you’re at once a map to nowhere and everywhere

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/52821607.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Relationship: Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V
Characters: Kim Taehyung | V, Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin (BTS), Kim Seokjin | Jin,
Kim Namjoon | RM, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope, Min Yoongi | Suga, Danny
Jones
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Slow
Burn, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Immigrant AU, Jeon
Jungkook is Trying His Best, Kim Taehyung is trying harder, Writer Jeon
Jungkook, Romance, Romantic Fluff, they're so cute I can't even, Literal
Sleeping Together, LGBTQ Themes, Xenophobia, Eventual Smut, they
live in london, BTS and McFLY crossover!, too many references to
McFLY songs, But I regret nothing, adulting is hard but it can also be
beautiful, Jungkook is just one year younger than Taehyung, The softest
thing I've ever written, Mutual Pining, but trust me, Happy Ending,
There Is Only One Bed, Found Family
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2024-01-05 Completed: 2024-02-23 Words: 135,456
Chapters: 6/6
 you’re at once a map to nowhere and everywhere
by goofyarmy

Summary

Taehyung meets Jungkook during the winter. Two souls living through the seasons, trying to
navigate words in another language, learning how to love a city they don't belong to, and
wondering if it's possible to find a home in a foreign country.

When the next winter comes, Taehyung realises home is not a place.

Notes

Hellooooooo, I’m back!!!

I’m thrilled to share this fic with you after dreaming about this story for so long!

💜
This fic is already completed, it’s around 115k words, divided into 6 chapters (yes, really
long chapters to keep you busy ). Updates once a week, probably every Friday.

Here’s the fic thread! Give it some love if you can (and check the mood boards for each
chapter hehe). This fic also has a playlist - I did my best to organize the songs in a way that
makes sense to the story.

The title of this fic comes from the amazing poem Gay Incantations, by billy ray belcourt.

As expected, English is not my first language. Kudos and comments are deeply appreciated.

This fic is to all the people living in between languages, looking for a place to call home. I
hope you love them as much as I do.

** disclaimer **
Please, keep in mind this story focuses on a very specific immigration situation, in which
people leave their countries to do their post-graduation studies or to assume a specific job
position. A lot of it comes from my own experience as an immigrant, and by any means the
struggles or lives of these characters represent all the complex and hard immigration
circumstances out there.

twitter • neospring •
 flakes

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Wild Geese , by Mary Oliver

Someone once told him twenty-seven is the greatest age before the thirties. Taehyung still
doesn't understand why. Perhaps twenty-seven is that middle ground. You are not that young
anymore, but you’re not thirty yet, the age you have to have your shit together. So, maybe
twenty-seven is the last call to make something of your life.

Seven days have passed since he finally turned twenty-seven, and Taehyung still doesn’t have
the vaguest idea of how to do that. To make something out of his life.

Taehyung also hates the pressure.

He likes to take his time to feel, to know, to breathe. Just like now, while he's staring at the
painting in front of him. The thick layers of oil-based ink took several days to try, forcing the
artist to wait until adding a new coat. If Taehyung isn’t mistaken, the artist — a young
woman from Turkey — said to him it took her thirty-seven days to finish this piece. Without
the waiting time, it should probably take her four to six days to finish the painting. Basically,
all she did to conclude the artwork was waiting.

It makes Taehyung think that waiting years to have a good life is not so bad. Most good
things take time. Maybe he doesn’t enjoy numbers that much, to quantify how long it takes
for something to happen, how many years you need to accomplish something. Maybe
Taehyung likes to notice time passing by seasons, by fruits changing in the produce aisle, by
new artists showing up, by listening to how long a song lasts.

Maybe that’s why Taehyung is still here. Not counting the time, but giving it time.

Taehyung blinks a few times, shoves his hands in his pockets, and walks back to his desk.
The laptop in front of him screams for his attention. He knows he has to update the
spreadsheets with information about the new work they just received, but he can’t avoid
daydreaming for a little bit.

Winter months are not the best for more commercial art galleries. London is soggy and grey
most of the time, the sharp wind scares the customers and the tourists. Everything is slow,
and Taehyung appreciates it because when it is cold outside, it means all the windows and
doors are sealed and then there’s a comfortable silence. It almost feels like nothing can
disrupt him.

The cup of tea he made a few hours ago stares at him, and he takes a sip. It is cold and bitter
— tastes a lot like his life — but he continues to drink it anyway.

A ruffle of cold air bursts inside when the door is opened, the street noises invading the
quietness of the gallery. It’s a violent disruption, makes Taehyung jolt in his chair. The
confusion lasts for a couple of seconds, just until he cracks his neck, pushes a big smile to
welcome the new visitor.

“Welcome,” he says. The other man replies with a short nod and a matching polite smile. He
looks younger and fancy in his black slacks, black turtleneck, and long black overcoat.
Taehyung watches with careful eyes as the man stomps his wet boots on the rug and steps
inside, inspecting every inch of the space.

Taehyung knows better than to just go and offer help. Most people just come to look at the art
displayed and leave, so he waits, eyes focusing on the screen in front of him again.

His attention doesn’t last in the numbers and names, the presence of the stranger too strong to
go unnoticed. He has a stark beauty, not an obvious one, though. His nose is a bit too big, but
Taehyung thinks a big nose builds character. His eyes are huge and black, almost doe, makes
him think of a baby deer and the dark universe.

It’s probably too soon to say it, for Taehyung can’t really see his body, but he can tell the man
is well-built. Not that he is paying too much attention to the way his thighs hold the fabric of
the dark slacks perfectly, or how his shoulders are large. He is definitely not looking for
someone right now.

As much as he knows better, Taehyung finds himself standing up, hands shoved in the
pockets of his beige slacks. In two seconds, he is beside the stranger and in front of the same
painting he himself was contemplating earlier.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” says Taehyung.

The man seems to not have noticed he was so close because he cracks his neck, body going
slightly rigid like he is spooked.

“Huh?”

“The painting.” Taehyung points at it, fingers aching to touch the texture on the canvas. As an
art historian, he more than understands why you cannot touch it. His fingers tingle every time
he gets close to an artwork, nonetheless. There is something about tactual feeling art that
could never compare to just watching it. “I find it beautiful, don’t you?”

The man’s eyes drag slowly from the painting to Taehyung, as if he is reluctant to take his
gaze off the canvas. But it seems he can’t resist looking at Taehyung, either. His big dark
orbits are enough to engulf Taehyung’s whole body, penetrating, maybe trying to recognize
him from somewhere else.

Taehyung stares back. Feels like floating, like drowning.

“I— I guess so,” the stranger replies with a low voice.

If Taehyung didn’t know better, he would think the stranger is nervous.

Taehyung cocks his head to the side. The man observes the painting with big eyes, lower lip
trapped in between his teeth, a hint of uncertainty in the way he stands in front of the work.

He can say with confidence that he is not someone very familiar with this kind of art.

He decides to ask anyway. “Are you interested in something?”

Like it is the stupidest question he has ever heard, the man looks at Taehyung with raised
brows. “Actually, yes.” His answer contradicts his face, but then he adds, “Inspiration.”

His eyes sparkle under the dull white light of the gallery. He stares openly at Taehyung like
he is intrigued by him, when, in fact, it is the complete opposite. The stranger is a loud
presence in the room, his dark clothes contrasting the whiteness of the environment, the
sterileness of it.

“Oh,” Taehyung looks interested. “Do you paint?”

The man then snorts a gentle laugh that is more like an amused breath. It is a nice sound. It
fills up the silent gallery, just like his presence does. He shakes his head, soft dark hair
dangling.

“No. I write.”

If Taehyung thinks he is doing a good job of hiding his confusion, the stranger clearly thinks
the opposite, because he adds, “I am writing an essay about a man who doesn’t see beauty in
anything.”

Now that he has spoken a full sentence, Taehyung notices they share the same accent. None
of them dare to not speak English anyway.

Taehyung gapes, a wrinkle growing on his forehead because he still can’t get it. “And how
looking at beautiful things will help you with that?”

The man shrugs, darting his gaze once again to the colourful painting in front of him.
Taehyung traces the lines of his face, his sharp jaw, the present nose, his slightly swollen
eyelids.
If he needs to look at beautiful things, he should be looking in the mirror.

When the stranger turns back to him, his eyes are so intense that now Taehyung is the one to
look back at the painting. Suddenly, the controlled air of the gallery seems too thick, the
sterility of the environment contaminated with something unknown, but very intense.

“It helps me understand what he is missing in life,” he replies.

Taehyung hums, pulling at his earlobe. “I can’t grasp how someone could not find beauty in
anything.”

“Neither do I,” the man replies, his eyes burning holes in the side of Taehyung’s face.

He finally turns, finding the courage to face those black orbits again. He shifts in his stance,
more intrigued by the second. “And how can you write about something you don’t
understand?”

“I think writing about it helps me figure it out,” the stranger says. He licks his lips slowly.
Taehyung notices how he has this small mole under his lower lip, and darts his gaze back up
again because there are too many details. Too many distracting details on his face.

“Right.”

As if deciding this is enough, the man steps to the next painting. The urge to follow him
consumes Taehyung, but the gallery phone rings at the same time new people cross the glass
door. He is forced back to reality and walks to the front desk with the same welcoming
smile.

By the time he finds himself free again, he looks around in search of the man, but the gallery
is just an empty stale space again.

The wind is sharp.

Taehyung loops the caramel scarf around his neck, burying his chin in the soft fabric.
Tapping his feet on the frozen pavement, he waits for Jimin outside of the cafe. He can see
through the glass doors that he is talking to a young girl, probably the new barista he
mentioned he is training.

He could get in and wait inside, even though the cafe is already closed — perks of being
friends with the manager —, but Taehyung appreciates the cold biting his cheeks. His mom
says it is because he was born in the winter. That’s why he can endure low temperatures, can
find joy in the freezing cold.
Probably it is the familiarity winter brings. When it is cold, London reminds him of home.
The naked trees, the grey landscapes, the long coats, and the hot drinks. It’s all very
comforting, all very known to him, and the feeling of familiarity in a strange place is
priceless.

He saw early in the forecast that it would snow tonight, but when he turns up to the sky, the
white mass of clouds looks the same as every day. Snow in London is rare, like one of those
flowers that only bloom once a year. Global warming is making it even worse. He can’t help
but think he would like this place more if it snowed frequently. In all the years he has lived in
this city, he can count on one hand the amount of time the streets turned white. He can count
the number of times he felt truly comfortable in this sharp cold that is all but white.

When he looks inside again, Jimin is coming his way, a large smile and soft eyes on his tired
face.

“Sorry to make you wait, baby,” he says as soon as he closes the door behind him, pulling
Taehyung in a tight embrace. “Where are Namjoon and Seokjin?”

“Didn’t you check the group chat?” Taehyung asks, tucking one black lock behind Jimin’s
ear.

“I didn’t have time,” Jimin says, and then raises both eyebrows, his eyes open wide. “Oh shit,
did they get it?”

Taehyung bites his lower lip to contain his smile and nods enthusiastically, watching as Jimin
fumbles with his gloves to unlock his phone.

“Oh my God, it’s happening!!!” Jimin yells when he reads the group chat, slapping one hand
over his mouth in shock. When he tears his eyes from the screen, he launches forward,
looping his arms around Taehyung’s neck, and starts jumping and spinning. Taehyung lets out
a loud laugh, letting himself be dragged in this weird swirling in the middle of the sidewalk.
He throws his head back and feels the warmth of Jimin’s body and his happy laugh. “We’re
gonna be fucking uncles!”

Taehyung squeals back in excitement, reliving the warm feeling of seeing the message for the
first time. He did it a couple of hours ago at work, and yelled in the middle of the gallery,
almost giving Virginia a heart attack.

This is the furthest in the process Namjoon and Seokjin have gotten after more than two years
of trying to adopt a baby. They had already taken the mandatory course, done all the medical
examinations and police checks, and Taehyung and Jimin were happy to be their referees in a
very long interview process.

In Taehyung’s humble opinion, they were the perfect candidates: married, with good, stable
jobs and a beautiful home in Tooting Bec. Nonetheless, the waiting list for newborns was
huge, and it could take years for the agency to find a good match.

“I know!” Taehyung yelps, holding his friend by the shoulders. He takes a deep breath, trying
to do what Seokjin and Namjoon advised, “But let’s remain calm, it’s just a meeting, we
don’t know anything yet.”

“Who wouldn’t want Namjoon and Seokjin as parents? I surely want them to be my daddies,”
Jimin jokes, letting go of Taehyung and starting their way down the street.

Shaking his head in disapproval, Taehyung bumps him in the shoulder. “They’re a respectful
family, Jimin-ah.”

“I’m nothing but respectful.” Jimin glares at him. “Come on, I know they aren’t coming, but
this shouldn’t stop us from celebrating. Maybe tonight is the night.” He pokes Taehyung in
the ribs.

Taehyung squirms and tightens his coat around his torso, breathing a foggy laugh in the cold.

Jimin has been insufferable about finding someone for him for months now, but Taehyung is
not in a hurry. He’s not looking forward to speaking love in English anytime soon.

If he is honest with himself, he doesn’t believe there is love for him in this city anymore. At
least, not a British one. He is surprised after everything that happened, Jimin still believes he
could find it. But he can’t blame his friend, Jimin has always been the most romantic out of
the two of them, always waiting for that kind of ravishing love that knocks the air out of your
lungs, sweeps you off your feet. Taehyung would rather have it serene, like a juicy peach on a
nice summer afternoon.

Being alive is enough of an adrenaline rush sometimes.

So he’s giving his heart time. To heal, to be open without being torn apart.

“I assume you already have a place in mind,” Taehyung says as Jimin takes the lead and turns
left.

“I love how well you know me.” Jimin turns on his heels, firing finger guns at him with the
same silly smile on his face.

Taehyung’s lips are on someone’s mouth. He’s not sure who, and doesn’t really care. As soon
as their mouths touch, he questions himself what he is doing. He feels what was supposed to
be softness in his tongue, but his brain registers it as dryness. Hands are grabbing his waist,
squeezing like they want to pull a piece of flesh with them. Taehyung grimaces, pulls away,
mumbles something about going to get a drink, and leaves the faceless stranger behind.

He sighs, smacks his lips to get rid of the rough sensation.

Jimin is nowhere to be seen, probably found some soft warm lips for himself. Taehyung
drops his body on a bar stool, orders a pint, says cheers, mate, like people around here do. He
doesn’t remember when pubs became places for parties. He isn’t sure it has at all, maybe this
is just one of Jimin’s findings. It looks like a pub, it has tables and booths and dark walls, but
there’s also sort of a dance floor, although Taehyung feels so weird he barely registers the
music.

There’s also an excessiveness of wood around him. Wooden floors, wooden panels, wooden
chairs. He misses a less pompous environment. Plastic stools and precarious round tables. He
misses the smell of fried food and cigarettes and people yelling in a familiar way. British
people yell weirdly, loud but contained.

His eyes search for Jimin once again, they aim for colourful, but find darkness. Dark eyes,
dark hair, dark clothes. His heart does something funny, but he keeps staring at the familiar
face until it stares him back and it flashes with recognition, walking his way with a drink in
hand.

“Hey, you’re the gallery guy, right?” The not-so-stranger with big doe eyes who makes
Taehyung think of deers and the universe smiles at him, waving a hand.

Taehyung can’t help but smile back. He is as beautiful as the first time he saw him, but his
expression is less severe this time. Maybe it’s the dim lights of the pub, casting a different
glow at him. His cheeks are flushed and his mouth is wet and pink, and Taehyung thinks
that’s what soft lips should look like.

Fate is not a concept Taehyung is fond of. He doesn't like to believe his life is predestined. It
sounds too much like he doesn’t have a choice. If anything, he likes choosing, likes to think
he has some control even over it. So, instead of assuming it’s fate, Taehyung chooses to
interpret it as coincidence, meeting this stranger again.

“Hi, you’re the inspiration guy.” Taehyung bounces in his seat, takes a sip of his beer. Why is
he being so antsy? It’s just a beautiful man.

The familiar stranger chuckles, shyly scraping his nape. The fingers rubbing his skin are
tattooed, delicate little dark lines. “Hey, sorry about that day.”

Taehyung looks confused, cocks his head to the side to make it clear he is not following.
“About what?”

“You were trying to talk to me and I was being evasive.” He sits down on the stool beside
Taehyung, turns his body to better face him, and adds, “I tend to be very quiet when I’m in
the middle of a creative process.”

Licking his lips, Taehyung squints. “Aren’t you always?”

“What?” The man doesn’t expect the question, seems to ponder what Taehyung means and
answers, “Quiet? No.”
“No, I mean in the middle of a creative process,” Taehyung says, tracing lines on the sweaty
glass of beer in front of him with his fingertips.

The man chuckles lightly. “Yeah, you can say I am.” He drinks his beer, a long gulp that
makes his Adam’s apple bob. “Are you an artist yourself?”

“Me? No, no,” Taehyung shakes his head, waves his hand. He can’t stop speaking with his
whole body. This man makes him want to move. “I’m on the other side, I study your kind.”

“Oh, mad scientist, then?” The man raises one eyebrow. “Should I be worried you’re going to
run tests on me?”

Taehyung laughs, feeling light, comfortable for the first time with a stranger since he arrived
in this country. Maybe it’s the accent, it has to be. “I’m a grad student in Art History. Well,
sort of. Now I’m just working at the gallery you went to the other day.”

Understanding flashes through the other man’s face, and he hums.

“I’m Taehyung, by the way.” He offers a hand but retracts it immediately. Who offers a hand
after holding an entire conversation?

The man looks down at his retracted hand, trails his eyes back up to Taehyung’s flushed face,
and smiles.

“Taehyung,” he repeats, enunciating every syllable slowly as if just to taste how it sounds in
his mouth. Somewhere in Taehyung’s chest, something comes alive. It feels a lot like he’s
hearing his name for the first time. “I’m Jungkook, it’s nice to meet you,” he says in Korean.

His voice sounds different, lower and fuller, less nasal. Sounds like the voice of someone
who is whole.

“Oh. Jungkook,” Taehyung says his name too. He likes to say that name, it fills his whole
mouth, doesn’t leave empty space on the corners of his tongue like Jack or Josh. It is sort of
obvious, but he asks anyway, “How did you know?”

“I could notice the way your Vs sounds more like Bs,” Jungkook replies, smiling. “But also,
Taehyung is an extremely Korean name.”

Taehyung feels his cheeks warming, too aware of everything. He doesn’t know if it’s because
he’s slightly embarrassed by his accent, or because he just heard his name slipping from
Jungkook’s tongue like raw honey.

The music that Taehyung hadn’t noticed before starts pumping, drunk people pass by them
yelling part of the lyrics. He grimaces, and Jungkook seems to notice.

He stands up, tilts his head to the door, and says, “Wanna go outside for a bit?”

Taehyung grabs his beer and jacket, and trails after Jungkook. When he steps outside, the
cement on the floor feels rough on the soles of his boots. The cold air fills his nostrils,
freezing his lungs. He opens his mouth and fog comes out of it, he giggles to himself, loves
to see his breath condensing when it leaves his warm mouth and meets the coldness of the
outside world. As he takes a long sip of his drink, Taehyung is suddenly glad British people
don’t drink cold beer.

It’s almost silent when compared to the pub. It is always silent in the winter.

Taehyung asks how long Jungkook has been living in London, and is surprised to know he
hasn’t been here for long. He seems too comfortable to be a newcomer. Maybe some people
just fit into places, are just born to belong to them even if they were born somewhere else.
Taehyung would feel jealous of it, but with Jungkook, he can’t find it in him to feel anything
but interest in finding out more.

So he does. He does find out that Jungkook is an international correspondent for a Korean
newspaper, but his passion is creative writing. He’s about to celebrate his first anniversary in
London, or with London . He lives with his cousin who moved to England many, many years
ago, who is probably more English than Korean by now. In return, Taehyung tells him about
his moving three years ago to get a PhD, and then how he took a short leave and now doesn’t
know anymore. He cuts that topic, though, doesn't want to talk about it. Instead, he talks
about his job as an assistant in the gallery, about his love for art but how it can be weird
sometimes to love something so complex and volatile, to have to deal with big egos, big
people, big money.

The more he talks, the more he realises how glad he is to speak Korean, especially so late at
night, when his English usually starts to give up on him. He tells Jungkook how happy he is,
over and over, and Jungkook laughs, probably thinking he is silly, or a little bit drunk.
Taehyung doesn’t care, he is very silly indeed and a bit drunk too. And he likes it better to be
silly and drunk in his mother tongue.

The freezing night sky weighs over them, thick clouds like white velvet. The promise of
snow hanging over them. But London is always cloudy, so he looks up every now and then,
hoping it becomes more than a promise tonight.

“How’s your piece going?” he asks after they talk about all the basic questions one must do
when meeting a foreign friend for the first time. Do you like London? Where are you from in
Korea? What food do you miss the most? Do you want to go back home? Jungkook answers:
yes, Busan, Samgyeopsal, no. Taehyung answers in return: sometimes, Daegu, kimchi jjigae,
where’s home?

Jungkook looks confused, downs the rest of his beer, places the glass on the floor, and rubs
his cold hands.

“The one about the person who can’t see beauty,” Taehyung supplies, probably way too
aware that he shouldn’t be remembering those details.

“Ah, that thing?” Jungkook’s eyes smile before his lips like he is glad Taehyung remembers.
Taehyung feels the restlessness inside his stomach quieting down. “I gave up on that idea.
Ended up writing about a person who can only see beauty in the most mundane things.”
“Oh, really?” Taehyung finds this more interesting, less sad. He needs something less sad.
“Like what?”

Jungkook thinks for a bit, leans back on the brick wall, watches Taehyung with careful eyes,
and speaks with even more careful words. “The character can’t find beauty in a Van Gogh
piece, or in a Hollywood star's face, you know, obvious concepts of beauty?”

“Like Leonardo DiCaprio in the 90s?” Taehyung says before he thinks. He’s not even drunk,
not yet, but he seems incapable of stopping being silly. Maybe it’s the freshness in the air, the
promise of snow. As soon as the words come out though, he shuts his mouth, purses his lips
in a thin line, waiting for Jungkook to cringe.

He doesn’t.

Jungkook laughs delightfully, and relief floods Taehyung’s body instantly. What a good
sound, he thinks.

“Yeah, like DiCaprio in the 90s.” He pauses, the smile lingers on his face. “Instead, they
think a bee knocking on the window is the most beautiful thing they have ever laid eyes on,
or that a stranger passing by on the street looks like the most fascinating face they’ve ever
seen.”

“The details, then?” Taehyung adds, thinking Jungkook has a beautiful face, but his brain
looks even more gorgeous.

Something cold lands on the tip of his nose, he crosses his eyes to meet a white snowflake.
When he looks up, more of the white flurry falls, swirls in the cold air, and melts on the
ground. It is cold, but it still feels like a hug.

“Yeah, always the details,” Jungkook says, looking up at the sky.

The third time he meets Jungkook, Taehyung is having a bad day. One of those days in which
everything goes wrong. You wake up after a bad night of sleep, drop the box of cereal on the
floor, and almost miss the bus to work. He is tired, that kind of tired you can’t put words
together, in any language.

But he has to, and it is a disaster. Three years living abroad and he still struggles, mixes up
the don’ts and doesnt’s, has a hard time pronouncing the word month — what’s with English
and its obsession with ending words with th?

His shift is almost over now, but he swears to god that if someone else tries to chat with him,
he might short-circuit.
He checks the clock, only five minutes until Virginia arrives. He twists his torso, one hand
pushing his left knee to help the motion. He hears his vertebrae cracking, one by one, like
cherry tomatoes popping in the mouth. It feels good.

The door opens, bringing the cold winter air inside. Taehyung tenses, feeling his spine
crumpling again after the stretch. He hopes it’s not another visitor, prays for it to be Virginia
arriving early, although she never does. When his eyes land on the man stomping his boots on
the doormat, Taehyung feels the weight of the day dissipating in the air.

“Jungkook-ssi,” he says, and it tastes so good in his mouth to not need to elongate any R s to
pronounce a name. Jungkook smiles back, almost shy, like he was caught doing something
wrong. He is in all black again, same long coat, but a fluffy sweater and black jeans this time.
His long dark hair is messy, reaching his cheeks wildly. It’s probably windy out there.
“Looking for inspiration again?”

It’s been a couple of weeks since they saw each other at the pub party. Taehyung didn’t offer
or ask for a number, Jungkook even less. There was this familiarity amongst them that made
him forget they barely knew each other but made him sure Jungkook would show up again,
like old friends always do.

“Don’t think I’m ever not looking.” Jungkook's smile grows, dark eyes soft on Taehyung,
making him feel warm as if the cold air had turned around and escaped through the cracks of
the door, finding its way back to the freezing day. “Please, just Jungkook is fine.”

He walks around the gallery, and Taehyung follows him with his gaze. Jungkook stops at a
new painting, one that arrived after his first visit, and pretends he is not there to see
Taehyung. Well, maybe he isn’t.

Thirteen more minutes pass, Virginia arrives rambling apologies for being late — not very
British of her. Taehyung says it’s okay, he always says it’s okay. He slips both arms into the
sleeves of his brown cocoon coat, gets his messenger bag, but instead of walking out, he goes
to the back of the gallery, where Jungkook is absorbed in looking at a sculpture.

Just like the first time, Jungkook doesn’t notice him right away, and almost jumps back when
Taehyung asks, “What is it that you’re writing about now?”

“Still not sure, but I want to use synesthetic imagery,” Jungkook replies, eyes locked on the
object in front of him.

“Synesthetic as in using all senses??” asks Taehyung, cocking his head to the side.

Jungkook turns to face him, tucks a wild dark lock behind his ear. “Yeah, using them to
describe something. Like when you say a voice is chilly grey to mean it’s husky. But it goes
beyond that,” he supplies. “The plan is to use these ideas throughout the whole text, to
explain the characters and the environment in a nonconventional way.”

Taehyung hums, he likes the idea, and thinks of how he rather uses nonconventional terms to
understand his movement through the world. He doesn’t think of it as synesthetic, though,
thinks it is just living with his whole body.
“How would you describe what you see right now?” Taehyung asks, looking at the sculpture.

“Snowy aura, sounds like warm honey ginger tea on Sunday evening,” Jungkook replies in a
heartbeat, eyes trained on Taehyung, the sculpture completely ignored by his side.

“What does that mean?” Taehyung tries to grasp all that from the glass form in front of him,
and fails to think of how a sculpture could sound like sweet tea.

Jungkook shrugs. “Something that is fresh and delicate, but carries itself with some sort of
sweet melancholy.”

Taehyung looks at the sculpture and back at Jungkook’s dark orbits. That’s a little too specific
for a shapeless form, but he doesn’t contest.

“Isn’t sweet melancholy another synesthesia?” Taehyung cocks his head to the side.

Jungkook laughs a breathy laugh, it rolls to Taheyung’s ears like molasses. Maybe
synesthesia is indeed a good tool for navigating the world. “I guess you can only experience
the world with all the senses, then.”

After that, they silently look at more pieces. Or, Jungkook looks at more pieces, Taehyung
just looks at him. He traces the shape of his face with his eyes, breathes in the soft vanilla
smell mixed with fabric softener that comes from Jungkook, and wonders why he is so
intrigued by this man. They barely know each other, yet Taehyung wants to stay close for a
few more minutes.

They end up staying close for a lot more than a few minutes, and when Jungkook notices
Taehyung has a bag and coat, ready to go home, he suggests walking together to the nearest
bus stop.

The sky is cloudy and charged as they walk, and when they stop, checking the sign that says
his bus is going to arrive in three minutes, Taehyung feels an emptiness he can’t quite
explain.

“I should get your number, you know,” Taehyung says, eyes still focused on the electronic
panel. Three minutes. He doesn’t have much time. He tucks one strand of hair behind his ear,
lets his fingers slide until it reaches his earlobe. He pulls it a couple of times before he lets his
hand fall by his side again. “So I can let you know when a new piece comes to the gallery.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, Taehyung feels his stomach flutter. Jungkook smiles
large and Taehyung is hypnotised by his grin, the emptiness all gone. It’s almost like every
inch of his body is being filled by a thousand flapping wings. Terribly silly of him.

Jungkook looks at him curiously, and thankfully doesn’t comment on the fact that he
probably doesn’t need to know about new pieces. “I’d love that, give me your phone,” he
says anyway, stretching his hand.

Taehyung gives him his phone, the tip of his fingers lingering against Jungkook’s palm. For a
moment, he wishes he could replace the phone with his own hand, press the soft flesh of
Jungkook’s palm, trace his life and heart lines with his fingers just to find out how long and
curvy they are. To find out what they say about his future.

While Jungkook adds his number, Taehyung wishes the bus is delayed, stuck in traffic, or lost
in streets that look all the same. He wants to suggest walking home, but he doesn’t even
know where Jungkook lives, doesn’t think it’s wise to walk a couple of miles in this cold.

Jungkook gives him back his phone, and he looks at the screen only to find that Jungkook has
already texted himself, just a simple “hi”, written in Hangul. Taehyung grips his phone like
it’s the most precious thing, and before he can say anything, the bus is already stopping in
front of him.

He moves awkwardly, not sure if they should hug, shake hands, bow, or simply wave, but
Jungkook is moving at the same time, raising his index finger and pointing at the tall, red
vehicle.

“Well, that’s me,” Jungkook says.

“Oh.” Taehyung stops in his tracks. Fate cannot be a thing, but coincidence is also becoming
too weak to describe what is going on. He wonders if that would be written in the lines of
Jungkook’s hand, only if he knew how to read them. “Me too!”

“Well, I guess you’re stuck with me for a little longer.” Jungkook grins, gesturing for him to
hop on the bus first.

Taehyung chooses a seat on the second level, lucky enough to find the one in front of the
windshield, and Jungkook follows suit, plopping on his side.

“Have you lived in Hackney Wick since you got here?” Jungkook is the first to break the
silence.

Taehyung follows the curves on the road in front of them for a moment before turning ever so
slightly. He notices he has never been so close to Jungkook before, the darkness of his eyes
threatens to pull him in.

“Yeah, it was the only good location with ‘reasonable’ rent prices,” Taehyung says, air-
quoting the word because he knows rent prices in London are anything but reasonable. “I
found a pretty decent one-bedroom. Plus, the first time I saw the canals, I was sure I never
wanted to live in any other borough. What about you?”

“Ah, it wasn’t much of a choice. I guess I told you the other day I live here with my cousin
Yoongi,” Jungkook says, bending his leg on the seat and turning just slightly to better face
him. “He owns a townhouse in the neighbourhood so I moved in with him. That’s the only
reason I can afford living in London,” he chuckles a laugh.

“He owns a house?” Taehyung gapes.

“Yeah, his parents came here more than twenty years ago and they bought a house when it
was still possible to do so in this city,” Jungkook replies with a shrug. “Now my uncle and
my aunt retired and moved to the countryside, but he stayed. Even with the distance, my
parents remained very close to his, so yeah, he tolerates me living there.”

“Wow, that’s pretty lucky.” Taehyung’s eyebrows are still raised in surprise.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says vaguely, finally facing the road in front of him, hair falling on his
face.

Jungkook’s knee brushes Taehyung’s thigh when he shifts, and the slight touch makes
Taehyung completely aware of his whole body. What does he do with his hands? How does
he breathe so close to Jungkook?

Jungkook looks serene, so serene it’s almost like one of the paintings Taehyung likes so
much. A kind of serenity that is almost unsettling, makes Taehyung nervous, makes him think
that this should be awkward, to sit beside a man he barely knows but surprisingly already
feels so close to. But it isn’t. Instead, he wants to just trace every crease and ends of
Jungkook’s body with his eyes and fingers. He curls his hands into fists, not because he’s
tense, he’s just being cautious. He doesn't want to do anything inappropriate, like to
accidentally tuck one strand of Jungkook’s hair just because he can’t stop thinking of how
soft it looks.

It’s a weird, warm feeling that he hadn’t felt in so long. It makes winter feel balmy

It takes a few stops for Jungkook to talk again, and Taehyung feels like he can breathe once
more, he is too close to his stop, doesn’t want to leave on a silent note.

“You know when you’re talking with someone and the conversation dies and you don’t know
how to start it again?” Jungkook asks, tucks the black strand behind his ear, the subtle gesture
makes Taehyung think he moves so graciously he could be a contemporary dancer. He is glad
he wasn’t the one doing it because seeing Jungkook moving like this is a sort of a privilege.

“Yes,” he replies, but it tastes sour in his mouth, a dreadful sensation of rejection although he
doesn’t even know if Jungkook has offered him any acceptance at all.

“I feel that with you it never dies,” he smiles shyly, not glancing back at Taehyung, like he is
just thinking out loud and not holding a conversation. “I mean, it does, but I feel a lingering
continuity, like I can keep talking or not, because it won’t feel uncomfortable either way.”

“Oh.” Taehyung blinks at him, the sourness melting into sweet, sweet honey in his mouth. He
presses his lips into a thin line, suppressing a smile, and raises his shoulders, feeling giddy all
over.

His stop is getting closer, and he shifts in place to indicate that he needs to get off. Jungkook
mumbles something about living two stops further, and when Taehyung leaves his seat,
holding onto one of the safety hoops above his head. He feels soft fingers circling the wrist
alongside his body.

He looks down, Jungkook and his big dark orbits are facing him.
“We should meet again sometime.” He smiles, front teeth slightly pressing his lower lip.

Taehyung smiles as if his life depends on it. “I’d love that.”

The small pressure on his wrists is gone and Taehyung waves goodbye, still feeling the
shadow of the prints on his skin.

When he gets off the bus and walks the close distance to his flat, Taehyung can smell fresh
snow even before it starts falling. He wonders what kind of coincidence is this? That fact
Jungkook brings the snow with him. He wonders what is this feeling that makes him feel like
Jungkook gives him nothing while giving him everything.

The smell of Seokjin’s food is, perhaps, the closest thing to familiarity that Taehyung has in
London. He isn’t quite sure if it’s the sesame oil or the fact that the house is always warm and
filled with conversation, but whenever he comes over for dinner, Taehyung feels a little at
home.

“The mother is lovely, but so young,” Namjoon says, sipping the red wine that leaves his lips
stained.

“Don’t forget to tell them she absolutely loves the fact that we are gay!” Seokjin yells from
the kitchen counter as if the dining table wasn’t in the same room. Taehyung likes that they
didn’t want a proper dining room, eating in the same room the food is made has always felt
more intimate, more lively.

Namjoon rolls his eyes, but can’t hide his smile. “Well, yes. She was overly enthusiastic
about the possibility of the baby being gay too.”

“The times have indeed changed,” Taehyung whistles, followed by a small laugh.

“Yay progressive straight people,” Jimin mocks, raising one fist in the air before lowering it
to fix the cutlery on the table.

“Jimin-ah, I swear to God if you mess my table again.” Seokjin points a knife at him, eyes
narrowed. Jimin looks caught, raises his hand in defeat, and plops himself on the chair beside
Taehyung. “But yes, people might as well make a line to have us as daddies!”

“Oh, I would—”

“For the love of God, no!” Taehyung clasps a hand over Jimin’s mouth, and Namjoon and
Seokjin cackle.
“That ship has sailed, darling.” Namjoon winks and Jimin groans. His voice shifts, goes all
warm when he says, “We are soon to be fathers, can you believe that?”

It’s the way his eyes glint at the simple mention of the idea that makes Taehyung’s heart soar.
Sometimes, he thinks that if there is someone who deserves all the good things in the world,
that someone is Namjoon.

“You’re gonna be the best father,” Taehyung says, leaning forward over the table to pinch his
cheek.

“What about me?” Seokjin walks over with a steaming pot and an offended expression.

“Eh.” Taehyung shrugs, earning a death glare from Seokjin.

“Don’t forget I still have time to put an extra ingredient in your food, little brother.”

“Do you mean extra loooove?” Taehyung bats his eyelashes angelically.

“I think he means poison, Taehyung-ah,” Namjoon replies in a concerned tone.

“Oh, babe,” Seokjin laughs at his husband’s innocence. He looks at the table and places his
hands on his hips, checking if he has everything he needs then claps his hands. “Okay, shall
we?”

They move fast. Seokjin’s food is the type of food you jump right into, eat with your eyes,
your nose, your mouth, and your heart.

There is something funny about replicating the taste of home in a different country. The
ingredients are the same and the recipe is the same, but it must be something in the water that
makes the taste always almost there, never really there. But even so, each bite takes
Taehyung back to a home that doesn’t really exist anymore. A home that has more to do with
a flavour than a specific location.

It’s not late in the night, but Jimin and Seokjin are already fighting over the last digestive
cookie and Taehyung feels warm and full, and a little tipsy too. Good company might be
intoxicating, he has been finding out lately.

“Oh, you know what?” Jimin says when he finally settles for breaking the cookie in two.
“Remember Danny, my bank manager?”

“Why should we know your bank manager?” Namjoon asks, frowning.

“Maybe because you’ve met him at least three times by now?” Jimin looks at him with a
defiant eyebrow.

“Oh, you mean Danny with the loud, weird laugh ?” Realisation crosses Namjoon’s face, and
Seokjin snorts, looking at Taehyung with eyes that say I love him so much but also why is he
like this?
“Exactly, that Danny, so,” Jimin continues, leaning forward on the table and biting a tiny
piece of his cookie. “His birthday is coming up and he invited us to the party.”

“That’s so thoughtful of him, considering Namjoon doesn’t even know who he is,” Seokjin
cackles, earning a glare from his husband. “Count us in! We gotta enjoy our freedom while
we can, you know, go crazy.”

“Sure thing, I’ll keep that in mind once you’re yawning at ten,” Jimin deadpans, shoving the
rest of the cookie into his mouth.

“I don’t even know why I keep inviting you two brats over. Seriously, no respect for your
elders!” Seokjin points two crooked fingers at them and leaves the table, walking with his
head held high and a puffed chest.

Rolling his eyes, Jimin turns to Taehyung. “You, Tae?”

“Can I bring someone?” Taehyung blurts out without even thinking. The only thing is that
this is a complete lie. He has been thinking, thinking so much about Jungkook and how to see
him again since they last met.

“Uuuuh.” Namjoon waggles his eyebrows. “Seeing someone, Taehyung-ah?”

“How come I don’t know about that?” Jimin’s jaw goes slack.

“No, I am not seeing anyone!” Taehyung adds too fast to be believable, even though it’s true.
He shifts in his chair, clears his throat, feeling like dinner is still stuck there. “I just met a
guy… A Korean guy.”

“Invite him!” Jimin blurts out, too fast to be casual.

“You don’t even know him,” Taehyung counters, gulping the rest of his wine to see if the
lump in his throat goes away. He is not even sure why it is there in the first place. He thinks it
makes sense somehow, all the ways his body reacts to Jungkook. “Wouldn’t it be weird? To
invite him to a birthday party of someone he doesn’t even know?”

“Considering he is not the only one who doesn’t know the birthday boy, I think he is good.”
Seokjin points out with a shit-eating grin and a new bottle of wine in hand.

“Oh, dear god, I will never hear the end of it, will I?” Namjoon mumbles, already reaching
for the bottle to pour him some more.

Jimin ignores the banter and turns to Taehyung with curious eyes. “Just tell him it’s a house
party, you know Danny won’t mind at all. They live in a townhouse with a backyard for a
reason.”

A sprout of something nice and warm grows in Taehyung’s chest, and it’s silly, so silly he has
a hard time containing his excited smile. He simply nods, biting his lips and Jimin looks at
him like he can see it all. And Taehyung knows he can.
 ❄

There is no coincidence this time. It’s a choice. He is here to meet Jungkook.

For some reason, Taehyung feels his hands clammy even though the sunny day is not enough
to warm up the cold air around him. He opens the heavy glass doors only to find the familiar
mess of dark hair inside, seated in one corner of the broad hall.

Smiling instantly, Taehyung steps inside with a newfound confidence.

Jungkook doesn’t notice him, completely focused on writing something in an old notebook,
the pages worn out and filled with endless words in dark ink. He looks lost in his own
thoughts, just like the first time they met. For a moment, Taehyung is afraid of interrupting,
so he tightens his grip on the straps of his tote bag, debating internally if it’s better to say
hello or simply sit by his side. Before he can decide on what to do, Jungkook is looking up at
him.

It’s the way the smile stretches on his face that does it for Taehyung. He has never seen
someone look at him so gently.

“Hi, Taehyung! You came,” Jungkook says his name plainly, no honorifics attached. Just like
it came to the world. He drops the pen on the open pages of the notebook when Taehyung
approaches. His fingers are stained with black ink, and there are red marks from his grip
around the pen.

“Of course I did.” Taehyung looks at him confused. “I was the one who asked you to meet
me, why wouldn't I come?”

Jungkook shrugs, and it’s quiet for a while as he closes the notebook, shoves everything on
his black messenger’s bag. He rises to his feet and they start walking towards the lift.
Taehyung says he likes to start from the top floor and make his way down, it’s a thing for
him, and Jungkook doesn’t judge his mannerisms.

The ride up to the seventh floor is silent. It could feel awkward, but then Taehyung
remembers when Jungkook told him their conversations never got to that point, and that’s
enough to soothe the growing restlessness inside him.

“Wow, this is a nice place,” Jungkook finally says when the lift door slides open with a ding,
and he peeks at the glass windows that offer a view of the whole city.

“Hmhm, I really like it here,” Taehyung says, getting in line for the cafe. “And they have
good coffee too, but don’t tell Jimin I came here,” Taehyung jokes, but Jungkook tears his
eyes from the view and cocks his head, frowning.

“Who’s Jimin?”
“Oh, right. My best friend. He is a manager at a coffee shop,” Taehyung explains, waving a
hand in dismissal. “He’s very concerned about where I get my morning fix.”

“I’m assuming you go to Costa more often than he would like.” Jungkook smiles, cleaning a
fake sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

Taehyung laughs freely. “Considering he wouldn’t like it at all, yes.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep it in between us.” Jungkook winks jokingly, but it brings that funny
feeling back to Taehyung’s chest and he forces himself to focus back on what to order.

The coffee is nice, as expected, but even better is to see how Jungkook’s eyes light up at the
sight of the St Paul’s Cathedral on the other side of the Thames. Even against the never-
ending sea of cranes standing tall under the morning sky, it is breathtaking. Especially with
the early sun casting an orange light on the landscape. Better than paying to go up on the
London Eye, Taehyung thinks and says so out loud.

“You can say a lot of shit about London, but you cannot say this place isn’t beautiful, right?”
Taehyung adds with a sigh.

“I never say shit about London.” Jungkook smiles, taking the plastic lid off his coffee cup and
blowing the liquid inside. The steam swirls up, and Jungkook pulls his face away, scrunching
his nose up.

“Give it time, it will grow on you,” Taehyung teases, tilting his head towards the lift. “Come
on, we didn’t come here—”

“Oh dear, I am sorry to interrupt. I’ve been noticing you both and I couldn’t hold myself,” an
old lady with grey hair tied in a banana bun interrupts. She looks over her shoulder, waves a
hand at an old man waiting a few steps behind. “Honey, come here, look at them, how cute!”

Taehyung and Jungkook look at each other in confusion. The cup of coffee in Taehyung’s
hands burns his fingers, but he doesn’t have anywhere to place the drink right now.

“Sweetheart, don’t bother them,” the man says, giving them an apologetic glance.

“Ah, nonsense, I am simply intrigued, honey.” She continues talking to the man, but her eyes
are now focused on Taehyung and Jungkook. Her smile is broad, crooked and yellow, and
looks more predatory than gentle. “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help but notice you were
talking in a different language and I was dying to know which one it is.”

Stifling a polite smile, Jungkook says, “It’s Korean, ma’am.”

“Oh, how delightful. See, honey? I said it was an Asian language,” weird smile lady says as
if their faces didn’t give that away. “Korean is similar to Japanese, right?” Her face lights up
with the question. Somehow, she probably thinks she is being very smart now, which is
uncomfortable and cringeworthy to see, but it is even worse to experience, Taehyung thinks.

He clears his throat, shifts the weight of his body from one leg to another. “Not really, just
some grammar similarities.”
“Ah, wow, I am impressed. Your English is so good, too. Right, honey?” Old lady tells her
husband, who gives her a pointed look. “I am always in awe of people who can speak more
than one language. I couldn’t say anything in a different language to save my life.” She
laughs, clasps her hands in front of her body, and Jungkook chuckles, offering her a
constipated grin.

Taehyung, on the other hand, is holding a laugh so hard his body trembles to keep it. Maybe
it is the way the banana bun lady talks to them like they are kids, maybe it’s the false
humbleness of her tone, maybe it’s her total lack of good sense.

“Well, you two have a lovely day, my dears.” She smiles even bigger, which is even scarier in
Taehyung’s opinion. She even pats Jungkook on the shoulder while Taehyung waves a faint
goodbye to her.

“What the fuck was that, honey ?” Jungkook says the last word in English when he turns on
his heels, eyes wide and mockery dripping on his tone.

Taehyung finally laughs, has to cover his mouth when the sound escapes his mouth louder
than expected. If the woman notices he is laughing at her, he couldn’t care less.

“White, British people and their love for the ‘exotic’, honey .” Taehyung air quotes the word,
rolling his eyes to the back of his skull. It’s been three years, he should be used to that by
now.

“Ugh, isn’t her complete lack of good sense endearing?” Jungkook says, voice one octave
higher, then blinks at Taehyung, a silly smile spreading on his beautiful, beautiful face. “
Honey .”

“And her English is so good, I’m in awe that she can speak one language at all, sweetheart.”
Taehyung mocks, making a face that has Jungkook giggling. Taehyung laughs, wholly, takes
a sip of his tea. His voice returns to normal when he says, “The worst is that she probably
thinks she is being very nice by paying attention to two Asian boys.”

Jungkook resumes their stroll, but guides them to the staircase this time, shrugging just
slightly. “At least she stopped to compliment us, and not to yell for us to get back to our
country.”

“Well, honey, maybe I should go there and give her kudos,” Taehyung jokes, the bite in his
tone not directed at Jungkook at all. “You know, just for not being a total bigot.”

“I’d actually love to see you doing that.” Jungkook looks at him defiantly, brings his drink
close to his mouth, the coffee cold enough now for him to take a large gulp. He holds the
door open for Taehyung when they reach the sixth floor. “But something tells me you’re too
nice to be sarcastic with a poor, old lady.”

“Oh, what tells you that?”

“Your English must be very good, honey, but you’re still very much Korean. You were born
and raised to respect your elders.” Jungkook winks, passing Taehyung to once again hold the
door open, this time for the sixth-floor gallery.

“You say it as if you were not,” Taehyung narrows his eyes and Jungkook simply laughs, not
offering a proper rebuttal. The lack of response makes Taehyung wonder if, despite sharing a
language and a culture, Jungkook feels less Korean now that he is here.

A couple of floors down, Taehyung learns that Jungkook is a good listener just as much as he
is a good talker. He glows while listening to Taehyung talking about all the art pieces in front
of them, even when he doesn’t have much to say beyond a couple lame opinions about hating
obvious art. Jungkook simply listens like he is sharing precious information with him.

The Tate Modern has always been Taehyung's favourite place in London since he arrived. It
is the transformation from a power station to a museum that intrigues him. To think of its
harsh, industrial exterior in contrast with the vibrant, modern interiors. To think of all the
ways something can change while remaining the same.

He loves to bring people here, even when they are not as interested in art as him. The
building itself is an event, and the permanent collection is so diverse that Taehyung thinks it’s
impossible to not have even a little bit of fun.

Luckily, he can feel that Jungkook is enjoying it as much as he is.

“Don’t you wish you could feel it?” Taehyung says when they approach one particular
painting that has so much texture it should be a sculpture.

“I guess?” Jungkook cocks his head, but he is looking at Taehyung, not the painting at all.
“Doesn’t that ruin the whole idea of art preservation, though?”

Taehyung breathes out a laugh. “It certainly does, but it would give people a whole new
experience. You don’t just see a Pollock, you can touch a Pollock.”

“Is that why you are not doing your PhD anymore? They kicked you out for reckless
behaviour in a museum?” Jungkook jokes. “Should I be worried about being seen with you?”

It is funny how it doesn’t sting when Jungkook’s voice says it. Maybe he has healing
properties. Maybe Taehyung is too comfortable around him.

“Oh, shut it,” Taehyung laughs, and smacks him on the shoulder, noticing how hard
Jungkook’s body is, the complete opposite of his soul. “You say that because you can touch
all the books you read, you don’t just look at them from a distance.”

“But words, unless you can read braille, you cannot touch either,” Jungkook says in return,
walking to the next room. He does this a lot, moves while he talks, and knows Taehyung will
follow. There is nothing rude about it, it is almost like he expects the conversation to exist in
the flow.

“But you can say them out loud, feel with your mouth, change the intonation. You can also
hear them. In a way, you can do that with video art too, but paintings? The most classic form
of art we have? All you do is contemplate from a certain distance.”
“Isn’t that enough sometimes? Contemplation.” Jungkook says, there’s something almost
meditative in his tone. “Keeps us grounded.”

Taehyung thinks of everything that keeps him grounded.

Warm tea. Jimin’s laugh. The first bite in a croissant. The noise of running water. Jungkook’s
voice.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

It isn’t until much later that he has the courage to say it.

Taehyung has postponed as much as he could, but as they reach the first floor again, feet
echoing in the open hall that is now crowded with people, he knows there won’t be a better
opportunity — or another one at all.

Jungkook pockets his hands in his cargo pants, shrugs his shoulders in a way that suggests
well, what do we do now? but doesn’t say anything.

“So, are you doing something next weekend?” Taehyung asks as if he is just continuing a
previous topic, trying to disguise how his stomach is flipping inside him.

An easy smile grows on Jungkook’s face, not wide enough to scrunch up his nose but it
makes his cheeks rise up. “Already missing me, honey ?”

“Don’t get so full of yourself yet, hon. ” Teehyung laughs. “It’s just that a friend is having a
party and I thought you could tag along. If you want to,” he adds fastly.

“Next weekend?” He seems to look for something in his mind, squints his eyes slightly. “Oh,
that’s the weekend after Yoongi’s birthday!”

Taehyung tries to not let the disappointment he feels when his stomach starts to drop a little
bit be visible on his face when he asks, “Is he doing something?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Jungkook’s answer is so welcoming that his shoulders fall. He didn’t even know he was
tensing them up in the first place.

“Well, then bring him along!” Taehyung almost squeals. “It’s gonna be Danny’s birthday, too,
we can all celebrate together.”

Jungkook blinks. “And Danny is…?”

“Oh, right! The guy who’s having the party.” Taehyung feels slightly stupid for constantly
name-dropping, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to think of it as a flaw.
A lopsided grin forms on Jungkook’s face, and he cocks his hips to the side. “So you’re not
only inviting me for the birthday of someone I don’t know, but you’re threatening to ruin his
celebration by also making it into a double birthday party? I can’t believe it, honey!”

“When you say it like this, it really sounds bad.” Taehyung ponders, tapping his chin with
two fingers. An idea crosses his mind, and he flicks his fingers in the air when he says, “Or,
we can all see it as an opportunity to make the party even bigger.”

“I’m in,” Jungkook adds too fast to be true.

“Oh, perfect!” Taehyung feels so enthusiastic he bounces on his feet like a kid. Then he
pauses, raises one suspicious eyebrow. “Wait, what convinced you?”

