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“Namjoon-hyung, can you put this in mine and Yoongi-hyung’s room?” Jungkook asks, nudging a sealed box over with his foot, stepping over a stray lamp. He sighs, scanning the disarray of moving boxes and furniture in their living room. “God. There’s too much stuff in here.”
Packing up their lives in Seoul to move away, into a village between their two hometowns, was a decision Jungkook and Yoongi had made early on in their relationship. Jungkook thinks neither of them were ever really cut out for their lives in Seoul, and that only became more apparent as time went on. Moving away felt impossible—their lives tangled in their budding careers, friends coming and going, time consumed by strenuous workdays and sleep-filled evenings.
But this had always been the plan, really. When they both felt somewhat ready to consider starting a family, the plan was always to buy a house together and move away from the city. Jungkook never imagined straying so far from Seoul, but they had picked a house in this village when they both realized they wanted to stay closer to their parents. From here, Daegu and Busan are only short train rides away, and that was enough for the realtor to sell the property to them.
“Anything else?” Namjoon asks, picking up the box with ease, steadying it when it begins to tip out of his grip. Jungkook has to stifle his laugh with his hand. “What the hell’s in here?”
“Just a bunch of our random shit, I told myself I’d sort it once we moved in,” Jungkook replies, shaking his head at the decisions of his past-self. Clearly he didn’t anticipate how chaotic moving in would be. Doesn’t help that Yoongi’s been on his therapy call for the past hour. “That should be it for our room, though… After that, we should order some food and then unpack kitchen stuff. Yoongi-hyung said he wanted to try cooking tonight.”
Namjoon snorts. “Ambitious,” he mutters, turning on his heel to head towards the staircase. “I think you’d be better off doing that tomorrow!”
“I tried telling him!” Jungkook calls back, sighing softly to himself once he’s alone again.
Between the two of them, he and Yoongi clearly have way too many belongings. He rummages through a couple open boxes, transporting them to the kitchen with some mild annoyance and frustration at how disorganized the contents are. For the most part, Yoongi threw everything into boxes, made it fit regardless of weight, and taped it shut. You can tell who packed which boxes—Jungkook was decidedly more particular.
For a while, it’s just Jungkook unpacking the kitchen utensils. All the pots and pans find a new home in a cabinet beside the stove, the chopsticks and knives and forks in a drawer, cooking tools in another. Plates and bowls in a high cabinet, glasses by their side, a couple of Jungkook’s water bottles, too. He stocks up what seems like the best spot for their alcohol, then his stomach grumbles and he realizes he hasn’t heard from Namjoon in fifteen minutes.
Jungkook wanders upstairs, phone in hand, ordering enough fried chicken for the three of them. He finds Namjoon leaning against the way beside one of the windows, typing something into his phone, worry clamped around his bottom lip.
“Everything okay, hyung?” Jungkook asks, sliding his hands into his hoodie pockets, meeting Namjoon’s concerned gaze. “You look…” He winces. “Stressed?”
“Something’s up with Yeontan, I think—” Namjoon sighs, shooting Jungkook an apologetic look, and he already pieces together that he’s about to bail on helping them. “I’m sorry. Taehyung sent me a really panicked voice message about taking Tannie to the vet because he swallowed something big, so…”
Jungkook shakes his head—even if it’ll be difficult to manage on his own, he’ll figure it out. Namjoon has his own priorities with his boyfriend, and Jungkook is obviously not going to make him stay just to unpack. He should probably figure out if Yoongi is still on his work call, anyway.
“Go,” Jungkook says, moving away from the staircase, nodding his head towards the first floor. “I bet Taehyungie-hyung needs his big, strong boyfriend to hold his hand.” He snickers under his breath as he watches Namjoon flush at the description, bumbling down the staircase with a flustered pout. “Don’t forget to get something to eat! I know you haven’t had more than a coffee since this morning!”
“Goodbye, Jeon Jungkook!” Namjoon calls back, his voice somewhat cracked and high-pitched, then the door is falling shut behind him.
Alone, Jungkook drags himself back downstairs and scours the rooms for Yoongi. He finds him holed up in his to-be office, slouched against the wall with his laptop on his knees, and fast asleep. His lips are in a soft frown, eyebrows pressed to the middle of his forehead—Jungkook considers that maybe he’s having a bad dream, until he realizes that Yoongi is leaning on his bad shoulder. Of course that’s going to be uncomfortable.
