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jeongguk and yoongi get married at the end of march.
it seems only fitting that it should be now, nearly six years to the day since jeongguk was able to call this love, that they should make the infinite promise of something more. it seems only fitting that it should be now, as the cherry blossoms show their faces to the sun and new life blooms all around them—for jeongguk has always likened his feelings for yoongi to a garden growing strong and steady and wild, and his relationship with yoongi has seen him blossom blossom bloom into the man he is now.
new life—new beginnings—new love. it has been over six years. but jeongguk still feels as though he finds a new flower growing within him every day, flowers planted and tended to by the most gentle and caring man he’s ever met, flowers that are immortal so long as his heart is captivated by the boy on the motorbike who first came to his rescue on a warm day in september six and a half years ago.
those six and a half years have seen a myriad of growth, particularly in jeongguk; he’s world famous now, the pride of korea in his idol career. he has money and awards and friends in high places. he could have anything he wants, so long as he snaps his fingers at the right person, but—the truth is, he doesn’t want anything more than min yoongi.
min yoongi, the ever patient man who has stood by jeongguk’s side every step of the way. who has supported his every movement, every decision, every downfall and triumph. who has waited and waited and waited, achingly so, for this day. the truth is, they could have gotten married after two years, because they’d known it by then. the truth is, some part of jeongguk has wanted to marry yoongi since they first met on that sidewalk, the bad boy and the baby boy, black and bubblegum pink, all stutters and smiles and no fucking idea what the future would hold for either of them. but they waited for this, because of jeongguk’s career. they waited for this, because yoongi would wait eternity and a day for jeongguk, and jeongguk always wanted it to be perfect for him.
so they get married at the end of march, at a small outdoor venue in busan—a private cherry blossom orchard reserved for occasions like this, close enough to the sea that jeongguk can almost taste the salt on his tongue. despite the resources, it wouldn’t be them if it wasn’t small and simple, and jeongguk knows both his fans and the media crave even the barest glimpse into the day, but in the end, jeongguk isn’t jeon jeongguk, korea’s sweetheart today. he isn’t best-selling artist and multiple daesang winner jeon jeongguk. he isn’t the media’s, or his company’s, or even his fans’—not today.
today, he is yoongi’s. he is yoongi’s and yoongi’s alone.
the clearing is lined with several rows of chairs in which their family members and friends will sit, an aisle where seokjin and hoseok’s daughter will sprinkle cherry blossom petals for them to walk over, and an archway at the front under which they will finally make their vows to each other. the ceremony won’t last long, but he knows most of the guests (as in: their overly emotional and rowdy friends) are looking forward to the dinner and reception after. there are sure to be speeches that will make him cry, and alcohol that will make him shout, and traditions to make him dizzy with joy. oh, they have waited such a long time for this. yoongi even promised they could finally fuck on the bike after, and jeongguk won’t be letting him weasel his way out of it this time.
it’ll be a night of celebrations and tears and stories shared of the six and a half years it took to get here—the motorcycle rides and movie dates and jobs won and lost, and the build-a-bear visits and singing troupes and good mornings and good nights. it’ll be filled with love and love and love, and it’ll be the greatest night of his silly little life, and he can hardly wait, but first—
but first.
this.
“jeongguk, please calm down,” says namjoon for the fourth time in as many minutes, sounding more exasperated and less patient with each repetition. “i don’t see why it’s such a big deal in the first pla—”
“you don’t get it!” jeongguk snaps, raking his hands through his now-ruined hair as he digs through his pockets again and still comes up empty. he grabs his bag from the chair and searches through it again and still comes up empty. his eyes sweep the floor, the windowsill, the walls as though they might reveal anything useful—and he still comes up empty. they’re in one of the dressing rooms at the venue, where he’s meant to wait until it’s time to head out for the ceremony. it’s supposed to be a time of excited anticipation and imagining what the new spring of tomorrow will arrive with.
instead, he has this.
“jeongguk.” it’s seokjin this time, reaching for him.
jeongguk dodges those hands. “i have to find it,” he says, voice wavering. “i have to. i can’t go out there without it.” he returns to his pacing, once again beginning the nearly-rhythmic cycle of checking his pockets, his bag, the floor. his pockets, his bag, the floor. nothing. nothing. every time—nothing.
out of the corner of his eye, he sees seokjin turn to namjoon with his hands in an i don’t fucking know what to do gesture, but namjoon doesn’t seem to have any more insight on the matter. if jeongguk weren’t so panicked, he might find some irony in this situation, given how often this scene used to play out between the three of them.
six and a half years ago, the three of them were living together and any time a minor inconvenience came up in jeongguk’s life, he would take to doing just this—pacing, caught in desperate rambling, unable to heed advice or guidance. for the time they were a trio in that little apartment of theirs, namjoon and seokjin practically raised jeongguk. these days, they’re different from that group of boys. they have careers and spouses and families. but suddenly jeongguk feels nineteen all over again, with two very-much-more adult friends who are trying their best and still coming up short.
finally, seokjin turns to jeongguk again and says, “okay, take us through it one more time. when was the last time you saw it?”