“Annoying Yoongi, of course.” Jungkook smirks, full of teeth and mirth. “He is going to
absolutely hate having strangers sing happy birthday to him.”

Taehyung knew Danny’s house would be big, after all, he shares it with three other friends.
What he didn’t expect was to see himself in a massive townhouse backyard in a bonfire party
situation. Sparkles twirl up against the dark sky as the loud rock n’ roll plays on a portable
speaker. An improvised table stands precariously in a corner, its legs wobbly with the
incredible amount of alcohol they've managed to put on top of it.

“Legally speaking, can we have a bonfire in the middle of the city?” Jimin asks, leaning too
much weight on one leg and holding a glass filled with a strange orange liquid.

Danny laughs loudly, it reverberates through the backyard, and Namjoon was right, he does
have a weird laugh, but it is very much contagious. It makes his pink birthday tiara wiggle.

“Of course, Tom here works in the City Hall,” he replies, patting a blond man with a pointed
nose in the back and pulling him close.

“Yeah, in IT.” Tom pushes his glasses up in his nose and rolls his eyes. “Don’t see how that’s
related.”

“Eh, details.” Danny waves a hand in dismissal. “Tom, you remember Jimin, right? And
Tae.”

They smile and wave at each other, but Danny is already going on. “I see Joon and Jin over
there, but where are the other friends you said were coming? I got a spare birthday tiara and
everything!”
“They should be arriving,” Taehyung says nervously, checking his phone just to reread the
same message from forty minutes ago.

He goes for another drink, just to ease his nerves. There is no reason to feel like this, but he
can’t avoid the small flips going on inside his stomach.

He is finishing filling his cup with cheap beer when he hears Jimin squealing and Danny
whistling. Taehyung laughs, shaking his head, it doesn’t impress him that they are friends at
all.

When he turns, though, he faces what they are excited about. Jungkook is standing
awkwardly in the backyard with a short man with sharp eyes, waiting by his side. Jungkook
seems to be introducing himself and the man who must be Yoongi. Taehyung walks in
strides, afraid of what Jimin might say in his absence.

“Oh, so you are the mysterious Korean guy,” Jimin says, sizing up Jungkook. When he’s
done giving him a once-over, Jimin turns on his heels very ungracefully, widens his eyes, and
mouths at Taehyung he is pretty!

Except he is not as subtle as he thinks he is and Yoongi snorts, bumping shoulders with
Jungkook. The tips of his ears get red, and Taehyung feels his own face acquiring a similar
colour.

“So, Jungkook, I see you’ve met Jimin,” Taehyung says in an annoyed voice, then gestures a
hand to the side, “These are Danny and Tom.”

“You can call me JK. And happy birthday!” Jungkook shakes their hands politely, and gives
Danny what looks like a bottle of whisky, and the man offers another wolf whistle in
excitement.

The lights in the backyard are precarious. Illumination coming from the house and the huge
bonfire, but there’s something in Jungkook that makes him look absurdly pretty under any
bad lights. Especially tonight, when he is in a black turtleneck that hugs his chest beautifully
and a leather jacket. His hair trapped in a purple beanie, making his huge eyes look even
bigger. It does very little to help the stomach flips.

“I am assuming you are Yoongi,” Taehyung says. “Happy late birthday!”

“Ah,” Danny interjects. “So you’re the other birthday boy! Stealing my thunder, eh, mate?”

Yoongi goes livid, glaring at Jungkook who holds a laugh with his whole body. It is clear he
is doing a very poor job when a snort escapes his nose.

“Yes, this is Yoongi,” he adds, pushing Yoongi forward in their little circle. The short man
almost recoils at the attention and throws daggers at Jungkook with his eyes. Jungkook’s face
splits into a wicked grin. “Who certainly knew I told you all about his birthday.”

“Ey, no need to be shy, mate,” Danny adds, seeming oblivious to the fact that Yoongi is not
shy but pretty much pissed at Jungkook. “The more the merrier, right? I got an extra tiara and
everything for you. DOOOOOUGIE?!”

Yoongi groans audibly, and Jimin laughs by Taehyung’s side. His friend looks like he is
having a blast, lips puckered in a pout, eyes narrowed in interest, gawking at Yoongi like he
is a cute prey.

Someone yells from the other side of the bonfire, and Danny continues, “My mate Yoons
here is not matching the birthday boy attire!” Danny smacks Yoongi’s back and jolts him
even more forward.

“There's really no need,” Yoongi finally replies in a perfect British accent, his low voice
sounds more bored than pissed. “And it’s Yoongi.”

“Nonsense, Yoons,” Danny replies loudly, smiling in a way that evidences his big front teeth.

A pretty man with long caramel blond hair appears out of thin air in a ridiculous skater outfit
too large for his small stature. He’s holding a pink tiara similar to Danny's.

“There you go, Yoons,” Dougie replies in a nasal voice, putting the tiara in Yoongi’s head at
the same time he shoves a cup with a suspicious drink in his hands.

“I am sorry about them, Yoongi.” Tom looks apologetically at him, and then at Jungkook.
“He’s thirty but he hasn’t reached puberty yet.”

“It’s truly fine,” Jungkook replies with a shit-eating grin. “Yoongi here was dying to celebrate
his birthday.”

“I was totally not,” Yoongi mumbles under his breath. It comes out too loud and everyone
laughs.

“Oh, poor thing,” Jimin says in a mellow voice, stepping closer and rubbing his palm up and
down Yoongi’s biceps. “Let’s get you a better drink than this. No offence, Dougie, but this
looks disgusting. Talk to you later, Jungkook. Now if you excuse us.” He winks too
suggestively and drags Yoongi to the drink table.

“JK, please make yourself at home, I’m glad you came,” Danny side hugs Jungkook, a smile
so wide Taehyung thinks it’s impossible to not like this man.

“Yo, Tom, Danny, Dougie!” A voice shouts from the porch, and they all turn to find a man
Taehyung was introduced to earlier, Harry. “Do we have light bulbs? The loo is completely
dark and I’m afraid of what might happen.”

“Er, Tom?” Danny turns to the blond man at the same time Dougie slowly walks to the other
side of the yard without a word, waving at someone who isn’t waving back.

“Good God, I’m not the only person living in this house!” Tom throws his hands up, walking
towards the said house.

“But you’re the mother!” Danny groans, following him.

“I am not the mother!” Tom says, stomping his feet on the floor as they head inside.

“They are quite a group, huh?” Jungkook laughs, watching both men.

“Finding out live, just like you,” Taehyung says, shifts on his feet, and finally, finally looks
Jungkook in the eyes and smiles. “Hey, honey . ”

“Hey, honey.” Jungkook scrunches up his nose, eyes reflecting the light of the bonfire in a
way that makes Taehyung think of fairies and fireflies. His skin glows, almost like they are
under ultraviolet light. “Sorry I’m late, convincing Yoongi was harder than expected.”

“That’s okay, Jimin is making him pay for his sins, I believe,” Taehyung tilts his head to
where Jimin is throwing himself at Yoongi. “Let’s get you a drink, you need to meet the
others.”

One drink turns into two, and Taehyung introduces Jungkook to everyone. In a group,
Jungkook is a lot more introverted than Taehyung had expected, and listens to everyone
attentively. And oh, how much Seokjin and Jimin love a good crowd.

“And then a couple of days after I went there to fix this woman’s computer, I got a call from
Namjoon saying his computer also needed fixing,” Seokjin explains with wide gestures and a
dragged voice. He gulps his beer and continues, “Which you know, was weird because he
could’ve just asked the first time.”

“Except that I couldn’t,” Namjoon chimes in.

“Yes, because his computer was fine the first time,” Seokjin adds with a full bodied laugh.
“He clicked on a lot of suspicious links and got all sorts of viruses just so I could come back
and fix it for him.”

Taehyung has heard this story at least five times, but he still laughs like it’s the first.

“Couldn’t you just, I don’t know, add him on social media like normal people do?” Yoongi
deadpans.

“This would not make a good story, Yoongi,” Seokjin points out, giggling. “And that’s the
story of how we met, and also the story of how Namjoon lost all his files and almost got
fired.”

“But I also gained the love of my life, so worth it.” Namjoon raises his glass, clicks it to
Seokjin, and leans in for a quick kiss.

People coo, and Taehyung catches Jungkook looking at the couple with an adoring face. He
lifts his cup to take a sip, and that’s when their gazes meet. It is fairly quick, maybe one or
two seconds, but his eyes are so warm, it makes Taehyung forget they are outside on a cold
night.

“Yeah, you are both disgustingly in love, we all get it.” Jimin rolls his eyes and gulps down
his drink. “Now, I have a suggestion for us.”
“Here we go.” Seokjin throws his head back.

“Let’s play a game!” Jimin claps his hands in front of his body. “I think we need to know
each other better.”

Seokjin is the only one who expresses some excitement, but it doesn’t discourage Jimin.

“What do you suggest?” Jungkook asks.

“Fuck, marry, kill!” Jimin’s voice comes out high-pitched, and Taehyung laughs.

“How the hell will that make us know each other better?” Yoongi raises a brow.

“Well, darling.” Jimin winks. “I think sexual preferences can say a lot about a person, don’t
you agree?”

Yoongi chokes on his beer, and Jungkook has to pat his back until his face turns to its normal
colour. Jimin giggles throughout everything, the alcohol increasing his ability to have fun.

“Give him a break, Jimin,” Namjoon breathes out a laugh.

“Okay, let’s go!” Jimin ignores Namjoon’s request, a mischievous grin on his face. “Since we
are in the UK, King Charles, Prince William, or ex-Prince Harry. Fuck, marry, kill.”

“Ugh! No way, that’s obvious, Jimin!” Seokjin complains. “Fuck William, marry Harry, and
kill Charles.”

“Agreed,” Jungkook says, then jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Don’t let the mates hear us,
though.”

Taehyung and Namjoon nod and laugh at the same time.

“I object,” Yoongi declares, too serious for the situation. “Fuck Harry, Marry William and kill
King Charles.”

“Excuse you?” Seokjin looks offended.

“Of course, why would I want to marry someone who will never make it to the throne?”
Yoongi says outraged, shaking his head in disbelief when people don’t agree with him.

“Because he’s better looking?” Seokjin states that it’s obvious.

Scoffing, Yoongi rolls his eyes. “He’s not good looking, he’s just white.”

“At least he is not bald!” Seokjin yells.

“I prefer a bald king to a hairy commoner.” Yoongi shrugs, and Jimin follows their banter
with glistening eyes.

“Ha! Hairy commoner,” Seokjin cackles, slapping his thigh in amusement. “That one was
good! You’re forgiven for your terrible opinions.”
Yoongi glances at him like he has no idea what Seokjin is talking about, and well, he doesn’t
know the man enough to understand his antics.

“Good answer, Yoongi,” Jimin points out, fluttering his lashes way too theatrically. “I like an
ambitious man. Next: Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise and Leonardo Dicaprio.”

Taehyung snaps his head fast at Jungkook, sharing this knowing look, this small, concealed
giggle.

“Wait, is it nowadays DiCaprio or DiCaprio in the 90s?” Jungkook asks, seriously.

“Does it make a difference?” Namjoon basically squeals, voice high-pitched in a way just a
second beer can do for him.

“It’s a crucial difference,” Taehyung protests, looking at him with a twisted expression. It
doesn’t faze Namjoon, who swigs down more of his drink.

“Taehyungie and Jungkookie are right,” Jimin says with a stern expression “Time does make
a lot of difference in this case.”

“But what if I like my men older?” Namjoon says, trying to wink but just blinking both eyes
at Seokjin.

“I’m just two years older than you, Namjoon-ah!” Seokjin protests, swatting Namjoon’s
shoulder.

“Oh god, can we just?” Jimin clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“No, wait!” Yoongi interjects before anyone can reply. “Where’s the bisexual representation
in this game?”

“Oh my fucking— Oh ,” Jimin interrupts himself, his face changing from frustration to
mischief in a second. He smiles even wider, seizing up Yoongi. “And you thinking I wouldn’t
find out anything about you, huh?”

Yoongi grunts once again, hides his face with his palms, but replies anyway, “Fuck Brad Pitt
nowadays, marry DiCaprio in the 90s, and kill Tom Cruise any time.”

Jimin goes on and on, his brain a dictionary for famous names that goes from scientists to
actors, to drag queens, to old TV hostesses that neither Taehyung nor Jungkook knows about.

“Now a little improv,” Jimin says, raising his glass. He is clearly drunk, which is evident by
the small hiccups he lets out after every sip, but Taehyung can’t judge, one more drink and he
will find himself in the same situation. “Fuck, marry, kill. Friend’s edition.”

“What does that even mean?” Yoongi frowns at him like he is insane.

“Are we talking about Monica, Phoebe, and Rachel or Chandler, Joey, and Ross?” Namjoon
asks, confused. “Because I am afraid my husband has really strong opinions about the male
cast.”
“Wait, can we mix?” Jungkook asks, frowning. “See, Yoongi, there’s the bisexual
representation!”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Shush! I’m not talking about the TV show. Out of this circle, who
would you fuck, marry or kill?”

“Oh.” Taehyung's face drops a little, and he glances around. Yoongi looks more flustered than
before, probably due to the alcohol. He glances at Jungkook, who glances back at him,
nervously.

“I’ll start!” Seokjin yells, calling attention to himself. He rises to his feet just to slump down
to his seat. “I’d marry my baby Joon,” he leans for a quick peck, “fuck Jimin because look at
that ass,” he winks and Jimin winks back, firing finger guns at him, “and kill Yoongi,
obviously.”

“What?” Yoongi blinks at him, looking completely offended.

“Yah, not again!” Namjoon rolls his eyes, cutting the banter. “I’d marry my husband, of
course, fuck Taehyung and kill Yoongi.”

“Let’s keep beating the dead horse,” Yoongi says more loudly than expected, his words
dragged by the alcohol. He opens his arms to the side just to slump them down, his beer
spilling from the neck of his bottle.

“Taehyung-ah?” Jimin says, and Taehyung’s cheeks burn.

He feels a little self-conscious, too much on the spot. Because his brain goes directly to
places it shouldn’t go, so he decides to play safe. He makes an effort to not make eye contact
with Jungkook.

“Fuck Seokjin,” he says, and Namjoon puffs his chest proudly while Seokjin wiggles his
brows. “Marry my Jiminie,” he adds and Jimin sends finger hearts his way, singsonging
you’re my soulmate.“ And kill, well, sorry Yoongi but we just met and…”

“I’m being attacked on my own birthday!” he spurts out, pointing at the ridiculous tiara on
his head.

“Poor Yoongi!” Jimin purrs, leaning against the man’s shoulder. “I’d totally fuck you, Yoongi
don’t be sad,” he says too casually, in a mellow voice, and Yoongi chokes on his spit. He
seems to do that a lot when it comes to Jimin and it has been just an hour since they met.
Jimin lets the words hang in the air for a while too long before adding, “Marry my soulmate
Taehyung, of course, and kill Jungkook.”

“Now I am offended!” Jungkook tries to sound like it, but it doesn’t work when he lets out a
yelping laugh.

“Well, you’ve been hanging out with my soon-to-be husband behind my back for a while.”
Jimin quirks one eyebrow high, sparing him a suspicious glance. “I’m still not sure about
you.”
“Please, let me know when you are.” Jungkook grins, unbothered.

“I will, but don’t get your hopes high,” Jimin says with a lopsided grin.

Jungkook shakes his head, swallowing the rest of his drink in one go. Everyone looks at him
expectantly, and he shakes his head in surprise, finally getting it’s his turn.

“Uh.” He scratches the back of his nape, his face gaining a new shade of pink that Taehyung
thinks suits him very well. “I guess I’d, hm, with all due respect, fuck Namjoon.” The faint
shade of pink turns into bright red when Namjoon smiles politely and Seokjin bumps his
shoulder to his husband’s, blowing Jungkook a kiss.

His eyes run around the circle, and they land on Taehyung for a couple of seconds before
darting away, but they are so round and honest that Taehyung feels exposed.

“I’d marry Taehyung, and kill Yoongi,” he says too quickly.

“What?” Yoongi yells. “I’m basically your brother!!!”

“And that’s exactly why I wouldn’t fuck or marry you!” Jungkook replies exasperatedly, and
everyone cracks a loud laugh while Yoongi huffs in annoyance.

Taehyung laughs too, but it’s not as freely as the others, his mind still stuck in the moment
Jungkook said so casually he would marry him. He wants to ask why, feels a giddy thing
growing in his chest but makes an effort to ignore it. It’s just a game.

“Your turn, Yoons ,” Seokjin teases.

Rolling his eyes, Yoongi says. “I’d simply kill all of you arseholes,” then he stops, pointing at
Jimin and winking at him. “Except for Jimin.”

He doesn’t say if he would marry or fuck Jimin, but Taehyung guesses it doesn’t matter much
to his friend, who flushes right away but sustains a cocky grin nonetheless.

“May I have your attention?” Danny whistles and then yells in the centre of the yard. He is
carrying a guitar while Tom places two sets of chairs close to the bonfire. “If you have
attended my birthday party before, you know what time it is.”

A round of whistles and applause goes on, and Jungkook looks at Taehyung in confusion, but
he simply shrugs.

“Yes, yes, it’s time to get emotional!” Danny raises his glass to the sky and people mimic
him. “Time to thank you all for being here, celebrating with me another year on this planet.
You know I love you all, and this year I wrote a song to express all that shit.”
Some surprise gasps fill the night, in one corner, Tom yells while Dougie and Harry let out
groaned complaints, and Danny simply laughs, flipping a bird at them.

He sits on the chair Tom placed close to the bonfire and starts tuning the guitar while he talks,
“This is a song I wrote a few months ago when I realised how long I have been in this city. If
you know me, you know we are countryside boys living big-city dreams. This is called
‘Home is Where the Heart Is’, and it’s a way of me saying you’re all pieces of my heart.
Thanks for making London my home. Cheers!” Danny pauses, his lips curling up in a
lopsided grin. “Even you two, JK and Yoons!”

Jungkook raises his glass at him, tilting his head in a small bow.

“It’s Yoongi for you!” Yoongi complains loudly, but raises his glass and directs him to a soft
gummy smile.

“See? He loves me already.” Danny swipes a hand in the air, and people laugh. “You’re
always welcome to join us! Ready?”

They all nod, and he starts playing a soft ballad, people going completely silent as the
delicate notes fill the late-night air. Danny’s fingers trail the guitar gently but with purpose,
and he closes his eyes and starts singing. His voice is hoarse but deep, probably one of the
most beautiful voices Taehyung has ever heard.

I am a lover, I am not a fighter…

“Wow,” Jungkook whispers, breath getting caught in his throat as he leans closer to
Taehyung. Their shoulders brush lightly, and Taehyung leans to his side just an inch without
even noticing.

“I know.”

He has heard Danny sing before at the cafe where Jimin works. That’s his thing, to live an
adult life from 9 to 5 just to play his songs for fun wherever they allow him. Taehyung once
asked Danny if he would like to go pro, since he not only has the talent but the charisma too.
Danny said it had been once a dream, but that he accepted it was okay to stay like this. As
long as he could sing, he would be fine.

Taehyung still doesn’t know how he looked so serene saying that, like giving up a dream
wasn’t something that could shatter your heart. He surely can’t do it himself. But looking at
Danny singing in front of all his friends, Taehyung realises that he hasn’t given up on
anything.

As the song grows, Taehyung starts swaying his body, bumping into Jungkook, who starts to
rock his body side to side as well as the chorus echoes through the backyard.

Home is where the heart is

It’s where we started
Where we belong…
The chorus gains momentum and everyone starts whistling and clapping their hands. Some of
the more adventurous join him even though they just learned the lyrics.

Jungkook is one of them, singing gently, his lips barely moving. His face is so soft, and
Taehyung is captured by the way his eyes sparkle, reflecting the fire in front of them.
Suddenly, all is warm, warm, warm. The cold night wind doesn’t bite Taehyung’s skin
anymore, and it might be the fire, or the alcohol, or Jungkook’s body so close to his, or all of
them. Who really knows, who really cares?

We are all sisters and brothers…

Danny whispers in a crescendo and Taehyung feels goosebumps erupting on his skin. The
people around them are vibing, Danny has always been a moodmaker, and even Yoongi’s
face is split into a smile. Seokjin and Namjoon are caught in a side hug, and Jimin suddenly
appears on Taehyung’s side, bumps their shoulders together, and directs him a sweet, sweet
smile.

Under the dark sky and close to the people he likes the most, the song resonates in
Taehyung’s ears, goes straight to his heart, and for the few minutes Danny’s voice echoes in
the backyard, Taehyung thinks that maybe, maybe there’s space in this city to feel at home.

Flames flick, dancing in the night sky, swirling up and up until they disappear in the
darkness. Danny is still playing songs, some uplifting ones about not being enough to a girl
and another one with excessive references to space and NASA stuff.

“Didn’t you say he was a bank manager?” Jungkook asks, two drinks in hand. He offers
Taehyung one, which he gladly accepts.

“Oh, he is. But singing is his side gig, sometimes he sings at the cafe where Jimin works.”

“That sounds fun. We should go next time he does,” Jungkook says casually, sipping his
drink and looking straight ahead to where Danny is now playing by himself. “He sings a lot
about girls, huh?”

Taehyung scoffs. It’s not a topic they have discussed, but something tells Taehyung they
don’t really need to. It’s the small hints he gives of feeling freer in the UK, of casually
agreeing with all the Leonardo DiCaprio jokes, of saying so casually that he would marry
Taehyung.

“Yeah, straight people, honey.”

“They’re so weird.” Jungkook opens his mouth to continue saying something, but his phone
starts buzzing. “Sorry.”

“Go ahead.” Taehyung nods.

Jungkook fishes his phone from his pocket, and Taehyung shouldn’t peek, but his curiosity
takes the best of him and he catches a glimpse of Jungkook ’s screen. The face of a smiley
man with platinum short hair pops up, the name hobi lmol <3 in big letters.
Darting his eyes, Taehyung gulps his overly sweet drink to disguise the weird sour taste that
takes over his tongue. He also ignores the easy smile that spreads in Jungkook’s face as he
excuses himself to take the call.

He watches as Jungkook walks towards the corner, hands gesturing with enthusiasm as he
talks to the love of his life person. Taehyung is not proud of the way he feels petty, of the
sudden need to go get some fresh air, away from the smoke and noise.

The crisp night embraces him when he reaches the front yard but it does little to distract him
from the intruding thoughts that creep into the corner of his mind.

The familiar but unwelcome feeling of being out of place suddenly takes over. Again.

Of being a nuisance to people, of not knowing how to act or what to expect. Of being
dispensable, even though Jungkook gave him no signs of that. He inhales a sharp breath,
leaning on the brick wall behind him, and looking up at the sky. He wonders why this
crushing weight on his chest always has to come back. He wonders why the intruding
thoughts always win, even when he’s having a nice time.

It has been a nice winter, he thought he would have overcome that by now.

“Ah, there you are.” Jungkook’s voice makes him flinch after a few minutes in complete
silence, making him feel as if the man could read his thoughts. He leans on the wall beside
Taehyung and directs a lopsided smile at him.

“Cheers,” Taehyung raises his drink and says the quintessential British word you use when
you don’t have anything else to say.

It amuses Jungkook somehow, because the corners of his big eyes get softer, his smile
gentler.

“Sorry I left you there.”

“That’s okay,” Taehyung says, it sounds like a lie but it isn’t. He has no reason to not be okay.
“Is— Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Yes.” Jungkook nods, the smile growing bigger on his face. “It was just my best
friend,” Jungkook says and Taehyung shouldn’t feel relieved, but he can’t avoid the way his
shoulders feel lighter. “He lives in Korea, so our talking schedules are pretty limited.”

“Ah, of course.” Taehyung chews his bottom lip, flicking the edge of his plastic cup with his
forefinger. He looks up at Jungkook again. “Have you been friends for long?”

Jungkook keeps holding that serene expression, terribly soft and sincere. It blinds Taehyung a
bit. “Not really, almost a year, but it truly feels like we’ve known each other forever.”

Taehyung is not good at maths, but the time span of the friendship can only mean one thing.
He raises a curious eyebrow and asks, “Oh, so you met him after moving here?”
An awkward laugh leaves Jungkook’s lips. “Yeah, we met online through this game we play.
Since then, he’s been my main company here. We’re planning for him to come visit so we
can finally meet each other.”

“Wow, that’s cool!” Taehyung sips his drink, it’s sort of lukewarm now and very sweet in his
tongue and he closes his eyes for a second. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had virtual
friendships.”

Jungkook presses his lips in a thin line, raising his shoulders just to slump them down.

“I know it sounds silly, but it’s different.” Jungkook is staring at him with those gigantic
black orbits as if trying to convince Taehyung he is serious. And Taehyung knows he is, he
never expects Jungkook to say something just for the sake of it. His words are always very
precise like he has every conversation ready in his mind. “Okay, that sounds silly too,” he lets
out an awkward laugh. “But you know how being in another country can be isolating, so I’m
really glad to have him, even if there are continents between us.”

Jungkook looks up at him, scratches his neck, and watches him attentively, like waiting for
judgement. Of course, it never comes. Taehyung would never do that, especially not to him.
Jungkook tilts his head to the side to better take in his expression but Taehyung keeps looking
straight ahead, the weight of Jungkook’s gaze too heavy on him.

“That’s not silly at all.” Taehyung nods, knowing all too well about the feeling. He finally
turns to face him, asking hesitantly, “But what about Yoongi?”

Jungkook sighs, but he is smiling. This little thing in his suddenly tired face. “Yoongi is great,
but he has a very different perspective. He’s been here for a long time, he doesn’t see Korea
as home anymore.”

“Do you?” Taehyung asks over the hem of his cup.

“Yeah, of course. Don’t you?”

“Not really,” Taehyung replies, shoulders sinking. He leans back on the wall, looking at the
townhouse across the street. It is old and pretty, identical to all the other houses in the street.
“Not Korea, not here. Sometimes it feels like there’s no place I can call that anymore.”

Jungkook stares at him for a long while, his nose and cheeks slightly red due to the cold.
Taehyung feels almost naked because those eyes have a force he has never seen before. Yet, it
is not intimidating, it is almost soothing .

The answer comes after a long while — not really an answer, more like a comment, a small
confession, because their conversations always seem to be made of those.

“We’re lucky to be here, but yeah, it never comes without concessions,” Jungkook says,
flipping his hand in the air before retracting it back, letting it fall on his side.

“I thought you liked being here.”

“I do. I really do.” Jungkook frowns at him, still offering him a closed lip smile even though
his face is nothing but sad. Shows he’s open to the contradictions, to the messy feelings that
are conflicting but all welcomed. “But people here are… different. If you know what I mean.
They are nice, but that’s all. It makes me feel that people are not interested in me, that I am
not interesting, or that I don’t know how to behave. And maybe I don’t. Western culture is
weird as shit.” He ruffles an ironic laugh, shrugging.

Taehyung looks at him curiously, Jungkook staring right back, and feels this small thing
hanging in the air between them. The shared sensation of not being familiar with anything.
For some reason, tonight, Taehyung accepts it with a warm heart.

It takes a while for Jungkook’s words to sink in, for him to let out a breathy laugh. It has a
hint of relief in it, the air leaving his lungs like he has been holding it.

“I’m sorry to hear you feel this way but at the same time I’m not?” Taehyung says. “I mean, I
understand you too well. I’m twenty-seven, I’ve existed for over a quarter of a century, and it
still feels like I don't know how to be in this world. Feels like I’m always lost in translation
when I’m here.”

Jungkook squints, turning and leaning sideways on the wall to better face him.

“I don’t feel I will ever belong here, or that I will ever be happy here,” Taehyung confesses.
He feels a little bit ashamed to say it out loud and doesn’t want to come off as ungrateful, but
maybe there are so many ways you can be grateful and not happy. “I found a family for me
here, and honestly, if it wasn’t for Jimin, Namjoon, and Seokjin I guess I would’ve given up a
while ago.”

Taehyung stops, glances quickly at Jungkook to see if he has something to say, if his face is
betraying him and he thinks Taehyung is ridiculous for thinking like this when he has a good
life. What he finds is Jungkook patiently waiting for him to continue, lips pursed in an
attentive expression.

A long breath blows out of Taehyung’s chest, a heavy one. Talking about this is never light, it
requires an extra ounce of strength to admit you’re not happy. Even if he’s not admitting all
the reasons why he isn’t.

As much as talking about it isn’t easy, the hardest part is having people looking at you with
eyes full of pity the moment the words fall from your lips. Luckily, this isn’t what he finds in
Jungkook’s face.

“I feel out of place like the way I eat is too casual, the way I talk is too loud, the way I think
is too slow, the way I exist is too much for others to bear. Everything is so foreign to me. All
these years and London is still not a familiar place.” Taehyung almost gasps for air,
everything leaving his lips like he’s been holding inside him for too long. “I'm not sure it will
ever be.”

“I get it. I guess it’s impossible to be an immigrant and not feel like it too, right? Even when
you like the place.” Jungkook nods slowly. “It’s forever an unknown territory, right?”
Taehyung hums, shoulder rising close to his ears before he adds, “It feels like I try to find a
home in every corner, but I simply can’t.”

“Well, maybe, home is not a place,” Jungkook says matter of factly, staring at him with so
much attention Taehyung is afraid for a second he can read all his thoughts.

Taehyung breathes out a laugh, but then he thinks of all the moments he felt so comfortable
in Jimin’s arms, or so safe by Namjoon’s advice, or cared for by Seokjin’s food. Even now, he
thinks of how welcomed he feels by Jungkook ’s presence. And yes, perhaps Jungkook is
right.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

“These are the moments I really miss Korea,” Jungkook says as they walk down the street,
Danny’s house getting lost behind them, blending itself with the all identical townhouses on
the street. It’s late and Jungkook was hungry, so Taehyung suggested going to a pub to grab a
bite. “A convenience store at every corner.”

“Don’t even tell me,” Taehyung laughs, turning his body to push the heavy door of the pub
with his shoulders. “Late night fish and chips have nothing against late night rameyon!”

“Hey, are you sure your friends won’t mind that we left the party?” Jungkook asks when they
find a small table in the corner. The pub is not so crowded, it’s too late for that in the suburbs,
but they avoid the noise of the few drunk patrons anyway.

“Yeah, I texted Jimin,” Taehyung says, taking off his jacket. “I’m more concerned about
Yoongi, you left him alone.”

“He’s fine, I’m sure.” Jungkook waves a hand in dismissal. “Jimin is keeping him busy. And
I think he really enjoyed Danny.”

“How so?” Taehyung shots his eyebrows up in surprise. They have nothing but bantered the
whole night, if he remembers correctly.

Opening the menu, Jungkook reads through the options and says without raising his gaze,
“He’s a music producer, and Danny is a great singer.”

“Oh.” Taehyung blinks at him. “What are the odds?”

“I know.” He laughs, pointing at something on the plastic pages in front of him. “Fish and
chips?” Taehyung nods and Jungkook calls the waiter, ordering one portion to share and two
pints. “Your friends are really nice. I liked them.”

“They truly are. They liked you too, I’m sure.” Taehyung smiles, then bites his lower lip and
adds, “I know Jimin can be a little intimidating, but he is just protective.”
Jungkook laughs, his nose scrunching up slightly. “As he should be.”

He slumps back in his chair, rolls his necks until it cracks, one hand massaging the muscle of
his shoulder. A movement that indicates he’s all guards down. Not that Jungkook has reasons
to not be, but it makes Taehyung happy to see that he feels relaxed, that he likes his friends.

“I’m glad you invited me,” he offers after a moment. The waiter brings two pints, and
Taehyung takes a sip of his, feeling his head already heavy with alcohol. Jungkook doesn’t
drink his, just lifts it to place on top of the coaster. “I have to say I was a bit nervous to come,
but I’m glad I did.”

Taehyung cocks his head to the side, looking at him intrigued. “You looked pretty at ease
with them.”

“Well, they are welcoming, in their own way, I guess.” Jungkook shakes his head, breathing
out a light snicker. Taehyung can’t help but think of how his whole existence is like a breeze,
soft and fresh. And maybe it’s the alcohol in his system that makes him see Jungkook so
flawlessly under such a bad light. But he is pretty sure Jungkook has always looked like this,
since the first time they met. “But social anxiety always hits me when I’m not familiar with
the crowd.”

“Oh,” Taehyung startles, sobering up slightly in worry. “You could’ve told me.”

Waving a hand, Jungkook shakes his head again. “Told you they are nice. I’m really glad I
came.”

His smile eases Taehyung again, making his mind floaty and maybe that’s the alcohol again,
but also… He is pretty sure Jungkook always has this effect on him.

“I’m really glad you came too.” He pauses, the corner of his mouth curving up. “ Honey .”

Jungkook laughs, throws his head back, and bites his lower lip, too amused by the silly joke.

It is impossible to not flush when he brings his chin down again, his eyes looking too fondly
at Taehyung. If he thinks about it, he can remember many times he was under such gaze.
None of them were with new friends.

Taehyung clears his throat, rolls the tip of the napkin with his pointer finger just to have
something to do with his hand.

“Earlier, you said—” he hesitates, licking his lips to gain time when Jungkook frowns. “You
said you feel lonely. You know you’re more than welcome among us, right?”

For the first time, Jungkook doesn’t have words, he just stares at him, eyes full of something
Taehyung can't read. He hasn’t seen this type of gaze in Jungkook’s face yet.

Taehyung feels stupid, feels inappropriate in his own language, like he always feels when he
is with British people.
The waiter chooses this time to bring their food, places the plate in between them with a loud
thud. Not very polite of him, but it’s the middle of the night and Taehyung can’t really blame
him for being fed up with drunk customers. Jungkook thanks him without taking his eyes off
Taehyung, and he only feels more nervous.

He grabs the ketchup, squeezes an enormous amount on the corner of the plate, rushes to add
without meeting Jungkook’s gaze, “Only if you want though, I don’t want to impose myself
into your life.”

“Your presence is not an imposition, Taehyung,” Jungkook says earnestly, stares at Taehyung
with such intensity that he is sure there’s some sort of force in those eyes. He feels his gaze
trailing up, like he is being pulled and he doesn’t mind diving into the endless darkness.

“I just feel that I’m always pushing myself onto you.” Taehyung breaths out a laugh to
disguise the seriousness of his words. He makes an effort to escape Jungkook’s watchful
eyes, retracts his hands to his lap to make himself smaller, and that seems to bother Jungkook
because he is now frowning. He’s way too self conscious to stop now, thinking about all the
times he rushed to go after Jungkook, how he’s been inviting him to things when he didn’t
even know if Jungkook would like to be part of them. “Like I’m always finding my way to
bring you into my world.”

Jungkook’s expression lights up, curves lifting slightly like he just heard something pleasing.

“But I'm here because I want to be.” Jungkook crosses his arms on the table, leaning forward
just a bit. He said he was hungry, but the food sits in between them untouched. He barely
spared it a glance. “I’m here because you allowed me to.”

Taehyung stays quiet for a while. Some drunk man yells in the corner, drops a glass on the
floor. Taehyung feels sorry for the tired waiter who has to deal with it but also feels glad
when Jungkook snaps his head back to look at what happened. It gives him time to think of
what to say.

He often finds himself like that, lacking words to match Jungkook’s honesty. He pulls his
bottom lip with his index finger and thumb, presses the soft flesh. He thinks of all the ways
Jungkook is the one who allows him to be around but somehow feels like the privilege is his.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Jungkook says after a while. He takes a sip of his beer, glancing at
Taehyung over his cup. “How sometimes you just know some people just won't stick
around?”

“What do you mean?” Taehyung replies with another question, eyes curious over the sudden
change of topic.

Jungkook lowers his glass, draws patterns in the sweaty glass with his finger, and licks his
lips before putting the words together. Taehyung enjoys how he always takes his time to
think, not one to rush anything.

“How sometimes you meet someone and you become friends with them, but you simply
know that it won’t last,” he says with such lightness that makes Taehyung wonder how it
must feel to easily talk about serious topics like that. “That some people are in your life for
the moment, but won't be in the long run.”

Taehyung frowns. A weird, old pang in his chest makes itself too comfortable again.
Instinctively, he reaches for his earlobe, pulling it softly. “Is that how you feel about me?”

Jungkook looks at him from the small table. Light like a breeze, Jungkook smiles. “No, I
think you are here to stay.”

To: Hobi <hopehobi@naver.com>

From: Jeon Jungkook <jeon_jk@naver.com>
Subject: Finding new meanings when I’m lost in translation

18 March, London, UK.

Dear Hobi hyung,

Since moving here I think a lot about myself and my relation to the world. It’s funny because
in Korea I never had to pay so much attention to myself like I do in the UK. In Korea, I was
just me. Even though being me came with a bunch of particularities that aren’t necessarily
appreciated in the motherland.

Here, I can be who I am fully, a thing that I couldn’t back home. I can hold whomever’s hands
I want, and I can walk around with accessories that are not very subtle about my life choices.
I don’t have the pressure to be the perfect son, or to pretend I’m the perfect son. It feels
liberating. Isn’t it funny that at the same time, I can fully be myself for the first time in twenty-
six years, I also feel that I’m never completely appropriate?

This new language that I speak every day gives me a new sense of freedom, it allows me to
finally pronounce every word I want to. It allows me to be loud about who I am and what I
believe, but it seems like everything I say here doesn’t translate well. It seems, I am often lost
in translation.

As much as I speak their language quite well, I feel like an alien body walking on the streets.
Trying to connect with people who don't live in the same world as me even though we are in
the same place. Maybe I feel that because British people are reserved. They are so closed, so
restrained that I often think they lack joy.
Which is an interesting contrast. The city is so alive and so full of opportunities, but when it
comes to human connection, it is completely dry. Quite often, I am left with the impression my
ways of relating to people don’t translate well to theirs.

It makes me wonder if, as much as I love this city, I will ever feel completely comfortable in
this place. Which is ironic, you know, because I like it here. No. I love it here. London has
given me everything I always wanted. Freedom. Space. Light. Yet, all I have are these
contradictory feelings, which I guess are okay.

As a writer, I worry too much about making sense all the time. My characters need to be
consistent, my stories need to be a steady, logical narrative, when I know — we all know —
life is not like this. We hold all sorts of feelings inside us, and sometimes they clash,
sometimes they don’t make sense, they take us to uncomfortable places. And that’s okay too.
That’s how I feel about London. I love the city, being here is a dream come true in many
aspects, but existing here feels weird most of the time.

Sometimes, I look around and I see this immigration thing working so well for other people,
and I wonder what I did wrong. I see people from work or university with this group of twenty
friends that are always together, and I wonder how the hell they do that, when for me, finding
a couple of people that will stick around is so hard. But at the same time I don’t know much
about them, I don’t know what kind of concessions they are making to have this social life.
Maybe they all hate each other in secret. Who knows? But I know the kind of concessions I
am not making. I don’t want to force myself into friendships just because I am lonely. I want
to be around people with whom I can be myself with no reservations.

I think that coming to terms with loneliness is one of the hardest things I have ever done. But
I had to do it in order to prioritise myself. Trying to be what people expect you to be is
exhausting, trying to fit in is draining. That’s when I think of you, of how I wanted you to be
here. I wonder if you’d bake me cakes every weekend or if you only do that for your sister. I
wonder if you’d get used to the dry heat of the summer, I know you get nosebleeds often. I
wonder if we would use so many written words to each other if we could meet in person
several times a week.

I wonder about so many things.

There’s something excruciating about having to deal with the loneliness of living far away
from everyone you know and love the most. Especially when you are so open to other people
and prioritise relationships as I do. To realise you are alone hurts in a very peculiar way. To
think that I have a support network that is more than 8 thousand kilometres away but that is
closer to me than anyone by my side.

(May Yoongi never read this, he will call me dramatic and ungrateful, and I don’t blame him.
He belongs here, like truly belongs here. He wouldn’t get how hard it is to make relationships
with Britishes work, he’s basically one of them too.)

But I’m being a little unfair here. This city is made of immigrants, made of people who are
constantly lost in translation. I’m not the only one feeling like this here. I know this because I
met someone who feels just the same. He is also Korean. I guess that says it all.
There is something very precious about finding someone who shares your own language in
another country that it’s often dismissed as convenience. When in fact, familiarity offers much
more than convenience to people. It offers a place for you to feel truly comfortable.

That’s what I feel with this new friend. We have a lot in common, much more than just our
mother tongue. I know it even when we don’t say things out loud. It feels a lot like we share
the same entangled feelings but from slightly different perspectives. He is not lonely, but he is
trying so hard to find his place in this world. I think this is my place, but it's a lonesome
existence.

In the end, whether you’re alone or not, whether you’re in your place or not, it’s all about
finding ways to belong, isn’t it? To a place. To people. Who knows?

You know how sometimes you have to put so much effort into making things work, almost like
you’re trying to fit a relationship in a specific box before you even know which form it will
have? I think I do this all the time. I meet someone and I get so excited to finally have a
chance to connect, that I already assume how our connection will work. Needless to say, it
crumbles to the ground before it can get its natural shape.

This time, it’s effortless and gentle, like it’s made of water. Like the shape doesn’t even matter.
It doesn’t make me feel anxious and nervous to make it work. I simply feel like it’s working
already. Maybe because it’s all very ordinary. Maybe because, for the first time, meeting
people here gave me a sense of normalcy.

Maybe it’s too soon to say, but I think I finally have found something that is not terribly
ephemeral around here.

Well, I’m sorry for writing another one of these long letters so soon, I know it annoys you
when I do it before you get the chance to properly reply to the previous one and I’m already
sending you the next, it is just that my mind has been very agitated.

Please, tell me more about the new baker you hired, she seemed nice.

I hope your cakes are coming out as beautiful as your face!

Love,
Jungkook.
 petals
Chapter Notes

This is a mix of really hard conversations and sweet talks. I hope you like it.

twitter | neospring

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The future is already over, but that doesn't mean we don't have anywhere else to go.
We Were Never Meant To Break Like This , billy ray belcourt

“I can’t believe you never came to the SouthBank book market!”

“Honey, you know some of us just shop online!”

“But it’s not about the books, really.”

“No?”

“Okay, it is.” Jungkook looks down at the four books he’s holding in his arms, eyes full like
the sun above their heads. Spring barely started, but it’s uncommonly warm. Not that
Taehyung is complaining.

Around him, everything is green and blue.

Funny thing is, Taehyung can only see white when he lifts his gaze again, looks at Jungkook
and his excited face. A blinding light. Not a bad one, quite the contrary.

White is the colour of possibility. Right now, Taehyung sees endless ones in front of him.

“But also the city!” Jungkook spreads his arms around, spinning his way to another table
crowded with books. “You’ve been here for three years, what have you been doing?”

Taehyung stops with his hands on his hips, finds it amusing that Jungkook talks to him like
they’ve shared years together.

“Museums.” He shrugs. “And cafes.”

The eye roll Jungkook sends his way is not ironic, it’s just teasing. A soft nudge like this soft
Saturday morning. Taehyung looks to the Thames by their side, white sparkles reflecting on
its surface. He tears his head back to Jungkook. White sparkles reflected in his eyes.

“No wonder you hate this place, honey.”

“What?” Taehyung frowns, pushes his sunglasses up. He doesn’t mind getting blinded by the
lights today.

“Shitty coffee and stolen art.’ Jungkook scoffs, looking down at the table and running a
finger over the spine of a specific book. “I get your trauma now.”

Junkgook hooks the tip of his fingers on the edge of the book, pulls it up from where it’s
squeezed between the other two and inspects it with a wrinkle on his forehead. He scrunches
up his nose, puts the book back in place.

“This is what I like about this city,” Jungkook says after a while, after scrutinising three more
books and putting all of them back on the table. “You always have something to do.”

Taehyung stops by his side, glances at the books he’s been looking at, but doesn’t recognise
any of the titles. “Isn’t Seoul like this too?”

Jungkook looks at him sceptically, lifting a red cover and wiggling it close to his face. “And
where in Seoul can you find a Cecilia Meireles poetry collection, honey?”

He raises a challenging brown like Taehyung knows who the hell Cecilia Meireles is.
Jungkook looks like he does, even if the foreign name sounds even more foreign on his
tongue, the enunciation curvier than it probably is. Prettier than probably is too.

He opens the book and starts flipping the pages. His huge eyes are avid on the words,
searching for something.

There’s some sort of delicate beauty in observing a person doing something that fills their
soul. It has always touched Taehyung. As a kid, seeing his grandma creating complex
embroidery patterns just because. As a teenager, attending his best friend’s dance show at the
local theatre. Perhaps that’s why he ventured into art, into being close to people who
supposedly are only moved by their souls. People that are unashamed of getting in touch with
who they are and what they believe.

“I’m kind of tired of honey, it makes me think too much of that creepy lady,” Taehyung says
casually. Jungkook flicks his eyes up to him again, a lopsided grin that doesn’t say much.
“Maybe we need a new one.”

“Okay.” The smile grows like an idea just crossed his mind and he’s savouring it while it just
exists inside his head. It’s just a tiny stretch that curves his lips up, but to Taehyung it feels
like Jungkook is being flooded with joy. “I like darling .”

The word echoes in his mind, Taehyung registers it with an English accent even if when they
say it, it comes out adorned with their Korean one.
“Darling,” he repeats out loud. He likes better how it sounds in their voices, the a a little
more open, the r less strong. “Darling sounds good.” Taehyung smiles back, feeling this
funny thing nesting inside his chest. “ Darling.”

Jungkook laughs, shaking his head to the side, holding the new book close to his chest.

“Aren’t you taking the others?” Taehyung tilts his head at the abandoned books on the table.

Biting his lower lip, Jungkook shrugs. “Too expensive.” He glances over the books again,
bidding a small goodbye, and smiles with his lips pursed, shaking the poetry book in his
hand. “I shouldn’t be buying anything to be honest, but this one is a special edition, worth
every penny.”

Taehyung nods, not feeling like it’s his place to ask or say anything. There are precious
things that are always worth it. He thinks of his selection of special tea blends sitting in his
kitchen cabinet, the ones he only drinks when he feels really feisty or terribly hopeless.

As Jungkook pays for the book, he waits in the sun, out of the shade of the bridge. The day is
bright and warm, but not hot yet. It’ll be a couple of months until that happens.

“You know, my friends were terribly confused by the whole honey-darling thing,” Taehyung
says as they stroll by the river, the London Eye getting bigger with each step they take.

“Yeah?”

“Hmhm,” Taehyung hums, shoving his hands in his pockets. Jungkook points to the grass
filled with people in picnic towels, some of them bold enough to get rid of their jackets and
sunbathe, their sensitive pale skin getting a bit pinker even though the sun isn’t that strong.

Jungkook plops himself on the grass unceremoniously, not concerned about getting his black
cargo pants dirty. Stretching his legs in front of him, he uses his palms to support his body as
he turns his head up, looking at Taehyung.

The sound of kids yelling it’s what catches Taehyung’s attention. “Oh, there’s an ice cream
van! Wait here. Wait, No!” He stops, turning back on his reels. “What flavour?”

“Whatever you want,” Jungkook replies, bringing his palm over his eyes to cover the
brightness.

“What if I have a horrible ice cream taste?”

“Impossible.” Jungkook grins, crossing one ankle over the other. “There’s no such thing as a
horrible ice cream flavour.”

Taehyung opens his mouth, closes it shut when he doesn’t have an argument. He walks
towards the van with the sound Jungkook giggles at his back, his own face split into a silly
grin.

Chocolate. Pistachio. Raspberry. Vanilla. Stracciatella.

Taehyung chooses pistachio for Jungkook. Trendy and sort of fancy, it shows he has good
taste. Stracciatella for himself because he likes the way it sounds in his mouth. A foreign
word that doesn’t sound wrong even if he can’t pronounce it perfectly. Maybe it’s the fact
that no one around here can pronounce it perfectly.

Jungkook accepts the ice cream with a blinding smile, diving right into the cone like
pistachio is his favourite. Taehyung gets the feeling he would act the same no matter the
flavour.

Seated side by side, the silence isn’t really silent. Not when people are laughing and talking
around them, cars passing by, a few birds tweeting on the grass, and music playing from a
group of young girls choreographing a pop song in the middle of the park. The ice cream
melts on his tongue easily, leaving small chunks of chocolate. Taehyung rolls them around
his tongue until they fade.

Sometimes being twenty-seven is confusing, but in moments like this, when it’s just a taste in
your tongue and a comfortable company, life seems too easy.

“Your friends…” Jungkook stops, fidgeting by his side, his elbow touching Taehyung’s arm
when he brings the cone closer to his lips.

Taehyung doesn’t turn fully, just glances to the side to see what Jungkook wants to say. He
doesn’t see words falling from his mouth, instead, sees his tongue swirling around the ice
cream, pink against green. Jungkook’s eyes close for a brief moment, a little longer than just
a blink, and he licks his sticky lips with the same pink tongue. Pink against pink this time.

Taehyung doesn’t blink.

He can’t eat his own ice cream, feeling the melted liquid running down his fingers. Only
when the cold sticky thing drips down the back of his hand, he finally tears his eyes away
from Jungkook.

“What did they think?” Jungkook finally asks.

“What?” Taehyung shakes his head in confusion, rubbing a crumpled napkin over his palm.

“You said they were confused,” Jungkook says. Another lick on his ice cream. Long and slow
this time, not letting green touch his lips.

“Ah.” Taehyung flushes, lowering his head so his bangs cover his eyes, hopefully hiding the
way his cheeks are too warm. His friends didn’t actually say much. It had been a friendly
teasing from Seokjin, a questioning eyebrow from Namjoon, and a not-so-questioning but
fully suggestive eyebrow from Jimin. “You know how they are.”

“I’m afraid I am starting to,” Jungkook snickers, nudging him playfully with his elbow.
Taehyung expects him to press more. Instead, he lowers his ice cream and asks, “Why did
they move here?”
Taehyung looks ahead, bites the first piece of his cone. Not as crunchy as he expected, but
he’ll have to go through all of it if he wants to eat the rest of his ice cream. He breaks the soft
edge with his fingers, taking a small piece, and throws it to the birds close by to see if they
can help. They flinch at first, most of them flapping their wings to get out of the way. When
the smaller, bravest one that wasn’t scared notices it is food and pecks at the waffle, the
others join them.

“Hm, Namjoon-hyung and Seokjin-hyung moved here five years ago because they wanted to
get married, to have kids and all,” Taehyung says, pausing for another bite of the cone. The
cold ice cream hurts his front teeth, he presses his tongue behind them and winces. When the
pain is gone, he can’t help the grin that spreads on his face. “They’re cute as shit, you know?
If there’s people who deserve everything to work well for them, they are Namjoon and
Seokjin.”

Taehyung doesn’t specify what these things are, they’re not his own dreams to tell. And
Jungkook doesn’t pry, just keeps looking at him with those huge eyes, half of his face hidden
behind his own cone.

Taehyung throws another piece of the waffle to the birds. At least someone is happy with soft
bits of what’s supposed to be crunchy.

