, you’d gone. A few days earlier. With the waiter who had flirted with you months ago.
A distraction.
A bad idea.
A mistake you’d felt stupid about the moment it started because it wasn’t fair to him or Yoongi or you.
You stepped back, letting him in. He didn’t move at first, like crossing that threshold meant something heavier now, but then he brushed past you, footsteps sharp and angry.
“Yoongi…”, you tried, but he cut you off, “So let me get this straight.”, he turned to you, fury simmering under his words, “You keep rejecting me every time I ask you out. Every. Single. Month. But you’ll go on a date with him?”
You folded your arms, defensive, “Don’t make it sound like it was serious. I’m an adult. I can date whoever I want.”
“You still went.”, he shot back, “Why him and not me?”
“Because!…”, the words tangled in your throat.
Because you needed noise to distract you from your heart breaking.
Because watching Yoongi around women who fit his world hurt like hell and maybe you wanted to be with someone who fit beside you.
Because you were tired of disappointing him when the answer to happiness was so simple.
You took a breath, “Because I needed a break from all of this, Yoongi.”
“From what? Me?”, he asked, voice softer.
You hesitated one second too long. His eyes flashed with an anger, “Wow.”
“No…not you.”, you said quickly, “Just…the pressure.”
“What pressure Y/N? I ask you out once a month and then I back off. I’m not exactly chasing you with a marching band begging you for your hand in marriage.”, he spat.
“You’re famous.”, you blurted, “You’re successful. You’re rich. You date idols and actresses and gorgeous people who look like they belong on magazine covers…”
His face twisted like he’d been slapped.
You kept going because your emotions had hit critical mass, “And I’m just…me. I teach English to kids. I can barely pay my rent each month. I don’t belong on magazine covers or in music videos. And I…I can’t keep doing this dance with you when I know you’re just being nice, or bored, or…”
“Y/N Stop.”, he snapped, “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Decide for me.”, he said, voice rising now, “Decide what I feel. Decide what I want...who I want. Decide I’m lying. Decide I’m settling.”, he threw his hands up, “I’ve spent eleven months trying to show you I want YOU. And I’ve cared for you for many more months before that.”
You shook your head, “Why Yoongi?”
“Because I like you!”
“And I don’t believe you!”, you shouted feeling tears begin to form.
That one wounded him. Visibly. Deeply.
He stepped closer. Close enough to feel the cold still clinging to his coat. Close enough to feel the heat of his anger.
“Tell me why you went on a date with him.”, he said, quieter now…scarier quiet.
“Because I hoped it would…” This was humiliating. But you forced it out. “…get you off my case.”
Silence. Ugly, heavy silence.
Yoongi stared at you like he couldn’t recognize the person in front of him.
“I’m not…”, he paused, voice roughening, “I’m not trying to force you to date me. I’m trying to show you that I care. That I want you to date me.”
“Well maybe I don’t want you to care! Maybe I don’t want to date you.”, you lied.
He flinched. Just barely. But enough.
You swallowed hard, “You never give up. You never let it go. You never accept what I say…”
“What you say is bullshit.”, he cut in, voice sharp again, “You tell me you’re not good enough for me? Since when is that your decision and not mine? You don’t get to tell me who I’m allowed to want.”
“It’s not realistic.”, you shot back, “You and me? Come on. Look at your life.”
“I am looking Y/N!”, he shouted, “Why don’t you just shut up for once and listen to me instead?!”
You both froze.
He never yelled.
Not at you.
His breath came fast, like he was trying to reel himself back in.
He looked at the floor. The wall. Anywhere but your eyes.
“You know what…you’re right.”, he finally said, so softly it scared you, “I should give up.”
The words sliced through you.
He nodded, like he was agreeing to something inevitable, “So this is month eleven right?”
“Yoongi…”
“Let me ask one last time.”
He lifted his gaze and every bit of fire was gone, replaced with something hollow, “Will you go out with me?”
You just stared.
Frozen.
Heart aching. Confused. Wanting him. Terrified of him. Terrified of yourself.
He waited. One beat. Two. Three.
Then he nodded again, slowly, like he’d already prepared himself for this exact moment, “Got it.”
He stepped past you toward the door.
He didn’t touch you. Didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t slam anything. He just paused in your doorway for half a second shoulders sagging under the weight of eleven months of trying, “I’m sorry I upset you Y/N. That was never my intention.”
And then he left. Quiet. Controlled. Heartbroken.
And you didn’t hear from him again.
Not for days.
Not for weeks.
Month 11 had been the worst one yet.
—You’d never gone this long without hearing from Yoongi. Not once in all the years you’d been friends.
No late-night texts.
No “are you alive?” memes.
No voice memos of him giving an Oscar winning performance complaining about life and expecting an applause.
Nothing. Just silence.
It was your punishment, really. Or maybe it was his healing. Either way, it felt like losing oxygen little by little.
You tried to busy yourself. Tried to pretend it didn’t matter. But every night you found yourself checking your phone, waiting for a message that didn’t come.
And then one evening, against your better judgment, you opened his live when you saw the notification.
He sat in his studio, hair pushed back, tshirt hanging loose on his shoulders, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week. He answered questions, laughed a little. Faked a little.
And then someone asked:
“Yoongi, what happened to the girl you’ve been trying to ask out?”
He paused. Not long. But long enough for you to feel it in your bones.
Then he smiled, a tiny, tired curve of his lips and said, “It didn’t work out.”
No bitterness. No shade. Just quiet acceptance.
He changed the subject immediately, pretending it hadn’t gutted him to say those words.
You closed the live with shaky hands.
A day later, Namjoon messaged you.
Namjoon: Can you meet? It’s about Yoongi.
Your stomach knotted.
You should’ve said no. You almost did. But guilt was a cruel motivator.
So you met him at a tiny café tucked into a quiet street, the kind of place Namjoon liked because the tables were wide and the ambiance was “good for thinking.”
He got straight to the point, “He’s not okay.”
Something in your chest cracked.
Namjoon continued, “I’ve seen him down before, but this…this is different. He’s barely talking. Cancelled plans with his parents. Buried himself in work. I think he’s pretending he’s fine so nobody worries.”
You swallowed, “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
Namjoon sighed gently, “We all know that, but then why did you say no again?”
You stared at your half-empty cup, “Because I didn’t think he meant it. Because he’s…him. And I’m me. I don’t…”, you pushed a hand through your hair, “I don’t belong in his world.”
Namjoon just blinked at you. Then he let out a breath of disbelief, “Y/N do you seriously think Yoongi cares about that? He doesn’t give a damn about status or popularity. He doesn’t even know how much he’s worth half the time.”
You stayed silent.
Namjoon leaned back and rubbed his face, “You wanna know what I did last year?”
He didn’t wait for your answer, “I had to carry a drunk Yoongi to his bed at 3am and he wouldn’t shut up about you.”
Your head snapped up, “What?”
“Oh yeah.”, Namjoon said with a grimace, “You know how he gets when he drinks, whispery and sentimental? He kept telling me, ‘Joonie, don’t laugh, but Y/N’s so pretty and so hot and I love when she wears that black dress. I can’t think when she’s around me. She smiled at me today and my soul left my body. I think I’m dying. Don’t let me die.’”
Your jaw dropped, “No he didn’t.”
“Oh, he did.” Namjoon said, sipping his drink like he suffered for it. “Over and over. AND that was just the PG rated stuff I had to hear about. By the time I left his place I needed some Hobi Water for my ears as the kids these days say.”
You covered your face with both hands as heat flooded through you.
“Call him.”, Namjoon said softly, “Please. He misses you.”
“I can’t.”, you whispered, “Not after everything.”
Namjoon looked at you with a mix of frustration and sympathy, “Then at least decide what you want before the month ends.”
You couldn’t bring yourself to call him.
Every time you opened your contacts, your thumb hovered and froze. You’d hurt him too much. He deserved better than your confusion and games.
So you stayed quiet.
The month crawled toward its end, days and hours slipping past you like water down your fingers. Each minute that ticked by made your chest feel tighter. More final.
All day, you kept waiting for your phone to buzz.
It didn’t.
And honestly?
You didn’t blame him.
He’d done enough. Sometimes even the most patient hearts get tired.
Just before midnight, restless and hungry, you grabbed a hoodie, his hoodie with that faint scent of his cologne that you were hanging on to, and walked out into the cold for a snack. The night was crisp and quiet, snow drifting lazily through the air keeping most people inside.
Instead of heading straight home after, your feet carried you toward the river.
Your spot.
Yoongi’s spot.
The one place he always took you when life got too loud. When he wanted to reset.
You sat on the railing, eating your hotteok, staring at the dark water reflecting the city lights. Your breath fogged the air.
He’s not coming you thought to yourself.
11:51 PM.
You sighed, pulling your knees up to your chest.
11:55 PM.
You wiped at your eyes telling yourself it was just the wind causing the waterworks.
11:57 PM.
This is it, you thought.
No month 12. No last ask. It really is over.
You exhaled shakily…Then you heard it.
Footsteps.
Fast footsteps.
Running.
You turned. And there he was.
Yoongi sprinting toward you, out of breath, cheeks pink from the cold and from exertion, hair messy under a SnapBack he’d clearly thrown on in a rush.
He skidded to a stop in front of you, hands on his knees, trying to inhale enough oxygen to function.
“Yoongi?”, you breathed, heart racing.
He held up a finger, “Gimme…”, gasp, “…a sec…”, gasp, “…you’d think I’d be in better shape.”
You waited, stunned, watching him gather himself. Finally, he straightened up, chest still heaving, eyes shining in the dim light.
“It’s still the twelfth month.”, he panted. “I made it to you before midnight so it counts.”
Your throat tightened, “You didn’t have to…”,
“I know.”, he cut you off, sharper than he meant to, “But I wanted to.”
You stared at him. He stared right back, expression tangled between hurt, hope, frustration, and something unshakably tender.
Then he swallowed hard. Took one hesitant step closer. And said softly, almost reverently, “Y/N, will you go out with me?”
No flourish.
No teasing.
No dramatic gesture.
Just raw, exhausted honesty from a man who’d loved you quietly, fiercely, stubbornly for a year and honestly many more before that.
Tears prickled your eyes.
“Yoongi…”, you whispered. The clock on your phone blinked 12:00 AM.
He didn’t look away as he said, barely above a breath, “This last year has been one of the best of my entire life.”
Your heart hammered so hard it hurt.
“I looked forward to every month.”, he continued, “Every excuse to see you. Every excuse to do something nice for you. Every stupid plan. Every time you rolled your eyes at me. It was all worth it.”
You blinked, tears blurring the city behind him, “Yoongi…”
“I love you Y/N.”, he said, firm like he truly meant it, “I’ve loved you all year. Longer than that. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”
Your breath shook as you tried to speak, “Do you…do you really mean that?”
Normally, he would’ve teased you. Or nudged you. Or maybe even argued.
But tonight?
He was done explaining himself with words.
A beat of silence stretched between you.
Then Yoongi exhaled like he’d reached the end of his rope, stepped forward…
…and kissed you.
Not gently.
Not hesitantly.
But with months of frustration, affection, heartbreak, and longing poured into a single moment.
His cold hands slid to your jaw, thumbs brushing your cheeks as if memorizing you.
You melted into him, fingers fisting in his coat, kissing him back with all the fear and want you’d swallowed for so long.
When he finally pulled back, breath warm against your lips, he whispered, “Y/N…please…please let me love you. Let me try. Give me a chance.”
Your voice cracked as you breathed an almost silent, “Yes.”
Yoongi froze.
Like he didn’t trust himself to believe it.
“Yes.”, you repeated, stronger this time, “I’ll go out with you.”
His eyes softened, something relieved, something overwhelmed, something that looked like coming home.
Snow drifted between you as he leaned his forehead against yours.
“Month twelve.”, he whispered, “And you’re finally my girlfriend.”
And then with the snow softly falling and the lights of the big city twinkling behind you, he pulled you flush against him and kissed you again, slower this time. His hands gripping your waist like a man who couldn’t believe that you were finally his, but also like a man eternally determined to prove to you that you were more than worthy of being Min Yoongi’s girl.
Permanent Tag List: @kam9404 @itsmina29 @amarawayne @coffeedepressionsoup @tea4sykes
Genre : Slow Burn | Friends to Lovers | Unspoken Love | Slice of Life • Soft Angst
Summary: You thought love was somewhere else, until you realized it had been patiently waiting, hidden in the person who never left your side.
The classroom smelled like pencil shavings and floor cleaner that hadn’t fully dried. Chairs scraped against the floor as children rushed to sit beside friends they already knew, voices loud and careless, laughter bouncing off walls still unfamiliar to you. You stood there for a moment, backpack heavy on your shoulders, fingers tightening around the straps.
Every seat was filling quickly. Clusters of kids leaned toward each other, already forming small worlds. Whispers. Inside jokes. Names called across the room like they mattered more than anything else.
Except for one seat. It was by the window. Empty. Quiet. The boy sitting beside it didn’t look up. His desk was neat but lived in. A notebook lay open, filled edge to edge with messy handwriting and tiny doodles drawn in the margins. Music notes. Little squares shaded in until the pencil nearly tore the page. His hair fell into his eyes, like he didn’t bother checking the mirror before leaving home. He looked tired in a way that didn’t belong to a kid his age, shoulders slightly hunched, as if he was already used to shrinking himself.
You hesitated. You could choose a louder table. Somewhere safer. Somewhere you wouldn’t feel like an interruption. Instead, you walked toward the window. The chair scraped softly when you pulled it out. The sound made him glance up, eyes dark and curious, but not startled. Just… observing.
“Hi,” you said, voice smaller than you meant it to be.
He stared at you for half a second longer than necessary, then nodded once. “Hi.”
That was it. No smile. No question. But he shifted his pencil to the other side of the desk, just enough to make space.
You sat.
Outside, the trees swayed in the breeze, leaves brushing against the glass like they were trying to listen in. The teacher hadn’t arrived yet. The room buzzed with restless energy. You tried not to fidget.
After a few minutes, you noticed him reaching into his bag. He pulled out a snack, neatly wrapped, already broken in half. Without looking at you, he placed one half on the edge of your desk and nudged it closer.
You blinked. “For me?”
He shrugged, eyes still on his notebook. “You didn’t bring one.”
“How do you know?”
“You kept checking your bag like you forgot something.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself. It slipped out easily, surprising you both. “You’re observant.”
He paused his writing. “My grandma says I notice useless things.”
“That doesn’t sound useless.”
He considered that. Then quietly, “She says that too.”
You unwrapped the snack. It tasted sweeter than it probably was. “I’m Y N,” you said, crumbs brushing your fingers.
“Yoongi.”
Just Yoongi. No last name. No explanation.
The teacher walked in then, clapping her hands, calling for attention. You both turned forward at the same time, shoulders almost touching. Not quite. But close enough that you were aware of the warmth there.
Throughout the lesson, you noticed things. The way Yoongi wrote everything down, even instructions everyone else ignored. The way he hummed under his breath when he finished early, barely loud enough to hear. The way he slid his eraser toward you when your pencil snapped and rolled onto the floor.
You whispered, “Thanks.”
He whispered back, “You’re welcome.”
At recess, you expected him to leave. Quiet kids always disappeared like that. Instead, he lingered by the doorway, tying his shoelace far too carefully.
“You don’t have to stay,” you said. “I mean, if your friends are outside.”
He looked up. “I don’t really have friends yet.”
“Oh.”
The word felt heavier than it should have. “Well,” you said, heart beating strangely fast, “you can sit with me.”
He nodded. Again. Always that small, thoughtful nod.
On the playground, you shared stories between bites of another snack he brought. He told you about his piano at home, how some keys stuck if you pressed them too hard. You told him about how you moved here because your mom said this place would be better.
“Do you like it here?” he asked.
You thought about the classroom, the empty seat, the way the sun hit his desk. “I think I will,” you said.
Years later, you would forget the name of your first teacher. You would forget the lesson that day, the homework, the bell schedule.
But you would remember this.
The quiet boy by the window. The snack split cleanly in half. The feeling of sitting down and knowing, without knowing why, that you had chosen right.
By the time high school became a conversation, it already felt decided. You and Yoongi walked home the same way you always did, backpacks slung low, shoes scuffing the cracked sidewalk. The neighborhood had changed a little. New convenience store on the corner. The old bakery boarded up. But the route stayed the same, and so did the rhythm of your conversations. Easy. Familiar. Like a song you didn’t need to think about anymore.
You kicked a pebble ahead of you. It bounced once, then disappeared into the gutter. “They gave us the application forms today,” you said, casual, like it was nothing. “For high school.”
Yoongi hummed. He always did that when he was listening closely.
“My mom keeps talking about Sunhwa High,” you continued. “She says it’s closer to her work. Easier commute.”
He stopped walking. You took two more steps before noticing. Turned back. “You okay?”
He stood there, staring at the ground like he had dropped something important and was trying to remember where it fell. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Sunhwa, huh.”
You nodded. “I think I’ll apply there.”
The wind picked up, lifting the hem of his hoodie. You didn’t know that he had already chosen a school months ago. That the brochure was tucked into his drawer. That he had circled the music program with a pencil pressed so hard it left marks on the next page. He had known where he was going until you spoke.
“That’s good,” he said, finally starting to walk again. His voice was even. Unbothered. “I heard it’s a decent school.”
“You did?” you asked, surprised. “I didn’t know you were looking into it.”
“I wasn’t,” he said. Then corrected himself softly. “I mean, not really.”
You laughed. “You’re so weird sometimes.”
He smiled like he liked being called that by you.
The next few days passed in a blur of classes and deadlines and whispered conversations about who was going where. At lunch, friends compared acceptance chances like it was a competition. You listened, nodded, but never felt the urgency they did.
Wherever you went, Yoongi would be there. That part felt obvious, Certain. One afternoon, you found him in the music room, fingers resting on the piano keys without pressing them down. Sunlight spilled across the floor, dust floating in the air. He looked up when you entered, eyes softening in a way that always felt private. “Do you ever think about leaving?” you asked, sitting beside him on the bench.
“Leaving where?”
“Here,” you said. “This town. Everyone says high school is where things change.”
“They always say that,” he replied. “Things change anyway.”
You leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Promise we won’t get weird.”
He frowned. “We’re already weird.”
“No,” you said. “I mean… promise we won’t drift.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he played a single note. Low. Steady.
“I don’t drift,” he said. “I stay.”
The day acceptance letters arrived, you tore yours open at the kitchen table, hands shaking more from excitement than fear.
Sunhwa High School.
You grinned so wide your cheeks hurt. You ran all the way to Yoongi’s place, shoes slapping against the pavement, heart racing like you were late for something important. He opened the door with his hair still damp, acceptance letter already folded neatly in his pocket. “You got in,” he said before you could speak.
“How did you know?”
“You’re smiling like that,” he replied. “It’s obvious.”
You waved the letter in his face. “We’re going to the same school.”
He nodded, like it had been expected. Like it had never been a question. “That’s good,” he said again.
Later that night, alone in his room, Yoongi took out the other letter. The one from the school he had chosen first. The one with the program he dreamed about when no one was watching. He folded it carefully and slid it into the back of his wallet. Not as a regret. Not as a sacrifice.
As proof.
Proof that some choices are made quietly. That some futures are rewritten without ceremony. That loving someone sometimes looks like changing direction before they ever know you were headed somewhere else.
At Sunhwa High, you walked through the gates together on the first day. New uniforms. New faces. Same steps. You glanced at him and said, smiling, “I’m glad we did this.”
He looked at you like he had known that all along.“Me too,” he said.
And he meant more than you understood.
College did not arrive gently. It came with deadlines taped to dorm walls, alarm clocks ringing too early, and the constant hum of exhaustion that never quite went away. Your world shrank into lecture halls, convenience stores, and Yoongi’s tiny off campus apartment that smelled like instant noodles and old notebooks. You spent more nights there than anywhere else.
His place was small. One room pretending to be two. A couch that sank in the middle. A desk cluttered with papers and cables and a secondhand keyboard that barely fit against the wall. There was always music playing softly, unfinished tracks looping in the background like they were thinking things through.
You kicked off your shoes at the door without asking. “Did you eat?” Yoongi asked from the kitchen, already boiling water.
“I had coffee,” you replied.
“That’s not food.”
“It’s emotional support.”
He snorted. “You’re going to pass out one day.”
“You’ll catch me.”
The words came out easy. Too easy. You didn’t look at him when you said it. He didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth lifted as he dropped two blocks of ramen into the pot.
You sat on the floor, back against the couch, spreading your notes around you like you were building a small fortress. Outside, the city glowed through the window, neon signs blinking like tired eyes refusing to close. “So,” you said, flipping through a textbook. “If I fail this midterm, please tell my mom I tried.”
“I’ll lie,” he said. “Convincingly.”
“You always do.”
He brought the bowls over, steam rising between you. You ate cross legged, knees brushing, shoulders occasionally bumping when you reached for the same thing. These small collisions felt normal now. Expected. Like gravity.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” you said after a while. “More than usual.”
“I’m always quiet.”
“No,” you replied. “This is different. This is thinking quiet.”
He hesitated. You knew that pause well. The one where he decided whether or not to let you in.
“I’m writing more,” he said finally.
“Lyrics?”
“Yeah.”
You looked up at him, eyes bright. “Can I hear?”
He groaned. “They’re bad.”
“You say that every time.”
“And every time I’m right.”
“Yoongi,” you said, dragging his name out until it sounded like a complaint. “I’ve heard you hum songs while brushing your teeth. I think I can survive this.”
He stared at the table, fingers tapping softly against the bowl. “You’re not supposed to hear them yet,” he muttered.
“Why not?”
“Because,” he said, then stopped. Shook his head. “Just because.”
That answer didn’t satisfy you, but you didn’t push. Instead, you leaned back against the couch and closed your eyes. “Play me something someday,” you said softly. “Even if it’s unfinished.”
He looked at you then. Like he was memorizing the way your face softened when you trusted him.“Okay,” he said. “Someday.”
Nights blurred together after that.
You fell asleep on his couch more times than you could count, waking to the sound of keys tapping under careful fingers. Sometimes he thought you were still asleep when you opened your eyes and saw him working, hunched over his desk, headphones on, lost somewhere else.
Once, you whispered, “You look like you belong there.”
He pulled one earcup off. “Where?”
“In your own world.”
He smiled tiredly. “It’s quieter there.”
“Is there room for me?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“There always has been,” he said.
Midterms came and went. Finals loomed. Stress lived under your skin, buzzing constantly. One night, overwhelmed and frustrated, you threw your pen down. “I hate this,” you said. “I don’t even know why I’m here sometimes.”
Yoongi turned his chair to face you. “You’re here because you care.”
The room went quiet. You met his eyes. For a second, the space between you felt heavier than usual. Charged. Like a sentence waiting to be finished. “You’re always saying the right thing,” you said quietly.
He shrugged. “Someone has to.”
“Do you ever get tired of me complaining?”
He laughed, short and surprised. “No.”
“Ever?”
“No,” he repeated. “I like listening.”
“Why?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Laughed instead, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re funny,” he said. “You say weird things.”
You smiled, but something settled low in your chest. An almost. A question left untouched.
That night, you sat beside him on the couch, sharing one pair of earphones as he played you a rough demo. No words yet. Just melody. Slow. Familiar. Comforting. “This one feels like home,” you said.
He swallowed. “Yeah.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder without thinking. He froze for half a second, then relaxed, warmth seeping through the fabric of his hoodie. “You always do this,” he murmured.
“Do what?”
“Make things feel… manageable.”
You tilted your head to look at him. “You do that for me too.”
