#not me and answering asks in a terribly disorganised manner | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeojaa · 4 years ago

Text

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing. jjk x named f!reader. a bit of jhs x named f!reader (but not really)?

genre + rating. rockstar!au. e2l (exes n enemies!). general flangst? anguf? a blend of angst and fluff, tbh. mainly angst tho.

tags / warnings. sibling dynamics, introspective sadness, talk about not-so-healthy relationships (obviously), dumbass!jk, asshole!jk, jealous!jk, how many more jk tags can i add?, a silly reference to scott pilgrim. nothing serious.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif aka the loml!!!

wc. 3.1k

chapter four.

You and Yoongi don’t fight. It’s always been a point of pride - something to look at and smile on.

That must be why it feels so terrible now, with his knuckles blown white and enough rage to start a war simmering within his veins. You’ve never seen him like this: a world away from your soft Yoon, your best friend, your beloved brother.

“Yoongi, really--”

“No. Stop saying that.” Despite the fact that you know his anger isn’t directed at you - that you’re the farthest target in his mind - it still hurts, like getting caught in friendly fire. Pinpricks of guilt spill across your skin, nerve endings shot to hell by the way his mouth curls and tears, venom laced between his teeth and draped across his tongue. “He came here and you didn’t tell me? I told you - I’ll kill him.”

Hyperbole, you’re sure, but you can’t help the way your heart stutters. A little oh no for a boy who doesn’t deserve it - whose silhouette still carves a spectacularly painful hole in your chest.

“I didn’t want you to worry--” It’s not an excuse. It’s not meant to be. You never lie to Yoongi. Frankly, you don’t think you could.

“You’re my sister.”

It’s enough of a rebuttal that you’re reduced to silence. He’s right. You’re family; family don’t keep secrets.

“I’m sorry,” you try again, feeble and emphatic.

There’s an unbearable distance between you - a sea’s worth of sadness that rocks the rickety boat you’ve built. You can practically see it stretching on and on, sweeping you further and further from his safe shores. It’s an awful feeling.

“You’re my sister,” he repeats, suddenly so tired you worry for him. For once, he looks that much older than you, as if five years have forced passages of experience within his pages. “You can’t hide things from me. Who’s going to be there for you if not me?”

You want to rebuff him - insist that you’re stronger than he gives you credit for - but you know it’s not what he means. More than anyone, Yoongi believes in you. He sees your strength even when you can’t see your own; he’s been that strength more times than you can count.

The reality of your situation isn’t lost on you.

He’s the only one who knows everything you’ve been through. A diary in living breathing form, full of your most shameless secrets, your deepest worries, your worst heartbreaks.

“I know.” Apology threads each syllable, stitches them neatly to each other. The sincerity is blinding, bright white and earnest. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

The smile he offers is rueful, twisting the edge of his mouth in a manner you’ve adopted over the years. You return it without thought and then, all at once, the expanse is closed. He’s laughing - a sound that doesn’t ring true in the way you know it should - but it’s a laugh and you know everything is okay.

“Still worried,” he returns with a quiet sigh and flick of his wrist.

You’re with him in a breath, curled against his side on the couch you’d cried yourself to sleep on just days ago. While you’re both far closer in size than you’ve ever been - you were always a tiny kid growing up, even against Yoongi’s own slim frame - it’s reminiscent of your childhood and being caught beneath haphazardly strewn sheets and disorganised chaos in the form of blanket forts.

Dry lips find a home against the side of your head, his arm dragging you to warmth. “You’re an idiot, you know.” He says it in the way only an older brother can - with all the frustration and love in the world.

You do know, intimately well, how idiotic you are. Have been. Seemingly always will be.

“I know,” you mumble, sad into the raised hood of your sweater. “But I made him leave.” It sounds like a child begging for praise - to be told they’ve done well. You won’t deny you need it now.

Good is the first thing Yoongi says, a little flippant and with a hard set of his jaw. More comes when he catches your expression and the way the dent forms between your brows, the tiny pout of your lips. It’s the same face you’ve made all your life - one that hits him right behind the ribs like a Whack-A-Mole game at the carnival.

