Though the bruises may match in color, everything else is starkly different. At the hands of his stepfather, fists are the fastest means to shut Jungkook in; they rain down from all sides, until the only means of defense is to curl in a corner, arms raised, head tucked in. He's never satisfied until there's no more noise. Until Jungkook's gaze grows dull, no longer fixed on a point in the distance. There are times when Jungkook distantly wonders what his father does with all of that life siphoned away.

Wonders, if nothing else, whether the sense of power is what pulls him through to the next day.

But to be marked by Yoongi is different. Heated lips meet damp skin, tongue laving and teeth worrying, as though trying to pierce through and draw out every part of Jungkook that he's kept buried for so long. Jungkook gasps, his toes curling tight at the simple sensation of being drawn out through the surface of his skin, and an ache that settles somewhere deep in his chest. For a bruise to shift now into a symbol of love — Jungkook can't imagine anything better.

He glances up when Yoongi pulls away, his arms trembling as he raises a hand to meet Yoongi's. He can't see the bruise, but he trusts that Yoongi's found a way. For once, Jungkook looks forward to looking in the mirror tonight.

"I've already been yours," Jungkook breathes, eyes slightly wet as he nods. "I think I was meant to be yours."