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moni-logues · 1 year

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Kintsugi 3

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, non-idol!au, angst, smut, tiny bit of eventual fluff

Summary: In a fit of spiteful, post-break-up self-improvement, you sign up to a baking class. Yoongi, in a bid to appease his demanding girlfriend, signs up, too. Determined to make him your friend, you end up with more than you ever imagined.

Word count: 11.1k

Content: more jokes about killing herself, jokes about death etc., reader tries to make herself sick (NOT food/ED-related, does not succeed), mention of a suicide attempt, Yoongi has a depressive episode

A/N: thanks to @btsgotjams27, @purplewhalewrites, and @here2bbtstrash for the help with this one. I hope we got there in the end!

Chapter Two | Masterlist | Chapter Four

Chapter Three – What doesn’t kill you makes you wish you were dead

You woke, able to see without opening your eyes that the sun was streaming, bright and strong, into the room. Your whole body hurt, an all-over bruise; your head was pounding; your mouth was desert dry. It seemed impossible that you could be awake and feel this awful. That this wasn’t actually death. You prayed and hoped that it would somehow be 4am and you could go back to sleep, at least for a little while.

Then you rolled onto your back with a groan and were disoriented to find that it wasn’t your bedsheets against your skin, your mattress beneath you. You couldn’t remember where you were, why you weren’t in your own bed, why you weren’t in any bed at all. With a resigned sigh, you squinted one eye open and the world fell into place.

Yoongi’s apartment. The sun beaming through his floor-to-ceiling windows. Him asleep on the sofa across from you: his legs curled up, his hands tucked sweetly between them, his mouth a tiny pout.

Fuck.

You fumbled around for your phone and found it wedged between the sofa cushions beneath you. The bad news was it was not 4am and you had managed to sleep through your alarm, the first one at 6 and the second at half past and the third at 7. The good news was at least you weren’t late for work... yet. You pulled yourself off the sofa and crawled towards the kitchen, where you chugged a glass of water and felt guilty looking in Yoongi’s fridge for something sugary to drink. No luck. You opened his cupboards quietly, looking for something you could eat. You found the frangipanes from last night and offered up a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might have been listening. You grabbed one – yours or Yoongi’s you neither knew nor cared – and shoved it into your mouth where it immediately turned to ash. You choked it down with another glass of water and dropped the remainder of the tart on the counter.

That was the moment you knew you were really in trouble. A bad hangover could be cured with sugar and fried food and a lot of it. A death hangover could not.

You sat, feeling sorry for yourself, slumped on the floor, leaning against the cupboards, from which vantage point you could see the sideboard you had leant yourself over last night. When you and Yoongi fucked. You closed your eyes—instantly regretting it when it transported you to the high seas of your hangover, the world lurching around you—and tried not to think about it.

Not because it had been bad. Not because you hadn’t wanted it. It hadn’t been. You had. But the twisting of anxiety in your guts made you feel even sicker and you didn’t have the space in your brain to unpick it.

You crawled back to the sofa for your phone and were about to turn to leave the apartment when you looked at him again.

Yoongi. Yoongi who just broke up with his girlfriend. His cheating girlfriend. Yoongi who came from nothing and now could live in luxury. Yoongi who bought you knives to say sorry. That Yoongi. You couldn’t just leave, walk out, ditch him. At the very least you would have to see him the following week in class and you didn’t want this to leave a cloud. You didn’t want to hurt him and, lord knows, if he walked out on you, you’d be sore.

“Yoongi?” you called.

He gave no answer so you called again.

“Yoongi, hey.”

No movement. You crossed the floor to him and gently nudged his shoulder; he gave the softest grunt, a light exhale of air, but didn’t move, didn’t respond.

“Hey,” you tried for a final time, shoving him a little harder.

He frowned and grunted again which satisfied you that at least he wasn’t dead and he was lying on his side so at if he threw up, he was less likely to choke on it. You looked idly around for something to write on, something to write with.

‘Yoongi,

I thought you were joking about killing me but I am actually dead; you really did it. 💀

I am never drinking with you on a work night ever again.’

You put the pen down and then immediately picked it up again, scribbling your name and phone number at the bottom.

‘P.S. please text me so I know you are not also dead’

Then you left.

You made it to the office with tremendous effort. You focused on breathing, first in and then out; you told yourself, like a new mantra: you made it through this second, you can make it through the next. One second at a time. A minute was too long.

You were late, late enough for it to matter, but you were there and that had to count for something. You deserved points for that at least. You could have just as easily melted into the subway or evaporated into the ether. You’d have preferred either. But you made it.

You first stop was the bathroom. You knelt down and lifted the seat, took a deep breath, then forcibly jammed your hand into your throat. You felt so sure that if you threw up even a little, you’d feel better. It had worked before; it could work again. However, no matter how you gagged, how your stomach heaved, it wouldn’t come. You couldn’t force anything up.

Drooling and crying, your knees complaining, you admitted defeat. You wiped your slobbery hand with some toilet roll and lowered the seat. You thought it couldn’t get any worse and then you pulled down your cycling shorts under your dress to you realise there was nothing beneath them. Where was your underwear? A cold sweat formed on your brow as you remembered yourself slipping them off, kicking them away, not picking them back up. You had left your dirty underwear somewhere in Yoongi’s apartment. You shuddered; you did not want to have to think about how that conversation was going to go.

You washed your hands and splashed your face with water and tried not to think about how this was just the start of your day.

* * * *

“Oh, babygirl,” Taehyung cooed as you approached your desk.

You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t respond. One second at a time. You curled into his lap and he jiggled you slightly to make sure you were secure; you whined as the motion made your head spin.

“You smell like a fucking distillery,” he told you, handing you a drink that was ice-cold and sugar-sweet. You drank gratefully, greedily, and said nothing. “Where did you sleep last night?”

You only groaned. You didn’t think you were capable of conversation but also desperately did not want to have this conversation with him right now.

“My girl, my girl,” he sang, “don’t lie to me. Tell me, where did you sleep last night?”

“Teddy, please. I want to be dead, right now.”

He sighed dramatically and swivelled his chair back towards his desk; he got on with his work and you tried not to throw up on him. He offered you snacks and you refused. He asked if you were going to do any work and you couldn’t answer him. He reminded you that the inter-departmental meeting was at 11am and you swore repeatedly.

“What are the chances of me being able to miss it?” you asked.

“About zero.”

“What are the chances of people not knowing I’m hungover?”

“Absolute zero.”

With another tremendous effort, you climbed out of Taehyung’s lap and into your own chair. You woke your computer and logged in, then you stared, unseeing, at the screen.

“Garam!” you called weakly, trying to beckon over your assistant without actually beckoning. You heard her chair roll and her head popped up over the desk divider.

“Yeah?”

“Any chance you fancy leading in the meeting this morning?”

There was a pause and you couldn’t swivel your eyes to see her expression. You were praying this was a surprised pause, a pleased pause.

“Uh, you want me to present?”

“If you feel you can, yes, please, that would be an enormous help. Though I realise I’m pushing this on you last-minute so please don’t feel that you ha-”

“I’ll do it!”

“You will?”

“Yeah, I can do it! Thank you!”

“No, thank you. You are doing me a real solid. Thanks, babe.”

A sigh of relief. You checked the time: 10:18. You had survived more than two hours since you woke up. Less than eight hours before you could go home and die as you wished. You made it through one second, you could make it through the next.

* * *

By lunchtime, you were feeling marginally better. Just human enough that you thought you might be able to eat something. You sent Taehyung out for ‘as much fried food as you can carry in your two hands, please, Teddy’.

“Here you go, princess; stuff yourself. And then you have to tell me everything.”

You nodded, already ripping open the boxes of fried chicken, sotteok, hotdogs, shoving a bit of everything into your mouth. Your hunger was suddenly overwhelming, a chasm in your stomach that you couldn’t fill quickly enough. Taehyung also brought back iced coffees and a Coke which you drank so fast that the burp that followed it almost brought your food back up.

“You are a vile creature.”

“Thanks, Teddy, I love you, too.”

“Come on, time to fess up. Where did you sleep last night?”

You gulped down your mouthful of chicken and paused.

“I mean, you already know the answer. I slept at Yoongi’s.”

His grin was triumphant as he thrust his two fists in the air.

“I told you! I told you he’d be a good rebound-fuck!”

You slapped him hard on the leg.

“Shut up! Be quiet! That’s not what it was!”

“Then what was it?”

You didn’t have an answer. It probably was a rebound-fuck. You didn’t really know. You hadn’t seen it coming.

