Love is not being able to bed her, or to get in her panties. Love is to know that she can take care of herself on her own just as well, and still wanting to. Love is, to protect a flame and keep it burning for a long time. To nurture and cherish and see her grow from her own shell.
Love is to think about her when it’s broad daylight, with all these people around and wanting only her. Not when it’s midnight and it’s lonely. Love is to have all these choices and remained to choose her.
The stewardess passed you, asking if you would like to have a drink with a pretty smile on her Russian Red lips, pushing the cart with her freshly manicured fingernails of the same shade of red, looking absolutely stunning, standing 18000 feet from sea level.
“I’ll decide later.”
“Alright, I’ll do one round and come back to you, will that be okay?”
That’s nice. You nodded and passed an appreciative smile on your lips. And you felt the edges tremble a bit. It happens when you don’t feel like smiling but you had to, and people could really tell that it wasn’t genuine. Just good enough to let them know that you don’t really want to be disturbed. That is quite difficult, being someone so approachable, to be so closed up like that. It was just one of those days. You could clearly tell that your heart was no longer here where it should be.
The plane right wings sliced through the clouds, towards endless blue skies. Yoongi was considerate enough to book you a window seat and paid a first class ticket home for you when you insisted that you would be fine, sitting back there in the economy where there’s more people and less space. All this extra spaces is making you miss him entirely more.
Fishing out your phone that you put on airplane mode, you scrolled down to his name and tapped on the last message sent. You left him on read for three days straight and you started to wonder if he even remembered that you were coming home today.
“I shouldn’t be expecting much. Expectations bring disappointments,” you breathed in and exhaled sharp. “He’s busy. Please, don’t do this to him. Remember all the good things he’s done...” you added, more to remind yourself to not push him away. This trip away from him was to strengthen, not to create distance.
But what if I come back and he won’t be there? There’s no reason he should be. Not after that last conversation with him.
This time it wasn’t just about commitment. It was about importance. About priorities. About trust.
You dashed into his studio without warning one noon, and he turned around with his headphone still attached around his ear. Upon hearing someone coming in, he spun around, angry at first, even muttering the curse word, “Fuck.” When he looked up and saw your tearful eyes, your phone in one hand, another palm, flat on the door brim, holding it open, his hard expression turns instantly timid. He was forgetting something again, didn’t he?
You looked at him, dead in the eyes, gritting your teeth and grinding your jaws, and grumbled low, “Last chance, Yoongi.”
Yoongi saw your shoulders turned away and sprung up to his feet, the expensive headphone he used to care so much about, falls to the floor as it became clear what was more important to him right now. The cables tangled around his thigh and he kicked them away without much thought, thinking that if he stalled, you would be gone for good. Yoongi went after you, calling your name like it was the only word he knows, arms extending to capture you, physically at least. He knows he can’t do anything about the emotional context of it. You were so far gone.
Utterly absurd. Simply preposterous. You heard him calling your name, felt the touches of his hand around your arms, wrist, whatever he could get his hands on, and yank it off without a problem. “I’ve had it with your ass. I don’t know how much more I could go Yoongi. I can’t do this anymore. I’m... please don’t touch me!” You spun around to face him and gathered your face into your hands, finally stopping in your tracks.
“It’s not about your time anymore. It’s not even about us anymore. How could you do that to me...?” Your voice muffled in your hands while Yoongi stepped back, because you told him to. His feet staggered, arms floating at hip heights on each side, unsure what it should do. His lips pressed together, unsure of what to say. He is unsure about a lot of things. Thoughts scrambling on a million words and none of it sounded good enough to turn the situation around.Desperation doubling in a second.
“I saved money in that joint account to purchase a trip, for us, for our family. I went to a wedding alone today and had to answer a lot of ridiculousl questions from people, asking where my husband is and to be frank--” you lift your tear-stained face at him, and raised your voice, “...--with you, Yoongi? I don’t fucking know anymore! And that’s not even the half of the shit that you put me through.”
Yoongi blinks to the floor, avoiding your eyes. He can never bear your crying face and guilt daunts on him, looming around his entire being right now, that he dare not say a word for fear it would plummet to a new ground-breaking argument with you. He looks up finally, not wanting to lose you from his sight in the process.
