lovestrippedbare | 𝕞𝕠𝕕𝕦𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

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yoongi

𝕞𝕠𝕕𝕦𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

The last time Jungkook had touched the keys of a piano was well over a year ago. Pianos were temperamental instruments, in a way. Even if the strings were perfectly tuned, the music would not come without the right touch; a piano would easily reject anyone who abused its keys, rough and tinny to the ear.

For months, Jungkook had pleaded with the little piano in the back of their classroom, stumbling over chords and measures that were once so familiar. He knew he was pressing all of the correct keys in the right time, in the right order, but there was a certain dissonance to the sound, vibration cutting deep into the jaw. But never once did Jungkook lose patience with the instrument; it wasn't the piano's fault, after all. Day after day, he carefully shut the lid. Week after week, he would wipe away the dust which had settled over the weekend.

In many ways, the piano and Yoongi were one. Inseparable. And so Jungkook felt that he could not leave it, not over the summer, not even when his absences became obvious to the teacher, and the classroom the first place they would search.

He had come on his birthday, the bench creaking slightly under his weight, though he could not bring himself to touch the keys that day. Instead, he waited until the last stream of light failed to stream through the dirty panes of glass.

But the last time was after that, when Jungkook had worn his teacher's patience too thin. The first hit knocked him to the ground. And finally, the second hit landed, as it should have all those months ago. A third, a fourth — just as Jungkook had always suspected, not a single one hurt.

I was right. You shouldn't have protected me. And where are you now?

The last time was over a year ago, and now Jungkook stands in front of a small music store, staring at the silhouette of a piano tucked away in the back. Years ago, they had talked about visiting a shop. Talked about making the rounds to hear each piano's unique tone, talked about finally getting a chance to feel what it was like to press the keys of a grand. How they would be dressed up, but only a touch more than usual — showing their aspirations without getting ahead of themselves.

They never made it.

It's been years, long enough that there are days when Jungkook almost forgets. Days when he wakes up, and all that lies in wait is the monotony of his alarm's buzzing, the ache of his shoulders as he hefts his backpack. But then, his thumb brushes against the band still worn around his pinky finger.

There are days when Jungkook almost forgets, but most days are more of a mix between fear and anger, different shades of grief that all leave Jungkook struggling to breathe. What drove him away from the piano was guilt, but what keeps him from coming back is the growing sense of futility.

He can't visit his father's grave for fear that Yoongi might be waiting there too.

Anger wins today's tug of war when Jungkook's gaze drops, finding a rock by the sidewalk — or maybe it's a piece of concrete from all the construction in the area, Jungkook isn't sure and he doesn't care. All he knows is that the surface is rough, digging against his palm as he picks it up, tossing it a couple of times in the air before throwing all his force into a throw.

The glass cracks, and then it shatters, spilling across the pavement and glittering under the streetlights. (Jungkook remembers — splintered glass, bright green; Taehyung wasn't aiming at the street, not really.)

Eventually, when the tinny alarm doesn't draw any flashing lights or police sirens, Jungkook climbs over the window's ledge. Walks towards the back of the store and lets his hands act for him — gripping the familiar edge of a piano bench, the legs shuddering as they drag against the carpet. Even now, he lifts the lid carefully, exposing polished lengths of black and white; his fingers stop trembling the moment the tips rest against the keys.

This time, when Jungkook pleads with the piano, it answers. Soft and solemn, Jungkook leans in, eyes sliding to a close as he seeks out the melody, plaintive treble keys bright against the reassurance of the bass' rolling chords. Pathétique leads Jungkook with its steady rhythm, serene until it's suddenly not — until it chases after bright optimism, and Jungkook's fingers stumble.

And he can't continue.

It's the first time that he strikes the piano without precision, standing suddenly from the bench as his palm slams down, fingers stretching over the octave, notes clashing into noise.

Regret spills forth immediately, breath punched from Jungkook's lungs as he sits back down, the bench letting out a low groan under his weight.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, sniffing and letting out a slow exhale. "You didn't deserve..."

He tries again from the top, but this playthrough lacks any of the calm from the first, fingers getting ahead of Jungkook's mind, falling into muscle memory. But muscle memory captures so much more than the perfect performances — it also takes every repeated mistake and etches it into the brain, taking it from misstep to flaw.

Jungkook flinches when he hits the wrong key, chord still pressed in his left hand.

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He needs to stop crying. For his own sake, for Yoongi's — every second Jungkook continues feels like it's eroding the earth under his feet, threatening to leave no end of it, to sink Jungkook further and further into the depths of grief. He thought he was finished with grief, settled into a haze of acceptance, numbed to his troubles as he repeated day after day. But to have Yoongi here is a fresh reminder of what once was, and it pulls Jungkook into that inevitable human reflex of regret, asking himself where things went wrong, where things went astray.

If he had not suggested that they run.

If he had not stepped inside that classroom.

If he had not spent so much time painting the image of a perfect future that was always going to be difficult to obtain.

If he had never confessed his love.

Would things be better, then? Would Yoongi have been left relatively unscathed? All those dark days he remembers from the months they were together, surely all of them paled in comparison to this, with Yoongi left in relative solitude, breathing death into his lungs.

If Jungkook had the chance to do it all again, would he be able to stop himself from being selfish?

