The knock on the door comes just as Yoongi is taping up yet another box of books (nine of thirteen, unless Namjoon has magically acquired more of either the books or the boxes since they started packing, which wouldn't even be surprising honestly), the hollow thud startling him from his daydream. He's imagining the satisfying sound of paper going up in flames at the lovely warmth of Fahrenheit 451—there's a copy of that packed in box five of thirteen, practically an instruction manual for Yoongi's bibliophobic pyromania. 451...how many degrees is that in Celsius exactly?

But the knock. "What the fuck," Yoongi mumbles, pushing himself to his feet and angling his head towards the front door. "Namjoon," he calls, "did you order food or something?"

There's a muffled shout and a crash from Namjoon's bedroom, which means the owner of said bedroom is probably drowning in a sea of books from the overflow library he keeps in there. Of course Namjoon can't bear to part with a single page: "I might need that one, hyung," he'd said to every single book Yoongi had pointed out last night when they were plotting the last step of their move.

Whoever is at the door knocks again, more tentatively this time. Yoongi sighs and shuffles to the entryway, hoping it's not their obnoxious landlord coming to harass them one last time about playing music too loud at all hours of the day and night. They're literally right now moving out. Namjoon and Yoongi are even graciously packing in utter, ludicrous silence, partly because their jointly owned, expensive speakers are already packed, partly for the very reason that Yoongi doesn't want his landlord coming to lecture them again.

Yoongi flicks the deadbolt and pulls open the door with a sigh, already prepared with a Very Compelling Defense (not that he should even need one; only heathens don't listen to music at every possible opportunity): "Sir, I'm not even playing my Moving Out Playlist which I crafted specifically for—oh."

The person waiting outside is definitely not the landlord. It's a boy.

A pretty boy. A Boy, even, the kind whose look flits mellifluously through you like a magic spell shockwave, the kind of Boy you think about, the kind of Boy who gets stuck in your head like a really good song. A pretty, tall, lovely sort of Boy, with shaggy brown-blond hair and big dark moon eyes and cherry blossom lips. He wears an expression so soft and hesitant it makes Yoongi want to reach out and yank the Boy's lanky frame into his arms right in the middle of the hallway to reassure him of whatever it is he needs reassurance about. Fuck, Yoongi was not prepared for this when he opened the door to coolly and artfully lambast his soon-to-be-ex-landlord. Was not prepared for this when he rolled out of bed today and forewent breakfast in favor of coffee and nearly forgot his medication and walked around in an exhausted haze until Namjoon pointed out that Yoongi had somehow brewed decaf —

"Um, hi?" Boy asks, biting his lip right after he says it, shrinking into himself even though his shoulders are broad and his height is up there in the range of Namjoon's. There something fragile about him despite the muscles bulging beneath his white long-sleeved t-shirt, something helplessly young in his frightened rabbit gaze. "Um, sorry, I—I think I must have—um. Wrong...apartment."

Boy goes back to chewing his lip, takes a step backwards. He's clutching a bottle of wine like his life depends on it, and there's a card in his hands which is addressed to Kim Namjoon-hyung and Roommate Whose Name I Don't Know Sorry >.< in cute-messy Hangul. Yoongi swallows and drags his eyes back up to Boy's face, which has gone dusty red.

Yoongi shakes himself out of his staring, and then also he shakes his head. You know, like a person. "No, I—I mean, I'm not Namjoon, but I do live with him. Which, I would assume that makes me 'Roommate Whose Name I Don't Know Sorry'?"

Boy blinks a couple of startled times and clutches the wine and the envelope tighter against his chest. He's in black jeans and Timberland boots; there's a coat draped over his arm, black and puffy with fur around the collar. He is, somehow, simultaneously motionless and scrambling to hold onto everything he's carrying. "Um," Boy says, "I, uh. You're..."

"Jeongguk-ah!" Namjoon appears next to Yoongi with his hair all mussed and a bruise blooming on his cheek. "Sorry, I got attacked by the books from that Kant seminar I took last semester."

Boy—well, Jeongguk —furrows his brow, relaxing visibly. He obviously knows Namjoon, and maybe he's still a little bit unsure the way Yoongi also gets around new people, but he at least looks less like he's about to turn tail and scurry out of Yoongi's line of sight into a bunny burrow. "Hyung, didn't that class only require, like, four books? I remember you showing me the syllabus for it."

Namjoon shakes his head, disappointed-but-resigned-to-the-state-of-things, the way he always gets. "The professor put four books on the required list, but the recommended readings were a lot more extensive, and I ended up doing some light research on my own—anyways. We're almost finished packing up, and then we can start moving stuff down to mine and Yoongi-hyung's cars if that's cool?"

Jeongguk's eyes flick over to Yoongi for a second, and when he catches Yoongi looking back at him, he turns into the human facsimile of that emoji with wide eyes and red cheeks and a tiny mouth pursed in embarrassment. "Oh," Jeongguk says, eyes shooting back to Namjoon, "um, yeah. That's—I shouldn't have brought the—sorry, hyung."

Namjoon raises an eyebrow. "Shouldn't have brought..."

"Wine," Jeongguk says, looking down at it for a second before he thrusts it out, the envelope offered in his other hand. His coat falls on the floor, because of course it does. Yoongi has to bite his lip to his his smirk as Jeongguk looks down at the fallen puddle of fabric in distress. "Sorry, it's—housewarming. Because you're moving. My mom always says you should—um. Bring—stuff."

Namjoon accepts the wine and the envelope with a laugh, even leans down to grab Jeongguk's coat off the floor. "My mom too," he grins, disarming and dimpled. Jeongguk bows his head and accepts the proffered coat, and Namjoon taps Jeongguk's shoulder with the envelope. "Thanks, kid. That's really sweet of you."

"I just—shouldn't have brought it up now," Jeongguk mumbles. "Because now we have to move it, too."

"It's fine," Namjoon says, walking deeper into the apartment and gesturing Jeongguk in. "Didn't you take the train here? Where else would you have put it?" Namjoon sets the wine and the card on top of a closed box marked "kitchen" and disappears down the hallway, apparently already too lost in space to actually show his guest around or—anything. Namjoon isn't doing anything except disappearing into his bedroom, leaving Yoongi and Jeongguk in the doorway like fools. Classic Kim Namjoon. Yoongi sighs.

Jeongguk steps in and slips off his shoes automatically, then looks around at the empty apartment (well, empty except all the boxes of Namjoon's stupid books ) and looks back at his shoes and the door like he's realizing that they're really not staying inside for any length of time. He sucks in a breath and doesn't say anything, just hovers awkwardly in the entryway with Yoongi standing (okay, Yoongi is totally also hovering awkwardly ) next to him.

"Um," Yoongi forces himself to say, "I'm Yoongi. Sorry; you know Namjoon. Obviously. Total space case. Didn't even introduce us."

Jeongguk looks at Yoongi with hunched shoulders and a Bambi wariness in his eyes. "Oh, um. My name is Jeongguk?" The way he says it is fucking adorable , quiet at first but with the final syllable lilting up all high and melodic. "Namjoon-hyung tutors me. He always talks about you and I'm sure he's told me your name before, he must have, but I didn't—I couldn't remember, Yoongi-ssi. I'm sorry."

Yoongi stares at Jeongguk and there's this weird jittery sort of speed to his heartbeat which is, like, what the hell? Is he having some weird, heretofore unexperienced sort of panic attack? Those aren't supposed to feel good, though, and there's something nostalgic and familiar about the sparky jump of Yoongi's blood—

Jeongguk stares back and Yoongi's eyes trace out the shape of his baby-fat cheeks, the pout of his lips, the rainbow-arch of lashes cresting his warm brown eyes.

Oh. Shit. What? Is this—interest? Yoongi can hardly remember; he hasn't been into anyone in, like, literally forever, and part of him can still feel, with this wistful sense-memory, what it was like to be younger, to have the energy to get butterflies over people and then actually play the game, flirt with them, wink, ask questions, tease good-naturedly. Yoongi aches for those days sometimes, late at night when he's visited by the ghosts of failed relationships past—when he recalls the exhilaration of starting out with someone new, remembers a time before he was always so fucking tired. He tries to picture it happening again and can't. Can't believe any fantasy that involves another human wanting to be close to him. It's never going to happen again. Never, never, never, never, never.

That's just your depression brain, Namjoon says in his head. You literally can't learn new things when you have depression, because your neurons go all wonky and don't code data right and—

Yoongi is too tired to process any of what Imaginary Namjoon says. Besides, Jeongguk might have relaxed a little since his arrival, but he's still blushing and looking around for Namjoon and he's probably got at least sort-of-a-crush on his tutor, unfairly handsome brainiac that Namjoon is. Which actually makes it easier, Yoongi thinks, to be a nice hyung and do whatever he can to set Jeongguk at ease as the kid keeps chewing his lip, staring at the floor, clutching his jacket to his chest. Yoongi sighs and unchecks the mental boxes that are trying to put Jeongguk in the cute Boy flirt with him! category and instead nudges him into baby bunny dongsaeng territory. There. Much safer.

"It's fine," Yoongi says, "It's probably not your fault, really. Namjoon is a mess. He probably really didn't ever tell you my name."

Jeongguk swallows audibly and peers up at Yoongi from beneath his sandy bangs. "Oh. Sure. Thanks, I didn't...um. Anyways. Should we...uh. Boxes?"

Yoongi nods. "Yeah. We'll probably need two of us to carry any of the ones marked 'books, number-blank-of-thirteen'. They're the heaviest."

This, at least, perks Jeongguk up a little, and he drops his coat on a box marked "living room" as he shakes his head. "I can probably get them, hyung—I mean, um, sorry, Yoongi-ssi, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," Yoongi says, heart thump-thumping at the way Jeongguk shakes his head and gets hair in his eyes and sucks in a breath that Yoongi can hear and—

Fuck. Baby bunny dongsaeng category; yeah, right.

