Yoongi closes his eyes, leaning into his knees, just letting the sound of Jungkook's voice roll over him. There's still a ragged quality to it, even as he hurries to reassure, that worries Yoongi. He can't imagine what would have caused that. He's not sure he wants to. Whatever the reason, though, even if it's only his mother's worry that kept him quiet, Jungkook wouldn't still be there if it weren't something serious.

"You're hurt," he says quietly. "Of course she is. I would — I wish I were there. That I could be too." His voice wavers, not as steady as he'd like. Being away from Jungkook now hurts, visceral, sharp in his gut, a sense of longing so potent it manifests as a prickling sensation along his skin. "Not over, just. Protective. I miss you so much." It's stupid, he tells himself. He went so much longer without seeing Jungkook before and they were fine. Except every day of that was agony, so maybe that doesn't hold up as well as he tries to make himself think it does. And when it was all he could do most nights not to dwell too long on the possibility that Jungkook was dead —

Even thinking it now makes his throat tighten. It isn't like that. They're both fine. Whatever happened or almost happened or didn't happen, they're fine.