Jungkook draws in a shuddering breath, lets himself melt into Yoongi's embrace. He's taller now, in spite of everything; he shrinks to fit Yoongi's hold. Is this the same Min Yoongi who left? No, but—

"You're my soulmate," Jungkook murmurs, letting out a staggered exhale, hands clinging to Yoongi's shirt.

It's almost too much for Yoongi, so unaccustomed to affection, to finding any good in his life. It seems like more than he should ask for to have Jungkook in his arms again, but this, this is more than he deserves. It's as if part of him would almost prefer to be turned away. He deserves Jungkook's anger, not his tears, not to be his soulmate. He can't ever be that boy again; he was so happy, and he's not sure he's even capable of that anymore. But he wants it more than anything.

"And you're mine," he whispers, stroking Jungkook's hair. "Whoever we are." He should have known that, shouldn't have needed to be told. Should have gone home of his own accord, knowing with all his heart that Jungkook still loved him, that Jungkook would never falter, their love too precious to fade. He should have trusted him, and he feels like shit for having doubted all their promises just because he broke a few of them himself.

Even knowing all of that to be true, though, he can only hope it's enough now — that he's still recognizable underneath it all, that there's anything at all left of the boy Jungkook loved. They were always going to change, weren't they? Growing up would have accomplished that on its own. Still, he counters himself, they were supposed to change together. Now he's not sure they can ever make up for the time they've lost.

Whoever we are.

There was a time when they posited that being soulmates meant they would find each other in every lifetime. Every universe. Jungkook isn't sure whether or not he can summon that same childlike trust anymore, as much as he'd like to — but maybe there's a little bit of wisdom to be found in that thought. Maybe it's worth seeing this as less of a reunion, and more that they're back to learning one another, to discovering who the other is.

Because if this were the first time, both of them broken and tangled in the throes of grief, Jungkook thinks he'd still be drawn to him. To the sad eyes, shadowed beyond their years. He's no longer the person who finds strength in being that knight for others, but now... maybe it's just a little mirrored, what the both of them lack. The strength that both of them need to draw from elsewhere.

Jungkook reaches for Yoongi's hand with his own — the one that's less damp with his tears, the one that he hasn't used to try and smack some sense into himself — and laces their fingers together again.

"You were taking me somewhere," he says with a weak smile. "And being modest about it."

Yoongi hesitates, glancing down the street in the direction they were headed. Should he change course and take Jungkook to a motel instead? It might be less fucking depressing than showing him where he actually stays when it's warm enough or if he can't afford a motel for the night. They'd be more comfortable in a real bed. It's not like Yoongi has anywhere for them to sleep but a narrow couch. It's not too late.

He told Jungkook, though, that he'd know where to find him after this. And maybe that's a mistake, too, letting him so close again when he knows he's not strong enough for this, that he can only ever let Jungkook down. But he said it and he's trying so hard not to tell Jungkook more lies or to make him promises he won't keep.

"Not modest," he warns, stepping reluctantly back to continue on down the street. "Seriously, it's a dump." One of these days, he thinks, they'll tear the place down. Some nights, he hopes he's in there when they do. "But it has a roof and walls, so it'll do." There have been days he didn't have even that much, when the money he'd saved away finally gave out, faster than he'd expected it to, no matter how hard he'd tried to budget well, and he still couldn't find work. The abandoned studio isn't much; it's easy still to tell that the place has been condemned for a reason. But it's shelter all the same. Even so, he's already steeling himself for the mortification of showing Jungkook the place.

He glances over, proud and apologetic at once. "Just don't expect much."

It's not a surprise when Yoongi continues to talk down the place where he stays — and in truth, Jungkook's pretty sure that Yoongi isn't trying to exaggerate. If Yoongi thought of it as a livable space, he might have come back for Jungkook. Might have been willing, at least, to text or let Jungkook know that it wouldn't be much longer. For Yoongi to have kept such a silence, Jungkook thinks, would have to be because of a combination of inertia and a true belief that Yoongi didn't have anywhere good to receive Jungkook.

But there's also the strong possibility that Yoongi's perception has been warped over time. And Yoongi has no way of knowing exactly how much Jungkook's place at home has diminished — that it mirrors far too closely how Yoongi himself must have felt two years ago. Nothing but scrutiny and distance.

Anything must be better than that.

"As long as it has you, can it really be that bad?" Jungkook asks quietly, following along as they make their way down the street, his hand starting to search for those comfortable old habits. Thumb tracing along the side of Yoongi's palm, feeling the curve of his knuckles.

"Yes," Yoongi says quietly. He'd like to believe the sentiment behind the question, and he knows, if nothing else, that Jungkook means it. It's all too easy, though, to imagine Jungkook giving everything up to be with him and coming to resent him for it in time. With no money or secure job, no guaranteed shelter or food, he has nothing safe to offer. Maybe they'd do better, the two of them together, but all he can imagine is continued failure and Jungkook suffering for it. If he's lost and miserable, well, maybe that was always going to be the case, but Jungkook deserves better.

Still, he holds tight to Jungkook's hand, less with hope than with desperation, his heart clouded with grief. Maybe he's making a mistake, giving Jungkook somewhere to find him. Maybe it would have been smarter to promise instead to finally answer all those texts and voicemails, while keeping his distance until he's more certain he can handle the enormous responsibility of caring for another person.