"You can call me 'hyung'," Yoongi hears himself saying, turning away from Jeongguk to try to keep his cool—and it's a testament to how long it's been since he actually felt feelings that he kinda just doesn't know what to do. It's like being thirteen again and having his first crush, a girl named Seoyun. It felt like a star had been born behind Yoongi's ribs just to look at her, and so Yoongi, scared of what was happening to him and feeling all the time like being near her might just make him burst, had tried as hard as he possibly could not to look at her. He stuttered and stumbled his words when she was around, finally worked up all his nerve and tried to tell her she was pretty but instead it came out "Hi" and then Yoongi had just turned away, not looking back as Seoyun and her friends giggled, not meanly but still .

It's that same sort of inexperienced lostness that steals over Yoongi now, that makes him actively avoid eye contact as Jeongguk murmurs a tiny, awed " Hyung " while Yoongi crosses the living room to the boxes with the kitchen stuff. "These are lighter. I think if we pack the cars right, it'll only take a few trips to the new place. Unless the books weigh us down so much that we have to drive two miles an hour or our cars just, like, break the fuck down under the weight of the world we are going to be placing on their poor, unfortunate chassis."

Jeongguk giggles and Yoongi looks up just in time to see it, the way Jeongguk's nose scrunches up and his teeth peek out all white and braces-prominent, his eyes closing for a moment of pure, vulnerable amusement. "Hyung," Jeongguk says, and when he opens his eyes and looks at Yoongi, it's like he's settling into his skin. He loses the nervous tension wracking his frame, straightens and heads for one of the boxes of books. "I can carry them, promise. You can drop the vendetta and just let me deal with them."

Yoongi snorts and shakes his head. "Absolutely not. First, because there's no way a kid like you can actually lift that box; second, because of the principle of the thing."

Jeongguk squats down. His thighs bulge in his tight black jeans and Yoongi's mouth goes dry, but then—fuck. Jeongguk lifts the box, no discernible strain in him. "You were saying?"

Yoongi blinks. Swallows. Takes a steadying breath. "Christ. Okay, fine. I redact my previous statement. First clause is dead, long live first clause. The second clause, however, stands. You should put that box down and leave it here to die on principle."

"Aw, RIP Namjoon-hyung's books, poor things," Jeongguk giggles. His amusement is so cute it's like firework sparklers have filled the room.

Yoongi tears his gaze away and picks up a box that contains only a few not-too-heavy pieces of kitchen equipment, crossing back to the entry to slip into his shoes. "Come on, Jeongguk-ah," he says, shaking his head as his Converse predictably don't slide on easily, the backs squished under Yoongi's heels. "Damn Converse," he mutters. "Joon! We're taking the first load down!"

Namjoon pokes his head out of his room. "Oh— oh! Right. Shit. Sorry, I forgot to—did you guys talk to each other? Oh god, shit, they're both so bad at talking and I shouldn't have left because they're shy— "

" Namjoon, " Yoongi says, looking sharply over at Jeongguk, who's blushing and shifting back and forth, shoes on, still holding the box of books. "Stop talking to yourself about us when we're literally standing right here."

Namjoon startles out of his mumbling reverie. "Oh. Oh. Sorry. Um, Jeongguk, that's Min Yoongi. Hyung, that's Jeon Jeongguk. I tutor him."

"Yes, he did mention that," Yoongi says flatly. "You walked out of the room and we somehow managed to have a conversation, despite the fact that we're evidently very bad at talking and also shy."

Namjoon squeaks in the back of his throat and freezes. "Right, sorry," he says. "Um. Here are my car keys." He walks over and holds the keys out. To two people who are both holding heavy moving boxes in their arms. "Um."

"I've got it, hyung," Jeongguk says, graciously setting down the box of books with absolutely no trouble.

"Jesus, how ripped is this kid," Yoongi mutters.

Namjoon huffs. "I know. That's why I asked him to help us."

Jeongguk blushes and accepts the keys, shaking his head. "I'm not that strong, hyung."

"Stronger than us," Yoongi grumbles. "Go finish packing your books, Namjoon. We'll get the cars packed."

"Are you sure you don't want me to help carry—"

" No, " Yoongi stresses. "Please don't do anything that will undoubtedly result in someone's accidental death."

"But—"

"Bye, Felicia," Jeongguk smirks, eyes lighting up as he glances at Yoongi just briefly, maybe seeking approval before he glances back cutely at Namjoon. Namjoon grins fondly, and Jeongguk's ears go red, and holy shit, the kid is totally flirting—

Aw, Yoongi thinks. Yoongi knows the look on Namjoon's face, and it's sweet but it's not his interested face. Namjoon heads off into the bedroom with a dismissive wave; Jeongguk looks over at Yoongi again, and Yoongi kind of wishes Jeongguk were trying to flirt with him instead of Namjoon, but. Well. It's not like Yoongi is ever going to see the kid again after today. Jeongguk is just helping them move, that's all.

"Come on," Yoongi says, taking an awkward step forward in his slid-on Converse.

"Hold on," Jeongguk says, lighting up as he kneels down in front of Yoongi. "Here, hyung, lift your heel up."

"Huh?" Yoongi can't see what Jeongguk is doing what with the box in his arms, but he can feel Jeongguk's hands on his ankle, and he does as commanded. "What are you doing?"

"Here. Try to step down. But don't squish my fingers!"

Yoongi moves his heel down and—oh. Jeongguk is fixing his shoes. "Shit, it's tight, are you okay?"

"Fine— ow. Fingers. No, I'm fine." A pause as Jeongguk giggles. "Wow, that all sounded really..."

Yoongi blushes, glad Jeongguk can't see his cheeks going hot. "Right. Sorry. Um—other side?" They repeat the process with the second shoe and a lot more giggling from Jeongguk when it turns out to be way harder to get the left shoe on than the right—

("I don't know why I tied this one tighter, Guk-ah, I don't—sorry, is that okay? Calling you that?"

"Sure, Yoongi-hyung!")

—but finally Yoongi is ready to go, and Jeongguk has the box in his arms again and the keys to Namjoon's car in his pocket, and then they're heading to the elevator and down, standing in comfortable silence most of the way. Yoongi is grateful for the lack of awkwardness in the air; he's even more grateful to not have to keep up a draining getting-to-know-you conversation when he's still tired and he's only been on the new meds for a couple weeks and everything is still just exhausting. Even Namjoon has been kind of exhausting recently.

Somehow, being around Jeongguk is easy.

"This one, right?" Jeongguk asks as they approach Namjoon's car.

"Yeah. Here, give me the keys—one sec." Yoongi sets his box on Namjoon's trunk and reaches out for the keys, which are in Jeongguk's—"Oh. Sorry."

Jeongguk shakes his head. "It's fine, hyung. You can touch my butt; I don't bite. Unless you ask me to." He grins, a little wicked.

Yoongi swallows and glances down at Jeongguk's back pocket, where he can see the bulge of the keys. "Um."

Jeongguk blushes, and this time not in a good, cute, sweet way. A real way, like he's actually worried about something. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't—no homo. Ya know," he says, laughing kind of fucking broken and awkward. "I'm not—I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," Yoongi says, crossing his arms. Part of him wants to just grab the keys to prove that there's literally nothing wrong with that kind of contact regardless of sexuality, but the less impulsive part of Yoongi's brain says that he shouldn't push anything now that this has come up. "Jeongguk. I live with Kim Namjoon. Do you really think he would accept anyone as a friend or roommate who was bigoted or found anything wrong with guys showing feelings or touching each other or being gay or bi or pan or whatever? Of fucking course he wouldn't."

Jeongguk stares at Yoongi with wide, unblinking eyes. Oh. Okay, Yoongi probably went kind of overboard, shit—

Jeongguk sighs and nods, still hesitant, but at least he doesn't look like Yoongi is about to hit him. "Yeah. That's—yeah. Thanks, hyung."

Yoongi nods. "Um. Sorry if I—that was a little bit much, with that. I didn't mean to—I just. I don't care about reaching into your back pocket if you don't. You don't have to say 'no homo'. Although regardless of my sexuality, I'm not going to touch you anywhere you don't want me to. You definitely have to give consent for back pocket key retrieval."

It's a weak attempt to make this lighthearted, but Jeongguk nods, stepping closer to Yoongi. "It's fine, hyung," he murmurs. "Um. I won't think it's...sexual. Sorry. That I said the 'no homo' thing. I really...hate that."

Yoongi shakes his head. "It's okay. I, um. I've said it too. To protect myself. It's okay to protect yourself."

Jeongguk's eyes go wide and concerned. "You can take the keys, hyung. And, um. I'm sorry you've had to—say that."

Yoongi grabs the keys and turns away, busying himself with opening Namjoon's trunk. "It's fine," he says, fitting his box in and stepping out of the way for Jeongguk. Jeongguk sets his box inside with a sigh.

"It's just hard," Jeongguk mutters as he lets go of the box. He's still looking into the trunk, but his shoulders aren't tense anymore; they're slumped with something like resignation. "To not be...um. Interested in the right...or, not 'right', but—"

Yoongi stares into the trunk too, standing next to Jeongguk in something like solidarity, skin buzzing with the significance of the thing they're both admitting right now, however veiled that admission is. "Yeah," Yoongi whispers. "Guk-ah, you don't have to—you didn't have to be honest with me. But. Thank you."

Jeongguk shrugs and his arm brushes Yoongi's. "I wasn't, really. I mean—I mean, I was, but not...directly."

"I'm bi," Yoongi blurts. The words hang heavy in the air between them, jarring and too sudden and no finesse, god, why can't Yoongi be as smooth about this as Seokjin is about literally everything? "Sorry. It sounds stupid to just come out and say it like that."

Jeongguk huffs. "I'm gay. There. Now we've both dramatically outed ourselves and we can be less terribly awkward about everything and—and it's fine, it's fine, hyung. It's—fine?"

Jeongguk is looking at Yoongi with something skittish in his gaze. Yoongi smiles, sort of. Better than he's smiled in the last couple of months, probably. "Yeah. It's fine."

Jeongguk's cheeks glow pink and he nods, and then he steps away from the trunk and heads backwards towards the door to the building. "Come on, hyung," he teases, "I'm pretty sure Namjoon-hyung has twelve more boxes of books, unless he's somehow magically acquired more in the time we've spent carrying these boxes down. Which honestly wouldn't even be surprising."