“I don’t know, ok? I don’t know how it happened.”

“What do you mean? Surely you know what’s going to happen when a guy asks you to his apartment.”

“No! I didn’t! Last week, he didn’t even speak to me; how was I supposed to expect we’d have sex?!” you hissed, picking up a sotteok skewer and taking the biggest bite you could to put off speaking again.

“Did you want to have sex?”

You chewed slowly and went back in for another bite before Taehyung took the skewer from you and turned you to face him directly. He looked serious.

“Are you saying you didn’t want to have sex and-”

“No! God, no!” you cried through your full mouth. “It wasn’t like that.” You swallowed and took a sip of coffee. “Yes, I wanted to. I wanted it. I might even have initiated it, I don’t know. We were so, so drunk... I just... I don’t want to do it again. I’m not-… I can’t. I was right the first time; I don’t want to sleep with anyone.”

“Was it really that bad?”

You groaned loud and wanted to face-plant straight into your chicken.

“Shut up, Teddy! No, it wasn’t! It wasn’t bad! I just don’t want to sleep with anyone! I’m not-… I’m still not there.”

“Ok,” he replied with a shrug. “You don’t have to.”

“But I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t know what he thinks it was. I don’-”

“Wait, wait, hold on. I thought he had a girlfriend. What’s happened to her?”

“Oh, they broke up. She was cheating on him.”

“Ouch. Well, I can’t imagine he’s itching to get right back on the relationship horse, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I don’t know what I’m worried about.”

“Bullshit.”

“Hey!”

“You don’t spend seven thousand hours a week in therapy so you can bullshit me with ‘I don‘t know’. I want the entire confection, please.”

You crossed your arms on the table and let your head fall into them. You secretly hoped that if you kept quiet long enough, he would let it go.

“I’m waiting, princess.”

When did Taehyung ever let anything go?

You lifted your head and rested your chin on your arm.

“I feel like I’m his ex-girlfriend and he is San.”

“How so?”

“They lived together and he was taking fucking baking classes so she could impress the people she worked with; he said she said he never did anything for her; he said he doesn’t know if she ever loved him but he was doing that shit anyway! San took care of me; he did so much for me that I’ve made it all the way to 26 without having to be a fully competent adult!-”

“You know he chose to do that.”

“And then he chose not to! And so did Yoongi. And they were both right. But I-” You paused to grit your teeth and growl, fists clenched on the table. “I can’t make it up to San but I can make it up to Yoongi.”

“So you want to be with him then? Have a relatio-”

“No! God, fuck no. No, no, no. I’m not there. I’m so not there. And my therapist says I’m not allowed anyway.”

“Oh, relationships 'aren’t allowed’ but projecting all over a man you barely know and have already slept with is a-ok?”

“She doesn’t know I slept with him.”

“And what’s she going to say when she finds out?”

“I hate you so much.”

“That does not sound like something a therapist should say.”

You put your head in your hands. Taehyung was right (as he usually was, but you were not going to admit that).

“If you don’t want a romantic relationship with him, how do you see this going? You think you can just be friends with a guy you see your ex-boyfriend in? Who’s clearly at least a little interested in you; the timing’s kind of suspicious, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“Well, he meets you and you force him to be your friend and then suddenly, apparently out of nowhere, he breaks up with his girlfriend?”

When you were discussing someone else’s life, Taehyung’s straight-forward, no-bullshit, tell it like he sees it attitude was ideal, perfect, so much fun; it was significantly less fun when directed at you. Ditto his perspicacity. Ditto his psychic powers of prescience which you had known him long enough to be convinced he had.

You were saved by the bell. The buzz, anyway, of your phone on the table. Messages received.

[13:37] 010-7391-6842: not dead

[13:37] 010-7391-6842: kind of wish I were haha

[13:39] 010-7391-6842: it’s Yoongi btw

[13:40] 010-7391-6842: are you ok? Still dead?

You dropped your head back into your hands and groaned. Taehyung took your phone from you and read Yoongi’s messages.

“Ugh, kind of wishes he were dead... He sounds like you.”

“Why do you think I like him so much?”

“Oh, you like him?”

“Not like that! You know what I mean! Stop being difficult!”

“Sounds like you’re projecting yourself onto him, too, babygirl.”

You kicked him under the table.

“Stop knowing me!”

You picked up your phone again to reply, but had barely started before you hit another obstacle.

“If I call him ‘babe’, is that going to mean something? Will that make it weird?”

“I don’t know; do you usually call him that?”

“Well, I don’t know. He told me that none of his exes ever used pet names with him so I said that I would, but that was before the sex so now I don’t know if it’ll mean... I don’t know, anything, or nothing, or something.”

Taehyung shrugged and picked up his own phone, answering without looking at you.

“I don’t know, babe; I don’t know the guy. And straight people are weird.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Besides, you don’t know that he’s straight. I don’t know that.”

“He slept with you so he’s straighter than I am and that’s all I need to know.”

You sighed at your phone and, in the absence of any actual brain power, you decided not to think at all and answer with whatever first came to your head.

[13:42] You: Yoongi! You’re alive! There I was thinking that –I- was going to be the one on trial for murder...

[13:42] You: Not that you’re off the hook. I’m barely hanging on here

You were sitting in your apartment, still nursing your hangover and waiting for Yoongi. You were tired; your head still span when you moved too quickly and you could not stop eating. You didn’t really want to see him. You didn’t want to have a conversation that involved the word ‘ex-boyfriend’; you didn’t want to have to explain yourself. You owed it to him to do so. The anxiety in your gut was allowing the nausea to resurface and you were reaching for your phone to tell Yoongi not to come, to eat your food himself, to chuck it away, who cared? Anything to not have to deal with it. But before you could even unlock it, the buzzer sounded. You let him in and sat and waited once more.

You heard him approach before you even heard him knock, the walls in your building thinner than air. You stood and opened the door just as he started to knock, opening it to see him, fist still in the air. He blinked quickly, eyebrows raised in shock.

“Oh, honey, you look like shit,” you said in way of greeting.

“Uh, thanks?”

“No, I’m glad!”

You ushered him into your shoebox office-tel apartment and took the bags from him, dumping them on the side.

“If you’d shown up here looking fresh and radiant, I’d have had to kill myself immediately. I’m glad we both look like shit.”

He laughed awkwardly.

“You don’t look like shit.”

“That’s so sweet of you, but you don’t have to lie to me.”

You grinned and he grinned back and you were determined to breeze over whatever awkwardness there might have been, whatever awkwardness there was. You peered into the bags he’d brought and pulled out your tubs of jjajangmyeon.

“Have you eaten?” you asked. “Want some noodles?”

“Oh, uh... I-”

“I did make this, but there was a recipe and a teacher involved and everything so I’m pretty confident it’s not going to be terrible.”

“Um, ok.”

You hadn’t even wanted him to come and now you were insisting he stay for dinner. You just needed something to do, something to occupy your hands, something to look at that wasn’t his face. His sweet, pale face, almost wan, a light bruise of purple under his eyes. But you weren’t looking.

You dumped two portions of jjajangmyeon into a pan and pulled out the makeshift dining table-cum-counter top and unfolded your foldaway stools.

“Sorry, this is not exactly luxury high-rise apartment living.”

“It’s ok. It’s nice.”

Silence settled over you and you wanted to fill it, wanted to make the anxiety in your gut go away; you knew Yoongi wouldn’t, so you had to. You reminded yourself that you were friends. That you were friends and you wanted to continue being friends, that was all. This wasn’t scary. It was Yoongi.

“So have you had the day from hell or was it just me?”

“It was pretty rough.”

“Tell you the one good thing about a hangover though. You can say you want to die as many times as you like and no one looks at you weird. But when I say it all the other times, ohh, suddenly it’s ‘don’t say that’ and ‘are you alright?’. You can’t joke about anything these days!” You hoped he knew you were joking.

He laughed softly.

“You do do it a lot,” he said. “Joke about dying.” He looked at you, maintaining eye contact, even as he blinked quickly.

“Yeah...” You continued talking without thinking, grateful that you had something to say. “The thing is I used to joke about it all the time, but it wasn’t a joke, y’know? I actually meant it. Whereas now, I can say it and not mean it and it makes me laugh.” You snorted. “It’s kind of life-affirming.”

Yoongi didn’t reply and you felt embarrassment creep up around your ears.

“Sorry, too much? I’m not at my best today so my filter is also not at its best.”

“No, no, not at all. I get it. I- yeah, I get it.”

You looked over at him and he lowered his eyes, frowning at his hands.

