Chapter Text
He never meant for Jeongguk to find him like this. He never meant for anyone to find him. But the tears were more persistent these days, now refusing to be pushed away until the middle of the night when he was too tired to release the hurt in his chest.
It’s good, he tells himself. To be able to cry again. All that work to face his feelings, to trust that when the sky opens up with rain, it’s to feed the earth and the sun will come soon. The tattoos no one knows about still on the sides of his hips: the moon, and most recently, the sun.
It’s good, but it doesn’t lessen the hurt in the moment, sobs shaking his body where he’s huddled up on the bathroom floor, trying to muffle the sounds into a balled up towel. He can’t even remember what set it off. One minute he’s readying to wash his face, the next he catches his own gaze in the mirror and bursts into tears.
Just overwhelmed, he tells himself. Life is a lot, and he particularly has a lot in his life.
It’s okay, it’s okay. But he can’t hear himself, it won’t get through.
The quiet click of the door opening, soft humming comes to an abrupt stop.
Shame prickles through Namjoon. He can’t move, like ice water has been dumped over his head.
“Hyung?” The word comes out as a whisper.
It’s not like Jeongguk doesn’t know he’s sad sometimes, not like millions of people don’t know. But they aren’t supposed to see. Jeongguk is not supposed to see him broken, only putting the pieces back together.
“Hyung,” he sighs again, falling to his knees beside Namjoon, gentle hand resting on his shoulder.
Namjoon curls away, hiding his face in the towel. It’s not supposed to be like this. Jeongguk respects him. In a way, he’s always suspected that Jeongguk needs that, needs to respect him, needs a constant of goodness to rely on.
Or maybe that’s me, he thinks. Maybe I need to be that for Jeongguk. Maybe I need that from Jeongguk.
“You don’t have to hide from me, of all people,” Jeongguk laughs softly, combing his fingers through Namjoon’s hair. “Hyung. It’s just me.”
No such thing as “just Jeongguk”, he thinks to himself.
Seeing no response besides gentle shakes of Namjoon’s shoulders as the tears fight their way out again, Jeongguk scoots closer and worms his arm between Namjoon’s chest and the towel he’s holding tight. He tugs him away from the wall and halfway into his lap in an awkward, strained hug until Namjoon releases and leans into it.
Jeongguk backs up against the wall and pulls him fully into his lap. It’s humiliating, crying softly into Jeongguk’s neck, wrapping his legs around Jeongguk’s hips when Jeongguk tugs at them.
“There,” Jeongguk whispers, holding him tighter. “It’s seriously okay, hyung. It’s just me.”
He holds him, just holds him. Strong arms tight around his back, warm hands soothing over his ribs that heave and contract with every sob.
As Jeongguk often does when his mind wanders or focuses, he begins to hum softly, mouth half forming words or letting out a gentle cascade of notes, but mostly humming. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Namjoon wonders if he already knows, or if he understands somehow that the answer is everything and nothing.
His sniffles become stuffier and stuffier as he cries, until it’s a gross, wet sound when he tries to give a hard sniff. Jeongguk stretches across and yanks some toilet paper off the roll. He tries to push Namjoon up so he can blow his nose, and presses it into Namjoon’s hand when he refuses to show his face.
“You don’t have to do this,” Namjoon says to their laps, blotting at his nose before throwing the dirty tissue away.
Jeongguk runs the back of his hand over Namjoon’s wet cheeks. “This is what people do, hyung. Hug each other when they’re sad. It’s okay.”
That’s probably true. Namjoon has never been good at that. “I’m okay, though, really. I just- I just-”
Tears well in his eyes and roll warm down his hot cheeks. “I just-”
“I know,” Jeongguk hums, wiping the new tears away with his thumbs.
Namjoon inhales and slides to the floor, exhaling long and slow. “Really, I’m okay. Just, really tired...”
Jeongguk wipes the tears that fall anyway. “Let’s go to bed, then. Here,” he reaches for a headband and pushes Namjoon’s hair back.
“Close your eyes,” he says, kneeling back down with cleansing oil in hand.
