maybe i'm fine with being by myself - misanthrpic (orphan_account) - 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys (2024)

Chapter 1: a flash of blue

Chapter Text

November 3rd, 2017

“f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck,” Jeongguk chants desperately, feet pounding on the pavement as he sprints towards the school gates at full speed. He manages to slip inside just twenty minutes late for his first class. It's not his fault he'd been so completely drunk off his mind at Wonshin's birthday party last night that he'd come home and passed out in his back yard, waking up with a hangover so terrible there were black spots in his vision. His head's mostly alright now, after chugging down two bottles of water and being in the fresh air for a bit. He bursts into the classroom.

Now, usually, when Jeongguk's late to class, this is what happens: he strides in, confident as ever, and his group of friends- large, popular, utterly attractive and all star members of the school's football team- erupt into cheers and shouts of 'looks like Guk finally decided to turn up's until the teacher rolls their eyes and tells them to shut the hell up. It is then Jeongguk's turn to saunter into his seat in the middle of them- the football team's captain.

The teacher will then tell Jeongguk that he needs to take his classes seriously, it's junior year and things are serious. He will nod along obediently but knows it doesn't matter all that much because he's getting into college for football. No-one needs to know that Jeongguk secretly wishes his grades were a little better, that perhaps he had a shot at becoming a doctor like his mom or a university professor like his dad. That maybe he didn't have to hide the fact that he kind of likes baking and draws in a sketchbook he keeps under his pillow and maybe, just maybe might like boys the way he's meant to like girls.

Today is different, however. People turn to look, yes, but their faces are serious and resigned, and their eyes seem to see through him instead of at him. The air in the room is thick with tension. He glances over to his friends, piled up in their usual corner of the classroom, and even they are eerily quiet.

What the f*ck, Jeongguk thinks.

Mrs Kwon clears her throat. “Mr Jeon, if you'd like to take a seat.”

Her voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, which has alarm bells ringing in Jeongguk's head. He goes to his seat quickly.

“Continuing from where I left off,” Mrs Kwon says, tone grave, “there will be an assembly after this class that'll go into a little more depth than I have. And... I just want to say, to all of you, that I hope you know you can talk to me anytime. About anything. I know I'm only your teacher, but if there is any way I could--”

She stops suddenly, choking on her words. Jeongguk notices her eyes are glistening. A small sob crawls up from her throat and she covers her mouth instantly, turning away. The air only gets thicker.

Jeongguk freaks a little, looking around desperately. What the hell is going on?

“What's happening?” he says under his breath.

“Kid in our year killed himself yesterday,” Jaebum replies quietly.

“What?” Jeongguk exclaims, eyes widening. A few heads turn. sh*t, a bit too loud. He lowers his voice. “Who?”

“Kim Taehyung,” Jaebum says.

Jeongguk shuts up in favor of trying to remember this Taehyung. He searches his brain extensively-- Kim Taehyung, who's Kim Taehyung?-- and comes up with nothing. They most likely weren't friends. Jeongguk thinks about how he would feel if one of his friends committed suicide, and feels his chest clench up a little. He shakes his head to clear himself of morbid thoughts.

The bell rings and everyone gets up. It's the assembly now.

While they file into the hall, Jeongguk nudges Jaebum.

“You know who Kim Taehyung is?” he pauses, then adds, “was.”

“No idea,” Jaebum says.

Jeongguk turns to Kyuhyun.

“Did you know Kim Taehyung?” he asks. Kyuhyun shrugs and shakes his head.

Jeongguk keeps asking around, and none of his friends seem to recall this Taehyung. It worries him. Surely at least one of them would know him, remember that he existed? Jeongguk feel anxious and jittery inside.

The assembly consists of various teachers talking about Taehyung, about how the school had high ambitions for him, about how lovely a student he was-- always helping teachers, staying behind to do extra work and improving the school community.Afterwards, they tell the students that there are counselors they can talk to anytime, and that suicide shouldn't be an option, et cetera. Jeongguk fidgets throughout the entire thing.

On the screen projector at the front of the hall is a large, slightly pixellated picture of Kim Taehyung, grin at full-force as he kneels beside what presumably is his dog, arms thrown around the animal's neck in a messy embrace. Jeongguk wonders when that picture was taken. Whether Kim Taehyung knew he was going to kill himself and smiled at the camera anyway.

He can't shake this uncomfortable feeling off. He looks around to see if he can find some of Kim Taehyung's friends. To his dismay, no one seems to be crying hysterically, or looking upset beyond the impersonal point of learning about someone's death, someone you didn't know well.

Who were Kim Taehyung's friends?

If he didn't have friends, anyone to confide in-- it would've made everything he was going through worse, surely. Feeling lonely on top of whatever other problems the boy was facing-- Jeongguk can't even imagine the toll that would take on a person.

He turns back to the picture on the screen. His hair is ruffled and his clothes are crumpled, like he's been running around. Jeongguk does remember him, but very vaguely. He can recall seeing that face in the hall sometimes but nothing further than that.

Better than nothing.

I shouldn't be feeling guilty about this, Jeongguk thinks. Why do I feel guilty? It's not my fault, I couldn't have done anything. I didn't even know him!

“Taehyung's funeral will be held this Friday, at six pm. You are all welcome to go-- his family has extended the invite to all.”

Jeongguk thinks this is a little odd. His parents are okay with just anyone turning at their son's funeral? He wonders who will go, then feels guilty all over again. The principal wraps up the assembly solemnly, and everyone leaves the hall in silence.

[-]

By the end of the week, most of the school seem to have forgotten the whole Taehyung thing; it's as if it never happened. People go back to normal. Life must go on, Jeongguk reasons, though it's a cruel thought.

For some reason, Jeongguk can't get Taehyung out of his head. The thought keeps flitting in and out of his mind, Taehyung's face flashing into the black of his eyelids when he closes them. It isn't normal. He shouldn't be thinking about it so much. It can't be healthy.

He found out how Kim Taehyung had died-- the story had spread around the school. He'd been found by local police dead in his bathtub, overdosed on prescription pills because he hadn't been in school for two weeks.

As a result, Jeongguk's friends notice his change in demeanor throughout the week but he tells them he's just feeling ill. He says he won't be coming to Seolhyun's party after school on Friday, and his friends all look at him like he's mad.

“It's Seolhyun,” Wonshin says, as if that's meant to make everything obvious to Jeongguk.

“I know that,” he says. “And what?”

“Are you high right now?” Wonshin leans into his face, pretending to examine him. Jeongguk rolls his eyes and bats him away.

“Shut up. I just don't get why you're all looking at me like that-- what's so special about Seolhyun?”

“She's f*cking hot, for one, and she's into you like hell. That's what everyone's saying, anyway. If you go, you can probably, you know,” Sejun makes a crude gesture and the group of them roar with laughter.

“What if I don't want to, you know,” Jeongguk mocks. Seolhyun is beautiful, yes, but Jeongguk just isn't all that attracted to her. He doesn't know why-- her body is amazing, all curves and toned thighs and tanned skin.

You know why. Jeongguk ignores the thought.

“You don't wanna f*ck that? You a fa*g or something?”

They all start laughing again, slapping Jeongguk on the back and he laughs along with them. It's a joke, he knows that. And plus, he's not gay. He's not. Not wanting to have sex with one of the most attractive girls in school doesn't mean he's... no. It doesn't.

“Why don't one of you lot have a go at her instead?” Jeongguk grins. “Though I'll be shocked if any of you ugly f*ckers manage it.”

“Ugly f*cker? You gotta be blind, Guk,” Sejun says co*ckily. He reaches out to grab a boy walking past, and shoves him in front of Jeongguk. The boy looks terrified, blinking up at Jeongguk through thick-framed glasses.

“What's your name, kid?” Sejun asks.

“S-sungmin,” the boy stammers, ears tipped with red.

“Well, Guk,” Sejun grins that wicked grin, the one that plasters all over his face before he does something dick-worthy, “this is what you call an ugly f*cker. See it?”

When everyone snorts, Sungmin looks like he's about to start crying any moment, but Jeongguk shrugs.

“Yeah, I see it. But I'm not taking it back, Sejun. You're still an ugly f*cker.”

Sejun mock-punches Jeongguk and they're all laughing again, Sungmin forgotten.

[–]

Jeongguk is very, very close to just turning off his phone altogether. If one of his friends drunk-call him from Seolhyun's party again, someone's going to die. His phone rings again and he turns it off. Problem solved.

He's been sitting in bed, unable to think about anything else except for Taehyung-- which he's used to by now. I need to stop or I'll go crazy.

Jeongguk glances over at his clock on his bedside table, and the time reads 6:45pm. That's when he gets an idea.

It's Friday-- the day of Taehyung's funeral, a fact he hasn't been able to forget. It started at 6pm, so perhaps he could still manage to catch a couple of minutes at the end. If he goes, maybe it'll give him some closure. He might be able to stop thinking about it all the time, clear his head and go back to normal like everyone else has.

Jeongguk still hasn't changed out of his uniform and pulls on his football jersey-- emblazoned on the back is the number '1', for the team captain. He'd been absolutely ecstatic when he'd been offered the position and the jersey is his prized possession.

He reaches the cemetery just after seven. After a quick glance over the area of land, it seems he's missed it. There's only a few people dotted around, and even they're leaving because it's started to rain. He goes in anyways, just to see the grave itself.

Jeongguk finally finds it. He swallows but his throat is dry all of a sudden. There's an ache in his chest, a dull, monotonous pain for a boy he never talked to, never knew. The scene in front of him breaks his heart.

The funeral is just finishing, although there's only five people there, all facing away from him. A boy with dark hair, around his age, perhaps; a little boy, kneeling in the mud adjusting a small bouquet of flowers resting against the stone; two little girls wailing and an old woman, hunched over and clutching at a walking stick. Jeongguk can hear her sobs from here, hoarse and broken.

The boy his age puts an arm around the old woman and pats her gently, telling her something. She nods, and together with the younger children, she leaves. He watches them, the way they slouch as they walk. Where are Taehyung's parents? Are they still alive? Is that why he...?

Jeongguk walks closer to the gravestone, still far enough for the dark-haired boy not to have noticed him. The sky overhead is dark with grey, stormy clouds. The rain is so heavy that it sounds more like the rushing of a river. Jeongguk shivers and wraps his soaked jersey around himself tighter. He nearly falls over in surprise when the boy starts talking.

“I'm sorry I couldn't do anything, Tae,” the boy says. His voice is quiet, barely a whisper, and scratchy as if he's been crying for a while. “I should have come over more. Then maybe I would've noticed-- that you, well... you were going to...”

Jeongguk blinks away the start of tears.

“I was a sh*tty best friend, wasn't I?” the boy laughs. It's tinged with the kind of hysteria fueled only by sadness. “You deserved someone better. Someone who didn't live so far away, who actually picked up your calls. I... I was always busy, but I should never have been too busy to talk to you. I know how hard things were at home, and school... but I just... I never thought...”

There's the sudden crack of thunder and the rain pours down frantically.

“Why did you do this?” the boy says after a long silence, but he sounds... angry. “How could you? You're gone, and you didn't tell anyone, and I can't believe you just-- you're not here anymore! You were about to graduate, Tae, go to college? Did you forget that we planned to room together, that you were gonna join me at Korea University? What am I going to... God, Taehyung-- I'd do anything for you to come back.”

The boy cries all over again. Jeongguk wants to leave, wants to forget this ever happened. He's never felt like this before-- like his heart is shattering, like someone is ripping out chunks of his lungs, bit by bit, taking away his ability to breathe until he's gasping, choking on nothing; like his knees don't know how to work and they're about to give out from underneath him; tears stinging his eyes until he feels like gauging them out himself. He hates it. He f*cking hates it.

After what seems like hours, the boy's sobbing ceases. Jeongguk takes a deep breath and walks over to stand next to the boy, eyes fixed on the gravestone with Taehyung's name engraved at the top. They stand in silence until he can't bear it anymore.

“You were close to Taehyung,” he means to ask, but it sounds more like a statement. As soon as the words leave his mouth, the dark haired boy gasps.

“Jeongguk?”

Jeongguk blinks once and his head snaps to look at the boy beside him.

“Holy f*ck,” he says, losing his balance a little. “Jimin-hyung?”

They stare at each other, and God, Jeongguk's heart is in this throat. It's his Jimin-hyung.

They'd been childhood friends in Busan, their families like family to each other, before the boys had moved to Seoul for a better education. They'd attended different high schools and became parts of different crowds-- Jimin with the nice kids, the ones that helped the elderly cross the street and studied together in pretty little coffee shops, who babysat kids and worked part-time at the charity center. Jeongguk had become friends with the popular kids, the rich-kids-gone-bad who held parties every other day that ended up with everyone passed out in the swimming pool, who paraded around the school halls like kings in a castle and crashed their expensive cars just for the thrill of it.

All in all, they'd drifted apart and the last time Jeongguk had seen Jimin was two years ago when he was a freshman in high school and Jimin a sophom*ore.

Despite that, Jeongguk still loves Jimin like he's his own brother, and knowing that he was the one upset crushes Jeongguk even more.

“Hyung, I've missed--”

Jimin punches Jeongguk in the face so hard he lands painfully on his ass. Jeongguk stares up at him in shock, brain short-circuited. He lifts a hand to his face slowly, touching his bloodied nose and wincing. He stands up, not understanding.

“Why did you--?”

Jimin lunges again, knocking Jeongguk to the floor. They're both tussling now, yelling and punching and kicking and scratching, and they're drenched in rain and sweat and mud and blood, and the sky is shouting its disapproval through thunder and torrents of rain. It hurts, God it hurts when Jimin manages to land blow after blow-- but the pain in Jeongguk's chest is a hundred times worse.

Jeongguk is stronger, however, and has Jimin pinned underneath him after a few minutes. They're both panting, and Jimin's face is still contorted with a kind of raw anger he's never seen before, and he's crying too, massive sobs that rack through his body like jolts of electricity. Jeongguk's crying too and he doesn't know why. He doesn't know anything anymore.

“It's all your f*cking fault!” Jimin screams, struggling against Jeongguk though he's exhausted and soaked to his bones. “You're a f*cking asshole, Jeon Jeongguk! I can't believe you've grown up to be such a dick, I f*cking hate you!”

“Hyung, what's wrong with you? What did I--”

“There's no way you're the same f*cking person from all those years ago. Who the f*ck do you think you are? Oh, I bet you're just so f*cking happy Taehyung went and killed himself, aren't you? Good riddance, huh?” Jimin scoffs, but the effect is lost because he's crying. “You throw a party to celebrate with all your asshole friends? I bet you thought it'd be so funny if you came up here, listening to me talk to... to Taehyung-- I bet you thought I was a f*cking idiot for talking to a dead person.”

“That's not it at all!” Jeongguk exclaims, but is too shocked and confused to say anything else.

“Don't act innocent with me. I know exactly who you are. Taehyung told me what you're like now. How could you do that to a person-- his life was hard enough, without you and all your-- get the f*ck off me!”

Jeongguk, stunned into silence, complies. They stand up, both dirty and dripping wet. Jeongguk has no idea what to make of any of this. It's his fault? Taehyung told Jimin what he... was like now? What does that even mean? Wait, Taehyung knew him? Jeongguk's brain overrides with information-- nothing makes sense and he can't keep up. The last ten minutes of his life are probably the most confusing.

And Jimin hates him, for some reason. It has something to do with Taehyung. It's the first time he's seen his hyung in years and... and this happens.

Jimin starts crying again, breathing hard. He looks so completely lost. His hair is matted with rain and mud, matted to his forehead, stones and leaves entwined through the limp strands. His clothes stick to his skin and are streaked with the dusky red of blood and the black-brown of wet mud. He's shivering, teeth chattering.

Jeongguk goes towards him slowly, lays a careful hand on his shoulder. He can't stand seeing Jimin like this.

“Hyung, please just listen to me,” Jeongguk says quietly. He finds that his voice is hoarse, his mouth, frozen from the cold, struggling to form the words. “I don't understand--”

Jimin jerks away from his hand and glares at him with pure hate.

“If you touch me again, Jeon Jeongguk, I swear to God I will f*cking kill you.”

He shoves at Jeongguk one last time before storming off.

Jeongguk watches Jimin go until he turns the corner and is completely out of sight. Jeongguk lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and sits down heavily beside the gravestone. He puts his head in his hands, shoulders slumped, and watches blankly as drops of rain slide down his nose and down his neck and chest.

Is he an asshole? Is that really what people think of him and his friends? He thinks about this morning, about Sejun grabbing that little freshman boy and humiliating him, about the way Jeongguk himself had just laughed without even thinking about it. He thinks about how that wouldn't be the first time, how he's made fun of others, threatened them, even hurt them physically.

Maybe Jimin's right. Though that still doesn't explain what it all has to do with Taehyung. Jeongguk didn't know him at all.

He's going to catch hypothermia if he doesn't get inside soon, but doesn't have the energy to get up and move anywhere. Jeongguk thought he'd find closure from coming to Taehyung's grave, but this is the opposite. He has so many more questions-- if only Taehyung were here to answer them.

He's not, though. He's dead, and somehow you were involved.

Jeongguk's stomach lurches. He falls forwards on his hands and knees and throws up over the grass. God, he feels dizzy. And cold. So, so cold.

He stays still, trying to calm his breathing. A small blue butterfly lands on Taehyung's gravestone delicately, wings twitching. Jeongguk wonders what it's doing out in the rain. He crawls over and holds his finger out. To his surprise, the butterfly simply flits over and settles itself there.

His head starts spinning a little, and as he watches the butterfly flap its wings in a glow of sapphire-blue and ebony his eyes begin to flutter. He's tired, drowsy. He should probably just lie down and go to sleep here, just for a little while. He'll get up later... after... a minute or so...

[-]

A pair of bright eyes watch the boy's still form critically. He can only hope the boy is not like the others. He thinks he has made the right choice, choosing this boy, but only Time can tell.

[-]

May 18th, 2017

Jeongguk blinks slowly, his eyes adjusting to the sudden shock of bright white sunlight. He's a little dazed for a minute, mind still hazy from sleep. Then he remembers Jimin, the fighting and the crying. Jeongguk swallows thickly and gets up.

The weather is nothing like it was yesterday- in fact, it seems like it hasn't rained at all. The grass is completely dry and it's warm, like summer. The sky is almost cloudless and every tree is in full bloom--

Wait, what?

Jeongguk closes his eyes and opens them again. No, he's not imagining it-- the trees really are full of leaves, even though they were merely bare branches just yesterday. Is he going crazy? Did he take a particularly nasty hit to the head?

“Stop being a f*cking idiot,” Jeongguk mutters to himself. He stands awkwardly for a bit, trying to process what exactly is going on. Is there some type of extreme weather condition that changes the season overnight?

He reaches up to fiddle absently with his piercings, going for the silver hoop, then the second hoop, then the stud--

There's no stud, Jeongguk thinks, starting to panic. He moves up to the shell of his ear-- and what the f*ck, there's no piercing there either. How can piercings disappear? Just like that? He'd got the first four, two in each ear, done when he'd just turned sixteen. He'd gotten the fifth and sixth a month ago.

Something is seriously wrong.

He comes to realize with a start that he's either been sleepwalking, or Taehyung's grave has just... disappeared. It's literally not there-- all that's left is a patch of grass, like no one had ever dug into the ground and buried a teenage boy.

Jeongguk needs to get home, needs to get away from here. Perhaps it's the experience from yesterday that has him off-kilter.

He hurries out of the cemetery and heads home, pausing at a shop window to look at his reflection.

What he sees shouldn't surprise him, not really, but it does.

His hair is inky black, not the brown he'd dyed it when he'd gotten his new piercings, and it is parted in the middle so that his fringe curves both ways and falls softly over his eyebrows. He really does only have four piercings, and his face is a little different.

This is what he'd looked like before summer, at the end of his sophom*ore year.

But there's no other explanation right now. Unless the last six months were just an incredibly vivid, realistic dream and he never turned seventeen and lost his virginity and dyed his hair brown.

Jeongguk goes home, because maybe something will be the same there and he'll stop feeling so lost. He gets home, and yes, the house is practically the same. He walks inside.

“Gukkie, is that you?” his mom's voice calls from the living room.

“Yeah,” he replies, following the sound. His mom is on the couch, doing paperwork on the coffee table in front of her while the TV plays silently in the background.

“You're home early,” she looks up from her work and smiles at him warmly. “I thought you were going to Junghyun's house?”

“I, uh,” Jeongguk clears his throat. “Don't feel so well.”

“Really? Come here, let me check your temperature--”

“N-no, nothing like that,” he says quickly. “Just tired. By the way, Mom, what's the date today?”

“I think it's the 18th,” she says, after a moment. “But you'll have to check that.”

“The 18th,” Jeongguk nods. “What month?”

His mom raises an eyebrow, but answers, “May, of course.”

It had been November the 3rd before he'd woken up in this... whatever this place is.

“And the year?”

At this, his mom's eyes widen.

“2017-- wait, are you alright?” she stands up and moves towards him. “Did you hit your head? Why are you asking me what year it is?”

Jeongguk balks at that. 2017? So it's six months ago, he was right-- near the end of his sophom*ore year.

“I'm fine,” he laughs nervously. “I'm gonna go upstairs now. Really, Mom. I'm okay.”

His mom shoots him one last worried look and Jeongguk ambles upstairs, feeling more tired than ever. He's definitely going to go to school tomorrow, and he just hopes he doesn't f*ck up and mention something from the future. He needs to act like he's sixteen. That's all.

[–]

Jeongguk's friends are all crowded around something, yelling and jeering. Nothing new, Jeongguk thinks with a smile. His friends are always fun to be around.

When he gets closer, he realizes they're surrounding a person. Harassing other students isn't the most satisfying thing to do... but he's used to it, by now, and his face morphs into the routine co*cky smirk whenever they all do something like this.

He reaches the edge of the circle and his friends are actually hitting the guy, which doesn't happen so often. Jeongguk's stomach drops. Verbal teasing and throwing insults are alright, but whenever the harassment turns into violence, it's not all that fun anymore.

From the looks of it, Yeonshik is the one doing most of the physical action, and he punches the guy full in the face. Jeongguk cranes his neck to see-- the person isn't even trying to fight back. His friends continue cheering, laughing and urging Yeonshik on. Jeongguk's too tired to join in.

He stands where he is, and a thought comes into his head.

Jimin had called him an asshole, with asshole friends. He'd acted as if... as if Jeongguk had had a reputation, that people had known about, that Taehyung had known about.

No. He isn't going to think about Jimin at a time like this. Jeongguk knows what'll happen. When you start thinking about your actions too much, you start feeling guilty, and then you don't have the stomach for them anymore.

He squares his shoulders and barges through the circle. He's not weak. Jimin won't affect him. He'll join in this time, see. And if he does, it doesn't make him an asshole, it f*cking does not...

“Boys, who're we--” he stops dead in his tracks, frozen.

His friends scatter a little with his arrival to reveal a bloodied, beaten Kim Taehyung. Jeongguk swallows back the bile that rises up his throat.

Taehyung's eye is blackened and there's blood on his lips, dripping out of his nose and down his neck. He's crouched on the floor, clutching his stomach and breathing heavily. Taehyung wheezes and coughs, and a bit of blood splatters onto the floor. His eyes rise up slowly to meet Jeongguk's, a rich chocolate-brown.

They're bloodshot and tired, and the emptiness in them chill Jeongguk to the bone.

Those are the eyes of a dead boy, he thinks, then shivers. His friends look at him expectantly. Oh, that's right. He was going to join in.

He can't possibly do that. Not to... to Kim Taehyung.

“What's the kid done?” Jeongguk asks, co*cky bravado back on, though weaker than usual.

“Tried to trip me over,” Jinsoo says, eyeing Taehyung with distaste. “Rude little f*cker, aren't you?”

He kicks him and Jeongguk looks away.

Somehow Jeongguk feels as if Taehyung hadn't actually done anything-- that this was an excuse, an excuse to hit someone, to feel better about yourself. Like it always was.

And f*ck, Jimin's back in his head, reminding him that Taehyung had it hard at home, and apparently Jeongguk had only gone and made it worse for him at school--

sh*t. f*cking sh*t. When Jimin had shouted at him like a wild animal, saying that it was his fault-- he probably wasn't lying. Back in his actual sophom*ore year, at this exact moment, Jeongguk had most likely gone and helped beat Taehyung up.

Maybe he'd done it before, too, maybe even more than twice-- who knows? Perhaps that was what Jimin had meant by that; that Jeongguk and his friends bullied Taehyung at school. It's not that unlikely. The countless people Jeongguk and his crowd have picked on-- he'd be lucky if he remembered any of their names. They're always no-one to Jeongguk, just the next person he decides to pick on. To, well. Bully...?

Bully. Is that what Jeongguk is? A bully?

I'm not a bully, he reassures himself. Funny-- he doesn't feel any better.

When Yeonshik keeps going at it with Taehyung, Jeongguk doesn't join in. He doesn't stop it. He doesn't do anything, because he f*cking can't. It's as if his body has decided to stop working without his permission, and all he can do is stand there and watch blankly.

The bell finally rings for class and the crowd disperses. Wonshin slings an arm around Jeongguk's shoulder and they all scramble off to their math class, leaving Taehyung slumped against the lockers.

Jeongguk wills himself not to look back.

When they're in class, Mrs Kwon begins calling out the register.

“Kim Taehyung,” she says, and there's no reply. Jeongguk sits up straighter. No one seems to notice that Kim Taehyung isn't here, or find it odd that he's suddenly gone missing. Apart from Mrs Kwon, who looks around anxiously before carrying on.

“Mrs Kwon?” Jeongguk raises his hand. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

She eyes him warily, thinking that he's trying get out of class (which usually, he is). She also has long since given up on trying to stop him, so sighs and nods. Jeongguk mutters a thanks and shoulders Kyuhyun as he leaves, who gives him a friendly grin.

Jeongguk goes back to where they'd been beating Taehyung up, near a row of lockers in the corridor. He's not there anymore, but there's still a small smear of blood against the bottom locker. For some reason the sight of it makes him feel sick again.

The bile rises up his throat again, and f*ck, he's actually going to throw up this time. He runs into the nearest bathroom and goes straight to the sinks, planting his hand on either side of one and taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

He's not sure why he's so shaken. He looks up at himself, his sixteen-year-old self from six months ago. What do other people think when they look at him?

Jeongguk's always thought that when people see him, they see the captain of the football team-- popular, attractive, confident, funny. Someone for other guys to envy and for girls to fall head over heels for. Now? Now, he wonders if people feel fear when they look at him, maybe even disgust, because Jeon Jeongguk is someone that that bullies other people and parades around like he's proud of it.

Jeongguk's always thought of Jimin as wise-- when they were younger, he would take his hyung's word as the truth about anything. Perhaps that hasn't changed, and Jimin is right about Jeongguk.

It's only after he's finished his internal monologue that he hears the soft crying coming from a cubicle. His muscles stiffen and he turns around to stare at the locked door, silent. Maybe the person hears the movement, because the crying stops abruptly and quietens down to sniffling.

“Hello?” Jeongguk says hesitantly. “Are... are you okay?”

“Yes,” comes a voice that definitely isn't. Then there's a noise that Jeongguk can't place exactly-- the slap of something against skin, followed by a small cry of pain. Jeongguk's next to sure this is Taehyung.

“I don't think you are,” he ventures.

“I am,” the voice replies, though it's trembling. “You can go.”

Jeongguk thinks, f*ck that, and goes into the cubicle next to Taehyung's. He gets up on the toilet and pulls himself over to land in Taehyung's cubicle.

Taehyung yelps as he lands next to him, then quickly turns away.

For a minute, Jeongguk doesn't do anything but stare. This is him, this is Kim Taehyung, the dead boy that Jeongguk couldn't get out of his mind for even a minute back in the, well, the future. The boy that'd swallowed enough pills to end his own life because he couldn't take it anymore. The boy who Jimin so obviously cared about. The boy who is currently less than a meter away from him.

He looks at Kim Taehyung, and the only word Jeongguk can think of is broken. He feels protective over him all of a sudden. He's the only one in this world who knows what Kim Taehyung's going to do, and there's no way he's not going to do something about it.

“What do you want?” Taehyung says, so softly that Jeongguk only just hears because of their proximity. “If you're going to hit me, just do it. I don't like the waiting.”

“Hit you?” Jeongguk repeats stupidly. Taehyung nods, still not looking at him.

“If you're going to do it, just... please,” Taehyung coughs a little. “Quickly.”

“I'm not going to hit you,” Jeongguk says, and leans back against the locked door. Taehyung looks up at him then, with those dead eyes. They're confused but resigned. Taehyung licks his dry, peeling lips and lowers his head again.

“Please,” Taehyung says in a small voice. “Please, just. Do it.”

“Do what?” Jeongguk asks slowly.

“Hit me,” Taehyung says, and holds out his arm. “Hard. Here, or-- or anywhere you like.”

Jeongguk's jaw drops and there's that nausea he's become so accustomed to.

“What the f*ck?” he says, a little too loudly, and winces. “No! Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn't you?” Taehyung co*cks his head, as if he is genuinely confused. “You... you always do.”

Jeongguk swallows against the lump in his throat and says nothing.

Taehyung stands up and moves closer to Jeongguk, so that he's backed up in the corner of the cubicle. The air is heavy and God, Jeongguk is scared.

“You're trying to be nice to me, right?” Taehyung says. His voice is detached, hopeless. “If you want to be nice, hit me. As much as you want, just keep going until I pass out, please, I don't care how you do it, I need you to keep going until I pass out--”

“No!” Jeongguk says quickly, horrified. He was wrong-- Taehyung is beyond broken, nothing like he's ever seen before. “Taehyung, just-- just calm down for a minute, okay? I'm not going to hurt you--”

“But I want you to!” Taehyung shouts hoarsely. He sounds crazy, desperate, like he's begging for it. “Don't you f*cking understand? I hate you, Jeon Jeongguk-- you're always going around beating people up, beating me up, and the one time I ask you for it, you refuse--”

“I've hit you before?” Jeongguk's asks. “Wait, you know who I am?”

“Yes, you've hit me before, not like you'd remember,” Taehyung's laugh is without humor, and it's a terrifying sound. “And of course I know who you are. Who doesn't? I'm surprised you know who I am.”

Jeongguk doesn't know what to say to that.

“So you're not going to hit me,” Taehyung says.

“No,” Jeongguk agrees.

“Fine,” Taehyung sits back down on the closed toilet seat and shoves his shirtsleeve up to his elbows. He takes hold of an elastic band around his wrist, pulls it back, and lets it slap against his skin with a sound that echoes through the bathroom. He keeps going, over and over, the skin reddening, and Taehyung's crying again but getting faster all the while. Jeongguk watches, speechless, as Taehyung keeps hurting himself like he needs it.

“Stop!” Jeongguk says, panicked. “Taehyung, what-- stop that!”

“I can't, just let me do this, do this one thing for me, Jeongguk, please,” Taehyung chokes out. His wrist is bleeding a little now but this only seems to encourage him. The elastic band turns a splotchy pink.

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk's voice goes up by an octave. This is the scariest experience of his life. “f*cking stop, you're bleeding now--”

He darts out a hand to grab Taehyung, but the older boy just turns away from him.

“Taehyung, stop!” he knees down on the floor in front of Taehyung and takes hold of the boy by his wrists. Taehyung is sobbing, shaking so hard that Jeongguk feels the tremors pass through Taehyung's body into his.

He keeps hold until Taehyung's fingers stop trembling and his crying subsides. Taehyung slumps back, defeated and still. Jeongguk gently slides the elastic band off his hand, careful not to graze the sensitive skin of his wrist, and throws it into the small bin.

“Come on, get up,” Jeongguk says. Taehyung complies silently. It's eerie, his demeanor. Just a few minutes ago he was wild with emotion, crying and screaming and abusing his own wrist with that goddamned elastic band, and now he's still. Like... he just can't be bothered anymore.

Taehyung doesn't struggle as Jeongguk turns on the cold water tap and washes off his wrist, the dried blood on his nose and mouth from the fight with Yeonshik. Jeongguk's heart thumps against his chest like an animal. He's never been this on edge before.

After Taehyung's cleaned up, Jeongguk is at a loss as for what to do.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, which is pretty stupid, but he just wants to break the silence.

“Fine,” Taehyung replies. His voice is steady now.

“Okay,” Jeongguk says. “Maybe you should just go home for today. There's only one class left anyway.”

As soon as Jeongguk says the word 'home', Taehyung's eyes take on a panicked, shifty look, and his hands start trembling again.

Jeongguk curses himself inwardly. Jimin had said that things were bad at home, and Jeongguk just had to go and mention it like the f*cking idiot he is.

“Forget that, actually,” Jeongguk says. “Don't go home. You don't want to miss your last class. Education is very important.”

Taehyung doesn't smile at that. He just nods and leaves the bathroom. Jeongguk doesn't follow him.

He thinks that there might be a reason he's woken up in the past, and that reason is Kim Taehyung. Jeongguk steels himself. He's going to help him. He is.

Chapter 2: one caramel macchiato, please

Chapter Text

May 20th, 2017

It's impossible to put out of his mind-- Taehyung's face as he cornered Jeongguk in the cubicle, a mad glint in his eye when he'd asked to be hurt. How pain seemed to be the only thing capable of rendering any kind of emotion in Taehyung's face, as if he'd given up on feeling anything unless it involved punishing himself.

No one should feel like that. Jeongguk grabs at his phone on his bedside table and blinks at the screen. It's only half past four in the morning.

He groans and turns impatiently to his other side, tries pulling the covers up to his chin, kicking them off, flipping his pillow and lying on his back. Nothing works. He's awake and his head feels like sh*t.

Jeongguk decides there's nothing for it, and gets up. It's too early to change into his school uniform, but perhaps going for a few laps around his block will calm himself down, stop the jitters crackling through the skin in his hands.

The air is pleasantly warm and the sun is already beginning to rise, casting a pale pink and yellow glow over the pavement and the buildings. Like he'd imagined, the outside air dampens his nerves, as does the tightness in his calves as he runs.

He turns the corner and comes up around the street with all the small shops-- a vintage-looking cafe with the words 'Butterfly Cafe' etched on a sign, a thrift store, a stationary shop-- to see a tall, slim boy walking down tiredly, almost dragging his feet behind him. Jeongguk recognizes Taehyung from his gait more than anything else.

Why is he going to school so early? Jeongguk wonders, the nervousness returning as he jogs over slowly, as not to surprise him.

“Morning,” Jeongguk says, and Taehyung turns his head blankly. He says nothing, just looks back down at his feet and keeps walking.

Jeongguk clears his throat and slows down to Taehyung's speed.

“You're pretty early,” Jeongguk tries awkwardly. “School doesn't start for another few hours.”

That doesn't garner a response either, so Jeongguk decides a direct question may be more suitable.

“Why're you out at five in the morning?” he asks, then regrets it immediately as Taehyung's eyebrows furrow and his lips purse together. sh*t. Jeongguk would bet a lot of money that Taehyung would like to spend as little time at home as possible, even if it means leaving for school at an ungodly hour.

Jeongguk bites his lip and stares at the side of Taehyung's face, deciding what would be best to say after his immense f*ck-up. He thinks idly that he's never quite seen the sun slant across someone's nose and jaw so delicately, that Taehyung's eyelashes are so long they reach his browbone, that his skin looks softer than anyone Jeongguk can think of.

He looks away hurriedly and blurts out whatever his stupid, idiotic mind can stir up in the split second that follows.

“Can I walk with you from now on?”

Taehyung actually stops walking at that, his body jerking forward like he didn't mean to. That's something, at least, Jeongguk thinks, especially when Taehyung properly turns to face him.

“You want to what?” Taehyung's voice is flat, as always.

“Um, well, I. You know,” Jeongguk hopes he doesn't resemble a fire engine (which he probably does) and gestures with his hands in a way that he knows makes him look stupid. “It's quite, er. Nice. The sun and everything. At this time of day.”

Jeongguk laughs, slightly choked, and Taehyung's face is still completely blank.

“I'd quite like to come out early, I think,” he says, miraculously regaining his ability to speak. “I'd also quite like to walk with you.”

Taehyung looks unimpressed at best and continues walking. Jeongguk stumbles to catch up with him.

“Is that a yes? I'll take that as a yes,” Jeongguk says.

“You can take that as a no,” Taehyung finally speaks and the words make something heavy drop from Jeongguk's chest to his stomach.

“What? Why not?”

At this Taehyung makes a noise of frustration and stops walking again. He looks up at Jeongguk with those empty eyes that Jeongguk couldn't figure out if his life depended on it. Jeongguk remembers the photo of him smiling with his dog and thinks that there is no way the boy standing in front of him is the same person.

“I don't know what you think you're doing,” Taehyung says, voice tinged with exasperation. “Refusing to hit me. Cleaning me up after your friends punch the sh*t out of me-- asking to walk with me to school! Are you crazy?”

“I just wanted to--”

“I don't care what you want,” Taehyung hisses. “I hate you, Jeon Jeongguk, and that isn't going to change just because you're doing... whatever it is you're doing. You still tormented me for two years. I hate you, and your friends, and your f*cking attitude, and no I will not walk with you to school!”

Taehyung is breathing hard. Jeongguk gapes at him. He'd forgotten everything he's done, what he is. Taehyung's words hurt like you couldn't imagine and Jeongguk realizes that half the school likely share his sentiments.

Jeongguk wonders if anyone, outside his circle of friends, actually likes him, then mocks himself internally. What reason has he given anyone to like him? In fact, he's given everyone multiple reasons to dislike him, even hate him like Taehyung does.

Jeongguk was wrong earlier-- pain is not the only thing capable of making Kim Taehyung feel emotion, because his hate for Jeon Jeongguk is just as effective.

[-]

Jeongguk's alarm goes off at half past four in the morning again and this time he changes into his school uniform. Yes, he is going to respect Taehyung's wishes and not impose himself on him during his morning walk to school... but he still wants to get up early.

Not for any Taehyung-related reasons. The sky is just pretty at this time of day.

He only feels slightly creepy as he catches sight of the back of Taehyung's head and walks a healthy distance behind him, taking care to keep his feet light and soundless.

Taehyung stops outside the Butterfly Cafe and looks towards it, like he is contemplating buying food, but seems to think better of it and continues walking. Does he get time to eat this early in the morning?

After that, Taehyung turns right instead of walking straight up the street that leads to their school and enters the small local library that Jeongguk has never actually been inside. Jeongguk instills his inner James Bond (he's watched all the movies) and counts to ten before following him inside.

The library is small, as he'd expected, but very cozy. The walls are painted a warm yellow and are covered in posters of films, books, notices and children's drawings. The carpet is a soft brown and the bookshelves go from floor to ceiling. There's also a couple of old-looking computers near the back. The interior is as much a second-hand furniture shop as a library- dozens of brightly colored beanbags, armchairs and rugs take up most of the floor space. All in all, it reminds Jeongguk of his grandmother's cottage in Busan.

He scans the library for Taehyung, padding around cautiously until he sees Taehyung on a beanbag in the narrow space between two bookshelves, an open paperback balanced precariously on his chest as it rises in the soft breaths of sleep. His mouth is slightly open and this is the first time he has seen Taehyung looks so relaxed, so at peace.

Jeongguk looks at him for a few moments before leaving.

[–]

The next day Jeongguk wakes up at five and curses. He's late. He pulls on his clothes at record speed and sets off for the library at a paced jog. He stops at the Butterfly Cafe, however, and remembers Taehyung glancing inside yesterday.

He decides, why not, and steps inside, the little bell above the door ringing. The barista looks about as awake as Jeongguk feels after staying up until three in the morning to play Overwatch and Jeongguk winces in sympathy. The morning shift, ouch.

“Could I have...” he looks up at the blackboard, the menu written in pink chalk. “A caramel macchiato and one of those?”

He points at a delicious-looking white chocolate and raspberry muffin. You can't go wrong with chocolate and muffin in Jeongguk's opinion.

The barista packs it up into a little brown paper bag when Jeongguk asks for a takeaway. Just as he's about to leave the cafe, Jeongguk turns back and asks for a pen.

“Sure,” the barista says, yawning, and pulls one out of her front pocket to give to Jeongguk.

He grabs a paper napkin and leans against the counter to write 'have a nice day! :)' in smudged blue ink.

“Thanks,” he says, handing the pen back. The barista raises an eyebrow at the napkin but smiles.

“Good luck with your girl!” she calls out, just as the door shuts behind Jeongguk. He blushes and holds the bag tight to his chest as he goes to the library.

He finds Taehyung asleep, thankfully. He's not too late after all. Jeongguk holds his breath, shuffles silently until he is right in front of Taehyung and places the paper bag down oh so carefully at his feet.

Jeongguk walks backwards until he is far enough from Taehyung not to wake him with his footsteps and collapses into an armchair. He is hidden but can still see Taehyung perfectly well from here. As he waits impatiently for Taehyung to wake up, Jeongguk wonders for a moment if what he's doing crosses the line from curious to outright weird.

It doesn't, he decides, and pulls out a book. He's not much of a reader, despite both his parents being particularly obsessive when it comes to books, but flicks through it all the same. Jeongguk is surprised by how invested he gets in the story of a pilot crashing and meeting a young boy called the 'little prince'. He is even more surprised when he finished the short book about an hour later with wet eyes.

As he sets it down, Jeongguk catches movement from the corner of his eye and realises that Taehyung's waking up.

Taehyung's eyes flicker open, and even from here Jeongguk can see that they aren't as empty as usual, that he looks close to content. Taehyung looks at the bag, opens it carefully and peers inside. He takes out the napkin and Jeongguk grins as his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

Taehyung looks around him suspiciously, finally giving up when he doesn't find anyone in the vicinity (Jeongguk is now crouching behind the armchair) and takes out the coffee and muffin.

Jeongguk can't help that the coffee is cold by now, but Taehyung doesn't seem to mind. He takes a small sip, pauses, then drains the whole cup in an impressively small amount of time. He then wolfs down the muffin as if he hasn't eaten in days and Jeongguk's grin falls off his face.

After Taehyung has finished eating, he checks his phone quickly, for the time, Jeongguk thinks, and stands up. Jeongguk panics and makes himself as small as possible, releasing a long-held breath when the library door swings shut behind Taehyung.

It seems that being nice is rewarding.

[–]

Jeongguk continues to do the same thing for the next four school days. Thursday is a latte with an apple and walnut pastry, Friday is hot chocolate and a lemon tart, Monday is a nutmeg cappuccino with a chocolate-drizzled granola bar and on Tuesday Jeongguk asks the barista to write a 'T' in foam on top of the coffee.

Taehyung's surprised smile is worth it.

Well, it's not exactly a smile, just a very faint quirk of the lips, but for some reason Jeongguk's developed an addiction to it. He's sure he would go to great lengths to see it, and that includes writing increasingly creative and personalized napkin-notes. Taehyung always smiles at those.

On Wednesday, Jeongguk has written a note praising Taehyung's smile to the heavens and can't keep one off his own face as he slips into the library. After his customary check to confirm that Taehyung is, indeed, asleep, Jeongguk goes over to place the bag down as usual.

His heart almost fails him when Taehyung's hand shoots out and grabs his wrist.

Jeongguk prays to a higher deity for mercy as he slowly, slowly raises his eyes up to meet Taehyung's carefully blank ones.

“What the f*ck do you think you're doing?”

The sheer, strained anger in Taehyung's voice makes up for the lack of it in his face.

“Bringing you coffee,” Jeongguk says without combusting into flame from embarrassment, which is an achievement.

Taehyung stares at him like he can't quite believe Jeongguk's nerve.

“For the past week it's been you?” Taehyung asks. He's so quiet it's barely a whisper. “All those notes-- the things they said... I thought that someone--”

He chokes on his own voice and Jeongguk winces.

“I thought that someone cared about me,” Taehyung finishes. “But it was you, and I don't know why you would do this-- is this funny to you? Are your friends hiding somewhere?”

Jeongguk is somehow reminded of his conversation with Jimin before he passed out and woke up, well. Here, which is apparently six months ago. Taehyung runs a desperate hand through his hair.

“Haven't you done enough?” he says. “Please, just leave me alone. I don't know what I've done to upset you--”

“I do,” Jeongguk says quietly. He coughs, then says, louder, “I do.”

“You what?” Taehyung sounds genuinely upset-- all because he'd found out Jeongguk was the one bringing him breakfast every morning.

“Care,” Jeongguk clarifies. His ears are burning with embarrassment, but he's got to make Taehyung understand that this isn't funny, that Jeongguk doesn't want to hurt him. “It's not a joke. No one else is here. I did it because I wanted to.”

Taehyung stares at him, eyes eerily devoid of anything, but at least they're not filled with a simmering rage akin to last time they spoke.

“I care,” Jeongguk says pathetically, as if Taehyung didn't hear him before.

“I don't believe you,” Taehyung says slowly.

“It's true,” Jeongguk replies. It's difficult, looking straight into that dark gaze. It's the first time Jeongguk's felt that Taehyung's actually seeing instead of just looking. Neither of them speak for long seconds.

“Tell me what you want from me,” Taehyung finally says. “I don't have a lot of money or anything, but I can--”

“Walk with me to school,” Jeongguk says quickly, ignoring the fact that Taehyung's first thought was that Jeongguk wanted to take money from him.

“You... is that all?” Taehyung's voice goes up an octave, like he's confused.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk offers a wry grin, confidence back now that Taehyung might agree. “I'll stop buying you coffee and everything.”

“Alright,” Taehyung shifts on the beanbag. His shoulders are tense. “But I still don't like you.”

“Great!” Jeongguk jumps up and holds out a hand. “Starting from today?”

Taehyung doesn't take it and instead chooses to walk past Jeongguk without a word. Jeongguk shoves his hands into his pockets and follows, feeling lighter. He'll take I still don't like you over I hate you anyday.

Chapter 3: i can cut you like diamond

Chapter Text

May 28th, 2017

He makes sure to be as silent as possible when leaving for school.

His dad is passed out on the ratty couch in the living room, limbs splayed and half-empty beer bottles scattered at his feet. The TV rumbles on quietly, barely background static. He doesn't dare to go and turn it off because he won't chance waking his dad up, he won't, even if it means upping the electricity bills and taking on an extra shift at the convenience store near their house.

He slings his satchel over one shoulder and walks outside. His chest immediately feels lighter after leaving his house. It's leaving behind the confines of darkness, the grief, the anger, and walking out into the pale morning sunlight.

Even so, his heart is thudding inside his chest and his fingers twitch. He shoves them into the pockets of his blazer and pulls his shoulders in.

He hasn't been able to stop thinking about it since yesterday. About the coffee, the snacks, the goddamn notes that'd had his heart fluttering ever so slightly and his mood lifting whenever he read them. They had been the highlight of his day.

That is, until he'd found out the sender was none other than Jeon Jeongguk, resident asshole. Despite the fact Jeongguk had vehemently denied it, Taehyung is still sure that this is all some type of sick joke. He wouldn't put it past someone like Jeongguk.

Jeongguk and his friends have made Taehyung's life even more of a living hell than it already was. His self-esteem had been knocked down from zero into the negatives. Taehyung's always living in the negative now. It's like his permanent state.

Thinking of Jeongguk has his breath growing heavy, his temples aching and his ears ringings. The edges of his vision begin to darken and Taehyung senses the comings of a panic attack.

The pavement around him starts to blur, to tremble, and his clothes suddenly feel too hot. His ribs squeeze against his chest painfully and God, it's starting right now, numbing the balls of his feet up to his kneecaps.

Taehyung gropes blindly at the skin around his wrist until his fingers catch on the elastic band. He pulls it away from his wrist with two pinched fingers and then lets it go with a snap!

His arm vibrates with the pain, travels up to his neck and down his spine, grounds him. He does it again, and again, until his skin is red and sore and his eyes are stinging with tears and his breathing is even again.

He sighs, stepping backwards until his back comes into contact with a wall and slumps against it. Taehyung looks down at the burning, scarlet flesh of his wrist without feeling. It hurts like hell, and Taehyung needs it like it's air.

The clear elastic band is twisted and mangled against the redness. It's unbearably ugly but it's also the only thing that can cause his panic attacks to cease.

Taehyung starts walking again. Jeongguk shouldn't have this effect on him anymore-- Taehyung's had two years to get used to his incessant taunting, the way he treats Taehyung and all others like him as if they're dirt on the bottom of his shoe.

It's not like I can do anything if he's really trying to f*ck with me, Taehyung thinks. He's learnt it's best to let Jeongguk do what he wants and deal with the aftermath when it comes.

“Taehyung!”

And suddenly he's there, radiating warmth beside Taehyung in a way that makes him feel intensely nervous all over again. Taehyung keeps his head down, his eyes on his feet as they clack clumsily across the street.

“I nearly slept through my alarm,” Jeongguk says brightly, and Taehyung grits his teeth. The boy could easily pursue a career with those acting skills. “But I set like, eight, so I have to wake up.”

Jeongguk doesn't stop speaking the entire way-- mundane things that have Taehyung tuning him out until Jeongguk's voice is just a low murmur. Suddenly, Jeongguk's hand clamps around his arm and Taehyung jerks away so fast he nearly falls over.

“Sorry-- sorry!” Jeongguk winces. “Just, we're at the cafe. I'm kind of hungry-- let's get something.”

Taehyung follows Jeongguk inside, too tired to protest. Being around someone like Jeongguk does that to you, and not in a fun way.

“That carrot cake looks good, but Coach Cheong would kick my ass,” Jeongguk sighs. Taehyung looks up at the blackboard showing the options, eyes lingering on the--

“A caramel macchiato, and...” Jeongguk squints, “just a plain black for me.”

Taehyung looks at Jeongguk in surprise, before remembering that he was the one bringing Taehyung coffee the whole time, of course he would know what to order.

He doesn't like Jeongguk much at all-- how could he-- but the intensity of his dislike has lessened marginally since that whole coffee incident, much as he loathes to admit it.

While they wait for their order, Jeongguk bounces on his heels, talks at a mile a minute and plays with the end of his tie. Taehyung has no idea why Jeongguk is so nervous, when Taehyung is the introvert, the outcast, the freak.

And although Taehyung has schooled his face into something resembling calm, his insides are squirming and his mind is insanely jumbled-up at the moment. Jeongguk's presence, one he has always associated with the feeling of fear and dread, does nothing to stave off the jitter of managing to throw off a panic attack just minutes before.

Their coffee arrives and they take their respective cups before going to sit at a table in the corner, which is definitely more than what Taehyung had agreed to. He sits down all the same.

“Overwatch is the best,” Jeongguk is saying, fingers wrapped loosely around the steaming mug. It unnerves Taehyung to see him so... friendly. So unlike the real Jeongguk, who is rude and cold and unmerciful.

Taehyung takes a sip of his coffee and focuses on the white wall behind Jeongguk's head, fading into a state of practised indifference that he has mastered after years of being yelled at and beaten and thrown across the kitchen floor at home.

[–]

Taehyung tentatively joins the conversation every so often, not because he wants to talk to Jeongguk, but more due to his curiosity of understanding what's actually going on.

Every time Taehyung says anything, Jeongguk smiles so brightly that Taehyung's close to shielding his eyes.

Taehyung thinks of the out-of-date milk he'd had a few days ago and wonders if food-poisoning-induced hallucinations are a thing.

It's odd. Surely Jeongguk doesn't expect Taehyung to take him into stride just like that, to forget years of mockery and torment because of a few cups of (admittedly delicious) coffee and notes written on paper napkins that would be kind of romantic if it wasn't Jeon Jeongguk writing them.

They arrive at school later than Taehyung's used to and the building's already teeming with students-- some groaning corpses draped over last-minute essays and others shouting and shoving at each other, namely, Jeongguk's friends.

Jeongguk yells to them in something closer to a wild animal's cry than an actual greeting, which provokes a return pack of bestial cries that has Taehyung rearing back in mild fear. This fear heightens when the entire group of them stride over to where he and Jeongguk are standing.

Taehyung's nerves spike dangerously and his fingers instinctively go to play with the elastic band on his wrist. There's a dull press of pain and he manages not to run away.

This is only just, however. Taehyung's always known that Jeongguk's crowd is loud, but being this close to the chaos is more than unnerving.

To his surprise, Jeongguk's friends don't even take notice of Taehyung. At all. Not even to laugh at him, to push him around. It's as if he's completely invisible-- Taehyung's not sure whether to be offended or grateful, so settles on confusion.

He keeps toying with the elastic band and glancing around. Jeongguk's friends may not have noticed him, but everyone else has. They're staring at him oddly, probably wondering how the likes of Taehyung ended up with the group around him.

Jeongguk is laughing with the others, gesturing wildly as he recounts something to his friends. Even Taehyung will admit that Jeongguk has a talent for storytelling; he can make anything sound interesting.

It's just that Taehyung never really wants to listen.

The discomfort of the situation is really impacting Taehyung now. He should probably leave.

Jeongguk's gaze catches his for a long moment. He doesn't stop speaking but grins through his words, warm and carefree and everything Taehyung has never known him to be.

He decides to stay a little longer.

“I'm getting one here, and one here,” Jeongguk says, thumb brushing over the shell of his ear. “What d'you think?”

“Not that you don't pull them off,” one of Jeongguk's friends say, a tall, muscular guy with a slightly squashed face. “But I don't really get your whole ear piercing thing.”

Taehyung silently disagrees.

“I like them,” Jeongguk replies easily, index finger slipping into the silver hoop on his right ear.

“Yeah, it's just kinda gay, you know,” Squashed Face shrugs. “A little weird that the captain of our football team likes to wear dangly earrings and sh*t.”

Jeongguk freezes for a second. Taehyung grips desperately at the elastic band.

“You think it's gay?” Jeongguk asks slowly. Taehyung seems to be the only one sensing tension-- everyone else, including Squashed Face, is just grinning as usual.

“You can talk, man, you suck dick for a living,” another guy says to Squashed Face, and the group, Jeongguk too, burst out laughing.

“f*ck off,” Squashed Face shoulders the offender. They collapse into playful banter again, but Taehyung is irrationally angry.

He spins on his heel and stalks off, ignoring Jeongguk calling after him. He resists the urge to look back.

He knows them to be the type to make derogatory gay jokes-- isn't that part of the popular-high-school-football-player package-- and this one wasn't even that bad, but the fact that Jeongguk, the same one who, when Taehyung offered to give anything, only asked to walk with him to school, is laughing riles Taehyung up more than a little.

There's also that the whole gay thing strikes pretty close to home with Taehyung and he's had his fair share of trouble for it from his father, to say the least.

Taehyung's angry at himself too, at the minuscule, yet still present, part of him that had thought that maybe Jeongguk had changed, that his kindness wasn't artifice.

He looks around at all the students around him, all in groups, talking, sitting or whatever but still part of something. Taehyung isn't part of anything.

Taehyung knows he shouldn't, but he pulls up Jimin's contact on his phone and stares at it. The picture saved for his contact is the one Taehyung had taken of him on Jimin's fifteenth birthday. His face is covered in cake and frosting and the only visible feature on his face is his wry grin.

He wants to call Jimin, thinks about it every so often, but loses the courage quickly. They've not spoken in ages and honestly, he's not sure if Jimin would be interested in talking to him anyway.

Taehyung's... different now, than he was when he and Jimin were best friends in middle school. He's more subdued, less keen to mess around and enjoy himself. Jimin wouldn't like this Taehyung, he knows it.

[–]

His mood hasn't improved by the time the bell rings for lunch, so Taehyung decides to forgo anywhere heavily student-populated and slips into the bathroom for some quiet. He likes to think of it as his bathroom because he's sure he spends more time in here than anyone else.

Taehyung stares at the door of the cubicle, scanning over the graffiti inked everywhere, ranging from crude pictures to encouraging quotes. They're not remotely interesting but they pass the time, and before long half an hour has gone by.

Taehyung feels a lot better already.

There's the sound of the door swinging open just then and--

“Shut the f*ck up, Guk, she totally did, I swear,” says a brash voice, and Taehyung slumps back against the wall, defeated.

The universe hates him.

“Okay, whatever you say,” Jeongguk replies in that sarcastic way of his that has Taehyung on edge.

There's the sound of flies being undone, the urinals being used and low chatter.

“I'm gonna use a stall,” Jeongguk says.

“For f*ck's sake,” says his friend.

“Didn't say you had to wait for me,” Jeongguk says. “Go ahead. I'll meet you outside.”

Taehyung hears the door open, then shut softly. Jeongguk is still, by the sound of it.

