Work Text
Life had always suffocated Yoongi.As far back as he could remember, he'd found it hard to take a full breath when he thought about filling his lungs. The world was loud and full but it was just a box Yoongi was trapped in. While music filled the box with just enough air that he felt less locked in, it existed outside of its walls. Be a good son, study hard, find a good job: those were the words painted across its four sides. Piano didn't fit in that equation.Yet music had been Yoongi's single tie to the world. To life itself. So had his mother been, until she got worse and worse, until she said things Yoongi still wasn't sure weren't a mere reflection of his own thoughts. He might have dreamed them. Why would his mother have said such awful things?But it might have been her. It didn't matter. A seed was planted by her words, that grew and grew, and now had its vines around his neck. One false step and he would trip and it would asphyxiate him, cut off the little bit of air he managed to steal here and there: at a piano at school. On the beach with his friends.Watching Jungkook fidget and stop when he caught his gaze.Holding Jungkook's gaze, stuck in their own little bubble as the world around them kept spinning. The day after he'd gotten kicked out of school, Yoongi's life had become more suffocating than ever. The silence in the house he shared with his father was oppressive and Yoongi's expulsion went unnoticed. He never returned to class and his father never asked. The curfew, the quiet, it was like living in nothingness. He already lived like that, carrying it around with him, so being surrounded by it on the outside, too, was too much.It took awhile for Yoongi to leave for good. He didn't have the strength to go. It was another reason to criticize himself. It was one more reason to think he wasn't worth much. His inability to move on, staying with his father when nothing tied them together in any way, listening to him and following his rules and hating every second of it. Maybe it was punishment. Maybe this was what he deserved.Days passed. Nothing happened. The nothingness swallowed Yoongi whole. His fingers were torn and bloody around the nails.The reflection of the television on the glass of the bottles inside his father's alcohol cabinet refracted and made shapes of light inside it, like a galaxy twinkling from within. Eventually he answered the call and got his hands around a cold neck. The first few sips made him lighter than he'd felt in years. Since childhood. About a third of the way into the bottle, his limbs felt heavy, and everything was simple. About halfway through, the nothingness was a big black void he could almost see. He was on the floor of his bedroom, the bottle still clutched in his hand. The glass of it was warm now, and no matter what he did he couldn't seem to get his eyes to focus enough to read the label. The void was growing, coming for him at the edge of his vision and through the low sound of his own blood pulsing through his head. The house was shrinking with him inside it. The vines around his neck tightened.A breeze swept his hair back from his forehead, and Yoongi looked up. His eyes fell to his open window. There was still air. There was still room to breathe, somewhere, out there.He stood on shaky limbs and promptly clambered out of the window. He fell like a rag doll, right out of the second floor window, into the yard below. The bushes there were half dead and unkempt, but they softened his fall. His fingers rose to his face as he stood, the ground seeming to rise and fall like the waves as he did. A cut, but that was it. The breeze rose, lifting sweaty hair from his forehead, and the cut lit up with hot pain.What a strange thing, for a little scape on his cheek to make him feel alive. He did jobs here and there to survive, places he could shower and earn enough for food. It turned out the big black void was inside him all along, which only made that void grow in size. Working helped him earn enough to make it smaller. Often.He found a place to live, in an abandoned project that had run out of money. It was okay. The windows weren't finished. It was just a square in the wall, and it let a soft breeze in. He liked that breeze. He filled the room with a couch and a mirror and most importantly, a piano.He would figure out what to do in winter when it came. For now, he liked hearing the sounds of the city as he laid sleepless. He liked looking out of the window and being able to reach his arm out, as if he could touch the tips of the buildings laid out below him.School he didn't miss. When his thoughts landed on his friends, the day at the beach, the yelling at the sea, a friend who followed him like a puppy, he only allowed himself a few fleeting seconds.At night, when he couldn't sleep, Yoongi