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quantum entanglement

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That should have been self-explanatory enough. The first little slip that should have blinked like a red sign above their heads screaming danger danger  danger . It seems like none of them were good at reading neon signs at that time. The bliss of ignorance. Or probably just plain stupidity, that sounds more realistic.   

That one slip that became two, then three. Then a handful more just for good measure.  A constellation of words not being pronounced, stuck on the lips waiting to be kissed away, savored away. A couple not enough  I love you s hidden in all the most obvious places, ready to be bitten away from the skin. Not enough because it can never be too much when it comes to love. When it comes to Taehyung and Jungkook and Yoongi.   


then: problem one,  


Jungkook and Taehyung had been dating for months now. Twenty weeks and six days, not that they were counting. They weren’t, in fact. Yoongi was. For some inexplicable and unknown reason. It should have come across as odd to him, or anyone really, a voice should have kindly whispered in his skull asking him  what the fuck . Yoongi did know it was sort of unusual to be counting the days your friends spend together in a relationship, but it felt like the right thing to do. Yoongi, little accountant of the Jungkook and Taehyung love club. Vice president and president and all the members of the club were Yoongi and his ocean deep heart. It was part of his love language.  Friendship language,  he reminded his brain.  You're an idiot,  his mind helpfully supplied. It wasn't wrong.   

Yoongi didn’t bother to count how many of these twenty weeks and six days the two boys had spent together with him though, Taehyung and Jungkook  and  Yoongi. Different type of  and  maybe. Maybe not. When he looks back at their entangled paths, he realizes things went like they should have. He wasn’t ready to open his eyes just yet at that time, it takes courage to see. It's a choice, to see. Yoongi wasn’t ready to make that choice then. He had things to sort out within himself, he couldn’t force his most loved people to go through his maze of cemeteries for him. Nevertheless, it still looked to the ones outside of their friendship-relationship that the two were dating Yoongi too, silly little idea. It had been Namjoon the first one to bring it up and force it to settle in the meanderings of his brain, little stingy needle impossible to get rid of.   

“Are you dating them?” Namjoon asked him once. They were chilling at a café, coincidentally the one Taehyung works at. Pure coincidence. Yoongi did not go there on a daily basis just to look at Taehyung with his sleeves rolled up and a smile painted on his face. That would have meant he had thoughts of not friendship-like nature, which was ridiculous just to consider. The question flowed into Yoongi’s throat and took all the space in it, so it made sort of sense for him to choke on his coffee. He ended up coughing a few too many times, at first to learn how to breathe again, then to avoid answering to something he didn’t dare to dwell on not even in the solitary misery of his thoughts.   

“What? Who?” Yoongi asked once his lungs could work again. His voice sounded tinted with too many hues of panic and fear to sound nonchalant.   

“Taehyung and Jungkook, of course. Who else?” Namjoon looked sincerely perplexed, as if this wasn't the outcome he expected this conversation to have. He thought it would had been something along the lines of congratulating Yoongi for his relationship and then pretending to be extremely offended for not having been informed. Maybe he could have even threatened him into buying him a muffin.   

“What? No, I – They are dating. I'm just their friend– I mean, not just, it’s not like I’m unhappy being friends with them. I’m okay, like– Watching. That sounds weird, does it sound weird?”  

“Hyung, please breathe. You're all red.” He was, little lonely overripe cherry in the wrong place, wrong season. Yoongi looked away from Namjoon and allowed his gaze to naturally find Taehyung instead. He looked painfully pretty behind the counter, with his tongue peaking from the side of his mouth like it always does when he’s concentrating, his hair the color of warm caramel and the prelude of a smile hidden in his features. As if he could sense someone’s eyes on him, Taehyung lifted his head up from the drink he was preparing, and locked eyes with Yoongi. A smile bloomed on Taehyung’s face. A wound bloomed in Yoongi’s chest. He found himself smiling back and then covering his mouth with his hand, afraid that somehow all the blood he could feel riling up in his mouth could show. If he was in a manga he’d be coughing flowers. He wasn’t, but he still checked nonetheless, just to be sure.   

When he brought his attention back to Namjoon, hoping that his skin tone was now resembling his own again, the other was looking at him with the same intensity winter wind cuts your skin. Yoongi didn’t need to focus on the next words that left Namjoon’s mouth. There was no need to, as he knew they all sounded terribly similar to the selfish and cruel thoughts that come bug him in the darkest hours of the night, when the ink black sky fills his corrupted lungs, prevents him from breathing.  You like them, don’t you. You selfish little thing, daring to think about them in all the wrong ways, selfish desires that burn your skin like open wounds. You don’t deserve them, them with their spring pure hearts, you with your evil evil evil wants. Let them be happy, watch from the side only  his mind loved to remind him, as if he already was not trying his best, to drown all of this oddly shaped love he has for them, borders too blurry to be recognized.   

Yoongi tried to keep himself in line, checking on himself, making sure he wasn’t overstepping the lines he’s drawn. Thick black ink all around him, spilling from his ill lungs, telling him  there is where they stand, together  and then  here is where you stand, alone.  Which wasn’t true in all of its parts, because Yoongi wasn’t feeling lonely, not in the conception of which other people intend it to. His life was split in pieces and Jungkook and Taehyung roamed in between all of them, came to rest in them to mend them together. So Yoongi wasn’t lonely. He wasn’t lonely when he was by himself and he wasn’t lonely when he was in the company of the couple.   

What he was is confused. Yoongi felt like all of the bones in his body had suddenly rearranged themselves and now they were in the wrong places and he was being asked to fix them, to look inside of himself and put an order to all these useless bones. Yoongi didn’t know anything about medicine or bones or himself, so he looked at Taehyung standing behind the counter like he was looking at a rotula, asking himself where did that piece go.   

A rotula goes in one’s knee. Taehyung should have fallen under the semantics of friend, best friend and best friend’s boyfriend. The borders and lines were all there, electric fence keeping him from drifting into dangerous places. Places where semantics go to fuck themselves and the heartwarming smile on Taehyung’s face reads of  love you love you different want to feel that smile against my lips,  where the evergreen blush on Jungkook’s cheeks impressed in his memory reads of  love you too love you different want to feel the red of you under my fingertips.  


now: hold me, carry me slowly, my sunlight   

Yoongi opens one eye at the time, cautious, like he’s checking for danger in the world around him before allowing himself to fully wake up. A gentle ray of sun gets past the curtains and falls sleepy on his face, making him scrunch his nose and squint his half open eyes. The warm yellow of the sun falls in the spaces between his features, in between his eyelashes, under his chin, past his eyelids to melt with his irises, entangled with his golden locks.   

Yoongi takes a deep breath and feels the gold slip under his tongue, down his throat and expand in his chest like a storm of stardust. He takes another deep breath, senses that smell that tastes like home on the tip of his tongue, that tastes too much like Jungkook. Yoongi rolls over, carefully, moves his limbs in a slow dance to not wakeup the boy sleeping next to him. In his bed. Their bed. Everything that is Yoongi’s is never his only, it’s always shared, blood of the same vein. He opens his eyes fully now, takes in spring sleeping peacefully on the white loved stained sheets.   

Jungkook’s face is all soft and mellow edges now that dreams sleep behind his eyelids. Yoongi smiles gently, traces Jungkook’s face with his eyes, loves his little things. The messiness of his hazelnut and cinnamon hair, the small scar on his cheek, the way his lips are parted the slightest as if he was trying to breathe out his dreams for Yoongi to see. Then, he traces them with his fingers too, just because. Just because he wants to. Just because he can. He traces his brows, the bridge of his nose, his cupid’s bow, the outline of his lips. Jungkook’s lips are a bit chapped, as if he has been in the cold for too long. Yoongi wants him to rest in the warmth of his duvets for forever. Wants to kiss his lips until they’re soft again, until they’re the wrong right color.   

Jungkook stirs in his sleep, then his body decides to rearrange itself. It's a battle of limbs and Yoongi’s genuinely impressed by how much the boy can move without waking up. Eventually he finds himself to be the victim of this war of limbs, delighted prisoner. One of Jungkook’s arm is hugging Yoongi’s waist tightly and his legs are wrapped around Yoongi’s, sweet mimicking of a sleepy koala. Yoongi's one weak weak man, so he lets Jungkook cling onto him the same way he would let him do anything really, because this is Jungkook and Yoongi’s heart is still lost somewhere in between the boy’s hands. Or maybe it’s between the locks of his constantly messy hair. Could be his eyelashes too, Yoongi doesn’t remember.   

Jungkook nuzzles his nose in the crook of Yoongi’s neck and a weak bubbly laugh blooms in the back of his throat. He allows himself to – laugh, be happy, love. It's hard sometimes, to love. It takes courage to love and it takes courage to learn how to love the right ways. Yoongi has chosen to be brave. Thus, he allows himself to let the laugh bubble like champagne in his throat, and then places a gentle kiss on the top of Jungkook’s head. It means  I hope you always sleep well  and  my bed smells like you now smells like home  and  thank you for allowing me to love you the right way.   

His personal koala wriggles in his arms but there are sunrise hues of a smile at the corners of his lips. It’s almost physically painful for Yoongi to decide to get up, not that he’d mind spending the entire day in bed with the warmth of Jungkook’s steady breath against the shivery skin of his neck, but his stomach is contorting from hunger. It takes a while for Yoongi to extricate himself from Jungkook’s arms, a bit because the boy keeps unconsciously tightening his grip on his victim and a bit because Yoongi takes pauses in the middle of his mission to scatter small kisses all over Jungkook. A couple on his shoulder, one on the space between his brows, exactly five on each of his left hand’s knuckles. He swears he’s trying to leave the bed. Sort of. Maybe. Most likely. Listen, it’s  a  very difficult decision.   

