Work Text:
part i: boy
I met you when everything was a blur
Voices floating around my tired ears
It’s been like this for so many years
My heart forgot how to boil, how to stir
I caught myself dreaming of your lips
And your eyes shining, somehow it hurts
Slowly solving your puzzle, my broken heart too
It isn’t as simple as it seems, observing you
I limit myself to this, only looking
As my steps match your child-like laugh
My heart remembers it— it’s boiling
Words that hurt me are now in the past
A whisper followed by your singing
It’s not much, but I hope it’ll last
The train was silent and full, people whispering and mumbling to each other. The view moved fast through the windows of the vehicle, colours, shapes, faces and stories blending together in one psychedelic mess of movement. People’s voices made a buzz of noise in Yoongi’s brain, like a hypnotic process. Everyone was so quiet and reserved like if they were afraid to talk, he hated it, it was boring and depressing and he hated it.
Everything happened the same for him every day, he woke up at 7 am, pretended to actually eat the breakfast Seokjin did for him and read the quickly scribbled note that Namjoon wrote for him reminding him to don’t forget to eat. He went to college and did his best to pay attention to all classes until he finally left at 4 pm when the trains were usually quite empty and he could find a place to sit down. He waited until he’s near his apartment building while reading a book that one of his teachers required or just listening to music. When the train stopped at the station near his apartment, he grabbed his things and left as fast as he could. It was a cycle. It was boring.
But that day was a bad day, his Music Theory teacher had criticised him roughly in front of the entire class, stating that hip-hop didn’t even count as real music as she glared at his personal music sheets with disgust, Yoongi didn’t cry, but it felt like he did. He couldn’t focus on anything else during the entire rest of the day, not managing to feel satisfied with anything he composed. He fell asleep on his notebooks and the obvious shone on his phone screen, October 4th, 6:03 pm, he was late, and it was full and hard to move and so quiet, Yoongi wanted to punch himself in the face. He sat near a boy playing Piano Tiles with his headphones on, he seemed pretty involved in it — didn’t even notice Yoongi sitting down next to him.
Yoongi tried to reach for his headphones but they were tangled somewhere in between his books and his phone looked as it was about to die, so he just hugged his backpack and shrunk his head onto it, arms and chin wrapped around it in a protective way. It is a sign of loneliness, Namjoon had said once, while going back home with Yoongi, hugging your backpack like that. You need a hug and you need it quick, he actually hugged Yoongi after that, and saying he didn’t like being wrapped around someone’s arms was a lie, Namjoon was a nice guy to be hugged by if that makes any sense at all. Yoongi snorted to himself at the thought of it, pale fingers playing with the backpack’s zipper.
His eyes lingered towards the boy sitting next to him. He was... pretty. That’s a word suitable for him. He had big dark brown eyes, focused on the silly game he was playing, his hair was brown too, but lighter than his eyes, he was also pouting, red lips and scrunched nose forming a tiny childish frown. He looked like a cute bunny from a cartoon. Yoongi ventured to look at what the boy was wearing — skinny jeans and a white sweater, tight around the arms. It didn’t look like baby fat (Yoongi had plenty of those), the boy was buff. Okay then, a handsome bunny.
The boy’s phone turned off suddenly, the vague resemblance of a noise of classical music leaving the headphones stopping as a low battery warning appeared. He sighed, putting it inside the pocket of a light grey coat that had been previously squished between him and the train’s wall. It matched the skinny jeans, Yoongi felt a tiny smile growing on his lips. It reminded him of Seokjin and Namjoon, fashion freaks as they thought they were.
The train stopped and the doors opened, a few people leaving the train. The boy’s head (and 20 other ones at least) went up when an old lady entered, nearly screaming at the phone. She was lecturing someone that seemed like her daughter on how she needed to get married soon (that it was her duty as a South Korean woman to get married and honour her family— pure bullshit). At some point the lecture went on until the lady started talking about how ‘a respectful woman has to find a man and get pregnant of a boy to be the heir of the family business’, the boy sitting next to Yoongi suppressed a laugh at that, covering his mouth with his hand, eyes wrinkling around the edges in a cute way.
Yoongi looked at him, amused by his actions, he seemed to find the idea of someone thinking like that utterly ridiculous and, to be honest, it was reasonable. Women are human, not baby-making-cleaning-and-cooking machines. And men don’t have to be the heirs of whatever the hell is the family business, they have the right to choose what to do with their lives. The boy’s hand wasn’t covering his smile anymore, it was cute and contagious and Yoongi wanted to drown in it. He kept quiet though, pretending to take interest in his dirty shoelaces and bringing his backpack closer (if that was possible).
