COMFORT
WORD COUNT 4k
OVERVIEW where namjoon finds comfort in a complete stranger, if only for a little while. ( mega angst / namjoon is mute and yoongi is deaf )
PLAYLIST spring day / bts, the truth untold / bts
∆
NAMJOON'S FOUND A SLIGHT comfort in yellow walls and creeper plants, rain all around him but never touching his honey skin. the space is small, cosy, and the straw-woven seat he's sat on is the perfect size for two, but he occupies it with himself and a carefully selected book of poems; a different one to fit each mood.
all he can hear is the gentle rainfall and his own fingers turning the crisp, snowy white pages of his book; today is a fernando pessoa day, all grey clouds and puddles some can find beautiful, the verses translated from portuguese into namjoon's second tongue, english. he loves how the words roll off the tongue, the poetry sounding so strange and mystical. just like the strange little garden around the back of the old-people's home that namjoon's become so fond of.
namjoon's grandmother has never been all that well. he's known that since ten years old, which was when his granddad died, and the loveliest woman in the world somehow became the saddest. he'd sit and listen, a cup of tea that was too sweet in his hands, in her living room with the purple wallpaper, listen to stories long passed and love now lost. namjoon adores his grandmother; she'd taught him how to appreciate the small things in life, how to write and appreciate poetry, how to be a better person. it's now nine years on from his grandfather's death, and namjoon's grandmother, ill with pulmonary cancer, lives in a home, and he visits for two hours every saturday and sunday, to listen to the same stories and hear how much he's grown, how much he looks like his father, how proud of him she is. he loves her with all of his heart, that much is true.
the garden that he sits reading poetry in is another story.
the cherry blossom tree above namjoon's head rustles in the slight breeze, and the rain starts to cease. namjoon looks up from page 34, finger underneath a line, and sees the sun peeking out from the sad grey clouds. he smiles; it makes him feel warmer, uplifted. he crosses his legs once again, and focuses his eyes back on the page, sucked back in by the gorgeous words that entice like a melody. he should be getting home, but he wants to forget his responsibilities.
just for a bit longer.
he doesn't notice the other human coming into the garden space, too caught up in the words, ears only picking up on the miniature fountain in the corner, his legs coming to huddle up against him. comfortable. it's the creak of a chair and a cough, not one meant to catch his attention, that makes him look up. he searches for the source of the sound, deep honey eyes flitting from corner to corner. they finally fall on the culprit of the noise.
he's half illuminated in the sunlight that's only just started to come, but it's enough for namjoon to pick up on his face. pale skin, like the pages of his book, that's what he first notices, and how it's marred by a few acne scars and the like on his cheeks. a button nose, tinged pink from the chilly spring weather. lips that seem kind of plump, tinged candyfloss and pretty, chapped a little, like chips in a roman statue. namjoon's eyes drink in the rest of his face; lightly flushed cheeks, eyes suited fairly well to a cat, that sparkle oddly in the half light, like he's magical or something.
his strangely bright blue hair is curly, contrasting softly on his china features, and it's then that namjoon wishes he could speak, because he wants to say hello, wants to be fucking normal. his muteness has become worse since fourteen; he never spoke to many people, a loner, and then his parents stopped really caring, and he just gave up. selective mutism is hard, and namjoon only speaks to his grandma and his best friend jackson– although he more than makes up for namjoon's silence, nattering on forever. namjoon could write stanzas about beauty, wax poetic on the boy, but never talk.
he still manages a weak smile, a poor substitute for a hello and a proper greeting, but the boy seems to appreciate it. neither namjoon or the boy make to say hello, but, for some reason best known to the stars, they remain staring at each other.
namjoon makes the first move.
i'm sorry, i don't know if you read sign language, but i'm mute.
his hands move in quick, fluid gestures, signing out the simple sentence which was amongst the first he memorised. painstaking hours of watching youtube videos just so he could talk, and jackson learnt too, so he could translate for other, non-signing people. it's to namjoon's enormous surprise that the boy signs back, a relieved smile on his lips, a scratchy laugh coming out.