“Hyung,” Jungkook says softly, moving aside the laptop, pushing it to the side. He sits on his knees beside Yoongi, reaching up to brush his hair away from his eyes. “Yoongi-hyung, hey… You should wake up.”
Yoongi shuffles, lets out a weak grunt, folding his arms over his stomach.
Jungkook sighs. “Hyung,” he whines, pulling more incessantly at Yoongi’s arm. “I know you were just in therapy, but there’s stuff we need to do. And I just ordered food.”
Still, he doesn’t budge. Yoongi is like a rock, in that way. It’s more annoying than anything else.
Since Yoongi clearly doesn’t want to eat with him, Jungkook returns to the kitchen by himself and awaits his fried chicken. When it arrives, he sits in the middle of the kitchen floor, right where their table will be. For now, most—if not all—of their furniture is either in boxes or still waiting to be delivered, so they’ll have to deal with the no-table thing for a little while. Not that Jungkook minds eating on the floor. It oddly makes him nostalgic.
Even by the time he finishes his portion of his chicken, when he returns to check up on Yoongi, he remains fast asleep no matter what tactic he uses. He tries poking, shaking, tickling, and Yoongi shuffles around, for the most part. There is one—the tickling—that makes him roll around a little, finally gets him off the wall with his bad shoulder. But then he just curls up into a ball and stays asleep. It’s pointless, so that puts Jungkook at square one.
He doesn’t want to unpack alone, but there’s nothing else to do. With Yoongi asleep, and Namjoon gone, Jungkook just has to deal with it.
He returns to the mess-filled living room and gets to sorting the boxes, rearranging them by their contents. Anything for Yoongi’s office is pushed off to the far corner, any of Jungkook’s equipment on the opposite one. Towels and sheets, and other miscellaneous items for the guest room get moved upstairs, to the empty room across from theirs. Jungkook has to carry up a couple suitcases worth of his and Yoongi’s clothes before he feels like the living room looks somewhat normal.
Finally, it’s when Jungkook is browsing through Yoongi’s record collection, when Yoongi finally emerges from the office.
His long hair is ruffled, sitting against the back of his neck and around his face, eyes narrowed as he squints into the light. “What time is it?” he mumbles—there are sleep lines in his cheek from resting his head against his sleeve, probably. It’s possibly one of the most adorable sights that Jungkook has seen in a while. “What? You’re staring.”
“Nothing.” Jungkook rubs his eyes before checking his watch, eyebrows shooting up. How did the day go by so quickly? “Uh, half-past six. You’ve been asleep for five hours, I think.”
Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. “Damn,” he mutters, scanning the living room, clearly still half-awake. “What happened to Namjoon? Did he already leave?”
“He had to go help Taehyungie-hyung with something.”
“I see.”
Jungkook lets out a heavy sigh. He’s been at it all afternoon. Is it time for a break? “Um, there’s food in the kitchen. On the counter. Fried chicken,” he says, pushing himself back to his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. There are times, like this, where it really feels like Yoongi is a stranger, when in reality they’ve been married for six years, and together for nearly twice as long. “I already ate a while ago. I tried to wake you up, but you just wouldn’t.”
“Yeah, just…” Yoongi lets out a heavy breath, furrowing his eyebrows. He turns away before Jungkook can even consider opening his mouth and questioning the troubled look. “Had an intense session. New therapist and all.”
“What?” Jungkook tries to remember when Yoongi mentioned anything about a new therapist, but the past few months have been blurry. It feels like he’d remember something like that—plus, he was under the impression that Yoongi clicked with his last therapist. “When did you switch therapists?”
Yoongi gives Jungkook a weird, perplexed look over his shoulder. “For, like, the past month?” he asks, shrugging, shuffling away to the kitchen. Jungkook trails after him, folding his arms over his chest, genuinely trying to recall. They’ve talked most about the move, but not much else. He really would remember something like this. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t think I like him.”
“Why not?”
“It just isn’t working out.”
Jungkook frowns. “Oh,” he mumbles, leaning forward on the counter jutting out from the wall, dividing him and Yoongi. He watches Yoongi shuffle around, checking cabinets, before he realizes what he’s looking for. “To the right of the stove. For plates. And I used the microwave earlier when I reheated my coffee, so it’s working just fine. Not that I thought there was something wrong with it.”
