Hoseok has been at the cabin for three weeks. It’s two weeks longer than he planned.

[an unrevised long threadfic ode to this moment]

When his whole life came crashing down on him what seemed like simultaneously—he lost his job, his oldest friend, Namjoon, moved away, his ex got married, his parents announced that they were separating,

and to add injury to all that insult, he got clipped by a bike and was left with a twisted ankle and an angry expansive bruise on his left ass cheek, from upper thigh to lower back—all over the course of two weeks, he needed something to shake things up.

A change from what he had been doing—wallowing in his misery.

He'd been sitting at home, alone.

Except for his brother coming up to stay for a weekend, and his friends’ random check-ins, he avoided people, hid himself away.

This isolation was unproductive. He just slept and wrote job applications, browsed the internet and regretted things. Sank deep down into his own melancholy.

The city was too loud and too chaotic and everything smelled and tasted like too much.

Jungkook texted him, and offered to come over, and Hoseok couldn’t bring himself to say yes, he was too stuck in his head that the idea of one of his best friends seeing him like this upset him. It made him feel too seen, too raw.

“Please take care of yourself, hyung. Be kind to yourself. I’m thinking of you, like always. X.” Jungkook responded when Hoseok declined, and Hoseok felt a fresh wave of sadness and relief overtake him.

God, he wanted to get better then. He was losing himself a little bit.

All of Hoseok’s negative emotions and worst instincts bubbled and bubbled in him with no relief. Everything tangled together—the cords of his sad and overwhelmed brain climbed down and wrapped around his arms down to his wrists and his legs down to his ankles.

His body ached from soreness, his head ached from anxiety, and it was all building up pressure and noise and his apartment reeked of his work clothes and his memories and darkness.

He’s always hard on himself if he’s not functioning at 100%, but he's trying to kind to himself.

Labels of any kind irk Hoseok, especially ones that pathologise him—so, he wouldn’t say he was depressed, but something was definitely off.

When Namjoon suggested Hoseok go to Joon’s parent’s house up in Chuncheon near the Soyang River to clear his head, Hoseok did not immediately shut him down.

“Just go for a few weeks! Sublet your place. It would be easy!” was Namjoon’s animated proffer.

The cabin was up for sale and Namjoon’s parents had an interested buyer, but it would not actually sell for at least 6 months. It was perfect timing. Serendipitous, almost.

“How would I afford it?” Hoseok responded, but he was already mentally packing.

He was feeling claustrophobic in the city and a break all the way up in the mountains surrounded by trees sounded optimal. Lots of open sky and sun and, most of all, space.

“Well,” said Joon, “You don’t need to pay it, obviously. And as he for groceries and stuff, you have money saved up, Hoba.”

Up he went. Took a cab up with two big suitcases and some books, lots of activities and his favorite candles.

The first week was strange. It definitely took some getting used to to be alone in the middle of nowhere, as opposed to being alone in the beating heart of a city—the quiet was deafening—but practice makes perfect, and he’s a master at any craft he puts his mind to in earnest.

The trick was to keep his body and his brain busy. His mom says that his muscles have a mind of their own. She theorizes that it’s because he electrocuted himself when he was four, to no long-term ill effect except the immense kinetic energy always surging through his veins.

The skill of cooking had always bored him, but he labored for hours over butter and eggs and a small pan and mastered the French omelet, something that Jin used to make back when they were dating that Hoseok always respected the painstaking art of.

He learned how to play solitaire, but got too bored to concentrate on it. Namjoon had left painting materials, and Hoseok enjoyed messing around with them.

He dug up Namjoon's old yoga tapes and dedicated two hours every day to it, developing a deep enjoyment for the ritual.

He got into a strict schedule, the same way he used to when he was younger, of waking up at 7AM—yoga outside, showering with lemon soap, laying out in sun with a book, listening to music, or going for long walks in the forest.

He wrote in his dream journal, and made jewelry.

The detox from people was really soothing—he had lost some of the enjoyment of socializing in all the fray before.

