Jeongguk sits across from Yoongi, positioned between Taehyung and Jimin.

The seating order hadn’t been their pick, rather Taehyhung’s, who coordinated them at his own discretion. Yoongi thinks that Jeongguk looks a bit uncomfortable; his knees are pressed together tightly, spine straight and stiff and teeth worrying at his lower up. His eyes flit from one side to the other and then catch Yoongi’s gaze.

Jeongguk blinks once, the corners of his lips turning up, eyebrows furled. Quickly, his eyes turn to the floor again, hand brushing through his side-swept hair, expression turning from confusion to slight unease.

Yoongi follows Jeongguk’s gaze to Taehyung, who has one hand on a soju bottle, shimmying his shoulders from left to right. He spins it with clumsy fingers and it veers off course violently. He has to grab it and spin it again for it to make a semblance of a full rotation, and it comes to a stuttering stop on Namjoon and Jimin.

“Jiminie to Joonie-hyung,” Hoseok drags out, cheek pressed up on his palm and eyes droopy.

Taeyhung claps exuberantly and gives Jimin an attentive look, and Yoongi sighs.

“T-truth or dare, hyung?” Jimin asks, a nervous half-smile on his lips and knee bobbing up and down.

“Truth,” Namjoon says disinterestedly, and Jimin looks in what just so happens to be Taehyung’s direction. He rubs his chin, head tilted upwards and the frown on his face deeply pensive.

“What could I ask, hmm?”  

“Hmmm,” Taehyung echoes, mouth slightly ajar with a finger tapping on his chin.

Namjoon gives Yoongi a long look, shadows elongating his face and emphasizing the deep suffering in his eyes.

“Aha,” Jimin pronounces like he’s reading from a bad script, lifting a single finger. “I know. What about-”

“Look,” Namjoon looks to Taehyung, one hand rubbing at his temple. “It’s not supposed to be your question.”

 Jimin cuts off, finger still hovering in the air, and Yoongi doesn’t fail to notice the distressed gleam in his eyes when he and Taehyung share a look.

A couple of seconds pass, and Taehyung shifts in his seat, turning his face to Namjoon. He folds his hands primly in his lap and leans his head to one side, eyelashes casting long shadows on his cheeks.

There’s a rustling from Yoongi’s left side, and Yoongi looks over to see Seokjin open up a bag of crab chips. He catches Yoongi’s gaze and holds out the bag to him, eyebrows lifted.

Yoongi grabs a couple of chips with a grateful nod and turns back to observe the exchange.

Namjoon frowns, “Wanna say something?”

“Nothing, hyung,” Taehyung quips sweetly, hair curly and disheveled and a perfectly sincere smile on his face.

Yoongi chews on the chips, the taste of salt and crab seasoning melting down his tongue. Seokjin eats loudly by his side and Jeongguk’s eyes move from left to right rapidly, like he’s observing a tennis match.

Namjoon’s hand drops from his face, curling into a fist and relaxing again.

“Okay,” he allows, a sigh embedded into every letter of the short word. “Ask.”

A devilish smile almost too brief for Yoongi to catch crosses Taehyung’s face. A small shake of his head and his expression is impeccably pure again.

“If you-” Jimin lets out a strange noise, something between a giggle and a cough.  “If you had to pick one person from the circle to date, who - who would it be?”

 A suspended silence.

 Namjoon’s head swivels to look at Taehyung, who blinks a couple of times, a pleasantly befuddled smile on his face.

Yoongi suddenly hears a soft, grumbly noise from his left side. He turns to Hoseok who has his head poised on one hand, swaying slightly with eyelids flickering. Suddenly, his head falls forward and he snaps to half-consciousness, a heavy scowl on his face and the circles under his eyes the size of the Mariana trench.

“I hate to interrupt,” Yoongi speaks up and all heads turn to him, Seokjin even stopping with a hand poised in mid-air. “But if the pace doesn’t pick up, I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” Jimin frows in his direction. “Leaving where?”

“To Daegu, genius.”

There’s a small snort. Yoongi finds Jeongguk with his hand over his mouth, eyes narrowing mischievously and the apples of his cheeks pushed up. Jimin knocks his knee with Jeongguk’s, nostrils flared.

