so far away | yoonkook

sunrise : 11

in the morning, the atmosphere is much more serene compared to before. the house feels different but it looks just the same as yoongi remembers it.

he's not surprised to see namjoon sitting on one of the stools at the kitchen island, the duvet he was wrapped in last night hanging from his shoulders and covering his whole back.

yoongi takes a moment to evaluate if he would approach him, but when his eyes land on the familiar dark haired kid opposite namjoon, he decides to lay back down.

he doesn't know who had the initiative to force a rug beneath him (which barely helped half of his body) but yoongi's still thankful that they think he's important enough to earn their concern. he feels he doesn't deserve that kind of recognition, or any type of recognition for the matter.

so when yoongi rolls on his side and feels his phone vibrating against his back pocket, he isn't too hopeful that the one calling would be the one he greatly missed. he knows he turned his phone off the last time he sent hoseok a text and chances are slim if he just so happen to sleep on top of it and turned it on by accident.

but he doesn't dwell too much on the possibilities and slides the device out of his pocket and checks the screen instead.

and yoongi's nose suddenly itches again, seeing the caller id.

it is him.

"yoongi."

and judging from the way his voice cracks and the fact that he's awake at an hour he'd usually still be sleeping at, this wasn't the first time he'd been trying to reach him.

yoongi stands up and unbolts the door and takes the call outside, closing the egress with a silent thud.

"hoseok, hi." he sounds pathetic already.

"yoongi, y-you're in seoul?"

yoongi nods. "yeah." he reminds himself that he wasn't talking face to face with hoseok so nonverbal responses couldn't work. he had to be heard this time, and voicing his thoughts and hearing himself talk seemed harder than he thought it would be. but he doesn't have to work too much to say everything his mind told him to. yoongi had a way around these things after all.

"why couldn't you just stay with us, yoongi?"

why do you keep saying my name?

"my parents know where you live. I can't afford dragging you into this." yoongi says, gripping the railing lining the deck in front of namjoon's unit.

though yoongi wished he could. if it weren't such a mess, he wished he could take hoseok with him.

"you're so far away though. three hours doesn't seem like much but to me it feels like you're lightyears away."

"I think that's the whole point of disappearing."

"but it's not so much like how you think it would be, not when I know where you are. because it brings so much pressure knowing that you're close yet I still can't see you." hoseok exhales. "I can actually feel the distance between our cities, yoongi. even if I've learned that they're hardly two-hundred miles apart, it seems like it's always expanding, like I'm never going to see you again."

"you'll see me again, I promise."

"please don't say things you can't keep."

"I don't." yoongi says almost instantly. "that's why I'm telling you that you. will. see me. again." he stresses each word and he hopes hoseok holds onto them with enough trust that they wouldn't break. because yoongi will keep them safe somewhere in his chest and treasure them with every breath that leaves him.

there's a lengthy pause. yoongi listens to the static mixed with hoseok's silent puffs.

after a while, hoseok speaks again. "yoongi."

"yes?"

"I miss you and I just wanted you to know that."

he hopes hoseok doesn't hear him swallowing a thick lump in his throat. along with his itchy nose, he's lost count of the number of times he'd been crying recently. yoongi tries to hold back a sniffle but it doesn't work, tears roll down one side of his cheeks, coming from his right eye. it's still pretty early and he's still pretty tired and the mist and cold biting at his skin doesn't help the fact that he wants to go back inside.

"I miss you a lot and I'm sorry."

"don't be." hoseok says and his voice is quieter, almost as if he intended to say it as a whisper. "things always find their way back home, yoongi. take care of yourself for me now."

"I will." yoongi replies the second the line goes dead.

he slips his phone back in his pocket, peering over at the open grounds from the second floor. soft glows of the morning give his stomach butterflies and the early air tickles his bare feet, fingers, and face. on a different day, maybe yoongi could try to breathe in the beauty of it all, taste the city aromas mixed with the secrets of a silent downpour and hidden sunrises.

later, when the fog lifts, yoongi sees the green poking out from flower beds and rectangular gardens. namjoon's neighboring units have pots padding their windowsills and the occasional bud peeking out between ferns.

he notices that people very rarely displayed anything besides monochrome. what was it about simplicity that was so addicting for them? did it not bore them? did they not crave the feeling that variation brings?

it doesn't really matter, now that yoongi thinks about it. it didn't matter what he thought. for as long as they felt it benefited them, why should it bother anyone else?

for as long as it felt like home for them, why should yoongi question their ideas...of a home?