As if to challenge the few students sitting next to Yoongi (whose faces were starting to go slightly redder than usual), the woman started to talk about how much she regretted putting her daughter in school, that women shouldn’t study but yes clean and cook ‘as I did my entire life’. Yoongi watched with a frown as a tiny girl (who was at least 14 years old) grabbed a piece of paper and smashed it, throwing it at the old lady, who stopped complaining at the phone and stood up, walking towards the girl. The girl didn’t move an eyelash, exhibiting a confident posture and facial expression.
The train stopped again and the impulse of it made the old lady trip and break her phone, the students didn’t even bother to help, a tan boy (certainly not Korean, as his features didn’t say so) looking at her and saying that ‘kindness generates kindness, miss’.
People started to enter the train and gaze at the woman trying to get up, the tiny girl put on headphones and started reading a magazine article about some kind of new girl group that was going to debut soon. If Yoongi could describe his day with one word, it’d be the word disaster.
But the boy started to laugh, his laugh wasn’t loud but it was definitely genuine, the sound refreshed Yoongi’s ears like nothing else before, it was so... so... pure. It didn’t match the situation, that was chaotic and borderline scary for Yoongi (who tended to think that bad things happening were his fault), it seemed to fit better in a sunny day in a park, heart-warming words and pretty melodies. Yoongi didn’t know how to sing (it was more of a Seokjin thing, the man liked to sing around his house while doing everyday things like cooking or just fixing some shit Namjoon broke for the hundredth time), but if he knew how to, he’d sing about how the boy’s laugh made him feel. His chest expanded unwillingly, making him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, it was like his heart was boiling with contentment. Like hot chocolate on a rainy day. Yoongi liked it, it was new. He gazed at the boy, who blushed but didn’t stop giggling softly, Yoongi liked the feeling this was giving him.
He smiled at the boy, grabbing his stuff and waving, his footsteps matching the tiny breaks the boy made to breathe, his face got redder and redder as he walked towards the doors, it was his stop, but for the first time, he kind of wished it wasn’t.
(He dreamed of pretty boys with pretty lips and heartfelt laughs that day, suddenly forgetting about the bad feelings from before and wondering what the boy’s voice sounded like and if he knew how to sing, how it’d feel to have him whispering a cheesy ballad against Yoongi’s lips, but nobody needed to know, not even himself.)
×
part ii: jungkook
Your name slips through my tongue
As you look at me, beautifully
I say my name, somehow unwillingly
It doesn’t sound as pretty and young
It’s the little things you do to me
I always forget my unpleasant fate
And it’s not just as I walk and wave
That your warm flames I can clearly see
You’re like fireworks on a December day
The smiles of January peeking to greet
The lost sad memories of yesterday
I can feel it from my nose to my feet
The way you make me dream of another day
It’s like a warm bed and your smell on my sheets
Without noticing, Yoongi started to catch the late afternoon train every day, sitting next to the boy whenever the seat was free, trying to act as casual as he could. Namjoon found it weird that he opted to catch a busy train instead of the empty ones from earlier, but he didn’t comment when he came back home with Yoongi and Yoongi sat next to the boy, a faint smile on his lips as he looked back at Namjoon to pay attention to what he was saying about buying Seokjin an anniversary gift.
Even Hoseok, his oblivious neighbour, noticed the way Yoongi now answered his “how are you”s and “have a good rest of the day”s, sometimes just nodding and sometimes actually saying a little “I’m fine” or “you too”. (At first, he thought it was sorcery, commenting with Jimin on the phone, asking if Taehyung wasn’t messing around with his grandma’s candles again, the younger laughed but Hoseok still double checked for any signs of hypnosis in Yoongi’s eyes.)
In the days Namjoon didn’t come back with Yoongi, Yoongi played his own sample tracks on the phone, looking for anything that asked for an improvement as he watched the boy play piano tiles in the weirdest way ever, with his index and middle fingers from both hands, phone on his lap, it was amusing, in a certain way. The pout was also always there, making him look younger than he probably was. It was the closest to home Yoongi had ever felt in such a long time that he didn’t even notice it becoming something constant.