" Right, " Yoongi says, laughing as he closes the trunk.

Jeongguk keeps walking backwards, shoots Yoongi a wink—a wink —and finally turns around to push through the door into the building. Yoongi splutters and trails after him, shaking his head, wishing he had any of the energy it would take to actually chase after the kid, maybe leap onto his back and squeeze him tight and playful—

Aw, well. Jeongguk is waiting for Yoongi in the lobby, his previous burst of playfulness subdued like he's trying to tone it down for Yoongi's sake. To not tire Yoongi out. Yoongi can't help but blush at that sort of consideration as Jeongguk ushers him into the elevator first, as they head back upstairs and get the rest of the boxes down, Jeongguk holding open doors and talking easily about his classes and making sure Yoongi doesn't trip over the neighbor's escaped cat—

"I live with my roommate and his boyfriend, or like—basically, Jimin-hyung is my childhood friend, and he moved here for college two years before me and met Taehyung, and then they started dating and when I moved up here too, Taehyung needed a roommate and so I moved in with him. But Jimin is the one I know from when we were kids," Jeongguk explains on their third trip down from the old apartment. "I know it's kinda nonsensical, especially because Jimin basically lives with Taehyung and therefore with me, too; he just insists on having his own place because they're 'not ready for the commitment of seeing each other all the time', apparently. Which is stupid, because they do see each other all the time. But technically, Tae and I are the ones on our apartment lease, and Jimin has a studio somewhere that I haven't even seen. He and Tae go there sometimes. It's silly, but it just worked out that way."

"How'd you meet Namjoon?"

Jeongguk grins. "He TA'd for one of my music classes first semester."

"You like music?" Yoongi asks, the actual most important question he could ask, or that Jeongguk could answer.

Jeongguk's face goes all wistful and it's enough; Yoongi can tell, the kid doesn't even need to say anything—"Yeah, Yoongi-hyung, I do. I love it more than anything. Singing, I love singing. And I'm a dancer, too. Do you like music?"

Fuck. Yoongi swallows hard and feels the shape of his overwhelming fond emotions painting his heart onto his sleeve. "Yeah, Jeongguk-ah," Yoongi says. "There's just nothing like it, you know?"

"I know," Jeongguk says, and he does know, Yoongi can tell—and then Jeongguk starts rambling on about how he and his roommate and roommate's-boyfriend-slash-Jeongguk's-childhood-friend like to all sing together.

Maybe they could sing with Seokjin, Yoongi thinks, and then: fuck. He should not already be planning friend group mergers and acquisitions like this.

They climb into Yoongi's car once it's full and Jeongguk is still giggling, asking questions, acting adorable. Fuck, Yoongi thinks, chattering back more words than he's spoken in the entire last month, maybe; joking around and sticking out his tongue and ruffling Jeongguk's hair and grumbling but letting it happen when Jeongguk ruffles Yoongi's hair right back.

Fuck, Yoongi thinks as they drive load after load of boxes to the new apartment, Jeongguk singing along to the silly pop songs Yoongi is letting him play off his phone plugged into Yoongi's AUX cord. It gets dark as they work, the sunset filtering between the buildings of metropolitan Seoul, cars casting long shadows on the asphalt, Jeongguk's hair going somehow grayish-chrome with the new slant of light. There's this moment, this sweet, arresting moment, when Yoongi is driving and ranting about how capitalism is the antithesis to community; he turns his head while they're at a stoplight, and Jeongguk is just kind of gazing at him, eyes big and wide, mouth small and soft. Jeongguk is just gazing at him, but not like he's spacing out, or even like he's studying a particularly fascinating piece of art—no, Jeongguk is gazing at Yoongi like he is really seeing Yoongi, like he is listening, and making the effort to understand, like he's thinking of more things he wants to ask, an astronaut on a mission through the lifeless, airless galaxy of Yoongi's inner space, the void that is his heart.

Jeongguk's focus is absolute and intent, and Yoongi's breath stutters on the spot; he stumbles over the words he's trying to say, the thing he wants to share with Jeongguk about the tragedy of valuing everything—people, ideas, love— only in terms of the money those things do or don't make.

The light turns green. Yoongi doesn't move.

"Hyung?" Jeongguk asks right as the horn of the car behind them blares, and Yoongi startles out of his sudden paralysis and hits the gas pedal, launching them forwards almost too fast, the world spinning because Yoongi has gone from immovable object to unstoppable force in the space of a second.

"Anyways," Yoongi says, ignoring the way his heart pounds in anxious wonder, the way his fingers are tapping on the steering wheel. He wants to glance back, to see Jeongguk looking that beautiful, and that present, and that ephemeral again. Wants to see Jeongguk looking that way not in a car but in a room somewhere special, in Yoongi's room, or in whatever space Jeongguk calls his own. Wants Jeongguk to watch Yoongi that way while Yoongi is kissing down the lines of him, while Yoongi is mapping out Jeongguk's universe with intrepid fingers, a curious tongue. Wants wants wants, wants Jeongguk panting Yoongi's name, and spelling poetry in the shape of gasps up to a collection of plastic stars on the ceiling, and yanking Yoongi's hair, and holding helplessly onto Yoongi's hands—

"Anyways?" Jeongguk asks, calm and collected and Yoongi isn't looking at him, can't risk looking and making this mean whatever it might. Can't look at the cat to see whether it's alive or dead, because it's staggering if it is, and it's staggering if is isn't. It's like searching for life in some distance solar system, maybe Jeongguk is the life or maybe he's just fueling Yoongi's galaxy so Yoongi can make his own— two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying. That English scifi writer Namjoon likes, Arthur C. Clarke or whatever his name is.

"Anyways," Yoongi hums, turning onto a narrow street, careful not to hit the side mirrors of the cars parked along the curb. "I don't know. What were we talking about?"

Jeongguk huffs. "You were dismantling capitalism. From the driver's seat of a very small, very socialist car. It was really impressive, hyung."

Yoongi snorts, out of his depth with the shaky, blood-shimmering stuff he is suddenly feeling. "Right. I was. I'm glad you know that my car is a socialist." The words come out weak and wavering; so light they couldn't even dismantle a house of cards let alone a market system pervasive across the developed world. "Do you wanna take down capitalism with me, Guk-ah?"

Jeongguk giggles. "As long as your car is included in our anti-capitalist revolution too, hyung. Count me in. A lack of community is such a mood nowadays, and I would very much like for that to end. I want community." The last sentence is said in this ridiculous, pouty whine, and Yoongi can't help but glance over at the Boy riding shotgun in his shitty old socialist sedan. Sure enough, the very look of Jeongguk punches him in the gut with images from a movie, a poem, a song: this Boy under billowing white sheets and summer sun coming in the open window, this Boy tucking himself into Yoongi's side while they rest on a blanket in a field of yellow flowers, this Boy making Yoongi gasp breathless, this Boy, this Boy.

"I bet you'll find it, Guk-ah," Yoongi says, turning his eyes back to the road. "You deserve that. People who get you. Friends who laugh at your jokes. A group that will go with you to Pride. That sort of thing."

"You'll find it too, hyung," Jeongguk says, suddenly quiet. "You deserve all of that, too."

And Yoongi really isn't sure about that, but Jeongguk seems resolved to it as he reaches for the console, turns up the pretty acoustic song that he has playing at the moment. "Come on, hyung," Jeongguk says, lighthearted, "listen to this song with me!"

Yoongi, finally pulling into the parking lot of the new apartment complex, stays quiet, and lets the rhythm wash over him. He and Jeongguk sit in the car listening long after Yoongi has parked, lost in the soft-lilting alto melody, the tremulous harmonies in the soprano girl's voice. When the last notes die off, Jeongguk looks at Yoongi all lit up from the inside, his brown eyes glowing as he reaches for the door handle and undoes his seatbelt with his other hand. "You coming?" Jeongguk asks, teasing bratty but fond.

Yoongi rolls his eyes and climbs out of the car, unlatching the trunk. "Hurry up. It's getting dark."

"I'm trying, hyung! You're the one holding me hostage in your car!"

"I was listening to your song," Yoongi bemoans, but they're carrying their boxes in together, taunting and pushing each other's shoulders during the trip, laughing in automatic camaraderie when Namjoon shows up a good ten minutes later than them, having gotten lost every single time he's made the drive back and forth from the old place to the new.

"Goodbye, hyung," Jeongguk says late that night, excusing himself because he has an 8:00 a.m. class tomorrow and that is, to Namjoon and Yoongi, a completely legitimate reason to skip out on unpacking once the boxes are all present and accounted for in the new apartment's living room (also, somehow the number of book boxes raised itself to fourteen, which is just— how, Namjoon, how ). "It was nice to meet you, Yoongi-hyung!"

"See you next week for our tutoring session," Namjoon calls, already scrambling to get out his textbooks. "I owe you takeout for your help today."

Yoongi walks Jeongguk to the door. "Nice to meet you too, Guk-ah," he says. "It was fun listening to you singing IU."

Jeongguk sticks out his tongue. "Don't say it like that, hyung. IU is nice."

"Sure, kid," Yoongi says, holding open the door. "Good luck at your class tomorrow."

"Thanks, hyung," Jeongguk whispers, something secret and warm. He's standing outside the door; it's time for him to leave—but here he is, coat on and shoes tied and a maroon beanie over his sandy hair, still fully facing Yoongi. "See you."

"See you," Yoongi whispers back. Jeongguk finally turns away, offering one last glance over his shoulder as he pads quietly down the hall. Yoongi grins. Jeongguk blushes and turns away, and Yoongi finally closes the door.

"Well," Namjoon says when Yoongi gets back to the living room. Fuck, he's totally going to say something about—"Okay. Now we get to unpack all of it."

Yoongi wasn't expecting that.

"We could drink the wine Guk-ah gave us first and drunk-unpack. That was really considerate of him to think of us. Nice kid."