When he’s finally entirely free and his feet touch the floor ,  it’s– cold. The floor under his bare feet. He without Jungkook. Yoongi casts a last gentle gaze on the boy before moving to the kitchen, following the smell of coffee and hotteok  and eggs with tofu . When he walks in there’s so much sun he feels the urge to hide his eyes. It's partially because it seems like the sun has decided to live in the apartment, very welcomed uninvited guest, and partially because of Taehyung. Taehyung standing there, shirtless and sun kissed, bleeding gold from every inch on his body, sweats set low on his hips, and bare feet against the same cold floor Yoongi’s standing on. It's momentous, the realization that they’re sharing the same floor. Yoongi’s standing here and Taehyung is too and they’re feeling the same exact cold under their feet. It's magical, to be allowed to share life with Taehyung.   

Yoongi walks closer, watches Taehyung’s broad shoulders and thinks of the taste of them, honey and  vanilla and something unnamable that is entirely  Taehyung . He can feel memories of the taste  dance  on his tongue and his fingertips, warm reminiscences of love.  Yoongi comes closer, slides his arms around Taehyung’s waist and buries his face in the boy’s neck. Lets his lips touch the skin there, an almost kiss.   

“’Morning, Yoonie .” There’s a smile in each word when Taehyung speaks so that the syllables come out even softer, kind to the heart. Yoongi smiles against Taehyung’s neck and tightens his hug. He could easily fall asleep again, like this, with Taehyung’s warmth against his cold body and the gentle lull of his breathing. Yoongi feels safe like this, with Taehyung. He tells him so.  

“Love you.” It’s not how the words sounded in his head but that will do. Semantics. Taehyung’s whole body shakes when he laughs happily, his skin warming up against Yoongi.   

“I love you too.” He then says. Not that he needs to, Yoongi already knows anyway, but because he likes the way the words taste on his tongue, a sweet promise of summer. For a few seconds they don’t move. Yoongi sleeps awake against his boyfriend’s back and Taehyung listens to the echo of Yoongi’s heartbeat.   

“You didn’t burn them this time,” Yoongi eventually says, words drawing themselves on the boy’s neck. It sends a shiver down his spine, this gentle succession of almost kisses. Taehyung takes a couple of breaths to register what Yoongi’s talking about, then he smiles, happy and a little bit proud too, and nods. Nods softly and in delicate movements, making sure to not move too much or too strongly to not scare his sleepy boyfriend.   

When Taehyung gets back at preparing breakfast Yoongi keeps clinging onto him, lets his hands wander on his stomach, trail higher up and count each of his ribs. Kisses his skin from time to time, a bit to keep himself busy and awake, a bit because Taehyung shivers each time, gasps prettily each time. The hunger he was storing in his stomach when he woke up fades gradually, Taehyung’s little sounds filling him of golden honey and delicate vanilla. He can live off this, of Jungkook and Taehyung’s love.   

“Is Kookie still sleeping?” The words carry a note of fondness in them and Yoongi’s heart clenches, doubles in size and beats a bit faster to catch up the sudden new wave of affection he feels for them. He kisses Taehyung’s neck again. He can to. Taehyung gasps, leaves his lips parted like he’s waiting to ask for more. Yoongi kisses it again, slower this time. He takes his time on Taehyung’s skin, tastes it with his wet lips and a hint of hot tongue. Taehyung shudders, forgets the pan in his hand and gives permission to a whimper to fall past his lips and onto the not cold anymore floor. He replies when he feels satisfied enough, when Taehyung’s skin is feverish under his hands.  

“Yeah. He was clinging onto me like a little koala.” Taehyung wants to laugh again, but Yoongi’s mouth is on his neck and the sound comes out too breathy, too similar to a gasp to sound like anything else. It's perfect like this.  

“You mean like you right now?” Taehyung wants to stress the light teasing with another breathy laugh but then Yoongi bites his neck and his mind short circuits. He tries to reconnect the mess in his brain but his boyfriend is so busy soothing the spot with the wet of his tongue  that  Taehyung loses himself to the sensation. There’s a prelude of a moan blossoming in the back of his throat and he swallows it down. Considers. Lays it down for Yoongi to hear anyway.   

“Should we wake him up?” Yoongi asks. There's a wet kiss after each word and it makes it hard for Taehyung to follow what he’s saying. He tries to recompose himself. Fails miserably. “Or do you want to wait? We could–” Another bite. Taehyung moans again, soft caramel sound that sticks to Yoongi’s lips. “–wait. We could let him sleep and bring him breakfast later and–” A quick succession of snowflake fragile bites. Yoongi slowly drags his tongue over them, licks Taehyung’s skin as if he’s tasting a lollipop. His boyfriend closes his eyes and whimpers softly. “–spend the day in bed together.”  

Yoongi keeps kissing Taehyung’s feverish skin while he waits for an answer. He tastes like the sun, like honey and vanilla.   


then: quantum entanglement  

“Listener  goldandclose  has a question for you, Gloss,” Namjoon said. Yoongi looked at Namjoon resigned, not even bothering anymore to pretend surprise or annoyance. It always went like this: they would start the podcast and for approximately seven minutes and eleven seconds everything would go accordingly to their self-written script. As soon as the clock hit seven minutes and twelve seconds, with an accurately calculated precision, Namjoon would metaphorically eat the script and improvise. Once it didn’t happen metaphorically. Yoongi still doesn’t want to know. Namjoon works in his special ways. At the beginning Yoongi used to be frustrated by it, but with time he learned to appreciate Namjoon’s creative mind even when it meant he had to follow his nonsensical impromptu sessions.   

“What’s the question about, Mon?” Mon. Gloss. They had decided to never reveal their real names on the podcast, to keep the freeing liberation of the mystery to be themselves for the two hours from 9pm to 11pm on every Friday. Not Min Yoongi, the composer famous enough to receive invitations to boring galas but not enough to have the money to buy himself that new fancy keyboard he’d been eyeing for ages now, but Gloss, the guy that gushes about physics and dogs and lets the drag of his voice flow with no filters. It felt nice, the security of the anonymity, this little thing that was just  him,  intimate access to his heart.   

“They want to know your view on soulmates–  hey, the fuck was that for? ” Yoongi really tried to control himself but he still couldn’t resist the urge to throw the nearest object– namely a water bottle – right at him.   

“I was talking about the expansion of the universe according to the theory of relativity.” Yoongi said, stressing each letter, the cadence of his voice tired but unable to hide the intrinsic amusement that being with Namjoon brings.   

“And our listeners want to know if you believe in soulmates.” Namjoon retorted, sincerely perplexed as per what Yoongi was pointing out. Physics, love. Who says they’re different topics, it’s all an issue of semantics.   

Yoongi took a couple of seconds to think about it. His thoughts were orbiting around the concept, a couple of them colliding, a couple exploding like stars, golden stardust sparkling in front of his vision. It faded away gradually, leaving images painted in the same heart-stealing hues: lips curling into a sunny smile that looked a bit like the sun, a lot like Taehyung’s; a Sunday morning sweetness entangled in hazelnut eyes that looked too much like Jungkook’s; spring gentle touches that reminded him too much of the ones Jungkook and Taehyung share with each other. It was almost sickening the way his thoughts imploded in his chest like dying stars, hot blood and warming cheeks.   

“Soulmates... No, I don’t but–” Yoongi closed his eyes, let the fond warmth win over the nauseating guilt.  This is not Min Yoongi, this is Gloss. It’s wrong but it’s true. This is the true me, this is the only place I can allow myself to think about it.  “Quantum entanglement.”  

Hyung ,” Namjoon whined, so loud it obscured Yoongi’s thoughts like a stormy cloud. “Can you stop talking about physics for, like, half a–”  

“Quantum entanglement is a phenomenon that occurs when two or more particles are generated in or share a proximity in a way that their quantum state can’t be described independently, even when said particles are separated by a large distance.” Namjoon looked at him like he was talking French all of a sudden. Namjoon took a couple of classes once, then gave up and now refers to it as the  baguette language.  Yoongi realized their listener – the thought that there might be more than a couple of people actually listening to their incoherent blabbering every Friday too unrealistic – might have felt just as confused, thus he tried to elaborate.  

“In easier terms, this means that there are particles unable to be considered independently from the ones they’ve been generated with or have shared a close proximity with. They exist by themselves but mostly they exist in relation to their paired particles.” He closed his eyes again, letting his thoughts flow freely like hot wine on a wintry night.  Jungkook nuzzling in the crook of his neck, lips on his skin like stolen kisses. Taehyung playing with his fingers, reading his love line, telling him Yoongi’s meant to be loved and adored. Jungkook blushing hard hard hard when Taehyung held his hand during a scary movie, making Yoongi mimic the fluster, making him feel just as warm. Taehyung absentmindedly playing with Jungkook’s hair, leaving a small kiss on the top of his head, making a garden of alstroemerias bloom in between Yoongi’s ribs.   

I think that if particles alone can be meant to exist in function of a  together  than people can to. Maybe some people share said particles and are meant to orbit around each other. Sometimes it’s two.” He took a deep breath. The secret that made life beat in his aortas laid down with careful hands. “Sometimes it’s more. It can be three particles and thus three people. Three souls meant to orbit one around each other and exist just like that,  together .” He didn’t dare to open his eyes, not to face Namjoon, knowing that his friend was looking at him with sympathy and careful pity dancing in the white of his eyes.   

“It’s obviously more complicated in real life than it is in theory, so sometimes they can’t be anything but separated, never colliding orbits meant to exist for each other. Belonging together, no matter the distance, even when it can never come true and it exists only in the theories of the heart.”  

One. Two. Three. Seconds passing so loud they ached in his chest like daggers, heavy pains settling in between his ribs. Until he realized it was just his heartbeat, each beat a  wrong  and  bad  and  selfish.  He wished it could stop. Either the voice or his heart, all together. His love for Jungkook and Taehyung was like physics, a set of invisible forces.   

