Yoongi awakens the next morning to pounding on his door. He felt like he had just fallen asleep, and after checking his bedside clock he realises that that was practically the case. He'd slept a little less than an hour. Yoongi rubs his bleary eyes and turns around towards his door, which was shaking with the force of the knocks.
"Hyung! You have to get up!"
Taehyungs voice rings out through the wood, the doorknob jingles a bit and then there's a loud curse and more banging.
Yoongi groans and stands, his head tilts at an uncomfortable angle but he ignores it in favour of unlocking the door, and the minute he does, it's getting swung open so fast yoongi almost trips backwards in his haste to dodge in order to save himself getting whacked in the face. Like his morning wasn't already going so well.
"Jesus taehyung, no need to bash the fucking door down," Yoongi grumbles, rubbing his eyes.
"Well it would have been easier if you hadn't locked your door," taehyung argues, crossing his arms and pouting.
Yoongi rubs a hand down his face. "So what, you could hit me with a pillow instead? No thank you."
Taehyung glares a little. "Someone's grouchy this morning. Jin-hyung made eggs, so if you want any come get them."
He turns and leaves and yoongi feels guilt gnaw at his insides for being so short with the younger. But fuck if that was a terrible way to get woken up. Yoongi sighs and throws on a large hoodie because out of the comfort of his warm bed the air was nippy, sending chills down his spine. Maybe the chills wasn't just because of the cold, either. Yoongi tried not to think about what was going to happen that evening, but as always his mind always wandered back no matter how hard he tried to stop it. He steps out into the hallway and doesn't bother even looking at himself, he knew he looked like death. Perhaps he could get out of practice today, although, wallowing by himself in the apartment didn't seem like a very good idea, either. He supposed that he probably should tell his friends before he leaves later, he could either tell the truth, some version of the truth, or lie completely.
Lie completely was off the table, because he didn't have enough resolve in him. He didn't feel up to anything right now, much less trying to make a lie sound real.
But telling the truth completely was also not going to happen, for obvious reasons.
So the best option was telling a version of the truth, and yoongi knew what he'd have to do. He didn't want to, but he had to. At least a little.
Yoongi steels himself and starts to pad tiredly down the hallway, figuring he'd make it up as he went along. He wasn't very bothered, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do much today. He'd probably break his neck in practice and going to the studio was completely pointless.
Yoongi sits down on the only available seat beside Jimin and Namjoon with a small frown that he ducks his head to hide.
"finally you're awake," Jin admonishes, pointing a chopstick with bits of egg on the end of it at yoongis face and waving it around, like he was picturing wiggling it around in yoongi eye socket. "Help yourself," he gestures to the table with said chopstick and yoongi picks up a pair of his own.
He didn't feel much like eating. He didn't feel much like doing anything. Hunger didn't gnaw at his stomach like he knew it should, he hadn't eaten in a long time. Instead everything ached with emptiness that yoongi wasn't so sure he could fill with food. But he piles on some omelette anyway as the soft chatter around him fills his ears.
He picks at it, twirling bits of mushroom and cheese around his plate as he rests his chin on his palm. He didn't know how to bring it up, but he supposed that being next to Namjoon, while the younger was messy and spilt his soy sauce everywhere, was a bit of a blessing.
"Namjoon?" Yoongi mutters, turning his eyes sideways and upwards, and meeting namjoons as they turn towards his soft voice.
Namjoon swallows. "Hm?"
"I don't think I can go to practice today, m'sorry."
The younger looks at him for a second, his eyes running over yoongis pale face and red eyes, messy hair and defeated looking posture and feels himself bristle with concern. Was he sick? "Why? What's wrong?"
"You're skipping practice?" Yoongi turns his head to see Jimin looking at him with worry swimming in his eyes, and he bites back the urge to snap at the younger to not eavesdrop, as the rest of the table quieten and all look towards him.
Jin piles some more omelette onto his plate. "How come?"
Jesus. Yoongi thinks as he runs a hand over his face, a tension headache was already starting to throw against his brow. So many questions for so early in the morning, when he had been hoping to get away with just telling the leader. He didn't want to make any of this a bigger deal than it needed to be. He should have known better.