Some days, Yoongi would feel stupid for doing it, the boy would notice it and call him a stalker or something and stop getting on that afternoon train and Yoongi would be lonely once again, just himself looking at the window and listening to the train moving, the people whispering, the dead silence of the evening.
That particular day the train was emptier than usual, maybe because it was Christmas time and people weren’t following their routines anymore, but the boy was still there. Yoongi’s phone was dead and the only book he had in hands was some weird story for smart-asses that Namjoon forgot with him at the library, Demian something was the name, Yoongi wasn’t interested. He sighed out loud, earning a glance from the boy, his heart beating faster than it should, oh shit it was happening the “stay away from me weirdo” thing, oh shit.
The boy paused his game and put his phone away, looking at Yoongi weirdly before waving — well, sort of waving — at him, hand barely leaving the place it was before.
“Hey,” he said, his voice wasn’t deeper than Yoongi’s (“Not everyone goes through puberty at age five like you, Yoongi-ah” Seokjin had said to him once) but it was deeper than the expected from the small giggles he usually heard, the boy smiled shyly, “You’re... Yoongi-ssi, right? Or did I catch the wrong conversation and this is suddenly really awkward because you have no idea of who I am and why the fuck I’m calling you Yoongi-ssi if that’s not your name and I-”
Yoongi repressed a smile, hugging his backpack tight.
“No,” he interrupted the boy’s rambling, trying to make his voice sound as soft as he could, “it’s not weird. That’s my name, yeah.”
The boy blinked slowly, eyes open wide and cheeks slightly pink as he tried to avoid eye contact with Yoongi, cute. For such a muscular person, he didn’t seem to have confidence in his social abilities, but who was Yoongi to judge, he didn’t have any social confidence either.
“But,” Yoongi opened his mouth again, looking at his shoelaces, that were even dirtier than weeks before, “It’s quite unfair that you know my name and I don’t know yours.”
If Namjoon was there he would have said “damn dude, that was smooth as fuck”, proceeding to sink in his regrets from his time crushing on Seokjin. If Seokjin was there, he would’ve giggled and keep quiet, pretending he wasn’t paying attention but keeping his ears on the conversation. If Hoseok was there he would’ve smiled like the overly positive fucker he is and waited until they got to Yoongi’s apartment building to comment about him actually feeling attracted to another human being. Yoongi wanted to snort at the thought.
But the thing is, they weren’t there. It was just Yoongi and this pretty shy boy on an empty train, snowflakes falling outside the window.
“Jungkook,” the boy said, blushing a tiny bit more when he realised he didn’t say anything for three seconds after that, “My name is Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”
“Pretty name, Jungkook-ssi. I’m Min Yoongi”
Yoongi never thought he’d like the feeling of a name leaving his mouth so much until he met Jeon Jungkook.
×
Some days he and Jungkook would talk about stuff, how Jungkook had just entered university and Yoongi didn’t even know what his Music Theory teacher was even talking about most of the time, ignoring her existence. He found out that Jungkook was younger than him by four years, and having the boy call him hyung (that cute little pink spreading through his cheeks) was surprisingly pleasing. He also discovered that Jungkook took singing and dance classes since he was very young, but studied Art, with a minor in photography, and the way he talked about his projects made Yoongi want to keep Jungkook safe from the evil world out there, full of people ready to take the shine from Jungkook’s pretty brown eyes.
But some days, they didn’t talk. These days were when Jungkook was staring gloomily at the window instead of playing Piano Tiles with a pout, or when Yoongi didn’t manage to get a positive result on exam’s even after studying until late hours. On these days, Yoongi just played with Jungkook’s coat sleeves, sometimes risking to touch his warm fingers while Jungkook rested his head on Yoongi’s shoulder, leaving a warm spot on Yoongi’s clothes and day. It wasn’t much, but he liked it.
One of these days, Namjoon and Seokjin were discussing what to have for dinner behind Yoongi as he caught Jungkook with the corner of the eye, the younger staring at the window with tears in his eyes. He ignored his friends arguing over meat or seafood as he walked firmly towards Jungkook. He sat down.
Namjoon and Seokjin looked confused but Yoongi didn’t care, his hand wondering to hold Jungkook’s as he rested his head on the other’s right shoulder, he thought he head Seokjin gasp and slap Namjoon repeatedly on the shoulder at his actions.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked, caressing the back of Jungkook’s hand with his thumb, he felt Jungkook’s head rest on his, he didn’t have to look to know Jungkook had his eyes closed.