The formula to calculate gravity is F = ma   

In which m stands for mass and thus the mass of the crushing love Yoongi bears inside his ventricles;  

a stands for acceleration and thus the one with which Yoongi has hopelessly fallen for the summer sunset colored presence of Taehyung and Jungkook;  

Therefore, the force with which Yoongi is bound to be gravitationally attracted to Jungkook and Taehyung is something along the lines of  infinite  and  stronger than tsunami tides  and  avalanche suffocating  and  bittersweet like soulmate particles.   

It’s incredible how someone can sound like an absolute nerd while talking about love,” Namjoon then said. There was something in his voice, a hint of  I'm sorry  and  I understand you  and  you’re okay, hyung, it’s okay. “ I bet our listeners fell asleep after the first couple of sentences”. Yoongi was glad for his friend’s light intervention, dragging his claws out of his own heart.  

“This podcast was literally supposed to talk about physics until Mon decided that scripts are stupid and he must live off of impromptu decisions.”  

“I thought the podcast originally was about music. Wasn’t it? To the ones listening to us on this Friday night, please send messages and tells us why the fuck y’all are even putting up with us in the first place. Because we have no idea what’s going on here.”  

Yoongi felt laugh bubble up in his throat, sweet champagne filling him in the wrong direction and making him lightheaded. It was easier to put aside all the sun kissed thoughts about Taehyung and Jungkook with Namjoon there to help. By help he meant annoying the fuck out of him, but it worked so it was worth the playful hits and biteless curses.   


now: honey, I’m put in awe of somethin’ so flawed and free  

Taehyung sighs loudly. It's a rich sound, happy little sigh that hold unpronounced words like  love you so much  and  thank you for loving me  and  you’re good to me you’re like the sun.  Yoongi heard them anyway. He heard them in every surprised gasp, every caramel whimper, every vanilla sweet moan. Heard it in the way Taehyung pressed himself against Yoongi’s body, trying to be closer and closer and  closer  as if even the fragile distance of a single breath is too much to handle, so much it’s possible to get lost into it, forget how to breath. Taehyung does. Forgets how to breathe, mentally follows the pattern of wet kisses and bites Yoongi leaves on his neck and shoulders, a couple lower on his back.   

He lets out a couple of too loud whimpers. Yoongi wants to bite on them too. Wants to store them inside of him and bring them out again later when he’s composing, when he’s putting down notes so that he can try and hide a couple of those whimpers in between them. It's a nice sound, a world-stopping one. But then again, everything about Taehyung is. Yoongi still finds himself wondering, even years after, if Taehyung isn’t the reincarnation of an ancient god. Maybe he is. Maybe it’s Yoongi’s duty to please him.  Hence, Yoongi complies, kisses all the secrets parts of him, drags all the secret pretty sounds out of him, tastes them on his tongue, learns what late sunrises and peace of mind taste like.   

They lose track of time like this. All the time. Yoongi touches Taehyung, tenderly, carefully, studies each gesture of his own fingers to match them with Taehyung’s breathy secrets, with the shivery motions of his body, with the blossoming of his lukewarm skin. Then Yoongi keeps all this information stored right under his skin, where his fingertips can memorize and play with Taehyung’s skin. Fingers on vertebras like piano keys. He kinds his moles, traces them with his tongue, maps them like constellations and keeps the thought of them ready on his lips.   

The half ready breakfast is getting cold at this point and Taehyung would really like to ask Yoongi to stop and let him finish. But the idea of not feelings his boyfriend’s lips against his skin sort of terrifies him. He’s going to forget how it feels, to shiver under Yoongi’s carefully gentle touch, how it feels to be feverish because of the warmth of Yoongi’s lips, hands, breathe. He's going to forget the pattern of Yoongi’s stuttering breath, the one of his heart when it beats that tiny bit faster, that tiny bit more freely, that tiny bit that sounds like  Taehyung  and the one that sounds like  Jungkook.  So, in all honesty, fuck the breakfast.  

“Yoomgie? Where’d you go? Taetae? Nhyungie?”   

Yoongi laughs against Taehyung’s skin. There's a note of pure fondness in Taehyung’s voice when he speaks.  

“I guess our baby woke up. I should finish making breakfast,” he says but doesn’t seem to move, doesn’t want to separate himself from the warmth of Yoongi’s hands on him just yet. And Yoongi doesn’t either. But then Jungkook calls him again.  Yoomgie.  The sleep still lingering on his tongue, making him get the wrong consonants. And Yoongi thinks. Thinks about how needy Jungkook gets when he’s just woken up, skin cold cold  cold  and heart that few degrees too hot, too burning, too wanting. Thinks about how Jungkook likes to wrap his hands around him, to touch him everywhere he can like he’s afraid Yoongi might disappear and vanish into thin air and he needs to keep him close to prevent it. Thinks about how Jungkook places soft lazy kisses everywhere on him, his cheeks, his neck, his collarbones when he can, his shoulder blades when he wants, his wrists when Yoongi prays, his lips eventually. Thinks about the way the boy mumbles his name wrong until the last traces of sleep disappear and he remembers how it’s supposed to taste in his mouth, so he drags it, whispers  Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi  like he’s apologizing or like he’s pleading.  

Yoongi leaves Taehyung a last kiss on the neck, mumbles something that should have sounded like  don’t burn the eggs  but came out more as an  I love you.  Because everything Yoongi says always inevitably and without failure sounds like love. He walks back to the bedroom, the floor no longer cold under his feet. And then he walks in and sees his boyfriend and it’s– magic. It's a pretty sight, like cherry blossoms and the delicate peachy hues of a not-yet-sunset. He sees Jungkook sitting on the bed, the duvets wrapped around him in a mimic of a hug, with his eyes opened that much not enough to look like they’re completely closed, and a hint of a pout on his pink pink lips. There are a couple of strings tugging at Yoongi’s heart and he involuntarily clutches his chest. Jungkook always says that they’re read and that they’re called strings of fate. They usually go at people’s fingers, pinkies to be exact, but that wouldn’t have been enough for Yoongi’s world-stopping love, so he keeps them around the muscles of the heart instead, closer to home.   

“Good morning, bun.”  

“Uhm– ‘morning Yoomgie baby.” Yoongi smiles before walking closer and sitting on the edge of the bed. He's certain Jungkook is looking at him through his sleep hazed vision but the boy’s eyes aren’t opened enough. Yoongi can wake him up.   

“Taetae is making breakfast for us. Wanna eat in bed?” Yoongi asks, searches for Jungkook’s asleep features with his fingertips, traces his nose and then his brows, sooths the natural frown and replaces it with tingling bits of affection. Jungkook hums contently and leans into the touch.  

“What ‘s he making?”  

“Uhm–” Yoongi pretends to be thinking while he leans in and leaves a kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead, a barely there press of lips. “There’s hotteok and–” Yoongi moves his lips across Jungkook’s face, leaves a patternless string of soft kisses, takes in the appreciative hums Jungkook lets drip from his lips. “– eggs with tofu if he doesn’t burn them–” and Jungkook laughs at that, sounds a bit more awake then before when he talks again. When he grips on Yoongi’s wrists silently asking to keep going.  

“I wanted to ask you somethin’, hyungie.” Yoongi kisses the corners of his lips, then the tip of his nose. Kisses his ear, then nibs at it softly waiting for Jungkook to– whimper. It's a barely audible sound, fragile snowflake twirling in air and falling on Yoongi’s skin, melting on his tongue.   

“What is it?” Yoongi wriggles until Jungkook can wrap his arms around him. He feels safe like this. Jungkook. Yoongi. Either and both. It feels like home.   

“There’s this art exhibition today–” When Yoongi kisses his eyelids Jungkook momentarily forgets what he was talking about. He slides his hands under Yoongi’s shirt and listens to the way his breath hitches, unsure if from the cold or the feelings of his tentative and butter mellow hands on his skin. Jungkook sighs contently.   


“Uhm? Oh, yeah. ‘msorry. Got–” Yoongi kisses his bottom lip. There's a hint of tongue but not enough to be more than a whish and Jungkook whines a bit, wriggles until Yoongi hides his face in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck and chuckles. “– distracted. There’s this exhibition of– Kimlet or something. Can't remember ‘s name.” Yoongi laughs against his neck. Then considers. Places a kiss there too just– because. He can. He wants to. Jungkook wants too, if the breathy almost whimper he lets out can be read as such.   

“It’s Klimt.”  

“Yeah. Exactly what I said, Yoomgie.” Jungkook’s awake enough to get Yoongi’s name right by now, even though other words are still blurry and tired on his tongue, heavy vowels and consonants that clash against his teeth. The only reason he insists in calling Yoongi like that is because of the way Yoongi's lips curl up every time at the sound of it, the way he unconsciously smiles in between kisses and melts in his arms. Jungkook feels powerful like this. He holds onto the tip of his tongue the way to Yoongi’s heart, like he could make him fall each second anew.   

“Okay, baby, what about Kimlet?” Jungkook scoffs annoyed and gets revenge. His slides his hands higher up and tickles Yoongi. The other quite literally yells and tries to wriggle away but Jungkook is strong even when a good third of his muscles is still asleep. Once Yoongi starts crying for help Jungkook gives in and lets him breathe again.   

“I thought we could taek Taetae there? As a surprise date, you know.” And he’s so shy when he says it that he grabs the duvets and brings them all the way up to cover his blushing cheeks. Yoongi laughs. Endeared. Enamoured. Either. Both.   

“That’s a pretty idea, baby bun. We could go there and then to that bookshop you like lots. What do you think?” Yoongi can’t see him but he knows Jungkook is smiling brightly, bunny teeth showing and eyes crinkling prettily, happiness flowing in his bloodstream like sweet sweet champagne.  