“You did good, Vivi. I’m proud of you.” They’re bandages, sticky and adhesive on the stitches Jungkook’s visit had torn open. “You’re great and he’s…” There are words he’d like to use - a million scathing adjectives to paint the asshole in technicolour - but he knows better. Knows you can’t take it, at least not right now. “He doesn’t deserve you. You get that, right? You’re better off without him.”

You nod against his side but offer nothing further. The silence speaks worrying volumes.

“You’re not going to answer him again, right?”

Some half-mumbled non-committal response comes. Yoongi wants to tear his own hair out. Better yet, he wants to tear yours out. Instead, he blows a long exhale through his nose, free hand coming to scrub across his face. When will you learn?

“I’m scared.”

It’s so quiet even you hardly hear it, ear tucked against the cotton of Yoongi’s flannel. You think, for a moment, maybe he’s missed it too. Then he squeezes you a little tighter: a silent reassurance.

“Seeing him again just brings back so many memories.” Every other word is muffled but it’s the most you can do. Courage is carried quietly - too loud and you’ll shatter it. “I thought three years would be enough. It should be, right?”

It’s a rhetorical question; Yoongi still debates answering it, just for his own sake.

“Maybe he’s changed. Or maybe I’ve changed. It could be different.” It’s a clandestine belief and one you shouldn’t speak to life - especially to your brother. It spills forth of its own accord, wrong for so many reasons but begging to be asked. You have no control over it and the hope it sows somewhere within your chest.

“You can’t actually believe that.”

It’s infinitely more scathing than Hoseok’s reaction, tearing out of Yoongi’s mouth like a bullet. You can’t help the way you frown, brows drawn and lips pursed. You’ve known Yoongi your whole life. Reading between the lines feels like you’re fucking stupid but you know it’s not quite so harsh. A frustrated you dumb idiot, maybe.

“Don’t make that face.”

“I’m not making any face.”

“Yes, you are. It’s the same one you made when I embarrassed you on your first date. Also the one you made after you threw up all over Hoseok’s shoes the first night you met him.” The recollection doesn’t help your cause - you’re grimacing even more deeply, chagrin spilling into misery in the form of red hot heat over your cheeks. “Don’t resent me for being realistic, Vivi. You know he hasn’t changed.”

The silence is childish. You know that.

“You can’t fix people.”

He arrives with flowers. Two full bunches of your favourite blooms - pretty peonies in shades of coral and lavender. They’re heavy in his arms, held so gingerly it’s almost comical as he extracts himself from the vehicle he most definitely should not be driving. He wonders whether you’ll be home - if he’ll get to see your expression when he presents them to you. He hopes you’ll light up, brighter than the sun in the sky and better than any nightlight.

What he doesn’t expect is someone walking up the sidewalk, gym bag slung across his shoulder like he’s getting ready to settle in for a long night. Short - atleast a few inches shorter than himself - with a stupid face that makes Jungkook want to punch it. Dumb shoes, too. Who the fuck wears Off-White Jordan 1s in that colourway?

There’s a permanent scowl etched across his face as he watches from behind the tinted comfort of his car, single hand caught around the edge of the door. He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s perhaps crushing the stems cradled in his arms, inked knuckles blown white around quickly crumpling brown paper.

Maybe he’s your neighbour. Or maybe he’s going to the other house or maybe—

No, he’s definitely walking right up the front path.

The words are out before Jungkook can stop them, shouted into the quiet afternoon more loudly than he anticipates. “Hey!”

Dumbass with the face turns, full of surprise and wandering eyes. He hesitates halfway up your stoop, looking stupider than ever as he looks around for the source of the voice.

Then his stare falls on the brunet with his hands full and it’s like a flip has switched - mouth hardening into a line that raises the hairs on the back of Jungkook’s neck. He’s glaring at him (or something close to it).

Seriously - who is this fucker?

“Can I help you?” Hoseok speaks far more reasonably, at an octave that doesn’t shatter the peace of the residential neighbourhood. He’s still caught on the steps, fist tight around the strap of his bag as he studies the man - no, boy - that jogs up to meet him, two rungs the only thing separating the two of them.

“Do you know Vira?”

