yoongi wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache.

this isn't anything new to him, so he's almost content to leave it be and try go back to sleep.

then he hears something, shuffling about in his room and against his better judgement, he lets his eyes blink open and finds the source of the noise. it's jungkook, moving around the messy space with his back turned to yoongi.

and then he remembers all that happened the night before.

and then the self-loathing hits him like a freight train.

yoongi tries to say something, but his voice is too raspy and it comes out little more than a wheezed choke. jungkook glances at him and the look of something close to judgement in his eyes is more disarming than yoongi would ever care to admit. yoongi clears his throat, and tries again, unable to meet jungkook's eyes.

'where'd you go last night?'

there's a long, terrible moment where jungkook just stares at him, not saying anything. yoongi can't find it in himself to be mad. he's surprised jungkook's even here at all, yoongi's certainly done nothing to earn his company. last night proved what an asshole he really was.

bastard. how could you do that to him? you fucking bastard.

'i slept outside,' jungkook says. 'in your car. better than being in here.'

with you, are the words left unsaid there, yoongi swallows the lump in his throat, every heartbeat seeming to do a number on the festering nervousness in his chest. jungkook slept outside in his car, where it must have been freezing because of him and his bullshit. the kid deserves better, better than him, but he still feels that frantic pang of nervousness bubble up when he sees that knife-like sharpness in jungkook's eyes, how much older he looks than when yoongi found him in that hallway, all shyness and jittery fingers.

yoongi doesn't want to lose anyone else. he already pushed jin away. he doesn't want to lose jungkook too.

you're so selfish.

'are you leaving?'

there's a cruel edge to jungkook's lips as he smiles, no real humour about it. 'does it look like i am?'

it doesn't. jungkook has a couple dirty shirts in his hands, a pair of jeans too, if he planned on robbing yoongi before he bolted, you'd think he'd have gone for something a little more pricey than dirty laundry.

maybe he would. the kid's stupid, remember?

shut up.

but you said so yourself.

i didn't fucking mean it.

the room's a mess, has been for a few months now. everything stinks—himself included, he can't remember the last time he showered—and there's a smell coming from a dish in the corner that's been in here for god knows how long and yoongi's pretty sure he's seen a rat hiding out near his closet. there's no real floor-space to speak of and the amount of bottles stored in here could be up for a world record, probably.

'you don't have to do this,' yoongi says.

'who else is going to? you?' he scoffs and yoongi can hear traces of his own bitterness wedged in there and it stings worse than the stomach acid burning the roof of his mouth.

jungkook picks up another shirt from the ground, tosses it into the laundry basket, over-flowing by this stage. he won't meet yoongi's gaze, which is okay, yoongi doesn't really want to meet his either.

'you're wrong, you know.'

yoongi startles, wishes he hadn't because the movement sends a new wave of pain throughout his body. 'about what?'

'a lot of things,' jungkook says. 'mainly why i'm here.' he picks up another shirt, tosses it into the basket. 'it's not obligation, or desperation because i don't have anyone else and i don't, not really, you weren't wrong about that at least.' yoongi winces. god, you're a fucking asshole. 'i'm here cause i care about you and because the others care too. when you're not drunk, you're actually a good person, did you know that?'

yoongi blinks at him and jungkook scoffs once again.

'i didn't think so. so even though i don't know what to do to fix things, i'll stick around, because you're my friend and i want you to get better and i know me leaving won't do anything but make it worse.'

he shrugs his shoulders and back-tracks out the door, the slightest trace of a limp in his step as he does so. yoongi watches him, hears every stammering heartbeat pulse in time with the younger's stuttered steps.

'i'm going to go clean up the kitchen,' jungkook says. 'then i'll get you something to eat. okay?'

yoongi is tired. so fucking tired and bored with this front he's put up, playing pretend in front of a kid who's too old to believe in fairy tales anymore. he can't get up, he can't find the will to protest, so he just sinks back into bed trying to push through the numbness consuming him and show jungkook just how relieved he is, how fucking sorry he is. he doesn't trust himself with words.

he fucking looked up to you and you let him down.

i know.

you don't deserve him.

i know.

he nods. and jungkook smiles, a tight-lipped thing that doesn't reach his eyes. he turns around and disappears out the door, leaving yoongi to his own devices, hearing everything jungkook said repeat over and over.

i don't have friends. no-one gave a shit about me or what i wanted. no-one ever put any worth on my feelings until you came along and i can't fucking lose that! i can't lose you. fuck you, yoongi. you listen to your stupid brain when it says you're not good enough, you have three friends who think the world of you and me! you have me, but you won't listen! despite being the fucking idiot everyone knows i am, i still see just how much you fucking hate yourself—

this isn't just about you anymore.

yoongi hates himself for crying. he doesn't have the right to feel self-pity right now. he should get over it, get up and fucking apologise like a real man. everyone left. everyone fucking left except jungkook, this shy, talented kid.

he deserves better than me.

yeah. he does. yoongi stares up at the ceiling, pays attention to the rise and fall of his chest.

so what the fuck are you gonna do about it?

the million dollar question.

yoongi pushes himself up, tells himself to push through the crippling pain in his head, that it's a fabricated nothingness and this is more important than conserving the frailty of his body.

for jungkook, he says in his head, like a mantra. for jungkook.

his fingers graze the bed-side table, he lets his palm fall flat on the surface and pushes himself to his feet, legs like jelly beneath him. he staggers toward his studio, bracing himself against the walls so he doesn't fall. he finds the waste bucket tucked into the corner, thanks every known deity that he can think of that jungkook hasn't emptied it in his cleaning session.

he lets his knees hit the floor, digs through the contents of scrunched up paper with discarded lyrics and melodies and lists of things he never got done. eventually he finds what he's looking for, and he gets back to his feet, leaving the trash strewn about as he makes for his room once again.

his phone is buried in his leather jacket's pocket. he digs it out, looks down at the paper in his hand and types out the number. trepidation makes his fingers shake, makes his ribs feel like they're on the cusp of shattering the attempt to hold his heart in.

for jungkook. for jungkook. for jungkook.

this isn't just about you anymore.

'hello?' a woman's voice says on the other end and yoongi's heart leaps.

'yes, hello, hi... um...' he looks at the card in his hand, flicks it between his fingers and sighs. 'i'd like to book an appointment with jeon eunmi, please.'