As if he'll ever be able to. As if he could ever even take care of himself. His days are an agony and he stumbles blindly through them, smoking to steady his hands, drinking to steady his mind, sleep a mere illusion. How could Jungkook want him now? Once he sees what Yoongi's become, all his pretty words won't mean anything at all.

"It's just over here," he says as the building comes into sight. Already it makes him anxious, knowing how dilapidated the place looks, the windows marked with big black Xs. Jungkook was probably expecting an apartment, cramped, but made somehow legitimate by his paying rent. It's readily apparent that no one pays to live in this place. That no one's supposed to. But he guides Jungkook through the door and down the hall anyway, his heart racing, stomach turning. Maybe this will finally drive home the reality of his situation.

The studio is, at least, a wide open space, if not especially clean. There's the piano he managed to smuggle home after someone abandoned it, a couch left to rot by the side of the road, and room to breathe. He spends most of his time here curled up on the couch and trying to will his hands to work enough to play the old piano, but Jungkook doesn't need to know that yet. He wishes he'd had time to at least clean up some of the scattered bottles, but it's too late for that. The only stroke of luck in the place is that someone forgot to turn off the electricity and he can turn on the overhead lights as they step inside, though all that does is make the room look shabbier still.

"Here we are," he says dryly. "Home sweet home." He glances away, not wanting to see Jungkook's expression turn to disappointment or, worse, pity.

The surrounding construction gives Jungkook some idea of what to expect as they turn on the street, the path growing narrower until there's only one building that lies ahead. There isn't much light in the area, and fewer people still; it's clear enough that no one really intended for people to live here, not yet, and the thought squeezes Jungkook's chest tight. Is this safe? Probably not. But it's also not the first time that Jungkook's come across a place for squatting before, not even within their old group of friends.

He knows that Taehyung often spends time huddled in places that offer far less shelter than this, when the weather is warm enough to permit it.

It makes Jungkook's heart ache, able to clearly imagine the past two years, moving from place to place whenever discovered or otherwise forced to switch. If Yoongi had moved farther out into the countryside, would things have been better?

(What's the point in speculating about that? The real problem was that Jungkook went to the classroom when there was no need, that Yoongi took the brunt of the punishment for him. It doesn't matter how viable any other place would have been to live without a high school degree — the problem is that Jungkook took away so much opportunity.)

When they step through the entrance, the first thing Jungkook notices in the cool wash of fluorescent lighting are the various bottles, some lined up by the edge of the wall, others intermittently scattered. It makes him hold onto Yoongi's hand just a little tighter, wondering. Is this how he dulls the pain? How he shields himself from the damning silence and isolation?

The space itself isn't too shabby, to Jungkook's eyes. His expression evens as he glances around — the room is spacious, if unfurnished, and in spite of the tape on the windows, nothing looks like it's structurally unsound. While it looks lonely in the light of living on one's own, Jungkook can already picture how they could live here together. Maybe a futon, some plastic shelving for clothes, and—

"You have a piano?"

Jungkook's face lights up, lips parting as he steps forward, releasing Yoongi's hand in favor of jogging up to the bench. He casts a smile over his shoulder, chest tight with what feels like hope.

Isn't this all they ever needed?

A room, a place to sleep. A piano.

The two of them.

Jungkook plops himself down on the bench, hands gripping the edge. "Play for me?"

It takes Yoongi's breath away, his eyes going wide in surprise, his heart squeezing tight with some mix of emotions he has trouble naming. Jungkook smiles, bright and warm and real, and Yoongi loves him so, so much. It's all he's wanted, to make Jungkook happy, and it's seemed so impossible, so far beyond him in a place like this. How could he make Jungkook happy? He's a mess, a drunken drifter scraping by from one day to the next. This isn't the life they dreamed of. It never could be, but here's Jungkook and he's smiling, and things start to feel just a fraction more possible.

Yoongi lingers near the door for a few moments, uncertain. Even with a piano in his workroom, he's gone through long periods of resistance and drought, afraid to play. It only seems to bring back ghosts when he does, reminding him of happier days. There are times when he can't bear the memories; they only remind him that such pleasant moments will never come again. That he'll never see his mother, her voice long since gone faint in his mind, even her face starting to vanish from his memory. That he'd never make Jungkook happy again, that the other boy might refuse to forgive him when they met again. But he's here now and Yoongi's heart remembers the desire to make him happy at all costs, pulling him across the room to Jungkook's side.

"I'm out of practice," he says, a token protest as he sits at the bench, a fist tightening around his heart. Could things really change? Is there a chance he can one day drag himself out of this cycle of despair? They're back at the bench together, side by side like they were meant to be. Is this the start of something? Is it fair of him even to want that?

Even so, he takes a shaky breath and lifts the lid, fingers dusting gently over the keys as he reaches for something, anything, to play. He thinks briefly of Pathétique, of the notes echoing across the construction site, drawing him inexorably back to Jungkook. When he starts to play, though, it's the Chopin prélude he learned after that. For the most part, his fingers seem to remember, only a few wrong notes ringing out to make Yoongi wince. It's a beautiful piece, wavering between hope and a dark tension. The storm starts to feel inevitable as the song progresses, a heaviness settling over the music, and Yoongi falters in places, trying to remember. He used to love this. Playing for Jungkook was always so rewarding. Now he wonders if it's just one more way to disappoint him.

