How many roads must a man walk down before you can call him a man?
School, home, alley, and ocean.
After the childhood sky in the fallen desk drawer.
The end of the road was an entrance to a maze.
On the palm, bloodstain like a brand.
The pain along the scapula.
A dream to fly.
In search of the ocean which can't be seen.
The boy walks.
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Year 19
It had taken them hours, Yoongi thought, as he bent low to the ground again. His back was stiff at his coccyx, as he swept up the last of the dust into the pan, standing with a faint groan on his lips and shaking the contents of the pan into the trash nearby.
There was a murmur of chatter that had continued throughout the day, as the seven of them cleaned and tidied the old classroom. Sometimes Yoongi joined in on the conversation, and sometimes chose to be quiet and just listen, as they danced from one subject to another.
Schoolwork, their classmates and did you know that Minho and Jihan were caught kissing in the showers? They had just started off just wanting to know each other's names, and they were finishing their task in the classroom knowing more about each other than Yoongi had ever thought they would.
He knew that Hoseok and Jimin had met before at their dance class and that Jimin had a lot of classes with Taehyung and Jungkook. Seokjin and Namjoon were the only two students who ever used the library and so had found a firm friendship there, introducing Seokjin to Taehyung who frequented the store that Namjoon worked at.
Yoongi was on the fringes of it all, knowing Namjoon from his literature class and Hoseok from his energetic dance recitals on the bus to school but neither of them enough to really talk to. He had seen Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook be served with detention more times than he could count, only for them to collapse into giggles as the principal walked away.
"It doesn't look too bad, you know," Hoseok said, breaking Yoongi from his thoughts. Hoseok dusted off his hands and stood back to admire their handiwork.
Namjoon was stacking the chairs into a corner, with Seokjin and Taehyung next to him, maneuvering the tables so that they were surface to surface along the classroom wall, the black legs sticking up in the air.
"Yeah, but let's never be late again," Namjoon replied, clutching his shoulder, and rotating the ache away.
"It was your fault, hyung," said Taehyung, pointing at Namjoon. "You were trying to give me a wedgie and we missed our stop."
"Taehyung-ah," Seokjin scoffed fondly.
"Hey, Jimin-ah, put the chalk down. I just cleaned the board!" scolded Hoseok, walking to the front of the classroom. Jimin turned, poised with the chalk in his hand, and smiled devilishly.
On the other side of the classroom, Yoongi heard the faint tinkling of keys. He turned his head and watched as Jungkook stood over the piano, pressing down on them with his index finger. Slowly, he wandered over and stood next to the younger.
"It needs tuning," he announced, swiping his finger over a dusty key.
Jungkook jumped slightly, taking a step back.
"How can you tell?" Jungkook asked.
Yoongi shrugged and pressed another key. "It sounds wrong."
Jungkook bit his lip, still looking down at the piano. "Can you tune it?"
Yoongi thought for a moment. He was sure he had his Mom's old tuning key in his bedside drawer, but whether or not he could tune it himself was another matter.
"Probably not," replied Yoongi.
"You could try," said Jungkook, brightly.
Before Yoongi could reply, the door to the classroom opened and the principal walked in. Everyone stopped. Jimin wrestled himself out of Hoseok's grip and Taehyung stepped out from between Seokjin and Namjoon's bickering. They all turned to the principal and bowed slightly, out of respect.
The principal looked around the room, noticing the chairs and tables stacked and the trash can that was in the corner, full almost to the brim with debris.
"It will suffice," the principal said, before looking over at Yoongi. "Min Yoongi. I need to speak with you in my office," he said.
"Yes, sir," Yoongi replied, with another bow. "I'll take out the trash and be right along."
Without another word, the principal closed the door with a thud, and everyone let out a collective sigh.
"I hate that guy," Jimin said, under his breath. Hoseok dug his elbow into his dongsang's ribs and giggled, darting away, and walking back towards the door to grab his rucksack.
