Jungkook doesn't get much sleep that night, and by the time the pale pink-orange of morning seeps into the cracks of the unyielding, concrete night, the air in the room is heavy with the acridity of cold sweat and the parched stuff of nightmares. He sits up amidst the sheets, sterile, white, and rumpled like the eye of a tornado, turns his face to the dimness snaking over the horizon, grateful like he's never been grateful for anything in his life. With the light, he can disentangle himself from the contamination binding him to the bedposts, he can chance to place his feet on solid ground without the floor yanking out from under him, leaving him to float in limbo in swirls of purple and bruised carmine. He can—

He can face Yoongi.

It's not a pleasant prospect by any means—telling himself he fucked up a thousand times in his head is much easier than telling someone else it once. But—he doesn't even need to say it, knows it in the marrow of his bones— that losing Yoongi is much, much worse. Unthinkable, even. Yoongi is wedged into his chest like a stab wound, the only thing that makes his life feel—not like a compromise. And it hurts. It hurts, and there's no surviving it, but it's the only thing keeping him alive. Pull the knife out and the tether to reality snaps.

So he needs to do this.

He needs Yoongi.

His insides twist at that thought, terror spiking through him at that sudden lucidity. It takes everything he has to just get the fuck up and make his way, with halting, unsteady steps, to the bathroom.

"Freshen up, Jeon Jungkook," he mutters. "It won't kill you."

He's early to class, half-hoping that Yoongi will be, too, so he can ambush him as soon as possible. But there's no sign of him even as he scans the doorway from his usual corner seat every five seconds, tapping his foot impatiently. He sees Taehyung walk in as the classroom begins to fill up. He shoots Jungkook a quick smile and goes to sit with his friends. Somehow, it makes Jungkook's annoyance mount at Yoongi's conspicuous absence, and a sudden, fiendish impulse seizes him.

"Taehyung," he beckons, gesturing to the empty seat next to him, ignoring the glances his classmates shoot him because yeah, this might actually be the first time he's spoken to someone here who isn't Yoongi. Taehyung, too, looks puzzled for a moment before he rearranges his face and makes his way over to Jungkook.

"Hey," Jungkook says. He's called him over, sure, but doesn't know what to say beyond this—he hasn't thought this out. At all.

Taehyungh just laughs. "Hey." Takes the spot beside Jungkook, and before he can start to panic, says, "You play the piano, right?"

"Yeah," Jungkook replies, and, before the conversation can die down, adds, "Had no idea you could hear my banging from your room, though."

"Don't worry, I can't." Taehyung grins. "I just leave the door open sometimes. You play beautifully, so I just sing along."

"You sing?" Jungkook is distracted from his bashfulness at the compliment by this nugget of information. Before Taehyung can respond, though, the murmur in the class dies down as Yoongi enters a split second before the bell. He scans the class, his gaze catching on Jungkook—and Taehyung next to him. But he just narrows his eyes and says nothing, fishing out the attendance sheet to call roll.

Jungkook's stomach knots up into itself as Yoongi approaches his number. He wonders how the timber-rough cadences of Yoongi's voice will play over his name today. Will it be flat, expressionless? Or tinged with that tell-tale hint of annoyance which validates that yes, Jungkook was there, on his skin and lips and tongue and—inside? He's just two names away now, one, and Jungkook's entire body tenses in anticipation.

And—nothing. It never comes. Yoongi just skips over Jungkook's name without looking up, without batting an eyelid. And by the time Jungkook's unfrozen his tongue, he's so far ahead that it'd be ridiculous to stop him. He settles for glaring at Yoongi's bent head instead, hoping that his irritation permeates through the older man's assumed indifference.

"Dude, did he just pass over you in attendance?" Taehyung whispers to him after Yoongi's finished. "That's one hell of a lover's quarrel."

Jungkook wants to blush, tell Taehyung to mind his own fucking business, but instead he waits until Yoongi looks up before giggling and leaning closer to his flatmate, whispering back.

The rest of the class is—not as terrible as Jungkook had been expecting. Taehyung is actually a fun—friend, if Jungkook can call him that, to have, once he gets past his uncanny perceptiveness—and it's refreshing, in all honesty, to walk down the road of relearning social interaction. When the bell goes, Jungkook is almost sorry to leave his seat until he catches sight of Yoongi's back hurrying towards the door and is reminded of his original intent. He tells Taehyung to go on ahead, tries not to catch the flash of knowing in his eyes before walking to where Yoongi is waiting in the bottleneck at the door.