“i put it in my bag last night,” sighs jeongguk. he’s retold this story ten times already, but each time hasn’t given them any new information. “i didn’t take it out or touch it or anything, but i did add new stuff to the bag and move other stuff around. then we came here today and when i opened my bag, it wasn’t there. but i know i didn’t touch it, so why isn’t it there?”
“someone else might have moved it,” suggests namjoon.
“i’m the only one who touched my bag today.”
“then last night, before you went to sleep.”
“then it would still be at my parents’ house,” says jeongguk, stopping short to turn and stare at his friends. “oh god. it’s still at my parents’ house, isn’t it?”
namjoon rubs at his forehead. he looks more stressed about this than he ought to, considering it isn’t his wedding—but he always did naturally fall into the leadership position in their group, and he’s surely taking on more responsibility than he needs to for this wedding as a whole. no doubt both he and seokjin feel an immeasurable responsibility for jeongguk’s well-being on this day, having been with him for so long and having been the closest to him during the beginnings of his relationship with yoongi, anyway, like they have to make sure the wedding is perfect so that they’ve seen it through, so that they know they’ve done right by both jeongguk and yoongi for these six years.
“if it’s at your parents’ house,” says namjoon quietly, “then it’s great to know it’s not entirely lost. but you’ll just have to go out there without it, jeongguk.”
“no.”
“jeongguk—”
“you don’t understand.” jeongguk needs them to get it, needs them to get just how important this one item is. “we can’t have the wedding without it.”
seokjin’s tone becomes a bit harsher when he says, “we’re supposed to start in less than an hour, jeongguk-ah. almost everyone is already here and this place is crazy about sticking to the allotted time, so we have to start on time. you can’t possibly go back and get it.”
jeongguk stares at him. he knows it’s childish to be this stubborn; he’s nearly twenty-six years old and he’s a celebrity and he’s been through much, much worse than this. but today is his wedding day. and he’s made a promise to himself. jeongguk is incredibly sentimental at the best of times, especially when it comes to his relationship with yoongi. it feels as though they could argue over this until the wedding is set to start, because seokjin is just as stubborn as jeongguk.
it’s not possible, seokjin is saying.
so jeongguk pulls out his phone.
“jeongguk, no—” seokjin gasps, lunging for him, but jeongguk is already dancing out of the way and finding the right contact name, calling without hesitation and bringing the phone to his ear. seokjin is still trying to catch him, likely to wrestle the phone out of his hand, but jeongguk keeps hopping around the room and dodging him, all while namjoon stands there, looking extremely exasperated and half-heartedly calling for them to cut it out.
“jeon jeongguk, i swear to god,” growls seokjin, catching jeongguk around the waist just as the person on the other end of the call picks up.
“hell—”
“come to my dressing room, pl—agh!” jeongguk shrieks when seokjin jabs his fingers into his sides in an attempt to make him drop the phone. “please, it’s an emergency—!” the last words are said in a rush as he tries to bat seokjin away, but focusing all of his attention on one unhelpful friend means he’s forgotten about the other. it’s namjoon who yanks the phone out of his hand, ending the call with a stern look. he doesn’t have to ask who jeongguk called. there’s only one person jeongguk ever calls in an emergency.
it takes approximately forty-three seconds for yoongi to arrive.
it’s with thundering footsteps and banging on the door and a panicked, breathless voice saying, “jeongguk-ah? jeongguk, are you okay?”
seokjin all but throws himself against the door as it begins to open, calling out, “don’t come in; it’s bad luck!”
“are you fucking kidding me,” groans jeongguk.
“what’s happening?” yoongi demands. “he said it’s an emergency. is he alright? jeongguk-ah—”
“he’s just being a dramatic little bitch, as usual,” says seokjin, making sure to give jeongguk an unimpressed stare as he does so. namjoon has a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from trying to throw open the door, but jeongguk doesn’t feel like fighting off two of his friends at the moment, so he stays still by the window. “it’s not a real emergency, yoongi, please stop panicking.”
“jeongguk-ah!” it’s taehyung’s voice this time. “are you getting cold feet?”
there’s a dull thump, and then a quiet ow, and then a voice that sounds like jimin’s whispering, “why would you fucking say that?”
“what other emergency would he have?”
“hyung just said it’s not an emergency.”
“you should all go back to yoongi’s dressing room,” says seokjin. “or whatever you were doing before. everything’s fine.”
before yoongi can take that seriously, jeongguk calls out, “no, it’s not!”
“jeongguk-ah?” asks yoongi, a new thread of panic in his voice. “what’s going on?”
“nothing,” says seokjin, now glaring daggers at jeongguk in a clear message to shut the fuck up. “it’s your wedding day, yoongi-yah. don’t spend your last glorious hour of freedom worrying about imaginary things.”