"I'll see you guys later," Hoseok said, throwing his bag onto his back and reaching for the door.
"Hey, wait for me," Jimin called, hurrying forward, and doing the same.
"Are you guys getting the next bus?" Seokjin asked, trailing behind. "I'll come with you."
Yoongi walked towards the trash can and took the bag out, tying the two sides of it into a knot as Taehyung and Namjoon trailed out after them, grabbing their rucksacks as they passed.
"See you, Yoongi," they all chorused in mismatched tones. "Come on, Jungkook!" they cried.
"Coming!" Jungkook replied, darting forward to grab his bag and hurry after them.
As the door closed, Yoongi was left to silence. He didn't like it, he decided. He looked over at the piano again, watching the light reflect off of it, remembering how he used to sit at the bench of his piano at home with a straight back and play when the silence overwhelmed him. He could hear too much in the silence, craving the way the sharp piano keys drowned out his thoughts. If he listened to the keys, he didn't have to hear the repetitive track inside his head. He hovered for a second… considering…
Because the piano was his first love.
Yoongi admired the light as it poured in through the window, the rays turning a dull yellowy-orange as the sun began to sink further behind the science block.
He picked up the trash bag and his rucksack and left, walking down the corridor and out onto the playground towards the exit, where he hauled the bag into a nearby dumpster and began walking along, away from the school.
After a few beats, he heard footsteps on the concrete behind him. He knew it wasn't the principal because he would have shouted at him the moment he'd stepped foot onto the pavement.
"Hyung!" a voice called.
It was Jungkook.
"I'm not your hyung," Yoongi said, over his shoulder, still walking away.
Jungkook hurried to keep up with him. "Where are you going? The principal said he needed to see you."
The principal can kiss my ass, thought Yoongi, but he didn't want to badmouth his elders in front of the kid.
"I'm going to buy some rameyon and then go home," Yoongi replied, turning slightly to see Jungkook following him down the pavement. "The principal has nothing of any worth to say to me."
As he laid eyes on Jungkook, Yoongi noticed, all of a sudden, how thin he was. He had been so focused on cleaning the classroom, on listening to everyone speak that had hadn't noticed the finer details about the younger.
Jungkook's wrists hung at an odd angle by his side, where his bones were visible, and his thighs didn't look much thicker than his forearm. He had dark circles that contrasted with his pale skin, but it was his big round eyes that caught Yoongi off guard. They were soft and pleading, and reminded Yoongi of his neighbour's puppy.
Yoongi stopped walking. "When did you last eat?" he asked.
Jungkook stopped walking as well, still five paces behind Yoongi. He shrugged. "I went home last night and ate Mom's leftovers but –," he stopped, averting his gaze.
Yoongi waited for him to continue but knew Jungkook wouldn't say anymore. Yoongi understood, though. There was so much about what had happened behind his own front door that he would never tell, and truthfully, he really didn't want to know.
"Come on," Yoongi said to Jungkook, gesturing him closer with his hand. Jungkook shuffled forward obediently, closing the gap between them. Yoongi went to put his hand on the small of Jungkook's back and then retracted his hand at the last minute, clenching and unclenching his fist, shoving it into his pocket.
"Where are we going?" Jungkook asked, walking next to Yoongi. He was slightly taller than him, and Yoongi straightened his spine in response.
"To get rameyon, I told you," Yoongi replied, his voice hardening.
Jungkook stayed quiet as they walked along the pavement, into the fringes of the city, and towards the first convenience store they found. It was the one Yoongi usually went to, to pick up something to eat if he wanted to avoid his father when he got home.
"Wait here," Yoongi ordered and Jungkook stopped on his word.
The elder ducked into the store and nodded a hello to the server. He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out all the change he had. He had enough for one cup of noodles, but it meant that he would have to walk the whole way home.
Yoongi looked through the window of the store at Jungkook, who had plopped himself down on the curb, his back thin and frail as he curled around himself. Yoongi placed the exact amount for one cup of noodles on the counter.