“Do... you?”

Did he really get it? You hoped he didn’t but there was a pull in your gut that said he did. That said he would understand. Understand you. There was something between you that just stuck. Held you there, closer to him than you thought you should have been. It was the thing that told you you had to be friends; you couldn’t let him walk out of your life. This was meant, somehow.

Taehyung would’ve probably told you it was projection.

Your therapist too.

He looked up and then away and then back to you, his hands still twisting together.

They were wrong.

“Yeah,” he answered and you let him pause, let it sit there, waiting for him to continue. He nodded. “Yeah, I do get it. I-…" He sighed and then nodded, as if to himself. “Yes, I do get it, but I probably ‘mean it’ more than you do when I joke about it.”

You nodded, your heart screaming at you to hug him, to hold his hand, to... you didn’t know what. To try to make it better. Even though you knew it didn’t work like that. The relief you thought you would feel knowing that he knew, too, that he understood, was entirely absent. In its place, a cold stone of concern. You wondered if this was how your friends felt, how San felt—had it been all the time? Only sometimes? Only on your bad days? You felt like you could see Yoongi’s little, soft heart and anxiety spiked in you as you thought about the conversation ahead.

“Thanks for telling me,” you said. You didn’t really know what else to say. Everything that came into your head was the last thing you’d ever want to hear.

He flicked his eyes quickly over to you and then away again.

“Yeah, I mean, you too.”

You shrugged.

“Eh, I’ll tell you anything. It’s getting me to shut up that’s the trick.”

You chuckled, a little pointless burble, and he didn’t return it. You glanced over at him and he was still looking at his hands, his fingers twisting around each other. Then he looked up at you, his eyes shining, mouth twisted.

“Would you go back to your ex if he came here tomorrow and said he wanted you back?”

The question threw you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t thought about that exact scenario a thousand times in your head after the break-up but you weren’t expecting to be asked and, truthfully, hadn’t thought about it for a little while.

“Why?” you asked back. “Has your ex come crawling back?”

He laughed and you didn’t think you were imagining the bitterness in it.

“No. She hasn’t. And I wouldn’t have her if she did. I just... wondered.”

You sighed, looked into the pan of noodles on the stove, and thought about your answer. There was a lot to unpack, too much, far too much on top of the conversation you knew was still to come. You shook your head of all the difficult thoughts.

“No, I don’t think I would. I need to not be in a relationship right now. I’ve got things I have to do by myself, for myself. I’m not… there. Not ready. Not even for going back to one. And honestly? He’s never coming back.”

You plated up and sat opposite him at your little table. You could feel the pregnancy of the pause pressing heavily on you.

“Which, I suppose, is as good a segue as any,” you began, before taking a bite, chewing it slowly, hoping that Yoongi might start.

He didn’t. He swirled his noodles with his chopsticks and took his own first bite.

“Do we- we should probably talk about last night? Maybe?”

Yoongi nodded, looking down at his food. Then suddenly he looked up.

“This is nice, by the way. Tastes good.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

Was he changing the subject deliberately? Buying himself some time? A shudder went through you as your mind began racing with all the things he might say to you, all the things you’d least have wanted to hear. You were no longer dreading what you had to say; you were dreading hearing what he had to say. You knew you couldn’t let him go first.

“So anyway-” You cut in, interrupting your own thoughts. “Like I said, I’m not ready for a relationship right now, but I also- I don’t want something casual. A hook-up. Situation...ship. Friends with benefits or whatever. I can’t do that. I need the commitment. But I’m also not ready for commitment. So. I don’t know. I mean, I do know. I really would like us to be friends. Just friends. I like you a lot. I’m glad we met and I like your company and I want to be friends, but I can only be friends. Nothing more.”

It wasn’t not true. It was all true. Now that he was here, you didn’t want to dump on him. He didn’t need to know all about your ex, your therapy; that was your business, your problem. You just wanted to be his friend. It was that simple. You’d extended your hand and every part of you was crossed, hoping he would take it.

You waited for his response, your stomach so tight with anxious anticipation that you couldn’t take a single bite. Your heart was pounding in your chest and in your skull; a dull ache formed behind your eyes in the long seconds that stretched between you.

Yoongi was looking into his noodles again. You saw him pause and then he continued eating. He nodded. Grunted.

“Yeah,” was all he said.

You waited for him to go on. To elaborate. To tell you something. You hoped this was just one of his pauses and you held your breath waiting for more. But nothing came. You were opening your mouth to say something—you didn’t know what—when the beep of your door lock sounded and your door opened. You stood, not expecting anyone, and were simultaneously relieved and made even more anxious to see Taehyung waltz through your door with pizza.

“Teddy! What are you doing here?” Your voice was tight and high-pitched and you cleared your throat, tried to make your face look normal.

He looked at you, then at Yoongi, then back at you. He raised his eyebrows.

“What do you mean what am I doing here? I told you I was going to bring pizza, so here I am, bringing pizza.”

“Oh shit.”

You had forgotten completely. In all the anxiety of Yoongi, it had slipped your mind; of course he’d said he’d bring pizza. You remembered now. Too late.

“Sorry, I forgot. We’re eatin- Oh. Uh. This is Yoongi. Yoongi, this is Tedd- Taehyung. He’s my best friend.”

“I’m her only fucking friend.”

“Shut up!”

You snatched the pizza from him and turned, walking to set it on the coffee table. You heard Yoongi’s mumbled greeting to Taehyung and you wondered what he was thinking. Sweat was prickling uncomfortably all over you. This was not a collision you had anticipated happening at all, let alone this quickly, let alone now, right this minute. But you were also grateful for Taehyung’s interruption. It cut you off, forced you to move, to think about something else. He had shown up just in time.

“You are terrible, you know that, princess? Cheating on me, letting me walk into your house to find I’ve been replaced?” He crossed the apartment in two long paces to stand in front of you and took your face in his hands. “The things I do for you and this is how you repay me?”

You pushed him away, flustered and embarrassed.

“Shut up, Teddy. I said I’m sorry I forgot. Just sit down, would you?”

You returned to the dining table and picked up your bowl.

“There’s not really room here for three but we can squish in if we sit on the floor,” you said to Yoongi and he nodded, standing and lifting his own bowl.

You pushed Taehyung over and sat next to him so Yoongi could sit at the end of the table and not get uncomfortably close to a man he’d just met.

“Can I eat some of your pizza, though?” you asked Taehyung.

“You’re an ungrateful swine and deeply lucky that I love you so much,” he replied, opening the box for you to take a slice. You grinned and blew him a kiss. He pressed one into your hair in return.

“How did you guys meet?” Yoongi asked.

“Ew, you make it sound like we’re a couple.”

You turned and punched Taehyung in the leg and fixed him with a sharp glare.

“Of course, we’re not a couple; don’t be stupid. He doesn’t think we’re a couple!”

“Not now, not ever. Gross.”

You gave him another punch.

“We met at work-”

“She was my assistan-”

“I was not! I was an assistant! And you were only a coordinator so you were barely above me. And now we work at the same level anyway.”

“I remember your first day. I thought you were going to be a complete square. You were so quiet—if you can believe that.” He addressed the last part to Yoongi and Yoongi very nearly grinned. “But I knew you’d be mine; I took you under my wing. It was like a-”

“A meeting of the minds.”

“Yep, both empty.”

“How did you two meet?” Taehyung asked.

“You already know, you idiot! We met at baking class.” You turned to look at Yoongi. “It was a meeting of the hearts, right? Both broken!” You laughed—a little forced—and held your hand out on the table for him to take, which he eventually did and then he looked at you, for the briefest second, and he looked so lost and then so grateful that your heart lurched and you felt tears sting in your eyes. You wished, not for the first time and not for the last, that you could read his mind. These seconds, these fleeting moments, when he fell open to you, when the quietest whispers of his reached you, that’s when you saw yourself in him. That’s when you knew that you were the same. That’s why you needed him.

* * *

Yoongi left and Taehyung stayed. You leant out of your apartment to wave Yoongi down the corridor and then you leant heavily against your closed door.

“So that’s Yoongi,” Taehyung said, sitting on the sofa, opening his arms to you.

“That’s Yoongi.”

You crossed the apartment and climbed into Taehyung’s lap.

“He’s cute.”

You only hummed in response.

“Did you tell him you want to be friends?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“Yeah.”

“‘Yeah?’”

“Yeah.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Did you tell him you left your underwear in his apartment?”

You sat up with a jolt.

“Shit! Oh fuck, no, I forgot! I got so stressed by the conversation, I forgot! Oh fuck oh fuck. He’s going to think I deliberately left it there! What if he finds it?”

