honestly, yoongi doesn’t notice that his mother has left until the last of the guests are dwindling out. he returns from changing hayoung into something lighter and more comfortable; now she’s napping on yoongi, drooling on the shoulder of his hanbok. jungkook is talking to the host and to the venue workers, bowing down low before giving them a sincere ‘thank you for your hard work!’. he also hands them each a small package. it’s probably the same as the gifts that they had given out to the guests.

nevertheless, the only people hanging around toward the end are namjoon, seokjin, and taehyung. jimin has already drove back to his apartment with hoseok, and the other three plan to go together. jungkook’s family is still here, but yoongi’s brother and mother aren’t. his sister-in-law sits next to mrs. jeon, chatting with her amiably while ah-young is trying hard not to doze off in her mother’s lap.

yoongi shifts so that hayoung is more comfortable on his shoulder before heading over to her. “hyungsu-nim,” he says quietly, so as to night wake up her daughter, “do you know where hyung is? and mom?”

“eomonim said that she was getting tired, so yoonseob took her to the hotel room she’s staying at,” sora tells him. “he went to go drop her off around an hour ago. he texted me saying he’d be back to pick us up, but,” she sighs. “you know how your brother is.”

yoonseob has the awful quality of getting lost everywhere, which makes him chronically late. “alright, thank you.”

jungkook is resting beside his mom, rubbing the bottom of his feet and wincing, when yoongi settles down next to him. “had fun?”

“this is all pomp and circumstance,” yoongi says, huffing, hiding the fond tone in his voice. mrs. jeon is talking to sora again, not paying attention to her son. “next kid, we are definitely not going this far - just a small family thing. and we’re wearing suits, if we have to be fancy.”

jungkook stills. yoongi shuffles hayoung into her carrier, already opened and ready for use. he doesn’t realize that jungkook is staring at him with wide eyes until he turns around. “what?”

“next kid?” jungkook repeats, half-asking.

yoongi flushes. “yeah - well...yeah. i mean. if you. wanted.”

jungkook laughs. “it’s only been a year.”

“i mean, not now,” yoongi says defensively, “maybe...maybe when hayoung is older, we can adopt another one? a son, maybe. if you want.”

yoongi doesn’t know what his heart is doing, exactly. it’s going somewhat haywire. he focuses on the baby because the baby is safe, the baby is right there, the baby is what they already have, not some metaphorical child they still have yet to properly talk about. he’s been thinking about another kid for a while - about a month, or so - but he’s never said any of his wants out loud. they’re already running themselves ragged with one kid, it almost seems impossible to be able to handle another.

but yoongi still wants.

“i dunno,” he hears jungkook’s voice say, “one child is already so much work. do you remember all the pain we went through when she was younger? i don’t think i could do that again.”

for a moment, yoongi is blinded by the words; it’s not like what jungkook is saying is wrong, because it’s not, but feelings of disappointment crash into him all at once anyway. after a moment, jungkook touches his shoulder and his tone, playful and dramatically whiny, registers.

“you little punk,” yoongi remarks, pinching jungkook’s thigh, “you’ve already thought about it, haven’t you?”

“maybe,” jungkook says in a way that means yes. “still, we should talk it over. you’re just high off of exhaustion, is all.”

yoongi snorts, but doesn’t disagree. with the calmness of the background music around him, jungkook’s warm hand on his shoulder, and the sound of mrs. jeon’s pleasant voice, yoongi closes his eyes and almost feels like he’s going to sleep. god, he really is tired.

then, a thought pops up that causes him to crack open an eye. jungkook is playing with the threads of his hanbok, slumped to one side. “so, you invited my mom, huh?”

for a long moment, jungkook’s expression doesn’t change, which tells yoongi all that he needs to know. the younger sighs. “you rarely talk to her anymore. maybe once every few months, even though you guys made up. the relationship between you two is so awkward! and she’s my mother-in-law; what else am i supposed to do? i’ve been talking to her since our wedding.”

he supposes he should feel hurt that jungkook has been talking to his mother behind his back, but yoongi doesn’t hold any resentment toward her anymore. she wasn’t the one that skipped out on his graduation and his wedding. she wasn’t the one to push him away when he didn’t measure up to expectations. if anything, his mom was just too terrified to say anything.

yoongi doesn’t feel hurt; just feels a sort of boneless relief, like he’s in stasis. no wonder she wasn’t clingy when she saw him today - jungkook has probably been telling her all about yoongi’s health and well-being enough to satiate her parental concerns.

jungkook lazes around like he’s expecting anger from yoongi, or perhaps a shutdown of his emotions. his fingers turn purposefully gentle on yoongi’s shoulder. grabbing the hand and squeezing it briefly, he offers a genuine, “thanks.”