Minutes later, Yoongi pushed open the door, holding the steaming cup in his grip, and sat down on the curb next to Jungkook.
"Here," he said, putting the cup down next to him. "Eat."
"Where's yours, hyung?" asked Jungkook, as Yoongi handed him the chopsticks.
Yoongi said nothing for a beat, until he looked up and saw Jungkook's confused face. Jungkook wasn't going to eat until he told him, he realised.
"I'm full just by watching you eat," he said. His voice had come out softer than he'd meant to. Yoongi cleared his throat. "And I'm not your hyung," he insisted again, even though everything about their situation currently dictated otherwise. Yoongi didn't take in strays, he told himself. It was better that way. People needed to find their own way in the world. The sooner Jungkook learned to stand on his own two feet, the better.
He was about to get up and leave when Jungkook picked up the cup of rameyon and began shovelling the noodles into his mouth. Yoongi stilled and watched him, as Jungkook huffed a large exhale as the contents burnt his mouth, but it seemed that didn't matter to the younger. He gulped down most of the noodles in three or four mouthfuls, until he was tipping the plastic up into his mouth to make sure he got the last of it.
Yoongi watched him, astounded, as Jungkook put the cup next to them on the sidewalk again.
Jungkook's cheeks tinged pink as he inclined his head slightly. "I'm sorry for my manners, Yoongi-ssi," he said, meekly, almost wincing at his own words.
Yoongi decided he liked hyung better, in fact.
"That's why I gave you mine," Yoongi said, by way of a reply. Because you're starving, literally. You're so damn hungry that even a cup of noodles isn't going to fill your stomach. You'll be sick in twenty minutes because even that's too rich for your body to take.
Jungkook nodded his head slightly. "Thank you."
Yoongi didn't know what to say next, so he picked up the cup from the curb and took the chopsticks from Jungkook's grip, getting up and throwing them into the trash nearby.
Jungkook got up as well, hovering, and for a second Yoongi wondered if he had lied about even having a home to go to at all.
"Get home safe," Yoongi said, unsure of what else to say. "I'll see you around."
Yoongi turned on his heels and walked away down the pavement, waiting at the crossing for the cars to slow. As he looked back, he saw Jungkook turn and walk in the opposite direction, away from him, a slight skip in his step as he left.
As soon as Yoongi got home, he rummaged in his bedside table for his Mom's tuning key, slipping it into his rucksack, thinking how he would return to the old classroom in his next free period.
He managed to sneak some food into his room before his Dad got home from work, laying together a mismatched sandwich of what he could find in the fridge that his Dad wouldn't miss, before getting on with his schoolwork at the desk. He thought more about the piano, aching to play it, his fingers flexing with a desire he could never get rid of. The more he tried to stop thinking about it, the more he did.
Because he had stopped thinking about music altogether since his Mom died. Yoongi knew that no matter how much he wished for it, there would never be a piano in the corner of the lounge again. He'd asked his Dad for one on his birthday, if he could please save up, and his Dad had responded by slapping Yoongi around the face.
As far as his Dad was concerned, music had died in the fire with his Mom.
The piano in the old classroom was a brown upright Yamaha. There was nothing wrong with it, other than the fact the wood was cracking, and it was bleached from where it stood in the sun. Likely there was no one at school who could be bothered to tune it, not when the latest music grants came in and all the pianos had gone digital. The school obviously had no use for it anymore, and so it was pushed into the old classroom to rot.
Yoongi looked at the piano from where he stood in the doorway. It was exactly where he had left it, remembering how Jungkook's slender fingers had traced their way over the keys. Jungkook understood how to respect an instrument, Yoongi realised, as he walked over and folded back the lid on its hinge.
He got to work, twisting, and turning the key, the clink of the piano ringing out through the room, and when the sun threatened to sink behind the science block once more, he came back the next day and continued working. He turned the key over and over again until every note on the piano was as he remembered, sitting in the corner of his lounge with his Mom at his side, singing along to his scales.
