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softandsourcream · 7 months

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Stop, you’re losing me~ - two

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pairing: idol! yoongi x vet!f reader.

Words: 8,5k

genre(s): angst, hurt- comfort, slow burn, fluff, smut (+18) (not this one tho)

au(s): childhood friends - to lovers, idol yoongi, normal vet reader, entertainment industry, denial and resentment.

Episode warnings: complicated relationship with food, description of diseases, curse words, family drama, grief, loss of loved ones, damaged mental health, a LOT of struggling.

IMPORTANT: this fic contains a lot of sensitive topics touched upon explicitly. Please, if any of the tags trigger something in you, stop reading. You are more important, and there is much more content you can consume here. Take care please! ♡

enjoy!

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main masterlist

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“Y/N, honey~”

Okay, wait. Here. It was from here where you remembered.

You were at home, in the bed that was almost yours. You cry just for that, under your sheets. Lucky you could remain silent; it was almost an empty cry at that point. Automatically, you were crying because that’s what you have to do.

You were exhausted. And you remembered having a bad feeling about all that situation.

“Not ready~”

“It's been a week.” Your mom closed the door, gently sitting on your bed and touching your back with a care that made you cry more. You were already drowning. “Did you think about a therapist yet?”

No. For a lot of things.

The first and most important is that you were already starting to improve a week ago. You haven't felt this miserable in months now, almost three. You had started to get up, eat better, and cry less. You talked, you walked, you wanted to laugh, to go out, to go back to work. Everything was fine. You didn't need a therapist.

Oh well, you did. At least you thought about going to one when you were already feeling better. You had the energy to want to be well and for this not to happen. Because the second was that now you didn't have the energy to try to lift yourself up in every way possible.

It was too heavy. But why. Why else would you have relapsed?

“How can you all be so… fine about it.” It wasn't retaliation, because everyone in that house was like that at the time, but you seemed to be the only one still there, and that frustrated you so much that it made things worse.

“We’re not.” You know. “We just know how to-“

“Live with the pain.” You end the sentence, revealing your face slowly to your mother. She looked tired and worried, but she still looked at you with love.

She brushed your hair out of your face, sighing and wiping away your tears softly. It was the only look of pity that you didn’t hate. You allowed it because you didn't have the heart to tell her that it bothered you. She was a mother; she couldn't help it.

“Your brother always told me to take care of you once he died.” She nodded, starting to cry. You haven't seen her cry in a long time. “He assured me that even if I were his mother, I would be able to understand it sooner and miss him differently than you. It's questionable, but that’s what he thought.” She took a breath, as if she had suddenly forgotten to breathe. What was he thinking when he said something like that to a mother? Many times you thought that Kija had no brains to boast about.

"'Don't let her die like this too.' " She quoted, “ ‘If I see her, whatever I end up to, I'm gonna hit her until she comes back to life." I’ll never forget how he told me that.” You smile a little. He also told you that in person days before.

“I've been remembering that non-stop all these months, but I realized that in the end, Y/N, I can't help you if you don't. Not because I don't want to; it's because I'm human, and I don't do miracles, honey.” You nodded like that didn’t hurt you, just because it was true. “I came here to let you know that we love you, we understand, and that if maybe I can’t do anything more for you, if you have a plan, I will always be here for you to help. It’s up to you from here, but you’re not alone.”

He prepared you for his death; everybody knows, what you were doing.

Why now. You were starting to make friends with the feeling that you were fine. You were in that stage of grief that isn’t too tragic.

What might have made you remember the loss as a thing in your life?

Of fucking course.

It took three days for you to use your little desire to continue like this and do something about it. Seun opened his eyes when he saw you entering the kitchen at breakfast, watching your movements cautiously.

“Where’s everybody.”

He blinks, chewing the cereal that was left in his mouth.

“All of them are in school; the rest of them are working.”

“What are you doing here, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“You still live at your parent's house without working? At 28?” He smiles. You were making fun of yourself as you said your age instead of his. He continued eating, calmer. “Embarrassing.”

“Guilty.” He says. “I needed the time, though. Things have been complicated lately.”

You looked at each other, and you thanked him for the gesture with your gaze, taking out a cup to make yourself some tea. Seun worked in Seoul. You didn't see him much, but he had been traveling home very often to see how everyone was doing in general after what happened, to see Jae too, and to be with his family more. Paradoxically, he was a lawyer, a very good and serious one, exaggeratedly contrary to what you were seeing right now, who wore a horrible duck shirt that he had worn as pajamas for as long as you can remember and always left at home, eating colored cereals in the bowl of one of your younger brothers.

When you went, nothing really belonged to you; all your things were already in your respective houses, but there was always room for you. Seun, being the second oldest, had left his room empty a long time ago, but he wore clothes that he had left in case he went.

Being there was like going back in time; you had taken your mother's clothes because you didn't go out much, and the ones you had there were no longer to your taste. The noises in the morning, hearing your mother sing from the kitchen, and seeing how they still danced together from time to time

It was nice.

You ended up eating the remains of yesterday's dinner with him at the inn, in silence. It was difficult for you to eat while like this; it was as if something in your chest prevented you from feeling any kind of human need. You left half the plate, and Seun after seeing that, took a breath.

“Eat that, and I’ll give you a prize.”

"Uh~ surprise me.”

You settled into the chair, ready to really listen to whatever it was. Seun was… you know.

“Dad asked me to take care of the garden outside.”

You frowned deeply, and you laughed because he was serious. “Great. Like when you were seventeen. I woke up with you complaining about it.” He made a face. “How would that be a prize?”

“It’s kind of fun, though. How about you come with me, hm? You don't have to do anything; eat that and just get some sun.

You didn’t eat it. But you go out still.

You didn’t even get dressed; you were still in pajamas, sitting on the grass, watching your brother cut leaves to shape bushes. Your father still took great care of that place; you could see that it was even better than before. He quite enjoyed it. You used to sit and look at him this way when you were younger.

“Didn’t know this could be emotional for you. You’re unbelievable.”

You laughed, wiping away your tears. It was stupid; you felt better, honestly.

“Sorry.”

“Sure.” He reached out to place a flower in your hair. It was small, white, the ones that fell from the tree that was right in the middle of everything. You smiled.

“How are you?”

“Better” you were, at least right now.

"Why did you get up today? What’s the occasion, hm?"

He walked away, beginning to pick up the remains on the floor. He was done.

“I just don’t want to feel terrible today.”

“Exiting.” He says this, stretching his back. “You know how hard it’s to force yourself to do that, kid? I am very happy to see you today. It's so brave of you. I'm serious.” It gave you a chill; you weren't used to hearing him talk like that. You simply nodded. “Here.” He gave you another flower; you play with it in your hands. “I'm going in to make lunch; are you coming with me? I can call you when it’s ready.

"No, I'm going to stay here."

Because it was quiet, you heard birds, and it didn't feel like your bed. You were a little desperate when your mother told you to go outside because you would feel better. The last thing you wanted was to get up, but you also hated that she was right.

You didn't open your eyes until you heard a noise that scared you, and it was almost bizarre to see Yoongi, standing with a garbage bag in his hand, looking at you without knowing what to do, giving all meaning to your search for triggers.

You blink. Maybe you were hallucinating.

Your gardens were together. His family hasn’t moved in all these years. The only thing you knew was that it was their property now, not like yours, which still rented the place. It had more floors than it used to, and instead of having old red wood walls like it used to, it was white and pretty. Yoongi had made sure that his family lived well. Many years ago, the house had been in constant repair; inside, it must have looked different too, but its patios still had no division.

Because they were neighbors, best friends, and family, sometimes they got together right there; why separate it? If they completely trusted each other, they could see each other more that way.

Why was Yoongi still in Daegu.