“Yah! You think that’s-”

“Seokjin-hyung,” Namjoon answers the question unexpectedly, cutting Jimin off. He lifts his glass of somac, covering up his expression.

All heads turn to regard Seokjin quietly, who just throws up a peace sign as a response, jaw still chewing and the tips of his fingers covered in orange crumbs. Taehyung turns his head then, eyes shifting to stare off into the distance, and he spins the bottle with a sharp flick of his wrist. Jimin chortles loudly and leans over Jeongguk to smack him on the thigh.

The bottle spins around rapidly, passing Taehyung, Namjoon, Hoseok and finally landing on –

“Taetae-” Hoseok mumbles, head dropping suddenly just to rise up moments after. “I’m awake - Taetae to - to Yoongi-hyung.”

Taehyung gives Yoongi a dazzling, square-shaped beam. Yoongi makes to get up, and Taehyung holds out his hand, fingers shaping a pistol.

“Hyung,” he says deathly seriously, hand barrel pointing to Yoongi’s chest. “Truth or dare.”

Yoongi turns to the side, setting one hand on Hoseok’s hunched back and another on his shoulder. Hoseok looks up at him, slightly cross-eyed and pale.

Gently, Yoongi, says, “Hobi-yah, are you fine?”

Hoseok mumbles out something vaguely affirmative, and Yoongi smiles at him. He opens his mouth to very generously suggest helping him out when -

“Hyung?” Jimin butts in, voice uncharacteristically sweet. Hoseok’s head turns slowly, looking at Jimin from half-lidded eyes, and he gives a short nod.

That must be some sort of cue, because Jimin gets up from the circle and goes up to Hoseok. Yoongi drops his hands as Jimin winds an arm around Hoseok’s waist tightly, Hoseok stringing his arm over Jimin’s shoulder.

Hoseok mumbles something out, and Jimin’s face lights up with a disgustingly tender smile. He pulls him up with a soft grunt, Hoseok leaning into him bonelessly, forehead pressed onto Jimin’s shoulder.

“Are they allowed to just go?” Yoongi prompts haughtily, and Namjoon gives him an incredulous look.

“What, you want him to black out on the floor?”

“No,” Yoongi says through his teeth. “That’s not-”

“We’ll be going now, then,” Jimin murmurs, a light snoring noise emanating from Hoseok’s parted lips. “Night, guys.”

Taehyung pretends to holster his gun and gives Jimin a beatific smile, “Nighty, Jiminie and Hoseokie-hyung.”

Seokjin waves them off with his bag as the two of them sidestep around him drunkenly and into the hallway, Jimin speaking softly to Hoseok.

“Ok,” Taehyung says, drawing his hand again and aiming at Yoongi’s chest.

Yoongi gives a huge jawn, “Man, am I tired.”

Taehyung adds another hand to his gun.

Yoongi wipes off the corners of his eyes. “Incredibly tired, wow, I really oughta -”

Taehyung clicks his tongue, lowering the imaginary safety.

“Are you really going to shoot me?” Yoongi holds a hand over his heart. “Honestly, that’s just -”

“Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says mildly. “Just say truth or dare already.”

Yoongi stares at Seokjin, who gives him such an amicable smile back that he can’t force himself to snap at him.

“Fine,” Yoongi grits out. “Dare me, kid.”

Taehyung looks down his finger, closing one eye. A dirty smile spreads over his lips, eyes shimmering wickedly.

“Kiss the most handsome person in the circle.”

Yoongi lifts up his palm quickly, puckering his lips, and Taehyung utters in one breath: “On the lips, excluding yourself!”

Yoongi lowers his hand and recovers quickly, “They’ve just left.”

“Second most handsome.”

“They’ve also just left.”

Taehyung pretends to pull the trigger, and Yoongi holds his chest and moans, “Ouch, I’m dead. What a shame that –”

Taehyung drops his hand in his lap, “The bullets are blanks.”

“I have -”

“Tae,” Namjoon interrupts, holding his palm in the air. “Sorry, but I don’t really wanna see two guys make out.”

“Right?” Yoongi urges. “Let’s hold a vote. All in favor of no kissing raise your hand.”