A part of Hoseok flinches at Jungkook’s casual use of your name - like he knows you or deserves to address you like an old friend. This kid really was clueless.

When he speaks, he’s perfectly composed, tension held tight behind his teeth. “I said, can I help you?”

Jungkook bristles at the response, some snarky comment threatening to knock the other off his apparent high horse. He barely catches it, grinding it down into a fine powder beneath his molars. He has to tread lightly here.

“I’m a friend of hers.” Not a lie, per se. You two were friends; after all, you’d come when he’d called. That meant something, right? Had to.

“A friend?” Disbelief slips into place, evident in the tone of Hoseok’s voice, how his brows shift beneath his chestnut fringe. He knows better than to believe Jungkook - has heard all the heartbreaking stories - but he can’t quite keep the worry from worming it’s way into his thoughts. They settle uncomfortably, just beneath the surface. “Is she expecting you?”

Everything about Hoseok makes Jungkook hate him. From the sneakers he wears to the watch on his wrist - understated, all gold, more expensive than a nerd like him should have - there’s something undoubtedly punchable about him.

It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that he’s seemingly close with you. Definitely not.

“I was going to surprise her.” The flowers are held aloft, gesticulated in the best manner Jungkook can manage with his arms so full. “I didn’t know she was expecting you.” It’s a cheap tactic - recycling words - but he can’t think of much else beyond fitting his foot into this guy’s mouth.

“She’s not.” Sharp, sparse, with no hint of indulgence. Hoseok’s not about to get into a verbal sparring match with Jungkook. It’s not worth his time.

He is, however, going to put him in his place - and easily at that.

“She’s still at work.” Slim bundle of keys rise - two unassuming and one for an Audi. Perhaps unnecessary but Hoseok takes great pleasure in the other’s expression.

Tch is Jungkook’s first thought before the second smacks him straight in the face. He has a key to your place? The fact rubs him all the wrong ways despite the fact that he has no right to be bothered; it isn’t his home any more - hasn’t been in years. It still hurts, though, right behind his ribs and all the way down to the tips of his fingers.

Is this how you felt all those times?

Something like nausea builds in Jungkook’s stomach, throwing acid up the walls of his throat. It burns and strings, licking painfully all the way into his mouth. His teeth ache - buzz uncomfortably - and his tongue feels suddenly far too heavy. He wonders if he might choke on it.

Then, slowly, in a voice he doesn’t recognise. Too soft, years younger, uncertain. “Can you give these to her?” He hates it.

He hates even more the way Hosoek looks at him, with such pity Jungkook wants to curl it around his fist and break the older man’s teeth with it. It’s something he’s seen a handful of times - from you, from your brother, from his worried mother when she thinks he doesn’t notice. It never gets easier.

It forces him into a position he hasn’t been in in years: weak.

“I don’t think so.” By how calmly Hoseok speaks, it’s almost as if he’s commenting on the weather or passing along a banal bit of information. It’s far too nonchalant to be breaking Jungkook’s heart, splitting it cleanly in two.

“Why not?” Jungkook’s petulant, a child denied his favourite toy, forced into time-out.

That’s not for you screams Hoseok’s expression. She’s not for you. “I’m not comfortable with doing so.”

The sinking feeling hasn’t stopped for Jungkook. It goes and goes until he wishes he were six feet under, buried under ground as low as he feels. He should leave. He knows he should leave - if only to stop the discomfort that’s gripping every nerve, twisting them like an elbow about to snap.

“Anyway.” There’s boredom working its way into Hoseok’s stare, relaxing the shape of his mouth until it falls wide around a short, terse sigh. “If you’re friends, you can get in touch and drop them off later.”

He’s done playing gatekeeper - can feel his frustration bubbling to the surface in a way he’s not about to entertain. He nods once, dismissive, before turning away from the so-called rockstar that seems terribly small and the farthest thing from it.

“Goodbye.” Then he’s disappearing into your home, leaving Jungkook on the steps with his tail between his legs.

You return home three hours later - blissfully unaware of what’s transpired.

You set your dinner on the kitchen island, deftly unpacking takeout boxes as Hoseok hurries to your side to help. You don’t mind when he bumps into you, knocking his hip against yours with a heart-shaped smile.