“you’re welcome,” he responds softly. “but you should really call her more often. she misses you. she misses hayoung too, and there’s already so much of her life she hasn’t been a part of. don’t you think that it hurts her, not being able to hug and love her granddaughter?”

“i wouldn’t know, she barely hugged her own son when he was still around,” yoongi says dryly, acerbically, perhaps just to taste the familiar, acrid palate of bitterness. the fight leaves him in a whoosh, and he slumps. “god, i’m so tired. i didn’t mean that.”

“you did, though,” jungkook’s hand presses against his shoulder blades, relieving pressure. “it’s okay. do you want to go home now?”

yoongi spots yoonseob coming in through the entrance, and then nods. he shakes awake mr. jeon, who is snoring slightly in his seat, and gives junghyun one last hug before they leave. junghyun pinches jungkook’s cheeks and tells him to eat better before gathering his parents and motioning for them to leave.

“you see, look at all of them,” mrs. jeon says as they’re walking out the venue, “your little brother is married and his child is one year old now! even your brother-in-law’s brother is married with a daughter! junghyun, when are you going to get a wife, huh?” she’s tugging on his sleeve and then his ear when it’s obvious that junghyun isn’t listening to her. jungkook snickers from behind.

yoongi waves goodbye to his older brother, who’s getting into his car on the other side of the parking lot. as a last resort, the eldest jeon sibling turns to him; “hyungnim, save me,” junghyun mutters despondently. “mom, please - “

“hyung, you should go on blind dates,” jungkook says cheerfully. the little glint in his eye tells yoongi that he’s being devious and enjoying it. “maybe you’ll find someone you like and then get married and then you can name your child something with young so all the kids can be the three-young trio.”

“for the love of god, jungkookie,” yoongi cuts in, “please stop talking to my older brother.”

“the three-young musketeers.”

“you need to go to sleep,” junghyun says flatly.

/

when they get home, the college kid from next door is smoking outside in the hallway. yoongi’s just gotten home from grocery shopping, hayoung in her stroller after a three hour long shopping trip because his daughter has to touch everything, and this er is smoking in the goddamn hallway.

he leaves hayoung in front of mrs. im’s apartment and bounds up to the college kid, smacking the cigarette out of his hand. he’s tall, with dark brown hair and a face that can only belong to a chaebol. probably wasting his father’s money and riding his life out the way he wants it too. the kid scowls furiously; “what the is wrong with you, ahjussi?”

“watch your mouth,” yoongi snaps. “you’re smoking in the hallway, that’s my problem. because of you i can’t get inside my house because then my daughter will end up breathing these noxious fumes and get sick.” he bares his teeth in a sneer. leaning in close, yoongi jerks the kid’s collar down. “you wanna mess with my daughter, brat? you really wanna damage her health that way?”

and it’s been a long time since he’s actively punched anyone, or gotten into a fight, but his tongue still knows how to spit venom. he’s seen this kid plenty of times before, in many other nameless faces; in his posh private high school, in the extravagant business dinners his father would take him to, in the rich kids using their money to buy whoever and whatever they wanted. he holds no sympathy for them, or him.

and just like those kids, skin as delicate as paper and ego just as cracker-thin, this one just sort of deflates, shrinking back against yoongi’s hold. “n-no, sir.”

yoongi lets him go. “good,” he says in a low, warning tone. “go and open your door to air out the hallway; don’t smoke here again. you wanna smoke, you take your pack of cigarettes and you go outside this building to where the rest of the ashtrays can keep you company.”

he goes back to his groceries and his daughter, who looks up at him with big doe eyes. he covers her little mouth and nose with her blanket and makes sure her face is hidden against his shoulder. the groceries are put in her place in her pram. as the kid slinks over to open his apartment door, yoongi shuts his behind him.

he tells jungkook all of this over a dinner of take-out chinese food. he mentions everything; the smoke, the awful stench of nicotine, the blatant disregard for others. jungkook listens to all of it in stride.

“he sounds a lot like you,” is what he cuts in with finally, looking down at his sweet and sour chicken and cutting off a little piece for hayoung.

yoongi takes immediate offense to that. “seriously? me? we’re nothing alike, me and that punk kid.”

