The dining room was brighter than Yoongi remembered. The chandelier overhead threw soft golden light across the polished table, and the faint hum of classical music played from a speaker in the corner. It was all so perfect, so carefully maintained, that it felt fake—like a set piece from a play, not a real home.

Seokjin sat at the other end  of the table, the picture of ease, pouring himself a glass of water as though nothing had changed. Taehyung lounged beside him, picking at the appetizers on his plate while occasionally glancing at Yoongi like he wasn’t sure if his older brother was really there.

Yoongi sat stiffly, his fingers curling into fists beneath the table. The room felt too big, the air too heavy. The soft clink of silverware and Taehyung’s idle humming only added to the weight pressing down on him.

“You’ve barely touched your food,” Seokjin said, his tone casual but tinged with concern.

Yoongi glanced down at his plate. He hadn’t taken a single bite. The steaming bowl of jjigae in front of him looked unappetizing, no matter how delicious it smelled. His appetite had disappeared the moment he stepped into the house.

“I’m not hungry,” he muttered, pushing the bowl aside.

Taehyung frowned. “You’ve gotta eat something, hyung. You look like you’ve been living off instant ramen and misery.”

Yoongi’s lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “I’m fine, Tae.”

Taehyung didn’t look convinced, but he let it go, turning his attention back to his plate.

Seokjin leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze fixed on Yoongi. “How long are you planning to stay?”

The question caught Yoongi off guard. He had agreed to come for the wedding, but he hadn’t thought much beyond that. His instinct was to leave as soon as possible, to put as much distance between himself and this house as he could. But when he opened his mouth to say so, the words wouldn’t come.

“I don’t know,” he said instead, his voice low.

Seokjin raised an eyebrow but didn’t press him. “Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need,” he said. “We’ve already prepared a room for you.”

Yoongi nodded stiffly, his gaze dropping to the table. He felt the weight of Seokjin’s words, the quiet kindness in them. It made his chest ache.

“You should stay for a while,” Taehyung chimed in, his voice light but sincere. “We haven’t seen you in years, hyung. Don’t disappear on us again.”

Yoongi flinched at the words. Taehyung said them so casually, like Yoongi had just gone on a long vacation and not run away from everything.

“I’ll think about it,” Yoongi said quietly, though he wasn’t sure if he meant it.

---

Later that night, Yoongi found himself standing in the hallway outside his old bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he could see the faint outline of the furniture inside—the desk, the bed, the shelves. It was all still there, untouched, as though someone had been waiting for him to come back.

He hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

The memories hit him before he even stepped inside. He could almost hear the sound of Hoseok’s laugh, feel the weight of his friend leaning on his shoulder as they plotted their next stupid adventure. This house had been their playground once, back when life had been simpler.

Before everything went wrong.

Yoongi pushed the door open and stepped inside. The air was thick with dust, the faint scent of wood polish lingering beneath it. He dropped his bag on the floor and stood in the middle of the room, taking it all in.

The bed was neatly made, the blanket folded at the edges just the way his mother used to do it. The desk was clean except for a stack of old notebooks, their covers worn and faded. Yoongi ran his fingers over one of them, the touch sparking something deep in his chest.

He used to write music here. He and Hoseok would sit for hours, scribbling lyrics and tapping out beats on the desk with their knuckles.

Yoongi’s throat tightened. He pulled his hand back like the notebook had burned him.

A knock at the door broke the silence.

“Hyung?”

Yoongi turned to see Taehyung leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked smaller now, standing in the doorway of Yoongi’s old room, like the same teenager Yoongi had left behind all those years ago.

“What are you doing here?” Yoongi asked, his voice rough.

Taehyung shrugged, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Just wanted to check on you. You seemed… off during dinner.”

Yoongi huffed a bitter laugh. “I’ve been off for years, Tae. That’s nothing new.”

Taehyung frowned, his gaze flicking to the notebooks on the desk. “You still write?”

Yoongi hesitated, his eyes following Taehyung’s. “Not really.”

Taehyung didn’t respond right away. He reached out and picked up one of the notebooks, flipping through the pages with a wistful look on his face. “You and Hoseok-hyung used to spend so much time on these. I always wanted to join, but you’d just tell me I was too young to get it.”

Yoongi’s chest ached at the mention of Hoseok’s name. He dropped onto the edge of the bed, his head falling into his hands. “Don’t bring him up.”

Taehyung froze, the notebook still in his hands. “Why not?”

“Just don’t.”

The sharpness in Yoongi’s tone made Taehyung flinch. For a moment, the room was silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. Then Taehyung set the notebook down carefully and sat beside Yoongi on the bed.

“I don’t know what happened to you, hyung,” Taehyung said quietly. “But you’re not alone. Seokjin-hyung and I… we’ve been waiting for you. No matter what it is, you can tell us.”

Yoongi shook his head, his fingers curling into fists. “You don’t understand, Tae.”

“Then make me understand,” Taehyung urged, his voice gentle but insistent.

Yoongi didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The words were trapped in his throat, too heavy to say aloud. How could he explain the blood, the betrayal, the way his father’s shadow still loomed over him?

Taehyung sighed softly, his shoulder brushing against Yoongi’s. “I’m glad you came back,” he said after a long pause. “Even if it’s just for a little while.”

Yoongi didn’t respond. He stared at the floor, his vision blurring as old memories clawed their way to the surface.

The house felt smaller now, suffocating. No matter how far he ran, it seemed like the past would always find a way to drag him back here.

...............................