But he started to get itchy with loneliness. Namjoon didn’t have much time to talk, and Jimin was traveling for work. Jungkook hates talking on the phone.

It’s all Hoseok could do to not start talking to the walls.

But all the walks and swimming and stretching, and the most restful sleep he’s had in a long while do wonders for his muscles. He feels strong and slack, and the physical benefits climb their way up to his brain,

lifting the stain of his sadness, making him calm.

He’s altogether righted by being away, and with the calm comes clarity—he misses his friends and he misses being joyful, and he calls each of them, Jimin, Namjoon, and Jungkook, and tells them so.

They're all thrilled.

It’s the morning of his 23rd day in the cabin and he's eating a banana and Nutella sandwich while watching a reality singing contest. He’s freshly showered, feels clean and energized. As he eats he wonders, offhandedly, whether and when he should head back to Seoul.

The doorbell rings. Hoseok gathers his dishes from the table, never liking to leave a mess, but not intending to answer the door. He’s not expecting visitors and anyone who’s here is likely just here to help the Kims with the house sale. Another ring. Hoseok rolls his eyes.

If it’s the realtor, they’ll just let themselves in. Whoever else ought to take the hint and leave whatever delivery of groceries or home goods on the doorstep.

As he places the dishes gently down in the sink and brushes the crumbs from the plate into the trash, the doorbell buzzes three times in succession.

The hairs on Hoseok’s nape all stand up. Goosebumps erupt across his arms.

Anyone who knows Hoseok knows that he’s easily spooked. No one is this persistent, why should they be trying to get in so badly? And no one just pops up to the cabin unannounced. His fight or flight instincts kick in.

He runs through all the scenarios, burglars and bad guys that could be at the door.

The doorbell rings again, twice. Hoseok takes a deep breath and resolves to overcome. It’s daylight, he rationalizes, and arms himself. A spatula in his right hand and a frying pan in the other.

Through the peephole, Hoseok sees something blurry, something vaguely like—is it? It’s too scary to even name, but he thinks it looks like an…eyeball…? Fingers of terror creep up Hoseok’s back and neck and he shivers. An involuntary squeak of terror escapes from him.

The eyeball disappears as Hoseok jerks his head backward from the door just as he hears—“Hyung!” a familiar voice barks, so close to the door that Hoseok bounces his whole body backward like a surprised cat, “Hobi hyung! Let me in!” A few enthusiastic raps at the door follow.

The tension instantly melts and he lets the kitchen tools drop and clatter to the ground.

Jungkook’s wide smile as he throws open the door fills Hoseok with a mixture of relief and warmth. Jungkook’s beaming, like he’s delighted and surprised to have discovered Hoseok here.

For such a big man, he looks so small, with two big duffle bags clenched in either fist, and swimming in a long sleeved tee, his shorts hitting right above his rosy knees, and black slides on his feet. A guitar is slung on his back.

His earrings look like they are vibrating from the way his head bobbles with energy.

Hoseok has a million questions, but before he asks any of them he yelps in glee and claps and pounces into Jungkook’s arms.

“Surprise!” Jungkook whispers, mouth pressing into Hoseok’s neck.

The story that Jungkook shyly tells as they unpack Jungkook’s bag in the master bedroom is that Namjoon encouraged him to come up the other day. Jungkook called Namjoon after he had spoken to Hoseok and hadn’t liked the sound of Hoseok’s voice.

“You sounded…weird.” Jungkook says, not making eye contact. “And I didn’t like that.”

He brushes his bangs out of his face and starts whistling loudly. He seems nervous, which is odd, but Hoseok chalks it up to the surprise and the drive.

Jungkook and Hoseok have been friends for four years and they’re very close, close in a way that Hoseok is often surprised by and glad for.

He’s been constant source of goodness in Hoseok’s life—he held his hand through his breakup with Jin, he pumped him up for job interviews, he seems to always be somewhere nearby, at Hoseok’s elbow or a phone call away with a joke or a song or a distraction.