Yoongi nods, swiping underneath his nose with his sleeve. “Thanks,” he murmurs, taking out the leftovers and a clean plate, sticking it into the microwave for a minute.
The silence between them isn’t often this awkward. In fact, Jungkook doesn’t recall the last time they’ve been this awkward with each other, or maybe that’s just in his head. Maybe he’s just overthinking this, when he knows he shouldn’t, because this is Yoongi. This is his husband. There is no reason for Jungkook to feel so out of his depth just trying to conduct a conversation with him.
“Did you still want to cook tonight?” Jungkook asks, following Yoongi’s sluggish movement with his eyes. “I thought we could probably just order out again. Just for tonight. We don’t have that many groceries.”
“Yeah, ‘s fine. We can do whatever you want,” Yoongi says, shrugging it off again, retrieving his chicken from the microwave. He takes it to the same spot on the floor that Jungkook had sat on, one knee tucked close to his chest. Jungkook hovers by the counter, watching as Yoongi sinks his teeth into the meat. “Are you just gonna stand there and watch me?”
Jungkook shakes his head and mutters, “I think there’s some things that still need to go in our room,” even though it’s a lie. He leaves Yoongi behind to fake-busy himself in the living room, and ends up sitting criss-cross in front of the music collection again, zoned out at the light faded on the other side of the window.
Eventually—he’s not sure how long he stayed zoned out for, it just happens sometimes—he places the collection by Yoongi’s other office things, then heads upstairs. The house has gone quiet again; even his footsteps are light, barely brushing the wooden floorboards. Being inside their bedroom doesn’t help, either. All that he sees there are more boxes piling up in the spaces where furniture should be.
Jungkook decides to retire for the evening. It’s no use forcing himself to do more work when he spent all day unpacking and reorganizing their shit, and he’s exhausted. He digs out his bath towel and some clean clothes from his suitcase, then his toiletries and bath products when he realizes those are buried in a box somewhere too. By the time he has the bathroom all set up and organized, it’s been another thirty minutes and he really hates how easily he gets sidetracked.
Well. Shower time. That should help.
The problem with deciding to do nothing before the night is over is that by the time he’s out of the shower and dressed, he’s restless. Maybe he could eat something, but he doesn’t have much of an appetite, so the only answer is… more sorting. He picks a random box from the corner of his and Yoongi’s room and drags it over to his side of the mattress on the floor. Surely this will be a less strenuous task. He won’t be moving around too much.
Jungkook cuts through the tape with his keys and tosses them aside, peeling the tape back to open the box completely. The inside is… a disaster, to say the least. He regrets dumping everything from his old desk and nightstand into this without sorting it beforehand. Because of course on the journey from Seoul to their new home, his careful organization got destroyed. But he already committed to sorting through this now and he isn’t about to back down from a challenge.
Except he barely gets through anything before he discovers an old journal he kept when he was a teenager. It’s probably traveled with him since he moved away from Busan as a kid. He was never consistent, so each handful of entries is spaced out by a few months because he’d always forget. He would only write in it when something happened between him and his brother, or his parents. Sometimes things would happen at school, too.
Yoongi comes into the room as Jungkook’s reading an entry that details a crush on his childhood friend, and he barely registers his presence until he’s leaning across the mattress to peer over his shoulder, and asks, “Who’s Mingyu?”
“No one,” Jungkook squeaks, slamming the book shut, turning around to look at Yoongi’s smug face with his eyes widened. He lifts the journal, hitting Yoongi’s shoulder to get him to back off. “Haven’t you heard of privacy?” When all Yoongi does is lean closer inquisitively, Jungkook smacks him again. “Have you no respect for privacy, hyung?”
“I don’t know, baby, I don’t think privacy is concerned when you’re writing about another guy’s eyes in your diary.”
For that, Jungkook hits him on the top of the head and only holds back the strength a little bit. “I was thirteen, you ass,” he says, rolling his eyes, shifting his gaze back to the journal in his hands. Yoongi laughs, rubbing the back of his head, eyes soft and kind. “And it wasn’t a diary. It was a journal. There’s a difference.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Yoongi says, mocking, scooting across the mattress to wrap his arms around Jungkook’s torso, pulling him in closer. “Could you find it in yourself to forgive me for my horrible mistake?”
“You’re annoying,” Jungkook mutters, weakly hitting Yoongi a final time before he sets the journal down by his side. He tries to get his shoulders to relax as he settles into the crook of Yoongi’s neck. He can’t really get himself to look at Yoongi properly when he feels this low. “I’m really tired, hyung.”