Then suddenly, there's a flash of navy blue uniform as Jeongguk hauls himself over into Taehyung's stall and then does that unnerving thing where he's just totally in Taehyung's personal space.

Taehyung stares at his shoes, then Jeongguk's, then his own.

“What made you mad this morning?” Jeongguk asks. His voice is quiet and sincere and completely confusing.

Taehyung doesn't answer because Jeongguk wouldn't understand anyway. Not that he wants him to.

He sneaks a look at Jeongguk, who seems to be waiting for Taehyung's answer.

Taehyung swallows and the sound is harshly loud in the silence.

He looks at Jeongguk again. Jeongguk frowns and meets his gaze evenly.

“I'm gay,” Taehyung whispers, and then feels like dying.

Jeongguk doesn't say anything for a long time and Taehyung feels more like dying.

“You--” Jeongguk's voice is scratchy, so he clears his throat and tries again. “You're-- I didn't... okay.”

Taehyung senses something off in Jeongguk's voice. Like Jeongguk is disgusted at his confession but is trying to hide it, because not offending Taehyung is apparently part of Jeongguk's new persona.

His stomach drops to the ground at this. He imagines Jeongguk going and telling his friends, which is just more mocking material for them to use. Taehyung can't even really be all that mad at Jeongguk if he did-- this one's on Taehyung. It's his fault for telling Jeongguk in the first place.

What was he thinking?

The reality of his words begin to sink in properly and Taehyung's entire face heats up as if he's being boiled alive.

“Yeah,” Taehyung says uselessly.

“I have to go,” Jeongguk blurts out, and when Taehyung chances a look at him his cheeks are flushed and the rest of his face very pale. Jeongguk doesn't seem to able to even look at Taehyung.

This is beyond embarrassing-- beyond mortifying. This... this is possibly one of Taehyung's worst life choices, and that's really saying something.

Jeongguk unlocks the cubicle door instead of climbing over, which is so unlike him-- God, Taehyung's made him so uncomfortable he can't even climb the door-- perhaps Jeongguk thinks Taehyung's going to look at his ass or something and doesn't want to risk it, because Taehyung's f*cking disgusting and everyone knows it--

He gets the feeling that he's ruined everything, when logically, there's never been anything to ruin.

[–]

When it finally comes, Taehyung's not surprised.

How he'd managed to get through the entire school day without a panic attack after his encounter with Jeongguk is miraculous, and although he despises them from the bottom of his heart he's glad it's happened at home.

He curls up against the foot of his bed.

It's familiar, in a horrifying way-- his chest tightens beyond physical pain like there's a metal vice around it, squeezing at his ribs and he can almost feel the icy coldness of steel, chilling him to the bone. He shuts his eyes so hard the muscles in his face protest furiously. The back of his eyes are a myriad of murky blue and brown and black like the oil he's being submerged in, cutting off his oxygen, crawling over his skin. His head is empty and full all at once-- he can't think but there's so much static, so much static, black and white and grey and flitting around non-stop bouncing from the edges of his skull and against each other and crackling and hissing and--

It all stops at once, like it always does, and Taehyung is left panting desperately, his palms stinging from where his nails are stabbed into them. The room comes back to him slowly.

He unclenches his fists and stares at his bloodied hands. The red crescents of where his nails were glow like embers.

Taehyung forces himself to concentrate.

“Blue book, brown shelf,” he says between labored breaths. “Black phone, grey sheets. White ceiling, green plant, black shoes. Black pen. Black book.”

It's not working-- his heart rate is still up and his stomach is still churning.

Taehyung hooks his index finger under the elastic band at his wrist and pulls it back as far as it can go without snapping. He lets go and shivers as the band slaps against his skin, the noise echoing around his small room.

He waits for his body to stop shuddering then repeats the process over and over. The pain blooming in his wrist is red-hot. He tries to make sure the band lands in the same place every time-- it's better that way.

His pulse slows down significantly, but not enough to be normal. The elastic band's not enough.

He stands up and leaves his bedroom, his knees weak, ambling across the landing until he reaches the dingy, half-broken bathroom.

He stares at himself in the mirror mounted above the sink-- not at his face, but at his blushing wrist. He takes a deep breath as he spots the razor in the blue plastic cup.

Taehyung hands shake as he reaches towards it, slowly, because he needs more but maybe the razor will be too much. His fingers brush the side of the blade and--

“Get the f*ck out, I need to piss,” his father growls from the doorway. Taehyung flinches and lets go of the razor, scuttling out of the bathroom while trying his best to avoid eye contact.

The door of the bathroom slams shut as soon as his feet are out the way. He goes back to his bedroom, gets under the covers and closes his eyes.

[-]

May 31st

AP Environmental Science is one class that none of Jeongguk's friends are in-- in fact, they regularly mock him for having to do it because his parents made him. That is true; his mother had insisted on Jeongguk taking the class because she'd thought getting a high grade in it would help him get into college.

Which was a fair assumption, since up to high school Jeongguk had been a hardworking student, had done his homework on time and achieved good grades.

She probably hadn't expected him to turn out how he is now. If that were the case, Jeongguk wouldn't be taking AP Environmental Science.

His mom doesn't give him that disappointed look anymore. She used to give it to him everyday after school in freshman year, when Jeongguk would stumble in half-drunk at sometime past midnight, when she would get called in to the headmaster's office because Jeongguk had done this, Jeongguk had done that.

It shouldn't upset him that she doesn't seem disappointed in him anymore, but it does. It means that his mom doesn't expect anything better of him.

What Jeongguk doesn't tell his friends is that AP Environmental Science is one of his favorite classes. His grades are next to abysmal, let's be honest, and you won't find Jeongguk handing in his essay on plate tectonics anytime soon, but he finds it interesting.

So Jeongguk usually listens in his Environmental Science class (at least more than he does in math) but he's far too distracted today. And, guess what-- it's a Taehyung-related distraction.

He can't stop thinking about Taehyung's confession, blushing with downturned eyes and looking as if he were about to throw up. Two words that had send Jeongguk's mind reeling.

Taehyung's gay, as in, liking boys. He's what Jeongguk is too ashamed to admit to himself. What Jeongguk has been trying to suppress, to forget, since he was fourteen years old and had walked into the locker room while the senior class had been changing for football practice.

He thinks it's okay to admit it in his head. There's no way he can continue denying his... persuasion, not when what he feels for Kim Taehyung is stronger than anything he's felt before. Not when his stomach flutters when he sees him, which is f*cking cliché but the most accurate description Jeongguk can think of. Not when he's sure he would do anything just to see that barest hint of a smile. Anything.

There's no question that Taehyung is one of the most beautiful people Jeongguk has seen (and he has seen many). Sad, but beautiful.

If Taehyung were anyone else, namely, a girl, Jeongguk would already be seducing her, using every trick he's learned to get into her pants. Being whole-heartedly lovely to her for all of the one week that it usually takes to f*ck her and then forget that the girl even existed (not that Jeongguk really enjoys f*cking hot girls... more the approval that comes with it).

He doesn't want that. Well, that's not to say he wouldn't want Taehyung like that, because he would, no doubt-- but Jeongguk would rather go to hell and back than hurt Taehyung.

Jeongguk knows Taehyung is vulnerable and that his mission from the very beginning was to stop Taehyung doing... what he did. He hadn't expected falling for Taehyung to happen along the way, but he'll take it in his stride.

He decides he's more interested in being a friend for Taehyung that's there for him than pursuing a relationship of a different nature and it ending badly enough to make Taehyung upset.

Taehyung isn't in today and it's been driving Jeongguk crazy, especially because they'd been on such bad terms. Taehyung had confessed he was gay and Jeongguk, being the total idiot he is, had nearly lost it and ran before he'd done something stupid like kiss Taehyung right then.

He also doesn't like the idea of Taehyung staying home. Jeongguk's worried that Taehyung won't be safe at home. He hasn't been able to concentrate all day. What if Taehyung gets hurt? Does something dangerous to himself?

When the bell rings to signal the beginning of his last class, Jeongguk decides to bunk. It's only gym and Coach likes him. He grabs his schoolbag and sets off towards what he's almost sure is Taehyung's house.

It's very small and the garden in front is overgrown. One of the windows is cracked and has grey ductape over it. There's an open binbag just in front of the small gate and litter rustles in it morosely.

Jeongguk hikes his bag further up onto his shoulder and picks his way through the nettles to the front door. He knocks and waits.

After a few minutes, the door swings open and Jeongguk nearly reels back from the pungent smell of alcohol. It's like being slapped in the face with stale beer.

“The f*ck you want?” comes a gravelly voice that is definitely not happy to see Jeongguk.

Jeongguk raises his eyes and barely refrains from raising his eyebrows, too. The man in front of him is the epitome of unemployed lazy drunk, wearing a dirty white wife-beater, a three-day beard and holding an amber glass bottle in his right hand. He scratches at the dark hair on his chest with the other and sneers.

“I said, the f*ck you want?”

“Oh! I, um,” Jeongguk clears his throat, careful not to make his distaste of the man obvious. “I was looking for Taehyung.”

The man scowls so hard Jeongguk is seriously worried for his mandible.

“f*ck knows where he is. Just hope he doesn't come back, the brat,” the man sniffs. Jeongguk desperately hopes this is not Taehyung's father.

“Okay. Well thank you anyway, er,” Jeongguk pauses. “Mr, ah, Kim.”

Taehyung's father snorts and shuts the door with an audible bang! Jeongguk feels worse than before. This is Taehyung's home, his dad.

Mood sour, Jeongguk walks around the neighborhood aimlessly, only heading back for his own house when he sees the stream of students being let out from school. His parents aren't home and Jeongguk can't be bothered to heat anything up so he goes to bed without eating.

[–]

His phone ringing wakes him up. He reaches an unsteady hand out and moves it around the bedside area until he finds his phone. It's only around nine-thirty at night.

“Whassup,” Jeongguk mumbles, mostly into his pillow.

“What the f*ck, man? Are you asleep?” comes Kyuhyun's voice. “You were supposed to be meeting us at Yerin's place!”

“Oh yeah,” he says. He'd forgotten about that. “Sorry. Didn't feel too good.”

Kyuhyun pauses.

“Are... are you okay, Guk? I know you've been saying it's nothing but you've been really off recently. I'm starting to get worried. Is something wrong? Did you get yourself into something that--” someone in the background yells, then there's a chorus of giggles. “I got to go. Feel better soon.”

Kyuhyun ends the call and Jeongguk sighs. He knows his friends mean well, they just. Are too much sometimes.

It's not like he's going to be able to sleep now, so Jeongguk reckons he might as well go and check at Taehyung's house again. He pulls his football jersery on, which is blissfully warm, and leaves the house quietly so his parents don't notice.

He gets to Taehyung's quickly, and yes! Taehyung is walking up his front drive. Jeongguk feels overwhelmingly relieved. Taehyung's okay, he's alive. Jeongguk steps forward and means to call out Taehyung's name.

Taehyung's front door opens and his father is standing there, face flushed an ugly red with rage. And then, just like that, he slaps Taehyung across the face so hard Taehyung stumbles back a few steps.

Taehyung doesn't even react, besides that. He just stands still, head bowed, as his father yells at him, cursing and gesturing wildly. Jeongguk feels sick, even more so than he did when he'd met Taehyung's father initially.

Jeongguk watches in horror as Taehyung's father raises the beer bottle in his hand, then almost trips over his feet as he sprints to Taehyung's side.

“Mr Kim!” he says brightly. Punching Taehyung's father in the face would not bode well for anyone at this point. “Nice to see you again. Is it alright if Taehyung comes with me for a couple hours? We've got this project for school.”

Taehyung's father glares at Jeongguk.

“Do whatever. I'll be glad that son of a bitch,” he looks to be about to hit Taehyung again, fist raised, “won't be home to ruin my night like he's been doing the last sixteen f*cking years of my life.”

Taehyung doesn't make a sound. Jeongguk glances over to him and sees that Taehyung's eyes are glassy, the way they are when something bad happens. Like he's managed to empty his soul out somewhere else and it's only his body remaining.

“Taehyung?” Jeongguk says softly. He doesn't reply.

“He's f*cking gone in the head,” Taehyung's father spits. “I wish you luck with him.”

Jeongguk grabs Taehyung's wrist and drags him away from the house.

Jeongguk does most of the walking for both of them the entire walk to the park. When they get there, it's almost pitch-black and so late even the drunk, rowdy teenagers have retreated home. Jeongguk sits them down on the swings.

Taehyung is shivering violently, although he doesn't seem to be aware of it. Jeongguk takes off his jersey and wraps it around Taehyung's skinny torso. He stops shivering so much but doesn't say anything.

“This is kinda big for you, huh,” Jeongguk says, kneeling on the concrete in front of Taehyung and rolling up the sleeves for a better fit. Taehyung's wrists are like ice and Jeongguk freezes when his fingertips brush over something.

It's that elastic band, the one that--

“sh*t,” Jeongguk mutters. He can't see that well but can faintly make out where Taehyung's skin is darker under the elastic band, like it's bruised. Jeongguk's fingers tremble as he goes to pull it off Taehyung's wrist.

“Stop!” Taehyung shouts suddenly, standing bolt upright and clasping a hand over the wrist with the elastic band on. His eyes are wet and unfocused.

“Taehyung, please,” Jeongguk says, taking a step towards him. “Let me take that off. It's not good for you--”

“No, it is,” Taehyung's still shouting, his voice cracking. He takes multiple steps back, as if he's cornered prey and Jeongguk is hunting him. “It is, you can't take it, you can't--”

“Give me the band,” Jeongguk's chest aches. “Please, it's not healthy, you're hurting yourself.”

“I'm not hurting myself, it just helps,” Taehyung croaks. He walks backwards, away from Jeongguk, and then trips on something, a loose pebble. He falls back onto his ass but doesn't try to get up. Just sits there, staring up at Jeongguk with those terrible, glassy eyes.

“You wouldn't understand,” Taehyung says accusingly. “You don't understand. So-- j-just stop trying to act like you do, you don't get, it helps, it's all I have--”

“No, you don't get it,” Jeongguk growls. There's a faint voice in his head telling him he shouldn't be getting angry, that Taehyung's only lashing out because he's hurt and desperate, but Jeongguk is still Jeongguk at the end. “It's crazy, what you're doing, hurting yourself with that damn elastic band all day! It's not healthy, it's not normal and for God's sake will you take it off and give it to me!”

Jeongguk's voice echoes in the darkness and it's only then he realizes he'd been shouting. Just like Taehyung's father had been. It's suddenly deathly quiet, just the soft buzz of street lights and cars in the distance.

Jeongguk is breathing hard, taking great, gulping breaths of air because he feels like he's choking. Taehyung is still on the floor. He's crying.

Jeongguk startles and he can't do anything for a moment. Taehyung looks so lost, so pathetic, sitting on the concrete, trembling with suppressed sobs, face blotchy and fingers hooked under that elastic band. He looks heartbreakingly small and Jeongguk's anger leaves him in an instance.

“I'm sorry,” Jeongguk says immediately, collapsing to his knees and gathering Taehyung into his arms. Taehyung doesn't move, just lets his head forehead rest on Jeongguk's shoulder limply and breathes hot, wet air onto the side of his neck.

“I'm so sorry, Taehyung,” he swallows, wrapping his arms tighter around the boy in front of him, feeling like the worst person in the world.

They stay there for a long time, minutes or hours or more, pressed against each other in the biting cold. When Taehyung stops shaking, Jeongguk pulls back slightly and ducks his head to see Taehyung's face.

He's stopped crying but his eyes are no less empty.

“Hey,” Jeongguk murmurs, and Taehyung lifts his head minutely. He's staring at somewhere behind Jeongguk's head, into the darkness.

Jeongguk removes one arm from around Taehyung's waist and places his hand on Taehyung's cheek, still damp. Only then does Taehyung look at him. His eyes are confused, dazed. Taehyung's skin is so soft. Jeongguk feels like he has something incredibly precious in his arms, of unimaginable value, but something that's equally fragile.

Jeongguk uses his thumb to wipe beneath Taehyung's eyes. He leans forward so that their foreheads are touching, as are the tips of their noses. Jeongguk is so close to Taehyung that he can feel the other boy's sadness radiating off him, absorbing into Jeongguk's skin and blood and bones.

Taehyung blinks.

“Can I?” Jeongguk asks quietly, moving his hand to close around Taehyung's wrist. Taehyung swallows and nods, eyes still on Jeongguk's.

Jeongguk pulls the elastic band off and places it behind him on the floor.

“You don't need to hurt yourself,” Jeongguk says. “There are other ways.”

He has no idea whether Taehyung hears or understands him.

“Stay over at mine,” Jeongguk says. He doesn't ask because he knows Taehyung won't answer him.

They stand up and walk to Jeongguk's house. Jeongguk holds Taehyung's hand, which is unresponsive but warm.

When they get inside, Jeongguk's mom is at the island in the kitchen, papers spread out around her and reading glasses perched on her nose. She looks up as Jeongguk enters.

“I know you left the house. Where did you--”

She stops when she notices Taehyung. Her face scrunches into that of worry that only mothers seem to be able to pull off and looks at Jeongguk for an explanation.

Jeongguk gives her the best, don't ask look which she, being his mom, understands easily and nods.

“Let's go upstairs,” Jeongguk tugs on Taehyung's hand. Taehyung follows silently.

When they get into Jeongguk's room, he gives Taehyung sweatpants and a t-shirt to sleep in. He goes to the bathroom while Taehyung changes, brushes his teeth and gets into his pajamas. When he finishes, Taehyung is changed and stands in the center of Jeongguk's room, scratching at his wrist.

“Aren't you going to get into bed?” Jeongguk says, and Taehyung's head snaps up incredulously. Jeongguk, irrationally, blushes.

“I'll sleep on the couch, don't worry,” he says quickly, pointing a thumb at the fold-out one he keeps in his room for when his friends stay over playing video games. When Taehyung fails to move, Jeongguk adds (then regrets), “it's a pretty comfy couch. So, uh. You don't have to think about me. Not that my bed's not comfy, 'cause it is. Everything's comfy.”

He laughs nervously and Taehyung gets into Jeongguk's bed. He pulls the covers over himself. The line of his shoulders are tense but Jeongguk decides there's nothing he can do about that. He doesn't want to make Taehyung feel even more uncomfortable.

“Night,” Jeongguk says, not really expecting an answer, and turns off the light. He grabs a pillow and blanket from under the fold-out couch and lies down on it, tucking the blanket tightly around himself.

Jeongguk can't really sleep, and judging Taehyung's odd breathing, neither can he.

“Jeongguk?” Taehyung says out of nowhere, and it's so unexpected Jeongguk nearly falls off the side of the couch.

“Y-yeah?” he replies.

“Do you care?” Taehyung asks. When Jeongguk doesn't say anything, he elaborates. “That I'm gay.”

Jeongguk's heart is close to ripping out of his chest and his throat resembles the Sahara desert.

“No,” he manages.

Jeongguk cranes his neck to look at Taehyung, whose posture under the covers seems to be more relaxed. He bites his lip on a smile.

Chapter 4: chicken wings and curly fries

Chapter Text

June 1st, 2017

His bed isn't this big-- and there's more pillows than he's used too-- and the sheets are almost silken, nothing like his own, which are scratchy but familiar--

Taehyung sits up, and sh*t, this isn't his bedroom. This-- this is something else, and Taehyung's heart begins beating erratically.

Where is he, where is he?

Then, oh f*ck, he spots Jeongguk's figure curled up on the couch, and could it get any worse?

Taehyung's hand goes to his wrist, and there's nothing there. Where is it? His elastic? It's got to be here, it can't just disappear, this is bad, this is so, so bad?--

“Ssh, Taehyung, it's okay,” an arm across his shoulders and two deep brown eyes looking worriedly into his, far too close.

Somehow, it works, and his pulse evens out. Taehyung remembers last night and is half-embarrassed about it. The last person he'd have wanted to find out about his father is Jeon Jeongguk, yet Jeongguk didn't react in the way Taehyung would've expected.

He'd... helped him.

He's suddenly aware of Jeongguk, hyper-aware of his closeness, of his breath against Taehyung's cheek, of his arm curled around Taehyung's neck and his thumb brushing over Taehyung's shoulders through... through Jeongguk's shirt.

It should make him jittery, disgusted, even, but all Taehyung feels is strangely safe.

Safe in the arms of the enemy, he thinks faintly, except he doesn't think Jeongguk's an enemy anymore.

The warmth of Jeongguk's arm leaves him, and he gives Taehyung a cup of water. Taehyung sips at it and finds it soothing against his sore throat.

“Thanks,” he says, sincerely. “For yesterday.”

He glances nervously at Jeongguk and sees him smiling softly, although his eyes still look concerned. His eyes are trapped there, somehow, and the two stare at each other even though Taehyung's cheeks are heating fast and his hands feel clammy.

There are two spots of color against Jeongguk's cheekbones, too, but that must be because the room's quite warm.

“Let's have breakfast,” Jeongguk says, and he sounds almost strangled.

Taehyung nods and they both pad down the stairs, which seem to Taehyung like something out of a movie set in the Upper East Side, to a large, twinkling-marble kitchen.

“Morning, boys,” Jeongguk's mom says. She turns around from the stove to smile at Jeongguk, and Taehyung sees the resemblance immediately-- although Jeongguk's mom's face is a loss less cut edges and sharp lines, her overbite is overwhelmingly similar to her son's.

“Do you like pancakes...?”

“Taehyung,” he says, nervous all over again.

“Ah,” she nods, flipping a pancake. “You can call me Yeseul. So, Taehyung, do you like pancakes?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replies politely, even though he's only ever had pancakes at Jimin's house, which was years ago.

Jeongguk talks with his mom as she cooks, and the soft chatter, along with the smell of the pancakes and the golden morning light streaming in through the windows makes everything feel warm and easy. Taehyung finds it easy to relax, which is very rare for him.

Yeseul gives them both a plate stacked with pancakes and drizzled in syrup, which look and taste delicious. Despite this, Taehyung never has much of an appetite and manages one pancake only.

“You're not hungry?” Yeseul asks, and Taehyung can hear the concern in her voice. She did see him last night, when he probably looked like sh*t.

“Not really,” Taehyung bites his lip, and looks over at Jeongguk, who is practically wolfing down his pancakes. Taehyung smiles a little against his will. “But they're very good. Thank you.”

She looks at them for a little while, then stands up straight.

“Gukkie, can I speak to you?” she says finally, and Jeongguk looks up, mouth shiny with syrup. He licks them and Taehyung looks away.

“Uh, okay,” Jeongguk gets up and follows his mom out of the room, looking back at Taehyung over his shoulder.

Taehyung can hear careful murmuring, which sounds like Yeseul asking questions and Jeongguk answering reluctantly. He pokes his fork into a pancake absently.

They come in and Yeseul looks at Taehyung.

“Taehyung, if you ever want to,” she says, voice warm, “you are welcome to stay here for as long as you like. Our home is open to you.”

She nudges Jeongguk.

“Yep, yeah, totally,” is Jeongguk's addition.

Taehyung doesn't know if he'll take up that offer since it'd feel like he was imposing, but nods anyway. They both break out into twin bunny-like smiles, which are equally nice but Taehyung stares at Jeongguk's a little longer.

[–]

“Do you want to go somewhere?” Jeongguk asks, toothbrush hanging from his mouth. “Since it's Saturday.”

“If you want,” Taehyung replies mildly, although he'd rather not. He kind of just wants to stay in and... he doesn't know. Stay in.

“Okay, we can just hang out in my room,” Jeongguk says easily, like he'd read Taehyung's thoughts. Taehyung looks over at him gratefully and gets a toothpaste-y grin in return.

Taehyung's got a lot of homework to do and suggests they work when they get back to Jeongguk's room. Surprisingly, Jeongguk agrees and even pulls out his own math textbook and a notepad.

Taehyung gets through his work pretty quickly, like he always does, but notices that Jeongguk's not been doing much aside from furrowing his eyebrows at the textbook and chewing on the end of his pencil.

“Do you...” Taehyung begins, shy, “want some help?”

“God, yes,” Jeongguk groans, shuffling closer to Taehyung so he can look at the questions. “I can't do math. At all.”

Taehyung scans through the questions, and yes, he can explain this. To Jeongguk's defense, it's not the easiest of concepts to grasp, but they'd gone through it a lot in class. Jeongguk doesn't really pay attention in class, Taehyung knows that.

“Here, you just take the exponent down and multiply it by the coefficient,” Taehyung gestures at the book with his pencil. “Then just reduce the exponent by one, and the constant here becomes zero. See?”

He looks up at Jeongguk, who is staring at him distractedly.

“Jeongguk!” he says, exasperated. Jeongguk's attention span is worrying.

“What? Oh, er-- yeah,” he jumps. “Could you explain that again?”

This time, Jeongguk actually listens to him, and he seems to understand as he works through the questions, slowly but surely, asking Taehyung when he's stuck.

Taehyung moves on to his essay for AP Environmental Science, which he's dropping next semester in favor of AP Human Geography because he feels the course plays more to his strengths. Until then, however, he is not exempt from homework.

He wasn't in for the last class and so stares at the title, Seismographic instruments and their origins, blankly. He notices Jeongguk side-eyeing his paper.

“Is that, um, the things on pendulums and stuff?” he asks tentatively. Taehyung looks over at him in surprise.

“Yes,” he says. “Do you know how it works?”

“The pendulum stays still because of inertia during earthquake tremors. The relative motion between the earth and the pendulum is magnified by the electrical amplifying apparatus and the graphic record is called the seismogram,” he rattles off, and then blushes bright red when Taehyung stares at him in shock. “I, er, think. I'm not sure.”

Taehyung nods his thanks, not really over the fact that holy sh*t Jeongguk is good at environmental science. Along with his textbook, Jeongguk's explanation helps Taehyung get down a good few paragraphs for his essay.

He turns the page in his textbook when Jeongguk clears his throat.

“I'm sorry,” he says, and Taehyung looks up at him sharply.

“What?” he asks, letting the book fall shut.

“I'm sorry about the way I've treated you all this time,” Jeongguk says, and Taehyung can tell this isn't mockery, but honesty. “I probably did it because it made me feel bigger, which is really, really f*cked up and I regret it a lot. I regret treating anyone that way. But, I-- I'm sorry for what I've done to you.”

Jeongguk is staring resolutely at the floor, ears tipped crimson, and Taehyung's jaw seems to have unscrewed from the rest of his face. Taehyung is, well, shocked would be an understatement. Flabbergasted.

Never in his life would he have expected an apology from Jeon Jeongguk, who is arrogant and stubborn and hell, trying to change.

“I accept your apology,” Taehyung swallows around his dry throat. “I know you've been... different, recently. I want to forgive you, but it's... hard. After everything.”

Taehyung feels bad when he says it but doesn't want to lie to Jeongguk. He can't forgive Jeongguk yet, not so easily. Their history runs deeper than that. He looks up guiltily, expecting to see Jeongguk look put out, but instead he looks determined.

“I'll work for it,” Jeongguk says firmly. “For you to forgive me. I want to.”

“Okay,” Taehyung's glad he's sitting down, because he sure as f*ck wouldn't be able to stand without wobbling. “Okay.”

Jeongguk fidgets for the next fifteen minutes, which Taehyung thinks is fair considering that conversation, but when Jeongguk speaks it turns out he was nervous for an entirely different reason.

“How did you know you were gay?” Jeongguk says like that statement isn't meant to squeeze Taehyung's brain out of his head.

“What?” Taehyung struggled not to gape openly. Jeongguk doesn't say anything, waiting for Taehyung to answer.

He really, really doesn't want to, because this is possibly the most humiliating thing ever involving Jeon Jeongguk, which is saying a lot. But Jeongguk had just bared his own soul in the form of a shaky apology, and he'd taken him home last night, so perhaps Taehyung could... try to answer.

“I was thirteen,” Taehyung doesn't think life gets more embarrassing than this, “and I was in the bathroom at the cinema. There were... sounds coming from the cubicle next to mine and I thought there was a fight going on.”

He remembers the small, grimy restroom, the faded blue of the door and the rusty lock, the way he'd tiptoed on the toilet seat to peer into the adjacent cubicle.

“I looked over to see what was happening and the two guys were, well. I don't think they noticed me but I watched for a bit and found myself with... a bit of a-- a reaction,” Taehyung's face is on fire, and so is his dignity.

He hears Jeongguk exhale.

“I might be,” Jeongguk whispers.

“You might be?” Taehyung asks, confused. Then it clicks. “Oh. Oh.”

He allows himself to freak out only internally because Jeongguk looks like he's about to bolt.

Jeon Jeongguk is gay. This is real, this is happening, this is actually an event in Taehyung's life. Taehyung feels off-balance.

“How did you--”

“Locker room, freshman year,” Jeongguk says all in one breath, and that pretty much explains it.

“Oh,” Taehyung says. He looks over at Jeongguk, who is blushing a fierce scarlet and digging his nails into his palm.

And as different as the two are, Taehyung has been there and finds himself empathizing with Jeongguk, which sounds crazy. It's something Jeongguk has clearly been struggling with and Taehyung finds himself wanting to make things easier.

“The 1880 seismograph,” Taehyung finds himself saying. “Could you go over how it works?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk says, sounding relieved, and launches into an explanation.

[–]

The next time Taehyung looks up from his work, he realizes a significant amount of time has passed. The room is bathed in a deep golden haze that can only signal sunset. He glances out of the window, and sure enough, the sun is setting in pinks and yellows and purples behind the line of houses.

Jeongguk is still working, gnawing on his bottom lip as his eyes narrow in concentration. Taehyung swallows, blushes, and looks away.

“Have you finished?” Jeongguk asks. Taehyung nods.

Jeongguk grins.

“Good, I'm famished,” he sighs, packing up his homework and shoving it into the top drawer of the desk behind him. “Pizza sound good?”

“Yes, thank you,” Taehyung mumbles. He's not sure why he can't seem to get out his words-- maybe it's something to do with the way the evening light reflects off Jeongguk's eyes. They look almost amber.

Jeongguk crawls over to his phone and calls up the pizza place, ordering a large Meat Lover's, chicken wings and curly fries. It all sounds delicious to Taehyung.

Jeongguk's earlier awkwardness after his confession is all but gone, and he chats easily to Taehyung as they wait for the pizza. Taehyung, also, feels at ease in a way he hasn't for as long as he can remember.

The pizza finally arrives, smelling like heaven.

“This looks f*cking amazing,” Jeongguk says happily, piling the food on top of his bed and clambering on after it. He gestures for Taehyung to sit next to him.

Taehyung feels a momentary panic, he's getting in bed with Jeongguk, but he's being irrational because it's not... like that. Still, the close proximity makes Taehyung sweat a little.

They start on the pizza, and hell. Taehyung hasn't eaten anything as good as this in years-- it's perfect, all hot, oozing cheese and spiced meat, the fries crisp and soft at the same time, the chicken mouth-watering. He groans over a mouthful of food.

Jeongguk suddenly begins choking on his pizza, crumbs flying over the bedsheets, form hunched over.

“Are you okay?” Taehyung asks worriedly, shuffling closer and wondering whether he should hit Jeongguk's back.

“Y-yeah,” Jeongguk rasps, leaning back against the headboard. “Food just, uh. Went down the wrong way. Um.”

Taehyung waits until the red flush has disappeared from Jeongguk's face before settling back and eating. Jeongguk reaches over for the remote on his bedside table and switches Netflix on. His TV is even bigger than the one in Taehyung's living room.

“Any preferences?” he asks, scrolling through the shows.

“No,” Taehyung says quietly. He's never used Netflix.

Jeongguk finally settles on something called Breaking Bad, featuring an intimidating looking bald guy on the screen cover.

“This is really good,” Jeongguk says, pressing play. “I watched the first season in two days.”

The show starts and Jeongguk gets up to close the curtains so that the room's dark except for the white-blue glow of the TV screen. He notices that Jeongguk sits down even closer when he returns.

It's pretty interesting, as Jeongguk had said, and Taehyung relaxes.

A minute after, things begin getting ominous, threatening, and Taehyung squirms in his seat. Violence always makes him uncomfortable.

To his horror, it only escalates-- one guy beats the other one up, ruthless, and the display of unbridled violence has Taehyung feeling sick. He tries to take a hold of his panic, his stupid, embarrassing inability to watch anything with blood because it reminds him of things he wants to forget. He's already shown Jeongguk enough weakness for a lifetime--

It's happening, the murky water twisting around his throat and squeezing his windpipe, reaching up to his ears, ready to submerge him, and Taehyung closes his eyes, fists his hands in the sheets. His breaths get quicker, more frantic, and he hears Jeongguk saying something.

Then there's strong arms around him and Taehyung buries his face blindly into the warmth. There's a mouth close to his ear, whispering things like you're okay and I'm here, and Taehyung calms down.

He's just had another panic attack in front of Jeongguk, and had been holding on to him shamelessly. He cringes and tries to pull away, still shaking.

“Hey, no,” Jeongguk says into his hair, and Taehyung stops fighting. He figures it's okay. That he can trust Jeongguk.

So he lets Jeongguk hold him, rests his face against the side of Jeongguk's neck and twists his fingers through the front of his t-shirt. He feels warm and safe.

“I'm sorry,” Taehyung whispers, thoroughly humiliated by himself.

“Don't apologize,” Jeongguk says fiercely. “It's not your fault. None of it is.”

It's your fault she's not here, his father says when he's angry. You're the reason she's dead, his father says when he's drunk. And Taehyung knows that, but it's nice to listen to Jeongguk and believe him, just for now.

It's not his fault.

Jeongguk puts the empty food boxes on the floor and rearranges them so they're under the covers, sitting against the headboard. He lets go of Taehyung but keeps their sides pressed together, shoulder to hip.

Taehyung doesn't protest when Jeongguk twines their fingers together and rests them on his thigh.

Jeongguk switches off Netflix onto the cooking channel, which is currently playing a baking show. A blonde woman with a kind smile makes a baked berry cheesecake, explaining each step in English, although there's subtitles so they can understand.

“I tried this recipe once, for Mom's birthday when I was fourteen,” Jeongguk says. His voice is close but instead of feeling nervous, Taehyung feels warm. “It collapsed, but everyone ate it anyway.” He laughs. “I'm a lot better at it now-- my cheesecake's f*cking gold.”

It takes Taehyung a moment to process-- okay, so Jeongguk bakes-- and tries to act like that doesn't spin the world on its axis, because in what world does Jeon Jeongguk bake?

This one, apparently.

“I like cheesecake,” Taehyung says. “It's my second favorite dessert.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it. Jeongguk looks over at him, and the way his gaze holds Taehyung's is... well, it's something. They're far too close for eye contact, close enough that their noses brush.

“What's your first?” Jeongguk asks. Taehyung can barely hear the TV over his heart thudding in his ears.

“Muffins,” it's so quiet he almost mouths it. “White chocolate and raspberry.”

Jeongguk smiles so brightly Taehyung feels goosebumps on the back of his neck. He couldn't look away from Jeongguk, even if he wanted to. Which he doesn't. God, he doesn't.

“Mine too.” Jeongguk squeezes Taehyung's hand.

After a while, Taehyung notices Jeongguk's eyes closing, like he's struggling to stay awake. Finally, Jeongguk succumbs to sleep, head resting on Taehyung's shoulder.

Taehyung reckons that position must be uncomfortable, what with Jeongguk's neck bent like that, so he untangles their hands and carefully lowers Jeongguk so his head is in Taehyung's lap, facing away from his body.

Jeongguk looks younger than usual in his sleep and his face is a lot softer, less of that sharp, sharp jaw and those sharp cheekbones and his sharp eyes. It makes Taehyung feel things in his stomach and chest that he'd never have thought he could feel for Jeongguk.

His hand hovers over Jeongguk's head, itching to run his fingers through his hair. Taehyung gives in, hesitant, touch barely there. He begins to stroke it, the way Jimin's mother used to do to him when he was little. He feels a pang at the memory and stops moving his hand.

Jeongguk grumbles something sleepily and leans into Taehyung's hand, snuggling further into his lap so that his nose is pressed into Taehyung's thigh. Taehyung exhales and continues running his fingers through Jeongguk's hair.

[–]

Taehyung wakes up feeling well-rested and pleasantly warm. He's on his back, head sunk into the softest pillow he's ever lain on.

Taehyung squints at Jeongguk's clock-- it's ten in the morning. He cranes his neck. Jeongguk's head is resting on his stomach, an arm thrown over the top of Taehyung's legs and the covers pulled halfway up his torso.

He looks away in an attempt not to crumble at the sight-- all he wants to do is lie back down and revel in this otherworldly comfort, but he should get home. He sits up.

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung shakes his shoulder gently. Jeongguk groans and tries to huddle into the sheets but Taehyung keeps pestering until he gets up.

Jeongguk rubs at his eyes until he's awake and then treats Taehyung to another one of his smiles, painfully soft.

“Morning,” he says, voice husky, looking all sleep-rumpled.

“Morning,” Taehyung repeats, feeling like he's in some sort of silly teenage TV programme. “Did you sleep well?”

Jeongguk blushes a little at this.

“Yeah, you?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says truthfully. “But I should be going home now. Thank you for-- everything.”

“It's nothing, I like spending time with you,” Jeongguk says, all in one breath. They both blush this time. Taehyung chances a look at Jeongguk's mouth, and then wants to slap himself. They look at each other in awkward silence.

“I'll walk you home,” Jeongguk offers. Taehyung bites back a smile and nods.

Chapter 5: chain me up

Chapter Text

June 10, 2017

Taehyung's been going to Jeongguk's house after school nearly every day, and it all works out. He gets to see Jeongguk, and his dad doesn't get to see him.

The first few days he'd still been hesitant about it, overwhelmed by the way his feelings and attitude towards Jeongguk had taken a one-eighty, fairly justified yet still confusing, and wondering if he'd been imposing on the Jeon household too much. He'd only told Jeongguk the latter of his worries, of course, and had been totally shut down.

“I want you here,” Jeongguk had said. “You're not imposing on anything except my bad grades.”

Which was true-- no, Jeongguk had not turned into a genius overnight (except for maybe environmental science, but that not been overnight, he'd just needed a little push) but his grades had gone from abysmal to average.

Yeseul had been beyond grateful, as if it was somehow Taehyung's doing (which is also what Jeongguk had believed). In reality, all Taehyung did was suggest that they spend a few hours daily studying. They still are.

Now, Taehyung feels comfortable with the Jeons in a way he never has at home with his father. Yeseul obviously knows something is wrong with Taehyung-- he doesn't know how much Jeongguk has told her, but she's kind and doesn't ask awkward questions anyway.

Jeongguk's father isn't at home as much as Yeseul, which is saying a lot since Jeongguk's mother is often out on business. Mr Jeon, or Jiyong, as Yeseul had insisted Taehyung call him, had only been home once so far during Taehyung's stay. He'd been equally lovely.

Something else Taehyung had noticed, because he's always been an observer, quiet and in the shadows, is the way Jeongguk's parents look at him. Like they love him, most of the time. But sometimes with sad eyes, like they've lost something. Lost their son, perhaps, but Taehyung can't think why.

The bell rings for the end of school and Taehyung gathers up his books. As he's putting them back in his locker, Jeongguk jogs up to him in his football gear, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and eyes bright.

“Coach wants us to stay after school for practice tonight, so I'll be home a bit late,” he says, apologetic. He says home, like it's Taehyung's too.

“But you have practice three times a week already,” Taehyung's surprised at himself when his voice comes out slightly bitter, almost like a whine. Jeongguk looks so too, but beams a moment later.

“I know, but there's a game coming up,” he plays with the hem of his shirt, showing an inch of golden skin. Taehyung keeps his eyes up resolutely. “I wish I didn't.”

“Okay, I'll see you,” he says, offering Jeongguk a tentative smile, which he returns. Smiling in Jeongguk's company has become easier.

He watches as Jeongguk's friends join him, loud and boisterous, and winces. Jeongguk alone is fine, but he's still wary of Jeongguk with his friends. It reminds him too much of before, when Taehyung was their victim.

Taehyung detours to the park and settles into one of the swings, kicking himself up a little and plugging in his earphones. He closes his eyes, the soft music and creak of the swing relaxing.

Suddenly, his music is cut off by the shrill blaring of his ringtone. He sits up, alarmed, and answers the call from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Is this Kim Taehyung speaking?” says a woman, voice clipped.

“Y-yes, why?” he has a bad feeling about this.

“I'm calling from Jogno police station. Your father has been arrested and you're his contact.”

“Oh,” his stomach churns. “Okay... I'll... should I--”

“You can come and pick him up,” she says as her voice softens.

Taehyung thanks her and ends the call, shaky. He doesn't want to see his father, not at all-- if he's honest, he wishes he could let him sit behind the bars a little. He's there practically twenty-four seven anyway.

Taehyung takes the bus up to the police station and is greeted when he enters-- he's been there often enough that everyone knows, and is fond of him. His mother also used to be part of the police force, but Taehyung had never known her, of course.

Legally, he shouldn't be allowed to take his father out of holding-- he's only sixteen, but the people at the station make an exception for him.

“Taehyung,” says Gunhwan, a middle aged police officer with crows feet and a warm smile. “Good to see you again. It's been a while. For your father, at least.”

Taehyung grimaces.

“You too. Why is he in here?”

“Got into a fight, nothing too bad, but your dad inflicted most of the harm done,” Gunhwan explains as he leads Taehyung to his father's holding cell. “I'll warn you, he's a little drunk.”

Taehyung swallows. That's never good.

“That's fine,” he lies.

“I don't like this, you always having to take your father home when he's like this,” Gunhwan sighs. “You've got too much on your shoulders, having to look after a man like that. God knows it was too much for poor Areum.”

“He's not that bad,” Taehyung says. He feels sick as he catches sight of his father, haggard and slumped against the cell wall.

“It's not right. You shouldn't be the one to get him out of this.” Gunhwan fishes out the right key and unlocks the door. “You're free to go, buddy. But we're gonna be mailing you with that fine soon, okay?”

Taehyung's father grunts noncommittally and follows Taehyung out of the station. Neither speak to each other. It's worrying, because usually his father is a nuisance on the bus, yelling at Taehyung and people he passes and his bad luck.

As the walk down the driveway, Taehyung's chest is tightening. His father's presence behind him is like that of a shadow, ominous and lurking.

His father starts speaking when the door is firmly shut behind them and they're in the kitchen. He fills up a tumbler of whiskey.

“I bet you think you're so f*cking saintly for getting me out,” he slurs. “Your old dad. That's bullsh*t, is what it is. You ain't nothing but the f*cking devil's incarnate.”

Nothing new, then.

“It weren't even my fault-- how unfair is it, the other bastard's the one provoking me, sending me f*cking looks like I'm beneath him-- he was asking for it! Felt f*cking good when my fist hit that ugly nose, I don't regret it,” his father downs the tumbler and pours himself more. “The whole law's against me, all 'cause they think I ruined your f*cking mother. When that was you.”

Taehyung takes a deep breath and doesn't say anything, anxious of the glint in his father's eyes.

“Why're you silent, son? Ain't got nothing to say to that?” he snarls when Taehyung stares at the floor. “You ignoring me now? Thought I raised you better, disrespectful son of a bitch. f*cking look at me!”

He does, and his panic spikes. The glint is now a full-on flare, making his father look crazed. Taehyung knows from experience that things are about to get bad. He starts towards the door, but his father notices and slams it shut.

“Where d'you think you're going?” he growls. “No f*cking manners.”

He's beyond terrified now, fighting back the tendrils of a panic attack. His only escape route is blocked. He just has to hope for the best, although there can't be a best, not in this situation.

“I can't believe I'm f*cking stuck with you. You should be dead, lying on some street somewhere, bleeding out. For the good of the world and all that, 'cause you f*cking take up air for no reason,” the insults fly over Taehyung's head, because he's scared, scared, scared, by that terrible mad glint, by the way his father advances on him, getting more angry by the second, by every sip of whiskey.

“No-- I'm wrong. You shoulda died that day in the hospital, when you came out your mother like a f*cking curse. I shoulda strangled you when the nurses weren't looking, then I wouldn't be in this mess,” he's backed Taehyung up against the wall now. “If it weren't for you, my Areum would still be here. You killed her, you son of a bitch. It's your fault she ain't here, and you dare to walk around like everything's okay! She's dead 'cause you f*cking decided to be born!”

He slams his fist into the wall next to Taehyung. Taehyung hiccups through a sob, feeling like he's about to throw up.

“f*cking sissy, crying all the time,” his father taunts. “Always crying, crying, crying. You were crying when you came out Areum and it gave me a f*cking headache.”

“P-please, stop,” Taehyung whispers, utterly clutched by fear.

“Shut up,” his father roars, and throws the tumbler next to Taehyung's head so the fragments of shattered glass scrape against the flesh of his neck, his side, crashing down at his feet. Taehyung's not seen him this mad in a while.

Taehyung can't help it, he's crying now, even though he wants to stop, needs to stop, because it reminds his father of his mother's death, and his father is a horrible man but he's right about the fact that Taehyung killed his mother, because he did, he did, and he's so, so sorry--

“Apologizing doesn't do sh*t here," his father scowls.

There it is, the murky water, the overwhelming panic.

He can't defend himself, not like this. He curls up, wheezing at the sudden clench of his chest and throat, his air supply seeming scarce. Taehyung can't find his elastic band either and the ringing in his head intensifies. He's drowning, flailing.

He's faintly aware of being pummeled, fists and feet and words, the taste of blood even stronger. Footsteps, and the slam of the front door. It's all gone, his father's left.

Taehyung struggles to keep his eyes open. His whole body is shaking, and everything feels innately wrong. He gives in to the urge to retch onto the floor beside him. He sits back against the wall.

Now that his panic attack has subsided, the pain is almost unbearable. He cries and cries and cries, gulping for air. He needs to... he needs--

Taehyung pulls out his phone and drops it three times before he manages to call Jeongguk.

“Taehyung!” Jeongguk says. “Where are you? Are you at the park?”

He can't do anything but sob pathetically.

“sh*t,” he hears Jeongguk say. “You-- where are you? I'm coming to get you. Are you hurt?”

“At home,” Taehyung manages.

“Okay, I'm coming—” it sounds like Jeongguk is running. “Just-- stay on the phone. I'll be right there.”

“Thank you,” Taehyung mumbles.

[–]

Jeongguk's calves are burning and he can't see straight. He's almost run over a few times, sprinting through roads regardless of traffic, all sense disregarded in favor of Taehyung.

He's got to get to him-- he never should've agreed to the extra practice. Maybe then Taehyung wouldn't be crying. Just the sound of it had made Jeongguk terrified.

He finally reaches Taehyung's house and throws open the door, shouting his name.

“Taehyung? Taehyung-- oh my God,” he freezes.

Taehyung's crying, bloody and bruised, picking-- is that glass?-- out of his arm.

“Did your dad do this to you?” Jeongguk collapses onto his knees and slides forward, taking Taehyung's arm gently and examining it. There's still glass in it. He carefully touches Taehyung's jaw and turns it to the side. God, this is bad.

“I'll kill him,” Jeongguk says, furious. How could anyone-- let alone his own father-- hurt Taehyung like this? Jeongguk feels like he's the one that's been beaten up.

He wants to wrap his arms around the shaking boy in front of him, hold him tight and never let go, but there's more important things to do.

“I'm taking you to the hospital,” Jeongguk says. Taehyung doesn't seem to hear him. His eyes are glassy in that way they'd been in the bathroom, except this is worse. A lot worse.

He manoeuvres Taehyung so that he's carrying him, piggy-back style, Taehyung slumped against his back, arms wound weakly around his neck.

“Please just stay awake,” Jeongguk says. Taehyung is silent. “Taehyung!”

“Okay,” comes a small voice. Jeongguk's heart clenches.

Jeongguk wants to run but knows the movement will jostle Taehyung too much, so he settles on a light jog. The hospital isn't too far and he arrives fairly quickly.

“Someone needs to see him!” Jeongguk shouts desperately, and everyone stares at him. He knows they must look a sight. “Please, he's--”

A flurry of nurses surround him, lifting Taehyung, half-unconscious, off his back. They're carrying him into an emergency room and everything's so chaotic Jeongguk doesn't know what's going on, just follows blindly.

“We need to contact his guardian,” one of the nurses say, once they've calmed him down. “Do you have their number?”

“His guardian is the one that did this to him!” Jeongguk seethes, angry and hurting and helpless.

“Alright,” the nurse says, ever-rational, although she looks worried at this.

Taehyung is a little more awake now, sitting up as they clean up his wounds and extract the glass from his arm. No one protests when Jeongguk stands next to Taehyung's uninjured side and grasps his hand in both of his.

They finish relatively quickly and leave Jeongguk with Taehyung while they go to fill out the paperwork.

“God, Taehyung,” Jeongguk says, dizzy from the relief that Taehyung's going to be okay, he's in the hospital and they're fixing him up. He strokes his thumbs across Taehyung's hand.

“I'm okay now,” Taehyung says with a tiny smile that looks more like a grimace. “Thanks to you.”

“No, it's my fault,” Jeongguk says, mad at himself again. “Going to practice was a bad idea-- I shouldn't have left you alone—”

“You couldn't have known,” Taehyung says softly. “And I can look after myself, you know.”

Jeongguk smiles at this.

“I know,” he says truthfully. “But you shouldn't have to.”

They sit in silence, hands intertwined. Jeongguk is glad Taehyung's okay, but he can't help but feel like he's failing. His purpose is to protect Taehyung, it must be-- why else would he have been sent back?-- and allowing something as terrible as this to happen is... unacceptable.

He'd nearly forgotten the whole time travel thing. Jeongguk's been meaning to investigate, to find out something about what's happened to him, but his mind has been entirely occupied with Taehyung since he'd arrived here.

The most probably theory is that he'd dreamed the start of junior year, that he'd never actually gone back in time. That Taehyung never really killed himself. He's heard of really vivid dreams being a thing. The mind is a confusing place, Jeongguk knows.

But if that were so, there are many things that don't add up, and Jeongguk is not smart enough for this, God.

The best thing to do is focus on the now, not the future, or past, or whatever.

“Jeongguk?”

He blinks, and Taehyung is standing up on shaky knees.

“Hey, woah, why are you up?” he immediately places a hand against the small of Taehyung's back to steady him.

Taehyung looks at him weirdly.

“The nurse said I'm well enough to go,” he says slowly. “She just came in here. Are you okay? You completely zoned out.”

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” Jeongguk offers a rueful smile. “I'm just shaken up by all of this, which is really stupid because you just went through hell.”

Taehyung's face is serious.

“I'm sorry you had to deal with all of that,” he tells Jeongguk, and wait, what? He's sorry?

It makes Jeongguk irrationally angry, that after everything he's done to Taehyung, everything Taehyung's father has done to him, Taehyung feels the need to apologize.

He knows the lack of self-confidence is ingrained in Taehyung's brain after years and years of being put down by his father (perhaps even Jeongguk, which is a sickening thought) and that it's going to take a lot of reassuring to make Taehyung believe in himself.

Jeongguk takes a step forward and wraps his arms tightly around Taehyung's waist. Taehyung stiffens, which is okay, it's understandable, but that doesn't mean Jeongguk'll let go. He rests his chin on Taehyung's shoulder.

Taehyung makes a slightly choked sound but Jeongguk ignores it. Then slowly, Jeongguk feels tentative hands on his biceps, sliding up to his shoulders, then finally at the back of his neck.

They only let go when the nurse comes back.

[–]

June 20, 2017

“We need to talk about something,” Jeongguk’s mom says out of nowhere. It’s nearly nine at night and Taehyung’s in the shower.

“Okay,” Jeongguk agrees nervously. This isn’t about his grades, right? Because he’s only got one C this term, and that’s in math, which is totally understandable.

“Taehyung spends every night here,” his mom begins. “And I haven’t questioned it because I’ve always had a feeling. But I’ve been hearing things at the hospital.”

“Oh,” Jeongguk says, because really, what is he meant to do? It’s quite a big secret to keep from his mom, but he and Taehyung avoid talking about that day because no one should have to relive something as horrifying as that.

“How do you think I felt when I heard about ‘that teenage boy carrying his friend on his back, covered in blood’? When I looked more into it and I found out that Taehyung was taken in for glass extraction, bodily harm caused by his guardian?”

“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk offers.

“Sorry doesn’t solve anything,” she says seriously. “Now sit down and tell me everything. Don’t you dare leave anything out.”

So Jeongguk does, explains his and Taehyung’s rough history, his trying to rectify that, Taehyung’s father and that day in detail. By the end of it, his mom seems to have aged at least ten years.

“sh*t,” she says, and she’s never cussed in front of Jeongguk before. “With all that that poor boy was going through, you and those friends of yours—well. I’m just glad you want to change. You’ve apologized to him?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk says. He’d apologize every day if Taehyung’d let him.

“That’s a start,” his mom nods. “Don’t do anything to hurt him.”

“I wouldn’t do that!” Jeongguk stands up from his seat, passionate. His mom needs to understand; he knows he’s made terrible decisions, disappointed her, and still does, but this isn’t one of them. He’s going to keep Taehyung safe, he has to. “I just want him to be happy, Mom.”

Jeongguk’s voice is a pathetic whine on his last sentence, and he sees his mother’s face soften, and then—no, what in hell is she thinking, she’s got that face on—

“You just want him to be happy?” His mom raises an eyebrow. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

He’s so obvious his mom can see it.

“Like what?” he attempts, purposefully avoiding her eyes.

“Like the fact you want him to happy because your feelings run deeper than,” she pauses. "Friendship."

“Mom,” he hisses, glancing at the door. “He’s literally down the corridor!”

“It’s rather sweet,” she smiles. “As long as you’re good to him.”

His mom doesn’t make any comment on the whole, my son’s gay thing, which isn’t really a problem for Jeongguk anymore (at least not in private. Private meaning himself, Taehyung and his family) but, still. She’s not even surprised, like she’d known all along.

Moms know all, and all that.

“I won't tell Dad if you don't want me to, but he won't mind,” his mom reassures. Jeongguk knows this. His dad is home even less than his mom, which is saying a lot; the two are on business trips almost constantly. Nevertheless, his father loves him, he's sure of that, and one thing he's learned is to be grateful for that.

“But more importantly,” his mom continues, and Jeongguk loves her, he really does, “the situation with his father. He can't go back home, and I'm perfectly happy to let him stay here.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he says.

“But this is very serious. We need to contact social services about it all,” she says.

Jeongguk nods, that's fair. “Let me talk to Taehyung first and ask him about it. I want to make sure he's okay with everything.”

“That's fine,” his mom says. “Oh—Taehyung!”

Jeongguk head whips around guiltily. By the looks of it, Taehyung hadn't overheard anything.

“Hey,” Jeongguk smiles, and refuses to look at his mom when she makes a small, surprised sound. He knows he sounds stupidly, helplessly fond. Stupidly, helplessly in love, even.

“Hey—I used up the last of the shower gel, I'm sorry—”

“It's cool,” Jeongguk hesitates, and glances over at his mom. “Let's go to the living room.”

Taehyung looks confused but follows Jeongguk anyway and sits on the couch next to him.

“I told my mom,” he says quickly; no point beating around the bush. “She wants to talk to social services about your dad.”

Taehyung's eyes widen and his shoulders tense.

“Oh,” Taehyung says shakily. “That's—that's okay, really. Thank you for letting me stay so long. I'll go and get my stuff together—”

“What? No, you're staying here, of course,” Jeongguk says, bewildered. “Your dad's just going to get into trouble—a lot. I want to make sure you're alright with that.”

“Why wouldn't I be?” Taehyung asks, and Jeongguk grins.

“Because you're too kind for your own good,” he says, which is completely accurate. He still thinks Taehyung has forgiven him all too quickly, which is very nice for Jeongguk, but still. “But I'm glad. I can't wait to see that motherf*cker locked up.”

“Language, Jeongguk!” his mom yells from the other room, and that makes Taehyung smile a little, which is entirely too distracting. Jeongguk tears his eyes away from his mouth regretfully.

After a while spent watching TV while Taehyung reads, the two decide to go to bed. Jeongguk takes the pull-out couch as usual and they exchange 'goodnight's. Problem is, Jeongguk can't sleep, and by Taehyung's constant shifting, neither can he. Jeongguk makes an executive decision.

“Muffins,” he says, out of nowhere.

“What?” Taehyung grumbles, and that's kind of adorable. Jeongguk bites down a smile.