It burns a little brighter than usual. “Good day?”

He hums in response, sneaking a yellow tomato from the salad box he’s just popped open. “Something like that.”

“Something like that?” You can’t help but echo him, a pretty parrot with shining eyes and a silk bow in your hair. “Don’t play coy, Jung Hoseok.” A digit closes the minimal distance between you, finding purchase against his side - right where he’s most ticklish.

He shrieks, nearly upending the fries he’s tried to dump onto a ceramic plate.

“Hey!” Hands swat, then fold, catching your fingers between his in an awkward hand-hold. “Keep your hands to yourself, Vi.”

“You don’t complain normally,” you retort. You’re not wrong. Skinship with you is one of his favourite things, fourth only to his dog, dancing, and a certain green-labelled soda.

“Well, today’s a special day.”

Hoseok really doesn’t know where he’s going with his words - only hoping that he’ll find their destination somewhere along the way. He doesn’t want to tell you too soon, all too aware of how the mention of your ex will bring this perfect moment crumbling down. He wants to hold it, perhaps a little too tightly, for as long as he can. He thinks he’s doing you a service, giving you these few extra minutes.

“Oh yeah?” You’re twinkling eyes and pealing laughter, so far removed from the bag of bones and sadness of only days prior. It’s hard to believe there’s something broken inside of there - tucked right behind your breastplate and out of sight.

“Yeah.”

You wait for him to continue, opting instead to fill the silence with mouth noises. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. He always does.

“Jungkook came by.” It comes halfway through a bite of a french fry, the carb nearly bringing you to an early death when you choke on it. All at once, everything spins, as if just the name is enough to upend your entire world. Hoseok’s clapping your back, rubbing soothing circles over the cotton of your shirt, and you’re struggling to find words or breath - heaving around the sudden heaviness.

“What?” So small, it’s hardly a word.

“He was here when I got here.” You’re not oblivious to the careful way he speaks, choosing his words with utmost care. You don’t miss his grip either, gentle and unyielding at your side - as if he might steady you beneath the sudden tidal wave of emotion.

You do well, keeping your voice level once you’ve found it again. “And? What did he want?”

Hoseok does you the great service of pretending as if he doesn’t hear the hope in your voice. You’re grateful for that.

“He came with flowers.” Not quite a laugh comes - more unimpressed and derisive than amused. “Two bouquets, actually.” You can feel him studying you from your periphery, his careful stare trained on your face and the dozen emotions that run rampant through it. “Your favourite flowers too.”

Your laugh matches his own, though far heavier, as if the sound won’t form without immense effort. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” It’s a word you’ve heard a lot tonight. It feels right. One syllable to encompass every feeling you can’t properly articulate. “He asked me to give them to you.”

It should surprise you but it doesn’t. Jungkook’s never been one to ask - instead taking what he wants - but it’s still funny. Of course he’d ask that of Hoseok, as if the act itself weren’t terribly strange, the flowers an unwelcome, begging apology. Jeon Jungkook only did what he wanted - etiquette be damned.

“I don’t see them anywhere.”

“I told him I wasn’t comfortable doing it.” There’s a touch of pride, glimmering gold painted over consonants and vowels. It’s understated in the way that Hoseok always is - not how he looks, but is; you’re drawn to it nonetheless, squeezing your fingers around his own in a silent thank you.

“I hope it wasn’t weird.” It must have been. It’s still the thought that counts.

Hoseok hams it up, scoffing like it’s just been another day. “Weird? Of course not. I have to deal with my friend’s horrible exes all the time. I’m practically Scott Pilgrim.”

“Does that make me Ramona Flowers?”

“No - but you’re my flower.” He says it in jest, only to make you smile, because he knows you need it right now.

You try not to think of how you prefer Pumpkin, instead.

tag list. @jalexad @aa-ronpa @kookiesbreaky @celestialflamefairy @xjoonchildx @pars-ley @seokjinssi @youwannabelostandnotbefound @patpus @dazedjjk @koozui @jinhitwhore @always-wishing-for-rain @neverthefirstchoice @snackhobi

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