Your faces were close. Close enough to notice the tiny scar near his eyebrow. Close enough to feel his breath shift. Then you laughed, breaking it without meaning to. “Wow. We’re exhausted.”
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “We should sleep.”
You didn’t move right away. Neither did he.
Eventually, you stood, grabbed your bag, and headed for the door. “Goodnight, Yoongi.”
“Goodnight,” he replied.
After you left, he sat back down and opened a new file on his laptop. He didn’t name it after you.
He named it after the feeling you left behind.
Adulthood did not arrive with fireworks. It came with an email subject line that read Congratulations, with an office that smelled like printer ink and burnt coffee, with a desk that was yours and somehow already exhausting. You learned how to smile through meetings, how to nod while someone explained things you already knew, how to keep your voice steady even when you felt like you were pretending. Your mornings filled with alarms and pressed clothes. Your nights ended with tired feet and takeout eaten over the sink.
Yoongi’s days looked nothing like yours. He slept when the city was loud and worked when it quieted down. His studio was a converted room that always felt a little too small for his ambition. Cables sprawled across the floor like veins. Coffee cups stacked beside the monitor. Music lived there in pieces, half written thoughts layered on top of each other. Different routines. Same pull.
The first thing you did after your first full day at work was text him.
Y/N: I survived. Barely.
Yoongi: Proud of you.
Y/N: I wore heels. Never again.
Yoongi: Liar. You’ll wear them tomorrow.
You smiled at your phone on the bus ride home, city lights streaking past the window. You didn’t tell him how your hands shook before your presentation. He didn’t tell you how many rejections he’d gotten that week. Some things stayed unsaid to keep the other breathing easier.
You still ended up at his studio most nights. Sometimes still in office clothes, hair tied up loosely, shoes kicked aside at the door like you’d never left. “You’re early,” he said one evening, glancing at the clock.
“I escaped,” you replied, dropping onto the couch. “They tried to schedule a meeting that could have been an email.”
“Corporate life is already corrupting you.”
“You love it.”
He brought you a drink without asking. You watched him move around the room, comfortable, certain, like this space answered to him in a way the office never answered to you.
“You look tired,” he said.
“So do you.”
He shrugged. “That’s permanent.”
You talked about everything and nothing. Office gossip. The intern who kept stealing lunches. A producer who told Yoongi his sound was too quiet. Too sad. Not marketable enough.
“What did you say?” you asked.
“I said okay.”
“That’s it?”
He shrugged again. “They don’t hear it yet.”
“You will make them hear it,” you said without hesitation.
He looked at you like you had placed something solid in his hands.
There were nights when you arrived angry, voice sharp with frustration, words tumbling out too fast. He listened from his chair, hands folded, eyes steady.
There were nights when you arrived quiet, sinking into the couch, staring at nothing. He didn’t fill those silences. He let them exist.
Late at night, when the city outside thinned into something quieter, you sat on the studio floor with your back against the couch while he worked. He played you new tracks sometimes. Short pieces. Unfinished thoughts. “Does this one make sense?” he asked once.
“It feels lonely,” you said. “But not in a bad way.”
He nodded. “That’s what I was going for.”
You didn’t realize then that he wrote best after you left. That your presence settled something in him. That when the door closed behind you, he filled the space with sound because silence felt too loud.
One night, you texted him first, fingers moving before you could think.
Y/N: I got the promotion.
Your phone rang immediately.
“Hey,” he said, voice warm. “I knew you would.”
You leaned against your kitchen counter, smiling. “You didn’t even let me finish typing.”
“I didn’t need to.”
Another night, weeks later.
Y/N: Today sucked.
He replied with a pin drop location. You went. You sat together in the dim studio, knees touching, not speaking for a long time. “You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he said eventually.
“I know,” you whispered. “I just forget.”
“You don’t with me.”
The realization settled slowly. You lived different lives now. Woke up to different alarms. Chased different futures. Yet when something good happened, he was the first to know. When something awful happened, he was where you landed. Same gravity. No matter how far the days stretched you apart.
You arrive at the same time every evening. Six forty five. Sometimes a little later if traffic is cruel. Sometimes earlier if you leave work angry enough to flee. The elevator ride up is muscle memory now. Third floor. Left turn. Door with the dent near the handle that Yoongi keeps saying he will fix someday. You knock once and let yourself in.
“Yoongi,” you call out, already kicking off your shoes.
“In here,” he replies, voice calm, familiar, threaded through the low hum of equipment.
The studio smells like coffee that’s been reheated too many times and the faint sweetness of your hand lotion, the one you leave behind without realizing it. Your mug sits on the desk beside his keyboard. The one with the fading print. You don’t remember when it became yours. It just did. You drop your bag by the couch and sink into it like gravity has finally loosened its grip.
“I swear,” you say, staring at the ceiling, “if one more person emails me asking for something that was already explained in the meeting, I’m going to fake my own disappearance.”
Yoongi spins slowly in his chair, facing you. “You can’t,” he says. “They’d still email.”
You laugh. It comes out tired but real. “And get this,” you continue, propping yourself up on your elbows, “guess who messaged me today.”
He raises an eyebrow. That is all the encouragement you need.
“My ex.”
He stops spinning.
“Oh.”
“That’s it?” you ask. “No commentary?”
He shrugs. “I’m listening.”
You roll onto your side, facing him. “He asked if I’ve been thinking about him.”
Yoongi leans back in his chair, eyes flicking briefly to the ceiling.
“And have you?”
“No,” you say immediately. Then softer, “Well. Not until he texted.”
Yoongi nods like that makes sense. Like it doesn’t press somewhere uncomfortable in his chest.“What did you say?” he asks.
“I said I hope he’s doing well,” you reply. “Which is polite but also a lie.”
“That’s growth,” he says.
You smile. “I learned from the best.”
He snorts. “I’m terrible at confrontation.”
“You’re excellent at avoidance,” you correct.
“Selective silence,” he says. “It’s an art.”
You sit up, stretching your arms over your head. Your blazer slips off your shoulders. Yoongi looks away just in time. “I’m so tired,” you say. “I don’t even know what I want anymore. Everyone keeps asking if I’m dating. If I’m looking. Like it’s a deadline.”
“You don’t owe anyone answers,” he says.
“Sometimes it feels like I do,” you reply. “Like if I don’t figure it out soon, I’ll miss something.”
He swivels his chair toward his desk, fiddling with a knob that doesn’t need adjusting. “People act like love is a schedule,” he says. “It’s not.”
You watch him, the familiar slope of his shoulders, the way his hands move with certainty even when his thoughts don’t.
“You always say the right things,” you murmur.
“I say what I think,” he replies. “There’s a difference.”
Silence settles in, comfortable and practiced. Outside, the city breathes. Cars pass. A siren fades into the distance. You pull your legs up onto the couch. “Do you ever get lonely?”
He freezes for a fraction of a second. Not enough that you notice. Enough that he does.“Sometimes,” he says carefully.
“Why don’t you date more?” you ask. “You could. People would line up.”
He laughs quietly. “That sounds exhausting.”
“You don’t even try.”
“I’m busy.”
“With what?”
He turns to face you again, expression unreadable. “This.”
You gesture around the room. “And me?”
He answers without thinking. “You’re not work.”
The words land between you, heavier than they sound.
You blink. “What am I, then?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Spins his chair once, then stops.
“You’re… here,” he says. “You always are.”
Later, he plays you a track he’s been working on. No lyrics yet. Just sound. You listen with your eyes closed, letting it wash over you. “This one feels like sitting in a room with someone you don’t have to impress,” you say.
He stares at you. “That’s exactly what it is.”
You smile, unaware of what you’ve just done to him.
Your phone buzzes. A message from a coworker. Then another from the same ex. You groan and toss it aside. “I’m ignoring that,” you declare.
“Good,” Yoongi says. “They don’t deserve your energy.”
“You say that like you’re protective.”
“I am,” he replies easily. Too easily.
You look at him then. The way his gaze softens when it lands on you. The way he never checks the time when you’re here.
“You know,” you say lightly, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in love with me.”
The room goes quiet. Yoongi laughs. It’s quick. Almost convincing. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says. “You leave dishes in my sink.”
You grin. “That’s intimacy.”
“That’s disrespect.”
You stand, grabbing your bag. “I should go. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“I know,” he says.
At the door, you pause. “Hey, Yoongi.”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for listening.”
He watches you like the room is already emptier.
“Always,” he says.
After you leave, he sits in the silence. The chair still. The music paused. Your words echoing louder than any track. He opens a new file. He doesn’t name it after you. He never does.
The studio sounds different after midnight. The city outside thins out, noise retreating into distant echoes. Neon lights flicker without urgency. Even the air feels slower, heavier, like it knows better than to rush him. Yoongi sits alone at his desk, hoodie pulled close, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The chair creaks when he leans back, then forward again. A cup of coffee sits untouched to his left, gone cold hours ago.
You left earlier than usual tonight. You always say goodbye the same way. A soft knock on the desk. A smile that lingers just long enough to stay with him after the door closes.
“I’ll text you when I get home.”
You always do.
Your message is still on his phone.
Y/N: home. thanks for letting me complain again. sleep, okay?
He didn’t reply right away. He never does when he’s about to work. The room hums as he presses record.
He doesn’t start with lyrics. Words come later, once the sound has already decided where it wants to go. He plays slowly, letting the notes find their places. Familiar chords. Ones his hands know without instruction.
It happens without warning. A melody settles in, gentle and steady. It feels like walking beside someone you’ve known your whole life. No need to speak. No need to rush. Yoongi exhales softly.
“Okay,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”
He lets it loop. Again. Again. Adjusts a note. Lowers the tempo. Adds a layer that sounds like warmth pressed into sound. Only then does he open the notebook. It’s worn. Pages curled at the edges. The spine cracked in places that tell their own story. This notebook has never left the studio. This notebook has never been shared.
He flips to a blank page. The pen hesitates. Then moves.
You know my home better than I do,
Leave your shoes, like you’re never leaving too
He stops.
Shakes his head. Crosses the lines out gently, like he’s apologizing to them.
“Too obvious,” he says to the empty room. He tries again.
You sit in silence, claiming it as your own,
Like the hush around you whispers your name alone
His throat tightens. He leans back, rubbing his eyes. “Get it together,” he mutters.
He records another take. This time humming softly over the track, voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until it fades.
Between recordings, he scrolls through older files. Folders labeled with dates. Not anniversaries. Not milestones anyone else would recognize. Just moments.
The night you fell asleep on his couch after crying about your first job rejection. The evening you brought takeout and stayed until sunrise talking about nothing. The day you laughed so hard in his studio that he forgot what he was working on. He names the new file after tonight. A date you will forget by morning.
“You’ll never hear this,” he says aloud. “That’s probably for the best.”
He records lyrics this time. His voice is rough around the edges, tired but honest.
The silence knows, it breathes your name,
Every heartbeat burns, every pulse aflame.
If being yours is fire, then let me burn,
I’ve been yours before I could ever return.
He stops abruptly. His hands drop to his lap “That’s not fair,” he says quietly. “You didn’t ask for this.”
He stands and paces the room. Steps careful, practiced. He’s done this a hundred times. Writes. Records. Pulls back. He checks his phone. Another message from you.
Y/N: did I leave my charger there?
He smiles despite himself.
Yoongi: yeah. I’ll keep it safe.
Y/N: of course you will. goodnight, yoongi.
He stares at your name on the screen longer than necessary. “Goodnight,” he whispers back, even though you can’t hear him.
He sits down again. Records another version. This one softer. Almost shy.
If you ever hear me, just look away,
Let it drift like a tune in the light of day.
Some truths are better left unclaimed,
Like the quiet love for you that can’t be framed.
When he finishes, he doesn’t listen back right away. He saves the file. Folds the notebook closed. The studio is quiet again.
He leans back in his chair, eyes closed, letting the silence settle around him. Loving you has never felt like a choice. It feels like a fact he learned early and never questioned.
He checks the time. Too late or too early. Tomorrow, you’ll show up again. Six forty five. Complaints. Laughter. That familiar comfort. You’ll never know what lived here after you left. And for now, that feels safer.
You don’t plan to say it. It slips out the way most truths do. Casually. Wrapped in the safety of routine. You arrive at the studio like you always do, shoes by the door, bag on the couch, your presence folding into the room as if it belongs there.
Yoongi swivels his chair when he hears you “You’re late,” he says.
“Traffic,” you reply, rolling your shoulders. “And I stopped to get iced coffee. They messed up my order again.”
He hums. “They always do.”
You sit cross legged on the floor, leaning back against the couch. He goes back to adjusting levels, the soft glow of the screen lighting his face. For a while, you talk about nothing. A meeting that went on too long. A coworker who takes credit too easily. The way adulthood keeps asking for more than it gives. Then you say it.
“There’s this guy at work.”
Yoongi’s hand stills on the mouse just for a moment.
Then he spins his chair toward you. Calm. Interested. Exactly the way he always listens “Yeah?” he says.
You nod. “He’s… nice. We’ve been talking. Nothing serious.”
“Do you like him?”
You tilt your head, considering. “I don’t know yet. Maybe. I think I could.”
Yoongi leans back, folding his arms. His face gives nothing away. “That’s good,” he says. “You deserve someone nice.”
You smile, relieved by his reaction. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
You talk more after that. About how the guy brings you coffee. How he listens when you rant. How it feels easy. Comfortable. Yoongi nods in the right places. Asks the right questions.
“What’s his name?”
“What does he do?”
“Did he ask you out?”
“Not yet,” you say. “But I think he might.”
You hesitate, then add, “What do you think?”
The room feels smaller somehow.
Yoongi answers without missing a beat. “If you want to go, you should.”
“You wouldn’t be weird about it?” you ask lightly.
He smiles. “Why would I be?”
You laugh. “I don’t know. You’re… you.”
“That’s exactly why,” he replies.
The conversation moves on. You don’t notice how his fingers curl into his palm. You don’t notice how the music playing in the background has stopped. When you leave that night, you hug him. A quick squeeze. Familiar. “Thanks,” you say. “For listening.”
“Anytime,” he says.
The door closes behind you. The studio feels too quiet. Yoongi doesn’t move for a long time. He sits there, staring at the screen, your words replaying themselves in his head like a chorus he didn’t ask for.
There’s this guy.
He’s nice.
I think I could like him.
He opens the project he was working on earlier. The file loads slowly. The waveform fills the screen. He presses play.
Your song.
He knows it the second it starts. The melody that feels like late nights and shared silence. The one that never quite found its ending. He listens all the way through. Doesn’t touch a thing.
Then he stops it. “This isn’t yours anymore,” he says quietly.
His cursor hovers over the file name. A date. A night you don’t remember. A feeling you never knew he kept. Delete.
The confirmation box pops up. He doesn’t hesitate. The screen goes blank.
Yoongi leans back in his chair, eyes closing. The ache doesn’t arrive all at once. It spreads slowly. Settles in places he knows too well. He picks up his phone. Types. Deletes. Types again.
Yoongi: let me know how it goes.
He stares at the message, then sends it before he can rethink it. A few seconds later, your reply appears.
Y/N: you’re the best, you know that?
He exhales a soft laugh that doesn’t quite sound like one. “Yeah,” he murmurs to the empty room. “I know.”
He turns back to his desk. Opens a new project. Starts again. Outside, the city keeps moving. Tomorrow, you’ll come back. You always do. And he will listen like he always has.
It happens slowly enough that neither of you can point to the exact moment things change. You still text Yoongi first when something small happens. A meme. A complaint. A picture of a bad lunch. But the replies take longer now. Not because he doesn’t care. Because you are busy. Because he is always working. Because life has learned how to slip between the cracks of what used to be constant.
Your visits to the studio stop being automatic. Once a week turns into once every two. Then sometimes not at all. You mean to go. You always do. But dinners stretch late. Conversations linger. The guy from work walks you home and asks about your day in a way that feels attentive and easy.
Yoongi notices the empty hours first. Six forty five comes and goes. The studio door stays closed. Your shoes are not by the wall. Your mug stays untouched on the desk, dust settling slowly along the rim. He checks his phone. Nothing.
He tells himself it’s fine. That this is how things are supposed to go. That people grow into different shapes and schedules. That he knew this day would come.
The music gets louder. He works through the night, headphones pressed tight, fingers moving faster than his thoughts. Track after track. Beat after beat. If he keeps the sound full enough, there’s no room for the quiet.
Producers start calling more. Labels show interest. Opportunities line up one after another.
“You’ve been on fire lately,” someone tells him.
He nods. Says thanks. Goes back to work.
At home, you sit across from someone else at dinner, laughing at a story you half hear. Your phone lights up on the table.
Yoongi: you okay?
You hesitate before replying.
Y/N: yeah. just busy lately. how are you?
Three dots appear. Then disappear.
Yoongi: same.
It’s true. Just not in the way you mean.
The song happens one night when he hasn’t slept in almost two days. He’s tired in a way that feels hollow. His hands move without asking permission. A melody settles in, quiet at first, then certain. He doesn’t think about you while he writes it. That’s what scares him later. The lyrics come out clean. Simple. About waiting. About watching someone drift just far enough that you start to wonder if they’ll come back on their own.
He records it in one take. Doesn’t touch it again. The song goes live a week later. Then another. Then another.
You hear about it through a coworker first. “Isn’t that your friend?” she asks, holding up her phone. “The producer guy?”
You glance at the screen. His name. The song climbing charts. “Yeah,” you say softly. “That’s him.”
You text him that night.
Y/N: congrats. i heard the new track is everywhere.
He replies almost immediately.
Yoongi: thanks.
Nothing else.
You tell yourself it’s fine. He’s busy. He’s always been busy.
The night you hear it on the radio, you’re alone in your apartment. Shoes off. Lights low. Dinner cooling on the counter. You turn the dial absently, static cutting through the silence. Then the song comes on. You freeze. It’s not loud. It doesn’t ask for attention. It settles into the room like it knows where to sit. The melody wraps around you slowly, familiar in a way you can’t explain.
The lyrics land softly.
About knowing someone’s footsteps. About leaving the light on. About loving someone quietly enough that they never notice.
You sit on the floor, back against the couch, listening all the way through. By the time it ends, your chest feels full in a way that hurts. “That sounds like me,” you whisper to no one.
Fans dissect it online. Call it poetic. Call it universal. Call it genius. You close the app before they can say more. You don’t text him that night.
When you finally return to the studio days later, the room looks the same and completely different. New equipment. New awards leaning against the wall. Your mug still on the desk. He looks up when you enter.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” you reply.
There’s a beat of uncertainty between you. Small. Noticeable. “You’ve been busy,” you say.
“So have you.” You nod. Sit down. The couch feels less like it’s waiting for you now.
“That song,” you say carefully. “The one on the radio.”
“Yeah?”
“It feels… personal.”
Yoongi looks at his screen. Then back at you “Most songs are,” he says.
You want to ask more. Instead, you smile. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
The silence that follows stretches longer than it ever has before. For the first time, you wonder if coming back here will ever feel the same. For the first time, Yoongi wonders how much more distance he can survive.
Weeks had passed since you last went to Yoongi’s studio. Weeks in which you tried to convince yourself that the lyrics of his song, the one you’d heard on the radio, were just words. Music. Not him. But no matter how much you tried, it lingered in your chest, the melody wrapping itself around your ribs, the words playing softly behind your eyelids when you closed them at night.
You had stopped seeing the guy from work. At first, you had thought you’d like the idea of someone new, someone who could distract you, someone easy. But personalities clashed, interests drifted apart, and the more you tried to force it, the more you felt your mind wandering back to him. Yoongi. The way he made silence feel warm. The way he listened without comment. The way he always knew when you needed him, even without asking. The guilt of your absence weighed on you, and so one night, when the city outside your window had softened into quiet, you typed.
Y/N: Yoongi… are you still awake?
A moment later, his reply:
Yoongi: Working.
You hesitated, heart hammering. Then you typed again:
Y/N: Can I come?
He answered almost immediately, blunt and cautious.
Yoongi: You never ask to come before. Why now?
You froze for a moment, fingers tightening around your keys. Then you slipped into a cardigan, grabbed your bag, and walked through the streets toward the studio. Every step was heavy, every shadow on the pavement a reminder of how much time had passed.
When you opened the studio door, he was at his computer, headphones hanging loosely around his neck, absorbed in a track that pulsed faintly in the background. The glow from the monitor painted his face in muted blue light. You froze, unsure if you even belonged here anymore, unsure if the air between you could hold all the words you’d buried. He hummed softly when he saw you, a quiet acknowledgment. No words, no lecture, just the sound you had loved for years. You sank onto the familiar couch, curling slightly into yourself, letting the safety of routine cradle your nerves. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then you finally forced the words out, trembling slightly:
“I… I ended things with him.”
His fingers froze mid-press on the keyboard. He didn’t turn to look at you, only waited.
“It… it just didn’t feel right. We… we weren’t right for each other. And I kept thinking about—you.”
You trailed off, words failing, memories of laughter and late-night conversations filling the space between you.
He finally turned his chair, eyes heavy, tired, but soft. “I see,” he said, voice quiet, careful.
You took a deep breath, heart tightening. “Yoongi… why did you stop texting me? Why did you… pull away?”
He looked at you for a long moment. “I didn’t want to be a distraction,” he said finally, voice low, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to interfere with… whatever you were starting. I thought giving you space was the right thing.”
Your chest ached. “The right thing?” you asked, voice trembling with hurt and anger. “Do you know how that felt? To be left wondering why the person who’s always been here… suddenly wasn’t?”
“I thought it was protection,” he said. “For you. For us.”
“Protection?” you scoffed, tears forming. “It felt like abandonment!”
Your voice cracked, frustration and years of unsaid words pouring out. “Do you know how unfair that is? To let me drift like I didn’t matter?”
He flinched at the sharpness of your words, as if each one landed in him like a physical blow. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood, moving toward you. His voice was low, trembling, but filled with a weight you’d never heard before:“You have no idea how much it hurt me to watch you drift away.”
The tears spilled freely now. “Then why didn’t you say anything?! Why did you wait until—until now?!”
His lips trembled. “I was scared! Scared of ruining what we have. Scared of losing you.”
You sobbed, voice breaking, your chest heaving. “All this time… all these years… and you never trusted me with it? You just… held it?”
“Yes,” he admitted, voice cracking under the weight of the confession. “Every song, every night, every time you left my studio… I wrote things down. I remember every detail of you, the way you sit on this couch, the sound of your laughter, the way your hair falls across your face. I check the clock at 6:45 because I know that’s when you come. I’ve missed you when everything stops, when you weren’t here… but I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t. I thought if I did, I’d ruin the only thing that’s kept me alive all these years—us.”
You shook, sobbing into your hands. The ache, the betrayal, the love he’d kept so carefully, it all hit at once. “Yoongi…” you whispered, barely audible.
“I love you,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ve loved you quietly, patiently, endlessly. Every word, every song, every moment I stayed silent was because I thought it was the only way to keep you safe… and to keep myself from losing you.”
The tears streamed freely now, hot and relentless. “All this time…” you murmured, voice cracking. “All this time, I was… missing you.”
He whispered, voice breaking. “And I’ve missed you. Every day, every hour, every night.”
You both sank onto the couch together, the years of quiet longing, missed chances, and restrained love crashing around you. He held you, gently, carefully, as if afraid you might vanish if he gripped too tightly. You sobbed into his chest, letting all the hurt, confusion, and longing pour out.
“You were here… all along,” you said finally, voice trembling against his shoulder. “And I didn’t see it. I didn’t know.”
“And you still don’t,” he said softly. “Not fully. But I’m here now. Always.”
For the first time, you understood everything—the songs, the hums, the quiet presence, the patience, the love that had never wavered. And for the first time, the ache became something you could hold onto, not in longing, but in hope.