“hm,” jungkook sounds indulgent, and it only makes yoongi huff. “okay, okay, no need to get so frustrated.”

“we’re not,” yoongi insists.

jungkook sets down his chopsticks. “you’re both sons of businessmen who want you to do one thing when all you want to do is the other,” he says quietly. “the only difference between you and him is that you broke away and suffered the fallout; it looks like he’s staying and suffering through keeping himself up. what kind of college kid would want to live by himself in the middle of the business district, yoongi-ah?”

“and maybe you didn’t excessively smoke, drink, and party like he seems to be doing,” jungkook continues, “but you weren’t kind either. you weren’t the best person to be around.”

no, he wasn’t the best person. he was careless and rude and didn’t find anyone or anything worth his time or his feelings. he thought that the world was a cold, lonely place, and in it existed nothing but the worst of people who only wanted one thing out of him and one thing only. it was hard to smile genuinely. it was hard to be sincere about anything - friendships, love, family - until...until jungkook.

“so what,” he pushes aside his noodles, not feeling hungry anymore. “he’s like me? i’m like him? we’re both firecrackers waiting to be set off?”

“no, yoongi,” jungkook reaches over to rub a thumb over his knuckles, a familiar attempt to calm him down that always works. yoongi doesn’t realize his body getting tenser until it slumps under jungkook’s slight touch. “i’m just saying; don’t be too harsh on him. he’s still just a kid. would you treat hana like that if she decided to move out and started smoking and drinking?”

“no, god,” yoongi says, startled. even if his daughter did the worst thing in the world to him, he couldn’t imagine not loving her. it’s why he wonders so much about his father’s decision so often -

jungkook half-smiles. “you would sit her down and talk to her, wouldn’t you? you would comfort her and tell her that it’s okay to feel angry and lost sometimes, but that there are better ways to find yourself. that’s the kind of man you are.”

yoongi isn’t the guy who likes starting fights. even in college, when he’d come home with bruises and cuts, he never found fighting a way of getting rid of all that he felt. the anger didn’t go away; it only grew.

“yeah,” he murmurs. hayoung burbles and is covered with red-orange sauce. jungkook wipes it away with her bib; yoongi’s hand feels cold when he lets go.

he remembers a half-hidden memory from long ago; things that he wished very hard to bury in the back of his mind. he remembers jungkook’s tears, the younger placing his palms on yoongi’s bloody face, leaning over him. there were sirens in the background. yoongi doesn’t remember much except for the sight of jungkook’s mouth, opened and ugly, crying out his name. doesn’t remember much except for the salty taste of tears and the metal tang of blood on his tongue.

jungkook was begging him to stay awake. and while yoongi fought, the paramedics came. he still remembers, vaguely, jungkook saying one last thing to him before he was forced away: “why do you always leave?”

yoongi didn’t know what he meant that day. it’s only years later, when he looks back, does he maybe understand a gist of what jungkook was talking about. he doesn’t think jungkook is aware of the fact that yoongi remembers this. he’s never brought up those words again.

yoongi stands up and cracks his back, wincing as he does so. “you’re not going to finish?” jungkook asks, motioning to his almost done bowl of noodles.

“nah, save it for tomorrow.” yoongi ruffles his hair. “i think - i think i’ll be in the studio for a while, babe. you going to finish up here?”

jungkook looks at him for a second, gaze undecipherable. it’s okay; yoongi has nothing to hide from him anymore. after a moment, he says, “yeah, go ‘head. i’ll put the leftovers away and you can take them tomorrow for lunch or something.”

the original plan was to work on something - anything - to untangle the mess of feelings that are rising within him all of a sudden. he opens his laptop and almost starts up the software when something comes over him. he leaves the laptop open, but redirects his attention to the lowest drawer of his desk, where only a couple of things are held in storage; the original ring box that held their wedding rings, the guitar pick jungkook bought him that has yg encrusted on the side, and beneath it all, a bound leather book.

it’s small and old, with yellowing pages. he opens the cover and runs his fingers over the familiar edges of faded handwriting: this belongs to jeon jungkook. if lost, please don’t read inside!!!

he flips through the pages. the unfinished, raw words of the man he loves shows through the ink and the sentences. jungkook makes poetry out of broken glass, beauty out of dilapidated houses. he repairs open stitches and cauterizes wounds long forgotten. he’s one of those people that heals just by being himself. yoongi can’t think of anyone who hasn’t liked him, in some way or another, because it’s difficult to find such a genuinely good person; it doesn’t matter if jungkook is cranky sometimes, or if he gets upset at certain things, or if he’s anxious and indecisive. the essence of him is someone who wholeheartedly tries his best to be his best.