Yoongi’s hand shoots up and Namjoon’s follows.

Yoongi looks at Jeongguk, who’s gnawing on his lower lip and wringing his fingers, eyes burning a hole in the floor by his feet. He looks up then, eyes wide and mouth slack, looking uncannily like a deer caught in the headlights. Yoongi raises an eyebrow at him.

A heavy swallow and Jeongguk’s arm inches up slowly.

Taehyung’s head turns sharply, and he and Jeongguk have a short stare-off that Yoongi doesn’t bother trying to figure out.

Instead, he throws a loaded look at Seokjin, who only smiles with chipmunk cheeks and offers up his chips again.

“No thanks,” Yoongi retorts, looks to Taehyung. “It’s three to two.”

Taehyung swivels his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

“My vote counts for three.”

Yoongi snorts, “Please.”

“Jiminie and Hoseokie-hyung would have voted yes.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Yoongi insists. “They’re not here anymore.”

Taehyung folds his hand over his chest, and says somberly, “In my heart.”

 Yoongi rolls his eyes so hard they almost get stuck in the back of his head.

“What are you even talking about?”

“Alright, Tae,” Namjoon sets a palm on Taehyung’s knee, speaking with a carefully composed tone. “Is there a penalty for bailing out?”

“Age swap for two days,” Taehyung lilts, taking out something from behind his back that Yoongi swears he hadn’t even seen him hide. In his hands is a pink headband, two fluffy white ears poking out of it.

“While wearing this.”

“Well, there it is,” Namjoon says, giving Yoongi a pitying sort of grimace. “Take it or leave it.”

Yoongi’s head gives a violent throb, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Taehyung isn’t joking, Yoongi knows. There’s no way that he’ll be able to get out of the punishment, especially when Hoseok and Jimin find out about it. Not only that, but knowing how much Seokjin loves his polaroids, it will be immortalized forever. So, what’s left is –

Yoongi gives Namjoon a dire look. Namjoon blinks back at him, and then frowns, making an ‘x’ sign with his arms.

Yoongi looks to Seokjin, who wipes his glasses and perches them back on his nose. His lips look like moist silkworms, and Yoongi gets a crawling feeling on his skin just by thinking about it.

He doesn’t even bother considering Taehyung; he doesn’t want to catch rabies.

And so there’s only one person left.

Yoongi looks at Jeongguk and blinks once, surprised to find him already looking. Jeongguk’s head whips down immediately, dark brown hair falling over his face. There’s a dull redness spreading over his neck, visible in contrast with his oversized white t-shirt.

He’s a handsome kid, Yoongi thinks, tall and strong-jawed. If Yoongi choose truthfully, it would be him, and he thinks that everyone here suspects it. But Yoongi knows that he’s just a kid, no matter how grown-up he looks; the flushing and the bashful glances just further solidify that.

And so he sighs and looks at Taehyung, who still his arms crossed over and chest puffed up, looking theatrically dour.

“One day,” Yoongi tries, and Taehyung shakes his head.

 “Two.”

“One day and whiskers on my face.”

Taehyung claps once and sniggers, canines reflecting the ceiling light.

“Okay.”

 He shoves the headband in Jeongguk’s hands, giving his panicked look a pointed one, and saying: “You put it on, Kookie-yah.”

Jeongguk looks down at the fluffy band then up at Yoongi, teeth digging into his lower lip. Yoongi thinks that he’ll mangle it completely at this rate, so he gives him his most reassuring look and nods.

Jeongguk exhales. He gets on his knees and shuffles over and Yoongi hangs his head, looking at the greenish bruise on Jeongguk’s knee, poking out through the fashionably torn fabric. Jeongguk’s fingers brush against his head and the metal band slides and shapes itself to his scalp, leaving an uncomfortable sort of aching.

Yoongi refuses to straighten up and let everyone get a good glimpse of him, so he keeps his head down and closes his eyes. He hears more rustling around, and soon there’s a hand patting the back of his head. Taehyung’s candy breath blows in his face, voice way too close when he coos: “So cute, Yoongi-yah, so cute!”

Yoongi squashes the urge to head- him and straightens while keeping his facial muscles as relaxed as possible.