The studio had never felt smaller and larger at the same time. Smaller, because the air between you and Yoongi was thick with words unsaid for years, with emotions bottled up so tightly they could explode at any moment. Larger, because finally, finally, the walls could hold everything, the grief, the longing, the relief. You still sat on the familiar couch, your hands trembling in your lap. Yoongi’s hoodie smelled faintly of coffee and something warm, like him. He sat beside you, close, close enough that your shoulders brushed, close enough that your heart knew exactly where he was.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” you whispered, voice soft, broken.
“I was scared,” he admitted, voice low, almost a growl of frustration at himself. “Scared I’d ruin everything. Scared I’d lose the only person I’ve ever needed. Scared that… you wouldn’t feel the same.”
You leaned back against him, letting the warmth seep into your bones. “You’ve loved me… all this time. And I—” You broke off, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I didn’t even notice.”
His hand found yours, holding it like he was afraid it might disappear. “You were living your life,” he said softly. “I couldn’t—couldn’t make it about me. I just… stayed.”
You lifted your head slightly and looked at him. The way the studio light caught his features, soft jawline, dark hair falling over his eyes, eyes like quiet storms, made your chest tighten.
And then it happened. Slowly, as if the world had slowed down just for this moment, he leaned in. First a hesitation, a careful brush of lips, soft, tentative. A question. You answered immediately, pressing closer, hands finding his neck, fingers tangled in the soft strands of his hair. The kiss deepened, a gentle urgency threading through it, the kind that had been waiting, silently, for years. Your hearts collided in a rhythm you didn’t have to explain.
“I’ve wanted this,” he whispered between kisses, voice rough and trembling. “For years. Every time you walked in here, every laugh, every complaint, every sleepy late-night, I wanted you.”
“I—me too,” you gasped, letting the tears and longing mingle. “I just… I didn’t know.”
He smiled against your lips, a soft, broken smile that made your heart ache and swell at once. “I’ll never let you go,” he promised.
You both rose together, almost stumbling, laughter and tears mixing. The studio no longer felt like a workplace or a place of waiting. It was a home. It was where you belonged.
When you reached his bedroom, the world seemed to shrink further, isolating just the two of you. The sheets smelled faintly of him, comforting, familiar. He guided you gently onto the bed, your bodies fitting together as if no time had passed, as if the years of quiet longing had only prepared you for this moment.
He kissed you again, slowly, savoring the taste, the warmth, the closeness. His hands traced your sides, your back, memorizing every inch he had longed to hold. You felt safe, seen, wanted. Every fear, every distance melted into the quiet strength of his embrace.
“I love you,” he whispered again, as if saying it now aloud made it more real. “I’ve loved you forever.”
“I love you too,” you breathed, letting the words fill the space between your heartbeats. They mingled with the soft sighs, gentle touches, and whispered confessions that had been buried for so long. You traced his face, memorizing him, letting every second sink into your bones. No masks, no waiting, no distance, just the two of you, finally, fully, undeniably together.
Hours passed unnoticed. You laughed quietly at shared memories, you kissed slowly between sobs of relief and joy, and you held each other as if the world outside could not touch you. The night was yours. Every quiet fear, every unspoken song, every long-lost moment of almost had finally found its place.
When you finally lay in each other’s arms, skin to skin, heart to heart, you realized something profound: you had always belonged here. You were home. And he was home.
Outside, the city moved on. Inside, the two of you breathed together, letting silence stretch like a balm over years of longing, hurt, and hope. The studio no longer held unspoken words, it held love. Deep, messy, tender love that had waited patiently, fiercely, for its moment. And now, finally, it was here.
Six months had passed. The city outside yawned awake, sunlight spilling like liquid gold between the towering buildings. Inside your apartment, now a cozy little studio, the morning calm was almost complete, the faint hum of traffic barely reaching your sanctuary.
You were already up, curled in the couch with a blanket around your shoulders, phone in hand, scrolling through messages from work. Yoongi was sprawled on the bed, headphones around his neck, staring at the ceiling with his usual calm, unreadable expression, but the corners of his mouth were turned up ever so slightly, betraying that soft warmth only you could see.
“Mm,” he murmured when he sensed you looking at him, a sound that somehow made your heart skip.
“You’ve been awake this whole time, haven’t you?” you teased, your voice light, bouncing around the room like sunlight. “Or were you just pretending to sleep so you could watch me scroll in silence?”
He shrugged, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “Maybe both,” he said. Casual. And yet, the way his hand twitched toward your blanket, the tiny tilt of his head, it was tenderness hidden in plain sight.
“You’re ridiculous,” you said, setting your phone down and slipping under the blanket with him, pressing into his side. “I love it. I love this.”
He didn’t answer immediately. He never needed to. He just wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer, letting you bury your face into his chest. You sighed contentedly. “Mm, perfect,” you murmured. “You smell like coffee and music. And… Yoongi.”
“I smell like me,” he deadpanned, but there was a quiet softness in his tone. You pressed a kiss to his chest anyway.
“I’m serious,” you whispered. “I could stay like this forever.”
“Mm,” he hummed, as if agreeing, but in that minimal way he always did—never theatrical, never overstated, just… quietly letting you know he was exactly where he wanted to be.
The morning stretched luxuriously. You rambled about work deadlines, small annoyances, funny things that happened on the bus. He listened, sometimes humming a low note, sometimes muttering a dry, teasing comment, but mostly just letting you talk. You could tell he loved every second of it, even if he never said it outright.
“You do know you’re ridiculous, right?” he murmured finally, threading a hand through your hair, tugging gently at the strands.
“I know,” you said, grinning up at him. “And you love it.”
“I tolerate it,” he said with mock seriousness, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Barely.”
“Mm-hmm,” you said, snuggling closer. “Sure, Yoongi. Barely.” You wrapped your arms around him, letting him feel your warmth. “This… us… it’s perfect.”
He didn’t argue. He never did when it came to moments like this. He just held you a little tighter, pressed his cheek against the top of your head, and let the quiet, safe intimacy fill the space.
By mid-morning, the city had fully stirred. Yoongi had rolled out of bed to check emails for a new track he was producing, and you had your laptop open, reviewing reports. But every so often, your eyes would drift to him, watching him work with focused intensity, tapping lightly on the keys, his headphones still around his neck, lips pressed in that line of concentration you loved.
“You’re hopeless,” you said, smiling. “You’ve been sitting there for fifteen minutes staring at that beat like it’s going to answer your questions for you.”
“I like it when it’s quiet,” he replied, glancing at you with that casual, unreadable expression. “Helps me focus.”
“You mean it helps you watch me scroll through my spreadsheets in peace,” you said with a teasing nudge, crawling back into his lap with a grin. “You love it.”
“Mm,” he hummed, settling you there, one hand sliding to your back to hold you steady. “I tolerate it.”
“Mm-hmm,” you echoed, resting your head on his shoulder. “Sure, Yoongi. Barely.”
And then, for a long while, there was just the two of you, sunlight spilling through the blinds, the hum of the city below fading into the background, your hands intertwined, his arm around you, your warmth pressed against his chest. Words weren’t necessary; everything that had been unsaid for years now lived here, in the quiet certainty of your closeness.
Later, you fell asleep like that, tangled together on the couch, the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath your ear, the faint rhythm of a song he had hummed hours ago threading through your dreams.
It was home. It always had been.
And this time, you both knew, whatever the world threw at you, whatever work deadlines or late nights or fleeting moments of doubt, you had each other. Always.
Even when you rambled endlessly, even when life demanded more than you had to give, you had found the quiet, unshakable truth: together, you were perfect.
And that was enough.
End.
A/N: This one-shot has been sitting in my drafts for what feels like forever, and I finally decided to polish it up and share it with you all. I hope you enjoy it, even though it’s short. Sometimes the smallest moments carry the biggest feelings.
If you’d like to support my writing and help me create more stories like this, you can do so on Ko-fi, it would mean the world to me!🤍
Synopsis: After discovering your recent ex had cheated on you while you were together, the thought of loving and trusting again seems distant and futile. That is until love finds you where you least expect it in your best friend, Hongjoong.
Tags/Warnings: hurt/comfort, primarily fluff, the tiniest bit of angst, eventual smut (18+ MDNI), extremely self-indulgent, mentions of previous toxic relationships, yearner Hongjoong, completely down bad Hongjoong, penetrative sex, fingerfucking, oral (f receiving), body worship, lowk vanilla sex (and that's okay!), jealous Hongjoong, slightly possessive Hongjoong
WC: 16.3k
A/N: Long time fic in the making! Also, like I said in the tags, this is extremely self-indulgent bc I wrote this right after just finding out my ex gf cheated on me while we were together LOL!! So, I apologize to any Y/Ns out there who might get mischaracterized by this (tried my best not to let it happen). Also, if at any point in the fic you think to yourself, "Hongjoong would not fucking say that" I'm aware lmao, I just needed to write out what I wanted to hear. Anyway, I hope you all still enjoy the fic, and as always feedback of any kind is welcome and appreciated. Enjoy!! Love, C :-3
Also on AO3
No AI has been used in the creation of this work. Feeding this work to AI in any form is prohibited.
☆彡
"I never liked them anyway."
"I know, Hongjoong," you sigh, looking at him across the table. The two of you sit in your favorite coffee shop to get some work done— as you do every week— but this time you come with a new and unfortunate discovery. You tell him that for the last few months of your relationship, your (very recent) ex had been cheating on you.
"They never treated you right. Never the way you deserved to be treated," he says with furrowed brows and a deep frown. He looks angry, and you don't blame him.
Hongjoong had always been fairly vocal about his dislike for your ex. When you'd confide in him, he never hesitated to express his concerns about their actions and statements. At the time, you thought they were your person, so you put up with the mistreatment, rationalized it, and brushed off the concerning number of times Hongjoong had to pull you aside to check if you were really happy. At the time, you told yourself you were, but deep down, you knew you weren't being treated correctly. But, it wasn't until the relationship ended that you could fully process it.
Through the poor relationship and the breakup, Hongjoong stayed by your side. He never once said, "I told you so," even though he definitely had every right to.
But now, four months after the breakup, you're realizing more and more what he had known all along; that things were really bad. Sometimes you would mention something to Hongjoong about what your ex did or said that you never told anyone about, and he would be in shock at how bad it actually was, and you would belatedly realize it too.
"I know they didn't; But, I mean, really, the signs were there,” you state while twiddling with the rings on your fingers, “ I should've just trusted my intuition and left at the first hint of cheating." You look out the window instead of at Hongjoong's eyes.
Cheating was a touchy subject for you since your prior relationship also ended with your partner cheating. It took you a long time after that relationship for you to start dating again. Because of how seriously you took infidelity, you swore that if you ever caught a partner cheating on you, you would end it right then and there. There were a few times you thought your ex might've been, but everytime you brought it up they were able to manipulate the situation for you to stay.
So, you feel incredibly stupid and naive, not knowing that your ex had successfully hidden it from you and only just now finding out about it. "Hey," Hongjoong says, soft yet firm. He waits until your eyes meet his gaze before continuing. "You're forgetting something. You did trust your intuition, and you talked to them every time you thought something was off. They were the one who lied and told you it was just jealousy. Don't blame yourself. They're the asshole that cheated." He spits out his last sentence like venom, and you can't help but giggle at Hongjoong's distaste.
You give him a smile. "I know, you're right," you say before taking a sip of your drink and continuing your work on your laptop. However, Hongjoong's inquisitive gaze stays fixed on you. "You… seem to be taking this news well," he observes.
"Yeah, well, at this point it's kind of just another thing that's happened, you know? There's nothing I can do about it now other than move on. So, I'm moving on," you say with an indifferent shrug. He has a calculative look, like he's trying to figure out if you're being truthful or just putting on a front. After so many years, Hongjoong has a pretty good read on you. Sometimes (for the worse), you feel like he can literally see right through you, but you know his attentiveness is a blessing.
He lets out a hum of acknowledgement. "Okay, well, if you ever need to talk about it more, I'm here for you," he states, with a hint of concern seeping through his tone. You smile at him once again, grateful for his support.
"Of course, Joong. Thank you. Truthfully, though, I really feel okay. Yeah, it sucks, but I've already started moving on. I'm sure by the end of this week I won't pay it any mind." The corner of Hongjoong's mouth turns upward into a small half smile, and he gives you a nod of affirmation.
You continue your time together as regularly planned, doing work and engaging in your usual conversation and banter. Unbeknownst to you, Hongjoong's eyes keep drifting to you, his gaze full of warmth. He happily takes his opportunity to steal these glances while you're lost in focus. If you were to catch him, he'd probably just deflect and make a joke at your expense instead. He can't let you know what really rings true in his heart. Not yet. Not so soon.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
As the week comes to a close, your statement in the coffee shop proves so far to be true. You don't linger on the fact that you were cheated on. You actually haven't even thought about your ex or the things they did to you for quite a while. You're rather productive with moving on, given how long you were together. Eventually, you just stopped thinking about it and went on with your life. You still aren't quite ready to start dating again, but you find yourself okay with seeing people casually and hooking up with them. This displeases Hongjoong, but you easily brush him off and laugh about how he's impossible to please. You don't understand Hongjoong's irritation, and he never elaborates when you ask. You think that it should be a good thing that you're beginning to put yourself back out there. Plus, it's nothing excessive, and you're being safe. You know he's coming from a place of care, but you don't think he needs to be so uptight about everything. Even after being best friends for years, there still seems to be some things the two of you will never quite see eye to eye on.
You met Hongjoong many years ago when you first started university. Both of you were in the same gen ed. class and got paired up as partners for a semester-long project. You've been friends ever since.
Truthfully, when the two of you first started becoming close friends, you had a major crush on him. Like, a big-time, head-over-heels, total crush on him. Of course, it only took you one look at him to realize how incredibly attractive he was, but it wasn't just his beauty that had you falling for him. You found his work ethic admirable, and there was a sparkle in his eyes when he talked about his passions. It was so enchanting. Immediately, you could tell he was a man that knew what he wanted, and who would stop at nothing to achieve his dreams. He's the type of person who makes you strive to become better. How could you not completely fall for him? Everything about him was so divine.
However, you were a different person back then, and you lacked the self-confidence you now have. Back then, you couldn't fathom a future where Hongjoong would ever be interested in you the same way you were interested in him. Just the thought of being rejected by someone as perfect as him and losing his presence forever scared you into silence. You were heartbroken, but you figured getting over him to stay friends was a million times better than taking the risk of admitting your feelings. So, that's exactly what you did. You found someone else you were interested in, fell in love with them, and continued being best friends with Hongjoong. The man you once almost considered to be your love became just a friend.
Of course, you still love Hongjoong; he's always in your corner as someone you can always rely on. And even having moved on from your crush, you still can't deny his looks. But times had changed, and it was different now. Even though there was a time when you dreamed of nothing more than being with Hongjoong, you hadn't dared entertain the idea ever since your ex entered the picture. You pushed those feelings for Hongjoong away to protect your friendship and focus on your ex (at least one of you was loyal).
After the breakup, you became so focused on yourself that you didn't even consider the idea of dating again. You didn't want to rush into another relationship with anyone. Despite doing better, it's hard to imagine a life of love after just losing it, and it's hard to imagine a life of trust after just being betrayed. Even though you now have that confidence you used to lack and the knowledge that you're a desirable person many people want and would be lucky to have, the thought of letting someone new in and committing yourself to them is petrifying. You still need more time.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
After a dull day, you spend your evening alone in your cozy, little apartment. Dressed in your pajamas, you snuggle deeper into your couch as you scroll through your phone. You click through various social media apps, responding to messages and liking your friends' posts, until you see something that stops you in your tracks. A photo of your ex kissing the girl they cheated on you with. You stare blankly at the photo for a few moments before closing out of the app and turning your phone off completely.
Doesn't bother me any. I already knew they stayed together. It's none of my business anymore, you think to yourself as you turn on your TV as a distraction. Your eyes stay fixed on the screen, but your mind can't focus. You keep thinking back to that picture. How they looked so happy embracing one another, how they looked so in love, and so… remorseless.
You tap your foot pointedly on the ground before shutting off the TV and trudging to the kitchen. You pace back and forth while looking through your cabinets, trying to find something to make for dinner, but it's pointless. You can't focus on any ingredients in front of you, and you can't think clearly. All that's running through your mind is that picture and just how unfair it all was. A few months ago, if you saw that picture you would have immediately broken down into tears, but the sadness from the past mean nothing to you now, and all you feel is rage.
You storm out of your kitchen and back into the living room, grabbing your phone with the desperate hope to find a distraction from your thoughts and current emotional state. As you pick up your phone, you see a message from Hongjoong: » Is it cool if I come over? « You scoff to yourself. No shot. I'm totally not in the mood for company right now.
…
You text him back: » Sure «
You've always kept an open door policy for your friends, saying your space is theirs if they need it, and that you're always accepting unplanned visits. Hongjoong is no exception, and in fact, he's probably the one who comes over uninvited the most.
You assume he's probably already on the way over since asking, so there's no real point in saying no. You just need to play it cool until he leaves.
Not long after reading the text, you hear a knock at your door. You open it to find Hongjoong in an oversized hoodie and sweats, his hair down and fluffy, and two bags of takeout in his hands. "I figured you hadn't eaten dinner yet, so I brought some food for us," he says with his ':3' smile.
He's right, you haven't eaten yet. The knots in your stomach twist and tighten, wriggling around in anguish like they're in a hopeless attempt to escape. You're grateful that Hongjoong's so considerate, but you really don't think you can eat much in your current state. "Thanks, I appreciate it," you say with a small, forced smile as you let him in.
He makes himself at home in your apartment, stepping in and setting up the food in front of your TV. You stand by the entryway, vacantly watching him. Your mind is far from the present, you're deep in your own head, instead, trying to decipher and rationalize why you were so indignant and bothered by that photo.
You finally notice Hongjoong's worried gaze on you, snapping you back to reality. Your eyes fall behind him, where a now finished table is set up. So much for playing it cool. You shake your head to bring yourself back down to the real world, and force another smile as you make your way over to him.
"Thanks again for the food," you say as you grab the remote, desperately wanting some TV show on as background noise and a way to distract Hongjoong from your odd demeanor. "You were right, I hadn't eaten yet."
He chuckles a little and nudges you as he takes his seat next to you, "You have to start taking better care of yourself."
"You're one to talk," you remark, remembering many of his late nights working fueled by no food and only caffeine. "I think the pot is calling the kettle black, no?" You question him with an eyebrow raised.
He pouts and looks away in faux bashfulness as he picks up his chopsticks, ready to eat. "Yeah, yeah, okay, you got me there," he smiles in your direction. "We'll take care of each other then, alright?" You nod and genuinely smile in return.
Hongjoong's presence and kind words help ease the tension pent up in your body, but the fire building inside of you still rages on. Rationally, you know that ranting about it will help set your mind at ease, but for some reason you can't help but feel ashamed at the thought of bringing up your ex to Hongjoong again.
He's already listened to your troubles so much after your breakup. How would it be fair to continue bringing them up, especially since your really thought you moved on more than this? Truly, before you came across this photo, you had been doing so good. You know progress isn't linear, but you can't help but feel shame in your reaction, and really don't want Hongjoong, a friend you revere so deeply, seeing you in such a vulnerable state.
You stare blankly at the TV and your food, only taking a few bites here and there when you think you can. Primarily, though, you're just pushing it around your plate. Lost in your racing thoughts, you forget about Hongjoong, who's quietly eating next to you.
"[Y/N]," Hongjoong states, staring in your direction. "Talk to me. What's going on up there?"
Your eyebrows raise in surprise at his voice. "Oh, you know. It's just been a kind of quiet night for me. Nothing really wrong," you say awkwardly. He gives you an unimpressed stare, as if to say, "Really?"
"C'mon, I'm serious. You haven't been acting like yourself all night." Oops. You've been caught. Really, you don't know who you were trying to fool. This is Hongjoong you're dealing with; he's perceptive. He can spot the smallest indicators that something's off with you. You do make it easy for him this time, though, since you're seriously bad at playing it cool.
You huff at his observation and let your shoulders sink in on themselves. Why does he have to be so good at that? You pout, continuing to childishly complain in your head. What is he even doing here? He typically gets ahead on work tonight.
"Seriously," he continues, " I know what's going on. Let me bear some of the weight." You scoff inside your head at his persistence, but then the realization dawns on you. You raise your gaze and look up at him.
"You saw the picture too?" You ask him softly. A deep sigh leaves his nose, and he averts his gaze towards the pictures on your wall.
"Yeah, I did." He flicks his eyes back on to you, shrugging one of his shoulders as he says, "I figured you did too, and I was worried about you. Figured you wouldn't want to be alone."
It's quiet for a beat, neither of you breaking the fragile moment. The only sound in the room comes from the sitcom quietly playing on the TV, but even that becomes nothing but a murmur under your shared silence.
You take a breath, small but loud enough to grab Hongjoong's attention. "Thanks," you say softly, barely above a whisper.
"Don't mention it," he replies, equally as soft. The stillness of the moment returns to you, the silence palpable. You know you need to give Hongjoong an explanation, but forming the words feels so difficult. Even if you wanted to, your tongue feels impossible to move, like it weighs a hundred pounds in your mouth. It's just your fear getting to you, you know that, but you need to be brave. Hongjoong is kind enough to go out of his way for you and offer himself as a shoulder to lean on. You urge yourself to say something to him, to not be scared of being vulnerable and taking him up on his offer to listen. Accepting his help doesn't make you a burden to him.
"I'm not sad, by the way," you say to him, breaking the stiff silence between you. You look up from your hands and into Hongjoong's already awaiting eyes. "Well, at least not in the way you might think I am. In fact," you turn your head slightly, unable to bear the weight of looking at him any longer, "I'm actually really, really fucking pissed." Your voice wavers as you finish your sentence.
In all your years of friendship, you think you've only cried in front of Hongjoong maybe once. You typically don't cry in front of other people, opting instead to deal with those emotions by yourself. You prefer to be the type of person others can rely on, keeping your visible emotions light and easy to charm and brighten people's days. Being vulnerable like this in front of Hongjoong is so far out of your comfort zone and possibly one of the scariest things you've done.
"I just… I think I'm nice. I'm soft.. I'm actually a total romantic, believe it or not, and… I don't know… I just get the short end of the stick it seems." You briefly glance over at Hongjoong to read his facial expression. He looks at you intently, waiting patiently for you to continue. "I mean, seeing that photo earlier just really pissed me off because… like… It just.. Ugh!" You take a deep breath— frustrated by not being able to find the right words— and try to redirect your thoughts.
The words still aren't coming to you. You're already upset at the situation, scared and uncomfortable from having to talk about it, and now you're frustrated at yourself for not finding the correct words to convey the thoughts in your head. You can feel yourself beginning to spiral.
Hongjoong, astute as ever, notices as well and reaches his hand out to yours. He's able to ground you and successfully stop you from messing with your fingers, something you had unknowingly been doing as you began your descent. You look down at where his hand sits on top of yours before looking up at Hongjoong's steady face. You look back down at your entwined hands. He gives a soft, supportive squeeze to your hand, urging you to continue.
