Something in Yoongi's expression wavers, unsteady, a lump rising in his throat. He wants to protest that he's not that cool and Jungkook isn't that clumsy, but that's the least of it. They are different. The same, he thinks, in all the ways that truly count, but different in ways that mean they just complement each other perfectly. Even today, when he's already so happy, a few words from Jungkook are enough to make him feel like the sun's peeking out from behind the clouds, like everything will be okay. Like this happiness will last.
Jungkook thinks he's not as romantic. Jungkook thinks he's no good with words. He doesn't have to be, Yoongi thinks. All he has to do is be honest. Eloquence doesn't mean anything, not the way this does, his heart almost painfully full. He knows so well how powerful music is, the way it can transform everything, say everything, but to know his music can do that, to know he could do that for Jungkook...
He wishes he had a piano now, because he knows he doesn't have the words. Sometimes he wonders how he got so fucking lucky. Times like this, he knows it's because there's no one in the world who makes him make sense the way they do together.
"I guess I better keep playing then," he murmurs, swallowing hard. He can't imagine not playing anyway, not when there have been times he felt like the music was the only thing keeping him alive, but if it's one more thing he can do to make sure Jungkook knows he's never really alone, he'll keep going forever. And to think that Jungkook fell in love so early, loved him so long, through all of his moods, the fights and the flaws, the recklessness and restlessness — that all the time he felt so lost, someone so special was loving him so much — it's almost more than he knows how to bear. He didn't realize it, but it strikes him now; all that time, hurting and lonely, he was never really alone either.
Twisting around to better face Jungkook, he lifts a hand to cradle his cheek, so tender, ignoring the spray of water against his calves as it slowly grows warmer. He falters, mouth open to speak before he knows what to say, and all that comes out is a helpless, almost distressed exhale. "I love you."
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Jungkook thinks he's not as romantic. Jungkook thinks he's no good with words. He doesn't have to be, Yoongi thinks. All he has to do is be honest. Eloquence doesn't mean anything, not the way this does, his heart almost painfully full. He knows so well how powerful music is, the way it can transform everything, say everything, but to know his music can do that, to know he could do that for Jungkook...
He wishes he had a piano now, because he knows he doesn't have the words. Sometimes he wonders how he got so fucking lucky. Times like this, he knows it's because there's no one in the world who makes him make sense the way they do together.
"I guess I better keep playing then," he murmurs, swallowing hard. He can't imagine not playing anyway, not when there have been times he felt like the music was the only thing keeping him alive, but if it's one more thing he can do to make sure Jungkook knows he's never really alone, he'll keep going forever. And to think that Jungkook fell in love so early, loved him so long, through all of his moods, the fights and the flaws, the recklessness and restlessness — that all the time he felt so lost, someone so special was loving him so much — it's almost more than he knows how to bear. He didn't realize it, but it strikes him now; all that time, hurting and lonely, he was never really alone either.
Twisting around to better face Jungkook, he lifts a hand to cradle his cheek, so tender, ignoring the spray of water against his calves as it slowly grows warmer. He falters, mouth open to speak before he knows what to say, and all that comes out is a helpless, almost distressed exhale. "I love you."