hoseok. hoseok was the sun. the light, spilling from the brims upon every nook, every corner, every surface of yoongi's heart. and yoongi? yoongi didn't think he was the stars that the sun shone upon, nor was he the moon. no, yoongi felt like the darkness that engulfed them.

a clock. yoongi would describe their relationship as a clock. and them as the hands. if hoseok was the minute hand, swift and lively, continously changing, then yoongi was the hour hand, too slow to keep up and always several steps behind, chasing what he can't have. +

but when the clock struck twelve, when the hands perfectly aligned, when yoongi met hoseok and when monochromatic met vibrant, yoongi felt alive. he felt pain, he felt joy, he felt anger. he finally felt. and he would keep dragging his feet through time just to keep feeling.

surprised. when hoseok kissed yoongi for the first time, yoongi was surprised. there were no fireworks, no shivers down his spine, no love story 2009 playing in the background. instead, yoongi felt at peace, as if everything around him had been muted, slowed down, just for them.+

yoongi finally didn't feel left behind, finally didn't have to run to keep up. hoseok was there, holding him, not looking back at him. it took yoongi back to when he was 9, tears in eyes, tears in his trousers, mud on his face. lying dirtied and tired on the ground, dried blood+

on his lip, squinting up at the sky. just before a boy with a heart-shaped smile, ridiculously mismatched clothes, and yellow nail polish blocked his view of the sun, ironically marking the start of yoongi's brightest years.

in the present, yoongi pulled hoseok closer, tighter.

i'm :(

yes. https://twitter.com/myxopas/status/1150911396730851330?s=19

broken. "someone once said that i was made broken," yoongi whispers, their hands intertwined in the space between them, on a bed that they barely fit in. "that whoever made me forgot to piece me together, left me to carry the weight of a thousand shards of myself." +

"i'll piece you together then, min yoongi," hoseok said.

but that's the thing, yoongi thought, no matter how perfectly the pieces fit, the cracks would still be painfully visible. being broken meant that no amount of duct tape or glue could hide yoongi's mistakes, his flaws, +

the imperfections.

"you can't fix me, jung hoseok. believe me, i've tried many times," yoongi chuckles softly.

hoseok is silent,so silent and for so long that yoongi assumed he had probably fallen asleep mid-conversation. +

"as long as you can still recognize your reflection in those shards of glass, min," hoseok suddenly says,

"you don't need fixing."

the soft boyfriends i picture

a spiral. "what's that?," hoseok asked, stifling a yawn, lifting his head just to bury it further into yoongi's lap.

yoongi looked down at hoseok, his hair mussed, eyes puffy from sleep, and again at the painting.
"us," he replied.

"you think we're a condescending red spiral+

? shit that doesn't sound good no matter how i twist it," hoseok chuckled brokenly.

yoongi's grip on the brush tightened for a second, the red paint making his vision a little fuzzy.

but it was a spiral. the longer you stayed, the further you fell, the more you screamed.+

but hoseok didn't know that yoongi never thought he was in the middle of one, yoongi knew he was the spiral.

hoseok didn't know that he was the yellow, being drowned out, being forcefully merged into orange, being suffocated by the red.

yoongi's vision was fuzzy.

hurt. the first time yoongi hurt hoseok, they were 18. the age of determination yet confusion, of excitement yet fear, of feeling invincible and the expected recklessness that came with it. 18 was supposed to be full of new experiences and of first times, and for yoongi+

it was the first time he caught a glimpse of the monster that he so desperately tried to hide.

a little cliché, you might say, if i told you they were at a party; red solo cups, the alcohol and beat of billboard top 50 songs thrumming from fingertip to the soles of feet, the+

clink of high heels changing to the patter of barefeet against the floor as the night progressed.

despite the noise, yoongi recalls silence. he remembers his hand being pulled by hoseok's weak grip as they stumbled up the stairs, remembers the click of the bedroom door as it+

shut behind them, can still vividly picture hoseok laying on those blue sheets, only the streetlights fighting the darkness of the room through a window and casting a warm, yellow glow on hoseok's face.

and of course, silence. the quiet, the peace, the only exception being+

their two hearts that beat in their cages. and little later, the sound of one of them breaking a little.

it started with a kiss, a bite, a nip. yoongi capturing every whimper, ever moan that left hoseok's mouth with his own, running his calloused fingers up from hoseok's tummy,+

feeling every ridge of his bones and reaching his shoulders only to run them further down his lanky arms and finally intertwine their fingers tightly. raising them above hoseok's head to hold him down, yoongi tried to get as close as he could get, perhaps thinking that maybe if+

he got close enough, he could meld their bodies together and never be apart again.

kissing down his neck, yoongi bit, but not hard. enough to make hoseok whine and arch his back, but not enough to leave a mark that would serve as a memory.

yoongi didn't want to be remembered.

hoseok struggled in yoongi's grip, wanting to let go, to feel as much as yoongi did, to touch as much as yoongi did, to love more than yoongi did.

yoongi, begging : a little longer, please.

yoongi didn't let go, only lifting his head and once again kissing hoseok deeply, wanting him to get lost in the pleasure, to keep gasping and writhing, to shakily breathing as the older sucked and bit on his bottom lip.

it was here, at this moment, with hoseok's frail body+

beneath him, with hoseok's soft voice whispering 'yoongi, yoongi, yoongi' in his ears, with hoseok's glimmering eyes staring deep into his own, that yoongi finally let go.

yoongi : "i can't love you anymore, hoseok."

and perhaps, you wouldn't call it a cliché anymore.

i miss my boys :(

this is what i want this universe's sope to experience, for them to find peace and calm in each other, make each other feel worthy enough and now i'm sad this tweet really did it
https://twitter.com/correctsope/status/1218272128954331136?s=19