"They just— they can just go about their lives. Happy and in love with each other. And they can just do that and face absolutely no consequences for what they've done to me. Absolutely none, while I'm stuck here working on myself for who knows how long, rebuilding all the parts of me they made unstable! But they just get to go on with their lives as if nothing happened. As if they didn't do what they did. Meanwhile, I have to go about my life ignoring all the thoughts telling me I'm not enough! They're the reason those thoughts are even there to begin with, but they'll never have to deal with that distress. I do, though! Even when I think I'm doing good, some shit like this will happen and it's like all that work i did on myself was for nothing. Those thoughts come back, and it's like I'm back where I started,
"I've been cheated on time and time again, and I don't know why. Maybe there's something wrong with me, or maybe I just pick all the wrong people, but goddammit, I put my everything in my relationships." You feel tears starting to roll down your face, and your throat gets tighter, making it more difficult to speak. "I just," you start quietly, "I'm furious. I don't deserve to be treated this way. I know I don't. I deserve to be loved. And I know this kind of love exists in the world because it lives within me, but I've never been on the receiving end of it! That's just so unfair. If I can't be loved, then I deserve to be respected at the very least…" You trail off, your voice softer than it was when you started.
You focus again on your hand in Hongjoong's, watching his thumb caress your skin. Slowly, you lift your head and take in Hongjoong's expression. His mouth is painted in a deep frown, and his eyes are painfully sad, almost as if he's holding back tears of his own. Somewhere deep inside you, a wall crumbles. "I just don't get it," you say, your voice breaking as more tears fall.
Immediately, he reaches out and pulls you into him, one arm cradling your head while the other wraps protectively around your back. Neither of you are particularly touchy people, but this comforting position— this moment— feels so warm to you. Against Hongjoong's chest, every protective barrier inside you crumbles and breaks. You cry harder, his shirt muffling the sound as he holds you tighter, trying to soothe your shaking body. "I'm so fucking angry," you reiterate in that same pitiful, broken voice that made Hongjoong want to hold you.
"Shhh.. I know," he says calmly, petting his hand soothingly across your hair. "You never deserved what happened to you." You continue to sob at his kind words. "There's nothing wrong with you either. Your exes are low-life, evil pieces of scum for doing the things they did to you, and you're so strong for being able to overcome it all." Another sob trembles through your body, and your arms tighten around Hongjoong's back, attempting to become impossibly closer to your best friend and only source of comfort right now.
"You're right, too," he continues as he places his chin on top of your head. "You do deserve to be treated better and loved. You deserve to be loved and valued for all of eternity." His voice gets softer. "You deserve someone who will cherish and adore you, someone who will give you the whole world and more. Someone who will provide anything you wish." You take a few deep, uneven breaths, trying to steady your breathing from the crying. Hongjoong is still holding you as close as he possibly can. "I mean it," he whispers, "I truly do."
You stay in your positions for minutes or hours. You're not sure, time seems to pass slower in Hongjoong's arms. Throughout it all, Hongjoong occasionally gives you more words of comfort or a grounding, "I'm here."
Eventually, enough time passes for you to stop the tears and steady your body. Now, you find yourself worrying that staying in his arms oversteps boundaries. You know Hongjoong isn't very physically affectionate, and for the most part, you aren't either (the only time you feel comfortable initiating physical affection is with romantic partners). It dawns on you how out of character it was for him to initiate contact, and you start to push back. As you lean up to sit on your own, Hongjoong's arms loosen around you. You see the giant wet spot you left on Hongjoong's hoodie and cringe. "I'm sorry about that," you hoarsely mumble out, nodding your head in the direction of the spot on his chest.
He looks down and lets out a tiny chuckle. "You have nothing to apologize for." Still a bit embarrassed about your breakdown, you timidly peek up at his face. His eyes are so full of comfort and warmth. He looks at you with nothing but care and adoration. There's something unfamiliar deep within his gaze, but you don't dwell on it. Instead, you want to spend your last bout of energy focused on the present with your friend.
"Thank you, Hongjoong, for being here. Truly, I mean it. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Oh, you wouldn't last a day," he jokes. You lightly giggle along with him, thankful for the lighthearted mood. Conversation the rest of the evening is sparse, but relaxed. You're mainly just talking about the strange subplot of the show you're finally able to pay attention to. The air isn't tense like before; it'scomfortable and quiet. Hongjoong's presence puts you at ease, and the remainder of your night with him alleviates all your prior negative emotions.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
In the following weeks, you were met with a lot of progress. You block your ex and the girl they cheated on you with on all social media, ensuring that nothing else they post will make its way back to you, and effectively wiping them from your radar. You spend your time focusing on yourself and your friends— even more than before. Being with people you love and who love you brings support and tranquility into your sphere, and they help immensely to remind you that you're valued enough as a person. You don't need a rotten partner to feel like you're worthy of love and respect; you know it already in your heart, and it is reflected in the hearts of those you hold close. When you aren't with your friends, you spend your time engaging in your hobbies and picking up new ones, like journaling to help on days with bad thoughts. Creativity flows through you far more than before, and you feel as though you've finally gotten a piece of your old spark back. Some days are harder than others, but overall, each day is easier than the last.
Along with progress, you were also met with a lot of Hongjoong. The two of you already spend tons of time together, but since that night it feels like you can't get a break from him! Of course, you mean that lightheartedly. You're undoubtedly appreciative of his support and his company, but you're also starting to get a little concerned. You assume that since Hongjoong's never seen you in such a vulnerable and broken state before, he's just extra cautious and worried about you. Even still, it's been almost a month since that night, and he's just as attentive. It's very curious.
Not long after returning home from work late one evening, you hear a knock on your apartment door. It's Hongjoong, no doubt. "It's open!" you yell from your bedroom as you change out of your work attire and into something more comfortable. The door clicks open, and you hear Hongjoong shout out a greeting. Coming out of your room, you see him still standing near the entryway, clumsily rocking back and forth on his feet with his hands behind his back. He looks at you with bright eyes and a small pout on his face.
"Hey, you look nice," he says to you, briefly taking in your appearance. You tilt your head to the side, slightly puzzled by his out-of-the-blue compliment and restless demeanor. You hesitantly thank him for the compliment before he adds, "You should grab your coat."
"And why should I do that?" you ask, skeptical about what he's planning.
"It's a really beautiful night tonight. You always talk about wanting to go stargazing, and I found a good spot for it not far from here. So, I thought we could go for a walk and go check it out," he replies with a smile. Warmth blossoms in your chest as you think back to the last time you mentioned wanting to go stargazing. It's probably been at least a year ago since you had brought that up around anybody, and it was likely an off-handed comment too.
"You remembered I like to stargaze and that I had been wanting to go?" you incredulously ask him.
"Yeah, of course I did," he casually replies. He says it as if it's the most obvious fact about you he could've remembered. He said it like it was remembering your birthday or what you do for work, not like it was an off-handed comment you said forever ago.
Fully processing processing Hongjoong's words and what you're about to do, excitement overcomes your body. You burst into the brightest smile, and eagerness runs through your veins. "Wait right there!" you shout out to Hongjoong before bouncing off to your room to grab a jacket and your shoes. Hongjoong is left giggling at your evident excitement. You hurry back to him, now wearing the appropriate outerwear for a late-night walk. "C'mon, what are you waiting for? Let's go, let's go!" You impatiently usher him out the door, and he continues to watch you in amusement, chuckling at your giddiness.
The night air is chilly, but not harsh. How could it be with so much excitement in the air and Hongjoong walking so close to you? His hand brushes against yours a couple of times, but neither of you cares to move further away. On your walk, you talk animatedly about anything that comes to your mind, and he willingly takes the role of main listener. He adds to the conversation occasionally, but he primarily just leads the way and allows you to talk as much as you wanted. Caught up in the high-spirited moment and your chatter, you don't notice how often Hongjoong glances over at you with that small, kind grin on his face. You don't see how he looks at you like you hung the very stars you were about to gaze at.
You arrive at a rather large park you've never been to before, and Hongjoong guides you deeper through it until you reach a large, open field with a few tall trees and no light pollution.
"Wow, Hongjoong, this is amazing!" you exclaim, taking a seat on the grass beneath you. You both lean back on the ground, the sides of your heads touching slightly as you look up towards the night sky. The stars gleam and sparkle; they're brighter than you could've ever imagined them. The two of you alternate between taking in the night sky in quiet contemplation and talking about the beauty above you. He asks you to point out the constellations you know, and you show him by taking his pointed hand in yours and tracing them in the night sky. He asks about your favorite constellations and the stories behind them, while you ask if he sees any shapes in the sky and what stories he'd give them. The conversation between you flows so easily— just as it always did— but this moment feels so much more tender than normal.
"This is perfect," you softly tell him after another hushed moment.
"You know," he says with a hint of uncertainty in his voice, "we can do things like this all the time."
You turn your head to the side to get a better look at his face. "Yeah, I know," you respond as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"No, I mean," his eyes dart away from yours as a pout starts to take form on his mouth. "I mean, we can do things like this all the time.. together. The two of us."
"Yeah, of course we can," you giggle at him. Hongjoong groans next to you, bringing his hands up to cover his eyes in frustration. His reaction slows your laughter. "Hongjoong, what's going on?" you ask, intrigued by what's getting your friend so worked up.
"I'm no good at this," he says, his words muffled from behind his hands. Your eyebrow raises at his statement, but before you could question him any further, he shoots up from his lying position and into a sitting one. He looks down at your face, and you can see the conflict and frustration evident on his facial features. The longer he looks at your face, however, you see the pained expressions fade out into ones of… adoration? He lets out a puff of air from his nose— the sound resembling one of affection.
Possibly more to himself than to you, he whispers, "The stars are dancing in your eyes." Your breath hitches. "I could look at them forever."
"Hongjoong…"
"Look, [Y/N], I know you've been through so much recently, and I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I have to let you know how I feel." You slowly sit up, intrigued yet slightly worried by your friend's strange behavior. You tilt your head to the side, silently allowing him to continue at his own pace. He takes a breath and looks deep into your eyes. "I'm… I'm in love with you."
You stop breathing, and your brain begins to short circuit. "What?" you hoarsely whisper to him, not believing you actually heard what he said.
"I'm in love with you. Desperately. I have been for a long time." You look at his face, searching for any hint of deception, but you find none. It's too dark outside to really tell, but you're certain his cheeks and ears are red.
"You… You're serious," you state, still skeptical, but you know Hongjoong would never joke about such a thing. Definitely not like this.
"I am. And I know you're not looking for a relationship right now, but I just couldn't hold it in anymore," he replies, desperation seeping through his tone.
You remain speechless for another beat, letting silence take over the moment before asking, "What changed?" You're not upset at the confession— not at all— it's just so unexpected, and you're so confused. You never once considered a timeline where Kim Hongjoong would be interested in you. You can't understand where he's coming from, or how this all happened.
He sighs deeply and turns his head to the side, looking off in the distance. "That night.. I don't want to ever see you that way again: so upset and broken."
"Hongjoong, if that's the only reason-"
"But it isn't!" he interrupts, correctly anticipating where your train of thought would take you. "I've been in love with you for almost as long as I've known you. I'm not the best with my feelings— you know this— so it took me a little while to realize it. By the time I did, you had already found someone else. Even if you hadn't, I probably still wouldn't have said anything right away." You rack your brain, going through years' worth of memories with Hongjoong. You try to imagine and accept that Hongjoong has been in love with you through all of them. It feels unreal.
"That night," he continues, "holding you while hearing about how you have to remind yourself that you're enough because of what that asshole did to you, it broke my heart. Especially because I cherish you more than anything, and I know I would never do anything to hurt you. Never do anything to make you feel less than what you are. Actually, I truly don't understand how anyone could look at you and not feel blessed that you're in their life. That breaks my heart, and I can't go on without you knowing how special you are to me."
You inhale sharply at his words. "Hongjoong, I…" You take a second, trying your best to look over his face in the moonlight. Your thoughts race, your heart pounds, and your chest tightens. You don't know what to say to him. Not trusting your mind to come up with an answer, you listen to your body instead, and you feel as though you're about to enter fight or flight. The thought of getting into a new relationship… it scares you and feels suffocating. You're not against the idea of being with Hongjoong, but you have to put yourself first. "I don't want to say no to you, but I'm still scared," you whisper out.
He reaches out his hand and grabs yours. "I know, and I don't want to rush anything or make you uncomfortable. All I ask is that you give me the chance to show you that I'm serious. Let me prove to you that I truly love you and that you can trust me with your heart." You look at him curiously. All you see in his face is sincerity. "I'll go at your pace, and I can wait for as long as you need. Or, with one word from you, I'll stop. I know it's a bit selfish of me to confess while you're not ready for anything, but I want to show you how much I value you and that my love for you is genuine."
You think for a moment, and, despite your scattered state of mind, you find yourself reaching a decision quicker than expected. You nod. "Yeah, okay. You can do that." You see a toothy smile as a wave of relief washes over his face. He looks cute like this.
"I promise, I'll be someone you can wholeheartedly trust."
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
That night, you don't sleep much. You lose yourself in your jumbled thoughts while you continuously toss and turn in your sheets. Still in disbelief, you almost convince yourself that you made up the entire exchange. You find yourself thinking back to all of the things that happened throughout the years: all of the times Hongjoong had been with you, all of the times his interest might've shone through, all of the times your ex had treated you poorly. You think back to when you still had an active crush on Hongjoong, which felt like lifetimes ago. You're a completely different person now, but could that previous version of yourself who was head over heels for Hongjoong still be living deep inside you? Is it even possible to return to those feelings? You don't know, and you're really just stressing yourself out by thinking about it.
The following day is your weekly coffee shop meetup with Hongjoong. You worry all day about what to expect, unsure of what your dynamic would be like now and what Hongjoong really meant by 'showing you he cares'.
Upon your arrival at your usual coffee shop, you see that Hongjoong's already sitting at your favorite table. In front of him are two coffee cups.
"Hey," he smiles up at you. "I got you your usual." It's not uncommon for him to occasionally get your drink for you if he arrives early, but it still brings a smile to your face.
"Thank you," you say with a smile as you take your seat across from him. You set up your laptop and start on the work you need to get done. So far, everything seems normal. You began to think you were worried for no reason; maybe everything will just pass over like nothing happened. As that thought crosses your mind,however, you find yourself uneased by the possibility of that being the case. You're not quite sure what you want yet or what to expect going forward, and you find that to be relatively troublesome.
As you stare off into your laptop screen with your thoughts running wild, a small sensation brings you back down to earth. You feel Hongjoong's leg slot between yours under the table; your ankle and calf are now lightly pressed by his. You shoot your head up to look at him, only to see bright red cheeks, a large pout, and his eyes glued to his notebook, desperately trying to avoid your gaze.
You gape slightly at him, studying his expression and actions in awe. Even though it's a small gesture done in his Hongjoong-like way (a way you honestly prefer), he's still initiating physical contact with you. Hongjoong never does that for the sole purpose of just doing it. The thought of Hongjoong reaching out to touch someone just for the comfort of touching is unheard of, and yet here he is doing it.
"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" you state— more so than ask— after gaping at him for a beat too long.
He finally looks up at you as he replies, "Yeah, I am." His cheeks are still so red, it almost makes you want to giggle. It's obvious he's out of his comfort zone but genuinely trying to make an effort.
You smile softly at him. "You know, you don't have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."
"Don't worry," he smirks, determination in his eyes, "I don't do anything I don't want to." A second passes before his face molds into something more sincere. "If I did anything to make you uncomfortable, though, you'd tell me, right?"
"Of course I would," you respond. You're grateful that Hongjoong makes sure you are okay, but there is honestly very little he could do that would make you uneasy.
"Good," he says, bringing his attention back to his work. As he does so, you feel his leg press more confidently against yours, the sensation from the touch more prominent than before. "I meant every word that I said last night," he says, still looking down at his notebook. "As soon as you're ready to open your heart up again," he looks up and locks eyes with you, "I want it to be for me. Nobody else." The look in his eyes, a mix of adoration and determination, makes you want to shiver. You know Hongjoong is the type of person to work hard and make his dreams a reality, but you never expected to be part of those dreams.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
The initial hurdle of believing Hongjoong is in love with you is the hardest part, then getting used to his affections quickly follows. You worried about how different it would be between you two, but you find that not too much has changed. It's still just you and Hongjoong— like it always had been— but now it's… more.
As the weeks go on, you become the sole recipient of Hongjoong's affections. His pursuit of physical touch increases tenfold, always seeking out some part of you to touch. He does it all: brushing your hands, pressing his limbs against yours, throwing an arm around your shoulders, or tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You notice he compliments you far more frequently than he ever did before. He's always you how nice and pretty you look, how kind you are, and how he's glad he can spend his time with you.
For a while, you feel bad that you're not returning any of his affections, but after bringing it up to him, all he says is that you can take as much time as you need, and that loving you isn't a matter of transaction. Of course, he would certainly like it if you reciprocated, but he knows it's still difficult for you after your last relationship. You aren't sure if you can ever match Hongjoong's love in the same way, or if you'd ever be able to return to that crush you once had on him. That's what worries you most. The last thing you want to do is break your best friend's heart, but the thought of loving again seems so distant. You love so much, you love with everything in you, and all you've gotten is contempt in return. Loving someone again, even someone like Hongjoong, who you know is good, just seems impossible.
Or that's what you thought. As the weeks turn to months, and Hongjoong's love for you never faltering, you begin to notice changes in yourself. You begin to put a bit more effort into your appearance on days you know you'll see Hongjoong, and you feel your cheeks flush whenever he compliments you. While his touch used to have you tense up with surprise, you now find yourself seeking it out, leaning into it, and feeling cold when it's not there. What really gets you is his little surprises.
One day while at work, a delivery comes for you: a large bouquet of pink 'stargazer' lilies. Your favorite flowers. On the bouquet, a note reads, "I couldn't stop thinking about you today, so I figured I'd send you a little something. HJ ♡"
Your heart flutters in your chest and your cheeks burn red. All day your coworkers ooh and aah at your bouquet, gushing about how pretty it is and how they wish their husbands or boyfriends would do the same. They ask questions about who sent them and what he looks like, and they fuss over how handsome he is and how good you look together when you show them a picture. Their comments leave you more flustered and redthan you already are. When they ask how long you have been together, you're unsure how to answer. You end up just telling them how many years you've known each other, and they say how lucky you are to be with someone who still puts in the effort after such a long time. Their comments get you thinking about your time with Hongjoong and what the future would be like. You honestly can't imagine a future without Hongjoong in it. In fact, it sounds like a life of misery without him. You know you want Hongjoong by your side for the rest of time, but now you're starting to open up to another way for that to happen.
You leave work that day with a text message to Hongjoong saying: »You were a hot topic at work today«
He responds quickly: »So you liked the flowers?«
»I loved them«
More weeks go by, and your attraction only becomes more present in your mind. You constantly find yourself daydreaming about his smile, his hand on yours, the way his tattoo peaks out from behind the sleeves of his shirts. Since you're still unsure of what you want, you try to keep your own flirtations to a minimum, but you wonder if Hongjoong has caught on to your growing feelings for him. Even still, Hongjoong's devotion to you never wavers.
This evening, you're preparing to go to Hongjoong's apartment for dinner. He asked you a few days prior if you would come over, and after agreeing you asked, "Is this romantic Hongjoong asking or friend Hongjoong?" He only looked at you with a smirk before responding, "They're the same thing."
You were supposed to head over to his right after work, but instead you take a detour to your apartment first to change clothes and freshen up. Hongjoong has seen you in your after-work state a million times before, but you figure if he's putting in the effort to make you a nice dinner then you could put in the effort to show up looking a bit nicer than normal.
You arrive to his apartment soon after, and you feel butterflies in your stomach as you knock on the door. Strange, that hasn't happened in a long time.
You smooth you hands over the front of your clothes and run your fingers through your hair, wanting to make sure you look presentable before Hongjoong lets you in. Right as you fluff your hair, Hongjoong opens the door with a smile on his face that immediately drops at the sight of you. "Oh, you look so pretty," he says to you quietly as his eyes roam over your form. You feel heat rise to your face under his warm gaze and at his sweet words.
"Thank you," you quietly respond as he lets you in. Since when did you become so bashful around him??
Upon entry, you're immediately hit by the delicious smell of food cooking in the kitchen. Warm-toned lamps light up the apartment, and music plays softly from the record player in the living room.
"What are you making?" you ask, leaning across the kitchen counter as Hongjoong gets back to working on the food.
"Doenjang-jjigae," he replies, focusing his attention on the food in front of him. He's making one of your favorite meals. You smile to yourself at his thoughtfulness.
"Do you need any help?" you ask, wanting to make yourself useful. He looks at you incredulously.
"Not at all. You keeping me company is enough, so just sit back and let me take care of you," he says with a wink.
"How chivalrous of you," you tease, masking the fact that you actually feel very touched by his words and efforts.
He lightly exhales a laugh. "I've been told a time or two that I can be quite the gentleman."
You narrowly cut your eyes at him. "Oh, yeah? By who?" He turns his head to the side to get a better look at you, still stirring the ingredients in front of him. He has a cocky look on his face that makes you want to roll your eyes. Or kiss it clean off. You're not sure.
"Do my ears deceive me, or is that jealousy in your tone, [Y/N]?" He looks far too proud of himself.
"It's your ears," you swiftly respond. He chuckles lightly at you.
"I'm not too sure about that," he taunts. You pout at his words, and Hongjoong spares you a look before letting out a full laugh. "Awh, there's no need to sulk," he teases as your pout grows deeper. "If it makes you feel any better, I get jealous too."
"Yeah, of course you do. You're a Scorpio," you state as if it's obvious. He simply chuckles in response and says something along the lines of, "You got me there."
As the room settles and the sound of chopping and food bubbling fills the space, you decide to ask him a question that has been plaguing your mind since he confessed. "Hey, Hongjoong?" He hums in response, focusing on the final touches of dinner. "When you said you had been in love with me for a long time… just when did you realize it?"
He pauses for a moment to think before continuing his work. "Since the end of our first year in college. I realized about two or three months before you started seeing your ex, but truthfully, looking back, I had started falling by the end of that first semester."
"Huh, so same time as me then," you murmur, mainly to yourself, but it's still loud enough for Hongjoong to catch what you said. His body stills, and he whips his head towards you.
"What?" he asks, his eyes wide.
"Oh," you tilt your head at him, "I guess I never told you. I used to have a massive crush on you back in the day." For a moment, he doesn't say anything; he just blinks at you with his mouth slightly ajar.
"What?" he asks again. "What happened?" He turns to face you fully, dinner forgotten behind him.
"Don't worry, it wasn't because of anything you did or didn't do. It was all me. I was just a completely different person back then, and I couldn't see a future where someone like you would be interested in being with someone like me."
"What do you mean by that? Someone like me?" His tone sounds puzzled and faintly anxious.
You give him a slight smile, hoping to ease his worries somewhat, and move further into the kitchen to help plate the food he had forgotten about in favor of you. "It's just," you begin, a small sigh escaping your lips as you scoop the stew in front of you, "I didn't think highly of myself then. I've lived hundreds of lifetimes between then and now, and the me today knows my value and worth. But, back then, I…" you still for a moment, trying to find the right words. You don't know how to convey to Hongjoong that you used to think of yourself as simple, inconsequential, ugly. At least not in a way that wouldn't absolutely break his heart. "I just didn't at the time."
You feel Hongjoong's presence as he steps closer towards you. "And you were…" You turn to look him in the eye, but you're now much closer than anticipated— only a few inches separated your faces. "You were unreachable," you say gently, a dreamy whisp in your voice. "I know I tease you for saying this all the time, but truthfully there really is no one like you, Hongjoong." You hear his breath hitch from where you stand, and his eyes look deep and unreadable. "And at the time I just couldn't picture it," you shrug. "Someone as radiant as you choosing to be with someone as insignificant as me." Upon hearing your words, sorrow begins to take place in Hongjoong's features. You continue in hopes of reassuring him, "But that was the old me. I'm different now. Better."