just walked. Drunk or not, with no set destination. He saw people, he saw neon lights, he saw reflections in muddy puddles and grimy windows, he saw people living in tents and warmed up with them around barrel fires, he saw street musicians perform with a passion he couldn't remember seeing on television.One day he heard a familiar tune he hadn't heard in years coming from a decrepit music shop. One day he ran toward the sound, heart tugged forward, and his feet took him closer to the shape of a boy he'd known, what felt like a lifetime ago.He hadn't changed. They'd both gotten a little older, but he had that same look in his eyes. Maybe louder. Heavier.When Jungkook's eyes met his own, Yoongi was anchored. Jungkook looked at him like he was bigger than the sun, and it was terrifying. It made Yoongi feel like he had to protect him, like he had to keep him safe.That was not something he felt capable of doing. No matter what, Jungkook would be hurt by his presence in his life. He already had been. Yoongi had left without a word and not reached out to him in two years.Yet here he was, head tilted up toward him, cheeks stained with tears, and wide eyes."Long time no see," Yoongi said.Jungkook's tear streaked face broke into a smile.Yoongi thought of a bird with a broken wing. Jungkook came to the workroom so often, it became routine.The stalled project it was located in was dusty and empty, most of it concrete left bare, white and grey everywhere. The dust could be annoying, plaster powder sticking to his eyelashes in the morning and looking like dandruff on his shoulders, but the benefits were not paying rent or having anyone come bother him when he played the piano late into the night.The nakedness of the structure meant sound carried. It meant every time Jungkook came to his door and hesitated or waited before knocking, Yoongi knew. The first few times, Yoongi had told him to go away while letting him in. He had complained and bossed him around to leave.Jungkook continued to show up. He remained shy, most of the time, like he was aware he might be intruding, but wanting to be with Yoongi more than he cared to be unobtrusive.Yoongi stopped telling him to go away.Time passed slowly and fast with Jungkook. There was no telling what they got up to for the hours they spent together. They played on the piano. They looked out the window. They went to the rooftop until the sun grew too hot to withstand. Sometimes Jungkook brought his sketchbook while Yoongi worked on stringing some lyrics together, hitting piano keys idly as he did. Sometimes Jungkook helped him, hummed notes along as Yoongi struggled with a bar.It was comforting. The colors in Yoongi's life became sharper, brighter. The routine lulled him into a sense of security that things were going okay. Jungkook was kept off the streets, he had someone he liked having around, in spite of his reservations, and things were going okay.On the day everything changed, Jungkook came bursting in as Yoongi finished the last section of a melody he'd been toying with for a long time. Jungkook didn't say hello, only sat next to him. Sunlight poured in from the window, filling the room with warmth. The light spilled over them and the piano. It had been years since high school, but Yoongi could still see a younger Jungkook quietly take place at the very edge of the piano bench in the abandoned classroom, the afternoon sun creating a halo around his head, a nervous, meek bundle.The Jungkook of today wasn't so different. Still meek, still like he wasn't quite sure he belonged no matter where he was, still like he believed no one would miss him if he wasn't present.But sitting closer. Now there was only enough space between them for Jungkook's hand. Yoongi took a breath and started to play the melody from the start, no greetings necessary between them."It's hot in here," Jungkook mumbled to himself."Take a layer off," Yoongi said, kind but also chiding. It was too warm for plaid. Jungkook tried taking it off without standing from his spot and consequently got his arm a little stuck in the sleeve, but eventually let out a sigh of relief. Fresh air was blowing in from where the window would be, brushing Jungkook's hair from his forehead, exposing the sweaty strands beneath, sticking to his forehead.He had cuts and bruises on his arms. Something Yoongi should talk to him about. He should say something. It made him feel sick because he knew, it made him feel sick because he couldn't protect Jungkook from that, it made him feel sick because he didn't know how to make him stop and it felt like his responsibility. Who else was looking after Jungkook? After his heart, his mind?Why did it have to be Yoongi?"When you have a bruise," he said, voice low and quiet beneath the piano notes, "it's best to leave it