Yoongi runs his hand over Jungkook’s spine, his breathing soft, steady. “Don’t push yourself too hard, Jungkook-ah,” he says, and Jungkook forgets sometimes how much he loves the way Yoongi says his name. How the syllables slur together, his voice gruff and comforting. “You did a lot today. It’s okay for you to rest and pick back up tomorrow. Don’t stress yourself out too much, please.”
Jungkook wouldn’t call himself stressed right now. Stressed was the way Namjoon looked when he left earlier. He’s just… tired. He’s not sure why, or what he’s tired of.
He sits there in Yoongi’s arms for a couple minutes, staring off into space yet again, until his gaze drifts back over to the box he began rummaging through. He tugs it closer, peering into it with his head still comfortable resting against Yoongi’s shoulder. Most of the random shit in there is difficult to pick through, but just a glimpse of one item has him pushing past the clutter. It takes a bit of digging, but he eventually finds the box in which his wedding band came in.
“It was so long ago,” Jungkook murmurs to himself, pushing the box open, stroking the velvet with a sigh. The light catches onto his left hand, where his pretty wedding ring sits; a light band with black diamonds in a neat line along the outside edge. He’s always found it elegant, a bit feminine, but he likes it. “I miss those days.”
“Which days?” Yoongi asks, his voice a tad softer now, almost sleepy.
When Jungkook peeks up at him, he realizes it’s because Yoongi has his eyes shut. “Nevermind,” he murmurs, dropping the ring box back into the pile of trinkets, sliding one arm around Yoongi to stay close. There are times, like this, where it feels like Yoongi could slip right between his fingers. It’s a nonsensical thought, but it’s all he can imagine. The fear that Yoongi is getting tired of him—that he’ll just leave Jungkook behind with no foundation to keep himself upright.
Twelve years, and he still thinks like that. Twelve years, he has loved Yoongi with all his heart, and he still has a shred of doubt that Yoongi doesn’t actually feel the same way.
Jungkook takes in a shuddering breath when his chest begins to feel tight, the burn of tears against his tired eyes. Fuck, how embarrassing would it be if he just started crying on Yoongi out of nowhere?
But he almost can’t help when his resolve breaks at the memory of Yoongi proposing to him among the sakuras, sitting on his knee, petals fluttering down from above. Can’t help it when he remembers a time when loving Yoongi came so easily to him, when it was as simple as breathing. And now parts of Jungkook feel fractured, a bit too broken, and he wishes he could go back to when life itself wasn’t a burden.
“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asks, stroking the back of Jungkook’s head, the touch so gentle and soft that Jungkook only cries harder. He misses that, too, even while it’s right here. “Jungkook?”
Jungkook hiccups and shakes his head, mumbling, “Sorry,” as he tries to pull himself away, wiping his cheeks so they can move on. If he pushes this feeling down, traps it, burns it—surely it will vanish. Can’t he force it away? Can’t he trick himself into believing that everything is better now? “Nothing is wrong. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Hey, no.” Yoongi grabs Jungkook by the elbow and drags him back down, putting his arms around his shoulders. Jungkook can’t bear to look at him, so he keeps his chin low, eyes fixated on Yoongi’s bare legs. “Come on, don’t do this. Don’t lie to me—look at me, why are you crying?” His thumbs swipe over Jungkook’s face, and he tries to get his head to lift, but it fails. Jungkook can’t. He won’t give this feeling to Yoongi. “Please look at me…”
“I—I can’t.”
“I’m sorry.” Yoongi shifts his hands to rest against Jungkook’s neck, his breathing shallow, heavy. “Why do I feel like this is my fault?”
Jungkook doesn’t mean to, but a sob falls past his lips at the question. It could never be Yoongi’s fault. Yoongi could never make him feel like this. It’s no one but himself—this is all in his head, he knows that.
“It’s—”
“I’m sorry,” Jungkook gasps, trying to catch his breath, lungs half-empty. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Maybe another shower could wash away the pain. The thought arrives so instantaneously that he doesn’t think twice about ripping himself out of Yoongi’s grip and stumbling over his feet as he tries to head for the bathroom. But even as he moves, the tears only flow, the pain does not ease. His body feels so heavy, the dizziness slamming into him full-force.