Jeongguk’s stares at him, lips pressed together like he’s trying not to burst out in laughter. Behind him, Yoongi finds Namjoon with his hands over his face, fingers parted to show just one eye. He makes a gagging noise when he gets a glimpse of Yoongi’s face, and Yoongi can’t even fault him for it.

“Wow,” Seokjin exclaims, reaching over to thumb at the headband. “They look like real ears.”

Taehyung’s grubby little hands are still petting him insistently and Yoongi smacks them away. Taehyung pouts and throws an overly warm arm over his shoulder, leaning in closer to his face.

“Be nicer to hyung, Syub-ah,” he scolds, and Yoongi grinds his teeth and prepares himself for a long, long night.

The rest of the evening passes in a similar, torturous fashion. Namjoon shoos them back into a circle formation, Taehyung sticking by Yoongi’s side in order to make his life as miserable as possible. To add insult to the injury, Yoongi catches Jeongguk looking at him more than once with an absolutely delighted smile on his face. The brat doesn’t even deign to look away this time, only looking slyer when Taehyung’s ideas to embarrass him become more and more elaborate.

Taehyung tries to drag it out for as long as possible but the game still gets stagnant soon, and Namjoon has to pull his house ownership card to force him into bed.

“I will,” Taehyung starts. “If Yoongi-ah piggy-backs-”

Namjoon cuffs him on the ear before he can get the rest of the words out, and Yoongi thinks that he’s never loved him more than in that moment.

All of them shuffle to the bathroom in a long procession. Yoongi feels absolutely drained, and he doesn’t like the idea of Taehyung stepping all over his toes just so he could brush his teeth. He decides to get some fresh air, so he turns around and lays a hand on the doorknob.

A small voice, “Hyung?”

Yoongi turns around. Jeongguk stands by the beginning of the hallway, scratching the back of his neck with his head crooked to the side, white shirt loose around his body.

“Go ahead,” Yoongi says. “I’m just gonna step out for a while.”

Jeongguk’s mouth twists and he shuffles, and Yoongi leaves before he can hear his answer.

Outside of the house, he slumps down on the second step leading to Namjoon’s door, specks of dirt digging into the skin of his palm. The headband is pinching behind his ears and he readjusts it, feeling like it left gouges in his skull.

He’s surrounded by the shadowy shapes of montage houses and small, drab apartment buildings. There are almost no lights coming out from any of the windows, the only illumination the blue hue of the moon high on the sky and the weak, ocher glow of the tall lamps.

Yoongi feels for the pocket of his sweatpants, and finds the familiar, rectangular cylinder. He flicks the wheel and a flame rises up, dancing in tongues of red and yellow. The cheap casing heats up quickly and Yoongi lets go of the wheel, then presses down on it again.

A breeze blows by, rustling his bangs and extinguishing his flame. A black cat pitter patters down the street, ears held up high and yellow eyes suspicious.

Yoongi sits in silence, the moon staring down at him and his thumb aching, the rings of the wheel branding into his skin.

The doors open and close behind him, the porch light blazing. Yoongi sits up straighter, fingers still clutching the lighter.

A sound from his side, a hip knocking into his and a quiet: “Sorry.”

Yoongi looks up, a black, triangular earring in Jeongguk’s ear, fading acne scars on his jawline and the corner of his lip red and crackled. Jeongguk looks back at him, tongue darting out to at the damaged skin.

An upturn of his lips and Jeongguk holds up a black pencil.

“Taetae-hyung sent me.”

“Eyeliner?”

Jeongguk gives him a nod.

Yoongi sighs and lets go of the wheel, turning to face Jeongguk with his eyes closed. Fingers hold his jaw upright, drawing long lines onto his cheeks smoothly, carefully tracing along his cupid bow and up to his nose. A pressure on the tip and a tiny chuckle, and the touch is gone.

Yoongi cracks his eyes open, adjusting to the sudden darkness. Jeongguk’s teeth are white, eyes flickering down Yoongi’s face and then up to his headband.

“What, Jeon Jeongguk?”

“Nothing,” Jeongguk quips quickly, then clears his throat. “It really is cute, hyung.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, “You’re the hyung now, remember?”

Jeongguk smiles, scratches his earlobe with a slender finger.