"My fathers sick." Yoongi mutters, keeping his eyes trained on his uneaten plate instead of looking up and meeting anyone's eyes. "He got transferred to Seoul national and might not make it, so I have to see him."
There's a silence. Yoongi scrapes his chopstick against the porcelain of his plate and almost flinches at the sound, its volume maximised by the absolute quiet that the table was never in. It was one of the first silences that yoongi found himself uncomfortable in, it felt suffocating and tense, like you could cut the air with a knife. Yoongi finds himself looking up, but regrets it as he sees many pairs of eyes trained on him, all in varying degrees of sympathy. He drops his chopsticks aggressively.
"It's not my choice, okay? I would happily let the bastard—" he stops himself, taking a breath to calm himself, not wanting to say too much. "It's just, manners. I suppose."
The table gets even quieter then. Yoongi hadn't ever spoken about his family. His father, the abusive gang leader, or his mother, who had died in childbirth, which his father always blamed yoongi for. Not exactly small talk material.
"Yoongi, I'm so sor—"
"Don't say it." Yoongi interrupts Jin, who bites his lip. "Cancers the kindest way for that — him — to die, so whatever."
"Yoongi, don't say that," Jin mutters, gently dropping his chopsticks and looking very much like he wanted to reach across the table and take yoongis hands in his own, but stops himself as yoongi draws them closer to his chest.
"Right." Yoongi replies, feeling awkwardness swell in his chest. "Sorry." He mutters, not knowing what he's apologising for, but he doesn't know what else to say.
Namjoon shakes his head. "You don't have to apologise, hyung."
More silence. Yoongi feels like stabbing himself in the eyes with his chopsticks. He should have just said he was fucking sick or something.
"When... when did you find out?" Jimin asks, Jimin turns to look at the younger for the first time and has to look away from the pity in his eyes.
"A couple day's ago."
"Why didn't you tell us?" Jimin continues, eyebrows drawn in, not in anger but in something else yoongi can't figure out.
Yoongi shrugs. "Didn't think it would make a difference, I guess."
Jimin bites his lip. "Well, is your mother here? With your father?"
Oh fuck my life. Yoongi thinks. He clears his throat. "No, uh, she's dead."
Jimin straightens and his face crumbles in guilt. "Oh fuck I'm—I'm sorry, I didn't, I mean, I didn't know—"
"Jimin, it's fine." Yoongi interrupts. "I don't remember her, so I don't miss her or anything. It's okay." Jimins eyes look like they're about to fill with tears so yoongi decides that was the end of the conversation. He stands, his chair pushes back against the hardwood floor like a screech. He takes his plate and looks at jin. "Thanks for the food, hyung, it was great."
Jin opens his mouth, perhaps to say something about yoongi not eating anything, but he decides against it.
Yoongi washes his plate in the sink and puts it on the rack to dry. But as he turns towards the hallway to his room, he stops as a voice rings out in the silence.
"I'm sorry!"
Yoongi turns, taehyung was standing at the end of the table, face all red. "I'm—I'm sorry I called you a grouch before,"
Yoongi smiles a little, he can't help it. "Taehyung, it was already forgotten,"
Taehyung seems to let out a breath, but then pity leaks into his eyes and yoongis tiny smile disappears.
"Do you want us to go with you? To the hospital?" Hoseok suddenly asks. Yoongi blinks.
"No, no it's okay. I want to go on my own."
Yoongi doesn't say anything else, thinks maybe he should thank them but decides against it and instead walks the short distance back to his room. How dramatic and stupid that all was. He knew it was meant to be emotional, but it wasn't for him. He hated his father. Hated him.
Yoongi closes his door and leans against it.
Safe at last.
Yoongi didn't lock his door. He realises this, because just minutes after lifting himself from the spot on the floor, leant up against his door, that he had fallen into after getting back in his room, said door opens. It's slow, sending a long creak through the silence of his bedroom, and he turns around in his bed to see Jimins flop of dark hair and brown eyes peaking through the slight crack, with a frown. Yoongi stills, and his and Jimins eyes meet, and then the younger is pushing the door open and shutting it behind him. Yoongi had thought they'd left already, which is why he'd gotten back into bed.
