Ship/Member: Minghao/Jungkook/(Yoongi) Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: break ups, ambiguity, title from Ada Limón Permission to remix: Yes
Happy birthday week friend! A small (yoon)haokook for you!! <3
***
Minghao isn’t ready for the call. It’s past midnight and he’s sprawled under the covers, floating at the sweet precipice of sleep. After the third buzz, he flips the phone screen around. Blue light cuts open the room.
Jungkookie.
Minghao answers.
“Myungho. You’re awake,” Jungkook mumbles. His voice is thick and low. “Sorry. Um. Do you think I could come over?”
“Now?”
Silence, followed by a sniffle. Minghao sits up and rewinds the greeting in his head. The apology. It dawns on him that something is wrong.
“Not if you’re about to sleep,” Jungkook says. “Just—it’s okay—”
“No,” Minghao interrupts. “Now is fine. I don’t have a schedule in the morning. Just text me when you’re here, okay?”
“Alright.” Another sniffle. “Thanks.”
The line goes dead. A pit of trepidation settles in Minghao’s gut. He gets up to put the kettle on.
-
Minghao hasn’t seen Jungkook in person since—God, was it May? Months ago, at least. They’ve texted sporadically. Called once in a blue moon. Between concurrent comebacks and international tours, it’s to be expected. Minghao misses him anyway.
He’s thought about making plans. It takes a certain preparation, though, to be around Jeon Jungkook. He’s got magnetism. His proximity dazzles Minghao in ways he doesn’t like to admit.
It’s dangerous to be friends with Jungkook. It makes you want more.
When Minghao opens the door, Jungkook is hunched in the hallway with his face entirely obscured by a large black bucket hat. A few scraggly curls poke loose. The hem of his jeans are soaked brown with mud.
Horrified, Minghao hisses, “Did you walk here?”
Jungkook looks up. His eyes are a heartbreak: red, swollen, wet.
“Yoongi broke up with me,” he says.
Minghao’s hand falls from the doorknob. “Oh.”
-
Tea can’t fix this, Minghao thinks wildly as he ushers Jungkook into the bedroom. He gets him a change of clothes—a soft flannel that once belonged to Mingyu and oversized sweats—and pours him a mug of chrysanthemum jasmine. They sit side-by-side on top of the covers and work through stilted, delayed greetings and catch-ups. Jungkook’s hands tremble around his mug.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Minghao asks. He doesn’t know how to do this. He shouldn’t be doing this. Not for Jungkook.
Jungkook makes a face, scrunches his nose. “I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
“I think so.”
“Okay.”
Floral steam warms the room. The string lights flicker, drawing Jungkook’s attention. His bottom lip is bitten raw. Minghao reaches out and touches his wrist, gently, to steady him.
“How long have you been together, again?” Minghao asks softly.
“Depends on who you ask.” Jungkook’s breath hitches. “But. Um. Three and a half years?”
Ambiguity is hard to quantify, harder to explain. Jungkook sets the untouched tea on the nightstand. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and suddenly bursts: “He’s just—he’s such an asshole! After everything—he said he couldn’t do it, like it wasn’t worth it anymore. And he really meant it this time.”
Minghao feels useless, unmoored. He doesn’t want to talk shit about Yoongi. He likes Yoongi, despite everything. Respects him.
“He said what?”
“He said that I.” Jungkook ducks his head. “Wasn’t worth it.”
All that respect dies. Yoongi can go fuck himself.
“No,” Minghao says, the word springing emphatically from his chest. “No. That’s bullshit. It’s not fair, and it’s not true—I’m sorry.”
Minghao goes to put his arm around Jungkook. The second he opens himself up, though, Jungkook is lurching forward and collapsing directly into his chest, nearly sending his tea through the wall. Jungkook buries his face into the crook of Minghao’s neck. His arms link around Minghao’s waist and squeeze. The smell of cigarettes and clean rain cling to his hair where it tickles Minghao’s chin.
Oh.
Minghao’s hand drifts down to cup the back of Jungkook’s warm neck. He holds himself very still. Deep, shuddery breaths wrack Jungkook’s shoulders.
