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werezmastarbucks · 29 days ago

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in which a big fight between you and Yoongi nearly results in Jungkook's death

husband!yoongi x f!reader + jungkook (?)

warnings: angst, topic of cheating, physical violence (1%), paranoid/depressed state, Yoongi's pov 65%, intense jealousy

author's note: i was lying in bed at three am and wanted drama, and also i want a house so i am manifesting

word count: 5659

music: my spring playlist

Uh, the house. In every room, there was a breath of you. Sweet sea air knew it was always welcome into the ajar kitchen window where bright blue curtains flapped in applause to it. You've been busy decorating the house for the last year and a half, which was two years after the wedding, which was two years after you met Yoongi. That's how much time you've been together. And almost for each memory, you found something to put into this house. The dream catcher you'd bought at the market in Seoul the week after you met, the carpet you nearly killed each other over: it was too tigery, too orange to Yoongi's taste. It literally depicted a tiger crawling through the jungle, in the medieval stylistic: ugly cat with a silly flat face and bulging eyes. He found it too out of place, just like he sometimes found you. But he came to be somewhat used to it, whereas he loved you. You just liked bright things. Sea green pine branches were peeking into the living room window where the blue round coffee table with thick feet always held some kind of a vase, or a statuette. Greneery on the walls. Cacti, similar to the ones you almost landed your butt on, in a botanic garden, when Yoongi accidentally pushed you in the crowd. Basically, it would be more frank to say that a lot of things in the house reminded you of your time together.

Which was already going on solid.

And yet, sometimes you fought. The dark green book case shuddered as you rushed past it and painfully bumped your shoulder into it. There was a Turkish vase on top, which you found in a second-hand store, which turned out to be an Edip Çini's work, a relatively famous ceramic master, whose little piece of art ended up in a store in Osaka. Now it dangerously swayed but stayed in place. Yoongi constantly scolded you benevolently, like an old man, for putting unstable pieces on tops of shelves, that always swayed, because you always bumped into said shelves. As you ran into the bedroom, your mind registered the sound of it moving somewhere in the tenth layer of your consciousness. Your focus was on your husband and the poison your brain was producing under the guise of chemicals that fed the toxic part of you. The thought of him constantly surrounded by girls, and his stupid moon face with black compassionless eyes, when you spoke about your concerns.

"You keep pushing it. It's not normal", he says in his unbothered voice which he had specifically crafted to deal with your tantrums. He never calls them tantrums, but you notice that for Yoongi, some of your outbursts are too much of a disruption, with all his collected quiet in which he resides.

"You just don't pay attention to it anymore", you press, "because you're constantly surrounded by people, and so when she puts her hand on your shoulder, you just don't see it as anything..."

He doesn't even let you finish, rolling his eyes, straightening his back painfully and putting his hands on it for support. The pregnant woman pose he usually strikes when he's observing. Yoongi is halfway through gathering the laundry for the basket, cosy, homely, in an old shirt and loose sweatpants, hair unmade, all over his face. And now he looks like you're dragging him by the hook plunged in his chin, and right into the sea. And all he has energy for, is objecting at half volume.

"And what? And what?" his voice is low, challenging. "You think she will make me subconsciously sleep with her? Or that I will sleep with her and won't notice?"

This tone always gaslights you into shutting up. Look how stupid your arguments are. The thing he doesn't get is, sometimes even his favorite girl feels insecure. He works with the most beautiful women in South Korea and just lazily expects you to never, ever compare yourself to them, even when they collectively hug him for a photoshoot in the studio, showing him their undying gratitude by pressing into his body, their silky expensive hair brushing against his face, their sweet, four hundred euro perfume enveloping him, getting him drunk. He spoke particularly sweetly of one singer with whom he worked the most lately; Seo Yun this, Seo Yun that, Seo Yun came over to redo the second verse, Seo Yun brought my favorite cheese, should I buy her her favorite alcohol for her birthday-

You tried to generally stay level-headed, but everything has a limit, and it wasn't just his friendship with one girl; it was the massive weight of the media speculation, leaked photos and his refusal to acknowledge and speak about your 'silly delusional concerns': from his high horse, he always nudged you to stop this nonsense and never bring it up again. How could you even think! That he would look at anybody else. When he loves you so much. None of this matters when the mind starts spiraling.