It’s not too much to say that having him here in this quiet little house right now is another blessing.

They spend a long, lovely day together.

They find tennis rackets and a net under the porch and whack around tennis balls, shrieking when Jungkook hits them too hard and they fly into the water.

Jungkook brought a paper airplane kit and with Hoseok’s painstaking work and Jungkook’s critical thinking, the plane flies beautifully, and the two of them laugh and give chase in celebration.

While they watch a movie, Jungkook weaves bits of colorful ribbon into Hoseok’s hair and Hoseok paints Jungkook’s toenails green. They nap together and it’s so peaceful that it aches. In the best kind of way.

It’s a comfort Hoseok hasn’t afforded himself in a long while, and he can’t think too long about how it’s Jungkook who has galloped in, dragging all this good with him, how instantly better Hoseok feels, like Jungkook is an answer to a question Hoseok had been asking himself.

Later, they share a bottle of wine like heathens, passing it back and forth, drinking directly from it. Feet dangling off the dock, talking. Passing smiles back and forth, too. Watching the clouds melt into color.

At one point, Hoseok catches Jungkook looking at him with a strange expression.

“What is it, Jungkook?”

“I—huh... no, it’s nothing, hyung” Jungkook chuckles, “nothing.” His face remains gently appraising of Hoseok.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“No, hyung. Your face is… good. You have a good face.”

Their thighs are pressed together, a seam forms a line where their legs meet, where shorts become brown skin.

They’re sticky-hot, but cooled by a kiss of breeze that lifts Jungkook’s hair like the fingers of an unseen god carding through his bangs.

“So do you, Jungkook. Your face is great,” says Hoseok, silly. They’re both a little tipsy and clingy, swaying like seaweed on a reef.

The sun continues to set and Jungkook resumes a story he had been telling about the finale episode of the anime he’s watching, his big front teeth catching on his lower lip as he lisps with excitement.

Fondness blooms inside of Hoseok.

He knows, rationally, that it’s a mixture of things: the shock of emotion that comes from having company after a period of immense loneliness, and the friendship and familiarity between them, and this beautiful, warm day, this calm, intimate night.

But something new and almost imperceptible flutters in his chest, so quiet that it’s cruel.

Hoseok doesn’t want to upset the rhythm of his feelings right now, so he lets this single sparrow of thought be. Lets her chirp without singing just yet.

They’ve moved slightly closer and the weight of Hoseok’s head feels too heavy, and he lets it fall gently onto Jungkook’s shoulder.

Hoseok centers himself into the sensation of his bare toes dipping into the cool water and the solid heft of Jungkook’s body against his as the sky erupts into a symphony of yellow and pink and orange, and then crests and falls down into quiet inky black.

His heartbeat is too loud. He wonders if Jungkook can hear it.

They bake frozen pizzas for dinner and Hoseok agrees to sit outside and eat under the stars if Jungkook agrees to swat away the bugs.

As Hoseok walks the pizza and napkins down to the wooden bench from where he had prepared it in the kitchen, he sees Jungkook crumpling scrap paper into balls and a pile of twigs collected neatly at his feet.

“What are you doing, Jungkook?” He asks as be settles onto the seat, “The pizza’s going to get co—aaaah!”

A bug jumps toward him and he yanks his feet off the ground.

“Insect deterrence. The bugs won’t like the fire,” Jungkook says, continuing diligently.

His brows crease with concentration and Hoseok is struck with the urge to stand up and kiss him between his eyebrows. He shivers, brushing the thought aside.

It’s not long before a small, happy fire crackles in front them.

Jungkook wipes his hands on a napkin and reaches for the plate of food Hoseok had fixed for and now offers him.

Their fingers brush, Hoseok’s breath catches, too small to notice, and Jungkook drops the plate.

The pizza slice lands upside-down on the grass and Jungkook whisks it up, sets it aside, and makes to get another. The flustered look on his face sends little bits of heat up Hoseok’s arms and into his belly.