“It’s such bullshit,” he mumbles into Minghao’s sweater. Then, quieter: “I hate him.”
You love him, Minghao thinks, and strokes Jungkook’s hair.
They sit for a surreal length of time. It can’t be long, though it feels eternal, because Minghao doesn’t breathe even once until Jungkook lets go. They separate slowly, like a resurfacing. Jungkook’s cheeks are pink and blotchy. He stays close enough that Minghao’s eyes are drawn to his pink mouth, his lip ring catching the light like a crescent moon.
“Thanks for letting me come over,” Jungkook whispers.
“No problem.”
Minghao swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. He wants to ask, Out of all the numbers in your phone, why did you call mine? But he doesn’t really want an answer. This fragile ambiguity, he’ll hold onto.
“Could I…” Jungkook’s tongue darts out to wet his lip. His eyes are dry and hazy with exhaustion. “Sleep here tonight? I promise not to snot all over your pillows.”
Minghao laughs. The atmosphere shifts, brightens, even as they turn out the lights. They crawl under the blankets and divvy up the pillows with ease. Minghao stays firmly on his side of the bed, even when Jungkook’s shirt rides up his hip, revealing a strip of tan, goosebumped skin. Even when Jungkook makes the sweetest sigh, curling into the blankets like a kitten.
Minghao stays still until he gets a look at Jungkook’s nails in the murky blue moonlight. They’re bitten down to the quick. Before he can think better of it, he’s rolling over and taking Jungkook’s hand. He links their fingers together loosely.
“So you don’t fall off the bed this time,” Minghao explains, half-delirious from exhaustion, his heart pounding.
Jungkook doesn’t giggle, but he gets close. His breath skates over Minghao’s face. “Mmmkay.”
It will hurt tomorrow when he leaves. It will hurt more when Yoongi apologizes and Jungkook forgives him and the whole thing repeats, like this night isn’t real, like every time this happens it’s a mirage that only touches Minghao and no one else.
He falls asleep listening to Jungkook breathe. It isn't the first time. He hopes it won't be the last.
[FILL] the song that says my bones are your bones
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: break ups, ambiguity, title from Ada Limón
Permission to remix: Yes
Happy birthday week friend! A small (yoon)haokook for you!! <3
***
Minghao isn’t ready for the call. It’s past midnight and he’s sprawled under the covers, floating at the sweet precipice of sleep. After the third buzz, he flips the phone screen around. Blue light cuts open the room.
Jungkookie.
Minghao answers.
“Myungho. You’re awake,” Jungkook mumbles. His voice is thick and low. “Sorry. Um. Do you think I could come over?”
“Now?”
Silence, followed by a sniffle. Minghao sits up and rewinds the greeting in his head. The apology. It dawns on him that something is wrong.
“Not if you’re about to sleep,” Jungkook says. “Just—it’s okay—”
“No,” Minghao interrupts. “Now is fine. I don’t have a schedule in the morning. Just text me when you’re here, okay?”
“Alright.” Another sniffle. “Thanks.”
The line goes dead. A pit of trepidation settles in Minghao’s gut. He gets up to put the kettle on.
-
Minghao hasn’t seen Jungkook in person since—God, was it May? Months ago, at least. They’ve texted sporadically. Called once in a blue moon. Between concurrent comebacks and international tours, it’s to be expected. Minghao misses him anyway.
He’s thought about making plans. It takes a certain preparation, though, to be around Jeon Jungkook. He’s got magnetism. His proximity dazzles Minghao in ways he doesn’t like to admit.
It’s dangerous to be friends with Jungkook. It makes you want more.
When Minghao opens the door, Jungkook is hunched in the hallway with his face entirely obscured by a large black bucket hat. A few scraggly curls poke loose. The hem of his jeans are soaked brown with mud.
Horrified, Minghao hisses, “Did you walk here?”
Jungkook looks up. His eyes are a heartbreak: red, swollen, wet.
“Yoongi broke up with me,” he says.
Minghao’s hand falls from the doorknob. “Oh.”