“Let's go make some,” he grins, sitting up. “I still have to prove that my white chocolate and raspberry kick that cafe's ass when it comes to muffins.”

He thinks he hears a laugh, barely there but enough to make Jeongguk warm.

“It's past midnight,” Taehyung warns, but gets up anyway.

They pad softly down the stairs, careful not to wake his mom. Once they're in the kitchen, Jeongguk is at ease and bustles around, getting all the ingredients, lost in the comforting familiarity of baking. He notices Taehyung sit down at the island, looking for all the world like Jeongguk's grown a tail or something.

Come on—him baking isn't that weird.

“You have to help, you know,” Jeongguk says, measuring out the flour. “You can't just sit around.”

Taehyung stands beside him carefully and regards the mess of the counter.

“I've never, um. Baked,” Taehyung says quietly.

Jeongguk thrusts a half-opened bar of white chocolate at him.

“Chop this into little bits,” he says.

They talk quietly, and it's all kind of perfect. The way their shoulders brush easily as they work, the way Taehyung lets out a surprised laugh when Jeongguk starts cleaning the bowl by swiping up the leftover cake mixture and licking his fingers, the warmth of the stove and the dim overhead lights that make Taehyung resemble something angelic, in Jeongguk's opinion.

Jeongguk takes the muffins out of the oven.

“They smell really good,” Taehyung says, leaning over his shoulder to look at the tray. Jeongguk wants to hit himself for the excited shiver that runs down his spine at the proximity.

“Just wait 'till you taste them,” Jeongguk turns his head and smiles. Their faces are very, very close, and Jeongguk maybe stops breathing a little bit. Taehyung's eyes are bright and content and millimeters away from Jeongguk's. Any closer and—

Jeongguk shakes away the thought and peels the case off a muffin. He breaks it in half and piping hot steam rises from the middle. He hands half to Taehyung.

He watches Taehyung's expression carefully as he takes the first bite. Taehyung makes a noise of approval and he's smiling at Jeongguk, holy sh*t, this is the first time Jeongguk's seen anything further than a slight quirk of the lips and he's actually dying inside.

Jeongguk could write poetry about Taehyung's smile. Hell, Jeongguk will write poetry about Taehyung's smile. Hello, AP English.

“This is amazing,” Taehyung says over a mouthful of muffin, then blushes when he sprays crumbs everywhere. Jeongguk thinks he's the most beautiful person he's seen. “Definitely better than the cafe's.”

“Told you so,” he says. His smugness is justifiable—he's on a high right now.

Taehyung licks his lips between bites of muffin, and Jeongguk has never been so tempted in his life. He wants to kiss him so badly it hurts. His hands itch to hold Taehyung's face, to tangle in Taehyung's hair.

“Do I have food on my face?” Taehyung asks, breaking Jeongguk out of his daze.

“What? Er, no,” he says, realizing he'd been staring. Then, “actually, yes.”

Taehyung wipes at his mouth. “Gone?”

“No, I'll just...” Jeongguk's heart is in this throat as he lifts his hand, almost trembling with apprehension, and brings it to Taehyung's face. Taehyung looks close to frozen, eyes comically wide, as Jeongguk places a palm on Taehyung's cheek.

He feels reverent, like he's holding some one-of-a-kind antique. He wipes gently at Taehyung's bottom lip, which is full and pink and soft, then presses his thumb there, unable to help himself. Taehyung makes a small noise at that, not displeased, and sways closer to Jeongguk. The air is almost crackling with Jeongguk's need to close the distance, to replace his thumb with his mouth.

I hate you Jeon Jeongguk, and that isn't going to change because you're doing... whatever you're doing.

The memory's enough to make Jeongguk come back to his senses. He withdraws his hand and steps back. He's sure Taehyung doesn't hate him anymore, but this is wrong. Taehyung deserves better than Jeongguk, and it would be disgustingly selfish to make a move on him.

His goal is for Taehyung to be happy, and Jeongguk's not sure someone like him is capable of that.

“It's gone now,” Jeongguk says unhappily, even though there was nothing there in the first place.

“Thank you,” Taehyung says, cheeks a glowing pink. Jeongguk has never wanted so much.

“I'm glad you like the muffins,” he says.

Chapter 6: cold nights and warm company

Chapter Text

July 3rd, 2017

It's madness, chaos.

Taehyung'd thought the hearing would be an organized matter in which people would speak only if they were asked to, but yet, his head is filled with a mixture of background chattering and white noise.

He's never been in a courtroom before. The room is impressive, all elegant arches and carved wood, so huge that the smallest of whispers bounce off the walls and echo through the room. The judge sits sternly on a podium at the front of the room and listens carefully as the offensive and defensive make their arguments.

The enormity of it all grates on Taehyung's anxiety, but he wouldn't be anywhere near as nervous if he didn't have to testify himself. The thought of it, of standing alone in front of so many people, his words being scrutinized, analyzed in order to make a decision that could change his life, is nightmarish.

He doesn't listen to most of it, staring blankly at the people in suits and pencil skirts taking their turns at the witness box, and sits close to Jeongguk to ground him. Sometimes Jeongguk whispers things like it's going to be okay and I'm right here, which is nice but a little lost on Taehyung right now.

He finally pays attention when he sees his father walk up to the box.

His father looks so different—he's shaved for once, hair trimmed, in a tailored suit. He looks respectable and his naturally handsome features shine. It's a convincing façade; to anyone who doesn't know the real him.

After his statement the judge clears his throat.

“Mr Kim,” he asks, politely. “What is your career, and financial status?”

His father shifts uncomfortably at this.

“I'm unemployed, but I receive child benefits,” he says. “I utilize them as much as possible to take care of my son.”

My son, he says, the first time there's no anger or contempt behind it. Everything makes sense to Taehyung know—why his father is fighting so hard to have custody of Taehyung—it's all because of the child benefits, which is his only source of income.

It should hurt, but it doesn't.

“How is your relationship with your child?” the judge asks next.

“I love him,” his father says, and Taehyung sees Jeongguk clench his fists in his periphery. “He's my only son, the only family I have left after Areum's death. I'd do anything to keep him, I—”

“Yes, sir, but what exactly is your relationship with him like?” the judge specifies, looking slightly irritated.

“We get along very well,” is his father's answer. “We're very close. Not as much as when he was young, but we tell each other a lot. We're like each other's rock, I would say.”

“The lying f*cking bastard,” Jeongguk hisses. He's a lot more worked up about Taehyung's father than Taehyung is—Taehyung is used to his father, after all. He'd been expecting the lies, the charm dug out of his ass to try and convince everyone of his argument.

So far, the court seem to be sympathizing with his father.

He has a way with words, Taehyung thinks bitterly.

His father is asked a few more questions about Taehyung, which he answers sickeningly, as if he has emotions beside anger and hate and jealousy, and sits back down. His lawyer looks pleased by his performance.

“I wish I could testify,” Jeongguk says beside him. “I'd shut him down.”

Taehyung smiles a little, which, in this situation, is barely past a grimace. He's sure Jeongguk testifying would be a disaster in which he would get arrested for assaulting Taehyung's father midway through his statement.

Next up is Gunhwan, testifying against his father.

I've always wanted to do this, Gunhwan had said, when they'd asked him to be a witness. It's about time.

The room quietens as Gunhwan walks up, looking authoritative in his police uniform, his strides purposeful. He is sworn in by his name and repeats the oath dutifully, radiating power. It makes Taehyung feel hopeful.

“I work for the police force,” he begins. “I am an enforcer of law, of justice, which is why I came to testify today. Mr Kim is in a cell at least once a week. His most common crimes are starting fights, although once he has attempted to steal liquor. He is often drunk when we arrest him. His son is always the one to take him home, whether it's in the middle of a school day or late at night.”

Taehyung's visions blurs. He doesn't know why he feels like crying. He stares resolutely, willing the tears not to fall. That would be humiliating.

“I would also like to talk about before Areum—Mrs Kim's—death,” Gunhwan says. Taehyung shoves his trembling hands under his thighs; maybe it'll make them stop. “She often came in looking like hell—by that I mean bruised, exhausted, and on the verge of crying. It wasn't anything to do with her job—she loved it—but her home life, I'm sure. She's not here to confirm either way today, but I'm almost certain Mr Kim had something to do with it.”

“Speculation!” says his father's lawyer, shooting up from his seat. The judge narrows his eyes.

“Sit down; this is a witness statement,” he says. The lawyer looks disgruntled but complies anyway, hissing angrily to Taehyung's father beside him.

Gunhwan completes his statement and is cross examined by the defense; his answers are clear and confident, every bit the policeman he is.

“This is pretty interesting, don't you think,” Jeongguk comments, and Taehyung nods, even though it's not really. What he thinks is more interesting is the way Jeongguk has been hooked the entire hearing, listening intently to every argument and question and answer, critiquing them, paying close attention to the happenings.

Taehyung gets a sudden image of Jeongguk in a suit like he's wearing today, expensive grey fabric and clean lines, standing in that box and enthralling the crowd as he, well, shuts down his opponent.

He shifts closer to Jeongguk's side.

Another defense witness is up, one of Taehyung's father's drunkard friends, who rattles on about how Taehyung's father is a good person, very caring, very generous, et cetera. It's bullsh*t, and this time everyone knows it.

Then, all of a sudden—

“Kim Taehyung to the witness box.”

Taehyung's body freezes. It's his turn.

He imagines it—can't help it—trying to speak over the noise, everyone laughing at him as he stutters and blushes and forgets what to say, laughing because he's useless, laughing because he's lost the court case and is in his father's custody, laughing because he's a failure—

Jeongguk's fingers lace through his and squeeze gently. Taehyung blinks and the panic recedes.

“You're gonna be f*cking amazing,” Jeongguk says into his ear. Taehyung gives him a grateful smile and walks up to the box.

Every step feels like a mile to him. He keeps his eyes on his shoes, polished until they'd shined, and shuffles awkwardly into position.

“Are you Kim Taehyung?” the court registrar asks.

He's practiced this a million times, except then it was alright because Jeongguk had put on a silly deep voice and drawn on a fake mustache with marker pen.

“Yes,” he says.

“Is your date of birth the thirtieth of December, two thousand and one?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Repeat—I, do solemnly, sincerely and truly declare and affirm that the evidence that I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

“I, do—” Taehyung swallows, coughs a little, he knows this, has practised this. “I, do solemnly, sincerely and...and t-truly... declare, and—and... affirm that—”

He takes a deep breath, ignores the urging eyes of the registrar.

“That the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and,” another deep breath, “nothing but the truth.”

His lawyer stands up and gives him a small nod.

“What happened on the night of June 10th, 2017?”

He and Jeongguk had always skipped this question, the horror of the night too great to risk reliving.

“I got a phone call from the station to pick up my father,” Taehyung begins, steady. “He'd been arrested for fighting. I took him home.”

He licks his cracked lips.

“When we got home—he—I...” Taehyung feels the sickness of that night, the fear, the panic. For a minute, he can't speak, overwhelmed, the words lodged in his throat.

“Mr Kim?” his lawyer prompts softly. Taehyung closes his eyes for a second, lets them flutter open. If he can't speak, it's over for him—his father will win this court case, will win custody, and this can't happen.

“He started shouting at me,” he says finally. “First about how he didn't deserve to be arrested, how it wasn't his fault. Then h-how my mother's death was my fault. That I should be dead instead.”

There's a collective gasp from the room; he's shocked them. It spurs him on.

“He was drunk already, and drinking all the while. When I tried to leave the room, he shut the door and kept me against the wall. He threw the glass at the wall next to me and it broke,” Taehyung can't stop now, the words flowing out of him as if he's possessed. “I knew I had to leave but I c-couldn't. Then he hit me in the nose—it was bleeding, and I was knocked to the ground. He kept going but—I-I couldn't feel much because I was in the middle of a panic attack. I was so scared, I just—curled up, lay there, and he left after a while.”

When he stops, he's breathing hard, chest heaving like it had that night, and the room is in complete silence. Even the judge looks horrified, jaw slack in a way that's surely unprofessional. Taehyung feels stronger; telling his story is new, something he'd avoided for so long, and it's so freeing, like a weight's been lifted off his shoulders.

He stands a little straighter.

“After my panic attack stopped, I called my friend, who I'm living with, Jeongguk,” he continues, calmer now. “He came over and carried me to the hospital—I was nearly passed out. I sustained a few injuries from the glass but they removed it all. Then we went back home—I mean, to Jeongguk's house.”

He blushes at his slip, but the judge's face softens.

After that, the examination-in-chief passes quickly and easily; Taehyung stumbles over only a few words, as he'd gone over this nearly every day up to this trial.

The cross examination begins. The defense's attempt at undermining his statements are weak, at best, and even Taehyung is able to answer them easily. It's not like they've got a lot to go on, not after the truth about Taehyung's father had been revealed.

Finally, Taehyung gets to sit down. He almost collapses onto the bench, worn out, and is gathered into Jeongguk's arms straight away.

“I was right,” Jeongguk says into his hair. “You were f*cking amazing.”

He carefully unwinds himself from around Taehyung but his arm stays around Taehyung's shoulders. Taehyung curls into his side, resting his head on his shoulder. He's so tired, and Jeongguk is warmth and safety and comfort.

“I never want to do that again,” he murmurs, fiddling with Jeongguk's top button for something to do.

“You won't have to,” Jeongguk says. “I promise.”

The rest of the trial is a blur; he keeps his forehead firmly on Jeongguk's shoulder, not looking up because he wants the whole endeavor to be over. Jeongguk's free hand curls around both of his and stay like that.

When the jury go to the deliberation room, the courtroom descends into chatter.

“How are you?” Jiyong asks—he'd left his business trip to attend the trial, which Taehyung had been surprised but immensely grateful for.

“Of course I'm coming,” he'd said, like it was obvious. “It involves my family.”

Taehyung lifts his head from Jeongguk's shoulder and manages a smile.

“Relieved it's nearly over,” he says. He notices Jeongguk's parents smiling at them both fondly, which is nice but a little odd. He then notices that he's practically in their son's lap, and flushes before attempting to pull away from Jeongguk.

“What's wrong?” Jeongguk asks, pulling Taehyung close to him again.

“N-nothing,” he says mildly, avoiding the Jeons' eyes.

The jury returns, and it's quiet again.

“The jury declares the defendant,” the foreperson announces, eerily loud in the thick silence, “guilty.”

There's immediate chatter around him; Jeongguk beams and throws himself around Taehyung in a bone-crushing hug; the Jeons congratulate him with wide smiles; Taehyung's father looks over at him angrily but he couldn't care less, because he's won.

The judge calls for silence as he reads out the sentence.

“The defendant is sentenced to four years of imprisonment for charges of domestic violence and neglect. A restraining order will also be applied, the terms decided on by the offence in a period of two weeks from now. The custody of Kim Taehyung is transferred to Mr Jeon Jiyong and Mrs Jeon Yeseul.”

“f*ck yeah!” Jeongguk shouts out of nowhere, and hell if that isn't embarrassing, but Taehyung whole-heartedly agrees with the sentiment and the courtroom erupts into laughter. There's definitely something against shouting expletives after a sentence is announced in the rulebook, but even the judge is smiling.

“Jeon Jeongguk,” Jiyong scolds, but his eyes are alight with humor.

The trial wraps up and everyone stands, on their way out. Some stay behind, talking to each other; Jeongguk's parents are talking with Taehyung's lawyer. Taehyung's overjoyed at the outcome, but the courtroom is stuffy and uncomfortable. He picks nervously at his suit sleeve.

“Kim Taehyung?”

He spins around, coming face to face with a thirty-something woman with her hair scraped into a tight bun at the back of her head.

“Yes,” he says, wary.

“I work for the local newspaper,” she says, no pretense, nothing; her eyes are scheming. “I think it's just terrible what your father did to you, and it's definitely an issue the town will want to hear about, no?”

“Um,” Taehyung says—a reporter?

“Let's sit down for five minutes and you can tell me everything,” she says, patting Taehyung's shoulder with manicured nails that remind him of claws. “Try and put in as much of that emotion as you can—the readers will love it.”

She begins dragging him somewhere, and Taehyung panics, looking around. He doesn't want to tell her anything; doesn't want his story out, doesn't want pity, he just—

“There you are!” Jeongguk unlatches Taehyung from the reporter's hand and hauls him to his side. “We should go.”

“Y-yeah,” Taehyung says, relieved. He notices Jeongguk eyeing the reporter with suspicion.

“Right after I finish my interview with him,” she says, and Jeongguk's face hardens.

“We don't have time for that,” he gives her a smile, all forced gaiety and sparkling white teeth.

Jeongguk ushers him out of the courtroom and Taehyung nearly sighs at the fresh, cool air.

“You're okay?” he asks quietly. Taehyung nods; he's tired out from all that.

“I could sleep for a year,” he says, and Jeongguk laughs.

“Me too, but I'm pretty hungry,” he says. “How about Butterfly Cafe?”

“What?” Taehyung asks, already falling into step with Jeongguk.

“You know, that cafe near school,” Jeongguk explains. “Where we had our first d—”

Jeongguk suddenly stops, flushing.

“Our first...?” Taehyung prompts, confused.

“Meeting,” Jeongguk says carefully. “Our first meeting.”

“We met years ago,” Taehyung says, remembering the first time he'd lay eyes upon Jeongguk, freshman year, and the utter loathing that had possessed him. The memory doesn't make him squirm, like it would've a few months ago—getting to know Jeongguk now has put that ghost to rest.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk bites his lip. “But that was... I. I'm sorry.”

Taehyung bumps his shoulder against Jeongguk; it's okay, the gesture says. I've already forgiven you.

“I know what you mean,” Taehyung says. He can clearly remember the cafe Jeongguk is referring to—stylishly vintage, delicious food, though Jeongguk's muffins trump theirs by far, but perhaps Taehyung's a little biased.

They walk for about fifteen minutes before arriving in front of the cafe. The smells coming from inside are heavenly. The bell rings as they walk in.

The barista is young and pretty, silky black hair piled messily atop her head, and she smiles brightly at Jeongguk.

“Hello again,” she smiles, and is Jeongguk blushing?

Taehyung swallows down the uncomfortable turning of his stomach.

“Hi again,” Jeongguk says shyly, avoiding eye contact with the barista. This is very unlike Jeongguk; it's like he's embarrassed about something, but what?

“You have to tell me how it went,” she says, and Jeongguk blushes even more.

“How what went?” Taehyung asks, feeling irrationally jealous.

“Nothing,” Jeongguk says quickly. “A plain black, caramel macchiato and two of those muffins.”

The barista looks amused but doesn't push the issue further, getting to work on their coffees. Jeongguk and Taehyung sit opposite each other at one of the small wooden tables. Jeongguk gives him a look so soft Taehyung forgets his earlier jealousy.

“It's going to be great,” Jeongguk says. “You staying with us from now on.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, feeling choked up with emotion out of nowhere, which is both humiliating and irritating when his voice catches on the single syllable. Jeongguk notices, and reaches across the table to lace his fingers through Taehyung's.

The touch is so comforting; the warmth and sureness of it, yes, but also all it promises—the hope of safety, family, of doing homework together while the sun sets, baking in the dead of the night and laughter at the dinner table.

“I'm so grateful,” Taehyung's voice is nearly a whisper. “I don't know what I can do to repay you and your family.”

Jeongguk squeezes his hand.

“You don't have to repay us,” he says. “The fact that your father won't be able to touch you again is more than enough for me.”

“You're so different now,” Taehyung says wonderingly, more to himself than anything. It's true—the old Jeon Jeongguk would never be capable of compassion. Or perhaps he would, but it'd have been hidden under all those layers of arrogance and superiority.

He's worried for a second that he's offended Jeongguk somehow, but Jeongguk just nods and strokes his thumb from Taehyung's wrist to his knuckle, a gentle, repetitive movement. It's absent-minded, like Jeongguk doesn't know he's doing it, and Taehyung's stomach flutters a little at the thought.

“Is it too much if I said that you were the reason,” Jeongguk looks away, a scatter of pale pink on his cheeks, “I changed?”

Taehyung's jaw slackens, shocked, eyes wide. Is Jeongguk joking?

“Um, I'm n-not sure I'm why—” he begins jerkily.

“It is,” Jeongguk turns back to him, a fierce glow in his eyes. “You—you're why I decided I needed to stop being so... what I was. I looked at you and thought about myself and wanted to change. That's it.”

Taehyung's surprised, yes, but that makes way for the overwhelming happiness that consumes him—he's so content that he's giddy; this boy he's developed feelings for, has become so close to, has seen everything of him, has just told Taehyung he's the reason he wanted to become a better person.

Taehyung allows himself to smile this one time, which is a good idea because Jeongguk's eyes practically light up crinkle attractively at the sides.

“Black coffee and—oh, I see it did go well.”

They both turn to look at the waitress, who is staring bemusedly at their joined hands. She places their food down in front of them and grins wryly at Jeongguk.

“Works every time, that trick,” she informs him. Jeongguk is still holding Taehyung's hand but has shrunk back into his seat, flushing again.

“What trick?” Taehyung says, tired of being out on this 'in' joke.

“The whole, 'cake and coffee with the cute little note' trick,” she says, looking confused. “I mean, I thought you were the one he used it on...?”

“f*cking hell,” Jeongguk mutters.

“I—oh yeah, he got me that stuff, but what do you mean...?” Taehyung looks over at Jeongguk, who, for a lack of better description, is dying in his seat.

“You know how it goes,” she puts her hands on her hips. “Seducing. Wooing. Call it what you want.”

And oh, that's why Jeongguk's—

“We're not, uh—he didn't... um, woo...um, me,” Taehyung says hastily. He's sure he and Jeongguk are matching shades of red by now.

“So you were already dating?” she asks.

“No!” It's pretty hot in here, is that just Taehyung? “Not like that. We're not like that. We're friends.”

He spends a second thinking about that—he and Jeongguk are friends. He never thought he'd see the day.

He's embarrassed. Very much so. He wonders how opposed Jeongguk would be to dating him. Extremely, is most likely—Taehyung knows he's a walking bag of problems, with his anxiety and depression and family life—Jeongguk has been eager to help him, yes, but dating someone like Taehyung takes a lot of patience. Patience not many people have; or if they do, they don't want to waste it on someone like Taehyung.

“Would it be so bad?” Jeongguk says, out of nowhere.

“Would what?” Taehyung replies, knowing exactly what Jeongguk's asking. It sends a small frisson of excitement through him.

“Nothing,” Jeongguk says.

[–]

July 6th, 2017

It's hell, or very, very close to it.

As soon as Taehyung steps foot into the school entrance it's absolute, maddening chaos. He's accosted with people—coming up to him, asking him questions, whispering to each other, glancing at him all the while, like he's an animal at a zoo, a sculpture at an exhibition.

“What's happening to your dad?”

“Is it true he beat you up?”

“Did Jeongguk actually carry you...”

“I just want you to know I'm here for you, Taehyung...”

He shrinks into himself automatically—it's his instinct when it comes to having attention from so many people. He was able to handle it that day at the trial because of the sheer anger and hurt inside him, the need to one-up his father.

This is different.

He can barely see, can barely distinguish one person from another. They're all curious eyes, a blur of complexion, shuffling and writhing in one, great, chattering mass. He doesn't have his elastic band anymore—Jeongguk's made sure of that—which means he doesn't have anything to ground him. It's all too much.

“Back off,” Jeongguk says loudly, slinging an arm over Taehyung's shoulders, and everyone goes silent.

Of course, the Jeon Jeongguk Effect.

This time, Taehyung's grateful for it.

“Don't f*cking crowd him like that, he's been through a lot,” Jeongguk's voice is confident, commanding, his old self, but without the jeer. “Does everyone understand?”

There's a collective murmur of assent, and then Jeongguk's leading Taehyung forward. Taehyung keeps his eyes on the floor and exhales slowly. No, he doesn't have his elastic band to ground him, but in its place he has something better. Something solid, warm and breathing.

Although, he's regretting putting his trust in Jeongguk when he's lead right over to Jeongguk's friends. They look frankly terrifying. They're all stupidly attractive, tall, broad and intimidating.

His throat closes up at the sight of them. Jeongguk wouldn't do this, would he? He knows Taehyung's nervous around his friends—

“Go on, then,” Jeongguk says, and it takes a moment to realize he's not speaking to Taehyung.

Jeongguk's friends glance at each other, then the one Taehyung recognizes as Squashed Face shuffles forward.

“'M sorry,” he mumbles. Jeongguk coughs pointedly.

“I am sorry,” he enunciates. “Taehyung. For beating you up and saying stuff. I'll try hard to be better.”

Taehyung nearly falls on his ass in shock.

Squashed Face moves back into the group, and another one moves forward.

“I'm very sorry for what I've done to you, it won't happen again,” he says, then joins the group again.

One by one, every single one of Jeongguk's thirteen close friends, his usual group, come forward and deliver a mumbled apology. When they've all finished, Taehyung's jaw is near the floor and he scans them all. Is this real? Is he dreaming? He surreptitiously pinches himself, and yes, this is actually happening.

“I a-accept,” Taehyung says finally. “Thank you. Um.”

“Okay boys, you're good,” Jeongguk says, and claps the nearest one on the shoulder. The group release a collective sigh and their hunched shoulders straighten. “Tell Coach Cheong I can't make practice tonight, I'm sorry. I'll see you all later, yeah?”

Jeongguk's friends all say farewell, which is a mix of bro-hugs where they bump shoulders oddly and clasp hands and grunt. Maybe it's an art, Taehyung thinks.

“We have math now,” Jeongguk says, arm situated over Taehyung's shoulders again. “Great.”

“Thanks for doing that,” Taehyung tells him.

“I didn't do anything,” Jeongguk says. “It was their idea.”

“Okay,” Taehyung says, not believing it at all.

The school day passes easily. Jeongguk sticks to his side like a magnet, sitting next to him in all the classes they have together and lingering at the doorways of classes they don't. He warns off any too-eager peers that want to ask Taehyung too much and whispers calm reassurances in Taehyung's ear when he feels overwhelmed.

When they get home, Jeongguk insists on no homework, which Taehyung is too tired to protest against. He grudgingly agrees when Jeongguk suggests video games; Jeongguk discards games like Call of Duty and even his beloved Overwatch for Taehyung and settles on Mario Kart.

Taehyung wins and Jeongguk pouts like a child, which is adorable and distracting so Taehyung loses the next game.

At night, Taehyung wriggles into bed and pulls the covers up to his chin. It's really cold for July, and Taehyung's toes feel like they're about to fall off. He shivers, teeth chattering involuntarily.

“Cold?” Jeongguk asks from his place on the pull-out couch, and, oh. Jeongguk must be freezing, with nothing but that thin blanket.

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, voice muffled by the covers.

“Me too,” Jeongguk says, then laughs. “I would go to check if the heater's on, but I don't even wanna get up.”

Taehyung has a thought. A dangerous thought, that he should really, really ignore, but—

“You could sleep here,” he says, mortified at himself even as he speaks, “in the bed.”

Jeongguk is silent, and Taehyung blanches. Is it too much, after the whole being mistaken for a couple at the cafe? Taehyung knows Jeongguk's not entire comfortable with his sexuality yet, and Taehyung's just gone and suggested they sleep in the same bed—

There's the sound of rustling cloth, and Jeongguk pads over to the bed.

“Smart thinking. Body heat, you know,” he says.

He climbs in next to Taehyung, and this is happening.

It's not entirely comfortable. Both of them lie stiffly as far away from each other as they can.

“It's still cold,” Jeongguk says. Taehyung hums, agreeing, thoughts at a thousand miles per hour.

Then Jeongguk's moving closer, and oh.

He's suddenly in Taehyung's face, heat radiating off his body, settling like a blanket over Taehyung's frozen skin. They're facing each other on their sides. Jeongguk drapes his arm over Taehyung's waist and pulls him even closer, tangling their legs together.

This—this is nice.

“Better,” Jeongguk whispers. He leans forward and brushes his nose against Taehyung's.

“You feel like ice,” he says, and laughs softly. Taehyung's heart stops, then hurtles off at an alarming speed.

“So do you,” he says, unable to stop staring at Jeongguk's eyes. Jeongguk grins cheekily and then shoves his hand under the side of Taehyung's shirt.

“That's f*cking cold, Jeongguk!” he yelps, squirming away. Jeongguk laughs. He probably has no idea how much that affected Taehyung, the skin to skin contact. Taehyung shivers for reasons not related to the cold at all.

After a bit of maneuvering, they find the best position to ward off the cold, and coincidentally has Taehyung's heart reaching whole new levels of fast.

Jeongguk's flat on his back with Taehyung curled into his side, half laying on top of him, the side of his face pressed against Jeongguk's solid chest, a leg between Jeongguk's and an arm across Jeongguk's middle. One of Jeongguk's hands is linked with Taehyung's and the other one cards leisurely through Taehyung's hair.

“I'm so warm,” Taehyung says accidentally, then blushes and hides his face in the side of Jeongguk's head in embarrassment. That was a mistake—Jeongguk smells insanely good, masculine, like forests and rain, but also a little like sugar and vanilla.

Jeongguk laughs, and Taehyung feels the rumble where his body is pressed against Jeongguk's.

“You're using me as your personal heater,” he says, scratching gently at Taehyung's scalp. God, if that doesn't feel good—Taehyung lets out a soft sigh, too comfortable to care. Jeongguk's hand freezes for a second in his hair before continuing.

“You're a good personal heater,” Taehyung muses. “Satisfactory.”

“Only satisfactory?” Jeongguk teases, and Taehyung snorts.

“Four stars out of five,” Taehyung says. “My personal heater talks too much.”

It's Jeongguk's turn to snort. “You love it.”

And yes, Taehyung does, and is it just him or is this borderline flirting? He shakes the thought away. He and Jeongguk are strictly platonic, and this joking/cuddling combination going on right here is also platonic.

Strictly, that is.

Jeongguk's hand moves away from his hair and cups Taehyung's jaw lightly, fingers splaying out and brushing against his skin, barely there. His thumb is over Taehyung's bottom lip. Taehyung swallows.

“What are you doing?” he asks, blushing when his voice breaks.

“Exploring,” Jeongguk replies, and Taehyung is sure he imagines the breathy quality of his voice.

“Oh,” Taehyung says. “Can I—explore, ah, too?”

Jeongguk nods, so Taehyung gives in to want. He slips his hand under the hem of Jeongguk's thin t-shirt, slides up the toned muscle of his abdomen, feeling. Exploring. Jeongguk's chest tenses at the touch, then relaxes when Taehyung rubs carefully at the skin.

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk groans, and they both retract their hands as if burned.

Taehyung's breathing hard, face heating exponentially. He's still pressed in close to Jeongguk. God, that sound; Taehyung's going to hear it in his dreams for ages.

“Sorry,” Jeongguk says, moving as if to sit up. “Maybe I should—”

“No,” Taehyung says before he can help it. “Stay. It's fine.”

Jeongguk collapses back into bed. Taehyung's not really sure what's just happened, but he's not going to let it change things, make it awkward. They're both... of the same persuasion, and sometimes things happen. They don't have to mean anything.

After what feels like hours, they both relax enough to resume the comfortable stroking of before, their touches staying light.

Taehyung falls asleep, content.

[–]

When Taehyung wakes up, Jeongguk's already awake, playing with Taehyung's fingers.

“Hey,” Taehyung mumbles, his entire being happy. Jeongguk smiles, lazy with sleep.

“Hey,” he replies. “Sleep well?”

Taehyung nods, then yawns before moving further on top of Jeongguk and burrowing into the heat of his chest. It's allowed because he has platonic intentions. Jeongguk's arms tighten around his back.

“Boys, breakfast!” Yeseul shouts from downstairs, and Jeongguk sighs.

“I don't want to get up,” he complains, and Taehyung wholeheartedly agrees but detaches himself all the same.

They brush their teeth and go downstairs where there's two plates of eggs. Both of Jeongguk's parents are there, which is odd, since they're usually at work by the time Jeongguk and Taehyung get up for school.

“How come you're still here?” Jeongguk asks over a mouthful of eggs. His parents glance at each other, sharing a look, then grin.

“It's the summer break in a week, right?” she says, and Taehyung nods, confused. So?

“How would you feel about a holiday?” Jiyong asks, and Taehyung drops his fork.

“Two weeks in Bora Bora,” Yeseul smiles.

He's brimming with excitement, but—

“I don't have enough in my savings,” Taehyung says, suddenly dejected. “I would love to, but college is really expensive, and I don't have enough for that yet—”

“What?” Jiyong looks puzzled. “You're not paying for anything, of course. Why would you?”

“I just thought—surely, it's expensive, and you don't have to pay for me, really, it's very kind of you but I don't want to burden you—”

“Don't be ridiculous, son, it's not a burden,” Jiyong cuts in. “It's a family holiday, and—”

“You're family,” Yeseul finishes.

Taehyung's eyes widen, and then it sinks it. The Jeons—they're telling him he's family. Family, a word so foreign to Taehyung—theoretically, he's always had family, his father, but all his life he's never been able to relate his family with the love and safety and comfort usually associated with the word. He's taken by surprise when he wells up and blinks to try and suppress the tears.

“Oh, Taehyung,” Yeseul immediately wraps her arms around Taehyung, and Taehyung lets go. Allows himself to cry a little, because after everything, maybe he deserves it. A family.

When she pulls away, Taehyung grins through the tears.

“I've never been on holiday,” he says excitedly.

It's true, he hasn't, not once. In fact, the only places he's ever been to are Daegu, when his father used to work on a farm, and Seoul, where he lives. A holiday's always been a dream of him, too far away to become reality—even so, he'd never even imagined leaving Korea, let alone somewhere as beautiful as Bora Bora.

When he looks over at Jeongguk, Jeongguk looks sad, which is confusing. When Jeongguk notices Taehyung looking he smiles.

“It's not all fun and games,” he says conspiratorially. “Mom and Dad get stressed as hell on holiday and yell at each other half the time.”

“Jeongguk lost his Iron Man underwear when we went to France and cried every day for the rest of the time we spent there,” Yeseul shoots back evilly. “Which was six days.”

“Mom!” Jeongguk hisses. “I was, like, six!”

“Thirteen,” Jiyong corrects, grinning, and Jeongguk turns red.

“I hate you both,” he grumbles. Taehyung laughs—he's part of this now, part of the teasing and laughter and caring for each other.

“I still have Batman underwear,” Taehyung admits because he feels sorry for Jeongguk. Jeongguk seems a little more mollified at this and flicks Jiyong's shoulder.

“See,” Jeongguk says.

Jiyong ruffles Taehyung's hair before he leaves, Yeseul launches into another one of Jeongguk's childhood stories and Jeongguk blushes and scowls but holds Taehyung's hand under the table anyway.

Taehyung grins stupidly through all of it.

Chapter 7: a painting of the sea

Chapter Text

July 14th—July 28th, 2017

Taehyung'd never expected Jeongguk to have a fear of flights—he'd thought the boy was fearless, surely; but the way he clutches at Taehyung's hand and burrows his face into his neck at take-off is more than endearing.

[–]

Taehyung's looking around in awe, taking in the opalescent sea, the powder-white sand, the curving palm trees with feathery leaves and the dozens of people laughing and relaxing, smiling and waving. Jeongguk thinks the scenery is nice, yes, but to him Taehyung's expression of wonder is breathtaking. Taehyung laughs and points out a pink crab scuttling away from them, and Jeongguk can't take his eyes off Taehyung long enough to look at it.

[–]

The food is wonderful—crisp French bread served with a basket of cheeses, cold meats arranged in delicate swirls on a white platter, fresh ocean tuna marinated in coconut and lime, grilled lamb, pungent with spices. Taehyung doesn't think he's seen this much food in his life. He digs in with enthusiasm. Jeongguk taps his shoulder and offers him a forkful of tuna, straight off his own utensil. Jeongguk keeps his eyes locked with Taehyung's as he eats off the fork, chews, swallows. A bit of the marinade spills over Taehyung's lip and Jeongguk brushes it away easily and smiles.

[–]

When Taehyung asks him if he could maybe please apply sunscreen on his back where he can't reach, Jeongguk dies and is resurrected and dies again all at once, taking the bottle with more excitement than is perhaps necessary. Taehyung bows his head shyly, cheeks flushed rose, and asks if he should lie on his front in a nervous stammer. Jeongguk's blood pulses and he nods, lost for words as Taehyung does so, pillowing his head on his arms, and turns his head slightly to look back at Jeongguk. Jeongguk's eyes flicker between his intent gaze and the expanse of golden skin of his back, and settles next to him. The next few minutes are both agonizing and fulfilling—Jeongguk massages the cream into Taehyung's back until he's lax and sighing and murmuring how good it feels, and Jeongguk is gone completely.

[–]

Taehyung sighs, content, his head on Jeongguk's shoulder as he runs a hand through Taehyung's hair. They sit on the damp rocks staring out at the sun setting over the horizon. It makes the sea look as if it's made of fire; it flashes red and orange and molten gold, it ripples and burns and laps at the shore, at their ankles. Jeongguk intertwines their hands and whispers that he wishes this moment could last forever, that he's never been so happy. Taehyung couldn't agree more.

[–]

All four of them—Jeongguk, his mom, dad and Taehyung—pile together on the couch in their villa to watch TV. Jeongguk lies back, Taehyung between his legs with his back pressed against Jeongguk's chest, much like how his parents are tangled together. A French soap opera comes on, and it's frankly over-dramatic and low-budget and ridiculous, and they all laugh at how bad it is until they have tears in their eyes.

[–]

The locals hold a party of some sort on the beach one night, the darkness alight with several bonfires crackling in the sand. A huddle of people with odd-looking instruments, strings and drums and beaters, fill the air with music. There's food being cooked over the fire, crowds of people laughing together, and couples with eyes only for each other dancing with the sea at their feet.

Jeongguk drags Taehyung up to dance (Taehyung's not a dancer, to say the least) just as the music slows down until it's soft and deep and suggestive. Jeongguk wraps his arms around Taehyung's waist unabashedly and Taehyung follows suit, reaching up a little so he can wind his arms around Jeongguk's neck. Their faces are close but that's nothing new—the proximity is familiar and exciting. They sway slowly, indistinguishable from the other couples on the beach; they all look at each other the same way, their hands are all possessive and loving at once.

Taehyung studies the reflection of the fire flickering in Jeongguk's eyes if only to distract himself from doing something stupid. Taehyung is feeling particularly brave and whispers that this moment is the one he wishes could last forever. Jeongguk smiles, and Taehyung wonders just how far he's fallen.

[–]

September 8th, 2018

“I'm sorry,” Jeongguk says, aggravated.

“I never see you,” Taehyung says, looking at Jeongguk with serious eyes. “You're always at practice.”

“I know, but it's game season and Coach'll kill me if I skip,” he replies.

“It's fine,” Taehyung says and Jeongguk feels horribly guilty. “I understand.”

“I'll make it up to you, I promise,” Jeongguk reaches out to take Taehyung's hand but Taehyung steps back and walks away.

His shoulders are lead as he changes, responding halfheartedly when his friends speak to him. Ever since school began in August, it's been hectic. Junior year is just as hard as Jeongguk remembers it to be, especially now that he's decided to actually do the work.

It's not just that—it's game season, and there hasn't been a single day that Jeongguk hasn't had to stay after school for practice. Coach Cheong is stricter than ever and Jeongguk's body is exhausted, worked to the limit. That's not to say he doesn't enjoy it—he loves football with a passion that hasn't faltered since freshman year. Pushing his body, sweating, working until his muscles ache—Jeongguk takes an odd sort of pleasure in it.

The problem is that he never sees Taehyung. Literally, never. By the time he gets home it's late and everyone has a quiet dinner together, each tired from their individual days, before heading to bed with their eyes half-closed.

Weekends are the only time Jeongguk can spare for school work so he spends almost the entirety studying. The only words he and Taehyung exchange are related to math or science or history or geography.

Even their bed-sharing habit has turned sour. They still sleep in Jeongguk's bed together, but after a few terse nights of trying and failing to cuddle while they were both secretly irritated at each other and the world for making things so difficult, they sleep far apart on opposite sides of the bed.

Jeongguk attempts desperately to immerse himself in the game, to lose himself in the sweat and the burn. He runs, tackles, dodges, but nothing seems to work. It's like his limbs won't comply because of the overwhelming guilt sinking into his bones, clouding his mind as he once again, goes for the ball and fails.

The fluorescent lights flickering overhead only worsen Jeongguk's headache until his gameplay is feeble at most and he's nauseous. When the game ends he traipses over to Coach Cheong with the rest of them, ashamed but mostly tired.

“Jeon!” is the first thing Coach Cheong yells, and the boys part dutifully so Jeongguk is in his direct line of vision.

“Yes, Coach?” he says, face burning.

“Would you kindly explain to me what the f*ck you were doing out there, because it sure as hell was not football!"

The team is deathly silent.

“Sorry, Coach,” he mumbles. “I was tired. Won't happen again.”

“Tired?” his Coach shouts. “Tired? That's a pathetic excuse if I ever heard one. I don't care if you're having trouble with your girl, Jeon, but you leave that sh*t off the pitch. If you don't get your head outta your ass soon you can kiss playing in any of the upcoming matches goodbye.”

“Yes, Coach,” Jeongguk says, eyes on the floor.

After more shouting at the team in general (though nothing as harsh as Jeongguk's telling-off) the team ambles back to the locker room, a few shooting Jeongguk concerned glances, to which he shrugs and mouths it's okay.

He's the last one to get into the locker room, walking at a snail's pace, and when he walks in the entire team is staring at him.

“What?” Jeongguk scowls, not in the mood.

He's increasingly worried when everyone glances at each other, as if there's some sort of elephant in the room that needs addressing. After some nudging, Wonshin steps forward, looking supremely unwilling to do so.

“You feeling okay, Guk?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck.

“'Course,” Jeongguk says. “I already said—wait, why?”

At this, Wonshin looks over his shoulder at the boys behind him, who nod slightly. He turns back to Jeongguk.

“We were all wondering about that Taehyung kid, or whatever,” he says finally. Jeongguk balks.

“What about him?”

“You've been spending a lot of time with him, 'till recently, and after that your games have been, kinda, uh, not that good,” Wonshin says quickly. “We get you're tired, that's okay, like, but Coach was saying that you seem like you got girl problems—and, uh, we were all basically wondering if you did except maybe it's not girl problems, but, um, Taehyung problems."

Jeongguk drops his helmet—it clatters on the tiled floor noisily.

“What?”

“I dunno how to say this, but, um. That Taehyung kid's kinda weird, like, he's not really like you or any of us and you've been blowing stuff off to be with him. Which is cool, but, you seem really close and we know he lives with you now, and you know everyone thinks he's a fa*g, so...” Wonshin shrugs. “There's been rumors that you two, are like. You know.”

Jeongguk panics. He scans over the past few months with Taehyung, wondering if he'd been blatantly obvious about his feelings in any way. He couldn't have; he'd been so careful to hide it, and now everyone knows.

This isn't happening—this can't be happening.

Jeongguk had been starting to be comfortable in his sexuality, let it become a part of him, but now he feels disgusting and embarrassed all over again. The feelings remind him of the old Jeongguk, of before-time-travelling Jeongguk, and he squares his shoulders and twists his mouth into his trademark co*cky smirk.

"You're f*cking off your head,” he says, relieved when he sounds completely at ease. “You asking me if I'm a fa*g, Wonshin?”

Wonshin looks a little scared.

“Yeah, but it's not 'cause I think it, Guk, it's just everyone's making me ask,” he says hurriedly.

Jeongguk relaxes a fraction.

“How long have you f*ckers been talking about this, huh? A few days, a week more? And none of you have been able to even confront me about this bullsh*t until now, which says a lot about you, doesn't it,” he says.

No reply. Good.

Jeongguk steps forward until he's chest-to-chest with Wonshin, who is a few inches shorter, and does his best to loom and glare at the same time.

"Just to clarify,” Jeongguk's voice is barely over a whisper, but the room hangs on to every syllable, every letter, “we're not, like, you know.”

His last words are a cruel mockery of Wonshin's nervous tone, and the room all laugh carefully, unsure if they've been let off the hook but relieved to see Jeongguk live up to his reputation once again.

Wonshin laughs too, though it's more of a choked giggle, and slinks back to the bench to carry on changing.

The air loses its tension, and everyone is themselves again, shouting and laughing and teasing. Jeongguk, finding comfort in what he's used to, in slipping into his old role that he has perfected to a t, joins in easily.

Despite everything, Coach Cheong's words echo in his mind and he stays behind when everyone leaves. He keeps the pants on but strips his top half to a sweaty tank top and runs a few laps around the pitch.

The more he runs, the faster his breath, the more the burn in his chest, the more he thinks—about Taehyung, mostly, about how good everything used to be, and about now, about drifting apart and losing games and nearly being outed. Running usually relaxes him but he's still stressed, even after wearing himself out.

Jeongguk checks the time—it's eleven already—and decides to venture to Butterfly Cafe and maybe get a coffee, talk to the nice barista about Taehyung; perhaps she could give him advice. He pauses outside the cafe and takes a moment to breathe in, then out.

He presses his palms against the door and pushes it open, the little bell ringing overhead as he slips inside.

Instead of the usual barista is an old man. He's not wearing the uniform, just a battered woollen jumper, frayed at the sleeves. He is scribbling at a piece of paper and doesn't look up even as Jeongguk steps up to the counter.

“Hi,” Jeongguk says, and the man is still focused on his paper. Confused, he clears his throat and tries again. “Hi. Could I have a black coffee?”

After a long pause, in which the old man continues scribbling and sighs loudly, he looks up at Jeongguk. His face is etched with lines, around his eyes and mouth and on his forehead, his hair sparse and grey and tired, but his eyes are startlingly bright and his lips quirk upwards a little.

“Caffeine is a toxin,” he croaks out. “Not good for a young boy like you. I will make you herbal tea instead. Lavender is very good, hmm, and chamomile, too. Yes. You like that, boy? Well, no matter if you do. You need it, yes, so I will make it on the house.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk agrees, too bewildered to do anything else.

The man rattles around with the machine and the cups, making Jeongguk's (what the actual f*ck) herbal tea, not sparing Jeongguk a word or even a glance the whole time.

“Where's the barista?” Jeongguk asks, to make conversation.

“Ah, Chaeyoung,” the old man says, pouring the clear green liquid into a cup. “She does not work night shifts, and she has college classes tomorrow.”

"Oh,” Jeongguk says. “Do you own this shop?"

“Yes,” he says. “Though I will pass it to my granddaughter when I die.” He laughs. “She will do good here, she is very responsible.”

"Uh, yeah,” Jeongguk wonders if this man is...well, sane. He seems a little (a lot) off his rocker, but Jeongguk doesn't blame him. He feels like maybe he's going insane, sometimes.

The man finally finishes and pushes the cup in front of Jeongguk. It smells strong but comforting, and Jeongguk hisses when his cold hands touch the pleasant warmth of the cup.

“What is the date today, boy?” the man asks. Jeongguk co*cks his head to remember.

"September 8th,” he says, then adds, “2017.”

The man, to his confusion, huffs, annoyed.

“Again?” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Time is a bastard, I tell you that, my boy.”

Okay, now this is a new type of weird. If he was less tired, Jeongguk might try to figure out what's going on, but because of his current exhausted state of mind, he simply lifts the cup to his lips and drinks.

“This is good,” he sighs, closing his eyes. It tastes spicy but sweet. The warmth of the tea strokes the inside of his mouth, his throat, spreads through his stomach and to his toes. Almost like it's magic. For the first time in a while, he feels relaxed.

When he opens his eyes, the man is staring intently and a little scarily at him, but Jeongguk's eyes are drawn to behind him. A tiny, blue butterfly, flitting about the man's head, almost sparkling in the dim light of the cafe. He watches it dance through the air towards him until it's so close to his nose that Jeongguk has to blink.

He presses his palms against the door and pushes it open, the little bell ringing overhead as he slips inside.

He stops.

"What the f*ck,” Jeongguk's jaw is practically unhinged from his head, the way it's dangling. The old man, scribbling at his paper, looks up and nods, as if something has been confirmed.

“You!” Jeongguk says accusingly, going up the counter. “You—what—what the hell just happened?”

"What do you mean?” the old man says pleasantly. Jeongguk gapes.

“I was already in here, drinking tea!” he exclaims, frantic. “What—I—then the butterfly was there, then I just—I was opening the door to the cafe! Like... like I teleported, or something, or like I never came in here in the first place!”

He thinks of pouring rain, of a cemetery, of a blue butterfly perched on grey stone and of dizziness. He's nearly there, the pieces are all there, but Jeongguk's mind is tired, wants to rest, not work, not understand.

“I thought you were the one,” the old man chuckles. “Ah, it's been so long. You are rare, my boy.” He looks at Jeongguk wistfully. “You are so young, too.”

"What,” Jeongguk says helplessly.

“Don't drink any more of that,” the man advises, nodding his head at—at the cup of f*cking herbal tea, still sitting there on the counter, even though technically, it shouldn't be there, should it, because it shouldn't have been made yet, Jeongguk is too tired for this.

"Please, just tell me what's going on,” he asks, desperate now.

“So rare,” the man repeats, smiling, “so young.”

“f*ck!” Jeongguk clenches his fist and lets out an anguished wail; he wants to break something. “Just—just tell me if I went back in time, just now. If I didn't hallucinate. Please.”

The man stares at him for a while, then nods imperceptibly.

“I must close up the shop, now,” the old man says, retreating into the back room. “Time's a bastard, time's a bastard, time's a bastard...”

Jeongguk is shaking as he walks home, wrapping his coat tight around his body and holding back tears of utter frustration. He knows he's just experienced something important; perhaps even the answer to it all, to the how and why he arrived here, but it's just out of his grasp, irritatingly so.

Jeongguk arrives home, waves weakly at his mom bent over a laptop on the dining table and drags himself upstairs.

“Taehyung?” he says softly as he goes into their room, in case he's asleep. He sees Taehyung curled up in bed, covers pulled up to his chin, and Jeongguk allows himself to smile. It's true that Taehyung and he are not on the best of terms, haven't been for a few weeks, but that doesn't mean Jeongguk's any less in love. Not really.

He strips down into a t-shirt and boxers before noticing that Taehyung's not asleep—he's on his phone, tapping furiously at the screen like he's texting someone.

Lately, meaning after the start of junior year, Taehyung's been on his phone a lot, which Jeongguk gets, yes, phone is life, but it's not very.... Taehyung. Before, he'd barely ever touched his phone, a battered old Nokia, and if he did it was only to call or text.

Just before their trip to Bora Bora Jeongguk's parents had purchased an iPhone for Taehyung, which was met with gratitude but also protest because Taehyung is too kind for his own good. Eventually, he'd taken it with promise to pay them back.

Taehyung had told Jeongguk that he'd not used his social media accounts since the end of freshman year and had no idea if they still existed. Despite this, he'd managed to log on to Twitter, Instagram and even Snapchat, and Jeongguk had taken great pleasure in scrolling through the accounts and laughing at eleven-year-old Taehyung's bowl cut. Taehyung'd said it was nice to open them but left them unused, deeming there to be better things to do.

“What're you doing?” Jeongguk asks, going for casual. Taehyung doesn't even look at Jeongguk to answer.

"On Twitter, talking to a friend,” he says blandly.

“Okay,” Jeongguk says, although he's sure Taehyung isn't listening to him.

He goes to brush his teeth and hears Taehyung bark out a short, pleased laugh from the bedroom. There's jealousy curling in the pit of his stomach—he hasn't made Taehyung laugh in a while. He doesn't like this, Taehyung and his friend on Twitter, not one bit.

Jeongguk shakes his head and spits out the toothpaste before rinsing his mouth. He's being stupid and a little self-centered. It's not wrong for Taehyung to have friends other than Jeongguk—in fact, it's great that he's been able to overcome his shyness enough to start a friendship with someone totally new, and Jeongguk should be happy for him.

He is happy for him. He is.

After a few more moments of tamping down unwanted emotion and trying to bring rise to others, Jeongguk gets into bed facing Taehyung.

"Night,” he says. Taehyung mumbles something back halfheartedly and turns so that his back is facing Jeongguk and continues texting.

Even as Jeongguk closes his eyes in the dark and tries to drift off, the incessant tap-tap of Taehyung's fingers on his screen is distracting. Jeongguk thinks about craning his neck so he can see Taehyung's phone, but dismisses the idea.

This is Taehyung's friend, and Jeongguk should be okay with that.

[–]

September 12th, 2017

Taehyung is literally. Always. On. His. Phone.

Jeongguk doesn't even try to pretend he's okay with it. He's not. He's horribly jealous of whoever Taehyung is always talking to, always smiling at, always laughing with, and hates them with a passion.

He understands that he and Taehyung are too busy to spend time with each other, but it would be nice if Taehyung could maybe look at him the couple of hours he is home, instead of staring at that f*cking phone.

In the morning, Jeongguk will wake up to Taehyung already up and texting, covers bunched around him. As they walk to school he's on his phone and Jeongguk has to constantly grab his arm so he doesn't get run over. Even during school Taehyung slips his phone out of his pocket and checks it periodically. It's crazy, it's unhealthy, and Jeongguk will never get angry at his mother yelling at him to get off his phone again.

Jeongguk is on his front, chewing on the top of his pen and checking over his English paper with confusion and mild horror. Taehyung, to no-one's surprise, is smiling fondly at his phone.

Jeongguk's had enough.

“Who's this friend, then?”

Taehyung finally looks at him, then blushes.

Jeongguk bites back a scowl.

“It's—no-one, really,” Taehyung answers, obviously lying. Jeongguk narrows his eyes.

“It's not no-one if you talk to them all the time,” he says loftily. Taehyung sighs, appearing to think it through, then scoots over so he's next to Jeongguk.

“His name's Daeshim,” Taehyung says, almost shyly, and brings up the boy's account. Jeongguk wants to snatch the phone out of his hand so badly, but settles for leaning close to the screen and checking out this... Daeshim.

He's insanely attractive—hair dyed the color of milk chocolate, posing in front of what looks like a stretch of LA beach wearing jeans and an oversized striped shirt, half-tucked in lazily. When Jeongguk glances over at Taehyung, he has literal heart eyes.

Jeongguk does not like this Daeshim.

“He's American,” Taehyung gushes, like he's unable to hold back. “Well, Korean, obviously, but he lives in America, so he can speak both languages fluently, how cool is that?”

“Very,” Jeongguk says, throwing a hateful look at his English paper lying pathetically at his side.

“And he's nineteen, so he's just started college. He's studying Literature,” Taehyung's grin is borderline sappy. “He speaks so well, Jeongguk, like a writer. He has this way with words, it's so—”

Apparently Daeshim's greatness is beyond comprehension.

“Do you have any more pictures of him? Let me see,” Jeongguk says, knowing it's probably going to make him even more jealous but unable to help himself anyway.

Taehyung affirms this enthusiastically and goes on to show pictures that Daeshim has sent Taehyung personally on private messaging, pictures of him with messy hair and often no shirt and captioned with things like good morning, Tae :) and the sky looks beautiful tonight and for f*ck's sake, does Taehyung really not know what a f*ckboy is?

Every picture makes Jeongguk want to bang his head into a wall more.

“Have you sent him pictures?” Jeongguk asks, feeling a little sick.

“No,” Taehyung says, but blushes.

“You totally have, holy sh*t,” Jeongguk does grab his phone this time, and scrolls up in the chat until he finds a picture of Taehyung smiling sweetly at the camera—and no, okay, that's Jeongguk's smile, this Daeshim has no right to see it, he doesn't even know Taehyung, not really—

And if that's not enough, Jeongguk finds out that nearly every f*cking message is loaded with red hearts. Jeongguk is seething.

“What the f*ck?” he breathes out, gritting his teeth. “You send each other hearts? Are you dating?”

“No! Jeongguk, give that back,” Taehyung reaches for his phone and gets it back after a brief tussle. “You have no right to look through my messages.”

“You send hearts,” Jeongguk repeats weakly.

“So what if we do? Why can't I?” Taehyung crosses his arms over his chest. “It's nice.”

“It's nice my ass,” Jeongguk mutters, grabbing a pencil so hard he hears a small crack.

Taehyung shoots him an irritated glare and doesn't speak to him for the next hour.

[–]

Later that night, they're in bed, a mile of space between them. Jeongguk fiddles with the corner of the quilt and curls into himself tighter.

Thinking about Taehyung and Daeshim won't do him any good—he knows that, after spending the entire day stewing over the thought and getting more and more stressed until he had to go running in the park just to breathe a little.