You couldn't find enough reasons for him to still be there. He must have been very busy doing his things, far, far from there, far from you.

And it was overwhelming to see him in that garden where you once saw him. It was difficult for you to make yourself believe that this person brought back that ugly feeling of looking like a lost cat.

You touch your chest.

He bowed. You had to cover the sun with one hand to be able to look at him better, and respond in the same way.

“You’re still here.” You say it quietly.

Yoongi had those eyes, unkind ones.

That and a sleepy look. He had always had them. If you hadn't known him since forever, you were sure that you would never have spoken to him, and if he did, you wouldn’t feel like speaking to him or maintaining any type of contact with him just because of his look. It was heavy, as if he was constantly having the worst time of his life, but by nature. His father had the same eyes and the same attitude; they communicated nothing with their expressions. At least that was what you knew—what you had stuck with.

But he looked at you in a way you didn't understand right now. That was one thing you didn't understand about the new Yoongi. Before, you used to catch him better because, although he expressed nothing with his eyes, you were the only one who could know how; you could read him in a certain way, and now he was just strange.

Softer. Almost warm but intimidating.

“Hm.” He didn’t move. “What are you doing, Park?" It was a mocking question, almost as if your brother had asked it, but with less emotion and coming from him, of course.

“Sunbathe.” You look dumb trying to look at him. The sun wouldn't let you. “It’s healthy from time to time," he tilted his head. “You need a little bit too. You’re too pale.”

He smirks, looking away, almost like taking the courage to ask. “Can I sit there, then?”

You analyzed the space with your eyes narrowed because you were trying to identify the natural division that existed between his patio and yours. Right on the floor, a few meters from you, there was a fairly thin cement line that divided the two spaces. You pointed your finger at it, moving a little closer so he could see it.

“Don't cross that line, and you'll be fine.”

Yoongi also squinted his eyes, looking at what could barely be seen on the ground. It took him a few seconds, but he managed to spot it and neutralize his gaze, lowering the hand he was using to block the sun coming from above. He snorted before approaching in silence.

You had forgotten what he looked like, and you wanted to say that during the day, with the sun on his face and casual, white clothes, he looked even better. He glows, and you want to punch him in the face.

“You don't fit in here anymore.” You said it simply. He leaned on his hands, leaning his body back, understanding that you didn't mean it with bad intentions. It was simply an observation, but he still didn't quite understand it.

“What do you mean?”

“Here, in Daegu.” He loses his eyes. “You look... expensive.”

You made him laugh unintentionally. Genuinely, he even sat properly so he could look at you. You were facing each other, a considerable distance away, divided by a line of asphalt covered by grass, but there it was.

“What?” That question makes you feel stupid.

“I don’t know, just- you look like you belong to another place. Too handsome and well dressed to be here.

“Ah~ handsome, huh?”

“Yes, Yoongi, too handsome.” It was a fact; he wasn’t stupid. He knows he’s attractive. You played with the flower between your fingers, feeling your heart begin to pound. You didn't even know why; you were sure he knew it wasn't his intention. You heard him laugh again. “You know what I mean.”

At least, you hope so.

“Maybe I don’t belong here anymore.” He says. When you looked up, he was playing with the grass between his fingers. “I don't feel welcome, either.”

“What are you doing here, then.”

He looked at you from there, raised his eyes for a few seconds, then closed them again. “I want to spend time with my family before enlisting. Hyung it’s going on his honeymoon in a few days, and... well, I'm running out of time.”

You had forgotten that.

You had to fight a lot not to ask when he was leaving, because it was two years, and although you hadn't seen him ten years ago, in a way you also had him constantly in your face, always. Now you wouldn't see him at all.

It was none of your business; why would you ask?

“That’s good.”

“You’re still living in he-?”

“Y/N, honey, hello. I thought you had returned to Busan since I didn't see you leave the house. You look tired; are you okay?”

You jumped for that.

“Hello, Mrs. Min. I’m, thank you.”

You had always been surprised by how intimidating that woman seemed to you and how much she loved you. She seemed more loving right now; maybe her age had made her softer, but in her younger days, every time she spoke to you, it was terrible for you. She always spoke to you as if she were making fun of you, with the most beautiful voice you had ever heard and the most studied words there were for a cordial conversation. Over time, you learned that it was genuine happiness, like right now.

“Then why-“

“Mom.” Yoongi stops her, and you realize.

You looked bad, perhaps unstable enough if it was at first glance. You did look tired; you hadn't slept well in months; you were still in your pajamas; and your hair was tied up. You hoped it wouldn't matter to you; you wish it were that way.

You had a flower on your head, at least.

“It's okay.” You told him, more for him than for her, and he looked at you, remaining silent for a few seconds. When you heard the woman's voice again, you were still sharing a look, surprisingly.

“Sorry. I was about to go to your house. I know your mom's working, but Seun it’s at home, isn’t he?” You finally looked at her and nodded, smiling slightly at her.

“Yeah.” It was weird, almost like she was checking to make sure you weren't alone. “Do you want me to leave her a message, Mrs. Min?”

“Oh no! It’s okay. I'll go tonight, but also," you take a deep breath. “It was just to invite you all to dinner tomorrow. Jae will be leaving in a few days, and the rest of his time will be spent with friends, so we can have dinner as a family.”

“I- don’t know. I’ll ask them-“

“I'm telling you, honey.” And you wish she didn’t. “Would you like to come? I know… You've had a tough time, and in the whole year you've been here, I've only seen you twice. We want to help.”

There it is. And just because you wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, you smiled slightly and nodded. You only had those types of reactions at the beginning, when the topic was mentioned. You hate to have them again now. It was directly a discomfort that made you want to sink into the ground because it made you cry instantly and peel off your skin in one go. It was extremely uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want. Just think about it, okay?”

You said your goodbyes; she kissed your forehead and left, leaving you two alone again in an awkward silence. Yoongi didn't have pity in his eyes now, but it was as if he had been reminded of something he had done wrong.

“I can tell them you couldn’t make it.”

“No need to.” You tore up the grass by a handful. Why did everyone think you couldn't do anything for yourself? “I will go. I miss your father's cooking.”

“Okay.” Another silence. “I’m sorry about that. She doesn't have any bad intentions; she cares. She doesn't even treat me the way she treats you."

You smiled a little, and for some reason, your heart started to beat less hard. Just as fast, but it didn't make you want to die. And you didn't like that.

“No problems.” You say, getting up. "It looks like I do fit in here anyway.” You shook yourself for nothing exactly; it was just to feel less uncomfortable as he watched your movements, and you looked at him as you walked to the entrance of your house. He had a lopsided smile, soft eyes, and the flower Seun had given you between his fingers. “you still have twenty minutes left.”

He smiled at you, knowing that you were running away. Still, he didn't stop you.

That was one. The next one was a little less exciting.

—

You weren’t an events' person.

Not because you felt too bad to attend social things; in fact, you had discovered that it was very efficient at not making you think too much. Being alone was the worst thing you could do, but you didn't like going. It felt almost like a charity event since Kija died; at least that's how it felt. Seun told you it wasn't like that at all, but you feel like it.

Like a charity object.

They give you extra food, extra attention, extra compliments, and the comfiest chair. And it was nice sometimes, but today you didn’t want that to happen.

"So... you want the red one or the purple one?” You held them both up, showing them to your sister in the mirror.

“What do you think?”

“I think… I like the purple one.” She didn't seem to like your decision, so you had to convince her. “ Look, it has flowers and sparkles inside. “You’ll look cool, don’t you think?”

“But it doesn't match my outfit~” Hyunji whines, and you smile, pushing away the purple hair tie to comb her hair into a ponytail again. You'd end up convincing her anyway.

“What do you mean? You have purple here.” On her shirt. It was yellow on its own, but it had purple bubbles, and even though the basic style doesn’t work like that, it seemed to make sense to her child's brain.