“Jungkook-ah!” Yoongi’s voice cuts through the white noise filling Jungkook’s head and suddenly, his entire body is vertical against their cushioned mattress, head pillowed on Yoongi’s thigh, a pair of worried eyes looking down at him. “You scared me, shit.” He scans Jungkook’s face, and it’s true, he does look terrified. “Do you remember anything?”
“Yeah. Mostly.” Jungkook’s breath shudders, his eyes fluttering open and shut. His cheeks feel sore, damp with sweat and the remnants of his tears. Heart doesn’t feel steady in his chest. “I fainted, didn’t I?”
Yoongi runs his fingers through Jungkook’s hair and sighs, lips curved into a frown. It’s unflattering on his pretty face. “For at least a minute,” he says, and it’s only then that Jungkook notices the tears in his eyes. “You… You worked yourself up so much that your body was trying to compensate for it.”
“I’m fine, jeez. Don’t cry.”
“Don’t tell me what to do. I thought something was seriously wrong with you.”
“Good thing I’m married to a doctor, huh?” A weak smile finds its way to his lips, a hoarse laugh from his chest. It makes Yoongi smile, a tear slipping down his cheek to his chin. “I feel fine. A little unsteady, but I’m guessing that should be expected.” He hiccups, breathing deeply through his nose, letting his lungs fill with air. “I stopped crying, so. That’s nice.”
Yoongi brushes his thumb over one of Jungkook’s eyebrows and mumbles, “Did I do something to cause that?”
“No,” Jungkook replies. It really wasn’t Yoongi’s fault—it was just the memory of him. Just their past. “I just… I was…” He pushes himself upright, batting away Yoongi’s hovering, worried hands in order to get to the box that started this all. “I was just looking through stuff from our past. And it just… made me sad.” His shoulders slump when he picks up the ring box again. “Remember when you proposed to me?”
Yoongi lets out a weak laugh from beside him. “How could I forget?” he asks. “You didn’t turn around like I thought you would. Made me look like a fucking idiot sitting on my knee in the middle of the walkway.”
“Sorry. You know I have a thing for cherry blossoms.” Jungkook frowns and digs through the box some more, searching for a folder. He swears he has a bunch of prints of his and Yoongi’s adventures from their twenties somewhere in here. They used to get up to so much shit when they first started dating, before Yoongi’s time went to the hospital, and Jungkook started focusing on his career, too. “Ah! Found it.”
“Take it easy, you just passed out,” Yoongi huffs out, shuffling closer, a protective hand resting on the base of Jungkook’s spine. He guides Jungkook backwards again, so they’re leaning against the wall. “What is that?”
Jungkook pulls a stack of photos out of the folder, pushing his hair out of his face to get the full view. The one at the top is of him and Yoongi, lips locked during Yoongi’s twenty-eighth birthday party. “Remember when I was obsessed with those disposable cameras?” he asks, holding the photos to his chest protectively.
“That was so annoying,” Yoongi says with a sigh, reaching over Jungkook to grab something. He brings back a plastic water bottle, twisting the cap off to hold out to Jungkook. “You shoved that stupid thing in my face every five seconds.”
“Well, it paid off, thank you very much.” Jungkook rolls his eyes and shoves the stack of photographs in Yoongi’s hands in exchange for the water. “Anyway. There’s a picture in there somewhere of you proposing to me. I saw you through my camera before I actually saw you.”
Yoongi lets out a breath. “Oh,” he says, lifting his chin without giving the other photographs much of a glance yet. Something glimmers in his eye. Jungkook wants to call it love. “I didn’t know that.”
Jungkook takes a few baby sips of his water, resting his head against the wall. “I didn’t want to tell you,” he says softly, watching Yoongi flip through the photos with a strange look on his face. “It felt so precious to me. Even the picture was too sacred for me to share with anyone. Most of these no one but me have seen.” He sighs, exhaustion washing over him once more. “But… I think you should see it. How in love with you I was at that moment.”
When only silence follows, Jungkook peers over to get a glimpse at which photo Yoongi has landed on. Surely enough, it’s the photo of him kneeling among the cherry blossoms, his dark eyes piercing and beautiful through the lens, hair swept away by the wind. If Jungkook weren’t so torn on allowing others to see the beauty he captured in this photo, he would have framed it by now.
“But…” Yoongi’s finger fiddles with the corner of the photo. “It still doesn’t make me understand why you started crying. Were you just… overwhelmed by how you were feeling?”