When he finishes, he draws back, biting nervously at an already frayed fingernail before he glances over.

Though he may be out of practice, the fact that the piano is here says more than enough for Jungkook. It couldn't have been easy, hauling a piano from wherever Yoongi did. It's been difficult for Jungkook himself to face the piano — both in the classroom and outside of it. Though Jungkook loves music, though he's always deeply loved sharing the keys with Yoongi, he's also never been able to quite distance himself from the thought that Yoongi and the piano are one and the same. The strings of the piano form Yoongi's words; the lingering warmth of a bench, always Yoongi's touch.

Initially, Jungkook did his best to try and hold that connection after Yoongi had left. Skated his fingertips over black and white, willing any shred of warmth to reveal itself. But the sound was never right. Too clumsy, too sudden, no more control of the highs and lows. Even in the music shop then, with the piece the two of them had practiced most together, it didn't matter how well his fingers remembered where to press. Something was still missing.

But sitting here, pieces start to shift back into place. Jungkook closes his eyes, comforted already by the warmth he feels at his left side. He's always wondered if sitting on the bench would have the effect of crowding Yoongi, but if it does, Yoongi's never complained. Jungkook feels his heart skip whenever Yoongi's sleeve brushes against his arm, when he can feel the very strings in front of him vibrating, the high sprinkle of raindrops against a lake.

There are places where Yoongi stumbles, tempo slightly uneven as the piece heads into the storm — but even that seamlessly weaves itself with the feel of the piece. A little chaotic. Lost, before finding the peace at the end.

Jungkook opens his eyes when the last of the notes fade, glancing over with a soft smile. His eyes are wet, but this time, Jungkook doesn't think he'll cry, no matter how deep the ache runs in his chest. Instead, his fingers gently coax Yoongi's hand away from his lips, then lift again to rest against Yoongi's chin. He uses the touch to guide him, lingering a breath away for a few moments before closing the distance, lips offering a gentle entreaty.

Maybe he should have picked a piece they practiced together, Yoongi thinks as he finishes. Maybe he should have tried that Schubert piece they worked on for four hands, a song that isn't complete without both of them. But this Chopin was a gift, something he labored patiently over to give to Jungkook. He's never been able to untangle the one from the other. He feels as if, however lacking he might be when playing it now, he understands it better now, the fragility of hope, the inevitability of the storm.

Jungkook is so gentle with him now, touching him whisper soft, but it isn't the same as earlier. Back at the music shop, that was all tension and uncertainty; he held back out of caution. This is more like what Yoongi remembers, a softness that comes from love and patience, the familiarity of it confusing and out of place in this shabby room. Love has no place here, blossoming in the middle of such disrepair and grief. Maybe that's why Yoongi leans into the kiss. He should know better, he thinks, and he does in his head, but his heart doesn't understand, yearns for something bright and comforting. Or maybe it's purely selfish. Maybe he does know better, but he can't resist all the same. It's been so long since anyone gave a fuck about him, and Jungkook has always been so intoxicating, so irresistible.

Whatever doubts or guilt he might carry, he finds himself deepening the kiss, a hand resting at Jungkook's thigh, the other curling in his shirt. It's not the most comfortable of angles, but he doesn't care. There's a familiarity to it that softens him; for a few seconds, it might be any evening long ago, the pair of them lingering after practice.

He sighs when he draws back, pressing his forehead to Jungkook's, as if he can't bear to stop touching him, his fingers releasing the grip on his shirt to rest flat over Jungkook's heart. "It's hard to play sometimes," he admits. "Just makes me think of you."

Jungkook understands, as much as he wishes this was something they didn't share. He would have hoped that Yoongi's attachment to the piano, his innate talent with music, wouldn't have faded or struggled as a result of Jungkook's absence. Music was always supposed to be Yoongi's solace, the one thing that he could turn to when all else seemed pointless. Jungkook remembers, many years ago, the times when he would step into the classroom and find Yoongi stormily pounding at the keys, so outwardly harsh but the melody still smooth. Long before Jeon Jungkook came into his life, Yoongi had music.

It seems cruel that he can't rely on it so much anymore.

But Jungkook understands. That the piano shied from him is no surprise — he'd played only for months, not long enough for it to be natural as breathing. But there were other things that Jungkook gave up too. Sketchbooks lie abandoned underneath his bed. He hasn't picked up his camera in well over a year. It's hard to capture beauty when the world around him has felt so bleak, the colors washed out and faded. Sometimes Jungkook finds himself venturing to the brightest, loudest places at night, watching people laugh and mill about, hoping that flashing neon lights might see their way through and lift his mood. It never works.

To tell Yoongi any of this feels like it'd be cruel, adding onto the pain that Jungkook's sure he's already inflicted, between initial hesitation and the spill of bad news that he could not hold back. Bad enough that Yoongi has to know that Jungkook no longer has the full safety of his hyungs. Worse, if Yoongi has to know that Jungkook has next to nothing.

