lovestrippedbare | 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕚𝕤𝕖

Things have been tense. Jungkook knows that he should have been expecting it — there's only so long that either of them can stave off the dark days, and Jungkook's found that it's often better to face it head-on than to try and delay the inevitable. But between a harried schedule and the vain desire to keep Yoongi's birthday a light and happy one, Jungkook's procrastinated. Too many evenings where they eat in relative silence, and too many nights spent drifting in and out of sleep, only to find that Yoongi's body is tense in his arms.

It's just hard to make time.

He's running late in getting back to the workroom thanks to a study session gone late. Maybe Jungkook had a beer or two while he was at it, too, to help shrug off the tightness in his shoulders, to help him breathe a little more easily. He'd meant to let Yoongi know, but as he makes his way back to the workroom, footsteps echoing in the empty street, Jungkook realizes that it's been a couple of hours since he texted Yoongi last.

Five minutes away.

Jungkook winces, hoping that it's better late than never, and he sighs between his teeth as he swipes on his phone, finding Nayoung's number. He licks his lips nervously, holding the phone to his ear, keeping his voice slightly elevated so that Yoongi can hear Jungkook's approach, even as he stalls outside their door.

"I told you, I'm not — no, I'm not staying late next time. No, Nayoungie. I don't care how high of a grade I get on that essay, it's not worth hauling my ass across town in the middle of the — no, I told you, I stay with my fiancé over the weekends," Jungkook protests, shaking his head as he slips inside, coughing a laugh. "...what do you mean, my imaginary — just 'cause you haven't met 'em doesn't mean. Yah, fuck off. I'm hanging up."

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It stings, and Yoongi isn't entirely sure why — if it's because Jungkook is right or because he's not, because this isn't Yoongi getting angry. This is something else, twisting him up inside, harder to define.

Well, not that hard, really. He just doesn't like admitting that he's jealous. It feels so incredibly petty. He should be happy. They have a lot to deal with, yes, but they have a lot going for them, too. He made his choice years ago. As bittersweet as it is to watch Jungkook head off to school when he knows he never will, he knows it isn't something he'd undo. As hard as the years have been, they're here now, together, and that's what counts.

"I'm not mad," he says, the words weighted, uneasy and a little hurt. He doesn't have a right to be angry about this anyway. With the way he's been lately, he'd prefer to avoid himself, too. Besides, he doesn't want to be the kind of shitty, possessive fiancé that gets pissed that Jungkook's having fun without him. He should get to have his own space, his own world, even if Yoongi can't be part of it. It's just hard to ignore the little part of him afraid that space will keep growing until there isn't room for him at all. It's hard to find any words at all, his voice failing him, even as he clings more tightly to Jungkook's hand. He's scared, more than he knows is rational, and he's sad, but how can he say so? Jungkook is already wary and unhappy, and he hasn't even been home for five minutes. Yoongi can't keep dragging him down.

And if he doesn't say something, he's just going to make Jungkook think he's lying.

He swallows hard. "I thought you were coming home earlier," he says quietly. "But I'm not mad, I —" He missed him, he wanted him, he's stupid and selfish and lonely and sad, and there's no good way to say how scary everything is now. How he feels so weak, like he might break apart with the slightest force. "I just missed you." Even that feels painfully pathetic, even a little too honest. If Jungkook is away more now than he has been in a long time, it's only because he has to focus on his studies. Yoongi should be able to handle that. A few extra hours shouldn't make such a big difference.

Jungkook freezes for a moment, shoulders tensing. It's an answer he both did and didn't expect. Maybe the truth is that he wanted Yoongi to be angry, wanted Yoongi to have some kind of target at which he could throw all that emotion, somewhere that isn't self-directed, as Yoongi's moods so often tend to be. There's a certain relief that comes with being angry, Jungkook finds; he remembers watching the storm that came in the wake of Namjoon's return, the way the air around Taehyung had been charged, rolling clouds and rumbling thunder. It's harder to be sad, and only harder still when all that sadness is directed inside, where Jungkook can't reach, stemming from places Jungkook can't blame.