thank god. i was wondering how long we would sit here quietly.
namjoon laughs at that, but it looks weird, because no sound really comes out, more like a strangled croak than a laugh. the other quiet boy signs again.
i'm deaf.
ah, namjoon thinks, almost sort of relieved (?). the boy will never required him to speak, if they ever do meet again. but namjoon won't get ahead of himself. he just simply introduces himself, pointing at his chest and spelling out n-a-m-j-o-o-n, with a small smile. it's sort of lovely, the silence others wouldn't like; makes namjoon feel more at home, like he can just be him by this yellow creeper covered walls, surrounded by blossoms and beautiful flowers.
and the beautiful boy.
i'm y-o-o-n-g-i, the pale boy signs, with a close lip smile. namjoon can't help but notice how he doesn't make eye contact when he signs, looking rather at his hands, like he doesn't want to get anything wrong. namjoon is fluent in it; he learns everything until he can do it backwards in his sleep.
why are you here?, yoongi asks, hands settling in his lap afterwards. namjoon closes his book; fernando pessoa can wait, as he's found something possibly more entrancing.
my grandmother, he signs, sitting up more. she has cancer. i come every weekend.
yoongi nods understandingly, pulling his legs up to his chest. he's lithe, petite, looks like he's made of glass; his baggy clothing hangs off him, black sweatpants and a grey hoodie, the hood pulled over sky blue curls that aren't exactly the same as the sky above them. i'm sorry to hear that, he signs, eyes saying to namjoon that he means every word. my granddad just got admitted. parents didn't want to take care of him.
namjoon nods with a sigh, signing a quick 'i'm sorry', and yoongi's tired smile says he appreciates it. namjoon's eyes look up to the glass roof, seeing the weather has cleared. he can leave now; he has to walk home, and he needs to make sure he won't get wet. i have to go, yoongi.
the way he signs 'yoongi' is just making the 'y' sign with his hands, and it's not too necessary with sign language, but he likes it. yoongi nods. maybe i'll see you next week?, namjoon asks. hopeful.
i wouldn't count on it.
∆
HE WAS RIGHT.
namjoon doesn't see yoongi for another three weeks, and when he does, it a different environment, a different place, a different time from the garden behind the old people's home. it's out of context, the kind of place you'd not expect to see a boy so ethereal as yoongi.
2 a.m, the local laundromat. namjoon's washing machine broke, and he's too broke to buy a new one, so he hot-footed it to the nearest laundromat after cramming all his dirty clothes into a basket, and now he's here. a cup of coffee is in his hand and his red hoodie is far too big, the hood drooping over his eyes, and he sits on one of the machines, leaning against a dryer as his second load dries and the third washes. some random song blares through his one earbud, and he's seconds away from falling asleep. he's fucking exhausted.
lazy honey eyes drift to the gently opened door, watching as it creaks open, panning down to who could be in the same situation as kim namjoon. he's lazily looking, expecting another same-old tired college student.
but that's not what he gets.
instead it's the mysterious deaf boy from the garden behind the old people's home, whose then-curly azure hair was gorgeous, and now sits limply atop his head, greasy. there's bags under his eyes and his whole statue seems to sag under the fluorescent lights that garishly make his pale skin seem ugly; he looks like he hasn't slept since he last saw namjoon. feline eyes are lazily hooded, and he huffs slightly as he drags a bag full of washing, putting it onto the floor. anyone else would have headphones in, music blocking out the world, but yoongi cannot; namjoon feels for him, in that sense.
the azure boy doesn't notice namjoon, lithe (terribly skinny) frame clad in a band hoodie that hangs off him like a cloak. he rummages in his pocket for something, and namjoon can't help but ponder who min yoongi really is. he had never shown up again at the old people's home before or after namjoon met him, and he hadn't said much about himself; namjoon almost regretted not getting his number, but they were strangers. he watches yoongi light a pale cigarette with thin, long fingers, and namjoon's eyes widen at how bony they are– almost skeletal.