“Jimin, he’s been here for longer, his process was more… complicated.” He searches with his
tongue the final bits of ice cream, gathering his words. His free hand instinctively finds his
earlobe, and he pulls it a couple of times, grazing his fingers over his neck. “He moved here
because his mom passed away when he was eighteen. It was just the two of them, it had
always been. So he sold their house and came here to go to college. He struggled a lot,
worked in so many shitty places, sometimes two jobs at a time. By the time he got his
business degree, he was working as a barista at the cafe already. Then, it was a matter of time
until he became the manager. He’s really good, not only at making good coffee, but at all the
money and administrative stuff.”

“That’s…” Jungkook frowns and his eyes glint. There’s interest, confusion, sadness, and
maybe the whole universe in them. “That’s tough, and also very brave. I don’t think I could
ever…” He trails off, not daring to say what everyone says when they hear a sad story. He
looks at Taehyung apologetically, silently saying that he knows being brave sometimes is not
an option. When he purses his lips, they get white with the pressure. White like a blank
canvas, waiting to turn pink again. “How did you meet them?”

“I worked with Namjoon-hyung at the National Gallery when I did a summer internship
there. He’s an archivist, I don’t know if he mentioned that.” Taehyung smiles, squinting his
eyes and dropping the sunglasses down on his nose again. The birds come close by, but he
doesn’t have anything to offer anymore. He looks for crumbles on the grass, finds a small
piece and throws to them again. He never realised how bold city birds are. Or maybe they’re
just careless, with nothing to lose. “Jimin was more of a life accident. In my first week here I
got locked on the underground turnstile when tapping my way out because my Oyster card
didn’t cover zone four. I asked the man behind me for help, I didn’t have any spare change to
pay for another trip.”

“Let me guess,” Jungkook interrupts with his palm up. “The man was Jimin?”
“Actually, no.” Taehyung laughs, leaving Jungkook intrigued. “The man was an asshole, told
me to get back to my fucking country if I couldn’t pay for my own ticket.”

“What the fuck?!” Jungkook frowns, looking pissed like the situation is happening right here,
right now.

“But if it wasn’t for him being a total dickhead I wouldn’t have met Jiminie.” Taehyung
chuckles, playing with a few grass strands as he looks down, crossing his legs. His knee
touches the side of Jungkook’s thigh, and it feels nice to have a point of connection while
they talk. He thinks briefly of Jungkook and his best friend, of how they communicate
without touching, while Taehyung loves to touch his friends, loves to be touched back. Even
if it’s just like this, a gentle press of limbs. “He heard the man and came to help me, but
instead of parting ways, we just kept talking our way to Richmond Park and spent the whole
afternoon together. Since then, he’s never left me.”

“Well, sometimes dickheads are useful for something,” Jungkook says, scrunching up his
nose again. “If it weren’t for them I wouldn’t be calling you darling .”

Taehyung flushes again, rolling his eyes to disguise the way his cheeks burn and his stomach
swoops. “And that would be too bad, right?”

“Oh, awful.” Jungkook nods slowly, biting his lower lip.

Taehyung takes his sunglasses off, blinks once, twice, just to be sure the pink on Jungkook’s
cheeks is real. Maybe it’s the sun, but he’s not rosy pale like the Londoners sunbathing
around them, he doesn’t get sunburned easily. His skin is golden, just like the sun itself.

Jungkook clears his throat, looks like he made himself embarrassed, then turns his head back
to the river ahead of them. “It’s interesting, right? All the reasons people leave. The reasons
they stay.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Taehyung says, taking his eyes off him to look at the little brown birds
again.

Birds migrate to seek warmth, nesting location, and food. To run away from the cold. Birds
go and come back because they’re always seeking something, something better. Because
they’re always escaping somewhere unfruitful.

Isn't that what they’ve all done too? Left Korea to seek a better life, a family, a place to
belong? Left Korea to run away from prejudice, pain, unhappiness?

To seek for and to run away from. It seems like it’s all entangled.

If you don’t have anything to run away from, why leave your home in the first place? If
there’s nothing to look for, why risk everything?

“What’s your immigration story?” Jeongguk lifts his knees up, crossing his arms on top of
them, and resting the side of his face on his forearm. A lock of dark hair falls in front of his
eye. He doesn’t move it.
Taehyung shrugs, the sweetness of the ice cream long gone from the tip of his tongue.

“The basic one. I had a dream.” He bites his lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. “Studying
abroad, conquering the world, all that shit.”

“How’s that going?” Jeongguk asks in an amused tone. The strand seems to finally bother
him, and he shakes his head in a way that resembles a puppy.

“Not really going anywhere.” Taehyung snorts, pulling at the grass on the ground. Every time
he spends too much time thinking about all the things that went wrong, all the things he gave
up in the last months, he feels this bitter taste in his mouth. He wishes he had more ice cream
to wash it out. “I don’t think reality matches expectations normally, but in this case, it was a
huge mismatch.”

Jungkook curves a brow in question, tilting his head slightly to show Taehyung he’s all ears.
All body.

And Taehyung sighs. Deep and slowly.

He doesn’t really like to talk about it. He has only mentioned it to his friends once, and asked
Jimin to politely fuck off when he tried to make Taehyung talk more about the situation a
couple months ago.

Not because Jimin would be mad at him or anything, but Jimin is an overachiever, he
believes in people and thinks hard work gets you by. It’s maybe his only flaw, to trust the
harder you try the more you get.

It’s a thing here, in the West, where meritocratic dreams are sold on television’s prime time.
It’s a thing back in Korea too, where persistence and hard work are values taught since
kindergarten.

Taehyung knows it’s not only cultural, but historical, political, something that runs deep in
Korea’s past. When you lose everything, you have no option but to build yourself from the
ground up and up and up.

Growing up, he learned how to end many conversations with a I’ll work harder . How can he
say those words now, when he’s giving up all that he’s been working for?

“I told you that day at the bar that I am in a PhD program. Well, I’m on leave,” Taehyung
starts, eyes fully focused on Jungkook. This time, something tells him there won’t be
anything but acceptance when he tells the truth. “The leave is temporary but I— I don’t think
I want to come back.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jungkook nods slowly.

Another small unamused laugh. That’s how Taehyung gets by these days. By giving this little
sad, but not really sad laugh. One that says it sucks, but it is what it is. The world has bigger
problems. Yet, he can’t completely ignore his own.
“I decided to take a break. There was some stuff… that was— was making me miserable.
The leave was supposed to be just until I felt better about it again, about academia, research,
and everything, really. But now that some time has passed, I don’t see how I can come back.
And it’s so weird, you know? To dream of something so much and when it becomes reality
it’s just not it. It’s not.” Taehyung stops, lets out another small, breathy laugh, and adds, “Be
careful what you wish for, isn’t that what they say?”

“It is.” Jungkook lifts his head and shifts completely. This time, crossed legs, facing
Taehyung fully. He usually finds it hard to talk having someone staring at him so attentively.
Especially if the person carries so much brightness when he thinks of himself as a bit
dimmed. “But it was a dream you had at what? Twenty-two? Three?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a whole other person now, after everything,” Jungkook says like he has seen
Taehyung’s struggles, and maybe that’s the sign of true empathy. To not know, yet trust the
person’s pain. Trust it’s real. Even if you can’t see it. “It makes sense the dream wasn’t what
you expected. You’ve changed. Dreams should change too.”

By his side, the birds give up on waiting for more waffles and fly away in a small flock,
closer to the dancing girls who now have stopped moving to eat falafel wraps.

A massive cloud moves up in the sky, covering the sun and dissolving the warmth in the cold
wind. Turning the whole sky white again. Like it usually is in London. Taehyung looks down
at Jungkook, realising it doesn’t matter if the sky is white, because the person in front of him
is too and it isn’t a bad thing.

“What if they’re gone?” Taehyung asks in a small voice.

“Dreams?” Jungkook wrinkles his forehead in confusion.

“Yeah, I don’t have any. Now, I just wanna have a little job and be with the people I like,
that’s it.” Taehyung says, bites the corner of his thumb, feeling a little silly, a little self-
conscious. He thinks of twenty-seven, and how it’s supposed to be a big moment. The time to
make it all happen, all the dreams you dreamed of. It’s not time to look for new ones. That’s
before you’re twenty-three, for sure. “It’s so ironic, how you’re seventeen and you’re so sure
of what you want and then, ten years later, you’re completely lost in life, with this feeling that
it’s too late.”

“Dreams are not like DiCaprio, darling,” Jungkook says. “You don’t need to be under twenty-
five to have them.” He lifts up his brows and his lips at the same time, like he’s still being
serious, but not completely. Taehyung laughs, for real this time, feeling it in his belly before
it reaches his lips. “I don’t think you’re lost. You just said what you want from life. Isn’t
wanting a simple life a dream too?” He adds, no joke in his tone now.

Taehyung blinks at him, at Jungkook’s placid face. The way his mouth is always steady, often
slightly curved up, or how his forehead wrinkles but his eyes remain soft. He’s never
indifferent, he shows gentleness in every breath he takes.
“But it is so… simple ?”

Jungkook stares at him with amusement in his face, huge eyes searching for something. He
seems to find what he is looking for, his upper lip lifts in a smile that shows his front teeth.

“What’s wrong with it?” he says with a small shrug. “Dreams don’t need to be big, they just
need to be something that moves you.”

Maybe there’s a part of Taehyung that wants to disagree. That wants to set his foot firmly on
the ground and say a dream should be something worth moving countries, worth giving up
everything you know. Something that makes you get out of bed in the morning, ready for the
fight. Because that’s what dreams are, right? Something you have to put effort into, that
doesn’t just happen casually.

Another part of him stops this train of thought. He thinks of how dreams and efforts are not
necessarily related. You can fight and struggle to achieve something that isn’t a dream. You
can dream of something that doesn’t require effort.

You can dream of not having to struggle anymore.

“How come you’re so wise?” Taehyung asks teasingly, cocking his head to the side.

Jungkook gets the book he just bought. The Cecilia Meireles one, the funny and pretty name
Taehyung already forgot how to pronounce. He wishes Jungkook would repeat it to him, just
to appreciate the way his tongue rolls trying to say it the right way. Taehyung admires the
intention, knows how much it matters to have a name pronounced the right way.

“I read a lot,” he says pompously, wiggling the book in the air. Taehyung laughs, pokes his
knee gently. Just to touch him for a bit just so he doesn't have to fill the silence. Jungkook’s
face sobers up a little, and he seems a little hesitant when he says, “I’m sorry I— I tend to be
opinionated.”

“I like to listen to your opinions,” Taehyung cocks his head, not understanding the sudden
way Jungkook’s body recoils in awkwardness.

“I like to have someone who listens,” Jungkook touches the tip of his snickers against
Taehyung’s in this small kick.

The girls resume dancing, a K-pop choreography this time. Taehyung doesn’t recognize the
song, only noticing it's a Korean song when the familiar words hit his ears. Must be new.

Again, it’s a silence that is not quiet, but Taehyung sees himself filling it anyway. “I haven’t
told my parents yet.”

“About the PhD?” Jungkook looks up at him again, following the conversation even though
most of it is only inside Taehyung’s head.

“Yes.”
This time it is quiet. Taehyung’s ears muted with the nervousness of confessing this out loud.
He doesn’t really know why he did it. It’s something that he was supposed to keep to himself.
Locked inside, behind a thick curtain of shame and uncertainty.

He waits for the questions, for the unsolicited advice. Except—

“I thought you’re close.”

Except he is talking to Jungkook, of all people

Taehyung puffs his cheeks, releasing the air slowly. He wishes he had another ice cream,
something to keep his hand busy. He finds relief in playing with a loose thread of his jeans.
The one that wasn’t supposed to be ripped, but it got this way after Seokjin convinced them
to play in a park’s playground after having a few drinks, and Taehyung’s pants got stuck on
the sharp edge of a seesaw. Better him than a kid, he still thinks.

“We are, in a sense. Very distant in others.” He pauses, licking his lips. There’s a fine line
when talking about family. What’s acceptable, what’s utterly forbidden. What’s ugly to say,
ugly to feel. Because it’s family, it’s supposed to be good even when it isn’t. It’s supposed to
be love even when it hurts.

At least that’s what people say.

Taehyung swirls his fingers around the loose thread, rolls until the fibre cuts the circulation,
and makes his print purple. He releases it when his finger starts pulsing, the white mark on
his joint contrasting with the purple on the tip of his finger.

“This shit changes you. Being far away shapes you into being a different person,” he says,
lifting his gaze to face Jungkook again.

When you move countries, it’s not only you that changes.

You are not there for birthdays, for happy hours, or to take your grandmother to the doctor.
You’re not there for special speeches at graduation parties and for daily conversations over
coffee. You’re not there, and somehow it’s hard to miss all those things, but it’s also not. With
time, it becomes normal, the absence of everything you know. You start knowing new things,
and the old ones get lost in your memory.

Taehyung learned how to take incredibly hot showers from his mom and how to cut his
toenails with his dad. He learned how to make good French toast with his favourite aunt, at
that time she was obsessed with a cooking show he can’t remember the name of.

Things he doesn’t forget. People he will never forget. People who shaped him. But they are
not as familiar to him as they once were. Maybe familiar strangers.

He wouldn’t be surprised if he arrived in Korea now and his mom had started taking cold
showers because it helps with joint pain. He’s not there to know these details.

Details that sometimes make an entire person.

He sighs deeply, his shoulders sinking low. “They barely get what I do, but they’re somehow
proud of me. That’s what matters to them, that’s always what matters to them. How do I tell
them I gave up everything I came here for?”

The question doesn’t come strangled like he expected to. His voice is clear, loud. Louder than
the song playing in the background, the one that’s supposed to remind him of his home
country but doesn’t.

Jungkook's voice is soft, it grounds him in this field where he ripped way too much grass.
“By telling them you’re chasing other things?”

Is Taehyung really? Is a nine-to-five, no brainer job, a nice little life, something you chase
after?

“Even if it makes me feel sort of ashamed?” He bites his lower lip and stares down at the
green grass. “I don’t even know if I like this version of myself.”

“Not that’s worth a lot, but I do,” Jungkook says, stretching a hand closer to Taehyung’s face.
Taehyung wants him to touch his cheek, his earlobe. Jungkook doesn't. Hesitantly, he lowers
his hands, but repeats, “I do like it.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes softly, feeling the familiar fuzziness swoop in his stomach once
again.

“You've met me like this already.” He flicks his knee. The encounter between the tip of his
nail and Jungkook’s jeans shouldn’t be enough to be considered a touch, but it seems more
than enough to Taehyung now.

“Like what?”

“Like someone who’s always falling.”

Jungkook frowns so deeply, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he just heard. His
shoulders sag. “Taehyung,” he says, his name sounding way too serious on Jungkook’s lips.
He looks Taehyung dead in the eyes, and he fights the urge to lower them, knowing Jungkook
would chase his gaze anyway. “Falling isn’t always bad. And giving up something that
doesn’t make you feel good isn’t failing.”

“You didn’t call me ‘darling’.” Taehyung smiles coyly, flicks his knee again.

“Don’t deflect.” Jungkook laughs, and snatches his forefinger before he can tap his knee
again.

Taehyung's breath heaves, the smile still on his face when he looks down at their connected
hands. Jungkook’s tattooed fingers around his.

“Sorry, it's just— It feels a lot like failing to me, yes.”

Jungkook pulls his finger, calling his attention until he lifts his gaze again. The good thing
about a white canvas is that any colour fits. Right now, Jungkook’s dark eyes look warmer
when touched by the daylight, reflecting all the green around them.

“Would your parents think the same?”

Taehyung shrugs, “I think so, I—” He pauses, chews his inner cheek. “Sometimes I feel like I
can’t talk about my life with them anymore. We live such different lives.”

The pucker of Jungkook’s lips is deliberate, it says more than words would.

“Do you tell your parents everything?” Taehyung asks.

Jungkook laughs, letting go of his finger to push his long hair back. It falls on his face again,
soft and messy.

“Fuck, no.” His lips curve up again, like it’s instinct like it’s easy for him to say hard things
with a peaceful face. Like he has come to terms with all his demons. “No, they— they like to
pretend they don’t see essential parts of me. It gets pointless trying to tell things to them after
a while.”

It bothers Taehyung, how anyone could ignore any parts of Jungkook. When all of it is so
bright, so loud.

He’s not naive, though. He knows that parents create their own realities to keep the image of
their kids they created in their minds, and that Korean parents need to do it extra hard
sometimes.

“Is that why you came?”

“Yes. No.” Jungkook shrugs, brings his arms around his knees again, holding himself small.
“It wasn’t in my plans, but as soon as the position opened, it became a plan. And then I
realised I really needed this. Really needed a place where I could be myself.”

It feels small to say it, insignificant to tell Jungkook he feels happy for him. But he does. So
he says. “I’m glad you found it.”

Jungkook hums, not saying he is too, but Taehyung knows. He can feel it when Jungkook
talks about his favourite places in the city, when he looks at the old buildings with stars in his
eyes, when he says cheers like it’s the best word invented. All the little ways London makes
him happy.

“If your dream wasn’t coming here, then what is it?”

“Hm,” Jungkook pretends to think even though the answer lies on the tip of his tongue,
“people knowing me for my writing.”

It startles a laugh out of Taehyung, who looks at him slightly confused. “Don’t they already?”

“I write factual news, darling,” he replies with a silly smile on his face. “Nobody gets
touched reading about the devaluation of the won in relation to the pound.”
“I think you could make it sound touching.” Taehyung shrugs, and flicks a hand in the air.
“Add a little monarchic drama, you know, to make it spicy.”

Jungkook laughs, smacking Taehyung’s thigh. Sharp and quickly, not enough of a touch, yet
still a touch.

“I do some freelancing,” Jungkook says in a small voice, eyes darting to the side like he isn’t
brave enough to say it out loud. “For a few literary magazines. That’s why, hm, that’s why I
went to the museum that time.”

“Oh, that’s actually so cool!” Taehyung says with enthusiasm, but Jungkook’s face is still shy,
still avoidant. So unlike the person he is. “Wait, why are you shy, darling?”

The nickname makes Jungkook giggle. “Because it’s nothing, really. I’ve sort of accepted
that nobody really makes money with creative writing.”

Taehyung nudges him back, biting the tip of his tongue. Small excuses to touch. “That’s not
true.”

Jungkook holds a hand up. “Please don’t cite JK Rowling.”

Taehyung snorts, gives him a non-ironic eye-roll “Darling, I don’t even know who this
transphobic person is.”

It makes Jungkook laugh again, and right now, under the white sky of a spring day that
promised to be warm but it’s showing itself quite chilly, much like life in a foreign country,
Taehyung realises he would like to make Jungkook laugh more. All the time, to be precise.

“I can’t wait to read a piece by Jeon Jungkook,” Taehyung says, then giggles. “I mean,
Jungkook Jeon?”

“I—,” Jungkook's face falters, the shadow of the previous smile gone. He darts his gaze
down, visibly nervous at the sudden comment.

“Oh, I don’t mean— I mean, someday.” He pauses, taking in Jungkook's hesitation. “When
you want to show me anything you’ve written. Someday,” he adds again.

“Yeah, someday.” He blinks at Taehyung, lips curving up and up and up. Until it’s there, the
smile that reminds him of kids, of bunnies, of warm days in the sun. Even if the sky is cloudy.

“Do you think it means what I think it means?” Jimin bounces on the balls of his feet when
he meets Taehyung at the exit of Tooting Bec station.
“I have no idea, but I hope so,” Taehyung says with an excited smile, zipping up his
windbreaker. The weather isn’t nice this week like spring forgot it was time to bring warmth
and decided to bring winter back instead. The sharp wind slaps him in the face, messing up
his already messy hair.

“Dear lord, we’ve been waiting for this for so long. I even brought wine.” Jimin wiggles the
brown paper bag in his hand. His eyes turn into a small crescent moon when he smiles,
cheeks kissed pink due to the cold. “A good one.”

“Look at you, all fancy,” Taehyung teases, turning to cross the street.

Rolling his eyes, Jimin pulls him by the wrist to wait for the light to turn green for them. It’s
a thing Taehyung loves about him, the silent ways Jimin takes care of them. Like when he
covers drunk Namjoon with a blanket when he passes out on the couch, or when Seokjin
complains he has a headache and Jimin doesn’t even ask before bringing him pills and a glass
of water.

“Well, if I’ll be this kid’s godfather, they have to know I have good taste.” Jimin walks ahead
of him, chest puffed up.

“Don’t they already know that you don’t have good taste?” Taehyung frowns when he finally
catches Jimin on the sidewalk. For someone with shorter legs, he surely walks in strides.
“And who said you’re the godfather?”

“Excuse you?” Jimin lifts his foot back, twisting his knee slightly to the side to slam
Taehyung’s ass as they walk. Taehyung's giggles get muffled by a truck passing by, by kids
yelling to their moms on the other side of the sidewalk. “Nobody said. I’m making myself
available for the position.”

“I’m available too!” Taehyung squeals. “And I also have good taste.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Tell me one example that would make someone debate my good taste?” Taehyung takes two
wide steps, turns on his heels, and faces Jimin. Walking backward, he shoots both eyebrows
up in challenge.

“Plaid t-shirts.”

“That was years ago—”

“Royal family mug collection.”

“That’s ironic!”

Jimin pulls Taehyung by the arm again, forcing him to stop when they reach Seokjin and
Namjoon’s house. The massive eye roll lasts until he reaches the front door, knocks, and turns
back to Taehyung.

“Your favourite Spice Girl is Posh Spice .”

“Excuse me?” Taehyung gapes in offence. “She’s a fashion icon! And I don’t see how any of
that relates to my abilities as a godfather—”

“Jimin, Tae,” a low voice comes from the door, it makes Taehyung’s own die. A knot
replaces it right away.

The first thing he sees is the way Jimin's face falters, the bottle of wine cradled in his arms.

“Seokjin-hyung,” Jimin whispers.

Even before he lifts his gaze, Taehyung knows something is terribly wrong. It is confirmed
when his eyes meet Seokjin’s, and his own heart clenches inside his chest at the same time
his hand grips the rail tightly.

Nobody says anything. It’s unnecessary when Seokjin's face says it all. He steps aside, tilts
his head inside, and sniffs. Jimin squeezes his biceps before running inside, desperately
searching for Namjoon.

Taehyung steps into the hall, stopping to watch Seokjin closing the door. When his friend
moves to get in, Taehyung remains on the same spot, blocking his way.

If Seokjin wants to protest, he doesn’t. He stands there in an utter, disturbing silence. His lips
are curved down, eyes bloodshot but with no traces of tears on his cheeks.

Seokjin has this habit of pretending he is the strongest of them all, he carries the role of the
hyung too heavily sometimes. Taehyung remembers all the times he was falling apart but
kept it together for Namjoon. When his own father said he wasn’t coming for their wedding
but he dismissed it like it was nothing just because Namjoon was way too stressed with
organising the ceremony. When their foster cat, Dr. Peppers, finally found a home after
staying with them for five months, and he pretended he didn’t lock himself in the bathroom to
cry. The first time the person from the adoption agency said they found another couple that
was a better match.

“Namjoon’s inside,” Seokjin says as expected, not daring to meet Taehyung’s eyes. His voice
is sort of clipped, emotions strangled in his throat.

Taehyung frowns, wanting to reach a hand, to ask how he’s feeling, to hug him and say it’s
okay to cry. But he thinks too much, ends up not acting in time to move before Seokjin is
already marching to the living room with large steps to reach his husband faster.

With Namjoon, it’s the complete opposite. He opens himself to vulnerability without
hesitation, allows himself to cry and to be held. The signs of a person who knows what it is to
be loved, knows how to receive it well.

He hugs Taehyung and Jimin, sobs on their shoulders and mumbles apologies mixed with
curses. Namjoon is not embarrassed of his own cry, doesn’t even try to hide the tears or the
ugly sounds that come out of his mouth.
When Jimin excuses himself to make them some coffee, Taehyung joins the couple on the
massive couch that Seokjin insisted on buying, and that Namjoon pretends to love just to
make him happy.

Taehyung looks at them, at their clasped hands resting on Seokjin’s lap, his other palm
rubbing Namjoon’s knuckles. He thinks of all the little compromises you make to be in a
relationship. The ones that are healthy to make, like pretending to love a couch, or Seokjin
opting to work remotely so they didn’t have to move countries again, not when Namjoon had
a good job here, not when they were waiting for a new family member.

Taehyung wonders if he will ever be able to make those too, to disregard things that he likes
or doesn’t like just to make someone else happy. To adjust his life, his work, his routine, just
to accommodate another person. He wonders if someone would do that for him too.

His eyes get lost when Namjoon lays his head on Seokjin’s shoulder, one single tear rolling
down his cheek. Their hearts are as broken as their faces. Taehyung feels his own heart
breaking too. Because sometimes it doesn't need to be a lover, the person for whom you’d
adjust your life. If he could, he would rearrange his whole existence to take the pain away
from Seokjin and Namjoon, to give them everything they wish for. Everything they deserve.

“What did they—?” Taehyung stops, unsure how to ask the question. He doesn’t think it’s
right to ask that now, but he can’t not do it. He needs to understand the unfathomable.

It’s Namjoon, in the worst of his pain, his fingers twisted in between Seokjin’s in an
uncomfortable way, who tears his gaze off the floor and stares ahead blankly with eyes
devoid of anything but sorrow who speaks first.

“The girl’s family, they—” He sniffs, looking down again like holding his head high is too
much now. “They convinced her to not do it. And I mean—” Another sniff, chin glued to his
chest, trying to ignore how broad his shoulders are to make himself small. As if curling into a
ball would make him disappear, make everything disappear. Taehyung stretches a hand, pats
his knee, a useless touch of comfort. “We knew that could happen and— and it’s their right
but— It hurts, it hurts so much.”

Seokjin purses his lips, looking hopelessly at Taehyung, then at Jimin, who approaches
holding a tray with four mugs of coffee. He places it on the coffee table but doesn’t serve it.
Instead, he kneels in front of Namjoon and Seokjin, looking up at both of them with tears
brimming in his eyes.

“Of course it does, hyung,” Jimin says, planting both his palms on top of their friends'
clasped ones and squeezing them tight. Taehyung doesn’t pay attention to the words he
whispers looking up at Namjoon, trusting his friend to say the right thing, even if there’s no
right thing to say at the moment.

There’s something terribly heart-wrenching in seeing the people you love the most suffering
while your hands are tied. It’s like words aren’t enough, hugs aren’t enough, acts of service
aren’t enough. But Taehyung knows that, for those in pain, it means a lot. Sometimes, it
means everything. Seokjin and Namjoon wouldn’t call them here if they didn’t think their
presence would be comforting.
So he tries his best. Because that’s all he can do, try and try and try. Knowing that sometimes
his best will never be enough, that some kinds of pain don’t simply go away, but what’s
important is trying nonetheless.

They stay tangled in the couch for so long, silences being filled with sobs and sporadic
words. Eventually, they drink the coffee. It’s already lukewarm, but Taehyung doesn’t think it
matters. None of them are concerned about that now.

When Seokjin stands up to wash the now empty cups of coffee, Taehyung trails after him,
leaving Jimin and Namjoon snuggling on the couch.

Namjoon and Jimin, two puppies trapped in human form. People made of touch, made to be
touched. People who say it all out loud, cry and sob easily. Taehyung wishes he could be a
little more like that too, accept love without resistance, accept the pain without pretending it’s
not there.

He goes after the friend who is more similar to him, the one who prefers to suffer in silence.
The one who believes, just like him, that pain and burdens are not meant to be shared.

Except both of them know this is a shared pain.

Adoption is Seokjin and Namjoon’s dream, the one they’ve been dedicating years of their
lives to. They’re together in this, planning and thinking of a future with one more person in it.
Who out of the two is going to speak English with the kid and who’s going to teach them
Korean. Who will get the first share of the paternity leave. What kind of food introduction
they will do.

It’s their dream, but it has become Jimin’s and Taehyung’s dream too. To be uncles,
godfathers, to see their friends happy, to bring extra gifts on Christmas, and to show pictures
of their nephew or niece to their other friends.

To make their family a little bit bigger, a little bit brighter in this country that lacks sunlight.

They will share it all, and Seokjin can try to keep it inside, but he’s not alone in this pain.
Will never be in any pain, if Namjoon, Taehyung and Jimin have any say on the matter.

Taehyung stops by his side next to the kitchen counter, taking the wet mug out of his hand,
and placing it on the sink. Seokjin's head hangs low as if he’s not even registering what
Taehyung is doing.

But he is, because, in the dead silence of the kitchen, his voice comes out like a murmur,
“This is so unfair, Taehyung-ah.”

It’s all he says, eyes shut, lower lip trapped in a tight bite.

Taehyung's breath heaves, trembles inside him, making his whole body shake. This fragile
thing that needs to be stronger, needs to be robust for his friend. His fingers delicately circle
around Seokjin’s wet hand. “It is, hyung. It fucking is.”
Seokjin lifts his gaze, leaning his hip on the sink. A huge white, farmhouse sink that both he
and Namjoon love. Because sometimes you don’t have to compromise.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.” He sighs, it comes out broken. “I’m tired.”

It’s the hopelessness in his tone that makes Taehyung bite back his own tears. Negative
feelings are normally hard to deal with. But usually, with sadness, anger, or disappointment
you can do something about it. You can cry and you can scream and you can fight. But it’s in
the lack of hope that lies the danger. To not be able to do anything else. To be suspended,
with nothing to wait for, nothing to dream about.

Taehyung is terrified of hopelessness.

He squeezes Seokjin’s hand harder, and refuses to let go even when his friends try to slip his
wet fingers from his grip.

“Tomorrow. We’ll think about what to do tomorrow,” Taehyung replies. They will never stop
trying, even if it takes many more years, he knows . But this afternoon, in this beautiful
kitchen made by two people who sometimes have to compromise, but not always, they don’t
have to do anything. “Now you don’t need to do anything.”

“I do.” Seokjin shakes his head, free hand curling into a small fist. “Namjoon is
heartbroken.”

Taehyung lets go of his hold, places a hand on his shoulder, and looks him dead in the eyes.
Seokjin might be the hyung, might be the one who doesn’t like to show his pain, but some
pains are bigger than what we think we are. They can’t be hidden. “And so are you.”

“I—”

“Hyung.”

It’s just one word, but it carries all the things Seokjin needs to hear. Slowly, his face cracks,
and his eyes fill with tears.

Stumbling into Taehyung’s open arms, Seokjin finally allows himself to cry. Finally allows
himself to share something that was never his alone in the first place.

In theory, spring in London has everything Seoul does.

People find joy in going outside again, the outfits are more colourful. The green is back, the
sun is sort of back, and the trees start blooming.
Even the blossoms here are cherry blossoms.

Taehyung really loves those. The rosy, delicate flowers. Pretty even when they fall, right
before summer arrives, painting the ground pink.

Maybe Jungkook has been right, maybe falling isn’t always bad.

When Taehyung looks up at a tree, the blossoms are small still, dainty pale pink buds.
Delicate and beautiful.

He doesn’t know if it’s the fainter shade of pink, or the contrast with a different landscape.
But there’s something that doesn’t fit. It’s simply not the same.

He sighs, tired of a place where everything feels different. Different colours, different air,
different sounds, different tastes. People who say big cities are all the same have never lived
in the heart of more than one.

He only wishes things could feel familiar for a while. The flowers, the weather, and his
mood. Not for long. Just ten minutes would be enough.

He woke up with this unrealistic and strong need for familiarity. In an impulsive decision, he
had asked Jungkook to meet him at this Korean restaurant. It’s one he hasn’t tried yet, none
of the others he did are really worth going back to. The food always has that almost-there
taste, but never there.

Today he needs a taste that feels right there.

The bell rings when he opens the door, the smell of smoke and sesame oil cling to him like a
soft hug. Jungkook is already waiting, seated at a table in the corner.

Taehyung’s shoulders sag when he sees the familiar smiley face waving at him. It might not
be the kind of familiarity acquired through years, this thing he and Jungkook share, but it
brings a sense of relief like they’ve known each other for lifetimes.

It’s a good start.

“Hi, darling! I ordered kimchi jiggae.”

“How did you...?” Taehyung stops, hand freezing on the back of the chair.

“You mentioned it the second time we met. At the pub.”

Taehyung stares at him blankly while his heart does that funny thing inside his chest.

Jungkook waits for a reply with the same dark eyes as when they met in the gallery, months
ago. Except they don’t look intrigued by Taehyung anymore, they look fond, familiar. It’s like
looking in a mirror sometimes.

“I— Thank you.”

Jungkook's phone pings on the table top, he looks down, smiling easily.

“Hobi says hi.”

The dumbfounded expression is still on Taehyung’s face when he finally pulls the chair to
take a seat. He needs a couple of seconds to reassess, too much information hitting him from
all sides.

“Oh, does he know about me?”

Jungkook scrunches up his nose and tilts his face, giving him a funny look. “Of course,” he
says it like it’s obvious.

Taehyung wonders what’s obvious about that. Wonders what he shares with his best friend.
Did he tell him they’ve been meeting each other every week? Did he say he knows
Taehyung's favourite dish? Did he share—

A woman in her early twenties, wearing a red apron and a low ponytail interrupts, placing the
dishes in front of them. A jiggae and a dolsot bibimbap. She says “enjoy” with a strong
accent, just one word enough to notice.

It’s the noise of the boiling soup then, the smell of spicy and sourness, and the sight of the red
liquid that brings a sort of happiness mixed with a longing that he only experiences when it
comes to food.

All of the other thoughts vanish from his mind.

Taehyung starts eating like it’s his last meal on earth. He doesn’t mind that the stew burns his
tongue, making it rough every time it touches the roof of his mouth. He chews the meat,
mixes the rice in the pot, and seeks for a taste he can’t find. Surely, it’s delicious. The strips
of pork are tender, the sauce spicy enough for once. Usually, Korean food here is always
bland, people are too afraid of making it too spicy.

But it lacks. It lacks something Taehyung can’t pinpoint.

“Taehyung?”

Taehyung snaps his head up, looking at Jungkook like he was caught. “Ugh, sorry,” he says,
wiping his mouth with a napkin. “You were saying?”

“I was just telling you about this interview I did today, it’s—” He stops, lowers his spoon,
directs Taehyung this confused glance. “It’s not important. Are you okay?”

“Of course it’s important.” Taehyung shakes his head, swallowing the rest of the food in his
mouth. “I’m sorry, I’ve been all over the place this weekend.”

“Something happened?” Jungkook asks carefully.

“I—” Taehyung stops. It’s not his place to tell but it’s also his place. It’s also his pain.
He lowers his spoon, then chugs half of the cup of water to relieve the burning on his tongue.
It’s a glass cup, not the metal ones he grew up drinking in restaurants. At least the water
bottle is a plastic one, with stickers glued to it as adornment, just like he remembers.

He peels the edge of one sticker, it shows this young girl holding a bottle of soju. The
moisture and the glue makes the underside of his nails sticky.

Jungkook waits patiently as Taehyung debates what to say. How to say it.

“That day at Southbank, I mentioned Namjoon-hyung and Seokjin-hyung wanted to have

kids, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, they’re trying to adopt.”

“That’s great!” Jungkook’s face lights up, mixing with the sunlight filtering through the
window. The more he takes Taehyung’s stern expression, the more his own dims. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s complicated… They’ve been on the waiting list for ages. This time, though, they were
really close, even had a meeting with the pregnant woman,” he starts, looking down at the red
liquid in his bowl again. The smell is strong and spicy, but no, not the same smell. “We’re all
very confident but then she… She gave up.”

“Oh.” Jungkook gapes, widens his eyes just the slightest. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“I wanna ask if they are alright, but that’s such a stupid question.”

“They will be,” Taehyung affirms, shaking his head until his bangs cover his eyes. He says it
more to himself than anything. “It’s not their first rodeo. Although this one was… worse. So
much worse.”

Jungkook doesn’t ask why, but listens with care, with a worried face like he has known
Namjoon and Seokjin for ages.

“I’d never seen Seokjin cry before,” Taehyung confesses, voice low to keep it a secret. It’s
not like anyone here but the waitress would be able to understand Korean. It’s not like this is
Seoul, a big city where everyone knows everyone. This is London, a place where people can
barely understand English when it comes with a different accent, a place where people cannot
pronounce Seokjin’s name correctly, a place where people don't care if he is sad or not. “I
think this time they’re tired. It’s been almost four years.”

Jungkook sucks a breath in, gripping the edge of the table. “That’s… Yeah, that must be
fucking exhausting.” He lifts his gaze, looking at Taehyung so fondly it hurts. “They are such
nice people.”

A sad smile grows on Taehyung’s face, he props an elbow on the table, resting his chin on his
fist.
“They are, that’s the thing. I’ve never seen two people who love each other so much. Who
are willing to share that love with someone they don’t even know yet. They deserve so many
good things.”

Jungkook agrees in silence. He seems to understand there are no words he could possibly say
that would add anything new.

But his hand is there, open, waiting for Taehyung to drop his own on top of it. And who’s
Taehyung to refuse that touch? His fingers dance under Taehyung’s, rubbing circles on his
wrist.

In the warmth of Jungkook’s hand, there is something familiar. Something that maybe he was
seeking in the food, but couldn’t find because it didn’t taste right.

He raises his eyes, not knowing if he will sound petty for saying this, but it’s just in his
mind. It’s always in his mind. “Sometimes I look at them and I wonder what it's like to be
loved by someone like this.”

Jungkook’s fingers stop for a second. “Like what?”

“Like strong enough to run to another country together to build a family,” Taehyung says,
tensing his hand over Jungkook’s. It feels almost overheated. “To build a house together.
With beautiful kitchens and ugly couches.”

Jungkook misses the information but doesn’t ask. He never asks, not unless he needs to.

He seems to understand what Taehyung is saying even when he talks in code.

“It’s not something you find anywhere, no.” Jungkook hums, pressing a thumb over the bone
on top of Taehyung’s wrist.

The light filters through the window by their side, illuminating all of Jungkook’s face. It
warms his black eyes, makes his black outfit match the spring day outside.

“Have you ever?” he asks.

“What?”

“Felt loved like this?”

Jungkook shakes his head no, the shadow of a smile on his face. “You?”

Taehyung snorts first, thinks second.

“Once I thought I did, but it didn’t— It wasn’t, no, not really.” He laughs awkwardly,
wanting to pull his hand to scrape his neck but Jungkook holds it firmly.

The vagueness of his answer opens room for questions that Taehyung isn’t keen on
answering. To avoid talking more, he grabs his spoon and shoves a huge amount of soup and
rice in his mouth.
Jungkook laughs when he notices him struggling to eat with his left hand, finally letting go of
his palm even though Taehyung thinks he could manage to eat from a wobbly spoon.

He looks down at the half-eaten soup.

Maybe some things will always be like that, forever almost there . He tries to find peace in
the fact that almost there can be comforting too — not reaching what’s expected but finding
something that is close, that offers a similar sense of joy and comfort.

He keeps chewing the food, still sour and spicy, still not quite there yet, and currently less hot
than it was a while ago. Now that the temperature is more adequate, the taste gets clearer on
the tip of his tongue. That’s when it hits him.

Taehyung frowns, smacks his lips together to be sure. “It’s not sweet enough.”

“What?” Jungkook stops his own spoon mid air.

“The food,” Taehyung says. “It’s too spicy, it lacks a good balance between the spicy and
sweetness.”

“Oh.” Jungkook lowers his spoon completely. He points at the almost empty pot in front of
Taehyung. “I thought you were enjoying it.”

“No, I am. I just— I guess I came here looking for something, and then it’s not sweet
enough.” Taehyung shakes his head, smiling shyly. “I couldn’t find it.”

Jungkook’s eyes shift in the yellow light, get a tad warmer, a tad confused. They don’t leave
Taehyung’s face as if the answer can come just from staring. “Looking for what?”

Taehyung breathes out a laugh. It’s silly, he knows. He brings the spoon to his mouth, licks its
back just to be sure of what’s missing. Yes. The craving is still there. In his stomach, in his
soul.

“Home,” he answers.

“Rent prices in this city are a joke.” Jimin swirls a hand in the air, outraged.

“No news there.”

“No, but not less revolting. I saw this shithole, literally a hole in the wall, impossible to fit
more than two tables.” Jimin looks at Taehyung with wide eyes, raising two fingers to
emphasise his words. “And not only was the price ridiculous but they also asked for six
months in advance. Who has this kind of money? If I did, I’d be buying a fucking place, not
renting one.”

“Well, there was that place you visited last month,” Taehyung tries to offer comfort, knowing
it won’t do much.

“Not a good location, though.” Jimin sighs, pushing his dark hair back with both palms. He’s
been stressed lately, the lines in his soft face are rougher, it makes him seem a little older than
twenty-seven. “That’s the issue. A location can make or break your business. I can’t afford
breaking.”

A group of businessmen pass by them, Taehyung has to take a step back to walk behind Jimin
to avoid bumping into them. He hates how some people just think they own the streets.

“Can anyone?” he says, falling into step with Jimin again. Just in time to see him rolling his
eyes.

“Especially not me.”

Taehyung wraps an arm around his shoulders, squeezing it tightly. “You make the best coffee
in this city. You won’t.”

“I wish it was just about good coffee.” Jimin groans, leaning into the embrace. “I’m sorry, I
know that’s the only thing I talk about these days, but—”

“Jimin-ah, it’s okay.”

Taehyung tugs Jimin by the shoulder, turning him to the right direction when Jimin keeps
walking he’s not aware of where he’s going.

With heavy eyes, Jimin looks up at him. “I just have to start looking, you know? These things
take ages.”

Taehyung hates the way his voice sounds small, unsure. Jimin is everything but those things.

“Yeah, I know.” Taehyung smiles at him, for him, wishing he was smiling with him, but Jimin
only offers a straight face.

“And there’s just so much to organise before I really, really open it. Like, it makes sense to
start looking—”

“Jimin-ah?” Taehyung interrupts with the gentlest voice he can muster.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you justifying yourself? To me, of all people?” Taehyung says softly, knowing
Jimin gets overwhelmed easily. His mind is always in the future, focused on problem-solving
even before the problem is there. Some would call it an anxious brain, but Taehyung just
thinks it's the outcome of having to fend for yourself from a young age.
Sometimes he wishes he could give teenager Jimin a hug. He tries to compensate for that by
giving adult Jimin as many hugs as he can.

Jimin looks at him with wide eyes, not daring to move even though a car has stopped for
them. He must be really stressed. “I— I— Don’t you think it’s crazy?”

“What?” Taehyung frowns, walking again so Jimin can follow him.

“Me, trying to open my own business.” Jimin rushes to follow

“Why would it be?”

“I’m an immigrant.” Jimin scoffs, shrugging to dismiss the self-deprecation.

“Jimin.” Taehyung stops when they reach the cafe, placing both hands on Jimin’s shoulders.
“This country is made of immigrants. For fucks sake, chicken tikka masala is a national
dish.” He makes a funny face, the one Jimin always finds amusing. “Doesn’t sound very
British to me.”

It eases Jimin a bit, his shoulders shaking under Taehyung’s palm when he laughs.

“You studied for this, right?” Taehyung keeps going, shaking him slightly as if to wake him
up from a bad dream.

“I— Yeah.”

“You’re the person who heard from professors you’d never graduate and you did it one year
ahead of your class, didn’t you?”

Jimin blinks, rolling his eyes as a small smile grows on his face. Pink tints his cheeks, adding
a touch of youth to his distressed face.

“You turn Jin’s mom into a coffee lover even though that woman was caffeine-free for fifty
years because she despised the taste.”

Jimin gestures to the sides, almost like he has to protest Taehyung’s words. “Because she was
drinking it wrong!”

“No. Because you’re good .” Taehyung shakes him by the shoulder again to emphasise the
word. “And a little bit insistent,” he adds with a sly smile. “It’s not crazy. You’re being
careful, and taking your time to not mess this up. It’s going to work.”

“Right, yeah. Okay,” Jimin takes a deep breath, repeating the affirmative words to himself as
he pushes the door of the cafe open with his shoulder. “Okay, I know you’re right. I need to
be more— Oh , look who’s here.”

Taehyung sees Jimin’s mirthful smile before he follows his gaze. His own face splits into a
surprised grin when he sees Jungkook seated alone at a table for two, notebook open in front
of him and phone in his ear.
“Who do you think your honey is talking to?” Jimin teases. He sounds a little bit more like
himself, already circling the counter and searching for his apron.

“It’s darling now,” Taehyung replies absentmindedly.

“Come again?” Jimin lifts his gaze from the apron he’s wrapping around his waist.

“Nevermind.” Taehyung shakes his head, leaning on the counter. “He’s probably talking to
Hobi.”

Jimin blinks in question. Then proceeds to get a stack of small papers on the counter, never
one to do one thing at a time.

“His best friend.”

“I thought you were his best friend.” Jimin frowns down at something in the receipts but it
could be at Taehyung as well. “You’ve surely been spending a lot of time together.”

“Jealous, Jimin?” He teases with a smile, only for Jimin to roll his eyes. He looks at
Jungkook, gesturing wildly as he speaks on the phone. His face lights up when he finally
notices Taehyung, hand stopping its frantic moves to wave at him. Taehyung waves back and
smiles even bigger, feeling the funny thing in his chest. “I’m not his best friend.”

“Right, you’re his honey. No, not honey.” He raises a finger, turning it into a wave when he
notices Jungkook saying hi to him too. “ Darling .” Jimin mocks, his suggestive smile speaks
volumes.

Taehyung huffs. “Don’t even start.”

“I’m not starting anything, you already did.” Jimin winks, earning the world's slowest eye
roll from Taehyung. “I’m just happy you finally found yourself—”

Raising a hand in the air, Taehyung interrupts, “Jimin-ah, how many times have I told you
I’m—”

“ I’m not looking for anyone right now,” Jimin says in a low tone, a very poor impersonation
of Taehyung’s voice in his opinion. “I know, Tae.”

“Doesn’t seem like you do. Alright,” he says when Jimin is about to protest. “I’ll leave you to
work before this escalates.” Taehyung pushes away from the counter. “What time is Danny
singing again?”

Jimin looks at the clock on the wall. “At seven. We’ll start serving wine in a minute if you
and your darling want some.”

“Sure, that would be great. Thanks, Chim,” Taehyung says with a last eye roll before he
leaves Jimin for his duty.

The cafe is crowded like every Saturday evening. It had been Jimin’s idea, to create special
nights with live music and wine, and it has proven itself a success for people who enjoy a
nice night out without the fuss of a bar or a restaurant. Taehyung wonders how Jimin can
think he will fail when he opens his own cafe if the place where he works now is running
basically only because of his management skills. Fucking amazing management skills,
Taehyung would say.

“Hyung, just ask her out already,” Jungkook is saying when Taehyung approaches. He
grimaces, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I wouldn’t call complimenting her croissant
flirting.”

Taehyung stops, looking at him with wide eyes and a funny expression, and lets his
messenger bag slide from his shoulder.

Jungkook scrunches up his nose, rolling his eyes in amused annoyance, and holds a finger
up.

“Just ask her out! Look,” he rubs his forehead, “Taehyung just arrived here, I’m gonna hang
up. Yeah, I’ll tell him you say hi. No, I won't tell him—” He stops, and looks at Taehyung
with a manic smile. “For fuck’s sake, hyung, it was nice talking to you. Bye now.”

He smashes the phone down the tabletop with more force than necessary. His cheeks are
flushed, and Taehyung is kind of dying to know what Hobi said but Jungkook looks like he’s
ready to combust. So he licks his lips, cocks his head to the side, and addresses the most
important question right now.

“So, complimenting croissants, huh?” Taehyung says. “Is that what kids say these days?”

Jungkook’s posture relaxes against the chair completely, his body shaking in a loud laugh that
he covers with the tip of his fingers. “It actually isn’t as bad as you’re thinking.”

“Oh, I bet,” Taehyung jokes, glancing at the side to see Jimin approaching with two glasses
of red wine.

“Hobi-hyung is a very dysfunctional being when it comes to basic flirting abilities,”

Jungkook says, then looks up. “Oh, hi, Jimin!”

“The croissant compliment made that clear.” Taehyung giggles, silly.

Jimin looks between the both of them with a confused expression, one glass of wine in each
hand. “I don’t think I wanna know anything about this,” he says as he lowers each one in
front of them. “By the way, why is Hobi-hyung special enough to earn the honorifics and I’m
not?” He places both hands on his hips, giving Jungkook a defiant glare.

Jungkook shrugs, smiles at Jimin innocently. “Hobi-hyung is still in Korea, we’re not.”

“Yet you’re here speaking Korean to me,” Jimin provokes, a smirk growing on his face.

“Would you rather me speak English with you, mate?” Jungkook replies in English with the
same defiant glare. The new language gives a new quality to his voice too, it becomes more
nasal, overly cute in Taehyung's opinion.
“Fuck off,” he says before he turns on his heels with a puffed chest, making Jungkook and
Taehyung bark a loud laugh.

The sound dies in between them, it dies on the tip of Jungkook’s lips when he reaches for the
glass to take a sip of the wine Jimin brought. It dies on the tip of Taehyung’s tongue when he
bites it between his teeth, looking at the notebook open on the table.

“I wasn’t expecting you here so early,” Taehyung says, lifting his gaze.

Jungkook gulps down the wine, smacking his lips, and hums in appreciation. “Came to work
a bit before meeting you.”

“Sorry I ruined your plans.” Taehyung smiles shyly, finger tapping the base of the wine
glass.

“You never do.” Jungkook smiles back, nothing shy about it.

Taehyung feels his cheeks warming. It’s kind of silly how easily Jungkook says those things
to him, how easily he opens up for Taehyung any day, anytime. Makes his heart trip on his
chest, and that’s even sillier.

Taehyung’s heart isn’t available. It shouldn’t be doing anything but beating at a normal,
healthy pace.

Looking like his own words also made him flustered, Jungkook clears his throat, changing
topics. “What are you doing here so early?”

“Actually, I also thought I could squeeze in some work before you arrived.” Taehyung points
at the messenger bag at the foot of his chair.

“You?” Jungkook looks at him curiously. “You don’t usually work after hours.”

Taehyung gives back the same intrigued glance, and wonders when Jungkook started
knowing so much about him. Maybe he always did.

“There’s this upcoming exhibition. I have a huge task list that ain’t getting done because the
gallery has been so busy now that it’s warm again.” Taehyung sighs, rubbing his forehead.

“Ah, that’s cool!” Jungkook sounds really excited.

If only he knew.

“It is, for those attending.” Taehyung grins bitterly, looking down at the untouched glass in
front of him.

Jungkook tilts his head in question. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just a lot of work, and I’m the assistant.” Taehyung shrugs, and looks around when the
audience seems to prepare themselves for the live show.
Taehyung searches for Danny, and doesn’t find him anywhere, but his mic and stool are
already set on the corner of the cafe. He trails his gaze back to Jungkook to find him staring
back in wait.

“And that means…?” He asks with eyes wide, unaware and unconcerned about his
surroundings. Black orbits looking at Taehyung and only him.

“That everything is my job, basically,” Taehyung says, jutting his lower lip out. “I have to
make the guest list, talk to suppliers, organise the artist’s travel plans and accommodations,
work alongside the curator to have everything they need ready.”

“Holy shit.” Jungkook shoots both eyebrows up. “So you’re doing everything by yourself??”

Taehyung ruffles a laugh, and scratches the top of his hair, tangling his fingers in his
dark locks. “Well, yeah.”