“No way. That’s just too weird.”

He looks a little different today, Yoongi thinks; maybe it’s the way his hair is swooped off his forehead that makes his jawline look so sharp, the curve of his lips so defined. The pause becomes a little unusual and Jeongguk blinks at him.

Yoongi looks away.

 A short moment of silence, and Yoongi asks: “Want to play a round of spin the bottle?”

“Ah,” Jeongguk coughs a little. “Sure?”

Yoongi flicks the lighter on, “Truth or dare?”

“Um, dare?”

“Pick truth.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk says, voice bemused. “Truth?”

The wheel is still hot against Yoongi’s thumb, but he flicks it again.

“How old are you?”

“I’m-”

“No bull, Jeongguk-ah.”

Silence. Yoongi watches the glowing circle surrounding the moon, the sky looking like the Sincheon River after a storm.

“I - I was born on September the 1^st,’97,” Jeongguk says with a small voice. “I’m sorry, hyung.”

Yoongi nods once.

“Why’d you lie?”

“Well. I - I didn’t want Jimin to know that he’s my hyung.”

Yoongi laughs quietly.

“And I also -”

The mood shifts, and Yoongi senses the fragility in his voice. He shifts his head to look at Jeongguk’s profile covertly, boyish and mature at the same time.

“My parents aren’t here and I -”

Jeongguk drops off. Yoongi’s fingers stutter and the flames collapse, folding back into the slender cylinder.

“Don’t worry. I won’t probe.”

Jeongguk shakes his head and looks up, exhaling heavily.

“I just – I wanted to sing,” Jeongguk says, and the last word is rough and somehow angry. Yoongi doesn’t have to hear any more to understand.

“My father has a firm in Daegu,” Yoongi says, watching the fire burn in his hand. “I left because it’s not – it’s not what I’m supposed to do. My parents weren’t very happy with me.”

Sweat gathers on his back from the heat but he doesn’t let go.

“ all of that, though,” the words come out husky and Yoongi clears his throat before continuing. “I’ll compose a song for you, if you want me to. When I get better, though.”

A silence as fragile as glass, and Jeongguk’s voice, small and a little hopeful, “Promise?”

“Yeah. I promise. You might have to stick around for a while, though.”

Yoongi makes the mistake of looking at Jeongguk, and his responding smile reminds Yoongi of a forest fire, wild and uncontrollable but beautiful, so beautiful.

There’s an ache and Yoongi has to tear his eyes away. He’s said a little too much, opened some drawers that he didn’t want to touch on today, and bitter regret corrodes his insides. He flicks the wheel again. His thumb is red now, sore and painful, but he holds it almost savagely hard.

Suddenly, a hand on his thigh. Jeongguk hunches over, cheeks hollowed out, and blows out the lighter. He straightens up then, fingers still spread over Yoongi’s thigh, and Yoongi sees the moon in his black irises.

Yoongi looks away, traces the outlines of buildings glowing in the light-pink moonlight. He sets the lighter down and places his hand next to Jeongguk’s, pinky fingers touching. Then, Jeongguk’s hand skitters over his, warm and rough fingertips curling over the back of Yoongi’s palm.

They sit in silence, and Yoongi wonders if there’ll be stardust on his hand when Jeongguk lets go.

 

***

 

A piece of woods chips off when Yoongi knocks on the door.

He dusts his hand off before trying again. When he’s met only by silence, he presses his mouth to the peeling wood, and calls out gruffly: “It’s me.”

His breath puffs out in white clouds, scattering against the solid surface. His cheeks feel numb and he thinks that the only reason why his hand doesn't hurt like hell now is that it's too frozen for him to feel anything.

He pounds on the door, sending bursts of shrapnel into the cold air,"It's Yoongi, Min Yoong-”

The door swings open suddenly and Yoongi jerks back, hit by a suffocating wave of nicotine. He hacks out a cough and Namjoon watches him placidly, one hand on the door jamb and one holding a cigarette to his lips. He’s is the same as he’s always been, with ty pink hair that Yoongi doesn’t understand, projecting an air of false confidence and inhaling cigarettes as if they were candy.

"Well, well," Namjoon sneers, smoke billowing out of his nose and right into Yoongi’s face. "It’s a Christmas miracle."