For the first time, Yoongi sat down on the piano bench, straightening his spine, and hovering his fingers over the keys in his favourite chords. He pressed down and the notes rang out through the classroom. Yoongi sighed deeply. It was like a bird song at sunrise.
His fingers remembered the way they should move, sliding up and down the notes until he was playing the length of the piano as if it were an extension of himself, as easy as breathing. Not even having to think about the notes, just playing.
The door to the old classroom clicked open.
Yoongi turned on the bench, ready to be scolded by whichever teacher was passing, ready to accept his latest detention. The words, the raised voices, the threats – they didn't mean anything to him anymore.
The door opened wider and there stood Jungkook.
"Hyung," he whispered.
Yoongi's mouth threatened to smile.
"You tuned it," he grinned, letting the door close behind him as he walked towards Yoongi at the piano. "I heard you playing down the corridor. I knew it was you. It's beautiful."
Yoongi turned back to the keys to hide the blush that bloomed on his cheeks. Jungkook appeared by his side and stood with one hand on the top of the piano, the other hanging limply by his side. Yoongi ached for his Mom to touch his shoulder like she used to, the firm palm of her hand over the curve of his shoulder, encouraging and strong.
"Was it hard to tune?" Jungkook asked.
"It took me a while," Yoongi replied, playing another chord.
Jungkook shuffled around so that he was leaning over the top of the piano, looking down at Yoongi, resting his chin on his folded arms that were laid along the top of the wood.
"How did you learn to play?" he asked, and Yoongi took his fingers from the keys.
"What are you doing here anyway?" Yoongi asked instead, a scolding tone in his voice. "You should go home, Jungkook. School's over."
Jungkook twisted his mouth and averted his eyes.
"Did you eat today?" Yoongi asked.
"Namjoonie hyung gave me a protein bar from the shop," Jungkook replied. "And the cafeteria worker took pity on me and gave me the last burger in the tray."
"You didn't answer my question," said Yoongi, hands resting in his lap. "Why aren't you going home?"
"If I tell you, you have to tell me how you learned to play. Deal?" Jungkook asked.
"I don't make deals with brats," Yoongi replied, playing a minor chord, giving Jungkook a hard stare, but the younger only laughed.
"Hyung," he giggled. "Come on," he whined.
Yoongi felt a smile creep onto his face, before reminding himself that he didn't care about Jungkook. He played another minor chord, followed by another until his fingers were flowing up and down the keys once more.
"My stepdad hates me," Jungkook began, and Yoongi's playing slowed. "My stepbrother hurts me every chance he gets and my Mom doesn't care. I go home to eat and sleep and sometimes I have to skip out on the eating part because my stepbrother is still awake and he'll –."
Jungkook stopped talking. Yoongi didn't want to know the end of that sentence.
"So I don't like going home," Jungkook added, finally.
Yoongi let a beat of silence wash over them. "I get it," he said softly. "I don't like going home either. I'm saving up to move out."
"Where do you work?" Jungkook asked.
"I just deliver food for this restaurant in the city," shrugged Yoongi. "I'll only be able to afford a place at the motel but still. It's better than…" he trailed off. 'Home'? That place wasn't home. With Dad? Never with Dad. Near Dad. Around Dad. Tolerating Dad, in the same way that Dad tolerated him as well.
Jungkook looked down at him as Yoongi began on the piano again, playing the piece his mother had taught him. Clair de Lune. Yoongi felt Jungkook watching him as he played, not interrupting for a moment, just watching the way his fingers scaled the keys, how Yoongi waited for the right beat of the music, feeling the song course through his veins, his very being, getting lost in the music the way his Mom had taught him to. It took him a few bars to realise he had closed his eyes.
Finally, his hands stilled, and he opened his eyes again. Jungkook's were glassy, still leaning against the piano, still not moving.
Yoongi said nothing, averting his gaze and flexing his fingers.