“did you just say freedom?” it’s hoseok now. “are you saying marriage is a prison, kim seokjin?”
against the door, seokjin visibly pales. “never, darling! it’s only ever been wedded bliss with you.”
beside him, namjoon hangs his head. “this is like the most poorly written sitcom in the entire world.”
jeongguk, too, feels fed up with the nonsense, so he calls out, “yoongi-hyung, i lost it.”
“lost what?” jimin calls back. “the rings?”
“your virginity?” taehyung asks, which is immediately followed by another dull thud and another quiet ow!
he knows yoongi will understand, though. sure enough, yoongi’s voice comes next, saying, “you lost it? i thought you put it in your bag.”
“i did.”
“what is it?” asks hoseok. “what did you lose?”
“did you take it out when you got here?”
“i didn’t even open my bag until now and it’s not in there, so it didn’t fall out.”
“seriously,” says hoseok, “can someone tell me what we’re talking about?”
“maybe it’s back at your parents’, then.”
“that’s what seokjin-hyung said. but i need it.”
“i know, baby—”
“guys, what the hell is it?” hoseok finally snaps. seokjin gives jeongguk a single eyebrow raise, as though to challenge him to explain to the rest of their friends why he’s having such a panic on the biggest day of his life.
jeongguk frowns and then mutters, “august’s voice box.”
“sorry?” says seokjin. “i don’t think they caught that.”
jeongguk rolls his eyes, and then repeats, louder—“it’s august’s voice box.”
there’s a heavy pause, and then hoseok says, “who the hell is august?”
“wait,” says jimin. “you mean that cat build-a-bear you refused to let go of when you were first dating yoongi-hyung?”
“you make me sound like a child.”
“it was kind of childish,” says namjoon.
“but yes,” jeongguk says. “that august. it’s the first thing hyung ever got for me and it has incredible sentimental value for me and i refuse to get married without it!”
“didn’t you say yoongi-hyung threw it over your balcony a few months ago?” says taehyung.
“hey,” says yoongi.
“isn’t it broken?” asks taehyung.
“that doesn’t mean it’s not important!” says jeongguk.
“i don’t get why a toy is such a big deal,” says seokjin. “and if it is back at the jeons’, we don’t have time to go back and get it.”
“yeah, jeongguk-ah,” says jimin. “the house is way too far to go and grab it. you’d miss your own wedding.”
jeongguk can feel himself deflate even more as the others chime in their agreement. logically, he knows they’re right; the house is too far from the venue, and even speeding, there’s no way he or anyone could get it and make it back in time for the ceremony. not to mention the voice box isn’t a vital part of the ceremony. it’s not like forgetting the rings or the papers they have to sign or, god forbid, an important family member. it’s just… a voice box. like seokjin said, it’s just a toy.
except to jeongguk, it’s not. that voice box represents something incredibly important for this day. going to build-a-bear and making august was one of the first things jeongguk and yoongi ever did together, just the two of them. it was the first time jeongguk really saw yoongi for who he was back then—not a violent, selfish bad boy that his appearance seemed to suggest, but a quiet, caring person who spent his days working at build-a-bear where he could give children a little happiness. he just happened to have grey hair and black nail polish, too. he just happened to drive a motorcycle and have made some shitty decisions in high school, too. all of those things could exist at the same time, and when yoongi handed over the stuffed cat with a voice box that would become yoongi’s favourite method of communication when he wanted to tell jeongguk something sweet—well.
in many ways, that was the moment jeongguk knew this was something good. that yoongi was someone good. that he wanted this to last for as long as it could, and if that was only a few months or a few years before they went their separate ways, then so be it. but here they still are, about to stand at the altar together and make their vows to be joined together for the rest of their lives.
so yeah, it’s just a broken voice box. it’s not like they can record messages to each other on it anymore. it’s not like it’s attached to august, which is at least a cute toy that someone else might understand the sentimental value of. it’s just a piece of fucking plastic. but to jeongguk, that piece of fucking plastic is more important to have at this wedding than anything else. it’s the one thing that shifted jeongguk’s heart toward yoongi, the catalyst that sent them spiralling on this wild journey in the first place, and he needs it here.
he needs it.
and no one here understands that, despite how much his friends love and support him—
no one, except, of course—
“can i talk to jeongguk alone, please?” asks yoongi, and jeongguk’s heart nestles into the hollow of his throat. they agreed not to see each other before the actual wedding, mostly for shits and giggles, but he wishes they hadn’t decided that right now. jeongguk is feeling more emotionally vulnerable than he has for a while, and over a toy, but he knows that a hug from yoongi would make it better, at least.
“you still can’t come in here,” says seokjin.