Yoongi's eyes sting and water and his throat itches like crazy, but he swallows the scratching down and keeps his expression perfectly flat.

"Long time no see.”

Namjoon squints at him, shaking ash off the tip of his cigarette.

"You look like .”

"Thanks, you too,” Yoongi retorts. He's not feeling too hot and he just wants to get this over with but he can't help the response, brain conditioned by all of the times the two of them had traded insults over bottles of alcohol. Namjoon seems to remember it too, judging by the fleeting smile that crosses his lips.

“So,” Namjoon leans against the door, cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers. “The heck you doing here?”

"I got a favor to ask of you."

"Oh," Namjoon arches an eyebrow, an almost gleeful smile on his face. "How sweet of you. And yet, three weeks ago-"

"Yeah, yeah, can it," Yoongi lifts up his wounded hand. "I just need a band-aid or something."

The smirk is wiped straight off Namjoon's face, replaced by furrowed eyebrows and a stricken line of his lips. There’s a glint of warmth on his face that Yoongi’s mind is too quick to connect with worry, even though they’ve both promised each other three weeks ago that they wouldn’t give a anymore.

The bastard really hasn’t changed at all, Yoongi thinks.

Namjoon’s eyes travel to the red by Yoongi's feet, and he throws his cigarette aside.

"Christ, get in already," Namjoon cracks the door open wider and steps aside. "You're bleeding all over the doorway."

"Thanks," Yoongi mumbles, his sarcasm getting lost somewhere in the sickly tide of nostalgia rising up inside of him.

The apartment smells like the bottom of an ashtray, smoke rising up the yellowing walls in rivulets. The curtains are drawin tightly over the small window, and orange light paints the figure standing by the rickety table. Heavy smoke creeps up to Yoongi, coiling around his throat like a snake.

Taehyung is still carrying his trademark expression, mouth hanging slack and eyes wide. His fringe is frosted green like Yoongi remembers it, and yet, he thinks that something feels off. He just can’t quite put a finger to it.

“Hello,” Taehyung breaks the silence meekly.

Like dolls moving around a toy house, Yoongi says, equally polite, “Hi.”

A heavy arm slings over his shoulder, breaking the marionette strings holding his spine tight and taut. When he looks up he’s met by Namjoon's grin, wide like it was carved out of plastic.

"Home, sweet home, huh?" Namjoon’s says, voice layered with thick coats of irony.

“Ha,” Yoongi brushes Namjoon's arm off and straightens his jacket. He throws a look at Taehyung from the corner of his eye, but he’s no longer looking at them, busy with tracing patterns on the surface of the table with his forefinger.

"Smells a lot tier than I remember it,” Yoongi remarks.

He looks back at Namjoon to find him reaching into his pocket and opening up another pack of cigarettes with deft fingers.

“Really?” Yoongi blurts out before he can stop himself. “Another one?”

“, you my dad or something?”

It irks on Yoongi’s nerves, and it doesn’t help that his hand is starting to throb at earnest.

“Got a light?” Namjoon asks him, the cigarette poised in between his lips. Yoongi reacts reflexively, taking out a lighter from his pocket and turning on a small flame with the flick of his good hand. He holds it up for Namjoon, the red swaying prettily in between them.

The tip of Namjoon’s cigarette flares up in hues of red and black, and Yoongi turns the lighter off.

“Thanks,” Namjoon says with a gravely sort of tone. “You a smoker now?”

Yoongi takes his eyes of the small cylinder, pushing it down into the back pocket of his jeans. He gives Namjoon an annoyed look as he says, “As if.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, eyebrows lifting up. His mouth opens and closes. Yoongi wonders if it’s just him that feels that the atmosphere is curiously alike to standing on the edge of a tall building.

Namjoon, says, lightly, “How reliable.”

Yoongi exhales, stepping back from the precipice.

He watches Namjoon turn on his heel, going to the drawn window. A thin line of smoke marks his movements, curling upwards as he pushes the curtain away with one hand and opens the creaking window. Namjoon leans against the ledge, looking over his shoulder.

“Tae, could you get our honoured guest some medical ?”