alone."Yoongi closed his eyes. Refractions of the dark marks hit the inside of his eyelids. He played more fervently, concentrated on the notes. He couldn't make this instantly better. But was he making it worse? That haunted him. That possibility.Jungkook said nothing. Maybe he hadn't heard. Or maybe he was pretending he hadn't.The keys were warm under Yoongi's fingers due to the sun, and familiar to him even with his eyes closed. He knew this melody well, that wasn't the problem. The melody was missing something. It was incomplete. He kept trying to find what could fill it and coming up empty."This is nice," Jungkook murmured, and Yoongi opened his eyes and looked at him.Jungkook looked back. His hands found a place on the piano keys in front of him. They hovered. Yoongi tilted his head, and then Jungkook joined him.It was nice. Maybe that was what Jungkook had meant. This is nice, us, like this, and music around us. The notes Jungkook played filled the spaces between Yoongi's. The melody grew in depth. It felt good. Yoongi closed his eyes again. A small smile tugged at his lips as he heard Jungkook let out a little breathless happy laugh.He kept playing, until Jungkook's hands slowed. It wasn't unusual that he would stop and let Yoongi play by himself for a while, draw next to him or read on the couch. This time, though, he didn't hear Jungkook stand. Instead he felt lips against his own, awkwardly angled, both too dry and a little too wet. Yoongi took in a sharp breath.And then they were gone. When he opened his eyes the door of his room was clicking shut.On the bench where Jungkook had sat was his plaid shirt. He did that sometimes. Forgot things. Came back to get them, stayed all afternoon. This time he must have forgotten for real.The shirt wasn't enough to distract Yoongi from the pounding in his heart. He had not imagined that. He'd felt it, and Jungkook's sudden disappearance spoke a thousand words. His fingers came up to his lips, hovered, and didn't touch.Yoongi dropped his head on the keys with a discordant note. This was bad, except he couldn't wrap his mind around that thought, around the negativity of it. He didn't want it to be bad. Somewhere a part of him insisted that it was but he felt light, and floaty, and this was so much better than hurried kisses with other drunken strangers in alleyways, so much better than the floaty feeling of a couple of drinks.He turned his head. A few notes plunked. His lips brushed against the ivory keys and Yoongi pressed the kiss there. Imagined it permeating his music. Maybe that's what was missing. Something else, outside of him, listening to what's around him. Parts of others, connection.That was stupid.Jungkook had kissed him.That was stupid, too.He was no good. He would never bring Jungkook any good. All he would do is ruin everything and hurt him.The sun had moved in the sky as they'd sat together and played. Sunlight reached further into the work room now, stretching to cover more ground. A bottle, sideways on the ground and half hidden by the blanket haphazardly hanging from the couch he slept on, glinted in the light.Yoongi picked it up.He didn't stop drinking for days. "Hyung, you haven't been answering your phone." Jungkook was standing a few feet away. Yoongi scoffed, sitting on the ground amidst a pile of crumpled up pages of notes and lyrics around his feet. Yoongi looked up from his overgrown bangs only to see himself in the mirror. He looked mean. Angry. He was drunk. When had Jungkook even gotten here?Yoongi was too drunk for anything to matter. Too numb to think about anything. A few hours ago he'd put Jungkook's shirt on and curled up in it against the evening cool. He was wearing it still, one sleeve rolled and the other falling over his hand."Hyung," Jungkook prompted softly. It had already been brave of him to say as much as he'd said. He wasn't the confrontational type. While they shared something, something that ran deep, these things manifested in opposite ways. Jungkook was far more caring and gentle than Yoongi could ever hope to be. Yoongi would rather fight and hit and push and disappear.Yoongi was the fucked up one. Yoongi was the one made up of jagged edges and broken glass and too much to drink and fire. So much fire. He saw it every time he closed his eyes. Suffocating. Calling to him, too."Go away," he grumbled, refusing to lift his gaze to Jungkook. He heard a step, then another. "I said go away!"The steps stopped. Jungkook spoke again."I want to help you."Jungkook's voice had an edge that made Yoongi's heart sink. He sounded… he was hurt. This was hurting him. Yoongi was hurting him right now, by being like this, but he didn't know how else to be.No one could help him, not without getting hurt, not without him dragging them down with him. Jungkook was the