Namjoon gives Yoongi this curious look that soon gets overshadowed by concern. "Hey. Thought you weren't supposed to drink with your new meds."

Yoongi sighs, long-suffering and pouty. "Fuck. I forgot."

Namjoon smiles apologetically. "Sorry. Guess it's all for me."

Yoongi shrugs, digging into one of the boxes, ready to start reassembling their cheap shelving so they can get the damn books on fucking alphabetized (fiction) or Dewey Decimal (nonfiction) display—not that the library-perfect arrangement will last more than two days what with Namjoon's penchant for disorganization—instead of sitting in boxes all over the living room. You can drop the vendetta, Jeongguk's voice echoes in Yoongi's head; he wants to say it, figure out a way to work Jeongguk into this conversation somehow, it's an impulsive flutter in his heretofore-declared-dead heart, don't bring him up—"It's fine. Um. So. Jeongguk."

Well. That's one way to fuck it up almost immediately. Not even in some elegant sort of sensical way, god. You suck, Yoongi's brain. You suck.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, the curious look returning as he tears into a box of kitchen supplies. "What about Jeongguk?"

"Think he has a thing for you?"

Namjoon laughs, almost disbelieving. "No way. We've always gotten along, but not like that. But he's definitely been a nice acquaintance-ish-friend for the past couple years."

Yoongi frowns, pulling a battered copy of Macbeth out of a box. "Wait, he told me he met you in his first semester, which means—hold on, you've been tutoring this kid for, like, two years and I hadn't met or even heard of him until today?"

"You knew I tutored him, hyung," Namjoon says, casual as all get out.

"I knew you tutored someone. Not him. That's all the information you ever chose to give me."

Namjoon looks up. "No. I definitely told you."

"You 100 percent did not."

"I swear to god I told you his name, at least!"

Yoongi snorts. "You know, Guk-ah was convinced that you must have told him my name but he didn't remember it, which is why his card to us said your name and 'Roommate Whose Name I Don't Know Sorry', no punctuation. But I'm starting to think it was actually just that you really never did tell him my name."

Namjoon throws an anthology of Korean poetry at Yoongi, and Yoongi bats it out of the air with a smack. "Anyways," Yoongi says. "Jeongguk."

"What about Guk-ah ," Namjoon says. "Don't think I didn't hear you call him that. Guk-ah. "

"Why are you saying it like that."

"Like what."

Yoongi sighs. "We need to send him a thank you card."

Namjoon looks up, eyes wide. "Oh. That's what you were gonna say?"

"Yes?" Yoongi asks. "I mean, he helped us move, and he also gave us wine, and I know you promised him takeout, but for a 21-year-old, it's a pretty classy move to actually bring a housewarming gift."

"He told you how old he is?"

Yoongi ducks his head to hide his blush. "We exchanged birthdays," he admits, begrudgingly.

Namjoon makes a stupid hmm sort of noise that makes Yoongi want to smack him on the forehead. "You can't even drink the housewarming gift," Namjoon points out.

"It's the thought that counts."

Namjoon shrugs and goes back to unpacking as Yoongi scrounges around for a screwdriver, which he apparently needs even though the shelves are so cheap Yoongi had thought they didn't even have screws in them. It was probably stupid to dismantle, transport, and then reassemble the things, but Namjoon and Yoongi are broke millennials. They'd only saved up enough cash to pay for professional transport of the beds. Everything else had had to go in the cars.

"Namjoon," Yoongi snaps. "Are you going to be in charge of the thank you card, or should I?"

Namjoon grimaces. "Okay, look, hyung, I want to say I can do it..."

Yoongi sighs. "Yeah, yeah. I know. There's literally no universe in which you actually remember to buy, write, and deliver a thank you card. At least not within the next six months."

"Try a year?" Namjoon jokes hopefully, grinning that stupid pretty sharp-jawed smirk of his.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "Your I-know-I'm-pretty face isn't going to work on me. But fine. I'll do it."

Namjoon winks, smug. "So it seems that, in fact, this face did work."

"Shut up."

Namjoon turns back into his usual gangly, dorky self. "I'll deliver it, at least. That part I can do."

"I don't trust that."

"Aw, come on, hyung. Wait, we haven't even read the card he gave us—" Namjoon jumps up and goes searching for the envelope; he has to push some boxes aside before he finds the letter and the wine, but when he does, he offers the card to Yoongi and goes for the top of the wine bottle only to sigh in dismay. "Dammit. Where the fuck did we put the corkscrew. Why the fuck did Jeongguk buy a bottle that requires a corkscrew?"

"I told you," Yoongi says, tearing into the envelope. "He's being classy. Seriously, he has a thing for you and is trying to impress you."

Namjoon scoffs, preoccupied trying to find the wine bottle opener. "Pretty sure it's not me he was trying to impress all day."

"He was making fun of me right in front of you like he was trying to earn your approval or whatever. Show you how witty and cute he is."

"Hmm," Namjoon says, noncommittal as he digs through another box of kitchen stuff. "Sure. Or like he was trying to show you how witty and cute he is."

"You think he's witty and cute?" Yoongi fires back.

"You said it first," Namjoon says. "Anyway, you should take it as a compliment. Jeongguk was just pulling your pigtails on the playground; it was cute. He likes you, hyung. He's a good kid."

And—okay, yeah, so Jeongguk might have been bratty as hell most of the day and wicked with his pretty tongue (in a talking sort of way, not, like, an inappropriate one, obviously), but he and Yoongi had been kind of weirdly thick as thieves after their Namjoon's-Trunk-Chat, after Yoongi's TED Talk on capitalism. They had sort of bonded. When Jeongguk had left, Yoongi had been obviously disappointed. Namjoon must have noticed.

(Well, okay, it's Namjoon, not Hoseok or Seokjin. It's actually a little bit surprising that Namjoon did notice anything. It's also surprising that Hoseok and Seokjin hadn't somehow magically noticed from all the way across the goddamn city and started spamming Yoongi or the group chat with new messages, holy shit yoongi why are you blushing like that why are you acting shy and cute who is this Boy you like yoongi yoongi YOONGIIIIIIIIII —)

"So? What's it say?" Namjoon finally asks.

Yoongi startles and remembers the card. "Sorry. Um—'Dear Namjoon and Namjoon's roommate—sorry, I don't actually know your name'," Yoongi starts.

I really hope both of you enjoy your new living arrangements! (^o^) Namjoon-hyung, you're such a good tutor, and you deserve to have a great home! And your roommate also deserves that because he puts up with living with you. Haha, just kidding, promise, hyung <3 tbh not really sure why I wrote <3 instead of just drawing a heart, I guess this is literally just paper and I am not restrained to phone keyboard characters here. Isn't it weird how language is getting so distorted by the existence of emojis? Like, the other day I was trying to tell my classmate something that annoyed me and I got to the end of the sentence and my brain, like, mentally inserted the annoyed eyeroll emoji but I, like, couldn't SAY it, and then I realized I could just roll my ACTUAL EYES but it didn't have the same RING to it, like the same effect as using that emoji, I don't even know, the point is HOW ARE WE ALL GONNA TALK WHEN LANGUAGE TURNS ENTIRELY INTO EMOJIS AND WILL PEOPLE FAR IN THE FUTURE FIND OUR OLD WRITING AND THINK IT'S LIKE HIEROGLYPHICS LIKE THE ANCIENT EGYPTIANS I DON'T EVEN KNOW I'M HAVING KIND OF A CRISIS ABOUT EMOJIS NOW AND I'M REALLY SORRY, THAT WASN'T THE POINT OF THIS EVEN A LITTLE BIT. So. Um. Anyways.

You're really great and I appreciate you and maybe we can have a tutoring session at your apartment once you have a new place and a clean slate with noise complaints? bc I know you mentioned that you were always getting in trouble for playing loud music with your (now ex) landlord, which is really a perfectly reasonable thing to do idk why your neighbors/landlord didn't like it (>.<) so yeah, anyways! I don't really know where this was going but I'm running out of room! Happy New Apartment, Namjoon-hyung and Namjoon's-Roommate-ssi!

Love,

Jeongguk (^o^)

"Yoongi-hyung?"

"Huh?" Yoongi asks, jerking as he looks up at Namjoon.

"Were you gonna read it out loud, or what?"

Yoongi clears his throat. "Yeah. Right. Sorry." He reads the letter aloud, trying his best to imitate the way he thinks Jeongguk's voice would sound if the kid were here to just say all this to them in person. Namjoon smiles softly and nods at the right parts, chuckles at the diatribe on emojis. "He's actually really smart, I'll give him that," Namjoon says at the end. "I've also suspected that emojis are gonna take over as the universal language one day."

"What, and you're such a paragon of intelligence that people can be compared against you and if they've thought some of the same thoughts you have, that's a good indicator of intelligence?" Yoongi says, eyebrows raised skeptically.

"Well," Namjoon says, blushing and holding up a hand uncomfortably, shifting from one foot to the other and biting his lip.

Yoongi blinks. "I watched you use shaving cream as toothpaste just this morning, Kim Namjoon."

"Well—"

"Shaving cream. Toothpaste."

Namjoon sighs, shoulders slumping as he nods. "It tasted terrible and I kept using it because I thought it was just because I'd already been drinking orange juice."

"You had been drinking green tea," Yoongi says. Really, it's somehow personally offensive to competent(ish) humans everywhere that someone as smart as Namjoon is like this. This is shit you just can't make up.

Namjoon sits down, resigned to his fate as a human disaster. "Can I help you with the shelf construction?"

"Absolutely not," Yoongi says, scandalized. He sets the letter aside and keeps working, and Namjoon laughs and goes back to unpacking books, and they end up staying up way too late arranging things, but whatever, it's not like either of them has class in the morning, not like baby Jeongguk. They don't have work either; Namjoon is a bartender and Yoongi works in a music shop in the evenings, when it's quiet and the boss isn't there and Yoongi can just tune the goddamn guitars without dealing with shit that might trigger depressive episodes.

"I'm going to bed," Namjoon yawns eventually, stumbling off to his room, a half-unpacked box abandoned in the middle of the kitchen. "Night, hyung."