that’s why yoongi fell in love with him, after all.

he smiles when he’s flickering through the numerous songs and scrawls and doodles until he comes across the journal entries. jungkook’s never been much of a big writer when it comes to himself. he’s always expressed anything he’s had to say through music or through art. this is one of the few precious moments, one of the few bare thoughts he’s ever written down in his journal, all the way at the end, when music or poetry just couldn’t cut it. and while jungkook had given yoongi this book many years ago to keep, yoongi has never read it. somehow, it still feels like an invasion of privacy.

even now, he only reads one line before closing the book completely. it’s one line that he’s memorized by heart, the only line he reads whenever he gets on this page.

yoongi, i realized what kind of man you are today.

the book closes with a silent thud, and yoongi carefully settles it beneath the pick and the papers and the ring box. everything important he’s ever had in his life is in there, in that drawer, and in the bedroom next to him.

/

jungkook is sleeping. yoongi knows he’s sleeping for real; his breath is soft, steady, the length of his back sprawled over yoongi’s side of the bed, his mouth slightly open to reveal the bottom of his overbite.

yoongi feels different. the tiredness from earlier is gone; the weakness in his bones is replaced by something else that is akin to the burning twist of want. he lays down next to jungkook’s body and presses his mouth against his collarbones, lightly moving upward. he kisses jungkook’s neck, his ear, the corner of his jaw.

a hand reaches down to crawl up jungkook’s shirt, to the flat planes of his stomach and the sharpness of his hipbones. it’s at this touch that jungkook begins to wake up, mumbling into his pillow.

yoongi digs his nose into jungkook’s neck and inhales. the scent of him, mixed in with yoongi’s own, soothes a jittering in his bones that yoongi didn’t realize he had.

“wh’s goin’ on,” jungkook murmurs, reaching a hand back to feel for yoongi’s head. “yoong, th’t you?”

“yeah, babe,” yoongi runs a warm hand down jungkook’s side, from his ribs to his hip. he could kiss jungkook safely on the cheek and call it a night, spoon him from behind and let the sight of jungkook’s broad shoulders lull him to sleep, but yoongi doesn’t want to. he presses another heated kiss against the shell of jungkook’s ear, then to the corner of his mouth.

“, are we,” jungkook snorts, but he doesn’t push away yoongi’s hands.

/

it’s sunday evening and it’s raining outside. it’s not a particularly nice day, even though it’s april. the sun should be shining, but instead it’s overcast with spring thunderstorms. yoongi has never seen a city more temperamental than seoul. jungkook is leaning against the arm of their couch, watching a drama, and hayoung is on the floor in front of him, playing with her books. she’s pretending to read them, pointing her fingers at the page the way she sees yoongi do when he’s reading her a story.

yoongi sits down at the piano in their living room and plays a few quiet chords. it’s enough for hayoung’s attention to be peaked, but jungkook looks like he’s about to half fall asleep on the couch.

he plays nothing of importance - just a couple of tunes, a few short numbers. the electrical piano is folded up and stored in their studio. in it’s place is a large, sleek black grand piano, one the last few things yoongi’s father gifted him. it’s in good condition and smells like the perfume of his old home.

the lid is closed and yoongi plays things from memory. he senses more than sees his daughter come over to him, standing up behind yoongi by leaning on the edge of the piano bench.

at the last chord, he turns around and motions for jungkook to join him. the younger, who has long since stopped watching his drama, wordlessly follows.

since hayoung is taking up the space next to yoongi on the piano bench, jungkook lifts himself up and sits cross-legged on the piano top. yoongi raises an eyebrow at him, but jungkook only leans back and shrugs.

“you know, i wrote you a song.” yoongi begins, casually, tapping his finger on a key.

jungkook’s eyes are locked on hayoung, where she’s bouncing up and down in her red dragon onesie. “that so?”

“yeah,” yoongi says quietly. “i write a lot of songs about you.”

it feels a little bit like a confession. hayoung’s hands find their way to the hip of his jeans, so he presses his index finger to the middle of her palm briefly. she squeals.

jungkook’s lip quirks upward. “a lot of songs about me? did you mean you write a lot of songs for me?”

“that too,” he says carelessly. “usually the songs about you are also for you, so.”

his husband laughs. “why?”