“...please don’t.” He sang, whined, plead, begged with everything he has, chanting your name like prayers, apologies in another name. On the verge of his own tears.
“And that’s not half of the shit you put me through, Min Yoongi...” you repeated, a bit more depth in the way you spit them out, looking at him in the eyes, while he approaches you, trying to hug you and you stepped back, with every advances he makes, firm with your stance. “...how could you lend your friend money, knowing fucking well we had a joint account! Why didn’t you talk to me about this? I was at a gathering today and saw this text Yoongi...it came from the bank!” You showed him your phone’s screen.
He threw a meaningless glance at it, and didn’t pay much attention to it because he knows what it says. He got the same message too. Now it’s time for him to lay his arguments. “...he was a good friend. He’s...we’ve been through hell together. I just... he came to ask for help, sweetie, please just. Will you listen to me?” He started blabbering, not caring if it didn’t make proper sense. Sense was out of the context now.
“He’s important.” Yoongi added a final point. And you jutted your chin, hollowed your cheek, looking down at your feet, nodding a little. The tears are finally dry. “...it’s clear to me now, where I lie in your list of priorities...” you sniffed and flashed a forced smile and it finally dawned to Yoongi how you took his words.
You started walking away, digging the heel of your palms into your eyes, and swept what’s left of the tears away roughly. You turned away from him and Yoongi is under an unwanted chase again. “That’s not what I meant...It’s different. That’s a different level. That came out wrong. You’re important to me. You’re important.” He repeated, holding your forearm, gripping firmly on them. You turned to him at the exit, and spit your last words at him, and, “...Well I don’t feel important.” You yanked your arm hard from his grip, grumbling to his face,
“I’m leaving you.”
Yoongi watched your back gets smaller as the automatic door opened at your presence. A soft fist in his right hand held on his hip height. Eyes dry, his heart breaking his cage, thumping considerably slow than before and he felt time slowed down without his consent as the distance between you two increases with each second passing. He reveals his right palm, and there was a ring.
Your wedding ring.
“Miss? Miss...? Can I ask you what you’d like for a drink now?” The stewardess tips her head to one side, adorably. Much to your surprised because she appeared to be rather regal and professional, the sudden gesture made you soften a bit. “...surprise me.” You gushed. Not wanting to think much of a drink. She pours down a sweet mixture of non-alcoholic fruit cocktail she mixed on the spot for you and smiled. “Special. It’s our secret.” She winked, “Please cheer up. I’d like to see a smile.”
You smiled genuinely this time. But moderately. Just to please her. She delivered her promise and tried to make you smile when she probably had a bad day too. You saw a passenger in the front rising her voice at her just a little while ago. Demanding for her to hand her the food she ordered when she clearly says, that it will be served when the captain declares it to be okay.
The tantalizing after-taste was something you were chasing after. The unplanned trip to your hometown was somewhat riveting, liberating. It gave you the escape you were seeking for. The time away. Some distance from what was bothering you that could simply be compiled to one name, Min Yoongi. You didn’t come home to your parents or told anyone you were back briefly. You stayed in the hotel and sighed heavily at the view before you.
Suddenly, this trip felt like a mistake. Not because you missed Yoongi. Not because Yoongi made a mess of the money you saved and use it as he pleases without talking to you first. But because the more you are left alone, the more you think of him. The empty space next to you on the large bed is disheartening. You tasted him in your delivered morning coffee, wondering if he’s having his morning coffee done, just the way he likes it. The bathrobe in the bathroom reminds you of him. Min Yoongi in the morning smells like a warm towel, toothpaste and coffee beans—a beautiful combination that never fails to wake you.
Songs from the 80s that he loves to share with you. “Yoongi would take a walk on the shores, take endless photos of whatever.” You looked down to the sandbed from your hotel’s balcony. The curtain flipping open against the rough windy skies at the open window.