But more than that, right now, it's almost suffocating. Maybe it wouldn't have been, had this been years ago, both of them curled up under tangled sheets in the safety of Yoongi's father's house. Back then, it was easier to allocate time towards the emotions themselves, no obligation to pay bills, to pass exams (or at least, not exams that felt so immediately consequential, the last stretch before the real world awaits). Now, Jungkook feels the weight of so much pressing down on his shoulders, and as much as he tries to bear it, tries to work up the strength, he feels—

—his knees, buckling.

Yoongi needs him. Jungkook shouldn't have stayed out so late. But could he have afforded not to? He's always learned best with the help of friends, but friendships require tending to, friendships can't be all take and take and take. Maybe it'd be easier, in a way, were Jungkook actually failing out of his classes, a few doors closed leading him back to Yoongi. But it's not.

The guilt rises, caught around his throat. Jungkook pulls in a shaky breath, and he's had too much to drink, bad enough at stringing words together under the best of circumstances but undeniably terrible at it now.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, resolutely staring at Yoongi's knees. Maybe he's gripping Yoongi's hand a little too tight. "Should've gotten back sooner. I'll — set an alarm on my phone, next time."

There's a bitterness, real or imagined, in Yoongi's mouth, an unhappiness that would bow his shoulders if he weren't already bent in on himself, hunched so he doesn't have to look at Jungkook even as he can't stop touching him. He needs the anchor, needs to feel him there, but if he looks up, he doesn't know what he'll see. Hurt or anger or guilt or resentment, all of it, any of it, he can't deal with it right now. But there's nowhere to run either. The only way to retreat is to go inward and he's already there, so lost inside of himself.

"No," he murmurs, shaking his head minutely. "No, it's okay." It isn't. He wants that, wants Jungkook to come running home, and he doesn't want that in himself. It isn't fair. He knows it isn't. It isn't right of him to push all that on Jungkook, so selfish, so needy. Anyone would get sick of that, and it would be deserved. Besides, even under the hurt, he knows rationally that, whatever else he might want, he wants Jungkook to be happy. He can't be happy if he's always tending to Yoongi's wounds. It isn't right. He should have known better anyway. Of course Jungkook would want to have some fun. He can't just study all the time.

So if he knows all of this, why does it still hurt?

"You've got friends and studying and —" And Yoongi isn't a part of that. "It's okay." He clings to Jungkook's hand in turn, the desire to be comforted warring with the need to comfort in turn. He lifts his head, just enough to rest it against Jungkook's. Usually he's so good at speaking his mind, but it's hard now, when he just wants to apologize for being so stupid, so desperate, so much trouble. He should be able to take care of himself, to handle these moods on his own, not always making demands on Jungkook to take care of him.

Yoongi's words are jarring in comparison to all of the other details — the way his shoulders hunch, the way he can't seem to meet Jungkook's gaze. No, it's not okay. Of course it's not okay, and Jungkook feels his stomach twisting further still. Isn't this exactly what he promised to help Yoongi avoid? And for days — no, is it weeks? — Jungkook's known, has felt the tension in their apartment like the slow rise of a tide, always telling himself that he'll tend to it soon. Soon.

And now, suddenly, it feels late.

"S'not," Jungkook whispers, threading his fingers clumsily through Yoongi's hair and pressing a kiss to his temple. The ground sways under his feet, and Jungkook wishes it didn't, wishes he could simply lift Yoongi in his arms and take them both to the couch, curl up in companionable silence. Jungkook doesn't trust himself to get them there now, and so he slides backward for a moment, straddling the bench as he reaches out with both arms to pull Yoongi against his chest. "I should've stayed home. If I weren't such an... idiot. Wish I was smarter at this stuff, then I wouldn't have to — I'd rather stay with you at home."

He buries his face against Yoongi's neck, hair prickling his nose. Jungkook lets himself take a deep breath, then cringes as he practically tastes the alcohol on his tongue, bitter with regret. "I'm sorry."

𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕚𝕤𝕖

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