Instead, he lets his mind float back to that night in Butterfly Cafe.

He's almost sure he'd traveled back in time, albeit only a few minutes. The question is why.

When he'd traveled back the first time, he'd assumed it was because of Taehyung. That somehow the universe disagreed with his death and Jeongguk was sent back to stop it. But the cafe incident was in no way monumental—going back a few minutes to when he was opening the door was insignificant, really.

He thinks of what could've triggered it. That butterfly—he'd not realized it at the time, but he'd seen one at the cemetery right before blacking out and waking up sixth months ago. Perhaps it had something to do with the time-travelling thing—unlikely, as butterflies can't really do anything, can they, but Jeongguk's can't ignore their presence at both incidents.

The old man knows a lot, Jeongguk is certain. Perhaps he can travel in time, too. He'd mentioned that Jeongguk was one, probably referring to the fact that Jeongguk has the weird ability to manipulate time (completely against his will).

If this is true, why him? And how did the man know, upon looking at him? Does Jeongguk give off an aura, like, hey, I can go back in time by the way, I—

“Oh my God,” Taehyung inhales sharply beside him. Jeongguk snaps his head to look over and sees a flash of skin on Taehyung's screen before Taehyung panics and hides it against his chest.

Jeongguk acts on instinct and snatches Taehyung's phone, rising up onto his knees so that he's out of Taehyung's reach.

“Jeongguk, no—”

"f*cking hell,” Jeongguk whispers. If he's not mistaken, that is a mirror selfie starring Daeshim's abs, thighs, and, sh*t. His dick, unmistakably hard and flushed and curving upwards.

“What the f*ck are you thinking?” Jeongguk snaps, overwhelmingly mad. “You two send each other nudes? Are you crazy?”

“I've never... I didn't know he would send this, Jeongguk, I promise,” Taehyung babbles, and Jeongguk knows he's telling the truth, but it doesn't mollify him at all. “We don't send things like this, or even talk about it...”

“Is this enough for you to realize that none of this Daeshim business is right?” Jeongguk growls, slamming the phone onto the bedside table. “He obviously wants more from you than friendship—he's a f*cking child predator, what the actual f*ck. You need to stop talking to him—”

“He's not like that!” Taehyung shouts right back. “You don't understand—he's really compassionate. He wouldn't send anything like that unless he thought I wanted it. M-maybe I gave him the wrong idea, or something, but you'll see, when I ask him to stop he will—”

“How can you defend this guy?” Jeongguk scowls. “Are you blind? Are you stupid? Or has he got you wrapped around his finger so bad that you can't even admit he's manipulating you?”

They're both standing now.

“He's not!” Taehyung's flushed red. “He's kind, he cares about me—he's my friend. I'll tell him to stop and he will, I know he will.”

“Okay, sure, tell yourself that,” Jeongguk scoffs. It's painful, watching Taehyung slip away from him like this, move closer to a guy that's obviously dangerous and looking for more than Taehyung is willing to give.

“You're just doing this because it's too much to handle that I've got someone other than you!” Taehyung spits. “That I'm not crawling at your heels like a lovesick puppy, hanging on to your every word! You don't like that I can talk to someone else, that I'm not totally dependent on you, you possessive dick!”

Jeongguk flushes guiltily. He knows he's jealous of Daeshim, but—when Taehyung says it like that... it sounds terrible. Despite this, he plows on, determined to make Taehyung see sense.

“I'm just trying to protect you!” Jeongguk says, which is the truth. “I'm not—this is for your own good."

“For my own good?” Taehyung smiles cruelly. “Since when have you ever known what was for my own good?”

He steps forward.

“When you shoved me into the lockers, was that for my own good?” he shouts, voice breaking, eyes glittering. “When you grabbed my bag and emptied my books out onto the floor? Were you trying to protect me when you let your friends kick me in ribs so hard I had to get stitches? Was it all for my benefit when you—when you—”

Taehyung coughs and turns away, sitting on the edge of the bed, back to Jeongguk.

His shoulders shake and Jeongguk closes his eyes; they're welling up. It's like the Butterfly Cafe situation all over again, being so close and yet so far, having the solution an inch away from his fingertips but not being able to get his hands on it.

It seems that there's no going back from this, that he and Taehyung will never reach where they once were.

That maybe you'll fail at your mission, a voice in the back of Jeongguk's head taunts, and he shivers, unable to process the thought.

He sleeps on the couch that night.

[–]

September 17th, 2017

In the days after their argument, Jeongguk doesn't come home until Taehyung is asleep.

Taehyung'd tried waiting for him, the night after it all, stayed up reading until his eyes burned and the sky was pitch-black outside, but Jeongguk didn't come. It seems he's hell-bent on avoiding Taehyung, which Taehyung should maybe be happy about, but isn't.

They don't talk at all and Jeongguk sleeps on the fold-out couch every night.

Once, Yeseul had pulled him aside and asked if he and Jeongguk had fought. Taehyung had denied it, which Yeseul obviously didn't believe but she had been kind enough to let it go.

He's not dependent on Jeongguk but that doesn't mean the distance doesn't hurt. It does, because he feels more alone than ever, including when all he had to come home to was his father passed out drunk on the steps and an elastic band to hurt himself if he needed it.

It had all began when Taehyung had logged onto Twitter, updated his account a little by changing his profile picture and details. He’d received a follow request from Daeshim. In the early days of their friendship, Taehyung responded occasionally to his messages, and his replies were short and to the point.

However, after a while, with Jeongguk at football and the Jeons at work, Taehyung would arrive home—the large, spacious design made it all the more lonely when he was the only one present—with no one to talk to.

With nothing much to do, he’d started spending more time on his phone, more time on Twitter, more time talking to Daeshim.

Speaking to Daeshim is an escape from the loneliness. He forgets that Jeongguk always has to be at practice, that Yeseul and Jiyong are always on trips for work, that he's still struggling with losing his father, despite how much he hated him, that nothing is constant anymore and how terrifying that is.

Daeshim is sympathetic and always says the right things. He speaks with an air of eloquence that makes Taehyung feel like he's in a different world where everything is as beautiful as Daeshim makes them sound. He tells Taehyung about America, about the beaches and the deserts and the roaring cities, about his trip to Mexico and France and even Thailand.

He talks about Taehyung's eyes in a way that makes him squirm and blush and asks if Taehyung's hair is as soft as it looks.

Taehyung's phone pings.

hey

hey, what's up

i have some news i think you'll be excited about

really??? what?

im in seoul for a week to visit my family. come see me?

Taehyung nearly drops his phone. He can see Daeshim, within this week. Talk to him. The thought sparks his nerves, of course they do, but being behind a screen gives him courage.

no way. are u for real?

yes! name a time and place, and i'll be there

Friday instantly enters his mind—Jeongguk will be at practice, of course, and it’s his parents’ anniversary so they’ll be out all night at dinner. No one will miss Taehyung then.

He shoots off a text asking to meet at the local park, googling the address, after school on Friday. Daeshim confirms he can make it before launching into a rant on how irritating his sister is. Taehyung smiles and sits back against the couch.

[–]

September 20th, 2017

He hasn't had a panic attack in a while; there's been no need to. Now, however, sitting on the park bench, his legs bouncing up and down anxiously, Taehyung is very close.

The entire week had been agony—he'd counted the days until Friday, too distracted to pay proper attention in class. He'd also not been able to look Jeongguk in the eye, but that's nothing new.

He's on edge. His gaze flickers from the entrance to the people walking their dogs, from the playground gate to the group of boys kicking a soccer ball on a large, drying patch of grass. Every time he catches a glimpse of brown hair he thinks of Daeshim—that could be him.

Taehyung unlocks his phone and brings up bSafe, an app Jeongguk had nagged him to install ever since the incident with his father. If he needs help, he can tap the emergency button and his location is sent instantly to Jeongguk’s phone along with an alarm. He’d nearly deleted it a few times after the trial, not deeming it as useful once he began living with the Jeons, but Jeongguk would literally kill him if he did. Taehyung doesn’t think he will have to use it, not with Daeshim, but it’s always wise to be cautious when meeting with someone new.

Calm down, he tells himself, which only worsens his jitters. It’s not even five yet. He won’t be here for at least another—

"Taehyung?”

Taehyung jumps about a foot into the air and winces when his ass lands on the hard wood of the bench, then stands up slowly, wholly embarrassed, and turns around to meet the owner of the voice.

It’s him—it’s actually him. Daeshim is standing in front of Taehyung in the flesh. Taehyung smiles nervously and wills himself not to run away.

“Hi,” he says, so quietly he wonders if the man in front of him even heard.

Daeshim is—for a lack of better words—gorgeous. He's nearly a head taller than Taehyung, six foot five or something ridiculous like that, and his toned body is clear through his puffer coat and fitted jeans. His face, it's even better than in the pictures, and Taehyung is lost for words.

Daeshim smiles, full of warm promise.

“Hey,” he says, and is voice is insanely low, gravelly; Taehyung shivers involuntarily. “I can’t believe this. I never thought I’d be able to meet you.”

“Me neither, but here we are,” Taehyung says with a small laugh, relieved when he doesn’t stammer.

They stand awkwardly for a bit, just smiling, before Daeshim scratches the back of his neck and laughs out loud.

“We’re pretty lame, huh?” he says. “We’ve talked so much, and now we’re just standing here in silence. You know nearly everything about me. It shouldn’t be this weird. Let’s just… be how we usually are.”

“You’re right,” Taehyung nods. “It’s just—I’m not very good with people, I mean, you know that, I’ve told you—”

“That’s totally okay!” Daeshim says quickly, then scrunches his face up like he’s trying to remember something. He fishes around inside the bag slung over his shoulders and pulls out a brown paper bag. “Ah—nearly forgot. I got us food. Coffee and cookies. Sound good?”

“Y-yes! Smells great,” he says, and they sit on the bench together. Turns out coffee and cookies mean black coffee and ginger biscuits, both of which Taehyung dislikes quite a bit, but he eats it and comments on how delicious it is to be polite.

The first time Jeongguk bought you food, he knew exactly what you liked, a voice inside his head says warningly. Careful.

Taehyung pushes the thought away; his mind is traitorous—he’s trying to have a good time, dammit. He tells himself it’s normal to have concerns when meeting someone from the internet for the first time, and that his troubles are all for nothing. Daeshim is kind and gentle and hasn’t done anything to make Taehyung wary of him.

Except send that picture.

They chat leisurely for a while—well, Daeshim talks and Taehyung nods every now and then, but that’s more than Taehyung can usually manage with new people—and it turns out Taehyung had no reason to be worried. Daeshim is as nice as he is online and doesn’t comment on Taehyung’s lack of input into the conversation.

They switch topics fluidly—Daeshim’s trip to Korea so far, nearly losing his phone in the Han River, seeing his grandparents and aunts and uncles—and without Taehyung really noticing, the sun starts to dip low into the sky, backlighting the tops of the trees in an orange watercolor, and the air begins to turn cold and bitter.

“Now, there’s something I want to address,” Daeshim grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. Taehyung smiles back, confused.

“Yes?”

“You hair,” he says, voice soft now, “and whether it’s actually as soft as I think it is.”

“Oh, that,” Taehyung says, blushing. “It’s—not really. It’s, um, average.”

Daeshim smiles wryly.

“Why do I not believe that,” he says, shuffling closer on the bench so that their thighs are pressed together. “I’m going to need to see for myself, right?”

Then there’s a hand in Taehyung’s hair, large and coarse, fingers sifting through the strands and rubbing gently.

Wrong wrong wrong, says the voice.

Taehyung withholds a gasp and stares at Daeshim from under his fringe. His body is very, very, tense, muscles stiff. He forces himself to relax when Daeshim doesn’t stop—he’s so uptight, some-times. He knows that people are more affectionate in America, and it’s not like he’s unused to touching—Jeongguk had touched him all the time.

This feels different.

Taehyung tamps down the thought and attempts to banish the slight churning of his stomach. He also ignores the fact that Jeongguk’s touch had made him feel safe whereas Daeshim’s… does not.

“Looks like you were lying,” is Daeshim’s final verdict, and Taehyung finally breathes as he lets go. “It’s like silk.”

“I’m thinking of dyeing it,” he says, to change the atmosphere. “But Jeongguk says not to, because apparently some of his hair fell out when he first did it.”

“Ah, Jeongguk,” Daeshim nods. “Have you made up with him yet?”

Taehyung immediately freezes but realizes Daeshim’s not being invasive, just curious, maybe even concerned.

Relax, Taehyung thinks.

“No. He's still avoiding me,” he says, disheartened at the reminder. His shoulders slump and he looks at his shoes, scuffed trainers.

"Well, f*ck him,” Daeshim puts a hand on Taehyung's shoulder. It’s probably meant to be reassuring, but all it does it make Taehyung flinch. “He doesn't deserve you.”

The words hurt, even though he’s not the one being insulted. Suddenly, Taehyung regrets telling Daeshim about Jeongguk.

“He's done a lot for me,” Taehyung says quietly, the urge to defend Jeongguk overtaking that to be polite. “We're just... in a difficult place right now.”

“Didn't he used to bully you?” Daeshim asks, an eyebrow raised, and Taehyung winces but nods. “Well. I still think he's not good for you. I mean, you're always hearing about those kind of people, right? The ones that say they'll change but they don't really. From what I've heard, this Jeongguk is probably the same. Is he abusive?”

“No! You don't even know him,” Taehyung says, a little louder than he meant to. Daeshim looks surprised, and his face softens.

“You're right,” he concedes soothingly. “I shouldn't make assumptions."

Daeshim tactfully switches to talking about his Literature class, recalling words of his favorite poets and lines from works that inspire him, but it’s not nearly as fascinating as Taehyung remembers it to be. Taehyung is still too uneasy about the Jeongguk thing to really pay attention to what Daeshim’s saying.

"Wow, it's really cold,” Daeshim says, crossing his arms to warm himself. “I didn't realize how late it had gotten. Do you want to come over to where I'm staying? At least we’ll have heating that way.”

“I'm not sure,” Taehyung doesn't know why the thought scares him so much.

It’s the thought of being alone with him where no one can see you.

“I really enjoy talking to you,” Daeshim says, and his hand is back on Taehyung’s shoulder. “You don’t have to stay for long.”

Daeshim’s been nice this entire time, so doesn’t Taehyung owe him this? It’s not like they’ll see each other again in a while, if ever. Taehyung had chosen this Friday to meet him particularly because he had known he would be able to stay out as late as he needed. It’s pretty pathetic that he’s not utilizing it now. As Daeshim said, he doesn’t have to stay long. If he feels uncomfortable he can just leave. With that thought in mind, Taehyung offers up a small smile and nods.

“Just an hour,” he warns. “Then I’m going home.”

Daeshim grins.

“Good enough for me.”

[–]

Daeshim’s hotel is only a few minutes away from the park; they walk the entire way. Taehyung laughs along with Daeshim but the closer they get the more sick he feels.

When they reach, Taehyung feels a bit better. The hotel lobby is nice—the floor is carpeted in a clean beige, potted plants twinkle green on windowsills and the friendly receptionist makes pleasant small-talk with them as they enter.

Once they’re in the elevator, however, Taehyung shrinks into himself and moves to the opposite corner from Daeshim.

“Are you okay?” Daeshim asks, stepping closer to him. “You’ve gone pale.”

“Fine, I’m fine,” Taehyung says quickly, moving away when Daeshim reaches out, presumably to touch him.

“Do you want to go home?” Daeshim’s brows furrow. “It’s okay if you do, you know. I’m still here tomorrow.”

Taehyung shakes his head; for some reason, he doesn’t want to meet Daeshim again tomorrow—he just wants to get today over with. “Really, I’m fine.”

The ride up is pretty much silent, and when the elevator pings to signal reaching their floor, Taehyung swallows and rubs at his wrist, a habit he still struggles to get over.

“We’re here!” Daeshim announces brightly, obviously over the awkwardness of a minute ago.

The sudden shift in mood is unnerving, to say the least.

Taehyung smiles warily and follows him down the corridor to a room labelled with 44. Daeshim unlocks it with his key card and waves Taehyung in ahead of him. Taehyung thanks him carefully and steps inside, surveying the room. It’s painted a neutral white and there’s a painting of the sea on the wall above a single bed and opposite a flat-screen TV and set of drawers. It’s nice enough.

Check all the exits, the voice insists, and Taehyung scoffs internally. He eyes the window, door and bathroom all the same.

“The view from here is amazing,” Daeshim nods at the floor-to-ceiling window, half concealed by gauzy white drapes. It frames a perfect view of the city’s horizon, a skyline of tall, shadowed buildings washing out into the grey evening sky.

“Yeah,” Taehyung agrees. He wonders if how much injury his body would sustain if he were to jump out of it.

Daeshim suggests they watch a movie, which Taehyung is fine with. Until he goes to sit next to Taehyung on the bed, abnormally close.

"Um," Taehyung says, uncomfortable.

"Sorry, is this okay?" Daeshim asks, though he doesn't sound all that sincere.

"Actually, could you move over a bit..."

"Hey, so I wanted to tell you something," Daeshim interrupts, not even acknowledging Taehyung's request.

Taehyung glances at the door, noticing that it's locked from the inside.

"It's getting late," Taehyung says quickly, starting to standing up.

Daeshim's fingers close over Taehyung's wrist and jerk him back onto the bed so hard Taehyung yelps.

"Months of leading me on, and you're just going to leave?" Daeshim's voice is unnaturally calm. "Surely I deserve better than that."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Taehyung grits out, the grip around his wrist beginning to become painful.

"Don't act coy," Daeshim hisses, and his mouth is dangerously close to Taehyung's neck. "You want this."

And then his teeth are digging into Taehyung's skin, blunt and harsh. Taehyung squirms and tries to push him away, but Daeshim is stronger. In a desperate attempt at escape, Taehyung knocks his elbow back into Daeshim's chest.

"You're no fun," Daeshim pouts.

In a flurry of force and movement, Taehyung finds himself pinned underneath Daeshim, his wrists secured behind his back in a way that makes his arms bend awkwardly. There’s a knee between his legs, spreading them open, and Daeshim attempts to catch his mouth. Taehyung wrenches his head to the side so his mouth lands on Taehyung’s jaw instead.

“Behave,” Daeshim chides. Taehyung wriggles incessantly, trying to dislodge him.

“Please don’t do this,” Taehyung begs desperately even as his jeans are unbuttoned and pulled to his thighs. “Please—please stop… You’re hurting me, please…”

Daeshim doesn’t listen, of course he doesn’t, just drives his leg in deeper and tightens his grip on Taehyung’s wrists.

“Let me go!” he yells, hoping to at least alert anyone that might be near enough to hear him. It’s futile, he knows, but it’s the best he’s got. He draws in a breath and practically screams. “Someone help!”

At this, Daeshim growls and flips him over, letting go of his wrists in favor of clamping a hand on his mouth. Taehyung tries to bite but receives a particularly sharp bite at the back of his neck for it.

The hands on his back, bare now, are icy cold. They’re too harsh, too forceful, and Taehyung does all he can to kick and struggle and bite. It’s all fruitless—every attempt to escape is met with brutality. It’s not worth it, struggling isn’t worth it, he’s not going to get out of this. He accepts defeat and goes limp.

He recalls his own words, almost bemused by their irony.

He’s kind, he cares about me—he’s my friend. I’ll tell him to stop and he will, I know he will, he’d said with naïve sincerity to a skeptical Jeongguk. He’d been so sure then, so stupid.

He wishes he could turn back time, wishes he’d never agreed to meet him, never talked to him, hell, never even accepted his follow request. But that stuff only happens in the movies, and Taehyung has to live with his mistakes.

His hands, he realizes with a start, are free. He almost sobs in relief as he finds his phone in the front pocket of his jeans where he always keeps them. Daeshim is too preoccupied to notice as Taehyung shields it with his chest and unlocks the phone, 8802.

bSafe is still up, thankfully, and Taehyung taps on the alert button.

It works, the damn alert sends. He steels himself and jams his elbow backwards.

He’ll fight for as long as it takes.

[—]

Jeongguk towels his hair fiercely, dreading going home. He hates it, arriving to see Taehyung soundly asleep in the covers, looking peaceful and entirely undeserving of everything Jeongguk’s said to him. All he wants to do is reassure and soothe but he can’t risk speaking to Taehyung again—he’ll f*ck it up, he knows it; it’s like every word out of his mouth is toxic, poisoning what little is left of their relationship drop by drop.

He doesn’t want this to happen because he’s in love with Taehyung, yes, but the driving force behind his wariness is Taehyung’s death—he hasn’t forgotten about that. The further away he is from Taehyung, the less able he is to stop it happening. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to go back in time if he fails, and he certainly doesn’t want to find out.

Just as he’s about to put his coat on, his phone starts blaring out a high-pitched alarm, and that’s—

“sh*t,” he grabs his phone, fingers shaking. “sh*t. Oh, God, Taehyung…”

He wills himself to calm down—panicking is not going to help anyone at this point—and pastes Taehyung’s location into Google to get up directions.

Taehyung’s at a hotel a fifteen minute walk away from school, which Jeongguk can probably run in seven. He leaves his bag on the floor of the locker room and sprints out, phone clutched tightly in his hand.

He prays and prays that it’s not Taehyung’s father, who Jeongguk is not sure he’ll be able to stop himself from murdering if it is.

His gaze switches continually from his glaring phone screen to his trainers pounding against the pavement. Indignant shouts trail him as he shoves past people, knocks into them, almost bowling them over shouting sorrys and excuse mes but not really meaning either of them.

Jeongguk has never been so glad of Coach Cheong’s brutal training technique—even after sprinting a full five minutes, Jeongguk is only moderately out of breath, although that could be the adrenaline and panic.

He reaches the hotel. He doesn’t pay it much attention, just barges in, sweating and dishevelled. He looks around wildly until he spots the receptionist, eyeing him with concern.

“Have you seen my friend?” he asks, and turns out he is out of breath—he’s practically wheezing. “About my height, a bit lanky, wearing—uh, school uniform, maybe he was looking worried or something, I—”

“Hey, breathe for a second, honey,” the receptionist says, catching onto Jeongguk’s wild panic. “Yes, I saw him. He was with another boy, a bit older than him. Not in school uniform.”

“What?” Jeongguk grasps the edge of the oak desk, knuckles white. “Are you sure? What did he look like?”

“Brown hair, very tall, good-looking,” her tone is calm, as if she’s trying to placate Jeongguk. “A bit of an American accent.”

“American accent? What—oh, oh my God,” Jeongguk steps back, horrified. It can’t be. There’s no way—Taehyung would have told him, surely, but it’s not like Jeongguk’s been around a lot recently—f*ck, he’s so stupid—

“What room is he staying in, this American guy,” Jeongguk asks, almost a shout.

The receptionist glances worriedly at him and taps perfect red nails against the desk.

“I can’t give out information like that. It’s confidential,” she says, and Jeongguk feels like strangling her, but that would surely make things worse.

“Please,” Jeongguk says instead. “He’s—my friend’s in danger, he called me, please—”

She hesitates, then clicks a few times on her computer.

“Room 44, fifth floor,” she says gravely, and bends down briefly before handing Jeongguk the key card.

“Thank you so much,” Jeongguk breathes, and breaks into a run. He goes straight for the stairs—the elevator will take too long—and nearly trips over due to the sheer speed he ascends them with.

He’s close to winded when he reaches the top of the final flight of stairs and manages a weak jog down the corridor until he finds the right hotel room.

“Please don’t let him be hurt,” he mutters, sliding the card into the lock.

The door creaks open and Jeongguk wastes no time in slamming it the entire way.

He stops in his tracks when he actually realizes what’s going on.

Taehyung’s on his front, crying, struggling, clad only in his underwear with his jeans pulled to his ankles, while some absolute monster of a man straddles his back, a hand fisted tightly in Taehyung’s hair so that his neck is bowed back harshly.

Jeongguk sees red, honest-to-God the room turns scarlet, spins, crackles at the edges, and he runs forward and punches the man so hard he flies right off the bed.

“What the f*ck?” the guy, Daeshim, Jeongguk knows, says, looking around confusedly. His eyes land on Jeongguk and he scowls. “What the f*ck do you think you’re doing?”

Jeongguk pays him no heed but kneels on the bed, gently lifting Taehyung from under his arms, checking for injuries.

“Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?” Jeongguk asks, crazed with anger.

“I’m okay,” Taehyung manages, only just, by the looks of it.

“Get dressed,” Jeongguk says, and Taehyung nods shortly before plunging his hands into the pile of clothes to find his own.

Jeongguk turns on his heel and punches Daeshim, still sprawled on his ass, again.

"You f*cking son of a bitch,” Jeongguk yells. “I’ll f*cking kill you.”

Daeshim snarls, baring perfectly white teeth, and Jeongguk crashes his fist into them. Daeshim fights back, Jeongguk is distantly aware of that, but despite his taller frame, he’s no match for Jeongguk, who is far more experienced as far as fighting goes.

He’s shouting nonsense at him, he’s aware of that, consisting mostly of death threats and hissed f*ck yous while beating him relentlessly. Jeongguk is also aware that he’s going too far, judging by the blood around Daeshim’s nose and mouth, the unnatural bend of his arm and his incoherent pleading, but he doesn’t care.

Jeongguk’s never felt this way, never felt so drawn to the idea of hurting someone so terribly they’re literally begging for their life, never felt so assured by the gaudy red of blood, by the cries of pain. But it seems his morality has taken a turn because beating Daeshim feels so f*cking good.

“Jeongguk, that’s enough,” Taehyung says from behind him, and it’s enough to make him stop. He pulls back, chest heaving, knuckles bloody and bruised.

If Taehyung wasn’t here, Jeongguk probably would have killed him.

He wipes his hands on his trousers and stands up, looking detachedly at the crumpled body at his feet.

“sh*t,” he says. “f*ck.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, though he doesn’t sound too upset. “That.”

Jeongguk bends down—Daeshim’s still conscious.

“You’re not gonna tell anyone about this, are you?” he growls, and Daeshim shakes his head frantically, wincing.

Jeongguk realizes his eyes are wet and blinks rapidly to clear them. He doesn’t get too close to Taehyung—he knows it’s the wrong thing to do after an experience like that. He turns to Taehyung.

"Are you really okay?"

“Not really,” Taehyung’s laugh is more of a gurgle. “But I will be. He didn’t get to… do much, by the time you arrived.”

“Good, I—” Jeongguk’s shoulders lose their tension. “That’s good.”

They go downstairs, and the receptionist stares at the blood on Jeongguk’s shirt and trousers and hands.

“Maybe call an ambulance,” he says guiltily. “There’s a bit of a…situation, up there.”

She looks like she’s about to protest, to ask him what happened, but catches sight of Taehyung’s state (face swollen and red from crying, shirt ripped slightly) and her face softens in understanding.

“Okay, honey,” she says, finally. “Stay safe."

[—]

He can’t help it. He wishes he could, but he can’t. It’s been at the forefront of his mind the entire cab journey home.

“You met with him, alone,” Jeongguk squeezes out through gritted teeth. “You went to his hotel room. You didn’t even tell me.”

Taehyung looks incredulously at him.

“How could I?” he cries, glaring. “I haven’t seen you in days!”

“You have, in the mornings,” Jeongguk says, a little childishly. “We see each other then.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like you speak to me!” Taehyung says. “You—you’ve been avoiding me, and I…”

“And you what?” Jeongguk knows he’s being unfair, but he’s almost shaking with residual anger from the encounter, from stress and from worry. “You thought, f*ck it, I’m just going to go meet with some random creepy guy off the internet that sent me a f*cking nude like, a week ago? Great f*cking thinking!"

“Shut up!” Taehyung scowls. “I thought I knew him.”

“I bet you did,” Jeongguk wants to cry, to curl up in his mom’s lap and sob like he did when he was four years old and fell off his bike.

“I know I made a mistake, okay, so stop being such a dick about it!” Taehyung slumps onto the bed. “Is that what you want to hear? Yes, Jeongguk, you were right. I should’ve listened to you all along, Jeongguk. You know what’s best for me, Jeongguk. Thank you, Jeongguk."

His tone is bitter mockery, and Jeongguk shouldn’t get mad.

“Do you know how irresponsible you were being, talking to that guy all the time? That was so—”

“I know, okay!” Taehyung’s voice breaks into a sob, and Jeongguk’s anger dissipates. “But it’s not like I had anyone else!”

Jeongguk finally understands, hears the loneliness and regret in Taehyung’s voice—he realizes how hard it must’ve been, being alone constantly, having no-one. His family are doing a great job of looking after Taehyung, he thinks bitterly.

“I wish I could change things,” Taehyung says quietly. “I wish I could go back—wish never of this had ever happened, I just…”

They descend into silence, both too caught up in their pride to do anything about it. Finally, Jeongguk mutters that they should get some sleep, and they get into bed, carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Jeongguk sleeps on the couch, of course. His blanket is thick but does nothing to keep out the chill from inside him, freezing his bones.

He hears an intake of breath, and sits up. Taehyung’s crying, sobbing into his pillow to muffle it.

Jeongguk can see his form shaking erratically under the covers. He gets up, walks over, and places a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Taehyung…”

“P-please don’t do that,” Taehyung croaks, flinching away so violently Jeongguk actually takes a step back.

Jeongguk stands there, torn, feeling more helpless than he ever has in his life. He wishes there was someone he could turn to for advice—hey, this is how you take care of someone without f*cking everything over twice because you’re an insensitive dick—but there isn’t, and Jeongguk can’t stand being too powerless to help Taehyung.

Eventually, though, he climbs back onto the couch and cries too.

Chapter 8: school spirit

Chapter Text

October 4th, 2017

Jeongguk hangs his bag up on the hook next to the door, careful to keep his footsteps silent as not to wake anyone up.

It's past eleven, the latest he's been home. He's aware that he'd pushed himself too much today—official practice had ended at seven, and he'd spent nearly four hours training after that, sprinting and lifting weights and running agility courses until the blood was pounding in his head and he was dripping with sweat.

At one point, his chest had tightened too far and black spots had began clawing at the edges of his vision—his legs had faltered. The next thing he'd remembered was waking up on the other end of the pitch. He'd decided it was time to stop—blacking out wouldn't do him any good.

Jeongguk should eat something, he knows, but he's just too tired. He wants to curl up in bed and forget everything.

He goes upstairs, feet light, and halts just as he reaches his room. The door is shut.

Jeongguk presses his lips together and leans forward so that his ear is pressed gently to the door. He can only just make it out—muffled sobbing.

He wants to go inside so badly he has to clench his fists to restrain himself. Taehyung's in there, crying, alone after experiencing something traumatic—surely, Jeongguk can't leave him in there, can't just walk away—

He closes his eyes and moves away from the door, heart thumping.

This happens everyday, ever since the morning after Daeshim. The first time Jeongguk had come home to a slammed door and quiet crying, he'd tried to comfort Taehyung, but had been received with a broken shout and a bruised eye.

He figures that's the universal sign for stay away, and if that's what Taehyung wants, Jeongguk can't protest. Everything has been about Taehyung, for him.

Jeongguk usually doesn't mind waiting for Taehyung to fall asleep before he goes in, but tonight he's just—he can't stay awake any longer. He glances over at his parents' room and thinks, f*ck it.

He strips down to his boxers and t-shirt, still slightly damp from the shower, and nudges the door open. The room is dark, save for a strip of yellow light against the bed and up the wall.

His mom's form is a bundle of covers in the middle of the bed—his father is still on a trip. Jeongguk clears his throat.

“Mom?”

His mom makes a sleepy noise and shifts up onto her elbows, squinting.

“Jeongguk? Are you okay?”

“I'm...” Jeongguk looks at the floor, trying to keep his voice steady. “Can I sleep here tonight?”

At this his mom's face changes from half-asleep to awake and alert, which is understandable. Jeongguk hasn't asked to sleep with her since he was six years old.

“Of course, honey,” she says finally, and moves up so there's space for him.

Jeongguk climbs in and immediately curls up beside his mom, face pressed into her pillow. She pulls up the covers over them both. Her hand comes up to Jeongguk's hair and strokes, just like when he was little. The touch is nostalgic and clogs up the back of Jeongguk's throat.

“I'm so tired, Mom,” he whispers, voice broken. Her hand pauses for a moment, then keeps stroking.

“That's okay,” she says. “You can be tired. Come here.”

He moves closer and she wraps his arms around him, even though he's seventeen and taller and heavier and his shoulders are nearly twice the size of hers. It doesn't matter in the end, though, because she's his mom and Jeongguk's never felt more like a child than at this moment.

“Jeongguk, you've lost so much weight,” his mom says, concern in her tone. Her hands pat cautiously at Jeongguk's torso. “How much have you been practicing?”

“Coach wants us at practice every day after school,” Jeongguk says quickly. He can almost see her pursing her lips.

“Until eleven?” she asks. He winces.

“I haven't really been playing that well recently, so I've been staying a couple hours extra just to—”

“A couple of hours? Every single day?” his mom exclaims. “That's crazy, Jeongguk. That's not healthy.”

“It's okay, it's just until the game season ends,” he promises, which is true—he needs to be at his best; his whole team is counting on him. And the amount of practice he does isn't crazy, just necessary. Practice makes perfect, after all.

“Have you eaten dinner?”

At this, Jeongguk is silent, guilty.

“You haven't,” his mom says slowly. “You—you're not eating.”

“I am,” Jeongguk says after a pause. “When I get home, I eat.”

“Don't lie to me,” his mom says sharply.

“Okay—fine! I just don't have dinner sometimes because I'm too tired after practice, that's all. And I need to be careful about what I eat, I have to stay in shape because we have all these games coming up—”

“Oh, God,” his mom says. “I'm taking you to a doctor.”

“It's not that bad,” Jeongguk says. “And it's only for game season, I swear.”

He figures it's best not to mention the whole blacking out thing. And the constant tiredness, and the headaches, and the light-headed feeling he gets after practice sometimes—

“I'm fine, Mom,” he tries to sound okay. It's hard.

"I don't want to trust you, but you're old enough to look after yourself," she sighs. "Don't push yourself too much. Your health isn't worth risking for a high school football match, you know that?"

"Yes," Jeongguk's eager to change the subject; his mom has enough on her mind without worrying about Jeongguk on top of it all.

“I'm always going to worry about you,” his mom says. “And Taehyung, too. He's—are you two still arguing?”

Jeongguk's breathing hitches. It's audible in the silence of the room.

“He won't let me talk to him,” Jeongguk mumbles, humiliated when his eyes well up, and his mom must feel the tears against her collarbone but she just continues to smooth her hand over his hair. “I don't know what to do.”

“Give him some time,” his mom soothes. “If he doesn't come around, I'll talk to him, okay?”

“Okay,” Jeongguk agrees, the warmth of his mom's embrace more reassuring than her words. “Okay, Mom.”

His mom presses a kiss to the top of his head and Jeongguk squeezes his eyes shut, feels the tears spill over onto his cheeks, his cupid's bow, squirm onto his lip.

He tastes salt, and falls asleep.

[--]

October 8th, 2017

After practice, Jeongguk decides not to stay longer this time. It's not exactly because of his mom's concern—which is kind of unfounded, okay, he's not lost that much weight, and he's eating, just not dinner—but rather because there's something on the back of his mind that he really needs to sort out.

Butterfly Cafe is fairly busy at this time—sleepy-eyed students doing homework with a cup of pure black, adults chatting animatedly about work and kids and the woman next door, pretty girls with long hair and a whipped-cream-topped frappuccino between manicured nails.

Jeongguk goes in quietly and waves politely back to a group of girls from the cheer team. They gesture for him to come over but he pretends not to see it in favor of walking straight up to the counter, where the familiar waitress stands.

“Hi,” he says, trying to look friendly. He wonders if he can manage it with his dark under-eye bags and almost constant frown, all a result of stress.

“You don't look too well,” she says, and yeah, that's what he thought. “Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, just game season,” he co*cks his head. “And, uh. Life. You know.”

That was pretty lame, Jeongguk thinks, but the waitress only nods.

“How are you and lover boy, then?” she grins, and Jeongguk whips his head around to see if the cheer team girls have heard, but they're simply staring, whispering to each other, on nearly the other side of the cafe.

“Fine, thanks,” he says quickly, ignoring the squeeze of worry at the mention of Taehyung's name. “But, um, I came here to see your grandfather. Is he here, or...?”

“You want to see Grandpa Jikan? He's not actually my grandfather, by the way.” she asks dubiously. “What—you know him?”

“Yeah, I came in here looking for you a while back, but it was pretty late so he was here,” Jeongguk explains. “He told me a bit about you and made me herbal tea.”

“He made you herbal tea?” the waitress looks curious. “That's... he doesn't do that for many people. Says the tea only works on those who are 'special'. He says a lot of stuff like that, but... he's done a lot for me, you know?”

“Giving you a job here?”

“Well, yes, but more paying my college fees,” she admits, smiling a little. “I'm here to work them off because I can't just let him pay whatever thousands of won it costs.”

“If he isn't your grandfather, why did he pay for all that? It's quite a lot of money,” Jeongguk thinks of the old man and his bright eyes. Somehow, the gesture fits him.

“I used to sleep here every night after my mom and I first moved in with my stepdad,” she bites her lip, looks away. “He was—he didn't like me much, and he used to—he tried to—that's a long story. But Jikan looked after me like I was his own granddaughter. And, well. You know the rest.”

“That's,” Jeongguk smiles genuinely for the first time in weeks. “Really kind. Wow.”

“Yeah. I'm indebted to him, even after I pay it all off,” she says. “Anyway. He's upstairs, go through the back room. Technically, I shouldn't let anyone back there but—should be fine, just don't steal anything, yeah?”

“I'm not promising anything,” Jeongguk calls over his shoulder as he slips behind the counter and into the back room.

It's dark but spacious and at the back of the room is a door leading to a staircase. He walks up the stairs, his skin tingling for some odd reason.

The stairs lead straight up into what looks like a homely apartment, surprisingly big for an above-the-shop place. It's the kind of interior with throw pillows and dark chestnut shelves, somewhere to spend when it's cold and wintery outside.

“Hello?” he calls out, tentative. There's no reply for a minute, then—

“Ah, boy,” comes the familiar, hoarse voice. “I'm in the dining room.”

Jeongguk follows the voice into said dining room, where Jikan is sitting at a small table, sipping a mug of herbal tea. Across from him is another mug of herbal tea on a blue saucer, like he'd been expecting someone. Expecting Jeongguk.

“Hello,” Jeongguk says, suddenly nervous.

“Sit, sit,” Jikan gestures towards the chair. “Make yourself at home.”

Jeongguk sits, but his back is ultra-straight and he's fiddling with the handle of the mug, unsure of whether to drink it after what happened last time.

“Drink, boy,” Jikan nods his head. “I didn't put any of that damn chamomile in. It is okay to drink, yes, nothing will happen. Do not worry boy. That day was only a test.”

“Sure,” Jeongguk mumbles, understanding little more than the command to drink. He trusts this man, God knows why, so he takes a sip from the mug and relaxes a little as it warms his body.

He'd come here prepared to demand answers—he wasn't going to take any of that cryptic sh*t anymore, he was done with that, done with being in the dark—but now that he's here, sitting opposite Jikan... it's difficult to manage a single word. Jeongguk is content with sitting and drinking in silence.

“I lived in Takayama, very beautiful small village in Japan. You know of it? No, of course you do not, boy. Well, yes. I was a young man then, only eighty, yes, eighty. Then I received a very important letter. Do you know what it said?”

“No,” Jeongguk says, also not knowing where this story is supposed to go.

“It offered me a very special job, but I would have to move to Korea to take it,” Jikan nods his head solemnly. “I was maybe dying then, so I thought it would do me good. It did do me good, you see, as I am still living today, but sometimes I do not know if that is really a good thing.”

Jeongguk, utterly lost, sits up.

“What's your job?”

At this, Jikan grins, wide and far too young for the rest of him.

“My job is in my face, in my hands, in my eyes, in my name,” Jikan says, and Jeongguk is not a solver of riddles, he's just a high school boy with average grades, doesn't this man see that? “It is everywhere, in me. I have become my job, you see, and that is why I am not sure if it is a good thing.”

“I don't understand,” Jeongguk says, frustrated, but trying to stay calm. “Do you want me to understand? Or are you being mysterious on purpose?”

Jikan chuckles, and Jeongguk is very close to banging his head against the table.

“I cannot help it, boy,” he says finally. “I am a mystery to all. But less to you.”

Jeongguk seriously doubts that. It's too much to take in—Jikan had called eighty years old a young man, so how old is he now? And this special job, which is definitely not a cafe owner. Owning a cafe does not change your life, stop you dying—it doesn't become you, or whatever it is Jikan had said.

Jeongguk will not understand on his own, he knows this. Better not to beat about the bush, then.

“Why did I travel back in time?” Jeongguk says, and the man grins even wider at this, like he's surprised Jeongguk asked. “The first time, and the time in the cafe?”

“That is a big question, boy,” Jikan says. “Knowledge of that size is very, pricey, is that what they say? No, no. Knowledge has a price, boy, that is it, and it is very big, bigger than that question.”

“What price?” Jeongguk asks, although he's ready to pay whatever it is. Death, maybe not so much, but if it's something material, or like, his pinky finger, maybe he could—

“Futility,” Jikan informs him, and what? “That is the price.”

“Futility?” Jeongguk repeats slowly. “What—what do you mean?”

“Will you pay this price for my knowledge?” Jikan ignores his question. “Think carefully.”

“I—yes, sure,” Jeongguk's not entirely sure what paying the price of futility is, but it can't be that terrible—it's not dying or losing a limb or anything.

The old man's eyes sparkle.

“Very well.”

Jeongguk waits for something to happen, some kind of weird magical sh*t to take over his brain and give him all the big answers, the ones with a capital 'A', like the meaning of life and who created the world and what time is.

Instead, Jikan leans back and takes another sip of his tea.

“Very few have your gift, boy. In my lifetime, I have only seen three, including you,” he says. “And I have lived very very long, more long than most.”

“How long?” Jeongguk tries, but the man is obviously dead-set on ignoring him today.

“The other two are dead, of course. It is hard to have such a power and avoid making mistakes,” Jikan continues blithely, and wait, what?

Jeongguk is panicking. That's—that's extremely f*cking worrying, to say the least. These other two time-travelers died from f*cking up their time travelling, and if anyone can f*ck up time travelling it is Jeon f*cking Jeongguk!

“They were too selfish with their gift,” Jikan says. “They used it for their own gain, and that is not what Time wanted. Time does not like selfish people, you see. He will not have selfish people working for him.”

“So... I'm working for Time?” Jeongguk drums his fingers against the table. “Is it my job now? To travel back when Time wants?”

“Time will only ask it of you once, for he is kind,” Jikan's voice is eerily serene. “Going back in time is extremely taxing on the mind and body, you see. Time will not ask you again, although you may travel back of your own volition, of course. Perhaps to gain wealth, or to discover long-lost secrets...”

“No! Uh, no thanks,” Jeongguk says quickly. “Once was enough. I don't want to... I don't want that. If Time would, uh, not ask more of me, that would be quite nice.”

“Alright, boy, close your eyes,” Jikan commands.

It's not like things could get any weirder, Jeongguk thinks, shutting his eyes and watching the red of his eyelids swirling and blinking.

“You may open them,” Jikan says, but his voice sounds far away, like he's underwater or very high up.

Jeongguk opens his eyes cautiously, and—

“Holy sh*t,” he breathes, almost knocking his chair backwards in his haste to stand up.

The room is full of butterflies, flitting around in a writhing mass of baby blue, shimmering aquamarine, glowing black stripes. They hover and sit around every inch of the room, especially concentrated around Jeongguk's body.

“What is this,” he whispers, mostly to himself, because he can't see Jikan anyway.

He stretches out an arm and looks on in wonder as dozens of butterflies dance around it, stepping lightly on the cloth of his shirt, glimmering under the neon white light from above. It's beautiful, and if Jeongguk could describe the feeling it gives him it would be power.

Jeongguk had read somewhere that butterflies are a sign of change and hope, and also of resurrection. He knows that one appears right before he time-travels, and he understands that a bit.

The butterflies represent all that. Change, as in changing the past. Hope, as in giving Taehyung a chance to be happy. Resurrection, as in bringing him back to life.

Suddenly, the faint humming of the butterflies become a blaring buzz that eats at Jeongguk's skull, and the feather-light brushes of their wings on his skin feel sharp, like the edge of a blade. It's all too overwhelming, suffocating, and Jeongguk doesn't really know what he feels, only that there's too much of it, compressing his head like a vice, digging clawed fingers into his throat, wrapping around his limbs and pulling them apart—

“Jikan! Stop! Stop!” he shouts, twisting his head away when the butterflies near his mouth. “I don't like it! Stop!”

All at once, everything disappears, and Jeongguk collapses onto his hands and knees, breathing hard. His head stings with the residual pain of before, but his body is calming down. When he's caught his breath, he stands up and slumps back into his seat, wary of Jikan's calculating eyes on him.

“As I thought,” Jikan murmurs thoughtfully. “You are not selfish. You do not crave the power Time has granted you. In fact, you shy away from it. Why is that?”

“What? I don't know,” Jeongguk says, still shaken. “I don't know anything.”

“I would have thought a boy like you is fond of power,” Jikan says. “Time is drawn to the selfish, to the power-hungry—it is in His nature to grant those the gift. Surely, that is why he chose you?”

Wow, way to boost a guy's ego, Jeongguk thinks bitterly, although he knows there's truth in those words. He was power-hungry and selfish once.

But that was before he knew what it meant to truly care for someone.

Jeongguk grits his teeth against the images of warm brown eyes, dark hair turned silver under the moonlight, soft to touch, and a shy smile that Jeongguk had known from the first day he'd fall in love with.

He clears his throat and pushes away the memory.

“Yes, but—” Jeongguk wraps his fingers around the ceramic mug. “I'm different, now. I'm not the same person as I was.”

“I can see that,” Jikan's lips quirk up. “That is a good thing, boy. For once, it seems Time has chosen the right person. It is good, very good.”

“Is Time a person?” Jeongguk asks.

“Of course!” Jikan laughs. “So is War, Famine, and even Death, boy. They are all people—why wouldn't they be, for their job is for the people! Although you do not want to meet them, my boy, not those three—they are not as kind as Time.” He winks. “They do not make such good tea.”

“Oh,” Jeongguk says quietly. “So, are you—”

“Ah! The tea is finished,” Jikan says, standing up and moving around the table to usher Jeongguk towards the door. “It seems our time is cut short, boy. How very sad.”

“Wait! But—”

“I shall see you again, perhaps, have a good day, boy,” Jikan nudges Jeongguk through the door so that he's at the top of the staircase. “Remember the price, boy. Remember the price.”

With that, the door is shut in his face.

Jeongguk stares at the wood for a second, uncomprehending but understanding so much, then turns to make his way down the stairs. His stomach growls. He hasn't had lunch today, but he really shouldn't be eating it because he didn't stay after practice today.

He trips over a step after a sudden bout of dizziness, but shakes it away and pats the waitress on the shoulder to say goodbye as he leaves the cafe.

[–]

October 12th, 2017

The background noise is a lot—his team shouting, making jokes, keeping the mood light-hearted so that they're relaxed.

It's the first game of the season, and therefore, a massive f*cking deal. This is what he's been training for, straining his body to its absolute limit, pushing the boundaries of his health, all for now.

He guesses he should be a lot more nervous about this, but his meeting with Jikan is at the forefront of his mind.

It was... enlightening, to say the least, but Jeongguk still has a hundred questions to ask. The most important, perhaps, is this price he's agreed to pay for his knowledge.

Futility. Futility.

Futility?

He fishes in the rumpled heap of his uniform for his phone, and then pulls it out. He types 'futility' into the search bar because he's f*cking pathetic, but it's not like he has any better ideas. Sure enough, the first search result is the dictionary definition.

Futility – of actions having no effect, or achieving nothing.

It's not much help—Jeongguk knew that much anyway. But what will be futile? The most probable thing is the game season. After all, it's what Jeongguk's been working hardest at. It would make sense if the price was targeted as something this huge, this important to Jeongguk.

The thought of losing makes him feel slightly sick, or maybe that's just the fact that he's forgone food today apart from breakfast, which was a banana. It's not unhealthy, okay, his game is today. Plus, he's just had an energy drink, so he's all set.

Jeongguk'll be pretty damn upset if the price is losing this season. He'd feel terrible—being the cause of the failure of the entire team, even though they'd never know it was him.

There's a hand on his shoulder, and he twists round to meet Kyuhyun's grin.

“We're going to kick their f*cking asses,” he tells Jeongguk. “Also, I heard Coach talking about how much your game's improved. Over that rough patch, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk says, pleased that his diet and extra training have had an effect on his play. “Hey, we're up soon, looks like.”

Coach Cheong gathers the boys into their usual pre-game huddle, where tactics are confirmed, fists are bumped and everyone's hyping themselves, each other up. Jeongguk can feel the excitement of the game thrumming in his nerves like magic.

The price might cause him to lose the game, but Jeongguk's going to give it all he's got.

They stride onto the pitch, met with immediate screams and cheers. Jeongguk gazes around him. The school's spirit at these games never fail to amaze him—the sky-blue of their team shimmers in the seats in the form of hats, banners, face paint and jackets. It boosts his confidence exponentially.

The team sets up on the pitch. Jeongguk pulls his helmet down and bends a little at the waist, knees springy and body conditioned to respond at the blow of the first whistle.

It trills through the air, and Jeongguk leaps into action.

He backs away into space at first—the ball isn't his until further down the pitch—and darts around defenders with ease. Agility courses have made him light on his feet, and although he's fairly muscular, he's not nearly as brawny as some of these giants, which is an advantage at times.

His mind is focused entirely on the game. He gets lost in the play, something that happens often during serious football matches. The stress and confusion of life outside the game melts away to make room for a single-minded determination, thoughts consisting of only eyes on the ball and lose your defenders and keep the formation.

The first half of the game passes in a blur, and when it's half-time Jeongguk is barely tired. In fact, he feels energized—it's only just begun, he's slipping into the correct mindset, the correct form to succeed.

Coach Cheong runs over their gameplay, fits in some feedback, mostly criticism, because that's what they need, and the team take it on board before the second half begins. Most of that is pretty much a blur too, and before he knows it, there's only minutes left of the game with the score even.

And suddenly, the ball is in Jeongguk's hands.

He clutches it tightly to his chest, tips his head down so his body moulds around it protectively. He pushes all his might into his legs, sprints as fast as his body will let him, his calves screaming as he covers the pitch.

His entire mind is centered on this—on the fluorescent lights spilling a sharp block of white over the pitch, on the loud encouragement of the crowd, the players throwing themselves at him at lightning speed, his fingers digging into the ball, his breathing jagged and quick.

Hands scrape at his ankles and chest—one body nearly knocks him right over, but he's been taking note of the team's formation and can almost predict their moves.

His feet cross the line and he dives forward so that the ball's in contact with the ground, and—

There's an overwhelmingly loud scream from the audience, mostly from his school, just as the whistle blows to signal the end of the game. Jeongguk sits up gingerly, hands still around the ball, and lets out a wild whoop that his team emulates.

He grins so wide his cheeks protest as his entire team bundle together, a huge heap of sweat and muscle and triumph, and thinks, f*ck futility.

It's so easy to lose himself in this. He's struggling to breathe, squashed tightly between huge guys reeking of exertion, but it's the best feeling. Winning is the best feeling—how could he have forgotten?

They disperse, giving each other a little more space, and then Kyuhyun's nudging him with a sharp elbow, whispering furiously in his ear. Jeongguk can't really hear him over all the noise, but turns to where Kyuhyun's gesturing.

It's Seolhyun, walking up to him like she owns the world (which she kind of does. Or the school, at least).

“Hey,” she says, her smile almost a smirk, and overall very, very sexy.

She probably fits the definition of perfect human being. Her body is pretty damn amazing—athletic and curved, her waist impossibly small and her legs toned. Her cheer uniform is short enough to showcase a generous amount of healthy, golden skin. She's tied silky brown hair up into a high ponytail with a ribbon and it sways prettily against her back.

“Hey,” Jeongguk replies easily, partly because confidence is kind of in his nature and partly because he's not flustered by her presence, like, at all. She's not exactly his type.

“You're the golden boy, huh, scoring the winning goal.” She's truly beautiful, Jeongguk is aware, without being attracted to her in the slightest, “Took you long enough to do it, though—literally at the last minute.”

“I'd like to see you have a go at those players,” he nods to the opposite team, who look pretty f*cking terrifying. “I thought my ass was gonna get trampled on.”

“Somehow, I can't see that happening,” she says, moving closer and placing a firm hand on his upper arm. “Not with these.”

Jeongguk does blush a bit at that, because she's insanely hot, okay, and his inherently gay nature does not take away from that.

“That's right,” he says, flexing them a little. Showing off just a bit won't hurt anyone. He knows Seolhyun is flirting, and on some level, he's flirting back, but Jeongguk's intent is one-hundred percent friendly.

He's also kind of riding on the high of endorphins that come with winning a game.

“Are you going to Wonshin's birthday party?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah!” He'd forgotten about that. “Of course—he's my best friend. Are you?”

“Yeah,” she grins slyly. “He's got a big house, doesn't he? A lot of rooms. I guess I'll see you there.”

“Sure,” Jeongguk manages to reply before he's swept away with his team charging back to the locker rooms.

“Let's hear it for Jeon Jeongguk!” someone shouts, and then they're all yelling some ridiculous chant while Jeongguk flushes and laughs and tells them to shut the f*ck up. Eventually, the exhaustion gets to them all and everyone is near silent while showering.

Jeongguk braces his hands against the front of the shower and presses his forehead against the cool tile, closing his eyes. God, he's hungry.

“Jeongguk? Jeongguk? Hey man, get up,” it's Jaebum's voice, insistent and more worried than Jeongguk's ever heard it. He opens his eyes, and somehow he's lying on the floor of the shower, the back of his head stinging.

“Yeah? What—what happened?” he asks, sitting up and rubbing at the sore spot. Jaebum is crouching beside him.

“I dunno, you literally just collapsed onto the floor,” he says. “One minute you were standing, then you just fell. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just—I've been kinda tired, that's all,” Jeongguk offers ruefully, standing up and turning off the faucet. He doesn't want to tell anyone about his fainting spells—he's dimly aware it's got something to do with how he's pushing his body for game season, but he figures it's not that significant since it's only temporary.

“Alright, but you should like, tell Coach or something,” Jaebum says.

“Will do,” Jeongguk lies. If he tells Coach Cheong, he'll likely not be allowed to play any upcoming games, and that'll just ruin everything.

He gets dressed and slips out before Jaebum can ask any more questions.

[–]

When Jeongguk gets home that night, he decides to cut his growling stomach some slack and ventures to the fridge. It's stocked up with a ton of food, but his eyes are drawn to the white box of fancy pastries his mom had brought home from her trip to Japan. He takes one, glinting with a luscious-looking chocolate glaze and sprinkled with hazelnuts.

The taste, God, it's heavenly. He hasn't eaten any sort of junk food in ages, and this is pure bliss. He savors the taste on his tongue, letting the pastry rest in his mouth for a bit, flaking and oozing chocolate.

Jeongguk pauses halfway through the next mouthful, suddenly feeling guilty. He shouldn't be eating this, not after he's trained so hard. Not while he still has plenty of games left. No, he can't eat it, and he won't. He puts the rest of it back into the box and shoves it behind some cartons in the fridge so he won't be tempted again.

After game season, he tells himself. Then you can eat what you like.

He downs a glass of water instead, taking a few vitamin supplements with them a drawer under the counter.

Jeongguk tamps down his hunger and drags himself upstairs instead, his stomach giving out to his limbs, aching and pleading for rest. He's too tired even to wait for Taehyung to fall asleep, so he goes into his room straight away.

Luck has it that Taehyung is already asleep. His head of messy hair is the only thing visible; the rest of him is merely sheets and pillows. The sight brings a sad smile to Jeongguk's face. He longs to get closer, and although his willpower is usually strong, with Taehyung, it's reduced to nearly nothing.

He pads over softly and kneels to make sure Taehyung's really asleep. He is; his chest is rising and falling steadily, his mouth slightly open. Jeongguk's slept beside him often enough to know.

Every time he catches a glimpse of Taehyung at home or at school, his face is always scrunched up in worry, eyebrows pulled into a frown and mouth downturned. Asleep, he looks at peace and painfully young. Jeongguk feels an all-encompassing urge to protect. He shuffles closer so that his elbows rest on the edge of the mattress.

