when yoongi dreams, he dreams about spring.

he dreams about the rose petal softness of jungkook’s mouth and dewdrops clumped in his eyelashes. he dreams about jungkook sleeping in green meadows and fields, those that you find nowhere near seoul. he dreams of jungkook curling in the sun, legs and arms reaching out toward the light. he dreams about jungkook opening his eyes and smiling, dark and alluring; he dreams of jungkook, mouth opened in a yawn, holding it light feather-heavy touches against his skin. from in between his words does the sky decorate itself with stars.

and then yoongi dreams of resting next to him, brushing aside the leaves in jungkook’s hair and watching them turn brown and wither as they fall away from his body. his daughter - a girl now, her eyes almond-shaped and clever, fingertips like her father’s - giggles and kisses jungkook on the cheek. then she holds yoongi’s hand, her palm so tiny against his, and everything seems bright.

he wakes up to the sound of jungkook singing. he’s a vague outline while yoongi’s eyes get used to the darkness after being jerked out of sleep, but yoongi knows that voice by heart. he’s memorized the way jungkook breathes, the sound he makes when he sighs, the sound he makes when silence is all that is between them.

then, with a jolt, he realizes what song jungkook’s singing.

it’s an old song, something yoongi wrote after being drunk off his and angsty as all hell. it’s the song that he threw out and wanted to burn, a song that he wrote after jungkook left the door behind him at the sound of their shouted words and glass breaking. yoongi never thought he would see jungkook again after that; he drunk himself into oblivion to feel like he wasn’t swallowing thorns. he thought he’d never see that song again. just hearing its words - its half forgotten melody - is enough to make yoongi’s blood go cold.

but jungkook - jungkook makes it seamlessly soothing, lips curving over the vowels and consonants. he’s rocking hayoung in his arms, looking more content than he has in ages. yoongi can see the crinkle of his eyes, the way he flutters his fingers over her browbone; how he lowers his eyelids until it looks like he’s sleeping, too. from his tongue the words turn from grief and anger to a somber, wistful sonnet, a wish that’s flying away. jungkook must have found this song somehow, somehow. yoongi remembers wanting to burn it the moment he was able to kiss jungkook again, never wanting to see proof of how hard he’d hit rock bottom.

yet...yet, jungkook does what he always does; he touches it and it becomes gold.

hayoung is already asleep. she’s not moving or making noises, so yoongi knows. yet jungkook is still singing, holding her near his heart, blankets draping over his forearms.

yoongi pretends to sleep. it feels too comfortable to get up; the bed is warm with the weight of jungkook’s unending, steadfast love.

/

valentine’s day is fast approaching soon. two years ago valentine’s day was shown over by their wedding preparations, and the year before was them rushing to fill out papers to adopt hayoung. yoongi remembers vaguely what they did for the previous valentine’s days - staying at a beach house, going on a movie date, etc - but what yoongi remembers the most is the feeling of jungkook’s hands in his head, jungkook’s skin against his own.

their valentine’s day is quiet and pensive, almost. jungkook wakes up earlier than normal, citing a cramp in his side, and yoongi takes the opportunity to massage it it. his fingers work at jungkook’s shoulders, at his familiar body and his familiar skin, still so tempting to kiss after so many years. jungkook gives little sounds of relief and leans into yoongi until he’s against yoongi’s chest, looking up at him through his bangs.silently, jungkook picks up both his palms and uses them to move yoongi’s face to his own, kissing the tip of his nose.

hayoung isn’t fussy at all; she’s surprisingly quaint today, obediently opening and closing as yoongi feeds her that morning. she’s playing with cereal and popping them in , occasionally giving them to yoongi and stuffing some of them in his shirt pocket, before making grabby motions at jungkook when she sees him. jungkook instead nips at her outstretched palms and she blinks and retracts her hands, staring at them, and jungkook takes that moment to escape and flit to yoongi’s side.

“morning,” he murmurs, pressing a dry kiss against yoongi’s cheek. “did you eat?”

“mm, no,” yoongi replies. while hayoung is once again distracted, yoongi quickly spoons her another mouthful. “the princess is almost done, though.”