Yoongi didn’t come home immediately after you left, knowing that you won’t be there. But there’s a tiny hint in his heart that he hoped you were there. So he took the time to prepare for that view: a home without you. Yoongi dragged his feet home with a ominous feeling in his heart. He clicks the door open with his keypad and it beeped for entry. Yoongi saw the house empty and flutter his eyes shut. He was hoping that this morning, he would wake up and it would all be a dream.
But you can't wake up if you don't sleep. And he walked in, to a phone call from his mom.
“Take her home. We’ll have a new year dinner together. I miss her.” Yoongi nodded to the phone. “I’ll...see what I can do. I can’t promise you.” Not wanting to let his mother knew what was happening to married life. Let’s keep this as domestic as possible. Yoongi stared at your number for hours. He wanted lay on the bed but thought it would feel different without you.
He went to discard his clothes and showered. Standing underneath the shower head, Yoongi hung his head low and let the water fall where they may. They trickle down his blonde hair, down his jaws and chin, over the middle of his backbone and pooled around his bony ankle. And he began to sniff. He shudders in silent cry, lips quivering without words, just small whimpers and a little shake of his head unable to contain the feeling of being left behind.
It broke him. Severely.
He puts in black long sleeves and black trousers, his hair still damp, coming down with a flu, his body began to heat up and his hands got colder. You were somewhere in the world, away from him and he hoped you were getting what you were looking for. His nose reddens and he lay in the hammock you both had by the window, still not wanting to lay in bed where you weren’t present.
Tissues all over his chest as he earnestly try to type out a good message for you to read.
If you would read it.
He typed and erased, repeating it, numerous time, not quite satisfied with all the sentence he come up with. He knows his embraces on you would have worked better because he’s simply bad at making words sound good when he needs them to be. Yoongi was aching to be with you, and you were miles away now, not wanting him there. He types again. And then erases.
He sends a simple text of a sad emoticon to you and a notification appeared.
“This message cannot be delivered.”
Setting his phone face down on his stomach, he laced his fingers together, and squeezed the heels of his palm on his temples, stressed before he combusts in tears, twice today. “Baby, please come home. I need you.” His hand brought down to his eyes and the tears spill in an endless circle of torture.
Three days away from Yoongi. You had your phone on airplane mode still. You took a walk by the beach alone, burying your feet in the sand, your flip flops in one hand, the wind striking your hair every time, the warm breeze washing your face, as you squinted your eyes to see the horizon of an ending day. The sun is swimming in golden sea, looking like an egg yolk, the mirage, breathtakingly beautiful in your eyes. Yoongi would have liked this.
Upon returning to your hotel room, you bought a small little keychain and set it laying on the coffee table by the balcony. You heard your phone rang. Snatching it faster than lightning, you saw Namjoon’s name on the caller ID. “Hello? Is he okay? Did he eat?” You blabbered before anything else. And it became clear to you that it wasn’t Namjoon. You could tell from the way he breathes. You inhaled shallow and sat on the chair.
“Mom...mother wanted us to be home for new year.” Yoongi stammered. His voice sounded nasally. You casted your eyes down to your lap, pressing the phone firmer to your ears as he spoke because you missed that voice so much. You knew he had been spending the days away from you, crying. “Where are you?” He sniffed, and you imagined him wiping away his snot with the back of his hand. “My hometown.” You shot, dryly.
“I’ll buy you a ticket so come home, okay?” He pleaded, in choked voice. You swallowed a gulp down your throat. “Sure.” You ended the call before he could say anything else. Yoongi pressed his forehead on the concrete wall, sniffing hard. Standing in the hallway alone. Namjoon watched from afar, wanting to get his phone back in his possession. He patted Yoongi’s shoulder twice, squeezed his upper arm and walked away wordlessly, after obtaining his phone from Yoongi.
“...please be seated and fasten your seatbelts. We will land shortly.” The announcement came through the speakers and you braced yourself, accordingly. “Crew members, please be seated for landing.” The captain announced. The stewardess scrunched her face cutely at you before going to the front of the plane where she should be. You looked out the window and saw Incheon International Airport on full display. Beautiful sunny day it is.