Hongjoong takes another step towards you, further closing the gap between you two. He's so close you can feel his body heat radiating off of him. Your heartbeat quickens when he looks down at your lips before landing his eyes back on yours. "I know you're a different person now, but even still… Do you think you'll ever have those feelings you used to have for me again?" he asks quietly, as if one wrong noise would break the moment entirely. Thoughts race through your mind, your face is flushed, and you feel every word you could possibly say to him get stuck in the center of your throat. Not trusting yourself enough to speak, you look up at him through your eyelashes and nod instead. He smiles at that. It's a genuine smile: a bit lopsided, showing the sharpness of his teeth. You can't help but think how attractive he looks like that.
"Good," he says to you as softly as before. "because I don't want you looking at anybody else. Only me." He smiles down at you for another moment before turning to grab the dishes and set the table.
Only as he starts walking away do you feel like you can breathe normally again. "I guess that's the jealousy you mentioned earlier," you jokingly comment as you follow him to the table, hoping it'll help cut the tension that now runs rampant throughout the apartment.
"Mhm," he hums in response as he set the plates down. He pulls a lighter out of his pocket to light some candles he laid out before your arrival. Alongside the candles is a small vase that holds a few stems of flowers.
"Wow. Romantic," you state, standing next to Hongjoong as you admire his work.
"Heh, I know, right?" he replies, pride seeping out of his voice and stance. His conviction and self-confidence are endearing to see in action. So much so, you giggle to yourself and smile behind your hand. He gives you one quick look before pulling out the chair for you to sit down.
You eye him as you take your seat. "There really is no end to your doting, is there?" you say lightheartedly. You tease him, but you're actually the furthest thing from annoyed.
"Of course there isn't," he replies while taking his own seat. "Why should there be?" You don't have a good response for him, so he continues to sit there— proud and smug.
Hongjoong's meal is absolutely delicious, and it's evident he put a lot of effort into making it. Conversation during dinner is ceaseless, easy, and indisputably flirtatious. When you finish eating, Hongjoong swiftly takes the plates to the kitchen before coming back to the table with a bottle of wine and a surprise dessert he made. It seems he's pulling out all the stops this evening.
"Hongjoong," you say after taking a sip of wine, "there's something else I've been curious about."
"And what would that be?"
You toy with the fork in front of you and look at Hongjoong flirtatiously through your eyelashes. "What was it about me that caused you to fall for me?"
He huffs out a breath of endearment. "What, still can't believe that I'm in love with you, so now you need specifics?" His tone is light and unserious, but there's an air of genuine concern in the question.
"No, I believe it. Like I said, I'm simply curious," you reply with a small smile. You stare down at your dessert, trying to avoid Hongjoong's knowing gaze. You say, now quiet and earnestly, "I would just like to hear you say what."
"Well, it was a culmination of things, really," he begins, taking your hand into his from across the table. "Like how kind and sweet you are, how caring you are, how you make me laugh." He runs his thumb across your hand, and his eyes are open and honest as he looks into yours. Even if his words aren't enough for you, his eyes tell you everything you need to hear. "I love how you show up for the people around you, and how you light up every room you're in." At this point, you start becoming bashful. You know you were the one to ask, but being the absolute center of Hongjoong's attention and hearing everything about you he adores is almost too much. His loving words and devoted gaze, are something so unfamiliar to you. You're not used to warmth like this.
"That's what made me fall, but every day since then, I've fallen for you more and more," he continues. "Seeing you grow, face hardships with care and grace, and still hold so much love in your heart, that just made me fall further."
You turn your face away, unable to bear the weight of his stare any longer. "Hongjoong…"
"I love how you feel so deeply. Not just for yourself, either, but for everyone around you, too. You have so many of the qualities I lack, and I think that's beautiful. You're like a star in the night sky leading me home."
Your face is warm and surely pink all over. You glance over to Hongjoong, who's still looking at you with that tender expression. "Hongjoong, please…" He lets out a laugh at your reaction.
"What? I thought you wanted to know," he jokes as you pout at him, your face still just as rosy. "I haven't even gotten to tell you how beautiful you are! How I get lost in your eyes, or how your lips pull me in-"
"Okay!" you interrupt, one hand covering your flaming red face while the other stays in Hongjoong's grasp. "You can't just say things like that.." you mutter, now unable to take much more of his compliments.
He laughs loudly at your reaction, gripping your hand tighter. "Really, though, you're someone I've always admired and respected, and you've always been by my side. How could I not have fallen madly in love with you?"
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
Your evening with Hongjoong continued with tensions that ran high, but you didn't end up acting on anything. You certainly wanted to, but you still held some reservations in your heart and mind. You're certain you've fallen for him again, but you're worried that you still can't give him as much as he deserves quite yet. You want to be completely sure and confident in your love for him— and yourself— before opening your heart to him and letting him in.
You honestly aren't sure when you will be ready. You aren't sure where the natural turning point in your relationship with Hongjoong is or if anything would change. In your previous relationships, everything changed for the worse after becoming official, and the thought of that happening again with Hongjoong worries you. On top of that, you had become used to his doting, and you fear you wouldn't be able to do the same for him yet. Not the the same extent, at least. Not while you're still hindered with fears from your poor previous relationship.
But you decided to put the thought of it all off for now. A mutual friend of yours and Hongjoong's invited you both to a movie night at their apartment, and you figured you could wait until after then to figure your feelings out.
Their apartment wasn't far from yours, so you decided to walk and meet up with Hongjoong there. The affair was lively, bright, and loud, with many of your mutual friends littering the apartment space. There aren't too many people in the apartment, but just enough for mutliple different groups of conversation and activities to form. Even still, Hongjoong spends a majority of his time extra close to your side.
The two of you converse with your friend, Jongho, and his plus one until Hongjoong gets called into the other room.
"You want anything while I'm gone?" he asks you before he leaves.
"No, I'm okay right now," you respond. His eyes stayed glued to you for a moment longer before giving you a small smile and nod then walks away to the other room.
You bring your attention back to awaiting eyes. Jongho's friend has a sweet smile on her face, while Jongho has one that is knowing and mischevious. "You and your boyfriend are really cute together," she says to you.
"Thank you," you quietly respond at the same time Jongho says, "Oh, they aren't dating."
He gapes at you with an incredulous look, and you quickly work to recover before you become victim to Jongho's teasing.
"Jongho's right; we technically aren't dating."
"Technically?!" he questions, his eyebrows raising and a smirk making permenant home on his face.
"Yeah, technically!" you defend. "He confessed to me a while ago and has sort of been… courting me until I'm ready to date again."
"Wow," he starts. "I never thought Hongjoong would actually be able to do it."
You tilt your head up at him. "You mean you've known this whole time?"
"[Y/N], he didn't have to explicitly say it for any of us to know. He makes it extremely obvious."
You think back to how all of your friends would act around you and Hongjoong in the past. Just how long have you been clueless??
"So," Jongho says, bringing your attention back down to Earth, "When are you two going to start dating for real?"
You shrug your shoulders. "Whenever I feel comfortable being in a relationship again, I guess."
"You guys are basically dating now, why string it out and lead him on?" Jongho asks casually.
"I am not leading him on!" He gives you an unimpressed stare before looking towards his friend with an expression that seems to sarcastically say, "Yeah, right."
"I'm serious, I'm not leading him on any. I'm just still not ready to offically date again after last time. I was in a really long relationship, that takes time!" you attempt to justify.
"Yeah, a long shitty relationship. Seriously, what's the hold up?" The look on his face is casual and slightly playful, but his eyes show genuine concern.
You look away before cautiously replying, "I guess I'm just a little worried to fully trust someone again."
"Are you serious? This is Hongjoong we're talking about. When has anyone not been able to completely trust him?"
Jongho's question rings in your ears and echoes in your head long after the conversation is over. He's right. You've never not trusted Hongjoong before. He's one of the most trustworthy people you know, if not the most trustworthy. He's never given you any reason to not trust him. A title change won't make any difference.
Before the movie officially starts, you go to the kitchen to grab drinks and snacks for you and Hongjoong, while he secures your spots on the couch. As you walk back into the living room, you can't help but laught at the scene in front of you— Hongjoong is sits at the end cushion of the couch with a large pout on his face, and your mutual friend, Yunho, sits flushed up against him with a large smile on his lips. Yunho takes a look at you, then Hongjoong, before trying to cuddle up even closer to him.Hongjoong leans impossibly further into the arm of the couch and tries to push Yunho away. There's no doubt he's doing this because Hongjoong has been more obvious about his feelings for you tonight, and you can only imagine how much teasing he's been subjected to before now. Seriously, just how clueless have you been??
Yunho eases his teasing as you walk closer to the couch. Hongjoong looks up at you with that grimace he saves for when his friends get on his nerves, but Yunho still looks like a puppy dog sprawled across his owner's lap.
You're certain he wanted to sit next to you and not Yunho, and that's probably half of the reason for the pout on his lips. You give him a smile in return and hand him his drink before grabbing a blanket and choosing to sit on the floor in front of him instead, your back now pressed against the couch and between Hongjoong's legs.
The rest of your friends settle in on the remaining spaces available on the couch, chairs, and floor before the lights turn off and the movie starts. Shortly after the film begins, you feel Hongjoong's hands in your hair. At first, you think he's trying to get your attention, until you realize that he's simply keeping his hands busy. His fingers rake through your strands rhythmically, occasionally making small braids before letting them loose and raking through them again. The motions sent a wave of calm over you as you lean further into his touch. The longer he plays with your hair, the more tranquil you become, and, eventually you feel your head and eyelids growing heavy. Giving in, you tilt your head to rest it upon Hongjoong's leg beside you, and you let the serenity overtake you.
You awake to the feeling of soft, gentle touches to your face and Hongjoong's quiet voice saying, "Hey, pretty girl, time to wake up."
"Hongjoongie?" you murmur as you open your eyes groggily. As you blink the sleep out of your eyes, the world becomes clearer and you can see the look of endearment painting his face.
"How about I drive you home?" he asks, his tone as quiet as before. You blink some more and take in your surroundings, seeing the few remainder of your friends getting ready to leave themselves.
"Oh no, I missed the whole movie?"
Hongjoong chuckles softly. "Don't worry, you wouldn't have liked it anyway. It had way too much cgi for your taste. C'mon, let's go." He reaches a hand out to you to help you up. You accept his hand up with a stretch and begin to gather both yours and Hongjoong's things as you both say your goodbyes to everyone. "Ready?" he asks you, and you nod in reply while holding his keys out for him.
The ride back to your apartment is peaceful. Hongjoong plays his music at a soft volume, and sparse conversation keeps the energy in the car calm.
This is Hongjoong we're talking about. When has anyone not been able to completely trust him?
Jongho's words continue to play in your head. The more you think about it, the more true it becomes. You can't believe you ever thought otherwise. Additionally to that, everything is just easy with Hongjoong. You don't have to worry about being too high energy around him, or conversely, being too boring when your social battery is down. In fact, you never felt more relaxed around any other person, and you certainly don't trust anyone else enough to fall asleep on them in a crowded room. No other person has ever brought you that much comfort.
No one has ever shown you love the way Hongjoong has. No one has ever cared as deeply or yearned for you as long. He has shown his love for you since you became friends, and in the past few months he's shown it in so many different ways unrelentlessly, and never once asking for anything in return. You feel so incredibly lucky, and so incredibly stupid for not realizing sooner that the love you've always longed for was right under your nose.
Even though it'd be nice to change the past and be with him sooner, you can't dwell on the 'what-ifs.' You're happy with who and where you are today, and you now know that you want your future to always include Hongjoong and his love.
This is Hongjoong we're talking about. The car comes to a slow stop outside of your apartment. You and Hongjoong look to each other, but otherwise make no other movements towards exiting the car. When has anyone not been able to completely trust him?
"Thank you for driving me," you say to him.
"You don't have to thank me for that." The stillness returns. Neither of you quite know what to say to each other next, but you know you don't want the moment to end.
"You're, uh, still planning on going to Wooyoung's birthday this week, right?" Even though you know his answer will be yes, it's the best you can come up with to stay in the car with him for a moment longer.
"Yeah, of course," he replies, his tone soft. You look at him for one more moment, knowing you'll have to go in eventually.
"Okay, well.. I'll see you then."
I'm ready.
You briefly hesitate before leaning closer and gently placing your lips upon his cheek. As you lean back, you take note of how red his face is. Not only is it cute, but it feels nice to have Hongjoong blushing for once instead of you.
"Goodnight, Hongjoong," you whisper, stepping out of the car.
Before entering your apartment, you turn to face his car one last time and give a small wave.
Oh, god. I really love him.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
The energy inside the bar was loud, stuffy, and lively. J. Wang, the bar you're at, is one of the hottest spots in the city, and it's the perfect place for your energetic, loving friend, Wooyoung's, birthday celebration. It has the perfect amount of energy to party, but it's still more laid back than a typical club. You stand by the large booth in the secluded corner reserved for the party where it's a bit easier to hear and breathe. You talk with one of Wooyoung's friends you don't know very well, and you want to give the conversation your complete attention, but your attention keeps drifting to the entrance of the bar. You're anxiously awaiting Hongjoong's arrival, and your newfound butterflies feel like they're about to rip a hole right through your stomach.
Hongjoong had offered to take you to the bar, but you declined in favor of getting there early; you wanted to ensure you could give Wooyoung his birthday present before the night got carried away. You hadn't seen Hongjoong since he drove you home from the movie night two days ago, and you're not sure what to expect tonight. All you know is that you're eagerly anticipating his arrival, wanting badly to be here with him.
While you converse, you spot a familiar head of hair make its way through the crowd of bodies at the entrance. Your heartbeat quickens. Hongjoong's hair is styled so that his forehead is visible, and he's wearing a tight-fitted shirt that's tucked into his pants. The style accentuates his waist and chest. To put it blatantly, he looks really fucking hot. He catches your eye and gives you a smirk as he walks towards the back corner. Your cheeks become rosy, and you feel warm under his gaze that never leaves your form.
As soon as he approaches you, he leans his head down towards your ear and says, "You look stunning." His breath is hot, and the sensation sends goosebumps down your skin. He's so close to your ear, you can almost feel his lips against your skin. All that goes through your mind is how you wish he would close that small gap. You want to experience the feel of his lips on you— not just the phantom touch of them.
You smile back up at Hongjoong, placing your hand on his shoulder to tug him down to your height and reverse your positions. "So do you," is all you tell him, but in a state of want, your flirtatious tendencies take control, and you allow your mouth to inch closer than his did. As you say your compliment, your lips brush against his ear, and you allow them to linger there for a moment longer before pulling away from him. Looking up at his face now, desire and longing evident in his eyes.
Before much else can happen, you're interrupted by a "Hongjoong!" You both turn to see the birthday boy approaching with his arms out wide. Wooyoung wraps his arms around Hongjoong with a big smile on his face. "I was wondering when you'd get here!"
Wooyoung's interruption causes the two of you to push your desires aside and continue with the party as planned. You laugh, you dance, you talk with old and new friends. It's a perfect night. You keep close to Hongjoong for a lot of the night, but even when you aren't with him, you feel his eyes following you. You like the feeling, and you think you could quickly become addicted to it.
"Hey, I'm going to go get a drink. I'll be right back," you tell Hongjoong a bit later in the night. You make your way to the bar through all of the bodies in the room, and walk up to the first available spot you see. You're standing next to a tall man, and you can feel him looking at you as you wait for the bartender to finish their current drinks and make their way over.
"Some party you guys are having over there," he leans over and says to you. You finally look over at him; he's not unattractive, but you're not interested in him any. Why would you be when you have the perfect man for you just a few feet away?
"Tell me about it," you politely respond before turning back towards the bartender. You hope he catches the hint that you aren't interested, but he is a man, so you try not to get too hopeful.
"I'm Ji-won." You were right not to let your hopes get too high. You cut your eyes at him, thinking he looks too self-satisfied. You know you're an attractive woman, and you can't blame him for trying to put himself out there, but you can blame him for not taking a hint.
"[Y/N]," you return, once again turning away from him. Seeing that they finished the drink they were making before, you flag down the bartender and give them your order. As they start making it, you feel Ji-won's hand on your shoulder.
"That's a really pretty name. Very suiting for a pretty girl."
You maneuver your shoulder out of his grasp as you curtly respond, "Yeah." You don't even try to hide your attitude or sound thankful. The bartender returns with your drink, and as you pull your card out to pay, Ji-won cuts in.
"How about I cover that for you, baby?"
Just as you were gear up to tell him to 'fuck off', you feel a strong hand on your waist as a familiar voice says, "No need for that." You look up to see Hongjoong beside you now, one hand wrapped around your waist, staking his claim, while the other holds out his card to the bartender. "I'd appreciate it if you left my girl alone," Hongjoong says. His voice is mean, and his eyes are hard as stone as he looks at the man.
Without any argument, the man nods his head and walks away from his place at the bar. You return your gaze to Hongjoong, who's still adamant about keeping his hand on your waist. He looks pissed, and while you don't want him to be upset in any capacity, you can't deny how hot he looks like that.
"Don't worry, Joongie," you tease, grabbing his attention. "I wasn't looking at anyone else." He looks down at you, still with that pissed expression that makes your knees feel a little weak.
"I know. Doesn't stop other people from looking at you, though," he responds, now with a tiny pout on his lips. You don't understand how he can look so cute and so hot at the same time.
"Well, of course not. Look at who's on your arm," you joke confidently, briefly glancing down at his arm around your waist. To your comment, he rakes his eyes up and down your form.
"Don't I know it," he says with a smirk, tugging you in closer to him. The bartender returns with Hongjoong's card, and the two of you head back to your reserved corner.
Even though Wooyoung's party continues on the same, it's different for you now; Hongjoong never loosens the grasp on your waist. Your skin burns underneath the weight of his hand, and you feel the butterflies return to your stomach. You have to admit, you kind of like this jealous side of Hongjoong. You're certain that he trusts you, so you aren't bothered by this act of asserting you as 'his'. In fact, you like how proud he is to have you on his arm. He isn't ashamed to show you off like your previous partners were. His love and attraction for you isn't just quiet and intimate, but also loud and outward. You're convinced he would shout his love from the rooftops if you asked him to, and you're willing to bet he'd enjoy doing it as well.
You've been partying for hours at this point, and it doesn't look like the celebration will end any time soon. However, you're ready to just be alone with Hongjoong at this point. You yearn to finally tell him how you feel, to finally let him in and open yourself up to him completely.
Currently, the two of you stand in a group with Wooyoung and some more of his friends. Hongjoong's hand is still at home on your waist, and your back is pressed up against his chest. The close contact just makes you want to be alone with him even more. You turn in his hold to slightly face him, and successfully grab his attention. He leans his head down closer towards your lips so he can hear you over the loud music. "You ready to leave?" you ask him, happy when he nods his head yes.
He lets Wooyoung know the two of you are leaving while you go grab your jacket from the booth. Wooyoung gives you both a hug goodbye, and you catch him giving Hongjoong a silly expression, presumably about him leaving with you, to which you hear Hongjoong respond, "Oh, shut up!" You say your quick goodbyes to the people you've been talking with, and then the two of you make your way out of J. Wang Bar.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
The cold November air makes you shiver as you walk out of the bar, your stylish winter jacket and the little party dress underneath hardly enough to keep you warm. Seeing as Hongjoong still sneaks glances at you, you can't complain too much— it did its job well this evening.
You sigh out of your nose, looking towards the night sky as you walk in the direction to your apartments. "I don't want tonight to end just yet," you admit to Hongjoong.
He looks at you with a raised eyebrow. "No? Just didn't want to be at the party anymore?"
"No, it's not that. I just," you turn your head to look at him, "I just want to be alone with you." You can see a blush making its way onto Hongjoong's cheeks. You're sure that if you point it out to him, he'd pout and lie, saying it's from the cold air. You decide not to tease him about it this time; instead, you just admire how good it looks there. "Do you think we can take our time on our walk home? Maybe look at the stars a little bit on our way?"
He gives you a mesmerizing smile before responding, "Of course. We can do anything you want." You're starting to realize that he truly can't resist you or deny you anything you ask. You smile back at him and thank him. "You don't have to thank me for that."
As you approach a park near Hongjoong's apartment, you grab hold of his arm to keep him close and protect yourself from the cold night air. The park isn't like the one Hongjoong found before. It's smaller and much deeper in the city, but it's a nice place with visible stars. He leads you further away from the light posts towards a bench surrounded by trees. Even given the circumstances, he's still trying to find you the best spot.
When you sit down, you make sure your bodies are close. Your head leans against his as you look out at the stars, seeing Orion and the Little Dipper. Hongjoong listens intently as you point them out and tell him their names. The moment is so tender and romantic, it makes your heart swell.
"Thank you for indulging me with this. I know it's late and cold," you say, turning your head slightly against his so you can look at each other.
"Don't worry about it," he smiles sweetly at you. He gazes at you longingly for a moment longer before whispering, "How could I deny you anything?"
Your breath hitches, and you feel all the love you have for Hongjoong coursing through your body. You have never experienced love as pure, warm, and true as Hongjoong's; never experienced devotion or yearning such as his before. You love him desperately, and you need him in your life just as badly as he needs you.
"Hongjoong…" You sit up, facing him now, but remain just as close as before. Looking at you, his eyes are so clear and large. You could stare at them forever. "My heart… it's yours."
"[Y/N]…" Hongjoong mutters, his face incandescent and emotional, as if he never expected those words to come out of your mouth.
"It's true," you say, bringing your hand to the side of his face. "I'm in love with you. Deeply, desperately, wildly in love with you." He lays one hand on top of yours while the other travels to your cheek and situates at the base of your jaw. His touch is so soft and gentle.
"You love me too…" he states, voice overcome with fondness.
"Yes, I do. Most ardently." You lean your head closer into the warmth of his hand. "My heart is all yours and yours alone. Please," you whisper, "be gentle with it."
"Of course I will," he responds, inching closer to your face. Unable to help yourselves any longer, you both lean in and close your eyes, surrendering to a long-awaited kiss under the stars. His lips feel as though they've always belonged there. Your lips move together, conveying emotions far too deep to ever be verbally expressed.
Kissing one another quickly becomes addictive for both of you. The longer you kiss, the deeper and more passionate it becomes. Slowly but surely, the kiss morphs from something of adoration and devotion into something of longing, desire, and hunger. A moment of breathing allows you to slip your tongue into Hongjoong's mouth, deepening your kiss and intensifying your moment.
You pull back slightly, your lips still ghosting his. "How far is your place from here?" Your lips fall right back onto his immediately after asking.
"Only a couple of blocks," he replies before repeating your unresisting act.
You move you head to the side, allowing Hongjoong's lips to explore along your jaw. "Let's go," you breathe out. "I want you, Hongjoong. Please."
He pulls back to look at your face; there's nothing but love, yearning, and desire in your eyes. His expression matches yours exactly. He nods at your request and stands up, offering his hand out to you. "Me too. Let's go."
The walk back to Hongjoong's apartment is, in fact, short, but it feels like it's taking ages. It's a good thing not many people are out this late at night, because neither of you can keep your hands off of each other. Eagerness overtakes you both, and Hongjoong's apartment couldn't feel farther away.
Anticipation pools in your stomach as you approach his apartment and watch Hongjoong unlock the door. Immediately upon entry, Hongjoong backs you against the closing door and cages you in, resuming his siege on your mouth. Gone is the slow and impassioned kiss that this all began with; it's all fervent hunger now. It's sloppy, all hands, teeth, and hot breath. With his lips still attached to yours, Hongjoong begins toeing off his shoes. You try reaching down to unzip your boots, still engaged in his lips, but Hongjoong pulls away and stops you.