“You’re right… Okay!” She says, playing with her doll again.

Living with children always makes you wish life was that easy sometimes.

Hyunji has a twin too. It was because your father was a twin of another; the gene was there. They were the youngest in the family, and you had been combing their hair all year. It was complicated because every time they did it, they were together, and they reminded you of the dynamic you had had with Kija your whole life.

At that point, it didn't hurt you so much anymore. The first few times, it had been complicated for you to see, but now the other twin was in the other room, and she had no one else to talk to other than her doll. Nara, your other sister, enters the room.

“You’ll go?” You were dressed.

"Uh-hu,” you responded, checking that everything was in order in the mirror.

“Yoongi will be there.”

"I know." You spoke with the purple garter between your teeth, so your voice came out funny. “Are you going?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Yoongi will be there.” She rolled her eyes as she turned to the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub, leaning against the wall. You laughed softly.

“Not you too.”

Nara wasn't particularly a fan of his group, at least not at first. Since you hadn't been paying much attention, you didn't really know what the story was like, but apparently, she was starting to listen to them recently, and she genuinely didn't believe that this was the Yoongi she remembered. Now all her siblings were bothering her for refusing to do so.

“I didn’t know! Stop. It's almost overwhelming to see him leave the house sometimes. Last week, I met him twice! Here! In this town, Y/N! He looks like-“

“He doesn't belong in here.” You mumbled, and Nara nodded at you, wrinkling her nose.

“Nothing good ever happens here; this is too much for me.”

And for you too. But you didn’t say that out loud.

“Go on, kid. Call your sister.” Hyunji thanked you and ran off to find the other twin. You stretched your back.

“Can you tell me what happened between you two?” You scoff, sorting out the chaos you had made to find the purple ribbon in the box your mother had for them.

“Why do you want to know? It’s not that exciting.”

“There's no way.” She got comfortable, almost as if emphasizing her words. “Everybody in this family knows it's something happening to him and you, but nobody asked because they say you stopped crying about it like yesterday.” You laughed at the exaggeration. "Tell me."

“Well.” You took Ara, the other girl who had already been talking about how she wanted her hair, to sit her in the chair that you had placed on the sink counter, so you could see them better. Your mother always did it, and you didn't understand why. It was too unsafe. "The same thing as your sister?”

"No! I want them... like this.” She held up two fingers to you, and you nodded, wetting his hair and carefully untangling it. Ara liked to wear her hair long, so it took you longer, and you were already starting to get tired.

“We were friends, best friends, and things ended. That's all."

It took a second for the teen to sigh and start complaining about how little information you had given her. But you didn't like to talk about it. Not because you couldn't, but because it was something you already had behind you, very far behind. You didn't feel like it was any use to you to talk to anyone about it.

“Did you two kiss at least?"

“Yeah, we did."

Now, she looks excited.

“So you two date!”

“No. We didn’t.”

“Hm, date, but didn’t formalize anything?”

“No.”

“Friends with benefits?”

“Hm~ no.”

“Fuckbuddys?”

“Jesus Nara. How old are you? Twelve?”

She rolled her eyes, briefly looking at her cell phone”

"Haha. Why are you responding like Seun now? Don't do that; we have more than enough with one.” You responded to something the youngest was telling you, and you handed her a jar of cotton balls that she was asking for. “And I'm seventeen. “So you can tell me if you two were only fu-”

"Well, she, right here it's seven, Nara. So don’t say that ever again.” You saw her grimace in the mirror. “And we were friends. Best friends. Friends don’t- yeah.”

At least that’s what he told you. That you were friends.

“Friends don’t kiss either.”

And you told him that, too.

“I know.”

“Hm.” It seemed as if she didn't want to ask more, perhaps knowing that with the background she had, nothing could end well.

“I’m okay, though. I don't see the need to talk about it now. Yes, I suffered a lot because of it, but that's it; things are the way they are now.”

You had even realized that being around him didn't affect you like you thought. On the day of your wedding, you were sensitive; you knew it; you were predisposed to have a bad time. Now that you are at home with your family, what could go wrong?

“Do you plan to go dressed like that, then?”

“Hm?” You looked at yourself in the mirror in front of you, starting your sister's last ponytail. “What's wrong with it?”

“You’re kidding? You’re literally using mom's clothes.”

Yes, but because yours doesn’t fit in with you like they used to.

“I think it's pretty.” You defend yourself, but not really, finishing your job and taking the creature down from the inn. You heard her say thank you as Nara took your arm. "What-“

“Y/N, I won't allow you to go see your celebrity-famous ex dressed like that, without makeup and wearing ladies' shoes. You even did your hair! Come here.”

“He’s not-“

“Yes, wherever.”

She ended up dressing you in your clothes. Nice clothes of yours that you haven't worn in a while, but they made you feel pretty. Then she tried to do your makeup herself, but you knew how to do it yourself, so you ended up giving in. Your mother scolded them because they were late, and Nara left home with a smile on her face.

And you look beautiful. Yoongi thinks that when he saw you enter the house with one tween in your arms and a baby blue cardigan on you,

Of course, you were wearing baby blue.

“Do you think Seun will hit me in the face tonight if he gets drunk enough?” Yoongi asked his brother, receiving the beer he offered him. They could stop by to say hello later. The Parks had always been a lot of people; they had time to greet their parents first. Eun snorts before Jae can say anything.

“He doesn’t have to get drunk for that. You’re currently hurting the two people who matter most to him just by your existence. What do you think will happen?"

He agreed with a gesture, opening the bottle and taking a long drink. Yoongi didn't really like beer, but he would need it today.

“Well, I think,” Jae emphasized himself, shoving another beer into Yoongi's chest for him to hold. He was pulling out some to offer, he assumed. “that you can always talk to them to make them understand. Just like you did with the two of us.”

Make them understand. The problem was that neither of you seemed open to listening, which was fine, but oh well.

Yoongi had taken it upon himself all those days to fix as much as he could in that stretch of time. He had a different way of thinking and handling things, and he was too old to have unresolved issues. He didn't know if it was because he had time before he left or because Daegu and his house, his parents, and the streets where he walked for so long, dragging a useless dream, brought his emotions to the surface.

With you, it was different because he saw you, and it was difficult for him to remember all that he did wrong.

He had been thinking. Enough to have him overwhelmed in so few days, and while apologizing to Eun, for example, for having been so absent in her and her brother's lives, or to his parents, for... exactly the same thing, he saw you, and he knew that it wasn't just him who had to ask for forgiveness.

“They’re good at listening and apologizing for things they have done before. You're a lucky bastard to have to apologize to the most understanding people on earth.”

Eun had found it difficult to forgive him. She spent maybe a week talking to him, thinking about it, talking about it with Jae, and coming to the conclusion that, in fact, he had changed a lot and had given him an opportunity that he was sure he could fulfill. Yoongi was genuinely in another stage of his life, but having things to take care of was exhausting.

He realized more things that night at dinner as well. He didn't know the youngest members of the family, but they turned out to be quite shy compared to all of you, and talking to your family in general was quite easy. Not only that, but he didn't feel strange, out of place, or treated differently for who he was now; catching up with your parents and siblings was nice. Yoongi felt good”

“I would love to, Mr. Park, but I um, I return to Seoul tomorrow. I have commitments there before I leave for service.”

Nara had her birthday in a few days, and they were going to throw her a party. They were inviting Yoongi. He didn't know why his throat hurt from saying no lately. He was never a complacent person.

“Tomorrow? That soon? Will you enlist soon?”

It was impressive how those had been the first words Seun had spoken to Yoongi all night.

“No, it’s- not about that. I have work stuff. recording and practice.”

After that, he started answering questions about his life, which wasn't necessarily a bother. It was okay; he knew your family didn't have bad intentions either. He noticed it.