The airport runway is cleared, several men working hard on the scorching unforgiving sun and you felt the smooth sail of the moment of impact where the airplane tyres, kisses the ground, gliding effortlessly under the expert hands of a pilot who clearly had a number of experience on his resume to have executed such landing. Almost effortless. Utteredly graceful.
“Please remain seated until the plane comes to a full stop and use your communicating devices when you’re inside the building...we would like to thank you for flying with us,” you shut your eyes, embracing yourself for the fate that is waiting for you. The harness that you are bound to come home to, the promises you made with each other, these vows that made you his and him, yours—there was nothing ordinary about your relationship. You cared enough to point him his mistakes. And he was mature enough to accept. But should he think that it was unacceptable for you to be that way to him, then he should know that you don’t want to stay in a place where you’re not wanted.
It was not just about this friend of his anymore. It was how he prioritize things. How he justify what’s more important than the other. How he adamantly chose his friend, to tackle that problem before he ever consulted you. It was a joint account. Any decisions involving more than 10K should have been discussed. You were insisting that you were right. And it all depends on how he tackle this issue, next.
With the click of your heels, you dragged your bag up the slanted flight and the bridge and walked out like a confident women you are.
“I haven’t finish it,” Yoongi darted, “I know I promised it by today but I simply can’t.” He buried his fingers in his hair, yanking it hard so it could take away a bit of the numbing headache, ramming in his head. His studio is not as tidy as it was. He had unfinished food laying around, empty soda bottles and crumpled papers of his attempt to write lyrics—fruitless attempt. His tracks remained unfinished and he was getting annoyed at little things.
“I can’t write a damn fucking verse Namjoon. I don’t know what you want me to say.” He hung up and put his phone facing down.
Walking out of the arrivals, you tried not to scan around but couldn’t help wanting to. So you did. Maybe he won’t come, at least the others would. Maybe. Something to sooth your heart. You tilted your chin up and inhaled deeply. You felt a pair of eyes on you from the side and gulped. It’s that feeling again. That familiar bubbling in the pit of your stomach, whenever Yoongi is around. You saw one man, standing with his head low, both hands in his pocket, his eyes peeking through his blonde bangs. He lifts his head fully now, his lower lip jutting out, as if he’s trying to stop any impending tears, chewing his lips now at you.
The tip of his nose is red, he looked deathly pale, and his eyes were sunkened, cheeks a little hollow than you remembered. You walked to his direction, dragging your bag and left it behind, skipping to him, and throw your arm around his shoulder before passing a chaste kiss on his cheek and brushing your face against his very own.
He buried his face in your hair and crumbled. He literally crumbled. Crying like a little boy, whimpering and shuddering against you. He was saying something but it was incoherent to you. You proceed to coo him, by rubbing his back, smoothing the back of his head and telling him that it’s okay. “It’s alright sweetie.” You sang. He stepped back when you both broke the hug. He had hiccups from the crying, stuttering the words out, “I m-miss y-you. A l-lot.” His shoulders shakes as he sniffed and you had to pull him into another hug. “I’m home now...” sliding your hands down his back pocket to take the car key. “I’ll drive.”
The car moves out of the parking spot and you put on the blinkers to the left before a left turn. You’re heading straight to Daegu with Yoongi. The dinner is tomorrow night. He sat on his side facing you, laying his face on his palm, watching you drive, still having hiccups from the crying. “Yes mom, we will be home by then... okay, I love you. But if it gets too late, don’t stay up for us okay? Okay, bye, I love you...” you hung up after your mother-in-law did.
You couldn’t help turning your head to Yoongi at a glance and smiling. You ran your fingers on his hair, and then push his hair away from his forehead so you could see his face more. He sniffed cutely. He hasn’t said a word since you left the airport and continued to simply look at you like this. He’s probably still accepting the fact that you’re home here with him.
He can’t believe it. Worst case scenario, she would have ditched me at the airport and go off but she didn’t. She could have not board the plane, because she can if she was still very mad at me, but she didn’t. She could have cursed at me, and she didn’t.
In fact, she gave me a hug and told me that she’s home. She gave me another hug because she knows I need it. And she called her mother in law to inform her that she’s taking me with her—me, the irresponsible husband who thoughtlessly gave away the money she saved in the name of friendship, without asking her first.