"You know", he raises a finger, getting into it finally, tasting the blood, accepting the rotten offer you're extending, that being, toxicity.

"You know, you should be grateful. Everybody I know cheats on their spouses, and I don't. I shouldn't be listening to this every other month".

Your jaw drops in disbelief. There are several ways of handling it, and he is choosing violence.

"Are you hearing yourself?" you demand.

"Yes, are you hearing me?" his hands throw the sheets on the floor with force and he grounds himself, putting one palm into his hair. Finally you see what you've been trying to squeeze out of him: the living animosity in his eyes, as he says,

"It's the culture. Don't you know? I could sleep around, too, I have options".

Before your brain weighs the audio input, the audacity of it makes your arm fly up, and you land your open palm onto his beautiful face. The way it doesn't change expression is very attractive. Only his hair moves a little, a strand of black covering his left eye, a cruel smirk curling his lips. You're about to start squealing with rage, but in a moment, Yoongi's hand grabs your chin as he pushes you against the wardrobe. He is still holding back, his fingers do not hurt you, he just needs to release the shock of what just happened.

Yet you still try to talk; he needs to hear that this take is absolutely insane; it's the modernity you're living in. If you don't love someone, then go on and cheat, but never return after. Yoongi's sculpted cheekbones gradually leading to his still passionless eyes, shark stare that he exercises on you, let you know he doesn't really care about your morality.

"You do the laundry", he says quietly, then finally allows himself to get angry and storms out of the bedroom, shutting the door. You clench your fists, looking at the pile of clothes at your feet, at the big unmade bed which you hop on occasionally throughout the day; your hand burns with the sensation of his cheek, because the slap was impressive. The truth is, you needed to do it at least once in a lifetime just to know what it feels like. You wished he was the bigger man and just fuck the argument over right now, but that's not what Yoongi is. He retreats from a fight because on the inside he is a raging sea, and he doesn't want it to spill out on you.

But maybe today you do.

So you step out of the room and walk into the living space, already feeling Yoongi's back tense, you know he hates it when you keep picking on him like this, like poking the same cut again and again. The flash of his disgruntled face, left cheek red, you can even see the impression of your fingers. A hit is just another version of a kiss. It's hard to explain, sometimes you want to physically fight him just to be closer. He did know that you had unresolved issues when he put a ring on it. He brought it all on himself.

Yoongi looks tired, and jaded at the same time, like he won. Just leave me alone, his posture says, as he sits down on the couch, phone in his hands, doubtlessly to tease you and make you ask yourself whom he's texting.

"Please, just let it go", he moans like a child.

"You have options then?"

Yoongi sighs morosely, pressing his lips together. You feel your face burn a little like you're the one who's gotten slapped, as you say,

"If it's the culture, then I can go on and, sleep with Jungkook, right?"

The silence that suddenly installs itself in the house is cemetery-like. You found the spot. As Yoongi slowly raises his eyes to you, you continue, while ignoring the glaring warning,

"You see how hypocritical this is? How do you feel about it? Everybody has options, Yoongi".

For a second Yoongi is a fine specimen for a museum as all skeletal structure in his face and neck is visible. He tenses up like a tiger readying for a jump. The flat tiger's head pressed under his foot like he had killed it.

"I am leaving", he says lowly. He managed to contain it again, and it pisses you off.

"No, you're not".

"Yes, I am", he says louder.

"Why you gotta escape this every time? Speak to me", you demand. And Yoongi snaps. He jumps up from the couch and aims for the thick-footed round blue coffee table, lifting it up with one hand, with no regard to a vase with fresh flowers resting. With a loud bash he strikes the opposite wall, a throw impressive like he should be considering a baseball career. The table crashes into it very close to the TV, leaving a weird mark and breaking into three parts. One foot jumps away and lands near him. You're impressed, a little scared, and feel that this should be very cathartic.

