"True," Yoongi allows. When he would do anything to keep Jungkook safe, he can't imagine ever trying to hurt him. He's less sure if that holds up when he considers the others. Sometimes he wants desperately to lash out at them, for slights both real and, mostly, imagined; but the fact that he doesn't has to mean something. Even if it's because he's afraid doing so would show them how awful he is, it still means something that he doesn't. Maybe what matters isn't so much not having the impulses as it is never following through on them.

And then there's this, being curled up with Jungkook like this, fingers carding gently through his hair, safe, wanted. Maybe not everything he thought was selfish is actually bad. "I guess," he says, slow, feeling out the words, "sometimes it's just... hard to know what's real and what's me lying to myself."

On the very rare occasions when he's let himself talk about this, it's been so difficult. It hurts to admit these things, hurts to imagine how the person he's talking to must feel. If one of his friends told him they felt like this, he knows he would be upset and worried. He's not sure why he mostly just feels like he deserves it. Still, it's a little easier now, a little safer with Jungkook. It still leaves an ache in his chest, but there's something like relief in it, too, at being seen. "It's exhausting."