"Let me," he murmurs, moving his hands down to your hips and placing them there with a firm grip. Effortlessly, he sinks down on his knees, looking up at you through his long eyelashes as he removes your boots. He doesn't get up once he's done; instead his hands trace up your bare legs with his mouth close to follow. Maintaining eye contact, he kisses up your legs while his hands slowly make their way further up your body. His touch leaves a trail of goosebumps on your skin, and heat rises in your lower abdomen at the sight of him worshiping your body.
His hands push up your little dress towards your hips until your underwear is exposed. At this point, he's made his way up to the top of your left thigh, venerating it with open-mouthed kisses. He takes his eyes off yours and looks toward your clothed core. "One word from you and I'll stop," he says with lust and ardor in his gaze.
"Please, don't stop," you respond, neediness seeping through your voice. Almost instantaneously, his lips are on your clothed center, mouthing you and leaving you gasping from shock. Once he's had his fill, he moves further up, grabbing the waist hem of your panties with his teeth and tugs them down. Now that you're exposed, he drops them, letting them fall to your feet.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he groans as he repositions you so one of your legs is resting over his shoulder. He looked at the sight of you before him— open, wet, and eager for him— with dark, hungry eyes. Without much further build up, he dives in, licking up your entrance with the hunger of a starved man. He continues lapping at your folds, before making his way up to your clit, sucking on it and leaving you in a dizzying state.
Your hand reaches for his hair, tugging on it as the heat in your core intensifies. He keeps an unyielding pressure on your clit, going between sucking on it and flicking it with the tip of his tongue. He looks up at you as you roll your hips at his tongue's entrance within you. He groans at the feeling of you tightening around his tongue, the vibrations making their way through your core. As he feasts upon you, his nose brushes up against your swollen bud, causing you to shiver and moan.
He brings his tongue back to your swollen clit as he pumps two fingers inside of you. "God, Hongjoong," you whine out, throwing your head back against the door. You feel the knot in your stomach tightening as Hongjoong continues curling his fingers inside you, searching for that sensitive spot of yours.
Your legs feel weak and wobbly, unable to take much more of Hongjoong's stimulation while standing. He can feel you shaking, so he wraps his arm tighter around your ass, simultaneously steadying you and groping at your flesh. He continues to moan around your clit at the sensation of you clenching around his fingers, sending shockwaves through your nerves. His rhythm was unrelenting, and you knew you wouldn't be able to last much longer. His grip on your ass tightens, and he takes on more of your weight as he keeps on his attack. He alters the angle of his fingers, now hitting that tender spot inside of you that makes you see stars.
"Hongjoong, I'm close," you whimper out as your hand tightens its grasp on his hair. He keeps his unruly pace, sucking and moaning on your clit. Heat travels through your body as the wave of your climax washes over you, leaving you trembling in Hongjoong's grasp. He eases his feast on you and removes his fingers, now lightly licking up the remnants and leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses to your core.
He finally pulls away, moving your leg from his shoulder and licking his two fingers clean. Clearly, he's obsessed with the taste of you. He rises to his feet once again, and his eyes still burn with lust and primal desire. You're sure you look the same— it's certainly how you feel.
You take in his form, noticing the blatant hard-on in his pants. You hook a finger around the necklace adorning his throat and use it to pull him closer to you, back into a searing kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, and you know you need more of him.
Hongjoong leads your stumbling bodies through his apartment and into his bedroom. He only has time to turn on one of his lamps before your hands and lips are back on him. Hungry for more, you begin undressing him as much as you can without removing your lips from his body. You unbutton and tug at his pants, reaching your unsatisfied hands under his shirt. The singular lamp and soft moonlight coming through the window provide enough light to fully see each other's forms.
Eventually, you break apart, too desperate to keep your clothes on any longer. Hongjoong removes his jacket and shirt in two swift motions before he reaches his arms behind you to unzip your dress and let it fall to the floor, leaving you now completely naked and exposed to him. He drinks in the sight of you; his expression conveying complete and utter devotion. "God, you're so beautiful," he says to you, almost as if you are a goddess in front of him that he's praying to.
You lean back against his bed, and before you know it, his pants are off, and he's climbing on top of you. One hand lands on your breast, rolling and teasing your nipple between his fingers. The other makes itself home on your ass again, grabbing as much of the flesh as possible. All the while, his mouth goes back to your neck, leaving bites down to your collarbones to mark you as his. Your hands travel across his body, leaving a few scratches on his back before reaching for his ample chest. You lean your head up, as well, and leave a couple of love bites of your own at the base of his neck.
He pulls back, removing his underwear and grabbing a condom, ready for more. As he gets ready to position himself, he stills.
"Hongjoong?" you question, desire overtaking your tone.
"Let me admire you for a moment," he says with a genuine smile, gazing at you as if he's memorizing every curve. You feel your cheeks warm, and shyness creeps up on you. Despite your slight bashfulness, you take this moment to gaze upon Hongjoong as well. The man of your dreams above you in all of his grandeur.
Hongjoong lines up the head of his cock with your entrance, teasing it up and down between your folds.
"Hongjoong, please," you whine, unable to take much more of his teasing. "I need you now."
"Alright, alright," he concedes with a sweet smile, beginning to push himself in. "Anything for my girl." He slips in with ease due to how wet you are, and he grabs your hand in his as he bottoms out. You both moan at the sensation. "I love you," he whispers to you, letting you get used to the stretch before moving.
"And I love you," you whisper back. He starts moving out slowly, pulling himself back until only his head is left inside you before snapping his hips and filling you with his length once more. The pace starts slow and passionate, but still searing and unrelenting. You meet his thrusts with as much strength as you can muster, wanting him as deep in you as possible. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder once again, positioning himself even deeper inside of your velvet walls and allowing him to hit every tender spot within you. The sound of skin slapping against skin and your combined whimpers and moans sound lewd and vulgar, but the look on Hongjoong's face above you is nothing short of ethereal.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his pace quickening. Each thrust becomes harsher than the last, and your walls continue to tighten and clench around him, sucking him in with every move.
"Hongjoong, I'm getting close- ah fuck!" you cry out. Your back arches from his cock filling you up, and your head crashes onto the pillow from your overwhelming pleasure. Keeping his merciless pace, he licks his thumb and brings it down to your sensitive clit, stimulating it and maintaining a firm pressure against it. You feel heat coil in your stomach as your release rapidly approaches.
"Cum for me, baby," he mutters— his voice pushing you over the edge. You cry out his name in ecstasy as your walls spasm around his cock, and your legs quiver around his form. His thrusts become more sporadic and desperate as your walls tighten, signifying he isn't far behind and aches for his own release.
"Hongjoong, cum for me, please," you request, reaching your hand up to his cheek. Not even a second later, he releases inside the rubber, twitching with pleasure between your walls. His cock throbs inside of you, and you feel every pulse of his hot release.
Hongjoong collapses on top of you,holding you close and burying his head in your neck as you both recover from your orgasms with heavy breaths.
"I told you," he says after a moment of catching his breath. You turn your head to the side to get a better look at him: he looks at you with nothing but love and adoration in his gaze. "I can't deny you anything you ask of me." You giggle at words, but you know that earnestness is behind them.
Slowly Hongjoong pulls out of you, leaving you empty. "Stay right here," he utters, his tone endearing. He gets up and quickly cleans himself off in the bathroom before returning with a warm washcloth that he uses to clean you up. He's gentle— knowing how sensitive you still are— but efficient.
After cleaning you up, he lies down on the bed with you, taking you into his arms and holding you close. There's no place in the entire world you would rather be than in his arms.
"My girl… My star…" he mutters, his lips pressing against your temple. You look up at him, hoping your gaze says all of the emotions you can't voice. He leans down and cathces your lips in another kiss, as if making up for all of the lost time as soon as possible.
The two of you lie there, engulfed in each other, and you wouldn't have it any other way. You kiss with the thought of it never getting old, and hold one another with the promise that you will do so for the rest of time. The moonlight shines through the window as you indulge in each other's love. The stars peek in through the window, watching and smiling upon your young love. They twinkle at you through that window and listen to the sweet nothings and the promises you both make to each other with great interest. It's partly because of them, after all, that the two of you are where you are now.
"I'm completely yours, Hongjoong. I'm yours for as long as you'll have me."
"I plan on keeping you by my side and cherishing you forever."
i hate that nonbinary people can't be, like, nonbinary.
whatever we do, we can't win. we can't be seen as actually nonbinary. people binarize us and often mock us or get aggressive or dismiss and ignore our nonbinaryhood or something else.
if we don't medically transition, we are "just cis trenders."
if we do medically transition, we are "just [binary trans] eggs."
we are "technically transmasc or transfem anyways" if we don't use these terms.
we are lumped together with binary trans men and trans women if we do use these terms. our nonbinaryhood is ignored or seen as some kind of "gender-lite."
we are aggressively pressured to disclose if we're AFAB or AMAB, TMA or TME, transmasc or transfem, "boy nonbinary" or "girl nonbinary." and if we refuse to answer, people get double mad at us and pick something for us anyways.
if we show the slightest hint of something that could be interpreted as binary gendered, we are immediately binarised.
if we put a lot of effort into looking the most ambiguous or androgynous or neutral, people still try to find something. and they become aggressive. people often EXPLODE [PT: explode] when they can't gender someone by glance.
our ways of expression are constantly mocked and ignored (like neopronouns, nonbinary-centering labels for gender and orientation, basically all things that are associated with nonbinary people).
but if we choose more typical ways of expression (for example, use "he/him" or "she/her" pronouns), people use it to ignore and dismiss our nonbinaryhood.
yoongi's interlude: fugue pt. iii (3tan) (m) | myg
title: yoongi’s interlude: fugue (pt. 3)
pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)
series: mlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 | fugue pt. 1 | fugue pt. 2
rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au
summary: he would do anything for you, even if that means leaving your light... to venture into his dark.
note: fugue—in music, a compositional procedure characterized by the systematic imitation of a principal theme in simultaneously sounding melodic lines ; a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment.
note 2: we are almost there. the second to last part of yoongi’s second interlude. it’s heavy, it’s deep, and it’s a lot.
warnings: language, time skips, angst, brain fog, reader being an angel but what's new!!!, fugue state experiences, ruined instrument, depression allusions, fight scenes, trauma, bro is a real one, drugs mention/use, threats, the demons are being fought y’all, among other things😔, blood/wound mentions, yoongi please get up😭, darkness, jimin being his ride or die self, anxiety, ptsd reflexes, friendship is truly power, yoongi just needs a gd hug😭, dark thoughts, tension, reader is never giving up and we love them
drop date: january 28th, 2026, 7:17pm est
word count: 12.6k
-
-
He’s gonna make this work. Because he’s done fighting this shit.
Waking from a dreamless sleep, Yoongi stares at the empty half of his bed, fingers gliding across untouched sheets to seek warmth he knows isn’t there.
But it will be. Yours will be. Because he’s fucking done with his own bullshit and will now trek the depths of his soul with a purpose redefined. The demons awaiting him have no chance, they have no say.
Softly grabbing chilled cotton, Yoongi breathes in, the subtle heat of his own rest permeating his cheek for a few moments more. It isn’t until a few slow blinks and a million thoughts of you that he turns over, patting for his phone on the nightstand and immediately clicking the one notification that’s yours.
Hustler [05:45]: 1 Attachment
Mm. You sent him the dawn.
He’s gonna give you the world.
For a long stretch of time, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. All he can do is stare at the way the sky blooms in pastel hues, admiring the framing you captured so perfectly from your front porch.
Is there anything you aren’t good at? He can’t keep losing to you.
Flopping back onto his pillow, Yoongi aims his phone upward, eyes still caked with sleep and drowsiness.
Yoongi [06:13]: 1 Attachment
Yoongi [06:13]: Mine’s better
The photo’s so dark you might not be able to tell what it is. But you’re smart, so you probably will.
Fuck, he needs to get up.
Squeezing his eyes once before rubbing out the crust, Yoongi slowly vacates his warmth, grabbing a chain from the nightstand to clip it on.
Everything reminds him of you, even in the quietest and most mundane parts of his day. But the links around his neck are extra special. Because your blatant fascination with his jewelry will never, ever get old.
If you only knew what else he wants to do with you involving the weight around his neck.
Yoongi’s mouth cracks into a sleepy grin as he heads to his bathroom. That particular fantasy will have to wait until much, much later.
And unlucky for you, he is more than willing to wait.
He wonders if you know he notices. How he drinks in that sparkle in your eyes, shivers at those fingers you slide along his silver. Even if you never will, it’s fucking adorable either way.
Yoongi goes through his morning routine, and it isn’t until he takes vitamins in the kitchen—a part reinstated into his ritual ever since the mental turnaround—that he hears his phone buzz.
Hustler [06:34]: is that your ceiling?? lmao
Of course. He never doubted you for a second.
A small smile curves before Yoongi drinks another swig of water, holding the glass to his mouth while another message slides though.
Hustler [06:34]: i wish i was there :((
Fuck.
You will be. You’ll be there much sooner than he originally planned, and the thought makes him anxious and restless in the best ways.
Yoongi [06:35]: Same
Mm. He can do better than that.
Yoongi [06:35]: I’d say meet me for lunch but then you’d be gone the rest of the day🤷♂️
Pocketing his phone, Yoongi grabs what he needs before heading to the studio. Because there are still projects to work on and things to plan, with a high possibility he won’t even get a lunch to begin with.
Good problems. Lucky problems. He cannot take any of this for granted.
Hustler [06:38]: worth it😩whisk me away
And there’s no way he can take you for granted anymore, either.
Yoongi [06:39]: Careful what you wish for
If he got to see you, he’d be gone the rest of the day, too. Until you scolded him to get back to work, at least.
The thought pulls out a tiny huff.
After grabbing his wallet and keys, Yoongi plods to his shoes before the door is cracked open, crisp morning air wrapping around his features.
He’s not alone.
To his side, Miss Dion stops watering her plants, donned in a fluffy robe and a shit grin that Yoongi has to look away from out of pure… Is he being shy right now? “Morning.”
“Good morning to you, too, sugar,” she says through satisfied teeth. “I told you. What did I say?”
Yoongi can’t help but shine his own set to the sky before looking her way. “Mm. Depression and isolation can mess with memory, so.. Can’t recall. Looks like you’ll have to tell me again.”
With creased eyes, he braces as his neighbor lightly threatens with an air swipe of her arm.
“A smart one, huh? Figures. Glad to have you back, son.” Miss Dion shakes her head, one hand propped on a hip and staring low. “Looks like your little rascal is back, too.”
“My what?” Yoongi looks down before seeing a cat emerge from the nearby bushes, opting to walk on the sidewalk at the sight of people. Silent, he watches his neighbor tsk at the retreating culprit,
“She keeps messing with my plants and making my poor Zeke antsy. Get her some better food, okay? Go with your girlfriend before I charge you for garden damages.”
A full laugh bursts out of his chest, realizing he’s got a little in common with the feisty, older woman. Is Zeke the name of a dog or something? “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” Settling into a warm smile, she radiates serenity with sparkles in her eyes. It’s a look that reminds Yoongi of his own mother, and his heart suddenly yearns to go back home. “Now shoo and get on with your day. Don’t let me keep you.”
Turns out, there are plenty of good people in this world.
And maybe—just maybe—he’s starting to feel like one of them, too.
“Yes, ma’am.”
—
—
On his drive to work, with morning air breezing through open windows and bottom lip between his teeth, Yoongi decides that you’re gonna hear everything from him from now on. Every single day, he’ll reach out every moment he can.
He knows it won’t ever, ever make up for the months he fell off the planet, but he’ll abruptly switch up his behavior because you deserve his full extent of communication and he has been severely lacking.
And the first thing he will hound you about is getting in a good meal today.
—
—
Work flies by, which is another sign things are looking up.
During a break, Yoongi fishes out his phone to continue a search he started earlier. And seeing your nickname on his screen sends wings beating around his chest like a fucking lovesick fool. Will he ever get over this feeling? Fuck no.
You [13:25]: Which one were you looking at? I wanna see!
Cute. It’s one of the keyboards he’s been looking for, but definitely out of his price range—for now. But it’s whatever. He knows what he can do with bare bones and minimal tools, so anything a step above worn-down pads and keys is just a plus.
Yoongi [14:30]: This is the one I really want but not right now
Yoongi [14:31]: 1 Attachment
Honestly? Just the fact that you’re interested in what he’s talking about is enough for him. This is leagues better than anything he could’ve imagined, and now he doesn’t know why he didn’t start doing this sooner.
Well. He does know why.
Hustler [14:33]: Responded ❤️ to an Attachment
Hustler [14:33]: HOTTT GET IT NOW!!!
Yoongi [14:34]: It’s expensive!! Gonna save up.
Shit, his cheeks can’t hide. Grinning like an idiot and you’re gonna get him caught in this fucking studio.
But your next text? Your question? Wipes his whole expression and squeezes his lungs shut.
Hustler [14:35]: how much? i might be getting a raise already so i can spot you🤪
Yoongi damn near drops his phone.
Are you serious? You’d be willing to do that? For him? You see the price on that. You know how much it is.
A shimmering feeling spreads throughout his chest, and he’s fighting everything to keep his vision from blurring. You have no idea how much this one text means to him. After all that fear and trauma that shattered his soul, you’re slowly stitching him back piece by piece. Even if his chest is constricting so hard he has to clutch it to keep it from breaking for an entirely different reason.
Fuck, you’re everything. His beginning, his end, his every sleeping and waking moment.
And you don’t even know how many of his lives you’ve saved.
Hustler [14:38]: hey i’m sorry if that was overstepping.
Hustler [14:39]: obv i know you can get it on your own, but i just got way too excited and wanted you to get it asap haha.. but yeah it’s a great investment either way so i say go for it!
Oh, fuck. Screw it.
Rushing out of his swivel chair, Yoongi walks out of the studio, past a curious Jungkook and Namjoon with a finger already on the call button.
Walk, walk, walk, get as far out as he can. The rings are blaring in his ears and his chest is on fire but this couldn’t wait. It’s the twentieth step that falters as you timidly answer with,
“Hello? Wait, are you okay?”
Instead of saying the first thing that comes to his mind, or even the second, Yoongi goes with the third. Which is fucking nothing because his mind is where his heart is and his voice is nowhere to be found.
“...Hello?” From the ruffles on the line, he can tell you’re getting up and going wherever the fuck you need to go. Because Yoongi knows he’d be doing the exact same thing. “Where are you.”
He can only manage a slight chuckle before asking, “What are you doing to me…”
Your sigh of relief turns into a soft laugh. “I really am sorry. If you felt some type of way, I wanted to say that. Shit, I thought you were… I don’t know.”
“Just had to get some air cus of you,” he admits with a huff and shake of his shoulders. “Gonna ban you from my phone.”
“There’s a word for that, you know.”
There you go again. Boldly teasing him while he’s on the clock? How you hit all of his hidden buttons so effortlessly, he really needs to know. Cheeks tight in a grin, Yoongi fires back, “You wanna try that again?”
“Oh, you don’t know? It starts with a B, too, you were so close!”
You are so fucking lucky you aren’t here with him. The urge to grab and attack your sides until you can’t stop laughing hits Yoongi like a wave, and he scrunches his nose until he counters with feigned nonchalance, “Okay, I see how it is. That’s fine..”
“No, wait, I—”
“I’ll remember that.”
“No!” That laugh is always contagious as hell. “Ah, whatever, you won’t do anything anyway.”
Nah. Even during his goodbye, Yoongi is already plotting. Because while you call his bluff on many things—a surprising amount of them—about this, you couldn’t be more wrong.
“Guess you’re right, baby girl,” Yoongi says, using a low tone that always makes you shiver just right, “I sure won’t.”
He doesn’t have to tell you it’ll take four days to make that a blatant lie.
—
—
During the next studio session a few days later, everyone starts hanging out and messing around since things got wrapped up fairly quickly. Something about being organized and intentional can free up time or whatever. Yoongi just laughs at how simple yet how rare that really is in the industry he chose.
As they jam with Woosung and the guys, he lets himself truly let go, feeling the flow of music and rhythm and playing away on one of the lingering guitars. It’s his first time touching one in so long without it cutting deep into his skin.
It feels good. He’s not even that rusty. This is the best development in a long time.
Even the band has compliments running all throughout the session, and it takes everything for Yoongi to not grin too wide or strain his cheeks in shyness. He knows he’s good, but hearing it from them is a little too much to handle.
It also doesn’t help to feel a pair of eyes look his way a little too strangely.
But soon after it ends, Yoongi finds himself out back again with Woosung, leaning against bricks as smoke fills the alleyway.
“You seem okay today,” the singer notes through a small smile. “You gonna be alright?”
“I am.” Yoongi watches the afternoon skies. “And I think so.”
A small hum. “You have to say it like you mean it. Even if you don’t believe it, you have to try.”
Shit, that’s a lot easier said than done. But Yoongi keeps his mouth shut and his eyes blinking, looking down and smelling wisps of tobacco. “What do you do when you..” Fuck, how should he say it? “What do you do when you keep falling back down?”
Woosung takes a drag, and he seems to know what that means. “First I’d tell you the obvious. Keep picking yourself back up.” Coughing, he continues in a much more relaxed manner. “But honestly, you gotta figure out why it’s happening in the first place.”
Yoongi looks his way.
“Once you deal with the reason for the fall, you know how to fight the push. The slip. Whatever you wanna call it.”
With a deep inhale, Yoongi slowly focuses back on the sky, wanting to lose himself in the clouds drifting pass.
Without a doubt, he knows what his push is. He’s just been too weak to fight it. Now that he has people helping—and you—it shouldn’t be as hard. “Thanks.”
“You learn a lot on the road. And I can tell you wanna be on stage, you know. You’d kill it.”
“You think so?”
“I think you think so.”
Yoongi laughs with him. Because the guy's not wrong. “I’ll get there. There’s not really any other options for me.”
Woosung appraises him with pride. “There’s a few camps that are opening up spots. You guys should go to one. It’s good networking, if anything.” After flicking his cig, the singer then turns to fully face him. “Who knows? We might end up opening for you someday.”
Huh? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Brows furrowed, Yoongi blinks before getting confused at the guy’s laugh.
“I’m not kidding. There’s something special about you, I can tell. You just need more time and space to let it grow.”
Mulling it over, Yoongi knows where the conflict is coming from. Yes, he does need to learn more and pretty soon, they could all outgrow that studio and move into another. But they have to push forward and try, even if they’ll be out of their element at these networking opportunities. “I’ll let them know,” he finally says.
“Good.” Woosung pushes off the wall with a shoulder. “I know you’re doing this for you, but… Is there someone else you’re doing all this for, too?”
Yoongi nods without hesitation.
“Then don’t leave them in the dark for much longer.”
What the fuck? How did he know?
“If they catch you in a bad moment… You might lose them before you can even say sorry.”
—
—
Yoongi strolls across another aisle before halting mid-stride, tugging himself into the seasoning and oil section to grab more of what he needs.
After work, he chose to stop by the nearest supermarket to grab things. And the more he walks through the different areas, the more he realizes just how much he’d been needing. Fuck, the damn bill is gonna be huge.
But it’s all worth it. Surprising you with a hearty meal? Yoongi thinks he could do that every day for the rest of his life.
If only there was a nice spot in town you could also go. The ache he has to take you out and show you off has been reaching record highs, but he knows it’s not possible right now.
Yoongi just wants to show you he’s cool with bringing you outside of his place. Never mind that it feels less like home, he’s more concerned about you thinking the worst. Thinking that things are over or limited when he has plans that extend beyond—
Jimin: Incoming Call
A brow is raised before Yoongi answers, “Hey.”
“When’s the release party again?”