“It’s dumb,” Jungkook said, using his left hand to play with his coat.
“It’s not dumb if it made you cry, Kook-ah,” Seokjin was probably having a heart attack at Yoongi’s words right now, but it was true, Jungkook shouldn’t ever cry, he was one of those people, that was born to live with passion in his eyes and joy in his voice, and even though Yoongi had joked about Jungkook dying soon when he said he’d rather die than live without any passion, he knew Jungkook lived and breathed it.
“It’s just...” Jungkook got closer to Yoongi, whispering now, “someone bumped into me and broke my camera and I don’t think I’ll have the money to fix it before April, e-even with two jobs, but I need it for next week so... my course...” a broken sob left Jungkook’s lips as he hid his head on the curve of Yoongi’s neck, Yoongi caressed his hair as he cried softly under Yoongi’s chin.
The next day, Yoongi entered the train with a camera in his hands, smile on his lips and a bunch of ignored texts from his friends.
×
Yoongi didn’t know why it happened, but he caught himself offering to take Jungkook home, “I can just take a taxi back home,” he said when Jungkook protested saying his stop was far from Yoongi’s.
And then here he was, walking next to Jungkook, who had joked about his height at least four times already and laughed at literally every complaint Yoongi did about his feet hurting, their steps making soft noises on the floor covered in snow, he suddenly felt small as he saw snowflakes falling faster on his hair and clothes, the view of Jungkook talking besides him with a red nose, hiding his hands under a red beanie.
“Well, here we are,” Jungkook said, stopping in front of a small apartment building, a tiny restaurant under the apartments with the lights still on, there were probably people still there.
“Yeah,” Yoongi mumbled, tiptoeing like some kind of shitty character from the romcoms Namjoon watched religiously, god he was so cheesy it was all Jungkook’s fault, Jeon Jungkook made him cheesy, “I’m going to-”
“Please stay!” Jungkook interrupted, sounding rather desperate, cheeks going redder than ever before, “I mean, please stay. I, um, I don’t wanna be alone. Please”
Yoongi smiled, holding Jungkook’s hand and telling him to lead the way.
Jungkook’s apartment, surprisingly, was everything Yoongi expected it to be. It was small and messy and there were two posters glued to a wall, one Iron Man one and a BIGBANG one, a small counter divided the kitchen from the living room/bedroom, where this huge sofa bed was placed near the window, a few papers spread around it, some with drawings and others with pictures, probably for university. The kitchen was super clean, Jungkook had told him before that the kitchen was the only tidy place in his tiny apartment. There was a door beside the sofa bed, probably the bathroom.
Yoongi stood there, an amused look on his face as he looked at Jungkook taking his coat off and putting it on the sofa bed’s arm. He couldn’t help but smile gently at the way Jungkook did everything like he had done it a hundred times already, but still made it look like the first time.
By the time Jungkook finished taking his shoes off, he was already leaning against a wall, arms crossed and the small smile still there, Jungkook looked at him. Suddenly standing up. Yoongi noticed he stumbled on a shoe while walking towards him, before he could process what was going on, Jungkook’s entire body was already wrapped around him, arms holding Yoongi tight, head hidden on the crook of his neck, between his head and shoulder. Yoongi could feel his warm unstable breathing and uncrossed his arms, trying to wrap them around Jungkook too. Hugs were usually uncomfortable with Yoongi, but this was nice, being around Jungkook was nice.
“Thank you, hyung,” he said, voice trembling, Yoongi could feel his warm skin against his neck, the smell of that sweet perfume that Jungkook used sometimes when he woke up feeling inspired, he could feel Jungkook’s heartbeat, nice and steady against his own. He felt Jungkook's warm hand pull his arm away and their fingers intertwine softly, like that time he had comforted Jungkook on the train. He didn’t realise his eyes were closed, Jungkook’s voice suddenly filling his ears, “I wanna sleep next to you, but that’s all I wanna do right now...” Jungkook’s head left the place it was on Yoongi’s neck, his soft breathing brushing on the tip Yoongi’s nose as the English lyrics left his mouth, “And I wanna come home to you, but home is just a room full of my safest sounds...” Yoongi’s eyes fluttered open, Jungkook was staring back at him, eyes soft and warm like when he talked about his midnight walks on Busan beaches and his dreams about art and music “So come over now...”
Their lips touched, and Yoongi never thought he could ever feel so big and so small at the same time.