He also noticed that you barely touched your food.

“Can we talk?” You asked him when you were clearing up the dishes in the kitchen. ‘Sure’ and you took him outside because there was too much noise inside.

"So... you return to Seoul tomorrow."

You look disturbed, but he doesn’t hurry you.

“Hm.” He responded in affirmation. “My last concert is soon, and I have things to take care of before that.”

“Awesome.”

You look untouched by the situation. By everything. As if you were there by protocol. You hadn't laughed genuinely all night; you just smiled and responded kindly, briefly at that, knowing how much you liked to talk.

He didn't want to say that it had to affect you, but it was as if you had no reaction in your body. Quite the opposite of when he saw you at marriage, where you were with all your feelings on the surface. And he was worried. He has no right to be, though.

“I thought you missed my father’s food.” He tries, and you look confused at him.

“I did it.”

“You barely touch it.”

“Well, that’s none of your business.”

Oh, well.

You covered your face. Yoongi heard you sigh.

“Sorry.” You say.

He nodded, calm. At least trying.

“Didn’t mean to be disrespectful, either. It’s okay.”

Then he waited.

Enough. It was almost ten minutes of pure silence in which you thought about what you would say, and he smoked because you made him nervous and made him want to be doing anything but being aware that you were there.

"Okay," you say. Your words sounded loose. As if you were complaining about something. “Before seeing you that day, at the wedding," you start. “I was fine. I was feeling okay. I was- eating very well, I was starting to go out more, and I had this... silly feeling in my chest that maybe this situation wouldn't mean the end of my days, my life, and that I could do things by myself.”

Yoongi settled back in his place, attentive. It was just that he didn't understand, but he wanted to.

“I knew you would be there.”

“Yeah. Jae, he mentioned something to me.” After the weeding, of course. He would’ve liked to know that, too.

“Yes. So I mentally prepared myself for that, to see you, because it affects me to do so, and I thought I had handled it well that day. It didn't add up to me, because I spent weeks thinking about it and preparing myself for things that didn't happen and would have made everything much worse. I felt bad again, and I started to think a lot about... everything. About Kidja's death and what would happen to me without him in my life. It wasn't even about you. I had gone back to my beginning of grief, Yoongi. And I didn't understand why all the effort I had made to be well was gone so suddenly.”

He blinks. A lot of times.

“I’m- not understanding.“

“I have this theory.” Okay. “When you left, I had this same reaction. I don't really want to compare them because they are different in very big ways, but it reminded me of a lot of things, and seeing you there... I wanted to ask you not to leave. Not again, not like everyone has done it recently, so I can feel better.” His heart was a mess; this information was too much. “And it's stupid, because I don't know you, and I can't trust you, and the fact that you're here does me any good.”

“Y/N.” He insisted.

“I just want to put an end to this.” He could swear you were shaking. “Forever.”

Yoongi's head was going very fast; he felt somewhere else, something surreal. He had lived peacefully for a long time; his heart almost burst out when he heard you say a few more things, like you didn't blame him for anything, but you needed to know that he wouldn't be there anymore, and when you wished him a good life, he went a little crazy because you were leaving.

“Wait!” He was in a rush for some reason. “Just like that? May I… apologize for everything at least?”

He saw how many things went through your head, and he was desperate not to be able to know what. You took your distance before you talked.

“Yoongi, I don’t care.”

Now he was mad. You were acting like a child; resentment was speaking for you. He didn't blame you, at least not entirely, because he knew you were smarter than this. You had more valid, more accurate, and even stronger answers, but you were deciding to run away.

That wasn't what really bothered Yoongi, but the fact that you didn't tell him directly, like you would.

“If you want to live, then do it. But give me a voice too; I'm involved too.”

You snorted and crossed your arms to look at him with a smile on your face.

His blood boiled.

“You know what? Forget it. Have a good night.”

“Oh fantastic.” You move fast, getting closer to his garden but staying on the other side of the small line that divides it. Yoongi stopped, now not willing to listen to anything, nor to say anything constructive, really. “So you’re mad now?”

“It’s just—you're so stubborn! I’m trying to do something here!”

“And what do you want me to do, Yoongi?! Hug you and dry your fucking celebrity tears and tell you that the fact that you broke my heart like it wasn’t a big deal was okay? Oh, so now you want to be involved. You’re living tomorrow! And you want to fix things now? Shut up. You’re doing the exact same thing you did when you left.”

Your voice broke off as you swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat. Yoongi sighed, closing his eyes.

“We both did things wrong; I just wanted to talk about it before… that's all.”

“Everyone suddenly wants to talk about it.” It wasn't cold outside. Daegu wasn't a cold place, but you hugged yourself and cringed as if it were. “Everyone asks me what happened between us and why we stopped talking. Your father apologized to me in your place today too; he told me that whatever happened, he hoped we could fix it.”

Yes, I had told him that too, since it happened years ago, honestly.

“But I don't see any sense in it. Why talk about something that is already broken? Why do you insist? I just want to close this, okay? It was already dead; leave it like this.”

Yoongi took a moment, because it was true. But you look too real in front of him, and that makes him weak.

“So we can heal, can't we? That’s why you are doing this.” Your eyes look at him. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I had no choice.”

"Yes, you did.” You cut him off. “Do things right, or do things wrong. Those were your options. And you chose.”

Because you had always understood that he was leaving and that Yoongi had bigger things to do outside that place, and you were happy about that, but he didn't tell you until one day before he left forever.

He was completely blinded by having signed recently, by having an opportunity, by doing what he liked, and by the promises that were being made to him. Leaving everything behind, his parents, who did not believe in him, his "friends” who constantly told him that he would not make it, in that place that hurt him so much only excited him.

And unfortunately, you found yourself involved just by being part of that place.

“I know. And I’m really sorry.” You closed your eyes, and you denied it slightly. As if you didn't want to hear those words. “I understand that I made a mistake back then; I was young and dumb, and I- didn’t- I’m not the same person right now. I’m really sorry. I mean it.”

So... insignificant.

“Why.” And that was the question he didn’t want to hear. “So you can feel better about yourself, or because you're doing me a favor? Why now, Yoongi. If you hadn't seen me that day at the wedding, would you have traveled all the way here just to apologize before you left?”

No. The answer was no.

It wasn't something Yoongi thought about much. In all those years, he had convinced himself that he had done what he had done because sometimes in life, you have to be selfish to prioritize your well-being as a person. To put himself first over others because he had a dream, and fulfilling it meant sacrifices.

He hadn't done anything wrong, you know?

Now he apologized only because he saw you sick, and he felt guilty because he knew that it had affected you more than him. He was stupid because he blindly believed that the fact that he apologized would mean something less in your life, even if he didn't know how important you were to the whole thing itself. And you were sad and depressed, and you had big dark circles in your eyes, and you weren't eating well. You didn't really smile, you had a hard time getting up, and he hadn't seen you leave the house even once in all the time you had been there.

He felt responsible.

He did it because it left him and only him clean. He was being selfish.

He kept quiet. He wouldn't admit it out loud.

“I spent nine years of my life on pause waiting for you to care enough to come back to this damn city, so we could fix things. To talk about it. But that was nine years ago, and it’s a little too late right now.”

"I'm,” he stops, getting close to you, pressing his words in his throat so as not to have to raise his voice. “apologizing.”

“Well, you’re not forgiven.” He tense.

“For something I made when I was a teen? I don’t know, but you made some dumb shit back then too.

You kept quiet about that. It was true.

“You don’t seem to mind too much, though.”

“And what do you know about how I feel?”

Because maybe the fact that it didn't stop his life completely was something, but ignoring it didn't mean that it didn't hurt him either.