“Taehyung? You asleep?”

No reply. Of course he is, Jeongguk, you idiot. He barks a small laugh. “Well, we won the game.”

“Mm,” Taehyung mumbles into the pillow, obviously not conscious, or close enough to unconscious that he's not able to comprehend his surroundings. “Thas' good. Proud of you.”

Jeongguk's heart practically soars. Yes, Taehyung has no clue what he's saying, but this is so much more than Jeongguk has been able to get out of him in what seems like forever. He smiles and puts a gentle hand on Taehyung's hair, something he hasn't done in weeks.

“I'm really, really happy, but I wish you were there,” Jeongguk admits, starting to scratch with his fingertips lightly. “You would've made it all even better.”

“Next time,” is Taehyung's soft murmur. He lets out a small snore and leans into Jeongguk's hand like a cat. “Feels nice.”

Jeongguk stares, wishing more than anything that things weren't so royally f*cked up between them.

“I love you,” Jeongguk says, so quiet he barely hears himself.

“You too,” Taehyung shoves his face further into the pillow. “Now come to bed.”

Jeongguk bites on his bottom lip harshly—he's not about to cry. It just—it hurts so much, that none of this really means anything, that Taehyung's just asleep and mumbling whatever his subconscious is juggling around, that if they were awake Jeongguk would not have been allowed this close to Taehyung in the first place.

He doesn't get into the bed, of course he doesn't. Taehyung would hate it in the morning when he'd be coherent and aware of himself.

“I love you,” Jeongguk says again, and draws his hand away from Taehyung's head. He retreats to the couch and drifts asleep with the image of blue butterflies and bright, all-knowing eyes in his head.

[–]

Chapter 9: within the depths

Chapter Text

August 16th, 2014

The stares he’s getting from the people lining up at the stall are totally unfair—he’s hungry, okay?

So what if that means he’s got two cartons of popcorn, he wants caramel and salted, a hotdog piled to the heavens with mustard and ketchup, pickles and sprinkles (it’s good!), nachos and a co*ke? Taehyung is growing and food is good for him (perhaps not junk food, but give him a break—he’s just started high school, for God’s sake, and this is his first inter-school football game).

He balances it all precariously in his arms, crooked at the elbow, and waddles his way back to his seat, slipping throw the crowds of people and craning his neck to see where he’s going.

Taehyung’d had no idea that a school football game would be so popular—you’d think this was a world tournament with the amount of people waving banners, wearing colored hats and screaming at the top of their lungs.

Taehyung’s side of the auditorium is a sea of pale blue—his school’s color—and the other is bright red, the color of the school opposing them. So he’s pretty surprised to see a red-shirted boy sitting next to Taehyung’s seat with an equally disgusting amount of food in his proximity.

“Think you’ve got the wrong side, man,” Taehyung says, slipping into his seat. The boy next to him grins and shoves popcorn into his mouth.

“Hm. I’m not all too big on who wins, anyway. Just came here because, you know, first game of the year and all that,” he says, nodding towards the pitch. “I’m Jimin.”

“Taehyung,” Taehyung replies. He notices Jimin eyeing his rainbow-sprinkles-laden hotdog. “What?”

“Sprinkles?” Jimin asks, raising an eyebrow. “On a hotdog?”

“Hey, you have no idea how f*cking great this is,” Taehyung will defend his meat-sugar combination with all his strength. “Just because I’m the first person smart enough to think of it doesn’t mean—”

“That looks awesome,” Jimin says, sighing. “Mind if I take a bite?”

And that is how Taehyung begins a two-hour-long exchange of greasy, cheap football-game junk food with the boy named Jimin next to him, who he has learned moved to Seoul from Busan to attend a better school, has many siblings and really likes reading.

Jimin has an angelic smile and infectious laughter; Taehyung’s never clicked so easily with someone in his life. He’s the kind of person you feel like you’ve known your entire life in five minutes. It’s safe to say Taehyung’s a little enchanted.

Taehyung doesn’t really know what’s going on—football’s alien to him—but some guy in blue falls to the floor and the whole crowd is screaming, rising up to their feet and cheering, so something good has probably just happened.

The whistle blows for half-time and the crowd settles a little. Taehyung squints—the guy who fell over is being practically squashed by his teammates who are all trying to lift him up and hug him simultaneously, which looks more dangerous than anything.

“Yeah! Go Guk!” Jimin yells, and Taehyung looks over in surprise.

“You know my school just scored a point,” he points out. Jimin rolls his eyes.

“I know, but—here, Guk! Nice goal!” Jimin rises up from his seat and waves madly. The boy who fell over somehow manages to spot him and waves back, almost jumping in excitement. Taehyung tries to get a good look at him but the boy’s still wearing his helmet so his face is covered, and there are too many people there anyway.

“Still waiting for an explanation,” Taehyung says, curious.

Jimin turns to him, grinning.

“That,” he gestures to the boy who’d scored, “is my baby brother. Isn’t he adorable?”

Taehyung glances at the boy. He’s tall, built and even from this far away Taehyung can make out impossibly large biceps as the boy crosses his arms over his chest.

“Uh, sure,” Taehyung says. Adorable is perhaps not the best word for it, but. “Wait. I thought all your siblings went to the same school as you?”

“No, he’s not my actual brother, but he might as well be,” Jimin scrunches his nose up. “I can still remember changing his diapers.”

“Gross,” Taehyung shudders.

“I’ve known him since he was born,” Jimin explains. “He moved to Seoul for high school, too. We don’t talk that much anymore, but—hey, he’s in your year, right? Do you know him? His name’s J—”

The whistle blares again for the second half to start, and Jimin shrugs as the ululation of noise rises again, beating against Taehyung’s eardrums.

[—]

October 15th, 2017

The only sounds are the scrape of cutlery against plates and the faint hum of the fridge in the background.

It’s always like this when he and Jeongguk are in a room together. It’s like everyone’s afraid to speak, like if one of them do, it’ll make it worse, although Taehyung’s not sure it gets any worse than this.

It hasn’t escaped his notice that Yeseul and Jiyong keep shooting each other worried looks, like they do every ‘family’ dinner. They’re obviously aware of Taehyung and Jeongguk’s behavior, it’s not exactly subtle, but also realize it’s too sensitive a subject to breach or try and solve just yet.

Yeseul clears her throat and puts down her knife and fork.

“I heard the school’s about to start up on college preparations,” she says, too bright. “Have you two finalized where you want to go?”

“I'm not sure,” Taehyung mumbles when Jeongguk stays silent. At this, Jeongguk's head snaps up, puzzled. It's understandable—back in August, Taehyung had been raving on about going to Korea University because of its highly-reputable course in mathematics. He had even managed to get Jeongguk to agree to apply too, although the latter was still not sure what to study.

Now, though, the idea of thinking about the future makes Taehyung feel ill. He can't seem to see past the emptiness of the present.

“Really? I thought you were prepared,” Yeseul sighs. “Your college funds are all in place, right? I still don't like the idea of you paying for yourself—it's really no problem for us to—”

“We've talked about this a lot, and it's really okay for me to pay,” Taehyung manages a weak smile. “I have enough. I'll sort it all out this weekend.”

He's already indebted to the Jeons as it is—there's no way he's letting them pay for college. And, regardless of what Yeseul thinks, he does have enough money; just enough. He's been building up these savings since he was eleven and did the paper run every morning.

“It's going to be so empty without you two here,” Yeseul says softly.

Jeongguk puts a hand over his mom's and Taehyung looks away. The Jeons have been beyond welcoming but... in the end, he's not really part of their family. He's not connected to them the way they are to each other.

For a little while, a precious few months, Taehyung had felt like he really belonged with Jeongguk in this house, and although the feeling was foreign it was also one of the best. The idea that someone could love you unconditionally, be there for you unconditionally, has always appealed to Taehyung because he's never had that.

Although he hasn't really been thinking about college lately, he can admit he's interested in leaving this place. Perhaps if he moves away, has to concentrate on work and a career and himself, he won't feel the way he does now—like everything around him is a painful reminder of how alone he is, how useless he is to the Jeons and Jeongguk and everyone else.

It would be hard to leave the people he cares about the most behind, but he's okay with it because he knows it's for their good. He can't have made their lives easier by being in them—he's a f*cking nutcase, he knows that—maybe they're just too polite to kick him out.

“You're not doing math at Korea University?”

It takes Taehyung a second to realize that, yes, that is Jeongguk speaking, and more importantly—he's speaking to him. This is the first time Jeongguk has said something to Taehyung directly in... well, he doesn't even know how long.

A couple of nights ago Taehyung had dreamed of Jeongguk—touching his hair, talking to Taehyung about his day. Telling him he loved him. The dream was so vivid that it hurts Taehyung to think about it; it had felt like reality and when Taehyung had woken up the next morning, realizing he'd imagined it all... he was disappointed, to say the very least.

Taehyung remembers that Jeongguk has just asked him a question. He doesn't think he can speak, so he just shakes his head, gaze fixed on his plate.

“Wherever you decide to go, the two of you will be rooming together, right?” Yeseul has a fond smile in her voice. “It's a comforting thought that you'll be there to look after Jeongguk, Taehyung. My boy has yet to grow up.”

The silence after that stretches, painfully so. Rooming together is... not likely.

“Thanks for dinner, Mom, but I'm going out for a run now.” There's the scratch of the wooden legs of Jeongguk's chair against the floor as he stands up.

“What? I thought you weren't going to do any of that extra practice tonight,” Yeseul scolds. “Jeongguk! If this keeps happening I will take you to a doctor—”

“A doctor? Why, what's wrong with Guk?” Jiyong asks. Taehyung is unsure too.

“He's lost a lot of weight,” Yeseul says grimly. “He's not eating and he's always at practice.”

Taehyung looks up at this and lets himself really look at Jeongguk, something he's been avoiding ever since their rift.

Jeongguk's definitely lost weight. He's not skinny or anything, his school shirt is still fairly tight around his torso and his trousers cling to his thighs, but considering it's only been a few weeks of practice... that's a lot of weight to lose in a short period of time. If he keeps going at this rate, Taehyung is sure his health will be in danger.

He puts down his cutlery, suddenly too worried to keep eating. How hasn't he noticed? They live in the same house.

“Mom, please, this isn't for football. I just want some fresh air,” Jeongguk says. “I'll walk, if you want.”

He grabs a coat and walks out just like that, still in his school uniform.

“The food was lovely,” Taehyung says, taking his plate to the dishwasher before rushing upstairs.

He leans back against the headboard, legs crossed, hands resting gently against his ankles.

Staying in this house makes Taehyung feel like he's on borrowed time. That it isn't permanent, or certain, just temporary. He thinks about moving back to his house and instantly feels sick. That isn't an option, not with his father still there. He can't afford renting his own place if he wants to pay for college, and he's still a minor, anyway.

Ever since Daeshim, he can't shake away this feeling of... wrongness. Nothing much happened that night, just some above-the-waist and over-clothes touching in... places that was nowhere near consensual, but—that didn't really count as rape, did it? It wasn't a big deal. It had felt like a big deal, but Taehyung was probably overreacting.

In fact, maybe... maybe he had lead Daeshim on unconsciously, and Daeshim had just acted on Taehyung practically whoring himself out. It's as much Taehyung's fault as it is Daeshim's--Taehyung had agreed to go to the hotel room, Taehyung hadn't really protested when Daeshim sat too close to him, Taehyung had returned Daeshim's hearts over text, his compliments, his interest...

Jeongguk had beat the sh*t out of Daeshim when really, Taehyung had probably deserved it more. He thinks back to the time he and Jeongguk had first spoken in the bathroom, and Taehyung, in the midst of a panic attack, had asked Jeongguk to hit him. He'd refused. Would... would he refuse now?

Is the whole Daeshim situation the reason Jeongguk won't speak to him? Does Jeongguk see him as cheap now, as a slu*t—which he is, he guesses, who else would do what he did? Is Jeongguk too disgusted to talk to him after seeing him and Daeshim... like that? Does he think Taehyung's pathetic for not being able to fight back?

The murky water begins to surround him, laps at his clothes with increasing force. His lungs burn and he shuts his eyes, the beginnings of a panic attack all too familiar.

He fights to keep his mind blank—it'll end quicker that way—but memories from that night play over and over in his head like a tape. He can feel Daeshim's fingers prodding where they shouldn't, forceful and uncaring of Taehyung's protest, filthy words whispered in his ear, words that made shame cling to him like a second skin, the suffocating weight of Daeshim's body atop his.

Taehyung's f*cking pathetic. He's hyperventilating over something that was entirely his fault. If he wasn't so...so...idiotic, that night never would've happened. Jeongguk wouldn't hate him.

If he hadn't killed his mother when he was born, his father wouldn't hate him either.

[–]

December 30th, 2014

“Surprise!”

Taehyung's jaw drops and his eyes widen.

“What? I...”

Jimin's family all stand around their dining table, sporting matching grins. The entire room is lit only by beautiful golden fairy lights draped across the walls, and a cheesy silver 'happy birthday' banner is stretched from one end of the room to the other. On the table is an actual feast, the crowning glory a triple-tiered cake with fifteen flickering candles on top.

Jimin's hand is warm and solid on his shoulder.

“Happy birthday!”

The whole family whoops, and Jimin's siblings and parents rush over to hug him until he can't breathe. Taehyung's smiling so widely it hurts, and tears threaten to spill over his face because—this is the first time anyone's ever celebrated his birthday.

They all burst into the 'happy birthday' song, horribly off-key and more shouting than singing, and Taehyung laughs awkwardly and blows out the candles when they finish.

Everyone sits down at the table to eat, and it's f*cking messy. They're all stuffing their faces, Jimin's youngest siblings getting food all over the table, but everyone's laughing and joking and Taehyung's never felt so warm in his life.

After all the food has disappeared, Jimin pulls Taehyung over to the pile of presents on the floor. One from each member of the family, which is nine in total (one is apparently from Jimin's dog).

Taehyung opens them carefully, thanking each giver profusely, making sure to save Jimin's for last as his best friend had requested.

He finally gets to Jimin's, which is haphazardly wrapped in gleaming silver wrapping paper, secured with a ribbon tied in a lopsided bow. Taehyung smiles and opens it.

Inside is—

“Oh my God, you—” he grins and pulls Jimin into a tight hug. “You got it.”

“You bet I did,” Jimin laughs.

“I was only joking when I said I wanted it,” Taehyung holds out the jumper disbelievingly. “This is so expensive, Jimin, like, not even a hundred thousand won expensive...”

“It was nothing you don't deserve,” he says with complete sincerity. “Mom says I've got four years to pay her back for it, so don't you worry!”

“You got me Gucci,” Taehyung shakes his head. “I feel like I shouldn't accept this but I really, really want to.”

“And you should. I spent ages looking for it. D'you know it sold out in Korea so I had to order it from America?” Jimin rolls his eyes. “Shipping is such a f*cking—er, sorry Mom, freaking—rip off. But it was for you, Taehyungie, so all's good!”

“Idiot,” Taehyung says fondly. “I hate you. I got you like, eighty-thousand won worth of dancewear for your birthday. Now I feel really bad.”

“You could've got me a paperclip and I would've been happy,” Jimin says, then scrunches his nose. “Actually, no. I would totally not be friends with you if you did that.”

“Okay. No paperclips, gotta remember that,” Taehyung tilts his head and smirks. “How do you feel about stationery, though?”

[–]

October 19th, 2017

His stomach drops down to his feet as soon as he sets foot through the double doors.

No-one notices him as he walks slowly through the school corridors, head bowed and shoulders curved inwards like he's defending himself from something. There's light chatter all around him—everyone else is okay, or at least act like they are, but Taehyung's too tired to pretend anymore. Why should he? No-one's watching.

It's pointless, he thinks, coming here everyday. There's nothing left here for him. He doesn't talk to anyone outside what's essential, and the classes seem to stretch on for hours, even the ones like math and chemistry that he used to love. The teachers' voices always just blend in with the muttering of the students around him, with the constant, dull buzz in his head.

Sometimes he thinks he'd go crazy, if not for the fact even that would be too much effort. Or maybe he is going crazy, if the way everything looks more grey and dull than usual is anything to go by. Crazy, yes. Another thing to add to his list, right next to useless and pathetic and miserable.

It's math first period. He sits down at his seat at the front, close to where Mrs Kwon is perched at the edge of her desk.

“Good morning, class—you're all well?” she smiles brightly, pushing her glasses up her nose with the tip of her index finger. The students all half-mumble, half-groan their replies with a lack of enthusiasm. Taehyung stays quiet.

“Today we'll be looking at statistical measures...” is all Taehyung hears before everything fades into white noise. He stares blankly at the blackboard, where Mrs Kwon is scribbling with a piece of chalk, as old-fashioned as ever.

He wonders how math, something he has always been passionate about, is now so dreary. His concentration is everywhere and nowhere at once.

“--Taehyung? Taehyung?”

“Yes?” Taehyung tries to say, but his throat is tight, and it comes out as more of a squeak. The class snickers. He bites down on his bottom lip and tries to swallow the thickness rising up to his mouth.

“Do you have the answer?” Mrs Kwon asks. Her concerned glance is not lost on Taehyung.

“Um—I...” he looks over to the board, where the numbers are written down in a dusty yellow. He squints even though the board isn't all that far away. The characters blur and shift against the black background, and no matter how hard he looks at them, they don't make any sense. This lack of understanding causes panic to rise in Taehyung, joining together with the previous thickness until his mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton.

Horrifyingly, his eyes start to fill with tears and his hands start trembling.

“I...I'm not—I-I'm not sure,” Taehyung says, humiliated when the words are barely more than a broken whisper. “I don't—it's— ”

He feels thirty pairs of eyes on him, and the class break out into hushed whispers. He curls in on himself, trying to blink away the tears. It only causes them to fall. He wipes at his face quickly with the back of his shaking hands, praying that no-one notices although he knows everyone does.

“Taehyung, do you want to step out for a minute? Maybe get some water—”

“Yes, thank you,” he manages, and stands up so abruptly his chair crashes backwards. The whispering gets louder, someone even laughs, and he bends to right the chair before leaving the classroom, desperate not to do something stupid like trip over his own feet.

Stepping into the corridor is no relief. He keeps his eyes trained downwards the entire walk to the bathroom. When he gets in, he shuts himself in a cubicle, his useless hands fumbling to lock the door.

He sits down heavily on the closed toilet seat and buries his head in his hands. It's almost nostalgic.

[–]

He forces himself to go to all his other lessons, even though his entire face burns when his classmates turn knowing looks on him, murmuring to each other. He pretends not to hear what they're saying, tries to focus on the lesson.

It, quite predictably, doesn't work.

He wonders if he'd be the target of verbal humiliation from his peers if not for the whole thing where Jeongguk threatened anyone willing to mess with Taehyung. If they did, Taehyung doesn't think he'd mind. Maybe then he'd feel something other than this numbness, this inability to see the world as anything but colorless and bleak.

And it's not like Taehyung wouldn't deserve it—after pulling a stunt like he did, f*cking crying in class... God, that was a stupid thing to do.

He remembers Jeongguk telling him that Taehyung wasn't to blame—for anything, Jeongguk had said—and thinks bitterly that Jeongguk doesn't know anything. Everything about him is perfect, from his face to his reputation to his family and his home. How can he possibly tell someone like Taehyung, who manages to f*ck up everything in his wake, that he isn't to blame? Jeongguk—he doesn't make mistakes. He doesn't know what guilt feels like.

When his last class ends, he walks slowly to his locker. Everyone else is in a rush to leave school, their idea of a hell-hole, whereas for Taehyung everything's the same—school, outside, inside. He gathers his books, slings his rucksack over his shoulder and shuts the locker door.

Jeongguk is standing on the other side of it, and just looking at his face hurts.

“Hey,” he says, so, so soft. Taehyung can't bring himself to speak, so he stands there in silence, avoiding meeting Jeongguk's eyes at all costs.

“Are you okay?” Jeongguk says when he realizes Taehyung isn't going to reply. “I mean... I heard from some people that—in your math class, you—I just...”

Jeongguk steps closer to Taehyung. “If you want to tell me about it, that'd be okay. Good, I mean. Only if you want.”

If he wants? Of course he wants, God, he wants more than anything. But he knows that Jeongguk's only asking out of politeness, that he really doesn't care, just thinks that Taehyung is his responsibility because he had the bad luck to be the one to save him from his father.

Jeongguk is only being polite, and Taehyung is in love, but not the good kind. If Jeongguk learned how Taehyung felt about him—it'd be worse than the incident with Daeshim. It's only too easy to picture the look of disgust on Jeongguk's face.

So Taehyung says, “I'm fine.”

Jeongguk's face scrunches up, and he opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but closes it quickly.

“Okay,” Jeongguk says. He stares at Taehyung for what feels like hours, nods, and then walks away.

Taehyung hikes his rucksack further up his shoulders and closes his eyes. Jeongguk has always been so stubborn and persistent—even when Taehyung'd been adamant that Jeongguk stay away from him, he'd kept after Taehyung relentlessly, ever-earnest and willing to help.

And of course, the one time Jeongguk listens to Taehyung telling him to leave is the one time Taehyung really, really doesn't want him to.

[–]

Taehyung sits on the kid's roundabout at the park, the place he'd frequented back when he lived with his father.

The wind whistles forlornly through the trees and Taehyung loses himself in it; it's so easy to. He can just become a part of the world around him, not himself, not an individual, not Taehyung.

All he wants is a little bit of hope, maybe a bit of happiness. Some sort of warmth through the winter. He thinks of a time when he was happy, and pulls out his phone.

This time, when he pulls up Jimin's contact, it's without hesitation. He's got nothing left to lose—his pride, his dignity, everything is gone. He bites his lip in anticipation and presses the call button.

The phone is on speaker, and the rings blear emptily into the silence. After two, it cuts off abruptly. A polished, crisp woman's voice—“The number you have called has not been recognized. Please try again.”

Taehyung lets the phone slip from his fingers to his lap and watches an ant crawling out of the concrete.

[–]

February 14th, 2015

“God, Tae, her hair!” Jimin gushes, hands spread wide, beaming so widely Taehyung can't help but mirror it.

“It's like—have you read those poems, those old ones from lit that go on and on about how the girl's hair is like, I dunno, a waterfall or whatever, and you think, f*ck, that's cheesy,” Jimin stuffs another fry into his mouth. “Well, guess what. Her hair is a f*cking waterfall, and I can totally relate with Shakespeare.”

“You, Park Jimin, are whipped,” Taehyung grins, excited at the prospect of being able to tease Jimin about this girl for the rest of the near future.

Joohyun has been the sole purpose of Jimin's existence for about two months now. It was love at first sight, according to Jimin, and he's been pining after her like a lost puppy. Since it's Valentine's day, Jimin had finally made his move earlier at school (disgustingly romantic chocolate and flowers, and of course, the winning Park Jimin Angelic Smile). Joohyun had, to Jimin's surprise (but not to Taehyung's) shyly accepted the gifts as well as Jimin's offer of going to watch a movie together.

Taehyung's never actually seen Joohyun since he and Jimin go to schools far away from each other, but he's heard enough that he's got a vivid picture of her in his mind—small, pretty, smiley. So, basically, a female version of Jimin.

“What are you gonna take her to watch?” Taehyung asks, dipping a fry into his milkshake as per usual. Jimin whines at this.

“I have no idea what she likes,” he says, pouting.

“That's surprising, considering you basically stalk her,” Taehyung points out, quite validly.

“I don't stalk her!” Jimin blushes.

“You have her timetable memorized,” Taehyung says flatly. “You know where she lives. You know her favorite band.”

“That's not stalking!” Jimin protests, firetruck-red now. “It's only stalking if I do something with that knowledge.”

“Like go to her house and get caught by her mom?” Taehyung grins—Jimin is never living that down. “What was your excuse, again?”

“I said that I was looking for my missing cat,” Jimin laughs. “She totally believed it, you know. I am an amazing liar.”

“Well, whatever, she returns your creepy stalkerish love anyway,” Taehyung says.

“How about you, Tae?” Jimin's grinning mischievously. “Is there a girl you feel some creepy stalkerish love for?”

It's Taehyung's turn to blush. He focuses on swirling the whipped cream on top of his milkshake into the liquid below.

“No,” Taehyung mumbles, which is the truth.

“No? Then why are you going red?” There's a smile in Jimin's voice. “Come on. There's a girl, I know it. It doesn't even matter if she's ugly—what counts is on the inside!”

“Shut up,” Taehyung says, but he's trying not to smile.

“Hey. Tell me.”

“Stop,” Taehyung groans.

Jimin inhales, then—

“Tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me tell—”

“Okay, okay! Just—shut up, we are in a public area,” Taehyung hisses, making sure to kick Jimin sharply on the shin under the table. “You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

“I promise,” Jimin says. Taehyung trusts his word.

He's silent, mulling over whether he should tell Jimin. He knows it's not—it's not exactly normal, is it, having these feelings towards—he doesn't know anyone else who does. And his father would kill him... but Jimin's not like that. Jimin will support him, he's sure of that.

“I wasn't lying when I said there isn't a girl,” Taehyung says carefully. “Because, um.”

He trails off, unsure of how to continue.

“Because... there's a boy?” Jimin says softly, and Taehyung freezes.

“Um,” he says.

“That's cool,” Jimin flicks the elbow Taehyung's resting on the table. “It's totally me, right? I mean, I'm not gay, but if you really want to get married I could maybe compromise--”

“God, you're the f*cking worst,” Taehyung says, but what he means is you're the f*cking best.

“So? Tell me about him.”

Taehyung fiddles with his straw, fingers twitching.

“He's, er, in senior year,” he begins, and Jimin replies with a groan and a, “Taehyung!”

“I know I have no chance with him, but a guy can look, right?” Taehyung sighs. “And let me tell you—I look for all I'm worth. I'm telling you, those school trousers do great things for his—”

“Woah! Woah, no more,” Jimin says, swatting at Taehyung with his straw. “I will never speak about Joohyun again. f*cking hell.”

Taehyung bursts out laughing. He's heard so many coming-out horror stories, and he's eternally grateful that his isn't one of them.

[–]

October 25th, 2017

The room is cold and dark, and the blinds flutter from the wet breeze outside. Rain thrashes against the windows, spurting from grey, ominous clouds.

Taehyung watches the college adviser tap his fingers against the table in a rhythm that's steady and unnerving.

“So you put down here that you want to study mathematics at Korea University,” he'd introduced himself as Iseul and looks at Taehyung with eyes that are falsely friendly. “Have you changed your mind?”

“I'm not sure if I want to do that anymore,” Taehyung says quietly.

Iseul raises an eyebrow.

“No? What do you want to do instead, then?”

“I... I don't know,” Taehyung says. “I have no idea.”

The man flips through a stack of papers, eyes flicking as he reads them quickly.

“Students with grades like yours are usually very determined on following a particular path, especially in academics,” Iseul says. “But no worry. You still have a few months to decide.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says. A few months feels like too long and not enough all at once.

“Tell me, Taehyung,” he says, cheerful. “What do you want to be when you're older?”

Ah, Taehyung thinks. A timeless question.

When he was very little, he wanted to be a pilot, like a lot of other little boys. When he'd gotten older, nine and ten and eleven, his father had told him he was useless and would beat him senseless and all he'd wanted was to move out of his home. At the start of high school, he and Jimin had briefly talked about opening a restaurant together, one that served dishes like hot dogs with sprinkles, but it was more imagination than anything concrete. Finally, in sophom*ore year, he'd fallen in love with math, the logic and the structure of it, and decided it was something he wanted to pursue.

“I have no idea,” he says finally. “I can't think that far ahead.”

“That's okay, that's completely fine,” Iseul is trying to be reassuring. “It'll come to you when you need it, I'm sure. You know, we get plenty of students like you, with a lot of brain and no idea what to do with it, it's really common, you shouldn't worry at all...”

Taehyung stops listening to Iseul. The only reason he wants to go to college is to start something new. A second chance at life without his father and all his mistakes.

“I want to go to college,” Taehyung says, cutting into the man's rambling. “I'm hoping for a fresh start.”

Iseul pauses, perhaps offended at being interrupted, but then continues happily.

“Yes! Many often do. It's a great experience, you know, for learning about navigating the world on your own...”

Iseul talks while Taehyung listens idly, humming and nodding at the right places.

“So. We need to talk about your financial situation. Usually, we would contact a parent, but we understand that you have special circ*mstances,” Iseul checks his papers. “It says here you're paying your own deposit, is that right?”

“Yes. I have an account with all my college money under my father's name,” Taehyung says. When he'd created it, he'd been twelve years old and unable to open an account of his own.

“That's great! We've looked into the whole legal issues regarding your father, and you should have full access to that account, with or without your father's permission. Have you checked over all that? You must have, an organised young man like you,” Iseul smiles.

No, Taehyung hasn't, but it's a relief that there won't be any problems getting the money out legally. He makes a mental note to visit the bank later on to get that all sorted.

“Well, Taehyung, I have very high hopes for your future,” Iseul says. Taehyung thanks him, even though the man is being overly optimistic. Taehyung isn't. He can't have hopes in something he is uncertain will exist.

It's been on his mind, of course it has. It has since he was ten years old and had to sleep in the shed in December out of fear of his father, eyeing the coils of rope draped over a wobbling shelf. But it's never been a viable option because he knows that college could make things different. Better.

He'll hold out a little longer.

[–]

March 22nd, 2015

Taehyung's hands fumble with pressing the keys on his old brick phone—his fingers are trembling and the keypad is wet with stray tears. He presses call on Jimin's contact. It rings once before Jimin picks up.

“Hey! What's up?”

Taehyung finds that he can't speak—his throat is too clogged up. Instead he breathes heavily through his nose, trying to calm himself down enough to make words.

“Tae? Are you alright?”

“I—today... I'm...” he exhales slowly, and his voice stops shaking a little. “Sorry if I'm interrupting anything, but... I didn't know who to call...”

“f*ck,” there's the sound of something clattering. “What happened? Was it your dad?”

“No, it... some kids from school.”

Taehyung thinks back to lunch break when he'd accidentally stumbled into someone, a broad hard shoulder, causing them both to trip backwards. He'd looked up, a sorry on his lips, only for the words to never come out when he saw who it was.

Jeon Jeongguk. As in, Jeon Jeongguk, the most well-known boy in their year. Taehyung had heard a lot about him, about how he was insanely attractive, funny, and was already on his way to becoming the captain of the football team despite only being in freshman year.

Taehyung had seen a lot of him, of him taunting smaller, weaker students, shoving them out of his way with barely a glance so that he and his friends could stride down the middle of the corridors like f*cking assholes, laughing cruelly as one of his friends punched a guy in the face because he was openly gay.

Taehyung, despite being smaller, weaker, and also gay, had thought himself off their radar. Walking into Jeon Jeongguk had changed that.

Jeongguk had asked Taehyung if he was going to apologize, or rather, sneered at him. Taehyung had still been too frozen to speak, mouth open, thinking f*ck f*ck f*ck that's it what did I do. Jeongguk had insulted him then—some kind of joke, and it had begun.

The rest of his friends had joined in and things escalated from verbal to physical alarmingly quickly. Jeongguk, as usual, stayed back during the physical part—probably didn't want to get his hands dirty.

Taehyung had never been beaten up before—hell, he'd never been bullied. Middle school was nowhere near as cruel.

He'd walked home covered in bruises, limbs aching, the muscles in his jaw twinging painfully when he tried to eat or speak. That was when he realized there was no escape from it all—his father at home, Jeongguk's gang at school.

“I... they hurt me, a lot,” Taehyung says, wincing. “It's hard to speak. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called—”

“Taehyung, shut up,” Jimin cuts in. “Who are these f*ckers? I'll beat all their asses to hell, I swear.”

Taehyung laughs at this, a little watery.

“I want to be supportive here, but you're kinda no match for these people,” Taehyung says, already feeling a little better. “If anyone's ass is getting beaten to hell, it's yours.”

“You're totally underestimating me, Tae, which is a grave, grave mistake,” Jimin insists.

“Okay, but when the last thing you see before you die is Jeon Jeongguk's laughing face, that's all on you,” Taehyung grins, which actually hurts quite a bit, so he settles his face into neutral again.

“What?” Jimin says suddenly.

“What?” Taehyung says.

“Say that again,” Jimin says.

“What,” Taehyung replies, and he can almost hear Jimin rolling his eyes.

“Not that. What you said before,” Jimin sounds serious, so Taehyung stops messing around.

“I said, uh, something along the lines of, when the last thing you see before you die is Jeon Jeongguk's laughing face it'll—”

“sh*t,” Jimin says. “sh*t. sh*t.”

“What? What's wrong?” Taehyung asks, worried. “Why are you—”

“I have to... I have to go. I just remembered, there's someone I need to call,” Jimin says, and Taehyung can tell he's lost him. “If the little bastard decides to pick up for once...”

With that, Jimin hangs up, leaving Taehyung very, very puzzled.

[–]

October 27th, 2017

He should feel terrible, but instead he feels nothing.

Yeseul and Jiyong are off on work-related trips, as usual, and Jeongguk is at practice, as usual. Taehyung is down in the basem*nt looking at the huge cabinets of alcohol.

They all look very expensive—all dark bottles and swirly gold writing—but Taehyung doesn't give a sh*t if it's two centuries old, as long as it can get him mind-numbingly drunk so that he can just forget for a few hours.

He settles on something that looks a little harder, vodka in a square-shaped clear bottle, and takes it up to the bedroom. It's safe to drink here; when Jeongguk's parents aren't home, he tends to sleep in their room, which is probably more comfortable than the pull out couch next to Taehyung.

Taehyung eyes it warily. He's never had alcohol—growing up watching its effect on his father is incentive enough to stay away from it; when Taehyung's father was drunk, he was violent. And when he was violent, Taehyung got hurt.

But it's come to this. The emptiness is bad enough that he'll risk consorting with the enemy, drinking the poison that has polluted his father's mind and soul.

He unscrews the lid, winces at the clinical stench of it. Then he raises it to his lips and tips his head back.

It's f*cking disgusting and he spits almost all of it out again, choking violently. The little liquid that manages to slip down his throat is like acid. It burns inside him, scrapes against every ridge of his mouth down to his stomach, stings like nothing else.

He forces down another generous slug of vodka and pushes down the instinct to choke. The second sip is as painful as the first. He hates it.

But then his mind whirs distractedly, and some of the emptiness is filled with the acid. He drinks some more.

Soon enough, the entire bottle is empty, and although Taehyung's chest is burning like hell, he feels... good. His own name is pretty difficult to remember, really, and something else that's pretty difficult is working out why there are two couches. Wait, no one. Wait, no, three. Wow. He should tell Jeongguk his couch is possibly magical.

Jeongguk'll be home soon, Taehyung thinks, and he better hurry up, so that he can tell Taehyung he loves him again. That would be really nice. Maybe he could help Taehyung sort out the whole couch situation, too, because having a magical couch is cool but definitely not practical.

Taehyung lies back against the pillows and watches in awe as the room spins around him, changes colors, shapes, distorts in a rhythm Taehyung can't make out. His head isn't empty at all—no, it's buzzing pleasantly—and his body doesn't feel numb, just warm and tingly.

“This is nice,” Taehyung says, and wonders if the couch can reply. He looks at it expectantly, but it says nothing.

“f*cking rude,” he mutters, glaring at it, then stands up.

Everything tilts dangerously. Taehyung's body screams bathroom! at him just in time for him to collapse beside the toilet before he vomits straight into the bowl.

[–]

May 1st, 2015

can't make it to lunch this week. sorry :( i still love you

Taehyung looks at his phone screen blankly. This is the fourth week Jimin's cancelled on him, and they haven't seen in each other in over a month.

They used to meet up nearly every day, at their favorite diner in between where they live to update each other on everything (literally every single thing—Taehyung probably knows more about Jimin's life than his own). And every waking hour not in each other's company would be spent texting, conversations about the stupidest sh*t that lasted hours and hours.

Now, Jimin doesn't answer his calls or his texts, always replying with a short sorry, I'm busy or I'll call you later. He doesn't.

He gets that a long distance friendship is hard... but they'd made it work so far. What's going wrong?

He guesses that, now they've had time to settle into high school, Jimin's too busy with his school friends. It makes sense—he sees them every day, they do things together. He’s also two years older than Taehyung; maybe Taehyung’s too immature for him? Jimin must have a lot of friends—he's kind and funny and easy to talk to. Taehyung's problem is that he's too shy to talk to anyone, not like anyone would want to, anyway. He has no idea how he and Jimin clicked so well.

Taehyung doesn't want to seem clingy, so he replies like he's not bothered, even though he misses Jimin like hell. He decides that letting Jimin be is the best option, and if Jimin wants to talk to him, he'll contact him. Taehyung doesn't want to be a bother, after all.

It feels odd, not having someone to talk to. Taehyung's always spent his life alone, until Jimin. Now that Jimin's next to gone... it's back to the loneliness. Taehyung doesn't understand why it's so hard—he should be used to it.

He should have been expecting it. Good things don't happen to people like him, people who mess everything up all the time, right from the day they were born.

The loneliness eats away at him; it has been for weeks now. He glances at the time—nearly ten thirty. He should be going to sleep.

Taehyung slips his bangs out of the small ponytail they're in—he really needs to get a haircut—and keeps the elastic band around his wrist.

He lies in bed in the dark, unsure of what to do. He can't sleep, not with this feeling inside him, something between lost and betrayed. His fingers wonder to the elastic band to play at it, twist it between his fingers, a habit he's developed since his bangs got long enough to interfere with his vision.

He tugs at it a little too hard, and when it snaps against his wrist he feels a frisson of pain, which is—

Not exactly unpleasant.

That's a lie. It's f*cking painful, but somehow it—it comforts him. It takes away the nothingness, if only for a second. A second is good enough for Taehyung.

He sits up a little so he can look. He pulls the elastic band away from his wrist, further this time, intending to hurt. He lets it go and it slaps against his skin with force, harsh edges digging into the skin there. It leaves a red mark, glowing against his pale skin.

Taehyung keeps going, hissing in the darkness, until the pain gets too much to handle, further, even, and then stops, panting. When he looks down his pale blue bedsheets are stained with droplets of red. They're still wet and glisten at Taehyung mockingly in the moonlight.

He's used to the sight of his own blood now—his father has made sure of that—so the harsh crimson doesn't affect him. His father always says he deserves it when he beats him raw and bloody, and staring at the red on his bed, he can't help but agree.

[–]

October 30th, 2017

His hood is pulled up firmly over his head so that no-one can see his bloodshot eyes or the tear tracks on his face.

After the vodka, Taehyung had woken up the next morning feeling like he'd had a bullet through his brain and even blinking had made him want to curl back into his sheets and never get up again.

He could smell the vomit on himself along with the horrible reek of vodka, a combination that had overwhelmed his senses into blacking out.

The alcohol had been effective in making him forget, but the agony of the morning after had not been worth it. Taehyung needs another way to block out the emptiness, to feel something because it's almost as if he doesn't know how to anymore, and this is the only option he can think of.

He walks through the aisles at the corner store quickly, eyes scanning the shelves until they land on what he's looking for. Only nine-hundred won for a pack of twenty.

Taehyung grabs it and goes to the counter to pay. He keeps his head down while he pays.

“You okay, there?” the woman behind the counter asks.

Nowhere near, he wants to choke out.

“Yes, thank you,” he says.

As soon as he's outside, he slips into a nearby alley, dark and secluded. He checks to make sure that no-one is around before ripping the box of elastic bands open. They all fall onto the floor, over his shoes, a complete mess. Taehyung is frantic as he plunges his fingers into the heap of them, picking up one that's mangled and twisted.

He slides it onto his wrist without much care. It's such a relief, feeling that familiar weight against his skin, on his pulse. Jeongguk was so cruel to have taken it away from him—this is something Taehyung needs desperately, the way he needs food and water and oxygen.

He flings it against his wrist, revelling in the sting of pain, but it's not enough, he needs more, so he slides three more onto his wrist and flings them all at once.

The pain is more widespread, making a third of the inside of his forearm blush, God, it's such a pretty red, but Taehyung would prefer it even darker.

Taehyung snaps them against his wrist so hard tears spring at the corner of his eyes and his heart beats erratically fast. He snivels and bites on his tongue to be quiet, then gives up and cries out loud as the sharp pain intensifies, his skin tender now.

His legs give out and he falls onto his knees, scraping deliciously against the gravel. It adds to the pain, the sensations, and Taehyung is so satisfied with all this feeling.

The angry hurt of his knees and his wrist and his stinging eyes fill up the emptiness so well. Blood seeps from his wrist onto his thighs, where they're resting, and into the cracks of the concrete.

He feels another level of satisfaction at doing this because he knows he deserves it—perhaps his mistakes aren't as terrible, perhaps he's not such a bad person if he tries to make up for his wrongs with this. Pain is good for him, he thinks, because it's what he should get for everything he's done. It reminds him of how stupid he's been about everything, his mother and Jimin and Jeongguk and Daeshim.

Maybe you'll learn your lesson this time, Taehyung thinks, yelping as the elastic band hits his flesh again.

When he gets home, he hides the pack of elastic bands under his clothes where Jeongguk won't find them.

[–]

November 2nd, 2017

Taehyung's finally managed to book an appointment at the bank—they'd been wary when he'd revealed his age, sixteen, but after nearly a half hour of desperate pleading they'd given in.

He feels out of place walking into the bank. Everyone else is cleaned up, smartly dressed, gesturing assertively as they speak; sharp lines, neutral colors, and Taehyung is just... Taehyung.

The receptionist at the desk eyes him suspiciously. Taehyung doesn't blame him—his face is gaunt, eyes sunken with dark circles, he probably looks like he's been crying and he can't remember the last time he'd showered.

“Hello,” the receptionist says, eyes still narrowed. Taehyung swallows.

“I have an appointment,” Taehyung says. “I need to withdraw a lot of money. Kim Taehyung.”

This only worsens the suspicion, Taehyung reckons, as the receptionist puts his pen down and really looks at Taehyung.

“Really? Aren't you a little young?”

“College,” Taehyung replies, not willing to divulge further information.

The receptionist sighs, tapping away at his computer until he presumably finds Taehyung's name listed.

“Okay. Down there, second door to your right.”

Taehyung doesn't thank the man. Forming words has been difficult lately. It's better if he keeps silent, he finds.

It's better if you keep your mouth shut. Then maybe you can stop f*cking up the lives of the people around you.

He enters the second door on his right, face blank, eyes unseeing. It's like his body is running through the motions automatically—twist the doorknob, push it forward, step inside, take a seat.

The woman is smiley but professional and Taehyung is dimly aware that she's introducing himself. She bows slightly and Taehyung does the same. He keeps his eyes on the white wall behind her and if his lack of focus unnerves her, she doesn't show it.

“Mr Kim,” she says, and Taehyung watches her shadow as she leans back in her chair. “You want to withdraw two point five million won from your account, it says here. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Taehyung says. “It's under my father's name, though—he has two accounts. One is nearly empty, and the other one should have the two point five million."

The woman hums as she scrolls through her computer. “Your father is Kim Junseo?”

“Yes, that's right,” Taehyung says, the name rendering an ugly coil of fear in the pit of his stomach, even though his father can't hurt him anymore.

“You're legally too young to be doing this, but we are aware your circ*mstances are of a special nature. Still, I am obliged to ask a few questions and validate your identity. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Taehyung says.

He zones out everything except the faint whir in his mind, almost constant, now, and signs the right things, shows his ID, answers the security questions. It all passes with Taehyung being barely conscious of what's happening.

“You mentioned this was for college funding,” the woman says casually. “You're only sixteen. Don't you have a little longer?”

“The university I want to study at takes the deposit for the course and accommodation a year early due to demand,” Taehyung says, eyes still glued to the wall, mouth still speaking while somehow being detached from the rest of him, or whatever is left of it. “Which is May, but I'm required to show that I have the financial means even earlier because of my... circ*mstances.”

“Of course. I see,” she says.

Then there's nothing but the sound of the keyboard, a faint patter, and the mouse clicking.

Silence.

The woman clears her throat.

She sounds nervous, and that finally brings Taehyung out of his daze. He looks at her, head on. There's a small crease between her perfectly filled-in brows.

“Two accounts, yes?” she asks. “One with your college savings, and one nearly empty?”

“Yes,” Taehyung says, fingers hovering over the elastic band on his wrist.

“There's a problem here,” the woman looks at Taehyung seriously. “There are two accounts, but both of them are nearly empty.”

“They—what?” Taehyung can feel his nails digging into his palm. “That... there has to be a mistake. One should have two point five million won—I've been saving up for over four years now—I haven't taken anything out—”

“The more recent account—the one I'm guessing is yours—has a total of six thousand won,” she says quietly. “There was a withdrawal of two million, four hundred and ninety-four thousand won on the 28th June this year.”

“I—that can't be right. Are you sure there's no mistake?” Taehyung's voice is embarrassingly high now, and he's shifted to the very edge of his seat. “Did... did someone get into my account? Is that possible? There's no way that wasn't... I—”

Then something clicks. June 28th. Around the time of his father's trial.

Taehyung feels so, so f*cking sick.

He tells himself to breathe because this is a public area, and the woman opposite him is beginning to look very concerned.

Of course. Of course, even with a f*cking restraining order, his father has managed to hurt him again. Taehyung's guess is that his father used his college savings to pay for the lawyers and the fines, and possibly even for bail.

That's a hell of a lot of money. Two million, four hundred and ninety-four thousand lot of money.

Somehow, this is worse than all the previous beatings—worse than being punched senseless, worse than having a rib broken and walking to the hospital himself to fix it, worse than the glass incident—because his father has taken Taehyung's ticket out of his mess of a life.

Taehyung had been uncertain about his future before. Now, he is one hundred percent certain it doesn't exist.

“I see,” Taehyung says, and even he can hear how utterly broken he sounds.

The woman is speaking to him, her voice increasing in pitch and volume when Taehyung fails to respond, but he can't. It's like the murky water is sloshing at his feet, teasing him for what's to come. He feels damp and scared and hopeless.

“Thank you,” Taehyung says, trying not to shiver from the sudden cold. “I won't be making the transaction.”

He stands up and walks out, barely hearing her “Mr Kim! Wait—you haven't—”

[–]

Taehyung does the unspeakable. He goes back home, as in, his father's house.

Even standing outside the door has him almost paralyzed with anxiety, possibly even fear. This place is so deeply interlinked with the part of him that he so desperately wants to leave behind, the part that has been growing bigger and bigger over the past few months, the part that he can never really be rid of now, because he can't go to college.

Eventually, he tells himself to get over it. All the bad memories Taehyung has of this place are his own fault, anyway.

The door is unlocked, as usual, and the familiar stench of stale alcohol squeezes at Taehyung's throat as he walks inside. He stops at the doorway to the living room.

His father is there. Sitting on the couch, watching TV. The sight of him is like a trigger—Taehyung is immediately alert, his body high on adrenaline, waiting to run or endure the pain, depending on whether Taehyung can get away fast enough or not.

There's bile rising up his throat, acrid and bitter, and when he tries to swallow it down it only makes him choke soundlessly.

“Where is my college money,” Taehyung says. He hates himself for how small his voice sounds. His father will always reign over his mind, no matter what.

“What?” His father says, almost a snort, and Taehyung can tell he's drunk.

“My college money,” Taehyung repeats. “In that bank account. There's barely any left. There used to be two point five million."

Taehyung's father laughs. The sound of it, broken and ugly, makes Taehyung's body scream, run.

He fights it and stays put.

“Had to use it for that f*cking expensive lawsuit,” his father says carelessly, not even turning from the TV. “That's on you, kid. You're the one who started it. Don't go f*ckin' complaining when I use your money for it.”

“I worked every day after school for three years,” Taehyung says, unable to stop, “for that money. And then I worked every weekend—for the entire day—until I'd saved enough money and—and you just—you spent it all like that, you—”

Taehyung's father growls and stands up, turning to face him, and Taehyung's words die in his throat.

His father will never fail to instill a sense of complete, wrenching terror in him, and now is no exception.

He shouldn't be threatening—he's out of shape, hasn't shaved in days, and there are crumbs all over his shirt.

But Taehyung is honed into every little detail of him because of the fear. The way his fist is clenched, ready for use. The tight curl of his other hand around a bottle of beer, ready to be thrown. The cruel twist of his mouth. The flaming madness in his eyes.

“You wanna say that again, you little bastard?” he spits, taking a step forward. Taehyung instinctively takes a step back. “Go on.”

Taehyung says nothing.

“That's damn f*ckin' right. You know it's your own f*ckin' fault you have no money, don't you? You shouldn't have started that lawsuit if you wanted all them college savings. As far as I'm concerned, you're a kid, and none of that damn money was yours in the first place.”

“That's not true,” Taehyung says, but his voice is weak.

“No? It is, an' you know it. Just the way you know this is your fault.”

“It's not,” Taehyung says shakily. It's not your fault, Jeongguk had said. Nothing is.

Taehyung wants to believe him, but he's starting to realise it's not the truth.

“It's your f*ckin' fault, kid,” his father growls.

“No,” Taehyung's eyes are wet. His father laughs again.

“Admit it. Why're you holding back?” He steps forward again, and Taehyung has nowhere to go now, his back against the front door. “Say the words.”

The madness in his father's eyes heighten.

“It's my fault,” Taehyung whispers.

“I didn't hear that,” his father taunts, grinning.

“It's my fault,” Taehyung repeats, louder. It feels like the truth.

“Yeah? And what else is?” his father is practically beaming now, and looks away from Taehyung only to take another sip from the dark brown bottle in his hand. “I know you know.”

“W-when you hit me,” Taehyung says, near a whimper. “The—the day with the—when I picked you up from the police station. When you lost all your money that day on that bet. When those—t-those men beat you up—and—and. And Mom. That was my fault.”

“That's right,” his father nods, all co*cky smirk. “You've gotten smarter, son.”

Jiyong calls him 'son'. It's amazing how the same word can sound so ruthlessly mocking from his own father's lips.

“Where's your boyfriend, then?” he asks. “I'm surprised he isn't in here with you, threatening to beat the sh*t outta me. f*ckin' nerve of him.”

“He doesn't speak to me anymore,” Taehyung admits, scorching from humiliation as his father watches the tears that are now running freely down his face—his eyes had stung too much to hold them back.

“Well, isn't that a surprise!” his father jeers. “You managed to f*ck that up, too. Didn't take you long, did it? Good for him. He's better off without his little bitch to follow him 'round. Bet the only reason he kept you around is because you sucked his co*ck—ain't I proud, my son's a f*ckin' whor*—”

“I didn't... we...” Taehyung chokes on a sob, and his father is still grinning, teeth crooked. “Jeongguk—it's...”

“Get outta my f*ckin' sight. You'll be sorry if you come round here askin' about your money again, restraining order or not.”

He stares at Taehyung, dark eyes filled with disgust, then ambles drunkenly back to the couch and continues watching TV like nothing even happened.

Taehyung stays there for a while, slumped against the front door, cringing as his sobs echo through the hall. God, he's such a f*cking embarrassment, no wonder his father is always so disappointed in him. Having a son like Taehyung would be hard, enough to drive someone mad, even—

He drags himself upstairs, every stop slow and painful. He can't bear to stand downstairs, not with his father a few feet away. His presence seems to turn Taehyung's entire being upside down; a disconcerting feeling.

Out of habit, his feet lead him to his bedroom, but he stops just before entering. He doesn't want to go in here. It feels like there's something behind that door, like the air there will be thick with the pain of when he used to live here.

His bedroom was his sanctuary, in many ways, but also his prison.

He shivers, then steps back. It's better to leave some things alone.

Instead, he goes to the bathroom, a more neutral space. He doesn't have many memories here.

For some reason, however, as soon as he enters the bathroom, he completely loses it.

Taehyung is slumped on the floor against the cabinet under the sink before he knows it, trembling all over, cold and terrified. It was wrong, coming to this house alone. Taehyung's not strong enough for this.

For anything.

He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the tears away. You'd think he'd have cried enough in his life to run out by now. Taehyung can only wish.

There's nothing he can do. Legally, his father didn't commit a crime by using up all his money. It's all gone, all those f*cking years old hard work, sleepless nights so that he could take the night shifts too, he needed every penny, refusing his stomach food just so he could reach his goal quicker, travelling home at three in the morning at thirteen years old with strange men all around him.

All in vain. All because of his father—and really, because of Taehyung, too.

He's very close to a panic attack; he knows the signs. So he does the one thing, as much as it humiliates him, that he knows could help.

He calls Jeongguk.

The phone rings for a bit until Jeongguk picks up. Taehyung can hear talking loud music and laughter in the background.

“Hello?” Jeongguk says, slightly muffled by the line. “Taehyung? Are you alright?”

His voice. Listening to it makes Taehyung feel safe again, but the painful clench of his chest is even more prominent.

“Taehyung?”

“I'm fine,” he says, hearing the waver in his own voice. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh—that's—of course. What—shut the f*ck, up, Yeonshik—do you want to talk about?”

He can hear the surprise in Jeongguk's tone, which is understandable. Taehyung is actually asking for a conversation with him, which is so out of the ordinary it's almost surreal. Taehyung can barely believe it himself.

“My father used all my college funds,” Taehyung says, all at once without quite meaning to.

“Yeonshik—can you—shut up, holy sh*t, no—no—don't take your clothes off—f*cking hell, I don't need to see that!” There's rustling as Jeongguk presumably deals with Yeonshik, and then he's back on the phone. “Sorry, Taehyung. What was that?”

“My college funds are gone,” he says, but he's even quieter now.

The bass of the music playing on Jeongguk's side, his carefree voice, all his friends—it's a harsh reminder that Taehyung doesn't belong in Jeongguk's perfect world. He should never have tried.

“It's so loud here. I can't hear you—excuse me—can I just get through, thanks—” Jeongguk's side is suddenly quieter, although Taehyung can still hear the music very faintly. “Yeah. What's up?”

Taehyung doesn't say anything. He can't. Why should he burden Jeongguk with his troubles?

“Taehyung? Are you still there? Hey. Taehyung. Listen, I'm—”

Taehyung ends the call.

He leans his head back against the cabinet, a little too hard, and winces as his skull cracks against the ceramic. It hurts, and Taehyung almost wants to do it again.

It's coming now, full-blown. He can feel it, the murky water, slipping into his shoes, chilling his skin. He braces himself in preparation even though it's never enough.

Despite their earlier promise, Taehyung is sure the Jeons won't pay for his college funds. Why should they? He's nothing to their son now. He's nothing to them now. He's been a terrible guest, not speaking to anyone, sulking over his own, stupid problems that are all fault—

He wouldn't be surprised if they kicked him out to sleep on the streets. He'd belong better there—filth among filth, sleeping in a gutter maybe—a roof over his head is too good for him, f*ck, his mother would be so disappointed that she died only for someone like Taehyung to live—

Taehyung thinks of being pinned under Daeshim's body, the all-encompassing fear and self-hatred similar to how he's feeling now—Daeshim's sharp grip twisting his neck back painfully—what would've happened if Jeongguk hadn't arrived? Taehyung would've got what he deserved—

And, God, Jeongguk. He doesn't even know where he went wrong there—and isn't that just great? Taehyung is so utterly clueless that he can't even remember his own mistakes. It could've been—it could've been so many things—

He was probably too boring, too quiet. That was why Jimin stopped speaking to him, after all. In the end, Taehyung wasn't worth travelling half an hour to a diner for, wasn't worth the bills for long-distance phone calls, wasn't worth the time spent on text conversations—

He's to blame, he knows, but he can't help how much he misses it all.

Jimin's playful grin as they joked over fries and milkshakes.

His siblings crowding around Taehyung's waist on his birthday, all thrusting rainbow-wrapped presents at him, screaming mine first in sweet little voices.

Jiyong ruffling his hair, my son, he'd say, even though he had no reason to.

Yeseul holding his hand reassuringly before his father's trial, whispering that everything would be okay.

Jeongguk's eyes flickering with fire in Bora Bora, full of promise—promise to protect Taehyung, promise to care for him, promise for more.

The murky water's at his neck now. It's so unbearably cold. Taehyung's shaking, crying, shivering, trying to stop the iciness from wrapping around him to the bone. He's wheezing too, so short of breath his vision begins to blur.

This is the worst he's had yet, he thinks, in the minuscule part of his brain that is still somewhat coherent. The guilt squeezes around his skull and digs sharp nails into his eyes until Taehyung has to shut them in an attempt to stop the pain. His limbs are paralyzed, useless at his sides, useless like the rest of him.