“i know. we can talk through the door.”
seokjin and namjoon graciously move to the other side of the room, talking amongst themselves as jeongguk approaches the door. he imagines hoseok, taehyung, and jimin doing the same on the other side, and when jeongguk places his hand and then his forehead against the door, he pictures yoongi standing on just the other side, reaching back. it’s just a piece of wood between them, but it feels like so much more.
and—god. this is their wedding day. it should be filled with nothing but love and excitement and well wishes for the future. they’ve waited long enough for this. they’ve gone through enough hardship and trials, from stints of long distance while jeongguk was training or touring overseas to arguments here and there to trying to deal with jeongguk’s fame and the media constantly trying to pry into his personal life. most days, jeongguk just feels lucky that yoongi has wanted to stay with him through it all, and knows that it’s not going to get easier after this. as jeongguk continues his career as an idol, it might just get worse. but yoongi doesn’t care. he’s never cared.
and now jeongguk is kind of ruining the day by being so stubborn.
and yet—“jeongguk-ah?” yoongi asks, voice muffled through the door.
jeongguk closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. his eyes sting. “hyung,” he says.
“hey, baby. are you okay?”
“i don’t know why this is such a big deal to me,” he whispers. “like, i know it’s just a voice box and it doesn’t really matter. i know i don’t actually need it to get married, especially if it’s not even here and we don’t have time to get it. but i just—feel—” he huffs. “i feel wrong.”
“i don’t think it’s childish, you know,” says yoongi. “i know how much august meant to you back then, and i get it. is there anything i can do to make it better? or to make you feel right again?”
“just talking to you makes me feel better,” says jeongguk. “and—ah, hyung, i’m about to marry you, finally. i’ve waited six years for this. so i love you and it’s perfect and the day is still going to be amazing even without it, but i can’t help it right now. i really want the voice box, hyung.”
the truth is, if there really is no other choice, he can get married without it. the important thing is that yoongi is there, after all. but he knows that yoongi will understand the way he feels about this; jeongguk always felt everything so greatly, more than any of his friends. if he stands here and talks to yoongi through a door until the wedding, he’ll be fine. but he still wishes he had the voice box.
“hey jeongguk,” says yoongi, voice a little brighter. “remember when you were first trying out singing groups and you were in that one at first with the shitheads who kept bullying you about getting solos?”
jeongguk frowns. “um, yes. why are you bringing that up now?”
“remember the time you got really fed up with it and didn’t want to go to practice and i came to pick you up but you were really sad so you wouldn’t even come to the door and talk to me?”
“hyung, where is this going?”
“remember what i did?”
jeongguk closes his eyes, trying to remember. that was over six years ago now, and he has so many fond memories of those years with yoongi. but some do stand out more than others, and when he thinks hard enough, he realizes he does remember, because it was probably the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him. and it was yoongi.
he opens his eyes again. “you drove halfway across the city to get me waffles from beanbins,” he whispers.
he can hear the smile in yoongi’s voice when he says, “yeah, i did. i drove all that way to make you happy, jeongguk.”
“i still don’t get what that has to do with this.”
now there’s something conspiratorial in yoongi’s hushed tones. “wait like, five minutes after i leave,” he says. “then ask them to go get something for you. doesn’t matter what, as long as they’re gone for a few minutes.”
“what?” asks jeongguk. “what are you talking about?”
“do you trust me?”
he has no idea what yoongi is doing, but there’s only one answer to that question: “of course.”
“then do it. i love you. just follow my lead.”
“i—hyung, what the fuck?”
“okay,” says yoongi, louder now, clearly talking to everyone rather than just jeongguk. “it’s fine. we don’t have time, but jeongguk knows it’s not the end of the world.”
“um,” says jeongguk, turning to look at seokjin and namjoon, who have somewhat surprised expressions on their faces. “yeah, hyung’s right. i convinced me it’s not a big deal so i’m fine now.”
“are you sure?” asks namjoon.
“yeah. getting married is what matters, whether or not i have the voice box.”
“exactly,” agrees yoongi. “so c’mon, let’s go back to my dressing room. you still have to finish my hair.”
“well, maybe if you hadn’t run out of there like your ass was on fire,” grumbles taehyung.
jeongguk can hear retreating footsteps, and yoongi calling, “i’ll see you later, okay, jeongguk?”
he’s so confused. but he just nods, more to himself, staring at the door. yoongi said five minutes—and he has no idea why he needs to wait five minutes or why he needs to get seokjin and namjoon out of the room, but he tries not to show that he’s still upset about the voice box as seokjin and namjoon return to what they were doing before jeongguk realized it was missing in the first place. soon after, namjoon gets a text and excuses himself to help someone with something outside, and jeongguk feels himself get oddly jittery as the minutes pass and seokjin tries to make light conversation.
finally, when jeongguk checks his phone and sees five minutes have passed, he clears his throat. “hyung? sorry, uh,” he begins, unsure why he sounds so goddamn nervous. he doesn’t even know what he’s doing this for. “would you mind finding me something to calm my nerves? like—medicine or even just some water or something?” at least he looks and sounds the part. “i’m starting to feel really anxious about everything.”
“are you okay?” asks seokjin, immediately at jeongguk’s side and feeling his forehead. “you’re not getting sick, are you?”
“no, i’m just nervous. it’s my wedding day.”