“Nothing.” A whisper. “I just- I don’t know, okay? But that stupid thing you did as a teen still hurts me and haunts me to this day, and you- I continued to believe that you would have the decency to come to my twin’s funeral. it’s- all that, everything, that’s just my fault.” You firmly acknowledged it. “But I would’ve to be so stupid to believe that you are still that person, because people change, and we were very young, and that’s fine, but Yoongi.” You touch his chest, or at least you had the intention because you didn't get to do it. You stopped and backed away a little. “The problem here is that you still don't care enough. You didn't even want to come here of your own free will... And that's fine, but don't come and- try to talk to me as if that were the case.

Your eyes soften, and so do Yoongi’s, because you do that when you want to cry.

When you cry, you’re completely harmless; that’s what he knows. If you cry out of anger, happiness, or even just empathy, any emotion automatically transforms into sadness. You leave yourself vulnerable; that's why you didn't allow it in arguments; it was losing instantly.

So you put yourself back together.

“That's fucked up, Min, and I don't need to forgive you to live in peace; I don’t want this; I don’t need your apologies; I don’t want to have any kind of contact with you because I don’t want you in my life anymore.”

“Then why are you still here?"

He can smell your perfume from how close you two are to each other now.

So he realizes.

It was difficult for him to have you so close. Because he felt the heat of your body, and your breathing was agitated. He remembered the touch from when he touched you at the wedding and squeezed his hand so as not to claim it again. His eyes traveled to your lips accidentally, twice trying to stop them without success, nor to his body as he moved forward, seeking to kiss you directly. He stops himself with all the strength he had and a little more, but you didn't move either.

You were both too dazed, feeling the tension in the air. As Yoongi looked at your lips again, this time closer to you, as you licked yours, trying to feel something. He breathed hard, like a bull, feeling almost dizzy. Yoongi had never wanted something so much in his life, and you weren't helping.

You looked down too, raising big eyes to the level of his before whispering, ever so slightly, to answer his question, and Yoongi couldn't believe you existed, looking like this.

He was fucked up.

“I still have a lot of appreciation for you, Yoongi.” You say. “And I respect you enough to do things right.” He closes his eyes when you distance yourself. There was nothing more to do. “I'm still here, but doing all this, doing things you don't want to do, lying to yourself, lying to me?... you're losing me.”

His eyes were wide open. You looked at him with sadness because you were crying.

“Leave it as it is, and keep the small part of me you still have with you. Because if you keep trying, I’m gone.”

And maybe that was what you both needed. A closure, a proper goodbye.

The problem was that neither of you had said goodbye, technically.

Big big brother, lovely and always available, Seun 💪🏻 - 1:32

‘How is it?’

‘Spooky?’

1:40

‘u’re allergic to dust, kid. You need a hand? 👋🏻👋🏻’

There were so many things you regretted in life.

One of them was to regain the closeness you had with Seun having so many brothers to choose from. Because he was sweet, yes. Maybe if you didn't have him there (knowing that you often live in fear of losing the people you love, it was very clear to you), you would miss him a lot, but he could be very annoying at times.

Don't judge yourself by the contact name by the way. He had set himself up that way, and every time you tried to change him, he found a way to make it longer.

You - 1:41

‘Sure, want you here in ten minutes.’

Big big brother, lovely and always available, Seun 💪🏻 - 1:43

‘Don't tempt meee’

‘You know I’m crazy, right?’

You stopped him immediately, telling him that you were fine, that everything looked fine, and that he shouldn't worry.

It was a two-hour trip. And it wasn't a lie that you were okay.

Moving to Busan was your idea; maybe two years before Kija relapsed and got sick, he wouldn't stop getting worse. He followed you with nothing in mind because, unlike you, he hadn’t been able to study anything. His health was weak, and that weakened his mind as well.

You wanted to get him out of that mentality, to meet people, to go out, and perhaps to look for a job that would help him understand that he could do things well. And you did it, or, well, he did. You didn't see much of the many people he had plans with; he worked in a café near your apartment that was still there; they had even remodeled it. He had a boyfriend, money; you two were together, you always laughed.

It was when you began to set up your clinic (because that was what you had gone to Busan for, aside) in the city that he began to cough very lightly, almost like a cold, and when you took him to see the place where you would start to build your first dream, he passed out at night when they were trying to clean the place. After that, he didn't stop coughing until that same cough took his breath away completely.

You thought he would get better, he looked weak but fine. He talked, he ate, and he didn't sleep as much as he does when he gets that sick. The only thing that told you that he was really struggling was the blood in his cough and that sometimes, when he got up to go to the bathroom, he would call you out of breath because just getting out of bed was too much for him. He was in serious condition, but you didn't think you would have him with you for so little time.

“Open that thing, Y/N. You have everything you need. You’re smart, you’re pretty, and your lungs work wonderfully. Sorry you don’t have any excuses.”

He spent the last days of his life there, in that apartment that you didn't want to return to, because now your whole family wasn't sleeping on the floor, nor was your mother's voice singing to him while everyone was sleeping, and he couldn't do it because the pain was killing him slowly, nor was your father offering you help to open that damn clinic.

Kija died two days before opening it, and he swore he would be there when you did. You believed him.

The door to his room was closed now. When you came into the apartment, it smelled musty, and there were many letters on the floor that were passed under the door while you were gone. His shoes were on the shoe rack at the entrance; your mother must have forgotten them when she cleaned, so you sat there when you arrived; you weren't ready.

It was when Seun spoke to you that you decided to enter the things you were missing.

And you clean the place. You dusted, packed your things, and called the clinic to inform that you were going to return to work that week. You were the boss anyway.

Maybe it was you deceiving yourself, but the more you looked for discomfort within yourself, you couldn't find it. You thought that facing that place would be more complicated, but there you were.

In Busan, and in Busan you didn't want to die.

“I trust him.” Kija could barely speak; he was intubated and medicated, sitting right where you were now, waiting for the medication to completely wear off.

You had stopped talking about it hours ago, that was when you understood that your confession had been hanging around in his head.

‘I have been thinking about Yoongi lately. I think I'll- need him when you’re gone.’

“Text him.” He told you.

You had already told him it was impossible. You had even told him possibilities of a schedule of imaginary activities that he would have at that moment.

“Kija, forget it.”

“I trust him.” He repeated. “He’ll come. He cares about you still, I know.”

You had believed him, and you had smiled slightly at the thought of a possibility.

Now you’re disappointed. It was dimly lit, it was starting to get cold, and your hands covered your face because, wrapped in, now, a gray room, you were giving Yoongi tears for the first time in years.

And Yoongi's tears were different from Kija's. They felt old, meaningless, but they weren’t automatic.

You sob, because maybe this way you could do this the last time you cry about it.

—————————•。・. ゜・。_______________

one masterlist

—————————•。・. ゜・。_______________

taglist: @constancelayon @baechugff @wobblewobble822 @honsoolgloss @alienchickenpoop @idkjustlovingbts @jjkluver7 @cuntessaiii @baechugff @junniesoleilkth

#yoongi angst #bts fic #yoongi au #yoongi fic #yoongi smut #yoongi x you #bts yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi fanfic #yoongi series #suga series #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi smut #idol yoongi #bangtang x reader #bts headcanons #bts scenarios #vet reader

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foxymoxynoona · 1 year

Note

i have a drabble request for your anniversary 🥺

it’s not related to any of your stories… but since you’re so good at writing about kids, could we please have a drabble where yoongi is a dad calmly letting his tiny kiddos crawl all over him (maybe one running a teeny tiny car up his arm and one draped over his thigh pointing at things on his laptop screen etc) as he quietly works on his computer or something like that 🥹🥹 like never once telling them to get off of him, just letting them be like his irl counterpart whenever the tannies bother him 🥹 then maybe eventually oc feels bad for him and rounds them up so that their daddy can work in peace 🥹

Ok I sort of got carried away and I'm not sure I checked all the boxes but I hope you still enjoy this!