“Obviously he’s going to find it. The more important question is what if he keeps it?”

You pressed your head against his chest and groaned. The man you had just insisted you couldn’t be more than friends with was going to go back to his apartment and find a soiled pair of your knickers and there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

“I guess it might give you an answer, though,” Taehyung mused.

“An answer to what?”

“Whether or not he has feelings for you. If you never see them again, you know he’s kept them and is probably do-”

“No! No, shut up! Shut your whole mouth!”

You clamped both hands over his mouth, kneeling (you hoped painfully) on his legs, glaring at him.

“We’re friends! Just friends! He’s not going to do anything with them! Stop it! Stop saying things! It’s not like that! It’s not!”

He rolled his eyes and hummed in a tone that suggested he was not at all convinced. With a warning glance, you removed your hands from his mouth.

“Whatever you say, my little delusional baby.”

* * *

When you woke the next morning and set about tidying your apartment, you took out the tubs of frangipane tarts that Yoongi had brought and you had left on the side. You took out the tupperware you recognised and, below them, tupperware you didn’t. And a note on top.

They’re your favourite. Have mine too ˙ᵕ˙

You still felt awkward and unsure when you were standing next to Yoongi the following week, listening to your instructor teach you how to make muffins. He gave no indication that he felt it; he seemed much the same as he ever had. But there was an anxiety humming in your heart now; Taehyung’s words rattled in your head. And you had told your therapist and she did point out that maybe your attachment to Yoongi was not entirely healthy. You knew that, but you wanted to ignore it. Making Yoongi happy had become your road to redemption and you were going to follow it come hell or high water.

“You and Taehyung seem close,” he said lightly as he weighed out butter.

“He wasn’t lying when he said he’s my only friend. My ex and I, we met at work- not this work, my job before; we don’t still work together. Thank God. But we met at work so all our friends were shared, really. And I guess he gets them all in the divorce! Except Taehyung. Don’t really know what I’d do without him, to be honest. I’m trying-“ You stopped, hesitated, self-conscious again of talking too much, over-sharing, but Yoongi looked at you expectantly and you ploughed on. “I’m trying not be co-dependent, not to rely on him too much. It’s one thing when it’s your girlfriend, but when it’s just your friend—I don’t know; I ask a lot of him, I think. He’s there a lot. For me. I moved in with him right after the break-up before I found my apartment. It was awful and we should never live together again-“ You laughed. “But he was a real life-saver. I d-“

“Stop!” Yoongi cried, grabbing your wrist as you were stirring your muffin batter. You looked at him in alarm.

“What? I’m mixing!”

“You’re mixing too much!”

“What does that mean?”

You looked at the recipe sheet in front of you.

“Add dry ingredients and blueberries and mix. I’m doing it right!”

“No, you can’t stir it like that. You have to be gentle.”

You watched him as he moved his mixing spoon slowly through the batter, twisting and turning it, the white flour disappearing in a beige swirl.

“How do you know how to do it like that? I thought you couldn’t bake.”

He shrugged.

“I looked it up.”

“You study? You prepare for these classes?”

He shrugged again.

“Just want to get it right.”

You grinned.

“You’re a nerd.”

He grinned back.

“My muffins are going to be better than yours.”

You were sure they would.

* * *

“Do you want to get a drink after?” you asked as you pulled your tray of blueberry muffins from the oven. “We don’t have to go to my shithole apartment; I won’t subject you to that again.”

Yoongi chuckled.

“I thought you said never again?”

“Ha, I say a lot of things. And y’know, never say never!”

“I can’t tonight. But thanks.”

Oh.

“Oh. Ok! Another time!”

Disappointment deflated you slowly; your joy a tyre with a slow puncture. It hurt. It shouldn’t have. If you were stupid enough to get attached out of all proportion, then you had to at least be able to deal with the consequences of that. He was busy. He had other plans. That was all it meant.

Nevertheless, when you waved him off at the end of class, it was with a stone sinking in your stomach.

It sank heavier the next week when Yoongi didn’t show at all. You watched the door for half an hour, convinced he would come through it. He was always late. He’d show. He would definitely show.

But he didn’t.

You pulled out your phone.

[19:37] You: you’re missing class? It’s yakgwa!

[20:05] You: and I didn’t even bring any illicit ingredients this time!

[20:07] You: you’re missing a once in a lifetime opportunity to see me follow instructions properly!

You could hear Taehyung. You knew what he would say. ‘You’re projecting, babygirl. He’s busy’. You had to teach yourself that you weren’t the centre of anyone else’s life and that was ok. That was good; you were the centre of your own. That was why you were doing all this. That’s what had brought you to class in the first place.

But it had also brought you to Yoongi and you didn’t want to let this go. You were friends. He meant something to you. This meant something, you were sure of it. He wouldn’t just miss a class and not tell you. There had to be a reason.

[21:12] You: If you’re not careful, I’ll sneak into your apartment and make you try some

[21:12] You: [you sent an attachment]

[21:12] You: I didn’t do a good job 🙈

* * *

[08:13] Yoongi: sorry, I was working really late last night. Sorry I missed it. I hope it was good.

[08:13] You: are you coming next week?? You better!!!!

[08:27] Yoongi: yeah I’m coming

* * *

Except he didn’t. He had told you it was busy at work. He had told you he had been sleeping badly. He had only just broken up with his girlfriend. She had been cheating on him. His life didn’t revolve around you; it wasn’t about you. And you knew that. But you began to feel held at a distance and it pricked at you, painful and uncomfortable. Something wasn’t right.

You sat on the subway, tubs of profiteroles and tubs of mapa dubu on your lap. You took deep breaths and checked your phone. You hadn’t heard from him at all for three days. That was unusual. Sometimes he didn’t reply for hours, sometimes he didn’t reply at all until you sent another text. But you always heard from him eventually, within a day. You looked at your messages, six unanswered; the last two hadn’t even been read. You felt uneasy.

You remembered all of your worst days. The isolation. The hiding. You remembered telling him why you joked about killing yourself; you remembered all the jokes he made alongside you. He told you he got it. ‘I probably mean it more than you do’. You knew there was still a chance you were projecting. You knew this could be all in your head. You knew, in a sad, selfish, sick little way that maybe this was wishful thinking. That if this were the case, then maybe you weren’t the only truly broken one. It was a little voice, quiet and distant, and your concern was louder. But it was there all the same. Telling you that you weren’t alone. Not anymore.

You also knew that Yoongi didn’t have a live-in girlfriend anymore but you didn’t know if he had someone else who would take care of him. You felt about how lost you would have been on your worst days without your ex. Your dependence on him was a problem, but you remembered the palpable relief you felt when he was there with a physical ache in your chest. You thought about Taehyung, letting you move in, letting you sleep in his bed, cooking for you, cancelling dates so he could be with you. Did Yoongi have a Taehyung?

You got off at the next stop and changed lines. You sent Yoongi a text telling him you were coming. When you got out at the closest stop to his apartment, you tried calling him. No answer.

* * *

“I’m here!” you called out as you slipped off your shoes and padded quietly to the kitchen. You hadn’t expected the codes to work. He’d told you he would change them. He hadn’t. You didn’t know what that meant. Maybe nothing. But at the very least, it meant you could get in and you were here now.

You needed a second, one moment before you turned around to find him, to look at what you had walked into. You didn’t know if you wanted to be embarrassed by your wrong assumptions or right on the money.

You dumped your bags on the counter and turned around to see Yoongi’s face, just visible over the arm of the sofa as he stared at you.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. His voice was quiet, croaky, as if he hadn’t spoken all day.

“I told you I was coming, love,” you countered. “I messaged.”

Yoongi flung out an arm and picked his phone up from off the floor and sighed, flopping back down and disappearing from view.

You walked over and knelt before him.

“You missed class.”

He rolled over onto his back and said nothing.

“Don’t think for a second I’m going to give you one of my profiteroles; I baked them myself and I’m going to eat them that way, too!”

You were joking, aiming for levity, landing somewhere far from that.

“Have you eaten?” you asked.

There was a reply this time: a shrug and a grunt. You looked at the empty snack packets on the coffee table and wondered how long they’d been sitting there.

“Well, lucky for you-” you stood and gathered the detritus as you spoke, “-I happen to be an expert amateur chef extraordinaire and we made mapa dubu today. Stay there.” As if he were likely to move.