“good, she’s the most important,” jungkook smiles. something about him is glowing; yoongi doesn’t know if it’s the roundness of his cheeks or the gleam of his eyes. “what do you want for breakfast? stew?”

“pancakes?” yoongi suggests, mostly joking, but then jungkook makes a little thinking sound before agreeing. “what, really? western-style pancakes?”

“yeah, why not?” he gets busy, opening cupboards and pulling out what he needs. “if you want pancakes, i’ll make pancakes.”

“that so?” yoongi’s amused, watching the lines of jungkook’s body with lazy eyes. “how long do you think it’ll take?”

“fifteen minutes?” jungkook shrugs. “something like that. finish feeding your daughter.”

“she’s your daughter too,” yoongi scoffs.

“yeah, but you’re papa,” jungkook grins, and it hits yoongi like an arrow.

he leaves the bowl and the spoon near hayoung and crowds jungkook against the countertop. huffing, jungkook pushes him back with two fingers before propping himself up on the countertop. yoongi laughs and pushes the flour aside.

“you’re awfully playful,” he raises an eyebrow, before pulling him in without waiting for an answer. jungkook tastes like toothpaste and mint; his mouth is silky smooth underneath yoongi’s, pliant. the drag of him against yoongi’s body - his hips in yoongi’s hands, his arms propped around yoongi’s shoulders - is addicting. he doesn’t cease to be attractive at all, even after the passage of time has caused laughter lines and sharp elbows.

hayoung bangs her spoon against her table, again, demanding attention. jungkook doesn’t break yoongi’s gaze, blinking twice, before humming and mouthing at his adam’s apple. he pushes yoongi away lightly. “go wait,” he chides, before disappearing from yoongi’s hold like a dream.

he turns to hayoung and sighs. “what a lucky guy i am, huh?”

“bup!” she agrees.

/

that night, it’s storming outside. they keep quiet; yoongi doesn’t notice the lightning outside, too preoccupied with the electricity skipping in between them like forest fire as he presses jungkook into the mattress.

/

one day, when jungkook is at work, yoongi is just lazily watching his daughter roll around on the floor. there’s a pink rubber ball near her, a rattle, and her various teething toys. she’s in a tiny onesie that jungkook still loves to dress her up in, covered in tiny music notes. yoongi pats her on the head often and just marvels at the feel of her downy-soft hair. she burbles at him and he wipes away her spit absentmindedly, not even bothering to feel disgusted anymore.

“i wonder what you’ll like doing when you grow up,” yoongi muses.

“go up,” she repeats, throwing the ball on the floor. she’s been doing that a lot recently; mimicking words that everyone around her says, to just get used to the sound of the word rather than know what it means. she understands a lot - what “no” means, give me, don’t touch, and so on. small things that is accompanied by a tone that guides her into choosing how she’s supposed to react.

she’s shy around strangers and surprisingly, seokjin. she whenever seokjin is around she clings to yoongi’s neck and buries her little face in his collar, taking it and putting it in . whenever she’s around hoseok or jimin or taehyung she laughs along with them, finding their antics amusing and loud, and whenever she’s around namjoon she attempts to pull at his hair. namjoon is still deathly afraid of even touching her, and adopts a hilariously alarmed face when she comes near him.

she’s already showing signs of being her own person. she like’s namjoon’s brightly colored hair and peaches, paints, and the one rattle with a ladybug on it. she sleeps with her purple elephant plushie every night and demands to be sung to sleep. she likes jimin’s camera and will always try to totter in front of it to try and touch the lens. she somehow thinks yoongi’s glasses are some sort of wondrous, magical food that she must eat, and she’s always fooled by the airplane trick. she likes slapping tables and other flat surfaces to get people’s attention and she’s figured out that if she cries when she wants something, most likely it’ll be yoongi who will give it to her.

he mourns his future, when she’ll be in high school and then all she’ll ask for is new clothes and the newest phone and this and that, and yoongi will be powerless to do anything but comply. where the hell did his resistance go?

yoongi stares at his own phone, rereading the last text jungkook sent him. he’s changed his photo background again. this time, it’s a picture that jungkook uploaded to their computer from their last picnic outing; it’s a photo yoongi stole in secret and put into the pile for jungkook to make digital. it’s a snapshot of him, head decorated with gold, eyes crinkled as he smiled. his feet are barefoot and he’s sitting with his legs crossed, leaning back against the grass on his arms, and he looks like an ethereal being. yoongi doesn’t know how one person can seem so real and so notat the same time.