"I'm here now," he points out quietly, tilting his head so that his nose bumps briefly against Yoongi's in the way he used to love. Lifts a hand to cover the one Yoongi's placed on his chest, squeezing it and keeping it close. Jungkook cherishes every little reminder that this is real, that Yoongi is here, and maybe vestiges of anger and grief remain, but all are overshadowed by the desire to stay. To hold on, lest the opportunity vanish again. Two years, and so much is different — but there are grooves to fall back into, habits that need only reminders. "Somehow. We found each other again."

Already Yoongi is dreading morning, unable to help looking ahead to when Jungkook will have to leave. Even now, it's hard to keep reality at bay, impossible to shut out entirely the voice that whispers that it would have been better for Jungkook if Yoongi had simply stayed in tonight. All he can do is hurt him, all the more because Jungkook still loves him so desperately, more than he ever deserved.

"I didn't do anything I said I was going to do," he says, his voice small, even as he tips his head up so his nose brushes Jungkook's in turn. The smallest gestures mean so fucking much, little things like that making it so tempting just to pretend nothing's changed. He couldn't, though, even if he tried. He's changed, a warped and depressing version of his old self, not who he should have been. It's not that many months until Jungkook graduates, and Yoongi still isn't sure if he's been lying to him tonight, saying he would have come back. He always wanted to, meant to, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't have stayed here, frozen and frightened. A fucking coward. "I hurt you and I don't even have anything to show for it."

Even in saying it, he doesn't know what he's looking for. Does he want Jungkook to comfort him, to say it doesn't matter anymore? Or does he want to drum home the truth of his situation, scare him off?

Both, he thinks. He wants to scare Jungkook into heading for safety. He wants him not to care that it's frightening and overwhelming, to keep loving him anyway. He wants to be left to himself and he's desperate not to be alone.

No, not just that. He doesn't mind being alone, as if anyone's company would do. He doesn't make friends anymore, wouldn't know how to start, but it's not the absence of people that makes him miserable. He's always been an introvert anyway. It's Jungkook he wants, the only person who's ever made him feel wholly seen and still wholly loved. Has even that changed with the passage of time?

The comment is piercing; Jungkook isn't sure what hurts more — knowing how much Yoongi is punishing himself for not having done more, or how unaware he is that Jungkook really doesn't care. How Jungkook's never needed Yoongi to run off and set up their future for them. How Jungkook's always wanted to do that building together, as equal partners, the way they were before everything started falling apart.

"Yah," Jungkook protests softly, reaching for both of Yoongi's hands and gripping them with his own. He holds them tightly, as though doing so much keep Yoongi from leaving again. As though it might stifle every last thought of parting, of hiding away in shame. "I never needed... I never wanted you to run off and try and do any of this on your own. Wasn't the whole point of — when we promised to have a life together, wasn't the whole point of it to be together? Look at me."

He nudges Yoongi's forehead with his own, pushing them slightly apart, just enough for him to be able to focus on Yoongi's features. On his eyes, and the struggle they clearly carry. "Do you think I would have been able to go out there and figure all this shit out on my own? If I were in your shoes? There's just — fuck, I haven't had to worry about food or a roof over my head and still I can't even focus on my fucking homework," Jungkook admits, shaking his head, his ears blooming over in shame. "I don't want you to go away and find us a place, I want us to — I want us to go and figure it out together. Besides."

Jungkook turns, casting his gaze around the room, slowly letting his eyes roam over the walls, the furniture, the small fridge tucked away in a corner. "I know you that think it's kind of shit, but this? This looks like a place where I could be happy. As long as I'm with you," Jungkook says, pulling one of Yoongi's hands to his chest.

Jungkook says to look at him and Yoongi does, though his eyes prickle with unshed tears, his skin flushing scarlet with shame. Maybe it's true and he wouldn't have expected Jungkook to be able to solve this on his own, so he shouldn't hold himself to a different standard. The fact still remains that he's accomplished nothing of value in the last two years, beyond learning how to maintain his body's survival while his heart and mind cry out for release. It's all been for nothing, but he can't just tuck his tail between his legs and slink home. He's given up too much to do that now.

But Jungkook isn't asking him to. Instead, he's saying things that set off alarms in Yoongi's head, even as he tucks each word away to turn over and paw at later, mining them for scraps of hope.

For now, though, he forces a slow, deep breath, attempting to steady himself. Jungkook's heart pulses beneath his palm, muffled by his shirt, but there all the same. Somehow Jungkook really doesn't care about any of this, about anything but being with him, and that terrifies Yoongi every bit as much as he longs for it. Part of him feels the truth in it, knows that starving together is better than flourishing apart. Part of him is quick to point out that they can't eat hope.

When Jungkook looks at him like this, though, warm and earnest and desperate all at once, Yoongi has trouble thinking smart.

"We're not going anywhere before you finish school," he says, a shaky attempt at being firm. Stay with me stay with me stay with me. "So I guess this will have to do." His fingers curl beneath Jungkook's, tangling in his shirt. Can it really be this easy? After everything he did, all the pain he put Jungkook through, can he really be forgiven, wanted, loved? He doesn't deserve it, that goes without question, but can he have it anyway? Maybe he's just setting them up for future failures (no, he definitely is), but maybe that doesn't matter. They'll figure things out together, the way they always said they would.

You said that last time, too, taunts his constant companion. Look what happened then. You abandoned him.

Yoongi hesitates. Lifting his other hand, he gently brushes his knuckles along the curve of Jungkook's cheek. "I mean it," he says. "You finish school first."