"The fucking nerve of you!" he finally yells, and it sounds great. As Yoongi measures the living room with his steps, he approaches you and grabs you by the shoulder.

"You're eviscerating me and scold me for not wanting to listen to it? How dare you", his face crunches so sweetly, he is so beautiful. His crafted appearance is manufactured for everything. How could you even think he'd never get a taste of his liberating beauty. You get scared. Yoongi thinks your expression of fear is due to his outburst and the firm grab he holds on your shoulder. Shoulder, not forearm; even now he is holding back, his fingers digging into the less sensitive area where muscle produces no pain. He steps back, not understanding that you're scared of losing him. And, like any other woman, this fear manifests in further argument.

"You're saying things you know will hurt me!" you scream, and Yoongi closes his eyes, lashes trembling, sleepy. You continue to follow him even when he rushes for the door, throws his shoes on, grabs the keys from the shelf. You just can't shut up. You follow him like an annoying little dog into the yard, bare footed, the soft evening grass obediently bending under you.

"Don't run away! You always do that!" you yell while Yoongi jerks the car door open.

"You are selfish!" he barks. You watch him get into the car and start it. You want to have pushed him even further, so that he'd fight you, and then stay. Now he's slipping through your fingers, and it's your fault, for not being able to explain better.

Yoongi looks into the rearview mirror and his own eyes reply to him with disbelief. Y/N's voice drills into his eardrums like a scalpel. She could've chosen his best friend. His colleagues, the bodyguard who always flirts with her. But no, she goes for Jungkook.

The second Yoongi in the mirror stares him down. Even his eyes know. Of course. Jungkook is not to her, what he is, to Yoongi. He is not the little, big-nosed boy he used to know. Not the mama's boy that he cradled at the worst times, not the boy he helped raise. Jungkook is fucking handsome. He doesn't have a face of a pan and a body of a mouse, Yoongi thinks. Thoughs interlock in his brain. She knew exactly how to hurt him fine, and now, all kinds of questions slowly bore holes in his skull. Why him though? Yoongi feels panic coming and turns his head to look at sea always accompanying him on this island. They had never fought on Jeju before. It's a happy place; it's the house that he bought for her, so that, when he is overwhelmed by the capital, he can escape, to her. The only place he never gets tired of, this house, where she bumps into things and curses corners. It felt wrong. He suddenly remembers the pile of laundry he had abandoned in the bedroom. Thinks of the flowers he destroyed together with the table. She loves this table. Yoongi swallows hard, realizing that he keeps stalling not to think about the creeping suspicion, poisonous, like rosary peas. Why. Did. She say Jungkook? Are they already sleeping together? He feels his Adam's apple slide furiously up and down in his throat like he's choking. He knows, probably not. Jungkook would never do that. Accomodating imagination pushes all the fuckboyish behavior of maknae on him immediately; how flirty the youngest is; how ready he is always to see Y/N. Jungkook and her, they are great friends. Constantly giggling when they're together.

Once Yoongi heard them discuss the laundry (why is this day revolving around the dirty sheets?) when the members were visiting their quiet shelter on Jeju.

He was folding the clean ones, while Jungkook was helping his wife load the washing machines. Everything was funny to them two.

"I become stupid when I'm with you", she complained, giggling. Yoongi smiled then. His disposition was very different on that day, of course. He had no reason not to love them both carelessly.

He listened to them shuffling in the room, at peace. Then Y/N gasped comically.

"No, don't lick it!" Jungkook cried desperately, and they erupted in laughter again. Yoongi couldn't help but shove his head into the room with a silent question, only to find them snickering.

"She was about to eat the detergent off of her finger", maknae explained. Y/N shrugged.

"It's a habit already".

Yoongi stayed in a hotel for a night. Not too far away from home; he decided to leave for Seoul the next day. Had promised to stay with her a bit longer, but now obviously they didn't want to see each other, he was sure.

As he dropped the keys on the night stand in his room, he kept thinking about all of this. He suddenly felt very tired.