He manages to get a hand on his wrist. Maybe this will help, hurting himself until he feels better. He snaps it against his wrist, rapid fire, crying out in pain even as he pulls the elastic band further away from his skin with every blow.

It's not long before he's drawing blood but he can't be sure because he can't see anything in front of him, can only feel the wet warmth of the blood dripping onto his thighs, mixing with the murky water, turning it a pretty pink.

But it's not working. Not even the pain is enough to stop it all. He needs—he needs more—something enough to take everything away... he needs...

He fumbles for the cabinet behind him and his fingers close around the plastic cylinder of Paxil tablets, back when his short-term psychiatrist prescribed them for his panic attacks. He'd stopped taking them because they made his head feel like hell afterwards.

They're very strong, and barely take any time to kick in, the psychiatrist had said as she handed him the bottle. Only one every twenty-four hours. Try not to use it that frequently, even.

He takes two and puts them in his mouth, wanting to gag at the powdery bitterness that spreads over his tongue. He swallows, coughing when his throat almost refuses to take it.

His fingers are back at his wrist. It's not doing anything. He needs more—he just—

Another two pills go in. They're equally bitter and—

“f*ck, please, just stop,” Taehyung croaks, and he's swallowing more. He doesn't know how many, just that he needs this to end, everything needs to stop, God, they never talk about how excruciating it is to drown like this—

Finally, something is happening.

His breaths aren't so quick. They slow down at an infinitesimal rate, but after a while, he's breathing normally. Slower than normal, even. He feels so calm. It's like nothing he's ever experienced before.

His limbs are lose and lax. He lets himself slip to the floor. His head doesn't even hurt when it hits the tiled floor. How long has it been since he's been so... painless?

His heart, too. The rabbit-fast pace of just a few minutes ago has slowed down to a sluggish thump, thump. He has to strain to feel it, and even then, it's like it's barely there.

As he stares up at the ceiling, everything gets dimmer, from the outside of his vision inwards. There are blinks of velvety darkness, even though his eyes remain open. It's like watching lights being shut off, one by one. He closes his eyes to enjoy it more.

Taehyung is so relieved.

It's over, he thinks. I can finally take a break.

The murky water slips over his head.

Chapter 10: glowing red

Chapter Text

November 2nd, 2017

“Here's to our birthday boy, Wonshin, and winning all the games this season!” Jeongguk yells, raising his red solo cup and grinning widely when Wonshin attempts to shove him off the table he's standing on.

The crowd around the table cheers, and everyone breaks out into the 'happy birthday' song even though most of it is just drunken shouting, laughing and hyping Wonshin up.

The mood here is one of exhilaration. They'd just won their last game of the season, topping all the schools in the area. The party is half celebration of that and half for Wonshin's seventeenth birthday.

His house is huge, and currently, trashed. The rooms are bustling with people, wasted off their minds, laughing and dancing stupidly to the thrashing bass spilling out of speakers implanted throughout the house. There's flashing lights and tacky streamers and birthday decorations and a f*cking lot of alcohol.

Jeongguk jumps off the table, laughing when he crashes into a bunch of people and they all go toppling to the floor. Parties, as obnoxious as it sounds, make Jeongguk feel almost at home.

It's a familiar setting for him. Yes, it's loud, yes, there's dozens of people not in their right mind, but it's easy for Jeongguk to switch roles—he can be the heart of the party one minute and slip to the back of the crowds in the next.

As he is currently doing now.

He hasn't actually had anything to drink the whole time. Although the game season has finished, he thinks it might be useful to keep himself on his diet a little longer, which includes no alcohol at all. He doesn't really mind—he doesn't need it to have a good time.

Plus, he doesn't think drinking is healthy on an empty stomach. He's had a protein shake and banana in the morning and hasn't eaten since—he needed to do well in the final game of the season, and keeping the calories to a minimum was essential for that.

The game tired him out, though. He's feeling a little dizzy after shouting so much, and his stomach is cramping every so often. It's nothing he can't handle.

Once he gets a bit of quiet, that is. He wanders around until he finds Wonshin, whose face is currently being mauled by long legs and perfectly curled hair. Jeongguk rolls his eyes, and leans over the back of the couch to tap his friend on the shoulder.

“I'm going to your en suite to piss,” Jeongguk says. “Are there people in your room?”

Wonshin groans and tears his mouth away from the girl's. Jeongguk stifles a laugh—his face is covered in smudged lipstick, bright magenta.

“No, but, about the pissing—f*ck—to the no,” Wonshin slurs, stabbing at Jeongguk's chest with a finger. “I know what you're like when you're drunk. Can't f*cking aim for sh*t.”

“Yes I can,” Jeongguk says bemusedly, already walking away.

“No! Jeongguk! My towels are expensive, an' so's my soap! Jeongguk!”

Jeongguk meanders through the gaggle of people around the staircase and heads upstairs to Wonshin's room. Instead of going to the bathroom, however, he lies sideways across his bed.

Here, in the silence, the pain in his stomach is more noticeable. His head doesn't pound as much, though, so he reckons it's worth it.

He rolls to the side and takes a few deep breaths, a method he knows helps when he gets these stomach cramps. He's had to use it a couple times during matches and even class—it works wonders, and the ache soon fades.

“Jeongguk?” a voice, soft and pretty. Jeongguk sits up quickly.

“Oh, hi,” Jeongguk says.

It's Seolhyun, looking as beautiful as ever in her short red dress, almost glowing against golden skin. She smiles, all perfect teeth. Jeongguk is more jealous than anything—f*ck his overbite.

“Your friends told me I could find you here,” she says, shutting the door behind her.

Jeongguk sweats a little.

“They did?” Jeongguk says. The f*ckers. Another timeline and they still haven't given up on setting him up with Seolhyun.

“Yeah,” Seolhyun steps right up to Jeongguk so she's standing over him, her shins touching his knees. “I mean, we agreed to meet each other here, right?”

“Right,” Jeongguk says. Wow, it's pretty hot in here. Like, Sahara-hot.

Jeongguk's face is about level with her—very generous—cleavage, and he's slightly frightened. This is not Jeongguk's forte, not at all. He leans back a little.

“So,” her voice drops a little lower, boldly seductive. “Your friends have told me some things.”

“Of course they have,” Jeongguk mutters. “Um—what are you—”

And then she's in his lap, just like that. Just like that. As in, straddling his thighs, arms balanced on his shoulders, face inches away from his.

Jeongguk is very—he's. Unsure. His hands clench and unclench nervously at his sides.

What is going on? How did this happen? Why is this happening?

“They told me you wanted this,” Seolhyun murmurs, running her hands down his arms, back up again, squeezing his biceps. “Though I'm not so sure now.”

“Um,” Jeongguk says. That's all he's really capable of, honestly.

She pulls back, studies his face, then smiles.

“You're shy,” she looks delighted. “Unexpected, but cute. Kinda hot, too.”

Seolhyun's hands splay against his chest, palms down, and she's kissing his neck.

She's. Kissing. His. Neck.

Jeongguk's hands fly instinctively to her waist, not holding, just resting, while he freaks the f*ck out on the inside.

He has no idea what he's meant to do. Well, he should stop this, obviously, but doesn't know how. It's like his body is frozen, a wax statue while Seolhyun's kisses get hotter and longer.

Back before he'd gone back in time, he'd had sex with a girl, a little after his seventeenth birthday. The kissing and fondling at the beginning had been okay, nice, actually, but when the clothes had come off Jeongguk had found that his, er, equipment was not as interested as it should've been.

When he'd managed to actually get in her, it'd been too soft and too wet and too slippery and he'd just... wilted. Jeongguk still winces at the memory.

Luckily, she hadn't noticed, and Jeongguk had decided an emergency call was needed.

He'd imagined he was running his hands along firm, hard flesh, sharp angles instead of soft curves, imagined the legs around him were longer, squeezing his hips with straining muscle.

Only then was he fully hard again, and had managed to complete the act with surprising enthusiasm.

This situation is a little different, however. Jeongguk doesn't want it to get to the getting inside stage.

Seolhyun directs his hand to under her skirt, and he brushes his fingers along the smooth skin of her thigh before pulling back abruptly.

“We should stop,” he blurts, flushing.

Seolhyun detaches herself from his neck and climbs off his lap. She's blushing too, and she looks upset, like she's been told she's not good enough. f*ck.

They sit in silence, side by side on the bed, trying to outcompete each other in who can turn the brightest red in the smallest amount of time. Jeongguk thinks he's winning, but only by a bit. He's never seen Seolhyun look this uncomposed.

The silence stretches on, mortifyingly awkward. Would it be bad if Jeongguk just gets up and leaves? No. He can't do that to her. He needs to explain himself somehow. He opens his mouth, not knowing what the f*ck is about to come about—

“Is there something wrong with me?” Seolhyun says out of nowhere, her voice thin.

“What?” Jeongguk asks. She's not going to make fun of him for bailing?

“My body. It's not that good,” she says, not looking at Jeongguk. “My thighs, they're—”

“No! Of course not!” Jeongguk cuts in, bewildered. Is she being serious? Seolhyun is doubting her body? As in, the greatest thing to ever exist (according to pretty much the entire football team). “What do you mean?”

“I'm not as skinny as other girls,” she says quietly. “I know that. I work out a lot and I've been trying this diet, like, less carbs and everything, but it's not working—”

“Are you joking?” Jeongguk asks. He's genuinely puzzled. “Your body—it's—I mean, if you could create a perfect body, it would be yours.”

He's not lying at all. Now that he thinks about it, Seolhyun isn't as skinny as most of her friends—her thighs are rounded and have no space between them, and her arms are slightly broader with muscle.

In Jeongguk's eyes, she just looks healthy. And extremely good.

“Really?” she says, and finally looks over at him, hopeful.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk says without hesitation. “And don't go on that diet—you don't need it. Trust me. Just stay like that.”

Seolhyun looks a little less upset than before, and the pink flush on her cheeks seems to be out of the shy embarrassment of being complimented instead of something more humiliating.

Then her face scrunches up again.

“Then why did you stop?” she asks, pouting a bit.

Jeongguk gnaws on his bottom lip, a nervous tic of his. He doesn't really know how to get out of this one. What's a good excuse? He's tired? His dick has a tendency to malfunction sometimes? No, that's gross. He doesn't want to scare her.

He's thinking, mind running a hundred miles a minute, when—

“I'm into boys,” his mouth says, unhelpfully.

There's a horrifying moment when Seolhyun's eyes go saucer-wide and Jeongguk claps a hand over his mouth, the traitorous son of a bitch, while thinking f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck.

He's dead. He's going to die. Seolhyun's going to tell everyone, and then they're all going to know—

“Oh,” she says, then lets out a small, odd laugh. “I feel a lot better now.”

“That's good,” Jeongguk says carefully. Maybe he should get his lips sewn together?

“So. Have you done this with boys before?” Seolhyun sounds strangely interested. Jeongguk cannot believe this is happening to him.

“No,” he says. “Nothing.”

“But you want to?”

“I mean, yeah, I—what the f*ck!” he exclaims, elbowing her in the side. She laughs, no, cackles. It makes Jeongguk want to join her, so he does, if a little tentatively.

“Just asking,” she snorts. Jeongguk prefers this side to her. Really likes it, even. “Not even kissing?”

“No,” Jeongguk says, blushing when he hears the petulance in his voice.

“Is there anyone you like?” she says suddenly. She sounds excited. f*cking great. “It's Yeonshik, right? You two are like, really close. It's him, isn't it, oh my God.”

“It is not,” Jeongguk says, aghast. Even the thought makes him feel slightly queasy. “Never in a hundred f*cking years. A thousand. Just, never.”

“Come on,” Seolhyun grins, tossing her hair back over her shoulder unconsciously. “It's Yeonshik. He's got a nice ass. Those football pants you all wear are really tight, you know. You can see, like, everything...”

“Woah, woah, that is enough, I didn't need to hear that,” Jeongguk is this close to hyperventilating. Are all girls like this? He hopes not. If so, he's glad he likes boys. Insanely glad.

“Is it that quiet boy you used to hang around with?” she says.

Jeongguk doesn't even have the heart to deny it. Thinking of Taehyung immediately sobers the mood.

“Oh,” she says, then notices the expression on his face. “It is. And does he—?”

“No,” Jeongguk mumbles. “Not in that way. Not in any way.”

“But—he lives with you, doesn't he? After his dad's trial. It was in the newspapers...”

“He does, but I f*cked things up,” Jeongguk laughs bitterly, and Seolhyun's hand comes to rest on his between them on the bed sheets. “I don't know how to fix things.”

“I wish I could give you advice,” Seolhyun says softly. “But relationships aren't really my thing.”

“No?” Jeongguk glances at her.

“I know this sounds weird, but,” she takes her hand back to play with the hem of her skirt. “I don't really want to start anything until after college. Is that weird? It's totally weird, right?”

“It's not,” Jeongguk says, even though he can't relate, not one bit, because there's nothing in this world he could want more than Kim Taehyung. “But... tonight. Weren't you going to start something with me?”

“Of course not. I just wanted to have sex with you,” she grins slyly. “I know what you're like. Not relationship material at all.” Then her face softens, as does the quirk of her lips. “But you're different than I thought.”

Jeongguk smiles back. He's different; he's got Taehyung to thank for that.

They sit in the quiet room and talk for a while. It's refreshing for Jeongguk—Seolhyun is different from all his friends, whether it's because she's a girl or because she's thoughtful and understanding in a way few people are—and he finds himself revealing things about himself easily.

He tells her the freshman year locker story (well, it's more like she forces it out of him, giggling hysterically the whole time) and talks about baking. He promises to make her brownies because they're her favorite.

She shares things with him too. Jeongguk learns about how she regretted her first time at fourteen, about how she broke her leg once trying to ride her brother's motorbike, and she promises to let Jeongguk on it one day in secret (Jeongguk's always wanted to ride a motorbike).

They finish talking and decide to go back down to the party. As Jeongguk stands up to leave, Seolhyun stops him with a hand on his arm.

“I'm not going to tell anyone,” she says, and it takes a moment for him to remember she's talking about his sexual preferences. “But I think you should.”

“That's a bad idea,” Jeongguk says immediately. “Have you heard the things they say about it?”

“I know, but, you're you,” like that's meant to make Jeongguk feel any better. “You have influence, you know? But the main reason is, at the end of the day, they're your friends.”

His friends are not the kindest of people, he knows that, but they're fiercely loyal to each other.

“But still,” he frowns, the idea of coming out to them still unappealing.

“And imagine how much it would help other people struggling with their sexuality,” Seolhyun says, and before, he wouldn't have given a f*ck about helping other people, but now... “If Jeon Jeongguk came out, they'd feel like they could.”

Jeongguk mhms noncommittally.

“At least think about it,” she says, and Jeongguk can do that. “I'll support you, even if your friends don't.”

Jeongguk thanks her, and also luck for finding a friend so unexpectedly. She ruffles his hair (Jeongguk scowls) and they walk back down to the party together.

The energy of the party, vibrant and uncaring, hits Jeongguk at full force. It's too much for him, somehow, and he reels back. He's a little dizzy, and the stomach cramps from before are back, though not too intense.

Seolhyun tells Jeongguk to call her later and then wanders off to her friends, all gathered on the sofa in a sparkling gaggle of laughter and hair. Jeongguk finds himself with an armful of drunk Yeonshik, which, Jeongguk knows from experience, is not something one wants to encounter.

“Guk,” he slurs, enunciating the 'k', “that, my boy, was f*cking fast. Even for you.”

“What?” Jeongguk asks, then realizes he's referring to Jeongguk and Seolhyun having sex, which did not actually happen.

He cranes his head to try and find Seolhyun's head of dark hair, and groans when he can't. Are they supposed to pretend they've had sex? If not, what's the excuse? God, they really needed to have discussed a story for this kind of thing.

“Uh,” Jeongguk says. Neutral is the way to go.

“Let's go to the pool,” Yeonshik is near slobbering right on the side of Jeongguk's face. Jeongguk sighs, tightens his hold around Yeonshik's shoulders and drags him outside.

The pool is pretty full—of people, bottles of alcohol and red solo cups. Nice.

“'M going in! Come with!” Yeonshik grins, still holding onto Jeongguk as he makes the leap into the pool. Jeongguk only just manages to duck out of his hold and not end up soaking wet—there's no way he's doing sh*t like that sober.

He settles for standing at the poolside like a parent, making sure his idiot of a friend doesn't drown himself and gives Yeonshik bright thumbs-ups when he performs uncoordinated somersaults and yells 'did you see that? Did you f*cking see that?' at Jeongguk.

His phone rings, and Jeongguk slips his phone out from his back pocket. He nearly drops it.

He wonders momentarily if he's seeing things, or if Taehyung is actually calling him.

His heart beats irrationally fast as he picks up. Taehyung wants to speak to him!

As he swipes to answer, however, he realizes his excitement is inappropriate. Taehyung wouldn't be calling him unless he was in an emergency. Jeongguk goes from anticipation to dread, ready to drop everything and run to wherever Taehyung is.

“Hello? Taehyung? Are you alright?”

No answer, just the sound of heavy breathing. Alarm bells ring in Jeongguk's head.

“Taehyung?” his voice edges on desperate. What if he's injured, lying somewhere, unable to speak—

“I'm fine,” Taehyung finally replies, but his shaky tone does nothing to appease Jeongguk's concern. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

That time the phone actually does slip out of Jeongguk's fingers, but he manages to catch it before it lands on the wet ground. It catches him by surprise (shock, even) that Taehyung would want to talk to him after the complete, insensitive dick Jeongguk's been, but he won't throw this chance away. He won't.

“Oh—that's,” Jeongguk pauses, unsure of how to say, God, I'm so f*cking over the moon that you still want to talk to me in a way that's not off-putting. “Of course.”

“Guk! Look at my f*ckin' hair, man! It's like, a different color. Are you looking?” Yeonshik waves his arms around like a lunatic, unabashedly splashing everyone in the pool with a small-scale tidal wave.

“What—shut the f*ck, up, Yeonshik,” he hisses when his friend begins clambering out of the pool to crowd Jeongguk, asking him questions that are more drunken rambling than anything coherent. “What do you want to talk about?”

Jeongguk's aware of Taehyung saying something, but it's pretty muffled because the connection's weak and the music around Jeongguk is deafening. And, what the f*ck is Yeonshik doing, singing to the music like that—

“Yeonshik!” he exclaims, stepping back. “Can you—shut the f*ck up, holy sh*t,” Jeongguk shoves him in the chest, but Yeonshik is made of stone and hardly moves.

“I'm soaked, man,” Yeonshik grumbles, then—hold on—he's actually—Jeongguk is never hanging out with drunk Yeonshik again—

“No—no—don't take your clothes off!” Jeongguk squeaks. It is to no avail. Yeonshik's shirt is off, and so are his pants, and then he's pulling his underwear down, goddammit. “f*cking hell, I don't need to see that!”

Jeongguk balances the phone between the side of his head and his shoulder like a secretary and crouches down to pick Yeonshik's wet clothes off the floor. He bundles them in Yeonshik's hands then puts the phone in his hand again.

“Sorry, Taehyung,” he says genuinely. “What was that?”

sh*t. Jeongguk can barely hear himself speak, let alone Taehyung. He grits his teeth and elbows his way through the throng of people to reach the back of the garden, which should be empty apart from a few couples making out (or more).

“It's so loud here. I can't hear you,” Jeongguk says apologetically, shuffling sideways so he's actually getting somewhere. “Excuse me—can I just get through, thanks—”

He sighs in relief as he finally manages to clear the crowd, and walks quickly down the lawn until he's behind some bushes around the shed at the back of the garden. It's darker here, and a whole lot quieter.

He focuses all his attention on Taehyung now, straining to hear the other side of the line.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk says. He doesn't want to seem overly emotional and freak Taehyung out, so he tries for casual. “What's up?”

Again, only heavy breathing. Now that Jeongguk isn't distracted, his mind is working a lot faster. He recognises this breathing, how could he not, he was always so aware of Taehyung's every little detail. It's slightly irregular, and there are too-long pauses between each breath. Taehyung's crying, or has been.

This isn't good. This—this is an emergency.

His brain thinks up a hundred dire situations Taehyung could be in, and he finds himself panicking. Calm down, Jeongguk thinks. You're not the one in danger. You need to stay calm for him.

The last time Jeongguk had lost his cool regarding Taehyung was when he'd walked in on him and Daeshim, and that hadn't ended well. Jeongguk had nearly killed the man.

“Taehyung? Are you still there?” Jeongguk knows that Taehyung's too deep in whatever's happening to answer him now. He needs to find out where he is, quickly, and go there. He decides to at least tell Taehyung what he's going to do, to hold on until Jeongguk's there. “Hey. Taehyung. Listen, I'm—”

Taehyung hangs up.

“Coming to you,” Jeongguk says to no-one. He thinks about trying to call Taehyung again and then deems it a waste of time. He's got to get to him; that's the number one priority.

Jeongguk pulls up the locator app on his phone and—

“sh*t, that's bad,” he mutters. Taehyung is at his father's house. Jeongguk can't fathom why, but what he does know is that Taehyung being there is a very bad idea. A dangerous, idea, even.

He doesn't try to navigate his way back to the front door again—there's too many people, and it'll take too much time—so he climbs the fence at the back of the garden and lands on the street.

Jeongguk has to pause for a moment to lean against the fence. Jumping over a fence should be a piece of cake for him—he's done things far more physically demanding with ease—but right now his head is spinning for some unknown reason, and his arms feel weak from just pulling himself up.

He ignores it. This has been happening to him a lot in the past few weeks—probably just the stress. Or something.

He jogs over to the nearest bus stop—the next one's in twenty minutes. Jeongguk stands there, torn. He could probably run the distance in ten.

Wonshin's house is pretty far from Taehyung's, however, and Jeongguk doesn't feel up to running. Especially after playing football, and all the noise at the party.

It doesn't take long for him to make his decision.

Taehyung first.

That's what he promised himself from day one, even if Jeongguk hasn't been so faithful to it recently. This is his chance to make up for it.

He throws one last longing look at the bus stop, then starts running down the pavement.

After only a few minutes, his legs start aching, his shoulders feel heavy and every slap of his foot against the concrete resonates through his body painfully.

This shouldn't be happening, Jeongguk thinks. I shouldn't be this tired so quickly.

He thinks of Taehyung, possibly hurt, most definitely in need of help, and gathers the strength to keep going, full speed.

He nears a main road, much busier and with lots of junctions, and it is noticeably louder. Cars drive past him quickly, engines rumbling. A few honk noisily when they feel they've been wronged. The air is thick with the smell of burning gasoline.

The stench crawls into Jeongguk's lungs and he coughs a little, feels the energy seep out of him slowly.

Taehyung, I need to get to Taehyung.

The lights around him seem to glare at him, intent on throwing him off course. The street lights are garishly orange, blinking, making Jeongguk see things. The traffic lights flicker and change color and drift around his vision. The green man lights up, indicating that it's safe to cross the road, and the light emanating from it is overly bright.

It messes with his vision, and he stumbles, right before crossing the road.

He curses softly when his balance betrays him and he collapses onto the tarmac in a heap of limbs.

Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung.

He needs to get up and go.

He tries, but his body isn't listening to him. He screams at it to move, get up, he's in the road; instead it stays heavy and still, like it's been sedated. The cars are all blaring their horns, screaming at him too.

Why can't he get up? Why does he feel so tired?

He needs to... Taehyung...

The green man turns red. Not safe for pedestrians to cross.

He cries out as his stomach turns in a particularly scorching blaze of hurt. Tired, he's so tired, he needs to rest. Here is fine, even though the road is wet and hard against his cheek, even though his chest is filling with car fumes.

All he sees is black.

[–]

Everything is so white. It's like he's staring directly into the sun.

His vision adjusts very slowly, everything blurry, grey and blue and white white white merging together like amoebae.

He's lying on a bed, strapped up to an IV machine. Hospital, obviously.

You didn't make it to Taehyung, his mind reminds him sullenly.

He swallows, and his mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton.

“Here, drink this,” a straw is pressed to his lips, and he parts them enough to sip. He's not able to drink much, but the water helps his headache a bit. He sits up.

“How are you feeling?” the nurse is looking at him with the usual detached concern deemed professional. He smells of disinfectant, or maybe that's just the entire room.

“Better,” Jeongguk says, swinging his legs over so he can get out of the bed. “Am I well enough to leave?”

The nurse tuts and gently presses Jeongguk back in to the bed. Jeongguk complies, only because his body is craving its soft firmness.

“You're not in any shape to leave, I'm afraid,” the nurse says, glancing at the clipboard in his hands. “You know how you ended up here, right?”

“I passed out on the road; someone must have called an ambulance,” Jeongguk says, because that part's obvious.

“No, not that. I was talking more about why you're in hospital,” the nurse looks at Jeongguk seriously. “Your body is lacking severely in nutrition. It seems you haven't been getting even a third of the calories you need to function.”

“Oh,” Jeongguk says, not quite understanding.

“It seems you're not aware of this,” the nurse says. “Have you been on any diets recently? Exercise regimes?”

“Both,” Jeongguk says, feeling guilty for some reason, as if he's confessing to it. “It's, uh, game season. Football, you know.”

“Right,” the nurse nods, face softening. “Would you be able to outline the diet and exercise regime you have been following?”

Jeongguk does, briefly, and the more he speaks the more the understanding in the nurse's eyes increase, like everything's clicked.

“I see,” he says. “Would you like for me to go over what we've found out now, or would you like to wait until we've contacted your parents so they can be there for it, too?”

“Now,” Jeongguk says quickly. His mom is going to kill him.

“Very well,” the nurse pauses, as if to begin a speech. “This is all an effect of the malnutrition, which you can probably guess. Your body doesn't have enough energy, to start, which is why you passed out. But the main problem here is the effect it's having on your heart. Your heart is having more trouble increasing your circulation in response to exercise. You can probably understand that this is dangerous—though I don't want to worry you—so we need to keep you here for a few days until your vitals improve.”

“Right,” Jeongguk says, although that worries him. A lot.

The nurse asks him more questions, like what have you eaten today, have you fainted before and what problems have you been having recently. Jeongguk answers them directly.

As the nurse keeps talking, explaining that Jeongguk's not been helping his body shape up for football but harming it, he finds himself at a loss.

The exercise didn't feel like that much. The dieting seemed minor. The stomach aches, the dizziness, the headaches—it had only taken some deep breathing and distraction for it to all go away.

The thing that scares Jeongguk the most is the news about his heart. It's getting weaker. He's suddenly hyperaware of his own breathing—is it slower? The nurse says his pulse is slower than it should be. Every breath feels conscious, forced.

The nurse gives him a form to fill out, including his parents' phone numbers, so they can contact them. Jeongguk chews the back of the pen, then fills in his name and address. The next line on the form is the date.

“What's the date today?” he asks the nurse, writing down his mom's phone number.

“It's, let me check...” the nurse looks at his wrist at an expensive-looking watch. “November 2nd.”

Jeongguk pens the numbers down—11—02—

“Oh my God,” Jeongguk drops the clipboard and stands up so fast his head jerks from the inside. “I—I need to go—f*ck, f*ck—”

He makes to move past the nurse, but the nurse grabs his arm firmly and tries to get him back into bed.

“Mister, you can't leave. Your vital signs are—”

“f*ck my vital signs!” Jeongguk spits. He has enough energy, or maybe it's just the adrenaline, to shove the nurse out of the way and run out the door.

It's November the f*cking second. Taehyung is—this is the day Taehyung had killed himself. What if—what if the reason he'd called Jeongguk was because—oh God, why did Jeongguk have to go and pass out, sh*t, this is—this is so f*cking—

Jeongguk prays that Taehyung hasn't done it yet, that he still has time. Taehyung's death was officially announced on November 3rd.

He runs through the corridors, hospital gown flapping against his calves, until he finds the reception. He can hear the nurse shouting after him, but it's quiet under the sound of his head buzzing.

Panic grapples at his chest. He feels almost manic as he leans against the front desk.

“Sir—are you a patient? Should you be—”

“Kim Taehyung,” he says, breathless. “Have you had—is he here? I-I—he's—it would've been a suicide attempt, I don't know how, hanging, overdose—”

“Sir, if you would just—”

“I don't know how he did it, if you would just check, please, please, I need to see,” Jeongguk's voice is crackling horribly now. His knees feel weak. “K-Kim Taehyung—but you won't have his name. f*ck. f*ck. It's—I please, he's sixteen, my height—he's got bangs, please, I have to—has he been—”

“Sir. I can't disclose information like that. You need to go back to your room,” the receptionist looks alarmed and keeps glancing over at what is presumably security over in the corner.

“I think I saw your boy,” says a voice from the waiting area. Jeongguk spins around wildly. It's a woman, middle aged.

“Y-you did?” Everyone in the waiting area is staring at Jeongguk as if he's a dangerous animal. The woman looks at him with pity.

“Brought him in only fifteen minutes ago,” she says. “Poor boy was unconscious, and his wrist looked terrible. Covered in blood.”

Jeongguk's breath leaves him in a whoosh of air, and he turns back around, ready to beg the receptionist to find out where Taehyung's being kept.

“Please,” he wheezes, and the receptionist looks even more alarmed now. Jeongguk realizes he's crying. “Where is his room? Please.”

The receptionist looks close to breaking, then steels her face and shakes her head.

“I'm not allowed to do that. And you won't be allowed to go in without permission.”

“PLEASE JUST TELL ME!”

The entire room goes silent. Jeongguk clutches at the edge of the desk, knuckles white, face blotted red with tears, shaking uncontrollably. He knows he looks crazy, but that's f*cking irrelevant—

The receptionist seems to take pity on him (much like the last).

“ER7,” she says, so quiet Jeongguk strains to hear her. “Down the corridor to my left. Don't make me regret telling you.”

“God, thank you,” he breathes, already off. A yell of Mister, and then someone stop him! follows Jeongguk through the hospital—the nurse from earlier has found him, so he's not got much time.

Jeongguk is so frantic he can barely see where he's going. He scrapes his elbows against corners as he turns, even hurtles straight into a glass door. He's up to his neck in desperation.

Finally, he sees the huge card sign hanging from the ceiling titled Emergency Rooms. Jeongguk is earning some odd glances from the staff walking past, but no-one does anything more ask him if he's lost.

He ignores everyone.

“ER7, ER7,” he mutters under his breath.

The last door in the corridor, shut firmly. He doesn't hesitate before flinging it open.

He only gets a singly glimpse of the scene in front of him, but that is enough to knock the air straight out of Jeongguk's lungs.

Taehyung is laid out on a hospital bed, deathly pale, connected up to an oxygen mask and tank. There's a tube stuck deep into his mouth and the doctors are at the other end of it. He's also attached to a heart monitor, one which is beeping at a painfully slow rate.

The glowing red light on the screen is almost flat. Any undulations are low and wide.

One glimpse, and then Jeongguk is being restrained. It kicks him into action.

“Let go!” he elbows the man trying to get him out of the room, almost successful, but then several people are clutching at him, attempting to pull him back—it's like they've materialized from nothing.

“Sir, please calm down,” says a voice into his ear. Jeongguk pays it no head, struggles and writhes and cranes his neck so that he can see Taehyung.

The people restraining him are all talking at him, but he can't hear anything. Everything is white noise to him, everything except the slow, unsteady beep of the heart monitor.

“f*cking let me go!” Jeongguk shouts. It's more of a scream. He struggles more, hoping to knock some of the people away out of sheer force and luck. “I need to see what they're doing!”

The tighter they hold him, the fiercer he tries to escape their grasp.

“Sir, you need to leave—”

“No!” Jeongguk twists violently. His arm comes into contact with someone's chest. “What are they doing to him? I need to know! Will he be okay? Are they doing it right—what—let go!”

He's not aware of anything, just the overwhelming need to get rid of these people, to see Taehyung. He can't think straight.

“Taehyung? Taehyung!” he raises up onto the balls of his feet, ducks under someone's arm. “f*cking hell—is he going to be alright? Someone tell me something!”

A particularly forceful hit against the person holding him back from his waist sends the person falling backwards, and Jeongguk manages to free himself. He stumbles forward.

Taehyung is right there, God, he's only metres away from Jeongguk. When he wakes up, Jeongguk is going to be there for him, every second of the day—he's never going to make the mistake of thinking he should just leave it, just leave Taehyung along—and he's going to make sure Taehyung goes to f*cking Korea University even if it's the last thing he does—

He'll never compromise when it comes to Taehyung, never again—

“f*ck, Taehyung. Is he going to be okay? Is he—”

The room echoes with a long, drawn out beep, pitiful and whining.

Jeongguk's gaze snaps to the screen of the heart monitor. The red line runs flat. The doctors all stop what they're doing and take a step away from the hospital bed.

He stills, hands dangling uselessly by his side.

Futility.

“He's...is he...” Jeongguk's mouth can't form the words. Won't, because there's no way it's true.

He's not supposed to be here, and the doctors aren't supposed to answer his questions. They don't, but Jeongguk can see it in their faces.

Foreheads creased in guilt, but it can't be anything close to the scale of Jeongguk's.

He can't speak, and standing is too difficult. His legs give out and his kneecaps crack against the hard floor as he falls onto them.

Jeongguk tries to swallow, can't.

He opens his mouth, closes it again.

This isn't happening. It's not real. He must be dreaming.

Taehyung can't be—he isn't.

He isn't.

Not when the memory of him is so alive. Dark eyes expressive enough to make up entirely for Taehyung's subdued nature. A smile so rare Jeongguk would do anything to coax even the barest hint of it out. A laugh even rarer Jeongguk would immediately drop everything just to listen to it.

I did this to him, Jeongguk thinks, hopelessly despondent. I killed him.

“Sir, please come with us. You need to go back to your bed.”

The voice cutting through the resound silence is enough to get Jeongguk back up on his feet. He steps towards Taehyung, he's alive he's alive he's alive.

“I just want to check—I just need to—”

“Sir, you cannot...”

Jeongguk does it anyway, moves right up beside Taehyung before anyone can do anything, takes his hand in his. It's icy cold and the skin is almost rubbery. Jeongguk nearly drops it in horror.

He blinks back the moisture in his eyes. His gaze remains on Taehyung's hand. He can't look at his face. He can't break, not now.

“I'm sorry about this, but you've left us no choice,” says someone next to him.

There's a sharp sting in the side of his neck, and he loses consciousness.

[–]

Jeongguk draws in a sharp breath, then nearly chokes trying to exhale it.

He sits up, a burst of energy, then immediately sags. His body has nothing left to give.

His stupid f*cking body, the one that couldn't keep running long enough to get to Taehyung, even after all the dietary and physical precautions Jeongguk had taken—his body is so f*cking useless—

He's hooked up to some sort of drip, the thin clear wires strapped along his arms and stomach.

Taehyung is gone, and it's Jeongguk's fault. He knows that. It's his duty to fix it.

He refuses to give up so quickly. Maybe he's taking it for granted, life and death and second chances, because he's been given the ability to manipulate them in the past, but he's going to do everything in his power to get Taehyung back.

Any f*cking price. Anything.

Jeongguk won't dwell on the dark, hollow nothingness growing larger and larger in his chest by the second, because if he does he knows he'll lose motivation, lose the determination. He won't let it take over, not until he's achieved his goal.

Taehyung before anything.

When he tries to stand up, his body jolts down from his left wrist. It's cuffed to the hospital bed. Figures—they'd needed to sedate him before.

This is f*cking irritating. He doesn't have time for this—he needs to leave.

Jeongguk looks around the room, blinking back frustrated tears. His gaze finally lands on the pot of artificial flowers on the table beside him, flashing pink and white in a porcelain vase.

He leans over, the metal cuff digging painfully into his skin, and manages to snag one with the ends of his fingertips.

Lock-picking is a skill he'd learnt late freshman year, when him and his lot had run around breaking into places, getting drunk off their minds and the adrenaline of illegal activity.

The slightly sharp stem of the artificial flower is not the best but it's hard and inflexible; Jeongguk manages to click the handcuff open with relative ease. He rubs at his wrist with a relieved sigh, watching it go from red to pale again.

Unlocking it doesn't seem to set off any kind of alarm, so Jeongguk wastes no time in getting up and prowling through the cabinets (with a bit more lock-picking) until he finds his clothes. They're covered in dirt and even a little blood, but they'll have to do.

As he changes, his fingers shake tremulously. The enormity of the task ahead of him has not escaped him; he's just suppressed it in order to keep his calm. It's slipping though, alarmingly quick.

He's going to get Taehyung back. From the dead.

Perhaps it's wrong, perhaps it's unethical, perhaps it causes a rift in time and space and fate, but Jeongguk is f*cking doing it anyway. He'll die before he stops trying.

Jeongguk walks over to the door and opens it only slightly. He peers through the crack, wincing when the hinges creak ominously. He can't see much, just white walls and floors and a glimpse of a bright red sign.

This is his only way out—the windows in his room are firmly closed, unable to open (presumably for the safety of the patients). What is he risking, anyway? If he gets caught, they'll just take him back to the hospital bed and cuff him in again.

So, with Taehyung at the forefront of his mind, Jeongguk walks out into the corridors and keeps his head low the entire way. The nurses and doctors passing him all seem to be too preoccupied to take much notice. Jeongguk wraps his jacket around himself tightly to cover the bloodstain on his shirt.

In no time the front desk is in view.

f*ck. The receptionist isn't talking to anyone, or doing anything. She's perfectly aware of her surroundings. Jeongguk has no doubt she'll remember him immediately—the crying, half-mad teenager from only a few hours ago—and alert the hospital staff to drag him back.

What choice do I have, Jeongguk thinks resignedly, throwing a glance at the receptionist. Definitely f*cked.

He bows his head almost to his chin and walks slowly, naturally, though his whole body is trembling with nervousness. He has to arouse as little suspicion as possible; hopefully the receptionist won't take heed of him. He tries to walk around the edge of the room, so that he's only just in her peripheral vision.

Which all counts for f*cking nothing, because—

“Sir—could you please stop and turn around?”

“sh*t,” Jeongguk mutters, quickening his pace to a purposeful stride. Heads are turning, and he is in trouble. He lifts his head a little to look at the people waiting for their appointments, and yes, they are all definitely staring at him. He's not as subtle as he'd wanted.

Apparently, doing this was a mistake, because his concentration shifts and he stumbles a little.

His eyes stay on the floor, his feet almost flying now, even as the receptionist's voice grows shriller and more urgent.

“Are you Mr Jeon? I have been told to watch that you do not—”

He's nearing the exit—he's so close—

“Security! Stop him!”

f*ck it all, Jeongguk thinks, panicking, and just runs.

He's got a few feet on the security guard and he's a fast runner, but his energy's nowhere near usual and he hears the footsteps behind him catching up rapidly. His head pounds with every step, his jacket billowing madly around his torso, and he hears the worried chatter of patients in the background.

The cold night air is starkly cold against his neck and face and hands—he's glad he wore something appropriate for the weather to Wonshin's party, unlike everyone else—and the shock of it is a reminder that he has something to do, that getting caught will not bode well for anyone.

He gains a burst of speed and swerves through the parking lot in an attempt to lose the security guard behind him, almost running straight into the back of a car. He looks over his shoulder to find his pursuer—sh*t, that's a rookie mistake, never look back—and the guy is pretty far from him.

Jeongguk is getting tired so he takes the risk. He drops into a (painful) roll and comes to a stop under a massive black four-by-four. He curls himself up against the concrete.

He hears the security guard's quick footsteps falter and then finally stop, confused at losing Jeongguk. Jeongguk can see his leather-clad feet from under the car. He's standing right there.

Please don't find me, please don't f*cking find me, Jeongguk thinks desperately, eyes glued to the shiny black shoes only a metre or so away from his face. They pace forward, once, twice, then the guard hisses a curse.

The feet move away out of Jeongguk's view, and then the sound of footsteps fades into silence.

Jeongguk doesn't dare breathe until he's counted to ten, very, very slowly, then crawls out from under the car. He's careful not to rise to his full height, bent at the waist so that he's covered by the vehicles around him.

He navigates the parking lot mainly by following the sound of traffic and moving away from the glaring white glow of the hospital. It's not a huge space, and he manages to creep out of the entrance unscathed.

He's f*cking tired, despite all the nutritional drugs or whatever they've been pumping into his system for the last two days, and he takes a moment to stand there and collect his energy. It's like he's buzzing with purpose, his fingers and toes itching to move, but the rest of his body is lax and worn out.

He'd always taken his natural athleticism for granted—now that it's gone, and his body is weak, Jeongguk feels more frustrated than ever.

Quit feeling sorry for yourself, Jeongguk thinks irritably. He catches a bus because there's no way he can walk the entire way there.

The bus pulls up the familiar street; he's only ever seen it in the hazy morning light of sunrise, and then, it looked beautiful, quaint, a source of home amongst the bustle of the city, but the shadows and murky darkness of night renders a more ominous atmosphere.

Butterfly Cafe inspires dread in Jeongguk even as the warmth inside seeps through his clothes and over his cold skin, raised with goosebumps. He knows the cafe itself is innocent, but... there's something about this place, magical and beautiful and confusing and terrifying, that keeps Jeongguk wary.

Then he sees the old man at the counter, and snaps.

“You,” Jeongguk nearly growls. This is the man that—that he sold Taehyung's life to. The man who started everything—who decided to toy with his life, with everyone around him—

“Boy,” the old man says, eyes crinkling up in a smile.

“He's dead,” Jeongguk says, his voice flat but terse with anger, “you killed him. He's dead!”

“I did not kill, boy,” Jikan says calmly, despite Jeongguk's rage. “His death was not my doing.”

“Yes it was!” Jeongguk says, incredulous, gripping the handle of the door so his hands won't shake. “That price of futility, you never told me what it would mean—I never would've taken it, f*cking hell...”

Jikan doesn't answer him, which only makes Jeongguk angrier. Is the old man crazy? He'd gone through all the trouble of sending Jeongguk back in time, letting him build up a relationship with Taehyung for months to save him just to... what? Let him die so Jeongguk could walk into a butterfly tent for a few minutes?

People aren't meant to play with lives like this. It's wrong, and Jeongguk wishes he'd never gotten involved in something so gruesomely convoluted.

“Say something!” Jeongguk sounds pathetic, insane. “Why did you do it? Why did you kill him? After everything—you sent me back to save him, and I was doing it, I know I went wrong but I could've fixed it, I wanted to, I fell in love with him and then he—you took him away, he doesn't deserve this—”

“You're a monster, how could you just kill him, he never did anything wrong, I was the one that—that—”

“Futility, f*cking futility, how was I so stupid—”

“He'd dead, and I can't...”

Jeongguk's legs wobble dangerously. The only thing holding him up is his back pressed up against the door of the entrance. He's crying, he thinks distantly. And his throat feels like sh*t.

He hears the faint clink of porcelain and then the sound of liquid being poured into a cup. Jikan is making a cup of herbal tea. Jeongguk can smell it. His stomach churns.

“Are you finished?” Jikan asks, pouring another cup.

Jeongguk licks his dry, cracked lips. He feels disgusting, shivering and sweating in old, bloody clothes.

“Come have tea, boy,” Jikan says. “If you are still angry, though, do not come. These are special cups, you see, and I do not want them to break.”

Jeongguk listens. The old man's voice somehow makes his anger dissipate, which is irrational but Jeongguk blames his ill health.

He sits on the stool in front of the counter and lets himself submerge in the feeling of déjà vu. It's all familiar; him, Jikan, herbal tea. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I did not kill him,” Jikan says quietly. “That was Fate.”

Jeongguk doesn't touch the tea.

“He was always going to die,” Jikan says. “Fate made it so. You did not change that, boy. You could not have saved him from Fate.”

“But... you sent me back to save him,” Jeongguk says. Jikan must be lying, he thinks, but then why does his chest feel like it's collapsing into itself? “Because he died when it wasn't his time.”

When Jikan looks at him this time, his eyes are sympathetic.

“No,” he says. “That is not why.”

“What?” Jeongguk asks. The world is a breath of air, barely a sound.

“That is not my job,” he says. “That is Fate's job. I cannot change what Fate decides. I sent you back because I was drawn to you.”

“That doesn't make sense,” Jeongguk whispers desperately. “That's not a reason.”

“I am retiring soon,” the old man chuckles. “The cafe is nice. My other job, however... it has been too long, and it is time for someone else to take over. I am looking for this person.” He smiles, though his mouth barely moves. “I have found this person.”

“Someone to take over your job,” Jeongguk's eyes widen. “Someone to... be Time?”

“I have been searching for decades now,” Jikan says wistfully. “It is hard to find someone, you see, boy, very hard. The only ones who are capable of handling the power are those who crave it. Selfish, heartless, ambitious. But they are not fit for the job, you see. I have told you, yes? They all failed when I tested them, and they are all dead.”

“The others you've gifted with time travelling... you were testing them all to see if they could handle taking over your job?” Jeongguk is dreaming, he must be. “And they all died because of the very things you chose them for? Because they were selfish, and heartless, and—”

“Ambitious, yes,” the old man's eyes twinkle. “And I will tell you, boy, you would have died too, if you had not changed your ways.”

“If I hadn't fallen for Taehyung,” Jeongguk nearly throws up at the realization.

He had been one of Jikan's test subjects, because he fit the criteria, and given the ability to travel back in time. And the power would've ended up killing him if he hadn't found Taehyung, which was a one-in-a-million chance.

“You see, boy, you succeeded,” Jikan nods. “You passed the test. Very good, very very good. You are young, hm, I will have to train you a lot, but you will understand it all in time, boy.” Jikan laughs. “It is a great responsibility, but I am old and you passed the test.”

“You want me to take over your job?” Jeongguk squeaks. Jikan tilts his head, looking puzzled.

“Was that not clear?” he asks. “You passed, boy. You are meant for the job. It comes with great power, many things you can do, you see, you can do anything...”

Once upon a time, given an opportunity like this, Jeongguk would've jumped at it. Would've jumped at being chosen for something special, something as revolutionary and amazing as being Time itself, thought he deserved it all, too.

But he's learned a lot from these past few months. He's learned a lot, sh*t, and suffered through hell as he did so.

“I don't want it,” Jeongguk says quietly.

“You do not what?”

“I don't want to be...” he swallows, looks down at his hands. “In charge of time, or whatever. I'm sorry.”

When he looks up, Jikan is grinning, crooked teeth and all.

“Is that so?” Jikan says. “I did not expect that, even after your change in character. You continue to surprise me, boy. Are you sure you do not want to take the job?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk says immediately.

“Very well,” Jikan says. “I guess my time to retire has not yet arrived. Perhaps I should give my cafe to my granddaughter. Two jobs is a lot of work for an old man like me.”

Jeongguk finds himself laughing, even though he's possibly at the worst moment in his entire life.

“But—Taehyung was meant to die,” Jeongguk says, sobered. “So the price of futility was...?”

“His death,” Jikan says. “But he would have died even if you had not decided to pay the price. Fate enforces these things, boy.”

“That's just how it is?” Jeongguk presses his fingertips into his temples; his skull aches. “Taehyung's life... it was nothing? It meant nothing?”

“Do not say that, boy, every life means something,” Jikan says seriously. “However, his death was inevitable. Do not blame yourself.”

It doesn't sink in. Even after seeing Taehyung's dead body, after hearing Jikan's words, he can't accept it. It's like his brain can't handle it.

“He's gone,” Jeongguk murmurs. “He's really... gone.”

“I am very sorry,” Jikan ducks to rummage under the counter. “Unless...”

“Unless what?” Jeongguk stands up with enough force to rattle the stool.

“You have the capability of great power,” Jikan muses, holding a small vial of something in his right hand. “I cannot stop Fate; it was made like that, but you, boy, are neither entirely human or like me. You are grey. You may be able to, if it is possible, override Fate's doing.”

“I—I could bring Taehyung back?” Jeongguk asks, berating himself at getting his hopes up. But he can't help it—even the tiniest glimmer of hope is something, at least, and Jeongguk had learned to be grateful for anything—

“Yes, boy, there is a way. I will help you, because you have passed my test, but most of it is in your hands,” Jikan says. “If your feelings are powerful enough, you may be able to counter Fate.”

“Are they? Do you think I can—?”

“Many think Fate holds the most power out of anything or anyone in the world,” Jikan says. “Others believe it is Love. We will see what wins in the end, boy.”

Jikan pours the contents of the vial into the cup of herbal tea and pushes it gently towards Jeongguk.

“Chamomile extract is very good for you, boy,” Jikan says, gesturing to the tea. “Drink. I wish you luck.”

As Jeongguk lifts the cup to his lips, he thinks—

Falling in love with Taehyung saved his life. He hopes like hell it can save Taehyung's, too.

[–]

Chapter 11: a full circle

Chapter Text

November 2nd, 2017

Noise—that's all Jeongguk is aware of at first.

A thumping, bone-deep bass, carefree laughter, someone yelling his name and frenzied splashing. Everything else fades in, a vignette, and Jeongguk realises where he is.

He's at the party—he'd travelled back.

It's exactly as he remembers it—people everywhere, Yeonshik being a f*cking idiot in the pool and the cold of November nipping at his bare face and neck.

His phone buzzes against the back of his thigh and his heart nearly stops. He picks it up, nervous but determined to do it right this time.

“Hello? Taehyung?” Jeongguk says, already running down to the back of the garden to escape the noise. He finds his earlier spot amongst some bushes. “Please, are you alright?”

The sound of breathing, and then—

“I'm fine,” Taehyung replies, just like last time, and this time Jeongguk can here how evident it is he's lying. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“I'm so glad,” Jeongguk breathes out, willing himself to stay calm. “I'm sorry about the past few weeks. I want to apologize in person—can I see you? Where are you?”

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung says softly, voice trembling, and Jeongguk wants to cry. How could he have instilled this much hurt in another person? “I... I don't know if...”

“Please,” Jeongguk isn't going to f*ck this up, this is his last chance. “You might think that I... that I've been ignoring you, or avoiding you... but I haven't, I promise. I just thought you wanted space, and I... I'll explain everything to you—can you tell me where you are?”

Jeongguk can almost hear Taehyung's hesitation.

“I'm at my father's,” Taehyung says quietly. Ashamedly.

“Alright,” Jeongguk says. “Okay—I'm coming. Stay where you are.”

“Okay,” Taehyung still sounds terrible, but... Jeongguk has a chance this time.

Taehyung ends the call, which is not good, it's dangerous, but Jeongguk doesn't have the time to try and call back. He needs to get there as fast as he can—in case—in case Taehyung decides to repeat the past.

He considers climbing over the fence again—it's the quickest way out—but he knows if he does so, he'll risk passing out again, and everything will just happen how it did last time and Taehyung will die. He's not stupid—he knows his body is weak, and that it's his fault—so he fights his way to the kitchen.

He flies through the cupboards, looking for something to eat on the way, calling a cab on his phone at the same time with one hand. He finds a packet of chips—not the most nutritious, but it'll have to do for now—and accepts a driver that promises to be there in maximum four minutes.

True to his word, the cab pulls up to the curb in front of the house in what could only be a minute or so later, and Jeongguk collapses into the back seat. He rattles off the address and opens the packet of chips. He puts one in his mouth and instantly feels wrong. He scrunches the uneaten packet up and puts it in his pocket.

“Little early to be leavin' a party, no?” the driver says through the speaker.

“Homework to do,” Jeongguk says, words muffled by the chip. Salt and vinegar, lip-stinging.

“Ah,” the driver says. “You're a good kid, then. This the house?”

Jeongguk looks outside his window, and yes, they're here. He thanks the driver and shoves a couple of notes in the holder. He doesn't know exactly how much, only that it's a bit excessive, judging by the surprise on the driver's face.

He's out of the car faster than he can think and runs to the front door. It's open, somehow, like no-one had bothered to lock it.

As Jeongguk enters the house and tears up the stairs he's vaguely aware of Jeongguk's bastard father asleep on the couch, smelling of stale alcohol and a lack of hygiene, but doesn't pay him much attention.

This house must be so full of painful memories for Taehyung—why did he come here?

Jeongguk spots the bathroom, pushes the door open, and—

“Taehyung, f*ck,” he exhales, stopping at the doorway in shock.

Taehyung is slumped against the cabinet under the sink, which is what Jeongguk sees first. The more he looks, the worse it gets. His wrists, bare as his sleeves are pulled back to his elbows, are mottled blue, yellow and red, crawling with brown, cracked scabs. Three yellowed elastic bands lie on his wrist like vipers. His face is ashen, white, pasty skin and dark circles.

This doesn't looks like Jeongguk's Taehyung—this looks like the boy from six months ago, crying in the bathroom stall and begging Jeongguk to hurt him.

He doesn't even look up at Jeongguk. His head stays bowed, chest heaving with short, desperate breaths.

“Hey,” Jeongguk says, blinking back tears. He kneels in front of Taehyung, unsure if he's allowed to touch him. “I'm here. Sorry it took so long—I got a cab.”

Taehyung swallows and his shoulders shake, little jerky movements. Jeongguk loses all hesitation and takes both of Taehyung's hands in his. Taehyung lifts his head slightly but won't meet Jeongguk's eyes.

“Can I take these off?” Jeongguk asks softly, threading his index finger under the elastic bands. When Taehyung doesn't say anything, he slides them off, careful not to irritate the abused skin of his wrists.

He doesn't know where to start. There's so much he wants to say, I'm sorry, forgive me, I love you, but his throat is stuck because Taehyung's actually here, broken and bruised but still breathing, which is better than—than when he'd last seen him.

“Why did you come here?” Jeongguk asks. “Your father—you don't want to come back to him, do you...?”

“My college funds,” Taehyung mumbles, clogged with too much crying, too much sadness. “He used them for the lawyers back in... the trial.”

“Oh,” Jeongguk says. He tries to sound neutral. Running downstairs to strangle Taehyung's father to death wouldn't help anyone right now. “That's f*cking horrible. I'm really sorry. He—he deserves f*ck all, Taehyung. He's a piece of sh*t.”

“I can't go to college,” Taehyung says, not hearing Jeongguk's words. “I can't—I can't leave here. I have nowhere to stay... except here, but I don't want—I don't have a future—”

“What? You stay with us,” Jeongguk says. That's what he's been doing for months. “And my parents will pay for your college. I know you still lost all that money—which is terrible, f*ck—but you can go to college. You can do whatever you want.”

This seems to inspire a sudden rush of fervor in Taehyung, who looks up with hollow, glittering eyes, face flushed.

“I can't, though,” he shouts—or tries to, it's more of a hoarse whimper, too much for abused vocal chords to handle. “I can't stay with you because—none of you want me to, I ruin everything—I make everything difficult, I'm difficult, and you hate me, everything's my fault—”

“What? No, we've talked about this,” Jeongguk says, horrified as Taehyung pulls his hands away. “It's not your fault. I told you. And I don't hate you. In fact, I—”

“You don't know anything!” Taehyung's expression blazes. “You weren't there when my mother died—I did it, it was me that killed her—and all those times my father went to prison, it was because of me, I could never—”

“Your mother's death isn't your fault! It was an accident, you couldn't have stopped—”

“And the college money was my fault—I should never have pressed charges against my father, I was asking for it, I should've left him alone, he never did anything to me I didn't deserve, not after—”

Taehyung's speech is choked with tears, lack of breath, Jeongguk doesn't know what.

“Taehyung, stop, please,” Jeongguk says desperately, reaching for his hands again, but Taehyung merely snatches them out of the way. “Your father's been manipulating you...”

“Daeshim was my fault. You tried to stop me, and I didn't listen. The things he did to me—what he tried—I lead him on, don't you see—I can't do anything right—and I pushed you away, messed it all up, you hate me, your parents do—”

“I love you, idiot,” Jeongguk shouts, and Taehyung stops talking. “I don't hate you. Not—not at all.”

Taehyung stares at Jeongguk with wide eyes, then flushes and turns his head to the side, looking away.

“You don't mean that,” Taehyung whispers.

“I love you,” Jeongguk says. “Look at me, and tell me if I'm lying.”

When Taehyung doesn't make any move to do so, Jeongguk carefully shuffles forward on his knees until he's sitting in the v of Taehyung's legs. He crouches over a little, close enough to feel Taehyung's breath on his face. He slowly brings his hands up to cup Taehyung's jaw. His skin is damp with tears.

“Taehyung, look at me,” Jeongguk says. Taehyung is so warm, so alive in his hands. It's breathtaking.