“Really? Can we?” Yoongi hums, finds his hands under the sunlight stained duvet and holds them, plays with the fingers and leaves tender kisses with his own fingertips. Each touch is an  I love you.  Jungkook feels them, hears them. “Thank you, baby. Love you.”   


then: problem two,  

ice cream tastes better off of someone else’s lips  

Jungkook loves ice cream. Yoongi loves Jungkook.  

It's a simple equation: if A equals B and B equals C then A equals C.    

The solution of the equation is: Yoongi loves ice cream, too.   

The problem is that ice cream always tastes better when it’s off of someone else’s lips.  

“Hyung? Yoonie hyung?  Hyungie ?” Yoongi would have liked to be bothered by the incessant whining that was bubbling on Taehyung’s lips, but the words kept slipping into his mouth and down his throat like red red liquor, warm poison spoiling his bloodstream. He could have gotten drunk on Taehyung’s inviting voice, every word twisting inside of Yoongi’s mind, all the honey mellow edges turning into dangerous and red candies.  Hyung,  Taehyung said.  Come closer,  Yoongi heard.  Bite on me.  Wanted to hear, bit on his tongue until pomegranate sweet blood would slide between his lips, crimson letters writing  wrong wrong wrong.   

“What is it, Taetae?” Yoongi asked, fishing his gravelly voice from somewhere in his stomach, right where his heart seemed to have dropped. Sometimes watching them was hard, like a life or death quest to which Yoongi had been sent  to  unarmed and directionless. His eyes wandered on the butterfly light touches Taehyung reserved for Jungkook, the way they’d leave golden trails all over the boy’s skin, precious blood, the delicate shade of pink inhabiting Jungkook’s skin whenever his gaze falls on Taehyung. And it wasn’t jealousy, because Yoongi loved them and loved their love too. Yoongi loves Jungkook, he loves Taehyung, he loves Taehyung  and  Jungkook. It was a little sly monster sitting heavy on his organs and crushing them with its vicious claws, saying  want Taehyung to touch me like that too  and  want Jungkook to look at me like that too  and  want to love them let me love you.   

Yoongi had learned how to tame it, the mellifluous voice whispering from the depths of his vulnerable heart. Isn't it  sweeter though, to give up to the red stained desires of the heart?  

They were having a sort of sleepover at Yoongi’s place. Not exactly a sleepover because the boys spend more time at his place than at their own anyway, but they had ice cream and Kimi no Na wa was playing. It was more a background noise than the actual main character of the evening, because Yoongi had kept mumbling about how scientifically unrealistic it all was, and Jungkook had tried to kindly explain that  this is an anime, hyung, it doesn’t have to be realistic,  gesturing with the spoon full of chocolate ice cream still in his hands Which, fair, acceptable logic. But Yoongi couldn’t resist the temptation of teasing him nonetheless. He was also worried about the safety of his sofa. Taehyung was eating his strawberry ice cream two spoons at a time, choosing to focus on the movie instead.   

“Can you please shut up? I’m trying to hear.” Jungkook giggled painfully prettily at that.   

“Why don’t you say that to your boyfriend? He's being just as noisy. More even.”   

“That’s exactly what I’m– uh. Yeah. My boyfriend.” Taehyung’s brows were furrowing more and more with each word, like what Yoongi had just said was off but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. “Yeah. Kookie, shut the fuck up.”   

Hey!”  Jungkook screamed, pretty much outraged, a shy blush creeping uninvited on his skin. After that they all went silent, eyes on the screen, and managed to focus on the movie. For all the duration of sixteen entire minutes. Progress.   

“Can we sleep here tonight?” Taehyung asked out of the blue, bringing the boys’ attention to him. Apparently, no one was going to watch Kimi no Na wa today. Yoongi looked, confused, at the blush deepening on Jungkook’s cheeks, overripe little cherries, as Taehyung moved to hide behind him.  

It didn’t make sense for them to  ask,  after all the both of them have always had the habit of crashing at Yoongi’s place like it was their own, staying over until the hues of the different hours got mixed into impressionistic paintings, until it would feel unfamiliar, to not have them around. Wrong, to not wake up to the smell of coffee and burnt eggs and tofu and Taehyung’s raw, deep, sleepy voice saying  sorry, I burned them again,  and then smiling, touching Yoongi’s arm to make sure he was real. Wrong, to not open the apartment door and see Jungkook just standing there, waiting, delicate syllables slipping from his lips and then past Yoongi’s, like he could taste them, saying  missed you all day long, hyung.  They live in his apartment as much as they live in the silences between his heartbeats. So why was Taehyung even asking in the first place?   

“’Course you can. Why are you even asking?” Which sounded like the right thing to ask, but the way Taehyung’s face contorted told Yoongi that, somehow, he fucked up.  Good job, Min Yoongi.  Always winning  first place in being a fuck up.  

It's always weird to witness the confident and bold and straightforward Taehyung curl on himself and hide behind Jungkook’s figure, literally or metaphorically. And it’s just as odd when the shy and awkward and tiny tiny  tiny  Jungkook takes matters on his hands.  Want him to take me on his hands,  Yoongi thought, then shook his head to silence the monster in his chest. Of course Yoongi would be his devilish horny version in the most inappropriate moment, right when Taehyung looked like he was about to eat the entire sofa just to avoid answering and Jungkook seemed on the very verge of fighting the sofa with his bare hands. What did that poor piece of furniture ever even do to them?   

“You’ve been a bit–” Jungkook started, looking at Yoongi’s not eyes.  Because it  was  difficult. It takes courage to look at someone in the eyes, it makes you vulnerable. So his  gaze fell on the mole on Yoongi’s cheek  instead , little remain of stardust on delicate skin. “Off, lately.” The words were quick to leave his lips, like having them onto his tongue for too longue could physically  hurt  him. “If it’s us– If you need a bit of space–”   

If we’re suffocating you,  he meant. Didn't say it because there was no need to when Yoongi can read the lines of Jungkook’s words like they were written on his skin in bright red ink.  They're catching up,  Yoongi realized in horror.  They're gonna look at me and  see  and know that I’m in love with them. They're going to leave me.   

Yoongi reached forward, cupped Jungkook’s face with his hands. It almost burned at the touch, Jungkook’s delicate skin against his pleading hands, the boy’s honey dense gaze on him, drawing him in and drowning him down. It'd be a nice death, with Jungkook’s hot breathe just a heartbeat away from him, so close he could lean in and–  

“No. Kookie, it’s not you,” Yoongi whispered instead. Words are less scary when whispered, feel less real, less hard to deal with. He searched for Taehyung then, urged him to come closer, close close  close.  Never close enough.  “ I’ve been a bit stressed. The song I’m working on isn’t working along and there are other small things just, you know, piling up. But I’m okay and– No space. I don’t need space. Especially not from the two of you.”  

Jungkook wriggled in the space between them, settled closer until he was half sitting in Yoongi’s lap. Fully, really. But it was easier to lie, it hurt less to pretend. Yoongi traced the soft curves of his features with the pads of his fingers, kissing him with his fingertips. Taehyung sat close to them, watching. There was a hint of a sea storm in the white of his eyes but spring at the curling corners of his lips.   

“Okay– Okay, Yoonie hyung. But if– Talk to us. If you need space or anything else.”  

“We’re here,” Taehyung added, small vulnerable voice.  

A saccharine pain spread all over Yoongi’s chest and then riled up in his mouth like liquor going the wrong way, getting drunk in the wrong order.   

“I know. I’m fine ,  just– things. But I’m fine. Thank you.”  

And then Yoongi committed a mistake. A couple of mistakes. A severely miscalculated succession of mistakes. Which wasn’t exactly out of character for him after all. Especially not in this sober drunken state. But still something he was going to yell at himself for, for at least a couple of decades because, in all honesty,  what the fuck .  

“Bun, you have–” Yoongi whispered, allowing his hand to trail down and down and down until his fingers were brushing Jungkook’s – trembling – lips.  

“–a bit of ice cream–” his thumb lied on the corner of Jungkook’s lips, pressed, lingered. Lingered like an almost kiss.   

“– here.” He brushed the remains of chocolate ice cream off of the boy’s lips and then– moved the finger. Brought the finger to his own parted lips. Licked the ice cream off. It was a scene completely out of the living realm, something ripped from a book maybe, from the fantasies of a boy. Of three boys, maybe. Yoongi made a sound, low and soft and hot in the back of his throat, lips still hugging his finger. As per consequence, all the air in the room  went missing  like a punishment from the universe, and Taehyung’s breath hitched, stopped, fell on the ground like a little dead thing.   

Time stopped, observed. Cried out along Yoongi’s heart. Jungkook took it – time, Yoogi’s heart, either and both – sent it out of the planet’s atmosphere, little thing lost in the abyss of the universe.  

“Hyung–” Jungkook called, pretty gentle sound, cotton candy on tongue. He looked conflicted for the entirety of a second, searched for Taehyung’s eyes, looked back at Yoongi sort of heavy lidded, sort of out of his body.   

“–I think there’s still some left.” His voice was shaky, vibrating in his bones and echoing right in Yoongi’s fragile ribcage, where the sound belonged. And Yoongi  wanted.  Everything. And it was so much, too much to deal with, too much bottled up want and longing to swallow down all together. It felt like an out of body experience, something happening to a version of him but not directly to him, because this sort of thing just didn’t happen to Yoongi, not outside of his guilt drenched and shame soaked dreams. It was a conflict of interests at this point, his brain begging him to preserve his sanity, his friendship, his whatever was still keeping his pieces together, and his heart, fallen out of his lonely chest and on the sofa, staining it with blood colored want.  

Yoongi had exactly half a second of lucidity then, cleverly used to ask himself  what the fuck is up with this sofa today , which was– understandable.  