yoongi walks to one of the machines, opens it, and begins piling in clothes; all shades of black or grey, nothing too colourful, occasional white garments too. namjoon wishes somehow that yoongi wasn't deaf and that he wasn't mute and that their conversations could just be normal. but that will never happen.
yoongi starts the cycle and leans against the machine, looks at the floor momentarily, before looking up. he's seen namjoon now, and his hand that's holding the cigarette shakes; namjoon notices little things like that. hi, namjoon waves, sleepy. haven't seen you in a while.
yoongi's smokey, dark eyes regard him momentarily, before he signs, cigarette between his lips. didn't think you would give me that much importance, he says, expression downcast and sad, not meeting namjoon's eyes. i've been, he hesitates. busy.
namjoon raises an eyebrow, not sure what he means. everything okay?, he signs, and there's a definite change in yoongi's demeanor, his slouch more prominent.
i will be.
namjoon's not sure how to take that. but take it he does, nevertheless, and he remains silent and still, staring at the ground. it's only when yoongi nudges his arm that he looks up, and sees a piece of paper clutched between his fingers, a sequence of numbers on it. maybe we can text, if you missed me that much, he signs, and namjoon holds back a laugh. he nods, and quickly takes yoongi's arm, scribbling his number down.
i'll text you at a more decent time of day.
the next day, namjoon wakes up to a beeping alarm he hates, squinting hard at the sunshine that reflects from his white walls. he goes through the same motions of everyday, but it's a bit different. when he checks his phone, there's one message, not like his usual empty message box.
1 new message !
yoongi: good morning namjoon, i hope your day goes well ✨
[ received 8:56 ]
namjoon can't help but smile at that, feeling quite happy that the azure boy seemed to care. he makes his way out of his room and hears someone in the kitchen; jackson's definitely making breakfast, singing a dean song as if no one can hear him, and there's the sizzling sound of eggs and bacon too. namjoon finds the chinese boy in a joke apron kihyun bought him– 'fuck the chef' emblazoned across the chest– and a pair of baggy sweats, platinum hair a wet mess.
"morning!" jackson smiles, turning the bacon over. he giggles at what namjoon signs at him. "i look like a dad? more like daddy."
namjoon groans and buries his blushing face in his hands, looking at jackson with an expression that says 'spare me'. jackson just puts his breakfast on a plate and pours him some coffee, asking general questions. "how's your grandma?" he asks, sudden, and namjoon shrugs, signing a quick she's alright, very healthy, before downing his eggs. he just checked the time; he has ten minutes to get to the store he works at. bidding goodbye to jackson, he hot-foots it there, shoes slapping against the pavement.
"joon, you're here!" there's the loudmouth im changkyun, who throws his arm around his best friend jooheon as the three of them walk into the store. namjoon nods and smiles politely, heading to his register as the other two go to their spots at the electronic end of the store.
business, like always, is slow, and namjoon hates being on his register job; it requires having to speak, so that means he writes things down rather than using his croaky voice. he hooks his phone from his pocket and finds the familiar message, grinning as it opens.
you: thank you yoongi, i hope your day goes well!
in return he receives a picture of a blooming sakura tree, prettily lit and quite breathtaking, a message popping up underneath.
yoongi: thank you. what are you doing today?
he texts like he signs; careful, precise. namjoon types back after scanning for anyone who could tell him off for this.
you: just work. that's an amazing photo, yoongi
yoongi: ah, it's nothing really. i've got a damn doctor's appointment today
you: that sucks
you: maybe we could meet up at some point today, get coffee?
yoongi: no, i can't, sorry. this appointment is important and i do feel very ill.
namjoon frowns at the very blunt and straightforward answer, wondering what the porcelain boy was feeling.
you: okay then
you: best of luck on your appointment ❤
yoongi: thank you 💛
no more messages come after that, and namjoon accepts that yoongi probably had to go and considered that a goodbye. he returns to the banality of his life, watching as everyone avoids his register because they know he's 'disabled', but it doesn't matter because he still gets his money in the end and today's saturday so after he finishes at the store he can chill out and go to visit his grandma, and maybe yoongi will be there.