“because i fall in love with you all over again, every day,” his fingers start pressing chords and keys he’s memorized by heart. “and i want you to fall in love with me again too.”

hayoung quiets down as yoongi plays; it’s a sad song, a soft song, played in minor keys. it haunts the walls of their living room. it curls around yoongi’s ears and takes hold of his lungs and makes his knees weak with the force of his own emotions; his heart, laid out in between the musical notes.

hayoung holds onto the hem of his shirt, and it feels like the only thing that’s keeping him anchored.

in the middle, somewhere, jungkook begins singing along. he hums, just a little, following the beat a second too late.

“you don’t need to try,” is what he tells yoongi when the last keys are still ringing. “sometimes it’s like you think you don’t deserve me, or it’s like you think i’ll disappear if you don’t hold on. i’m always here, yoongi.”

why do you always leave?

yes, jungkook’s always there. it’s yoongi who leaves.

maybe that’s why he writes these songs - to show jungkook that he doesn’t want to leave; he hasn’t wanted to in a long, long time.

instead, he looks down at his hands, at his cuffs. he hates spring and he hates the rain; it makes him inquisitive, pensive. spring brings life and vivacity and hope, and all these things hook onto the open bones of his ribcage and makes him vulnerable. in it, he hurts, and he heals.

“you’re my entire world,” he says, voice cracking, and it’s not an exaggeration or flowery prose or a declaration of love; it’s the truth, stark and simple and devastatingly human.

he doesn’t know what he would do without jungkook in his life. he doesn’t know who he’d be without hayoung; without their shared smiles, their infectious laughter, their way of bringing yoongi to his metaphorical knees just with the effortless, boundless depth of their affection.

the source of this affection hops down from the piano lid and sits next to him. jungkook doesn’t say those words out loud, but it’s there in the way he holds yoongi’s cheek, palm warm against his face. he kisses yoongi and teases, “you’re such a romantic.”

“am not,” yoongi grumbles, feeling his face flush.

“you are,” jungkook insists, “you just don’t want anyone to know.”

no one important, at least, yoongi adds in his mind. he stops playing to heave hayoung into his arms, letting her reach forward to press a tiny finger against the keys. she can barely manage it and only succeeds with a little help from yoongi. when the single high note rings through the air, she blinks, amazed. it looks like her entire world perception is shifting.

yoongi knows just how that feels.

/

he doesn’t exactly mean to do more than get milk and a packet of pickled radish from the convenience store down the block from their apartment building. his nose is running from spring allergies, his back is kinda hurting too, and all he can think about is jungkook napping in their warm bed. what yoongi would do to be back there now.

it’s morning enough for the world to be slowly waking up, sluggishly moving along. yoongi’s in a pair of sweatpants, sneakers, and an old hoodie. it’s comfortable and makes him ten times more crankier than usual because it just reminds him that he could be home right now, having breakfast with his daughter or snuggling his husband.

but they’re ing out of milk.

hayoung needs milk, yoongi thinks bleakly. his daughter. the baby. the one year old baby. needs milk. yoongi must persist. he wonders if he should buy a bottle of water to splash his face with.

he’s waiting on line when he notices the kid. it’s the college student next door, looking shaggy and out-of-place; he’s holding up two packets of cigarettes, obviously rolling over the decision to buy them in his head. he’s huddled in the corner, looking like the world is crashing down on him or something, and everyone passes by without much of a care. maybe they just don’t see it.

that’s the kind of man you are.

god, he doesn’t like being a good person.

yoongi grabs a 500 won packet of kimchi and a bowl of instant ramen. he grabs an egg, seaweed, and flavoring packets for good measure.

when all the purchasing is done, he heads straight for the college kid - who still hasn’t let go of the cigarette packages, go figure - and pats his shoulder impatiently. the kid startles and drops one of the boxes.

“c’mon, i’m not waiting forever,” he says, tapping a foot. he sees the flash of recognition in the kid’s eyes. he seems like he’s about to run away for a second, unpleased, but yoongi just raises an eyebrow and the kid ducks his chin and scowls. yoongi starts walking toward the back, where he knows there’s a hot water dispenser and wooden chopsticks to spare.

he takes out the stuff he’s bought for ramen and shoves it toward the kid, leaning against the chilled vending machines. “eat something, you look like you’re about to throw up.”

“i - “ the kid fumbles with the packets before looking down at them in confusion. “i don’t...know how to make this.”

yoongi rolls his eyes. ing chaebols.

he rips open the ramen packet and adds hot water and the seasonings. after a couple of awkward minutes, he motions for the kid to open it up and add in everything else.