And then Taehyung. His voice came from barely a few inches from Yoongi’s ear but it sounded dragged from the depths of a storm, low and deep and raspy, colored of wine and blood and red red  red.  It would have tasted or expensive wine and fresh strawberries, liquor and cherry chocolate, sunlight and carnations.   

Yeah, hyung. Some. Left.” He dragged the words and pressed them onto Yoongi’s skin, letters burning their way deep deep till his bristling bones. Taehyung’s voice sent a shiver down his spine. And it sounded, contortedly, like permission. So Yoongi took it as one and– leaned in.  

Yoongi leaned in, ate the inches separating him from Jungkook like they were pomegranate seeds and carefully lied his tongue at the corner of Jungkook’s lips. All the time condensed in the room was caramel thick, sweet and sticky on their skin. Yoongi pressed his tongue more firmly against Jungkook’s (almost) lips. Licked the ice cream off. Jungkook shuddered under his touched, skin on fire, thoughts spinning in zero gravity and imploding, stardust swimming in his bloodstream. Red red  red.   

Taehyung let out a not-whimper, stolen from the safety of his vocal chords. Not a whimper, because it was easier to think of it like that, as a thing on the border, thing lost in between the lines. Because otherwise Yoongi should have asked himself what it meant and consequentially try to make him make that sound again just to– check. Make sure. That it wasn’t a whimper. Because Yoongi’s mind was spinning and his insides drunk dancing and his blood staining everything. Crimson colored stardust.   

The taste of: chocolate,  

Jungkook’s almost lips,  

Taehyung’s not-whimper,  

Jungkook’s shivers.  

Red red red.  

Then, it hit Yoongi. The reality. Here he was, with his tongue pressed against the corners of Jungkook’s lips, Taehyung just a handful of inches away from them. Here he was, running right into the arms of his evil monster, digging darts in the muscle of his own heart, bloody hands on Jungkook’s shoulders. Then–  



Jungkook asked. Jungkook wanted too. Jungkook–  



Taehyung saw. Taehyung wanted, too. Taehyung–  



The possibility of having ruined their friendship. Gravity losing its meaning. Yoongi losing his mind.   

Yoongi jerked  backwards , terrified of himself, tears threatening to drown him into his solitary and guilty fears. He could feel his heart beating frenetically in his chest, bouncing around in his ribcage trying to impale itself on Yoongi’s ribs. Jungkook was there, completely paralyzed, carnations blooming all over his flustered cheeks and all the way till the tip of his ears. Taehyung was still watching, holding his breath, waiting. Trying to understand. But the situation didn’t make sense, to any of them.   

Yoongi did the only thing he could think off, the only voice in the list of ways to save a friendship after sort of kissing your best friend. He backed off, flashed a pathetic parody of a smile to Jungkook and then one to Taehyung too, just to make sure, before leaning back on the sofa. After a few beats, when the air in the room didn’t feel ill anymore and his lungs decided that it was time to finally cooperate, he found it in himself to look at Jungkook.   

“Aren’t you gonna watch the movie?” Yoongi asked, pretending nonchalance in front of the ending of his own heart.   

“I– The movie– You just–” He searched for Taehyung,  hoped the other could find the words he was missing, hoped he could mend his heartbeats and make them sound real again.  “I– movie– You just–” He searched for Taehyung, hoped the other could find the words he was missing, hoped he could mend his heartbeats and make them sound real again. It took Taehyung a second to register what the hell actually happened, to look back at Jungkook and–  

“Yeah. The movie, Kookie. Let's finish– the movie.” The words painfully found their way out of the knots in his throat.   

Therefore, the three of them spent the rest of the night actually watching Kimi no Na wa and then Spirited Away because Jungkook wanted so. There was something off, air too dense, not enough oxygen, but they pretended things were  not  crumbling like ice under their feet. They slept over. Because it would have been weird to change their mind after that and leave. It would have meant  things  and they didn’t want that. They slept over, limbs contorted in Yoongi’s bed, heartbeats left on the floor for good measure, for fear of being heard and deciphered.   


now: all of your life is sunlight   

The three of them eventually managed to leave their apartment. Yoongi’s apartment, actually. Not that there’s much difference anyway at this point. It took a couple of hours. The first hour was because Taehyung did bring breakfast to bed. Which ended up in a sort of eating, cuddling and kissing mix that I am not going to entangle and decipher. What happens in Yoongi’s bedroom should stay there. The second one because they had to get ready. Which also went sideways countless amounts of times. Things got especially heated when Taehyung put his favorite burgundy tie on and something in Jungkook’s mind suggested him that he should help him to fix it. He proceeded to grab Taehyung’s tie then and drag his boyfriend closer. It ended up with crashing lips and crashing hips and pleased sounds dripping from three mouths.   

Now they’re walking towards the exhibition. Taehyung is currently pouting. He sensed immediately that there was something going on. Jungkook was blushing more than usual and he kept glancing at Yoongi each time Taehyung asked him where they were going or what was going on, counting on his other boyfriend to save him before he would open his mouth and spill the little secret. So Yoongi got in the middle of them and is now protecting Jungkook from Taehyung’s incessant questions. Hence, Taehyung is pouting. When Yoongi kisses the pout away he forgets about it all for a minute.   

It takes them exactly twenty minutes to arrive to the exhibition. During the walk there Taehyung got exactly thirteen kisses. Jungkook got only ten and is now extremely worried about his status as the most loved boyfriend of the world. Taehyung pokes at his ribs indignantly and then proceeds with what looks like an impromptu make out session in the middle of the street.   

“This will count as four kisses, you’re winning now,” Taehyung says when they part. He’s panting a bit and there’s a delicate blush awakening on his cheeks, a bit too early for the not-spring-like yet weather. Jungkook grins happily and then searches for Yoongi to hide behind his not tall enough boyfriend.  

“Hyung, why are you so small?” Yoongi scoffs, pretends fake annoyance.  

“I’m like a neutron star, all condensed.”   

“Aren’t neutron stars dead though?” Taehyung asks. They’re at the entrance of the exhibition and Jungkook is squirming next to Yoongi, gripping his arm and vibrating out of anticipation like he’s containing an earthquake in his mouth. There’s a pretty furrow disrupting Taehyung’s expression. He’s not good at all this physics and space stuff. His boyfriends are two happy nerds so he constantly tries his best to remember, to research and be part of the conversation. Because he cares, always. Too much sometimes. Cares so deeply wounds break on his skin and bleed sunlight and gold, caramel and sunflowers.   

“Sort of, yeah.” The furrow deepens. Taehyung turns to Yoongi then, looks at him in his eyes so intensively Yoongi wonders if he’s trying to peak at his soul from the portals of his pupils. Not that he needs to. If Taehyung asked Yoongi would let him   






Kill even.   

Yoongi would let him. Taehyung would rather drink all the blood from his own veins than do it. The possibility still stays lingering there, a bittersweet aftertaste.  Would let you take my soul away from me.   

“I don’t like that. It doesn’t suit you, you’re more like a– What was it called like? Supernova? Yeah. I like that one. You're like that.” And Yoongi has at least six to seven things to point out about how that couldn’t be correct, but Taehyung smiles and maybe nothing else matters. Except maybe the gentle squeeze of his hand in Jungkook’s and the boy’s soft soft whispered question in his ear.  

“Do you think he’ll like it?” There’s something fragile about Jungkook’s voice when he asks that. There's insecurity entangled in each letter and it sparks something impossibly warm in Yoongi’s chest. Little gentle twinkle that whispers back the wrong right things. Yoongi would like to take Jungkook by his hand and take him there, inside of him, nestled next to his heart where he should be, protected by the kindness of the warmth of his love.  

“Don’t worry, baby. He’s gonna love it.”   

Loving it turns out to be an understatement. As soon as they get past the door there are stars blooming in Taehyung’s caramel irises, their explosion not even tried to be contained when the boy grins happily and stars sort of jumping in place and sort of dancing happily to a song only he can hear echoing in his ventricles. The notes all E-flats. Happy happy  happy.  Even the word happy seems to be an understatement, because there are a couple of tickseeds and pink roses growing under his sun-kissed skin and he looks like he’s just found the meaning of life. He turns around, smiles at his boyfriends. Maybe he found it.  

They spend three hours at the exhibition. Two of the included Taehyung happily and pridefully explaining each piece like he’s made it with his own two pretty pretty  pretty  hands. It's a nice exhibition. Yoongi focuses more on Taehyung’s brimming hands and the sun spilling corners of his mouth when he talks rather than the paintings. He feels a bit guilty about that though, wants to understand what Taehyung sees of so mortally beautiful in the gold hugged figures portrayed on the canvases, so when Taehyung gets too immersed to keep his lesson he walks about by himself, searches for something in each piece.   

He seems to find it, painfully clear like a summer sunrise, realization breaking his lips into a fond fond smile. They all look like him. The paintings remind him of him, of his sunflower and caramel happiness, his golden and sunlight beauty, his honey and honeysuckle love.   

When he’s done with his little tour he fishes Jungkook from one of the corners of the room and searches for Taehyung. He hasn’t held his hand in three hours, outrageous. He needs to fix it. They find the boy sitting on the floor, long gracious limbs arranged in odd shapes, eyes glistening from a few too many galaxies, tongue peaking prettily from the side of his mouth. Jungkook and Yoongi follow his gaze.   

The kiss.  

The lovers.  

Jungkook heard it had been extremely difficult to obtain permission from the Belvedere palace in Viennna. When Taehyung finally notices their presence, he turns his head to catch their eyes. There are candid peaceful tears at the corners of his own when his lips curl up into the masterpiece of a lovely smile and says,  

“I love it. It makes me think of us.”  


then: M31N 2008-12a  

“– so, when I finally handed the assignment in it was too late to check if it was the right file. And this is how I accidentally sent a draft of my erotic novel to my professor.” It was Friday again. Namjoon and Yoongi were in one of the campus’ studios.  I'm friends with a child,  Yoongi loved to remind Namjoon.  Maybe. But the fact that I still go to college is the only reason we have a studio for our podcast.  Yoongi would glare at him until his eyes would cross, waiting for Namjoon to catch up. He never would.  I compose music. For a living. I literally own a studio.   