Yoongi sits up and watches Jimin shuffle into the room, hands clasped in front of him through his sweater, looking devastatingly cute with his nervously shuffling feet and wandering eyes.
"Um, I just wanted to see, uh — if you were, you know, okay," Jimin stumbles, staring off at the floor. Yoongi hated sympathy, but he didn't think he could be mad at Jimin. Especially when he looked so skittish.
"I thought you'd have left already," yoongi mutters and jimin looks up to meet his eyes.
He shakes his head and his flop of hair fluffs in a way yoongi wants to reach out to pat his fingers through. "No, we—we didn't want to leave you alone yet, and I wanted to make sure you were okay before we left,"
"So you're the designated therapist, huh?" Yoongi asks, trying to lighten the mood, and jimin cracks a smile and shrugs. He knew he was the designated comforter of the group, they all did.
"Naturally." He chuckles.
After a beat of silence Yoongi opens his arms. "C'mere Jiminie,"
That's all the prompt Jimin needs, like he was waiting for the invitation, and he moves forward and falls gently into yoongis arms, curling up agaisnt his chest with his face pressed to the side of yoongis neck. Yoongi wraps his arms around the younger and pulls him in. This was natural. This was safe. The slight vanilla and honey scent coming from Jimins hair was familiar and inviting, washing warmth over yoongis cold body. Yoongi closes his eyes and sighs into the top of jimins head, the familiar scent washing over him as Jimins soft breathes meet his skin and send shivers down his spine.
"I'm really okay," yoongi whispers, not wanting to speak too loud and break the spell of contentment that had engulfed them. "My father and I don't get along, never have. He's... not a very nice man,"
"But he's still your dad, hyung," Jimin mumbles, lips bouncing against yoongis Adam's apple. If only you knew.
Yoongi sighs. "Not much of one. Trust me when I say he and I feel the same way about each other, and its the opposite of father-son affection. So I'm really fine with it all, okay?"
Jimin lifts his head and props himself up on his elbow, looking down at yoongi who was relaxed on the mattress. Scanning over his face. "But you look like you care,"
"I'm more scared of seeing him again, then of him dying, minnie,"
Jimin bites his lip and yoongi looks up at the ceiling to avoid staring. Like they weren't talking about his father dying slowly of stomach cancer or anything. "Scared?" Jimin asks, his brows pinching.
Yoongi hums and cant help but run a hand through Jimins hair, pushing it off his face and watching it delicately fall back into place across his eyelids. "He's a nasty man. We've never liked each other, and I was kind of hoping I'd never see him again,"
Jimin rests his chin on yoongis chest. "So you really don't feel anything?"
Yoongi thinks about it, and then shakes his head. "No, I really don't."
They fall into silence, before Jimin breaks it in a whisper. "How... how is he not a very nice man, hyung?" He asks unsurely. Yoongi sighs, his eyes pulling back up to the ceiling and away from Jimins curious gaze. "I don't — I don't want to seem nosy you just... never talk about him, or anything, really,"
"Because I don't want to," yoongi replies. "It's not something I ever want to talk about, or remember."
Jimin seems to see yoongi start to shut down because he just watches the elder from his place on his chest and doesn't say anything else, until yoongi clears his throat.
"You should go now, I'm sure they're waiting."
"Hyung—"
"It's okay. I'm okay. I know you don't want to miss practice,"Jimin lifts up his head, yoongi meets his eyes before the younger pulls away. Yoongi rubs a hand up Jimins arm and hopes it conveys the thanks he can't bring himself to say. "Go — I'll be fine,"
"If you need anything, call me, or anyone. Seriously, alright?"
Yoongi nods and smiles, pushing Jimins butt jokingly off his bed. Jimin gives him one last look before he's opening the door and closing it softly behind him.
Yoongi only has to listen for a minute longer to know they've all left.
So why does he want Jimin to stay?