last person Yoongi wanted to harm. He was good.Unlike him, Jungkook was good."Get out," he muttered as he stood, kicking paper aside, bending down to pick up a half empty bottle of beer. It was warm. He drank it anyway. "I have nothing to say to you.""If it's because of — because of what I did, it's okay. You don't have to feel the same way. We can pretend it never happened! I don't mind."Jungkook spoke a little too fast to be natural, but it was almost convincing. Almost convincing that he really didn't mind, when Yoongi was sure closing the distance between them had taken all the courage Jungkook had. He knew that. Because he hadn't had the courage to do it himself.The fake chipper tone of Jungkook's voice made yoongi angry.It was so stupid, to think that something as simple as a chaste kiss was what made everything so awful. In fact, it was the one thing he kept going back to, something that felt like hope tugging at his heart, something that wanted. Just wanted. Yoongi didn't want anything enough to feel a trace of hope. There was just hollow nothingness. The void inside him. And then Jungkook, piano, the kiss, sunlight.It scared him so much. He couldn't think of a way this worked out. He could barely make it through the day. He was trapped: in Jungkook's absence the flames of his lighter called his name and whispered to him. In Jungkook's presence, things were better, but as soon as he was gone again he kept asking himself what the fuck are you doing?It was better to cut this short now. Better now than later, when he couldn't stand it anymore and let fire embrace him the way his mother had. It wasn't too late.He threw the bottle at the mirror. The crash was deafening. The mirror splintered, Yoongi's reflection now in mismatched pieces. Disconnected slices that didn't fit."You think you matter that much? It's not about you, Jungkook. So many things aren't about you. In fact, most things aren't," he drawled, staggering forward. Finally, he looked at him. Jungkook's face looked ghostly pale. He'd cut him deep with those words. Or maybe scared him with the bottle. Yoongi smirked as he came closer, giving Jungkook a shove. "You know it's true, don't you? I've never cared about you. No one — "Jungkook punched him.Yoongi reeled back, collapsing against the couch and falling onto the ground. Steel filled his mouth and he spat out red, breathing heavily and head buzzing with pain. He watched the blood seep into the concrete, pushed himself up, and stormed out.Lighter in hand.That was fine. If Jungkook was angry with him, then this could end. Then he didn't need to stick around. It wasn't too late.Now or never. Fire was everywhere. The smoke danced around him and filled his lungs. The flames grew as tall as the ceiling. They licked at his feet. Yoongi laid on the bed and waited. Soon they'd come for him, and it would end. He opened his eyes, head tilted back to watch the flames engulf more and more of the ceiling. They roared. It was the same noise he'd heard watching his house burn down with his mother inside. She hadn't screamed. He wondered if he would.It was harder to keep his eyes open now. Harder to fill his lungs. It ached. His eyes burned. The heat grew, permeating the air, drying out his eyes, his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut. His mother, her voice… if it wasn't for you. She was standing right there, amidst the fire. She pointed to him. She was wearing a mask that was melting onto her face.The door burst open. Yoongi couldn't remember closing his eyes, but he opened them. Now he was seeing Jungkook, one split second in the doorway before running toward him. The flames disappeared.They'd never been there. He'd fallen asleep in a drunken rage, lighter still in his hand.Yoongi sat up, eyes small and sleepy, head pounding, angry to be alive. Angry to have been brought into the world and then so violently been abandoned. He had never been given a choice. It wasn't fair, that people kept making more people and didn't even ask them if they wanted to be."Hyung," Jungkook said, voice so hoarse and broken. Hands reached for Yoongi's face, cuping gently and turning it toward him. "Hyung, I know."Jungkook tried to straighten his head, took it in both his hands and held it so he could look right into his eyes. They were pleading, filled with tears. Maybe it was supposed to be reassuring that Jungkook knew how he felt, how tired he was, but it made Yoongi hate all this even more. If even Jungkook had to live like this, then there was no point. No effort of his could right that terrible wrong, because nothing righted it in him."When you called me," Jungkook started, swallowed hard, and started again. "I was on a rooftop. Looking down at the city."Yoongi doesn't need to hear the rest to guess what might have been on Jungkook's