That was definitely not what he expected to be asked. Especially when Jimin has been texting him about movies and reminders about practice all day. “Uhh. In a couple weeks. Why?”
“Okay. I.. I dunno.”
Yoongi checks the expiration date on a carton before flat out blurting, “Just date him.”
A groan sounds on the line. “I just.. What if he doesn’t want to? Then I’ll look like an idiot.”
Putting back the first, Yoongi pulls out a second, approving the better date and lowering it into his cart. “Then he’s the idiot.”
“Well. He is.” A rueful laugh crunches through as the smell of cheeses and bread fill the air. “But only because of the way he looks at me.”
Yoongi’s heart clenches. He feels the same about you, wondering how you could still regard him with those beautiful eyes and make him feel more than wanted. “If it helps, you look happy with him.”
“Ah, throwing my own words back at me now?”
“Guess so.” Yoongi flexes his jaw. “I just know how this feels.”
“When are you gonna tell him.”
His whole body locks. “I don’t know.”
“Dude.”
And his eyes slowly shut.
“It’s been long enough, you know that, right?”
Stopping off to the side, he leans onto his cart swallowed in his hood, ignoring a few passing looks and gnawing into his lip. “Course.”
“So do it. I get that you don’t want to, but you have to.”
A hand angrily rakes through his hair, and he lowers his head to speak to the ground. Of course he would get this lecture in the middle of a fucking store. “He’s gonna fucking kill me and who knows what he’ll say to—”
“And I’ll be sending flowers and Tae will write you a song.”
A pause. Then a huff. Yoongi almost feels like it could be that simple.
“She deserves this. You deserve to finally make this.. I dunno, real. Official, if you wanna call it that. Blessed? Wait, is that only for weddings—”
“Chim.”
“You get what I mean. And the most important—and I’m sure you know this because you’re not an idiot—he sure as fuck deserves to know.”
“I know. We both do.” Yoongi sighs, hearing wheels squeak around him and various chatter. He knows he should move before weirding people out, but his feet feel glued to tile. “It’s just.. gonna be shit for all of us.”
“…At least it’ll be less shit if you tell him before he finds out on his own.”
Jimin is always right.
“Also, I might need that keyring back soon if you aren’t even gonna put it to use. I wanna practice after work for the last game.”
“I am using it.”
“Not how I planned.”
“How you planned?” What the hell does that mean? It’s just a set of keys that unlock the gym a ways away, and Yoongi uses it to play by himself after it closes so he’s alone.
When he’s alone. Wait.
“I’ll give it back,” Yoongi finally speaks. “After the game.”
There’s an audible groan on the other line. “Can’t believe I have to spell everything out around here.”
Mustering enough strength to prop his head up, Yoongi finally rolls from his spot and heads to the front to pay. “Thanks, Chim.”
“Use it well. Make her happy, make you happy, make babies, make me a fun uncle, I don’t care.”
Yoongi outright laughs, heart beating a little faster. And he thought just shopping for groceries with you would be enough for him. Gotta hand it to Jimin for getting miles ahead of everyone else. Although…
“But you have to tell him.”
Dreams dashed through, he murmurs a quiet, “I know.”
“Yoongi… I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me, too.” Yoongi slips into line, waiting behind a young man giving his girl a cheek kiss and laughing at her dramatically wiping it away. “Thanks for everything.”
“You can thank me by telling someone you need help next time. Even if it’s not me.”
As the girl goes to lift food to be scanned, she gets stopped by her boyfriend, watching with a small smile before helping him anyway. “I will.”
“Good. Love you.”
Yoongi swallows, eyes a little prickly for more than one reason. “Love you, too.”
—
—
Even though Yoongi has been getting small evidence of your eating habits—as instated by him this past week—he’s still determined to get you more nourishment.
He’s pretty sure you like the restaurant next door, so despite knowing this could get him in a world of trouble, he uses his lunch time to bring you food.
Writing a note and some groceries he forgot to get last time, Yoongi sets it in the paper bag and walks to your building, still in disbelief that you’ve been this close this whole time. The pain of remembering how much of your life he missed while he was unreachable pangs his chest. But he deserves it, and you deserve a lot better.
Finally on your floor, he walks up to the receptionist before immediately ignoring their wide eyes.
“Who are you looking for?”
“My girlfriend. Just dropping this off.”
“Oh.. This is so sweet of you.”
Yoongi doesn’t even give that declaration a second thought. It came out so naturally.
Maybe he really is ready to move on.
You aren’t there at your desk. Which is probably best because he’d just steal you away. So Yoongi quietly sets it on your empty space, looking at all the trinkets and pictures you have in your little world. Some are just adorable, but he spots a polaroid of your brother that clenches his chest.
He was there for that. You both had matching cameras and took an impromptu picture of each other at the same time. He’s pretty sure your brother has yours very visible somewhere, too.
But there’s no time to think because he’s gotta bounce.
Walking fast past reception, he hears a quick, “Wait, are you not gonna wait for her?”
Pausing, Yoongi turns. “I….”
On second thought? Yeah. Because fuck this sudden shyness, he's gonna take any chance to see you.
Be it from being impatient, or just really nervous, Yoongi waits around a nearby corner until you find your food. He needs to see your reaction to the note, because if you throw it out or ignore it? He’ll take that as the most glaring sign to give you space.
But when your hand slowly covers your mouth and your body quietly buckles, his heart beats so loud he thinks you can hear it, and his soul pulses so fucking hard his vision glosses over.
You will never know what you truly do to him.
Back at the studio, Yoongi is locked in the rest of his shift. Because he isn’t just doing this for him now. There’s another reason he’ll be making it big.
You’re still believing in him after all this time. You still stayed.
And Yoongi will take over the whole world just to kneel at your feet to give it to you.
—
—
The entire night is perfect.
In fact, Yoongi’s entire life feels like it’s where it should be. Hanging out with you in a gym, starting another water fight because he still dreams about the one you sprung on him that day? This is what life is about. There are no shadows with him now that he’s fully in your light.
And that carries him through the night and up until the game the next day. His sleep was restful, his spirits are high, and his mind is completely spotless.
But with one glance at the man from Dalo, all the darkness comes rushing back in.
—
—
Did you just tell them all to play?
Even though the guy that assaulted you is on the other team, you want everyone to stay? To play out the game?
Seeing you look so folded in on yourself, Yoongi’s chest feels twisted with immediate rage. How the fuck are these guys allowed to even be here? How did they make it this far? That fucker is staring him in the face and he’s trying unbelievably hard to not go over there and commit felonies.
Honestly? If you’re really about this and want them to go ahead and play, Yoongi knows exactly how it’s gonna play out. All the scenarios are manifesting in his head and he can’t help but feel a sadistic elation knowing how fucked this other team is gonna be.
But he looks at his best friend with heated eyes. “What do you wanna do?”
It takes him awhile, but your brother responds exactly how he thought he would, “Fuck this shit up.”
“Exactly.”
At your addition, Yoongi looks your way, liking your spark but hoping you’re not overcompensating for anything. If you’re uncomfortable, they should just forfeit the game and bounce.
You aren’t budging. You’re clearly shaking and yet, you are immovable in your decision. And it’s so like you and fuck he wants to kiss your fears away in front of the whole gym just so everyone including that dipshit knows you’re forever untouchable. “The fuckin’ nerve.”
“Bold,” Jimin adds from where he stands, turning to you and dropping into oblivion to say what they’re all already thinking. “Don’t worry, love.”
Yoongi turns to the other bench.
“This will be over soon.”
—
—
Everything starts off exactly how they want it to.
Turns out, Jimin’s regimen and practice schedule worked out in everyone’s favor. Now that they’ve played multiple games with each other, Yoongi and the other guys can communicate with just looks and moves alone. Which proves a huge advantage because they’re making the other team look completely unorganized.
All those nights alone in that gym have also contributed to Yoongi’s form. This is the quickest it’s taken him to be in the zone and he’s even impressing himself with how sharp he is.
No one can guard him. No one can stop him. It’s painfully obvious to them and he can’t help but laugh at their shock every time, shrug at their little team squabbles, smirk at the way this idiot can’t even keep up with him. Tragic? Worse.
But things get dicey when Rohan fouls a little too hard, everyone nearly converging on him and the guy selling his pain as if it wasn’t just a normal swing. On cue, shoving and pushing happens, Yoongi being on the outskirts since he’s the last to get there.
It’s over when the coaches come separate, but amongst all the racing heartbeats, your brother looks really focused coming out of the fray. Really calm. Which means something went down and he is fighting to keep his attitude in check.
As they both head to the bench, Yoongi immediately gets the rundown. And his whole attitude ices over with a snap.
“They know which car is mine.”
Fuck.
That means one of two things. One, these guys just happen to really like knowing who drives what. Or two, this isn’t a game anymore. This isn’t the matchup—the real one is not going down on rec center floors.
Yoongi is already repeating his apologies to you.
Well, shit. May as well have some real fun with it now. If they can get the other team to call it quits here, they may have a shot at an easier standoff later.
Right.
—
—
Yoongi doesn’t like this one bit. The other team was too quiet to just have left without a word.
They really will be meeting them in the parking lot. And suddenly, things get a little too real.
This walk could be the last, depending on what they may have on them. The only shit those guys have against them is that this is a public center, and there could still be a lot of witnesses walking by—
Thunder rumbles as they reach the end of the long awning jutting out from the rec center entrance, and Yoongi looks at the dark sky with lidded eyes.
Fuck. So much for people passing by. They may be left out there on their own for real.
“Still?”
At Jimin’s question, Yoongi nods. Because they still have to confront this group of cowards one last time, pouring rain or not. Revenge is never one to raincheck.
Maybe they bluffed. Maybe the storm settled in some seconds thoughts. The lot still looks fine, with cars emptying out one by one as they walk and the space getting more scarce. Your brother’s car and Jimin’s exist in the same spot a ways down near the end.
With more than an alarming number of guys surrounding them.
Is that a whole fucking crew? Fuck, this was not the plan you need to get out of here and anywhere else but your place.
Before Yoongi can say anything, your brother beats him to it. “Taehyung. Get her out of here. Now.”
And your scream of resistance tears through every cell in his body.
Yoongi can’t even fucking look at you, even if to burn the image of your face in his mind to get through this bullshit. Because if he does? He’ll be the one hauling you away and bringing you both to the safest place he can think of without a second or third thought.
But he will not inconvenience his loving mother with a sudden visit just yet. When he finally brings you home, it will be for a different reason entirely.
“No! What the fuck—”
“We’re leaving.”
“Please—! No, let me go!”
This is the thought that will keep him grounded. It has to. He has to face this situation because from the way things are looking, if they don’t settle this now, it will only get worse. For them, for you, for everyone.
Fuck, your voice. It’s taking everything for Yoongi to keep his anger in check because, despite his malice, he’s the one that ultimately started this. He thought he was in the clear. What a fucking joke fuck you’re clawing at his ducts and he doesn’t need to look at your brother to know what he’s thinking.
The man is fucking silent.
And this is the one Yoongi remembers with full body shivers. The protector. The one that will do whatever’s necessary to save the ones he loves. This is the guy Yoongi has to eventually confront, if they—when they—get out of this situation in decent pieces. If your brother did what he did for him? What the fuck is he gonna do for you?
But in all fairness. For the first time, Yoongi understands this side of his best friend. Because for you? There’s no limit to what he would do to keep you safe. What a fucking shame he’d left you in the dark for that long. If you hate him after this, he’ll deal with it. At least that means you were safe enough to say it.
Woosung warned him. And Yoongi still didn’t heed the signs.
But no use dwelling in it now. Your screams have morphed into sobs as Taehyung hauls you away. And with quick observation, Yoongi notices that even some of the faces he’s watching falter.
You’re his everything. Your brother’s everything. And he fucking hates himself for all those opportunities he had to be by your side, all those times he could’ve just confessed but couldn’t because of his own damn faults.
Rolling his shoulder, Yoongi braces for the storm, your brother finally speaking with a clutched phone behind his back as soon as you’re out of earshot,
“Last chance.”
The man from Dalo shoots out a huff of disbelief. “For what, motherfucker.”
“To back off my fucking car.”
Thunder rattles some of the guys into a step back, but your brother doesn’t move. Resolute, he brims with sinister energy, its bristles curling around Yoongi’s legs and hardening Jimin’s shoulders. Even some of the guys from the team have stayed behind, which doesn’t come as a shock seeing as how close they are with your older sibling.
“That’s your play?” Dalo guy drawls before looking around. “Outnumbered and you’re worried about a little paint scratch?”
Your brother only smirks like he has a secret. And Yoongi knows full well that it’s a bluff that always works like a charm. “I mean, I’d be worried if I were you, but. If you can skip a few months’ rent to pay off the damages, go ahead.”
More of the guys shuffle in nervousness, which is the sign they all need. If they actually leave, things should end quicker. All they have to do is hold it out long enough for them to talk.
“How about this,” the man suggests, poison trickling down his curve before he swings his bat right into the side mirror of your brother’s car fuck. “Let’s see how many swings it takes for you to stop me.”
“I’m gonna guess a few,” your sibling drawls under the blare of his car alarm, expertly hiding the fact that he’s pissed as another swing hits the passenger door. “Give or take.”
“You shut the fuck up,” the leader growls, smashing the nearest window right out and grinning into the vehicle. “Oh, what’s this? I’ll take that, thank you.”
“Don’t.”
Yoongi’s blood freezes as he sees exactly what the guy takes, noticing the matching polaroid that your brother has of you that’s always on the dash.
Oh, fuck this noise and fuck this guy. Now he’s waving it like a little trophy? All bets are fucking off. No amount of morals will help him now and your brother turns downright murderous.
“Think I’ll get a lot of good use out of this,” the assaulter boasts with a sinister grin, shoving the picture in his pocket that Yoongi can only assume reeks of sweat and cowardice. Thunder booms once more, and droplets start pinging off shoulders and sweaty heads.
He wants to hurl thinking of what the guy means, and he doesn’t even realize he’s one step further than before until an arm stops him at his chest. Turning, Yoongi sees his best friends’ eyes ablaze but still facing forward, and he stops his strides—mind racing with rage.
“Your girl looked good today, by the way!” The Dalo guy appraises with a lift of his chin, rain running down his angular cheekbones and staining his dark mesh. Yoongi snaps his gaze forward again because shit this is being addressed to him. “We got a nice view from our bench.”
Fuck this dude. What the fuck is happening to his spiking heart rate? Is it anger? The rain? A thunderous mixture of both?
On heavenly cue, thunder tears through the sky again, raindrops starting to pick up just to drown this guy’s talking,
“Think it’s time for me to see her again? Her skin’s so soft, bet it feels like heaven when y’all fuck, huh?”
“Not gonna share?” The man turns to your brother with the evilest glint in his eye. “Guess I can always stop by and ask her myself.”
When the sky rains down in sheets, everything erupts at once.
—
—
Gritty, darker days of the past melt into Yoongi’s vision as the night blurs and roars around him.
For a brief moment in time, he doesn’t think they’ll make it. Youth has slipped its protection from their bones, taking the recklessness of their souls with it. They haven’t done this in ages. And it fucking shows.
Because Yoongi’s side hurts like a motherfucker and his palms sting with white hot singe. Rain and bodies slow in their motion as he takes it all in, and his eyes droop as he shifts closer to his friends—mind swirling like the lights pulsing down the street.
Your brother smacks into wet ground before wrenching himself back up, and a Jimin sporting a botched eye yanks him backward before distancing them all from another hit. The other guys from the team shield their blind spots, everyone now mangled and boxed in tighter and tighter.
This is because of him. He did this. He did all of this.
Mind and skin slick from the rain, his guards crumble. Dark thoughts flood back in and inundate his every crevasse. You deserve to hate him and you should you should you should.
A prideful laugh erupts before yelling out, “Let’s get this over with, yeah?”
“You aren’t gonna do shit,” your brother taunts.
“Think so?” As the man reaches behind his back, Jimin’s voice pierces like an arrow,
“Watch it!”
Acting without thought, Yoongi bolts to his friend, knowing what to do but not having a plan for what’s next oh fuck what’s this guy pulling out—
“Yoongi!”
If anything, he can at least go out with the knowledge that he kept your brother safe. You’ll be safe with him. Yoongi will find a way back to you even if it takes another lifetime or two.
Rain roars down as something dark is pulled from the man’s pants. But Yoongi can barely make out what it is as he shoves your brother out of the way.
"No!"
He's frozen. He can't fucking move. Your bright light is the only thing that flashes into his mind as he stares into glinting, vengeful eyes.
But everyone else will be safe. That is the most important. The only thing that matters.
Suddenly, sirens sound from a ways down, everyone flinching in the downpour. Lights swirl and swirl, and it’s your brother’s exhausted admission that shocks everyone,
“Those are for you, by the way.”
“The fuck?” The man backs up immediately, shocked when half the guys are already scrambling off. “You fuckin’ snitched?”
“What can.. I say,” your sibling huffs through heavy breaths. “Don’t mess.. with my fuckin’ car.”
“Bullshit.”
“Stay if you want.” Straightening with a repressed wince, your brother sets a hand on Yoongi’s good shoulder before walking right up to the man that assaulted you, weapon in hand be damned. “It’ll make it easier for them to spot you. You know, with all the cameras and shit.”
“…Huh?”
“We’re in a public lot, genius.” He wipes blood from the side of his face, looking up behind him at the very obvious camera positioned on the nearest floodlight. “And if we run the tape back, y’all smashed my property.”
The man slowly smiles. “And you’re on the same footage instigating a fight. What if I just…” Something happens between their bodies, but Yoongi can’t see what. “Do it right here? Defend myself?”
Your brother raises his shoulders before exaggerating a sigh. “See, the thing is…” Hands on his hips, he reminds Yoongi of you, flinging him back to a very similar rainy afternoon with much less harrowing stress. How he’s remaining so calm is unfathomable. “You broke into my car and stole from me. Anyone seeing that footage—you know, before the rain—is just gonna see… Well, us trying to stop you.”
The sirens get louder and louder, and more of the guys have long gone by now. But your assaulter stays in disbelief, eyelids blinking away rain and arms shaking. “They can’t catch me from those cams.”
“Probably. But they can pick up your voice from my recordings.” Looking down, your brother finishes with bored finality, expertly ignoring the fact that he's millimeters from death. “And you have my picture in your pants, dumbass.”
Yoongi’s never seen someone slam a hand into their pockets so fast. As the polaroid falls into puddles, a voice quivers while something is tucked back in wet pants, “Fuck you.”
Before he can run, the man gets snagged by his jersey, sirens blaring closer and closer as your brother unleashes his final threats, “Since you did the smart thing and spared me, I'll be nice. But I don’t wanna see you, I don’t wanna see any of them. Come around again, and I’ll make sure you never see daylight, you understand?”
Fully rattled, the man throws his hands up with a growl, “Fine, I got it! Fuck!”
With the last dashes of a coward, the team is left alone in the lot.
Turning their drenched heads and shoulders just in time to see the cops fly by.
—
—
After a quick check to make sure no one’s sporting a major injury, all the team members that stayed are told to go home before any other cops come to ask what’s up. Your brother finishes calling a tow truck for his battered pride and joy, and Yoongi rejoins him with a very silent Jimin.
Even though the rain never stops, the three of them wait until everyone else is driving off. Until everyone else is safely on the way back to some place dry.
When alone, the three of them turn to each other without a single word.
It’s done. It’s really done.
—
—
Just sliding into the passenger seat of Jimin’s car makes Yoongi hiss in pain.
Groans from the others fill the humid space, and Jimin makes sure the lot is completely cleared again before watching his rearview mirror. “How the fuck did you know the cops would come?”
“I didn’t.”
Jimin’s good eye widens. “That was just coincidence?”
“So was the rain being this bad.”
Fucking hell, they lucked out on every single thing they could’ve lucked out on. If it went down any other way? At least one of them would’ve been lying face down on pavement.
Swallowing, Jimin clutches his wheel with one hand before asking next, “Well.. What are you gonna do? You leave tomorrow, right?”
They’re about to talk about the towed, smashed car he called in. So Yoongi’s just gonna lean into his seat and try to fucking breathe.
“Yeah,” your brother huffs out. “Umm. I’m not sure. There’s no getting out of this trip, and I can’t exactly tell my boss what happened.”
“Need us to bring it into the shop tomorrow?”
“Really? Damn, that’d be perfect, thanks. I’ll just get a ride to the airport in the morning then.”
Yoongi winces to himself as he adjusts, hearing a groaning curse from the backseat at the same time. “You sure you’re good to leave tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’ll be alright.” The man sighs. “Couple hours of ice and some bandages should do it. And the suits will cover most of me up.”
“K.”
Jimin starts the car, hand gripping the center console so hard his veins pop. “I gotta say… That was the first time I’ve been that scared. In a long time.”
The whole space falls silent in agreement.
It’s your brother that croaks out next. “The last time we were in shit that deep.. Yoong got his back thrown into that barbed fence.”
At that, Yoongi looks out the window.
“But the important part is that we made it. And they won’t be coming around now that we have shit on them. Fuck, the way I wanted to just—”
Yoongi cuts his sentence off immediately, “Luckily you chose logic.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“We just all have someone to live for now,” Jimin grits out with frustration. “So can we just.. Not do this anymore?”
Another hush of understanding falls over the group, and everyone quietly agrees.
“Good.” Jimin rolls his car forward and starts calling someone, setting his phone down while Taehyung’s name shows on his car screen.
“Hey.”
He answered. Which means you’re right at his side. Fuck, Yoongi’s heart is pounding so hard it’s drowning out the rainfall. Your voice. He needs it. He’ll take anything you have to say.
“Hey.”
“You okay?”
Jimin’s tongue prods his cheek. “Yeah, we’re all alright, but…”
“Say it.”
As Jimin relays the damage, Yoongi starts picking at his fingernails in nervousness, something he hasn’t done in so long but still feels like second nature. “My eye is pretty fucked. Yoongi’s face is cut up and he’s got some nasty bruises on his—”
“Where is he.”
Oh. That’s really you.
Shit.
Jimin audibly pauses on the line before having the audacity to chuckle. What the fuck is he laughing for? What about any of this could possibly be funny?
“This isn’t funny, Park. Where the fuck is he?”
“With us,” Jimin slowly answers, as if this suspense is good for anyone. “In the car.”
At least he has enough mercy to start out with including your brother. Hopefully that first response was enough to clue you in before saying anything more damning. Not that something damning wasn’t already said. Fuck, this wasn’t exactly what Yoongi meant when he said he wanted to hear you. But goddamn if his soul isn’t already pulsing at the thought of you asking about him.
After another beat, Jimin decides to spell it out for you. And Yoongi feels like he’s about to dangle from a precipice. “Your brother’s here, too.”
“Ah… Am I on speaker.”
Both Yoongi and Jimin look at the center screen, already knowing your brother is looking, too. “Umm.. Yeah.”
Whatever Yoongi thinks you’re gonna do or say? Is nothing compared to what you actually do. He hasn’t been this chewed out in ages and the pit in his stomach morphs into a void.
“Actually, you know what? Good. Now I can say you’re all idiots and immature as fuck.”
The man in the back tries to cut you off to no avail. “Hey, wait a damn minute—”
“I waited long enough!”
Yoongi physically feels his whole soul sag with guilt, guilt, guilt.
“I know this shit isn’t new to y’all, but really? You didn’t need to do this.”
“He was gonna—”
“All you had to do was play the game! Why’d you have to make them mad? Do you even know what could’ve happened back there?”
