𝕞𝕠𝕕𝕦𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

[lovestrippedbare]

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.

Comments

[lovestrippedbare]

His stomach lurches, heart twisting tight in his chest. Just for us. It used to be that the entire world felt painted in such a way — that every path was one that had led them to one another, that they were always intended to be, that the universe revolved around them. But now, even a single night is more than Jungkook has let himself think about for years. Jungkook draws in a wavering breath. Every cell in his body aches to find ways to tie them back together — wishes that, no matter how painful the knowledge might be, that he knew every step Yoongi took. Every day that Yoongi lived. That Jungkook could have the full picture, absorbing it as part of himself.

That the world could be theirs again.

But he's not sure where to start. Not sure where to pull back the curtains and expose what's been held in shadow. To ask feels like it'd be inviting in more pain, knife twisting in the wound. Jungkook's always been clumsy with his words, and if he's honest, he knows that Yoongi's been the same.

And everything is too fragile now to risk fumbling.

"Just for us," Jungkook echoes, and it hurts. He pulls back, sliding further up on the couch, until they can see each other eye to eye — but Jungkook breezes past that, doesn't lock gazes for too long before he's leaning in to seal distance with a kiss, a soft gasp on his lips, searching for that warmth from earlier. Letting touch fill in the blanks that words can't. In Yoongi's skin, in the contour of his ribs, Jungkook feels the passage of time. But the familiarity is still there. The cracks and crevices, Jungkook can still slip into as he did before.

He has to believe that.

"I love you," he breathes, pressing their foreheads together. "I can't believe that I have you again."

[likedriedflowerpetals]

Yoongi has always wondered what he could have done, in this life or any other, to deserve to be loved the way Jungkook loves him. He used to think it must have been something pretty special. Now it's hard to feel he deserves it at all. His breath catches in his throat at Jungkook's words, everything a confusing mix of longing and fear. This is what he wants, what he's wanted for so long, and now that he has it, he feels clumsy and lost, unworthy of such affection. Maybe if it were just that, he could handle it, but it's not that simple. He's not the only one who's afraid. It might have been a long fucking time since they were last together, but Yoongi still knows how to read Jungkook. Still knows how it feels to hold him when he's scared and unsure, the way he did on the last day they had together.

"I'm not much to have," he admits, shifting to brush his nose against Jungkook's. He's going to fuck this up, he knows he is, just like he did before. Warning Jungkook might not accomplish anything, but it slips out of him before he can think better of it. They never needed anything fancy, never needed to be more than moderately comfortable, but he can't even give Jungkook that. All he has is a rundown studio that could get torn down on any given day without warning and a mind that hopes he's in it when that happens.

He keeps stroking his hand gently along Jungkook's side, his eyes closing so he can focus on the physical: the soft rise and fall of Jungkook's breath, the places where their bodies meet, still fitted together just right. It helps to ground him. The part of him that's nervous and quick to flee doesn't go anywhere, but he can at least try to ignore it a little longer. "I'm not even sure I'm the same person. But I love you. I know that."

They were always going to grow and change. That's just part of life. They were just supposed to do so together and he robbed them of that.

[lovestrippedbare]

"Stop it," Jungkook breathes, leaning in so Yoongi can't focus on the way he frowns, on the way he cringes suddenly under the pain. To hear Yoongi speak of himself in such a way reminds Jungkook of the nights where even being together was barely enough to pull Yoongi back in from the tide — of tangled limbs, tears seeping into fabric, of sleep finally arriving hours later than intended as they drift off into soft, easy breathing. Yoongi's never been the best at seeing his own worth, and Jungkook knows that two years spent in isolation must have made all hope more distant still. It's part of the reason why the silence wasn't purely hurtful — it was part of why silence drew forth a deep apprehension, waiting and wondering if there'd be some headline on the news. Some announcement in the obituaries.

Jungkook wasn't there for it. No, maybe it's worse than that — if Jungkook had never been around, Yoongi wouldn't have reduced himself to this. Yoongi had the others, had friends who loved him and understood, who asked for his company and never more. Friends he didn't need to defend in the way that he did Jungkook. Friends who didn't come with the obligation of needing to build a future, a foundation for two people to stand on.

It's not hard to imagine that without Jungkook, Yoongi would been attending university now, and maybe there wouldn't have been those days filled with nothing but love and laughter, but fewer doors would have closed.

It's not hard to imagine that Yoongi could have found someone better anyway, in time.

Their love used to be the sort that Jungkook never wanted to paint with regret, no matter the challenges and circumstance. But now, he wonders how he can work past it, all the shame and guilt.

"You've given me more than you'll ever know," Jungkook says, smoothing a hand over Yoongi's chest, resting it over his heart. "If we're not the same people, it's only because we were supposed to be together, right? And now we are. We have to believe something will come out of that."