“alright, i’ll be right back. don’t throw up.” with that, seokjin is gone, closing the door behind him on the way out. jeongguk feels bad for lying to him, but the truth is that he actually is nervous, so maybe he should get some medicine.
but then it’s just… silent. he’s alone, waiting for something he isn’t sure will come. why did yoongi tell him to do this in the first place?
and then, not fifteen seconds after seokjin leaves, something hits the window behind him.
jeongguk physically startles, hissing out a curse when he turns around and hurries to the window. when he looks outside, he sees something he never expected—yoongi is standing on the grass with his bike helmet on and a second one under his arm, visor up so jeongguk can see the way his eyes are smiling. jeongguk blinks, confused, and then he sees yoongi’s motorcycle parked by the curb in the parking lot.
thankfully, the dressing room jeongguk is in faces the parking lot and not the cherry blossoms, which means… no one can see him. no one can see yoongi, who is standing below his window with a bike helmet in hand like he’s trying to steal jeongguk away from his strict parents in the dead of night so they can go on a date without anyone knowing.
when jeongguk blinks, he suddenly sees yoongi as the bad boy he once was, with wild-coloured hair and ripped jeans, someone who had a rocky relationship with authority at best, offering jeongguk something he just can’t refuse. and then he blinks again and yoongi is in his wedding suit, a thirty-year-old man who has grown out of his rebellious phase. but the one thing that has evidently remained the same is yoongi’s willingness to do anything just to make jeongguk happy.
you drove halfway across the city to get me waffles from beanbins.
suddenly, jeongguk understands.
he shoves open the window, leaning out and hissing, “hyung, what the fuck? we’re gonna get in so much shit!”
“who fucking cares?” yoongi calls back, laughing. “it’s our wedding. and don’t you want the voice box?”
jeongguk’s heart kind of stutters. “yes, i want the fucking voice box. but—hyung—”
“c’mon, jeongguk-ah.” yoongi holds up the other helmet. “we’re about to make lifelong promises to each other—to have and to hold, for better, for worse. i’m about to promise to do everything i can to make you feel loved and safe and happy so long as i live, so how can i stand there and let you be even a little upset on day one?”
oh, no. jeongguk loves him so fucking much.
he climbs out of the window, giggling the whole time, careful not to snag his suit—although there’s not much he can do about getting it dirty. he drops down onto the grass, still laughing when he grabs the helmet from yoongi and they hurry to the motorcycle. it really does feel like he’s a teenager sneaking away from his parents, and it’s only intensified when, just as he swings his leg over the bike and slides on behind yoongi, the door to the dressing room opens.
“i’ve got—” he hears seokjin say, and then the motorcycle roars to life, and suddenly seokjin is at the open window, staring out with horror in his eyes. “jeongguk! min yoongi! get back here right now!”
“sorry, hyung!” yoongi calls before flipping down his visor. “i’ve got husbandly duties to perform!” and then, with jeongguk laughing wildly, they take off through the parking lot, leaving a shouting seokjin in their wake.
♥
speeding through the busy streets of busan, jeongguk feels like he’s nineteen again. yoongi’s motorcycle used to be their main mode of transportation, and together they’d soar through the city without a care in the world. these days, the motorcycle is more for leisure than necessity, and there’s little time to be going on joyrides. jeongguk’s management would never allow him to be put in such a potentially dangerous situation, where one speeding ticket or accident could mean the end of his career as a whole.
but of course, he’s not an idol today. he’s just jeon jeongguk, and the man he’s about to marry owns a fucking motorcycle, and it’s still one of the coolest things he can think of. they’re about to take the biggest step yet in their relationship, to tie themselves together permanently, but for one glorious bike ride, it feels like it’s six years ago and they don’t really know what’s going to happen but they have so much hope, and the whole world is at their feet, and they want so badly to be happy that they ache with it.
so jeongguk wraps his arms around yoongi’s middle and hangs on tight, watching the world pass them by as they drive through the city. they’re definitely going too fast than is legal or safe, but jeongguk knows if he were to communicate that, yoongi would just say no police officer in their right mind would give jeon jeongguk a ticket on his wedding day. he might have a point.
and anyway—they do have to get back in time for the ceremony. jeongguk can feel his phone vibrating constantly in his pocket, no doubt receiving countless calls and texts from his friends and parents. oh, imagine—both grooms running off on their wedding day, less than an hour before the ceremony. in truth, they should have expected something like this. jeongguk and yoongi never did like to do things the conventional way.
by the time they turn onto the right street, jeongguk knows they won’t get back in time—but he doesn’t really mind, not when they come to a screeching halt outside of the jeon house and jeongguk all but leaps off of the motorcycle. “hurry!” yoongi calls to him as he pulls off his helmet. “we’re going to be flayed alive as it is!”
jeongguk shoots him a thumbs up over his shoulder as he dashes for the house, pulling off his own helmet on the way. the voice box could be anywhere, but he narrows down the search by heading for the guest bedroom he stayed in last night. all of his things are still there, other than what they need for the wedding, and he curses the fact that he didn’t make the bed nor tidy up the desk and night stand in his haste to leave for the ceremony.
