trying to behave (but you know we never learned how)

Chapter twelve

December 2015

Wednesday, the 23rd, 6:09pm

Seoul, South Korea

Hoseok knows, somewhere outside of the deepest, most selfish corners of his mind that he's not allowed the liberty to be bitter.

Hasn't ever given himself the free pass to be, not now, not ever, especially never when it comes to things like his dumb, longing crush on Min Yoongi that has long since fizzled out and hasn't at the same time; like a fire starting out aggressive enough to burn his entire life to the ground but one that he's slowly managed to put out over the years.

Enough that it doesn't burn him anymore, but is still there, and one wrong move can take him down in flames.

It's difficult describing what Hoseok feels, and maybe describing it with fucking fire is why he's fake-deep and has no friends, but all he knows is that he's lost his right, both to Yoongi and to being bitter, as soon as he set a foot on that damn plane and left the older boy behind.

It's not his place.

Yet when he slowly stirs awake from his afternoon nap, sheets warmly wrapped around him and body feeling more lethargic than it has in months, the gross feeling of bitterness and entitlement washes over him in waves.

Even through the disorientation and the brutal jetlag settled deep into his bones, he knows he's allowed it.

Like a privilege he doesn't have.

But it's not like he can stop himself; even if the irritation and the very, very faint sadness is unjustified, it makes home in his veins anyway.

The afternoon sun from hours ago, when they'd landed has long set, and now there's no light filtering through the flimsy curtains in Hoseok's bedroom, the room dark and air thick with silence.

That, and the very heavy realisation that Yoongi isn't in his bed.

And after what happened, what they made him do, probably never will be again.

And Jung Hoseok isn't allowed to be upset about it.

Nope.

He swears under his breath, kicking his blankets aside with a petulant aggression that he's almost counting on to take the ache away, and slips his feet into Jin's favourite pink house slippers; matching for all and laced with a familiarity that he needs right now.

And the thing is, Hoseok knows getting emotional over the current situation is fucking stupid, considering he'd been the one to suggest to Namjoon and Seokjin that Yoongi deserved a chance at happiness, but as he trudges sluggishly down the stairs, sleep heavy and annoyed—heartbroken, really—he can't help it.

Pining over Yoongi is something he'd given up on a solid year and a half ago, when he'd realised that it would bring him nothing but pain and utter aggravation, swore never to ever get his hopes up again.

He'd given up.

Then why the fuck does it still hurt?

It wasn't anything definite—nothing Hoseok can remember—that had knocked the idea straight out of his head, of them ever getting past whatever fucked up arrangement it was that they had; just probably learned the difference between someone who looked at him like he was beautiful and the centre of the universe—which is honestly, no one in his life, especially not Yoongi—and someone who looked at him like he was a passing pretty face in a world of other, prettier faces.

Stopped hanging on to false hope.

And even if he's bitter, and selfish or whatever he's been feeling ever since he got on that plane on the way back home, he knows better than to blame Yoongi.