Work Text:
yoongi clicks away at the computer with his headphones on, he’s been working on this bridge all afternoon.
taehyung is perched comfortably in his lap, playing a drawing game on their ipad. he turns around periodically to gauge yoongi’s reaction and every time yoongi smiles, nods, and urges him on.
taehyung always wants to listen to yoongi’s songs and wear his ‘big bagel headphones’. they’re way too big for tiny taehyung’s tiny head so yoongi has to hold them to his ears, taehyung pressing his small hands on top of yoongi’s.
he has a hard time staying still, always turning around to smile at yoongi after his part in any given song.
‘I like it!’ yoongi laughs as the headphones slip of yet again, taehyung turning in his lap to give him his best smile. he smooths taehyung’s unruly bangs out of his eyes,
‘that makes dad really happy tae’.
the answering giggle makes a heavy warmth spread through yoongi, weighing him down and burning his throat, the back of his eyes. a warmth associated with his taehyung, and taehyung only.
love, he had come to realise, but love not like any other he had ever felt before. before taehyung. had such a time truly existed? the concept seemed foreign and uncomfortable.
no, yoongi loves his parents, loves his brother, loves his friends, loves the seasons and good coffee and learning and the way the ground smells after it rains and flowers and puppies and- music. yoongi loves music.
but everything, yoongi realises, as taehyung enthusiastically details the picture he’s drawn uncle joon is too tall so his head didn’t fit-, he thought he knew about love, -everything he thought he knew about life- was turned on its head that harsh, dark, bitingly cold december night.
yoongi remembers it so vividly, the memory like snapshots behind his eyelids, every blink a new picture accompanied by taehyung’s muted laughter.
he remembers the wind, wailing, the rain and hail pelting on the windows, he remembers pacing the dimly lit corridor, gaze unfocused and chewing on his nails.
namjoon and his parents had eventually given up on getting him to sit down.
there was a storm raging outside but it was nothing compared to the storm brewing inside yoongi, an angry ocean upsetting his stomach, an electricity in his limbs rendering motionlessness completely unachievable.
the hours stretch out before him like shadows, the wait is unbearable and impossibly long - and yet. and yet, yoongi finds, that he is wholly unprepared for the door at the far end of the corridor to open, for the nurse to step out, and for her to fix a soft smile in his direction.
‘yoongi’, she says, softly, gently. as if she can sense his inner turmoil, as if she is used to it. she probably is. yoongi isn’t.
the wait had filled him with a restless energy, keeping him in constant motion, but now, as he is confronted with actually having to face that which waits on the other side of the door, yoongi feels nailed to the floor. unable to move, blink, or respond.
‘yoongi’, the nurse repeats as softly as before, nothing but patience painting her features as yoongi feels a cold sweat break out on his neck, down his back,
‘would you like to see him?’
everything comes to a halt. suddenly the wail of the wind and the smattering of the hail fades away, the fluorescent lights blurring as his eyes, yoongi dimly registers, are filled with tears. him. him. never has a word sounded so overwhelming, so precious. and suddenly yoongi needs, more than he has ever needed anything before.
‘yes. yes please’ he manages to get out, voice hoarse with emotions too big to articulate. he finds his legs, finally, and only hesitates for a split second, and then the nurse is closing the door behind them.
the light is warmer, the wallpaper soothing. he he where is he ‘if you take a seat, yoongi, I’ll bring him in for you’ the nurse steers him towards a rocking chair, and offers him another smile. yoongi is thankful for her soothing presence. ‘he’s being wrapped right now’
and suddenly yoongi finds himself to be alone. he swallows, loudly, and attempts to dry his sweaty palms on his denim clad thighs. a high pitched wail that tapers off into a strange gurgle makes him sit up and fix his eyes on the sliding door to his right. he places his right hand over his heart and feels his heartbeat on his palm, erratic.
okay, the sliding door is slowly dragged open, oh my god, the same nurse steps through but her smile is lost on yoongi now. he only has eyes for the bundle in her arms. his bundle. oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my g-
‘he was crying quite a lot earlier, which is good and healthy, but now he’s settled down nicely’ yoongi nods as if her words are registering at all, and suddenly, but not so suddenly, the bundle, his bundle, is in his arms.
‘oh my god’
yoongi finds himself alone again. only not, he’s here now. he is so small, so tiny and fragile and, as yoongi comes to realise, wrinkly and red and bald. beautiful. so beautiful.
‘hi’ his voice wobbles, and it’s only after pressing a kiss to that same wrinkly little forehead that yoongi realises the tears that had gathered in the corridor are now streaming down his face, dripping off of his chin and on the bundle, his bundle, in his lap.
and as the bundles eyelids open to reveal eyes, amazing, he has eyes, and yoongi looks into the eyes of his son ‘my son’ he says, pitchy and wet, he knows. he knows now that everything he does from that moment on, everything he does with the rest of his life, will be for him. with him. loving him. that’s what he’s supposed to do, I get it now, it’s him now. his son. ‘my son’.
yoongi is brought back to the now, abruptly awakened from his reverie by a prodding on his left cheek. taehyung wears a solemn face, and resumes his poking when it doesn’t generate an immediate response.
‘dad’, he huffs, ‘are you listening?’
yoongi smiles softly and tries to stave off the tidal wave rising within him, stirred alive by his reminiscing. he curls a hand behind taehyung’s head and it fits, in the palm of his hand. he gathers taehyung close and presses a kiss to the downy hair above his ear, ‘of course tae’, he lingers and tae lets him, he must be tired. presses their heads together and breathes in the scent of their detergent, of home.
‘always’