that'd be nice, namjoon thinks. he'd like to introduce yoongi to his grandma, even if they've only known each other for a little while, he feels strangely connected to him. perhaps it's because they both only speak in sign language, or because he still believes in the mythical idea of soulmates that his grandma told him about when he was thirteen and convinced he loved this one boy from his class– his first male crush– and his grandma told him that he had to wait for someone special; like she waited for namjoon's granddad.
maybe he just likes yoongi. that thought plagued his head the whole day as he serves around two customers, then leaves the store to go buy a late lunch. the café he always goes to is nice, one of the servers thankfully knowing sign language, and he eats the same thing as always, washed down with iced caramel coffee that leaves him will a chill in his throat. then it's the park.
the pinkette loves to sit with nature surrounding him, and he enjoys the warmth of the sun on his face on this mild spring day, just sitting and observing. a classical song plays in his earbuds as he walks around, hands in the pockets of his jeans, and as the crescendo comes to it's climax, he admires the river that trickles through the small town he so adores. namjoon's always loved the little things, and this town is one of them. he just adores the simplicity of the pastel suburbia he's been encased in all his life; maybe he'd like to leave, but not now.
perhaps that's why yoongi feels nice to him. he's not blending into the cute simple structure that namjoon is accustomed to; he's quiet, mysterious, deaf, and namjoon wants to pick apart his secrets, wants to know him better than anyone. it's foolish, seeing as he's only met him two times, but namjoon's never really encountered anyone so similar to him; it was amazing to know he wasn't alone.
namjoon's so caught up in his foolish daydreaming that he– in a cliché and clumsy manner that he so hates– bumps heavily into another person, a grunt leaving their lips. namjoon wants to apologise profusely for being so impolite and clumsy, and so a scratchy "i'm so sorry" is halfway out of his throat when he notices that the person he bumped into is yoongi. the blue haired boy is sat on the cobbles, looking like all the air had been knocked out of him. namjoon worriedly helps him up, apologising in sign language again and again.
yoongi brushes him off.
i'm okay, he signs, lips in a thin line. just winded. i've got to go, though.
can't you stay?, namjoon signs, and yoongi shakes his head. namjoon wants to spend the rest of his free time with the azure ethereal being in front of him, and yoongi looks deathly thin and as if he hadn't slept; namjoon wants him to stay, because he's comfort to him.
will i see you, later?, namjoon asks, in flurried gestures. at the old people's home?
yoongi can't look him in the eye.
maybe you will, maybe you won't. sorry.
then he runs off.
∆
IT'S A WEEK THAT passes– a week, of no word and no sign and no texts– until namjoon hears from yoongi again. he's been worried, which is truly stupid, because he doesn't even know the boy.
he's sat with his grandma, and mrs kim is talking, talking because she knows namjoon loves to listen, but she stops all of a sudden. namjoon turns to look at her– he'd been staring at the window for five minutes– and she raises an eyebrow at him.
"you've barely heard a word i've said, namjoonie. are you okay, dear?" her voice is croaky, sweet, unlike namjoon's rough and unused voice– saved just for her– that he uses to respond.
"i-i'm sorry, grandma," he apologises, coughing profusely and reaching for his bottled water. "i'm thinking."
"about what?" mrs kim asks, a sweet smile that namjoon'll never forget on his face. namjoon shrugs.
"this b-boy i me-met l-last month," he stutters a lot, and mispronounces practically every other word, but his grandma will forever listen. "h-he hasn't c-c-contacted me in a wuh-week, b-but i cuh-can't get him o-outta my huh-head."
mrs kim smiles. "sounds a bit like love, namjoon."
