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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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."

Yoongi wavers, uncertain. It's hard to believe that anyone needs him now, that he could ever again be the kind of person someone needs. All he can do is let Jungkook down in time. Even in Jungkook's version of events, it's Yoongi who made the choice to strike the teacher, Yoongi who ran away. How could Jungkook need him? But, God, how badly he wants that to be true.

And maybe Jungkook is right, at least in part. Yoongi did all of this for Jungkook's sake. At least, that's how it started, but it's his own cowardice that's kept him away. Maybe back then it was true that Jungkook's life was better for his presence in it, but now — with the mess that he is — Yoongi can only imagine it's nostalgia and love that make Jungkook think Yoongi can be of use to anyone now. The life he has to offer is fragile and dangerous, a tenuous existence of privation.

"I need you, too," he says, squeezing Jungkook's hand, as if to reassure him of the truth of it. His life without Jungkook is unending misery. "But I'd still hit him." It's not that Yoongi sees that moment as somehow heroic. Saving Jungkook from a few blows can't have saved him from the other attacks he must have sustained over the years. But he remembers the rush of anger, the sickness in his stomach, and he knows he couldn't have done anything else. He might have done it to protect Jungkook, but it was purely selfish, a release for all the anger that came from not being able to do more. If anyone here is lacking or to blame, it's him.

"And I don't blame you for that," he continues. "I never have."

"I didn't think you would," Jungkook admits. It would have been easier, Jungkook thinks, if Yoongi had been angry with him. If Yoongi had indeed come to the realization, after the haze of new love faded, that all that he did for Jungkook wasn't worth it — because that, at least, is something that directs all the grief and anguish elsewhere. What hurts the most now is knowing how much Yoongi blamed himself for everything. How the hope that they had so tenuously built the night before had vanished in an instant, leaving Yoongi with only regrets that he mulled over for years.

How many dark days had Yoongi suffered through? Hundreds, surely. Probably every single night. Knowing that, Jungkook thinks that it's practically a miracle that Yoongi's here now, in his arms. If Jungkook had been tempted more than once to let it all go, to simply fade from existence, no doubt Yoongi's felt the same.

It's hard to wrap his mind around. How much Jungkook knows they're right for each other, how much he believes that they make the world better for one another, and yet how far they've managed to fall. He's tired of thinking about loss. He's tired of musing over all of the ways things could have gone differently. There's no turning back time anyway.

"Please don't blame yourself either," Jungkook whispers, sitting up straighter and pressing his lips to Yoongi's, careful at first but then quickly deepening. To find the right words is difficult, and so Jungkook can only find himself turning to touch, seeking out all the ways they fit together before. He raises a hand, brushing up the side of Yoongi's neck and weaving through his hair, cradling the back of Yoongi's neck and urging him close. "Yoongi-ah."

Guilt flickers in Yoongi’s heart, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Blaming himself is easiest, most natural; it makes the most sense. It’s hard not to do as Jungkook says, but he can’t let go of the shame.

Kissing Jungkook is much safer than thinking about all the ways he’s failed him, so he does, letting himself get swept away as Jungkook kisses him deeper. “Gguk,” he whispers, and maybe he should keep holding back. Maybe he should tell Jungkook he’s not expecting anything from him tonight. Maybe he shouldn’t take advantage of Jungkook’s vulnerability just because he misses the feel of skin against skin, misses the intimacy of being trusted with Jungkook’s body.

Instead he nudges forward, nose brushing nose, and then finds his lips again. “Missed you,” he murmurs. His hands travel down Jungkook’s chest to tug at the hem of his shirt, fingers tracing underneath to skim against warm skin. It’s not an answer to Jungkook’s plea, he knows that. He hopes Jungkook won’t notice or press the matter. “Missed this. Just holding you. Being with you.”

There's a flicker of guilt that passes through Jungkook's chest, seeing now that it's entirely possible Yoongi hasn't been with anyone else, hasn't had any type of intimacy since the two of them parted years ago. Jungkook's turned away all thoughts of dating, but there have been kisses here and there, mostly desperate attempts to fill a void, to numb the ache and loneliness. None of them really worked, once the moment passed. None of them even began to compare to this, the barest skim of Yoongi's fingers already enough to send a rush to Jungkook's head, soft gasps on his lips.