"You haven't answered my question," Jungkook croaked.
Yoongi thought about Clair de Lune, about his mother, about how she would squeeze his shoulders whilst he sat on the bench and played for her.
"My Mom," Yoongi began tentatively. He wasn't going to cry. No way. "She taught me to play. She loved her piano when she was a kid and she wanted to play professionally. But then she got pregnant with me and married my Dad and had to give that dream up. She taught music to kids in my class on Saturdays and brought me sheet music from the fair on Sundays and –," Yoongi realised he'd talked more about his Mom in the last ten seconds than he had in the ten years since she died. Yoongi hadn't talked about his Mom since then.
"Loved," Jungkook whispered.
"What?"
"You said 'loved'. Past tense."
Yoongi bit his lip. "She died," he said, in a tone so flat that he was sure Jungkook knew that meant that the conversation was over, as he played another chord.
He couldn't speak about her anymore. Not about how she was gentle, like the curves of the lily buds in spring and yet strong like the roar of the waves that crashed against the shore. About how her hair hung in a long braid down her back and tickled her coccyx, the same ashy brown shade of Yoongi's, despite how many times he'd tried to bleach the colour out of it because he looked too much like her when he looked in the mirror.
He couldn't think about how she'd tuck him in at night and kiss him on his head and say I love you Yoongi-ah, and he was all of a sudden holding back tears like a raincloud threatening to storm because he hadn't thought about his mother in ten years.
He would not cry in front of Jungkook.
Jungkook looked down at him, eyes no longer glassy but from the look on Jungkook's face Yoongi knew he wanted to know. "Fire," he mumbled. "There was a fire."
Yoongi said no more.
Jungkook inhaled and resettled on his arms. "I'm sorry, hyung."
Yoongi was about to scold him, feeling the fire flare inside of him, but as he looked up and saw Jungkook staring fondly down at him, it was like water had licked the flame, fizzling out, smoke coiling in the air. It exhaled out of him like a dead weight.
"That's alright," Yoongi whispered, playing another chord.
The room was getting darker, the shadows illuminating as the glare from the sun came in through the window.
"We should go," Yoongi said, closing the lid of the piano. He slid off from the bench and walked over to where he had dumped his rucksack by the door. "The caretaker will be coming soon and then we'll get another detention and I really need to get the principal off my back –,"
As Yoongi turned around, hauling his rucksack onto his back, he saw that Jungkook had slid onto the piano bench. The lid was open and Jungkook's fingers hovered over the keys in the same way Yoongi's had done not so long ago. He pressed down and played a chord, which sounded awkward because his fingers got stuck between the keys, pressing two down together when he'd meant to press one.
Yoongi grinned to himself, and when Jungkook looked around, Yoongi tried to smother the smile from his face. "Come on, Jungkook-ah," he said, nodding to the door, an urgency in his tone.
Jungkook smiled and got up from the piano, heading out of the door. Yoongi looked back and realised that Jungkook had left the piano lid open. Yoongi decided he would leave it open this time.
In the days that followed, Yoongi went to the old classroom often, if not daily. He would sit at the piano and play all the pieces he could remember until he ran out and started stealing scores from the music room.
He would slip them to Namjoon during his literature class, asking him to photocopy them at the library, and Seokjin would deposit the hard copies back to Yoongi as he passed him in the corridor on the way to the science lab. Yoongi would slide them back into the music room as if nothing was afoot and find Namjoon's copies posted through the gap in his locker.
Jungkook would follow him to the old classroom to listen to him play. It didn't matter that he spent most of it reminding himself how to read music. Jungkook just sat at the bench next to him and watched. Then the door would open and Jimin would step in, drawing in Hoseok and Taehyung, who in turn was followed by Namjoon and Seokjin, until all seven of them were there in the old classroom together, as if they'd never been away. As if they had always been seven.