“No wonder you look tired.” It’s a borderline inconvenient, even offensive, statement. One
that people don’t really like to hear, because most of the time, they don’t need to be reminded
of that. But it’s Jungkook saying it, and the way the words come out of his mouth is soft and
caring.

“Do I?”

“Yeah, the eyes.” Jungkook moves two fingers under his own eyes. Taehyung mimics the
motion, touches the puffy flesh under his eyes as if to feel the tiredness in his skin. “Do you
have any help?”

“Virginia, the other assistant, she helps. But she’s… Not very proactive, let’s say.” Taehyung
drops his hands on the table again. He finally reaches for his glass, and takes a sip of his own
wine. Tangy and sweet, just how he likes it. “My biggest problem is the director. He’s a pain
in the ass, thinks he’s progressive just cause he’s gay as if gays can’t be assholes.” He
chuckles. “It’s weird because I’ve been working with him for more than a year now and it
feels like we can’t communicate.”

He pauses, thinking about what he’s about to say. With two fingers, he slides the glass of
wine to the side, then propshis elbows on the table. Leaning forward, he whispers like he’s
sharing a secret. “Do you feel like that too? Talking to British people?”

A smile breaks on Jungkook’s face as he leans forward as well, and murmurs back, “All the
time.”

Taehyung laughs, slumping his body back on the chair, sighing loudly. “It’s so… I don’t
know. In this field, we talk to a lot of people from everywhere, and it’s never, ever as hard to
communicate as it is when it’s people from this country.”

Jungkook drinks more of his wine, his cracked lips tinted purple, then shrugs. “Talking to
foreigners is always easier.” He flicks a hand in the air, talking with his whole body, giving
motion to his words. “I find it comforting talking to someone who’s also struggling to speak a
different language, I guess. You feel more comfortable to be wrong around them.”
Taehyung blinks at him, ignoring how his lips curve upwards without him even meaning to.
He never thought of it in terms of having room to be wrong, to stumble over a word and not
feel embarrassed by it.

“That's actually terribly precise.” He hums slowly. “They also make an extra effort to
understand you, when words sound off.”

“As opposed to English speakers pretending they didn’t get what you said when you’re
clearly pronouncing the word correctly?” Jungkook says what has been on Taehyung’s mind
since day one in this country.

“Yep.” He smiles, lifting the glass of wine, and tilting it for a toast. “Makes me feel like shit
to be honest.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Jungkook shrugs, looking around when a static noise echoes in the room.

Quick taps on the mic announces Danny is ready to sing. He greets Taehyung and Jungkook
from a distance, and does the same with a few other patrons. He is just like this, collecting
friends as he goes. Taehyung wonders if that’s a Danny thing, if he would be able to do the
same in another country. By the way Danny cackles a loud laugh the next second at a joke
someone threw at him, he thinks yes, probably.

There’s another quick static noise when he leans forward to introduce himself like people
don't know who he is. Taehyung smiles all the way, catching Jungkook doing the same from
the corner of his eyes.

Danny’s voice fills the air around them in a soft melody. It says something about life being
harder, but how he’s not alone. Seems fitting.

The lights in the cafe are dimmer this time of the night. It must be a constant now, to look at
Jungkook under poor lighting — sometimes too dark, others too bright — and to always be
surprised by the way he effortlessly looks pretty.

Jungkook, with his dark clothes — a loose black sweatshirt tonight and even looser jeans —
and bright eyes.

“Do you struggle with it too? To write in English all the time?” Taehyung asks, pointing at
the open notebook on the table.

Promptly, Jungkook closes it, placing both palms over it.

Jungkook, with his ink-stained fingers, the ones that match the permanent ink on his
knuckles.

“No, I actually prefer it.” Jungkook looks at Taehyung again. “It might sound silly, because
Korean is our mother tongue after all, but the strangeness of English makes it easier to write
sometimes.”

Taehyung directs him this curious glance. “Even when it’s easier to express yourself in the
language you were born in?” He raises a brow.
A shy smile grows on Jungkook’s face, he bites the corner of his thumb, not daring to look
away. “Aren’t some things easier to express because you don’t really have to face them?”

Jungkook, who’s always aesthetically predictable, but completely whimsical in his words.

“What?” Taehyung startles.

“A foreign language creates distance,” Jungkook says with a shrug. “It’s a language I have to
make an effort to absorb, so in the end, it’s almost like it doesn’t come from me. Almost like
a parallel reality, you know? I put the words out there and they don’t stare back at me. It’s
easier to face what I write when I don't recognize it instantly.”

“I—” Taehyung wants to say he doesn’t know. But something tells him he might. “That’s just
—”

The words get lost on the tip of his tongue, vanish from his brain. Jungkook observes him
with amusement over the rim of his glass, the red liquid covering the lower half of his face.

“It’s so weird that I think most of the time I fail at communicating in another language
because I can’t recognize myself in it, and you write in English exactly because of it,”
Taehyung finally says, feeling himself letting out a laugh that comes a bit too shaky.

Jungkook, who always comes from a different place than Taehyung, but finds a way to
always meet him in the middle.

“But writing is so different from speaking, right?” Jungkook lowers the glass, poking his
cheek with his tongue. “I have time to think, to choose carefully. I don’t have to be
spontaneous about it.”

Taehyung thinks of his words, of all the times he could use them spontaneously in this place.
He thinks of Seokjin and Namjoon and Jimin. He thinks of staying over at Seokjin and
Namjoon place after too much food and wine, or showing up unannounced at Jimin’s to take
him to a gallery opening because his friend enjoys the free food. The three of them deciding
to go to a club after drinking way too many room-temperature beers, even if the plan was just
a chill night.

Things he can only do with his friends in the familiarity of their shared mother tongue.

“Yeah, but just like you need to feel comfortable to be spontaneous, you also need to feel
comfortable to articulate your thoughts and feelings,” Taehyung adds. “A foreign language
doesn’t offer much space for comfort.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply right away. He takes in his words, takes in the sound of Danny’s
voice, raspy and low. Even though words are his domain, Jungkook chooses each one
carefully, like freeing them out in the air is irreversible. He can always take them back, but he
talks like it’s not an option.

“You’re right.” He finally settles, finger circling the rim of his glass as he speaks. If he
moved it a little faster, it could make a sound to go with the music. “But writing doesn’t have
to be comforting, not always, at least.”

Taehyung smooths his palm over a stain on the wooden table, looking at the leather notebook
in front of Jungkook. He wonders if its content is the product of discomfort. If Jungkook can
turn even the most unpleasant thoughts into beautiful words. He wonders how Jungkook
blends the words, the meanings they carry, what they say about his heart.

Jungkook is always ready for everything, but for some parts of himself, the most intimate
ones, he thinks it’s better to take his time.

Someday, Taehyung thinks. Someday.

Jungkook trails his gaze down to follow Taehyung’s, lips pressed into a thin line. He flicks
the edge of the cover, and Taehyung notices half of the papers inside are wrinkled on the
corners, probably a result of months of fickling.

For a moment, he thinks Jungkook will open it, ruffle the pages until he finds something he
wants to show Taehyung. But he doesn’t. His fingers don’t leave the edge of the cover,
rolling it back and forth.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to read it,” Jungkook says shyly when he notices Taehyung’s
been staring.

“Wha— God, no, I wasn’t,” Taehyung widens his eyes in surprise, trying to make Jungkook
meet his gaze, but he’s still staring down at the notebook. “You don’t have to explain yourself
to me, sorry if you felt like you did.”

“I don’t.” Jungkook smiles. “It’s just, it’s—” He scratches his neck awkwardly, running his
tongue over his upper teeth.

“It’s...?”

He finally lifts his gaze, and it’s so unsure that Taehyung’s heart shrinks a bit inside his chest.
He would do anything to give brightness back to those eyes, still remembers the first time he
saw them and thought about the universe. “I want to show you something good, something
worth showing you.”

The answer takes a while to register in Taehyung’s slow-paced brain. It must be the alcohol,
making him feel slow and a little disconnected from reality. “Why?” He frowns.

Jungkook blinks at him a few times, biting his lower lip, and gives one of his unreadable
glances that make it obvious he’s thinking hard. His shoulders rise a bit, he looks defensive
and even more unsure than before. Taehyung kind of hates all of this body language. He
wishes he could take back the words, wishes he’d chosen them carefully, too.

“You’re a curator,” Jungkook replies carefully. “An art specialist.”

“I’m really not.”

“Yeah, you are.” Jungkook laughs. “You told me you curated some small shows in the past.”
Taehyung shakes his head. “But not now. I’m just an assistant.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, sinking his shoulders down in a more relaxed posture. “That doesn't
change the fact that you are.” He pauses, biting his lower lip. “Were but also are. Have been.”

“Wow.” Taehyung laughs. “All the conjugations, you’re a writer indeed.”

Jungkook kicks him under the table, scrunching up his nose in a silly smile. “Shut up. I mean
it. Your opinion is important to me. Nothing I’ve been writing seems… good enough.” He
sighs, bringing his glass to his lips for a final sip. “That’s why I want to wait.”

Taehyung smiles, because how could he not? Gentleness is in Jungkook’s dark eyes and in
his purple lips, it emanates from his body even when he is on the spot.

“That’s fair, I don’t mind waiting. I don’t mind anything, even if you decide you don’t want
to show me.” He gulps his last drop of wine too, then lowers his glass on the table, already
looking for Jimin, raising an arm with his empty glass to indicate they need more. “Oh, since
we’re talking about this, would you mind saying I have good taste again once Jimin brings
the second round?” He smiles large, in that way that makes his cheeks rise like buns.

Jungkook frowns, drawing back slightly. “Wha— Why?”

“Just—” Taehyung sighs, fluttering his lashes angelically, and pouts. “ Please ?”

You [7:45 pm]

sorry darlng

🙁
i don’t think im gonna make it

Jungkook (darling) [7:47 pm]

What happened?
Is everything okay, darling?

You [7:55 pm]

yeah, srry, argh, work is sucking the soul out of me
im still in the gallery
finalising shit for the opening
fred is driving me insane
i’m so sorry
Jungkook (darling) [7:56 pm]
=(
Who’s Fred and what do I need to do to make him leave you alone

You [8:10 pm]

asshole gay
aka my boss
that was overly cute but getting rid of him means ill be unemployed =(
i cant afford that i have to provide for my children

Jungkook (darling) [8:12 pm]

Jimin doesn’t count as your child, he has a big boy job already

You [8:15 pm]

but what about seokjin hyung and namjoon hyung?
namjoon might be beefy but hes a baby, rly

Jungkook (darling) [8:16 pm]

Hmmm, pretty sure they could provide for you AND Jimin and still be able to go to Greece
for the holidays with the jobs they have

You [8:18 pm]

wow okay maybe u should do something
being unemployed doesn’t seem so bad now that i realised i have rich friends

Jungkook (darling) [8:24 pm]

Give me 30 min, I’m waiting for my food to arrive

You [8:35 pm]

oh shit
you’re at the restaurant :((((
i’m so sorry again
eating alone sucks
Jungkook (darling) [8:36 pm]
It’s okay! I don’t mind, and you’re busy
Food’s here!

Jungkook (darling) [8:44 pm]

Okay now I get why people always think I don’t like their food.

But I swear it was good, look!

Eating well ~~

❃
Some days are longer than others. Like twenty-four hours have stretched into thirty-three, or
even more.

Today, the stretch seems endless.

He has no idea what time it is anymore, crisis management meetings have the power to
suspend it completely.

Preparation for them is the first step into losing yourself in the numbers on the clock. A pile
of papers, too many tabs open, lists and more lists of ideas and how to solve the issue the best
way. Taehyung’s throat is dry, but he doesn’t have time to chug anything but coffee. It’s so
bitter on his tongue and so strong on his brain.

Then there’s the waiting, the anticipation. Anxiety swirls inside the body because what if you
didn’t prepare enough? What if the news they’re gonna break is worse than expected? What
if there’s another issue on top of the one you know about?

Entering the meeting is the third step and the final one. You get in with no idea of how long
it’s going to take. It can be minutes, it can be hours. It can not even end in the same evening.
Sometimes you go home just to continue the next day.

“I just confirmed with the artist,” Fred says with a bite in his voice, pushing his big glasses
up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “He really sold it.”

No confirmation was necessary. They already knew that, it was the whole problem in the first
place. But Fred had seemed to be too incredulous to believe, had tried to reach out to the
artist the whole day in hopes it had been a mistake.

Artists selling a piece right before the exhibition is not uncommon. Shitty? Surely, but not
uncommon.

The silence hangs thick in the air, Taehyung’s palms sweating where he lays them on his lap.

“Now we can’t exhibit it, right?” Virginia asks like it isn’t obvious, like it isn’t the whole
reason for this crisis.

Fred blinks blankly at her, lowering his glasses, and stiffing a smile. His thin lips stretch
weirdly, like there’s not enough of it to make a smile. “ Exactly . What do we do now? The
sold piece was central! Having a huge empty space is gonna ruin everything, ” he squeaks,
neck getting red as his voice gets higher and desperate.

The hollowness is still in his stomach, but Taehyung came prepared for it. He spent the whole
day researching and thinking of a solution, and he’s actually proud of what he came up with.
He’s been rehearsing what to say in his mind for hours now, just to be sure he delivers the
message clearly. He can’t stumble on his words now.

Taehyung clears his throat, rubs his sweaty palms on his trousers, squares his shoulders, and
says, “We could transform this piece into an installation.” He slides a piece of paper to the
middle of the table, it shows the picture of a weirdly twisted vase. Not Taehyung’s preference
in art, but galleries don’t always work based on good taste.

It’s the look on Fred’s face that screams are you crazy?! even before he opens his mouth. His
clenched jaw and his perched lips, eyes oddly too wide.

His whole expression turns Taehyung’s spine into ice.

“What do you mean transform into an installation?” Fred’s voice is almost outraged like
Taehyung’s suggestion carried a personal offence. His finger presses strongly on top of the
piece of paper.

Taehyung opens his mouth, then shuts it in nervousness. Everything he had thought of saying
vanishes, his tongue feels like a desert in his mouth, too heavy and dry.

It’s a good idea, he knows it’s a good idea. He needs to show them it’s a good idea. With
trembling hands, he tries to gather his breath and spread more papers on the table.

“There’s this— This interview in which the artist says this piece,” Taehyung stutters,
fumbling with the papers in front of him. A hesitant finger points at the twisted vase. “This
piece complements these other two,” his free hand brings another sheet showing the image of
two twisted plaques. “So merging them into one piece would, hm— could . Could solve the
issue.”

He gulps, his voice doesn’t gain momentum. He just keeps making it smaller and smaller
until he says at last, “I thought— I— We could display them at different heights around the
vase.” Taehyung stumbles on his words. Of course he does. Fred is looking at him with
heated annoyance, and how can he get a hold of what he wants to say when every part of his
body feels misplaced? “Because, you know, if we put it all together, it would create the idea
of movement that these pieces already have…?” It sounds more like a question than an
affirmation. Fred raises an eyebrow, it only makes him question his idea even more.

The moment Taehyung finishes his argument, he regrets saying all of it.

The pin-drop silence is loud, it rings in Taehyung’s ear like this static noise that is so intense,
it almost hurts. He clenches and unclenches his hands on the table, trying to distract himself
from the unpleasant sensation churning inside his stomach.

If it was just in his face before, it’s in Fred’s whole body now. He trembles, hands curling into
a fist.

“That’s— No! that’s absurd .” He shakes his head nonstop, a wicked scoff leaving his non-
existent lips. “I don’t understand how that’s possible. No, that’s not possible.” Another shake
of his head, and Taehyung’s whole chest sinks, his skin prickling hot. “We open in less than a
week!” Fred says loudly this time, shakes his head one more time to recompose himself,
wetting his lips, and directs him a condescending smile. His voice is more controlled, almost
clipped, when he adds, “Art takes time, Tay , you should know that by now.”
The name echoes in Taehyung’s head. Just three letters, one syllable. Long enough to
resonate in his head like a curse word.

For a second, Taehyung is so invaded by rage that he wants to correct him. He wants to lift
himself and shout that’s not even my name! But he doesn’t. He doesn’t because the very next
moment, his rage is replaced by shame.

He often thinks a name is the most basic part of a person.

It’s the subtle erasure of not even having your own name when you live in another country
that always frustrates Taehyung. It comes as a slip, a silly mistake, something you shouldn’t
be offended about. Here, he is not Kim Taehyung, for starters, he is Taehyung Kim. Here, his
name comes out as Tay, Tay-Yhum , Tehong , and all sorts of weird variations.

If he doesn’t have the right to his own name, the one he was born with, the first word he
heard when he came to this world, how the hell can he feel like himself?

The condescension in Fred’s voice is three times worse when it comes accompanied by his
wrong name, it makes Taehyung feel small, like he’s half of a person, but not yet invisible.
Like the mistake is purposefully made to acknowledge his presence without acknowledging
who he is. It deems him visible, but irrevocably small.

He’s there, but not worth enough to be seen.

The shame of not being worth his own name burns hot in his chest and face. He blinks too
slowly, almost mechanically, gulping all the feelings down.

Fred's voice is still going on, “ Transforming the piece from a sculpture to an installation is
basically creating a new artwork, it’s not something you can just put together, Tay. Art is not
easy.”

Taehyung isn’t sure he is paying attention anymore.

Sometimes, he prefers the people that make him feel invisible. Being no one is better than
being half of someone, he thinks. At least they are honest about their feelings towards having
Taehyung around. At least they don’t address him like he’s an idiot.

Fred huffs one more time, continuing his rant about art and time and the soul of the work, and
Taehyung mutes his annoying voice. He sits there, looking ahead with this weird pang in the
back of his eyeballs that he tries not to pay too much attention to. All his focus is on fighting
the urge to leave the room, to leave this place for good.

“Hm, what if,” Virginia's voice, soft and a little bit hesitant, is what pulls him back to reality.
She points at the same three pieces. Her thick British accent makes her sound precise even in
her unsureness. “What if instead of putting them into an installation, we simply presented
these three pieces side by side to occupy the space?”

It takes a couple of seconds for her words to sink in. Taehyung blinks at her incredulously.
His mouth opens and closes again, but he needs to get the words past his lips. He is not
invisible here, and apparently, his ideas aren’t either.

“That’s what I jus—”

“Virginia, that’s it!” Fred shouts, snapping a finger gun at her. “That’s actually a good idea. ”

“But that’s exac—”

“ Tay , please.” Fred lifts a palm and sighs, interrupting Taehyung before he can say anything
else. “We actually have something we can work with. Virginia, call the artist and explain the
idea.”

Virginia directs this shy smile at Taehyung before she leaves, following Fred out of the
room.

The heaviness in his chest gets worse when he’s left alone, he splays a hand on top of it,
massaging to see if it helps him breathe normally again. Small needles are poking every inch
of his skin. How can he feel so much if he’s not even a full person to these people? How the
hell does he feel the pain of being addressed wrongly if he doesn’t even have a name?

As his breathing gets back to normal, Taehyung stares at the papers in front of him,
wondering what he said wrong and what Virginia said right.

Wondering if it’s something about his accent, about his wording, about himself .

You [10:23 pm]

shit sorry to leave u on read
things got really shitty sorry
i got sucked into a useless meeting
and see!!! you look mad at the food, darling!!!
but i’m glad you ate well
thnks for being so understanding
i’ll make it up to u

Jungkook (darling) [10:25 pm]

Stop apologising!
Also, are you still in the gallery????

You [10:27 pm]

no just got home
finally free to rip my head off
Jungkook (darling) [10:28 pm]
Have you eaten?

You [10:32 pm]

today? yeah

Jungkook (darling) [10:33 pm]

What do you mean today?

You [10:35 pm]

i had lunch
ah!
and a tangerine too
they’re kinda shitty this time of the year, tho

Jungkook (darling) [10:37 pm]

Taehyung is almost eleven!!

You [10:39 pm]

is it?
shit
lost track of time

You [10:45 pm]

darling?

You [10:57 pm]

why are you ghosting me?
i know i’m a bad texter but
i miss your overly punctuated messages, get back here!!1
jungkook?
=(

❃
Going to bed would be nice but Taehyung barely has the energy to move the uncomfortable
cushion poking his lower back weirdly, let alone walk more than ten steps into the other
room. He looks at the phone in his hand. Jungkook must have fallen asleep because it’s been
almost thirty minutes and Taehyung is the bad texter between the two of them, not him.

He sighs, the noise of his breath mixing with the incessant rumble of his stomach. It’s so
empty he’s stopped feeling hungry, one of those weird body things that Taehyung describes
as his body eating itself to survive but it’s not really it.

His tongue tastes bitter, another symptom he should search for food, but he knows quite well
it has nothing to do with it. Taehyung shifts, curls into his side, hugging his knees against his
torso, trying to make himself small.

Smaller than he already feels.

He tries to convince himself that bad work days happen for everyone. To some people, every
day is a bad work day. All in all, he’s pretty lucky that he only feels shitty at his job a couple
times a week.

But every bad day it’s always a reminder that he’s always falling. Taehyung desperately
wants to reach a hand up, to hold onto something that will make him believe he is worth
being here, he’s worth having this job, he’s worth trying to make a living off something he
enjoys.

Except he can’t reach anything.

The bitterness in his tongue gets stronger. He hates it the most because that wasn’t the taste
he was supposed to feel.

Being here, in his dream city, working with something important to him. It all was supposed
to taste sweet like ripe fruit. They fall too. Fresh, juicy. Sometimes bad, too ripe, but not
always. Sometimes they fall when they’re ready to be eaten.

Instead, it’s all sour.

He can’t seem to find a place to belong. In this city, in this job, in himself.

Here, he’s reduced to a nuisance.

His ideas are worthless, his presence is welcomed only on certain conditions, and his
relationship with colleagues is ambiguous. Fred seems to love him sometimes, other times, he
looks at Taehyung like he can’t understand a word he says. It makes Taehyung beat himself
up for days, wondering if it is his fault, if it’s his broken English fault. It makes him wonder
why when an idea comes out of his mouth it’s deemed horrible, but when the same thing
comes out of other people’s British tongue, it’s valuable. He thinks he knows the answer, but
it’s hard to admit it.

Because the truth is, nobody wants to hear you in a language that you falter in.
It’s not like he didn’t know this could happen. He’s seen stories like his all over the world,
but it’s a different kind of pain when it happens to you. Deep down, you always expect that
you’ll be the exception. That your experience is going to be different, brighter, fuller.

Knowing it’s common doesn’t make him less frustrated for having to run the extra mile every
single day without being recognized for it. And in the end, it doesn’t matter if he runs a
fucking marathon, he will never be enough. But if he dares to not run, it’s even worse.

It’s not like he didn’t know he would have to work three, four times harder than people who
have the privilege of being born here. It’s just that the reality of it all is soul-crushing. All the
little ways it makes you feel undervalued. All the subtle, but violent ways it undermines your
self-esteem, makes you think you're not qualified enough, not fluent enough, not whole
enough for the job. For living here.

Every time a day like today happens, Taehyung hears a faint voice that echoes inside his
head. An unknown one, but that brings too many familiar thoughts back.

It whispers in his ears that he’ll never be enough because he’s not from this place. Reminding
him that his ethnicity is all that he is here.

His Koreaness is welcomed, celebrated even, when it’s advantageous. How many times did
he hear that he was exotic? That his presence brought diversity to the team ? But his
Koreaness is also what makes him less. Less articulated to express his ideas, less adequate to
fit in, less knowledgeable about how the culture here works.

It is what makes and what unmakes him.

He’s not ashamed of where he comes from, or who he is, but in moments like this, he starts to
question if he could be worthy of anything in this country if he wasn’t himself.

Taehyung feels exhausted for so many reasons, his breath pressing his chest, his whole body
heavy, making it even easier to fall, to sink in and accept that he might as well be just what
people think he is in this goddamn place.

Sometimes he thinks he could go back to the motherland. Of all places, South Korea is
mostly known for being a competitive hell, but at least there, he can actually compete. There,
he’s the same size as everyone, he doesn’t have to stretch his tongue to pronounce a word that
doesn’t come naturally to him, he doesn’t have to stretch himself too thin just to be seen.

On days like this, he dreams about it, about going back to the museum where he did an
internship during his Masters, to the gallery he once curated a show for. Even if it's just a
fantasy, because the truth is, he doesn't know how to live in Korea anymore. It's been three
years, almost four, he barely knows where he fits there either.

His chest clenches even harder. The suffocating feeling of having nowhere left to run.

A constant sensation, this one, of not belonging anywhere. Here or there.

He wonders if someday he will feel any differently, if there’s a place for him in this world,
wonders if—

His phone buzzes on his hand, and Taehyung jolts on the couch. The screen lights up the dark
living room.

Jungkook (darling) [11:10 pm]

What's the number of your flat?
Realised you never mentioned and now your neighbours must think I'm a stalker by the way
I'm trying to peek through their windows

“What the…?”

Taehyung doesn't think about the weight of his body or how tired he is when he jolts upright.
His vision goes dark for a couple of seconds, he has to hold onto the sofa. He blinks,
regaining the sense of space, walks toward the window, and leans his body forward through
the open pane.

His heavy heart stops for a brief while.

“Jungkook?!” Taehyung yells when he sees Jungkook in the middle of the street, looking at a
different building.

He turns on his heels the moment Taehyung's voice reaches him, greets him with a smile
that's half joy, half relief. Taehyung can't retribute it right away, he feels too confused. A
small part of him thinks he must have fallen asleep and is currently dreaming. It’s totally
possible, right?

“What are you doing here?” he says in a more normal tone, afraid of disturbing his
neighbours.

“I brought dinner!” Jungkook lifts the paper bag he’s holding.

“You brought… dinner?” Taehyung blinks. “You already had dinner.”

Jungkook doesn't say anything, simply puts his hands on his hips and gives him a pointed
look, and that’s when Taehyung realises what he means.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, scratching his nape with his free hand. “Will you come pick it up or…?

“Oh, shit. Apartment 203, I’ll open for you,” Taehyung says and runs towards the intercom
even before it rings.

He taps his feet waiting impatiently for Jungkook to come upstairs, his stomach swooping
inside him for reasons he can’t quite understand. Must be hunger, he thinks.
Maybe he should tidy the house in the meantime, throw the scattered cups of tea in the sink,
or even rub a rag on the table to get rid of the stains, the result of ignoring the existence of
coasters. Maybe he should tame his oily hair, change his wrinkled clothes, maybe—

A soft knock on the door suggests he should’ve thought less. With a shaky breath, Taehyung
twists the knob, bracing himself for an invisible impact, and he doesn’t know why his body
and mind are acting so weird.

It’s just Jungkook.

It’s just Jungkook with his long dark hair and oversized black t-shirt and his dazzling smile.
A whole tattooed arm that Taehyung has never seen in its entirety holding a bag of food for
him. Just Jungkook with his tired face, dark circles around his eyes making evident that he,
too, needs to sleep.

“Hi,” he says after a while standing in front of the open door.

“Hi,” Taehyung replies, it comes out a little bit out of breath.

“I brought jiggae,” Jungkook says softly. “And soju.”

“Yo—Wha—Wh?” Taehyung keeps blinking at him, syllables dying on the tip of his tongue
before he can complete one single word.

“You seemed like you needed it.” He lifts the bag again, keeping the gentle smile on his face.
“Even if it’s not sweet enough.”

Taehyung purses his lips, feeling this sharp pain hitting the back of his eyes. It must be the
tiredness, the long day of self-loathing, and the extensive hours of work.

It must be the exhaustion of feeling unworthy for almost four years, it must be—

Before he knows it, his vision is blurry and his lips tremble.

“Oh no, darling, no. What’s going on?” Jungkook steps forward, not caring if Taehyung
hasn’t invited him in yet, he probably knows he doesn’t need to. He’s always welcome in
Taehyung’s home. In Taehyung’s life.

Jungkook looks unsure of how to proceed. He moves forward like he’s about to hug
Taehyung but he gives up halfway, stopping with one hand hanging awkwardly in the air
until he finally lowers it on his shoulder.

Maybe it’s the soft touch, finger squeezing his shoulderbone lightly, maybe the faint smell of
korean food, maybe it’s the way Jungkook’s eyes search for something in his face, worried
and tender at the same time. Maybe it’s everything together, too warm and too considerate for
Taehyung’s unworthy mind to understand fully.

There aren’t many tears, Taehyung is not a big crier. His suffering comes with a suffocating
sensation of keeping everything squeezed in his chest, so he’s a little surprised when a few
stray tears roll down his cheek, so hot it burns.
He is fast to wipe them away, can’t stand Jungkook looking at him with these soft and
concerned eyes, like he is trying to read Taehyung’s mind.

They have only shared timid touches, just the pressure of prints or a squeeze of a hand,
nothing too intimate, even if Taehyung yearns for more. Sometimes, he thinks Jungkook is
just not like that, not a person who feels comfortable with having people’s hands on him all
the time. Sometimes, he wonders if he likes it, but takes his time to fully trust his body to
someone else.

So, it’s surprising when Jungkook slides his hand over Taehyung’s arm, fingers trailing softly
along the extension of his exposed arm.

It’s slow and delicate, and the whole way his hand takes to reach Taehyung’s palm, Jungkook
is whispering, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Jungkook's fingers finally reach Taehyung’s. He interlaces them without hesitation, without
knowing the simple touch makes Taehyung’s prints tingly. “I’ve got you, okay?” he repeats.

And maybe Jungkook is more words than touches, and that’s fine. Because his words might
embrace Taehyung more firmly than a hug would. Because his words are always there,
whenever Taehyung needs them.

I’ve got you. It’s such a simple sentence, but it weighs so much.

If you are always falling, like Taehyung, having someone to get you is vital so you don’t hit
the ground.

Jungkook pulls him inside his own house, not asking anything, not saying it’s going to be
okay. He just puts the food on the table without letting go of his hand.

Taehyung recomposes himself, feeling a little self-conscious about the sudden burst. Just
another layer of shame and discomfort for the day. Great .

“I’m sorry, I— Thank you for this,” he says shyly, eyes locked on the floor. A faint laugh
leaves his lips, and he forces a smile. “Sorry."

“Why are you apologising?” Jungkook frowns, standing in front of him. They have the same
height, Taehyung perhaps a centimetre taller, but right now, Jungkook seems to tower over
him. Ready to protect Taehyung. Ready to get him.

He doesn’t have the answer, he shouldn’t be sorry for feeling, he knows that quite well, but
Taehyung has just too much inside him

On days like this, it’s like every single one of his actions and feelings end up coated with a
layer of embarrassment.

“Why don’t you eat? You’ll feel better, yeah?” Jungkook says softly when Taehyung
doesn’t reply.
Taehyung bites his lower lip, trying to contain his words, but they come out before he can’t
even think about it. “Will you stay?”

“Uh.” Jungkook is caught off guard, he shifts his weight from one foot to another. “It’s late,
I’m imposing— Am I not bothering you?”

Taehyung wants to say he’s not a bother, that he doesn’t impose himself, just like that day
when Taehyung thought the same and Jungkook said he never does so. Instead, he licks his
lips, swallows all the negative sentences, and says, “I want you to.”

The unsure expression on Jungkook’s face slowly morphs into a grin, his shoulders sink,
relaxed and open. He shrinks a bit, getting back to his normal size, eyes at the same level as
Taehyung. “Of course.”

Taehyung smiles, a faint but real one this time, the skin of his cheeks pulling in a weird way
due to the dried tears.

“I don’t have shot glasses, but you should find something at the top left cabinet,” he says,
reaching for the paper bag to get the soup container and the two bottles of strawberry soju.

“Uh, darling?” Jungkook calls him, and Taehyung hums in response, hands and eyes busy
with the food in front of him. “Why the hell do your mugs have the Queen’s and Kate
Middleton’s faces on them?”

Taehyung snaps his head up so fast, it cracks his neck, eyes going wide when Jungkook turns
to face him with a shit-eating grin. He holds the two royal mugs close to his smile, eyes
glistening with mischief.

Before he can answer, Jungkook lowers them on the counter, and searches for more in the
cabinet. “And you have Harry and Meghan too! Oh .” He rises to the tip of his toes,
stretching his arm further back, finding the others. He places one by one on the counter. “And
Lady Di! Darling ! You didn’t tell me you were a monarchist!” Jungkook squeals, throwing
his head back in a full-body laugh.

Taehyung gasps in offence, and feels a little bit thrown off his axis. It’s too much. The hard
feelings, the teasing, and Jungkook looking unfairly beautiful even under the stale light of the
kitchen.

Warmth spreads on his chest, crawling all the way up to his cheeks. He only wishes it was
related to being busted as a royal family fan.

“I’m not–” Taehyung points a finger at the mugs. It’s ironic!”

“That’s okay, I’ve watched The Crown, I get the appeal,” Jungkook teases. He looks between
the mugs, and chooses the Harry and Meghan and the Kate and William ones. He places them
on the table next to the soju bottles with a proud smile.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Really?”

“What?” Jungkook looks at him amusedly. “You get to be ironic and I don’t?”
“Fine, but I’ll drink from Harry and Meghan!” Taehyung snatches the blue and white mug
and holds it against his chest.

“Not a Kate’s fan?”

“She’s a bitch,” Taehyung says, like it’s obvious.

Jungkook raises one amused eyebrow, pretending he’s being serious when he says, “Very
misogynistic of you, darling.”

“William is a bitch too!” Taehyung rebuts, opening the lid of the kimchi jjigae. “I’m pretty
sure every single member of that family is.”

Jungkook’s giggles mix with the smell of food. A small sensory overload that he doesn’t
mind. The jjigae this time smells way more pungent than the one they had at that restaurant.
Taehyung keeps in mind to ask where Jungkook got it from.

His stomach grumbles at the sight of the food, and Jungkook snorts, scooting Taehyung
closer to the chair when the sound echoes in the flat.

It’s just the right amount of spicy, the sweetness is okay too, but this time the sourness is not
quite there.

Today, Taehyung doesn’t really mind. There’s too much in his mind and heart.

Jungkook pours them soju, and sips from the Kate and William mug slowly while Taehyung
eats. He has never enjoyed people observing him eating, it leaves him uneasy and too aware
of his movements and sounds when eyes are fixed on him. With Jungkook, though, he
realises he doesn’t care at all.

It’s the same feeling he had when the tears escaped his eyes early. Almost like there’s
something in Jungkook that allows Taehyung to be himself completely. Something that
erodes his edges, and makes him trust blindly that Jungkook won’t ever judge if he chews too
loudly, or if he cries too ugly, or if he is a royal family fan, non-ironically.

Maybe it’s the way they share the same accent, the same origins. Something in Jungkook
makes him feel worthy, for a change.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Jungkook asks after a while, pouring himself a second mug of
soju.

Taehyung swallows the last bits of his food, then reaches for his own untouched mug, and
chugs a lot of the drink. It’s been a rough day, but the alcohol, the spicy food, Jungkook’s
presence, it all makes him warm inside.

“Have you ever felt invisible in your job?” Taehyung asks straightforwardly.

The question startles Jungkook a bit. He lowers his mug and chews his lower lip.
“Sometimes? Yeah.”
He doesn’t beat around the bush. The frustration of earlier spreading inside him like this
bitter thing that he cannot contain.

“Here, I feel it a lot.” Taehyung shrugs as if to give it less importance than it really has to
him, but fails miserably at seeming unabashed when his voice comes out harsh. He laughs at
his own failed attempt, small and a little sad. “More often than not I get the sense I was only
hired to check the diversity box. Sometimes, I feel that’s all I am in this country. Always
trapped in this box.”

Jungkook observes him attentively for a few seconds. “You’re very Korean here,” he
concludes with a sad smile.

“Yeah. That’s— That’s something I’ve noticed since I started the PhD. Before that I guess I
never really noticed myself, my body, my mind as Asian. I never had to.” He lifts his gaze to
meet Jungkook’s, trying to see the shock in his face but only finds tenderness. Taehyung
sighs, exhaustion soaking his bones. There are so many feelings boiling inside him, he finds
them bursting out of him for the first time. “There were just a lot of… Situations where I felt
like the spokesperson for the whole Asian culture. Because, of course, they don’t even
distinguish which Asia.”

As the words come out, many thoughts follow. All the times he was put on the spot to give an
opinion on South Asian art, when that’s not even where he comes from. Every situation in
which he was introduced to someone as the Korean student, the Korean curator, the Korean
friend, the Korean boyfriend.

Taehyung stops his thoughts there, shaking his head. “I sort of left Korea to be more than a
Korean Art Historian, and suddenly this is everything — this is the only thing I can be here.”

“That’s not true,” Jungkook whispers, knowing that Taehyung knows it isn’t true but finds it
important to say it anyway.

“It’s true for others,” Taehyung murmurs, pushing his hair back and exhaling in exhaustion.
He props his elbows on the table, then buries his face in his hands. “I’ve lost count of the
number of times I’ve felt like a cultural token. And I don’t— I don’t wanna be that. I want to
be recognized for my work, but I’m never— Like today, I shared an idea and Fred rejected it
right away, and when Virginia said something very similar, he thought it was brilliant,” he
tells Jungkook, words cutting his tongue like razors. “It feels like I try and try and it’s never
enough. I’m never enough. They don’t listen to me even though I’m speaking their fucking
language. I’m busting my ass off for this opening and— It makes me think that, I don't know
—” He pauses, almost gasping for air. He lets out an unamused chuckle, lifts his head to face
Jungkook again. “That I am the problem sometimes.”

Jungkook frowns deeply, poking his tongue on his cheek. “Why would you be the problem?”

“You know how speaking a different language shifts the sound of your voice?” Taehyung
asks over the rim of the mug. He sips a little bit more of soju, overly sweet on his tongue like
he likes it. It doesn’t do anything to wash away the bitterness in his mouth. “Sometimes I
think it changes our personalities too. And I—” He lowers his gaze, playing with a crumbled
napkin on the table top. “I don’t really like the person I am when I speak English. Perhaps
that’s it.”

Jungkook purses his lips, hugging his mug with both palms, and rolls one thumb over the
other. His face grows serious again when his eyes meet Taehyung’s. Too earnest and raw.

“You’re not the problem. The problem is other people who can’t even communicate in
another language, and yet make you feel shitty when you do it in theirs,” Jungkook says
carefully. He pauses for a moment, forehead wrinkling in deep thought. “I’ve been thinking a
lot about that lady that approached us at the Tate Modern.” He scrapes something on the table
top with his finger as if to gain time. Taehyung looks at him confused, not sure he’s following
the correlation. “I’ve been thinking of how common it is for people to feel okay to approach
us and say those things. How people feel okay to say anything to us, really. How they assume
we know or don’t know things based on how we look. All these microaggressions we have to
face as immigrants. Sometimes they are so subtle we barely even notice it’s discrimination,
especially in a country known as progressive.” He stops again, pursing his lips as if to stop
more words from coming out, then shakes his head, bangs bouncing in front of his eyes.
“What I mean is, all this you’re feeling, it’s real, darling. And it’s not your fault.”

“I’ve never…” Taehyung’s voice trails off, blinking at Jungkook.

Discrimination . The word resonates in his mind over and over. The more he thinks about it,
the stronger the press in his chest gets, it comes accompanied by this burning discomfort that
he can’t identify the origin. It takes a few seconds, but he finally frowns at the realisation that
this thought actually makes him feel ashamed . Ashamed to find himself in this position, and
how demeaning it is. For a moment, he wishes he could scrape it off his skin with a sponge.

“I’ve never really thought of it in those terms. Microaggressions or… or discrimination,”

Taehyung completes, voice not louder than a murmur.

“It’s hard to face it. Hard to notice it too, sometimes.” Jungkook inhales and exhales slowly, a
small pause for him to gather his thoughts. His forehead wrinkle, and he plays with the cap of
the soju bottle, flicking the seal with his thumb. “It’s like these little things, like your boss did
to you today. You never know if you’re being mistreated and dismissed because you’re a
foreigner or because of some other reason. It’s… perverse.”

“Have you ever…?” Taehyung’s voice trails off.

Jungkook gives him this sad smile, tilting his head. “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I once had
this person from the health insurance company accusing me of lying when he couldn’t find
information about my file on his system. He never for a second considered it could be a
system error. I kept thinking all day if he didn’t believe me because I’m an immigrant or just
because he was stubborn.”

“It’s so weird.” Taehyung sighs, shaking his head. “So fucking weird and unfair to keep
asking yourself all the time if this would be happening with another person, an white
European, or just you. ” The shame burns hot in his chest alongside what feels like anger. As
he speaks, Taehyung realises he feels so angry and so, so tired. “I kept asking myself all night
what I did wrong and Virginia did right, but I…” he clenches his fingers, as if he's trying to
hold the air in front of him, “I did nothing wrong.”

Jungkook presses his lips in a thin like, almost a smile, but completely devoid of joy. “No,
you didn’t,” he says. “It wasn’t about you.”

“It wasn’t about me,” Taehyung repeats, as if to carve the words in his brain.

Releasing a long sigh, Jungkook adds, “I’m sorry you had to face this. I know how it messes
with our self-esteem, but—” He frowns, chewing his inner cheek. “You’re not the problem,
Taehyung,” Jungkook says his name fully, all the letters enounced like each of them matters.
“At least not because your accent doesn’t sound like theirs, or because your culture doesn’t
match theirs. And it’s tough to handle all that, sometimes it makes us lose our sense of self,
but even if you’re lost in translation, you’re still you. Entirely you.”

Under this bad light that makes him so pretty, it’s harder to take in all he says. Coming from
Jungkook, all these words have a new weight.

“You make it seem too easy,” Taehyung says in a small voice.

Jungkook stops, the wrinkle in his forehead deepening. “What?”

“Being here. Being yourself.” Taehyung shrugs, bringing the mug to his lips again more to
hide part of his face than anything. “Dealing with all this bad shit.”

Jungkook breathes out a small laugh, gulping the rest of his drink. Licking his lips when he’s
done, he lowers the empty mug. “I can’t be anyone else, learned this the hard way,” he says,
as if it's as simple as that. Well, in a way, Taehyung knows it is.

“But you can be somewhere else.” Taehyung raises his eyebrows, almost challenging.

“But I chose to be here. Even when it gets hard,” says Jungkook, reaching for the bottle of
soju. He doesn’t pour more yet, just looks at the label like he’s trying to find something in it.
“Because it used to be hard in Korea, too. Different hardships, but still.”

Taehyung stares at him for a long while. It seems to be a thing, to just look at Jungkook and
absorb what he says, because he seems to always have the right words to share. Always cares
for his words like he cares for the people in his life.

“You make me sound so whiny,” he adds eventually.

It makes him laugh. That’s a win.

“Well, you’re a little bit.”

Taehyung gapes, outraged, and throws the lid of the food container at him this time. It falls
flat on the table before it reaches Jungkook.

“I’m joking!” Jungkook smiles, collecting the lid and placing it far away from Taehyung just
in case. “It’s a different experience for each person. Some people come with nothing and they
thrive, and some people come in a much more comfortable situation, but it’s more
challenging. In the end, I guess,” he pauses, looking for the words he wants, tongue trapped
in between his teeth,“there’s a lot of luck involved. The people you meet, how the new city
allows you to be in it. How you allow the city to be in yourself, too.”

Has Taehyung allowed himself to be in this city? Sometimes he thinks he created this barrier,
to protect himself from more trauma and the only way he sees London is through these
fogged lenses. Always a place with nothing for him. Always this austere city that is so vast,
yet makes him feel cornered, shrunk.

He rises from the chair, dumps the empty container in the bin, and grabs the second bottle of
soju. Walking towards the living room, Taehyung looks over his shoulder. “It’s really bad for
me that you’re my dongsaeng and yet, you talk like someone who’s experienced it all in
life.”

“Hobi-hyung says I have an old soul.” Jungkook smiles gently, lifting up from his chair.

“Hobi-hyung is a wise man.” Taehyung stops, looks around, and opts to sit on the rug. He
grabs some cushions from the sofa, spreads them on the floor, and leans back.

Jungkook follows him. He fluffs some of the pillows before he throws himself on the floor,
too. He lays on his back, holding the mug with both hands on top of his chest .

“Do you also call Yoongi ‘hyung’?” Taehyung asks, looking down at Jungkook.

“Hell, no.” He laughs, the cup shakes on his chest. “Why?”

Taehyung shrugs, bringing his knees up and resting his cheek on one kneecap. “Just
wondering. You are cousins, you have known him since Korea.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook blinks up, pouting his lips in confusion. “So?”

“You said you only use honorifics for people in Korea, so, I thought…”

Of the things Taehyung likes the most in Jungkook’s face, besides his huge eyes and the slope
of his nose, the wrinkle in the middle of his forehead is probably his favourite. It’s a deep
wrinkle that shows up whenever he frowns confusedly, or he’s mad at the delicious food.
Right now, the winkle is there, on Jungkook’s puzzled face when he asks, “Is it weird for you,
that I don’t call you hyung?”

Taehyung takes his time to think, taking another long sip of the drink. With a full belly, the
alcohol swirling in his system, and good company, he feels much better.

“Sometimes? Yes.” He shrugs, lifting his head and sliding down on the cushions until he’s
laying on his back. He stares at the ceiling, placing the mug by his side. The lights are off, the
only illumination coming from the kitchen and the street outside. “But I got used to it.”

Jungkook hums, ducking his chin to his chest to reach the mug more easily. His eyes go
crossed and Taehyung snorts, waiting for the soju to spill and it does. Drops of the liquid
slide from the corners of Jungkook’s mouth, but he’s fast to collect them with his tongue.
Smacking his lips in the end, nose scrunching in amusement.

Heat settles on the base of Taehyung’s spine, and he makes an effort to look away. He knows
if he doesn’t, his eyes will never want to leave Jungkook’s face.

“I try not to use it here,” Jungkook says after a while, spreading his legs apart. “I feel— I
don’t know. There’s a lot of Korean culture that I don’t necessarily agree with, hierarchy
being one of them.” He drums his fingers on his stomach with the hand that is not holding the
mug, seems to be thinking about how to phrase his next words. “Here I just want to meet
people and be friends with them without caring about age.”

Wetting his lips, Taeyung rolls his head to the side to face him again. “I don’t think I can do it
easily, like my brain is already trained to say it.”

“I get it.” Jungkook laughs lightly. “It’s hard sometimes. Like it’s always on the tip of my
tongue, it's kind of second nature to me every time I speak Korean. Like it comes from this
deep part of my chest.” He takes the mug out of his sternum, places it on the floor and leans
on his side, one arm folded under his head. “But I decided to try things differently here, and
that also involves how I deal with my Koreaness.”

The word catches Taehyung’s attention, and he shifts too, lying on his side to face Jungkook.
It’s a little bit miscalculated the way they’ve arranged themselves on the floor, because now
Jungkook is too close. If Taehyung wants, he can reach and touch his face, touch the stray
lock of hair hanging over his eye. And oh, how Taehyung wants to do so.

“How’s that?” He speaks instead of touching.

Jungkook wets his lips, shifting a bit and Taehyung thinks he is going to put some distance
between them, but he accommodates himself in the same spot. It’s way closer than they
usually get. For the first time in months, Taehyung notices there’s a pleasant smell coming
from Jungkook, something freshly clean, but also sweet, like the smell you feel when you
take your warm, clean clothes out of the washing machine, but there’s also vanilla added to
the mix. He wonders how he never noticed it before.

“I’ll never stop being Korean, but I don’t have to conform to norms that I don’t enjoy just
because I grew up with them,” he explains, one arm holding the mug closer to his mouth for
quick sips as he speaks. “Here, I chose to not use honorifics with people from my generation,
chose to not let the talk about work culture get into my nerves, chose to not hide my tattoos.”
He lifts his arm, still holding the mug, the one with a full sleeve of tattoos. “And it’s easier to
do so because there's a distance. And it’s not like I believe that I’ll blend myself into British
culture, god, no.” He ruffles a laugh, lowers the mug, and runs a hand over his hair. “I just
feel comfortable being in transition, negotiating what’s better for me.”

Taehyung blows a long exhale, curses himself for letting his mug too far from reach now that
he’s laid by his side. He needs to do something with his hands. To not reach for what's in
front of him. Without many options, he brings his hand to his ear, pulls his earlobe. “And
what’s non-negotiable?”
Jungkook takes his time to think, lets out a little laugh when something comes up in his mind.
“Soup for breakfast.”

“Really?” Taehyung gives him a pointed look.

Jungkook laughs louder this time, rubbing his eye with the knuckle of his forefinger. “It’s
hard, it’s not like I have a list. It happens as I live, as I notice what’s worth relating myself to,
what doesn’t make sense anymore.”

Humming in agreement, Taehyung thinks about his words. He lets them swim in his mind, he
enjoys doing this whenever Jungkook throws at him thoughts that never crossed his mind
before. He likes it, how Jungkook thinks, that is.

His hand curls empty in the middle of them and he considers if it would be wise to drink
more. But his head is already a little buzzy, a little too light. It feels good to be light for a
change.

“If you want me to go, let me know,” Jungkook says out of the blue, perhaps too aware of the
way Taehyung’s spacing out.

“Tomorrow is my day off. I only have pilates at eleven, you can stay.” He is surprised that the
words come out naturally, not an ounce of hesitancy in them. “We can keep doing this,” he
pauses, gestures a hand in the air, “drinking, talking.”

“Wait, you do pilates?” Jungkook asks with a surprised face.

“Of course.”

He laughs, giving him this funny side glance.“Where’s the obviousness in this affirmation?”

“I’m bendy,” Taehyung huffs, stretching his leg up and catching his toe with his index and
middle finger.

Jungkook chokes on his own spit, but tries to disguise it lamely with a yawn.

“Don’t wanna keep you here if you’re tired, though,” Taehyung says even though yes, he
wants to keep Jungkook here. He drops his leg back on the floor, it falls too close to
Jungkook’s, their knees almost touching.

“Nah, I’m good,” Jungkook replies, waving a hand in dismissal. “Not that tired, just had to
wake up really early for a meeting. The time zones are the worst part of this job.”

Taehyung presses a thumb on the rug absentmindedly. “Maybe that’s why you’re so well
resolved with your Koreaness.”

Shooting an eyebrow up, Jungkook asks, “What do you mean?”

Taehyung looks up, pouting slightly when he says, “In a way, you didn’t need to leave Korea
for good.” When Jungkook doesn’t interject, he continues, “Your job is still there as much as
it’s here. Your best friend is there, too.”
Staring at him like Taehyung just said a big revelation, Jungkook nods slowly. “Hm, makes
some sense.”

“What?” Taehyung laughs, and stretches his leg to kick Jungkook’s chin. “Only you can be
reflective?”

Jungkook snickers, locking Taehyung’s foot between his legs to stop his kicks, which only
makes Taehyung laugh more.

It could be the alcohol in their bodies, flavoured soju is always dangerous, easy to forget it’s
basically alcohol and sugar, but neither of them cares to move to a more comfortable
position. Even if Taehyung’s foot is awkwardly entwined between Jungkook’s knees.

He’s forced to scoot forward, bending his trapped leg to accommodate himself better. It’s a
mindless movement, in search of pure comfort, but it brings him closer to Jungkook.

Suddenly, that’s all he can see.

And Taehyung would be lying if he said Jungkook isn’t always what he sees, anywhere,
anytime. But now it’s different. Jungkook occupies his whole field of vision. His dark eyes
have this puffiness underneath it, it looks soft and dainty. There’s one mole on the tip of his
big nose that matches the one under his rosy lips. They make Taehyung think of chocolate
chip cookies. His eyebrows are weirdly symmetric, perfectly shaped. And Taehyung has
never noticed all that before, all the details at the same time.