What was the draft about, Mon? Like, was it that bad of a scene?”  

“Tentacle porn.” Yoongi lowered his eyes to look at the unused yet still meticulously stilled script that was sleeping on the desk. Whatever the podcast was supposed to be about, it sure as hell was not tentacle porn. Yoongi sighed right into the mic. “The main character was with this octopus-like demon that was using his tentacles to stro–”  

“Thank you, no one wants to know about that.”  

“You literally asked–”  

“Anyway.” Yoongi saw Namjoon hiding a laugh behind his hand. He mentally noted to lock him up alone in the studio to teach him a lesson. If he was lucky enough Namjoon would have cried and Yoongi could have recorded it with his phone. Blackmail material. Always useful. “It’s time to read some of your questions. Mon?”   

Oh.”  Oh? Yoongi searched for Namjoon’s face but there was something hued of panic in the white of his eyes. Namjoon covered the mic then. “Are you sure you want to answer to this one? It’s a bit–” he said, using a gesture of his hand to finish the sentence. Yoongi had no idea what the gesture exactly meant though. Nor he could understand why Namjoon would be so concerned about this matter. He just nodded, putting his friend’s worry in a corner of his mind.   

“Our listener  etnav – what does this username even mean? Anyway, yeah. Our listener wants to ask Gloss for advice. Not to ruin his reputation, but you should ask advice to, like, literally  anyone  else–”  

“Okay, guys. Mon is a bitch and I’m tired. I will now give everyone who’s listening his personal number so that you can call and pester him and–”  

Hyung ! What the fuck? You can’t just–”  

“–make him shut up. The number is 3285–”  

Hyung!  Okay! Okay, I’m sorry! Fuck, that’s my number. Okay, okay. Sorry.”  

“Will you read the message our listener sent now?” Namjoon scoffed, mumbled a  bitch hyung  so loud it was clearly for Yoongi to hear, but eventually gave up.   

“Here’s the message:  Hi, Gloss and Mon!  Hi to you too!  I only discovered your podcast a couple of weeks ago actually – Never too late to be a fan, don’t worry my child.  And I really like your dynamic! Mon is really entertaining and funny – Thank you. Heard this, Gloss? Fuck you.  While Gloss is very interesting to listen to, I like his opinion on things and the way he sees the world. Oh, his rants about physics too! My boyfriend loves those the most, he’s a little nerd too.”  

“’ M not a nerd...”   

Me and my boyfriend have a sort of problem and we really wanted to hear Gloss’ opinion on it. We've been dating for months now and before that we’ve always been best friends. The thing is that there’s a third friend –” Oh. This is what Namjoon meant.  Oh,  indeed. Namjoon paused for a second to search any sign of discomfort on Yoongi’s face. He found none though, or at least not more than the usual deep-rooted heartbreak swirling in his pupils. “ He’s an intrinsic part of our lives and we’ve all been friends for so many years I can’t even remember how it all was before them. I fell in love with him. That easy and that difficult. But that doesn’t make me love my boyfriend any less. I felt really lost when I finally understood my feelings for my friend, I thought I was being selfish. I thought I was greedy and cruel and a bad person...”   

Yoongi let the words come rest inside of him. Let them sleep on his lungs and twirl in his veins. He was weighting them, measuring each letter. There was something familiar about the message, like it was talking to him with a voice he knew but couldn’t recognize, a radio played in a room too far away.  

I told my boyfriend about it immediately, I couldn’t bear the idea of hiding it not even for a day. I was afraid he was going to leave me... But the most incredible thing happened instead! He said he feels the same! We both ended up crying in each other’s arms, we both had felt guilty and bad. But the fact that we love him doesn’t take anything away from our relationship or our feelings for each other. It's like... having two favorite books! They give you different feelings for different reasons and hold different stories in them, but you adore both of them nonetheless. I didn’t even know it was a thing. But my boyfriend talked to me and explained me about polyamory. Now it doesn’t feel wrong anymore, I'm sincerely happy that I can store so much love inside of me. I love them both and it’s okay.”  

Namjoon stopped. The message clearly hadn’t come to an end but Namjoon really wanted each word to hit Yoongi, to make him bleed away the pain he was coexisting with and wash his hands afterwards.  

It was– enlightening.   

Yoongi felt an entire galaxy imploding and coming to life right inside of him, stardust swimming in his veins. Pieces clicking together.  I love them both and it’s okay , the words resounded inside of him like a distant melody, something he’d played at piano when he was a child and eventually put aside, allowed himself to forget.  I love them both it’s okay,  Yoongi thought. He measured the thought on his palms, glared at it with suspicious eyes trying to make it have sense. Yoongi wanted to put the idea under microscope lenses and study it carefully, find its mass and its density and its atomic composition. Wanted to calculate its acceleration, the way it was rushing inside of his head screaming  it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay.   

Wanted to calculate its weight:  

F = mg  

in which m stands for mass and g for acceleration of free fall.   

Yoongi desperately wanted to put his love in Newtons.   

Love. Physics. It's all an issue of semantics.   

According to Yoongi’s calculations, the weight of that thought was exactly 3.542x10 22  

In approximated numbers it would read:  it’s okay.   

I love them both, it’s okay.   

“The problem is that we’d like to confess to our friend. He's sweet and gentle and plays the piano like he knows it personally and loves with his heart and his hands and his everything. We don’t know if he loves as back the same way... Sometimes. Sometimes we think he does, sometimes little thing happen and they look like signs. Little things that taste of chocolate ice cream –” The familiarity slip in again, settled in the spaces between his fingers like sticky hot caramel. Yoongi clenched his fists, unclenched them. There was– something. Something that should have clicked but that he couldn’t grasp, with his caramel hands stuck to each other unable to grab on anything.   

But it’s dangerous. We’re so afraid of ruining our best friendship. What should we do?  What should they do, Gloss?” There was a hint of  knowing  in Namjoon’s voice and for a second Yoongi wandered if he was aware of something  while  Yoongi was wandering in the dark, his only light a single distant start.   

A star.  

M31N 2008-12a.  

“M31N 2008-12a,” Yoongi said. He shifted in the seat, made himself comfortable. It's easier to pour your heart out when your legs aren’t asleep and your liver isn’t crying for help. He heard Namjoon sighing resigned.  

“Here he goes again... One day. I just want one podcast without him talking about shit I can’t understand. Might as well start taking French lessons again.” Namjoon was lying. Yoongi knew Namjoon was lying. Both about Yoongi’s rants and French. Mostly French. He’d never put himself again through the pain of learning that devilish baguette language. He also was deeply fond of Yoongi’s physics nerding. At time he would feel completely lost about it, words with weird shapes and indefinite edges displayed in front of him, so he would ask for Yoongi to explain, to talk more. Sometimes they would hang around all night long after the podcast and talk. About everything. About nothing. Sometimes, talking without words even.   

“There is a star in Andromeda called M31N 2008-12a. It has been exploding every year for millions of years.” Namjoon didn’t understand what  this  had to do with, like, anything. Yoongi didn’t either. Not entirely. But the words were waking up from somewhere inside of his bones and there was no way to stop their course to his lips through the ventricles of his heart.   

“It’s a white dwarf and these stars are relatively small, a sort of corpse of bigger stars after they die. M31N 2008-12a explodes every year and has left one of the largest clouds of stellar debris ever observed. This is only possible because this little star isn’t alone. There's another star next to her and they orbit each other – a bit like a couple of lovers – and the white dwarf siphons hydrogen from its partner. The unspent hydrogen fuel reaches its surface where it’s heated and then compressed thanks to the dwarf’s gravitational pull. Then, the hydrogen eventually reaches a breaking point and fuses, creating helium, resulting in a nova – the explosion. M31N 2008-12a wouldn’t be able to create such a powerful and intense and  beautiful  explosion if it wasn’t for her partner. They orbit each other and help each other explode– bloom. It is expected for this star to collapse somewhen in 40,000 years but because of this vast shell of stellar debris we can know that this star has erupted for millions of years. If we were to put it in human years, we could say that she’s been existing since forever and she’s going to keep on existing and dancing with her partner. And she’s special because she’s not alone, because she blooms and because she does so thanks to her partner star.”   

At this point Namjoon was absolutely clueless but nonetheless deeply absorbed in what Yoongi was saying. Behind all the difficult and big words there was a simple story, little secret of the universe.   

“This sort of relationship between the two stars remind me of what you three have. Does that make sense to you? The way each of the stars exists on her own, just as each of you or each of the relationships you have among each other, whether it’s romantic or platonic. But what you two have with him reminds me of this affinity that fuels stars. This love that’s so much that it becomes a nova, that explodes beautifully.”  

“I’m like this s– I mean,  your friend  is like this star. He is M31N 2008-12a and you and your boyfriend are her partner star.  He  blooms thank to the two of you.  He  blooms  thanks  to the two of you. And even if the friendship would collapse, it’s doomed to happen only in 40,000 years from now. You orbit each other and your love for him is the beautiful nova. I don’t think anything could ruin it or your friendship if there’s so much love orbiting and blooming. It'll be okay. In conclusion, I think you should tell him.  It's okay.”   

There was a beat of silence after that. A beat of silence in which Yoongi let the words sink in, fall onto him and in him and drag him down to the center of Earth, gravity suddenly out of order.  It's okay.  To love, is okay. And it’s not selfish. Not cruel. And his friendship, in any case, is safe, bound to bloom for 40,000 years. Maybe more.   

Yoongi smiled.  

Once Namjoon was sure Yoongi’s own point had come across to him, he broke the bubble of silence.  