We're not going anywhere before you finish school. It's too reminiscent of the letter Yoongi left for Jungkook two years ago, the only farewell he offered before vanishing in full. Panic starts to wash over Jungkook, settling as a tingle in his cheeks; his gaze breaks for a second, tongue running over his lower lip nervously. What he finds himself terrified of is tripping some kind of wire, triggering Yoongi's flight instinct, which must only be further honed now after two years spent entirely away. Jungkook's not sure if he has it in him to deal with being abandoned again, not when he's already lost so much in his life; he wonders if Yoongi can see it too, the fragility in him that wasn't there two years ago.

"So, three months?" Jungkook asks as confirmation. There are a couple of university acceptance letters sitting in his desk drawer at home — nothing impressive, certainly none that are top tier, but he went through the motions of planning for his future, if only to deflect any scrutiny from his parents. Jungkook worries what would happen if Yoongi were to find out — if three months would easily turn into four years.

If those four years would be filled with silence.

He reaches for the hand by his cheek, holding it in place before turning his head to press his lips against Yoongi's pulse point. At some point, he'll have to leave to go to class, and Jungkook already hates the thought. Hates how easily he can imagine that this reunion is a fleeting one, just an accident, and that come tomorrow everything will go back to the way it's been.

"Please don't shut me out again," Jungkook says, words muffled against Yoongi's wrist. "I promise that I'll study hard, just don't — don't leave. Okay? If you need to move for any reason, you tell me. You know where my house is, you know where school is." There's no excuse for keeping me in the dark anymore.

So many promises rise to Yoongi's lips, his tongue pressed to the back of his teeth to keep them from spilling out. He brushes his fingertips along Jungkook's cheek as best he can without pulling his hand away, sharp pangs striking his heart. After what he did, it's hard for him to understand why Jungkook hasn't just given up on him. This love is everything to Yoongi, but he's been so cruel. He doesn't deserve this chance. He's not worthy of forgiveness, not when he's hurt Jungkook so badly.

"Okay," he says quietly. "Three months." He probably shouldn't promise even this much. Every text, every voicemail, has left him more ashamed and heartbroken than the last, even as he read and listened to them all. Keeping in touch only makes it harder to stay away, but maybe — maybe that's not necessary anymore, he thinks. Maybe, if Jungkook keeps his promise, they won't have to part.

He leans in, resting his forehead against Jungkook's. "I won't hide anymore," he says. "I'm right here." And maybe that's a safe thing to say, he thinks. Unless someone catches him here, he has nowhere else to go long-term. What little he's managed to assemble is here. It's not like he has the strength to lug a piano somewhere new. He'll keep coming back to this workroom until he can't. As unmoored as he feels, this is the closest he comes to having a permanent address. Giving this up to Jungkook, he's forfeited any chance of going back to how things have been, and it's at once terrifying and a relief.

The words wash over Jungkook like a benediction, his breath quaking in wake of what he's needed so desperately over the past couple of years. For Yoongi not to hide. For him to be there if Jungkook needed — his voice, his words, his very presence. It isn't that falling back into place is easy — nothing about the way his heart aches is easy — but the gaps in Jungkook's world where Yoongi used to be have never really filled, never really healed, and so it's instinct that pulls Jungkook back to Yoongi in the same way it once did. Maybe it's stupid to trust these words when there's so much that could get in the way of them again, but now that Yoongi's here, Jungkook can't imagine anything else.

"That's a promise," Jungkook whispers, and maybe there's a little bit of a warning in it too. Because he's not sure how he'll handle it otherwise. He's not sure how anything will survive, otherwise. Once is a mistake, twice would be... shame on him, right?

"I love you."

He turns on the bench, can't tell if he'd rather laugh or cry upon remembering the last time he was so desperate in doing so — the second of December, years ago, when he sought permission to kiss Yoongi. To love him. He doesn't ask in so many words, this time. Instead, the kiss he presses to Yoongi's lips is searing, a frenzied attempt to put things back into place, to seek out what he's been too long denied. He whimpers, releasing Yoongi's hand to cup at his jaw, fingers brushing around to the back of his neck. "I love you," he breathes against the corner of Yoongi's mouth, as his fingers weave up through Yoongi's hair, then drop to the small of his back, pulling him closer.

Promises are frightening to Yoongi. He's broken so many now, he isn't sure he can be trusted with them anymore — that he can be trusted with Jungkook's heart. It's a degree of responsibility he's not prepared to handle, not when he's already proven himself so lacking. What if I hurt you again? he wants to ask. He can try all he likes to avoid it, but he's just not sure he's capable of being the boy he once was. He used to be someone reliable and steady. He might have played the grouch now and then, might have been more withdrawn than the others, but he was loyal and true and there when they needed him, and now he's someone who abandons the people he loves without a word.

What if I hurt you again?

But then Jungkook is turning to face him, leaning in to kiss him, and Yoongi forgets to ask, forgets to think. He presses forward, lets Jungkook pull him close, arms looping over Jungkook's shoulders as he kisses him back with equal fervor. I love you, Jungkook says, and Yoongi thinks, Even now? After everything I did and didn't do? But the answer is already there. He can — and does — doubt whether he deserves this, but he can't deny that Jungkook loves him as much as he ever did. It's so easy to let himself be swayed by kisses and sweet words, enticed by a warmth he hasn't known in a long time.