You picked up as you made your way to the kitchen and pried open one of your tubs from class. You clattered about in his kitchen as you heated it up, looking for crockery, looking for cutlery, while he lay, unmoving on the sofa. You opted for the microwave, for ease and because it would create less clean-up. You stared pointedly at the tub as it rotated inside the machine. You were right and it was opening a deep fissure in your heart.

You chose to ignore it. Your feelings were not the issue at hand. It wasn’t about you. You turned your attention to the microwave (you always had been good at reheating food) and gingerly picked up the steaming hot tub to tip the contents into a bowl. You returned to the living room and handed it to Yoongi.

He sat up and took it from you more readily than you had expected him to and then he started eating. You didn’t want to sit and watch him so you went back to the kitchen to tackle the dishes in and around the sink. You recognised this. The external reflecting the internal. The mess. The neglect. Part of you felt vindicated: you weren’t just projecting; you were the same; he did get you. A bigger part of you wished he didn’t.

When you heard the unmistakable thunk of china on wood, you took a large glass of water over.

“You should drink all of that,” you told him, picking up the bowl and taking it back to the kitchen to clean.

“Do you want to talk?” you asked him as you perched on the coffee table across from him. He shook his head and lay back down on his side. “Ok, then, babe, budge up.”

You climbed onto the sofa behind him, slipping one arm underneath his neck and wrapping the other around his waist. You hooked your leg over his hip and held him tight. He held himself unnaturally still. You didn’t know if you were doing the right thing. You had never been in this position before. You were just doing what had always been done for you and hoping it was right.

“Does this make you uncomfortable?” you asked quietly and there was a pause before he shook his head.

“It’s embarrassing,” he said.

“Why?”

“I’m... I’m gross.”

You chuckled and pressed your nose into his neck, making him squirm. You remembered the smell of his aftershave, absent now, a light tang of a lived-in body in its place, the faintest ghost of laundry detergent clinging on to his shirt.

“Nah, sweetie, you’re fine. On one occasion, it had been so long since I’d showered that my ex ran a bath, picked me up and dumped me in it, clothes and all. It had been weeks rather than days, I think... It was also not just one occasion.”

You felt Yoongi unclench a little and you gave him a squeeze.

“When I finally made it out of bed – only as far as the sofa, mind – he would go out to work having lined me up food and drink on the coffee table. He would push the table closer so everything was within reach so I had no excuses—not that that always worked. Sometimes, he had to physically sit me up and spoon feed me... I just didn’t...”

“Care.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice that he did that. It sounds like he was good to you.”

You hummed and braced yourself for the question that you knew was coming next.

“Why did you break up?”

You exhaled, long and slow.

“I don’t know that there was just one thing. There was one reason, fundamentally, but lots of things led to it.” You used your therapy voice, slow and deliberate, not letting all your raw, unbaked thoughts drop out of your mouth in a tumble. Like you practised. “He was my safe space. We would go out and I would plaster on a smile and pretend to be happy and fun and positive and then, as soon as we got home, I would take it all off. When it was just the two of us, I didn’t have to pretend anything, which was a relief to me, but it meant that I was never really... happy, I suppose, around him anymore.”

You tried to will your heart to beat slower. You didn’t want Yoongi to feel it beating against his back, thumping hard. You could joke about killing yourself and pretend it was light, unserious. But you didn’t actually say the real truth, the plain truth, out loud. Not to anyone. You squeezed Yoongi tighter, for your benefit, not his, and continued.

“About a year after we got together, I tried to kill myself... He was... He was amazing, really. I don’t know how I’d have got through it without him. He really, really took care of me. Then last year—I didn’t try again, but I got about as close to it as I had been since the first time. And I think... it changed things for him. It was different that time. I think he saw his future ahead of him, always waiting for me to breakdown again, waiting for the sword to fall. He thought it was a one-time thing. I guess so did I, really; it’s not like I planned it. I don’t know.” You paused, feeling your mouth starting to run away with you. You took another breath. “He took good care of me just like he had before but... I think he was already falling out of love with me then. You can’t break up with someone in that state and be anything but the bad guy so I think he bided his time, waited ’til I was on my feet again to do it.”

You hadn’t said these things to anyone but your therapist. Taehyung knew everything but he pieced things together, he knew without you saying—you realised, at that moment, that it was entirely possible your ex told him things, so Taehyung could support you, maybe even so that Taehyung could support him.

Saying these things now, out loud, made them real. More real than they had been before. It was a shock to realise that the therapy was working, that you could see your relationship—and your break-up—more clearly now. It was even more of a shock to realise that you didn’t feel bitter anymore. Not towards him anyway. You had been saying for so long that you understood, that you didn’t blame him, that it was right, that the break-up was a good thing, you hadn’t realised that now you actually believed it, too.

“I don’t blame him. He deserves more than I was giving him, more than I could give him. I had been taking a lot and I don’t think I realised that at the time. He deserves to be loved fully by someone who can. I do, too, I suppose. And so do you...”

You gave him another squeeze and he brought his hands up, one clasped over yours, the other gripping your wrist.

“No one’s ever...” His voice is so quiet, you can barely hear it. “No one’s ever taken care of me before.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Your ex?”

He snorted and there was that familiar pause before he spoke again.

“It was good in a way. I couldn’t waste away in bed because I knew I had to be up and dressed when she got home. I had no other choice because she lived here so she would always know if I didn’t.”

“I don’t understand. Did she make you?”

“No… But- she… She didn’t like it if I didn’t… She thought I was being-…”

“Lazy?”

“Yeah. Weak. I don’t know.”

His grip on your wrist was tight, your pulse thudding under his fingers. You swore under your breath.

“I’m so glad you broke up with her. She sounds like a cunt.”

He hummed non-committally.

“Is that what’s brought this on?” you asked. “The break-up?”

He sighed but didn’t answer.

“Because, I mean, it’s not like I’m an expert or anything—I am literally in therapy; I don’t know shit but—you deserve more than she gave you. She was fucking cheating on you. That’s bullshit. She treated you like crap. That’s bullshit. You should be with someone who can actually see you for the person you are and treat you accordingly-”

“Maybe that’s what she was doing.”

“What are you talking about? She treated you like shit.”

“Right.”

You sighed and held him tighter.

“Baby... You’re not shit.”

You waited for him to argue and, when no response came, pressed on.

“You’re fun and sweet-”

You could feel him squirm as he pressed his face into the cushion.

“-and kind and generous and loyal-”

He drew the blanket over his face and gripped it tightly in his hands. He tried to sit up, tried to disentangle himself from your koala hold, but you held him firm.

“No, you’re not going anywhere,” you told him, your voice firm. “This is maximum-security, ok?”

“Maximum-security?” His question muffled from under the blanket.

You hesitated and then loosened your grip on him, resting your hand on his waist, unhooking your leg from over his hip.

“This is a cuddle.”

Then you reverted to how you were: your hands crossing on his chest, your bodies pressed tight together, your leg over his.

“This is a maximum-security cuddle,” you explained. “It’s nice. We like it.”

He didn’t protest, didn’t move, so you carried on.

“Anyway, as I was saying. You are kind and loy-”

“You already said that.”

“Yeah? Well, I think you can stand to hear it more than once. So you’re going to stay here and listen to this. You are fun and loyal and kind and generous and-“

A shudder ran through him and you could see the blanket twist in his hands.

“-smart and cute and funny-”

His shoulders started to shake; a small, stuttering gasp escaped him and you kept him tight against you.

“-and loving and determined and honest... and you will find someone who sees all of that stuff in you and will you love for it and they won’t make you feel like shit and they won’t care if you haven’t showered for a week and they will take care of you and-”

Yoongi brought his legs up, curling himself into a ball as tightly as he could.

“-they will love you and love you and love you, even when you don’t love yourself, even when you do. All the time. Always.”

You didn’t know what more to say, didn’t know if he was even listening anymore, if he could hear you. You held him tight and felt him cry as much as you heard him. His body shook and shook yours with it. You tried not to cry as he cried. You had to keep it together. You were done falling apart. But your heart felt so full and so broken. You weren’t used to being this person. You were Yoongi. You were always the one held, not the one holding.

You thought about your ex, holding you like this, every day, taking care of you, picking up after you, picking you up. You had always been grateful to him, but you hadn’t appreciated just exactly what it was he was doing for you; you didn’t have the wherewithal, the capacity for it at the time. But now you were here, doing what he had done, feeling how he had felt. It was overwhelming. It was an epiphany, a sad, tragic kind of epiphany that made your stomach swoop and your breathing hitch. You wished, intensely, for a moment that you could talk to him, tell him, thank him.