“don’t smoke,” yoongi starts, when the kid’s taken his first bite. “that brand is ty, anyway.”

he chokes, patting at his own chest. “s-sorry?” he sounds like he’s trying to understand what yoongi’s saying instead of apologizing, but yoongi interprets it as he wants to.

“don’t be sorry to me, i was just angry that you were smoking in a place that has kids,” yoongi grumbles, thinking back on his behavior a couple of days ago and starting to regret it. jungkook was right; maybe he shouldn’t have been so harsh. the kid in front of him could be different from what he’s seen a couple of days ago. “my daughter is only a year old; there’s a high school girl living right next to you, and a couple of middle school kids down the hall. the guy across from you goes to university.”

“i know,” the kid mumbles. “the guy across from me, i mean. i didn’t - i didn’t know there were kids in the building.”

“mostly because you didn’t ask. but there are. if you’re gonna do something ty to your body, do it only to your body, okay? don’t air that poison out for everyone else to breathe in. if you’re going to kill yourself, kill yourself only, thanks.”

again, the kid chokes. his face is quickly becoming pink; in anger, or in embarrassment, yoongi can’t tell.

“you’re kinda rude, ahjussi,” he says, after he’s gotten his bearings.

“listen, it’s not like i want to be here,” yoongi scowls.

at this, the kid’s face twists in frustration and confusion. “then why are you?”

yoongi thinks of jungkook’s warm hand over his, of his songbook, of him saying - that’s the kind of man you are. he sighs. “i have a bleeding heart, that’s why.”

all he gets is a blank face.

“i’m min yoongi. you can call me yoongi-ssi - i’m nowhere near old enough to be called ahjussi.” no way was the kid going to call him hyungeither.

“kwon eunbyul,” says the chaebol, his shoulders straightening. he’s obviously used to everyone reacting to his name, even a little bit, but yoongi only yawns. god, he could be in bed right now.

yoongi doesn’t respond after that, preferring to watch eunbyul eat. it creeps the other out, obviously, as he sort of shuffles away from yoongi, but he’s stuffing his mouth with ramen like he’s never eaten a more delicious meal. even the 500 won kimchi seems to be like some handmade royal cuisine, the way he chows it down.

“christ, kid, calm down,” yoongi says incredulously. “you’re going to choke, at this rate.” does this kid always put himself in the line of danger?

eunbyul does so, wiping at his mouth with a napkin and cringing. “it just...tastes good.”

“yeah, that brand is better than most,” yoongi says blithely. “one of my friends actually showed it to me; before i bought ty x-brand, which always had soggy noodles. not that i eat much convenience store anymore, i get good food at home.”

eunbyul lowers his chopsticks. he looks a little uncomfortable, like he’s been tilted off-course. “my dad sends someone over with food two days every week. they always drop it off by the door. it’s pretty much the same food i’ve been eating all my life, so i know my mom isn’t making it.”

“,” yoongi thinks of the trash in front of the door. “my mom didn’t cook that much either.”

“yeah?”

“oh yeah,” yoongi remembers it now, his mom’s wincing face whenever she would get near a stove. “we had a cook who did all of that for us. but now my husband usually takes care of all the actual meals, because the most i can make is bachelor food. i gotta say - it’s around a thousand times better. don’t tell him, though, or else he’ll accuse me of lying.” jungkook will also say that he’s incorrigibly biased, which, yeah okay maybe.

“it’s better? than a professional cook’s food?” eunbyul looks dubious at that.

“good food is good food,” yoongi shrugs. “the best food is the kind of food made and given with care. look at how fast you’re eating that ramen. faster than i did after studying forty-eight hours straight for finals when i was in college.”

eunbyul flushes.

“look, kid,” yoongi sighs, because he can’t believe he’s about to say this but dammit ever since he’s gotten married he’s such a er  - “if you want to just...talk, okay, i’m here.”

at this, eunbyul seems to physically shrink back. his face says it all: what would you know about anything i’m going through?

“just putting it out there,” yoongi finishes quietly. he shakes the bag hanging on his wrist. “i gotta go.”

it doesn’t feel like he’s done much, but who knows? jungkook is still in bed when he gets home, but hayoung is wide awake and playing with her socked feet. she’s so adorable, her hands grabbing her tiny toes and her eyes wide, cheeks flushed with color, yoongi can’t comprehend not being able to love their baby; can’t comprehend parents who claim to love their children only to throw them away just because they grow up to have dreams.