[likedriedflowerpetals]

Belief — hope — is so fucking hard to come by these days. It's true, Yoongi knows, that the distance between them is why he is who he is now. He was always better with Jungkook at his side, always more the self he wanted to be. Jungkook had such faith in him. It sounds like he still does, even now, sparking worry in Yoongi's mind; all he can do now is drag Jungkook down with him. He's not sure the person he is now is someone Jungkook will still love anyway, or if he'll finally see what Yoongi has known all along — that he's broken and twisted and afraid.

So maybe something will come out of it. Maybe being with Jungkook again will help, the way it used to, chasing away the dark shadows in his head until he starts to feel like a person again. He's not sure it's worth the risk of bringing Jungkook down to his level. Is the love he has to give worth that? Worth the pain and the heartbreak he's already put Jungkook through?

What if what comes of their being together again is only misery and despair? They were supposed to be together. He's the one who took this time from them. Maybe he did give Jungkook more than he knows; he also took so much away. He's not sure it evens out.

He lifts a hand to rest atop Jungkook's, exhaling softly. "Sorry," he says, mustering a small, rueful smile. "We are, you're right. We're together. I'm just out of practice at being good company."

[lovestrippedbare]

It's difficult to avoid wondering if he's trying too hard. There was a question that he'd asked Namjoon years ago, that he received no more of a response to than he did any of the others — whether loving someone meant holding on, or letting go. His own mother chose the latter, chose to forget the connection she once had to Jungkook's father. Maybe that was the kinder choice in its own right, to let someone go, to relieve them of the obligation. Jungkook can't help but glance at Yoongi and wonder whether or not there'd be peace to be found, down the line, after the passage of years.

Can't help but wonder if both of them are hurting more now than they were earlier that night, when they were numb to the pain.

Jungkook knows, though — that he's too selfish to let go now.

He lowers his head back down to Yoongi's shoulder, reaching up with his thumb to brush against the hand atop his own. Focuses on the concrete details. The warmth of Yoongi's body. The rise and fall of his breath. He shivers when a draft picks up, looks over his shoulder and reaches for the blanket that's draped over the back of the couch.

There was a time when simply sleeping together brought them peace, and Jungkook wonders if it'll do so now.

"Never too late to start practicing again," he murmurs, tugging the blanket up and over both their bodies, dragging his leg over Yoongi's and feeling the prickle of hair against his skin.

[likedriedflowerpetals]

It gets cold here at night. There isn't much insulation in the studio, no heating, but Yoongi stays here as often as he can handle it, trying to save what money he can. Tonight, though, there's Jungkook, warm against him, and even the narrow couch feels more comfortable with him here than it ever has before. Yoongi nestles close, pressing another kiss to Jungkook's hair, gently rubbing his back to help warm him.

He's not sure what Jungkook says is true. He's still young and maybe it's not too late to try to turn things around, but being young would matter a lot more if he expected to live to be old. It's not that he intends to go out of his way to make sure it doesn't happen; it just seems unlikely. Where he once imagined growing old with the man he loves, the future has turned to a vast, dark blankness, empty and unyielding. He was so sure of what they had, he's not certain he knows how to imagine around it anymore.

He can't be like that anymore, he tells himself. With Jungkook back in his life, he has to try harder to live, not to court death. He can't leave him again, not like that. It seems like a big promise to commit to, though.

"I'll try," he says. It feels like the best he has to offer now, paltry in the face of what he used to dream of for them. He'll attempt to be a person. It's pathetic. "You might have to show me how."

[lovestrippedbare]

The soft brush of Yoongi's hand starts to lull Jungkook towards slumber. He hasn't had a deep night's sleep in weeks — hardly remembers what it's like at all. Most of his evenings are filled with fevered dreams, the kind that linger somewhere between fiction and reality, tangling up the details until it's impossible to really tell which is which. Sometimes, he dreams of those early high school days, of fingers tripping over keys, of soft murmurs against the shell of his ear. Sometimes, he's running through the street, with little more than a couple of lamps to illuminate the way, and the road never ends but Jungkook knows that what he wants is still some distance away.

He never sleeps for long, waking up with a start when the details jar too much. When he misses too much.

When fear sinks deep.

Sometimes, Jungkook finds that his body gives in, when physical and mental exhaustion will carry him no further. Those nights are the silent ones, and he remembers nothing, save for absence. The absence of thought, of sound. It's never the most restful, and yet Jungkook finds himself wishing he could stay in those moments, when at least he doesn't drown in emotion.

But perhaps tonight will be different. When Jungkook's eyes threaten to slide to a close, it's the walls of Yoongi's room he sees, from two years ago. He nuzzles his face against Yoongi's neck, dropping drowsy kisses against the skin.

"We'll practice together," he mumbles. Hopes, this time, that when he wakes, Yoongi will still be there.