You also wished desperately that you weren’t there. That this wasn’t happening. That you hadn’t been right. You wished that you had shown up and Yoongi had been here, tired, working, grumpy, anything but this. You wished that he had been annoyed with you, told you off, told you get out. You would’ve taken that rejection over this. You would’ve taken almost anything over this. You knew Yoongi’s pain because it was your own and, more than anything, you wished that he didn’t. All this time you had been insisting that you were the same, that you understood each other, that you had a connection. And now you wished you’d been wrong.

* * *

He stopped crying. Eventually, at some point. You were watching the light in the room change as the sun finally disappeared, as the summer night came down, and the full moon rose. His breathing settled, his body stilled. He pulled the blanket back down, uncovering the top of his head. You waited for him to speak.

“I want to have a shower.”

His voice was thick, wavering.

“You’re not just trying to get away from me?”

He shook his head.

“No, I want to.”

He swiped a hand over his face, wiping away his tears, and you felt his body shift as he went to sit up. You let him this time. He didn’t look at you as he stood and walked towards the bathroom.

“I’ll be waiting,” you called after him. “You’re not allowed to drown yourself in there! I’ll check!”

You watched the door shut and listened for the sound of the shower running. Then you stood yourself and decided to clean the apartment. You tidied, sorted recycling, threw out the rubbish, wiped down the sides, swept the floors. You surveyed your clean kingdom and noticed the time. You noticed the silence in the apartment. The shower wasn’t running. You didn’t know when it had stopped.

You decided to give him five minutes. Five minutes and then you’d check on him.

“Yoongi!” you called from the bathroom door. “Are you coming out? The shower hasn’t been running. If you don’t come out in five minutes, I’m going t-“

The door opened a crack.

“I-“ he started and then stopped.

You waited.

“I don’t have any clothes in here.”

“Oh, do you want me to get you some?”

You could just see his eyes through the crack in the door, head at an angle as he held his body out of view. He shook his head.

“Can you… just…”

Quick to catch on for once in your life, you turned around, you faced the wall, you closed your eyes and, for good measure, you covered them with your hands.

“Ok,” you called.

You felt the steam pour out as the door opened and you stayed stock still until you heard his bedroom door open and then shut. You returned to the sofa to wait for him. He emerged, dressed in thin pyjama trousers and a long-sleeved top, with a towel in his hand, squeezing out his wet hair.

“Do you want me to plait it for you?” you offered.

He looked at you in confusion.

“What?”

“I can plait your hair if you want. You can get away with it being dirtier if it’s plaited and you can just keep them in, sleep with them and stuff, so they’re low maintenance. I do it all the time. No one has to know you haven’t showered for five days if you’ve got plaits in.”

“Is that why people style their hair like that? Because it’s dirty?”

“Can’t speak for anyone else, but for me, yeah. You know I’m having a bad time if I’ve plaited my hair.” You laughed and almost choked on it when he smiled back at you; the relief resounded in your chest.

He looked like he was considering it and shook his head.

“Great, in that case, I have another question for you.”

You walked back over to the kitchen, opened the door of the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a half-empty bag of cat food.

“Why do you have this?” you asked and, once again, Yoongi looked at you in confusion.

“It’s for my cat.”

“You don’t have a cat.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t! I’ve been here before! I didn’t see a cat!”

He shrugged and walked back to his bedroom; he opened the door and pointed vaguely at the bed. You stood next to him and saw a soft, black ellipse in the middle of the bed.

“That’s your cat?”

He nodded.

“I don’t understand. How can you have a cat? I’ve never seen it! I was here for ages!”

He shrugged.

“That’s her spot. You can say hello if you want.”

“What’s her name?”

“Cherry.”

You walked into the bedroom and said hello, tentatively reaching out to stroke her. Up close, you saw she wasn’t black—not quite—but a deep, dark brown; her fur was thick and soft as you ran your fingers through it. She uncurled herself and pushed her head into your hand, rubbing against it. Her purr was loud and deep. Yoongi joined you and scooped her up in his arms. She purred louder.

“Oh, do you like that, huh?” you asked her, your voice automatically high-pitched, soft, baby-ish. “Like being held by Daddy?”

Yoongi made a noise of protest.

“Please don’t call me ‘Daddy’ to my cat.”

“Why not? Oh my god, are you a daddy guy? Do you like that shit?”

“No! No… I just… It’s weird. She’s my cat.”

“Oh, Cherry,” you cooed, reverting to your baby voice, scratching her head. “Daddy doesn’t like it when you call him that, huh?”

“Don’t!” He was whining and laughing and you pressed on.

“But you like it when Daddy holds you, right? You like living with Daddy? You-“

“Oh my god, I regret everything!” He lay Cherry back on the bed and laughed. “I should never have let you meet her.”

“You’re probably right about that. Daddy.”

His face glowed warm and pink as he screwed his face up.

“Don’t!”

“Ok, I promise. No more ‘Daddy’.”

You held your little finger out to him and he hooked it in his own.

“Thank you.”

You shrugged.

“Sure.”

“For-… I mean, for coming... I... I appreciate it.”

“Oh. Sure. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to; you did say you were going to change your door codes.”

He chuckled, his eyebrows raised. You dropped backwards onto the edge of his bed and sat looking up at him.

“I had forgotten about that.”

“Just as well. I didn’t... I didn’t know if you’d want me to come; you may have noticed I kind of just get into people’s business. Teddy told me not to force my friendship on you-”

“It’s not forced,” he interrupted you, quickly, looking at you, blinking, looking away.

“Good. I mean, we broken-hearted losers have to stick together, right?”

He shook his head with a frown and dropped down next to you.

“I don’t think you’re a loser. And I don’t- I think... I don’t know if I am broken-hearted. Not over her anyway. It was... Even before she started cheating on me, I don’t know how real it was, if I was actually happy. I don’t... I don’t know how I didn’t notice that she didn’t make me happy. I’m not broken-hearted but I am stupid.”

You placed your hand over his and gave it a squeeze, then let go.

“Not stupid. In love.”

“Same thing.”

“Maybe sometimes, but not always. Love is good.”

You glanced over and he held your gaze. You lost count of the seconds ticking away between you; he didn’t look away so neither could you. You were arrested, held, your mind stalled; you wanted to break the silence but couldn’t think how to.

“I think,” he said finally. Then he sighed and turned away. “I think I love the wrong people.” He flopped backwards, lying on the bed with his arms flung over his head.

You twisted from your seated position to look at him.

“You only have to love the right one once, though, right?”

He looked at you and your eyes flicked elsewhere.

“But how do you know they’re the right one?”

"I don’t know; haven’t found ’em yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”

He hummed and the silence fell over you again. You looked at the cat, curled up tight next to the pillow and were glad Yoongi had her. She couldn’t cook or clean or talk, but she was there and happy to see him and at least he wasn’t completely on his own.

“It’s really late,” he said, suddenly, and you jumped.

“Yeah, I should go. Sorry! Overstaying my welcome as always, haha!”

Should you? You had no idea what etiquette would dictate in these circumstances. You weren’t sure what Yoongi wanted you to do. You weren’t sure what you wanted.

“No! That’s not what I meant. I mean… You can-... if you want, you can stay. You don’t have to go.”

You looked at him carefully, trying to work out if he was asking you to stay or trying to be polite. If he wanted you to stay, you didn’t want to leave him. If he wanted you to go, you didn’t want to stay. You felt reasonably confident that he wouldn’t tell you clearly either way. You decided not to bite your tongue—you weren’t very good at it anyway.

“If I leave, are you going to wake up tomorrow?”

He flushed a deep, beetroot red and blinked, his mouth opening and closing silently.

“Yes,” he answered, hoarsely.

You held your hand out, little finger raised.

“Promise me.”

He slowly raised his own hand and hooked his pinky with yours.

“If I wake up tomorrow and you’re dead, I really will kill you,” you told him, deadly serious.

He tried a grin which only half worked and nodded.

“I’ll wake up.”

“Good.”

“Will you let me drive you home?”

“What? No! Why? It’s fine! You don’t have to do that!”

“It’s late-”

“Subway’s still running-”

“No, you shouldn’t get the subway by yourself this la-”

“I’ll be fine! I’ve done it before! It’s really fi-”

“Let me at least get you a taxi.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“Too late,” he said, walking out to the living room and picking up his phone. “I’m already doing it.”

“You did not have to do that,” you repeated.

He shrugged.

“Least I could do. Will you please text me when you get home?”

“Will you text me in the morning?”

He nodded and you nodded back. He held your gaze like a silent promise and you nodded again. He looked tired and pale. He still looked sad. A little bit lost. A little bit broken. A lot like you.