"I love you," he echoes, a fierce whisper. "I will always love you." Nothing could stop that. He knows that now. The last two years wouldn't have hurt nearly as badly if he didn't ache with grief for the love he gave up, didn't burn with self-loathing for the pain he inflicted. The words come back as if they've never stopped. "More than anything."

More than life, more than himself.

They've been apart for far longer than they were together. Apart for longer than they had even known each other. Maybe that's enough to make it foolish that Jungkook's held onto these emotions for so long — maybe he should have been spending the time extricating himself from this love, figuring out first what it takes to stand on his own. Maybe it was always unhealthy that he came to rely on Yoongi so much, so early. Jungkook isn't blind to any of these thoughts, doesn't even need the warnings of his hyungs for his mind to wander in that direction. He's watched as his classmates dated and then split, and though sometimes they cry for a while, none of them ever look incomplete in the wake of a breakup.

Does that mean that the love they share is somehow greater? Or just that they dove into it too quickly, without the reserve and caution that the relationship needed?

Jungkook now wonders in a way he never did before, and it's one of the greater hurts that time has dealt him. He doesn't want to doubt Yoongi, or this, the warmth that he feels blossoming in his chest as they kiss. That feeling that this is right, that no matter how much it hurts, it's right for the both of them to be together again. The good times and the bad, as they'd always intended.

"More than anything," Jungkook echoes, and that's why, that's why he can't let Yoongi go. The weight on his shoulders is a comforting one, and Jungkook shifts slightly on the couch, wonders for a second if he still has enough of the strength he used to, before he reaches under Yoongi's thighs and lifts him. Wraps Yoongi's legs around his hips and pulls away briefly, only to check where Yoongi's couch is, before he stands with a soft grunt and steps back in its direction.

Even in saying it, Yoongi wonders if he has the right to such words anymore, if it's fair for him to claim to love Jungkook more than anything when he let pride and shame keep him away for so long. He was so quick to pledge his love when they were younger, with an earnestness he no longer recognizes. Still, the love is there. He's spent months trying to convince himself that doesn't matter, that Jungkook had moved on, that he isn't the kind of person who deserves to give or receive love anyway, but it's no use. None of it stops him from loving Jungkook all the same.

And there's familiarity in this and comfort, too, the way Jungkook gathers Yoongi into his arms, carrying him across the room. Yoongi clings to him, can't take his eyes off of him, tracing the features he once memorized and the way they've changed in his absence. No more of that, he tells himself. He can't let this get away from him again. He's always loved this, the safety of Jungkook's embrace bringing a sense of security he's missed. A hand soft at Jungkook's neck, he presses a kiss to his cheek, to the corner of his mouth, as they near the couch.

A couple of pillows rest on one end, a blanket tossed haphazardly over the other, evidence that it's more bed than couch. Embarrassment over his meager accommodations is a distant thing, though. Jungkook has already said he could be happy here. He sees possibilities where Yoongi only sees disappointment, but for now, that's enough. Still, he hides his face against Jungkook's neck, pressing a kiss there, a brush of lips just below his ear. "Not much space," he murmurs, but he's not sure it matters when they'll want to be close anyway.

Unfamiliar as the couch is, Jungkook is slightly clumsy as he lowers them onto the seat, eyes trained on Yoongi all the while. As it turns out, he's still strong enough for this much — to carry Yoongi in his arms, to hold him there. A gratifying feeling, being able to physically shield him from all else, at least for a while. At least for now. His breath shudders as Yoongi draws close to his neck — he'd forgotten, somehow, how much Yoongi was always drawn to the spot, but the memories come flooding now and it's almost enough to bring tears to his eyes again. A surge of familiarity as things click back into place. As he remembers happier times.

He wonders how the need from then compares to now, with the shiver that runs down his spine, the heat that suddenly flares under his skin at every touch from Yoongi. Jungkook sighs, his fingers immediately seeking to push Yoongi's hoodie away and off his shoulders, palms flat and brushing along Yoongi's forearms. His skin has always looked delicate to the eye, but it feels rougher, now, or perhaps just drier. Jungkook finds himself transfixed by all the little differences, wanting to explore them all, to see what is and replace what was, one hand wrapping protectively around the small of Yoongi's back and pulling him closer.

"That works perfectly for me," he murmurs in return, dipping his hand underneath the hem of Yoongi's shirt and smoothing across skin, drawing heat to the surface. He leans up, peppering a line of kisses from Yoongi's cheek to the underside of his jaw, and that's when he notices a thin chain around Yoongi's neck, weighted down by a pendant, by—

—no, not a pendant, but.

"It's our ring," Jungkook breathes, lips parted as he lifts his gaze to meet Yoongi's.

It was practicality as much as hurt that led Yoongi to move the ring from his finger to the chain. He couldn't bear to look at it and hear Jungkook call him hyung at the same time, as if all their love had been erased by his absence. He also couldn't bear the idea of losing it, his fingers grown thinner with the rest of him. If it had fallen off, lost to him for good, it would have broken his heart.