It makes his breath shaky. His heart beats a little faster, a little out of rhythm and Taehyung
should do something. He should dart his eyes or say some nonsense, anything to stop him
from gawking at Jungkook until he feels uncomfortable.

Except—

Except Jungkook is doing exactly the same. His eyes wander over Taehyung’s face with fond
interest, like he wants to see if he can find something new, something unique. Taehyung
wonders if he’s counting his moles too, if he notices his double lid, his heart-shaped mouth.

He wonders if Jungkook’s heart is beating weirdly too.

The air is thick and sweet around them, and Taehyung wants to be brave, he wants to reach
and touch Jungkook’s face, wants to tell him he’s pretty, and to kiss every one of his moles.

But Taehyung cannot want this. Not now. It’s too soon. His heart might be doing funny things
in his chest but it’s a heart that is not available.

Instead of thinking of all the things he wants, but cannot do, he lets his eyes fall on
Jungkook’s exposed arm resting in the space between them, the one with intricate patterns.
It’s almost instinctive the way he reaches a hand forward, traces the lines of a tiger inked on
his arm, over his biceps.

“What’s the meaning behind this one?” he asks, and his voice comes out too hoarse, too low.
The question startles Jungkook, pulling him out of his trance, and he blinks a few times. He
clears his throat. “I went to the parlour, saw the drawing and thought it was pretty.”

Taehyung smiles. “It is pretty, yeah.” Pretty like you , he wants to add, but gulps down the
words. “That’s a good reason.”

Jungkook hums, and leans his body a little closer to Taehyung so he can continue tracing the
drawings on his skin. “I think having a reason is better than having a meaning.”

“Are all of them random, then?” Taehyung asks, lifting his gaze but never stopping his
gingerly tracing.

He reaches close to the crease of his elbow, sliding up to the inner curve of his biceps, he
feels goosebumps break into Jungkook’s soft skin. His arm shutter slightly, and Taehyung
wishes he could touch more, could press his prints more firmly, rub his whole hands in his
arm. He wishes he could touch other places, wishes that he could see Jungkook's whole body
shuddering under his palms.

“No,” Jungkook says a little breathlessly. “Some of them mean something, for sure, it’s just
—” He pauses when Taehyung’s finger trails down the veins of his forearm, he turns his arm,
opening a palm up, all pliant to his touch. “Nowadays, the meaning is kind of lost, and I just
learned to like them for what they are.”

“They are all pretty,” Taehyung murmurs, eyes finally lifting from the ink patterns to look at
Jungkook.

He’s received by Jungkook’s dark eyes staring at him hard, too close for comfort. “Yeah,
pretty is a good reason to like something,” he says lowly.

Taehyung gulps, feeling his insides melting like ice cream in the sun. It’s still spring, but it
feels a lot like summer inside him. His fingers freeze on Jungkook’s wrist, on top of the
petals of a flower Taehyung can’t recognize.

He wants to keep trailing further, to touch the palm of Jungkook’s hand, to place his fingers
between his. His index finger reaches the slope of his palm, it’s a little sweaty, and
Taehyung’s stomach swoops inside him. His own palms are sweaty too.

A few hours ago they had barely shared more than shy hand holding, and now he has a foot
in between Jungkook’s legs and their hands almost clasped together.

His breath wavers. He looks up at Jungkook, who’s now staring at their hands, his lower lip
sucked into his mouth.

“Is that what you do when you write, too?” Taehyung asks to distract himself from the fact
that his fingers are there, almost reaching Jungkook’s fingers too. “Seek for beautiful
words?”

Jungkook's hand twitches. He takes a deep breath, keeps his palm open. “More like beautiful
ways of saying things.”
“Even when what you wanna say is not beautiful?” Taehyung circles his palm with his index
finger one more time.

“Isn’t this why literature exists?” Jungkook asks. “To turn beautiful things that are sad, ugly,
filthy? Why visual art exists, too?”

He hums. “It could be.”

Taehyung looks at their hands, traces his print over the length of Jungkook’s pinky finger. “I
know you want to wait and I don't say that as a way to pressure you, I just—” He exhales
deeply. When his print reaches the end of Junngkook’s pinky, he slides his pad back down,
then does the same to his ring finger. He traces it all the way up, just to slide down again.
“Sometimes I wonder if your writing is as good as it’s in my head.”

Jungkook laughs faintly, a little bit flustered. His voice comes out too small when he says,
“How do you know it’s gonna be good?”

“It’s you, Jungkook.” Taehyung says, looking up to meet his gaze. He plays with Jungkook’s
middle finger this time, tracing it up and up and up. There’s a small callus on one edge,
where his pen rests against the bone when he writes. “You have your way around words.
Around everything really.”

When he finally reaches the tip of Jungkook's digit, Jungkook curls his hand around his,
trapping his fingers in his palm.

A small shiver runs down Taehyung's spine, his eyes going a little wide when Jungkook
opens his hand, adjusting it until all of Taehyung’s fingers fit between his.

“Just around important things, darling,” Jungkook says, squeezing their clasped hands.

Just like that, Taehyung realises that his body is not heavy anymore. He’s light, so light he
slips and falls, and falls, and falls, but he’s not even a little bit closer to hitting the ground.

To: Hobi <hopehobi@naver.com>

From: Jeon Jungkook <jeon_jk@naver.com>
Subject: Dreaming of a mother tongue

13 June, London, UK.

Dear Hobi-hyung,
Do you remember when you were a kid? Sometimes I try to pull those memories and they’re
very foggy. It makes me a little sad that I can’t access them easily. My mom says I was a
happy kid, but maybe that was just her perception. You know how parents like to deceive
themselves into believing their kids are perfect.

But one thing I remember vividly was my struggle to talk. I couldn’t put words together
correctly, had this small lisp that made it hard to pronounce R sounds. My mom even took me
to speech therapy for a while, and in the beginning, it was so hard to try to pronounce words
my tongue couldn’t reach.

At the time I was too small to care, too young to notice. But today I think a lot about how, in
the process of learning how to talk, our mother tongue is a foreign language to us.

Funny to think that something that receives the title of mother, something that raises us and
teaches us how to live in this world, something that was born in us in a way, was once so
unfamiliar.

Since moving here, my mother tongue has had to become more of an aunt, or a distant
cousin. You know Yoongi feels more comfortable with English after almost two decades here,
and everyone at the building I work at only speaks English. Since arriving here, I realised I’d
rather write in English, not only to practise, but because I also discovered a whole new way
of expressing myself. The first nine months or so were flooded by this language to the point
that even my dreams became translated.

Taehyung’s the one who changed that, the one who brought Korean back to my daily life. I
think Taehyung has changed a lot in my life. He makes me question so much about who I am
here, things I don’t usually think hard about, that I just do because it feels good. Like not
calling people hyung or noona, even when I’m speaking Korean. (Yes, you’re the only one
with the hyung privilege in my social circle).

There’s this philosopher who makes a claim about objects and pleasure that I don’t want to
delve into, but he says the writer’s object is not the language, but the mother tongue. I often
think about it, and how I barely write in my mother tongue anymore, how I refuse to use its
most common words to address people.

I wonder if that’s changing me as a person.

Because language, as much as it’s not the only way of communicating, remains the main way
in which we make sense of ourselves. Individually and collectively.

I think of the intrinsic differences between languages and how they show so much about
people. In English, the ‘I’ is always capitalised. Not ironically the most individualistic
societies I know are anglophone. Here, there are no grammatical variations to indicate
politeness. You can add a Mister or a Madam to indicate respect, but people will rarely do.

Hangul doesn’t give us the option to capitalise words. The hierarchy existent in the speech
doesn't quite exist in the alphabet. Every letter is written the same way, no matter the word,
no matter the position in the sentence. Another thing that I enjoy is how we often say “our”
instead of “yours” or “mine”. Because despite dividing our people by age and social
position, we like to share. And isn’t that beautiful?

While other languages are so concerned about putting the individual in the centre, we’re
focused on sharing what we have. The collectiveness of Korean culture can be scary for some
people. Amongst the things that I don’t like about our culture, this isn’t one of them.

In the end, as much as I question myself, I guess it's silly to think that giving up bits of my
mother tongue, or putting some distance between us, changes me as a person.

Korean is not less of my mother tongue because I modify the way I speak. So why should I be
less Korean for changing my way of communicating?

I can talk only in English from now until the day I die, and Korean will still be crusted in my
brain, like this essential part of me. I can be as fluent as possible in my second language and
still struggle to translate untranslatable words that I grew up using to express myself.
Sometimes, I make a silly mistake in English, and instead of feeling stupid, I feel relieved. It’s
a gentle reminder that English wasn’t born with me. I’m not losing my mother tongue after
all.

And maybe that’s one of the reasons I prefer to write in English nowadays. The Korean
language knows too much about me, about my feelings, my rawness, and my vulnerability. In
English, I can hide in the foreignness of words, I can put it all down without feeling it chasing
back after me. I can be myself without looking in a mirror.

In the end, it’s all worth it if it allows you to be comfortable in your own skin. I just hope I
can still dream in the language I was born to dream in.

I'm glad to know that, despite the whole croissant situation, Sakura still agreed to go out with
you. It’s been a while since you last hung out with someone. The last person I remember was
that boy, Minsun? Minjoon? Nevermind, you know who I’m talking about.

Tell me more about her? In my imagination, you guys bake all day and then spoon-feed each
other cake. I know, my romantic brain is kind of lame. You’re probably spreading
marshmallows all over each other’s body as I type my romantic scenarios.

Okay, that was not a nice visual. I take it back. Don’t tell me anything.

It’s spring here, and you know what that means. Everything kind of blooms. The city gains a
new sense of aliveness, the days are longer, the food tastes better, and people get more open.
The trees bloom, and people bloom too.

It’s not always easy, shit happens, but it’s a nice time to be alive.

Love, Jungkook.

P.S.: Would you have a good rhubarb pie recipe? Taehyung and I went to Old Spitalfields
Market and he thought it would be a good idea to buy four kilos of rhubarb because the nice
 lady called him 'bear' just like his grandmother used to do.

Chapter End Notes

Hello!

First of all, thank you so so so much for all the kind comments on this fic. I'm absolutely
loving to read all your thoughts, and every time someone says they can relate to these
characters my heart feels absolutely full! You are all the best!

I love this chapter with all my heart. It wasn't easy to write, but the last scene was
probably the part I enjoyed writing the most in this fic. I love all the small touches and
the way their relationship is changing - I hope you feel the same way.

When I shared part of Jungkook's letter to Hobi on Twitter, a dear friend of mine did the
most amazing thing. She replied to Jungkook sharing her own experiences as an
immigrant and her relationship to her mother tongue. Needless to say she made me cry
(yes, I am terribly soft), but her letter also inspired me so so so much. There's one
particular sentence in Jungkook's email that comes from her own response to it, and it is:
"I just hope I can still dream in the language I was born to dream in." Thanks Lori, for
having such a beautiful brain, for sharing with me your precious words, and for allowing
me to to use a little bit of them in this fic.

Please, let me know what you think, your words are always very valuable to me. And
get ready, because next chapter it'll be summer already! See you next week (probably on
Sunday, not Friday) =)

Follow me on twitter for peeks at the next chapters, and if you're too shy comment here,
here's my neospring
 shells
Chapter Notes

I am very happy to say this is a “there is only one bed" chapter! Have fun!!

twitter neospring

See the end of the chapter for more notes

& the urge

to touch him
there, skin

just visible
between his jeans
& t-shirt,

to see if
he’s sweating,
to see

if he feels
what you feel?

Genius Loci , Brian Teare

If there’s one thing reliable in London, it is the fact that it will be cloudy. No matter the
season, the grey clouds always hang above everyone's heads, and it’s never a sign of a bad
omen. It’s just how the city is. Taehyung’s used to it. He doesn’t even complain anymore, he
stopped expecting sunny days a long while ago.

Except it’s early July and London is already oddly bright. Not a single cloud against the
endless blue of the sky. The days are impossibly long, stretching its different shades of
yellow and orange lights until late at night. It paints the buildings an interesting colour,
warmer tones for absurdly warm days.
Unlike the welcome warmness of spring, there’s nothing soothing about the heat this time.
It’s just simply this relentless, dry heat.

It’s only supposed to get like this in August, and, even then, not this hot. Never this hot.

Taehyung walks down the street, pushing his bangs back because his forehead is sticky with
sweat from walking two blocks. It’s a relief when he pushes the door of the pub open and
finds the immediate freshness of air conditioning.

His eyes scan the place, and it’s not hard to find what he’s looking for. Or whom he’s looking
for.

Jungkook is the first person his gaze searches everywhere he goes these days. It has become
natural to him, to always want him in his line of sight.

“I thought Yoongi-hyung would be here already,” Taehyung says when he slides into the
booth where his friends are seated. “Hi, hi, hi.” He waves a hand at Namjoon, Seokjin, and
Jimin across the table, then turns to his side, looks at Jungkook. “Hi, darling.”

“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” Jimin smacks the table.

“Leave them alone, Jimin,” Namjoon says, lifting his beer into the air to cheer him. “Hi,
Tae!”

Taehyung stares at them, eyes jumping from Jimin’s annoyed grin, to Namjoon’s face hidden
behind his pint, to Seokjin’s wagging brows, and finally stops at Jungkook. A very flushed
Jungkook, who’s busying himself with his beer as though Taehyung isn’t gawking at him.

“What are they talking about?” he asks, pushing his eyebrows together.

“Nothing.” Jungkook clears his throat, looking up as he puts the glass back on the table.
“Yoongi will come. Eventually. He’s kind of chronically late.” He pauses, and lets his face
split into an adoring grin. The one that makes his cheeks bulge and puts his adorable front
teeth in evidence. “And hi.”

Funny how a word with two letters, a single syllable, just barely a sound, can make a whole
body tremble. Taehyung holds the edge of the couch with his sweaty palms. It’s not hot
inside, the air conditioning blasting above their heads, but he feels warm, warm, warm.

It takes too many heartbeats for Taehyung to stop smiling back, to stop feeling a little bit silly
and giddy. Eventually, he turns back to his friends, planting both palms on the table.

“Well, at least I’m passing the baton as the late one of the group,” Taehyung says amusedly,
only to notice three faces staring incredulously back at him. By the way Jimin arches an
eyebrow and blinks in disbelief, something tells Taehyung they’re not reacting to what he just
said.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Yoongi’s rushed voice comes before the man himself stops at the edge
of the table, bending slightly forward to gasp for air. He lifts his gaze, and looks desperately
around the room, his long black hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “God, is it over already?
Did I miss it?”

“What do you mean?” Namjoon says confused. “He starts at nine.”

Yoongi gapes, points an accusatory finger at Jungkook. “Jungkook said he started at eight!”

Unbothered, Jungkook takes a sip of his beer. “Yeah, so you could arrive before nine.”

“I did.” Yoongi wiggles his butt as he takes a seat, forcing Taehyung to scoot to the side, so
he can sprawl his exhausted limbs on the seat. Without much space left, Taehyung’s body
presses onto Jungkook, the bare skin of their arms in contact.

“Barely.” Taehyung shifts in place, trying to put a little bit of distance so he can breathe
properly. Their elbows unlink, but their thighs are still touching. “It’s 8:57.”

“Why am I always attacked in this group?” Yoongi groans, thumping his head on the
tabletop.

“I’m always by your side, Yoongi-ssi,” Jimin says with a mellow voice. Then his hand
reaches over the table, fingers curling in Yoongi’s hair in a gentle caress. As fast as he offers
the soft touch, he flicks the top of Yoongi’s head, and snaps, “Yet, you’re here, all nervous to
see another man.”

Yoongi jolts up, gaping in a mix of confusion and disbelief. His jaw moves up and down, as
if he’s trying to say something, but he seems incapable of emitting any sounds.

Fortunately, Danny chooses the right time to step on stage. His loud, enthusiastic voice
echoes in the crowded pub. He introduces himself, makes a joke about the weather that
bubbles laughs across the audience. The first song is an upbeat cover, the crowd cheering in
enthusiasm when the first verse comes out of his mouth.

“Uh, was he this good that night?” Namjoon points at Danny, mouth hanging open.

“ Yes .” Yoongi is the one who confirms, eyes glued on Danny.

Seokjin turns to his husband with a frown. “How do you not remember?”

“I was drunk, Seokjin!” Namjoon squeals, gesturing wide with the glass in his hand. His beer
spills on the table, but he remains utterly entranced by Danny’s voice.

“Baby, you had three beers that night,” Seokjin says in a quizzical voice, peeling Namjoon’s
fingers off the glass and placing it away from his husband just in case.

Namjoon is placid as he is clumsy. And forgetful.

“That configures drunk in my terms.” Namjoon shrugs, reaching back for his lost glass.

“Is that Bruce Springsteen?” Jungkook asks Taehyung, leaning a little bit too close for
comfort. His thigh presses further against Taehyung’s legs, turning his stomach into a boiling
mess.

“Yes,” Yoongi replies fast like the question had been directed to him.

“Oh god!” Jimin grunts in annoyance. He pushes his hair back, then drops his arms and
crosses them over his chest. “Yoongi-ssi, do you need a napkin?”

“What?” Yoongi snaps his head, looking at Jimin with that face again, the one that mixes
surprise and confusion and disbelief.

“You’re drooling.” Jimin rolls his eyes, trying to seem unfazed but his voice denounces how
affected he is. He lifts his chin up, and says in what sounds more like a huff, “Just so you
know, Danny is a cutie, but he’s also straight as hell.”

Yoongi simply blinks like he has no idea what Jimin is talking about, and asks again, “ What
?”

The patience is running short in Jimin’s face, but he takes a breath to regain control of the
situation. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, love,” Jimin says with a smirk. He jerks his
thumb to the table across the bar to where Harry and Dougie are seated too close to each
other to be unintentional. “Those two are the ones who like men, but I’m afraid they’re too
much into each other to look at anyone else.” Jimin throws a quick glance at Taehyung before
darting his eyes back at Yoongi. “They just need to realise it.”

Taehyung faces the table where Dougie is giggling into Harry’s ear. Harry seems to be trying
to be discreet in his touches but he fails miserably every time Dougie makes a comment that’s
meant just for him. Considering Dougie is always saying something, Harry does not take his
hand off him. It’s like his palm can’t simply not smack his thigh, his fingers lingering a little
too long on the other man’s leg.

If the way they gravitate towards each other hasn’t helped them realise they’re made for each
other, Taehyung has no idea what will.

“Jimin,” Yoongi says with a clipped voice, pulling Taehyung back to the conversation at their
table. “I’m interested in his music .”

Jimin’s face falters for a second, but instead of the flush of embarrassment, mischief grows in
his smile. “Oh.” Jimin leans forward, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, and bats his
lashes theatrically. “Really?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, then looks around the whole table for help, but finds everyone pursing
their lips to hold back their giggles. He huffs, turns back to Jimin, and asks, “Are you always
like this?”

“What?” Jimin says innocently, flicking a hand in the air. “Pretty? Funny? Single?”

“I think he means insufferable,” Taehyung finally interrupts, the laugh he was holding
escaping his mouth. It’s what the whole table needs to release theirs too. Seokjin does
nothing but squawk, and Jungkook giggles so hard, his body falls towards Taehyung’s, head
finding his shoulder for support.

Taehyung’s heart runs a little bit faster inside his chest, and if he inhales a shaky breath, he
disguises it with another small laugh.

“See, Yoongi-ssi, you’re not the only target of this group. We might have to join forces.”
Jimin winks to a completely disconcerted Yoongi, leaning back again on the couch with a
satisfied grin.

Namjoon says something that makes everyone laugh, but Taehyung doesn’t pay attention.
Everything mutes around him. All he can hear is Jungkook’s soft giggles too close to his ear,
the smell of vanilla and fabric softener invading his nose.

Calm down , Taehyung tries to say to his heart.

It doesn’t listen.

The counter is sticky under his fingers, but Taehyung is starting to get into that state of
lightness that allows him to not care. One more beer and he’ll probably achieve the perfect
balance between not sober but still not drunk yet.

Namjoon can’t say the same. In the past half hour, he proclaimed himself the president of
Danny’s fan club, called a vote around the whole pub to decide Yoongi and Danny’s ship
name, almost got into a fight with Harry because Yoonny is way cuter than Dangi . Then,
almost got into a fight with Jimin because Yoonmin is the best ship name

All without finishing his third beer yet.

Taehyung laughs from a distance, watching as Seokjin clasps a hand over his husband’s
mouth to muffle Namjoon’s yell of THIS ONE WAS FOR THE GAYS! when Danny is done
with an Elton John cover. Taehyung gets so distracted that someone passes his turn and starts
ordering too many drinks for just one person

He doesn’t mind. He’s too floaty to mind.

The air shifts first. The fresh vanilla smell he’s so used to hits him before Jungkook
approaches, and he smiles right away, anticipating the sound of his voice, the words he’ll say
to him this time.

“I don’t think we do this often enough,” Jungkook says, leaning on the sticky counter by
Taehyung’s side. He’s not very floaty, grimacing the moment he realises his forearm is all
viscous too.

“What?” Taehyung hands him a napkin.

Jungkook accepts with a fond smile, which he keeps on his face as he cleans himself. “Get
everyone together.”

“I don’t think Yoongi would love that much.” Taehyung tilts his head to the table. Yoongi is
turning bright red as Namjoon screams Fuck Yoonny, we love Yoonmin! while Danny sings a
song about a girl .

“Jimin on the other side...” Jungkook says, following his gaze to the group, and laughing
softly at the sight of Jimin bombarding Yoongi with finger hearts and an excessive amount of
winks. Wetting his lips, Jungkook turns back to him. “Do you think something will happen
between them?”

Taehyung shrugs, leaning sideways on the counter. “Jimin would be game, I mean,” he
pauses, laughing, “that’s obvious.”

“He’s good at it.” Jungkook hums, chewing his inner cheek in contemplation. When
Taehyung frowns in confusion, he adds. “Making people have a soft spot for him.”

“The bastard fucking is,” Taehyung speaks with fondness in his voice, the kind that is only
reserved for Jimin and all the ways he pulls at his heartstrings. “He’s all talk like that, but he's
the sweetest. I think everything I know about care I learned from him.” The last sentence
slips from his tongue, like he can’t contain his appreciation.

“They all are. Sweet and caring, I mean.” Jungkook nods, and looks at him with this thing in
his eyes, something that says he understands what Taehyung means.

Taehyung knows Jungkook likes his friends, he has known it since the winter, when they all
met for the first time. Jungkook is pretty open to people, easily likes everyone, and gets along
with them, but still, Taehyung takes his words preciously. They carry more weight than
Jungkook can imagine.

“It makes me so happy you get along with them. That you like them,” he says even before he
realises the words are coming out of his mouth. Taehyung blames it on the floatiness of his
body making his tongue loose, his heart too light.

Something in Jungkook’s face tells Taehyung he wasn’t expecting such an honest reaction.
He tilts his head to the side, lips curving up. “Yeah? Why?”

“Because.” Taehyung shrugs, holding onto the sticky counter to keep his body from floating
away. He swallows hard to put his tongue back in place, to avoid saying his friends are a big
part of him, and he wants Jungkook to like every part of him.

“Before you arrived,” Jungkook starts, looking shyly at his feet like he isn’t sure he’s worth
having the information he’s about to share, “Namjoon and Seokjin were telling me they’ve
been waiting for another adoption process.”

Taehyung smiles, feeling his chest expand even further. For so many reasons at once. “Yeah,
they heard about it a couple of weeks ago, two other possible matches. It’s good to see that
they’re positive, it makes me feel that way too.”
“I get what you said now,” Jungkook lifts his gaze, meeting Taehyung’s again. He runs a
tongue over his lip, pulls his bottom lip inside his mouth, and bites it. The glance he throws at
the table is quick, but it’s directed to where Namjoon drunkenly leans on Seokjin’s shoulder.
“About their love.”

Taehyung searches for something in Jungkook’s eyes, something that will tell him there’s
more to what he is saying than a mere acknowledgment. Something on the verge of I want
something like this too, or I think I could feel the same someday.

The thought leaves him slightly dizzy, and he pulls at his earlobe nervously, letting out a
shaky breath. “Yeah.”

Jungkook holds his gaze, searching for something in Taehyung’s face that will tell him more
than his words did as well. Under the intensity of those huge eyes that make Taehyung think
of the universe and baby animals, he’s afraid Jungkook can read his mind. He grips the sticky
counter more firmly, because what if Jungkook gets a glimpse of his thoughts and finds them
all silly?

He wants to say something, anything just to keep Jungkook disconnected from his reading
mind abilities but before he can, it’s their turn. The barman makes it clear by clearing his
throat loud enough to make them snap their heads to the side.

“What do you want, sweetie?” Jungkook asks first, switching to English to not keep the
barman excluded from the conversation. A simple polite gesture that speaks volumes to
Taehyung.

“Oh, no.” He raises a palm, shaking his head. “No, no, no.”

“ Mwo — What?” Jungkook widens his eyes, slipping in Korean first, then quickly finding
the English on the tip of his tongue again. Taehyung does it all the time. He thinks that as
much as you’re good in another language, your first reaction, the one that is almost instinct,
always comes in the mother tongue.

“No, not sweetie.” Taehyung laughs, cringing. “You sound like a mom.”

“Ah.” Jungkook laughs loudly, and scratches his nape a little bit disconcerted. “Alright, no
sweetie.” He pauses, looks at Taehyung with mischief in his eyes. “Sweetipie? Sweetheart?”

“Sweetheart is good!” Taehyung feels incapable of containing his smile, allowing it to stretch
his cheeks until his eyes go tiny.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Jungkook asks again. His tongue curving to get the words
right.

The man looks at them curiously, holding back his own smile, but Taehyung pays him no
mind. All in his line of sight is Jungkook. Lately, it’s always Jungkook.

“A sour. Thank you, sweetheart ,” Taehyung replies.

For the first time, he doesn’t think the English words seem foreign in his tongue

“Isn’t this heat wave supposed to be a wave? It’s been here for weeks,” Taehyung says, using
his cap as a fan.

He doesn’t remember this city being this hot and humid, the world must be really ending after
all. Above them, the sun is unforgiving, not even the few trees and the buildings around the
canal provide enough shade to alleviate the unbearable heat that sticks to their whole bodies
and makes Taehyung regret not applying sunscreen before leaving the house.

“Global warming,” Jungkook says.

“They promised us it was a lie!” Taehyung protests as he walks, still flicking the cap to create
small gusts of air.

Jungkook stops, turns on his heels, and arches an eyebrow. “Who exactly are they,
sweetheart?”

Taehyung laughs, putting his cap over his sweaty head again, turned backwards. “You know,
the same ones who told us the earth was flat.

“As a journalist, I’m seriously concerned about where you read your news.”

With a small snort followed by a nudge on his elbow, Taehyung walks ahead of Jungkook
and keeps making his way alongside the canal.

Despite the front of his shirt being slightly moist with sweat, Jungkook seems unbothered.
Taehyung doesn’t understand how he manages to wear all black in this heat, even when he’s
in shorts and a t-shirt with his tanned skin exposed to the sun, unlike most people around
them, who are trying to protect their rosy skins with umbrellas and big hats. Instead,
Jungkook stretches his arms to the sides, turning his face upwards very often. He walks like
he owns the sun.

He gesticulates as they talk, in that way that Taehyung loves, conversation flowing off his
mouth and body like he’s all made of words. He’s so bright Taehyung barely notices the
colourful graffiti by their sides, originally, the whole point of this walk.

But maybe, there isn’t really a point of anything he does with Jungkook besides being with
Jungkook.

So he doesn’t mind ignoring the art on the walls next to them. He just walks, eyes glued to
the shiniest thing around.
“I’m glad there's the art fair in Brighton, at least I’ll get a break from this heat,” Taehyung
says, watching a few kids running around with water guns. Maybe they should get one of
those. He thinks it would be fun to see if Jungkook is as competitive in silly games as he is
when he plays serious games, the ones he shares only with Hoseok.

Jungkook brings a hand over his eyes to protect them from the sun and looks at Taehyung.
“When is that again?”

“In two weeks,” Taehyung replies, shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts just to
realise it’s too warm for that. “It’ll be over the weekend, but,” he shrugs, not completing the
sentence.

Gesturing widely, Jungkook says, “Well, at least it’s work at the beach. I could use that.”

Taehyung hums in agreement. He doesn’t get many opportunities to leave the city. In the four
years he’s been here, he’s barely gone further than visiting three or four cities a few hours
away, except for that time he and Jimin found extremely cheap tickets to Italy. Travelling for
work only happened twice, to attend conferences during his first year in the PhD program.

All these times, Taehyung felt nothing but immense relief to leave London. Almost like
setting foot in a different place allowed him to breathe again.

The idea of the best part of London being leaving it makes him sort of sad, sort of
disappointed in himself. To think that some things in life are only good when they’re over.

He wonders if Jungkook feels that way. If he finds relief in going somewhere else. By the
way he’s shining under the sunlight, not afraid of showing himself to the world, not afraid of
being brighter than the art on the walls, probably not. At least not here.

“The other day at my flat,” Taehyung says vaguely, not sure if this topic is too delicate to
bring up on such a sunny day.

Jungkook smiles at him, soft and blinding. “I’ve been there many times.”

“No.” Taehyung shakes his head. “That first day.”

The softness of Jungkook’s face dissipates in the air, replaced by something less gentle,
something Taehyung can’t judge if it's good or bad. He doesn’t think it matters.

“You said you chose to be here, even when it’s hard,” Taehyung continues. “Because it was
hard in Korea too… Did you, hm, feel relieved for leaving?”

“Ah.” Jungkook nods. He takes a few more steps in silence, leading them to a bench under
the shade of a huge tree. The sound of birds chirping is louder than the people, a rare thing in
a city so busy. “Yes, a little bit.” He pauses, taking a seat and looking ahead for a moment. “I
guess I’m just— I always felt awkward in some way there. Not that here I don’t, you know,
we’re always awkward in a different culture but there— I couldn’t ever feel truly
comfortable.” Another pause, longer this time. He presses his lips together, seems to be
looking for the exact words, but for the first time since they met, Taehyung thinks he’s
struggling to find them. “It’s my home country, the place I’m supposed to feel safe. The place
that made me who I am. And yet…”

His voice trails off when he watches the waters of the canal moving swiftly with the breeze.

“Most of the time I think it’s related to being queer, but other times I think it’s also more than
that.” He shakes his head, then lifts the corner of his mouth in a small, sad smile. “It’s too
complex, I can’t really say living there was bad. It just wasn’t… exactly good… Like I
couldn’t be myself fully.”

Taehyung looks at his profile, the light filters through the leaves above them, illuminating the
dark of his eyes, the tip of his nose. There isn’t an angle in which Jungkook doesn’t look
angelic.

“And here you can be?” Taehyung asks, watching attentively all the ways his question affects
Jungkook.

The corner of his mouth lifts again, more curvy this time, a real smile. He hangs his head
down on his chest for a second. “Yeah, I feel like it’s possible. Even if it’s hard here too. You
know, relationships and everything that is unfamiliar.” He wets his lips, turning to face
Taehyung with squinted eyes. “Here I have the opportunity to think about myself, of who I
wanna be without restraints.”

He doesn’t miss the way Jungkook talks in terms of possibility and opportunity like it’s not
something that’s already set. Like he’s still figuring it all out, carving himself into the city.

Taehyung hums, his hair sways with the breeze. It’s more like a warm gust of air, not really
refreshing, but a break from the staleness.

“You look comfortable here,” he says. “Look like you belong.”

Jungkook scrunches up his nose, making that funny face that he always does when he wants
to lighten the mood in the middle of a serious topic. “Belong is a strong word, no?”

Taehyung shrugs. “It suits you.”

The playfulness shares space with interest in his eyes, and Taehyung wonders how many
expressions fit in just one face. Jungkook holds all of them with grace, nothing too theatrical,
just a soft genuineness. “You have a funny way of seeing me.” He giggles shyly.

“You just seem comfortable in your own skin.” Taehyung blinks at him, doesn’t think he can
make a funny face, not when the words come from such a deep place in his chest.
“Confident.”

A burst of laughter escapes Jungkook’s mouth, it adorns the air around them like the music.
He bends forward slightly, looking back at Taehyung like he’s just out of his world. He
doesn’t realise Taehyung is mostly of this world. Too ordinary. Mundane. Nothing like
Jungkook and his laugh that sounds like music, or his colours that resemble the sun.
“That’s not a thing people usually say about me, no,” Jungkook says, amusement still in his
voice. “At least not people in Korea.”

“Well, that’s how I see London Jungkook. It is about this in the end, right? Each place makes
us a different person?” Taehyung shrugs again, feeling this thing in his chest, this constant
thing that is heavy and light at the same time. Always there. “Like, different, but also the
same?”

“I think so.” Jungkook nods slowly, looking at Taehyung appreciatively.

“And I say this not because things here work perfectly for you,” Taehyung goes on. “But
because you are interested in making them work somehow.”

Jungkook cocks his head. “Aren’t we all?”

“Hm,” Taehyung hums, letting out an awkward laugh. “Sometimes I think I threw in the
towel on that one.”

Jungkook raises a hand up, and clicks his tongue in annoyance. “If this is because of the PhD
thing—”

“It’s not,” Taehyung interrupts, and snorts lightly again. “Well, not entirely. It’s just.” He
sighs, and leans back on the bench, resting both his elbows on the backrest and looking up.
The tree dances above him, this gentle sway like celebrating that the sun is out. “I don’t think
I put in the effort to make things here work for me anymore.”

Jungkook drops his hand, it lands exactly on top of Taehyung’s forearm. His palm is warm,
soothing when it slides over his arm, reaching his fingers. Like it’s second nature for him,
Jungkook holds his forefinger, rubbing the knuckle with his thumb.

It’s more than warm, it’s like summer is in Taehyung's fingerprints.

“That’s not fair on you,” Jungkook says, pulling his finger so Taehyung pays attention to
him.

Reluctantly, Taehyung rolls his head to the side, lips pursed together like he can’t find it in
himself to agree. He cuts himself a lot of slack, keeps postponing important decisions just
because he cannot find it in himself to face them. After a while, it gets comfortable, to not try
to reach anything anymore.

“I mean it. Sometimes, constant effort wears you out,” Jungkook continues. “When that
happens, it’s okay to just be, just enjoy what comes your way.”

Taehyung blinks at him. He thinks even his breath stops in his lungs for a second.

“You don’t think less of me because of it?” he frowns.

Jungkook’s fingers slip from his own. He retracts his hand back to his lap and frowns back.
“Why would I?”
Looking at his own empty hand, sudden cold, Taehyung says, “Because we’re complete
opposites in that sense.”

There’s a moment when Taehyung thinks Jungkook is going to roll his eyes back and give
him a tired sigh.

Instead, Jungkook reaches out his hand again, fingers gingerly touching a lock of hair that
didn’t fit inside Taehyung’s cap. His fingertip grazes over the skin of Taehyung’s face, close
to his ear shell, and pushes the strand back until it’s tucked behind his ear.

The only breath Taehyung can push out of his lungs is a shaky one, almost like the air that
comes out of his body is as feeble as the warm breeze.

The ghost of Jungkook’s touch trails behind his ear. A single, electric shiver runs down
Taehyung’s spine as he feels the finger stop behind his ear lobe.

“I don’t like people just because they’re like me,” Jungkook says.

And Taehyung wants to ask do you like me?

But he doesn’t.

“That would be stupid. And narcissistic,” Jungkook adds with a small laugh. He draws back
his fingers first, then his palm, a fast movement like he had forgotten his hand was still there,
so close to Taehyung’s face.

Taehyung bites his lower lip. He pretends he doesn’t feel tingly everywhere, pretends he
doesn’t feel like Jungkook has touched his entire body instead of just that spot behind his ear.
“That’s fair.”

“If it counts,” Jungkook says. “I know the PhD thing is a sensitive topic, but I think you’re
very brave for letting go of something that wasn’t good for you.”

Taehyung wants to say he has not given up. Not yet. It’s still there, his spot in the program is
still his. But deep down, he knows it’s silly to try to convince Jungkook he’ll be back. Not
even he believes that anymore. It’s just that, as long as he’s not officially out, he has
somewhere to return. And sometimes, all Taehyung wishes is to have somewhere familiar to
return to.

But then, Jungkook adds, “Yoongi always says it takes a lot of courage to give up on things.”

And Taehyung stills in place, blinking at him like the words are hanging in the air between
them. Because Taehyung doesn’t feel very brave for letting go. The bravery he learned comes
from insistence, comes from going after what you want, from taking risks and putting
yourself out there. It’s carved in his brain that quitting should never be an option.

To listen otherwise is odd. But it’s also comforting like it gives him a new way of looking at
his decision without so much guilt.
He thinks of the wrenching anxiety he felt when he realised he needed a break for real, thinks
of all the sleepless nights he had until he made the decision. He remembers sending the email
asking for a leave because he couldn’t stand feeling like the hollow in his stomach was going
to eat him whole.

He wonders if listening to those words at that time would’ve made it all easier.

He’s not sure, but right now, Jungkook’s words feel a lot like a hug without a touch.

“It counts,” he says, releasing a resigned sound. Then, he repeats, “Of course it counts.”

And he wants to say it counts a lot. He wants to tell Jungkook that everything he says counts,
that he doesn’t need to put the conditional in the sentence. His opinion will ever be valuable
to Taehyung, even if he thinks differently, even if they don’t agree.

Because you don’t need to be made from the same essence to like each other.

And Taehyung likes . He likes a lot.

They share a knowing smile. Too intimate to be casual, too brief to mean something else.

Jungkook breaks their shared gaze to look at the canal, at an extremely long boat anchored a
few metres away from them, swaying softly on the water.

“Would you like to live on a boat?” he asks, changing topics easily like he didn’t just turn
Taehyung’s world upside down with his gentle words.

“Hell, no.” Taehyung shakes his head vehemently. “I have motion sickness. Imagine swaying
the whole time.” He twists his face in distaste. “Would you?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“Where,” Jungkook says, bringing a knee up so he can hug it against his chest. “In a canal?”
He points straight ahead. “Probably not. The ocean? Yes.”

“Oh, pull off DiCaprio in Titanic?” Taehyung jokes.

“No!” Jungkook laughs, then frowns a bit. “I’d very much like to remain alive too, so— I
mean I’d live in a boat, sailing across the ocean.”

Taehyung gives him this strange, incredulous look. “I didn’t know you sailed.”

“I don’t,” Jungkook winks playfully. “But in this reality, I live in a boat, so I also know how
to sail.” He gestures vaguely, a small pout on his lips as his mind takes him probably far
away.

“You seem to have the whole sailing thing sorted out for just a hypothetical situation,”
Taehyung teases.
Jungkook’s pout dissolves into a smile. “I grew up by the ocean, it’s always something I
thought about.” He pauses, then shakes his head. “Not like a real plan, just as a fantasy.”

“Must be hard for you, then,” Taehyung says without much thought. “To live in a river city.”

A small shrug followed by another pucker of his lips. This time, the pout is evidenced by the
way Jungkook rests his chin on his kneecap. “Not hard, just… Weird. Sometimes you look at
the water and expect it to be different, to have waves, to be endless. And it’s just narrow and
brown. So yeah, I don’t necessarily miss Busan, but I miss the ocean.”

Taehyung fidgets abruptly, looks at Jungkook’s shiny forehead, a little sweaty even in the
shade. He crosses his legs, one over the other, his foot wiggling in the air nervously.

Blood pumps in his ears as this silly thought crosses his mind. He thinks it could be good,
that Jungkook would be happy. Following the rhythm of his bouncing leg, his heart does this
funny thing, leaps on his chest over just an idea.

“Why don’t you come?” he asks, voice a little bit rushed.

“What?” Jungkook snaps his head up, confused, probably wondering if he missed something
Taehyung said.

“I mean to Brighton. Come with me. I’ll be there—” Taehyung laughs, hanging his head low.
“Well, that’s obvious. But we could do stuff when I’m not working.”

Jungkook rubs his neck, wrinkling his forehead in hesitancy. “Hotel prices in the summer are
insane, I can’t afford that.”

Taehyung blinks, more to situate himself than anything. He’s still kind of surprised the idea
had formed so fast in his mind, as if it had always been there. “Just crash in my hotel room.”

Jungkook laughs with wide eyes. “Are you trying to get me deported, sweetheart?”

“Stop being silly.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, feet still shaking nervously. “The room is for two
anyways. I can just ask them to add an extra person in the reserve, the gallery won’t mind.”

“Are you—” Jungkook stops, his eyes widen, going impossibly bigger. There’s some
innocence in them, a child-like glint. “Are you sure?”

“Of course!” Taehyung nods, enthusiasm bubbling in his stomach and chest. He taps his feet
incessantly as Jungkook looks at him with expectancy growing on his face. “You miss the
ocean, that’s the perfect opportunity!”

His face splits into a huge smile, front teeth, nose scrunch, and all. Taehyung’s favourite
kind.

“Okay, Yeah— Cool! That will be fun.”

Taehyung’s foot stops fidgeting, he sets it firmly on the floor.

“Yeah.” He releases a relieved breath. “Cool,” he repeats, even though that’s the last thing he
feels at the moment, for more reasons than he can count.

“It’s late! It might not be safe!” Jungkook protests, but Taehyung is already three long steps
ahead of him.

“But sweetheart.” Taehyung pouts, turning on his heels, his hair flapping against his face,
sticking on his forehead due to the humidity. “We're in Brighton! We’ve been beachless for so
long!” He yells in English over the wind, forcing a British accent that comes out poorly
executed. He sees Jungkook bending forward when giggles erupt from his mouth. “Why are
you laughing?

Jungkook rises back up, wiping the corner of his eyes. “It’s just— I’m being silly.” He waves
a hand in dismissal, but Taehyung places both hands on his hips, demanding an explanation.
“The word beach… In our accent…”

“Oh.” Taehyung stops, face breaking into a giggle. “Tricky words, uh?” Then he shrugs. “But
it wouldn’t be incorrect either.”

“Wha—?” Jungkook tries to ask but chokes on the word. Taehyung doesn’t pay much
attention, running towards the beach like there’s a magnet in the water. He pulls his shirt out
of his head and kicks his sandals off on the way.

“Ouch. The damn pebbles,” Taehyung groans when he stomps a toe on a particularly sharp
stone. He starts skipping his way to the water on only one foot. “Ouch, ouch,” he complains,
realising all the pebbles are rough under the sole of his feet.

“Isn’t there supposed to be sand?” Jungkook looks down, pointing at Taehyung’s forgotten
shoes. He picks them up, offering them as he trails after Taehyung. “Put back your sandals!”

“Not here. Here it’s only pebbles!” Taehyung turns, walking backwards towards the ocean
only in swimming shorts. “And too late! Come!”

“It’s chilly!” Jungkook pouts, the wind slapping his bangs against his face.

“It’s not, come!”

It is chilly — like summer just waited for them to reach the ocean to start bidding its
goodbyes — but it’s not bad. Simply crispy, fresh beachy air, damped with salt and moist,
making your body all sticky, begging for a dive.
The tide is out, so the waves are gentle. Taehyung stops when the ocean crashes around his
ankles. The blue sea is misty as the sky darkens above them, the sun already set but still
glowing a last stride of orange light like it doesn’t want to go down just yet, struggling to
give space for the moon to shine by itself on the dark sky.

Summer is Taehyung’s least favourite season, but he can’t deny how much he enjoys it when
the days linger, refusing to end even when it’s late at night.

The water hits his shins, his thighs, his waist. The stones are slimmery under his feet as he
steps forward, dodging a seaweed floating too close to him.

He doesn’t really wait for Jungkook, just walks and walks further until he can dip his whole
body in the water, letting its currents cover his head and hair.

Underwater, everything around him tastes salty. Summer at the tip of his tongue.

When he rises, it’s to the smell of the sea and the sound of water rushing around him. He
squints, seeing Jungkook standing on the shore, hands on his hips like he is debating with
himself.

“Are you gonna stay there?” Taehyung yells, shaking his head to the sides, water sprinkling
everywhere around him.

He cups his hands around his mouth, yells back at Taehyung, “The view is nice!”

“The water is nicer!” Taehyung splays his arms over the surface. “Don’t tell me you’re
afraid! I thought you wanted to be a sailor!”

Jungkook’s laugh travels in the open space between them, he shakes his head. And it’s too far
to really see any details of his face, but Taehyung can picture it in his mind the defiant glare
Jungkook sends his way, biting his lip in that way he does when he feels challenged.

He heads to the water in long strides with his clothes still on, not even flinching when the
cold water hits his legs, splashing sprinkles all over his chest. Then, he joins his palms in
front of him and dives headfirst into the ocean. His body disappears underwater for a couple
of seconds, only to submerge and swim his way to Taehyung.

When he is close enough, instead of standing up as a normal person would, Jungkook plants
his feet on the ground, gets impulse, and propels his body forward, curling himself into a
summersault.

He finds his footing back graciously, water drenching from his long black hair. Taehyung
blinks, eyes trailing the way Jungkook’s wet t-shirt clings to his body, large enough on him to
show the sharp curves of his collarbones. Droplets of water hang from every edge of his face.
His chin, his lips, his jawline, his nose, one insistent drop holding onto his lashes.

Surrounded by water, Taehyung has never felt so parched in his life.

“Show off,” he jokes, splashing water on Jungkook’s face, a failed attempt to ignore this
warm sensation pooling in his lower belly. “I didn’t know you were a pro.”
Jungkook laughs, pushing his wet hair back with both hands. “Some of us actually do sports.”

“Hey!” Taehyung shoves more water at his face, but this time Jungkook is faster, catches his
wrist before it can touch the surface. His hands are hot against his skin, a sharp contrast
against the cold water that surrounds them. Inside him, the warmness coils in his stomach
once again. Taehyung says in a strangled voice, “Pilates is really good for your body!”

“Oh, I can see that,” Jungkook retorts right back. His eyes widen the moment he registers his
words, and he lets go of Taehyung’s wrist like he was burnt.

Apparently, Jungkook is not the only thing capable of somersaulting tonight, because
Taehyung’s heart flips and flips inside his chest. He barely knows how his body remains still
with so much turbulence inside him.

“What? Are you checking on my body now, sweetheart?” Taehyung tries to play along, aims
for a teasing tone but it falls flat, the words too serious and heavy on his tongue.

Even in the dark, Jungkook flushes. Not even the cold water seems to help keep him cool
down. He clears his throat, making an effort to keep his gaze on Taehyung’s also flushed
face. “You’re only in shorts, I’m not visually impaired.”

Taehyung is nothing but thankful when Jungkook turns around, and jolts forward for another
somersault. This time, he doesn’t rise back up quickly. He keeps swimming, stopping a few
metres away, as if he needs some distance to cool down.

Normally, Taehyung seeks nothing but closeness, but sometimes it gets too much and his
hands and heart can’t remain still when there’s so much of Jungkook around him.

Lately, it's been getting too much quite often.

“I wanna do that too,” Taehyung says, pointing at the water between them.

“What?”

“The somersault thing.”

“Ah.” Jungkook approaches again, cautiously this time, almost afraid of saying something
inappropriate again if he’s too close. He stops a good metre away from Taehyung. “Just do
what you do on the ground.” His hands twist in front of his torso in a rolling motion. “Propel
your body forward, but you’ll need more impulse.”

Taehyung stares at him, tilts his head to the side like Jungkook just spoke a foreign language.
One he can’t understand. “I don’t know how to do it on the ground.”

“What?” He breathes out a small, incredulous laugh. When he realises Taehyung is not
joking, Jungkook pushes his brows together. “What kind of kid were you?”

“A scared one!” Taehyung bumps fist into the water, pouting.

It makes Jungkook laugh for real this time, his whole body moving in delight. “Of what?”
“Breaking my neck?!” Taehyung gestures even more widely, even more theatrically.

“Taehyung!” Jungkook says stubbornly. It’s definitely his accent from the south, or the way
Taehyung’s name is so rare in his mouth that makes it reach his ears like it’s a new word. It
sounds full, sounds just about right.

Even though honeys , darlings , and sweethearts are good, nothing feels as homey as
listening to his real name falling from Jungkook’s lips.

Taehyung giggles, says, “What?” It’s true!”

“It’s not easy to break your neck underwater” Jungkook rolls his eyes, lowering his body so
the water reaches his chin. “Just try!”

His hands get antsy, gesturing to the sides to help him build his argument. “What if I don’t
know how to find my way back to the surface?”

“Hm, pretty sure that’s physically impossible.”

“People drown, Junkgook-ah!” Taehyung points at the lifeguard tower at the beach.

“Taehyung, sweetheart, the water is chest-height! If you feel lost, you can just put your feet
on the ground.” He has the audacity to smirk as he stands up, arms open wide in
demonstration.

“But—”

“Why did you ask for help if you don’t want to do it?” Jungkook places both hands on his
hips, says it like he is annoyed but looks more amused than anything.

“I—” Taehyung laughs, and swats the water that splashes on Jungkook’s chest. “You started
with the childhood trauma topic!”

“Me? You’re the one who went on a spiral.” Jungkook cups both hands, collects water just to
drop it all over Taehyung’s head.

Even though Taehyung is watching it all unfold in front of him, all he has time to do is close
his eyes, blowing a raspberry to get rid of the saltiness on his lips.

When he opens his eyes again, he finds Jungkook laughing so hard he can barely keep his
eyes open.

“What?!”

“Your hair.” Jungkook points to his face.

Taehyung frowns, gingerly touching the damp hair glued to his forehead. Fastly, he bends
forward and dips his head into the water. He places both palms under his bangs, strengthens
his back again, and flips his hands up, moulding his hair in a ridiculous pompadour style.
“Better now?” Taehyung asks as he opens a goofy smile, crossing his eyes until he sees two
Jungkooks in front of him.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook clacks, hitting the water in front of him. It splashes on Taehyung’s
chest. “You’re so silly.”

Taehyung shakes his head, and throws his body back on the water, letting his laughs mix with
Jungkook’s.

He floats back, putting some distance between them just so he can see Jungkook without the
overwhelming sensation that closeness brings. With salt dripping from his lashes, he watches
the way Jungkook’s body moves when he laughs, sees his eyes curving down as his cheeks
rise up, traces the drops of water on his skin that look like tiny, sparkly crystals.

Taehyung looks up at the completely dark sky. The moon is hanging high, and for a moment,
he wishes it would never go down, just so they don’t have to leave the water, just so they can
enjoy this summer night a while longer.

When he looks down again, he blinks, maybe it’s the excess of water in his lashes, but he can
swear under the darkness of a long-gone sun, Jungkook is the only thing that shines in the
middle of the ocean.

“I told you we should’ve gone up to the room first thing to get towels,” Jungkook groans,
waddling his way through the corridor with a duffle bag in hand.

“They’re a beach hotel!” Taehyung groans, pulling his suitcase behind him. “They’re used to
people arriving straight from the beach.”

“I’m pretty sure the way the woman at the reception looked at us dripping on the carpet
didn’t suggest that,” Jungkook giggles.