His phone buzzed, breaking the tension of the moment, alerting him that the car was nearby.

He walked you to the door and you pulled him into a tight hug. You hadn’t expected him to, but he held you just as tight, squeezing the air from your lungs. You had second thoughts about leaving.

“I meant what I said. I will kill you-”

“Not if I kill myself first!”

You gasped and choked and laughed and almost sobbed.

“I’m joking,” he said.

“I know,” you whispered back, your voice strangled, your heart thudding erratically against your ribs. You knew you were going to cry all the way home and you needed it to not start until Yoongi’s door was closed and you were on the other side of it. “You’ve already promised.”

You held on longer than you really meant to. You pulled back slowly and kept your hands on his shoulders.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

He nodded.

* * *

[00:58] You: Made it home!

[06:37] Yoongi: it’s morning

[06:37] Yoongi: I woke up

Chapter Two | Masterlist | Chapter Four

Tag list: @e-cm, @chimmisbae, @purplewhalewrites, @idkjustlovingbts @miriamxsworld

#yoongi x reader #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #bts x reader #bts fic #bts angst #suga x reader #suga fic

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writingcold · 7 months

Text

Hi. Welcome to the Epilogue. It’s short, but mighty. I truly, truly hope that you have enjoyed my Bootleggers and Wildflowers. They have been so fun to write.

If you are just joining us, you can find the Master List to the series here

Here’s the last time I’m going to say it: @lvnterninthenight, @gardensgatedaisy and @whitesuitjake thank you from the bottom of my toes to the tip of my head for your assistance, patience and talents.

This is a work of fiction, and is totally mine. Please do not take it for your own personal use. I’ve put in hours of research, hours upon hours of writing, re-writing, screaming, yelling and vomiting over this epic of a story. But it is mine.

Content warning: 18+ only story. Fluff. Family. Hardship of the 1930’s and the Great Depression. But, mostly fluff.

Word count: approx. 3200

Epilogue - Cora

Summer 1933

The hard times started one year and two months after their wedding. Jacob and Cora had just welcomed their first child when it seemed the world went wild with grief and darkness. For the honeymoon, they had gotten into his newest car - a cherry red Packard Twin Roadster. Cora thought the car was wildly flamboyant. Jake teased that he loved seeing her frugal and modest nature crumble the moment she slid into the passenger seat, feeling the suppleness of the leather and the smooth ride across the road. And he was right. There were little luxuries that he injected into her life that she could not be without - a pretty tea set, a soft bed, touches through the quality fabric of her dresses, a variety of food in her belly every night. To see her family flourish in their new home was a blessing she promised to never take for granted.

If Cora had thought that she had gathered so much life in the two years she had lived before marrying Jacob, the first year of their marriage was like living life at a full sprint. The Baras’ Brothers General and Mercantile Store opened for official business while they were on their auto touring trip. Joshua, Daniel and Samuel launched the moment they could, offering Arbor Vitae their first real access to a wide variety of needs. Within a month, Sam opened an auto garage and gas service station next door. Molly carved out a bit of a tailoring shop on the opposite side of the street. Rosemary found her hands needed as men streamed in from the logging camps, swamping Molly with so many repairs that she needed assistance right away. Assistance that her mother was delighted to provide. Cora took the job of accounting for all the family businesses - a job that she was happy to manage from the home that Jacob had built at the edge of town.

She walked through the functional kitchen, a cup of tea in her hand. The quiet of the house filled her as she sat down at the rich oak dining table. Across the walls and sideboard, instead of art of a well-to-do wife, she had pictures of them all - all the family. It was difficult not to be reflective as the children slept and her hand on her very pregnant belly as the next little one stirred against her. Her smile tugged as she cooed down at the next blessing. She had been feeling little flutters all morning. Flutters she knew would make loud announcements in a short time to bring forth the next member of their family. Blowing out a soft, cooling breath across her tea, she looked across to the last photo Joshua had taken of her brothers.

Matthew, Jonathan and Georgie stood shoulder to shoulder with serious faces and crisp linen suits. It was taken just a few days before Matthew traveled to the east for the Autumn term at the college where his namesake had once made home. The eldest of her brothers had made quite the impression on his professors and had established himself amongst his peers. He was settling in Boston after the university there invited him to teach. Cora knew that their father’s spirit of sharing knowledge resided deep within him. It would be a good fit for the young man seeking to set his roots. Jon blossomed under Samuel’s tutelage, becoming quite the engineer and helping at the auto garage. The young man showed more than talent, but a mind for innovation as well. He felt strangled when he tried college, finding that he needed to be tinkering rather than pointing out the flaws in his professor’s methods and lessons. After two terms of university, Jon was snatched up by a large car company and moved to Detroit. Sam was as proud as he could be of his protege. Georgie, the last of the boys to be home with Rosemary, was preparing to leave for college soon. He would be joining Matthew in Boston, with a focus on the family business as his guide. He had taken an interest in the management of the shops, to which Jake was quick to foster. The Janas family lived a good, secure life. Quite the opposite of their situation only seven years prior. A blessing she held terribly close in her heart.

Samuel’s service station was wildly popular with locals and tourists alike. The first year without Susannah had been rough to aid him through. The young man’s wounds were bone deep and bled often as he struggled to heal. The station helped return his mind to normal. His reputation of making cars go fast trickled through the various car clubs that traveled through town that first summer of business. He was approached by a driver asking about what he knew about endurance racing. The thought of traveling around the world to showcase his talent that had once been for illegitimate offerings was not lost on the young man. He would spend seven months of each year on the circuit then return home to hearth and home, the conquering hero. After the second season, he returned with a woman he had met and married in Poland. The happiness that had jolted the man’s heart filled every room he graced. It was another blessing that the family could count.

Molly and Daniel had settled in a house down the road from them. Pregnancies were hard on the sassy woman. The grief over losses culminated in the decision to become a doting aunt and uncle. Molly took pleasure in snuggling each child, but to have the ability to turn them back home when fussy was a luxury all its own. Daniel and Jacob ran the shops efficiently. Their partnership was close knit with more than enough work to go around. Daniel shone in the community with his patient nature and level-headed decision making. He had become a fixture on the town board with whispers of perhaps a mayoral term in his future. Molly would cackle behind closed doors about a former bootlegger and dancing girl becoming respectable in society without anyone the wiser. But she knew - it was a blessing. All of it and in between. A blessing afforded by sacrifice that was not willingly given.

Her eyes traced to the numerous pictures of her and Jacob. Her handsome husband and partner. Matthew Kelly arrived a week before the stock market crash that blackened October 28th, 1929. He brought such joy to their home that Cora was sure would rupture it from its sheer capacity. But then, tragedy. Unlike so many in the community, the Baras’ family weathered the perpetual storms with restraint and bonds that were stronger than steel.

Next to the photo of Jake holding infant Matthew was one of the twins. Stone faced, seated with bodies turned slightly towards each other, it belied the laughter that rang out once the camera flashed. Joshua, though invested throughout the community, became restless shortly after the dark days began to unfold. He was instrumental in immediately setting up aid to those who were affected, seeing to it that hungry mouths had food to turn to as well as having shelters built for families displaced from instant foreclosure. Joshua’s spirit grew restless in the small community that held few options for him. He drifted in his pursuits, moving further and further away from hearth and home, traveling the country in search of his niche. Always graced with the gift of words, Josh had discovered an opportunity to delve into his love of film. Instead of Hollywood, he found himself behind a camera, capturing the horrendous human suffering of the time. He was able to put pictures and words to those who were too smothered to be heard and seen. He became active in documenting atrocities of what would become a defining moment in history. Though he was far from home, Joshua marched to his family’s heartbeat always. Caring and sheltering those he could by bringing awareness to their strife. Cora grinned at the photo, knowing that Joshua was a blessing to her in more than just offering her a glimmer of opportunity that was doubtful in the beginning. Her husband’s brother saw within her something that could be pushed, nurtured and elevated to be a pillar of strength of his family. For that, she would always be grateful.

In the center of the wall, hung a beautifully framed photograph of the entire family, all together. Rosemary and Dorothy were the center with both sides of the family fanning out behind them. Though on the fringe, Junie could be seen holding the hand of Lucas for the very first time. It was a moment no one realized until the finished piece arrived in the lovely silver frame. Lucas provided her sister with the kind of quiet love Junie needed. The young man held her with such tenderness, yet protected Cora Rose with a fierceness that rivaled the girl’s mother. Lucas had started to expand on the little cottage next to Dotty’s, but the woman gifted the big house to them instead. Cora Rose became sister to Ada Marie the following year and the house would become what Dorothy Baroski wanted it to be - a home for a family. The shelter the woman had afforded Junie when it most needed, turned to the blessing of found family.