Taehyung’s head snaps up and he looks from Yoongi to Namjoon.

“He’s got some bleeding going on.”

Taehyung jumps up a bit at that, and he turns back to Yoongi. The moment his eyes catch on Yoongi’s hand he springs into motion, walking off briskly to the narrow corridor on the left.

“You’re still bossing the kids around,” Yoongi comments, slumping back against the wall.

“And you’re still getting your in trouble,” Namjoon’s profile is illuminated by the cold light spilling out of the window. “What’s up with the hand, huh?”

“Not your business,” Yoongi replies smoothly.

Namjoon hums. A moment passes and he turns back around.

“Want something to drink? Vodka, tequila?"

" off.”

Namjoon gives him a humorless chuckle as Taehyung enters the room again, carrying a glass of water and white strips of cloth. He stands a ways off from Yoongi, gaze glued to his feet.

Quietly, he asks, “Will you sit, hyung?”

Yoongi tries to gather his thoughts, “Well, ah. I only need the stuff and I’ll be fine.”

Taehyung looks up at him from behind the unruly strands of his fringe, his mouth turned downwards.

“Don’t be such a hard-,” Namjoon pipes in from the window.

“Shut up,” Yoongi bristles, but he allows himself to be led to the table, sitting in one of the weathered chairs. Hit by a sudden urge of masochism, he starts to count the remaining ones; five around the tiny table, including the one he’s seated in, one next to Namjoon and one more in the corner by the couch.

The sight leaves his skin prickling.

Taehyung places the things on the table and drags a chair in front of Yoongi, silent as a grave. When he sits down he takes Yoongi’s hand softly and looks at the palm, frowning at a narrow piece of glass embedded in his skin.

“I’ll be taking this out.”

Yoongi smiles crookedly, “Knock yourself out.”

Taehyung grips it with the tip of his fingers and Yoongi is scared that he’s only going to drive it deeper into his hand. He actually wonders why he’s letting someone who once said that he could speak “dog” take care of anything worse than a hangnail, but it’s over sooner than he imagined, followed by a sharp but shallow sting in his palm.

Yoongi tries not to notice how gentle Taehyung is as he tends to his wounds, whispering a silent “sorry” as the disinfectant starts to burn. He winds gauze around his hand, securing it carefully by tucking it under one of the folds. Yoongi feels even more like than he did before and a little like he wants to chop off his hand, but he’s glad that the whole sordid deal is done and he can finally get the hell out of this dollhouse.

However, Taehyung keeps holding his hand, and when he looks up Yoongi can see it clearly; the narrow cut of his cheekbones, the hollow gouges around his eyes and a cold and dark quality in his pupils.

It reminds Yoongi that Jeongguk isn't the only person he's ed over.

“Hyung,” Taehyung’s voice is a warm flame and the plastic house sizzles and chars, and Yoongi really wants to get out of here, before he caves in because he’s doing this for everyone and-

“Are you good? Kookie… is he okay?”

Yoongi closes his eyes slowly, and keeps them closed as he tells a lie.

“Don’t worry about us. We’re doing just fine.”

When he opens his eyes he comes face to face with Taehyung’s, swimming with unspoken words. An honest smile blossoms on Taehyung's lips and he holds onto Yoongi’s hand like Yoongi has never abandoned him. Yoongi knows then that Taehyung is too good to live in this rundown back-alley of Seoul, smiling sincerely with blood staining his fingers.

Taehyung’s still smiling, even as his chin trembles and eyes glisten wetly.

“I-I’m-”

Yoongi knows that he can’t hear an apology right now, not when he’s the one who should lower himself onto his knees and beg for forgiveness. So he raises his good hand and rests it on the crown on Taehyung’s head. Yoongi hates how insincere and empty the gesture feels.

Taehyung presses his lips together and drops his head, bangs falling over his eyes. His body is shaking but Yoongi feels like he’s the one that’s falling apart.

Namjoon appears suddenly, placing a protective hand onto Taehyung’s shoulder. He gives Yoongi a look that should be furious, but instead just looks indescribably sad.

“It’s time for you to go, Suga.”

Yoongi agrees with that, and Taehyung grips his hand tightly before letting go once and for all. Yoongi can still feel the pressure of his fingers around his hand, and he wonders if he’ll ever manage to forget it.