"Gyosu-nim," he calls, and he can see the play of muscle in Yoongi's back as he tenses even underneath the swathe of pale-green wool. "I had a question."

"Maybe later," Yoongi replies without looking at him, "I'm busy now."

The dismissal hits Jungkook like a slap in the face, and two months ago he'd have stared in disbelief at the self that now closes in on Yoongi instead of shrugging and walking away. Two months ago, he'd have had no idea what it felt like to have something mean this much to himself. So he takes those few steps, disregards the straitjacket of contamination he's all but used to now, and makes his play.

"Yoongi," his voice has dropped an octave, he finds, going low and dangerous between them. "We talk now."

Yoongi tries to edge away from him at the open warning, but Jungkook grabs his arm, almost hard enough to bruise. Holds him there until the last of the class has filed out, one or two shooting them enquiring looks he turns his back on.

"What the fuck?" Yoongi yanks his arm out of Jungkook's hold as soon as they're alone, glaring at everything but his student. "Are you stupid? I work here. You can't pull that shit in front of the class."

"So you mean it'd be fine if I pulled it somewhere else?" Jungkook enquires mildly. There are so many things he wants to say, this inane baiting is the last thing he wants to do, but the wrong words somehow just won't stop.Yoongi heaves an exasperated sigh, finally scowling directly at Jungkook.

"I don't care. Look, I'm all out of fucks to give about you, so go pull shit wherever you want," here Jungkook almost quails at the intensity of his wrath as Yoongi's mouth twists, and he adds, "or with whoever the fuck you want."

"Oh, hyung," Jungkook makes to brush a strand on Yoongi's hair back, but the older man jerks away as if he's been stung. "Are you jealous?"

Yoongi folds his arms, looks off to the side. "What do you want?"

Something warm bursts in Jungkook's head like a flare gun at Yoongi's little tell, but something inside him knows that pushing it won't be a good course of action right now. So he reaches into his bag, pulls at the folds of the scarf he'd gathered off the bar counter last night, fishing it out to show Yoongi. "You forgot something yesterday."

Yoongi's eyes widen, softening for a split second before the steel comes back into them, and he snatches Jungkook's olive branch out of his hands. "Thanks. Now that that's settled, I'm leaving."

"You're leaving?" Jungkook repeats, mindless, the impact of Yoongi's words not even hitting. Yoongi just turns around wordlessly, but he's hardly taken three steps before Jungkook spins him back to face him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't fucking turn your back on me, Yoongi. Don't walk away from me."

Yoongi shoves him so hard that Jungkook actually stumbles back a few steps. "Don't you fucking dare, Jungkook. Don't you fucking dare come sashaying in here after you've goddamn walked away from me like yesterday, and then spent all class practically giggling into that fucker's neck."

His voice is rising with each intonation, and to Jungkook's surprise, his own is, too, when he opens his mouth to speak. "You skipped over my name in the attendance roll!"

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow at him, "And you didn't do anything to deserve it?"

And Jungkook has no reply to that, really, so a beat of silence passes between them before Jungkook tries again. "Why are you doing this? This—thing, here, it can work, Yoongi."

Yoongi makes a derisive sound. "You have to make it work, Jungkook, instead of wallowing in your own, self-absorbed issues and waiting for it to happen." He sighs, looks at Jungkook with something close to pain spelled out across his features, and Jungkook feels the weight of his old premonition settle on him again, that feeling of something slipping through his fingers he's powerless against. "And you know what? I tried my damndest. I gave it all to you. And now I'm done. You won't even let me into your room, for fucksakes."

"My room?" Jungkook clenches his fist against the cascading sand, lets the sudden, vehement instinct guide his surge forward to pin Yoongi up against the wall in one sinuous, violent movement, and kiss him until they're both breathless, disregarding entirely Yoongi's halfhearted attempts to push him away. He closes his fingers around Yoongi's wrist when they break for air, hauling him forward. "Come on."

"Where the fuck do you think you're taking me?" Yoongi snarls, trying to wrench his arm free, but fuck if Jungkook's letting the brittle bone pressing divots into the flesh of his palm go.

"My room," he replies simply.