Cora’s belly constricted once more, hard, under her fingertips. The air in her lungs burned as she tried to breathe through the stirrings. Shifting for the eighth time in an effort to remain comfortable, her eyes strayed to the grand clock. The fourth hour chime would fill the home with a tone that was meant to prepare for the evening. However, she knew it would be a few hours yet before Jacob would return to her.

Their twins, Sarah Jane and Junie Belle, arrived in March of 1931. Tiny little things, the pair screamed their way into the home and their parents’ hearts. The picture of Jake holding both babies while she held Matthew on her hip was one of her favorites. A hint of a smile resided on her man’s face that happened to be there from the moment of the vows, never straying, never fading. Her Jacob. Her handsome husband. He was a better father than she could have hoped for. Echoes of her father resounded in her spirit as he would swish around holding the babies in his strong arms as they babbled and sang songs that floated out of the radio. He read to them every chance he received, spinning tales that she was sure had been his favorites as a child. He glowed in the presence of his children.

Though the dark did not seem to touch the Bara’s household, it ravaged their community. It was not uncommon for men from all over the region to gather on the main street and wait for jobs in order to feed their families. Men as far away as Eau Claire and Waukesha would show up and wait for the timber crews to glean from their numbers for logging to the north. A few were brought on to the farms for day help, but that was mostly just in the Spring and Autumn months when help was needed. Most were unsuccessful in their search for work, leaving an endless march of souls that were hungry and lost to the time at hand.

Junie would drive into town four afternoons a week with Dottie, bringing in extras from the garden and donating time in the soup kitchen. Jacob, on his walk home each evening after the shop closed at six, would stop in the kitchen to sneak in a ten dollar bill when no one was looking. He would take a few minutes to play ‘Look what I found’ with a few of the children, pretending to find tiny bags of lollipops or hard candy or toffee treats to share. He always felt he needed to give more. More time. More smiles to lighten the heaviness of the spirit of their community. In truth, Cora knew the man would give every last shred to shield them all from this dragon that threatened them.

The flash of pain blazed from her core, spreading down through her legs and up through her chest. She knocked her tea cup, spilling its ignored contents across the deep toned wood. Gasping for breath, she fought to steady herself while her body worked to bring the baby forth. The bloom rapidly subsided and she stood to retrieve a towel from the kitchen. As she sopped up the mess, she could hear Matthew stirring in his room. Shaking her head, she knew it was time. Moving to the hall, she lifted the phone to first call the midwife, Mrs. Totts. Next was a call to Molly’s shop to request one of them to alert Jacob and then to come and retrieve the children for the night. It was a well run plan that they had planned out and executed. As she hung the receiver, she bent, holding her belly and swallowing the pain the best she could so as not to worry the children.

Time ticked along with the mechanical sound of the clock that she stood beside with eyes trained on the door. Each tick brought a pinch to her breath while each tock, the heat of her labor spread further around her back. She could hear the girls waking in their room above her. There would be no way she would be able to climb the stairs to comfort them, welcome them back from their slumber. A soft gasp dripped from her lips as another flare struck her.

Her brain began to latch onto anything around her in search of comfort. At the edge of the sideboard was a photo of Jake and her with Marcus. It had been taken shortly after Matthew had been born when their dear friend passed through town. The sight of the man who treated her like his own daughter soothed her. Marcus held an orderly court in Iron Mountain as the waves from the Kiszka and Wagner reign blazed to a close. He talked about how times were about to change once more. The end of Prohibition would bring legitimate business back to the liquor trade, effectively cutting off revenue for ‘family ties’ as Marcus put it. He had hopes of retiring. He had hopes of finding a soft place to land amongst the trying times. She had hoped that perhaps in time he would find his path back to them.

“Mama?” Matthew called from the top of the stairs, his little voice filled with sleep and worry.

She bared her teeth as she tried to move towards the foot of the stairs but a sudden flush of liquid between her legs stopped her immediately. Her jaw dropped as her knees started to bend to lower herself to the floor.

“Stay there, Matthew,” she managed, trying to sound normal.

The screech of the screen door followed by the solid sound of the front door opening brought her heart a moment of relief. Molly’s eyes grew wide when she found her in between the hall and the dining room.

“Oh, Mama,” she breathed. “That close? Let’s get you up, dolly.”

Cora breathed out in pain as her friend helped her back to her feet and to a chair. “Get the babies. The stroller-”

“I know where everything is. Don’t you worry about a thing,” she remarked as she turned. “Jake’s right behind me. You call Mrs. Totts?”

Cora nodded in answer as her hands smoothed around to the base of her belly. The door flew open once more, admitting Jacob with a worried look in his eyes. She held up her hands to him.

“I saw Molly-”

“Up here,” she called. “Got a few things to do first. Get her to your room.”

He helped her to stand once more as a contraction struck. She fell against him, but he held firm. Breathing him in as her body struggled through the process, she could feel his heartbeat through the linen of his jacket.

“Ready?” he whispered, his fingers pressing into her back.

All she could do was nod. He helped her into the bedroom. “I left a mess,” she said, feeling her cheeks blush.

“Do not worry about that. I’ll get it,” he answered as he moved her to the side of the bed.

He proceeded to start in on the buttons of her dress before unhooking her stockings and taking off her shoes. He reached for the nightdress that she had worn for all three pregnancies and wrapped it around her before helping her into the bed with a firm hand and gentle kiss to her mouth. They heard Mrs. Totts walk through the front door with a knock as Molly worked her way down the stairs. Jacob sat on the edge, his body a bastion of strength for her to hold to as the storm raged across her belly. He whispered love and devotion into her hair as she tried to breath through the waves.

“Mr. Bara,” Mrs. Totts scolded as she made her way inside. “That is enough of you. Out.”

He laughed through his nose as he leaned into her, capturing her gaze. “I love you. I can’t wait to meet our newest cherished one.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth before the old woman could physically remove him from his room. She watched him go and turn back with a wave before closing the door. The labor was longer than with the others. She could hear Jacob becoming frustrated as he waited in the dining room. At times she could hear her mother’s voice. Others, Danny and Georgie. Just when she thought she was too tired to go on, she felt a calm wash over her. It was a strange sensation she got with each of the babies - a calm that soothed her spirit and refocused her nerves just before they were pushed into the hands of Mrs. Totts. Her heart grew quiet until the first note of a cry filled the room and relief filled every pore of her being.

The radiance of pure love was a welcomed friend in her family. Cora, exhausted, watched as Jacob took their newest son, Jacob Thomas, Junior into his arms and held him close, kissing him on his forehead in complete happiness. Mrs. Totts frowned as Jake maneuvered beside his wife as she left. He cradled Cora against him as she brought the baby up to her breast to feed him. It was a blessing that both would feel, together. This idea of togetherness in their family. The blessing of forever.

The End.

So if you enjoyed my story, please please please, share it. Reblog it. Comment. Let me know the good, the bad, the ugly, because I do love to hear every thought you have - it will help me to only get better. I appreciate it more than you know.

Thank you everyone for being patient and reading along with the story. I hope to have something a little different for you soon. Something gothic for October. 🎃👻

@lvnterninthenight @doodle417 @luverleaver @jakesgrapejuice @fictional-duchess @whitesuitjake @milkgemini @positivegvfthings @songbirds-sweet @streamingcolors-gvf @gretavanbitches @samsurfgreenbass @gardensgatedaisy @babyhoneygvfarchive @myownparadise96 @josh-iamyour-mama @starcatchercarol @loveisonaroll @jakesstarlight @reesetrippingthelight @builtby-gvf @ignite-my-fire @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @wetkleenex-gvf @gold-mines-melting @starsasone @puzzle-gvf @mysticalstarcatcher @montenegroisr @takenbythemadness @way-to-go-lad @cal-a-bungaa @lightmylove-gvf @thewritingbeforesunrise @leftjudgeempathsuitcase @brokenbells11 @imborrowedshesblue @vanfleeter @sammysvanfeet @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @jaketlove @redsierra1960 @gvfmarge @becinabubblegvf @wildbluesorbit @sinarainbows

#greta van fleet #gvf #jake gvf #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #josh gvf #sammy gvf #sam gvf #daniel gvf #danny gvf #greta van fleet fanfic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fanfic au #greta van fleet au fic #greta van fleet x ocs #bootleggers and wildflowers

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