"Night," Yoongi says, finishing up his box. If he grabs Jeongguk's card off the floor and stashes the paper in the bottom drawer of the dresser in his new closet, well. No one knows. Definitely not Namjoon, who forgets real life things almost immediately.

Yoongi buys a thank you card the next day, stops at Starbucks to get a gift card for 5,000 won to include. He writes a note and seals it up, gives it to Namjoon for delivery, and that's that. Yoongi will never see Jeongguk again. But at least the cute kid can get a coffee, because there's no way Namjoon will ever remember to actually buy him takeout.

So. Yeah. Mission accomplished. Achievement unlocked, level up, whatever—Yoongi still has depression and a roommate who can't cook and breaks everything and a job that sucks but not enough to quit and a life with no real aspirations, no energy for anything beyond trying to get through the infinity of each day. Yoongi's heart is a dying star, one so old and worn down it won't even supernova—it's burned out already, morose and sleepy, caving into a black hole to suck up everything and destroy, destroy, destroy.

Still. At least for one afternoon, there was a cute Boy with a nose-wrinkle bunny grin and eyes like Hershey's kisses and lips like cherry blossoms. A Boy who talks like a pop song hook and laughs like the coming of June. A Boy who made the center of Yoongi's chest feel like a newborn galaxy, the space around him swimming with chemical life, suns and planets and asteroids and moons, not a black hole to eat and destroy, but the gravity to keep a whole new universe together.

At least for one afternoon, there was Jeon Jeongguk.

Jeongguk goes home from Namjoon and Yoongi's new apartment with Yoongi in his head and a spring in his step and a grin on his lips. He goes to sleep with a secret anticipation for dreams that might feel like fairytale romance, that might taste like summer, and when he wakes up the next morning, it's like there's a little sachet bundle in his heart that holds magic love spell things getting ready to nurture a sapling: there's fennel and cinnamon, anise and cloves, a sprig of lilac. Jeongguk can feel them glowing inside him and can't help but want to nourish the little seedling trying to sprout there, because it would be too beautiful to rip out, even if Jeongguk has only met Yoongi once and knows that there's no reliable chance he'll ever meet the object of his sudden affection again.

Taehyung knows right away. Walks out of his room and into the kitchen with a sleepy yawn that turns to a sly grin when he sees Jeongguk curled in his chair at the dining table munching rice and sipping coffee; there must be something glowing in Jeongguk's eyes or cheeks or something, because Taehyung shakes his head and calls Jimin out of their shared-but-not-technically bedroom "to observe a smitten lop-eared bunny in its natural habitat". Jimin doesn't even seem mad to be woken up for this. Instead, he leans sleepily on Taehyung and gazes at Jeongguk with something secret and safe in his eyes, and nods against Taehyung's shoulder. "He looks like us when we first met," Jimin whispers.

Taehyung's eyes go from playful-teasing to soft and grateful in an instant. He noses Jimin's hair. "We still look like that now. You look like that every morning when we wake up together."

"I don't even live here," Jimin mumbles.

"You're here all the time anyways," Taehyung whispers, nibbling at Jimin's ear.

Jeongguk escapes to his room before Tae and Jiminie remember that he exists.

The week passes in a lovely haze of daydreams and sighs, the lovesick kind, the kind like in your head you're seeing meadows for picnics, and dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light, and sharing a pair of headphones late at night on a balcony while you stare up at the stars.

Then it's Thursday.

"Hey, Jeongguk," Namjoon says when they meet in the library.

"Hey, hyung," Jeongguk says, ducking his head back towards his English textbook. He needs to focus on that as much as he possibly can or else he's gonna slip up and say something about Yoongi. Yoongi. Jeongguk searches the page of the book for something to complain about. "Um. Why is the subjunctive so difficult in English?"

Namjoon collapses into the chair next to Jeongguk with a sigh. "Because native speakers use it wrong all the time and the rules are nebulous at best and it's mostly a matter of just hearing it used a zillion times before you can really pick up on the feel of it."

Jeongguk groans and drops his head onto his textbook. Don't talk about Yoongi. Don't talk about Yoongi. "Rude. I hate this."

Namjoon chuckles. "You'll be fine. Here, let's start by going through the rules again, and then I'll tell you more about how it functions in actual, real-life use."

They work for about two hours without Jeongguk bringing up Yoongi once. He's proud of himself for biting his lip and ignoring the fact that there's only one degree of separation between himself and Yoongi now, and it's so silly—but Yoongi was pretty, and sweet, and liked to tease, and liked to be teased, and he seemed somehow so vulnerable, and Jeongguk is craving Yoongi's name in his mouth, he's shaky from withdrawals and dizzy to think of it, the shape of those syllables on his tongue, the synesthetic sweet-spice drug of them.

(Thinks of them spilling unbidden from between his lips, thinks of Yoongi laying him out on a cheap mattress and biting ownership into Jeongguk's pale skin, thinks of rolling them over and using his same chanting mouth to take Yoongi to the stars, beyond the stars, out where no human race is, where it is only them alone, symbiotic gods sculpting out new worlds of pleasure and sanctity, rainbow gardens blooming from Jeongguk's ribs, constellations in Yoongi's hungry, daring eyes.)

Around 8:00 p.m., Namjoon sighs and stretches his stupid long arms over his head. "Sorry, Jeongguk. I have to go. I told Yoongi-hyung that I would get dinner before—oh, fuck. Takeout. I was supposed to get takeout for you."

Jeongguk giggles. He is exactly zero percent surprised that Namjoon forgot. "It's fine, hyung. I don't mind. I would've said something if I really wanted you to buy me food."

"You would have said nothing," Namjoon says, pointing at Jeongguk with a disapproving look on his face. "I know you, Jeon Jeongguk. You never speak up when you need stuff. You especially don't speak up when you want stuff."

Jeongguk blushes. His heart is stuttering, he's ducking his head, he's a mess. He is always a mess. "It's fine, hyung. You really don't need to get me takeout."

Namjoon lights up. "Oh! Wait! You could come over for takeout right now if you want?"

And—oh. Yeah, okay. Jeongguk wants that, because—

Well. Takeout is great. That's all.

But. "Sorry, hyung. It's Thursday. Taehyung-hyung and Jimin-hyung will want me home to watch that drama they like."

Namjoon groans. "Right. Fuck. I forgot about that."

Jeongguk giggles. "You forget everything."

Namjoon slouches in his chair. "Yeah, Yoongi-hyung always says the same thing." And it would be so easy, now, to tread carefully down that path, to capitulate to the temptation to bring up Yoongi in every conversation, but before Jeongguk can say anything, Namjoon sits straight up in his chair with a look of shock. "Hold on. Speaking of things I forgot, Yoongi-hyung sent you this." Namjoon reaches into his bag and pulls out a small white envelope, offering it out to Jeongguk.

Jeongguk takes it. Namjoon's Tutor-ee Whose Name I Don't Remember Sorry ;) is written on the front in narrow, spiky Hangul. Under it: (Just kidding. To: Jeongguk-ah). "Oh," Jeongguk says, biting his lip and ducking his uncontrollable smile into his collar. He doesn't look up at Namjoon, but he can hear the snort that means Namjoon totally knows. "Um. Thanks."

"Sorry about the way he addressed it. He thinks he's funny."

Jeongguk is blushing and his feet are kinda twisting around each other under the table, tilted in like a nervous girl in a fancy dress standing ready to walk into the ball and hoping she's pretty enough even though she's a commoner, not a princess.

(She's destined, of course, to win the prince's heart. That's how these stories go, you know.)

"It's just a thank you for helping. Technically from me, too," Namjoon goes on.

Jeongguk does look up then, tearing his gaze away from Yoongi's pretty, pretty handwriting to smile at Namjoon—"Thanks, hyung," he says, soft, the way Jeongguk wants to be in the world sometimes. Soft. "You didn't have to. I was happy to help."

"Well. I do still owe you takeout for helping with the move. I think the card is more because you brought the wine."

"Oh! Did you guys like it?" Jeongguk tries to picture it: Namjoon buzzed and talking philosophy, Yoongi with his pretty hair sitting glossy across his forehead, chin propped on a palm as he gazes around the room, letting his best friend's words wash over him, tipsy and dizzy with it, and all on the wine that came from Jeongguk.

Namjoon smiles apologetically. "Um. I might've stolen all of it."

Jeongguk can't help the frown that flicks across his cheeks. "Hyung!" Then a thought hits him—maybe he brought the wrong kind. Maybe Yoongi doesn't like merlot. "Wait, does Yoongi-hyung not like red? Should I have gone with white? Oh no, I'm sorry, I should've asked—"

"Jeongguk," Namjoon says, resting a gentle hand on Jeongguk's shoulder. "Hey, it's fine. I just was stupid and selfish. I'm sorry I didn't share your present with my roommate."

Jeongguk purses his lips fretfully, shrugging. "It's fine, hyung. I just don't want Yoongi-hyung to feel like I wasn't a polite guest in your home."

Namjoon looks kind of exasperated. "Jeongguk. You helped us move, and then you brought us a gift. If anything, it should for sure be the other way around. No one likes helping other people move."

"I didn't mind," Jeongguk blurts. "It was fun, talking to you guys." Talking to Yoongi. His heart skips a step to remember it; the magic spell thing in his chest hums and sings and gives off a ticklish puff of golden dust inside of him. There is a seed ready to burst green sticky shoots out into the soil of Jeongguk's lungs, something that might grow into a flower, a tree.

Namjoon smiles like he knows what Jeongguk is feeling. "Hey, you know, if you wanted, we could all go out sometime. You could bring your roommates if you wanted. If that would make you more comfortable. You talk about them enough that I feel like I should finally meet them."

Jeongguk blinks. "Oh—it's okay, hyung. You don't have to feel pressured to like...befriend me outside of our tutoring sessions."

"Okay," Namjoon shrugs. "But the offer is on the table. It's not just some pity thing, or whatever you're thinking. I enjoy spending time with you, and I think my group of friends would like yours."

Jeongguk chews his lip. "Well. Christmas is coming up soon, and Tae and Jimin-hyung and I are all going home. It would have to be after that. And there's exam week soon too."