still, he does a wild search through his things, his suitcase, his tangled bedsheets. when he comes up empty, he drops to the floor and starts scouring the rug for the voice box, high on adrenaline and a little panic as he does so. it would be just his luck if the voice box really had been in his bag the whole time, and it’s really back at their wedding venue, and they’ve driven all the way here for nothing—
and then jeongguk spots it just under the bed, likely dropped and accidentally kicked there as he was repacking the bag this morning. he doesn’t bother to wonder about the specifics, instead grabbing the little plastic box and getting back on his feet, hurrying toward the door. when his hand squeezes the voice box subconsciously, it tries its best to speak to him despite being broken—but even then, he gets snippets of yoongi’s drunk voice, the last message ever recorded on it before yoongi threw it over the side of their balcony. in it, yoongi had mentioned something about having a baby.
jeongguk grins to himself, holding the voice box tightly in his hand as he bursts through the front door—and then slows down as he heads toward the curb, because the sight before him is so painfully and wonderfully familiar, and he wants to commit it to memory one last time.
for the first eight months of their relationship, without fail, yoongi showed up at jeongguk’s apartment to drive him to work at the bookstore. it didn’t matter how early jeongguk’s shift was, or what the weather was like, or if yoongi had stayed out until the wee hours of the morning beforehand. for eight months, jeongguk would open the door to see—this. min yoongi at the curb, leaning against his bike with his helmet in his hand, waiting for jeongguk. even after he had to stop driving jeongguk to work due to conflicting schedules with his own job, this was nonetheless a common sight on date nights and weekends, any time that jeongguk wanted to go anywhere and knew he could call on yoongi.
he always looked effortlessly cool, and ethereally pretty, and like he wanted to do this for the rest of his life: wait at the curb to take jeongguk somewhere on that sleek bike of his.
it’s only fitting that that is exactly what jeongguk sees as he exits his parents’ house, voice box in hand—min yoongi leaning against his bike, waiting to take jeongguk to the best place of all: their wedding.
he knows they’re in a hurry. he knows everyone is pissed off at them for disappearing. but jeongguk wants to take his time to truly enjoy this, so his footsteps are slow as he makes his way down the sidewalk to yoongi, and then comes to a stop in front of him.
“found it?” asks yoongi, to which jeongguk nods. “perfect. we should be able to ge—” jeongguk cuts him off by crowding into his space, and instead of getting onto the bike, wraps his arms around yoongi’s shoulders in a warm hug. with yoongi still leaning on the bike, their height difference is exaggerated, and jeongguk is able to tilt his head, leaning his cheek against the top of yoongi’s head as he holds him close.
hesitantly, yoongi wraps his own arms around jeongguk’s waist. they stay like that for a minute before yoongi asks, “what are you doing? we’re kind of in a hurry.”
“i know,” says jeongguk, squishing his cheek into yoongi’s hair. “but i want to hug you.”
yoongi should tell him they’ll have time to hug later. actually, they’ll have time to do a lot more than hug later. but he doesn’t. he just lets jeongguk hug him, and he hugs jeongguk back, hands large and warm where they’re splayed out against the small of jeongguk’s back. people say it’s bad luck to see each other before a wedding, but jeongguk doesn’t care. he and yoongi have always made their own luck, have forged their own path every step of the way. he has the voice box now, which is what was causing him the panic in the first place, but the truth is that maybe this was what he really needed all along.
they stay like that for a few minutes, simply holding each other and breathing as one, letting warmth seep back and forth between them. and then jeongguk whispers, “i’m really happy that i get to marry you. i used to think about it all the time when we first met and when we started dating. but i always thought it was some far-fetched idea, because you’re… well, you. and i was me. but now i realize that’s exactly why we’re meant to be together.”
yoongi holds him a little tighter. “i’m really happy we’re getting married, too,” he says, “but you know you’re way cooler than me now, right? you’re totally out of my league, jeongguk-ah.”
“don’t say that, hyung.”
“you’re famous.”
“my fans have twitter accounts dedicated to your nose. you’re kind of famous, too.”
he can hear yoongi snicker at that, because jeongguk isn’t wrong. sometimes jeongguk thinks his fans love yoongi more than they love him, which would be ridiculous if jeongguk didn’t get it, because he loves yoongi more than he loves anyone, and yoongi deserves that kind of adoration. but that’s not the point.
“it doesn’t matter who is cooler or not,” he says. “what matters is that i love you and you love me and no matter what we do or where we go, we’re soulmates. i know it’s not always going to be easy, but you make every day worth fighting for, hyung.”
yoongi pulls away, just enough that he can look up at jeongguk with that careful, crooked grin on his lips. “you amaze me so much. you know that?” he asks. “who would have thought doing a favor for hoseok on my day off would lead to this?”
jeongguk grins, cradling yoongi’s face in his hands. “thank you for waiting for me all this time.”