Characters: Dad Yoongi x Y/N, their two kids Length: 4878 World: It can stand alone but it's the same kiddos as this one shot

----------------------------------

“The cat forgot to lock the door. Mouse came to visit and the door was…”

“Ajar,” Yoongi said, not even looking away from his laptop, balanced precariously on the armrest of the couch.

Kija remained silent. He contemplated. Yoongi didn’t look at him, just waited.

He resumed reading but did not repeat the word the way he used to. Before, if he found something he didn’t know, it was easy to offer the answer. His spongy young mind latched onto every new discovery and wanted to immediately try it his new knowledge. But now, suddenly, he didn’t want the help. He refused it. Didn’t even acknowledge with a tantrum unless you pushed it, he just moved right along after a pause, as if he wanted to pretend he hadn’t heard.

Yoongi continued to half-listen, half-let Kija’s voice fade into the background as a third half of his brain tried to make sense of the session notes –wait that wasn’t the right number of halves. He closed his eyes and let out a slow, quiet breath.

Joo reached over and rolled her toy car across the keyboard. Ah, that’s where the other half of his brain was supposed to be.

“Hey,” he cooed, and gently nudged her hand away. “That’s not a road, aegiya. Not on the keyboard.”

“Appa are you listening to me?” Kija demanded.

“I am.”

A catch-22: Kija wanted to be simultaneously closely listened to and unperceived.

Kija gave him a hard glare, then turned back to the book. First grade was a struggle so far, that was the truth. But Yoongi swallowed the smile because his son still wanted to be heard, and tuned more of his brain to it, and more of his brain to shuffling Joo to the other side of the couch, even though it meant he had to move towards the middle and shift his laptop to balance on his knees. It wasn’t conducive to answering emails. Nor was having two halves of his brain now focused on two children with no more halves left for email reading. Especially an email with label notes on the recent album, notes he needed to ingest and consider and then spit out into two categories: those I will consider, those I reject completely.

He looked at Joo. Her eyes widened, two dark starry orbs. At two, she could already speak in full sentences but often chose not to, keeping most of her odd little thoughts to herself until she’d suddenly surprise you.

Now she pointed at the computer and asked him, “Is it a good one?”

“A good one? Is what a good one?”

“Make the music, Appa.”

“No, not yet, we’re listening to Kijaya read right now,” he reminded her. He touched a finger to his lips to shush her.

Kija grumbled behind them and huffed, “Don’t listen to me.” Yoongi glanced over his shoulder; Kija glanced over his own shoulder to check if Yoongi was watching, then quickly looked away. He resumed reading, his little voice slow and soft, caressing each word with uncertainty, as if waiting for Yoongi to correct him.

Yoongi did not. Mistakes were nothing to be ashamed of. Yoongi was all too familiar with performance anxiety and wouldn’t create it in his son by interrupting his storytelling for something trivial like a mispronounced word. You could be right later, your first contributions to the world should just be about presence.

“Don’t listen so much to me,” Kija complained in the silence. “It’s too quiet. I can’t read when it’s quiet.”

“You’re doing well,” Yoongi said. As soon as he spoke, Kija started reading again, like he could slip his words beneath his father’s and leave them half hidden, half heard. So Yoongi asked Joo quietly, “Do you want to see the audio?”

Joo sounded so serious as she answered, “Yeah.” She got that ‘yeah’ from Yoongi, he knew that. He didn’t babytalk his children much, just certain words, certain pet names, but mostly he spoke to them with respect and trust from the time they were babies, and it provided him endless amusement when they repeated him later. “Just live life,” Kija used to say when he meant I don’t know. “Ah, I see,” Kija used to say, an exact copy of Yoongi. “Ah, I see,” Joo would repeat now too, her expression even more of a mirror. And then sometimes, “You think so?” A little toddler, short ponytails sticking straight out from her head like antennae, asking, “You think so?” as if taunting about how the attempts to get a nap out of her were going to go. She badly needed the nap but God forbid you try to get her down if Kija was home. She could not miss out on a single minute of whatever her favorite older brother was doing.

Yoongi opened an audio file, muted, but let her watch the visualizer on his screen. Her eyes reflected the rising and falling bars, the red, orange, yellow, and green blocks she recreated with wooden blocks. He was certain that’s what she was doing, stacking them next to each other, adding and subtracting blocks. You insisted he was projecting but he knew what he knew.

Kija glanced over and his voice faltered before he returned his attention to his book, little face a scowl. Suddenly he slammed the book shut and threw it to the floor.

“Hm?” Yoongi prompted, gentle. Joo’s gasp was loud.

“Oh no! Book is down!” she cried, and instantly lowered herself to the ground to fetch it. “Kiki you drop him!”

“I don’t want it,” he scoffed. His arms crossed and he turned his back to her, awkwardly facing the back of the couch in a full sulk.

Yoongi held his hand out for the book and said again, “Hm.”

“Hm.” Kija mocked. Angry. Such an angry little boy sometimes lately, and it scared Yoongi. He hadn’t expected Kija to feel that kind of anger until he was at least a rebellious adolescent –and hopefully Yoongi would be able to help him manage that better than he had his own. You were the one who better knew how to handle the emotions and behavior of this age; Yoongi never knew what was normal and what wasn’t, what online articles to believe, or which pediatrician could be trusted. You’d gone through three now, each one shed after some perceived failure on Yoongi’s part. In life, he was open to compromise on most things. But not music. Not his devotion to you. And not the health and needs of his children.

“Do you not like the story anymore?” Yoongi asked gently. “Or are you frustrated?” The boy who at other times could wax poetic about the shenanigans of his friends at school now just grunted and twisted further away on the couch. “We can read a different book if you’re bored with that one,” Yoongi offered as a way out.

“Diff book!” Joo cheered and went right to the stack by the door to get her favorite National Geographic book, one of those big heavy glossy coffee table ones –a gift from Uncle Namjoon, as if he didn’t think Yoongi would instill enough appreciation for nature in his own kids. The book was clunky in her arms as she determinedly hauled it over.

“You’re doing great at reading,” Yoongi assured Kija. It was true. He was a little behind his peers, but nothing alarming; the fact he could read at all by six seemed insane to Yoongi. He hadn’t been reading at six. Kids these days… everything in the schools was so different. Everything in the world too, frankly. Phones, computers, video games, social media–

Yoongi pushed away the bigger worries and continued, “I had a hard time with it in school too but it worked out in the end, I just had to keep at it.” Even as he said it, Yoongi hated his own words. He still didn’t read much for pleasure, though sometimes he found articles that were worth the effort. Music had always come more easily to him, the notes on a staff making more sense to him than letters on a page. He liked poetry, too. Lyrics. Heavy prose bored him, he had no patience for dense pages.

“I don’t have a hard time with it!” Kija shouted and spun again to keep Yoongi from reaching for him. Just as he reached for his son, Joo dropped the book on her foot and began to wail. The heavy cover opened so the book landed standing upright, and when she reached down for her foot, she bashed her mouth on the corner.

In moments like this, with both kids crying, Yoongi found his steadiness overwhelmed. He felt like a bad dad because inside his calm resolve began to fracture and his cool exterior was a lie. Dads shouldn’t have to lie like that. He didn’t have the right words or energy to wrap two crying children up in a tornado of hugs and kisses that would distract them with warmth the way you did. You’d always recognized his steadiness, his caretaking, even though it was lowkey. He was dependable. But a frustrated six year old and a two year old with a boo-boo didn’t need cautious reliability, they needed… you.

But you weren’t here right now. Hour twenty-six of the fifty-four you’d be away. Not that he was counting or anything.