Namjoon nods and stands to leave. "Fair enough. But let me know if you guys are ever free. See you next week?"

Jeongguk nods. "Yeah, see you, hyung." As Namjoon walks off, Jeongguk tears into the envelope to see whatever last words Yoongi has bequeathed him with. A Starbucks card falls out too, and Jeongguk's eyes widen as he scrambles not to drop it.

Dear Jeongguk-ah whose name I totally do know,

There's almost no chance Namjoon will remember to give this to you, but if a miracle occurs and he does, I hope you like coffee. There's only 5,000 won on there because we, like you, are broke twentysomethings, but I hope I can at least treat you to a coffee as a thank you for helping us move.

Also, thanks for the wine. It's a perfect present because broke twentysomethings love getting trashed and crying about their lives and the insidious evil of capitalism, so now you know how Namjoon and I spent a perfectly contented Tuesday night. lol.

Anyways. I'm running out of room in this tiny card, so thanks again and keep an eye on Namjoon for me. He's probably giving this to you at the library—you might wanna check that he hasn't forgotten anything at your table. hahaha, thanks again <3 (should've just drawn the heart, huh?)

Love,

Namjoon-hyung (sorta) and Yoongi-hyung

ps I only wrote "love" because you did and it felt really mean to not say it back

Jeongguk grins all secret and special at the card, head ducked as he cradles it in his lap. He glances down at the Starbucks card and huffs.

Well. At least now he has a reason to write something back.

(Also, Namjoon somehow forgot his scarf and one single glove in the library. Jeongguk sighs fondly and tucks them away so he can give them to Namjoon next week. Along with a thank you note for the Starbucks card from Yoongi.)

Namjoon arrives home from his tutoring session and says literally nothing about Jeongguk. He just walks in the door, greets Yoongi, and heads into the kitchen to dig through the fridge for something he can microwave without breaking everything or burning down the apartment complex, probably. Yoongi is sitting on the couch, anxious and restless but unable to channel it into anything—and here's Namjoon, back from tutoring Jeongguk, Yoongi can't help but press a little like how you can't stop pressing on a pretty purple bruise—

"How was it?" Yoongi calls, snuggling further into the couch. He's kind of cold, but he can't seem to find the motivation to get a blanket or turn up the heat.

"It was chill," Namjoon says, muffled like his mouth is already full of whatever's in the fridge.

"Forget anything at the library?"

Namjoon freezes. "Fuck. My scarf."

"Gloves?"

"Fuck."

Okay, there's not much else to say without giving in to the niggling urge that's been haunting Yoongi like an addiction for days. Like some fuckin' app notification that you can't figure out how to turn off, repeatedly telling you to go fuckin' harvest your corn crop or do your Japanese lesson or play once a day for extra virtual prize shit. "Did you give the kid the thank you card?"

Namjoon comes out of the kitchen holding a bowl of reheated kimchi fried rice (Seokjin must have made that, considering neither Yoongi nor Namjoon could have). He saunters over to the couch looking entirely too victorious for Yoongi's comfort. Like he's been waiting for Yoongi to bring this up. Like he knows . "Yes, in fact, I did."

Yoongi narrows his eyes. "Are you looking smug like that because you remembered to do it and you're proud of that miraculous feat of your giant brain?"

Namjoon doesn't look even slightly bothered by Yoongi's tone. "Sure, hyung. That's why."

Yoongi grunts and pulls up the stupid, waste-of-time phone game that Hoseok is currently beating him at. He very carefully doesn't bring up the galaxy opening up in his ribs at the simple mention of Jeon Jeongguk, the black hole of his heart holding everything together as space dust swirls, as stars are born and die in supernova artistry, as asteroids collides and moons take over distant planetary tides, every second he thinks about Jeongguk fueling the life that is being born inside of him—

"Hyung, did you already eat? Did you remember your meds today?"

"Yeah," Yoongi says, mindless, lost in the tingle starshine feel of his blood, his bones.

"You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Yoongi says. Namjoon stops talking, and Yoongi lays his head back on the couch, breathing in sugar dust smittenness, breathing out sunlight and water and carbon dioxide. The stuff you need for photosynthesis, and maybe Jeongguk could be the flower, light years away on earth but growing, maybe, from the chemical power of this very breath.

A week passes. The galaxy doesn't exactly go away, but it does mellow out. Yoongi isn't ever going to see Jeongguk again; there's no reason to be fucking nurturing civilizations and atmospheres and goddamn universes to life using imaginary sugar-oxygen produced by an adorable kid with features like flowers. No reason to be breathing in and out every breath and thinking, maybe Jeongguk can make himself out of this, maybe he's somewhere soaking up the light of these stars that won't go away from my chest, maybe he's doing all that science stuff that keeps the universe running, maybe we're the chemical reactions that make everything, every single thing, spin madly on.

Namjoon comes back from his second-to-last tutoring session of the year holding a new envelope, this one bigger than typical thank you card size and dark blue, with flecks of silver glitter in the near-cotton material Yoongi gets handed. Namjoon ignores Yoongi's questioning look. "Thank you card from Jeongguk."

Yoongi blinks. "He sent a thank you card in response to our thank you card?"

Namjoon shrugs. "He told me you got him a Starbucks card. He probably thought it would be rude not to send something back."

Yoongi glares up from where he's huddled on the couch (again) trying to just, like, be alive. Jesus, it's not like it's difficult. Except it is, and today has been so goddamn boring, there's no reason Yoongi should feel downcast and rainy all day only for the prospect of opening a letter from Jeongguk—a card, not a letter, and it's for Yoongi and Namjoon—to get him feeling just the slightest bit more upbeat. Like things could change one day, even if right now it feels like the listless desolation of the space between stars (not a galaxy, how could Yoongi have ever thought he could be a galaxy ) will stretch on forever.

Namjoon starts to walk away.

"Hey, wait," Yoongi calls, "Don't you wanna know what the kid said?"

Namjoon shrugs. "He didn't address it to me."

"Seriously, though," Yoongi shouts at Namjoon's back. "What the fuck? A thank you card for a thank you card? Who does that? Is he trying to start a goddamn arms war?"

Namjoon just chuckles and heads back towards his room. "Oh, he's trying to start something. "

Yoongi frowns and looks at the envelope. In Jeongguk's fluid Hangul, it says, To Hyung Whose Name Is On the Tip of My Tongue...

Oh yeah! I know your name is Yin Moongi ;)

Yoongi blinks, the galaxy in his chest flaring to motion again. Seriously, the nerve of this kid, what a brat, and Yoongi kind of wants to put him in his place, throw him onto a mattress (but soft, like a nest), pin him down (hands on Jeongguk's stomach, Jeongguk's legs over Yoongi's shoulders, Yoongi's mouth—never mind), tap him on the nose and smirk (drag them upright against the headboard, just them giggling into each other's mouths), Jeongguk in his lap talking back even as they move dizzy and gasping together, and grinning crazy bright and beautiful.

Also, though. Hyung Whose Name is On the Tip of My Tongue .

Which, okay, Yoongi knows that means that you can't quite remember something. And Yoongi would very much like for Jeongguk to remember his name, even if he kind of wants Jeongguk to forget his own. He can imagine the litany of Yoongi-hyung, Yoongi, Yoongi spilling from Jeongguk's lips, held safe in the roof of his mouth, pressed between the spaces of Jeongguk's teeth, lilting and breathless-airy and sharp, Yoongi—

Yoongi shoves the thought away and rips open the card.

Dear Yoongi-hyung,

Thank you very much for the Starbucks card. I want you to know that I very maturely used it to purchase the sweetest, carameliest, whipped creamiest Frappuccino in existence, and it literally did not even have coffee in it at all. I thought you probably only drink americanos or something so I need you to know what your money got spent on when I had free rein over 5,000 whole won of it.

Also, I have to inform you that Namjoon spilled the beans on the fact that you did not actually get to drink any of the wine. (At this, Yoongi's heart pounds. What had Namjoon said about that? "Oh, sorry, kid, hyung can't drink because his head's fucked up and he has to use synthetic drug forms of the chemicals that other people just can make, you know, like people ," and of course Namjoon wouldn't have said something like that because Namjoon is the one who's always getting on Yoongi about internalized prejudice against neurodivergence—but still.) He said he stole all of it before you could even have any, so I'm really sorry you didn't get to enjoy my housewarming gift and I will obviously provide you with a new one. I'm going home with my roommates for the holidays but Namjoon-hyung said that when I get back, maybe we could all get together? Would you be down for drinks, hyung? Or we can do something else if you would prefer NOT to get drunk and wallow about the State of Things (read: capitalism) because that's what twentysomethings like to do, like you said. Text and let me know!

Anyways. I'm running out of room now too, so have a nice evening and eat a sweet thing like ice cream or something if you like that sort of thing <3

Love,

Jeongguk

ps I'm gonna stick with the <3 heart instead of drawing one, because it's kind of A Thing now.

Yoongi throws the card on the table. He doesn't actually have Jeongguk's number, and Jeongguk hadn't written one. Annoying. Cute. Annoying. Annoying. And Yoongi can't ask Namjoon without everything being even more obvious than it already is. Fuck. He's going to have to have Namjoon take another card to the kid, and that's not exactly going to be subtle either.

Whatever. Yoongi sighs and retreats to his room before Namjoon can reappear demanding to know when the wedding is or something equally absurd. Jesus, Yoongi has met the kid one time.

He tucks the card away next to the other one, the housewarming one, at the bottom of his sock drawer. The galaxy that's expanding wild and unbidden in his chest glows all night, even as he sleeps.

"Hey, you're heading home tomorrow, right?" Namjoon asks at their final tutoring session of the year.

"Yeah," Jeongguk says absentmindedly, trying to get all his stuff together so he can go home and cram for a couple more hours. He has his last exam tomorrow, and then he and Jimin and Taehyung are all heading to Busan for the short break between Christmas and New Year's.

"Here," Namjoon says. "Merry Christmas."