Hoseok and Jimin would dance whilst Yoongi played the piano, with Jungkook still next to him on the bench, turning the pages for him when Yoongi would nod. Seokjin and Namjoon would read their books, leaning back on the chairs, wobbling until they almost fell, sometimes pausing to admire the drawings Taehyung did on the blackboard.
Sometimes all seven of them lounged around, laying across the desks, or on the floor, or by pushing the chairs together. They would chat about everything and nothing, until someone heard footsteps and they all climbed out of the window and ran away towards the bus stop.
And then Seokjin got his truck.
"We could go anywhere," Jimin said, wistfully, laying with his head in Taehyung's lap, who sat against the wall, with his head on Seokjin's shoulder.
"We could go to the arcades," Jungkook piped up.
"We don't have any money, Jungkook-ah," Namjoon reminded him.
"I just like looking at the lights," shrugged Jungkook, sitting on the floor next to Hoseok, who laid back on his chest at an odd angle, legs thrown over Namjoon's lap. Yoongi lay between them, using his rucksack as a pillow.
"What about the old swimming pool?" asked Seokjin. He jostled the shoulder that Taehyung was resting on. "We could take your spray cans," he said to the younger.
"I think we should go to the sea," Taehyung said softly.
"That's not a bad idea," said Hoseok, looking over at his dongsang.
Namjoon readied himself to speak. "Apparently there's a rock there –,"
"It's the beach, what do you expect?" asked Jimin, and Namjoon threw his book at his dongsang in response.
"Seriously, Jimin-ah!" Namjoon cried. "There's a rock there and if you go to the rock and shout your dreams into the ocean then they'll come true."
Yoongi snarled out a smile. Fairytale bullshit.
"What if you don't have a dream?" Jungkook asked.
"What do you mean you don't have a dream?" teased Jimin, angling his head on Taehyung's thigh to look at Jungkook.
The younger shrugged. "Like what even is a dream."
"So you have the dreams you dream at night," Taehyung explained. "But then you have the dreams you dream in the daytime too. The ones you think about when you're meant to be concentrating in maths class. The type that sends you off to a faraway place of hoping and wishing."
That was a pretty good way of explaining it, Yoongi thought.
"Then my dream is to eat," Jungkook replied, and Hoseok arched his back laughing, with Jimin descending into titters.
"You can't still be hungry," Seokjin chimed in. "You ate my lunch and yours today."
But Jungkook only smiled. Yoongi looked up from his place on the floor, thankful that someone else was taking an interest in Jungkook's eating habits.
"My dream is money," said Namjoon, brushing his thigh clean with his hand. "If I had money, all my problems would be solved."
"I just want my health," interjected Jimin, sadly. Everyone turned and looked at him. "I just want to stop having seizures."
Yoongi felt an overwhelming sadness wash over him. Money and food could be obtained one way or another, but health... that was entirely out of their hands.
"We'll find you a good doctor, Jimin-ah," said Taehyung, patting his hyung on the head gently.
"Tell that to my Mom," Jimin scoffed.
Yoongi folded his arms over his chest.
"My dream is my Mom," Hoseok added, picking at a frayed thread on his t-shirt. Yoongi's nostrils flared. He thought about getting up and going to the piano.
"I miss my Mom too," said Seokjin, looking meaningfully at Hoseok.
Why were all their Moms dead? Yoongi thought.
"I just want to be happy," Taehyung said, not looking up from his lap. Yoongi looked over at him and resisted the urge to squeeze his knee which was next to Jimin's head.
"What's your dream, Yoongi hyung?" Jungkook asked, and everyone turned to look at him.
Yoongi's tongue felt like a dead weight in his mouth as he tried to speak. "You know it's okay not to have a dream, right?" he said to Jungkook. "Sometimes it's too painful to dream."
Jungkook nodded as Yoongi turned away.
"Maybe you'll discover your dream on the way," Taehyung added cheerfully, and Jungkook smiled.
"Maybe, hyung," he agreed.
Yoongi couldn't help but feel irritated by the idea that Taehyung had completely missed the point.