“Do you hate me?” His gritty nasally voice broke through the silence as you drive. And you shook your head after a thought. “I know I’ll forgive you, but I just have to be dramatic, first.” You pursed your lips, and turned to him with a cheeky smile. “You should hate me.” Another tears fell steadily down his cheek as he bares his eyes open at you. “I couldn’t, Yoongi. You know that.” You sang, softly.
“Let’s talk about this later. You look like you could need some sleep, your eyes are red, honey...” you cooed him. “What if I wake up and you’re not there?” He asked, his voice breaking. You pressed your lips together, thinking of an answer for him to hold on to as you darted your eyes straight to the view ahead.
“You should probably check the kitchen because I’ll be making coffee.” You grinned and bit your lips. You took your scarf and he wrapped them around his neck. Yoongi could barely keep his eyes open, drifts to sleep, his hand on your thigh as if you would disappear into thin air if he didn’t. Yoongi clearly didn’t deal with the separation well. The punishment is done.
Mother was waiting with her scarves, outside the house, waving as you parked your car behind father’s Kia, despite your protests. “Squishy, wake up, we’re here...” you cooed and brushed your lips against his hair. The car door opened and you ran into mom’s embrace immediately. It was late night when you both reached Daegu. Mom had food on the table warm and toastie.
“He came down with a flu...” you lied and you knew Yoongi appreciated that. You could have told how shitty her son was at being husband but you didn’t. He was grateful. Yoongi went to bed first and you later, because you were helping mom with the dishes. You dashed to the bathroom and brushed your teeth, rinsed your face and changed your cloth when you opened the door to see Yoongi laying on his side, eyes blinking awake. “Why are you not sleeping yet?” You asked, slightly scolding with a smile.
“Can we sleep in one bed tonight?” He meekly asked. The bed dipped as your weight settles in, sliding your hand down the angelic features of his fine face. His eyelid flutters shut as he basked in the touch you have given so generously after two weeks of being deprived of one. “Please don’t leave me.” He slid his hand down your wrist as you were caressing his face and jaws. You motioned closer and plant a lengthy kiss on his forehead. And he began to quiver.
“It hurts when you’re not here. I’m so so sorry for what I did. I wasn’t thinking at all... it just happened. I’m... it’s not an excuse,” he swallowed his spit and continued, “You’re important to me. It was selfish of me to do so. I didn’t think of how it would be for your side. I was thoughtless, and—don’t leave me... I’ll be good. I’ll be good to you from now on. It’s painful. I can’t.” He chokes from his tears again.
“I’ll be good to you. It hurts so much. I can’t think. I can’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I was just so sorry...” He looks up at you with pleading eyes, “I can’t live without you... I need you.” He hugged your waist, burying his face into your stomach, his hot breath fanning against your skin as he cried uncontrollably. He was very apologetic. He was so sorry, he could die. Yoongi was a mess when you left and it was merely days. You couldn’t imagine what could have happen if mom didn’t call to have this dinner. You would have started this year on the wrong foot.
“No more doing things without talking to me.” You warned and he shook his head, looking down, sniffing. “Don’t leave me hanging. Don’t let me go to weddings alone.” You listed. Yoongi shook his head aggressively cute, pouting. “Kiss me.” You smiled, pinching his cheek and chin. You felt him inching closer to you instantly and close the gap with a purposeful liplock, as told. Like a puppy doing his tricks.
“Again.” You commanded. And he complied without protest. It’s not like he had the rights to. He’ll do whatever you want him to. Whatever.
He watches you sleep in the morning with a fond smile on his face. He slip on your ring back into your ring finger and he witnesses you pull your hand into your chest, humming pleasantly as if you know your ring is back in your possession. Yoongi whispers in your ear softly, “The only thing we’re taking off is your clothes from now on. Not the ring. Happy new year, sweetie.”
Because to love is to want them even when you could leave them. And to have, to need and to understand. Love is to rather shed away your ego so you could have them back because nothing is more important than their presence in your life. That’s love.