it’s only him that feels this way. when jimin saw his phone background, he cooed and then went on looking through yoongi’s apps. taehyung said that yoongi should take up photography again and then proceeded to mess around with his own camera. none of them seemed to see what yoongi does. he’s grateful, partly, because that means that this side of jungkook is for him to see only.

he pats hayoung as she grabs onto his pant leg and attempts to pull herself up. he grabs onto her little arms and helps her along, watching as she tries to use her little legs to support her own weight.

one day, she won’t need him to hold her up anymore.

“you’re my baby girl, aren’t you,” yoongi kisses her baby-soft cheek. “no matter how much you grow up, you’re always going to be my precious baby girl. papa loves you so much.”

“papa,” hayoung repeats, smiling wide. her two bottom teeth appear, and yoongi feels his heart thud painfully.

/

yoongi doesn’t know what it is, but it’s always been a point of fascination to watch jungkook cook.

he’s not as good a cook as seokjin is, who’s learned from the best and gone to culinary school for it, but his food reminds yoongi about the type of food his mom used to make. homemade, easy, and familiar; with it’s own taste and style. he doesn’t eat kimchi like jungkook’s in restaurants or bars. there’s certain ways he does things and an easy vibe he holds around the kitchen that doesn’t speak of a close intimacy, really, but maybe a routine familiarity.

it was during over dinner that jungkook mentioned he learned how to cook in college. “i was spoiled up until the moment i left,” he said, remembering his mother’s own food. with the way mrs. jeon cooked, yoongi could understand why. “but then in college, jimin-hyung couldn’t make much - just sandwiches, drinks, cereal and omelettes, stuff that doesn’t need a lot of thinking - and i thought, how hard could it be? i asked seokjin hyung to teach me my first year, and i was so bad at everything at first, but then i kept practicing and then got better and better.”

yoongi doesn’t particularly care. it’s not like he got a lot of homemade food from his mom after there were people to start cooking for him instead. the smell of jungkook’s cooking reminds yoongi of home.

he’s making something now; it looks like japchae, with the noodles and the vegetables. there’s already a bunch of side dishes done, resting on the table. it’s enough to last them ‘till tomorrow’s lunch.

“i think hana will be able to eat this,” jungkook says, mixing together and vegetables. he’s got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “it’s softer, and the vegetables are steamed this time, so if we just mash them..”

“sounds good to me,” yoongi replies. “anything i need to do?”

“sit down and make sure the water doesn’t disappear completely,” he orders, waving yoongi aside. “you could learn how to do something, too. like stew, or whatever.”

“i’ll end up burning the house down,” yoongi sighs, because he’s only really good at grilling meat. he has a wacky sense of time and it’s a wonder he gets to work on time (that’s because jungkook has set his alarm clock to wake him up in five minute intervals). given the responsibility to remember when food is cooking and when it’s cooked and how long it should be cooking for, yoongi’s pretty sure all he’d end up with is disgusting mush. the only reason he’s good at grilling is because he’s usually so hungry he’s watching the food with a hawk’s eye.

“we’ll train you,” jungkook says lightly. “or we can hire seokjin-hyung and give him a break from being a stuffy first-class chef.”

yoongi says into jungkook’s shoulder, muffled, “oh yeah - this place is a real grade up.”

jungkook pokes him in the side and then offers him a bite of vegetables. not one to give up food, yoongi chomps down.

“now i’m even more hungry,” he whines, and jungkook huffs out a laugh.