“No, I…” Jungkook glances away; it’s so humiliating to admit what thoughts were swirling around his mind, but it’s the truth. He can’t run away from that. “I miss you, hyung. I realized how much I miss you and us and all the things we used to do. How do you expect to start a family together when you don’t even manage to tell me that you’ve changed therapists?”
“Baby…”
“No, it’s really bothering me.” Jungkook hadn’t realized just how much it was bothering him, but the more he considers it, the more he can’t imagine going on the way they’ve been living. They have a fresh start here, miles away from Seoul, and they should take advantage of it. “Hyung, please. I know you have such a demanding job and mine’s pretty taxing too sometimes, but… We’re married. I don’t want it to feel like you’re just some stranger I live with.”
Yoongi’s eyelids fall shut. “I’m sorry.”
Jungkook is tired of meaningless apologies. He is not going to accept those words when it’s neither one of their faults. He truly believes that this is a course that relationships often take—it will just require more effort from them before things begin to return back to normal. For them to invent a new normal that feels right to them. There’s nothing wrong with that.
“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Jungkook tells him, maneuvering himself into Yoongi’s lap despite his fervent protests, soon dying on his pink lips with a sigh. “I want you to really see what this is. Our… our relationship is suffering, don’t you see that?” He presses his forehead against Yoongi’s and recalls their interaction earlier in the kitchen. “I’m embarrassed to even admit this, but I felt awkward talking to you earlier.”
“What?” Yoongi’s hands slide up to Jungkook’s waist, holding him steady. He blinks up, worried, afraid. Jungkook both loves and hates that—he loves that Yoongi can be vulnerable with him, but he wants to fix this. “That makes no sense. I’ve known you for years, there’s no need to feel awkward. You know you can talk to me about anything and everything.”
“Of course I know that, but I just felt so far from you. I spent half my day alone, unpacking. My heart was in so much pain just seeing you brush me off once you finally woke up. I waited all day for you.”
“Jungkook… I’m sorry.”
“I’m not saying this to guilt you,” Jungkook says, slipping his fingers into Yoongi’s hair, stroking the back of his neck. The uneasiness washes away from his face with every brush. “I just need you to understand the full weight of this. Now that we’re living here, I need you to prioritize me—prioritize us. I’m gonna do the same.” He leans in closer and lets out a shaky sigh the moment his forehead hits Yoongi’s. “This is the least we deserve.”
Yoongi rests his palm against the back of his neck, tugs him a tad closer, their mouths brushing together. Jungkook lets him in with a sigh, kissing him soft and slow, a practiced push and pull of their lips. It feels natural, pressing himself into Yoongi’s arms, molding himself to fit just the way he’s meant to. He loves Yoongi so much. He can’t fathom losing him.
“Slow down,” Yoongi breathes after a minute, cupping Jungkook’s cheek to hold him back, dragging his thumb beneath his eye. Even if his fingers are rough and calloused, there’s no doubt about how gentle it is. “Even if you feel fine, you need to rest a bit. Drink some more water.”
“Hyung.” Jungkook rolls his eyes and pecks Yoongi on the lips again. “I’m fine, really.”
“Listen to me, I’m the doctor,” Yoongi replies, reaching for the water bottle again, placing it in Jungkook’s hands. “Drink at least half and I’ll feel a little better.”
Jungkook sighs and accepts the bottle, sitting back on Yoongi’s lap. “Fine. Whatever you say, Doctor Min,” he mutters, giggling when Yoongi jabs his fingers into his ribs for a moment. “Stop! You told me to drink the water, didn’t you?”
“Without making fun of me, preferably.”
“You’re my husband, it’s my duty to make fun of you.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes, leaning his head back on the wall. “I really am sorry,” he says, as Jungkook has a few gulps of water, wiping his mouth dry with the back of his hand. “I wasn’t doing enough for you before we moved. And I should have been doing the most. I vowed to take care of you.” He sighs, sliding his hands down to grasp Jungkook’s waist. “I need you to know that I wholeheartedly meant that when I said it. I’m sorry I didn’t have my priorities in order. Things will be different now.”
“We know better now, don’t we?”
“We do.”
Jungkook settles back in Yoongi’s arms with a comforted sigh. Maybe neither of them are perfect, but they know what they want, and Jungkook has faith that they can continue fulfilling each other’s needs.