Shy and fluttery, Namjoon laughs, a watery sound. “Jeongguk, you seriously don’t have to-”
“Namjoonie hyung,” he interrupts sternly. “Just let me, it’s what people do. When they love someone,” he adds when he sees Namjoon about to argue. “And I love you, you know I do. You always… I can’t help you carry some of the weight, if you won’t give it to me to carry. But maybe, I can make it a little easier for you to carry…” he shrugs, shy now, and rubs oil into Namjoon’s cheeks while he’s still speechless.
Namjoon blinks up at Jeongguk and closes his eyes when Jeongguk’s fingers massage upwards. He does know Jeongguk loves him, they all love him, all love each other in that familial way, but… he can’t tell if this is different or if he wants this to be different.
“Keep your eyes closed,” Jeongguk tells him, rising to soak a washcloth.
It’s warm and steamy on his skin as Jeongguk wipes the oil away, rinses the washcloth and wipes across his face again.
He blinks carefully, hating when excess oil gets in his eyes but it’s fine. Jeongguk comes back into view and smiles at him, face cream in hand.
Namjoon sniffles and watches him as he dabs it on his cheeks and forehead and massages it in. He closes his heavy eyes again, smiles a little when Jeongguk dabs his lips with lip balm too.
Now that the tears have passed, he just feels heavy. Like leaves bowing on the weight of a passed rainstorm. He lets Jeongguk slap his shoulder and lead him to his bed.
“Night, Jeongguk,” he says, low and shy when Jeongguk hits the light switch on the opposite wall.
“Night, hyung.” And with that, Jeongguk does not exit the room. He climbs into bed beside Namjoon and wiggles beneath the blankets.
“You’re sleeping here?”
He doesn’t mean to sound so surprised, but it’s just not something they do. Sure, Jeongguk sleeps in everyone else’s bed, but never his. No one ever sleeps in his, respecting the assumption that he doesn’t want it. And for a long time, he thought he didn’t too. Thought that because it was so much easier for him to keep distance that distance is what he wanted.
For a moment, Jeongguk is silent beside him. “It’s what people do, hyung, when they love someone.”
“Why do you keep saying that.” Namjoon chuckles bashfully, staring up at the dark shape of Jeongguk sitting up beside him.
“I had a… what do you call it. Like hyung’s song. Epiphany?” Jeongguk admits, sounding a bit bashful himself now. “That I gotta… give the love that I can give? I’m always worried about how to be what people want but I can’t even make it happen and then I feel bad and it’s just- dumb. It’s dumb. When I could just- give the love that I have to give and, everyone can just receive what they can receive from it, you know? I dunno…”
Namjoon sniffles. “That’s a pretty good epiphany.”
“And I think you’re really bad at the second part. At being loved.”
He knows it’s true, but it hits deep to hear it out loud. “I’ve… been working on it,” he grumbles in defense.
“I know,” Jeongguk whispers. A pause, staring into the dark. He rests his hand lightly on Namjoon’s shoulder as if he could see the warm tears that are trickling down his cheeks again. “I love you. And this is what- what I do, when I love someone. If that’s okay?”
Tentative, he lays down beside Namjoon and throws a leg over his waist, nestled against his side.
“Yeah, it’s okay. Thanks for- yeah. Thanks, Jeongguk.”
He wants to ask, do you love me the same way I love you? But in truth, he can’t quite define it for himself, either. And anyway, he’s so tired, all cried out but the tears trickle down into his ears anyway. And Jeongguk is such a warm weight against his body, a comforting rhythm of breath and soft touch on his arm.
It’d be nice, to be the kind of person Jeongguk was talking about, who could just lean into affection freely given like this without a thought or a hundred thousand thoughts crowding his head. Seems like the loftiest of goals, here frozen, disconnected even from his sorrow now by this painful self consciousness.
Only moments later, when Jeongguk’s breath deepens into heavier inhales telltale of sleep, Namjoon can relax enough to nuzzle into his soft hair and register the fact that he knows Jeongguk’s scent. He clutches at Jeongguk’s arm across his chest and gives it a squeeze, the smallest of hugs before the long, weary drift into sleep.