Jeongguk snatches up the enveope Namjoon sets on the table and shoves it into his backpack without looking at it. His head is going a million miles an hour, he's worried about the test and about remembering the train tickets and packing and Taehyung-and-Jimin being Taehyung-and-Jimin while they're back in Busan and about his family and all the people who don't know about Jeongguk being—

"Fuck," Jeongguk says, guilt slamming into him. "I didn't get you anything."

"It's fine," Namjoon says. "It's not even from me. And don't stress too much, okay? You're fine, kid. You're doing great."

Jeongguk's eyes flick down to his already closed bag. He can open the Christmas card when he gets home, that's fine. He's kind of not sure what it could be—after all, Yoongi hadn't texted him, which means—maybe Yoongi is going to gently disconnect the weird epistolary contact they've had? But he's doing it nicely, through one final card? Maybe he felt obligated because Jeongguk had sent a thank you card to his thank you card and who does that, fuck—

"Jeongguk," Namjoon says, settling his big hands on Jeongguk's shoulders. "Relax. Go home and sleep. Don't stay up all night studying, okay? You will literally do worse if you study more instead of sleeping."

Jeongguk nods miserably and goes. Feels soft soft soft but not in a good way. Not like pastel cotton candy and warm fuzzy blankets; no, Jeongguk feels soft like soggy moldy bread, like overripe strawberries the way they get those weird squishy splotches of light pink mushy goo that feel weird in your mouth.

Jeongguk goes home and hides in his room and ignores Taehyung and Jimin when they knock and ask if he's there, if he's okay. Forgets all about Yoongi's letter by the next morning, once he's scrambling around getting ready for the trip, then running off to campus to take the last test, which he thinks he does okay on. Not great, but he hasn't failed, he's sure. And then he's meeting Taehyung and Jimin at the station, climbing onto the bullet train and collapsing against the window with a sigh.

"You okay?" Taehyung asks, switching across to the seat next to Jeongguk instead of keeping his spot next to Jimin. He strokes Jeongguk's hair.

Jeongguk thinks of the love spell bundle of wild things in his chest and feels like it's growing weeds instead of flowers. "I'm fine," he says. The stop-texting-me-new-phone-who-dis letter is in Jeongguk's backpack right now at his feet, he could so easily get it out and read it and find out what Yoongi thinks—

But Jeongguk waits. Waits until he gets home, because Taehyung and Jimin don't need to be a part of this, don't need to see Jeongguk reading something that's sure to cause disappointed listless tears, or maybe not tears exactly, but definitely he'll go quiet and it'll be obvious that it's not just because of stress over tests and traveling and all the socializing they're all going to have to do for the next week. Jeongguk waits, and soon they're back in sea-scented Busan, standing in the station, ready to part ways.

"You wanna come over tomorrow or something?" Jimin asks as they walk to the local lines, Jeongguk heading for his house and Jimin and Taehyung for Jimin's.

Jeongguk ducks his head in a weary nod. "Sure, hyung. Thanks. See you guys tomorrow, then."

"Bye, Jeongguk-ah," Jimin smiles, reaching out to muss Jeongguk's hair.

"Bye, Jimin-hyung. Bye, Tae."

Taehyung squawks. "Why do you call him 'hyung' but not me?"

"I've known Jimin-hyung since I was, like, four. And you and I are roommates," Jeongguk says. "I've seen your junk way more times than I ever wanted to. You have no dignity left with me."

Taehyung sticks out his tongue and starts dragging Jimin away. "Come on, Minnie. Leave this disrespectful youth to fend for himself."

Jeongguk would roll his eyes if he weren't still kinda freaking out about the Yoongi Letter.

He takes the local lines to his suburb, walks the few blocks from the station to his house. His dad's car is home but at least there's no caravan of traffic with all the relatives trying to find a place to park or something. Jeongguk's extended family probably won't come over until actual Christmas Day; it's not a major holiday in Korea but Jeongguk's family has always done a casual family get together for it.

(Sidenote: Jeongguk is still not out to anyone here. He reminds himself carefully not to let on that he likes boys, that he likes soft boys, that he likes pretty button noses and maroon-y hair that brushes dark eyebrows and warm brown eyes and Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi—)

Jeongguk goes through the cursory greetings to his parents and brother without much fanfare. "You must be tired!" His mom says, and Jeongguk doesn't disagree; he uses the excuse to escape upstairs and collapse onto his bed, the door shut firmly. It doesn't lock. Everything is so foreign up here; it's Jeongguk's but it's old: random knick knacks from high school and YA books that haven't been cracked open in years and clothes that smell dusty and dry, unwashed and unworn for ages.

It's discombobulating to pull out the sealed envelope from Yoongi while Jeongguk sits on a bed that's his but also feels like a relic from some ancient past: a Jeongguk who didn't think about how he wanted to be in the world, who went through the teenage motions of studying and sports and talking to his straight bro-y friends and never one time realized it was okay to think oh, boys are great, boys are wonderful. So are painted nails, candlelit baths, too-big sweaters. This room belongs to a Jeongguk who had never met Taehyung and seen how soft he is while simultaneously being a loud, sometimes aggressive force of nature. A Jeongguk who had known Jimin forever and yet had never been able to reconcile Jimin's strength with his mochi cheeks and his billowy, butterfly-wing clothes. Jeongguk had liked (and still likes) sports, and working out, and commanding attention. Now, he dismisses toxic masculinity and admits freely that he also likes cuddling under fuzzy blankets. Who fucking cares?

(Jeongguk from three years ago, still a high schooler afraid of himself, had cared a fucking lot. Current Jeongguk can't help but feel sorry for that lost, conflicted kid.)

Jeongguk pushes away the weirdness of being in his parents' house and holds the creamy white envelope carefully: To Bunny-Rabbit Kid (I mean Jeong Jeonkook, that's your name, right?).

Jeongguk bites his lip and sits cross-legged and hunches in on himself while he slides a finger under the sealed envelope flap. He's always been terrible at getting letters open cleanly, and he manages to practically rip the thing in half just trying to get the precious card out carefully. He doesn't think about Yoongi's mouth touching this piece of paper, doesn't think of a pink tongue darting out to lick along the seal, doesn't think.

The card comes out and it's pretty. Pretty like Yoongi somehow knows Jeongguk likes this kind of thing, that for all Jeongguk is bratty and well-muscled and cocky and capable and strong, he's also a whole kaleidoscope of sweet things. The card to match: dark blue and sort of suede even though it's still made of paper. Silver swirls around words that say "Happy New Year" instead of "Thank You", like Yoongi is no longer trying to pretend they're in a Thank You Card Standoff. There are firework-y things on the front in shimmery bursts of inlaid glitter, rose pink and sparkling gold and more silver, lots of silver.

Jeongguk opens the card and reads.

Dear Jeongguk-ah, who I am now designating "Bunny" for ease of access,

I do in fact know that what I just wrote has literally nothing to do with what ease of access is, but I wrote it anyway under the expectation that you, as a loyal and well-mannered baby bunny dongsaeng, will not question my authority as the hyung in this relationship.

(Relationship. Relationship . Jeongguk swallows hard, because he'd thought this was destined to be a polite stop-talking-to-me letter. He's still kind of thinking that.)

Please stop sending me thank you cards. This war has gone on long enough, and I don't want to be the impolite one and stop sending them, so you have to do it and stop immediately. Consider this your cease and desist warning from, like, a major company that's mad at you about torrenting music or something.

In other news, here is a New Year's card which is functioning as a thank you card also because I'm not rude and I send back thank you cards when people give me stuff. But also, you asked me a couple of questions in your last note and told me to text you and then you didn't even leave me a number or a KKT ID or anything. Rude. You're like the person who sends an email saying "I've attached the following very important document to this email" and then you actually attached NOTHING. Heresy. Fuckin can't believe you, Bunny. <3

We now return to our original programming. STOP SENDING ME THANK YOU CARDS. Send me, like, more interesting cards or food or your thoughts on whether that internet dress was white and gold or blue and brown (I know that happened like years ago at this point, shut up). Since I have no way of contacting you beyond these letters we are sending through the world's most unreliable carrier pigeon Kim Namjoon, I will answer your questions here:

1) Of the many things I dislike in this world, socializing and new humans are numbers 2 and 3 on the list. However, I will make an exception this time and say that yes, I would be agreeable to meeting up with you and your roommate/his boyfriend when you get back from home. Namjoon says you talk about them a lot and they seem "not like serial killers". Also you told me about them, and I concur that they sound not like serial killers.

2) I would be down for drinks, but only if I'm the designated driver. Which I know defeats the purpose, but I'd really like to see you tipsy, Bunny, and also Namjoon is a terrible driver and I don't trust him to DD.

Now for my questions for you:

1) Where exactly is "home" for you?

2) What's your favorite mask from Skinfood? (and don't pretend you don't have one, because I have seen your cute sandy hair and your big ridiculous eyes and I know there is no goddamn way you don't like nice things like Skinfood masks)

Anyways, I'm running out of room again. That always seems to be a problem for us, huh? Running out of space for all these words that I don't even know why I'm writing except that you keep NOT LETTING ME STOP because I can't exactly leave a pretty Bunny dongsaeng like you hanging and waiting for a response from a responsible hyung like me <3 Have a good time at home, don't let your family overwhelm you if they're anything like mine and they constantly want to demand that you get a girlfriend or whatever (insert eye-rolling emoji here, because you're right, emojis are going to take over written language and it's going to be a literal disaster for all of us bad artists who can't draw emojis without them looking like Rorschach blobs).

Love,

Yoongi-hyung <3

ps the <3 thing is not A Thing. <3 <3 <3

Jeongguk can hardly breathe by the time he gets to the end of the card. There are so many perfect letters traced in there, they barely fit. It's true—they're always running out of blank space for the things they're trying to say to each other. There's something precious about it, the way they're limited by the dimensions of a piece of paper, not something like the character limit on a Twitter post which can be overridden by just replying to your own tweets, not the way you can stack message upon message in Kakao or iMessage without restriction. It's infinitely sad, Jeongguk thinks as he stares at the paper: infinitely sad, and the more precious for it, a physical space with all of the musings Yoongi gives not lightly but permanently, on real paper with a real pen. It's infinitely sad, because the universe itself couldn't hold all the stories and words and moments Jeongguk wants Yoongi to give him, couldn't hold half the stories and words and moments Jeongguk wants to give in return. Yoongi could write a whole treatise on literally anything and Jeongguk would feast on it with starving eyes, gobbling down every perfect character, adding each word and meaning to his body like cells, like fat and muscle and calcium and iron and sodium and all the chemical things that sustain life.