You couldn't sleep in bed out of anxiety, so, after cleaning up the living room and then dealing with the laundry, collapsed on the couch listening to a Youtube video. In the morning, the sound of Yoongi's steps woke you up and you sat up, curled in the blanket you'd knitted years ago. Also green, all green. Pure white of his face was moving across the rooms, gathering his stuff. He didn't need to say anything, you could read his mind, he wanted to leave and get to work sooner. You chewed on your cheek, still half-asleep, a silent spectator, while Yoongi changed his clothes. You looked at his wide back, and a question lingered in your mind, so bright-magenta that it hurt your temples. You were paralyzed, no impulse to fight anymore, just cold.

Yoongi methodically packed his bag and slowed down at the book case in the living room, observing the space, his eyes soft.

"I didn't sleep with anyone", he said, and you felt grateful for not having to say anything. A new day began, and he was merciful again, gentle. His puffy moon face turned to you again, and he sighed:

"Did you manage to fix the table?"

You shook your head.

"One foot broke off and the screw stayed inside the wood".

"I can try to repair it", he offered.

"No, I don't need it", you replied tenderly. "It's okay, it's gone".

Like his fury. His face bore no sign of your punch yesterday, and he nodded.

"I'm going to Seoul. I want to start sampling, uh..." he suddenly looked very unsure, young and innocent.

"Seo Yun is ready to record".

"Okay", you agreed readily, "I'll see you at the birthday then".

Uneasy 'yeah' as if he wasn't sure. You watched him go again, feeling the venom enter your heart. Sometimes you liked to suffer. Everybody likes to suffer sometimes. It's just the lack of general drama, when your husband is such a green flag that, if he stood to the wall in the kitchen, you'd lose the sight of him.

Yoongi only knew about what his presence did to you; that you feel the most peaceful when he's at your side. He was blissfully unaware of what his absence made you become.

Every time you fought even a little and didn't manage to make it up before he left, due to his habit of just retreating instead of saying things he'd regret, you would suffer immensely. What he didn't understand was, you'd prefer him to say something, hurt you, but then make up, rather than leave you hanging silently, like a dead spider in a forgotten closet.

You barely managed a day, engulfed in his last words. This Seo Yun again. The thoughts went into a tailspin disregarding any reality. In the back of your mind you knew Yoongi wasn't cheating on you, would not, and didn't want to. That was the back of your mind, the rational part that was choking on fresh blood of your worry.

You collapsed by nine in the evening because Yoongi didn't even text to let you know he landed okay and went to the apartment in Seoul. For all you knew, he could head straight for the studio, tired and unshowered after the night god knows where, after the plane, to complain to his favorite singer about his hysterical wife.

You sat on the empty bed where just yesterday morning, you were curling like a cat in Yoongi's warm arms, listening to his chest, holding on to his shoulder as you both watched the black pines filtering the sunlight in between the needles. His warm breath on the top of your head and fingers, drumming a tune on your ribs.

Now, you held up your phone, thinking about who could keep a secret for you. Without any second thought, without any malice, and guided solely by sincere trust you had in him, you called Jungkook.

The boy's voice was always joyful when he picked up. If he didn't, then he simply didn't. But every time you heard Jungkook on the phone, he sounded happy, bubbly, sometimes unbearably zesty.

"Noona-a!" he exclaimed. Music in the background was muffled. You could always clearly see his face when you spoke to him, knew the expressions he made, and how he showed his teeth with delight as he laughed.

"All good?" he clarified, upon hearing no response. You broke down a little.

"We had a fight", you whined into the phone.

"O-o-h", Jungkook really liked his vowels, "about what? Tell him I'll slap him!"

"I already did, I slapped him yesterday".

Jungkook gasped, clearly he never meant to actually do what he said. To him, it was unthinkable, and not only because he was younger.

"What happened? Are you crying?"

You squeezed your face with your left hand and observed your empty bedroom.

"Jungkook, I need a favor, but you can't let Yoongi know, it has to be a total secret".

"O-okay", he replied hesitantly, a bit frightened.