/

the weather is getting better. yoongi’s making a bit more money now, so jungkook doesn’t pack him lunch all the time. his songs are getting noticed by bigger companies - not just their small pick anymore. even still, yoongi likes the people in this company - he likes his coworkers, who bug him about jungkook and ask if they can have some of his kimbap because most of them are still single and suffering through bachelor life; he likes the vending machine that needs to be kicked on the side so that it’ll work smoother; he likes his kids, who don’t let the idea of fame get to their head even though it could have.

they work hard, and it’s obvious in the way they carry themselves. surprisingly, out of all their vocal coaches and rapping coaches, yoongi is apparently the nicest.

one of the kids, woohyun, tells him this as they’re all crowded in the big recording studio. “the other ssaem is really tough, hyung,” he says. he’s a little younger than jungkook is, with a baby face. “like, he’ll want to teach us something but then he’ll use roundabout methods to do it, making us sing the same song and then point out the mistakes ourselves! and then when we don’t find it he gets upset and scowls.”

yoongi has a pretty good idea of who it is. he doesn’t say so, but that coworker is actually a flopping fish, always sighing and wondering if he’s being too harsh or too simple for the people he’s working for. yoongi smooths the track’s beat that they’re working on currently and smirks. “he just wants you to learn and grow in music; that’s what you want, right?”

“yeah, but i’ve always been good at learning things upfront,” another member, siwon, groans. he’s the maknae, still in his last year of high school. “hyung, my brain hurts when i have to think too much.”

yoongi berates them all, asking them how in the world did you get through high school? life is about working hard, kid - when his cell phone chimes. it’s a distinct tone that he set himself but rarely changed in the last two years, so the kids know immediately that it’s his. usually he keeps it in his pocket, but this time, he left it on the other side of the room. one of the kids jumps up to get it and runs to the other side, picking up his phone.

“who is it?” yoongi queries, pausing his software.

“someone named jungkook?” ilhoon, the guy who got it, blinks. “hyung, who is this on your phone background?”

“hand it here,” yoongi grumbles. he hasn’t been teaching these kids long - he’s a songwriter and musical artist by heart - so they don’t know much about him other than the fact that he’s their most patient teacher and that he usually comes in on certain days only.

“hello?” jungkook’s voice filters through, and he sounds distracted. “yoongi?”

“what’s up?”

“nothing, nothing - it’s just i think the roof is leaking.”

“what?” the roof? they live in an apartment. “what do you mean?”

he can practically hear jungkook’s frown. “i don’t know - i was practicing the piano and i lost the notes book, so i was looking around for it, and then out of nowhere i saw that the roof was leaking. there’s this huge puddle in front of our bathroom door, and there’s this huge wet spot like, right on top of the bathroom door.”

yoongi’s blown away. “why were you near the bathroom door? how in the world would a practice book be there?”

“that’s not the point,” jungkook snaps. “i called the super, but he’s not in, apparently. do you have the landlady’s number?”

“yeah, i’ll text it to you,” yoongi sighs. “did anything get ruined?”

“our ceiling,” jungkook mutters. “hana wants to play in the water - she crawled her way toward me while i was calling the super and felt the puddle, and now she’s crying because i told her she couldn’t.”

yoongi can’t hear hayoung’s sniffles, but he can imagine how unfair it must seem to her. he lets out a little snort. “okay, i’ll talk to you later.”

“mhm,” jungkook responds. “send me the landlady’s number, please!”

the boys were murmuring to themselves when yoongi took the call, giving him some modicum of privacy, but soon right afterward they bombard him with questions - wide-eyed and protected by the inkling of fondness yoongi has for them.

“who was that, hyung?”

“what model is that on your phone, hyung? i didn’t know you were that kinda person...”

“shut up, ilhoon, you have ailee sunbaenim’s picture on your phone, you have no place to talk - “ ilhoon screeches and covers his friend’s mouth, and yoongi sighs. why is it that he only seems to hang around children nowadays?

“it’s my husband,” yoongi states simply, putting his phone in his jacket pocket. “he’s not a model, no.”

the boys all gape at him. “you’re married, hyung?!?”

“wow, it must be so nice,” one of them whines. yoongi feels a pang of sympathy at these kids and their idol contracts, extending so far and wide over their bodies it controls the simplest things they can do. “is he older than you, hyung? where is he? can we meet him one day?”

“enough questions, back to work!”

“i bet it’s that jungkook guy that called, right?” siwon exclaims, and yoongi scowls. “hyung, c’mon, tell us!”

“all of you are trying to stop working now, aren’t you,” yoongi gives them a flat look. “okay, who’s practicing their flow next...”

/

jungkook scowls up at the ceiling and crosses his arms. he looks squishy in an oversized sweater that softens the lines of his body, and yoongi mentally hits himself; now is not the time to be thinking about getting jungkook out of his sweater.