Jungkook sits, putting a little distance between them and they eat quietly with their backs to the flame.

It’s strange how Jungkook’s presence breaks open the stillness of this place, but also somehow enhances the quiet—

maybe because for the first time since coming here, Hoseok is sharing the silence with someone. It makes everything feel so much more magical, especially since it’s Jungkook, who he likes so much.

The stars are so bright out here, twinkling gently over them, alive.

There’s something so inherently comforting about Jungkook. Just sitting here with him is grounding.

For how different Jungkook and Hoseok are, they share a level of understanding.

It’s rare and confounding and delightful and it’s been this way for as long as Hoseok can remember. They got along instantly, like it was chemical. Namjoon remarked, early in their friendship, that the two of them seemed to know each other from a past life.

It’s a gift, now, to be near someone who sets him at ease so gently, who makes him laugh so easily, who is considerate and patient and warm. It’s everything he didn’t know he needed.

Hoseok, calm for once among the insects, finds himself appreciating the gentle, persistent thrum of crickets and cicadas.

When Jungkook speaks, it’s loud compared to the quiet night. Hoseok fights his body’s urge to flinch.

“I’m sorry you’ve been in a funk, hyung.” Hoseok’s eyes fall from where they were watching the sky down to Jungkook, who’s eyes are wide and so sincere.

“I’m feeling better, Jungkook, I promise,” and it’s true. He is.

The sadness has trickled out of him, not entirely and probably not for good, but the temporary relief is sacred. He’s thankful for it.

They’re done with their dinner, but stay where they are, an unspoken decision made between them.

“I’m…” Jungkook sets down his empty plate and turns a little more toward Hoseok. The orange of the fire is reflected in his dark eyes. He swallows hard, the bob of his Adam's apple betraying his nerves. “I’m really glad. I was worried, for a while.”

Jungkook’s eyes are wet, to Hoseok’s dismay. Hoseok grabs Jungkook’s hand and squeezes it. “You don’t need to worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

“I always worry about you a little bit.” Jungkook murmurs.

“That’s hyung’s job, you know.” Hoseok says, softly with a teasing laugh.

“Sorry,” Jungkook says, with a smile, his expression not apologizing one iota, “I can’t help it.”

The crackle of the fire falls on Hoseok’s ears like rain, and a thought winds its way through him—he never wants tonight to end.

He stays in that quiet feeling, distracted, until he vaguely realizes that Jungkook is playing the guitar. Plucking and singing some words too soft to understand.

“What are you singing?”

“This?” Jungkook says, flustered, “it’s nothing.”

“You know what that sounds like?” Hoseok says, “sounds like a love song, Jungkookie!” and Jungkook’s ears darken ever-so-slightly.

“What? Hyung! No! It’s not!”

“Ooh!,” Hoseok’s laughing a little bit and his stomach swoops, “is our Jungkookie in love?”

“No, he’s not! I mean, I’m not! I’m not, really!”

“You are! You are, who is this boy you’re fallen in love with?” Hosoek prods him with a gentle forefinger, then jabs a few more times, giggling at Jungkook’s reddening face.

“No one!” Jungkook squirms away and hides his face.

“Do I know him?”

“...no!” and there’s something in the way he screeches and hunches and turns away, that makes Hoseok pause. Recognition strikes him, of something that should have been obvious.

Memories flash and bang and ring around in his skull.

After Hoseok’s mom called to tell him about the separation, Hoseok had texted Jungkook, and it was barely a surprise that Jungkook showed up at his flat an hour later with dinner and DVDs,

and spent the evening doing impressions of their friends and telling side-splitting stories about his roommates’ disastrous sex lives to distract him. He slept over without Hoseok needing to ask.

Jungkook’s that kind of person.

He took Hoseok to the urgent care after the bike accident and consoled him about the pain, and later gamely laughed with him about his sore ass, which was much-needed levity for such a shitty situation, joking through the awkwardness as Jungkook helped him apply ice.

