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Yoongi can feel it when their relationship dies.
They don’t break up in a fiery display of emotion, even though Yoongi sometimes wishes that they would, just because that would mean that they had some emotion left to show. Rather, their connection simply seems to fade away, seems to shrivel up and fall to the ground and Yoongi doesn’t think there’s anything on the planet that could strengthen it again.
And it’s for the best, really, that they don’t love each other anymore.
Because people who loved each other wouldn’t destroy themselves for the other. Yoongi’s tired, so tired, of coming home later and later after recording sessions and the studio, tired of seeing Jimin try to wait up for him and fail, tired of putting cold leftovers back into the fridge until they spoil because neither of them want to eat these days.
There’s been too many times that Yoongi’s forgotten important dates, forgot the anniversary of the day they met, the day they first went out, the day they first said ‘I love you’ (and they don’t say it anymore). Jimin doesn’t have time to listen to Yoongi’s songs, doesn’t have time between his studies and his dancing to sneak out and kidnap Yoongi for the day like he used to. And Yoongi doesn’t have the time to miss those days.
Jimin and Yoongi are simply too much for each other, too much work, too much haste, and trying to stay together isn’t healthy for either of them. And that’s why Yoongi figures it’s time to end this before either one of them really gets hurt.
(He ignores that he’s already so, so hurt, because Jimin is too and there’s just no point to feeling hurt anymore.)
Yoongi comes home at around two in the morning, which, he notes to himself, has unfortunately become typical for him. As usual, his apartment is a mess. There are papers scattered over the coffee table, half-finished mugs of hot chocolate left on the floor, a couple pairs of shoes thrown over the radiator in the corner.
Yoongi quietly drinks the sight in for a few minutes—is this what nostalgia should feel like?—before making his way over to the blanket-covered lump that is Jimin, sleeping soundly on the couch.
Yoongi kneels down beside Jimin and pushes the too-warm fleece down to underneath his chin. He doesn’t want to drag this out, but he can’t help but stare for a moment, watching the way Jimin’s eyes move under his eyelids, the way his eyelashes flutter against the pale purple skin under his eyes. Jimin is beautiful like this, Yoongi thinks almost desperately, beautiful and so, so fragile. The way Jimin’s nose wrinkles a bit makes Yoongi’s stomach wrench.
“Jimin,” Yoongi starts quietly, ignoring the way his voce cracks as he shakes the younger boy’s shoulder. For the first time since coming home, Yoongi notices the low drone of people’s voices coming from the television, and he’s dimly reminded that Jimin hates the sound of silence (another difference between them) when he’s alone. Yoongi banishes the though from his mind, clears his throat, and tries again.
“Jiminie, let’s go to bed.” Yoongi freezes as the words leave his mouth, struck with the sudden realization that this may be his last time ever uttering them. He almost doesn’t notice when Jimin finally opens his eyes, staring at Yoongi.
“You’re home,” Jimin mumbles quietly, still-half asleep, and Yoongi’s suddenly plagued with memories of Jimin saying those exact words to him so many times in the past, said with so much more excitement and longing than what he hears now. Yoongi’s stomach twists into knots, so painful that they start to feel welcome in his body. Jimin smiles—it’s slow, toothless, sleepy—and Yoongi wants to kiss him so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore, but he doesn’t.
Wordlessly, both of them fall into their usual nightly routine of tidying up the living room. Jimin gets up and folds his blanket, Yoongi places the dirty cups in the sink to be taken care of in the morning, and both boys head off to bed. Yoongi remembers when he used to push Jimin into the bathroom (“I won’t kiss you goodnight if you don’t brush your teeth.”) but he skips it today, skips it as he’s been skipping it for the past few months. Jimin, for his part, doesn’t seem to notice.
It’s always Jimin who climbs onto bed first, always Jimin who cocoons himself in all the blankets Yoongi’s bed can offer before Yoongi has to coax Jimin into letting him in as well. It’s a sweet sort of memory, the kind of sweet that crawls down his throat and chokes him.
Tonight, Jimin climbs onto the bed and stares dolefully at Yoongi, who turns the lights off and gets in bed a few minutes later. Jimin is clingy, he always is, and Yoongi allows himself to be thankful that tonight is no different as Jimin slings a heavy arm across Yoongi’s torso, resting his cheek on Yoongi’s shoulder. They normally don’t sleep this close, not anymore, not when it’s usually Yoongi coming home to an exhausted Jimin who leaves Yoongi’s side of the bed untouched. Yoongi can feel soft breaths spread over his collarbones, and squeezes Jimin’s hip once to ground himself.
“We can’t do this anymore.”
The words are sudden, spoken before Yoongi even registers that his mouth is moving, and for a fleeting second he wishes he could take them back but no, it’s for the best.
Jimin doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything but close his eyes and maybe exhale a little faster than normal, and Yoongi wonders when his little crybaby Jiminie became so impassive.
Yoongi had expected tears, anger, pleading. Maybe had even wanted it, wanted some indication that this was as hard for Jimin as it was for him. He’s not expecting Jimin to tighten his grip on Yoongi’s shirt and nod in agreement.
“I know.”
Yoongi wants to scream, to leave, to provoke Jimin into reacting any other way than with this ugly sort of sad acceptance that leaves a bitter taste at the edge of Yoongi’s throat. He doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until Jimin reaches up and lightly presses his thumb against Yoongi’s cheekbone.
Yoongi looks at Jimin, looks at his red-rimmed eyes and pink-tipped nose, looks at the way his cheeks have hollowed lately, looks at how the longest strands of his hair keep falling into his eyes, and Yoongi wishes he could make it all better. He wants to take Jimin into his arms, make more useless promises that they already know won’t work. He wants to go back in time and do it all over again, do it right this time, and he wants to scream and cry because he knows that he can’t.
He slides his fingers into the short hairs at the nape of Jimin’s neck and shuts his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
He tries to swallow around whatever angry creature that’s settled in his mouth and is trying to rip him apart. He finds that he can’t. “I’m sorry.”
They fall asleep like that, left only with Yoongi’s useless apologies, bodies pressed closer together than they’ve wanted to be for a long time. Yoongi doesn’t know whether it’s because Jimin doesn’t want to leave, or because Yoongi doesn’t want to let him go.