He backtracks to the door, unable to stop himself from looking around the apartment once more and at the chairs scattered around the room.

“Don’t come back here again,” Namjoon tells him when he steps outside. His voice isn’t cruel, just matter-of-fact.

Yoongi nods, “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good,” Namjoon rolls a cigarette between his fingers. “Unless you’re dying. We could use a kidney. Although, probably not your ty one.”

Yoongi stifles a snort.

Three weeks ago, he left Namjoon after a big argument, blood still boiling and thundering inside of his head. The anger from that time mellowed down into this remorseful silence that sticks to Yoongi’s bones worse than any sort of anger could.

“Well,” Yoongi pushes his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Guess I’ll be going then.”

“Hyung,” Namjoon stops him before he can turn away. “A favor for a favor?”

Yoongi shifts from leg to leg, nodding again to show that he’s listening.

“The lighter.”

Yoongi looks up, “You want the lighter?”

Namjoon gives him a noncommittal nod, “Sure. It’s cool.”

Namjoon’s laid back mannerism is another one of their silly charades, Yoongi knows. He can feel the current of urgency running under his voice. However, a favor is a favor, and Yoongi decides to humor Namjoon’s urge to be a Good Samaritan.

Yoongi takes the cold metal out of his pocket and places it onto Namjoon’s outstretched palm.

Namjoon’s spindly fingers close over it, “Thanks.”

Yoongi just nods. It’s a thin sort of gratitude for all that they’ve done for him.

“Take care, hyung.”

Yoongi turns around without replying.

He walks confidently and with big strides. He only stops when he rounds a corner, bending over and resting his palms on his knees. It all comes back alive, the noises of feet running along pavement, labored panting and the exhilaration of just being there together.

He says goodbye to these memories, and stands up straight.

The dollhouse closes, and Yoongi keeps walking.

 

***

 

A compilation of Min Suga’s twenty two years of sweat and tears departs with a small notice of “sent.”

He spends the night just walking down the streets until it’s dawn and there’s a notification on his phone. Sobriety feels like waking up from a long dream and Yoongi can barely handle it, but he thinks that he owes Jeongguk at least this much.

Inside of the dingy club, Bang shows him printed papers of Yoongi’s soul, crossed out and mangled like meat at the butcher’s. Yoongi leaves with a couple of paper bills inside an envelope, and a voice that says: “you kids are all too depressed these days.”

Yoongi pushes a note into the envelope, one that he’d scribbled down in Bang’s makeshift office. He walks the familiar road to his and Jeongguk’s apartment, recognizable by the twisted metal pole that was once their mailbox. It was wrecked a while ago by none other than Kim Taehyung, trying to learn how to drive Seokjin’s car.

Yoongi shakes the memory away as he sneaks into the apartment. The door to Jeongguk’s room is open, and Yoongi throws a look through the crack to see Jeongguk curled up, a bunch of blankets piled up on top of him. There’s an unpleasant taste in his mouth, and Yoongi wonders if he had hoped that Jeongguk would be awake after all.

He tiptoes to the couch, avoiding pieces of glass, and leaves an envelope on the faded cushion. He opens up the phone and loads Jin’s contact, shuts down the screen over the information and places his phone on top of the envelope.

Saying goodbye once was hard enough, and it feels even worse in here, among all of these mistakes he’d left behind.

The only thing that remains after Yoongi’s departure is a couple of lines and a bouquet of glass for Jeongguk to treasure. He thinks it’s an apt comparison for the kind of person that he was.

On his way to a motel, Yoongi stops by a convenience store.

“Tomorrow…” he hums out. His new lighter is a heavy weight in his pocket and his wounded hand aches from the handle of the petrol oil container swaying merrily by his side.

“Don’t get too far away, tomorrow.”

 

 

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A big thanks to people who subscribed! I hope this doesn't disappoint. The first chapter has been updated with a new title and some minor changes (im prob gonna edit this chapter over and over until I hate it orz)

This also concludes the Sugakookie portion of the story but if there's interest I'll def continue this through Jihope and Vmon chapters. Pls join me on this journey, this story is literally begging to be let out of my head. ;--;