He does, bottom lip trembling, lashes wet and dark.

“I love you,” Jeongguk says. “Do you believe me?”

Taehyung's eyes flicker across Jeongguk's face, searching. Then he exhales through his nose, closes his eyes, and nods.

“Good,” Jeongguk breathes. “I'm so glad.”

This time, when he pulls at Taehyung, he moves willingly into Jeongguk's arms. Jeongguk wraps his arms firmly around Taehyung's waist, hauling him into his lap, wanting him as close as possible. He buries his face in Taehyung's sweat-damp hair and closes his eyes.

Many think Fate holds the most power out of anything or anyone in the world. Others believe it is Love.

“I don't deserve you,” Taehyung mumbles into his neck. Jeongguk stiffens, then forces himself to relax.

He pulls back a little, and Taehyung looks up at him. He cranes his neck forward so that his forehead is pressed against Taehyung's.

“You've done so much for me,” Jeongguk says, overwhelmingly sad, overwhelmingly in love. “You don't know how—you might not ever know how, but—you made me a good person, and you saved me.”

“I haven't saved you,” Taehyung says. “I ruined you.”

“You deserve everything,” Jeongguk says. “I'd do anything for you.”

Taehyung's face stains pink, and he shouldn't look so beautiful, mottled with tears and grime and sweat the way he is.

“You're wrong,” Taehyung says, but he's smiling a little now. Jeongguk wants to kiss him, but restrains himself. Taehyung is far too broken now—Jeongguk won't take advantage.

Instead, Jeongguk brings one hand up to push a lock of hair behind Taehyung's ear then keeps it there, cradling the back of Taehyung's head and radiating warmth down that arm into the rest of him.

Taehyung leans into it, tilting his head, fisting his hands in the front of Jeongguk's shirt.

Jeongguk's not stupid enough to think this is happy ever after. It's not—Taehyung has a lot of healing to do, and if Jeongguk's being honest, so does he himself. But happy ever after seems a lot more tangible if they can heal together, like this.

Jeongguk's head spins a bit, and he holds on to Taehyung to ground himself. The stomach cramps are returning.

“Are you okay?” Taehyung asks, sitting up straight. “Jeongguk. What's wrong?”

“Nothing, just a little tired,” he laughs weakly and looks down at his stomach. It clenches painfully, ice-cold stings sliding up his sides and over his ribs. He sways a little, and his stomach growls. “Maybe a little hungry.”

“Oh my God,” he hears Taehyung say, though the words are a little distant now. Taehyung's face blurs in front of him, and then he's suddenly on the floor on his side.

“H-hello? We need an ambulance—yes, please, my friend is passing out—oh, yes, m-my address is—”

He tries to say Taehyung's name, but it's lost in the darkness.

[–]

The smell of disinfectant, the slow blur from dark to stark brightness and the low hum of machines is becoming far too familiar for Jeongguk's liking. He knows even before he's fully conscious that he's in the hospital, which has apparently become his second home.

His eyes finally see properly and his parents are leaning over him, looking like they've aged ten years.

“Jeongguk, I am going to get you so fat you won't be able to play football ever again,” is the first thing he hears from his mom's mouth, but her voice shakes and her eyes are wet.

“Mrs Jeon!” the nurse says from somewhere in the room, sounding affronted. Jeongguk doesn't mind—he's used to his mom.

“I'm sorry?” he says, sitting up, but his health is the least of his worries now. “Where's Taehyung? Is he okay? Is he—”

“I got coffee—o-oh.”

It's Taehyung, Jeongguk's mind supplies helpfully. Healthy, and alive, and holding two cups of what looks cheap, steaming-hot hospital coffee.

He's okay. Jeongguk is pretty sure it's November 3rd by now, which means that he totally f*cked Fate over and Taehyung is going to live.

He's up on his feet before he knows it, striding next to Taehyung and placing his hands on his waist. Jeongguk's whole body shivers in relief at feeling Taehyung, solid and warm, beneath his hands, something he'd thought he'd never be able to experience again.

Taehyung fumbles with the cups of coffee, managing to put them out of the way on a cabinet.

“Should you be out of bed?” he asks, worrying his lip.

“Are you alright?” Jeongguk asks, examining Taehyung's face. He knows Taehyung is far from alright, the inevitable after years of neglect and manipulation and blame, that it's going to be a while before Taehyung will answer yes and mean it, but that's not what he's asking.

He's asking Taehyung if he's not in the same state he was last night, bloody and sobbing. If he won't try to... if he doesn't want to...

“I'm fine!” Taehyung says, and he's pouting a little. “But you're—we found out what's happened to you... and I... I'm sorry I wasn't there, I was...”

“You don't have to worry about me,” Jeongguk says sincerely. He takes Taehyung's hands in his, and they feel so right there.

“Actually, yes we do,” his mother pipes up from behind. Jeongguk turns around to face her, dropping Taehyung's hands. “Come back to your bed.”

Jeongguk obeys (she's his mom) and Taehyung sits on the end of the bed. His mom looks down at him sternly; his dad just looks kind of out of his depth.

“You lied to me,” she says. Jeongguk can see the hurt in her eyes, and he immediately feels guilty. “You said you were eating, and that the football wasn't too much.”

“I'm sorry,” Jeongguk says. He's still unsure how his diet and practice had become so drastic; in his eyes, he only did what was necessary to get physically fit in time for game season, and he can't quite correlate his actions with his decline in health. “I didn't realize.”

He reaches out and holds his mom's hand. She continues glaring but squeezes his hand reassuringly. She's here for him, no matter what.

“No more football for a while, okay?” his dad says. “I nearly had a heart attack when they called me and said you were in hospital, son. I'm getting old.”

“You're not that old,” he says, not wanting to discuss the other part of it. No football? That can't happen—if he stops playing now, he'll get worse, get demoted from captain, maybe even kicked off the team.

“No more football is the least of it,” the nurse says. “Nothing physically strenuous until your heart improves and you're back to a healthy weight.”

“And you're going to eat six bowls of a rice a day, at least,” Jeongguk's mom says. Taehyung laughs a little.

“Not quite,” the nurse says hastily. “I've discussed this with your parents, Jeongguk—but we have to start slow. Right now, we're going to try for two full meals a day, plus a snack if you can manage it. We want to get your appetite to where it was, but not too quickly. Is that okay with you?”

“I guess,” Jeongguk says, because he's sure he doesn't have a say in the matter. The way the nurse is speaking to him—like he's a child, fragile and possibly skittish—is unnerving.

“Only two meals?” his mom frowns. “Is that enough for him?”

“We don't want to overwhelm his body,” the nurse informs her. “But don't worry, Mrs Jeon. He'll be on three meals a day, full teenage-boy appetite in no time. Pizza, chocolate, all of it.”

Jeongguk's mom's shoulders slump in relief, but Jeongguk can't help but wince. Three full meals a day? Isn't that... isn't that too much? Perhaps if he keeps to vegetables and a little protein—not many carbs, of course—he'll be okay. Maybe only vegetables.

The nurse's mention of pizza and chocolate only make him feel more ill. Pizza used to be his favorite food, but now all he can think of is greasy and unhealthy and bad.

He's no stranger to mental illness—he's watched plenty of TV shows and films, heard about it from friends, the usual. Jeongguk is not oblivious. The way he's thinking is... it's very similar to... but it's impossible to think that it's happening to him. It can't be.

“Am I anorexic?” he asks. Everyone quietens around him, and Jeongguk's mom looks away. Taehyung stares at him with wide eyes.

“Yes,” the nurse says finally.

“Oh,” Jeongguk says. The nurse is a professional—he can't be lying. But surely Jeongguk isn't—he's not like that. He'd known what he was doing this whole time. He's never wanted to get skinnier or anything, just... just improve his physicality a bit.

Jeongguk hears his mom sniff from beside him, like she's trying not to cry.

“It's good that you're aware,” the nurse says after a bit. “Most patients don't like to accept it, which makes a lot of things harder.”

“I don't think I'm fat,” Jeongguk says quickly. He's not one—one of those. Those girls you always hear about, forever unsatisfied with their thighs and arms and stomach, living on salad greens until they waste away to nothing. “And I’m not like... I’m not that skinny.”

“No,” the nurse nods. “You’re not. You don’t have to be stick-thin to be anorexic; it’s more about the mind than the body. But you do need to gain weight.”

“Isn't that too much?” Jeongguk blurts before he can stop himself. “I'm good how I am, right?”

His body isn't perfect, but he knows gaining more weight will only make it worse. If he can just stay how he is now, at least, that's better than nothing.

“Son...” his dad puts a hand on his shoulder, then trails off.

Jeongguk looks up at his dad, and for the first time, sees him genuinely scared. Like Jeongguk is something he's trying to understand but can't quite grasp. Jeongguk doesn't dare look at his mom; he can hear her crying clearly, and if he sees her he's sure to start too, even though he's not really upset.

“You're free to go tomorrow morning,” the nurse fills the silence. “But you'll have to come for check-ups weekly. Your parents and I have also discussed sessions with a psychologist, which isn't necessary unless things get worse, but I highly recommend.”

“A psychologist?” Jeongguk asks, confused. He's not crazy.

“It's sometimes difficult to work through times like these, and although I know your family is extremely supportive, talking to someone qualified and from an outsider's point of view can be helpful,” the nurse tells him. “It's your choice, though.”

Jeongguk nods vaguely. It's very unlikely he'll take up the offer. This... thing that's happening to him right now, it doesn't need to be discussed with someone qualified. In fact, he hasn't even got much of a problem. He just needs to get back into his normal habits, stay away from time-travelling, and he'll be fine.

After a little while, Jeongguk forces his parents to go home and get some rest (they've been here nearly twenty-four hours straight) because they have work tomorrow. Taehyung is inconvincible, and refuses to leave Jeongguk's side.

He even argues with the nurse until the man relents, warning them to keep quiet unless Taehyung wants to be kicked out.

It's night out, and the blinds across the windows cause stripes of silver to be painted across Taehyung's delicate features, making him look even more ethereal than usual. Jeongguk can't stop staring.

Taehyung is still sitting on the edge of Jeongguk's bed, cross-legged and eyes downcast. He's so beautiful, Jeongguk thinks, and wonders how to go about making Taehyung believe it.

This moment, both of them here, sitting together without animosity, seemed so impossible only a day ago. Though it's difficult to label time now that Jeongguk is so intimate with it.

“There I was... worrying about—about my o-own problems,” Taehyung says quietly. “When your were dealing with this the whole time. I d-don't know why you bother with me. Why you...”

He stops, and Jeongguk thinks he knows what he was going to say.

“I could make you a list of reasons why,” Jeongguk says, smiling slightly. “Actually, I will. But I'm really tired now, so can you just accept it and come here?”

Taehyung looks up at him, surprised, then blushes. It's barely visible in the darkness but Jeongguk knows Taehyung's face like the back of his own hand.

Jeongguk himself is a little embarrassed to have asked, but tries not to waver. He wants Taehyung to know how much he means to him, how he wants to be close to him all the time.

“Are... are you sure?” Taehyung asks. He fiddles with the corner of the thin duvet.

“I'm sure,” Jeongguk says, then scoots to the side a bit to make it clear.

Taehyung carefully shuffles forward on his knees and then turns so he's sitting next to Jeongguk, their thighs and shoulders pressed together. Jeongguk can feel how tense he is. Wooden.

“I wouldn't have done it,” Taehyung whispers. “What you thought I was going to.”

Jeongguk freezes. Taehyung would have done it; Jeongguk has lived to see it, twice, the second time a hundred times more painful than the first. He doesn't reply because his throat closes up, and threads his fingers through Taehyung's. Taehyung clutches back, just as desperate.

The clock ticks faintly from up on the wall. The mass of noise from outside dies down slowly as the patients all go to sleep and the staff settle for the night.

“Maybe I would've.”

Jeongguk still doesn't speak. Taehyung is opening up to him and it's something undoubtedly intangible, something that could fizzle and fade away in a mere second if Jeongguk utters a single wrong word, breathes a single wrongly-timed breath.

“I wanted to,” Taehyung says. “I wanted to do it so badly. I was angry when you came and when... when you—you gave me a reason not to.”

I couldn't just let you die, Jeongguk wants to say. Not again.

“I still feel a little angry, and I just...” Taehyung's grip on his hand is borderline painful. “I still want it. Things are meant to get better—aren't they, t-that's what everyone says—but they have this way of getting worse, with me.”

“It's not fair,” Jeongguk says. He knows he sounds like a child. “It shouldn't happen to someone like you. Someone who—”

“Deserves the world, I know,” Taehyung laughs bitterly. “You always tell me it's not my fault. Sometimes I believe it... but then I tell myself not to—because—you're naïve, and you don't know what I've done.”

“Naïve?” Jeongguk says disbelievingly. He's irritated now. Not so much at Taehyung, more at their situation. Everything and everyone that made them be like this.

Taehyung's minded has been completely moulded by his father that he can't even contemplate that the abuse he's grown up with is just that, abuse. Not the truth, not what he deserves.

If there's one thing that Jeongguk isn't, after these months of fighting, trying to fight, failing to fight and then fighting again, it's naïve. He's not claiming to understand everything that has happened to Taehyung because he doesn't, how could anyone? But he hasn't gone through f*cking hell just for Taehyung to doubt himself again and to fall into the trap of his past again.

“That's bullsh*t,” Jeongguk says, turning to face Taehyung fully now. “It's all bullsh*t—everything your father's ever said to you. I know you're not perfect, and you make mistakes, but that's what everyone does, especially me—I'm the king of f*cking things up, did you know that?”

Taehyung opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“So yes, you make mistakes—but all the stuff your father goes on about—your mom, the money, his f*cking drunk habits—they're not your mistakes, they're just the world being a sh*thole and treating you wrong... and listen, I know it sounds stupid, and you don't believe me, but I want to make up for the world being an ass to you so much, I go f*cking crazy.”

He's breathless by the time he's finished talking, flushed and a complete mess because nothing he's just said could possibly make any sense. Taehyung's face is so close to his, and Jeongguk can see the iridescence of tears in his eyes, only just there, twined into his eyelashes.

“You shouldn't want to do that,” Taehyung stares at Jeongguk's chin, not looking at his eyes. “I'm not... I'm not... it's wasting time, trying to do things for me—y-you know that...”

“It's not,” Jeongguk says fiercely. “Taehyung—”

“You tried to help me, and look what happened to you,” Taehyung says dejectedly. “I always end up doing this to people around me—you should just... just stop bothering with me, please.”

Jeongguk is shocked. Taehyung thinks that Jeongguk's...his, whatever it is... is his fault?

“This isn't because of you,” Jeongguk says. “This is my own fault. Nothing you've done has caused it, or could've stopped it, okay? Please don't think that.”

Taehyung doesn't answer, obviously worn out, and Jeongguk doesn't push it. He knows there are no words that could convince Taehyung right now, so he takes a different approach.

He shuffles back so he's half-lying against the pillows, his lower back and legs flat on the bed, his upper back slightly propped up. He places a gentle hand on Taehyung's forearm.

“Can you—will you let me—”

“...Okay,” Taehyung says, the slightest movement of lips. He exhales, shaky, and lets himself settle into Jeongguk's side, still tentative.

Jeongguk pulls the covers up over them and wraps one arm loosely around Taehyung's back. Taehyung is still stiff—they haven't done this in a while—so Jeongguk carefully links his free hand with Taehyung's. Their joined hands rest on Jeongguk's chest.

“I missed this,” Jeongguk says into Taehyung's hair. “I always sleep better when you're here, you know.”

“God, you're...” Taehyung mumbles, but relaxes, tension seeping out of his body. He tucks his face into Jeongguk's neck, throws a leg in between his, and just like that, they're transported back to an easier time. The rush of the sea against the shore, the lady on the cooking channel talking viewers sweetly through a recipe for chocolate tart, the smell of freshly-baked muffins.

[–]

May 14th, 2018

Therapy is... not as hopeless as everyone makes it out to be.

Bora is kind but not overly so that Taehyung feels suffocated; she wants to understand Taehyung but never pretends she does.

Therapy is not so much on a scale of one to ten, how happy are you or tell me how you feel, but more Taehyung sharing little things about his day, what he thinks, and slowly, over time, revealing more and more about darker things he wishes to keep hidden away.

Bora also sees Jeongguk for his eating disorder. She suffered from it when she was younger, she tells Taehyung, and she says that Jeongguk is more of a fighter than she was.

Jeongguk is still a lot skinnier than he used to be—his arms around Taehyung don't feel as strong as they used to, but they're just as safe—but he finishes his food at every meal and is slowly redeveloping his incurable sweet tooth.

Yeseul and Jiyong are paying for Taehyung's college (money he promises to return as soon as he's earned it) and both he and Jeongguk are hoping to go to Korea University. Jeongguk has expressed interest in studying law. His parents were shocked when they'd first heard—Taehyung, not so much. He remembers Jeongguk at his father's trial, curious, determined and bright all at once.

Taehyung has always wanted to study math, but now... for some reason, psychology seems to draw him. He'd told Bora and she had been delighted. Justifiable, since she's probably a big part of why.

Sometimes, things are difficult. Jeongguk gets angry and storms up to his room when his mom stops him from going running. Yeseul burst into tears the first time he did it, and Taehyung and Jiyong had held her and told her things would be okay even though neither of them were sure of it themselves. A lot of the time Taehyung wakes up in the middle of the night, unable to breathe and an imaginary pressure around his wrist.

There's also that whole thing with Jeongguk telling Taehyung he loved him. Thinking about it makes Taehyung's stomach curl into knots of anxiety and his chest feel lighter. They haven't acknowledged it since the day it happened, but it's constantly at the back of Taehyung's mind.

“Thanks, Bora,” he says, feeling happier after their session.

“Of course. Get home safe, okay?” she walks him to the door. “Are you taking the bus?”

“Jeongguk's walking me home, I think,” Taehyung says.

They bid each other farewell and Taehyung walks out into the waiting room. Jeongguk is there, of course, looking unfairly attractive in jeans and a jumper while he reads a book. Taehyung is forcing that habit upon him, and Jeongguk has taken to it surprisingly well. Jeon Jeongguk, a reader—who would've thought?

He looks up as Taehyung approaches him, and breaks into a gorgeously wide smile.

He's in love with me, Taehyung thinks disbelievingly.

“How was it?” Jeongguk asks.

“Good,” he says. “I told her about wanting to study psychology.”

“Bet she was happy to hear that,” Jeongguk grins. “Though, I'm telling you now, you're gonna make a better psychologist than her. She's always complaining to me about her boyfriend. Turns out I'm really good at giving relationship advice, would you believe it?”

“You're not,” Taehyung laughs. “You wouldn't know the first thing about dating someone.”

“No?” Jeongguk smirks, and steps very close to Taehyung. Taehyung feels his face heat.

“Gotta go fill out the forms,” Taehyung squeaks, the proximity a little too much to handle, and escapes to the front desk to sign out.

Once he's done, he turns to see Jeongguk on the phone with someone.

“...thanks, hyung. It'll really—yes, I'll text it to you,” Jeongguk is saying. Taehyung tilts his head, raising an eyebrow in question as Jeongguk puts the phone back into his back pocket.

“Who's that?” he asks.

“Uh—just Wonshin,” Jeongguk says. He's a terrible liar.

“Really,” Taehyung says.

Jeongguk may be terrible at lying, but he is exceptional at distracting Taehyung. He pulls Taehyung close by the hips and tilts his head down so their noses brush against each other. Taehyung rests his hands on Jeongguk's chest out of habit and allows himself to smile.

They do this kind of thing very often—things that seem like they're leading somewhere more. It's painfully slow, the pace of it, but Taehyung is content. He doesn't want to rush—he likes the way the warmth, the feelings, the comfort of them envelopes him slowly so he can enjoy every second.

Taehyung wonders if people are looking at them, and doesn't care much. Why should he?

“D'you want to walk home, or take the bus?” Jeongguk asks, rubbing slow circles into Taehyung's hipbones with his thumbs. Taehyung shivers and moves closer.

“Walk,” he says, wondering what would happen if he tilted his head up just a little further, maybe rose up onto his tiptoes—

“Okay,” Jeongguk grins slyly, then completely steps away from Taehyung and heads for the exit. Taehyung stares at his back in good-natured frustration for a few seconds, then rolls his eyes and follows.

[–]

May 17th, 2018

Jeongguk and Taehyung are curled up on the couch, debating (arguing) about the existence of aliens. Jeongguk is firmly for, whereas Taehyung is trying to explain this mathematical argument he once saw on this documentary about why they don't exist.

“There might be bacteria and that kind of thing, but intelligent beings, no,” Taehyung says, shuffling to get more comfortable in Jeongguk's lap. “People get too influenced by films. Those green reptile things—literally just human imagination. What chance is there that there are creatures out there that actually look like—”

“We literally cannot be the only intelligent beings in the whole, entire universe,” Jeongguk says. He's playing with the silver bracelet around Taehyung's wrist, one of the excessive amount of presents he'd bought him for Christmas last year. “Humans are so self-centered. Just because we think we're superior doesn't mean—”

The doorbell rings, and Jeongguk stands up so fast he dislodges Taehyung in an almost violent matter.

“What's wrong?” Taehyung asks, confused. Jeongguk places his hands on Taehyung's shoulders.

“Wait here,” he says, and rushes out to answer the door.

Taehyung is too bewildered to move, and just stares at where Jeongguk had just left. What the hell? Is everything okay? f*ck, Jeongguk hasn't gotten into trouble with drug dealers or anything, has he? Perhaps Taehyung should call the cops before it's too late. Where the f*ck is his phone—

“Taehyung,” says a voice that makes Taehyung nearly fall off the couch onto his ass. He looks up, and f*ck, he's not hallucinating, is he—

“Jimin?” he says, voice breaking in shock.

“Holy f*ck,” Jimin says, then laughs and strides over to pull Taehyung into a hug.

He hasn't seen him in years. Jimin looks even better than before—he's grown out of his baby fat and his hair is blonde, what the hell, and Taehyung can feel ear piercings where Jimin's ear is pressed against his.

Taehyung's eyes are wet, but he feels better when he pulls back and sees Jimin's are too.

“You got hotter,” Taehyung grins. “I feel like a proud mom.”

“Shut up,” Jimin says, but he looks pleased. “You look good, too.”

They just stand there, taking each other in, and Taehyung remembers Jeongguk is there and—

“You brought him here,” Taehyung says, looking over Jimin's shoulder. Jeongguk stands in the doorway, looking slightly awkward but smiling fondly. “When did you—”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Jeongguk says shyly, and Taehyung really, really wants to kiss him.

“You're the best,” Taehyung says genuinely.

“I disagree,” Jimin says slyly, and Taehyung laughs.

“I'm gonna go out for a bit,” Jeongguk says. “You need time to catch up. I'll see you both later, okay?”

Jeongguk waves and leaves, the door closing gently behind him. Suddenly, it's just him and Jimin again, but Taehyung's initial happiness fades. Doubt settles in. Jimin had stopped talking to him all that time ago—all because Taehyung was boring, not enough for him. What if... what if Jimin still thinks that?

Of course he does. He's only here out of pity.

“Gukkie's right,” Jimin says—Taehyung barely registers the nickname. “We should talk.”

They sit down. Taehyung feels sick. This is it, isn't it—Jimin's going to tell him he doesn't really want to spend time with Taehyung; he'll be nice about it, let him down gently, because Jimin is a wonderfully kind person, but it'll hurt all the same—

Taehyung hooks a finger under his bracelet, but it doesn't stretch enough to snap like an elastic band. It's why Jeongguk had bought it for him—so that his wrist didn't feel empty, while also being unable to hurt Taehyung.

“I'm sorry I stopped contacting you,” Jimin says. “I got too caught up with school—college prep, Joohyun—remember her?—and work and everything. I was stupid back then.”

“That's okay,” Taehyung says, because he doesn't blame him. Not at all.

“I realized what a mistake that was a few months later,” Jimin continues. “I wanted to call you... but I thought you'd be mad at me.”

“I wouldn't have been,” Taehyung says, his voice small. “You were my best friend.”

“You're still my best friend,” Jimin says seriously. “If... if you want. My family never stopped asking how you were, you know. Mom knitted this scarf for you on your birthday. I'll give it to you when you come over.”

“Okay,” Taehyung says. He feels so grateful—he's never had a proper family of his own, but here he is now, with two that care about him much more than he'd ever thought possible.

Jimin hadn't forgotten about him. He hadn't purposefully cut him off.

They have a chance at starting over, maybe even returning to how they were. Taehyung can imagine it—they click so well, like they were supposed to be brothers, maybe, that it won't take much time.

Whenever Taehyung and Jimin had fought when they were younger, it only took a few hours for them to make up, because their resolves were weak when it came to each other. This gap of two years is a lot more than any of those fights, the bridge to cross far longer and more dangerous, but they can do it.

They're them—Jimin and Taehyung.

They talk for a while, conversations full of emotion and confessions that their younger selves would've cringed at but they realize now are necessary. Taehyung tells Jimin about the past year—it's a lot to take in, he knows, but if anyone can handle it, it's Jimin.

He tells Jimin about his father, about college, and about Jeongguk, of course. Jimin is still wary of Jeongguk, he says, but Taehyung is quick to defend him. He tells Jimin Jeongguk is different now. He leaves out the I love you bit.

Taehyung learns, to his utter shock, that Jeongguk and Jimin go very far back. As in, Jimin literally used to help Jeongguk learn the alphabet and sometimes babysat him, even though they’re only two years apart (“I’ve always been mature for my age, Tae, and Gukkie... not so much.”). In fact, Jimin shows Taehyung a picture on his phone of the two of them when they were little—they're about the same size, Jimin maybe a little taller. They're sitting on a beanbag and Jimin is feeding Jeongguk milk out of a bottle. It's incredibly sweet.

Taehyung starts crying when he recounts the glass incident with his father, and Jimin holds him and tells him about the time six-year-old Jeongguk had a crush on Jimin's eleven-year-old cousin and followed her around like a lost puppy.

Jimin also fills Taehyung in on what he's missed in the past two years—his youngest sister has just started middle school, they moved to a house bigger than before, so that nearly everyone has their own room, and Jimin's mom has started working in a bakery.

After they're both completely exhausted from talking, they play Overwatch (Taehyung has become addicted to it, thanks to Jeongguk) and Taehyung completely kicks Jimin's ass at it. Jimin is stubborn, however, and demands to play again. They eventually fall asleep on the couch, a heap of limbs.

When Taehyung wakes up, his eyes sting in that way only possible from watching a bright screen for hours without blinking, and there are potato chip crumbs down his front. He gives a silent apology to Yeseul and Jiyong, who will have to clean this up, and stands to stretch.

His muscles ache after staying in the same position for so long. It's a nice ache, though, that reminds him of when he and Jimin used to stay up well into the next morning playing Mario Kart in the living room, trying to keep silent as not to wake the whole household.

It's dark out and the entire living room is swathed in darkness. A pool of yellow light spills from the doorway into a gradient rectangle, coming from the hallway. Taehyung can hear low voices from beyond it.

He doesn't mean to pry; it kind of just happens.

Jeongguk and Jimin are talking, and by the sounds of it, it's a conversation Taehyung shouldn't interrupt. He feels slightly guilty as he stands just behind the doorway, covertly looking in.

“You don't need to apologize,” Jimin says to a dejected-looking Jeongguk. “You've changed, and your actions show that. Just keeping doing what you are, okay?”

“I'm still sorry, hyung,” Jeongguk says lowly.

Taehyung notices that the way Jimin looks at Jeongguk is the way a father looks at his son when he's hurt, scraped his knees on concrete while out on the playground. Loving, and wanting nothing more than to help.

“Look at you. You're even f*cking taller than before, how unfair is that,” Jimin grumbles. “And you look like a proper man. Who would've thought? Ah, Jeon Jeongguk, the world has been kind to you.”

“You're still the same height,” Jeongguk grins, and that earns him a punch to the shoulder.

They bicker back and forth while Taehyung zones out a little. When he focuses his concentration again, the air is noticeably more somber.

“I'm proud of you, Gukkie. You've grown up so well,” Jimin says, and when he holds his arms out Jeongguk steps into them easily. It's odd to see, Jeongguk not being on the embracing side of things. He always acts so strong for Taehyung—it's hard to remember he gets hurt too.

“We're going to hang out for a whole day, okay? And you're going to tell me what's been happening for the past—what is it? How long has it been?”

“Three years,” Jeongguk mumbles. “Nearly four.”

“f*ck,” Jimin says.

They're both crying, or very close to it, Taehyung can hear. He decides he's eavesdropped enough. This is a meeting, perhaps even reconciliation, between two people who were once pretty much family. It makes something inside Taehyung buzz with happiness—two of the people he loves the most care for each other equally as much.

He can't go upstairs without passing them, so he crawls back onto the couch and settles into the cushions to try and fall back asleep. For once, it comes easily.

[–]

He wakes up in bed. He's taken to sharing it with Jeongguk again, and for the past five moths they've fallen asleep curled into each other.

Today, however, Jeongguk's side of the bed is empty and cold, like he left a long time ago. Taehyung yawns excessively, working his jaw, before sitting up.

It looks like mid-morning outside. The sun is comfortably in the sky, a beacon of white light against a summer-blue backdrop. It's still a little cold for May, so he reaches under the bed to find one of the sweatshirts Jeongguk stashes there and pulls it on. It's laughably loose on him, but it keeps him warm, so who cares.

He pads down the stairs gingerly because he's wearing shorts and his calves are freezing. There's noise coming from the kitchen, so he goes there to investigate.

It's Jeongguk, of course, and the sight is heart-wrenching enough to make Taehyung stop and stare for a while. Jeongguk, clad in a maroon t-shirt and grey joggers, is measuring out ingredients into a big glass bowl. His face and hair are streaked with flour, and Taehyung looks on, helplessly gone for him, when he struggles to hold back a sneeze from it.

“Hey,” Taehyung says. Jeongguk startles and another puff of flour floats up into his face. This time he does sneeze, turning away quickly as not to contaminate the food.

“Morning,” Jeongguk says. “Sleep well?”

“Mm,” Taehyung confirms, peering over Jeongguk's shoulder to see what he's making. On the counter are two packets of raspberries and a half-open bar of white chocolate.

“You're so predictable,” Taehyung says, secretly happy that Jeongguk's making his favorite dessert.

“If you don't want to eat them, you're welcome to leave them all to me,” Jeongguk returns, and Taehyung flicks the back of his head in mock annoyance.

“I didn't say that, did I,” he says. There's no way Taehyung would ever refuse one of Jeongguk's white chocolate and raspberry muffins—those things are worth their weight in gold, for sure. “Can I help?”

“Nope,” Jeongguk says, emphasizing the p. “Last time you tried to 'help'—”

“Hey!” Taehyung protests. “That doesn't count. I just tripped—”

“You tripped, smashed the ramekins and burned your elbow on the stove,” Jeongguk reminds him, which okay. Fair enough.

They'd been making some fancy chocolate soufflés Jeongguk had seen on TV a little after Christmas when it had happened. Jeongguk had just taken them out—and they looked amazing, spilling over the edges of their ramekins and smelling like heaven—when it had happened.

Taehyung had tripped over, well, nothing on the floor and proceeded to fall straight into the tray of soufflés and smash every single one of them, sending up a display of gooey chocolate and bits of broken white ceramic.

Horrified, and covered in chocolate, Taehyung had started panicking. As in, anxiety-attack level as he was sure Jeongguk would never forgive him. He'd apologized through tears—I'm so sorry, please don't be mad, I didn't mean to—but Jeongguk had just laughed and offered to lick the chocolate off of Taehyung's face.

Predictably, Taehyung had blushed and stuttered and everything was okay after that, even though they'd had to clean everything up. They didn't manage it though and the kitchen had remained remarkably chocolate-stained.

Later, when questioned over it by Yeseul, Jeongguk had stood up straight and taken the blame without batting an eyelash. Taehyung had decided right there that yes, he was very much in love with Jeongguk.

(In the end, he'd confessed in a fit of guilt and Yeseul had rolled her eyes and told him he was going to be doing the dishes after dinner for the rest of that week. A mild punishment, in Taehyung's opinion.)

“I still want to help,” Taehyung pouts. He reaches for the whisk and Jeongguk bats his hand away dismissively. Undeterred, Taehyung tries again. He manages to grab the whisk and—

“Not so fast,” Jeongguk says. He wraps his arms around Taehyung's thighs and suddenly he's hoisting him up into the air. Taehyung let out an undignified squeak and clamps his legs around Jeongguk's waist for balance.

“You can't just pick me up and move me when you feel like it!” Taehyung protests, sinking his fingers into Jeongguk's silky hair and leaning forward to breathe in the apple scent of his shampoo. “I'm not an object.”

Jeongguk laughs and puts Taehyung down on top of the island, where he can watch Jeongguk cook at a safe distance. Taehyung crosses his arms irritably, legs dangling over the edge. Jeongguk smiles at him with a look akin to completely in love that Taehyung only recognizes because he wears the expression so often himself.

Taehyung spends the next fifteen minutes or so overseeing (basically staring at) Jeongguk as he preps the ingredients, mixes them together and puts them in the oven. Jeongguk bends a little to set the timer and Taehyung's eyes are drawn to... well, somewhere.

They've come so far, Taehyung thinks. It's been a rough, painful journey—the past year has been perhaps the most difficult of his life so far, and that's saying a lot—but being here, at this moment in time, seems to make everything worth it.

No, Taehyung is not one hundred percent happy all the time, and he's sure Jeongguk isn't either. Meeting each other has broken them in a way that seemed irreparable. Turns out it's not—all they needed were to fit the pieces of themselves back together in a different way. Jeongguk has had to learn to be kinder, and Taehyung more confident.

They're still learning, every single day. Taehyung is eternally grateful that Jeongguk is the one learning with him.

“They shouldn't take that long,” Jeongguk says brightly, walking over to stand between Taehyung's legs. Taehyung slips off the counter so they're at a level height.

“Even a minute is too long,” Taehyung says truthfully. He's dying to eat one of those muffins.

Jeongguk smiles then. His eyes crinkle at the sides, sparkling with humor, and his two front teeth jut forward endearingly. Taehyung doesn't think.

Mesmerized, he leans forward and presses his lips against Jeongguk's smile.

There's an awful, mortifying second when they both freeze, eyes open wide and far too close to each other, before Taehyung's mind catches up with his body and he jerks backwards, slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Oh my God,” Taehyung says. “Oh my—I am so sorry. I didn't mean to—sh*t, I'm...”

He trails off, afraid his voice will break if he keeps rambling.

Holy f*cking sh*t. He is an idiot. He is honestly the most idiotic idiot to have ever lived. What was he thinking? Has he finally gone mad?

Groaning, Taehyung covers his face with both his hands, hoping to hide his red-hot blush. Can the floor just swallow him up already? Holy sh*t. Holy sh*t.

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk says softly. The hair on the back of Taehyung's neck stand to attention. He shrinks further into himself. “Hey. Look at me.”

“No,” Taehyung mumbles.

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk says, sounding exasperated.

After a moment, Taehyung feels warm hands against his wrists, and Jeongguk is pulling his arms away, uncovering his face. Taehyung stares resolutely at the ground, cheeks flaming.

“Taehyung?”

“I'm sorry,” he says instinctively. They were getting along so well; why did he have to go and kiss Jeongguk out of the blue like that?

“Can we do that again?” Jeongguk asks cautiously. Taehyung risks a glance at him. His eyes are hopeful.

“What?” Taehyung breathes, not daring to believe it.

“I want to kiss you,” Jeongguk is blushing too, now, but his voice is unflinching. “Can I?”

“Yes,” Taehyung whispers. His whole body sings with anticipation, and he lets his eyes fall shut. There's no way he can look at Jeongguk through this.

Taehyung senses Jeongguk lean in, and there's a rush of hot air against his chin. Then warm lips press lightly against his, barely there.

Taehyung makes a small sound in the back of his throat, and Jeongguk's hands come up to cradle his jaw with complete tenderness.

Jeongguk pulls back, and Taehyung finally looks at him. Jeongguk stares intently into his eyes, searching for something, then dives right back in.

This time, Jeongguk doesn't hesitate. He plunders straight into Taehyung's mouth, hot and wet and soft enough to set Taehyung's nerve endings alight, and his hands slide up to grip Taehyung's hair.

Taehyung is dying, God, it's too much. Everything feels like it's on fire. When Jeongguk's tongue touches his, Taehyung melts and scrunches his hands tightly into the front of Jeongguk's shirt, needing to be grounded. He feels in urgent danger of floating high up into the air right now.

Taehyung opens his mouth wider and tilts his head back, desperate for Jeongguk to take everything, for him to tear Taehyung apart and leave him begging for more. At this, Jeongguk groans, and readjusts their mouths so he can go at a deeper angle.

He doesn't know how long they kiss—only that it seems like forever and a single second, that it makes him dizzy and alive and his stomach coil with pleasure.

Eventually, the kiss softens, slows. Jeongguk takes Taehyung's bottom lip lightly between his, applying the smallest amount of pressure possible in a way that has Taehyung gasping for air, then presses a closed-mouth kiss to the swollen flesh there. It stings a little, and Taehyung hisses.

He continues these small kisses before finally pulling away for good, though he doesn't go very far. In fact, they're still close enough to be sharing air. Jeongguk nudges Taehyung's nose with his and gathers Taehyung into his arms. Taehyung, next to boneless, melts into them.

First kisses are meant to be awkward. This was anything but.

Unless you count Taehyung's initial peck. That was... that was about as awkward as it gets.

“Please tell me we can do that again,” Jeongguk murmurs right against Taehyung's lips. How is Taehyung meant to refuse that?

“We should do nothing but that ever again,” Taehyung says, too happy to have any shame.

Jeongguk laughs delightedly and the oven timer goes off.

“The muffins are done,” he says, and then kisses Taehyung's mouth again like he can't help himself.

“You should go take them out,” Taehyung tells him, but it's kind of incoherent because Jeongguk's mouth is pretty distracting.

“Probably,” Jeongguk says.

[–]

Time doesn't wait for anyone, but perhaps these two boys are the exception.

[–]

Chapter 12: discoveries

Chapter Text

August 26th, 2018

“Mm, okay,” Jeongguk says, hand wrapped around the back of Taehyung's neck as he leans in to kiss him.

It's an effective distraction technique; Taehyung closes his eyes, eyelashes brushing against Jeongguk's cheek, and their lips move together slowly. Jeongguk places his free hand over Taehyung's, and Taehyung turns his hand over to thread their fingers together.

Then Taehyung makes a noise of protest and pulls away. Jeongguk lets out a sigh.

“Don't try and distract me,” Taehyung says. His face is bright red—kissing is still a novelty to them, even after all these months.

“I wasn't,” Jeongguk lies.

They're taking things very slow—as in, snail-pace slow. They're very well-versed in things like cuddling, casual touching, sharing feelings, but the other couple-things, not so much.

Nothing has ever gone further than PG-kissing for maximum three or four minutes (apart from their first kiss, of course). Taehyung never initiates any kind of affection beyond what they used to do before, as friends, and sometimes Jeongguk feels like he's treading on eggshells.

He doesn't mind it, really. Even though Jeongguk is no stranger to relationships, Taehyung never fails to reduce him to a blushing, nervous mess, like he's never dated anyone before.

The slowness of everything is kind of painful for Jeongguk's libido, however, for the first time, Jeongguk has learned that taking things at a sedate pace can make every step, every breakthrough that much more satisfying; each time they kiss, Taehyung lets go a little more, and Jeongguk is thrilled and in awe whenever it happens.

He also understands they've both been through a lot and rushing into things isn't the best idea. Plus, he really wants them to work, for them to stay together even for the rest of their lives. Caution is the best way to achieve that.

“I wouldn't be saying this if I didn't think you were ready,” Taehyung says. “But it's senior year, and you even tell me yourself how much easier things would be if your friends knew.”

“That's just me being idealistic,” Jeongguk argues. “Of course I want my friends to know... but you know what they're like. What they think about... people like us.”

“They f*cking worship you,” Taehyung tells him. “The fact that you're gay won't change that, trust me.”

“They'll look at me differently—and did you know, they once asked me if we were dating, back in September,” Jeongguk says, wincing.

“What?” Taehyung gapes, shocked. “But we weren't.”

“Yeah. The thing is, when I told them we weren't, they all looked so f*cking relieved, like...” Jeongguk looks away. “Like it would be the worst thing ever if we were.”

“I really think the hom*ophobia is a gang mentality sort of thing,” Taehyung says. He's been really interested in human behavior recently, and he knows bringing all these psychology terms up in front of Jeongguk will help him in an argument. “They just do it because everyone does. I doubt any of them are actually like that, individually.”

“What if I come out to them and they never speak to me again?” Jeongguk says. He know he sounds pathetic. “If I become a complete loner.”

“Then you'll know how it feels,” Taehyung says quietly, and Jeongguk immediately feels like sh*t.

“I'm sorry,” Jeongguk says, squeezing Taehyung's hand. “That was a sh*tty thing to say.”

“Look, I get it,” Taehyung brushes him off. “You're used to being king of the school.”

“Taehyung...”

“If you won't do it for yourself, do it for all those kids whose lives you made hell,” Taehyung says. “They deserve it, don't they?”

Jeongguk doesn't reply. Taehyung's right—Jeongguk couldn't even begin to fathom how many of his peers he's put down, insulted, called names just because it made Jeongguk feel more powerful. The memory of it makes him feel sick every time.

“You know I don't think of you as that person,” Taehyung says softly. “I didn't mean to—what I meant was that I think it would really help them if you did come out. They'd look at you, and think, Jeon Jeongguk's gay and he's okay with it, and feel more confident in themselves to do the same. Even people who aren't gay—just people who're insecure or struggling with themselves, they'd not feel so alone anymore.”

Taehyung looks so earnest as he says it all. He truly thinks Jeongguk coming out could help a lot of people in their school.

“When did you get so f*cking wise,” Jeongguk says. He's horrified when his voice cracks.

“You don't have to do it if you don't want to,” Taehyung whispers. “I don't want to force you into anything. It's your decision.”

“I'll do it,” Jeongguk says quickly, before he can regret it. “Tomorrow.”

“You will?” Taehyung's eyes widen.

“Yeah, I—”

Taehyung pulls him into a hug, and Jeongguk goes slack with surprise. Taehyung's actually initiating—

“f*ck, I'm so sorry,” Taehyung stutters, beginning to pull away. “I should've asked—”

“No, you never need to ask,” Jeongguk cuts in, holding Taehyung close. “Just... do whatever you want. I'll be fine with it. More than fine.”

“Okay,” Taehyung says, only barely.

[–]

The next day at school, Jeongguk is standing by his locker with Taehyung, practically trembling.

“f*ck, I'm scared,” he shivers. “I can't believe I'm actually going to do this.”

“You don't have to,” Taehyung assures him. “If you don't feel ready—”

“No, I have to. If I don't do it now, I never will,” Jeongguk says.

His stomach is churning unpleasantly, and there's bile rising in the back of his throat. He's pretty sure he looks as pale as a ghost. He scans the corridor for his friends, and spots some of them near the window. Yeonshik catches Jeongguk's eye and waves him over.

“I'll see you later, okay?” Jeongguk says.

“You'll be okay,” Taehyung says. He squeezes Jeongguk's hand surreptitiously and it calms Jeongguk's nerves a little.

“Guk!” Yeonshik announces, moving over so Jeongguk can stand in their makeshift circle. “Heard you'll be re-joining the team pretty soon.”

“You f*cking bet,” Jeongguk says. His body is nearly completely back to normal, albeit a little weaker, but getting back into football will strengthen him anyway. “How'd you like being fill-in team captain?”

“It was sh*t,” Yeonshik groans. “I felt like a f*cking zookeeper, trying to control this lot. I'm gonna need counselling.”

They all talk for a while, laughing, and Jeongguk prepares himself.

“I have to tell you all something,” Jeongguk says suddenly. They all quieten, still grinning, like Jeongguk's about to recount a funny story.

“Um, yeah. So,” is his introduction. How does he do this—come out? Does he, like, explain himself, or... how is he meant to—?

“I'm gay,” Jeongguk spews, then internally kicks himself. What the f*ck is his problem with his brain-to-mouth filter?

They all burst into laughter, like Jeongguk's made the joke of the f*cking year. Slowly, they start to notice Jeongguk's sober expression, and the noise fades to a shocked silence.

Jeongguk scans their faces carefully. They're all looking more puzzled than anything, like the words 'I'm gay' are some sort of riddle that they have to piece together in their heads.

“You... uh,” Jinsoo clears his throat. He doesn't look at Jeongguk, more at somewhere behind his head. “You're being for real?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk gnaws on his bottom lip.

His friends all glance at each other, seemingly finding nothing in anyone else's expression to know how to react. Jaebum scratches the back of his neck.

“Do you have, like, a—boyfriend, um, or something?” Jaebum winces on the word 'boyfriend', like he's having difficulty getting it out of his throat.

He hasn't discussed this with Taehyung, but figures he wouldn't mind.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk replies, hesitant.

“Oh,” Jaebum looks surprised. “...Who?”

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk mumbles. He blinks away the sudden moisture in his eyes.

“I f*cking knew it!” Wonshin bursts, eyes wild. “None of you idiots believed me when I told you all those months ago—but there you go, actual proof.”

Wonshin looks triumphant.

“So you were lying, huh? You are a f*cking fa*g,” he sneers. “Tell me, Guk, did you get hard all those times you beat kids up? Is that why you did it? You're a little f*cking pervert.”

“Shut up,” Jeongguk says. It comes out broken.

“We shouldn't let you back on the football team,” Wonshin smirks cruelly. “Who knows what you're thinking when we're all getting changed in the locker room? You gotta start using the girls' restrooms from now on. I don't feel safe sharing bathrooms with your lot. What if you try and, like, molest me?”

I wouldn't touch you for all the money in the f*cking world, Jeongguk wants to spit, but he's too humiliated to even meet Wonshin's gaze.

“Wait, Jeongguk, you don't... you don't want to like, do stuff with any of us, right?” Kyuhyun says. He sounds genuinely anxious. “Like, if I was alone in the locker room with you... you wouldn't want to—”

“Of course not!” Jeongguk says. He's gay, not a perverted, horny madman. “No!”

“D'you really wanna take his word on that, after he lied to us this whole time?” Wonshin says to the group. “'Cause I don’t.”

He starts to back away.

“You're f*cking disgusting,” he hisses, before turning and walking away.

Jeongguk looks helplessly at the rest of his friends. They look torn, but eventually, every single one of them follows Wonshin without even glancing back.

[–]

By the end of first period, the entire school knows. There's plenty of whispering and staring, and a few brave souls even say things just loud enough for Jeongguk to hear. Jeongguk keeps his head up high; after all, he's had plenty of practice faking how he feels.

It'll die down eventually, Jeongguk tells himself, you're okay. In reality, he's close to crying. The only thing stopping him running out of the exit doors and never coming back is his pride.

And, Taehyung, of course.

They'd eaten lunch together in a secluded corner of the library where no-one could see them. Taehyung'd tried to ask Jeongguk about it, but Jeongguk had been quick to tell him he didn't want to talk about it. Taehyung had said he was proud of Jeongguk—for once, it hadn't made him feel better.

Lunch had been a relatively silent affair, after that.

No-one is as daring as Wonshin, however, who outright mocks Jeongguk at every opportunity during the day. Jeongguk doesn't say a word back. He doesn't think he's inspiring anyone at this point. At least they'll learn from his mistake.

[–]

“Aren't you even going to talk to me?” Taehyung says finally.

They've been studying ever since they got home, Taehyung sprawled across the bed and Jeongguk on his desk.

“About what?” Jeongguk says, turning to face him. “About how your plan completely f*cking failed?”

“I didn't force you into anything!” Taehyung says sharply.

“Like f*ck you didn't,” Jeongguk says angrily, even though deep down, he knows none of this is on Taehyung. “You're the one that went on about all that bullsh*t yesterday—about how I owe it to everyone, about how my friends would accept me—”

“I thought they would!” Taehyung protests. “I really thought they would—”

“Well, you were wrong,” Jeongguk spits. “And I'm the one f*cking paying for it.”

His hands clench into tight fists beside him, and he presses them against his thighs.

“You're being unfair,” Taehyung says.

Jeongguk stands up from his seat and it knocks back against his desk. He shouldn't have listened to Taehyung—he wouldn't be in this mess if he hadn't, if he had just listened to himself—and it's not like he can go and f*cking turn back time, is it—

“I'm being unfair?” Jeongguk says, disbelieving. “How about you just take responsibility for f*cking everything up for once?”

It hits a nerve, Jeongguk realizes as soon as he says it.

Taehyung curls into himself, looking guilty.

“I... I'm sorry,” he says quietly. “I know this is my fault. I just... I thought it would be a good idea.”

It's not your fault, Jeongguk thinks, but he can't bring himself to say it amidst his irritation.

“I'm really sorry, Jeongguk. I hope you can forgive me.”

When Jeongguk doesn't say anything, Taehyung goes back to his textbook. Taking a deep breath, Jeongguk grabs his pen and starts writing. He's just as bad as Taehyung's father.

His eyes blur and the letters on his page slowly meld together and pale to form fluttering blue wings.

[–]

February 15th, 2028

Jeongguk feels so, so warm. He's wrapped tightly around Taehyung, his chest pressed to Taehyung's back, legs tumbling atop Taehyung's. It's darker outside than he remembers it being, but it doesn't bother him; he's far too comfortable for that.

But why is he in bed?

He'd seen the blue butterfly. So, where exactly has he traveled back to? A time before their fight, obviously, or Jeongguk would be sleeping on the pull-out couch. And before his whole coming out mess, which he is not doing ever again.

Jikan is the best, Jeongguk thinks as Taehyung turns around in his arms to bury his face in Jeongguk's neck. Taehyung wriggles his arm so that it's tucked under Jeongguk's, draped over his ribs.

“Whas' the time,” Taehyung asks, lips moving against Jeongguk's skin.

“Too early,” Jeongguk says. He gathers Taehyung closer and presses a kiss to his forehead, determined to make things up to him, even though they haven't actually fought in this timeline. “Only around six.”

“God, it's my turn to make breakfast, right?” Taehyung groans, beginning to extract himself from Jeongguk's grip, albeit reluctantly, and sitting up. “The little devil will be up soon.”

“Um,” Jeongguk says—the little devil? And since when did they take turns making breakfast? Jeongguk always makes breakfast (unless one of his parents feels like treating them, which is not often)—Taehyung hates mornings with a passion.

Jeongguk watches Taehyung transition from asleep to awake, and it's probably one of the most gorgeous things he's ever seen. Taehyung's eyes, slanted and dark, flutter incrementally until they're fully open; he yawns with the quietest of sighs, his mouth a perfect rose-pink; he stretches a little, body lithe and graceful.

“You? Cooking?” Jeongguk grins, and Taehyung rolls his eyes.

“I haven't burned anything in days, okay,” he says. “And you have to admit, I've gotten a lot better.”

Jeongguk snorts. Taehyung couldn't boil an egg to save his life. Maybe he should get up and take over breakfast before the house is set on fire, but the bed is so f*cking warm.

So far, Taehyung has learned to steer clear of the kitchen unless Jeongguk's in it. He wonders what has caused Taehyung's sudden change of heart.

“I think we have different definitions of 'a lot better',” Jeongguk says cheekily—he takes a bit of pleasure in winding Taehyung up; he gets all pouty and annoyed, which Jeongguk will never not find adorable.

“I hate you,” Taehyung says. He places his hand on Jeongguk's chest, and then leans down and kisses him square on the mouth.

Jeongguk is too shocked at first to respond—Taehyung has just initiated a kiss, and he's not even blushing, see, Jeongguk's eyes are wide open, and he doesn't seem embarrassed by it at all—so he just lies there slack-mouthed, like an idiot.

Taehyung makes a small noise of enquiry, which sets Jeongguk back into action. Overwhelmed by excitement—Taehyung just kissed him, for the first time since the first time—Jeongguk curls his hand around Taehyung's jaw to keep in him place, perhaps too roughly, and skims his tongue over Taehyung's.

Taehyung pulls back breathlessly, lips wet and swollen.

“What was that for?” he says, smiling. He's not nearly as shy as Jeongguk would expect him to be.

“Breakfast,” Jeongguk replies.

“If only you were this grateful every time I make breakfast,” Taehyung says, pressing one final kiss to Jeongguk's lips and standing up.

But you never make breakfast, Jeongguk wants to say, but by then Taehyung's left the room.

Jeongguk lies back, grinning—and hey, was his pillow always this soft? God, but Taehyung's gotten so good at kissing—perhaps Jeongguk could suggest a full-on makeout session. That wouldn't be too scary, right? He's sure Taehyung would be amenable, especially after...

There's a sudden, blaring ringing from right beside his ear. Jeongguk startles, curses, and slams his hand onto the bedside table. What the f*ck even is that? Has he changed his alarm ringtone?

His hand lands on a phone, except, when he looks at it—it doesn't look like any phone he's ever seen. It's Apple, he can tell, but that's about it. The screen is massive and the phone is paper thin—literally. It's like, actually the thickness of paper. It unlocks as soon as Jeongguk touches the screen which is—it's not the latest iOS, Jeongguk is sure.

Turns out someone is calling this mystery phone. Should Jeongguk answer it?

He does, resolving to take the phone to the police station after.

“Mr Jeon,” says a woman, sounding relieved.

“Um, yes?” he says, unsure if this woman is referring to him or his dad. Wait—how does she know either of them? Does this phone belong to his dad? He often gets phones for free because the computer science department in the college he works at provides them. Is this some new, secret iPhone?

Jeongguk has a lot of questions right now, but he realizes this woman is trying to talk to him.

“Yes, sorry, what?” he stutters, staring at the ceiling. It's so dark it looks navy blue.

“Lee Sooyoung—she's taken the plea deal,” the woman frets.

“Who?” Jeongguk asks, lost. “What plea deal?”

Why is there talk of a plea deal? He's quite curious as to what this is all about. He hopes his dad isn't in any legal trouble, but he knows there's no one as law-abiding as Jeon Jiyong.

“Your client, Mr Jeon,” she says irritably. “Are you drunk? Still asleep?”

“What? This is Jeongguk—do you want to speak to my dad? He's not in right now, but he'll be back on Wednesday,” Jeongguk says, although he's starting to think this woman is after a different Mr Jeon. His father's not a lawyer, he's a computer science professor...

“Drunk, it seems. It's only six in the morning—and a Saturday, at that,” the woman sighs. Is she drunk? “You don't pay me enough for this.”

“I'm not my dad,” Jeongguk tells her. She doesn't seem to understand that.

“f*cking God,” the woman sounds even more irritated, if possible. “Being a secretary is easy, they said. Jeon Jeongguk is a wonderful employer, they said. I know my husband has a soft spot for you, but there I went, trusting his opinion. Ugh.”

“I'm Jeon Jeongguk,” Jeongguk says. He's not sure if this is one of those strange dreams he sometimes has. “I don't employ, people, though. Wait, you're a secretary?”

“Whatever you've been drinking, Jeongguk, I'd like to have some,” the woman says finally. “I'll call the DA's office to see if they can rebuke the deal. Oh, are we still on for the playdate today?”

“Sure.” Why is he having a playdate with his secretary? What the f*ck is this world?

“Have a good weekend. Say hi to your husband for me.”

“My husband—?”

The woman ends the call, leaving Jeongguk staring at the weird phone in his hand like it's about to blow up or something. He opens his mouth, closes it again, then puts the phone back on the bedside table, which—

“What the f*ck?”

That is not his bedside table. In fact, as Jeongguk stares around the room in horrified shock, this is not his house.

This bedroom is f*cking massive, to begin with, and it looks nothing like his messy, teenage-boy space at home. No, this room looks like somewhere a very, very rich adult would stay. Jeongguk's family is rich but his parents' room is nothing like this.

The floor is covered in a luxurious, silver-gilt carpet, the kind you want to dig your toes into. One of the walls is entirely mirror—perhaps the wardrobe is behind it—and the one opposite the bed is glass, concealed by a gauzy white curtain that falls in flowing tresses.

Jeongguk stares down at the bed, rumpled, because he's in it, but these as definitely silk sheets, or satin, or something equally as ridiculous. A odd-looking chandelier that looks like folds of twinkling glass hangs high on the ceiling; there are spotlights above the mirror-wardrobe; on either side of the headboard hang two long, silver lamps that would be useful for reading in bed.

