It's strange, Yoongi thinks. This isn't his father, isn't his loss, but still there's a weight on him, though it's warm and sweet somehow. He aches for Jungkook, but he aches with happiness, too, with gratitude, enough that he could nearly cry from it. Someday, he thinks. Someday he'll get such an introduction to Jungkook's mother, too. Someday he'll be able to tell his father how deeply, fervently, eternally in love he is. And maybe his father will turn him out; he expects that. But at least he'll be able to say it. They deserve this, this kind of openness and honesty with the people who matter most.

"You're very good at it," he protests, as Jungkook reaches for the basket. "I'd be lost without you. He takes such good care of me. I — when I'm sad, when I'm hurt, he pulls me back. He makes me whole. He's better at it than he realizes." Better at it, Yoongi thinks then, than he tells him. "Even before we started dating, knowing I would see him... Sometimes that pulled me through the day. Just the chance to be near him. Your son deserves everything I can give him and more, deserves the world, and I hope you'll approve if I try to give it to him."

He glance over at Jungkook, faintly nervous, heart hammering in his chest, anticipation heavy in his limbs, as if he might hear or feel an answer at any moment. Like he might receive a blessing if he listens, if he's open to it.