This man next to him, soft and strong, clever and mischievous, who texted him last week—a picture of some hard-to-see gunk on the windows of his old office building, with the caption “go to hell, bastards! (:”

Who borrowed a car and drove an hour because he thought Hoseok sounded “weird.” Who remembered that Hoseok told him that when he was a kid, he worked tirelessly to build a paper airplane and could never get it to fly, and brought a kit to help him fly it.

The wine has probably made his face slack and red, but Hoseok isn’t self conscious as he stares intensely at Jungkook like he’s trying to solve a puzzle in his face. Watches his mouth as it moves in song, his black bangs shifting and falling into his eyes.

The rounded button of his nose, the angle of his jaw, the rosebud of his lips. This face makes Hoseok feel so much. It makes him feel new. Safe and happy.

The bird in his chest sings, then. So clear that it pierces him through. “You love him” she says, “you’re in love with him,” and Hoseok is so overwhelmed that he has to look away.

“Hyung?” Jungkook says, after a few beats, “are you okay?”

Hoseok nods, but doesn’t look back just yet. He can hear Jungkook shifting behind him.

“Is it the smoke? I can put out the fire—“

Hoseok sniffles, only then realizing that a few stray tears have escaped his eyes.

“Hyung! Are you crying?” Jungkook’s tone shifts steeply into dismay and he moves quickly to kneel in front of him.

“No, I’m not crying, not really. Just—just thinking.”

“You look like you’re crying to me,” Jungkook swipes his thumbs under Hoseok’s eyes, then cups his face.

Hoseok wraps his hands around Jungkook’s thick wrists and leans forward. Their foreheads bump together.

“I thought you were feeling better?” Jungkook whispers.

Hoseok laughs, wetly. “I’m feeling great!” it sounds so silly and sad, but he really is.

His head feels clear and he feels light and excited, like he’s on the cusp of something. Nerves are swirling hot and delicious in him and a part of him wants to be scared, but he’s not. That’s the beauty of it. He’s terrified in a way that is completely freeing.

Of the two of them, Jungkook’s the adrenaline junkie, but Hoseok too loves the thrill of something new. Like this, like discovering something new, change and evolution and adventure.

“Jungkook?” Hoseok says. His mouth is suddenly dry. He licks his lips.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

A small smile spreads shyly across Jungkook’s face and he responds easily, “I love you, too.”

“No, not just… not that.” Hoseok says and pushes Jungkook gently backward so he can look into his face in earnest. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

Jungkook’s face falls for a moment and Hoseok’s heart rate ticks up, he’s confused and wonders if he read this all wrong, if this isn’t what he thought it was.

Then Jungkook breaks open, smiles, big, with all of his teeth, and lets out a reedy laugh, so full.

Hoseok laughs too, he can’t help it, he feels crazed.

“Hyung,” Jungkook sounds so breathless and giddy, “me too,” and Hoseok hasn’t had time to process any of this fully, not how he feels and definitely not how Jungkook feels, but he feels inflated with bubbles.

“I’m in love with you too.” Jungkook says, hoarsely.

Hoseok's rocketing toward the stratosphere and he’s nervous and thrilled, and he lets out another verse of giggles as Jungkook once again scoops his face into his hands.

Jungkook laughs too.

The two of them enter orbit. They’re fireworks in the sky, they’re big and small and everywhere and nowhere, they’re lifted high above themselves like giants, but they’re still ants below.

In this green grass in front of this fire on this bench near the Obongsan mountains range in central Korea, they’re here. Here. Together.

And Hoseok puts his arms around Jungkook’s broad back and leans into the side of his face, presses a soft kiss against Jungkook’s jaw,

then to his cheek, and Jungkook’s sighing like he’s breathing for the first time, like he’s relaxed for the first time since coming here. Hoseok hears him whisper something that sounds a lot like “finally.”

Their lips catch and they kiss. Soft lips against soft lips, pressing gently together, slow and a little cautious and so, so sweet.