“They’ve seen worse, I’m sure,” Taehyung sighs, laughing too. “We can’t be the only idiots
who forget to bring towels,” he says, looking over his shoulders, pressing the card over the
sensor. The door unlocks with a blip, and Taehyung pushes it open with his shoulder,
dragging the suitcase with him. “Plus, we are not that we—”

The room brightens when Taehyung inserts the card into the holder. He blinks hard, words
vanishing on his tongue.

He repeats the fluttering of his lashes just to be sure he’s not seeing things.

Or not not seeing things.

“Oh, shit,” Taehyung says, mouth going agape.

Jungkook drops his bag on the floor, moving by his side. “I’m gonna, hm, I’m gonna call the
reception,” he says, taking wide strides in the direction of the phone. His clothes cling to his
body, a few drops falling on the carpet. “It must be a mistake.”

Taehyung nods fiercely, feet rooted on the ground. His stomach drops a little, his heart does
this funny thing inside his chest, almost like a small somersault. The one his body cannot
fathom to do.

“Tae?” Jungkook lifts his gaze, handset pressed to his ear. Taehyung looks at him with
alarmed eyes. “The towels.”

“Oh, right, yeah, shit,” Taehyung fumbles with his own feet before running to the bathroom
and getting back with two fluffy white towels.

“Hm, hi. This is Jungkook Jeon, I, uh— I was just at the reception now,” he says in English.
Taehyung hands him a towel and he throws it over his shoulders, reaching the hem to dry his
hair. “Yes, the wet one,” he laughs nervously. His voice is a little nasal when he speaks
English, the accent present in every sharp syllable. Yet, Jungkook pronounces each word like
he has intimacy with the language. “I’m in room 301, and there seems to be a mistake
because we booked a twin room, and there’s…” His voice trails off, he looks back up at
Taehyung quickly, just to dart his gaze to the bed by his side. “There’s only one bed.”

Taehyung taps his feet on the floor as the silence grows in the room, the woman babbling
something in Jungkook’s ear that he simply nods to, although she can’t see him

“Hmhm, I see. Okay. Is there—?” Jungkook cuts his request, and bites his thumb nervously,
avoiding looking at Taehyung at all costs. “Okay. Yes, of course. No, no, that’s great. Yes,
very kind of you, sure. Thank you.”

Jungkook ends the call, hitting the headset on the base with a click that echoes in the silent
room

The positive words at the end of the call should be a relief, yet, Taehyung can’t quite feel it
settling in the base of his stomach.

“So?”

“The room we were supposed to stay in had a plumbing problem and they had to switch us,”
Jungkook explains, wrapping the towel around his torso

“Okay.” Taehyung nods, pulling his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, trapping it in
between his teeth. When Jungkook just stares at him blankly, Taehyung asks. “So which one
is our new room?”

Surprise takes over Jungkook’s face, his mouth opens and his eyes grow a little bit bigger.
“We aren’t going anywhere,” he answers, fists clenching where he holds the edges of the
towel in front of his chest.
“But you said something was great and v ery kind of them?” Taehyung frowns, his stomach
already in a free fall inside him.

Jungkook lets out an awkward laugh, and shifts on his stance to lean more on his left hip.
“Ah, yes.” His gaze slowly travels to the big window on the other side of the room. “That’s
because they upgraded us to a sea view room.”

“Ah,” Taehyung follows his eyes, looking at the massive window. The waves crash softly on
the shore, but he can’t hear any of its sound now. He wishes he could listen to it, to the
sounds the waves make as they crash on the shore. If only he had a shell to put over his ear.
“That is nice, yeah.”

“Yeah…” Jungkook agrees, still worrying his lip.

The silence stretches, Taehyung’s thoughts still a little bit lost on the beach out there. There
are no reminiscents of sunset now, the dark deep blue of the ocean blending with the even
darker deep blue of the sky. For a second Taehyung thinks of how it would be like to live
underwater all the time, in the darkness, murky waters. To only see the sun filtering through
the surface. Maybe not so different from life up here after all.

He hums, then looks back at Jungkook, and smiles with a closed mouth.

“So, which side of the bed do you prefer?” he says with a calmness that is totally not present
inside him.

Jungkook startles, confused, almost like he had been ready for bad news, and now that
Taehyung hasn’t delivered any, he doesn’t know what to do.

“Uh?”

Taehyung smiles at the way Jungkook is frozen in place, towel wrapped around his body,
staring at him with bugged eyes. A wet puppy. He walks around the room, dropping his
luggage on the floor to zip it open in search of dry, clean clothes.

“Well, I usually sleep on the side closer to the bathroom ‘cause I wake up to pee at night,”
Taehyung says, then cringes a bit. “Hm, sorry, that was probably too much information.”

It’s what snaps Jungkook out of whatever is going on in his mind. His body relaxes and he
laughs. “We’re about to share a bed, guess we’re past the limits of TMI.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Taehyung smiles, standing up, clutching his clothes against his chest.

“I can take the left side, yeah.” Jungkook walks around the bed, and drops his bag on the
floor. He looks at Taehyung like he doesn’t know what to do next, and says, “Uh. Cool.”

“Yeah, cool,” Taehyung nods.

He points at Taehyung’s chest, where his clothes are crumpled in his hands. “Wanna shower
first?”
Taehyung looks down, surprised as if he had forgotten he was holding his pyjamas in the first
place. “Yeah, I—” He looks up again, giving Jungkook a smile that seems awkward even to
himself. “Yeah. Cool. Thanks.”

Nodding, Jungkook chews his lower lip. “No problem. It’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung mimics his nodding. He starts walking slowly to the bathroom even
though his body seems made of sand, incapable of sustaining itself tall. “Cool.”

Taehyung lies in bed, staring at the bathroom door as if he can distinguish anything but the
contour of the knob in the darkness. He taps his fingers over the mattress, his body heavy but
floaty in that post-beach sensation that leaves you equally exhausted and blissful.

Although his body feels tired after hours on a train and the night visit to the beach, he can’t
seem to be able to close his eyes and relax. All his focus goes into sharing the same space
under the duvet, two bodies making the bed warmer than Taehyung is used to.

Feeling this funny thing that streams from his chest and lands on his lower belly should be
silly, Taehyung has shared a bed many times before.

But there’s something so intimate in simply sleeping together. Sharing this space where you
make yourself vulnerable, where you just surrender, trusting the other person will do the
same.

There’s no question that Jungkook will do the same. He’s never afraid to show Taehyung he
trusts him.

But it’s not just about the susceptibility of the mind. It’s also about the vulnerability of the
body. There’s no predicting how your arms will move, if you’ll roll to the side, press your
torso closer to seek warmth, if you’re going to chase a touch that you crave even
unconsciously.

There’s no way to know how his body will react to having Jungkook so close to him.

It has been a while, and he doesn’t think it’s a good thing to be letting his mind and body be
so pliant to someone else again. Even if sometimes there’s this crave inside him to want
someone. Even if this someone is Jungkook.

So he tries to keep the space between them, at least while he’s still awake. He tries not to
move much, but his arm is stuck in this weird position and he has to shift to the other side,
facing Jungkook in the darkness of the room.

Like he’s been waiting to see if Taehyung was awake too, Jungkook flutters his eyes open,
murmurs like he’s afraid of disturbing something. “Are you excited for tomorrow?”
Taehyung blinks at him, his eyes so used to the dark that he can see the outline of Jungkook’s
face easily. “A bit. Art fairs are cool, lots of people from abroad,” Taehyung whispers back,
not really sure why if they’re clearly both awake. “But this one is pretty small, so it should be
nothing thrilling.”

“That’s good.” Jungkook hums. He yawns, and readjusts the pillow so he’s hugging it more
than laying on it, then says in a dragged low voice, “Means less working, more quality time
with your sweetheart.”

As much as Taehyung doesn’t feel it’s the right time to make himself pliant to someone, his
body seems to disagree. The swaying sensation in his chest gets stronger, almost like he’s still
out there, afloat in the ocean, and before he notices, Taehyung is blushing, pulling the duvet
up to hide part of his face, as if Jungkook could see much.

“We certainly don’t want to disappoint the sweetheart,” Taehyung says back and Jungkook
nods, stretching his leg under the covers until his foot finds Taehyung’s. He flinches, almost
tugs it back, but Jungkook locks their ankles together, and keeps moving his feet up and
down. It’s a gentle caress, it shouldn’t make his body overheat like that, but Taehyung feels
nothing but heat spreading inside him. Taehyung gulps, then takes a deep breath in to see if
his chest settles. It doesn’t. “And you, what are you excited for?” He manages to ask
somehow.

“Hotel breakfast, of course.”

“Of course.” Taehyung breathes out a soft laugh.

“Do you think they’ll have fish and chips?” Jungkook asks in a child-like tone, but still not
daring to raise his voice.

“I know British cuisine is not very broad, but you do know there’s a thing called English
Breakfast that they serve for breakfast , right?” Taehyung moves his feet forward, as if he is
going to kick Jungkook, but it just causes their legs to tangle even further.

“Uh, baked beans? No, sorry, uh-uh.” Jungkook smiles, shaking his head. He presses his calf
harder against Taehyung’s like he wants to keep him in place. “Wanna fried food. ”

The touch of Jungkook’s bare leg over his is a little bit overwhelming, making the heat under
the covers almost unbearable. “You should sleep,” Taehyung says, even though his own
eyelids are far from getting heavy.

“‘M not sleepy,” Jungkook protests, his groggy voice betraying him. “Wanna stay up and
talk, just like we did as teenagers.”

“I couldn’t stay up all night as a teenager, I certainly can’t do that now.” Taehyung presses his
face against the pillow. The smell of fabric softener is nice, but it’s not the same as the one
Jungkook uses in his clothes. “I need my beauty sleep.”

“You were born with that face, it’s not about sleep, sweetheart.” Jungkook yawns, covering
his mouth with the back of his hand. “But… what did you used to do?” He yawns again. In
the dark, Taehyung sees sleepy tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, but Jungkook blinks
them away. “That’s what you’re supposed to do as a teenager, stay up all night playing video
games.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what you do nowadays too, but—” Taehyung laughs when Jungkook
pinches him with his toes. Taehyung squirms, only stopping moving when Jungkook rests his
knee in the middle of his legs again. The tide in his chest is almost disruptive, Taehyung feels
not like he’s just floating anymore, but like the whole ocean is inside him. “My parents were
strict about my sleeping schedule, I couldn’t use the internet after midnight.”

“So what?” Jungkook frowns, cheek squished against the pillow, forcing a pout on his mouth.
“You just went to bed?”

“I mean, yes?”

“Oh, you were—” Another yawn interrupts him, this time longer and deeper. It’s contagious,
and before he knows it, Taehyung is mimicking him. “You were the perfect son, then.”

Taehyung blinks in the dark, and pretends that the words are not unpleasant to hear. Perhaps
the first time something Jungkook said didn’t resonate like a good song in his ears.

“Jungkook-ah,” Taehyung laughs softly to brush off the topic, closing his own eyes to
indicate he’s not indulging in this nonsense. “Sleep.”

“Don’t wanna, ’m having fun.” He sighs, then buries his face in the pillow. “This was fun,
thanks for inviting me.”

“We just arrived, sweetheart.”

“Hmpf, I know but, at the beach…” Jungkook hums again, voice fading away. For a moment,
Taehyung thinks he has surrendered to the slumber, so adjusts the pillow under him again,
waiting for sleep to sink into his mind to . He’s pulled back to reality just a few seconds later,
when Jungkook’s voice ressurges, low and croaky. “I had fun at the beach… fun now too. I
think ’m always having fun when ’m with you.”

It’s a whole tidal wave inside his chest now. Frisky and oddly warm, nothing like the ocean
outside. The thumping of his heartbeat reaches his ears, making him more awake.

“Me too, Kook. Me too,” Taehyung whispers into the silent room, praying for his voice to
come out still. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

Jungkook replies with a low hum, shifting on the bed to get an inch closer. His leg gets
heavier in between Taehyung’s when he finally surrenders to sleep.

Taehyung is too much of a coward to open his eyes. It’s too much already to lay close like
this, with their legs tangled up. Taehyung’s body is too close to reacting on its own even
though he’s still fully awake and in control of his senses. So he doesn’t dare to flutter his lids
open, doesn’t want to find out how close Jungkook is to him. By the way fresh vanilla and
good fabric softener are all he can smell every time he inhales, it can’t be more than a couple
inches.

It takes a while, but he takes deep breaths in until he falls asleep.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, Taehyung wakes up from a funny dream where he and
Jungkook are doing pilates on a sand beach. He wants to laugh but feels too sleepy for it. It’s
not like he expects Jungkook to be awake to share it with him, but his lashes flutter open
anyway. He blinks in the dark until his drowsy eyes adjust to the lack of light.

When they do, it’s to the sight of Jungkook pouting in his sleep, puffing out slow, deep
breaths. One of his arms is under the pillow and the other curled under his chin, hand holding
firmly the duvet. His messy hair falls all over his face and his leg still rests heavily over
Taehyung’s.

Before he can think, Taehyung takes one lock of dark, black hair in between his fingers and
brushes it off Jungkook’s forehead. His hand stills when Jungkook fidgets, adjusting on the
pillow like he’s chasing Taehyung’s touch. Somehow, he remains fast asleep.

Taehyung then retracts his hand, bringing it to his earlobe, and pulling at it. His heart thumps
close to his fingertips, his breath gets heavier the more he looks at Jungkook. He closes his
eyes, begging for his foolish heart to get back to stillness, begging for it to stop swaying like
the ocean water is inside his chest.

Taehyung’s heart chooses to ignore his pleading.

“You know when the discourse can make or break an artwork?” A woman with a thick accent
asks, almost like she appeared out of thin air on his side.

Taehyung raises both brows, turns on his heels to find a small woman with a round face and
long, brown hair staring right back at him with a welcoming smile that Taehyung hasn’t seen
on a stranger in a while. She looks a bit older, maybe five years, seven maximum. He smiles
in return, looks back at the colourful sculpture in front of him.

Bright bordeaux, dark orange, and deep mahogany. It’s all too blazing, almost violently
vibrant.

“Yes?” Taehyung says. It sounds more like a question.

“The artist that made this one did a whole speech about it representing the violent ancestrality
of her family.” The woman gestures to the sculpture, looking at it with a mirthful face. “Said
she wanted to bring a decolonial perspective to the body of her grandmother. Whatever that
means.”
“Okay…” Taehyung frowns.

“She’s a white British woman,” she explains, and Taehyung’s face shifts in understanding.
She laughs, widely and lively. “Her ancestrality is pretty much colonial, as far as I know, her
grandmother could be the some royal princess.” She swats a hand in the air when Taehyung
joins her in her laugh.

“Oh god,” Taehyung barks an even louder laugh, looking at the piece with new eyes.

“My point is, people just add the buzzwords to the discourse to make the piece relevant.” She
sighs, flicking her long dark hair behind her shoulders. “Instead of a fair work of art, now all
I see is a tasteless joke.”

Taehyung looks at her with shooted eyebrows. The art world is small, it thrives on
appearances. He never saw someone being brutally honest like this, especially when it comes
to critiquing someone's intention, even if the intention is ill-intended.

“Why are you telling me this?” He asks, suddenly wary of this unexpected approach.

She smirks, astute eyes sizing him up. “You looked like someone who could’ve heard it
without being shocked.”

Taehyung gives her a defiant glare, cocking his hip to the side, and crosses his arms over his
chest. “What if I am British?”

In a swift motion, she shakes her own credential card hanging on her neck. “Your credentials
say Taehyung Kim.” She squints his eyes to make sure she’s reading it right. Even with her
strong accent, she nails every syllable. “You’re second generation, third, perhaps? You can
understand what I mean.”

Taehyung bats his lashes, surprise making his face falter a little bit. Because even though he’s
somewhat shocked about her straightforwardness, she’s not wrong. He does understand what
she means.

“I’m Alicia.” She extends a hand, and he drops his arms to shake it.

Her hands are soft and small, she must use a good hand lotion, but her handshake is firm.

“How do you know how to pronounce my name?” Taehyung asks as soon as he lets go of her
firm hold.

Her eyes glint in amusement when she looks up at him. Taehyung realises he’s a little
terrified and a lot curious about her.

“Really?” She cocks a brow up. “That’s your first question?”

“I— It’s just that nobody knows their way around Korean names in this country.”

She laughs, airy and lively again. Taehyung wonders how someone so small can have a
presence so big. “I grew up in Mexico City. The Korean community there got huge over the
years. My best friend growing up was called Taehyun.”

“Oh, okay. That’s cool. It’s nice to meet you, Alicia.” Taehyung finally smiles back, tilts his
head towards the piece they were talking about. “I’m assuming you’re not working with
them, but how do you know so much?”

“I used to.” She sighs deeply, eyes travelling back to the piece like she’s assessing it again.

A smirk grows on Taehyung’s face, teasing. “Is that how you used to sell their pieces?”

Alicia squawks, almost incapable of stopping it from bubbling from her mouth. “Are you
gonna buy it now, eh?”

“After you told me the fascinating story about the decolonial ancestral grandmother?”
Taehyung taps his fingers over his chin, looking up in contemplation. “I might.”

Shaking her head to dismiss the teasing, she asks, “Where do you work?”

“Zone Gallery.” Taehyung jerks his thumb over his shoulder as if to indicate the direction.
“It’s a small one in central London.”

She nods slowly, seems to study every bit of his expression. “Do you like it?”

Taehyung looks around just for safety, then shrugs his shoulders in a silent meh . “Where do
you work?”

This time, Alicia smiles brightly, nothing sharp or teasing about it. “I opened my own project
space in London a few months ago. It’s less commercial, but I still have to do the traditional
art-selling gig, that’s why I’m here.” She stops, squinting her eyes at Taehyung like she’s
debating something. Her expression changes to something soft, a little sad even, when she
finally seems to settle in her internal debate. “I came here because I wanted to work with
Latin American art in Europe, but then I realised it’s kind of… hard.” Alicia gives him this
upset, resigned smile that Taehyung understands quite well.

He nods slowly, chest expanding with this sort of relief at encountering something he can
relate to. “I know what you mean. My training is in Korean art, and I thought coming here
could be a good opportunity to build bridges between the two countries. Well…” He purses
his lips, directing her a knowing look.

“Very optimistic of you to think that, especially when Britain is burning all the bridges,” she
jokes, earning a laugh from him. “But yeah, I know. The art community can be cruel, too
closed off for newcomers.”

“Learning this the difficult way.” Taehyung hums, shoving his hands in his pockets and
bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Do you think of opening your own space, Taehyung?” She asks, interest genuine in her
voice. He realises he really likes the sound of his name in her mouth. It sounds more lively,
maybe it’s the way she elongates the U, making his name sound like a song.
Taehyung brushes off the idea by waving a hand in the air. “I don’t know if I’m good enough
for that.”

“Don’t let them get into your head.” She smiles, apparently capable of seeing more than
Taehyung is showing. When he gives her an inquisitive look, she adds, “I know how hard it is
for us here. Maybe you just need good networking.” She winks.

Taehyung laughs, “Is that an offer, Alicia? Just because you said my name correctly? You
think I’m that easy?”

She swats him on the shoulder, and joins his giggles. “Oh man, I thought we were bonding
over here.”

“You’re right, we are.” He smiles big again. After the first shock, he notices there’s this
easiness around Alicia that keeps him smiling. “So you still represent many people?”

“A few. Luckily, good ones. I do some shows with Latin American artists, with several non-
white British artists too, but most of the time I have to accept more commercial projects.
Many of them are good, others not so much.” She breathes out a resigned sigh. “You know
the drill. It brings the money in. Living on art council grants is hard, especially in this
economy.”

“Yeah. ” Taehyung nods. “Don’t you feel… Upset? To have your own space and yet not work
the way you’d want, still?”

Alicia hums, glances again at the horrendous sculpture. He follows her gaze, and the more he
looks at it, the worse it gets. Discourse can indeed make or break a piece. Before knowing
about it, it was just a normal sculpture with questionable choices of colours. Now it looks
almost like an offence.

“I don't feel particularly upset, no. I think it’s part of this game we play.” She shrugs, playing
with her lanyard. “What about you?”

The answer is not hard, but it doesn’t come out easily. Too many layers behind it. “Frankly, I
don’t know. I kind of distanced myself from Korean art.” He shrugs, and chews his bottom
lip. He considers his words, just like she did before. Evaluating if it’s okay to share it with
someone he just met. He decides it is. “Guess I got worn out by the fact that people here saw
me as Korean before they saw me as a person.”

Alicia hums slowly, giving him another one of those looks as if she’s analysing him, the one
that terrifies him a little. “Immigration does that. Makes us see ourselves differently. I joke
that I’ve never felt more Mexican than since I moved here.”

“That’s—” Taehyung snaps his fingers. “That’s exactly the feeling!”

“It’s not a bad one, I think,” Alicia continues with a smile, letting go of her lanyard to gesture
a hand in the air. “In the end, as much as it bothers us, you are Korean and I am Mexican.”

“We are, but it’s bad when people reduce you to that.”
She stares at him dead in the eyes, and wets her lips before she says, “As long as you don't
reduce yourself to that…” Her pause stretches, like she’s waiting for a reaction from
Taehyung, but all he can do is stare blankly at her. “Look, I’m not saying we should feel good
when people are stupid to us, but we should be okay with being who we are. To the point that
we learn how to stand for ourselves, to not let this shit drain us anymore.”

“Did you learn it?” It’s not a defiant question, and his tone makes it obvious.

“Well, I opened my own space anyway, right?” She shrugs. “I don’t do what I want all the
time, but I do it sometimes, and it’s nice.”

Taehyung looks around, and tries to imagine a future in which he does what he wants
sometimes. He wonders what that would look like. It’s difficult to imagine, when he’s not
sure what he wants anymore. But it ought to be good. “It does sound nice, yes.” He bites his
lower lips, intrigued at her. “Who are you representing here today?”

The air shifts and her face shifts too, morphs from seriousness to amusement again. “No
one.” She pauses, ruffs a laugh. “Well, myself. I came looking for possible artists.”

“Ah.” Taehyung nods. “Makes sense. Feeling tempted to work with the postcolonial princess
again?”

“Oh, shut up!” She smacks him in the arm. People approaching capture her attention. Two
older men standing beside the sculpture to observe it up close. She lowers her voice,
dramatically, stretching her lips to one side. “But other people might be.”

Taehyung presses his lips into a thin line, watching attentively as the men comment about the
piece with enthusiasm. He looks back at Alicia, sharing a knowing smile.

“Well, I have to go walk around.” She fishes for her business card in her pocket, and hands
him the small item. “If you ever know about artists with good taste and critical sense, hit me
up.”

Taehyung blinks at the small, orange card in his hand. Fastly, he gets his own. “Here, take
mine too. In case you need someone to vent about ancestral monarchic artworks.”

Alicia laughs, tilting the card in the air as she nods at him. Before she goes, she pauses
briefly in front of the sculpture. If to look at it one last time or to listen to the two men
talking, Taehyung doesn’t know. Though he doesn’t miss the way she pulls a face and turns
away from the sculpture like she’s allergic to it.

☼
The sky is painted in shades of orange and yellow. Taehyung’s calves burn as he speeds up.
He knows Jungkook won’t be bothered if he’s late, but there are only a few more minutes
before the sun disappears, and for some reason, he wants to watch it fall over the edges of
Earth with Jungkook.

It doesn’t take long to find him, probably the only figure wearing all black in the middle of
the summer on a pier at the most popular beach in the country. He laughs with himself, more
endeared than amused, feeling that funny thing in his chest again.

He’s been feeling that a lot lately.

Like when he woke up and found Jungkook laying on his back, checking something on his
phone with his tongue poking out of his lips. When Jungkook noticed Taehyung was awake,
and his puffy sleepy face split into a huge grin and he said raspy good morning, sweetheart.
Over breakfast, when Jungkook pouted his way into getting fish and chips and the waitress
was so confused but so endeared, she found a way of bringing him some. In the middle of
work, when Jungkook sent him pictures of the shells he found on the beach, and then a blurry
selfie of him running away from a hungry seagull.

Just small things. Details .

He waves when he gets closer, smiling large because how could he not? Taehyung thinks of
all the smiles one can give, the ones that are forced, the ones that are polite, the ones that you
offer as a gesture of sympathy. The ones like this, that come naturally. One that is
uncontainable. That spurts out of his lips before he can think of what it means.

When Jungkook notices him, he stops frowning at the beach and his face splits into a huge
grin. Effortless and natural as Taehyung’s.

“Why were you brooding over the beach?” Taehyung asks, intertwining his fingers in his hair
to push it out of his face, keeping his hand there to hold the stray locks in place. The wind is
sharp and salty, making the wild locks flap everywhere.

“I’m still bothered about the stones.” Jungkook points at the pebbles under them. “It should
be sand.”

“Well, we can’t let that happen,” Taehyung teases, cocking his hips to the side. “Why are you
so bothered?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, then smiles a little more so his teeth are fully on display. “Sand it’s
more poetic. When you’re at the beach, you walk on the sand.” Jungkook turns to him with a
frown. “Stones are in your shoes. You can’t walk when there’s one inside them.”

Taehyung opens his mouth theatrically, nods slowly. “Oh, so we have a poetic problem in our
hands, I see.”

“Will you stop teasing me?” Jungkook pouts.

“Never.” He clinks their shoulders together.

“How was work?” Jungkook asks when Taehyung leans on the guardrail, resting his elbows
on the wood surface and looking ahead at the last rays of sunshine.

“It was good. Met some cool people, saw some cool art,” Taehyung says, scrunching up his
nose. “Saw some not-so-cool art, you know. By the way, sorry I’m late, I was talking to a
friend I made earlier today,” he adds and Jungkook dismisses Taehyung’s worries with a flick
of his hand. “What did you do?”

“Ah, I went on this walking tour called Peers and Queers.” Jungkook’s eyes glint in interest.
“Did you know Brighton is the queer capital of the UK?”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook pushes away from the rail, opens the fanny pack he has crossed over his
chest. He searches for something, struggling a bit until he finds it. “Here, I brought these for
you.”

He opens his palm, showing four different flag pins.

“Oh, all of them?” Taehyung laughs, raising his eyebrows. “You really take your queerness
seriously,” he jokes, but feels his chest getting impossibly warm. This time, he can’t blame it
on the weather. The waning sun is doing little to keep the chilliness of the night away.

Jungkook flushes, his hand closing on instinct. “Sorry, I didn’t— We never discussed it,” he
stutters, giving Taehyung a nervous glance. “So I bought the pride flag, and the bi, and the
pan, and also the ace one just to be sure. Sorry, these were really all they have—”

“Sweetheart,” Taehyung interrupts, placing his hand softly over Jungkook’s closed palm. He
peels his fingers open, one by one. Delicately, he gets one small pin from his hold. “The bi
flag is perfect. Thank you.”

Relief crosses Jungkook’s face, his mouth opening like an O, maybe in surprise, maybe in
understanding. Taehyung doesn’t mind, just smiles at him, feeling his eyes wrinkling in the
process.

“Did you get one for yourself?” he asks Jungkook.

“I— Yes.” Jungkook pinches the strap of his fanny pack, showing Taehyung the rainbow
flag.

They share this quick knowing look, one that says more than words could. Taehyung only
breaks it to stick the pin on his t-shirt. He puffs his chest and wiggles his brows at Jungkook,
earning a soft giggle from him.

“How come we never talked about this?” Jungkook asks with a breathy laugh, leaning
forward over the pier rail again.

Taehyung shrugs, focuses his eyes straight ahead to where the ocean stretches in front of
them, endless and soothing. The last rays of sun tint its surface a darker tone of orange. It
looks like ink in which he could dip his fingers and it would get them stained orange too.
“I don’t really know,” he replies honestly, thinking of all the times he and Jungkook hinted at
their sexualities, but never openly shared anything about it.

Looking down at his own hands, Jungkook plays with his fingers.

“I’ve known it since I was fifteen,” Jungkook says, answering a question that was never
asked. Taehyung feels grateful for it, for the way Jungkook is always willing to offer bits of
himself freely. “When I tried to date a girl for the first time.” He lets a breathy laugh through
his nose, then lifts his eyes back to meet Taehyung. “It lasted two weeks before I realised I
hated kissing her.”

“Two weeks is a long time to do something you hate,” Taehyung ponders.

“I know,” Jungkook shrugs, stares back at the horizon, and says in a small voice. “I just
thought I had to try.”

The noise of kids squealing as they run towards the Palace Pier mixed with the sharpness of
the wind almost muffles Jungkook’s words. They ring in Taehyung’s ears loudly, however.
They pierce his heart with the numerous unsaid possibilities implied in the sentence.

I had to try because it couldn’t be real.

I had to try because what would I tell my parents?

I had to try because maybe it was just a phase.

Taehyung gulps, trails Jungkook’s side profile with his eyes. Illuminated by the almost fading
sunlight, his tanned skin is a tone darker in the orange light, a tone warmer.

“When I kissed a boy for the first time a year later, I realised trying was useless.” There’s
something in Jungkook’s voice Taehyung can’t quite identify. It is not sadness per se, it’s
something more like this lingering melancholy that seeps through his syllables. It gives away
that there’s little room for joy in his memories.

“Did you ever tell your parents?” Taehyung asks before he realises he wants to know.

Jungkook turns to face him again, piercing gaze trying to read something in his expression.

“Yes and no.” He wets his lips, then adds, “Well, my mother kind of found out when I was
eighteen or so, but she pretended she didn’t know. Until I told them— Tried to tell them,” he
corrects himself, “when I was around twenty-one and— Well, they didn’t let me finish saying
it.” He pauses, this sad smile on his face that is really more of a press of his lips, but that
wrenches Taehyung’s insides. “They told me they didn’t want to know, so they pretend they
don’t.”

“And how do you…?” Taehyung trails off, feeling stupid for asking.

“How do I deal with it? I don’t really. It’s their choice to pretend they don’t see me for who I
am.” Jungkook keeps smiling. It’s just this sad little thing, nothing compared to how bright he
is when he smiles genuinely. Taehyung wants to say he hates it, feels this bubbling rage
inside him, but then he stops, realising that sad smiles are also part of who Jungkook is. He
could never hate that.

“But it hurts. Coming from our parents, it hurts.”

Taehyung frowns, realising what makes him fe angry is not the way Jungkook feels. It’s who
made him feel this way, even though they are faceless bodies in Taehyung’s mind now.

“Like a fucking bitch.” Jungkook sighs. “But the distance helps. Made our relationship better,
too.”

Nodding slowly, Taehyung looks ahead at the last remnants of orange in the sky. A blink of
an eye, and it’ll be gone.

“Have you?” Jungkook asks after a while. “Told yours?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure what to make of it,” he says. “I only dated girls back in Seoul, so when
I told them I also liked men, they were surprised, but didn’t make a fuss over it.” Taehyung
sometimes pretends it doesn’t make a difference to him, that his parents accepted him only
because they’ve never felt threatened by his sexuality. Sometimes it’s easier to live like this,
ignoring the nuances. “I think as long as I was dating a girl, they didn’t have to deal with my
bisexuality.” Taehyung sighs. “In a way, it made it all easier for me too, to not date men in
Korea. You know how tiresome it is.”

“I do.” Jungkook nods, fixing his hair when a strong gust of wind throws his bangs over his
eyes. “But here it isn’t.”

“It isn’t,” Taehyung agrees, trying not to think much of what Jungkook means by that. “I had
a boyfriend here for the first time. It lasted two years.”

“You— Oh, okay.” Jungkook looks like he wasn’t expecting that.

Taehyung feels the same. He didn’t imagine sharing this here, tonight. Sharing this ever . It’s
a forbidden topic in his mind and between his friends.

Maybe it’s the freshness of the summer night that makes it easier to share it. Maybe it’s the
way his talk with Alicia is lingering in the back of his mind. As long as you don't reduce
yourself to that . A thing Taehyung has been doing ever since he broke up that relationship,
because that’s how he made Taehyung feel.

That’s how Taehyung learned how to understand himself in this foreign country. Because of
him.

Maybe it’s just the fact that Taehyung is here with Jungkook now. And he offers everything
to him so easily, it makes him want to share everything with Jungkook too. Always.

“He’s the reason I left the PhD,” Taehyung completes, hand running over his hair and sliding
down his ear to pull at his earlobe
Jungkook’s face falters, then twists, eyebrows scrunched up in anger, confusion, sadness. All
of it together.

“Wha— What happened?” He asks cautiously.

Taehyung shifts, resting his hip on the rail. He turns away from the ocean to face a different
kind of endlessness in front of him.

“I met this guy from the Visual Arts program. Chris, that’s his name.” He stops, blinks up at
the sky when his train of thought takes him somewhere else. “You know what’s funny? He
was one of the people who called me Tay because he could never pronounce my name right. I
should’ve taken it as a sign.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Anyway, I thought he was cool at
the time. He was a painter, hung out with a bunch of cool art people. I was new in the
country, so I clung to him, thought he was the best person I could’ve ever met here.

“He introduced me as his boyfriend from Korea, which was mind-blowing because I never
thought I would ever be introduced as some man’s boyfriend in my life.” Taehyung chuckles
a little sound that should be filled with happiness but it’s so not. “And there were all these
small things, like he asked to paint portraits of me, and I was so flattered to be someone’s
muse, you know?” He darts his eyes, feeling too embarrassed to be sharing this out loud with
Jungkook. “It made me so happy that I could inspire someone’s artwork, made me feel so
special.”

It’s the first time he says it all out loud and in detail, the first time he has to share the story
with someone who has never met his ex. Some wounds are too deep; they never heal
properly, always ready to reopen at any minimum effort.

He keeps it to himself because Taehyung is fragile when it comes to this, to the way people
make him feel. He has always been too giving, not very mindful of giving his body and soul
for people to handle. Even if they don’t handle it with care most of the time.

It all makes him feel silly, embarrassed, and bracing himself for judgement. Except Jungkook
doesn’t offer any of that, he never does. He always looks at Taehyung like he knows how to
handle things with care.

“It was all fast and hard. In two weeks we were officially dating, and he was already saying
he loved me.” Taehyung chews the inside of his cheeks, pushes down the burning sensation
crawling up his throat. He hates the way that man makes him feel embarrassed even after all
this time. “All my past relationships were these feeble, teenage things, so I thought it was
normal to move that fast. With the right person, it made sense, right?”

He looks for confirmation in Jungkook’s face for a brief moment. It’s a lame request, one
Taehyung isn’t proud of. So he darts his eyes back to the colourful signs that read Brighton
Palace Pier , vibrant against the now dark sky.

“So I said I loved him too, and for a moment I really think I did. I really thought it was it.”
He doesn’t say what it means, but he knows Jungkook will understand. The sort of love
Namjoon and Seokjin share. The one that makes you compromise over ugly couches and
makes you move countries. “But after a while it became weird. Like, he started putting a lot
more emphasis on me being Korean, and I was never just his boyfriend or just Taehyung. I
was always his Korean boyfriend, or Taehyung from Korea. ” He stops, and snorts
unamusedly. “Well, I was never Taehyung in the first place, just Tay anyways.”

“He was using you,” Jungkook whispers, the words seeming to come out of his mouth
without meaning to by the way he purses his lips right after saying it.

“He was. And you know the worst?” Taehyung finally turns to face him, eyebrows pushed
together in a pained frown. “I never realised it, not until he used all the portraits he had made
of me to try to participate in an exhibition that was supposed to exhibit Asian works.”

Taehyung ruffles his hair, his hands suddenly sweaty and fidgety. He flexes his fingers when
he drops his arms to the side again, wishes he had a drink just to have something to hold.

Jungkook’s eyes trails down to his restless palms.

It’s an instinctive action, the way Jungkook reaches for Taehyung's fidgety fingers, entrelaces
in between their own, and squeezes them lightly. A soft, silent encouragement.

Taehyung stares at their clasped hands in confusion. There’s a mix of hard feelings going on
inside him. It hurts so much to say all this, to share it with someone who never knew of the
existence of his ex. Taehyung wonders if knowing changes something to Jungkook, if he
thinks he's more broken because of it, if he thinks he’s less interesting because of it.

But the more Taehyung observes their long fingers intertwined, Jungkook’s tattooed knuckles
and tanned skin against his, the more he’s invaded by a sort of relief. Because Jungkook is a
part of his life untouched by his past.

The wind flaps against them, almost bruising now that the sun is gone, but Taehyung feels
warm.

“It was Namjoon the one who talked to me about it.” Taehyung keeps his gaze on where their
fingers meet. “About how it seemed like Chris was more interested in my Asianess than in
myself. And it was hard to accept it, but it all made so much sense. The effusive
introductions, the paintings.” He sighs deeply. “For him, I was just the exotic boyfriend, his
excuse to fetishize Asian bodies and call it art.” His next words fall from his lips weakly, like
saying them out loud costs Taehyung too much effort. And it does. “And I hate to admit it,
that he messed me up so much I had to give up what I came here for.”

It’s been almost two years, and he still feels haunted by it. He wonders if this will ever
change. He remembers Alicia’s words again, and hates how even a stranger can read him so
well, can identify his insecurities and his trauma even when he tries to bury them so deep
inside himself. He wonders if Jungkook can see them too, if he can notice the way
Taehyung’s heart is squeezed in his rib cage. If he can notice the scars, the ones Taehyung
believed would fade, but are still fresh and ugly all over his skin.

“I hate when you sound like this,” Jungkook says so softly, like Taehyung could break if he
speaks louder.
He frowns. “Like what?”

“Ashamed.” Jungkook squeezes his hand. Taehyung ponders if it’s reasonable to meet his
gaze now, to face the endless darkness of it, piercing through his soul. He decides there’s
nothing to lose anyway. “You were alone and vulnerable in a new country, and he took
advantage of that. None of this is on you.”

“It doesn’t mean it hurts less,” Taehyung replies, taking in the way Jungkook’s face is all
round and sad, his lips slightly curved downwards.

“Of course not.”

The silence between them is not exactly silent. It’s filled with the noise of the ocean being
touched by the wind, the noise of the people happily talking, incapable of understanding what
they’re saying in a foreign language.

And Taehyung is always grateful for that, for the secrecy of talking in your own mother
language in a foreign country. Like even though he’s exposed to everything that is new and
different, some things can’t reach him because he’s protected by this invisible cloth made of
words.

In the not-so-silent silence they share, Jungkook rubs his thumb over the back of his hand.

Sometimes Taehyung can’t help but think Jungkook is not only made of words, but of
touches too.

“What I hate the most is that he made me become this bitter person who finds it hard to
believe in people again,” Taehyung says after a while. “Because I want to believe in them. I
want to believe in them so badly.”

Jungkook’s thumb slides from the back of his hand to his palm, trailing up until it reaches
Taehyung’s pulse point. Like more than seeing Taehyung’s squeezed heart, he wants to also
feel it.

“Thank you for believing in me,” Jungkook offers him gently. Ever so gently. “For trusting
me enough to tell me all this.”

Taehyung blinks, not realising the two things were connected in the first place. His breath
shortens, like he was caughtby surprise.

“You make it easy,” he replies, searching on Jungkook’s face for something he doesn’t know
he’s looking for yet.

“How so?” He looks confused, head tilted to the side in question.

Blinking at him, Taehyung wonders how Jungkook cannot understand it when he’s so good at
understanding all of Taehyung, even the things that were supposed to be hidden.

Then, in the deepness of his dark eyes, he finds it. “You see me as just Taehyung.”
 ☼

A few thick clouds hang up in the sky, looking like they can fall at any moment. Taehyung
hopes it means a summer storm is on the way. He stares up at the sky, but there is no sign of
rain. Just the mass of white clouds moving as the sharp wind gusts in every direction.

Today, he thinks the greyness in the sky is a bad omen.

It’s not a good day for a picnic, but Primrose Hill is still full of people enjoying the last few
days of summer, no matter if it’s sunny or not. But beyond that, Taehyung is well aware that
beer and crisps are Jimin’s idea of a comforting meal, the one he only allows himself to eat in
moments when things are not alright.

So it shouldn’t be a surprise when he blurts out as soon as he pops his beer open, “Arthur
wants to retire.”

The fizzing sound echoes in the space between them. Taehyung holds his own can, finger
frozen on the tab. It shouldn’t be a surprise, yet he can’t avoid blinking in shock, looking at
Jimin, puzzled. “Isn’t he already retired?”

Jimin reaches for the bag of crisps, places one on the tip of his tongue, and drags it inside his
mouth. He chews loudly, the crunching sound getting lost in the heavy afternoon air.

It would be really good if it rained, a small relief from this suffocating weather.

“Yes, but he wants to retire retire.” Jimin sighs, reaching for another crisp. “As in, not work
anymore. Close the cafe.”

Taehyung continues to look at him with incredulity like the words don’t make sense to him
even though Jimin is using plain Korean. He finally flicks the tab, hearing the popping of the
bubbles escaping the can.

“Jimin.”

“I know.”

The air is heavy, and their silence is heavier.

Jimin nods nonstop, chews nonstop too. Stress eating has always been his coping
mechanism.

Taehyung gulps his drink, not daring to take his eyes off his friend. Jimin’s name, the last
thing that had slipped from Taehyung’s mouth, which now is completely empty of words. At
times like these, he wishes he were more like Jungkook, wishes he could make the silence
more comfortable, easier to bear.
Then he remembers that Jimin, just like Namjoon, is a creature of touches, and Taehyung
stretches a hand, placing it gently over his knee. He rubs it softly, feeling the sharp bone
under his prints. Jimin doesn’t mind his cold, wet fingers, even though his skin breaks in
goosebumps.

“I’m afraid of losing my job,” Jimin whispers the moment Taehyung starts tracing random
patterns on his kneecap, eyes locked on the can placed in between his crossed legs. “I can’t
lose my job.”

“What about your plans?” Taehyung asks, trying to sound hopeful. “You were looking for a
place to open your own cafe.”

Jimin shakes his head, taking another gulp of his beer. “I was doing research. I need to be
prepared financially first, everything is so fucking expensive, there’s only so much money I
can borrow.

Nodding, Taehyung is ready with another question. He hates it, the endless inquiry when
something serious happens, but he also needs to know. “But he wants to close now ?”

“In the fall,” Jimin replies, staring downhill to where a giant poodle starts barking
enthusiastically over the offer of treats. “He wants to close before the winter. Wants to go
skiing or some shit.”

“That’s in less than three months.”

Jimin lets out a wicked laugh, a little desperate sound that comes from his core. “I know!
Even if Danny helps and I get a huge loan, I can’t open a coffee shop in three months!” He
groans, pulling the bag of salt and vinegar crisps closer to him. “I have to start looking at
other jobs. I can’t be unemployed now.” He cleans his greasy fingers on his shorts, then runs
his hands over his dark hair, exhaling deeply. “Not even on severance pay, I’m so close to
getting my residence card.”

“You what?!” Taehyung basically screams, the dog barking downhill perks his ears in his
direction, barks even louder.

Jimin smiles. It’s a resigned one, a perfect balance of happiness and sadness. “Yeah, it’s been
ten years since I came here, five on a work visa.”

“Holy shit, Jimin-ah!” Taehyung smacks his knee, tries to cheer Jimin up just a little bit,
because milestones are what they are, and they should be celebrated accordingly.

“I know.” Jimin smiles grow, his chest puffing up, just to sink down like a balloon losing its
air. “Being unemployed will fuck that up.”

“You’re not gonna be unemployed,” Taehyung says firmly, squeezing his thigh in
encouragement. “Did you tell the hyungs yet?”

Jimin bites his lower lip, avoiding his gaze at all costs. “Not yet. They’ve been worried about
the adoption thing, I don’t want to burden them.”
This time, the smack in Jimin’s thigh comes aggressively.

“Ouch!” Jimin yelps, grimacing at Taehyung.

“You’re. Not. A. Burden!” Taehyung scolds him, punctuating each word with a slap.

Laughing, Jimin swats his hand away, then rubs the red flesh of his thigh with a pout. “I
know, no need for violence!” He sighs deeply, looking more tired than usual. “It’s just—
They have so much on their plates. After everything that happened, I don’t want them
worrying about me.”

Taehyung can’t find it in himself to disagree. He’s often doing the same. “I get what you
mean.”

“I’ll tell them when I find a solution.” Jimin curls his fist and presses it strongly on the grass.
“‘Cause I’ll find it.”

“You always do.”

“Right.” He nods once more, takes a long drink of his beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing
nonstop until the can is almost empty.

Taehyung watches him.

Jimin’s dark hair is a little longer than usual, he might get a haircut soon. He is always careful
with his hair, and the sign of it being so long, begging to be cared for, makes Taehyung think
that this might be the last of his worries at the moment. The lines of his face are less soft, too,
like maybe he’s been having more caffeine than usual to help with the stress, even though he
knows it will only make it worse.

All these little details might go unnoticed by eyes that are not so familiar with Jimin. Luckily,
Taehyung’s eyes have been trained on his friend for years. An attentive gaze is also a way of
caring.

The heavy clouds in the sky move, a feeble streak of sunlight falls over him. It’s not enough
to be exactly warm, but it’s something.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Taehyung says after a moment, knowing it’s obvious.

Jimin smiles sweetly at him. “It is.” It’s charged with sadness and exhaustion. These two
emotions are often entangled. To be so tired you cannot feel happiness. To be so sad you can
only feel expended. “But most of my life in this country resumes to being scared,” he says in
a small voice, and Taehyung scoots closer, lies down until his head is resting on Jimin’s leg.
His fingers automatically run over Taehyung’s hair. “Just in the last, what, three years? That I
stopped feeling constantly terrified of losing everything.” He sighs. “ Again .”

Taehyung flutters his eyes closed. It’s a completely selfish move. If he continues to look at
Jimin’s face, he might as well tear up now.
“You won’t lose everything,” Taehyung reassures with a faint voice. “You’re not alone this
time.”

Jimin’s fingers freeze in Taehyung’s hair for a brief second. He doesn’t say anything, just
resumes carding his digits through his locks.

Eventually, his voice comes back to him, and he says. “I know. I just can’t help sensing that
everything here is fragile. Until I’ve got this residence card, this place will still see me as a
transitory person.”

There are so many different paths that bring people to a new country, so many different pains
that make them search for a better life. Taehyung might not understand them all, his own
experience is much more comfortable than most people’s, but the dream of stopping being
just a person in transit, stop being a temporary presence in a foreign country is a shared goal.

Taehyung rolls to the side, props his elbow on the grass, and rests his head on his fist. He
looks up at Jimin, speaks more seriously than usual. “Talk to Arthut, Jimin. You two have a
good relationship. Talk about the PR card thing, maybe he’ll consider waiting a little longer
or maybe he can help you figure it out. He’s been in the business for what? Thirty years?”

Looking tired, Jimin nods. “Yeah, more than that actually.”

“I know you’ve always done everything on your own, but you can ask for help,” Taehyung
goes on, even though Jimin doesn’t look particularly pleased. “And, as I said, you’re not
alone this time.”

“I—” Jimin sighs, rubbing his forehead roughly, too stubborn for his own good. “Let’s not—
I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Taehyung opens his mouth to protest, but Jimin lifts
a hand. “It’s noted, don’t worry. I’ll think about it. The Arthur thing.”

Taehyung nods, and flops on his back on the grass, his beer forgotten by his side. The thick
clouds are still there, and now they bring a strong wind that raises the hairs of his arm. He
should’ve brought a jacket. For a moment, Taehyung swears he feels a drop falling on his
forehead. But it’s not accompanied by any others.

“So, tell me,” Jimin demands when Taehyung doesn’t say anything else, just busies himself
with the grey sky.

“Tell you what?” he asks, not particularly intrigued about Jimin’s curiosity.

“About this thing between you and Jungkook.”

Taehyung frowns, lifting his head off the ground in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Rolling his eyes, Jimin flicks Taehyung’s forehead. “You two have been attached to the hip.”

“You and I are attached to the hip too!” Taehyung protests, jolting himself to a seated
position.
The eye roll this time is stronger, Taehyung is afraid Jimin’s eyes are gonna get stuck to the
back of his skull.

“Yeah, but you don’t invite me to go to Brighton with you, and we don’t do everything
together,” Jimin says with a shit-eating grin. His face lights up like he just remembered
something important. “Ah, and you don’t look at me with heart eyes.”

A huff leaves Taehyung’s lips, and he sounds childish, he knows he does, but he can’t avoid it
when Jimin is basically attacking him. “I’d invite you to go to Brighton with me if you didn’t
work on Saturdays.”

“Ha, so you don’t deny the heart eyes part?” Jimin fires finger guns at him.

The heat that crawls up Taehyung’s neck and cheeks is strong enough to make him forget this
summer afternoon is a particularly chilly one. He shakes his head, trying to hide his face
behind his hair.

“That’s not what I— Ugh!” Taehyung groans when Jimin barks a loud laugh, throwing his
body back on the grass to giggle freely. “There’s nothing going on. We are friends.”
Taehyung gestures widely.

“Right, friends.”

“Yes. Friends.”

“Friends who call each other honey, and darling, and sweetheart,” Jimin teases, wiping the
wetness from the corner of his eyes.

“That’s a joke!” By the way he glares at Jimin, he hopes his friend gets how annoyed he’s
being.

Unfortunately, being annoying is Jimin’s favourite hobby.

“Just like your royal mug collection is a joke too?” he asks, raising a teasing eyebrow..

“Yes!” Taehyung basically squeals, voice getting high-pitched the more nervous he gets about
this. He takes a deep breath, puffs his chest out. “Jungkook gets that joke.”

Jimin pulls a funny face, too suggestive for Taehyung’s taste. “Oh, of course he does.”

“Shut up.” Taehyung almost crosses his arms over his chest but stops halfway. He drops his
arms on his sides. “Now I’m the one who doesn't want to talk about it.”

Giggling one last time, Jimin nudges him with an elbow. “You’re such a baby!”

To prove his point, Taehyung sticks his tongue out.

“Oh no, my bad,” Jimin moves his fingers gingerly in the air. “Not a baby, you’re a
sweetheart.”
Taehyung reaches for the crisp bag, fishes a handful, and throws it at Jimin’s face. It only
makes him giggle harder.

At least it’s a good sound to hear.

As summer walks towards its end, Taehyung can’t keep the word friends off his mind.

He looks closely into his friendships, the ones he has now, the ones he left behind.

Childhood friends he just remembers the name, but can’t recall their faces. Or worse, the
ones he remembers their faces and what they used to do together, but their names slip from
his mind. The most essential word of a person. It scares him to realise that in the same way
he can’t picture in his mind those few names and faces, he’s probably also that forgetful name
and face for someone.

He thinks of what he shares with Jimin, a friendship that feels more like an encounter of
souls. How can people who don't share genes be so similar, so connected on an almost
spiritual level? He thinks of what he shares with Seokjin and Namjoon, a sort of link that’s
closer to what brothers would share. Then, he thinks of Jungkook, and how friendship doesn’t
seem enough to describe it, but any other word wouldn’t fit it either.

It makes him nervous, to consider other words he would like to use to think about Jungkook.
It brings that funny thing to his chest again, buzzing and lively, like his rib cage is too small
to hold his heart comfortably.

It also makes him nervous to wonder what word Jungkook would use to describe him. If he,
too, thinks friendship is not enough but also doesn’t have a good one to use.

He wonders if Jungkook, with all his knowledge and curiosity about words, would invent one
just for them. Something between English and Korean. Something between friends and more
than friends. Something that only the two of them can share.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Jungkook asks, tearing his eyes from the movie
playing on the TV.