“i’d wait forever for you, jeon jeongguk,” says yoongi. the words practically make him melt, and when jeongguk leans down to kiss yoongi, it’s slow and soft and feels like the start of forever. jeongguk feels the garden in his heart shiver with the weight of it all, the blossoms opening up even wider at the touch of the sun.
but just as soon as jeongguk settles into the kiss, yoongi places a hand on his chest and gently pushes him away. “i don’t think everyone at our wedding feels the same way, though,” he says. it takes a long second for jeongguk to remember what yoongi is referring to, but then—of course. the longer they stand here canoodling, the longer everyone has to panic about the wedding not starting on time. his parents are going to kill them.
they drove here to make something feel right. and jeongguk finally feels content to go back and get married to the love of his life. he’d marry yoongi right here outside of his parents’ house if there was someone to officiate it, but he likes the cherry blossoms, too. but the truth is that it doesn’t matter as long as he’s with yoongi, and as long as he knows yoongi loves him, and as long as he believes they’re going to spend many, many years working toward a happy ending.
they’ve had just six. jeongguk can’t wait for the rest.
on the drive back to the venue—and they’re most definitely going to be late—jeongguk revels in his last moments in a world where he and yoongi aren’t married. he’s not sure everything will be different after the ceremony; they’ve basically lived and behaved as a married couple for years, but maybe colours will be brighter. maybe flowers will smell sweeter. maybe he will be unable to contain the utter joy of it all, of finally being wed to the most wonderful human he’s ever met.
this city was his first home, where he was born and raised, where he spent his life before moving to seoul at nineteen in hopes of one day pursuing a musical career. it was only after that brave first step that he met yoongi and began so many journeys, the most important of which is culminating right back here. this city was jeongguk’s home for so long, and now jeongguk is making another home here—out of yoongi, out of their marriage, out of whatever the next fifty years brings.
he doesn’t know what will happen now. he hopes there will be babies involved, at least, and many more promises to fuck on the bike—ones that yoongi actually makes good on. but the details aren’t so important. all he knows is that he’ll have yoongi, and yoongi will have him. and that’s all jeongguk has wanted since that first day they met on the curb with a motorcycle between them and a destination in mind and no way of knowing how one missed bus would change everything for both of them.
sometimes, jeongguk wonders what would have happened if he hadn’t slept through his alarm on that fateful day six and a half years ago. but he’ll never know—because he did sleep through it, and he did miss his bus, and yoongi did have to come to his rescue. and now he’s driving through the city on his way to marry that boy with the grey hair and the chipped nail polish—his bad boy. his jane austen loving, build-a-bear making, sugary coffee drinking bad boy.
his.
his husband.
they park just down the block from the venue, just to gain time to collect themselves before the inevitable ass-beating they receive upon walking in. but jeongguk could care less about it—because he’s giddy as he steps onto the sidewalk and tugs yoongi up beside him, straightening his suit. it’s a little worse for wear and his hair, which jeongguk runs his hands through to try and fix, is wind swept and flattened from the helmet. he knows he doesn’t fare much better given the way yoongi tries to fix jeongguk’s appearance, too. they’re going to look out of breath in all of their pictures and everyone else is going to look pissed.
but jeongguk doesn’t care. he can’t stop grinning as he deems yoongi presentable for their wedding and takes a step back. six and half years ago, yoongi drove jeongguk to work for the first time, and jeongguk kissed him on the cheek as a thank you before scurrying off filled with embarrassment and something that tasted like sunshine.
today he reaches out for yoongi’s tie and tugs him in for a hard kiss on the mouth, one that he feels yoongi smiling into it. “you look like shit,” jeongguk says against his lips.
yoongi replies, “thank you. so do you.”
“at least we match.”
they pull away and then stand for a prolonged moment just grinning at each other. they’re on the precipice of something wonderful and terrifying at the same time, but jeongguk isn’t afraid of marriage when it’s with yoongi. all he knows is he’s going to spend the rest of his life with this man, and how could that ever be wrong? how could he ever dread that?
he loves yoongi. he’s loved yoongi for so long that he no longer remembers what it feels like not to. the garden in his chest has been in full bloom for six years.
“ready?” yoongi asks, holding his hand out between them.
jeongguk pats his breast pocket, where he’s tucked august’s voice box. “ready,” he says, and then takes yoongi’s hand. their fingers thread together, the years and the struggles and the heartaches and the joys rushing up to meet them all at once, until they stand as a united front against the future. and for the last time, jeon jeongguk and min yoongi exist as two.
yoongi squeezes jeongguk’s hand. jeongguk squeezes back. and together, they rise to become one.