“Why did you call the star a she?”  

“Is  that  the only thing you caught from my monologue?”  

“Yep. Pretty much.”  

“M31N 2008-12a is a she because I said so. And the other star is her girlfriend. Star girlfriends.” Yoongi felt ecstatic, gold and novas swirling in his bloodstream and singing to him of the universe and of love and of all the little Jungkook and Taehyung things.   

“Star girlfriends.”  

“The space is gay, Mon.”  


now: I’d never want once from the cherry tree  

‘cause my baby’s sweet as can be  

They leave the exhibition at a certain point. More precisely, they get kicked out when the security guard finds them hiding in there after closing hours. Jungkook is on the verge of tears while Taehyung shows the guard his tongue, holds his boyfriends’ hands and starts running in a sort of modern redemption of some old French movie. Jungkook is still slightly shaken and scared so Taehyung apologizes by buying him ice cream. Yoongi kisses his head instead. He does need to tiptoe for it and the joke on his height is in the list of cons, but the sunrise shy smile Jungkook gives him in return is worth it.   

Now Jungkook is eating ice cream and asking Taehyung about why Kimlet ( It’s Klimt, not Kimlet. Klimt,  Taehyung says but ends up laughing halfway through the scolding.  Yeah, exactly what I said. Kimlet. Aren't I right, Yoonie baby?  And Taehyung actually expects Yoongi to do something about this. As if Yoongi really does hold in himself the power to ignore Jungkook’s wide doe eyes and the constant blush of his cherry cheeks and tell him that he’s wrong. Jungkook isn’t wrong, like, ever. It doesn't sound realistic. It's Jungkook. The boy could mix up astronomy with astrology and Yoongi would still put his life on the line to defend him.  He said it right, Taetae. I don’t see your point.  Which is followed by another unhappy joke on Yoongi’s height. Fair enough) used so much gold for his paintings.   

At a certain point Jungkook just– stops. He stops in his tracks and zones out for the entirety of a minute. When he finds it in himself to come back to the real world there’s a hint of a suspiciously mischievous hint of a smirk to decorate his lips. He turns to Taehyung and tells him something. He actually doesn’t even open his mouth but the other boy seems to understand just perfectly what’s going on in his boyfriend’s head and nods energetically, mimicking the same smirk. Yoongi is left a bit confused and intrigued by the apparent capability his boyfriends have to communicate telepathically.   

And then Jungkook turns to Yoongi and with the most innocent smile he can master offers him his ice cream. Yoongi looks at him suspiciously but Jungkook is so so pretty and he is so so weak and the ice cream is so so good that, fuck it. He tries to ignore the thick fog that forms around them, the one that separates him from whatever secret the two boys are hiding from him. But then again, the ice cream really is good so he’s willing to put himself through whatever they’re thinking to torture him with. Pomegranate sweet tortures he wishes he could already taste on his tongue. Chocolate mixed with cherry liquor, intoxicating blood colored desires sleeping in his veins.   

As if Jungkook could hear him, he spins around after a couple minutes of walking. It happens that every time Jungkook lets his cloak of timid awkwardness slip silently from his shoulders, Yoongi’s breath hitches. It's a very pretty sight. Pretty hot. Something about the endless possibilities hidden behind his boyfriend’s carnation lips makes his blood boil and his thoughts spin spin  spin.  Thus, it takes Yoongi an inhumane effort to actually focus on what the boy’s saying to him.   

“Hyung. Pretty hyung, you have a bit of–” and then he comes closer. He comes closer and leans in until they’re only inches apart, until a still functioning part of Yoongi’s brain can register the way Taehyung’s holding his breathe right next to them, can register the warmth of Jungkook’s breathe against his feverish skin.  

“– ice cream–” And then he eat the distance like it was cotton candy melting on his wet wet lips and licks the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. Yoongi dies. On the spot. What a good way to go. But then there’s more and Yoongi is sincerely about to combust in the middle of the street, his veins burning and his blood boiling and his thoughts wandering in between weird nebulas, stars spelling Jungkook’s name and then more unnamable things. Things that sound like  kiss kiss taste vanilla and cherry sweet boy pretty boy taste me taste you want want want.   


Jungkook stops licking. He presses his tongue, hard, demanding but careful, on Yoongi’s bottom lip and– waits.   



Yoongi opens his mouth. Lets Jungkook’s tongue past his lips and in and–  chocolate and vanilla pink pink pink pretty boy want you want taste you.  So Yoongi does. Tastes him. He sucks Jungkook’s tongue. Like a lollipop. Like Taehyung’s not watching and gasping so prettily the world collapses on itself and apologizes, for not being able to compare. Like Jungkook doesn’t roll a whimper from his tongue right into Yoongi’s mouth and between his teeth where he can taste it. Swallow it. Keep it.   

At a certain point Yoongi closes his eyes and that’s when Taehyung, against his own and the universe’s (it was watching too, entranced and enamoured with everything that is  them ), stops them to remind them that they’re–  

“Being horny in the middle of the fucking street. I wish I had recorded this.”   

When they part Jungkook is back to his tiny shy persona, the one that wants to curl up under Yoongi’s fifth rib or in Taehyung’s pocket and live there instead. He's blushing so furiously Taehyung has to hold his hand to reassure him that there’s no need to be embarrassed. Yoongi just keeps standing there. He watches the way Taehyung plays with Jungkook’s fingers, gentle carefulness, the way he brings it to his lips and kisses attentively, tentatively, calculating something in his mind. His heart does that funny thing in his chest, the one that feels like fireworks tainting his lungs of gold and sparkles that look like stars.  

When his legs remember how to work as legs, they actually do go to Jungkook’s favorite bookshop, where the boy pouts so much Yoongi feels compelled to buy him all the seven books he absolutely needs to have. Taehyung laughs his heartfelt and melodious laugh and buys himself a sketchbook and, when the other aren’t watching, the one book Yoongi’s been eyeing for the past fifteen minutes. It feels good, to be them.  


then: NGC 6052  

Yoongi plopped on the chair and made a sound that sounded like a sigh that decided to become a groan halfway through. Namjoon sat on his own chair and looks at Yoongi like he was seeing him for the first time, asking himself what was a stranger doing in his – it was not, technically his. Technically. Namjoon would call it his anyway, fuck technicalities – studio. He waited for Yoongi to regain at least part of his composure before adventuring to talk to him.  

“Which is today’s topic? Let’s start, it’s almost 9pm. C’mon, we only have ten minutes, you can rant about your ongoing life crisis once we start the podcast. Where’s the script?”   

“I don’t have one.” Yongi was talking to the back of his hands, watching them lie tiredly on the desk, studying the maps of his veins. He turned them to look at him palms then. Namjoon dropped whatever he had on his hands to glare at Yoongi in pure confusion and a hint of fear. Maybe this wasn’t Min Yoongi at all but a real stranger.  

“Why do you mean you don’t have a script? Did you forget it at home? We can call Jungkookie, he’s probably there any–” Yoongi sighed loudly again. This time it sounded like an actual sigh though. He looked more carefully at his palms, glared at what he was almost sure was supposed to be his love line. His skin was tingling pleasingly, memoirs of Taehyung’s touch sleeping under it.  

“No need to call him. I just– There’s no script today. I didn’t write one.” This was a serious problem. Not because there was no script because Namjoon was never going to follow it in the first place anyway, but because Yoongi cares about his scripts the same way he regards his music sheets. Namjoon turned his body so that he could face his friend and let concern spill in the milk of his eyes.  

“Everything’s okay, Yoon?” At which Yoongi stopped glaring at all those lines to glare at Namjoon instead.  

“Yeah? Why are– Oh. Yeah, don’t worry. I’m fine, really. I've just been thinking a lot about– stuff and I decided I didn’t feel like writing a script this time. I thought I should be more... spontaneous?” Namjoon still wasn’t sure the one sitting in front of him was his friend. It took things exactly half a second to fall into place.  

“Is  stuff  a code for Jungkook and Taehyung?” At this point the two were interested into a staring – glaring – contest.   

“Might be.”  

“Care to share your thoughts on the matter?”  

“Care to shut up and pretend to actually listen to me when we start here?”  

“Nope.” Yoongi sighed again. It was a lighter sound this time so Namjoon relaxed and got back at preparing for the podcast.   

When they started the podcast, precisely at 9.02pm, Namjoon was already, thankfully, pissing Yoongi off. Yoongi absolutely adored it, the playful bickering like whiskey sitting warm in his stomach and silencing the incessant buzz of his thoughts. After the first thirty minutes they had already talked about the Mars Rover, Namjoon’s continuation of what happened when his professor read his draft on tentacle porn ( When will you bring this up?  Yoongi sighed into the mic. He seemed to be doing that a lot that day.  You literally fucking asked! What else am I supposed to reply with?  Najoon’s sounded exasperated and if there was someone actually listening to them right now they were probably laughing at him. Yoongi was too.  I don’t know? Pretend it never happened? ), and the five different way to kill someone using a cacti. Namjoon is full of interesting information.  

“It’s time to read some of your messages. Gloss?” Yoongi’s eyes fell on the screen of the computer. Usually it is not him to read messages, but–  spontaneous.  He could do this.   

It turned out that he, in fact, could not do it.  

“Okay. This one is from  goldandclose –”  

“Oh! I remember them! The one who asked you about soulmates!”  

“Really? Welcome back, then. Here’s the message.  Hi, Gloss and Mon. This time my message is directed to a person, it’s a sort of letter. I would be really happy if Gloss could read this for us  –” Yoongi lifted his eyes from the screen to kind Namjoon’s knowing ones instead. “ Gloss, this is for you.” What? For me?  