Taehyung stills, blinking at him like he just realised he’s been staring at Jungkook for the past
five minutes instead of at the screen.

There are so many different ways to answer that question. The complex one, to trail down all
his lines of thoughts, explaining all he has been thinking about words and friendships and
them. The simple one, to just say because I want to. The honest one, the one that would have
him confessing because I can’t take my eyes off of you, like the song. There’s also the fake
one, to pretend he hasn’t been staring.

Taehyung chooses none of them. Instead, he asks, “How does your friendship with Hoseok
work?”

Jungkook blinks in surprise, presses pause on the laptop resting on his stomach, and turns his
head to the side. “Life updates and long ass emails,” he replies, chewing his inner cheek.

“That’s it?” Taehyung frowns, rolling onto his belly, and hugging the pillow under him.

“Yes.” Jungkook shrugs. “In the beginning, we just texted a lot about what we were doing,
and then, one day he told me he missed knowing more about what I was thinking, but
messages seemed to be too superficial for that, so I started writing him these long emails. I
like to pretend they’re letters that arrive pretty fast.” He smiles at Taehyung, dazzling and
sleepy.

It’s almost two am. Jungkook doesn't usually stay this late.

“Why do you think the long-distance thing works for you two?” Taehyung inquires, his own
eyes starting to burn with exhaustion. “You don’t mention other friends from Korea so often.”

Jungkook closes the laptop, bends his torso sideways to put it on the floor.

“My friendship with Hobi-hyung was born in the distance,” he says, adjusting himself on the
bed again. Jungkook rolls to lie on his back, fighting his heavy lids by staring hard at the
ceiling. “With other people, we’re like this little community, joined by everyday life. The
moment we weren’t in the same place, we stopped sharing things.”

“Do you ever think about the people you left behind?” Taehyung asks in a murmur, thinking
of everyone he loves dearly but that isn't in his daily life anymore.

Yeri and Jisung, friends he met on his first day of classes in college, and never let go until
graduation day. Sunmin, from the gallery he worked at before leaving for London. Sooyun,
his pilates teacher who became a close friend after too many hours of gossiping over
stretching sessions. People he remembers the name and the face, luckily. People he wishes
happy birthday to when he sees a notification on social media, people who sometimes ask
each other how things are going, but things don't go beyond that.

The fact that distance can make even familiar faces become strange used to terrify Taehyung.
The subtle but cruel way it makes you forget the nuances and important details of a life lived
together. With time, he realised it was natural. To grow together, to grow apart. As long as
you don’t forget their names, don’t erase the moments you shared from your memory.

“I do, of course I do. Perhaps the hardest part of all of this is to live with the constant absence
of people I care so much about.” Jungkook closes his eyes for a moment, then blinks his
lashes several times, bringing alertness back to them. He stays in silence, and Taehyung
wonders if he’s thinking the same things he is. About all the people and all the distance.
Eventually, Jungkook frowns and adds, “Some of them I didn’t even see one last time before
coming. I’m— I’m not very good with goodbyes. And maybe it’s just because I don’t like to
think I left them behind. We’re still friends, and I know if I go to Korea now, we’d talk like a
day hasn’t passed, it’s just…”

“The distance gets in the way,” Taehyung completes.

“Yeah, it gets in the way.” He hums, tapping his fingers over his stomach. “Unless you’re like
me and Hobi hyung—” Jungkook yawns, stretches his arms up up up until his shirt rides up
and reveals a tanned stripe of his abdomen.

Tehyung makes an effort to not look, to not notice how the skin looks soft and rigid at the
same time. He fails miserably. His fingers ache, heat already settling in the base of his groin,
so he tightens his grip around the pillow, mimicking Jungkook’s yawn.

“I should go,” he says lazily, nothing in his voice suggesting he wants to go.

“It’s too late,” Taehyung affirms, vaguely.

“That’s exactly why I should go.” Jungkook giggles, rolling his head to the side, and blinking
heavily.

Taehyung looks at him with soft eyes and a tripping heart when he suggests, “You could
stay.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply right away, simply keeps staring at Taehyung like he wants to find
something in his face. Taehyung feels his stomach plummeting in a free fall, and prays
silently that Jungkook doesn’t notice that behind his tired, lazy face, there’s a storm inside
him. Not a summer one, fast and intense. There’s nothing fleeting about the way Taehyung
feels inside.

“Are you sure?” Jungkook asks, chewing his bottom lip in hesitancy.

Taehyung stares and keeps his eyes there for a long while, in the flesh of Jungkook’s lower
lip turning a stronger shade of red the more he bites it. The affirmation comes in another
vague sentence, “I have a spare toothbrush.”

Jungkook lets out this small puff, a tiny little thing that can be mistaken for a laugh if you pay
attention enough. Taehyung is always paying attention.

“Okay,” he says.

Despite Taehyung’s implication, none of them get up. Instead, Jungkook slips under the duvet
with a heavy sigh, like this bed is already a familiar place to him. Taehyung twists his torso to
flick the lights off, and when he gets back to his previous position, Jungkook is facing him
with the biggest eyes he has ever seen.

“We should brush our teeth,” he says.

“We should,” Taehyung agrees.

They giggle when there’s no attempt to move again, the sound bubbling in the air of the silent
room.

“Tomorrow?” Jungkook suggests, voice heavy with sleep.

Taehyung hums, shifting in bed to find the perfect position. One arm under the pillow, the
other resting in front of his chest. “Tomorrow.”

One last hum comes from Jungkook, and his leg moves under the duvet. His foot finds
Taehyung’s, crossing his ankle over his shin.

This time, Taehyung is ready for the touch. It doesn’t mean he’s ready to contain the warmth
that spreads in his lower belly. Much less that he can stop his foolish heart from trembling
inside his chest.

“Good night, sweetheart,” Jungkook says before his breath gets heavy and he drifts off to
sleep.

It happens again and again. It happens so often it becomes a thing, Jungkook sleeping at his
place. It’s not something scheduled to happen through a formal invitation or a proposition.
It’s just that Jungkook is always around, and they always end up heading back to Taehyung’s
place for dessert or to watch more movies or anything really.

They both seem to share this need of wanting their time together to last a little longer, this
craving for the night to never end so they don’t have to part.

So it's weird when Taehyung wakes up to an empty bed. He rolls to the side, the sheets smell
fresh and sweet, and he clings to the covers just a bit longer. Slowly, he opens his eyes,
confused to find darkness painting the windows. His phone says it is still 4:13, way too early
for Jungkook to be up.

There’s a feeble light coming from the other side of the room, it hums in the silent room
alongside a faint noise of something scratching a surface. Taehyung blinks the sleep away,
crawls to the end of the bed and simply watches.

Jungkook is seated on his office chair, his back turned to him, slightly curved down while
writing something. The scratching sound comes from the pen dancing on the paper. It’s
soothing, an abstract melody.

Taehyung plants both feet on the floor, hands palming the soft mattress. “What are you doing
up, sweetheart?” He asks, voice coming out hoarse, his tongue pressing on the back of his
teeth when he pronounces the nickname.
“Oh!” Jungkook startles and he looks over his shoulders. His eyes are heavy with sleep and
he has a horrendous bedhead. Taehyung will always think he likes him better like this. In low
lights, with his face bare. “Did I wake you?”

“No, you know I always wake up,” Taehyung jerks a thumb in the direction of the bathroom.

“Isn’t pilates supposed to help with small bladders?” Jungkook jokes.

“Actually, yes,” Taehyung says, pointing his nose up. “What doesn’t help is the cup of tea I
usually drink before bed.”

Jungkook snorts, blinking way too heavily for a second.

“What are you writing?” Taehyung stands up, walks towards Jungkook, and stops behind
him. His gaze trails down, but not to the paper on the desk. He remembers his promise of
waiting for Jungkook to show his writing to him. Instead, his eyes land on the tensed muscle
of Jungkook's shoulder, and Taehyung presses his thumb on a knot that lives right where his
shoulder meets his neck.

Jungkook groans, relaxing his torso when Taehyung presses harder.

“Nothing really, just journaling— Hmpf, this is good.” He rests the pen on the paper, and
rolls his neck to the side so he can look up at Taehyung and enjoy the massage at the same
time. “I— My mind has been antsy, just too many thoughts. I couldn’t sleep. ”

Humming, Taehyung presses the whole palm on his shoulder. The loose collar of the white t-
shirt falls to the side, exposing his skin. He moves the heel of his palm over the extension of
the muscle, applying a firm but gentle pressure on the tense area that has Jungkook’s lips
parting for a second.

“Are you anxious because your birthday is coming?” he asks, hand crawling up Jungkook’s
neck until his fingers reach his ear. He pulls Jungkook’s earlobe, presses it between his thumb
and the corners of his index finger.

Jungkook melts to the touch, his voice gets slower, dragged like raw honey when he says,
“Yeah, more than I expected to be.” When Taehyung makes a move to let go of his earlobe,
Jungkook reaches a hand up and circles his wrists to keep his fingers in place, pulling and
pressing his ear. “Writing helps when I feel like this. Sometimes it’s the only way of
emptying things out.”

As he speaks, Taehyng notices the marks of black ink on the tip of his fingers, the ones
circled around his wrist. And he thinks of how many times he has seen Jungkook’s stained
fingers brushing over his skin, lightly pressing in a way that might as well be carved on his
body right now. He bets he could identify Jungkook’s touches with his eyes closed, just by
how familiar he is with the amount of pressure he puts on them, how warm his hands are,
with the sensation of having the rough edges of the callus on his fingers rubbing against his
soft skin.

It’s like they created this whole new vocabulary made of touches.
“Sometimes I think I have to just write and write and write until I don’t have it in me
anymore. But I always have more inside.” He snorts softly, leans his head on Taehyung’s
forearm, and sighs heavily. “Sorry, I’m rambling, you’re sleepy.”

“No, no. I like to hear you talk, you know that,” Taehyung says. I wonder if I’d like your
writing as much. He keeps that part to himself.

Jungkook smiles at him with his eyes closed. “I’ll be with you in a second, yeah?”

Yawning, Taehyung makes a huge effort to detach himself from Jungkook. “That’s okay, take
your time.”

He goes to the bathroom, then stops at the kitchen to drink some water, gets lost looking at
something out of the window. When he goes back to the room, his heart is a little heavier
than a few minutes ago, and Jungkook is already under the covers, waiting for him with a
sleepy pout.

Taehyung slides back into bed, lying down facing Jungkook. It’s a normal sight. He should be
used to it by now, should be used to Jungkook’s big eyes always watching him back, should
be used to the way he smiles every time he looks at Taehyung, this sweet little thing on his
face that could mean nothing at the same time that it could mean the world.

“Hi,” Jungkook says when Taehyung just stares at him.

“Hey.” He flushes for some reason, pulling the covers up to his face. Under the warmth of the
duvet, his foot finds Jungkook’s, locking their ankles together. “Feeling better?”

Jungkook hums, shifts in bed just to get an inch closer. He smiles, his tired eyes closing
softly. “Think so. ‘M sleepy.”

“That’s good. Good night, sweetheart.”

Taehyung shifts, turns to the other side because the position doesn’t feel quite right. His eyes
are barely close when he feels Jungkook scooting closer, making that silly humming sound
that indicates he’s almost drifting off.

Without warning, he places his hand on Taehyung’s shoulder, then slides it all the way to his
chest to pull him closer, pressing them together.

For a moment, Taehyung swears he forgets how to breathe. Heat crawls up from his groin,
nestling in his lower belly in anticipation. At the same time, his heart does that funny thing,
the one that is not so little anymore. It feels more like an earthquake starting from his core.

Taehyung realises that his body is yearning for more, so he presses back, trying to feel all of
Jungkook against him.

“Hmmm, huggin’ you feels nice. You’re full of sharp edges,” Jungkook mumbles, running a
finger over Taehyung’s collarbones. Every touch feels like a flame flicking against his skin.
His hand reaches his shoulder, slides down the length of his arm, squeezing his triceps. “But
you’re so soft. So soft, hm.”
Sometimes people think life is made of grand moments. That trip you planned for years, a
graduation ceremony, the day you get married, the concert of your favourite band. And yes,
Taehyung would be dumb to think these do not qualify as precious moments in a life. But
when he thinks about the essential bits, the things that build the foundation of what he calls
living, Taehyung can only think of this.

A collection of specific seconds that might be meaningless, that are just a brush passing by.
Just silent, little bits that might as well go unnoticed, but that carry the importance of a
milestone. Small things that might as well be the size of your whole life.

He smiles against the pillow, pressing it even closer to his cheeks. He wonders if Jungkook
thinks the same, he’s always wondering what Jungkook is thinking.

“Kook-ah?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think life is made of big stuff or small stuff?” He feels awakened, but his brain
doesn’t seem to agree to formulate an eloquent sentence.

Jungkook makes a sound of confusion, presses his nose between his shoulder blades.
“What?”

Taehyung breathes out a laugh, biting his lower lip. “Like, when you think about life, what do
you think is more important? The small, everyday things, or big, special moments?”

“Hm, both?” he murmurs against the fabric of his shirt. His voice is far away, maybe part of
him is already dreaming, but he keeps talking, “I like small stuff, though. Like the details…
the ones nobody notices. Makes things interesting’.”

Taehyung’s heart sprints in his chest, his voice faltering when he asks, “Like this moment?”

Jungkook croons, pulls Taehyung closer, his arm now sliding to his waist, hand resting heavy
on his middle section.

“Hmhm, just like this moment.”

And this moment might be a detail, a small instant in which nothing means much but
everything means a lot. Because for Taehyung, Jungkook’s hands circling his torso is never
meaningless. For him, Jungkook’s words and his gaze are never overlooked. Nor is the way
the man chooses to sleep here even though his bed is probably more spacious than
Taehyung’s double bed. None of this is something he takes lightly.

The more the seasons change the closer they get and the bigger this thing inside Taehyung's
heart becomes, the less he understands. He still thinks a lot about the word friends, and he
still doesn’t know what there is between friends and more than friends. He doesn’t know if
Jungkook’s heart trips inside him when Taehyung laughs. Still isn’t sure if the nicknames are
still ironic, because sometimes a joke is just a joke until it isn’t anymore.

He has no idea if all of this is just an indiscernible detail or a crucial one.

“Jungkook?” Taehyung says again, feeling his heart thumping in his throat. For a moment,
he’s afraid if he speaks again, it will jump out of his mouth.

Jungkook makes a sound between a yawn and a hum, squeezes Taehyung closer in response.

“What—” Taehyung stutters, grips the edge of the duvet firmly. He doesn’t think he’s ready
to ask, but at the same time, there are so many trapped feelings inside his chest some of them
have to come out. “What am I to you?”

Jungkook hums again. “Hmm, not a small stuff.”

“But aren’t details important?” Taehyung whispers, afraid of breaking something really
fragile if he speaks normally.

There’s a pause in which Jungkook croons, releases a long sigh against Taehyung’s back, his
warm breath almost burning him with how sensitive his whole body feels right now.

“But they’re lil’. You’re no… not small, ” his words come out slurred, voice dropping so low
it’s barely there anymore. It vanishes for a few seconds, and Taehyung swears his heart is the
only thing audible in the room. He holds his breath at the top of his lungs, waiting and
waiting but Jungkook must have fallen asleep because he goes so silent an— “You’re an
explosion. Couldn’t take my eyes off of you, not even if I wanted to.”

The breath comes out of Taehyung’s mouth in a shaky exhale. He opens and closes his lips
several times, the words failing him. No one seems good enough, especially when he has no
idea what to say.

Except he does have the exact idea of what to say.

Because there are small moments and big ones, and there are details and explosions, and
Taehyung doesn’t know which is better. But he is sure none of those should feel like this.
Like falling all the time, but not in a bad way. Never in a bad way when he always feels lifted
by Jungkook.

“Jungkook, I think I’m in—”

A soft, grumbling noise comes from behind him. Jungkook’s arm goes limp on his waist,
chest presses heavily on his back.

The next breath that comes from Jungkook sounds like a little snore, and the words fade on
the tip of Taehyung’s tongue.

The words dissolve in Taehyung’s mouth but they do not vanish from his mind.
He thinks about them the next morning when Jungkook wakes up, gives him this sleepy and
dazzling smile but goes on about his day normally, like he hadn’t rearranged all the strings of
Taehyung’s heart the night before.

He thinks about them during the following days, when life gets busier and they don’t have
much time together. He thinks about how much he still wants to share his words with
Jungkook, how the mere thought of saying them out loud makes his heart all funny, except
there’s nothing funny about it anymore.

And then, before he can say anything, it’s warm again and it’s Jungkook’s birthday.

Contrary to the expectations, summer seems to be stretching. Perhaps it knows Jungkook

enjoys the sun, so it refuses to go away before he can celebrate his birthday, leaving days like
today painted in yellow like the sunflowers Taehyung is holding.

If Jungkook asks, he will say that he bought them for the sake of decoration, because he had
told Taehyung before that his house could use more colour. Or, he could tell him it’s to
purify the heavy, humid air.

Jungkook asked for no gifts, no celebration at all. It’s supposed to be just another day. He
confessed to Taehyung that making a fuss over his birthday here in London only reminds him
of how alone he is most of the time.

Taehyung respects that, but he thinks it’s unfair to pretend the day Jungkook was born is not
important.

And flowers are not a gift. Flowers are an expression of appreciation, a spurt of colour, a little
thing that says I’m thankful for you without really saying it.

Taehyung knocks, holding the flowers by his side to make it more casual. “Good morning,
sweetheart,” he says when Jungkook opens the door.

“Oh.” He blinks lazily, eyes trailing down to the flowers. “What is that?”

Taehyung lifts the small bouquet, looking at it unimpressed. “Oh, these? I just plucked them
off my neighbour's garden.”

Squinting at him, Jungkook cocks his hips to the side and crosses his arms over his chest.
“You live in a building.”

“Oops.” Taehyung laughs, extending his hands. “They’re just flowers, for your house.”

Reluctantly, Jungkook holds the bouquet, bringing the flower close to his nose with this silly
little smile that contradicts his annoyed act

“Okay,” he says, lips curved up. “They’re nice.” His eyes meet Taehyung’s. “Pretty.”

Just like you, Taehyung wants to say.

“They are,” he says instead, sustaining Jungkook’s gaze.

It should be terrifying to notice how easy it is to look into Jungkook’s eyes and remain there.
But Taehyung doesn't feel afraid. Instead, he lets the darkness of it pull him in, lets himself
get lost in all the vastness of it. Reality might as well be damned, suspended around him.
Around them. Because Jungkook looks back at him intensely, like he’s a little bit lost too, a
little bit in the right place.

“I—” Jungkook shakes his head, pulls himself out of whatever daydream he was having.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I asked Virginia to cover for me today.” Taehyung shrugs, leaning on the threshold.

“The whole day?” He goes wide-eyed, clutching the flowers close to his heart.

Biting his lower lip, Taehyung flushes slightly. “Thought today was a good day to have
brunch.”

Jungkook opens his mouth just to close it. He frowns. “Taehyung…”

“What? We have to eat!” Taehyung raises both palms defensively.

Clicking his tongue in annoyance, Jungkook gives him a pointed look. “You’re doing this
because it’s my birthday and you knew I had the day off.”

“Oh, is it?” Taehyung makes a surprised face, mouth hanging open, and eyebrows shooting
up. “What a great coincidence! Good thing we’re both free for brunch, then!”

Jungkook huffs, makes a movement to smack his head with the flowers but pulls back at the
last minute, probably afraid of damaging the precious petals.

“Fine, I’m gonna put these in a vase,” Jungkook says, turning around. Before he disappears
into the apartment, he twists on his heels, raising a finger in the air. “But I’m paying!

Taehyung shakes his head vehemently. “Nop,” he says, popping the p at the end. “I’m the
hyung, I’ll pay.”

“That doesn't work here.” He points down to indicate himself, his house, this country. “You
know that.”

Suppressing a smile, Taehyung taps his lips with his fingers. “Hm, it doesn’t work for you,
sweetheart.” He presses a finger on his chest to indicate his heart. “For me, it works quite
well, my dear dongsaeng.”

The eye roll Jungkook sends his way is the most theatrical thing Taehyung has ever seen. It
makes it impossible to suppress the giggle that escapes his mouth.

“I hate you,” Jungkook says, pointing the flowers to Taehyung.

“No, you don’t.” Taehyung winks.

When Jungkook crosses the kitchen door and disappears into the room, Taehyung thumps his
head back on the threshold, releasing this deep sigh. One that comes from the bottom of his
lungs, that is supposed to ease the fluttering in his chest, but only enhances it.

Taehyung takes advantage of the fact that he just got his paycheck to splurge at this lavish
brunch place that serves good pastries and fancy cheese and makes mimosas with the right
sparkling wine and orange juice ratio. Certainly, Jungkook complains a lot, says they
should’ve just gone to get a basic English Breakfast even though he hates baked beans, but
doesn't stop stuffing his face with the flaky bread.

They don’t bring up the fact that it’s Jungkook’s birthday, and if Taehyung orders a slice of
chocolate cake for dessert, it’s just another casual coincidence. Life is filled with those, he
says when Jungkook gives him a pointed look.

They eat and they drink to the point Taehyung has to pop open the button of his jeans, untuck
his t-shirt to cover it. Jungkook makes fun of him, brags about having two stomachs so he
doesn’t have to worry about getting stuffed.

Taehyung feels a little tipsy when they go out for a walk, letting Jungkook lead the way as if
it matters where they are going. Jungkook pulls him into a small, picturesque bookstore, buys
a fancy hardcover edition of a book Taehyung has never heard of and pretends it’s not a
birthday gift for himself.

Jungkook smiles a lot, bouncing on the balls of his feet on the busy streets, and Taehyung
thinks some people are just meant to be born in the summer. Meant to shine bright like the
sun above their heads, yellow and warm and welcoming.

And Taehyung thinks maybe this is it. Maybe this is what life should always feel like.

A walk in the sun, walk with the sun.

Their feet lead them back to this small Asian market Taehyung loves because the Japanese
lady who works there always smiles extra warmly at him even though they don’t share the
same language and communicate mostly in English. She smiles even harder when Taehyung
says a couple of sentences in his broken Japanese, sharing with her this feeling of familiarity
in the middle of the unknown.

They buy snacks even though they’re not hungry. Jungkook says that snacks are just like
dessert, they don’t go to your stomach, they go to your heart, and that’s why you can always
eat more even when you’re full. He insists on paying this time, saying it is only fair, and
Taehyung lets him.

When they arrive at his building, Taehyung opens the front door and leads them upstairs
without questioning if Jungkook wants to come in. He always does these days.
They flop on the living room carpet, Taehyung carrying their bag of goodies.

“Wants to finish that movie?” Jungkook asks, remembering another movie that they slept
through.

“Yeah.” Taehyung nods, adjusting the cushions on the floor so they can lean back against the
sofa more comfortably.

Jungkook crawls forward to the TV, and reaches for the remote to look through the Netflix
catalogue. Taehyung lies on his back with a bag of haribos, throwing gummy after gummy in
his mouth. They stick to his teeth, making his jaw work extra hard.

Twisting his upper body, Jungkook looks down, reaches for a gummy, and plops two or three
in his mouth, smiling at Taehyung with his eyes and his mouth closed. Taehyung chews and
chews and can’t take his eyes off him. He can never take his eyes off him.

He watches attentively as Jungkook scoots back, slowly lying down. But he doesn’t rest his
head on the cushion Taehyung fluffed especially for him, no.

He lies down right beside Taehyung, resting his head on his shoulder

Taehyung stills. His whole body goes rigid, mouth frozen around a gummy, jaw petrified in
an awkward chewing position. Everything is still but his heart that’s thumping and flicking
and threatening to escape his ribcage at any moment.

He releases a slow, low breath. It comes out shaky. He’s supposed to be used to it, to touch
Jungkook, to be close to him. But this is more than the regular ankle holding, this is more
than a gentle brushing of fingers. This is Jungkook too close to his tripping heart.

For a moment, Taehyung is afraid he’ll listen to how disorderly it beats. But when seconds
pass, and Jungkook doesn’t comment, Taehyung finally relaxes into the touch, and allows his
head to lean towards Jungkook a little bit. Allows himself to inhale the vanilla scent of his
hair.

His lips brush the top of Jungkook’s hair, and Taehyung must be hallucinating, too much
sweetness in his system, because he can swear Jungkook is tilting his head towards him, too.

And Taehyung wants to bury his whole face there, he wants to plant all the kisses he’s been
keeping to himself, wants to—

“Yoongi is pretty good at pretending my birthday is not a thing,” he interrupts Taehyung's

internal turmoil, voice low but loud enough to be heard over the sounds coming from the TV.
“I always ask him to not do anything, not even mention it, and he does. Makes even me
forget it was my birthday in the first place. It’s nice.”

“Is this shade?” Taehyung says without moving his head, words getting lost in between
Jungkook’s dark locks. “Because I think I did a pretty good job at not celebrating your
birthday.”
Jungkook chuckles, his body shakes against Taehyung’s. “You did.” He smiles. “This is a
great not-celebration. Thank you, really.”

Taehyung breathes out a laugh, fondness overflowing his chest. “You know, someone told me
once that twenty-seven is the most important age of the twenties,” Taehyung says, fingers
playing with the plastic of the Haribo package. “I don’t quite understand why, but thought I
should tell you that.”

Jungkook hums, shifts slightly, just enough to bring his hand over Taehyung’s chest.

There’s warmth in the way Taehyung's stomach turns, anticipation building up for the touch.

It’s just a touch , he thinks.

It’s so much more than a touch.

His breath gets stuck in his throat, lungs expanding when no air comes out of them.

The moment Jungkook plants his palms over his sternum, Taehyung breathes again, puffs it
all out. He feels his whole chest catching on fire for a few seconds. But it doesn’t burn. It’s
firm and warm and it’s just a hand pressed on his sternum, but it feels like much more.

“Yeah?” Jungkook murmurs. “Is yours being important so far?”

Taehyung smiles, pressing his cheek on top of his head like it's second nature. “So
important.”

A few months ago he wouldn’t have known if the answer would be this one. Little has
changed in his life, at the same time everything has changed. He’s far from having everything
sorted out, will probably reach thirty and then thirty-one with nothing figured out. And
maybe he’s not worried anymore, maybe it’s okay to take extra time to figure things out.

After all, Taehyung prefers giving it time.

And there are other things that are as important as sorting your life out in time.

He wants to say it out loud to Jungkook, that he’s important and not celebrating his birthday
together is also important, and that what he’s been carrying inside him is also important.

The words dance on the tip of his tongue, so ready to fall from his lips like ripped fruit. He
takes a deep breath in, feels his warmness spreading all over his chest, right beneath
Jungkook’s touch. There is no chance Jungkook isn’t feeling the way Taehyung’s heart is
thumping inside his rib cage, but he doesn’t mind.

Because life is made of small and big moments, and this might as well be a perfect mix of
both. Just the two of them, lying down on the rug, sharing big feelings in this cosy little
night.

It’s a loud, disruptive buzz that stops Taehyung even before his mouth opens. His phone
buzzing where he’s left it on the carpet.
It’s instinct to look at it when the screen lights up. The preview of the message catches his
eyes before Taehyung can ignore it.

UCL Art History Admin

Personal leave expiration date

Dear Taehyung Kim,

We would like to inform you that your personal leave from the Art History PhD Program
expires on September 5th. You may reactivate your status as a student or terminate your
enrollment in the program until said date. Please, confirm…

“Hey, is everything okay?” Jungkook asks, pushing away from his shoulder when Taehyung’s
body goes so tense his torso jerks up.

Taehyung looks at his phone, watches the light go dark again, then looks back at Jungkook.

He swallows hard, trying to shove down the lump that just formed on his throat. He wonders
how it is possible that one minute his heart beats so fast and loud, and the other everything is
numbing. His whole body feels cold, even though it’s Jungkook’s birthday and the day is
warm just like him.

“Yeah, it’s nothing important,” he says with a forced smile that seems fake even to himself.
“Just work stuff, and today is my off-work day, so.”

Jungkook gives him a sceptical look, but Taehyung chooses to ignore it by opening his arms
in a silent indication for him to lie on his shoulder again. This time, when his head touches
him at the same time that his palms go back to Taehyung’s chest, he’s ready for it. Because
it’s exactly what he needs to soothe the dark hole that just opened in his stomach.

“Thank you.” Jungkook murmurs, nuzzling into Taehyung’s collarbones. His fingers trail
random patterns on Taehyung chest, every gentle press a sparkle against Taehyung’s clothed
skin. “I had so much fun not celebrating my birthday.”

Taehyung hums in appreciation, but doesn’t say you’re welcome. Jungkook already knows he
is always welcome.

He closes his eyes, letting the warmness of the touches be the only thing he can feel right
now.

Some things we can figure out later, Taehyung reminds himself.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he whispers against Jungkook’s head.

 ☼

To: Hobi <hopehobi@naver.com>

From: Jeon Jungkook <jeon_jk@naver.com>
Subject: I didn’t left behind, I just moved forward

September 15, London, UK

Dear Hobi-hyung,

The other day you asked me if I considered myself a successful person for having immigrated.
I answered vaguely, “yes, maybe I am”. But it got me thinking about the different ways in
which immigration can be successful, what makes you look in the mirror and say “I made
it!”

It can be getting the job you wanted, and not the only job available. It can mean finally
conquering the language — although I don’t believe this can be achieved not even with our
mother tongue. It can be getting citizenship, the document that proves this place is yours as
much as the one you were born in — even if the feeling will never be the same. Sometimes,
you get that feeling simply from noticing you’ve created lasting bonds in the new place.

In the end, moving to a new place has little to do with the place itself. The important part is
what you find there, what makes life work. Sometimes we focus so much on the city, whether
the place will welcome or reject you, that we forget the details a city is made of.

And for me, the most important detail is that a city is made of its people.

The city is alive because people bring it to life. There wouldn’t be the perfect job, or the
mishmash of languages, or the sense of belonging if it wasn’t for its people. And perhaps
that’s why this was so hard for me at first. Because I wasn’t getting any lasting relationships
in this place. I can love this city as much as I do, but how do I expect to sustain a relationship
with it if its people are not open to me?

The other day Taehyung asked me if I miss the people I left behind. I don’t really like to think
of it in these terms. At the time, I told him I’m not good at goodbyes. Now, I think what a
good thing that in Korean, the word to say hello and goodbye is the same. It makes me feel
like I’m never truly leaving. Because you can’t just simply leave behind what you are made
of. The things you’ve learned with the people you love, the memories you made together, the
laughs you shared with them. It’s all inside of us, I carry it all with me.

I like to think people are something you can always return to. Something you’re always going
towards, also.
And that’s what I’ve been trying to do since I got here. Go towards people.

I used the term ‘lasting bonds’ before, and certainly, thinking about the permanence of things
is trivial. Everything is just a brush, a current of air flowing. But there are things that defy
time. With some relationships, you just get the sense of everlastingness — You and I, for
example. We’ve known each other for less than two years, and I feel more comfortable with
you than I did with Eunwoo, my childhood friend whom I love deeply.

The privilege of finding that in an unknown place is rare, my friend. And it’s funny to think of
the rarity of relationships when they’re what we are made of. When they are everywhere, in
every aspect of our lives. But some of them are more… They are different.

Some relationships you just know will change into something greater, something that you
can’t identify yet, but the change is there. Not a simple possibility, but a promise.

Sometimes I wonder how long it’ll take for them to change, and I have this craving to have
more of them right away. Almost like if I reach high enough, I’ll be able to grasp what I want
instantly.

But it flows both ways, right? It always does. Just like you cannot open a flower that is not
ready to bloom.

People are about patience. About pace. You cannot force relationships, you can’t just decide
to be friends or to be lovers or to be something else like you decide “I'm going to live in this
city”. The only thing you can do is choose to stay and see what will happen.

Anyway.

I’m sorry to hear that things with Sakura didn’t work out. She sounds like a nice person. I
hope it isn’t weird to be working in the same place now that you’ve decided to be friends.
Sometimes relationships change like that, too, right? They start bigger and then we need to
take a step back. But that doesn’t mean the change isn’t to something better.

But that means you’ll be free when you visit me. Maybe you’ll meet someone even cooler
here, someone who will convince you to stay in London and not go back to Korea ;)

I can’t wait to see you. Do you think it’s going to be weird? Sometimes I think I won’t be used
to the normal pace of your voice because I’m used to listening to your voice notes on 1.5x.
That’s such a silly thought, and it makes me laugh.

Love,
Jungkook

P.S.: On a different note, but not so unrelated to my rant about people, I’ve started dreaming
in my mother tongue again.
Chapter End Notes

I kicked and screamed writing this chapter, it was torture to not make them kiss at least
five times but I promised slow burn and I am a woman of my word!

Well, we are half through this story!!!!!!!! Get ready because from now on things are
going to get intense (in an angst way, sorry)

Thanks again for the love you’re showing this story, you’re all the best. I’d love to hear
your thoughts! Feel free to yell at me for all the pining!

The next update might take a little longer than a week cause editing is taking longer than
expected, but I'll keep you in the loop on twitter! (Also check the new moodboard

neospring
 leaves
Chapter Notes

Sorry, I just realized I forgot to add the tag pining after I posted the last chapter
ahshahah I guess I like to see it as part of the process of them falling in love more than
pining, but... there's a lot of pining still ehehhehe

Buckle up because this chapter is a roller coaster!

twitter | neospring

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Leaves that fall.

Ought to breed
Fire from stone.
The world counts
On our fall.
Our solitude interests
The butterflies
And the lost gold
Of the afternoons .
Arequipa, by Ben Okri

The laptop screen is at its full brightness, almost aggressive against Taehyung’s sored lids.
His leg has been bouncing nonstop for the past hour, his knee hurting from hitting the
underside of the desk, but he’s barely aware of the pain,

People are often scared of the limbo. This place where you get neither happiness nor
punishment, where you’re suspended from options. A place you just are. Nothing is certain,
but nothing has to be. Because the limbo is also the place where you don’t need to make any
decisions.

Taehyung really enjoys the unique comfort in not having to decide. In staying there,
suspended. Just being.
To be in the PhD limbo isn’t exactly healing, but it gives Taehyung exactly what he needs:
the sense of security of being a PhD student while not actively being a PhD student.

Maybe it’s a human need, to get attached to the words that can define us. As if a title is
enough to make you whole, to make you worth. Most of the time, Taehyung thinks it is.

Being a PhD student sounds important. It carries the promise of a future. Soon, he will be not
just a Doctor, but a qualified specialist. As long as he is a PhD student, Taehyung is close to
being someone who knows his way around the world. After all, he came to England to be a
PhD student. If he let go of this, what’s left for him to be?

As long as he is in this limbo, Taehyung can be attached to something that doesn't define him
anymore, but that secures him a sense that the future isn’t lost just yet.

Letting go of perhaps the only thing that keeps him safe in this country is proving itself to be
the hardest decision of his life. Even though Taehyung has let go of the PhD for a long while
now. Even though some ends start way before they are officially over.

And Taehyung should be proud of making the decision. He remembers Jungkook’s words, the
ones he borrowed from Yoongi about the courage to give up something.

He keeps staring blankly at the screen. The UCL website is open, staring back at him. The
grey and black layout is terribly uninviting. He has to move the cursor at least three times to
light up the screen again when it goes off due to disuse. He hasn’t done anything but reset his
password, long forgotten in his busy mind since the last time he logged in.

Part of him wonders what will happen if just ignores the email he got from the university
informing about the expiration of his leave. The university will probably terminate his
enrollment anyway, and that would’ve been easier. To not have to make a decision.

But the other part of him, the one that almost screams that he should stop avoiding it, is
louder. Maybe the emptiness of the limbo also makes you a little mad. Maybe being twenty-
seven finally made him understand that you can give it time as much as you want, but some
things will only happen when you decide they need to happen.

And this needs to happen. Taehyung needs to free himself from his ghost that accompanies
him everywhere. It’s more than a need, really, he deserves it. Deserves to feel free to try new
things, deserves to stop being ashamed for letting go of something that wasn’t good for him
anymore.

Then why does it feel so dreadful?

Getting to the student section takes him something between fifteen minutes and a whole hour,
he isn’t sure, getting lost in social media and anything the algorithm throws his way.

He feels silly for taking so long to press the terminate activities button. He has made up his
mind already, probably has made his mind more than a year ago, just has a hard time
admitting it out loud. Now, he just needs to officialise it. It’s just a click, but his hand is
frozen in place, his articulations almost aching at the thought of moving.
For a long while, he simply stares at the button glowing in front of him, its stillness makes his
empty stomach churn with acidity. He wonders what will happen once he clicks it. Part of
him thinks the world might explode. People have been talking about the end of it for so long
now, it might as well be welcome, to not have to worry about the future anymore.

He will only know if he does it.

Taehyung blinks, sucking a hard breath the moment he clicks it. The website takes a while to
load, it makes anxiety crawl all the way up to his throat, spreading bitterness all over his
tongue. He’s seated, but his body feels so heavy he’s afraid of breaking the chair.

The next time he blinks, he keeps his eyes shut for a minute, afraid of facing the screen again.
He knows he has to open them, but he tells himself he just needs one more second. In the
darkness of his closed lids, he’s still a PhD student.

Slowly, Taehyung flutters his lashes open, the screen glowing the same oppressive brightness
in front of him.

He waits for the windows of his flat to shatter, waits for alarms to ring outside. He waits for
explosion noises and screams. With his breath still on the top of his lungs, Taehyung waits for
his body to collapse.

The screen is still bright in front of him, showing a polite message confirming that his
activities have been successfully terminated.

And nothing happens.

The limbo is finally gone, but the world is still here.

The sense of pride doesn’t sink in the next few days. He waits and waits for it, but instead,
Taehyung feels engulfed by pure, raw shame.

It burns hot in his throat when he is hit by a torrent of bureaucratic emails. He isn’t sure if it’s
enhanced by the act of telling people from university, or if it’s worsened by the words he
receives from them in return. It feels a lot like he can read the pity and disappointment hidden
behind the politeness of every email he exchanges with the admin of his program or his
supervisor. Humiliation is blatant during the endless back and forth of information with the
financial department to figure out his debts.

Finding out he owes money to the university is not a surprise, but it adds another layer to the
hot shame consuming his chest. As he arranges the best payment method for the money he’s
in default on, Taehyung realises that the world didn’t end, but that he’s trapped in this
constant fall, waiting for the ground to find its way to him, but it never does.

At some moments, when his vision gets blurred and he feels his heavy body just plunging
without aim, Taehyung wishes he had someone’s hand to hold.

But he gets the email during Jungkook’s birthday, and then has to sort everything out during
Namjoon’s birthday week. It never feels like the right time, because how can he be the bearer
of such heavy news in a period of celebration? How can he ruin the end of summer, the last
few days of warmth? How can he tell people that he’s officially a failure?

If he already feels shame prickling hot on his skin just by telling people he barely knows, he
wonders what it will feel like to tell the ones who know him. Especially the people who
expect him to succeed, people who think he still has a bright future ahead of him. The ones
who sent him here to achieve his dream. The people who raised him to try, not to quit.

The people who don’t even imagine he’s always falling.

It’s all too much and his mind is drenched with shame to the point that Taehyung stops
checking his inbox because every time he sees a new email from UCL, the invisible grip on
his throat tightens, and he feels like his entire body is in flames.

So he tells himself he just needs a little more time.

This is one of those situations in which giving it time is best, right? The news isn’t going
anywhere. He can wait to tell his friends and family. Wait until he’s ready, wait until his
financial situation is more or less adjusted, until thinking about it doesn’t feel like an elephant
sitting on his chest, squeezing the air out of him.

So he lets the rhythm of life engulf him for a while, everything a good reason to give him
more time. It’s his extra shifts at the gallery to make extra money, it’s meeting Jungkook at
this new bookstore-slash-cafe, it’s a late night stop by the supermarket for emergency grocery
shopping because he had run out of yoghurt and eggs.

But as the days go by, Taehyung notices that as much as words are intangible, they’re an
overwhelming weight to carry inside.

The words that were meant to Jungkook but that he couldn’t deliver. Now, he doesn’t even
know if he’ll ever be able to. The new burden of the news he hasn’t shared with his friends
and family. It’s suffocating, the way they stuck in his throat wanting to come out, but never
finding their way up to his tongue. Putting them out means admitting to the world that he’s
defeated. Taehyung already knows he’s a failure, he just doesn’t know if he can let others be
aware of it too.

He isn’t sure how he misses it all, but slowly, the brightness of summer is replaced by the
subtle mute tones of autumn. Before Taehyung realises, the leaves are not green anymore,
they are all shades of brown and orange and yellow, hanging precariously from the tips of
the branches. Just waiting for a strong gust of wind to fall.
He is even less sure of how he manages to walk around with the extra weight inside him,
making his heart sink and sink and sink.

Taehyung taps his feet on the floor as he waits for his order. The place is crowded, post
lunchtime laziness enhancing the general need for caffeine. He looks at the clock on the wall
noticing it’s been almost ten minutes, and he needs to go back to the gallery as soon as
possible. Fred hates when they have to close for more than fifteen minutes even though it’s
his lunch break.

He looks mindlessly at the barista preparing the drinks. The way her hands are delicate but
firm, cleaning the coffee machine and the counter almost obsessively in between
preparations. She moves methodically but fast, the orders tickets piling up, but she doesn’t
stop.

It almost feels like he’s in a trance, following her every movement and—

“Tae? Is that you?” A sweet voice comes from his side, followed by fingers gingerly touching
his shoulder.

He almost jumps at the intrusion, confusion and alarm taking over him. Taehyung looks at the
owner of the sweet voice, blinking blankly. Slowly, his mind makes sense of the curly ginger
hair and the freckles, and Taehyung says, “Abigail?” It’s more of a question than a hello. “
Oh.”

In the second his brain takes to register that the person in front of him is a colleague from
UCL, Abigail is already smiling with her prominent front teeth, opening her mouth to say
something that Taehyung can’t make sense of. Not with the way his ears start ringing, heart
pumping furiously when dread fills his entire body.

“... ages since I saw you on campus. How have you been?” She asks, hands gesturing
enthusiastically.

Taehyung only listens to the end of whatever she's saying, but he doesn’t even have to hear it
all to know the topic of the conversation. And it’s just a question, a friendly question because
despite being one year ahead of him in the program, Abigail has never been anything but
friendly to him. It's not only just a question, it's also the easiest one to answer, but it makes
heat crawl from Taehyung’s chest all the way up to his throat.

“I— I—” Taehyung tries to answer, but the tip of his tongue burns. He sucks a deep breath in,
feeling the air heavy, almost solid inside his nostrils. He averts his gaze to the woman behind
the counter, focusing on her delicate hands holding the milk pitcher and pouring the white
liquid over the coffee in wavy movements. He swallows, looking back at Abigail. “Yeah, I’ve
been busy.”

“I get it. It’s my final year, I think this is the first time I step out of campus in two weeks,”
she continues with a small giggle, her energetic voice spilling the words faster than what
Taehyung’s ears can keep up with. She says something related to her thesis, something about
needing extra time for it, and Taehyung just nods, an uncomfortable nausea swirling inside
his stomach. He knows what comes next. “How’s it going for you? You’re in your third year,
yeah?”

Bitterness reaches his mouth at the same time acid crawls up his sternum. Taehyung wants to
do nothing other than run but he already paid for his coffee and the barista makes them all
with so much care and her hands are moving so swiftly he can’t just go.

He curls his fingers into fists, chewing his inner cheek as he blinks at Abigail, still not sure of
how to answer the question. She waits with the same enthusiastic smile. It’s there, in her face,
expectant for a long while, until she twitches her brows in confusion when Taehyung doesn't
answer.

Heat reaches Taehyung’s cheeks and the tip of his ears, and he might as well be catching on
fire. The shame burns every inch of his skin, because now that the limbo is gone, he has no
other answer but the one he doesn’t want to give.

“I— I took a leave,” Taehyung replies, strangled.

“Oh.” In the seconds of silence in which Abigail thinks of what to say, Taehyung expects her
to see right through his half truth. He waits for a pitiful comment, for her to pout and frown
in condolence. Then, it crosses his mind that she might think he’s pathetic, and not deserving
of pity because he is a liar. So, he anticipates her cutting his bullshit with a scornful laugh. It
all goes through his mind too fast, Taehyung feels his heart thumping in his ears, feels the
floor vanishing from under his feet as he falls and falls, and— Abigail finally says, “I didn’t
know that.”

It’s a statement, it doesn’t offer anything more than what it is. Taehyung looks at her
confused, her expression doesn’t seem any different than before.

It doesn’t make the shame burning on his skin less strong.

The barista yells a name that is not his. “Tay ,” she says, and Taehyung feels relieved for the
first time hearing this name that is not the one he has, but it might as well be at this point.

“Uh, that’s me— Sorry, I have to go,” Taehyung says hurriedly, getting the coffee from the
counter. “It was nice seeing you, Abigail.”

“You too, Tae,” she says with the same sweet voice, waving a hand as Taehyung almost bolts
out of the cafe without looking back.

The sharp autumn wind flaps against his face the whole way to the gallery, but Taehyung
barely registers how it bites his skin almost violently. His cheeks are so hot and his heart is so
loud in his ears that it’s hard to feel anything but pure, raw shame consuming his whole
body.

He tries to walk in long strides, but his legs are heavy. Maybe it’s finally the weight of
everything he’s been keeping to himself sinking in, his body still not used to balancing itself
with the new added burden. Each step is an opportunity to relive the short interaction in his
mind, and Taehyung wonders if it was obvious, the shame burning in his skin. If Abigail
could see it in his face, the marks of someone who has failed the only thing he came to do
here.

He looks behind his back, just to be sure Abigail isn’t chasing him to call him out on his lie.
When he realises he’s alone, Taehyung walks with his head down just in case. He doesn’t
need the passing strangers seeing the humiliation in his eyes.

The warmth of the gallery is welcomed when he bursts inside, pushing the door open with his
shoulders. Even though he’s safe in between the stale, white walls of the gallery, his heart still
pounds violently inside his chest. Taehyung puts the cup of coffee on the reception desk,
places his warm hand over his chest just to feel his whole core trembling.

With shaky hands, he takes off his jacket and drops himself on the chair, burying his face in
his hands and inhaling for the first time in what feels like hours. The fresh air invades his
lungs, but doesn’t move the lump stuck on his throat.

Taehyung has been here before, when frightening anxiety takes over him and there’s nothing
he can do but wish to disappear. He thinks of the day his grandmother passed, or when he
was rejected by his first college choice. Days in which Taehyung didn’t think he could keep
breathing.

It strikes him that in those cases, he had been home .

It’s a crucial detail, one that just adds to the layers of pain inside him. It’s cruel, to feel sad
and anguished and have no recognizable place to run to. To feel hopeless and realise he’s in a
place where comfort doesn’t come easily, that familiarity is something long gone for him.

The noise of the street invades the gallery alongside a gush of cold air, and Taehyung needs
to collect his pieces and put himself back together. He drops his hands on the desk, pressing
his lips together.

The familiarity of a home might be something lost to him, but what stands in front of him is
as close as he can get here.

Taehyung gasps when the air escapes his lungs like he was punched, opening his mouth in
surprise. He stands up. “Jungkook?”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Jungkook smiles, wide and open.

It’s the way his shoulders drop and the burning is replaced by a soothing warmness that gives
Taehyung the assurance that that’s what he needs. Someone he trusts, someone he doesn’t
have to wonder if will give him pitiful eyes, because Jungkook’s eyes are always generous
and welcoming. Someone who always meets Taehyung in the middle, even when Taehyung
thinks he doesn’t deserve being met at any point anymore.

He circles the reception desk, inhaling sharply and feeling the words bubbling on the tip of
his tongue in the strong urge to share what just happened. To finally share what has been
eating him alive.

“Sorry to just show up like this but I couldn't wait anymore,” Jungkook blurts the moment
Taehyung stops in front of him. He doesn’t seem to notice the despair in his face, his voice is
loud, excited even, and he bounces on the balls of his feet. “I have something to tell you,”
Jungkook says in a high pitched tone. He bites his lower lip to contain something, but it’s
useless when it escapes from his mouth the next second, “Hoseok is coming!”

Taehyung’s body deflates. The courage he had gathered dissipates in the air in front of him
and it’s sort of agonising to see the fragile urge to be brave vanishing right before his eyes.
“What?!” Taehyung asks as he blinks at Jungkook in what he hopes comes off as confusion,
and not disappointment.

Jungkook wheezes in excitement, bringing both hands close to his chest. His eyes grow
impossibly big and bright when he says, “He’s coming to visit!”

Taehyung needs a couple of seconds to make sense of the information. When it finally sinks
in, his eyes go wide and his jaw slacks. “Oh! When?”

“In two weeks,” Jungkook beams, and his face goes all round with how hard he smiles. When
he’s like this, Taehyung can’t help but think of baby bunnies, boba balls, boiled eggs. It’s
always an endearing thought, but today Taehyung’s mind is completely blank.

Jungkook in front of him is just a happy person whom he can’t associate with anything else
because Taehyung’s too busy trying to ignore the way his own stomach hollows. Everything
seems off, the exact feeling he thinks he would have if he tried a somersault underwater.
Body rolling, being hit from all sides, losing its sense of gravity.

Because two weeks is too soon, and nobody plans an international trip on such short notice.
Taehyung folds his arms, holding himself as the information truly sinks in. “Wow, that’s…
That soon?” He asks, incapable of containing the surprise in his voice.

Uncertainty takes over Jungkook’s face, and he laughs awkwardly, hanging his head low.
“I’ve known it for a while, actually, I just—” His gaze trails up, meeting Taehyung’s again.
“You know when you don’t want to say things because you’re afraid of saying them out
loud?”

Taehyung frowns, dropping his arms to the side when that familiar sense of shame comes
back to him. This time, the realisation that he’s been selfish by reacting so defensively when
Jungkook is also insecure. “Of course,” he says softly.

“I was afraid of saying and everything going wrong, you know?” He drums his fingers on the
desk, chewing his lower lip. “But I’ve been dying to tell you, I’m so excited!”
There’s a genuineness and an expectancy in Jungkook’s gaze that Taehyung can’t find it in
himself to meet, but he makes an effort to. So he smiles softly, takes a step closer, hoping his
presence can suggest Taehyung is happy for him.

“I’ve started planning his visit, gosh, there are so many places to take him,” Jungkook adds
hastily, gesturing with his hands wildly and putting a bit of distance between them to not hit
Taehyung’s chest. The absence of his body is loud, even though there is only an arm’s length
between them. “I was hoping you could suggest which museums are the best to go to.”

“Oh.” Taehyung opens and closes his mouth, still looking at the empty space between them.
He lifts his gaze, meeting Jungkook’s eager face. He searches for any sign that Jungkook can
see how hurt he is right now, but the man is covered by this blissful expression that takes over
all the edges of his face. Jungkook, the one who has always been so good at reading him,
today seems so lost in his own mind that Taehyung can’t help but feel invisible. It leaves this
discomfort in the base of Taehyung’s hollow stomach. He swallows hard, tries to focus on the
fact that it’s okay, Jungkook is just too happy to notice. He pretends it doesn’t make his heart
clench inside him. “Of course, I can make a list, yeah. Do you think he would like historical
stuff or contemporary art?”