"Missed you, too. Being together. So much," he breathes, leaning back on the couch and sliding his fingers underneath the hem of Yoongi's shirt, palms pressed flat against skin. As his hand travels higher, Jungkook notices little differences. The sharper pattern of Yoongi's ribcage, his spine more noticeable than before. Sobering though it is, none of it serves to entirely slake Jungkook's desire as his hands sweep around to the front of Yoongi's chest, fingers easily finding his nipples and tracing small circles.

Maybe this is already taking too much liberty; Jungkook finds himself afraid to ask.

"Is this," Jungkook murmurs, another squeeze of his chest at even needing to ask. "Is this okay?"

It might be smarter to turn Jungkook down, to say he's not ready for this. Even as he considers it, Yoongi knows he won't. He doesn't want Jungkook to think that's his fault, too, and, anyway, Yoongi wants this. Jungkook's touch is gentle, exploratory, and he wants to feel it everywhere. Proof that he's here, that they still work. Proof that he's still alive, even as he lets himself waste away, body and soul.

"Yeah," he says, a soft sigh as he nods. "Yes. Touch me. Please." As good as sex is, as much as he misses it, he craves the intimacy of it even more. It's not like he hasn't thought about other people in his time away from home. He's considered it. In the end, though, a one-night stand takes more effort than he can muster and, even at 22, he feels far too old for clubs where he might find interested strangers. He's more comfortable in bars, and, anyway, a stranger couldn't give him what he's really looking for.

He traces fingertips along Jungkook's stomach, tugs gently at his waistband. Somehow, touching Jungkook so intimately is enough to make him stir, desire rising when he'd thought he'd all but forgotten what to do. Leaning forward, back arching, he kisses Jungkook again, tugging again at the hem of his shirt to try and remove it. "Is this okay?" It only seems fair to ask and give Jungkook an out.

He's not used to taking the lead — not now, and not before. Previously, doing so always sent a sort of thrill down Jungkook's spine; it would always be the result of his desperation, too long denied to be anything but eager. Maybe there's still a touch of that now as Jungkook quickly pushes Yoongi's shirt up and over his head, returning his hands to Yoongi's back as they drop his shirt to the touch, eyes roaming as hungrily as his fingers do. Yoongi is thinner now, but the frame is largely the same — still pale skin that he wants to put his lips to, wants to drop bruises against like he does now in his dreams. Like he did before.

"Definitely okay," Jungkook breathes, lifting his arms to let Yoongi remove his shirt, shivering as the cold, stale air of the studio hits his skin. He curls a hand around the back of Yoongi's neck, coaxing him closer, wanting nothing more than the press of skin to skin as he leans back to lay himself flat on the couch, a flush already rising to his cheeks. His hands alternate between a determined steadiness and the occasional tremble; it's still a little hard to convince himself that this is all real, even though touch tries to make it painfully clear that it is.

"Want you," he gasps, hips stuttering as Jungkook tries to hold himself back, to not push too hard or too fast with how he feels, desperate to remind himself of the intimacy they once had. Needing to know that it's something they can have again. "Min-ah, please..."

Yoongi's been so anxious to hear his own name, he nearly forgot this nickname, nearly forgot how it feels to hear such need in Jungkook's voice. For a moment, it overwhelms him, breath catching. Maybe he should pull back. Maybe this is too much like making a promise he can't keep, knowing he doesn't deserve this kind of trust anymore.

Maybe he'll feel guilty later. Right now, selfish though it might be, he wants this too much to hold back.

Jungkook is beautiful as ever beneath him, maybe thinner than Yoongi's memories, but still stunning. Still, somehow, his. Yoongi presses flush against him, the warmth of skin against skin as intoxicating as ever, and leans in for a kiss, fingers carding through Jungkook's hair. In his fantasies, he's always torn — missing this intimacy, anxious even about the fairness of relying on memories he may no longer have a right to. With Jungkook under him, the ethical line vanishes.