"I need you to..." you sighed, devastated that you're about to say it out loud, "it's gonna sound crazy, but I don't care, if I'm going crazy it doesn't matter, but I just need to know".

Jungkook made a sound like he choked on a jellyfish.

"You need to find out if Yoongi is cheating on me".

"Wha-a-at?" he yelled. Your mind painted an excrutiatingly clear picture: his mouth, oval, his eyes, completely round, dark pupils staring into you.

"Is he cheating on you? Why would he do that? Yoongi-hyung would never do that", he started like a speed bycicle, "no, I don't think, he's the last person to do that, Y/N. No, I don't believe it".

"Ask him".

"Ask him?" he panicked, "how?"

"And keep it low-key", you begged.

"But I don't know how I can bring this up just like that".

"You start training tomorrow, don't you?" you offered. Jungkook seemed unsure.

"Yes, but Yoongi was going to come on Thursday, and now it's Monday. Or has he left?" he gasped.

"Yes, he flew to Seoul to start working on that fucking song with Seo Yun", the regret of not handling yourself better boiled in your throat.

"You think it's Seo Yun?" Jungkook whispered, like a kid. He was so taken aback it seemed the only structure his brain could produce was questions.

"I don't know", the tears made your lips very dry and you moisturized them with you salty tongue.

"I don't know anything".

Jungkook sighed deeply and somewhat professionally.

"I'm on it", he finally replied, "but I can assure you he's not sleeping with anyone. But you, of course. Or like, I don't know. You know what I mean".

You nodded into the void. Now that you released a little bit of anxiety, you started feeling guilty for the way you 'eviscerated Yoongi'. You always get this feeling after a fight and it's because you're always the only one trying. Yoongi, he's never bothered by anything, he never has complaints or worries. You're always the one stirring the pot.

"I just don't get how I can start a conversation about it", Jungkook complained.

"You're a talented person, Jungkook", you managed a small smile, "you'll find a way".

You see his funny baby face with your eyes closed. It's comforting, imagining him, sitting dumbfounded in his purple room with the colorful dots crawling up the walls from the cosmic lamp, with this silly expression, lip piercing poking out. It's comforting, because when you think of Yoongi, the longing is so strong that it hurts your ribs.

His eyes are locked on the boy. Yoongi sits with his mouth slightly agape, hand hovering over the keyboard which is dying slowly with pale green light. The laptop knows it has lost the master for now. Yoongi feels his eyelids getting heavy as worms reign in his head and his ribcage. Jungkook is laughing on the phone, pacing along the wall of the studio, effortlessly impressive. From time to time he lifts his head and looks at himself in the huge mirror, and throws a small dance move. Jungkook at his natural. Yoongi is trying to imagine him with Y/N and he hates himself for being able to. It's the expression on her face when she said it. Why did it look so resolved. Like she was dead set on something, and she wasn't really asking a question. I can go on and sleep with Jungkook. The hole that opens up in his lung is sucking in all the liquid from his stomach and he starts choking silently. It's like when the ground you're standing on, starts crumbling down. He studies the smile on Jungkook's face. Does he smile like this at his wife? He usually does, and she smiles back. Yoongi doesn't catch the irony of it all when he accepts the call from Seo Yun, without taking his eyes off of maknae. Jungkook, in turn, finishes his call, and Yoongi continues watching him. The boy's smile fades and they exchange glances. Obliviously, Yoongi calls his singer's name.

The practice is another happy place: the years of training taught them to clear their heads off things even when their relatives are sick. If there's no immediate need to be somewhere and save a life, or a relationship, they can all switch off and practice together, the world can wait. It's a good discharge, the way the body tires after seven hours of intense movement. Yoongi does well even after a month's break, and gets a lot of taps on his shoulder. Jungkook must feel uneasy, seeing how Yoongi stares him down all day long, but he manages to hide it well. In fact, the years of training actually taught Yoongi to layer his brain and think about the sequence and about what's bothering him at the same time. All day long, he's watching the maknae's movements, trying to see him in his new position of a traitor. Trying to see him as a man who gets girls, and others' wives, and he knows it's completely delusional. There are two types of people: good and bad, and Y/N is good. She is sometimes insane, she is spoilt (something Yoongi understands is his own fault), loud, hovering, too anxious and restless, but she's not rotten. She doesn't hate him enough to stab him and twist the knife in his guts. Sleeping with Jungkook Argentinian drama style is too out there, it belongs in pulp fiction.