“Oh my God, where am I,” Jeongguk feels panic rising up in his throat. He immediately thinks of Taehyung—is he safe, I need to find him—but Taehyung had seemed completely fine earlier.

Something very odd is going on. Like, some TV show level weird sh*t.

Jeongguk hurries out of the bedroom, regretting the decision when his bare arms meet chilly air and he has to wrap his arms around himself pathetically.

“Taehyung?” Jeongguk calls, trying to navigate this hideously expensive apartment's corridors. He was right—the carpet is f*cking divine when his feet sink into it.

He finally stumbles across a door where sound can be heard from beyond, and scampers into it. He stops abruptly, though, shocked.

The ceiling is so high Jeongguk has to crane his neck to see it, and one entire wall, on his right side, is made up entirely of glass that frames the elegant skyscrapers and flickering orange lights of Seoul city in early winter mornings (but it's August, Jeongguk thinks desperately).

The room is open-plan—on the window side is the living room, tastefully designed, and on the other is a huge kitchen and dining area which surpasses modern; it looks almost outlandish.

Taehyung has his back to Jeongguk and is obviously cooking something at the stove. At this stove that is not Jeongguk's—why is Taehyung so calm?

Is Jeongguk going crazy?

“Hey,” Taehyung says over his shoulder, obviously hearing him come in. “Food's nearly done. Could you get out plates? My hands are kinda full right now.”

Jeongguk has actually gone crazy. Bora, his therapist, had told him that anorexia patients could suffer hallucinations when they were particularly low. Jeongguk is very grateful that he hasn't experienced that up until now—this is f*cking terrifying.

He wants to call his mom, but all he has is that crazy f*cking phone with an equally crazy secretary calling him about a plea deal and his husband!

“Daddy!”

Something small and moving at a very high velocity shoots out from across the room and straight into Jeongguk's legs. He stares down, frozen. There is a toddler wrapped around his legs.

She can't be more than three years old—she's absolutely tiny, and she's staring up at Jeongguk with sparkling brown eyes under a messy black fringe. She's dressed in a matching set of pajamas with colorful ice-creams dotted over them. She's very cute, but why is she—

“Daddy, pick me up!” she says, hopping up and down. “Pick me up, pick me up!”

“Areum, calm down,” Taehyung calls, scraping what looks like eggs onto a plate. “Your daddy's only just woken up.”

“Daddy?” Jeongguk says under his breath. That is the f*cking icing on the cake. I'm in crazyland, and now there's a kid calling me Daddy.

“Daddy,” the girl whines.

“You better listen to her, Daddy,” Taehyung says, and when Jeongguk glances at him he's smirking.

Jeongguk has never seen Taehyung smirk. It's insanely hot, but unfortunately Jeongguk cannot appreciate it because he's hopelessly confused right now.

He decides to listen to his daughter(?) who is somehow conveniently named after Taehyung's late mother, which is... Jeongguk's mind is at a loss. He bends down and scoops her up into his arms easily, having had lots of practice with his younger cousins.

She squeals in delight and plants a kiss on his cheek. Jeongguk doesn't know her at all but he's instantly charmed.

“Daddy, look at my ice-creams,” Areum says, hitting his chest with little fists.

“Very nice,” Jeongguk says half-heartedly, carrying her over to Taehyung.

“You're not looking,” she complains.

Of course he's not, because Taehyung's just turned around, and he is—

Not Taehyung.

Well, he is, but certainly not the Taehyung Jeongguk knows. For starters, his hair is a soft somewhere between blond and brown and he's taller than before. His face is also different—only slightly, small things like his eyes looking deeper-set and his jawline being a little sharper—but it's unsettling to see all the same.

Before, in the dark, Taehyung had looked the same as Jeongguk remembers. Here, under the bright glow of the kitchen lights... he looks—

Older, Jeongguk thinks, fascinated. Like an adult.

“Are you okay?” Taehyung asks, frowning. A silicone spatula dangles from his grip. “You're looking at me weirdly.”

“Uh, yes,” Jeongguk says quickly. “You just look—”

Taehyung places the spatula down and raises an eyebrow.

“You look really good,” Jeongguk whispers, for a lack of a better word.

Taehyung colors at this, only very faintly, and his lips rise in a reluctant smile. He steps forward and places a hand on Jeongguk's shoulder.

“I just woke up,” Taehyung says. “My shirt's stained, my hair's a mess and I haven't showered.”

Jeongguk hadn't even noticed that.

“Oh,” he says awkwardly. “But still, you—”

Taehyung cuts him off with a kiss that sends Jeongguk reeling back on his heels with the force of it. Jeongguk softens the kiss, and Taehyung sighs.

“Ew,” comes Areum's voice from between them where she's still holding tight onto Jeongguk's shirt. “Daddy, Papa, stop.”

Taehyung snorts and they both break the kiss, laughing.

“One day, princess, you'll understand,” Taehyung says, turning back to the eggs.

“Never ever ever,” Areum insists.

Jeongguk is barely listening, though. Areum calls him Daddy, and Taehyung Papa, which means she's not just Jeongguk's daughter—and in that case—

“We're married,” Jeongguk breathes, nearly losing his grip on Areum. He looks down at his hand, and sure enough, there's a glinting gold band on his left ring finger. There's something engraved delicately near the bottom; most likely their names.

“Because we love each other very much,” Taehyung continues. “Just like we love you.”

“But you're too old to kiss,” Areum says, wrinkling her nose.

“Since when was twenty-seven old,” Taehyung laughs. “Sh—oh sugar. I think these eggs are burnt. Gukkie, they're stuck to the pan.”

Twenty-seven?

“Put it under some hot water for a bit,” Jeongguk says.

So he's traveled to the future. That's new.

As much as the future fascinates him—he's married to Taehyung, for God's sake—he can't imagine never going back. Missing how his Taehyung, shy and still a little broken, managed to transform into this Taehyung, who is confident in himself. How they ended up being able to afford a beautiful apartment like this. How they had a daughter. Just—how they got here.

He suddenly feels nauseous.

“Should I go pick up something for us to eat?” he says quickly, in need of fresh air.

“That'd be great,” Taehyung says, now at the sink trying to scrape off the burnt eggs. “Would you mind taking her with you?”

Jeongguk glances down at Areum. She's playing with the collar of his t-shirt, twisting it between chubby little fingers.

“No, that's fine,” he says. An involuntary smile spreads over his face. Jeongguk's never thought much about having kids, but, seeing Areum—she's truly his.

“The car keys are in my coat pocket,” Taehyung says.

Jeongguk blanches.

“I think we'll walk today, right, Areum?” Jeongguk's only completed the theory part of his driving license, and he'd rather not crash their car.

“Can I bring Geopum?” Areum asks sweetly. Jeongguk agrees, although he's not sure who that is.

Geopum, it turns out, is Areum's stuffed blue fish that, when pressed, lights up its multicolored tail and makes an odd bubbling noise. It's safe to say Jeongguk does not share his daughter's taste in toys.

“Put Geopum down,” Jeongguk says through gritted teeth. “I can't get you dressed with him in the way.”

“But he'll get sad if I don't hold him!” Areum protests, clutching onto the damned fish even tighter.

“He's not even real,” Jeongguk says, exasperated, as he attempts to pull a pair of ribbed grey wool tights onto Areum's kicking legs.

He realizes very quickly he's f*cked up.

Areum's lower lip wobbles dangerously, and her mouth pulls down. Her eyes fill.

“sh*t, sh*t, no,” Jeongguk mutters under his breath. She's going to cry. “I'm sorry—Geopum is real.”

“You just said he's not,” her voice is rising, like she's about to scream. “You said Geopum's not real!”

“No, baby, I didn't mean that,” Jeongguk cannot deal with crying children, he's not qualified to be a parent, he's only seventeen... “I just said it so you would put him down. Of course Geopum's real—look!”

He presses the fish between his fingers and it lights up obediently, bubbling through its speakers. Areum stops sniffling, but still looks unhappy.

Jeongguk needs to up his game. He takes a deep breath and prays for his dignity.

“Areummie,” he croaks in what he hopes is a fish-like voice, puffing his cheeks out. “I'm real, see? I'm gonna swim around you—I bet you can't catch me!”

He zooms the toy fish around her head, and she giggles, trying to grab it.

“I'm too quick for you!” Jeongguk wiggles the fish tauntingly. “Come and catch me!”

He evades Areum's grasp a few more times before letting her catch it, and by then she's laughing delightedly.

“I got you! I got you!” she yelps, holding the fish close to her chest.

“Oh no,” Jeongguk sighs. “You're a better swimmer than I am! Are you a mermaid?”

“Yeah!” Areum claps her hands together. “I can go to the very very bottom of the deep deep sea!”

“That's right,” Jeongguk says in his normal voice. “Now, Geopum—can you sit on the bed for a bit so that the mermaid can put on her clothes?”

“I guess,” Jeongguk replies as the fish.

“Thanks,” he says again, gently prising Geopum from Areum's fingertips and placing him beside her.

“He's a very nice fish, isn't he, Daddy?” Areum says, finally holding still.

“The nicest fish ever,” he smiles, relieved to have averted a possible crisis.

He finishes dressing her—a little black skirt with ruffles, a stripy black and white jumper and little boots with fur on them—before he gets dressed himself in the warmest and comfiest clothes he can find (grey joggers, jumper, thick coat and trainers).

He takes Future Jeongguk's futuristic iPhone and puts it in his coat pocket, along with his wallet he'd found in a drawer.

Before he leaves, he kisses Taehyung briefly, and Areum pecks Geopum's fishy pout straight after. Jeongguk melts and they set out into the cold holding hands.

[–]

Butterfly Cafe looks the same as it used to even ten years later. As soon as he walks in, the chill that'd settled on his skin dissipates, replaced by the comforting warmth he always gets coming in here.

Jeongguk and Taehyung live in the center of Seoul, and this cafe is nearer the edge, so he'd had to use directions from his phone (it's kind of like Pokémon Go, except instead of Pokémon there's arrows telling you where to go and it's way more helpful than Google maps) to get there.

When they'd taken the bus, Areum had chatted to anyone and everyone—she has a way of making people fall in love with her, Jeongguk notices, just like her Papa.

Jeongguk looks around the cafe. It's bustling with students, studying somewhere quiet on the weekend, and couples sitting across each other with a mug of hot coffee in their hands. He smiles faintly—he's so much older than any of those students right now.

The line is empty right now, so Jeongguk goes straight up to the counter and lifts Areum up so she can see all the desserts in glass cases.

“Boy,” says a familiar voice. Jikan stands behind the counter, eyes twinkling. He hasn't changed at all—in fact, he looks younger.

“Jikan,” Jeongguk says, pleasantly surprised. “I'm here to get breakfast, and, uh, talk to you.”

“Very well,” Jikan bows his head. “Would the young lady like to pick something to order while we talk?”

“Yes, please, sir,” Areum says politely, although she's already wriggling in Jeongguk's arms to get a better look at all the food on display. He sets her down so she's sitting on the countertop, her little legs swinging.

“So you are Boy, not Man,” Jikan says, lowering his voice. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Why am I here?” Jeongguk asks. “I didn't drink any tea, or anything. And this is the future. I've never done this before.”

“It seems you have enough control over your power to travel without my help,” Jikan says thoughtfully. “That is very good.”

“I didn't do this on purpose,” Jeongguk tells him. “It just happened.”

Jikan pauses.

“Sometimes, in fits of great emotion, your power may... make certain decisions for you,” Jikan says carefully. “It may have decided you needed to see your future in order to, well. In order to help you in your real time.”

“So... my powers brought me here to teach me something?” Jeongguk says, confused. “I have sentient magic. Great.”

“It is rather great,” Jikan's eyes crinkle.

“So if I wake up in the time of the Ancient Egyptians, it's just my powers trying to help me with my history homework?” Jeongguk sighs.

“Your powers do not care about your history homework, I assure of that,” Jikan says seriously. Jeongguk concludes his use of sarcasm is being lost on Jikan. Perhaps he should just be more direct.

“When will I go back to my real time?” Jeongguk asks.

Jikan gives him a look.

“When I've learnt my lesson, of course,” Jeongguk has watched enough sci-fi TV to know that.

“So. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I—it depends,” Jeongguk says. “Is this really what my future was meant to be? Or did my powers create this—this perfect world for me so that I could learn what I need to know? Because I don't want to have anything I didn't earn myself—”

“Your power does not extend that far,” Jikan replies. “Everything you have is of your own doing.”

“Oh,” Jeongguk says, relieved. “Then, yes. I'm enjoying myself a lot.”

“Can we get this thing, Daddy, it looks really yummy and it has strawberries on it!” Areum waves at him.

“Of course,” he says to her, then turns back to Jikan. “Thank you for this. I—I love it here.”

“You deserve it,” Jikan says. Jeongguk doesn't think so, but who is he to complain?

Jeongguk pays for everything Areum wants, and turns out he only has to press his fingertip on a clear screen to make the transaction. He winces a little at the end price—she'd wanted a strawberry shortcake topped with fresh whipped cream and mint leaves, a brownie bar drizzled with caramel, two gleaming fruit tarts, a big, chewy cookie, and, surprise surprise, a white chocolate and raspberry muffin—but Jeongguk's not going to see her for another ten years soon so he might as well.

They thank Jikan and Areum insists on Jeongguk carrying her the whole way home, which is no problem because she's light as a feather.

“Honey, I'm home!” Jeongguk yells when he gets to the apartment, because he's f*cking hilarious.

Taehyung looks up from the book he's reading on one of the chaise lounges and eyes the food piled on the table.

“Oh my God,” he says. “You spoil her too much.”

Jeongguk shrugs. He can see Taehyung is actually quite excited to dig in, even though he's trying to hide it under annoyance.

“It's not just her I wanted to spoil,” he says, which earns him a glare, but Taehyung squeezes his hand when he walks past.

They next twenty minutes are close to the best in Jeongguk's life. They sit around the table, sharing the food, which, by the way, tastes like f*cking heaven. Areum gets whipped cream and strawberry glaze all over her hands and wipes it on Taehyung's grimacing face. Jeongguk laughs for a solid minute before leaning over and making sure Taehyung's face is entirely clean using his mouth, while Taehyung squirms and Areum looks at them disgustedly.

To Jeongguk's delight, Taehyung allows Jeongguk to feed him bits of muffin between kisses, blushing and grumpy, and Areum asks if he could please feed her too, Daddy, because the brownie is quite hard to eat. He obliges.

Areum 'feeds' Geopum, getting crumbs and sugar all over his fur (“You're going to be the one cleaning that, Jeon Jeongguk!”) while Jeongguk listens to Taehyung talk about his work without actually understanding anything. Taehyung is a psychologist, he finds out, and is currently writing his second book on overcoming abuse after his first became a hit. Jeongguk is amazingly proud.

After that, they all sprawl across the living room in front of the TV; Areum sits on the floor, cuddling Geopum with a blanket in her lap, and Taehyung and Jeongguk sit on the sofa. Taehyung is typing on his laptop (it looks nothing like any laptop Jeongguk's ever seen)—his book, presumably—while Jeongguk watches Areum's cartoons with something between horror and fascination.

“You really like fish, huh, Areum?” he mutters. The fish has grown legs and is conversing with the saleswoman at a grocery store.

“Is this the fish food?” the fish asks the audience, holding up a tomato.

“No!” Areum giggles hysterically. “It's a tomato!”

“I thought it was the fish food,” Jeongguk says.

“You're so silly, Daddy,” Areum replies. Jeongguk leans forward to tweak one of her french braids (future-Taehyung is good at styling girls' hair, apparently) and she bats at his hand, laughing.

Jeongguk shuffles closer to Taehyung and leans his head on his shoulder, looking at the screen of the laptop.

“This is really good,” Jeongguk says. “I'll get to read the first copy, right?”

“You know you will,” Taehyung says, typing quickly. The keyboard doesn't have any keys, just a rectangle of glass with glowing letters etched onto them. “Wait. I nearly forgot to tell you.”

“What?” Jeongguk asks.

“We got a wedding invite in the post,” Taehyung says. “Wonshin's getting married to that James guy this summer. It's in London, so we'll have to take a few days off work. They've paid for us to stay at a hotel for three nights, but the flight tickets aren't included.”

“Wonshin?” Jeongguk repeats, bewildered. “As in, the one from high school?”

“Yes, Jeongguk,” Taehyung says, as if Jeongguk's a child. “We should brush up on our English before we go.”

“Wonshin's getting married to a man?” Jeongguk gapes. “A British man?”

“That is what tends to happen when you're gay,” Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “Are you doing okay? You seem kinda out of it.”

“Wonshin's sh*t at English,” Jeongguk says. To be fair, so is Jeongguk, but he's not the one getting married to some British guy, is he?

Taehyung glances at him worriedly.

“Mind your language around her. And Wonshin's fluent—he lives in England!” Taehyung sighs. “We met James when they came to Seoul last year. Don't you remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Jeongguk lies. “That James.”

Taehyung snorts but doesn't say anything.

This is somewhat a revelation to Jeongguk. His friend Wonshin, his one-hundred percent straight, hom*ophobic football player friend Wonshin, is getting married to a man? Jeongguk can barely believe it.

He's kind of excited to go back to his actual time and confront Wonshin about it, the dickhe*d.

“Lee Sooyoung took the plea deal,” Jeongguk says because he's still kind of confused about all that. Taehyung stops typing and turns to look at Jeongguk with a frown.

“I told you she was one to watch,” Taehyung says sympathetically. “What're you going to do?”

“I told my secretary to try and get the DA's office to rebuke the deal,” Jeongguk says, parroting the woman from earlier. What? Even if his future self is a lawyer, he knows nothing about plea deals and district attorneys.

“You're calling her your secretary?” Taehyung says, raising an eyebrow. “What, did you and Yujin get into a fight again? How she hasn't quit, I have no idea.”

“It's playful bickering,” Jeongguk says defensively, even though he has no idea if it is. From the earlier call, it didn't sound too serious, although this Yujin did sound genuinely exasperated.

“I know,” Taehyung concedes.

“She also asked if the, um, playdate is still on today,” Jeongguk winces at the word. What the f*ck does playdate mean between grown ups? It's not like Jeongguk's having an affair with his secretary—one, he can't imagine ever even looking at someone how he does at Taehyung, and two, Yujin is a woman.

“I completely forgot about that,” Taehyung groans. “Can you drop Areum? I really need to finish this...”

“Of course,” Jeongguk says without thinking. The playdate makes a lot more sense now.

An hour passes by of lazing around in front of cartoons, and then Taehyung pesters him to get up and drive Areum to Yujin's. Jeongguk complies.

Jeongguk and Areum are outside their door.

“Do you know where Yujin lives?” he asks her.

“Yes, on the road with the big tree!” Areum says.

“Oh, yeah.”

He stands there for a few moments, wondering how the hell he's going to get there with no address, then has a moment of genius and pulls out his phone.

It takes a bit of navigating, but he finally finds Yujin's contact, and luckily there's an adress. When he puts it into the directions app on his phone it tells him it's a fifteen minute walk.

“But I want to go in the car,” Areum complains. Jeongguk sighs and heaves her onto his shoulders, her feet dangling and hitting his chest on every step. Jeongguk's shoulders begin to ache after a while.

Soon enough, they reach the road with the big tree. It looks far too suburban to be in the middle of Seoul—each house is a pretty red-brick with a neat lawn at the front, grass sparkling with February frost.

He gently puts Areum back down on the floor and knocks on the door.

And if his future-life couldn't throw any more surprises at him, Jimin opens the door.

“Gukkie!” he grins, throwing his arms around Jeongguk's neck and pulling him into a hug. He then scoops Areum up into his hold and kisses her on the top of his head. “And how's my favourite mermaid? Where's Geopum?”

“Right here, right here!” Areum squeals, shoving the fish in Jimin's face. “Guess what, Uncle Jimin? Daddy bought me cakes this morning. I wanted to save one for you, but they were so yummy and Papa and Daddy ate everything...”

“That sounds like them,” Jimin snorts, already walking futher into the house. Jeongguk follows hastily, toeing off his shoes and shutting the front door behind him.

They enter a spacious living room that makes Jeongguk feel like he's back at his house in Busan, wrestling with Jimin. Yujin sits on the sofa, feeding a baby that can't be more than a year, and a toddler around Areum's age is kneeling beside the coffee table, coloring.

“Seungwon!” Areum says brightly, running over and grabbing a coloring pencil to join her friend. Jeongguk smiles at them—who would've thought he could be paternal?

“This one was drunk this morning,” Yujin says, looking accusingly at Jeongguk. “How'd you sober up so quickly, huh?”

“Your nagging is enough to make anyone sober,” Jeongguk replies without missing a beat. He's starting to grasp their dynamic, and finds that he enjoys it.

“You two are going to kill me one day,” Jimin sighs, taking the baby from his wife. Yujin reclines against the pillows on the couch and smirks at him.

“You love it when I get sarcastic,” Yujin says to Jimin. “In fact, you told me you thought it was really hot when we were—”

“Yujin!” Jimin scolds, blushing.

“Hyung!” Jeongguk gawps, scarred.

Yujin bursts out laughing, which the baby joins in on.

“You two are so easy to wind up,” she grins. Jeongguk can see why Jimin married her—she reminds him of Seolhyun. He wonders how Seolhyun is doing, and makes a mental note to try and find her on his social media—he's almost certain they've stayed friends.

“If you ever mention your sex life in front of me again,” Jeongguk warns, “you can both learn about what Taehyung and I—”

“Sex life?” Areum pipes up.

“f*ck,” Jeongguk says. Jimin shoulders him violently.

“Nothing, princess,” Jeongguk says quickly. “Wow, that's a nice picture. Are you drawing an underwater palace?”

“Yes, but now I'm gonna draw a sex life,” Areum says. “You hafta help me, Seugwon. D'you wan' it to be red or yellow?”

“Lellow,” Seungwon says, reaching to grab the right pencil. “What's a sex life look like, Areum?”

Jimin looks close to dying, whereas Yujin is laughing even harder.

“You should write a book on parenting,” she says to Jeongguk.

They chat for a bit, about how Taehyung's doing, about work, about their kids. Jeongguk is completely out of his depth but finds that he likes the easy domesticity of it all. He's not sure if it's something he wants now, at seventeen, but he thinks at the right time—this life will be perfect for him.

Jeongguk says he should be getting back and Jimin gives him a container of eomuk guk he'd cooked last night because apparently, even if Jeongguk is twenty-seven years old, Jimin will never stop mothering him.

Jeongguk takes it gratefully. It looks exactly the same as the one Jimin's mother used to cook for them when they'd come in after playing in the snow.

When he gets back to his own apartment, he's got a huge smile on his face. Taehyung doesn't fail to pick up on it.

“You look happy,” he says, closing his laptop as Jeongguk sits down next to him.

“Yujin and Jimin are doing well,” Jeongguk says contentedly. “Jimin gave us this massive box of eomuk guk. It looks really good.”

Taehyung smiles and listens patiently while Jeongguk recounts the visit. It's getting near lunch time anyway, so Jeongguk goes to heat up some of Jimin's food and they eat together on the couch. When they've finished, both full and warm, Taehyung crawls into Jeongguk's lap, sitting sideways with his legs stretched across the length of the couch.

Jeongguk thinks about the life they've created together; he believes they deserve it.

The big, flashy apartment and successful jobs are nice, wonderful, but the best part of it all is definitely the fact that Taehyung is here, and of course, meeting his own daughter.

f*cking hell. He has a kid.

He looks down at Taehyung, soft and warm in his arms, and tightens his hold slightly. Taehyung tilts his head up to smile at him, silent, and links their fingers together.

“What we have is so good,” Jeongguk muses. He didn't even mean to do it out loud. “How did we get here?”

“I have no idea, sometimes,” Taehyung says. “Fate, maybe?”

“Definitely not,” Jeongguk says quickly—Fate has nothing to do with their happiness, in fact, Fate was intent on f*cking them over. “It's work, right? We worked hard, and kept going even when...”

“Even when it felt like too much,” Taehyung finishes for him.

“Yeah.”

Taehyung clears his throat.

“When we were younger, I...” he bites down on his bottom lip, a habit he must have picked up from Jeongguk. “I thought of you as this—this perfect person. Maybe because you were always there for me when I was at my weakest. I never thought you could have problems. Then I found out about the anorexia.”

“The... the, yeah,” Jeongguk says quietly. He's still not entirely comfortable with calling it that, even though he knows that it is. Even though he goes to therapy regularly for it and still has relapses into that self-criticising mindset every now and then, when he's particularly stressed.

“After that, I thought—he's not perfect. He has problems, he struggles, but he's still so strong,” Taehyung looks Jeongguk straight in the eye as he says all this, at ease. “He has problems and he keeps going. So why can't I? I tried to keep going, then—even during the times I felt like ending things would be best, I would dissuade myself from actually...”

“You were stronger than I was,” Jeongguk says; he's always thought this. “I never had to go through half of what you did. If I did, who would've known if I'd have—”

“You wouldn't have,” Taehyung says fiercely. He sounds sure. “I've got a degree in this, Jeon Jeongguk, so trust me on this.”

Jeongguk laughs, even though it's probably inappropriate.

“Hey—don't laugh at me, you dick. I am a qualified psychologist—”

“I love you so f*cking much,” Jeongguk blurts. Taehyung stops speaking and there's a small smile on his face.

“Yeah?” he says, and shifts so he's straddling Jeongguk's lap. “Keep going.”

That, Jeongguk can do.

“The way I loved you ten years ago was probably kind of unhealthy for a teenager,” Jeongguk admits. “People always say that young love is never deep. Well, I would've done anything you'd asked. Literally, like—you could ask me to rob a bank, or something, and I would've done it.”

“Shame I didn't,” Taehyung grins. “Imagine how rich we would've been.”

“Shut up and take me seriously,” Jeongguk says good-naturedly. “I'm trying to be sentimental, okay?”

“Okay,” Taehyung subsides, face softening. “I'm listening.”

“Yes, so as I was saying, seventeen,” Jeongguk says. “I was a dick back then, but you changed me—”

Taehyung snorts.

“—and I would look into your eyes, and see the world, because you were my world—”

“Okay, now you're the one not taking things seriously,” Taehyung snigg*rs.

“I don't think I gave you permission to interrupt, love of my life,” Jeongguk grins, blushing right through it all, and Taehyung snorts again.

“Back to the bank robbing, you were the real robber because you stole my—”

“I'm going to slice off my ears if I have to keep listening to this,” Taehyung laughs, clamping his hands over Jeongguk's mouth. Jeongguk rears back to dislodge them but Taehyung just leans forward with him.

Jeongguk licks his hand.

“You're an actual f*cking child,” Taehyung yelps, retracing his hand immediately and wiping it on his thigh. “I didn't know marrying you would mean having to babysit all the time—”

Jeongguk wraps his arms around Taehyung's narrow waist and hauls him in to kiss him. Taehyung melts into it instantly, and he brings his hands up to cradle Jeongguk's face, sighing.

Taehyung pulls back for air and Jeongguk immediately trails his mouth down Taehyung's chin, to his throat, letting each kiss get hotter and wetter. Taehyung groans and buries his fingers in Jeongguk's hair, tugging lightly at the strands, urging his mouth to the junction between his neck and shoulder.

To reach the skin there, Jeongguk pulls Taehyung's t-shirt until it's hanging off one shoulder, and then sets to work. The idea of marking Taehyung here, using his teeth, reddening the skin—it's luxuriously tempting, and Jeongguk gives in without a second thought.

Jeongguk slips his hands under the hem of Taehyung's shirt and slides them up his back and down again, fingers splayed, to fit around his waist. Taehyung is still slim, but Jeongguk can feel the faint tautness of muscles underneath. Taehyung starts pulling at Jeongguk's shirt.

“Take this off,” he says, voice higher than usual. Jeongguk groans and obeys, frantic to get back to the taste of Taehyung's skin. Taehyung takes off his shirt too, and the feeling of their bare skin together nearly has Jeongguk coming. He bites down on Taehyung's collarbone to ground himself.

“Maybe—we should—move this to the bed,” Taehyung says breathlessly. Jeongguk's mind is so lost in the haze of arousal that he grasps the meaning of that a good minute or so after Taehyung says it.

“Yeah,” he says, but is reluctant to let go of Taehyung long enough for them to get to the bedroom.

Purely on instinct, he secures his arms under Taehyung's ass and stands. Taehyung startles momentarily but goes straight back to assaulting Jeongguk's mouth. His legs wrap around Jeongguk's waist. Jeongguk's knees go weak.

He carries Taehyung to their room with surprising ease—back in his own time, Jeongguk is a lot weaker, his body is still recovering—and somewhere in the back of his mind, he thanks his future self for working out.

He gently lowers Taehyung down onto the bed.

“That was so f*cking hot,” Taehyung murmurs. “You haven't done that in ages.”

Pleased, Jeongguk wastes no time in kneeling between the cradle of Taehyung's legs. He tries to slow himself down so he can enjoy it more, and settles back on his heels.

“What?” Taehyung asks, confused by the sudden halt.

“Nothing,” Jeongguk says.

He simply stares down at Taehyung, slack-jawed. Taehyung's always been gorgeous, but ten years has done him very f*cking well. His torso is toned, but not overly so—he still retains his lithe figure from years ago—and all that skin, God, it's golden and smooth and Jeongguk is desperate to cover every inch of it with his tongue.

Taehyung's cheeks are flushed, his hair is messy and in his eyes, and his mouth is red and swollen. He looks utterly debauched against the silk sheets.

“You're f*cking beautiful,” Jeongguk breathes. “I could look at you all day, like this.”

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung whines impatiently, but he colors further and his breathing speeds up.

Jeongguk starts working on the buttons of Taehyung's jeans, and slides them off along with his underwear. He places his hands on Taehyung's thighs; they fall open under his touch and Jeongguk's breath hitches.

He bends down to mouth at Taehyung's pulse point on his throat.

“I still don't know,” Jeongguk says against the skin, impossibly turned on, and drags his mouth down to the center of his chest. “How I managed to end up with someone so...”

Taehyung's hands fly up to clutch at Jeongguk's hair, perhaps wanting him to go faster, which is not going to happen, even if Jeongguk is torturing himself in the meantime.

Jeongguk's never had a sexual encounter with a boy before, but this is so easy, to forget everything and just lose himself in the white-hot arousal and need. The fact that it's Taehyung makes it a million times better.

He focuses his attention on one nipple, laving at it with his tongue and allowing his teeth to scrape there ever-so-lightly. It's obviously a sensitive spot for Taehyung, who moans and arches up into Jeongguk's mouth and scratches his scalp with his nails.

“You're a f*cking tease,” Taehyung stutters between long breaths.

“Mm, how could I not take my time,” Jeongguk replies; his mouth has reached Taehyung's stomach now. “When you feel so good?”

“Please, just—” Taehyung pulls hard on Jeongguk's hair. Jeongguk finally relents, moving back up Taehyung's body to meet his mouth. Taehyung helps Jeongguk gets his pants and underwear off, and they're both finally naked.

“God, Taehyung,” Jeongguk groans, overwhelmed by the friction of skin against skin.

“You gonna get inside me?” Taehyung says against his lips. A wave of arousal crashes over Jeongguk at the thought.

“Won't last long enough for that,” he says regretfully. It's also that he wants his first time with Taehyung to be with, well, the actual-time Taehyung. The blushing, the fumbling, the awkwardness—it should deter him, but that's how he wants it.

“Me neither,” Taehyung says. He shuffles so their hips are aligned and thrusts up.

“f*ck,” Jeongguk says. The hot twinge of pleasure is like nothing he's every felt before; he feels f*cking drunk on it.

Desperate to relive the feeling, Jeongguk grinds his hips down, hard. The resulting sensation—fire licking up his calves, his back, his co*ck—is otherworldly. Why the f*ck don't people have sex every day, every hour?

They settle into a quick rhythm, bodies sliding against each other, slick with sweat. Taehyung clutches at his shoulders so hard Jeongguk's expecting the marks to last well into tomorrow. Jeongguk slips a little, coordination completely off. He shallows his thrusts for a little, and pulls himself away so Taehyung's hands fall from his shoulders.

He intertwines their fingers and leans back down so their bodies are against each other, pressing their joined hands on either side of Taehyung's head. It gives him leverage, but it also feels more intimate.

More in control of his body now, Jeongguk slows his movements to something more sensual, with more intent. Taehyung lets out something close to a sob and Jeongguk sucks on his lower lip to swallow the sound.

“I'm close—f*ck, I'm going to—” Taehyung goes taut under him suddenly, and then Jeongguk can feel a wet warmth against his lower stomach, his hips.

Taehyung just came. Because of Jeongguk.

Taehyung pushes at Jeongguk's chest until Jeongguk is on his back, and then props himself up on a forearm and wraps his hand around Jeongguk's dick.

“f*ck, that's—f*cking hell, Taehyung,” Jeongguk groans. His voice sounds like sandpaper; it shocks him a little.

Taehyung takes Jeongguk's mouth in a kiss, all tongue and pure filth, and Jeongguk loses all coherency. His hand moves expertly—firm and rough, squeezing slightly at the end of each upstroke—and it's not long before Jeongguk comes harder than he has in his life.

Taehyung flops forward onto Jeongguk's chest.

“How long has it been since we last did that? A month? Two?” Taehyung sighs. “We need to get Jimin to look after Areum more often.”

“Mm,” Jeongguk agrees, too blissed out to even speak. He's grateful Taehyung can't see his face from here—he's smiling like a complete idiot, just staring up at the ceiling.

Once he's down from his high (which takes a while), he begins to feel sleepy. He's just so content right now, warm and sated with Taehyung's weight on his body... it would be so easy to just...

“Gross,” Taehyung says. “Ugh, at least we didn't get too much on the sheets. Go get a wet towel.”

“We can clean up later,” Jeongguk says. The mess isn't really bothering him at this point.

“Jeon Jeongguk,” Taehyung says.

Jeongguk somehow feels compelled to listen to him.

“Fine,” he says, and wanders over to the bathroom to get the towel.

After they've cleaned up, Taehyung cuddles into Jeongguk without complaint. This is more familiar to Jeongguk, the cuddling, except this time they're naked (which is a very nice addition).

They exchange kisses for a while—nothing too heated; each press of lips is soft, slow and sleepy—until Taehyung yawns and tucks his face into the crook of Jeongguk's neck.

It's only around four or five in the afternoon but it's already getting dark outside, courtesy of the winter season. The shadows cast around the room only adds to the atmosphere. Jeongguk falls asleep quickly.

[–]

There it is, that horrible, skull-crunching ringtone that makes Jeongguk question the sanity of his future self. Who in the f*cking world would think setting that as their ringtone would be a good idea?

Taehyung doesn't even stir. He must be used to it. Jeongguk, on the other hand, is startled from sleep to alertness, which is not a nice feeling. He groans and rubs a face over his hand before leaning over Taehyung to reach his phone.

“Hello?” he mumbles, squinting.

“Gukkie!” comes Jimin's cheerful voice. “Are you still planning to pick Areum up soon, or do you want her to have dinner with us?”

“Oh f*ck,” Jeongguk says. “Areum.”

“Jeongguk!” Jimin chides, but he sounds amused. “I'm guessing you and Taehyung've been busy?”

“Yeah, yeah, let me just,” Jeongguk shakes Taehyung's shoulder gently, trying to wake him. Taehyung mutters something unintelligible. “Should I go pick Areum up?”

“What?” Taehyung says, half-asleep, and then his eyes widen. “sh*t, I forgot! We need to get her to bed early, remeber? She has her ballet class tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, I'll be back soon,” Jeongguk says, smiling a little at the thought of Areum in a tutu, twirling. “Yeah, I'm coming to pick her up.”

“Alright. I'll see you, bye!”

“Mm, I'll come with you,” Taehyung says, sitting up. He still looks tired, so Jeongguk tries to get him to lie down again.

“It's fine. Sleep a little longer,” Jeongguk insists. Taehyung looks tempted for a second, but then shakes his head and gets up fully.

They get dressed. Taehyung leads the way to the underground parking lot. Turns out they own two cars—both Mercedes sports cars; Jeongguk's is black and Taehyung's is silver. Thankfully, they get into Taehyung's, which means that Jeongguk doesn't have to drive (and possibly kill them).

Taehyung looks more awake now as he pulls out of the parking lot and out onto the road. The traffic is pretty bad at this time—it's Seoul, after all—and Taehyung reaches over to grasp Jeongguk's hand every time the car is stationary.

They actually take more time to reach Jimin's house in the car than when Jeongguk had walked. They walk up the driveway close together with their shoulders brushing. Jeongguk bites his lip on a smile. This—feeling like an actual couple—makes Jeongguk so, so happy.

This time Yujin answers the door; Jimin has gone out for some groceries. She helps Areum button up her coat and pull on her hat, and there's an awfully sweet moment when Areum and Seungwon hug goodbye at the doorstep.

“You and Jimin need to come over for dinner,” Taehyung says to Yujin.

“Only if you're the one cooking,” she grins, and Taehyung laughs pleasantly. Jeongguk scowls at her and she sticks her tongue out.

“So you can be nice, as long as it's not to me,” Jeongguk grumbles, and Taehyung kisses him on the cheek to placate him before they bid Yujin farwell and set off.

“It's snowing!” Areum squeals, nearly dropping Geopum in the process. Jeongguk looks up, and yes, it is, albeit very lightly.

“It was snowing when you proposed to me, remember,” Taehyung smiles indulgently, nudging Jeongguk. “It was really f*cking cold in that park but I thought it was romantic anyway.”

“Everything I do is romantic,” Jeongguk says. Taehyung rolls his eyes but doesn't disagree. Jeongguk grins, pleased.

Areum skips along ahead of them, chattering happily to Geopum.

“And look at that puppy, how cute!” she says excitedly as they pass a little brown toy poodle on a red leash. Areum, ever-sociable, approaches the owner with wide, pleading eyes.

“Can I stroke your dog, please?” she asks politely, and Jeongguk can see the owner of the dog practically melt. Jeongguk does.

“She's adorable,” Jeongguk says. Taehyung laughs.

“You're too soft on her,” Taehyung tells him, but he's smiling fondly at Areum. “You give her everything she wants.”

“I like to do that for the people I love,” Jeongguk says meaningfully. Taehyung blushes.

“I noticed,” he says quietly, which makes Jeongguk feel all tingly inside.

The puppy is so tiny Areum has to bend down a little to stroke its curly, chocolate-colored head. It rumbles and presses its nose into Areum's hand. She lets out a delighted laugh.

“Papa, can we get a dog?” Areum calls.

“Oh God,” Taehyung mutters.

“Daddy, can we get a dog?” Areum says, changing tactics.

“Maybe, princess,” Jeongguk says immediately. Taehyung hits him on the shoulder.

“Like I said, too soft,” he says.

They keep walking after that, the dog and its owner in front of them, until they reach the busier part of the street where they'd parked the car.

“Jeongguk, could you strap Areum up in her carseat?” Taehyung says, pulling out the keys from his coat.

A squirrel scampers down a tree and the puppy starts barking at it. Alarmed, the squirrel runs off the pavement, and everything goes to hell from there.

Suddenly, the puppy darts into the road after the squirrel, knocking its owner to the floor in the process.

It all happens so quickly—one moment Jeongguk is staring in horror at the man toppling over, and the next there's a blaring horn and a loud, thump.

Taehyung gasps and Jeongguk quickly pulls him close. He doesn't want to look, but his eyes are automatically drawn to the road, where a car has stopped and the little puppy lies motionless on the ground.

Areum bursts into tears and Taehyung rushes to her side to console her.

Jeongguk blinks, still in shock.

The wind whispers in his ear, his breath condenses into a white cloud in front of his nose, and the sound of the cars fade into silence.

“Jeongguk, could you strap Areum up in her carseat?”

Jeongguk's eyes zero in on the squirrel running down the tree. The puppy barks; it echoes in Jeongguk's mind. The squirrel makes its escape, and the puppy's owner falls onto his backside.

He stumbles forward just as the puppy is about to step off the pavement, grabbing it into his arms high off the ground. The poodle barks and squirms intently, still focused on the squirrel in his eyesight. Jeongguk holds it tight, however, and its excitement dies down until it lies docile, nuzzling into the crook of his bent elbow.

“Holly, you scared me to death!” the owner scolds, running up to Jeongguk. He gives Jeongguk a grateful smile. “God, thank you so much—you saved him.”

“I—uh, no worries,” Jeongguk says awkwardly, far too preoccupied with the fact he just went back in time while he's forward in time. He's not even conscious of doing it, and there was no blue butterfly before.

“I have no idea what I would've done if he ran into the road,” the man says exasperatedly. Taehyung comes up behind Jeongguk, hand in hand with Areum. “He's very well trained—I have no idea why he did that.”

“I'm very glad he's safe,” Taehyung nods, looking as startled as Jeongguk feels.

The man takes Holly from Jeongguk's arms and coos at for a little bit. It's kind of odd to see—the man's eyes are a cold grey, and his features remind Jeongguk of porcelain.

“I'm Yoongi, by the way,” the man, Yoongi, says.

“Jeongguk,” Jeongguk says, after prompt from Taehyung. “Um—this is my husband Taehyung, and my daughter Areum.”

“I like your dog very much, sir,” Areum says. Yoongi laughs.

“I actually have a daughter around her age,” Yoongi says. “She was actually the one who wanted a dog, and I was completely against it until Hoseok—my partner—convinced me. Now I love Holly more than anything.”

“We would love it if you and your family came over to ours, once,” Taehyung smiles. “The kids could play, and I'm sure Areum would jump for a chance to see Holly again. Right, Jeongguk?”

“Y-yes, that would be, um, nice, yes,” Jeongguk stutters. He's still a bit shaken.

“That sounds great,” Yoongi says. They all exchange numbers before parting ways with a promise for lunch at Taehyung and Jeongguk's soon.

“Daddy, you saved the day,” Areum says. Taehyung holds Jeongguk's hand and chats to Areum as they cross the road and get into the car.

Jeongguk is still confused.

[–]

At around seven, they get Areum ready for bed. Taehyung helps her put on her pajamas and braids her hair while Jeongguk looks on in fascination. He'll never understand how people can get hair to look like that by just twisting pieces of it around. He goes to heat up some warm milk for her.

They all curl up on Areum's little bed even though there's not really the space for it; Taehyung sits in the vee of Jeongguk's legs, back against Jeongguk's chest, with Areum sprawled over Taehyung's thigh. Taehyung reads a story from a big, colorful book with vibrant pictures.

He does different voices for each character and the soft baritone of his voice has Jeongguk settling back against the wall, enchanted. How Taehyung makes a story about a fish finding his parents so magical is beyond him.

“Goodnight, Papa, goodnight, Daddy,” Areum yawns, burrowing into her pillow adorably.

“Night,” Taehyung says softly, brushing her stray baby hairs back from her forehead. They wait until she emits tiny, little snores and then turn all the lights off, except the star-shaped night light on the wall.

Taehyung tells Jeongguk he's going to take a shower, leaving Jeongguk with Areum.

She's not actually his or Taehyung's, in a biological sense, but she looks a little like them. Her nose is small and delicate like Taehyung's, and her eyes deer-in-headlights wide like Jeongguk's. Jeongguk's heart aches looking at her.

“Is that you, Daddy?” she mumbles.

“Yeah, princess,” he replies quietly. She turns to face him and looks up with sparkling brown eyes.

“I helped you save the day, you know,” she says sleepily. “With my magical powers.”

“That's very brave of you,” Jeongguk says with a smile. She wraps her little fingers around Jeongguk's thumb. “What did you do?”

“Holly got hit by a car, first, and I was sad, so I wished it never happened,” Areum explains, drowsy. “Then... then a weeny little blue butterfly came and sat on Geopum's nose, and then it flapped its wings and the magic happened. My butterfly magic.”

“Your... your what?” Jeongguk asks, suddenly alert. “How did your butterfly magic work?”

“It took us to before the squirrel came,” Areum says. “So, you see, Daddy, I saved the day, too. I won't tell Papa, don't worry.”

“Okay, baby,” Jeongguk says. He's buzzing inside, but keeps a calm front as not to worry his daughter. “Thank you for helping me save the day. “

“You're welcome,” she says. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, too,” Jeongguk says, heartfelt, and presses a kiss to her forehead.

He walks out of her room dazedly. She couldn't have—she couldn't have really been the one to turn back time, could she? But it's not like Jeongguk did, he's nearly sure of that, and she even saw the blue butterfly.

And there's the fact that she did it completely by herself, whereas Jeongguk always needs Jikan in order to travel in time. Jikan had told him that as he got more used to his power, as he gained control over it, he would be able to manipulate time at his own whim—Areum can already do it at three years old.

Jeongguk is going to have a talk with Jikan.

If she really does have the ability, should Jeongguk tell her he does too? Or should he wait until she's a little older? What if she asks him for help, asks him questions Jeongguk can't answer? Jeongguk barely knows anything about it himself...

He also realizes he's only temporarily in this time, and soon, he'll be seventeen again. So he has ten years to make his decision, which is comforting.

His anxiety flies out of his mind as soon as he gets into bed with Taehyung. Everything is so simple when it comes to their relationship here. He doesn't even have to think about it.

They face each other, legs a tangled mess and hands roaming gently. Taehyung's face is incredibly close to Jeongguk's and Jeongguk can't help but tilt his head forward and join their lips every now and then while they talk about nothing.

Eventually, they finish speaking; Jeongguk runs a thumb over Taehyung's lower lip and presses his mouth there, on his forehead, the tip of his nose, his cheeks, his eyelids. Taehyung is stunning under the pools of moonlight, and Jeongguk doesn't hesitate to tell him so in hushed whispers.

Right now, Jeongguk doesn't regret coming out at all—a year or so of isolation in high school is totally worth what he has now. Sometimes, good can come from suffering.

Somewhere, as they drift off into slumber, the butterflies in Jeongguk's stomach settle down; they've found what they were looking for.

[–]

August 29th, 2018

This time, when Jeongguk wakes up, he feels distinctly empty.

“Taehyung?” he murmurs, reaching around himself with his arm. He comes into contact with a textbook, and the arm of the pull-out couch.

He groans and sits up, rubbing at his eyes.

“Oh.”

So he's back in his own time now. Taehyung is shifting a little in the bed, covers pulled high over his face, and Jeongguk is on the couch with his homework scattered over it.

That means, according to his powers, he's learned the 'lesson'. He tries to work out what it is he's learned by living in his future for a day. Maybe it's how to take care of a child without killing them, although Jeongguk isn't sure he wouldn't have accidentally lost Areum in the streets if he's stayed a few more days.

He thinks it's probably something to do with the coming out situation; he doesn't feel so terrible about it now, especially because he knows what lies in wait for him ten years from now.

But there is something he still needs to do.

He sits on the edge of the bed. Taehyung is definitely awake; Jeongguk can tell by the movement of his eyelids and his breaths.

“I'm sorry,” Jeongguk says. “About yesterday.”

Taehyung opens his eyes and looks away.

“You don't have to be. It was my fault, forcing you to tell your friends,” he says almost imperceptibly.

“I—no, I'm glad I told them, even if they were... well, you know,” Jeongguk shrugs. “What I'm apologizing for is saying that it was your fault. It was my decision to listen to you, because I thought it was a good idea. I still think it was.”

“You don't have to make me feel better,” Taehyung sighs. He sits up and leans back against the headboard. “I know I messed up.”

“I'm telling you I'm happy I did it,” Jeongguk insists. “Can't you believe that?”

Taehyung looks at him for a long moment, considering.

“If you're sure,” Taehyung says. “But I—I'm still sorry.”

“Say sorry one more time and I'll never bake you anything again,” Jeongguk says. Taehyung smiles, and Jeongguk knows they've gotten past this particular issue.

“I couldn't have that,” Taehyung replies, and shuffles over. Jeongguk takes the hint and gets in beside him.

“What d'you think about having kids?” Jeongguk says suddenly.

Taehyung gives him an odd look. Jeongguk realizes how that must sound—like he's talking about them having kids together (which he actually is, but he doesn't want to scare Taehyung off after a few months of dating).

“Um... what?”

“In the future,” Jeongguk clarifies, because Taehyung was starting to look a little panicked.

“Oh, I...” Taehyung looks down at his hands. Jeongguk takes them in his so Taehyung has to look back up at his face.

Jeongguk knows that this conversation is kind of unnecessary, because they adopt Areum in the future anyway, but discussing a possible future together is pretty exciting.

“Yes,” Taehyung says finally. He glances at Jeongguk sideways, seemingly anxious. “Jimin's house was always so cheerful—not that I want six kids, or... maybe—maybe two.”

Two? Jeongguk thinks. Actually, perhaps Future Jeongguk and Taehyung were planning to adopt another kid after Areum. He never asked.

“What about you?” Taehyung asks.

“A little girl sounds nice,” Jeongguk says immediately, thinking of Areum's sugar-sweet smile. “Although we're both guys, so when she's like, a teenager, it might get kinda—you know—puberty. We'd be pretty f*cked.”

Jeongguk feels quite apprehensive for when Areum grows up. Will Future Jeongguk know how to handle periods? He can already imagine calling Yujin and asking for help, only to have her laugh in his face.

Taehyung laughs, then that stricken look passes over his face again.

“We?” he repeats. “As in, you and me?”

“Well, of course,” Jeongguk says. “Who else would I have kids with?”

Taehyung's eyes widen.

“f*ck!” Jeongguk says quickly, flushing. “Er—not that we have to, um—we don't have to, like... I'm not like asking you to marry me—um, Taehyung, please don't panic. This is all hypothetical, um, I know we're only seventeen—this is just me being dumb, please forget I said anything...”

By the end of his rambling Taehyung is laughing again.

“Well, that would be a pretty sh*tty proposal, anyway,” he says beatifically. “Not sure I would've accepted.”

“Shut up,” Jeongguk groans, inwardly pleased.

“But I'd like it to be you, too,” Taehyung says. Jeongguk's almost sure he's misheard, it's so quiet, that he only realizes he hasn't when he sees Taehyung's embarrased expression.

“Yeah?” Jeongguk grins. Taehyung doesn't affirm, but he does curl into Jeongguk's side when Jeongguk throws an arm around his shoulders.

[–]

“We can go eat outside somewhere,” Taehyung says quietly.

“No, that'd be admitting defeat,” Jeongguk replies through gritted teeth.

They're standing in the cafeteria, trays of soup and rice and kimchi in their shaky hands, looking around the room for somewhere to sit. Everyone there is staring at them unabashedly and whisper rushes around the room in furious bouts.

Jeongguk glances at his usual table in the center of the cafeteria and dismisses the thought. He can't sit there anymore. It's stupid he feels so upset, it's just a f*cking table, but...

All his (previous) friends are crowded around it. They're all looking at him, almost painedly, except Wonshin, who is eating like everything's normal.

Jeongguk catches Seolhyun's eye. She gives him a sympathetic look, to which Jeongguk shrugs and smiles a little. It's more of a grimace.

He thinks of Areum clutching Geopum, and Taehyung hunched over his laptop, typing away at a new bestselling book.

“Let's go sit there,” Jeongguk says, nodding at a table in the far left corner.

They walk over silently and sit down. It's deathly silent, and all Jeongguk wants to do is run back home, move school, move f*cking city. The beach in Busan is pretty nice, he thinks wistfully.

“Have you started your environmental science essay yet?” Taehyung says loudly. It's so, so brave of him, and Jeongguk knows he could never fall out of love with the boy next to him.

“No,” Jeongguk says. It'd be generous to call it a whisper.

He looks over at his usual table again and meets Yeonshik's eyes. Yeonshik's face scrunches up, and then he stands up, gripping his tray.

“This is stupid,” Yeonshik says. He's not shouting but the words seem to echo around the room in the silence.

Jeongguk's jaw falls open—Yeonshik strides over to their table in the corner and sits opposite them.

“Environmental science is a waste of time, man,” he says determinedly.

Jeongguk and Taehyung look at each other in disbelief, then at Yeonshik. Yeonshik just shovels rice into his mouth.

“Uh,” Jeongguk clears his throat. “I kind of like it.”

“You a fa*g, too, Yeonshik?” Wonshin calls tauntingly. Yeonshik presses his lips together until they turn white.

“You can go back,” Jeongguk whispers, but Yeonshik shakes his head.

“I'm taking that as a yes,” Wonshin's sharp voice drifts over. “Hope you three are enjoying your orgy over there.”

“Shut up, that's enough,” Kyuhyun hisses. Wonshin raises an eyebrow.

“What? You gonna go over there and join in, too?” he crosses his arms.

“I didn't say that,” Kyuhyun says quickly.

“You f*cking did,” Wonshin drawls. “Go on then.”

“Fine!” Kyuhyun gets up, rather angrily, and sits next to Yeonshik.

Jaebum and Jinsoo get up too, not looking at Wonshin as they do so, and sit at Jeongguk's table.

“I'm not gay,” Jaebum says kind of loudly. Jeongguk can't help but snort, and Jaebum grins.

Eventually, the table is full, and Wonshin is alone in the center of the room. He rolls his eyes melodramatically, but he looks seriously pissed. His jaw is trembling with what looks like suppressed anger, and his eyes are dark.

“Whatever. If you all want to go sit with—with him,” Wonshin spits, glaring at Jeongguk. “Do whatever you f*cking want.”

He pushes his food away and stalks out of the cafeteria.

“Any more room?” says a bright female voice; Seolhyun stands with two of her friends, the three of them looking like they've come out of the pages of a magazine. Jeongguk bites back a smile and gets everyone to shove over so they can sit. His friends look very pleased with this development.

After an awkward few minutes of Jeongguk's friends trying to break the silence, it works, and the room descends into its normal relaxed chatter. It feels just like before, except Jeongguk's holding Taehyung's hand under the table and he can't stop smiling for his life.

“I don't get how people can be gay, man,” Yeonshik says. His eyes are fixed suspiciously close to Seolhyun's chest.

Taehyung gets on surprisingly easily with everyone there, despite his initial shyness, and Jeongguk figures everything is going to be okay.

Except he has one thing left to sort out.

“I'm just going to the bathroom,” he says, wiggling out of the tightly-packed seats.

He finds Wonshin leaning against a locker on his phone.

“Hey,” Jeongguk says cautiously, not wanting to get into a physical fight. Wonshin has a very short temper.

“What the f*ck do you want?” he scowls.

Jeongguk is finding it very difficult not to punch the sh*t out of him, perhaps a broken nose or a black eye or both. His hands curl into fists, but he wills them to relax.

Wonshin's getting married to that James guy this summer.

“I struggled with my sexuality a lot, for ages,” Jeongguk starts. He swallows—he doesn't feel comfortable confiding in Wonshin of all people, but he knows this is what he needs to do. “I was really sh*tty to everyone because I wasn't... comfortable with myself.”

“And you think I give a sh*t because?” Wonshin sneers, but Jeongguk sees the weariness in his eyes.

“It's really good our friendship group is so loyal to each other, right?” Jeongguk ignores him. “Maybe it'll take a bit of time for them to get used to it, but they all support me. I'm very grateful for that.”

Wonshin doesn't reply this time. He's staring at his shoes.

“And I'm really happy with Taehyung,” Jeongguk continues. “The happiest I've been, ever, probably. It was hard to accept... that—that I'm gay, but—everything got easier from there.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Wonshin whispers. He looks terrified.

“I just wanted to,” Jeongguk shrugs. “I want us to stay friends. I thought it would help if I... I don't know. I don't want you to hate me because of who I am.”

“I don't,” Wonshin says.

“That's good,” Jeongguk nods, then gestures over his shoulder with a thumb. “Do you want to come sit with us? It's weird without you there.”

“I—okay,” Wonshin concedes. Jeongguk smiles, feeling like he's achieved something, and they walk back to the cafeteria together.

When everyone sees Wonshin in tow with Jeongguk, they look a little hostile. Taehyung, who Jeongguk is convinced is an actual angel, gives Wonshin a tentative smile. Wonshin blinks.

They squeeze onto the table.

“What did you say to him?” Taehyung whispers.

“Tell you later,” Jeongguk replies.

“Hey, I want to know—”

Jeongguk kisses him lightly on the cheek then, and four things happen simultaneously: Taehyung squeaks and kicks Jeongguk's shin; Seolhyun and her friends burst into excited squeals; Jeongguk's friends gape a little and look hilariously uncomfortable; Wonshin stares at them, his expression interestingly curious.

“I hate you,” Taehyung mumbles, but it's okay. Jeongguk knows what he really means.

[–]