Yoongi scooped Joo up to comfort first, only to realize she was bleeding. Not hospital level bad, but more than he wanted his daughter to bleed, her little lip red where she’d hit the book. For a moment he had parental panic because steadfastness didn’t teach you how to soothe a bleeding toddler. He grabbed a napkin from the pile he’d accumulated from takeout bags over time and pressed it to her lip and bounced her around and tried to think of a silly song to distract her but his mind was blanking on children’s songs because it rattled him. Even a little bit of blood was an unwelcome reminder of how little he could truly do to protect his children.

“Are we ready for ice cream? I think it’s a good idea,” he decided. Suddenly Kija was more interested. Joo stopped wailing and nodded at him with her big watery eyes still leaking tears. At least today the hurt was something he could fix with a special treat.

While funneling ice cream into his mouth, Kija returned to his more cheerful self. Chocolate smeared across his cheeks, he suddenly poured out a stream of stories from school as Yoongi tried to keep Joo from getting chocolate all down the front of her white dress. It was hopeless. Only a stylish person with no kids (Hoseok) would give a child such an expensive all-white dress. You had sagged against the wall laughing later when the two of you discovered it was dry-clean only after a messy meal, and Yoongi had fallen in love with you all over again, that you could laugh so hard about what others might cry over. Into the regular wash the white dress had gone and so far it was still rotating through, though the chocolate might finally be the stain that took it down.

“And then my friend Tum had to clean the whole house all by himself and it took him four hours,” Kija shared. “His family didn’t even help! It was so mean.”

Belatedly Yoongi realized he wasn’t really listening, and quickly prompted, “How did you hear about this?” despite his initial impulse to point out this was unlikely to be true.

“He wrote about it for Daily.”

“What’s daily?”

Kija suddenly looked very serious. Yoongi could practically feel him shrink away. Suddenly he perked up and started talking about something else completely, “Giganotosaurus was bigger than the t-rex but not as smart.”

“Who would win in a fight?” Yoongi asked, taking a page from Jungkook’s parenting book without meaning to. The question never failed to get kids talking though, he had to hand it to him.

“Um… I don’t know how to answer that because they lived in different places.”

Yoongi didn’t try to contain his laughter. It confused Kija and Joo, though it didn’t slow down their ice cream consumption.

“You are so much like me sometimes,” Yoongi muttered.

“No I’m not.”

“No? I think you are. That’s a good thing, I hope.”

“You don’t want to be like me?”

Yoongi quickly corrected, “No, maybe you don’t want to be like your dad. Sometimes kids don’t want to be like their fathers. You can be your own person too, I don’t mean you have to be exactly like me. Just that we think alike sometimes.”

“So what?”

“Yea, so what,” Yoongi nodded. But his brain cycled back in the conversion and he pressed, “Hey, what’s the Daily thing you mentioned?”

Kija answered easily this time, “Every day after Morning Meeting the teacher tells us something we have to write about in our journal.”

“What do you write about?”

“Um… stuff. I don’t know. Dinosaurs and dogs and… dumplings.”

“Only things that start with ‘D’?”

“Huh? They don’t all start with D.”

“Those things all do. Dinosaurs, dogs, dumplings–”

“No they don’t,” Kija huffed. “Stop saying that!”

“But they do. Each of those words begins with–”

He clamped his hands to his ears and shouted, “Stop! You don’t know that!”

Yoongi let out a deep sigh and began trying to mop Joo up.

“More,” she demanded.

“No.”

“Ice cream for din-din. More please.”

“No– shit, it is almost dinner time,” he mumbled. Normally dinner was his part of the managed schedule so it wasn’t like him to forget it, but with you gone, the whole schedule was harder to maintain. The hours dragged on but then a whole afternoon passed and he hadn’t gotten anything done. It felt like you’d been gone for days; your absence was so achingly loud in a house never silent thanks to the two children. They hadn’t slept well last night with you gone, and neither had Yoongi; tonight would probably be the same, and tummies full of nothing but ice cream wouldn’t help.

“I know all the letters,” Kija muttered. He dragged his fingers through a splash of chocolate ice cream on the white counter. “I know them more than you.”

Yoongi shrugged, “I’m a lot older so it’s normal that I know more about reading and writing. But you know more than me about dinosaurs and Pokemon.”

“Yeah you don’t even know the difference between Dodrio and Diglett.”

“Don’t they both have three heads?”

“Well…” Kija’s eyes narrowed like he suddenly suspected Yoongi was hiding some vast Pokemon knowledge. He was not. That was basically the only thing he knew. “Yes,” Kija admitted.

“So am I a Poke-Champ now?” He knew it was Master but he liked seeing Kija’s eyes light up to correct him. He didn’t usually play that kind of game with Kija, he was direct and honest with his son, but he felt like Kija could use the confidence boost right now.

“Appa carrots please?” Joo demanded, resting her sticky fingers on Yoongi’s arm.

“You want carrots now?”

Joo nodded and smiled. He glanced at the clock and understood this was dinner for real now. Might as well ply them with carrots and yogurt and anything else he could get them to eat after ice cream.

Kija had clammed up again but Joo chatted happily enough for them both as Yoongi chopped up fruits and vegetables, microwaved some rice, and reheated yesterday’s noodles. As the kids picked at the offerings, he realized he’d forgotten to take their lunches out of their backpacks after picking them up from school and hurried to do that before he forgot again and had to deal with a gross surprise in the morning when it was time to repack.

In pulling Kija’s bento out, he noticed a couple papers crumpled at the bottom of the backpack, like they’d been shoved in and then forgotten. Sometimes Kija brought home drawings and he got upset if they got wrinkled like that; many times now you’d carefully smoothed them out, even painstakingly ironed one when Kija sobbed that it was ruined by the creases.

Kija felt things so big. He stayed out of sight so as not to set Kija off again if these were precious crumbled art. Yoongi felt so inadequate as a father when Kija felt things so big; it wasn’t that his own feelings were never big, but that his expression of them was so different than his son’s. Joo seemed to handle things more like him. He felt like he disappointed Kija sometimes when he wasn’t dancing and leaping with him, and like he failed him when he couldn’t comfort during his worst moods. He was trying harder to do both… at least Joo thought his attempts at dancing when Kija beat a level in his video game were funny. Kija had just thought he was mocking him and you had needed to smooth it over.

Yoongi flattened the first paper and surveyed the cartoonish ice cream cone with big sparkly eyes. The second was a drawing of… things. Yoongi had no clue what, all very boxy, lots of lines, but he got the impression they were things –robots or Pokemon or animals he couldn’t recognize.

The third was a writing sheet, a printed template that said “Daily Journal” at the top. Kija had written his name and the date, both shaky and clunky. The prompt was “I am good at ________.”

And in the space left to write, twenty lines meant to contain Kija’s little boy pride in all the things he was good at, his son had written only: i am thee fort fast runer in my klas.

Yoongi studied that response for a moment. Kija was good at lots of things. Up until recently, Kija would have been all too eager to tell you all the things he was good at, true or not! But when given the opportunity to brag or even lie, he’d written so little..

Yoongi carried the paper over and asked, “Kija, what is this?” Kija glanced at the paper and said nothing. “This is what you meant by a Daily, right? Why do you have only one thing listed here? What about all the other things you are good at?” Kija rested his chin on the table and wouldn’t look at Yoongi. Joo thought this was funny and started to giggle until Kija shouted at her, then she turned to tears.

“Do not yell at your sister. No one deserves to get yelled at ever. Only yell if someone is in danger, right?”

Kija suddenly lunged and took the paper from Yoongi. He slid from the stool and began to crumple it again, clearly headed for the trashcan. Yoongi let him do it. He leaned against the counter where the kids ate and waited until Kija came back, dusting his hands like a job well done.

“Why did you throw it away?”

“Because it’s bad.”