♥
later, after the ceremony and the colossal ass-whooping and the dinner and the speeches and all the fucking alcohol, jeongguk finds himself sitting alone at the head table, watching his friends and what’s left of the guest list drunkenly sing and dance on the dancefloor. they’ve been going at it for hours and the reception has already wound down for the most part, only a handful of people left behind and determined to continue the celebration.
jeongguk himself is drunk, although he did try to hold back at first for fear of forgetting every little detail about this wonderful night—but with five of the most chaotic people he’s ever met as his friends and groomsmen, it was hard to stay sober for long. now he’s half slumped in his chair, watching the dance floor with a lazy grin on his lips, chin propped up on his hand. he could sit here for ages and just watch them scream the lyrics to songs they loved ten years ago, jumping around the dance floor like fish out of water.
jimin and taehyung keep attempting to do lifts and yelling at each other when they inevitably fail and crash miserably to the floor. seokjin is locked in an honest to god dance battle with one of jeongguk’s nephews, although it’s hard to tell who’s winning. then there’s namjoon and yoongi, who might be the wildest of them all, leading the other remaining guests in terrible, knock-off versions of k-pop dances.
presently, one of jeongguk’s own songs is playing, and yoongi is doing his damn best to perform the choreography like he came up with it himself, and jeongguk suddenly remembers they’re married now. that’s his husband now. jeongguk loves him so much.
he’s distracted by the scrape of a chair beside him, and when jeongguk turns, he sees hoseok sitting down beside him with a sleeping toddler in his arms. “hey,” says hoseok with a smile. “what are you doing over here all by yourself?”
“just watching,” says jeongguk. “i’ll go join them soon.”
“i think they want you to perform for them.”
“at my own wedding?” he groans, but he’s secretly pleased with it. jeongguk likes the way yoongi looks at him when he’s singing—although his performance certainly won’t be better than the one yoongi gave earlier as a surprise, singing one of jeongguk’s ballads during the reception as a gift.
hoseok laughs, stroking his daughter’s hair as they fall into silence once more and watch the dancefloor. now might be a good time to ask for advice; hoseok and seokjin have been married for years already and even have a daughter. when jeongguk and yoongi got engaged, they were bombarded with unsolicited advice from the pair, most of it irrelevant and obsolete, but jeongguk knows if he ever needs true advice, they’d be more than happy to offer what they’ve learned.
but jeongguk is drunk, and right now, he doesn’t want to think about what he needs to do to make this marriage work. he doesn’t want to worry about the future arguments and disagreements, or what might go wrong. he just wants to sit here and bask in the joy of it, of finally being married to the love of his life.
so instead, he says, “thank you, hyung.”
hoseok turns to him with a puzzled look. “for the ice sculpture? honestly, it was seokjin-hyung’s idea, and i wasn’t even sure you’d like it—”
“no, not for that,” jeongguk shakes his head. “it’s just… in a lot of ways, you’re the reason yoongi-hyung and i met. he was your best friend. your roommate. on the day we met, i asked you to drive me to work because i missed my bus, but you couldn’t so instead of telling me to figure it out on my own, you called yoongi. and now we’re married.”
there’s a pause, and then—“i think you would have met anyway, you know. we were pretty good friends back then, so you were bound to run into yoongi-hyung at some point.”
“i know. but i don’t know if everything would have been the same had we not met the way we did. and we did meet that way because of you. and if i hadn’t met you, i never would have met hyung, even another way.” jeongguk places his hand on hoseok’s knee and squeezes. “so thank you. and thank you for everything else over the years.”
hoseok’s grin is soft as he puts his own hand over jeongguk’s and pats it. “well, i only met seokjin-hyung because of you and now we’re married, too, so i guess we’re even.”
jeongguk laughs. “good point. we just traded roommates, didn’t we?”
“speaking of…” hoseok nods toward the dancefloor. when jeongguk glances over, he sees that yoongi is looking at him, and when they make eye contact, he frantically waves jeongguk over. this truly has been a night of celebration, and he doesn’t really want it to end, but it’s just the beginning of the rest of their lives. “you should go dance with him. i feel like he might break namjoon by accident.”
sure enough, namjoon does look like he needs a break from yoongi trying to teach him girl group dances. so jeongguk reaches for the wine he was sipping at and downs it all in one go, making hoseok snort with laughter, and then stands. on the dance floor, yoongi gives a tiny cheer, and as the music changes to something with a thumping bass, jeongguk makes his way toward his husband.
when jeongguk reaches him, yoongi takes both of his hands and pulls him into the small crowd, and they wear matching smiles as the song grows louder and louder around them, and jimin and taehyung are still screaming at each other while screaming the lyrics, and jeongguk can’t stop laughing when yoongi pulls him in, eyes bright, and says, “hello, jeon jeongguk, husband of mine.”
“hi, min yoongi,” jeongguk replies, hooking one arm around yoongi’s neck. they move together as one, and yoongi’s flushed cheeks match his own, eyes alight with the sort of joy and contentedness that jeongguk isn’t sure they’ll ever find anywhere else.
it feels like the start of forever. it feels like the garden in jeongguk’s chest will never die.
he can’t wait. god, he can’t wait.
he can’t wait to wake up next to yoongi every morning, to greet every challenge holding hands, to introduce yoongi as his husband, to raise a family together, to find what the rest of their lives are going to look like side by side. he can’t wait to live every day knowing yoongi is his and his alone.
he can’t wait to turn the light off every night, to crawl under the covers, to find himself wrapped up in this wonderful man. to say those saccharine words. to hear them whispered back to him, bleeding love and comfort and home between them for as long as they’re able to—
goodnight min yoongi, who owns my heart.
goodnight jeon jeongguk, who owns mine.