He wants to ask if Jungkook is sure. To say that this isn't why he asked him here tonight, that it's okay — more than — if they simply sleep, curled around each other the way they used to. But the desperation is evident in Jungkook's movements, in his voice, and Yoongi doesn't doubt this, at least. Instead, he shifts lower on the couch so he can kiss his neck, trailing down to his clavicle, sucking gently at the skin there. His hand roams over Jungkook's skin, mapping out the planes of his chest, thumb brushing over his nipple in soft circles. The taste of his skin, the soft sounds he makes, leave Yoongi feeling more grounded than he has in a long time. This, this is real, nothing Yoongi has to question or doubt, solid and trembling beneath him.

"Want to taste you," he says, lips brushing over Jungkook's ribs as he makes his way lower still. He glances up, head lifting slightly to meet Jungkook's eyes. "Is that okay?"

He remembers being more proactive, once. A time when the simple touch of Yoongi's hands would spur himself to action. It's not that he doesn't want it, nor that he hasn't used his hands already to stoke the fire — but now that Yoongi's hands are smoothing over his chest, over his skin, Jungkook finds himself at a loss, wanting to revel in the reminder of what it was like to be held by him. There are a few scattered bruises over his body, none of the direct patterns he used to suffer at his father's hand; all are now the consequence of fights Jungkook gets in, a result of the irreverence he shows those whose paths he crosses.

Jungkook would much rather have Yoongi mark him; he shivers at the thought.

Only once Yoongi slides further down the couch, his breath fanning over Jungkook's abdomen, does Jungkook move at last, hands reaching out to card through his hair, knuckles tracing down the curve of his cheek.

"Yeah," Jungkook murmurs, brushing his thumb over Yoongi's lips, a small smile working its way to his own. "Please. I've missed being with you. Not just for this, but..."

In a way, this would all be so much simpler if it were all Jungkook wanted from him. It would hurt, not to be loved anymore, but he could understand the desire. They were always so good together in bed. Even when they were fumbling through early exploration, it was good, as if they understood each other as instinctively as they loved. So if Jungkook only wanted to feel that again, he would get it.

But it was always that extra layer of intimacy that made it work so well, the love they shared spilling over into something tangible. "Everything," he says, quiet against Jungkook's stomach. It was never just about Jungkook's mouth on his cock; it was the way he watched him as he did it, the way he seemed to take such pleasure in Yoongi's pleasure. The love shining from him until he almost seemed to glow, golden and luminescent in the quiet of Yoongi's bedroom. It's the love he's missed more than anything. Jungkook touches him, so soft, so sweet, and Yoongi's breath catches again. In the old days, he remembers wondering what he did to deserve such love. He still doesn't have an answer; if anything, he's more confused than ever.

He inches lower, resting his head against Jungkook's thigh, not yet moving to undress him further, though his fingers hook lightly in Jungkook's waistband. "I know. I missed..." He sucks in a sharp breath, turns his face to hide against Jungkook's leg. "Fuck, I missed everything about you." After a moment, he lifts himself up again, starting to unfasten Jungkook's jeans, bending down to press a kiss to his stomach.

"Everything," Jungkook echoes. He's missed everything. All of it, from the companionable silences they shared while doing homework, to the rhythm of Yoongi's breathing against his chest when they were lulled to sleep. From the days when he would try everything in the book to coax a laugh out of Yoongi, to the quiet intensity of their shared practice at the piano. He misses even the dark days, when it grew so difficult that they hardly knew how to breathe, but there was trust there, there was love there, even softer than usual as they fell into one another. And of course he's missed this, the way they've always instinctively fit with one another, reading each other as well as they could the notes on a staff.

He wants to believe that they can return to that point. Already, this moment is reminiscent of so much, nights spent curled in Yoongi's bed, hushed for fear of alerting his father. Without so many words, they had to rely on reaction. Every sharp intake of breath.

I felt incomplete without you, Jungkook wants to say. Wonders if it's too much to do so. But it's true enough that in spite of all the hurt and the distance that time left, there's a part of Jungkook that feels more at peace than he has in years. Like he no longer needs to be constantly searching.

"I feel like I'm the one who's come home," Jungkook murmurs, barely above a whisper. He's not even sure if Yoongi can hear. Without pause, he cants his hips, against the soft press of Yoongi's lips. "Want you so much."

Maybe it's true, in some respects. Maybe Jungkook is the one coming home to him and this is where they'll start their life together. Maybe Yoongi can finally get it right. With Jungkook underneath him, his voice hardly more than a whisper, the room already feels brighter. Maybe he can have this, one good thing in a miserable life, but the only good he needs.