"Suga, spacing out again", Jimin called, his light slap on the shoulder bringing him back to reality. Namjoon turned his head towards him like a crane and looked deep, the way Yoongi always hated. It was so intimate, uh, he could feel RM's tentacles unceremoniously touching his brains.

"They had a fight with Y/N", said Jungkook, jumping in one place to squeeze out the last drops of energy after the dance. He swung his arms. Yoongi's nostrils went so hot that for a second he couldn't breathe.

"Huh?" was all he could utter. The audacity of this boy, to reply with nonchalance,

"She told me".

Taehyung hummed something.

"You're still going to my birthday, right?" Jimin asked, scared. Yoongi clenched his teeth together, locking the tip oh his tongue inside. He knew his face didn't really express anything because he mastered it well. Jungkook was moving his, too readable, naive guy, biting his lower lip as if waiting for him to clarify.

"Let's go eat", Jin moaned, "I am hungry".

Namjoon gingerly looked at him, sitting on the floor and pulling the toes of his left foot.

"Yeah, let's go eat", the leader confirmed.

"You're not gonna order?" Hoseok's eyes widened as he tried to push the menu into Yoongi's face.

"I'm not hungry".

"You can't be not hungry", Jin shook his head authoritatively, "we've been working our asses off all day".

"I don't have appetite", Yoongi growled quietly.

"What was the fight about?" Namjoon asked. The only one who could actually listen when his stomach was empty. He acted non-invasively, not to scare the usually unwilling Yoongi away. Yoongi kept looking through the table, seeing the blurry Jungkook on the side, stuffing his mouth with pork. Maknae nodded into the table hoping that his call for communication lands somewhere.

"I hate it when they fight, right?"

Hoseok nearly punched him, or at least he looked like he wanted to, for dragging the others into this. Taehyung was quietly drinking his coffee. Jimin gently extended his frown:

"I hope you make it up. You always do, it's going to be okay".

Jungkook was eating loudly, as usual, slapping his mouth and moaning with pleasure. Whereas Jin did it with no sound whatsoever, although more food could fit in between his jaws. Yoongi blinked several times, trying to shake off the sleepy liquid of fever. He tried not to think of consequences of what he's fearing. Rather, he preferred to mull over the way he'd retaliate. What can he do? Seo Yun? He didn't like her like that, at all. She wasn't his type, really. Nobody else was, and he wasn't the type of person to cheat out of spite, in revenge. There was a lot of mercy and love in him, and he was balancing on the edge of his paranoid thoughts. Crazy how he managed to run himself almost to lunacy in just thirty-six hours. His eyes were resting on Jungkook again as a pacifying sigh left his dry lips. The thought of food was good, actually. He almost reached the menu, eyeing soups, when Jungkook managed to completely tip off his very fragile balance:

"It's insane how, I'm not talking here, but, like", then Jungkook stopped, took a breath, like he was reciting a poem he memorized very badly, "when couples argue they go on and cheat on each other, you know?"

The table fell quiet. Namjoon's jaded eyes drilled maknae into place, and Jungkook caught his tongue for a minute. Then he seemingly pushed himself in an unimaginable effort, and turned to Yoongi:

"You're not doing anything like that, are you?"

Yoongi saw red. The space around him started pulsating, twelve faces around the table. Jin started choking on his food; usually he did it for comedy, when cameras were on; now it was annoying.

"Jungkook", Jimin meowed, and the sound of his name being sung even remotely with love made Yoongi imagine burying his fist into maknae's face. Oh yes he does love him. He loves Jungkook to death but if he's doing it to Y/N, Yoongi refuses to be a human anymore.