Yes, they all know. In fact, Yoongi is still mentally running from that one split second of terror. If the dude from Dalo was reaching, that could only mean a couple things and he doesn’t wanna think of either one. How the fuck is he supposed to face you now? When he almost got—
“Just tell me one thing… Is this gonna happen again?”
That one your brother answers with finality. “They won’t be coming around anymore.”
Yoongi hopes to everything in the universe that it’s true. Judging by the fear in those eyes? The way they all ran? There’s no way they’re coming back. But the adrenaline pulsing through his cuts and bruises gives some room for doubts.
“Okay… Are you okay?”
Your sibling answers yet again, making things seem much less concerning than they really are. As usual. “Me? Yeah, the hits I took were weak as fuck. I’ll get home soon so if you wanna order in tonight we can.”
“Fuck that.”
“Huh?”
“Bro, you don’t even know how fucking mad I am. I’m going to Yuri’s.”
That shake in your voice will stay for a very, very long time. Even as his best friend dares to question you, Yoongi’s throat remains shut. “What? Nah, come home tonight and we’ll talk.”
“I just—No.” Fuck. Your pause is the loudest thing. It’s long enough to make them all think you’ve hung up, but he has a feeling the next thing you say will crush him.
And he’s right.
“I’m not talking to any of you for awhile.”
You mean that. There’s no doubt in Yoongi’s mind that you’re dead set on cutting them all off with no hesitation. And they all deserve it, especially him. What they did tonight was idiotic and could’ve been avoided in a thousand ways. You have every fucking right to be furious. Truthfully, you’re kinda letting them all off easy.
Once again, your brother is the spokesperson for the car. Because why would anyone else be, right? “…Fine. But go asap then. I don’t want you out late on your own.”
“…Of course you don’t.”
And you hang up so fast it cuts Yoongi’s breath in two.
Silence follows. Followed by a multitude more. Unspoken thoughts are forming dark clouds in the car, stuffing the space and jamming cotton in everyone’s ears.
In the rear view mirror, Yoongi watches his friend rub both hands over his face before a fist bangs against leather upholstery, Jimin reacting immediately with a quick,
“Behave.”
“Sorry.” A rustle of clothes and guilt follows. “I just… My sister’s right. What the fuck are we doing anymore? This one was stupid.”
“All the fights we’ve been a part of have been stupid,” Jimin tuts, looking over his shoulder and wincing before turning a corner. “Fuck, my eye.”
Yoongi offers with a hand still slung over his waist, voice hoarse, “Need me to drive?”
“No one with a death wish gets to drive my car.” Jimin hisses out another whoosh of pain. “But no, I can make it to his place.”
“K.”
“And she’s right.” Jimin rolls to a stop at the next light. “Even if tonight was coming, this could’ve been prevented. Or done another way. Honestly, I’m surprised we made it out.”
“Same,” Yoongi agrees.
“Glad I got his shit recorded,” your brother sighs, wincing while adjusting his seat. “They shouldn’t be able to refute the recordings in court—fuck—if it gets to that point.”
“What happens if they—”
“Forget about them,” Yoongi interjects, earning two looks of shock and feeling a little surprised himself. When the car starts moving again, he works his hurt jaw, trying to figure out how to word his ever twisting thoughts. “We didn’t tell her anything and that’s where we fucked up.”
Did that come out too upsetting? Can he blame it on his aching side? Does it even matter anymore? Does anything?
“How do you know that.”
Stiffening ever so slightly, Yoongi uses his battered side as an excuse to shift. Wincing, he looks at the center console, choosing not to peer out the window on purpose. Face this shit now. Tell the truth in parts to control it,
“She told me.”
Jimin doesn’t acknowledge that answer, instead turning at the next corner and checking his mirrors.
“When.”
Motherfucker. Yoongi’s mouth is drying out so fast he doesn’t taste the blood anymore. Everything feels like sandpaper, scratching his tongue, tearing his esophagus to shreds. The rasp that results rips his throat red,
“After—”
“After I told her everything,” Jimin jumps in, throwing a blanket over his fire. As Yoongi gives him a look, he continues with eyes on the road, “At that party you hosted a few days after you came back.”
Thank god the blond knows to step up when he’s needed. Yoongi still can’t think straight and was about to admit he called you during that party. Full on busted. And how would that have gone?
“The party I…? Oh, the one that Sunday? Fuck.” Your brother wipes his lower face before shutting tired eyes. “I remember now. Cus I was gonna tell her back then, but everyone started coming over.”
“We should’ve told her before Dalo even happened,” Yoongi says with a sag to his voice.
Thankfully, all suspicion and tightness is gone from your sibling’s voice. Only agreement resonates. “Yeah.. Yeah.”
More silence washes over the car, sweat and rainwater caked on skin while blood hardens in layers. Though Jimin makes no comment, Yoongi knows he’s gonna pay for any damages just sitting in here will accrue.
Rolling up to your house, Jimin parks in the driveway, all of them still wordlessly suffering because of all the shit he started.
Yoongi can’t see it any other way. This all happened because of him, whether his best friend says so or not. Yeah, he threw that punch on the court back then, but Yoongi’s the one that fell for the taunts. How fucking stupid. And to think he thought all of this would just, what, go away with time?
You reached for him on the court this last game. You were begging for him to tone it the fuck down. Once again, he didn’t listen, blinded by the anger boiling over—at that coward, and at himself.
But you’re safe, your brother is safe, and everyone that fought today is fine. Yoongi’s gonna count every blessing that he can before the darkness wins again.
“Thanks for driving, Chim,” your brother grunts as he opens the door. “And Yoongi?”
He turns to look his way. Staring right into those eyes laser focused and exhausted to hell all at once. Not even the pouring rain can divert either of them from breaking contact.
“Get out of the fucking car.”
Fuck.
Yoongi works his cheek before grunting out of the doorway, winding the car and knowing Jimin is on high alert inside. If this is about you? If this is the battle he was supposed to fight for months?
Maybe he’s not making it out tonight after all.
As soon as Yoongi gets close, he’s yanked forward by the collar, eyes unmoving as he knows not to flinch. He’s gonna own his shit, as much as he’s scared out of his fucking mind right now.
Words rip low from your sibling’s lips, “Whatever the fuck you did? Don’t even think about doing it again.”
And there it is.
The door he’d been so desperate to open has been sealed completely shut, caught in this torrential downpour and retreating so far back he can’t see it any longer. “I’m sorry,” he rasps out. “I was gonna—”
“Jimin’s right. You got a fucking death wish? What the fuck is wrong with you? How would you think I wouldn’t figure it out?”
Ice blocks all his veins, freezing his chest over and chilling him below his bones. Everything from the moment you knocked on his door to now comes rushing past his vision and breaking in lightning quick snaps.
All Yoongi wanted to do was protect you. And now he’s gonna lose both of you.
Shoving him backwards, your brother growls out. “I just… Are you fucking serious?” He sighs to the ground, rain drenching his already slicked head and steaming shoulders. “You got one life, and a future bright as fuck. Stop throwing it away so easily, or we’re done.”
What?
Now Yoongi’s eyes jolt for another reason. Shock thrums and resets his body, forcing it to grapple with the real conflict between them. “This is about me saving your life?”
“What the fuck else would it be!” Your sibling rushes forward and shoves him again, and Jimin is fully springing out of his car now. “The fuck were you thinking?”
“What the hell are you two doing?”
“You’re fucking kidding me. Are you serious? He was about to—”
“I can handle my own shit!”
Jimin keeps a bull from charging again, full on forcing him back. “What the fuck!”
“I can save you from an idiot with a gun,” your sibling grits out like it’s hurting him from the inside, “But not her, dude.”
Her? What the fuck?
“Yeah, don’t think I believed you for a fucking second. She’s still there, huh? I can see it all over your face!”
As Jimin stills in his pushing, Yoongi’s feet start to get tugged into the earth.
“Look at you. Gone for days at a time, starting shit on the court, and just—throwing yourself out with no plan? Do you even care about your life anymore?”
Thunder cracks the sky once more, punctuating his words on impact.
And it's Jimin’s turn to shove his friend back, voice tightened in ice, “I suggest you choose your next words very carefully.”
“Do you?”
Life slows around Yoongi, magnifying the pain he feels in his side and the blow he took straight to the lip. Everything hurts. Everything’s numb.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, this isn’t what he bargained for at all. And even though it’s been forever since he’s seen his ex, he can feel her ghost howling and grinning like a victor, tearing his heartbeats to shreds.
Your brother’s right about her still being burrowed in his place. That has been the case for months and he needs to fix that. But caring about his life? Of course he does. Did it look like he was just throwing himself out? Truthfully he doesn’t remember everything he did he just acted on pure instinct. “That’s not.. It’s not like that—”
Shucking off a persistent Jimin, your brother straightens and backs up a step. “Someone to live for, huh? Yeah, count me the fuck out. Her? What the fuck, Yoong?”
No. Not this again. Say something. Say fucking anything to fix this shit. The dread that settles into his stomach is finding permanent residence because he’s about to lose his best friend for the wrong reason, “Listen, I—”
“Save it. As long as you’re still with her I am done.”
The panic in Jimin’s eyes matches his own, his hands trembling as he keeps them separated, “It’s not like that, okay? Both of you need to—”
“Get out.”
Yoongi and Jimin still, with the latter asking a shocked, slow, “What?”
“You heard me.” Your brother backs up towards the house, rain falling in rivers across his skin and failing to hide the streams from his eyes. “Get his ass home. I’m not saying shit until she’s gone.”
“But she’s—she’s not even—”
“I’m out.”
—
—
Rain stains the windows of Jimin’s car in splotches.
After the entire drive goes by in silence, Yoongi slides tired eyes up to see his place coming into view.
“Yoongi.”
He doesn’t respond.
“I’m staying with you tonight.”
Shutting down, he gives his friend a shoulder so cold even he regrets it. “No.” He knows Jimin’s already red-rimmed and teary. So he keeps his head down and arm slung over his waist. “Taehyung needs you.”
“Please,” Jimin begs, voice wavering and full of fear. Which is justified. He knows what will happen if he’s left alone. “I’m staying. I can get him and we can both stay, just—”
“Not tonight.”
A sniffle is the only response. “I fucked up. I’m so sorry I messed it all up, but please don’t do anything when I’m not there to—”
“I’ll be fine.” Yoongi clicks the door open, greeted by the boom of thunder and endless rain. He can hear the desperation in his best friend’s pleas, but this is something he can’t let anyone witness. Not feeling in control of his body is frightening, and he needs to be isolated. Again.
Before shutting the door, he turns. “This is something I have to do alone.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll… I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”
More sobs wrack Jimin’s body as he wipes his bruised eye with shaky fingers. “Promise me there’s a tomorrow.”
Oh. Jimin thinks the worst. Fuck, Yoongi is hurting all of his friends in every fucking way possible. “Chim,” he sighs, rain lowering his temperature so much he shakes. “It’s not like that at all. K?”
“Okay.”
“I just… Yeah. We’ll talk about it when I’m ready.”
“Yoongi,” Jimin halts him right as he’s closing the door. “I really am sorry.”
And he looks down at the seat he just occupied, rainwater and sweat and regret and relief all sunk into leather upholstery,
“Me, too.”
—
—
As Yoongi stumbles into his apartment, he doesn’t bother to turn the lights on. Why would it matter if all they’ll do is highlight the repercussions of his decisions? The stupid fucking decisions ever since the day he damned you all.
A shadow snickers, wrapping around his brain and forcing him to recite them all once again. Just like he had been over the last three months.
Yoongi’s shoes trip over nothing as he stumbles, careening to the floor and smacking a bruised shoulder on impact. White hot pain zings up his limb, shoving out a curse and a wheeze as he lies still because he can’t. Fucking. Move.
All he wanted to do was protect you. Those guys were loaded with dark intentions and he lost it defending your honor. But that doesn’t negate the fact that he put you and your brother in danger. He’s the one that started the fight on the court that day, he’s the one that messed up by making you feel unwanted. Danger? He put you in that. The club? He put you in there, too, and almost tore his mind apart when he saw what happened to you there. What did you say to him afterward? When you both were in the safety of your own bed?
“I was so scared.”
Yoongi punches the floor, gritting his teeth before willing himself to get. Up. Limb by limb, muscle by muscle, he slowly rises to his feet, kicking off his shoes and stripping off his damp, bloody clothes. Because it’s done. The danger won’t reach anyone he cares for any longer, and yet…
He can barely change into new garments as his mind flashes with more reminders, like how he messed up rushing to defend you at the party, making his best friend silently size him up and wrenching daggers in his side. Even leaving you to deal with his shadow fucked you up, because he couldn’t bring himself to tell you why he even left in the first place.
But there’s a lot of that hesitation going around. After all, he hasn’t even confessed to you brother yet. Just the thought makes him want to hurl, and he almost does.
But Yoongi quickly shakes his head, as if doing so flings the memories away. He stalks through his living room, his path illuminated by the flashes of lightning and shaken by the booms of angry thunder.
You may as well command the very skies. Because your rage seems to mirror them tonight, and he cannot blame you one bit for tearing them all apart. God, he can’t get that tremble in your voice out of his fucking head. You sounded so hoarse, so broken, so defeated and yet so strong.
In a screwed up way, Yoongi is proud of you for telling them off, setting off a new conversation that ended in them making amends to how they settle things from now on. They all deserved that as much as they needed it.
You’re too good for him. Yoongi has thought this once before, but it’s more than true now as he stops at the corner of his living room. The darkest one. The one that's been driving him to the brink of insanity and back again.
It’s so loud right here.
Darkness winds around him in waves, only fleeing when lighting floods the room. His face pulses in pain just as much as his side, and he hunches forward, almost touching the neck of his black guitar case.
Yoongi can only stare.
He messed up a lot of things. He knows that. And yet, you haven’t run from him once. Even when he fucked up again, and again, and again, you never ran. That day you almost walked out the door? Yoongi’s heart crumpled and squeezed when he saw you turn right back, eliminating that stabbing fear in his chest and replacing it with a heal of hope.
But you finally cut him off tonight.
And honestly, that was the best decision you could’ve made.
Gripping the firm cloth of the case, he unzips from the top, moving in slow, calculated motions. Thunder rumbles overhead, and he almost flings back to the first time this instrument of disaster was gifted to him. But he fights the memory, quietly choking the guitar by the neck and lifting it from its confines.
He hears it gasping. Fuck, he hears the screaming.
And therein lies the root of his manic war.
This isn’t just an instrument. This isn’t just an object.
It’s a life.
If he does anything to it, the guilt will forever mar his conscience. He’ll carry this violence wherever he goes.
But what else can he do? If he throws it out and someone finds it, the shadow can come back to haunt him. Or inflict its power over someone else. Is that too much of a stretch? Is he truly going insane now?
A fuck up. A screw up. For as long as he can remember, Yoongi believed those were all used to describe him. However, if you have taught him one thing in the time he’s orbited your presence, it’s a simple fact. He may be a fuck up, and he may be a screw up…
But he was still a good person.
Those labels plagued him for years, had him questioning his very existence and rocked him off balance every time he stepped out of line.
All this time, those words were a projection, flung at him with the intention of making them stick until he couldn’t rub them off. Mud, mud, so much mud had been flung onto his brain and buried his very essence so far deep that he couldn’t even find it anymore. Even his vision dulled, colors looked less vivid, life didn’t feel worth living.
But Yoongi has fucking had it with the sludge. He already faced your nightmare head on just to keep you safe. If he had to trudge through a thousand miles of sludge next just to get to you? He’s doing it. Because you’re so fucking worth it and he’s not wasting anymore fucking time on these lies, these half-truths, this bullshit.
Tightening fingers around polished wood so hard that strings bite into his skin, Yoongi turns, lightning flashing and casting his own shadow into his room.
His shadow. No one else’s. He’s not letting there be two of them in here any longer.
The screaming reaches a shrill cry.
A dizzying thought roars in his brain once more, crumpling him at the waist and making his ribs sting. Breaths ragged, he squeezes both eyes tight and heaves at the painful pulse of his head.
That whole time away didn’t even matter, did it? All it took was one phone call to have your brother on his ass yet again.
Fuck. Is he gonna have to keep his distance again? Shit. He didn’t think about that under all the pain he’s sporting right now, all the mental assault he’s enduring because it is relentless tonight.
Goddamn it. He can’t deal with another three months away from you. Even three days without you sounds like agony and death right now, because he has to spend his days and nights with the monster in his hand. The dark will await him once more, but he doesn’t want it anymore. It’s not part of him. It’s not it’s not it’s not.
Eyes slowly opening, Yoongi slowly straightens as much as his ribs allow, shifting his lidded eyes to the weight he carries.
Get rid of it.
Throw it out, all of it, all of it.
But how? He can’t move to throw it away. His feet stay glued to the floor as he struggles to even carry it another second. His chokehold slips, staccato notes giving way to a cacophonic hum as the bottom of the instrument hits the floor.
Get rid of it.
It’s like you’re speaking to him. But how is that possible? Is this what happens when one descends into madness? Because that’s what Yoongi feels in the marrow of his bones. Burdened by the fact that no matter what he does, he’s gonna mess it all up. No matter what he tries, it will be in vain. He’ll never be happy. He’ll never get the future he wants. The future with you. With you, with you, with you, wasn’t he just fighting for you? What the fuck is happening to his brain?
Get rid of it.
He can’t.
Get rid of it.
He can’t.
Throw it out. All of it, all of it.
…Can he?
Yoongi struggles to breathe, heaving out dry, bitter struggle once again. His limbs almost give under the weight of the mud, the pile of sludge. The door seems so far away and he can’t crawl to it any more. There’s too much trash. There’s too much pain.
Your voice rings across his mind one more, desperate time.
Get rid of it.
And someone’s wise words from awhile ago echo right behind like a ripple. A mantra. A reminder.
“If there’s something you need to get through...”
Manic resolve seizes the reins.
“Hit it until it breaks.”
Lightning flashes in slow motion as Yoongi doesn’t even feel himself. He hears the bangs, the crashes, the splinting of wood and shrieking of glass as something enormous tramples through his living room. But nothing feels real, his vision isn’t his, those lifts of his arms aren’t his doing as swing, after swing, after heavy final swing hits in front of him.
This is everything he wanted to unleash in that parking lot. Every movement swathed in rage.
Strings snap, whipping out in all directions as glittery rain falls onto his rug and his floors, skittering in all directions and glinting off the storm light outside.
His throat is hoarse. His ribs are worse.
And his brain goes completely dark.
—
—
When Yoongi blinks, his living room looks unfamiliar.
Until he wakes amongst millions of shattered pieces, surrounding his bloody limbs in a descent suspended in time.
Somewhere, what was once a guitar is split in pieces, slain in cold blood to be rid of the shadow inside. A death necessary for life. Yoongi vows to never break an instrument like that again.
He did it. It finally happened. The only shadow he can see is his.
…Right?
Yes. Yes. It’s over.
—
—
Floating.
Endless, endless floating. The ocean of his mind is calmer without the scepter in the room, but he’s so exhausted he can only move his eyes.
There’s a voice in the dark box he puts himself in. But that doesn’t make sense, does it? When he’s supposed to always end up alone.
Jimin did his best. So did everyone else. But it’s a simple fact that, in the end, it’s only gonna be him here, listening to you call out to let you in.
Wait. That’s really you. You’re calling him? Has he been responding? When the fuck did he even answer his phone?
No. You shouldn’t be here tonight. Not tonight. Not like this.
Regret and anger fill him to the brim as he screams at himself to not push you away. But he will, breaking his own heart to save you from seeing him in his aftermath. You don’t need to see this. You should be miles from where he lies.
“Not tonight.”
But on the other side of his door, you are fighting like you never have before.
“Yoongi, I swear to god—”
“Not tonight—”
“—you don’t let me in I’m—”
“Go home—”
“I’m fucking staying out here until you open the goddamn door!”
Why? Why are you still there? Why are you trying so hard and why does your effort hit him square in the chest? In his mind, he’s reaching for the door but he can’t get there. Still so far away. But you’re screaming for him to try. Begging.
“I’m serious.”
“No.”
“Go home.”
“No!”
It takes everything for him to utter your name, because he feels like even that he doesn’t deserve to say.
He could hang up. He could just shut you out. So why isn’t he? Is he turning away, or clinging on to your outstretched hand?
Yoongi knows why he’s still on the line. It’s because he needs you. Fuck, he needs you and yet he wants you the furthest distance possible. You can’t see this. Any of this. You’d cast him away and never look back.
Which is why he finally reaches the point of begging, “Please.”
Your silence drags on. Only the shaky, quick breaths you exhale fill the deadened air and squeeze his lungs.
Go. Don’t go. Stay. Run.
No matter what Yoongi begs you to do, he’s already screaming at himself to do something. Because even if he doesn’t let you in, you’re just gonna keep standing there. Three months you kept your distance, and you’ll wait another ten until he lets you in. That’s just who you are.
And that’s the you he fell in love with.
But Yoongi feels the most broken he could ever feel. The most damaged, though the worst is over now. What are you going to say? How are you going to react? Will you run?
Will you leave?
Don’t leave.
Don’t leave him alone.
Heart on its last desperate breaths, Yoongi lies still, hoping you say something yet begging for you to take one last chance.
He thought it was best to be left alone. And now he’s silently calling out for you to open the door.
“…No.”
His heart pulses waves throughout the living room, beating stronger and stronger and yanking his limbs into action.
Breathe. Focus. Get the fuck up and walk, crawl, do anything but just get to the fucking door.
So crawl he does. Across shards, across rainwater, across the damage he dealt to the last piece of him that needed breaking. Your effort cannot be left alone and he’s going to meet you halfway.
Fuck, he’s still cold. Still wet. But he will keep crawling on forearms until he can muster the courage to stand up and let you in—no matter how long it fucking takes. The ground feels like sludge and dirt and blood and it’s so dark. He may drown here. But that won’t stop him because he will trudge through hell to reach your voice and this is one and the same.
Almost there.
Stand the fuck up.
Unlock the door.
As soon as your face comes into view, Yoongi doesn’t quite register what you say but he’s already preparing to—
With a sudden fit of strength, he grips your waist and tugs you back into him, both to keep your feet from danger and to selfishly feel the warmth of his only source of sunlight.
You’re silent. You’re still.
“I told you, doll.”
Your sob is all he needs to know. Instead of the pain of you choosing to leave, Yoongi gives you the out one more time.
Despite desperately wanting you to stay right by his side.
“Go home.”
-
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tbc in fugue, pt. iv
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so... thoughts before the last fugue? | join the server! | fugue pt. iv
a/n: we have one more part to fugue left, and if you guys remember everything that happens after reader sees the wreckage.. let's just say the rest is gonna be the most important, most heartfelt parts from yoongi's pov. i seriously cannot wait to share this last fugue chapter with you all, and i wanna do it the most justice i can offer.
a/n 2: i love you all so much, and i've missed being here. thank you all again for being so patient with me as i work through an entire inner working of 3tan yoongi. i knew i wanted to take this on, but i did not account for how much it would affect me mentally. it's been a rough but necessary journey for the both of us. all we know for sure is that we needed to brave the sludge to end in full bloom. and that's where we are finally heading next.
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a/n 3: we have a slight goal to hit before 3tanfugue4 is posted! i want to make sure we have activity here before posting the next part, and some of you guys suggested that we have post goals to encourage interaction. so we're gonna try it and see how it goes! if we don't dig this idea, we can go back to normalcy after fugue4.
note goal: 800 notes is the goal, so when we hit that, 3tanfugue4 will be dropped as planned! thank you all for reading and would love to hear any thoughts: what did you like about the chapter? how did a certain scene make you feel? what are you excited to see next? any shares, comments, tags, and reblogs with commentary count, and i appreciate anything you guys have to say.
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