“What’s bad about it?”

“It’s not even true,” Kija told him. “Logan, Nolan, Kasi, Do, Win, and Iseul are all faster than me so that means I’m not even number six.”

“So what?”

Kija glared at him like he just didn’t understand.

“You don’t have to be the best to be good at something,” Yoongi corrected, recognizing this as a big teaching moment. “Who cares how good other people are? Don’t get into the habit of comparing yourself to other people. Just look at yourself and all that you accomplish.” Kija leaned his cheek in his hand and stabbed his chopsticks into his rice. “We’re going to make a new list,” Yoongi decided, going for the notepad you kept by the fridge for making shopping lists. He brought it back with a pen and set it on the table.

Kija just stared.

“You can name some things you’re good at.”

“Kiki is good at stories!” Joo offered.

“Yes. And you’re good at helping with your little sister,” Yoongi nodded. He wrote these down. “You’re good at drawing and at helping me pick out the best fruit at the market.”

“Those are dumb things.”

“They aren’t dumb. You are good at being a friend, you know all the things your friends like and don’t like. You are good at throwing a ball with Uncle Taehyung, right? He said you were good at it.” Yoongi could see none of these things were making Kija feel even a little better though. “What’s going on? What are you thinking about all this?”

Apparently it was the right question.

“I’m not good at writing the words so it doesn’t matter,” Kija insisted. “And at math class the numbers don’t stay the same in my head.”

“What do you mean, they don’t stay the same?”

“I can’t remember the numbers and what they do and I don’t remember all the sounds the letters can make either so I’m basically dumb.”

“You aren’t dumb.”

“I am dumb,” Kija insisted.

“You are six years old, it’s not possible for you to be dumb because you aren’t supposed to know anything yet. You’re just supposed to be learning.”

“Everyone else learns faster than me.”

“It’s not a race–”

“Everyone else gets papers on the Daily Wall but not me and I don’t get smiley faces on my Dailies.”

Yoongi paused and really took in the serious things his son was telling him. Joo got quiet too, looking between them. He understood. Boy, did he understand the feeling of failure when your papers came back red. He remembered what it was like when he stopped trying in school because then it didn’t hurt so bad when he failed. He remembered what it was like thinking he was stupid too, when in reality he just hadn’t found his place yet. Once he was free of school and the pressure was gone, he learned more easily, and he always had his music skill and passion to lean on.

“There are lots of ways to be smart and school is only one way,” Yoongi told him. Six was too young to already be worried. He deserved smiley faces on his papers, even if they weren’t quite right, even if it was just a smiley face for trying. “Do you remember how happy you were when you started reading stories to me and Joo at bedtime?”

“Yeah…” Kija admitted. “But I just memorized them.”

“So what? That is a very smart thing to do.”

“It’s not the same as reading.”

“No, it’s not, but that doesn’t make it worse. Memorizing things is a very hard thing to do too. So how about after dinner we read that book again, but I’ll read it slowly to you and you can practice memorizing it. Then you can read it to Eomma when she gets home.”

“But I won’t be reading it.”

“It still counts,” Yoongi assured him. “She’ll be so impressed and you like to do that, don’t you? Tell us stories?”

“Yes.”

“Then it doesn’t matter, it’s ok to do things just because you enjoy them. I enjoy when you read to us, no matter how slow you need to take to sound the words out. I’m not in a rush.”

“Me too!” Joo added. “I am not russ too.”

Kija smiled at her, “Rush, not russ. Shhhh.’” He reached out and brushed a few grains of rice off his sister’s cheek. “She’s cute but she’s not very good at feeding herself yet.”

“Well she’s two. And you’re six. You learn things when you learn them.”

“How old are you?”

“It’s not important.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t remember. When you get to be as old as me, it’s hard to remember what the number is.”

“Oh.” Kija gave him a gentle look. “You don’t count very good, huh? Only music counting?”

Yoongi snorted, “I like math more now that I’m not in school. In school it was hard when the teachers wanted me to do things fast but I needed more time… so if that’s how you feel, you’re just like me that way too.”

“Oh.” Kija watched Joo fondly for a moment and Yoongi figured he was about to learn something new about dinosaurs, that Kija’s mind had already slipped onto more enjoyable thoughts. Instead he said after a moment, “I guess I’m good at being like my appa.”

“Yeah.”

“Everyone always says Joo is more like you but maybe I can be good at being like you too.”

“You want to be?” Yoongi couldn’t help himself asking. It was so damn flattering.

“Yeah but I like being like eomma too.”

“It’s like I said, you can be good at lots of things. Just like you’re good at being just yourself, not like anyone else in the world.” Yoongi nodded and smiled and felt slightly more competent as a father for just one brief moment. It was wild to realize his parents must have had these same thoughts. They’d been such adults to him when he was Kija’s age and yet they’d been even younger than he was now. At what point did you become the competent adult your six-year-old thought you were?

“The first dinosaur ever was named the eoraptor,” Kija told him, interrupting his thoughts. “It means ‘dawn stealer.’”

“Did it wake up early every day?”

Kija rolled his eyes, “No, appa, because it was the dawn of the dinosaurs, get it? It was the size of a dog. I think we should get a dog and name it Eoraptor.”

“Isn’t it too much like Eomma? She might get jealous.”

“Ok we can name a dog something else,” Kija grinned.

“I didn’t say we could get a dog.”

“I’m telling eomma you said we could get a dog.”

Joo sighed loudly, “I want a cat.”

“We have a cat.”

“More cat!” she cheered.

“I’m telling Eomma you said yes and then she’ll never want to leave us again.”

“We’re enough to bring her back,” Yoongi assured them both. “Let’s just show her how well we can do things even when she’s gone so she knows we were all really good at taking care of each other. Who’s going to help me wash the dishes?”

Both kids wanted to, a pleasant surprise. They behaved for a bath and got to watch a few cartoons after you called to say goodnight so Yoongi could have a moment longer with you. He decided not to mention yet Kija’s school frustration –not that you didn’t know, you were such an attentive parent, but that maybe it was worth looking into. Was he too young, would it add pressure, would it make Kija feel like some possible diagnosis defined him? Yoongi had never been diagnosed with anything and he’d made it through and found his way in life. But damn, he’d been miserable for a lot of years. He didn’t know if there was other help available for him at the time, if his parents could have done more than they did… Maybe he could do better both at helping Kija know school didn’t define him and getting him whatever extra help he needed to feel supported…

He wouldn’t put that on you right now, not when this was such a short time for you to try and catch a break from round-the-clock parenting. For now he just showed off that he and the kids were doing well, proud they were both freshly scrubbed in the video call. He made sure to angle the camera so you wouldn’t see the parts of the house he hadn’t managed to tidy yet. It was hard being down his partner, but he was glad you could get the break.

Snuggled down in bed all together, Yoongi read books slowly so Kija could read closely along with him. He’d never felt like he had a great reading voice, he read in fits and starts, so it was better for him to take his time anyway. Kija read the last book, an old favorite he had already memorized, while Yoongi pointed at the words as Kija said them.

Once Kija fell asleep, curled up with the book he’d been struggling with earlier, Yoongi carried him to his own bed. Joo proved more challenging, waking as soon as Yoongi lifted her. He knew he ought to have put them in their own beds to start, but hey, he was lonely with you gone too. So he let Joo stay in his bed after all. And when Kija came tip-toeing back in an hour later, while Yoongi was still checking the final emails on his phone, he welcomed him back and let him stay. He didn’t make it through the emails. Instead he sent you an email with nothing but a heart emoji in it. It was simple, but it would make you smile. You never seemed to mind when his affection was simple.

You had now been gone for thirty-two of the fifty-four hours.

Yoongi had never missed you more.

But at least he had two little pieces of you to sleep sprawled across him, just like you would have if you were here.

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