"muh-maybe," namjoon frowns. it's then that his phone buzzes in his jacket, and he looks at his grandma. "o-one suh-second."
he pulls it out, sees the text notification. his heart jumps at the sender name, and he quickly double taps to see what yoongi's sent him.
only for his hopes to shatter.
yoongi: hello, namjoon? this is jeongguk, yoongi's stepbrother. he needs you to come to ilsan general hospital, right now. ward number 6F. say you're with min jeongguk.
namjoon's brow furrows, heart in his mouth. he looks up at his grandma, and she can see the heartbreak on his face. "go, boy. i'll be fine." she reassures. namjoon nods, pockets his phone, and quickly legs it out to his bike, the small pastel blue thing from a pawn shop he's never been more grateful for.
his calves and thighs burn as he pedals the creepily familiar way to the hospital, not sure why he's speeding for this almost-stranger of a boy that he deems important. his stepbrother hadn't said much about why they were at the hospital, but namjoon is mute, not blind; he saw how broken and tired yoongi looked the past few times he saw him, so there's more worry than usual in his mind when he speeds into the hospital lobby.
"i-i'm wuh-with the m-min fa-family–" he blurts to the receptionist, who looks at him weirdly because of his voice, but buzzes him through nevertheless he runs to the room jeongguk said, looking through a glass window and feeling his heart break just a little.
a frail, skeletal yoongi lies in a blue hospital bed, no hair left on his head, eyes sunken and purple, lips uncoloured. a tanned looking boy with black hair and teary eyes stands over him, hands moving in a flurry of sign language, but yoongi's eyes drift to the window namjoon stands.
his hand lifts, and the ravenette stops, goes to open the door. "namjoon?" he asks, voice young but full of sorrow. namjoon nods, his throat suddenly too tight and heartbeat too fast. the boy lets him in, and yoongi reaches for him, namjoon going straight to his side. they may be strangers, but he can't help but care, because yoongi looks worse than death and namjoon doesn't want him to go.
what happened?, namjoon signs shakily, fingers trembling. yoongi doesn't respond. the ravenette does.
"y-yoon-hyung has c-cancer," he says, shaky, and namjoon understands this must be who texted him. "st-stage f-five. he-he doesn't h-have long."
yoongi's frail, skeletal fingers lift, and he signs, always looking at them. i couldn't stay because i had chemotherapy. i was afraid of being attached to you, because you'd miss me when i died, and i don't want to cause more damage.
namjoon's shaking like a leaf, and unexpected salty tears fall from his eyes. i'm so sorry, he signs, their slow signing being the equivalent of stuttering. yoongi, i don't want you to die.
you shouldn't worry about me, yoongi signs, tears falling from them both now; sorrow is thick in the air, constricting, suffocating. you don't even know me that well.
i wish i did, namjoon admits, breathing heavy and hard. i want to know you.
in another life, you will.
jeongguk is standing there and watching them talk, silent tears falling down his cheeks. namjoon is the closest his hyung will ever have to a friend, and his heart shatters as the two hug, sobbing, because they're soulmates that aren't meant to be. the universe is cruel to those who don't deserve it.
∆
ONE YEAR LATER, and namjoon's best dress shoes are wet with snow, as is his suit. he's kneeling on hard-packet dirt, and he looks at the tombstones in front of him.
min yoongi
1993 – 2018
"i would rather die than live without passion"
kim hyeejin
1948 – 2019
"everything in life has a purpose"
the two people he loves most in the world. on his grandma's grave, there goes globe amaranth; immortality and unfading love. on his beloved yoongi's, there goes sedum; a cure for broken and wounded hearts.
namjoon kissed yoongi, once. it was in the week before he died; he and namjoon were talking about their favourite things about life, and yoongi said one of his favourite things were loving kisses. namjoon, shyly, blushing like a tomato, kissed him there and then. it didn't matter that his lips were chapped, or that he was dying before namjoon's very eyes; they were happy in that moment.
namjoon's grandma went nine months after yoongi. namjoon's two lights were gone; bucketfuls of tears were cried at their funerals, and if it wasn't for jackson and jeongguk, namjoon might've gone with them.
he stays alive, because heaven can wait; he's going to experience everything yoongi couldn't. he's going to do yoongi's bucket list, going to watch all of his favourite movies and read all his favourite books and see all his favourite places.
all because the deaf boy gave him comfort, just for a little while.
∆
lmao i said it'd be jikook but millie was bugging me for namgi and i love her so what the heck
also requests are going to be closed because i will be less active during the summer holidays, so leave all your requests now please !
– jace