He assesses Jungkook's grown frame. He is at least a size bigger than Yoongi, and if he tries to grab him by the throat, Yoongi will be the one hanging in the air. So maybe he should go for the knife. Then he can kill himself. This is the day when Yoongi finds out he still harbours a lot of unnecessary pride inside, the black kind which makes people make tragic, idiotic mistakes. Maybe he should have been a little more gentle with Y/N and her constant, purely girly worrying.

Taehyung keeps hitting Jin on the back to save his life while Jin goes red in the face. Namjoon opens his mouth to de-electrify the situation but for some reason can't utter a word. Hoseok keeps holding his chopstick with noodles hanging down like dead hair, in limbo, with horror in his eyes. Jimin is staring at Yoongi with a silent entreaty.

"Are you fucking my wife?" Yoongi asks.

Jungkook gulps once, stopping halfway, and his hand flies up as his jaw falls down.

"I- what?"

He has no time for this comedy anymore. Yoongi's fist bangs on the table so hard that all the detached objects clank in unison.

"Are-you-fucking my wife?"

Jungkook's face immediately tells him something is off, and the black-red cloud starts sliding away.

"Me? Uh, no! ME? The-" Jungkook can't even grasp the concept. His face of indignation, terror and betrayal tells him everything.

"Y/N? No, me? She's one of my closest friends, why would I-" he extends his hand towards Yoongi as of begging him, "you two... why would you even think about it?! She called me asking me to find out if you're fucking Seo Yun!"

Jungkook licks his lips quickly, bracing for the storm. But Taehyung masterfully diffuses the whole thing from his shaded corner of the table. His deep voice soothing:

"Oh, I see. We have a classic case of two idiots failing to communicate".

Jimin gives out a sigh of relief and Jin moans so loudly that people who just stopped staring after Yoongi hit the table, look again.

Yoongi hides his face in his hands, relief so strong that he feels like fainting. He takes several huge breaths and his brain finally clicks back to normal so that he can think for once. Namjoon still watches him with some hidden question, and Yoongi replies, only to him, quietly,

"No, I am not".

He gets up from the table, leaving everybody distressed and Jungkook, distraught to the point of almost vomiting. The poor boy keeps looking at each member with nagging: you know I am innocent, right? You know, right?

Yoongi follows the narrow path among the tables and leaves the restaurant to breathe the dirty night air. The black sky is up there and far away, whereas on Jeju it's close and full of stars. He likes the idea of Y/N seeing stars and bathing in comfort of their unmoving light. He calls her.

She picks up almost right away.

"I almost stabbed maknae just now", Yoongi delivers calmly.

"Why would you?" she yelps.

There it is, going from 0 to a 100 in a second. Worried about her baby.

Yoongi ignores her question and says,

"I never cheated on you. Never wanted to do so. And I don't think I ever will. One woman is straining me enough, and..." he sighs, marvelling at how easy it is to finally breathe, "there's just, not anyone I love as much".

Y/N is quiet, and he can hear the sounds of his happy home: her breathing, the distant sound of sea - he's probably imagining it - the creaking of one floorboard at the kitchen entrance. He knows she's standing there, looking at the night wind slithering inside.

"I'm sorry I slapped you".

"It didn't hurt at all".

Seoul is getting loud around him because it is trying to attract his attention.

"Can you come? Tomorrow?"

"Yes".

"I'll buy the ticket. Please don't forget Jimin's present this time".

"I already packed it", her voice is melodic and close. Yoongi feels like he just recovered from a wound. He puts out his hand and looks at it against the street, imagining your fingers resting inside his palm.

He returns to their table in a minute to six pairs of tentative eyes. They are all silent, eating, acting normal. Only Jungkook crooks his neck, looking up, expecting him to say something. The person Jungkook is used to calling hyung bows down and puts his arm around his shoulders from behind, places a careful and quick kiss onto his temple:

“I am sorry”.

Jungkook deflates and crashes down onto his chair, a relaxed smile on his face.

#bts imagine #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine #jungkook imagine #jk is literally my baby

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