-
Tea can’t fix this, Minghao thinks wildly as he ushers Jungkook into the bedroom. He gets him a change of clothes—a soft flannel that once belonged to Mingyu and oversized sweats—and pours him a mug of chrysanthemum jasmine. They sit side-by-side on top of the covers and work through stilted, delayed greetings and catch-ups. Jungkook’s hands tremble around his mug.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Minghao asks. He doesn’t know how to do this. He shouldn’t be doing this. Not for Jungkook.
Jungkook makes a face, scrunches his nose. “I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
“I think so.”
“Okay.”
Floral steam warms the room. The string lights flicker, drawing Jungkook’s attention. His bottom lip is bitten raw. Minghao reaches out and touches his wrist, gently, to steady him.
“How long have you been together, again?” Minghao asks softly.
“Depends on who you ask.” Jungkook’s breath hitches. “But. Um. Three and a half years?”
Ambiguity is hard to quantify, harder to explain. Jungkook sets the untouched tea on the nightstand. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and suddenly bursts: “He’s just—he’s such an asshole! After everything—he said he couldn’t do it, like it wasn’t worth it anymore. And he really meant it this time.”
Minghao feels useless, unmoored. He doesn’t want to talk shit about Yoongi. He likes Yoongi, despite everything. Respects him.
“He said what?”
“He said that I.” Jungkook ducks his head. “Wasn’t worth it.”
All that respect dies. Yoongi can go fuck himself.
“No,” Minghao says, the word springing emphatically from his chest. “No. That’s bullshit. It’s not fair, and it’s not true—I’m sorry.”
Minghao goes to put his arm around Jungkook. The second he opens himself up, though, Jungkook is lurching forward and collapsing directly into his chest, nearly sending his tea through the wall. Jungkook buries his face into the crook of Minghao’s neck. His arms link around Minghao’s waist and squeeze. The smell of cigarettes and clean rain cling to his hair where it tickles Minghao’s chin.
Oh.
Minghao’s hand drifts down to cup the back of Jungkook’s warm neck. He holds himself very still. Deep, shuddery breaths wrack Jungkook’s shoulders.
“It’s such bullshit,” he mumbles into Minghao’s sweater. Then, quieter: “I hate him.”
You love him, Minghao thinks, and strokes Jungkook’s hair.
They sit for a surreal length of time. It can’t be long, though it feels eternal, because Minghao doesn’t breathe even once until Jungkook lets go. They separate slowly, like a resurfacing. Jungkook’s cheeks are pink and blotchy. He stays close enough that Minghao’s eyes are drawn to his pink mouth, his lip ring catching the light like a crescent moon.
“Thanks for letting me come over,” Jungkook whispers.
“No problem.”
Minghao swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. He wants to ask, Out of all the numbers in your phone, why did you call mine? But he doesn’t really want an answer. This fragile ambiguity, he’ll hold onto.
“Could I…” Jungkook’s tongue darts out to wet his lip. His eyes are dry and hazy with exhaustion. “Sleep here tonight? I promise not to snot all over your pillows.”
Minghao laughs. The atmosphere shifts, brightens, even as they turn out the lights. They crawl under the blankets and divvy up the pillows with ease. Minghao stays firmly on his side of the bed, even when Jungkook’s shirt rides up his hip, revealing a strip of tan, goosebumped skin. Even when Jungkook makes the sweetest sigh, curling into the blankets like a kitten.
Minghao stays still until he gets a look at Jungkook’s nails in the murky blue moonlight. They’re bitten down to the quick. Before he can think better of it, he’s rolling over and taking Jungkook’s hand. He links their fingers together loosely.
“So you don’t fall off the bed this time,” Minghao explains, half-delirious from exhaustion, his heart pounding.
Jungkook doesn’t giggle, but he gets close. His breath skates over Minghao’s face. “Mmmkay.”
It will hurt tomorrow when he leaves. It will hurt more when Yoongi apologizes and Jungkook forgives him and the whole thing repeats, like this night isn’t real, like every time this happens it’s a mirage that only touches Minghao and no one else.
He falls asleep listening to Jungkook breathe. It isn't the first time. He hopes it won't be the last.