mind. He hears it in Jungkook's quiet. At times, it's not meekness. At times, it's a void. Just like him. It's like being hollow, and everything takes too much effort, even speaking. Even thinking. Your limbs weight a million tons. Faking a smile is herculean.With eyes that feel too heavy to keep open, Yoongi looks into Jungkook's. It's not fair. It's not fair that Jungkook knows this feeling like he does. He wants to take it away from him, but he's so tired. He can't keep going himself, so how could he keep Jungkook moving forward?It's too big a responsibility. If he failed, it would be worse than lighting himself on fire.One of Jungkook's hands slid down from Yoongi's face to his shoulder, then along his arm. The touch was more gentle than Yoongi was used to. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him like this. He wondered if it hadn't been his mother last.Jungkook's fingers gently pried Yoongi's hand open and took the lighter. He must have seen the fuel Yoongi had brought up into the room. It disappears into Jungkook's pocket. Yoongi still hasn't said anything. There's no energy left in him."Don't do this. Don't go," Jungkook said, "I want to hear the finished piece."Yoongi stared and said nothing. The piece Jungkook had played that had brought Yoongi back to him, that was the piece that was missing something. Was that reason enough to keep going? He'd been stuck on it for so long.
"Hyung!" Jungkook shook Yoongi's his head gently, just a little. He wanted Yoongi to say something, but Yoongi didn't know what to say. He couldn't say it. He couldn't say that Jungkook wasn't enough to fill all the empty hollowed bits of him. That he didn't know that the piece would be enough either."We promised we'd go to the beach together," Jungkook whispered. He dropped his head against Yoongi's shoulder, and Yoongi's hand curled in the sleeve of his jacket.So suddenly it made Yoongi start, Jungkook lifted his head and brought their lips together. This kiss was far more bold than the first, a lot more insistent, in no way unsure or hesitant. This was more than a plea, it was… a telling. Telling Yoongi how much worth he held in Jungkook's eyes.Yoongi wanted to push him away and pull him closer all at once. His hand curled tighter in his jacket."Please," Jungkook breathed against his lips, and Yoongi's heart broke. He didn't think he had any part of it left to break, but there it was, a twinge in his chest, physical and real.He can't promise Jungkook this. He can't say that he'll stay. He can't promise an outing to the beach with their friends would be enough. He can't protect him, he can't even manage not to hurt him. Lying to him hadn't worked. Taking this and then taking it away because he was too scared to be who Jungkook needed him to be, that would be just as bad.Isn't it worse to let his fire burn Jungkook, too? Isn't that doing exactly what he wants to avoid? He doesn't know. He feels so fucked up and angry and sad all the time except when Jungkook is right there, repeating the melodies he plays, laughing with his nose scrunched up, leaving his jackets behind as excuses to return the very next day.Yoongi kissed back before he thought of any answer. Hard and maybe a little too aggressive, but his hand, now empty, lifted to brush at Jungkook's jaw as light as a feather.The lips against his own curved just a bit, enough that he could feel it, and this time Yoongi thought of a bird with a healing wing, carefully testing it out before flight. "I think my father killed himself," Jungkook said. His shoulder was pressed against Yoongi's as they laid on the dirty motel comforter. The ceiling was stained, and a loose spider web string dangled from its edge. Yoongi said nothing. The silence was meant to be encouraging."I watched him leave. I saw him walk away, and he never came back. I kept waiting for a birthday card, like an idiot." A pause. A shaky breath. Somewhere in the distance, police sirens. Yoongi focused on Jungkook's breathing. He turned his hand, so the back of his brushed against Jungkook's knuckles. "I heard him and my mother talk. He said… He couldn't live anymore. And when she asked about me, he — well. It was like I didn't matter. I wasn't worth living for. I wasn't enough."In Yoongi's chest was a storm. He was angry on Jungkook's behalf, angry at himself for doing the same thing to him, angry that it had been done to him and left him with this raging fire under his skin, an itch to strike a match and be consumed so he could finally rest.Weirdly, he also wanted to apologize. It wasn't anything to do with him, but he wanted to. The words stuck in his throat. He reached a finger, stroking it along the back of Jungkook's fingers. The sirens came closer, lights flashed against the walls of the motel room, and then grew distant