"So, when shall we go?" asked Seokjin.
"Whenever we want," Jimin shrugged.
"We could go this weekend," said Hoseok.
"Let's not wait that long," Taehyung whined.
"We could skip class," Yoongi said faintly.
"We can't –," Seokjin protested, at the same time that Jimin and Taehyung sat bolt upright, eyes alight.
"Hyung!" they cried eagerly, looking at each other with devilish grins.
"As long as we're not skipping dance, sign me up," added Hoseok with a wave of his hand.
"We could skip once, no one would know," Namjoon reasoned, talking to Seokjin. "And if they did, they'd only send us here again. And we're already here."
"I didn't mean…" Seokjin began, trailing off, half wrestling with Jimin and Taehyung who were bouncing excitedly next to him.
Jungkook looked down at Yoongi, who pretended not to notice. "What do you think, hyung?"
Yoongi shrugged. "It's whatever," he said airily, thinking about how nice it would be to go together, even with dreams or not at all.
He took his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. He needed to get going. Slowly, he sat up and pulled himself off the floor. "I have to go," he announced, grabbing the strap of his rucksack, and dragging it along behind him.
"Work?" asked Namjoon.
"Not tonight. I'm getting a room at the motel," Yoongi explained, turning to Namjoon, and pulling the straps onto his back. "I'm writing a note for my Dad and telling him I'm leaving. All my stuff is in a suitcase under my bed, I just have to go and get it."
"You gonna be alright?" asked Seokjin.
Yoongi shrugged. "I'll be fine. He works late."
"Give me your number, hyung," said Hoseok, holding out his phone. "We need a group chat."
"What for?" asked Yoongi, taking the phone anyway.
"How else are we meant to go together if we don't plan it," Hoseok replied, as Yoongi thumbed in his digits and handed the phone back.
"Good luck, hyung," said Jimin. "Fighting!"
"Fighting!" everyone chorused in their mismatched tones.
Yoongi thought for a second that a group chat wouldn't be so bad after all.
"Fighting," he replied, turning on his heels and walking out, along the corridor and outside into the dusky afternoon.
He'd saved up all of his rameyon money so that he had enough for the bus fare home and then the bus fare to the motel. He drummed his fingers on the back of the chair all the way to his house, where he darted inside and up to his room, shuffling out the suitcase from underneath his bed.
Yoongi took his notebook out of his rucksack and ripped a page out, pen poised over the paper, ready to write what he hoped would be his last contact with his Dad. He'd thought about this moment for so long, and now it was becoming a reality, he somehow couldn't find the words.
Dad,
I've found my own place to live.
It was simple and he wasn't saying anything he didn't mean about missing or hoping or wanting. He signed his name and left the paper on his desk, picking up the handle of the suitcase and taking it out of the bedroom. He didn't even bother to look back at the house as he locked the front door and posted the key through the letterbox.
As he rode the bus to the motel, every passing second felt like a weight was being lifted off of Yoongi's shoulders, and the sun had almost sunk behind the buildings as he got off at the stop. He crossed the road and ducked into the motel lobby, giving a meaningful look to the owner behind the counter, slipping an envelope from his back pocket over in exchange for the key, thankful that they had previously discussed Yoongi's situation.
303 was written on the tag of the key.
Yoongi climbed the stairs, lugging his suitcase up until he got to the third floor and then half-dragged it along to the right room. He turned the key in the lock and stepped inside, not caring how the motel sign lit up the bedroom, not caring how he only had a mattress on the floor and the bathroom the size of a cupboard, not caring how he could hear the traffic from the street below.
He was finally alone.
Yoongi dumped his suitcase on the floor and flopped onto the bed. He felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out of his pocket. There was a notification on his text app that Hoseok had created a group chat titled Sailors, with an emoji of an anchor. Yoongi wanted to quit the chat immediately he thought, as he smiled to himself.
annyeong!
hyung what is this?
this is so dumb
yoongi hyung where are u?