But Yoongi only has so much space, and Jeongguk feels the weight of it like heavy metal bars keeping them both trapped—there is only so much space, there is only so much time. There is only, there is only. Everything runs out, entropy reigns over it all. Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.

Jeongguk sighs. Yoongi hadn't left him a number either, and Jeongguk won't see Namjoon for another couple of weeks. There's no choice if he wants to write back, and of course he does. Jeongguk pulls out his phone.

Hyung, what's your address? Jeongguk sends to Namjoon.

Namjoon texts him back right away with the address and a few of those emojis with a half smirk and raised eyebrows, the one that's clearly side-eyeing you like ooooh, what are you up to???

Jeongguk sighs and clicks off his phone screen, heading out of his room and down the stairs.

"Jeongguk, honey? Where are you going?" His mom calls as he slides into his shoes and opens the front door.

"Just want some snacks. I'll be back in a minute," Jeongguk calls, heading for the shopping center a couple blocks from his house.

He does get the snacks. But he also goes to the stationery store and gets a pretty New Year's card with shiny gold paper and maroon lettering the same color as Yoongi's hair.

Jeongguk stays up late that night planning out what he's going to say, and then he scraps it all and just writes what's in his heart. He licks the envelope and imagines Yoongi opening it up, his long fingers and veiny hands sliding past the very place where Jeongguk's mouth is now, and isn't that an image that could be applied to other contexts for a very pretty, delicate memory. Jeongguk's chest aches, remembering a future that hasn't come.

He sends the card the next day on the way to Jimin's house.

"You look happy," Taehyung says suspiciously when he opens Jimin's front door.

Jeongguk shrugs. "You do too."

Jimin appears behind Taehyung, wrapping his arms around the taller boy from behind. "Hi, Gukkie."

Taehyung bites his lip. "Jimin's mom doesn't hate me."

Jeongguk scoffs and slips his shoes off as he enters the house. "You've met Jimin's mom before. Like four times."

"But never as Jimin's boyfriend," Taehyung says, lacing his fingers through Jimin's where they rest over his abdomen. "We always pretend we're just friends. Really good friends."

"Good friends, right," Jimin giggles, leaning into Taehyung for a chaste kiss.

Jeongguk blinks. "Right. Yeah, because—wait, you came out?"

"Um. Well," Taehyung lilts, eyebrows raised tauntingly at his boyfriend.

"My mom kind of caught us making out on the porch yesterday," Jimin admits. "We didn't realize she was at the door. And before we went in, we thought we should have one last kiss before going without for the rest of—well, okay, just, like, four hours until we could escape to my room and fool around with all my family members under the same roof—"

" Ew, hyung. Inappropriate." Jeongguk wrinkles his nose.

"Extremely fun," Taehyung says, waggling his eyebrows.

"Anyways," Jimin says. "She opened the door right before Tae was about to go for my belt, so that's probably good. It would've been uncouth for him to blow me right here in public. "

"Hey!" Taehyung grins. "I was just gonna give you a handjob, god."

"Not better," Jeongguk says.

"Point is, she doesn't hate us," Taehyung says. "We haven't told anyone else yet—no one is home except us right now, so we can get away with this."

Jimin squeezes Taehyung around the middle, eliciting a squeak.

"I'm happy for you, hyungs," Jeongguk says, following them up to Jimin's room.

"Yeah," Taehyung says, smiling at Jeongguk over his shoulder. "I'm happy too."

Jimin ducks his face into Taehyung's shoulder, and when they all get into Jimin's room, the two of them fall onto Jimin's bed together and immediately curl into each other's space, giggling and rose gold and summer peaches.

Jeongguk watches them as he sits on the rug on the floor and starts up the Xbox, remembering, again, a future that has not yet come: his own bedroom, here in Busan, ancient but made new again with the presence of Yoongi. In the memory-dream, they're snuggled on the bed together, exchanging soft words and softer kisses, and everyone knows and no one cares. In the memory of it, Jeongguk is giggling, and Yoongi is smiling, lilac blossoms and constellations.

"You're sure you don't mind?" Taehyung asks on the last full day Jeongguk has in Busan. Originally, they were all going to head back to Seoul together, but Jimin and Taehyung don't have work for a few more days and with the shocking-ish news that everyone in Jimin's family now knows and doesn't care about the whole Jimin-and-Tae-are-dating-and-have-been-for-like-four-years things (and have also been clandestinely hooking up in Jimin's childhood bedroom after everyone else goes to sleep—well, okay, Jimin's family probably doesn't know that ), they've decided to stay a little bit longer and enjoy the much bigger bed Jimin has in his room back home.

(They did not cite that as the reason. But Jeongguk knows that that's what it really is.)

"It's fine," Jeongguk says, "I really don't mind."

"And you'll be able to carry everything back to our place?" Taehyung checks. "Jimin and I can take the extra bag when we come back, seriously."

Jeongguk sighs. Together, he and Jimin have packed an extra duffel full of random stuff they want in Seoul. It's like they're slowly dismantling their lives in Busan and transferring them to the place that is becoming home the longer they stay there. Taehyung does the same thing when he's in Daegu. Getting their stuff out of their parents' houses is inevitable at this point; they're never going back to the places they came from. Not permanently, at least. Seoul is permanence now. Somewhere along the way, Seoul became home .

"It'll be fine," Jeongguk says, although he's actually not sure he can carry everything—not because he's not strong enough, but because he just doesn't actually have enough arms. Also, there's a slight tickle in the back of his throat, something off about the way his head feels, like maybe he's getting sick. But whatever. Jeongguk doesn't ever get that sick when he gets a cold; if he does wake up sniffling, he's sure he'll be fine. "You guys help me to the station and I'll have Namjoon-hyung come pick me up when I get to Seoul. He can carry—something."

Jimin purses his lips. "In that case, let's repack everything so all the breakable stuff goes in whatever bag Namjoon isn't carrying."

Jeongguk laughs. "You haven't even met Namjoon-hyung!"

"You've talked enough about his clumsiness for me to know that he can't be trusted carrying my Xbox or my PlayStation."

"Still not even sure why we're taking those, hyung," Jeongguk says. "We have both of those items at home."

"Yeah, but you and Tae have them at your place. If I'm at my apartment and want to play, I have to drag myself all the way over to your place and deal with this one, and he's terrible company," Jimin gripes, leaning into Taehyung like he's actually at all disappointed about this.

"This explanation still doesn't enlighten me," Jeongguk says. "But fine."

He's just pulling out his phone to ask Namjoon for help when the message comes in. It's from a number that isn't saved in Jeongguk's phone. Jeongguk blinks and clicks the home button to open his phone.

Unknown: hey

Unknown: sorry, this is yoongi and i got your card and you actually included your number this time so i hope it's cool that i texted you

Jeongguk is staring at the screen when the third message comes through.

Unknown: <3 not even using the emoji because The Thing

"What's got you looking like that?" Taehyung asks.

Jeongguk gulps. "Nothing," he says, thumbing out of the messages with Yoongi and switching to his KKT chat with Namjoon.

JJK: Hyung can you possibly come get me at the station tomorrow to help me carry this giant bag of Jimin's stuff back to mine and Tae's? sorry to ask but it would really help, i'll owe u takeout

"Okay," Taehyung says, like he definitely doesn't believe it. "Well anyways, we're gonna head back to Jimin-ah's now. See you in a couple days?"

Jeongguk nods, fingers still itching to reopen his phone, to text back right away—but. Oh. The little magic spell thing in his chest is blossoming, warm and summery even though it's winter, purple flowers with soft petals spreading out through his chest. "Bye, Jimin-hyung. Bye, Tae."

Taehyung flips him off over the missing honorific and saunters out of Jeongguk's bedroom, Jimin grinning behind him. Jeongguk doesn't bother letting them out; his mom will be happy to do it. Instead he sits down and looks for a response from Namjoon.

RM: sorry jeongguk, I can't tomorrow

RM: yoongi says he'll come get you instead

RM: if that's cool ;)

Jeongguk's eyebrows shoot up, and right then he gets another message from the number that he still hasn't saved as Yoongi's. He quickly creates a new contact and then looks at the message.

yoongi-hyung <3: stop ignoring me and talking to joon instead. what time does your train get here

Jeongguk blinks as the purple blossoms in his chest rustle with some magical breeze, as more vines and tendrils spring out from the seedling roots at his heart, as months of careful spring plant growth happen in a matter of seconds to twist around Jeongguk's ribs and make a garden of him, all the magic in there chanting Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.

Jeongguk finally, finally texts back.

Me: sorry, hyung

Me: was a lil bit freaking out bc you actually texted

Me: although you didn't answer the questions I sent you

yoongi-hyung <3: brat.

yoongi-hyung <3: I'll tell you tomorrow after I get you frm the train. which. again. when does it get here

Me: 1:35 seoul station

yoongi-hyung <3: okee see you then

Me: hyung did u just say 'okee'

Me: like actually?

yoongi-hyung <3: fine i won't pick you up anymore, good luck getting home

Me: :(

yoongi-hyung <3: just kidding. let me know if train time changes or whatever. see you tomorrow.

Jeongguk stares at his phone. Oh. Oh. He inhales and his breath is a summer breeze, rustling the life growing rampant all inside of him, bright and purple and new.

In the morning, Jeongguk wakes up with the slightest headache and a case of winter sniffles, but it doesn't even matter. He heads to the station happily, stows Jimin's ridiculous duffel, curls up in his seat.

Jeongguk puts his earbuds in and leans against the window, eyes closed, letting love songs lull him into Yoongi-lovely dreams.