Jungkook lifts his hips and Yoongi tugs denim down around his hips, pressing a kiss to his thigh as he sits back. Casting the jeans to the floor, he lingers where he is for a few moments, hands running soothingly along Jungkook's shins as he takes him in. He's thinner and still littered with fading bruises, sending a flare of anger through Yoongi (how could he leave Jungkook with that man? How could he leave him alone in that house?). Even so, he's handsome as ever in Yoongi's eyes.

"You are home," he says, soft as his fingertips travel the inside of Jungkook's thigh, as he leans back over him to press a kiss to the jut of a hipbone. It's not much of a home, but maybe it could be. Hope is hard to come by, but he feels it now, flickering small and bright as a firefly. Inching back down the couch, there's limited room, but Yoongi finds he likes even that, the narrow space keeping them close together, his body bracketed by the frame of Jungkook's legs. There's a strange sense of security to it. He mouths at the outline of Jungkook's length through the fabric, his own desire swooping in his stomach, and reaches to finish undressing him. There's a tumble of nerves in his gut; even their first time together, he wasn't quite this unsure of himself. Excitement and need outweighed any anxiety, but back then, they could have done anything wrong and laughed their way through it. It seems to him like a lot more is riding on his shoulders this time around. Still, he wants.

He presses another kiss to Jungkook's hip, gazing up at him. "Still so beautiful."

By now, Jungkook's pretty sure that so much of this has been forgotten on his part, his head falling back against the arm of the couch and breath quickening as Yoongi's lips brush along the length of his cock, warm even through the fabric. Wanting Yoongi is a familiar ache, but the way that Yoongi touches him now — it's either different or Jungkook's simply forgotten, the way the fire seems to rise right under his skin, the air slipping between his teeth somewhere between a sigh and a hiss as he arches under Yoongi's fingers. He hasn't left himself much time for fantasies in the past year; sensuality is more a series of motions that he mindlessly goes through in an attempt to let off stress. It hasn't felt like pleasure, exactly, in a long time.

"Need you," Jungkook gasps, threading his fingers through Yoongi's hair and tilting his head up to watch, jaw slack and gaze transfixed. He remembers... the way it looked, Yoongi's eyes dark and wanting, Yoongi's skin pale under his hands. He remembers the love. But there's a desperation that seizes tight around his chest and Jungkook isn't sure how to satisfy it other than being together, other than wanting Yoongi now. He tightens the hold of his thighs on either of Yoongi's sides, shivers when Yoongi's lips drop to his hip.

Yoongi calls him beautiful, and Jungkook wonders if it's in the way that a butterfly is beautiful, even when its wings and torn and injured. Can Yoongi see how broken he's felt? His hands, somehow, seem to find all the right places. Sealing the cracks, piecing him back together.

"I love you," he breathes, blinking rapidly as he brushes a palm against Yoongi's cheek. "Please, Yoongi..."

It's been a long time since Yoongi last did this — not since that afternoon in his last lifetime, the pair of them curled up in bed, fantasizing about a future together that he erased with a single decision. Maybe, maybe, they can get it back. Even now, though, it's hard to imagine, possibilities flickering and fading in the back of his mind. Does he still know how to do this?

But, god, how he wants this. Even that comes as something of a surprise, simply because he so rarely has both the energy and the inclination to get himself off these days. Having Jungkook in front of him, though, he can feel how hard he's getting already. Like his body remembers what he hasn't let himself think of in some time. Running a hand along Jungkook's thigh, he lowers his head and drags his tongue over the tip, a soft moan escaping him even before he takes him into his mouth. He's not used to this anymore, taking his time acclimating to the feeling of Jungkook's cock filling his mouth, heavy on his tongue, the taste familiar as an old memory.

His hand comes to rest, fingertips pressing into Jungkook's thigh as he bobs his head. Gaze lifting, he meets Jungkook's eyes, whimpering, desire twisting down his spine. He always loved this, looking up to see how badly Jungkook wants him, the way his skin flushes, his eyes half-lidded, need writ clear across his features. There's something deeply reassuring about it; some things haven't changed.

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