“Are you familiar with NGC 6052? It's a pair of intertwined galaxies located in the constellation Hercules the Son of Zeus. Apparently, galaxies can interact with each other and collide, merge into something entirely new. When scientists first discovered NGC 6052 they thought it was just a weirdly shaped irregular galaxy, but now we know that different galaxies can come together and form something entirely new. It's otherworldly beautiful. The thing I like the most about this is that the new the two galaxies are still recognizable, they remain themselves even after colliding, and form something beautiful. It's a bit like magic, isn’t it?”  Yoongi knew about the galaxy. The thought of it brought carefully selected yet unrelated images of– love. Of Taehyung and love. Jungkook and love. Taehyung and Jungkook and love.   

I think of you as such. Of us. Me. Him. You. Could we be NGC 6052?”  Yoongi tilted his head on the side, took a couple of deep breaths to steal corners of time to understand. There was confusion entangled in each of his features, some at the corners of his eyes, a bit in between his eyelashes, pieces under his bottom lip. “ Did you know that the Milkey way and the Andromeda Galaxy are doomed to collide as well? They’re going to merge into something beautiful too, something new yet  them  nonetheless. We wonder of all the stars that are going to bloom in this collision. We see a lot of stars everyday, me and my boyfriend. There’s that one that shines brightly when you play Chopin’s Op. 9 Andante in E-Flat Major and he dances to it ridiculously, not matching the pace –”  


He dances–  

Red red  red  strings. Tugging Yoongi’s heart. Choking him on his words and–  

Opening wounds, red red  red.  

“The one when you talk about physics to me in the dead of the night, on the phone, when I can’t sleep. I always call you when the sky is dark but you always answer, always up for me, brightest star –”  

Yoongi fell.  

He tried to think, to remember grounding things. Things like gravity, like mass and acceleration and–  

Yoongi playing the piano. Chopin echoes in his apartment and the notes seem to float all around them when Taehyung asks the name of the piece. Jungkook scolds him, tells him it’s Yoongi’s favorite, he should remember the name and  

Taehyung moves. Dances. His limbs move graciously and his hair bounces softly and he seems to float too. And gravity doesn’t mean anything anymore, doesn’t  

Jungkook calling on the phone at 3.25am, when even the night sleeps. Yoongi answering in a heartbeat, telling him about stars and quantum physics and paradoxes until the boy’s breath is even and his voice fades into the night  

The one when you watch him cook and eat his burnt eggs and tofu even when they taste like ashes and ugly morning. Because it’s never an ugly morning with you. The one when I wait for you on the sofa to come back home. It feels like home for me too. Your apartment. You. Your hands on the days when I fall asleep waiting and you sit on the ground next to me and whisper-sing me that one Lee Sora songs you love so much, the one full of sad love words. And your fingers press on my moles and they almost feel like kisses and I wish they were. Real kisses, I wish –”  

Gravity. Gravity is a force that can be calculated with the following formula:  

F = ma  

Yoongi likes the grounding of it, of the thought.   


Felt his limbs and whole body helium light, floating in zero-atmosphere. There was no more gravity in the studio, no more gravity left to stop him from floating away, from–  

Yoongi waking up. The smell of the nth burnt breakfast sticking in air so familiar, so calming, soothing. Like Taehyung’s voice when he calls him, wakes him up with an apologetic smile that would taste like home if only Yoongi would be brave enough to  

Jungkook’s disheveled locks when he opens his apartment door. The boy is part of the place now, lives there probably more than Yoongi does anyway. Yoongi toeing his shoes off and then singing Lee Sora with his raspy deep voice, notes in fragile whispers careful to not wake Jungkook up, to not  

Yoongi stood up so quickly the chair fell backwards behind him, even though he couldn’t even hear it, so quickly his head had a couple ore of reason to spin spin  spin.  He thought about physics. Yoongi thought about how physics was dying, was crumbling in pieces upon him and twirling in the new no gravity atmosphere like snowflakes. Snowflakes dancing to Chopin, dancing like Taehyung. He felt his vision turning black for a second, world ending in front of his eyes like it was nothing, like it meant nothing, and then–  

Jungkook. And then–  

Taehyung. And then–  

Taehyung and Jungkook  

and Yoongi.   

It had always been,  and Yoongi.  Like stars boyfriends. Like entangled particles.  

Yoongi inhaled air like he was afraid it could disappear and then ran. He turned on his heels and ran out of the studio. Ran into the cold of the night with his skin against the cutting wind. Ran with pearls of gentle tears blooming at the corners of his eyes. Ran home where he knew  home  was.  

Namjoon smiled, relieved, happy. Then, he turned the computer’s screen towards himself to keep reading.  

The one when you buy hotteok and then cut it into odd shapes. You try to make the look like stars but they end up resembling anything but them. And then you pout, disappointed, but he– Taehyungie. Taehyungie looks at your funny hotteok and whispers sweet sweet things to me that make me fall. You make me fall –”  

Yoongi was running so fast that when he reached his apartment complex he was completely breathless. But there was no space in his lungs for air anyway, it was all honey and vanilla and white chocolate and  love.  Love, so much love, all the love he could image and so, so much more.  

It was a mission to open the door, with his hands shaking like personal earthquakes and his heart beating everywhere in his body, moving around like fluid. Heartbeat in his veins and everything red red  red  and sun-kissed.   

The one when you cried watching “I want to eat your pancreas” and held our hands so tightly I wanted to cry too, again. But then Taehyung hugged you and cried in the crook of your neck and you suddenly became so brave, so strong, so calming. And I thought – he makes us feel safe, his hands talk of love and his voice sounds like home.”  

When Yoongi opened the door of his apartment his heart didn’t follow him. It remained on the threshold, overwhelmed little thing trying to not bleed all the life out of itself. But Yoongi didn’t mind. He could have grown a new one, a hundred new ones, a myriad new ones and gift them all to them.   

He didn’t even bother to take his shoes off when he finally stepped in. Taehyung and Jungkook were sitting on the sofa, waiting. There was a blanket (of fear) thrown on their shaking and winterish limbs. When Jungkook lifted his eyes to meet Yoongi’s they were a bit puffy, red even, the aftermath of a thunderstorm. Taehyung wasn’t looking. Couldn't. He searched for Jungkook’s comforting hand and held it, hiding the last pieces of his heart in the spaces between his fingers. He held his breath. He–  

Yoongi walked closer, let his tears fall and–  

You’re the brightest star in our lives, Yoongi. You’re our soulmate particle. If you let us, Taehyungie and I would like to love you. Please, would you let us love you? Yours, Jungkook.”  

Jungkook noticed first, maybe because he was looking at Yoongi in the eyes, maybe because–  

quantum entanglement.  

So when Yoongi launched himself, mind dizzy and body tingling in that new weird yet achingly comforting world where physics formulas all read of love, where gravity dances to Chopin and bristles like snowflakes, Jungkook opened his arms waiting. Waiting. Like they had been doing for years, with red red  red  confession sitting heavy on the tips of their tongue until all the lines would go blurry and blood and pomegranates tasted the same.   

“Bun.” It came out more as a choked up sob than an actual word. But it was enough. Jungkook realized, with Yoongi’s arms wrapped around his neck, touch leaving evergreen scars on him, that he was crying too. It might had been that, to wake Taehyung up and shake him from his fears enough to talk.   

“Yoonie hyung? You read the letter, right? We were– listening. You were reading and then you stopped and we–” his voice broke, caged little bird choking on its own feathers. “We were afraid.”  

Yoongi unwrapped his hands from around Jungkook neck because he wanted to tell and wanted to know. Wanted to know how it feels to touch the touch. How warm summer is, when caressed with gentle and careful fingers. How sweet it is honey when kissed with skin and fingertips. Therefore, Yoongi’s hands found Taehyung’s burning face, cheeks like cherry blossoms and delicate carnations and a garden of all the flowers he’s never learned the names of. Taehyung leaned into the touch and exhaled tentatively. Closed his eyes.  

Like a star, Taehyung’s skin burned lukewarm kisses on Yoongi’s fingers.   

Like an apology, Taehyung placed his own hands on Yoongi’s to guide them, until his fingertips were playing keys with his trembling lips. Soft. Gentle mirrors of honey kisses, and then Taehyng kissed. Kissed each of his fingers. And whispered.  

“I love you–”  

Jungkook moved closer, let his head come to rest on Yoongi’s shoulder.   

“I love you–”  

It was Jungkook’s turn now, to whisper, to tell, to kiss. To place a timid confession on Yoongi’s neck.   

“I love you–”  

When Yoongi whispered it back gravity fell on his shoulders again. It felt– real. To lay his devastated heart down, to place it on the boys’ open palms and have it back mended, gold smiling from all of the chinks.   


F = ma  

In which m stands for mass and thus the mass of the sun warm realization that Jungkook and Taehyung loved him back;  

a stands for acceleration and thus the acceleration with which the world started spinning for the first time after years of painful nothingness, of aching and consuming waiting.   

Now gravity works in new ways. Sometimes it stops, all together, and Yoongi feels like floating. Like he felt when Jungkook cried softly against his neck, placing kisses in between fragile sobs, tattooing uncalculatable affection on his skin where it could slip underneath and run in his bloodstream. Like he felt when Taehyung kissed his fingers and his palms and his wrists, and the honey of his lips dripped into his veins and settled into his heart.   

It took them a while, to drag their bodies back from zero-atmosphere and let the skin get cold and warm again. Then, Yoongi kissed Jungkook, chaste, sweet, sunrise and carnations gentle. Kissed Taehyung, chaste, delicate, sunset and honeysuckle sweet. And then they dropped all the adjectives and kissed until the sun was up again and morning colored the night with shy baby blue hues, until their lips were burning and everything tasted pomegranate red.   

They fell asleep on the sofa, when the lazy kissing turned into cuddles and yawns. They fell asleep when the last stars went to sleep to leave space to the morning, to the new stars. To Jungkook and Taehyung and Yoongi.