Yoongi opened up his camera and took a photo of what he could see. The window, the sign lighting up the room, and the dark night of the landscape.
here, he replied.
looks cool hyung
Yoongi dropped his phone onto the duvet and kicked off his shoes, inching further and further up the bed until his head hit the pillow and he fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
But what felt like seconds later, there was a knock at the door, waking Yoongi from his slumber who jolted awake at the sound. He crawled off the mattress and padded towards the door, opening it up to find Jungkook standing before him. Yoongi jolted once more seeing Jungkook's state. He was covered in red marks all over his face and hands, with a large cut to his cheek that was bleeding. Jungkook's lip was starting to swell slightly as it quivered, tears spilling from his long eyelashes.
"Hyung," he sobbed.
Without thinking, Yoongi pulled him forward into his embrace. "It's okay. Hyungie's here," he cooed, as Jungkook collapsed into his arms. "What happened to you?"
"Hyungie," Jungkook cried against his shoulder.
It was at that moment that Yoongi realised Jungkook had found him by the photograph he'd sent to the group chat. He must have calculated the exact spot of Yoongi's room just from that picture.
Yoongi pushed the door closed behind Jungkook who sniffed and stepped back.
"Can I stay here?" he asked, meekly.
There was no doubt in Yoongi's mind that Jungkook should stay.
"Yeah," he scoffed. "Yeah, you can stay. Let's get you cleaned up."
He pulled Jungkook by the arm into his pathetic excuse for a bathroom and pushed him to sit up on the counter by the sink. Yoongi leaned over and got a wad of toilet roll, dampening it under the tap, and held it ready by Jungkook's face.
"It's going to be cold," Yoongi told him, and Jungkook nodded.
The elder began dabbing at Jungkook's cut on his cheek, slowly wiping away the blood. Jungkook didn't wince with pain or lean away. He took whatever Yoongi gave him without a fuss.
"Here, hold this on your lip," he said, handing Jungkook the tissue. "It's cold enough. It will do." He nodded to the swelling and Jungkook did as he was told, as Yoongi leaned over for another wad of tissue to start cleaning up the younger's hands.
"What happened?" Yoongi asked.
Jungkook said nothing, averting his eyes and hanging his head.
"Hey," Yoongi said, coming to cup Jungkook's cheeks in the palm of his hands. "You can tell me. It's okay."
Jungkook lowered the tissue from his mouth and looked at Yoongi, who couldn't quite work out his dongsang's expression. Jungkook's eyes were wet, but there was something stirring in the deep galaxies of his irises that Yoongi couldn't quite put his finger on, but it made a shiver go up his spine.
He edged forward out of Yoongi's grip and fitted his mouth to the curve of Yoongi's lips, slotting next to each other as if they were made for each other. Yoongi's hands fell to Jungkook's neck, and didn't know whether to hold on or not.
He and Jungkook broke apart with a gentle smack of their lips. Yoongi decided he would hold onto Jungkook's neck, feeling the warm, soft, skin under the pads of his fingers. He traced his thumb along the ridge of Jungkook's jaw.
"Can I kiss you, hyung?" Jungkook whispered.
Yoongi wanted to tell him he had already kissed hyung but couldn't find the words.
"Yeah," he stammered out. "Yeah, you can kiss hyung," he breathed, as Jungkook's lips came crashing down on his again.
Yoongi slotted between Jungkook's open legs, allowing the younger to press his body close, winding his arms around Yoongi's waist and pulling him in.
"Thank you, hyung," Jungkook said, against Yoongi's lips.
"What for?" Yoongi asked, feeling Jungkook's fingers brush the waistband of his boxers.
But Jungkook said nothing and pressed their lips together, as Yoongi swallowed his words and Jungkook's breathy moans.
The boy has seven hearts.
Seven beats are one step forward.
When the field of vision is reversed, one becomes seven.
If you try to run, you will fall.