again. Jungkook's hand turned and laced their fingers together.Most people at school knew about Yoongi and his mother. But maybe not the details. He opened his mouth."My mother set fire to the house with herself inside. When the firemen asked me if there was someone inside the house, I said no." The words were rusty, spilling out creaking like old machinery running for the first time in a decade.He'd never said those words. To anyone."She used to say… it was because of me. I don't know what. Something. Something made her feel like she couldn't keep going, and I was part of that."He'd never acknowledged her words to himself, either, their echoes like a far off dream, mixing with the voice in his head. The one that never let him rest.It felt good. He thought it would be horrible. In a way, it was. In telling Jungkook this, he was admitting to him that his own mother had found him poison. Maybe keeping that balled up inside had been poisoning him, too. The vines around his neck loosened. He took a breath, and even in the grimy motel room, it felt clean and good.Jungkook squeezed Yoongi's hand and turned to look at him. Yoongi turned his head to look back. They could both have said I'm sorry. They could both have said our parents suck. But they said nothing. Words couldn't heal the wounds left by their parents. What could be said now was that they had a deeper understanding of each other. They knew what it was like to lose a parent to that big void, the hollow inside. They knew what it was like to live with it in turn. They knew what it was like to bare responsibility for being part of the cause, or not worthy enough.So they just watched each other for a while, in their own little world, the motel commotion and the city noise around them fading away. Jungkook's finger prodded at Yoongi's busted lip."I'm sorry I hit you," he whispered."Yeah, you're stronger than you look," Yoongi said, a faint smirk gracing his lips."I'll take that as a compliment," Jungkook said, before pausing and then speaking again. "It was only because I knew what you were doing.""What was I doing?""Lying. You care about me."At Yoongi's raised eyebrow, Jungkook looked sheepish."You kept telling me to go away but letting me in! One time I came by like fifteen minutes later than usual and you looked like you'd been on the verge of a panic attack. And then some other time you just tossed my favorite snack at me. I couldn't even remember mentioning it to you.""Because you're persistent. Everything else is coincidence."Jungkook pursed his lips, but didn't insist. It was true Yoongi had lied just to hurt him. He'd been so numb. While Jungkook pushed at his bruises, Yoongi pushed at everyone else.He swallowed hard, the thought recalling a memory from a week ago. And one further back, a day at the beach, Jungkook biting at his fingers until they were bloody like his. It had been so simple back then to tell him to stop. He should keep doing that."If you ever… " Yoongi lifted their hands, pointing over Jungkook's arm with a thumb. Jungkook nodded to indicate he understood. "Or if you end up on the roof — ""And you end up here — and drinking —"Yoongi's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. He couldn't imagine telling Jungkook he wanted to drink and they should do something, couldn't see himself being that vulnerable, but he never thought he'd tell anyone about his mother, either.He never thought he'd be holding hands with Jeon Jungkook after kissing his lips into a reddened, full mess."Let's go do something else instead," he continued. "Play piano. Go for a walk. Go to the beach. Get lamb skewers. Let's start with that."Simple. An outing like any other. They wouldn't have to say if they didn't want to. Only request to do something. Reach out toward one another. One thing at a time."Okay, hyung." Jungkook's hand squeezed Yoongi's once more. "Are we okay?"Yoongi scoffed and turned his attention back to the ceiling, shaking his head. God, he wanted a drink, or a smoke, but the need was dampened, vague. It could wait. He wondered how long he could hold it off."No. I don't think either of us are," he answered finally, looking to Jungkook again. Jungkook, whose brow furrowed, whose eyes widened, whose t-shirt was pulling and exposing the base of his neck, warm and inviting. Yoongi wanted to take a nap there."We can figure it out better together. Right?" The words were laced with a hesitant hope that Yoongi was familiar with. Like the brush of Jungkook's lips, the crinkle of his smile, his hands in sunlight over piano keys, paint flecks on his fingernails, an unfinished melody, a group of friends laughing together with the sea lapping at the shore."We can try. Yeah. We can try."One thing at a time. One day at a time.Yoongi had survived today, so maybe tomorrow wasn't impossible.