“they said that they’re going to bring the maintenance man over tomorrow. apparently the bathroom of the guy above ours overflooded... his sink had a pipe burst, or something.”

“ouch,” yoongi winces. “how’s our bathroom?”

“intact,” jungkook sighs. “i didn’t use the shower or the sink after i found out. i think we’ll have to stay at a motel or something for now, because until he comes tomorrow, i’m not going to use that bathroom at all.”

“we can stay at jimin’s, if needed,” yoongi yawns. “i don’t think he’d mind, and he did say that he wanted to see you again.”

“yeah, sounds good,” jungkook asks yoongi to text him and make that a thing; jimin answers back in a minute, giving the okay and a little excited emoji. “i already packed all of hayoung’s bags, so take what you need and put it in that luggage.”

“can you do it for me? i’ll get the car ready.”

they go their separate ways; yoongi eyes the bowl jungkook left to catch all the water dripping. hayoung is quiet, being rocked in her rocker with soothing music, gnawing on her fingers and a plastic ring with bubbles contentedly.

when she spots yoongi, she squirms in her chair. it’s enormously cute. yoongi grins and leans down, kissing her forehead. “i’m home, baby girl,” he greets, letting her put his finger in his mouth before flicking it upward to catch her nose. “you’re going to greet me when i come home from now on, right? i’d like a cute little welcome home, with a hug and a kiss. think you can do that for me? your daddy doesn’t do it anymore.”

jungkook, who hears this from the hallway, scoffs. “keep your hands to yourself, min yoongi.”

“what do i have a husband for if i can’t touch him?” yoongi yells back, obviously teasing. jungkook appears next to him, hair mussed, rolling his eyes.

“you really want an elaborate welcome home?”

“it’d be nice to feel loved,” yoongi sniffs.

casually, jungkook leans down and yoongi waits patiently for whatever he’s going to do. he expects a little shy peck, not an actual hug and kiss, but what jungkook does is blow a raspberry on yoongi’s cheek, wetting it with saliva and running away right after. yoongi gets up in a split second and groans, chasing after him, wiping at his face.

“welcome home, old man!” jungkook cackles, disappearing on the other side of the bed. yoongi swears and rushes for him, catching jungkook around the waist when he can’t run because of the bed blocking his way. yoongi puts all his weight on jungkook until they’re both falling on over each other on the floor. yoongi wipes his wet cheek on jungkook’s shoulder, who groans.

“get off me, you lug, i need to pack.” there’s no bite to his tone, though. he grins and then rubs their noses together; they’re both on their sides, the carpet breaking their fall. “c’mon, go and get the car ready, my servant.”

“you started it,” yoongi bites at jungkook’s ear. “stop moving for a second.”

if he tries enough, yoongi can hear jungkook’s heartbeat. he thinks that he may have the beat memorized; he’s already knows jungkook’s timid movement of fingers as they brush aside his hair, his mouth pulled open by steady, silent breathing, his drag of legs underneath bed covers as they fall asleep.

“maybe we can get jimin to babysit for us,” he murmurs, tugging at yoongi’s hoop earring. it’s the one jungkook got him for his birthday, so many years ago, when they first started dating. “get some time for ourselves.”

“what will we do in that free time, huh?”

“oh, i don’t know,” jungkook flicks him gently. “let’s do the impossible; conquer a planet, break the sky, go on a date. so much to do.”

“sounds like a plan,” yoongi pulls him up by the arm. jungkook still looks squishy, and he can’t help himself; he goes in for a hug, resting his head against jungkook’s shoulder. vaguely, he feels jungkook hug back, his arms reaching up to grasp the material at yoongi’s back. he inhales widely, and yoongi smiles as he recalls jungkook’s love for his cologne.

“to our jobs,” jungkook reminds him gently, pulling away. he gives yoongi one of those breath-taking smiles and turns toward the closet. yoongi returns to the living room, where hayoung’s eyes are fluttering like she wants to take a nap.

he prods her gently so she looks up at him, disgruntled. “thank you for the wonderful welcome home,” he says to her, watching as she quietly wraps all five of her fingers around one of his own.