This nearly does, too. It shouldn't have to be a surprise to Jungkook that Yoongi still wears his ring in some fashion, but of course it is. Yoongi's done nothing to reassure Jungkook of his love, not until tonight, and even now he hasn't done nearly enough to make up for his silence. He's not sure he ever can. He can spend the rest of his life trying, though, he tells himself, if he doesn't fuck it up again.

He lifts a hand to Jungkook's cheek, nodding minutely. "I thought it would be safer like this," he says quietly, thumb stroking gently along warm skin. "And I couldn't — it was hard to look at." But he could never bring himself to take it off completely, as if the ring might be enough to link them together again one day, proof of his undying devotion.

Still, he thinks, Jungkook never stopped wearing it. He could have been stronger and done the same. But shouldn't he be satisfied, he asks himself, that Jungkook never really gave up on him? That growing distance over the phone left him sure Jungkook was barely holding onto him any longer, but here he is, keeping Yoongi perched in his lap, safe in a way he hasn't been in a long fucking time.

Jungkook raises a hand and takes the ring between his fingers, tracing his thumb with the contour of the metal, his gaze distant and thoughtful. It makes sense, now that Yoongi explains his reasons. No one can deny how much thinner Yoongi's gotten in the past two years, and no doubt that extends to his hands as well — maybe that's why they feel different in Jungkook's own. (No, that's probably not the reason. Still, Jungkook doesn't doubt that they're thinner, that a band which fit before might threaten to slip off.)

But Yoongi mentions that it was hard to look at, and Jungkook has to wonder. Is it because of the self-imposed distance Yoongi kept from Jungkook? Or did Jungkook hurt Yoongi with his words, with the later voicemails he meant, where he tried to establish that space between the two of them? Seeing how gentle Yoongi is with him now, Jungkook knows it must have hurt. And that, too, is hard to explain.

"After a while, I thought... that maybe our relationship was too burdening. To you," Jungkook explains, his words halting and stilted, difficult to find. "That maybe part of why you weren't coming back was. Was because you realized how much I'd fucked things up for you, or. Or it was too hard to support me, or. Or maybe wherever you were, you found someone else, and I didn't... want any of that to stop you from coming home."

He draws in a deep breath, gaze dropping further still, one hand lingering by Yoongi's side. "That was really stupid of me, huh?" Jungkook asks, blinking rapidly.

"No," Yoongi says quickly, "hey, no." It makes sense when Jungkook puts it like that, though all Yoongi could see was the growing distance between them. Until tonight, he'd thought that Jungkook was doing the smart thing and just letting him go. He's been so selfish, not just in staying away, but in misreading Jungkook so badly, assuming the worst of him just because it felt deserved. It hurts, though, hearing what he's done to Jungkook, how he's been afflicted with the kind of cruel thoughts Yoongi hoped would be his burden alone.

"Not stupid," he murmurs. "And you're not... you didn't fuck anything up for me, okay?" He brushes his hand through Jungkook's hair, fingertips grazing back down, coming to rest at Jungkook's chin. He lifts it gently, coaxing Jungkook to look at him. "I made my own choices. I fucked things up. Not you." He swallows hard, and now he's the one to duck his head, to hide his eyes. "I'm the burden."

For so long, he let Jungkook imagine all the ways he could have failed, and Yoongi hates himself for it. None of this has been Jungkook's fault. That he allowed him to believe it could be is just another failure on Yoongi's part. That Jungkook thought anyone could ever replace him is Yoongi's fault, too. He should have done more to prove his love. He shouldn't have left Jungkook to his own devices for so long. He should have been strong enough to stay in touch without faltering from his course. At least then, Jungkook would have known he still loved him, but Yoongi knows he's too weak to have handled it. He would have caved and come home at the first threat of tears if he'd been on the other end of the line, his head too easily turned by Jungkook. No, this is entirely his fault. He's the coward who turned tail and ran at the first sign of real trouble, who might never have come home at all.

No matter how many times Jungkook runs through everything in his mind, he knows that the fault for Yoongi's expulsion is his own. Visiting the classroom every single day was bound to draw attention, bound to result in the staff making an extra effort to look for Jungkook. Even if it was coincidence that Yoongi happened to be there that day, Jungkook can't imagine that the teachers would have actually gone looking, were it not for the frequency of Jungkook's visits. Yoongi often went days, weeks without going to the classroom. The trail left for the staff was all Jungkook's own.

And he went because he was weak. Needed the company, longed to be somewhere he felt wanted and welcome. But he could have found so many other ways to fill that void. The group met up plenty of times after school. Or even if Jungkook needed the escape, he could have been smarter about varying the places he went.

But the real truth is, Jungkook's pretty sure Yoongi wouldn't have punched the teacher were it not for knowing how much abuse Jungkook took at home. All that anger had probably been stifled, bubbling for a long time, just waiting to surface. If Jungkook had been better at standing up to his father — if he hadn't sought such an escape from his home life — Yoongi wouldn't have thrown the punch. Wouldn't have ended up in trouble.

"You were protecting me," Jungkook points out, reaching for Yoongi's jaw, coaxing him to look up again. "You were trying to shield me. When you hit the teacher... when you went away. It was all so — so that things could be better for me, and — how does that make me anything but the burden? It's not you, Yoongi. It's never been you. Don't you remember? I told you so many times — how much better my life was with you in it. That's still true. I still need you."

Jungkook reaches for Yoongi's hand, clasping it in his own. "Please."

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