“Uh.” Jungkook stops for a second, bringing his thumb to his mouth to bite his nail. “I dunno.
God, how do I not know that? We never talked about museums!” Before Taehyung can
suggest anything, Jungkook is already blurting out, “Also, do you know any good bakeries?
Oh!” Jungkook shakes his head, pushing his hair back with both palms. “Maybe Jimin could
help with that. I need, like, the best cake in London.”

Taehyung frowns in confusion, his own breath getting laboured at the sight of a restless
Jungkook. “Is it his birthday or something?”

Jungkook stops his movements all together, cocking his head to the side. “No? No. He’s a
pastry chef.”

“Oh.” Taehyung nods once, twice. “Is he?”

“What, I didn’t tell you?” Jungkook widens his eyes in surprise, not for a single second
noticing that Taehyung’s shoulders are recoiling in an attempt to make himself smaller.

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Oh, he is.” Jungkook smiles, clasping his hands in front of his chest. “A really good one.”
Then he pauses, sterns his expression in thought and lets out a shy laugh. “I mean, I imagine
he is at least.”

Taehyung simply blinks at him, his tongue heavy in his mouth. If he recalls correctly in the
middle of this confusing haze, Jungkook has mostly mentioned Hoseok calling or saying
hello, has shared a few stories of them playing together, but has never given any information
about the man himself. Taehyung wonders if he should’ve asked.

Before he can say anything, Jungkook is already adding, “That’s why the croissant-flirting
that time, remember?”
“Oh, right,” Taehyung nods again. “It makes sense now.”

“Anyway,” Jungkook goes on, releasing this long sigh accompanied by a soft smile. “I can’t
wait for you two to meet. I talk so much about you, he’s excited to meet you.”

This time, surprise adds to the confusion building up inside Taehyung and he can only hope
his face is not as twisted as he imagines it is. “I’m excited to meet him too,” Taehyung
affirms with a certainty he doesn’t carry inside him. “I’m sure it’ll be great.” He smiles, and
he hates how fake it feels on his face, he hates to know Jungkook will notice, like he always
does.

This time, Jungkook doesn’t.

Instead of catching Taehyung’s hurt behind the positive words, Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in
excitement, a little kid waiting for a present. “Do you think so?”

It’s a little heartbreaking, having to hide your pain so not even the only person who could
notice it, doesn’t. Taehyung swallows the hurt down, because Jungkook is happy and that
should be enough. “Of course I do,” he says, lifting his lips in a sort of a close-mouthed
smile. He presses his tongue on the roof of his mouth when a sharp pain hits the back of his
eyes.

Taehyung wants to ease the wrinkle from his forehead, but it’s an effort he can’t commit to
right now, not when everything feels off. Jungkook has always been the one who meets him
halfway. Today, it feels like they’re simply going in opposite directions.

The unsaid words he wants to share sink deeper in his chest, heavier than before. Just one
more layer to all the things he can’t seem to share with Jungkook. Jungkook smiles at the
reassurance. For the first time, Taehyung doesn’t feel happy at the sight of it.

Outside, the thick, grey clouds hang low in the sky, they remind Taehyung a lot of the ones
he feels hanging over his head all the time. London is always cloudy — especially in the
autumn — but that doesn’t mean he needs to feel the same way. Not tonight.

Tonight is Jimin’s birthday, and Taehyung is already three drinks in. Tonight he doesn’t drink
to reach that pleasant, floaty state. Tonight, Taehyung wants to drink to ease the pain, he
wants to drink to forget the words he’s been carrying but can’t seem to deliver.

Tonight Jungkook is by his side the whole time, hands touching his back every so often, and
Taehyung’s chest churns with the ache of wanting more but not being deserving of it.
He tries to brush the sensation off, looking around, the loud music pumping in his ear as he
moves his head to the beat. He still doesn’t get it, when pubs became clubs but not the kind
where people dance. Just loud music popping as people talk in small groups.

Half of the patrons here are Jimin’s guests. There are people from the cafe who Taehyung
recognizes, and people Jimin studied with or worked with in other jobs and Taehyung has no
idea how they still keep in touch. Namjoon and Seokjin are at a corner talking to Jimin,
Namjoon already too drunk to make sense of his words while Seokjin begs Jimin to sing
happy birthday soon otherwise he will sleep face first onto the table top.

Danny is here too, not singing tonight, just talking to his friends, or at least one of them —
Tom. Dougie and Harry seem to be in a world of their own, bodies leaning towards each
other just like that summer night Taehyung spotted both of them in the pub. Oblivious to the
world around them at the same time they seem oblivious to whatever they have going on
between themselves. Taehyung giggles into his drink, feeling particularly fond when Harry
tucks a blond strand of hair behind Dougie’s ear. The fondness melts into something else,
something uncomfortable that squeezes inside his chest. Taehyung doesn’t have time for this,
not tonight. Tonight he will have fun. He downs the rest of his drink in one go even though
the bubbles hurt his throat.

“Want another?” Yoongi’s question pulls him back to reality. He points to Taehyung’s drink,
lifting his own empty bottle of beer to indicate he’s getting more.

“Oh, yeah—” Taehyung hiccups, pressing the back of his hand into his mouth. “Thank you.”

“And a water, too,” Yoongi says, then looks at Jungkook smiling lazily, lids half shut. “For
both of you, actually.”

Taehyung giggles as he watches Yoongi walk away. He thinks Yoongi shares the same quality
of caring for people as Jimin. Silent, little actions of service. Maybe that’s why they seem to
get along even though they spend most of their time teasing each other.

Everything is a bit blurry and spinning already when he turns to Jungkook. He knows what to
expect, has his eyes glued to Jungkook all night, just like always, but when his gaze finds the
man, Taehyung has to blink hard to situate himself again.

It might as well be like seeing Jungkook for the first time tonight. It’s too dark in the bar, but
Taehyung doesn’t let it get in the way of the sight his eyes enjoy the most. There is make up
on his face, making his eyes less doe-like, sharper and more intense. Taehyung thinks he likes
them like this too, darker and almost threatening. It goes well with the sleeveless, high neck
shirt that Jungkook is wearing, putting his strong shoulders in evidence instead of hiding
them as the loose t-shirts do. The whole tattoo sleeve is fully on display, and Taehyung can’t
help but observe the ink, the drawings he hasn’t noticed before.

He likes Jungkook like this, a little less on the soft side. Maybe right now, he likes it even
better, likes how it matches the way Taehyung feels burning dangerously inside.

“Hi,” Taehyung breathes out after a while, after his eyes adjust to Jungkook, all sharp eyes
and strong arms in front of him.
Jungkook snorts softly, cocking his head to the side. “Haven’t we done this already tonight?”

Taehyung blinks in confusion, licking his lips. “What?”

“Greeting each other,” Jungkook says with a smirk.

Taehyung wants to say every moment with Jungkook feels like a reencounter, like every time
he opens his eyes again Jungkook has something new to show. Maybe it’s a new word,
maybe a different glance that Taehyung doesn’t know what it means yet, maybe a mole he
hasn’t noticed before. This last one, he highly doubts it. He could point out each mole on
Jungkook’s skin with his eyes closed. One under his lip, three on his cheek, one right above
his left nostril.

All he knows is that every blink of an eye is an opportunity to see a brand new Jungkook. An
opportunity to not miss him.

Taehyung feels yearning in his chest, almost like he’s already missing Jungkook. The words
left unsaid since that night in his bedroom choke him more than ever tonight. He doesn’t
know what to do with them anymore, not when that’s all he can offer to Jungkook. And
words are not enough, not to a person who deserves someone who can give them everything.

So Taehyung keeps blinking, just to have the silly pleasure of seeing Jungkook for the first
time again and again, without ruining the moment.

He blinks one last time, and then he opens his eyes to find Jungkook frowning curiously at
him.

Taehyung giggles, feels it bubbling up his throat alongside another hiccup. “Oh, guess we
did, sweet— hard,” the words come out slurred and wrong from Taehyung’s mouth. He
pauses, looks up at the ceiling, painted with forms that don't make sense to his slow mind. He
repeats the word silently, like it’s the first time he’s saying it. “Uh, this one is too hard to
say.”

“Or you just had too many drinks,” Jungkook teases, his own face flushed due to the alcohol.
“ Sweetheart,” he pronounces the word perfectly, mouth opening and closing a little too
theatrically.

Huffing, Taehyung flicks his biceps. It’s the wrong choice, because the moment the tip of his
finger touches Jungkook, he realises he needs more than just a feeble touch. Going against
the latent craving inside him, Taehyung curls his fingers, and retracts his hand. Part of him
thinks he doesn’t deserve this anymore, to reach for Jungkook.

Where’s Yoongi and the new drink? He needs something to hold. Something that is not
Jungkook’s biceps.

“No, it’s not it,” Taehyung waves his empty hand in dismissal. “We need a new one, now. An
easier one, too.”
Jungkook cocks a brow, taking a swig of his beer. The way Jungkook moves is slow and
dangerous under the poor lighting, his biceps flexing when he brings the bottle close to his
mouth. And Taehyung isn’t the only one around noticing that.

People look. Because how could they not? Usually, Taehyung doesn’t mind, he’s too busy
focused on looking at Jungkook as well to be bothered by others’ glances. But tonight
Taehyung feels them all over the place, he wants to blame the alcohol mixed with all the
unsaid things, but he knows quite well it comes from another place.

A place of insecurity.

That’s why this man’s eyes on Jungkook catches his attention right away. It’s the way his blue
gaze size Jungkook up and down, ligering a little too long on where Jungkook’s loose jeans
hug his waist, almost like he wants to rip a piece of him off. Predatory. Hungry.

Heat burns inside Taehyung for a whole different reason this time. It’s just a random person
with straight nose, and a plaid shirt, but to Taehyung, it looks like a threat. It doesn’t last
more than a few seconds, and he already hates the shade of his greedy blue of his eyes, his
stupid nose and tasteless shirt.

Moved by this violent urge that comes right from his burning core, Taehyung takes a step
closer to Jungkook.

It’s selfish. He has nothing more than words he cannot say to Jungkook, but, at the same
time, he doesn’t want anyone else offering anything to him.

Taehyung stands there, too much into Jungkook’s space as if to say this is his space too. He
places his palms in the pockets of his own caramel trousers. Between the burning in his chest
and the ache of his hands, Taehyung thinks it’s safer this way.

Jungkook doesn’t even flinch at the proximity, doesn’t seem aware of the tasteless man close
to him. He licks his lips, collecting a drop of beer that spilled from the bottle, and places a
hand on Taehyung’s hip, all welcoming, like his body is always ready to have Taehyung
around.

It seems to be enough for the man with eager ugly eyes. His lips curve down in
disappointment when he watches the intimate touch Jungkook and Taehyung are sharing, and
he walks away, probably searching for his next prey.

For Taehyung though, it seems far from enough. He has had Jungkook’s hands on him many
times, but something feels different tonight. It might be the alcohol, or the hurt squeezed
inside his chest, but tonight, just a gentle hand on his hip isn’t enough to soothe everything
churning inside him.

Taehyung feels like he needs more, but he doesn’t know how to ask. Just more words to get
stuck in his throat, all suffocating. He clenches his hands inside his pockets, fingers digging
into his skin through the fabric.

Why can’t his body understand it? That Jungkook is too far from reach for him now.
“You know one I really like?” Jungkook asks shyly, eyes lowering to the floor.

“What?” Taehyung looks back at him, completely lost in what they were saying.

Jungkook lifts his gaze, smiles too softly. A contrast to his dark, smoky eyes and revealing
shirt. “A nickname I like.”

All of Taehyung’s edges soften for a second, his heart gives this flutter that used to be funny
but now has become way too serious. “Tell me.”

“Bun.”

“Bun?” Taehyung asks, intrigued. “Like a bread roll?”

Jungkook might be a bit drunk too, because he scrunches up his nose, closing his eyes and
rolling his head to the side as he laughs a wholehearted sound that is louder than the music
playing. It’s all soft and pliant. All too much for Taehyung’s heart. His fingers squeeze
Taehyung’s hip. “Yeah, like the bread roll,” he says when he flutters his eyes open again,
licking his lips slowly. “I think it’s cute.”

“Bun.” Taehyung repeats.

It makes him think of the Korean word for minute, 분. Different pronunciation, of course,
but he needs to press his tongue on the back of his teeth the same way. Different meanings,
too, but Taehyung looks at Jungkook’s round cheeks and thinks of fresh bread rising and he
looks at Jungkook’s endless round eyes and thinks about how being around him feels so
much like having extra time. And bun . Bun sounds good on his tongue and sounds good to
his squeezed heart, almost like it’s a relief to say it. This small thing that suggests things
might be bad now, but Jungkook is around and that means he will always have an extra
minute to feel happy. “Bun sounds good,” is all he says, wondering if Jungkook can feel it
too, how good it sounds.

For a moment, Jungkook looks abashed, and Taehyung wonders if it’s the weight of his gaze.
He knows it’s heavier today, a part of him he doesn’t seem capable of controlling. His eyes
are always on Jungkook, searching for him and needing more of him.

“Okay, bun,” Jungkook says in a whisper that Taehyung isn’t sure how he listens over the
loud music playing. Maybe it's not just his eyes that are trained, maybe his ears are attuned to
always listen to Jungkook, too. His body has the burning crave to give all of himself to him,
even when Taehyung is not sure how to do it. Not when there's so much inside him that
makes Taehyung feel unworthy of offering any part of himself to someone right now.

Tonight, he drinks to forget, only to remember alcohol is flammable in the end.

“Hey, what’s it, bun?” Jungkook frowns. “You just zoned out.”

“Drunk,” Taehyung says, even though he feels a little bit too alert now. His eyes travel to
Jungkook’s arm again, looking at how his exposed skin is a tone darker under the poor
lighting of the bar. “Sorry, my brain isn’t working that well anymore.”
Jungkook laughs, leaning forward just one more inch and tugging the collar of Taheyung’s
shirt as if to adjust it. “Don’t worry, that’s what we are here for, right?” Jungkook says with a
blinding smile. “Have fun. Forget the things we’re stressed about.”

Taehyung sucks a breath in when Jungkook tugs his shirt one last time. It seems like he’s
going to pull Taehyung closer, but he doesn’t. His hands drop when he spots Yoongi coming
back, and he enthusiastically moves to help his cousin when he approaches holding too many
drinks for just two hands and haphazardly places them all on the high table close to them.

“Why are you stressed?” Taehyung asks, torn between choosing the new drink or the water
first. His brain makes the first rational decision of the night, and he gets the water.

Jungkook shrugs, aiming for nonchalant and landing on completely nervous when his voice
comes out like a squeal. “Cause Hobi-hyung arrives in three days!” He says, clutching the
bottle of water against his chest.

Yoongi ruffs this small, endeared laugh that puts his gummy smile on display. “Jungkook has
been all over the place lately,” he says, taking a sip of his beer. “It’s cute.”

Flushing completely, Jungkook squeals again, “I’m nervous, okay?” When he notices how
high pitched his voice comes out, he breaths an awkward laugh. “I know it sounds silly, but
he’s my best friend, the person who knows me the best, but what if…” Jungkook frowns, his
bangs falling over his cheeks again when he moves his head slightly, as if to scare away a bad
thought. “What if everything is different in person?”

The words hang around them for a second. Taehyung doesn't want to give them much
importance, because sometimes, people generalise just to make a point.

Except Jungkook is never like this.

Taehyung looks at him, the horrible light of the bar casting this weird shadow on his face, but
it’s impossible to miss that Jungkook looks apprehensive, like what he just said carries real
weight.

It sits weirdly in Taehyung’s chest. It brings a new wave of anxiety that he isn’t sure he can
handle right now, not when everything around him sounds already threatening. Even if it
shouldn't.

Because there’s nothing threatening about it, but someone who isn’t Taehyung knows
Jungkook the best. Someone else knows things about him that Taehyung will never know. He
shakes off the thought, because of course there are such people out there. Of course Hoseok
is that person, he is Jungkook’s best friend. Taehyung has always known that.

Just because he desires to know every bit of Jungkook — the beautiful and the ugly, the deep
and the shallow, even though he doubts there are any shallow or ugly parts of Jungkook — it
doesn’t erase the fact that there are people out there who already know it all.

The fact that Hoseok is this person.

“Nah, it’s gonna be fine,” Yoongi says in a dragged voice, probably drunk too. “I mean, it’s a
fair concern, but Hoseok is so bubbly, I doubt it would be uncomfortable.”

Slowly, Taehyung frowns at Yoongi. “Do you know him too?”

The man shrugs, licking his bottom lip. “No, just listen to their gibbering every time they
facetime.”

“Yoongi means he’s always eavesdropping!” Jungkook nudges him with his elbow.

“Yah,” Yoongi laughs, not bothered at all by the teasing. “You two are not exactly quiet, all
the babbling about boy— ”“Okay, Yoongi, we get it,” Jungkook rushes to add, nudging his
cousin too strongly this time, making Yoongi spill his bear.

Taehyung watches as they keep bantering, unable to find amusement in himself.

This is supposed to be a fun night, he remembers. He came here to enjoy himself and his
friends.

And that’s what Taehyung tries to do. To have fun. Tonight isn’t supposed to be about the
clench in his chest or his unwanted insecurity and the unpleasant burning that doesn’t go
away. So he drinks more. He drinks and he tries to dance even though this isn’t a club. And
when Jimin props himself precariously on the footrest of a stool just to call people’s attention
before singing happy birthday, Taehyung screams in the middle of the bar Jimin-ah, I like you
the most! The loud display of affection earns him an offended glare from Seokjin and a
terribly fond look from Jungkook. One that makes him shaky all over, because even though
there’s a hurricane inside Taehyung right now, Jungkook’s eyes are ever so soothing.

As much as he tries to forget, it’s a tug of war inside him all night. To feel happy for a few
seconds, just to be pulled back into his inner spiral. As if his brain doesn't want to allow him
a second of break, as if he doesn’t deserve even something as small as that.

A break is for those who work hard, after all.

By the end of the party, the alcohol has worn out and Taehyung feels tired, the weight inside
him three times heavier than normal. When he tells Jungkook he’s going home, the man
understands it as an invitation, and although Taehyung isn’t feeling the best right now, he
doesn’t deny it.

He doesn’t think he could deny anything to Jungkook, even though he doesn’t feel worthy
enough to offer him anything either. After all, what could Taehyung give him? He doesn’t
have a name here, doesn’t have a future anymore either.

🙐
Instead of going to bed, Taehyung lingers in the kitchen and flicks the kettle on to make some
tea. Now that the alcohol is mostly gone, he feels heavy. A combination of sluggishness and
tiredness that he doesn’t appreciate. Almost like he’s already hungover, but he knows it
comes from a different place.

The fatigue is excruciating, it weighs on his shoulder like he has lived three days in just one.
It’s not only physical, but mental too. Like he felt all the emotions in the spectrum in the last
five hours and all he can do now is to feel empty, devoid of any strength to deal with the mess
inside him.

He looks into the cabinet, gets two royal mugs, and searches for the box of selected special
teas. Holding it with care, he opens the lid and looks at the small, beige packages. He settles
for the lemongrass and honeybush blend. Sweet and citrus, exactly how he likes it.

The infusion doesn’t take long, but Taehyung prepares it like a ritual, taking deep breaths
during the process to ground himself.

The water boils and he closes his eyes, the sound of the kettle humming around him. When
it’s ready, he pours it into the mug, watching as the steam swirls up, blurring his vision. The
sweet and citrusy smell flows up from the cup, and he inhales deeply before covering the
infusion with two small saucers. Taehyung checks the clock on the stove as he chews his
inner cheek until it shows him four minutes have passed.

Taehyung realises that, for the whole four minutes, he didn't think about what’s been crushing
his chest, not only once.

He sighs, inhaling the sweet aroma that rises from the mugs when he takes the saucers off,
getting rid of the teabags. When he blinks at the mugs on the counter, he realises he never
asked if Jungkook would like tea — not even if he likes tea. Well, if he doesn’t, Taehyung
will just drink the two cups anyway.

The extra comfort would be welcome now that all the distractions are over and he can feel the
grips of the suffocating feeling tightening inside him again.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Jungkook’s low voice comes from behind him. It’s so soft, it
doesn’t startle Taehyung. He’s wearing the same white t-shirt and grey sweatpants he always
wears when he stays the night. Jungkook had said something about bringing a change of
sleeping clothes the other day, but Taehyung said it wasn’t necessary. He left unsaid that he
loved seeing Jungkook in his clothes, how he loves that they make his drawer smell like
vanilla and fabric softener.

His eyes are heavy-lidded, a little red from the alcohol, and he looks fresh, face clean from
the makeup he put on earlier.

Taehyung likes the makeup and sexy clothes, but he thinks Jungkook looks even nicer this
way, not trying to hide the little imperfections that make his face his.
Taehyung looks over his shoulder, smiling with his lips closed. “Tea. I just made you some.
Do you like it?”

“Yeah.”

If Jungkook thinks it’s weird that Taehyung is making tea at 3:45 am, he doesn’t comment.
He drags himself to the table, pulls a chair, and waits for it.

“Hm, royal corgi mug,” Jungkook mumbles when Taehyung places the cup in front of him.
He also doesn’t comment on the fact that Taehyung doesn’t sit by his side and, instead, walks
back closer to the counter. He gives him a lazy smile. “Nice choice, it’s cute.”

Taehyung smiles back, and replies with a tired voice from where he stands in the kitchen, “It
is, right? Sadly, the corgi mugs are not as common as the other royal members. I found this
one at the Brick Lane Vintage Market the other day.”

“It’s a shame,” Jungkook hums, running his long fingers over the dog print. “The corgis are
the only royal members we truly support.”

Taehyung chuckles softly, not finding it in himself to be truly amused. He leans back on the
counter and holds his mug with both hands until his palms are warm.

A different kind of silence spreads between them this time. Jungkook seems comfortable with
it, humming as he blows the steam from his cup, but to Taehyung it is just suffocating. The
lack of words being shared is a reminder that he has so many of them stuck inside him,
keeping him from breathing.

Taehyung feels nothing but exhausted. Tiredness soaking his bones, sinking his chest from
carrying around things he should be able to say out loud, things he should be able to say to
Jungkook.

He looks out of the window, it’s dark but the street lamps cast an orangey light on the already
orange trees.

Autumn to its fullest. Different shades of brown, orange, and beige, all slowly meeting the
ground.

Falling, just like Taehyung.

“I’m officially out of the PhD,” he says, clipped, still staring out of the window.

It’s not the words meant for Jungkook, but it’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth, his
body is expelling them from inside him.

The words ring loud in his own ears, they make his skin prickle hot with shame. His head
spins, and he shuts his eyes to not lose his balance.

Jungkook stops with the mug close to his lips, the steam fogging his face when he glances up.
“What?”
“My leave expired and I had to make a decision,” Taehyung explains with a tired sigh, one
hand moving gingerly in the air.

“When?” Jungkook frowns, putting the mug down without taking the first sip.

“Last month.” Taehyung's shoulder sinks, he finally darts his eyes from the window, looking
down as he walks to the table and sits beside Jungkook. “At the beginning of the term.”

“I— Why—” Jungkook stutters, the sentences dying before they can make sense. He frowns,
seemingly bothered by his own incompleted questions. He sighs, giving Taehyung this
apologetic but concerned gaze. “I’m sorry. That’s a… That’s a long time.”

Taehyung nods, pressing his lips together in a thin line. He curls his hand to rub his eyes, and
feels his heart a little bit too squeezed inside his chest.

“I wanted to tell you earlier, I just— I didn’t want to ruin the mood,” he says, not ready to
confess how he really feels even though guilt and shame are evident in his tone. He doesn’t
think he will ever be able to share this part of his life without carrying these two feelings in
his voice. How does one confess they gave up everything they went to a place for without
this hot humiliation burning inside them?

“I’m glad you’re telling me now,” Jungkook says firmly, sounding more awake and sober
than he looks.

“Me too.” Taehyung’s heavy sigh makes it evident he’s been carrying more than he can take.

“It’s a big step,” Jungkook says softly. “I’m sorry you had to do it all alone.”

Taehyung nods slowly, then takes a long sip of his tea. It’s like a hug, soft in his stomach and
warm in his chest.

“It’s good, you know?” He finds it in himself to snort, scraping a stain on the tabletop with
his finger as he speaks. “I mean, it’s supposed to feel good. Like there’s not this shadow over
me all the time anymore, you know? I can finally move on.”

Jungkook stares at him for a minute, completely silent, as if trying to get answers from
Taehyung’s face. When he doesn’t, he asks sternly, “What’s holding you back?”

“I’m in debt with the University. Not much just— because I’m terminating the enrollment
and— It’s not much, but I’ll have to ask for more hours at the gallery and cut back some
stuff, and—” Taehyung exhales sharply, running out of air as the words are pushed out of his
mouth like they’ve been physically lodged in his throat. “I have to tell people, but I— Jimin
is— He’s gonna be so worried about the debt part.” Taehyung sighs, pushing his hair back
with both hands. “More importantly, I have to tell my parents. I can’t—” He pauses, ruffing
this unamused, painful laugh. “You know,” he looks down at the greenish liquid inside his
mug, “I picked this habit of drinking tea from my mom.”

Jungkook looks confused for a second, the wrinkle in the middle of his eyebrows getting
deeper. “It’s a good habit to have,” he says gently. “Healthy.”
“Isn’t it weird,” he looks up at Jungkook, frowning in pain, “how I am made of my mom’s
habits, not just this one, others too, but—” Taehyung cuts off his sentence with a heavy sigh,
shaking his head in frustration as he tries to push the words out of him. “But I can’t— I can’t
make myself be honest with her?”

It’s been eating him by the edges all month. The thought that he can’t postpone it anymore,
but his mother is currently so excited about her new crochet project, and his dad always
works harder close to the end of the year. And the fact that it’s not gonna be an easy
conversation, to tell the people who taught him love is equal to achievement that he’s
suddenly not going to achieve anything.

“Hey.” Jungkook reaches for his hand and interlaces their fingers. “One step at a time, yeah,
bun?”

Taehyung blinks at their clasped fingers and feels this suffocating acidic thing crawling up his
throat, almost like his body is refusing to be comforted. Somewhere deep inside, Taehyung
doesn’t think he deserves it. He takes a deep breath, then squeezes Jungkook’s hand, nodding
slowly.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says in this low, fragile voice. He searches for something on
Taehyung’s face, looking almost… Guilty. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise you were—”

“Jungkook. Bun,” Taehyung interrupts, eyebrows pushing together. Now that the alcohol is
gone and the exhaustion has sinked in, he feels bare. Completely uncovered of all the layers
that he’s been keeping so close to his body and mind. He sees things clearer, almost like he’s
out of his body, assessing the situation from a distance. And when he stops to look at both of
them in this kitchen, he realises that he hates seeing Jungkook feeling like this, even though
he feels bad about how mismatched they have been lately, too. It’s paradoxal, he knows. But
sometimes life is like this, an endless clash of opposite feelings. You just need to be sobered
up enough to accept them. “No. It’s okay you— You have your things too.”

“But you’re sad,” Jungkook states, lips lifted into this half smile that is more sad than
anything.

“And you are happy,” Taehyung replies, the corners of his mouth curve down, lower lip
jutting out. It still hurts to admit that sometimes they aren’t going to meet halfway, but it’s
also not fair to expect so much from another person all the time. Deep down, even though he
feels unsure and small, Taehyung knows that. It’s late and he’s bare and just falling freely
now, incapable of holding onto even the bad feelings. “We won’t always be in the same
place.”

Jungkook frowns, looking at their clasped hands. He lifts his gaze right after, wrinkle still
present in his forehead. “Even if I want to?”

“I don’t want you to feel unhappy just because I am.” The confession comes out before
Taehyung even thinks of the weight of his words. He doesn’t think he has ever said it out
loud. Ever admitted that’s what he is, unhappy.
For a second, Jungkook looks older, eyes slightly sunken, too late at night for them to be
bright as always. He presses his lips together, looking conflicted for a second. “That’s not
what— What I mean is,” he sighs, placing his other hand on top of Taehyung’s, sandwiching
his palms. “I just want to be there for you. Even if we’re not coming from the same place.”

Taehyung blinks, heavy lids taking longer than normal to reopen. When he does, a brand new
Jungkook is in front of him. For a second, he feels relieved. “I know you are.”

The silence stretches as Jungkook offers him a frail, sad smile that Taehyung doesn’t find in
himself to reciprocate.

“Do you think it’s okay?” Taehyung asks after a while in a small voice, afraid of disrupting
the fragile silence existing between them. “To wait a little longer, until I am ready to tell the
others?” He pauses, gulps hard. “To tell my parents?”

“It is,” Jungkook reassures. “Of course it is, bun.”

Taehyung wants to ask what if he never feels ready. Instead, he drinks the rest of his tea,
swallows the words down. It’s becoming a habit of his, too. One he hasn’t learned from
anyone.

When they are done with their drinks, they walk back to his bed like they always do.
Jungkook on the side closer to the window, Taehyung on the side closer to the bathroom.
Their ankles link automatically, like they always do, too.

It doesn’t take long for the silent room to be filled with the little hums Jungkook lets out
when he’s in between asleep and awake. They sound like small whines, and are usually
followed by his body searching for Taehyung’s. Tonight, his hand grips the sleeve of his
pyjama shirt, nose pressing against his shoulder.

Taehyung’s squeezed heart finds a place to trip on his chest. The same heart that he has given
up saying is still not ready to feel like this, but has no idea what to do with the feeling
anymore either.

As sleep sinks in, Taehyung wonders if there’s such a thing as being ready at all in life.

Amongst the many things that Taehyung is, selfish is not one of them. At least, that’s what he
tries to tell himself as he walks towards Trafalgar Square to finally meet Jungkook and
Hoseok.

Even if he’s been acting like it in the last couple of weeks.

It’s the middle of autumn, and the entire city is covered in orange and brown. The leaves pile
up on the ground, like an endless carpet, crunching under Taehyung’s feet as he fidgets with
his clammy hands and repeats in his mind all the reasons he has to not be nervous about this
meeting.

Hoseok is Jungkook’s best friend, and Taehyung can’t be selfish about it. Not when Jungkook
talks about him with a different sparkle in his eyes, one that is too child-like, too naive to be
threatening. One that makes Taehyung want to give him every good thing there is in the
world, even if Taehyung isn’t very good at giving anything.

But this , a nice day with Hoseok, is something Taehyung can give Jungkook.

It doesn’t change the fact that there’s this impending doom inside him, suggesting he needs to
be on the lookout for something.

He’s been having these thoughts since meeting Abigail. He looks at the people he knows and
expects them to catch him on his failure. Expects them to decipher, just from his tired
expression, everything that has happened in the last months. He bumps into strangers, and
braces himself for pitiful gazes and sarcastic smiles.

It’s been a long time since Taehyung learned the difference between anxiety and intuition. He
knows this feeling isn’t any hunch. It’s too oppressive the way it grows inside his chest,
spreading like the roots of a rotten tree, too much to be considered instinct.

What if Hoseok sees right through him? What if he sees before Taehyung can even open his
mouth that he’s a quitter, a failure? What if he notices Jungkook is wasting his time around
him? What if he realises that Taehyung isn’t enough and doesn’t deserve to be around
someone so bright and so full like Jungkook?

He wants to stay hidden inside, as long as Hoseok doesn’t look at his face, he’s sad. But
Taehyung is not selfish. So he ignores the way his heart has been rebelling inside his chest
and shoves his clammy hands inside the pockets of his overcoat to dry them on the fabric as
he marches with purposeful steps towards their meeting point.

The square is as crowded as always. There’s this thing about tourist attractions that seems
terribly appealing to Taehyung. Locals don’t enjoy them, so that means they’re places full of
people just like him, the ones who will never belong to that city, who are there just to enjoy it
while it lasts.

He spots Jungkook first. He always does. His yellow beanie contrasts with the black puffer
jacket he’s wearing. But it’s the person by his side that throws Taehyung off guard. If the
platinum blond hair isn’t enough to distinguish him from the mass of black and grey around
them, the neon green jacket is. Hoseok gestures wildly as he speaks, making Jungkook bend
forward to laugh.

Taehyung hears him from a distance, the way his melodic voice echoes, full in its Koreaness.

Taehyung approaches, his nervous smile doing little to disguise how restless he feels. When
he finally stops by their side, Jungkook interrupts their conversation, opens a huge smile, and
says, “Taehyung!” His name reaches Taehyung’s ears like it always does. Whole, sounding
almost like a relieved breath. “Hobi-hyung,” Jungkook pulls him by the sleeve of his jacket,
“this is Taehyung.”

The blond man slowly turns to face Taehyung. His eyes squint for a second as if inspecting
what’s in front of him.

The growing feeling in Taehyung’s chest gets impossibly big, reaching the base of his empty
stomach. He clenches his jaw, bracing himself for getting caught on his bullshit right away,
but then, Hoseok’s face splits into a grin larger than life, his eyes pinched shut. “So, you’re
the famous Taehyung!” He says enthusiastically.

“Hoseok-ssi,” Taehyung says, a little out of breath. He takes his hands out of his pocket, but
then remembers Hoseok still lives in Korea, so he starts to bow at the same time. The man
stops him right away, snatching Taehyung’s hand to pull him for a quick hug. “Oh, ow!”

“Oh, come on!” Hoseok’s voice is charged with an electric energy that makes him think of
puppies and fireworks. He pats Taehyung on the back, shaking him from side to side like
they’ve been friends forever. Taehyung looks at Jungkook over Hoseok’s shoulder, and finds
him grinning with cheeks flushed due to the cold wind. “No, please! I feel like I know you
already, call me hyung,” Hoseok tells him.

Taehyung wants to say the same, but he looks at Hoseok with his blond hair and vibrant
clothes, and the way he speaks loudly, and realises he doesn’t. So he simply smiles as politely
as he can. “Hyung,” Taehyung corrects himself when they pull apart. “It’s a pleasure.” He
gives Jungkook a quick glance, smiles extra softly for him even through his nervousness,
then looks back at Hoseok. “How’s London so far?”

“Oh, delightful. I’m living my best tourist life. Just made Jungkook really embarrassed when
I got up on one of the lions for a picture!” Hoseok claps his hands in enthusiasm, then he
holds his clasped palms against his chest, directing Jungkook a pointed look. “But
Jungkookie is refusing to take me to the London Eye.”

“It’s expensive and underwhelming,” Jungkook protests, opening his palms to the side in
explanation.

“It’s the classic London tourist experience!” Hoseok snaps back, throwing his arms up.

Taehyung’s shoulders shake when he giggles, and raises a finger to interrupt. “No, that
actually would be the changing of the King’s Guard.”

“Ha,” Jungkook snorts, nudging him with an elbow. “Of course you’d suggest that.”

When Taehyung slackens his jaw in offence, Hoseok turns confusedly at Jungkook. “What do
you mean?”

“He’s a Royal Family fan.”

“I’m not—”
Hoseok smacks him in the arm, laughing loudly like he just found out the most amusing
information on the planet. “I’ve watched The Crown to prepare for my trip! I get the appeal!”

“Don’t believe him, hyung.” Taehyung sighs, feeling the restlessness dissipating inside him.
“I seriously don’t know how he didn’t cat-fish you!”

Jungkook looks offended, but Hoseok cackles, strident but joyful. “To be honest, with this
face?” He pinches Jungkook's cheeks. “I’d be willing to be cat-fished!”

If the move was meant to make Jungkook flustered, it doesn’t work. He puckers his lips in a
pout and closes his eyes, proud to be pampered by his best friend. It is different to see
Jungkook like this, actually physically engaging with the person who has been a virtual
presence in his life for so long. It’s new to see him being touchy with someone other than
Taehyung, and it doesn’t feel bad, not really, it’s just… really new.

“He’s on my side, bun, you can’t poison him against me!” Jungkook smirks even wider.

Taehyung raises both palms up in surrender. “Alright, my apologies. So, hyung,” he says as
he looks around the square. “What else is on your list besides the London Eye?”

“Ah.” Hoseok’s face lights up in excitement. There’s something very childlike in him, but not
naive, Taenyung can already tell. He’s quick and sharp, carries a big aura like it’s light to do
so. To walk around owning the world. “I wanna see all the Beatles stuff!”

“Oh, you didn’t tell me you were a Beatles fan!” Jungkook pouts, bringing his puffer jacket
closer to his body when a strong gust of wind crosses them.

“Uh, I’m not?” Hoseok shrugs, then says like it’s obvious, “But I have to enjoy everything
this country has to offer.”

Taehyung laughs, “We can go to Abbey Road, then!” He claps his hands, jerking a thumb
over his shoulder to indicate the direction.

“Oh, yes! Lesgo! Hobi takes London, Taehyung’s edition!” Hoseok whistles.

As they head to the station, Hoseok fishes his phone back out of his pocket, and opens the
camera app to take a last picture of the square, the column against the blue sky.

Taehyung looks at Jungkook, sharing a fond glance that says he’s nice . Jungkook seems to
understand, nodding slowly, and steps closer so they can walk side by side, elbows linked
together.

Hoseok doesn’t walk, he bounces. He takes pictures of the sky, the trees, the buildings, and
the people. He points out any detail that seems curious to him, asks Taehyung to snap a
picture of him leaning against a parked cab, and laughs delightedly, making a peace sign to
the driver when the man offers him a very much offensive reversed V sign with his hand in
return.

Everything is exciting in a new place, and Taehyung absolutely loves to notice how anything
enchants Hoseok. It feels good to finally meet him, the person who makes Jungkook so safe
even from a distance. The ghost of the unknown threat long gone from his mind without
Taehyung even noticing. In its place, the presence of real Hoseok takes the form of relief in
his squeezed heart.

“How’s it?” Taehyung leans back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands in his pockets, as
they wait for the tube to arrive. “Meeting for the first time.”

Biting a smile, Jungkook flushes, pink reaching the tip of his ears when he glances at
Hoseok. “So good. Hyung is even nicer in person.” Then he sticks his tongue out like a kid
when Hoseok catches his gaze. “Louder, too.”

“Aish,” Hoseok nudges him with a playful elbow. “He’s as cute as he’s bratty, I’ll tell you
that, Taehyung-ah. Did he tell you he was scared he would find my voice speed strange?”
Hoseok teases, biting the tip of his tongue as he winks.

“What?” Taehyung blinks confusedly at him.

Jungkook pouts, giving Hoseok this fake sulking glance. “I only listen to his audio notes at
speed 1.5. Sometimes double speed.”

“Ah.” Taehyung nods in understanding, biting back a laugh. “I’d say that’s a genuine
concern.”

“See,” Jungkook gives his friend a pointed glance. “Someone with good sense.”

“Taehyung doesn’t count, Jungkook-ah.” Hoseok rolls his eyes. “He’s biased.”

Taehyung wants to protest, saying he’s not, Jungkook looks like he wants to do the same, but
they both know Hoseok is right. They settle for sharing a knowing glance, their lips pressed
into smiles.

The influx of information captures Hoseok’s attention, and this time he gets distracted
looking at the map of the underground and, of course, taking pictures of it too. Taehyung
takes the opportunity to step closer to Jungkook, seeking that warmth that’s so familiar but
has been so scarce in the past weeks.

“So, how’s Hoseok's voice so far?” Taehyung asks, in a soft, teasing tone.

Jungkook simply looks at Taehyung for a minute, lower lip trapped in between his teeth to
contain a smile as if he isn’t listening, just absorbing Taehyung’s presence. Except Jungkook
is always listening, so he lets out a breathy laugh, and replies after a while, “I mean, when
he’s not talking in a British accent to impress Yoongi, completely fine.”

Even from a distance, Hoseok doesn’t miss the comment, but instead of being embarrassed
by it, he sticks his tongue out, puffs his chest proudly. “Excuse you, sir,” he says in a horrible
British accent.

Taehyung laughs, looking confusedly between the two of them. “What do you mean to
impress Yoongi?”
“Not my fault his cousin is a cute cherry pie.” Hoseok shrugs, unbothered.

Taehyung frowns, half amused now, but the other half still confused. “Are you into
nicknames as a joke too?”

“No, this is just his normal vocabulary,” Jungkook is the one who replies with a laugh. He
registers Taehyung’s blank expression, and adds, “The pastry chef thing, remember?”

“Oh.” Taehyung’s mouth parts in realisation. Then, like a gentle bubble inside him, a laugh
escapes his lips. It feels good to hear it and know it comes from him, that he is still capable of
being light. “Poor Jimin. Danny first, now Hoseok? My man has a tough competition.”

“Who’s Jimin?” Hoseok inquires, squinting his eyes. “Is he Yoongi’s boyfriend? Why didn’t
you tell me your cousin has a boyfriend?” Hoseok doesn’t wait for the answer, already
smacking Jungkook in the chest.

“Ouch!” Jungkook curls his torso, pushing his hand away. “He doesn’t have a boyfriend!
Jimin is a friend.”

“Ah, okay,” Hoseok hums, then his lips curve up in this sly smile. “Yet. He doesn’t have a
boyfriend yet.” He winks, already bouncing his way to the approaching train.

As soon as the doors open, the voice of the underground announces in a soothing but
impersonal tone to mind the gap between the train and the platform, and Hoseok absolutely
wheezes in delight, mimicking the instructions with his poor British accent.

When Taehyung holds the pole inside the tube, Hoseok and Jungkook already starting
another topic, he realises his hands are not clammy anymore.

“And it was just a street,” Hoseok complains, flicking a hand in the air.

“I mean, the name pretty much denounces it.” Jimin leans forward, placing a cup of coffee in
front of Hoseok and a hand on his shoulder. “On the house, Hoseok-ssi.” Jimin winks.

Taehyung swears he sees Hoseok flushing when he says a low thank you. The cafe is too
crowded today, his voice gets lost in the buzz around them.

“What about me?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow, looking at Jimin with puppy eyes.

“You’re not a special guest, Yoongi-ssi.” Jimin looks him up and down, smirking. “But I can
give you a special recommendation if you want.” He finishes with a wink, leaving Yoongi
biting his lower lip to suppress a sly grin, then turns his attention back to Hoseok. “So what
did you do after?”

Hoseok looks lost for a moment at the sight of a cocky Yoongi, he seems conflicted between
the charged gazes the men have been exchanging, but when Jimin squeezes his shoulders
softly once again, he relaxes.

“Oh, then we ended the night in the most British way, as Jungkook posed it.” Hoseok smacks
the table, looking between Jimin and Yoongi, completely ignoring that Jungkook is just
across the table from him. “And it wasn’t drinking a cup of tea, can you believe that?”

“Nooo,” Jimin says with a giggle, dragging the o in the end in fake shock.

“Well, Hobi, Jungkook isn’t very acquainted with British culture, as you can see,” Yoongi
says, lips curving upwards and finger circling the rim of his cup. “If you need a proper guide,
I can show you around.”

He throws the words casually, not bothering to disguise the coy smile that’s plastered on his
face. If at a first glance Yoongi seems reserved, time has shown Taehyung he’s nothing but
extremely laid back. Or that’s Jimin's effect on him, at least. Jimin certainly causes things on
people. Hoseok, for example, looks rather flustered since they were introduced, his normal
enthusiasm slightly refrained and his cheeks perpetually flushed.

Jimin raises his brows, placing both hands on his hips, and steps by Yoongi’s side, looking
sharply at the blond man. “Well, I’ve been here for almost ten years. If you need a food and
drinks guide, I’m your guy,” Jimin says in that mellow voice, eyes fluttering exaggeratedly.

It’s funny to watch Hoseok navigate the situation like a kid overwhelmed by all the options in
an amusement park. He brings his cup to his mouth to hide his smile, pretending to ponder
which offer is best when everyone at the table knows he’s going to go for both.

Since they arrived here today, Jimin and Yoongi have been playing a silent battle that
Taehyung can’t quite understand. To be honest, he never understands anything between the
two of them, but adding Hoseok to whatever is going on makes it even harder to keep up.
Hoseok, on the other hand, seems to be having the time of his life learning how to surf this
wave.

Slowly, Taehyung leans back on his chair and looks at Jungkook just to find the man pressing
his lips together to keep from laughing.

“What on Earth are we watching?” Taehyung whispers, bringing the cup of coffee closer to
his mouth so the other three men don’t notice their conversation. By the way they’re
engrossed in their own talk, it’s completely unnecessary.

“I have no idea, but this is high-quality entertainment,” Jungkook answers, leaning closer to
him. “Looks like those mating dances we see on Discovery Channel, but better.”

Taehyung snickers, taking a long sip of his drink. He’s having just black coffee, but it’s
autumn and everything smells like pumpkin spiced latte. The whole city is painted in earth
tones and even the sun seems a tone warmer. The lights filtered through the glass windows of
the cafe cast this sort of sepia filter over the room.

“He’s really having the time of his life here, uh?” Taehyung asks, looking at how Hoseok
seems incapable of stopping grinning, cheeks impossibly pink.

“He is.” Jungkook smiles, then turns to Taehyung with concern in his expression. “I’m sorry I
haven’t been around much, we’ve been trying to check all the boxes on Hoseok’s list.” He
pauses, stares at the floor for a second, and then raises his gaze again. “I miss you, bun.”

Taehyung almost spills the coffee all over Jungkook’s face. He puts the mug on the table, and
cleans his wet upper lip with the back of his hand. It’s just a normal sentence, Jungkook has
said it before, he’s sure.

But it’s in his eyes, the way they land softly and attentively over Taehyung’s face like even
his gaze has been missing him.

His heart flutters so much that he feels like he’s being lifted again. He adjusts his feet on the
floor, just to make sure he’s grounded, and his face opens in an uncontrollable smile. Life has
been so much lately he almost forgot how effortless it is to live around Jungkook.

“You’re with your best friend, and things have been hectic with work for me too, so, don’t
worry,” he says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He feels a little breathless when he
adds, “I miss you, too, bun.”

“Next week will be easier, yeah?” Jungkook asks with a hopeful gaze.

“Yeah, next week,” he replies, a gentle swoop inside his stomach when he says it, carrying all
the hidden possibilities of the next few days.

“And can you believe Jungkook keeps saying my British accent is not good?” Hoseok’s loud
voice echoes around them, and Taehyung is startled back to the table they’re sharing. Jimin is
gone, already behind the counter talking to a patreon.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, finally catching up to their talk. “Because it’s not.”

“You speak as if you have a good one.” Hoseok sticks his tongue out, scrunching up his nose
into this cute grimace.

“Oh, Jungkook does have a good British accent,” Yoongi says, eyes going slightly wide when
he smacks the tabletop. “Do it, Kook!”

Flushing, Jungkook almost chokes on his own drink. “What? No!”

“What?! And you didn’t tell me? Please, Jungkook-ah!” Hoseok begs, putting his hands
together in a prayer position.

“I’ve never heard it!” Taehyung joins the pleadings, poking Jungkook in the ribs until he
squirms. “Come on.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes, trying to pull an annoyed expression, but his lips are already curving
up at the attention. He clears his throat, puffs his chest, and gestures a hand in the air. “ Don’t
be defeatist, dear. It’s very middle class.”

The words come out of his mouth in a perfect accent. One Taehyung knows is forced, his
English doesn’t sound like this normally, but the added effort makes it sound as natural as if
he was born here. Each syllable is perfectly stressed, round on his tongue, pronounced like
he’s singing.

Maybe Jungkook is just good with words in any form. In any language.

“Wait, was that Downton Abbey?” Taehyung's jaw goes slack.

“Hell, yeah, mate,” Jungkook keeps speaking in his perfectly posh British English.

Taehyung blinks stunned, completely entranced by it. He keeps staring at Jungkook until
Hoseok clasps his hands loudly, breaking off the spell.

“Holy shit, that was good!” He squeals, covering his mouth with a hand, the other pointing at
Jungkook enthusiastically.

“Jungkookie being good at things, wow, who would've guessed,” Yoongi says ironically as he
drinks his coffee, but the gentle smile that tugs his lips up reveals his fondness.

Jungkook shrinks his shoulders, and tries to hide how warm his cheeks are by lifting his cup,
but he does a poor job of it when his round cheeks betray him and make it evident that he’s
beaming.

He’s never been one to demand attention. Jungkook shines quietly in the corner, meant only
for those who have the privilege of knowing him.

And Taehyung has that privilege, he thinks. He has it in his hands and on the tip of his
tongue, and looking at how disconcerted Jungkook looks now, he wishes he also had courage.

“Don’t we have something better to talk about?” Jungkook changes the topic when it gets too
much to be under three attentive gazes. He starts rambling while he folds a napkin over and
over. “Taehyung, tell us about the art.”

“What’s the art?” Taehyung gazes at him quizzically.

“You know, paintings and stuff.” Jungkook flicks his hand holding the folded napkin in the
air. When everyone looks as puzzled as Taehyung, he groans. “Nevermind. Yoongi, how’s
work lately? You mentioned a new project.”

“Ah, work.” Yoongi groans, running his hands over his face until his fingertips pull the flesh
of his cheeks down. He sighs deeply, thumping his palms back on the table.

“Seems to be going great,” Hoseok mocks.

It makes Yoongi snicker, shaking his head to the side in a sign of exhaustion. “It’s a fucking
disaster. I’ve been producing for this new singer but his lyrics are horrible. I’ve been trying to
explain it to him but he’s stubborn as fuck. Doesn’t think there needs to be a narrative in the
fucking song.” Yoongi laughs nervously. “He says it’s a song, not a book, Yoongi. As if it
worked like that. ”

Jungkook frowns. “What do you mean by no narrative?”

“Like he doesn’t think of the linearity of the lyrics,” Yoongi widens his eyes exasperatedly,
outrage dripping from his voice. “You’re fucking British, mate, just listen to The Beatles or
whatever, you know?” Yoongi sighs, throwing a hand in the air. “It doesn’t need to be
complex, just— Songs can be stories, too.”

“Of course they can,” Jungkook pinches his face even more. He leans forward and pulls his
lower lip in between his fingers in a thought he doesn’t share with the rest of the table.

Taehyung watches him attentively, the way his forehead wrinkles the more immersed he gets
in his own ideas. The way he goes quiet when he is thinking about his words when he’s
immersed in his creative process.

Some people like to share their ideas out loud, letting them bloom in a collective thinking
process. Jungkook has always been on the quiet side, always the one who looks inwards
instead. Always shining quietly, Taehyung thinks again.

He’s curious to know Jungkook’s take on that, curious to know what ideas make his engines
turn, but Jungkook remains quiet, eyes fixed on the table.

Until Hoseok’s voice breaks the silence, his fingers snapping into a finger gun. “You should
hire Jungkookie to write lyrics for him.”

“What?” Jungkook’s eyes widen, he jerks back to an upright position.

“Come on,” Hoseok insists, pulling a funny, annoyed face. “Your last two pieces? Top-tier
storytelling. Ten out of ten would read it again and you know I’m not famous for being a big
reader.”

His words make a shy smile grow on Jungkook’s face, his cheeks gaining that faint pink tone
again. They make Yoongi square his shoulders proudly, nodding with a satisfied grin.

And it’s funny how the same words, said by the same mouth, can trigger so many different
reactions.

Because while everyone at the table shares that similar proud feeling, Taehyung feels nothing
but a hollowness in his stomach. Slowly, it gets filled with an uncanny mix of jealousy and
dread and confusion that reaches his throat. It’s ugly, and he doesn’t like it, but he can’t stop
the way it takes over him. He tries to wash it all down with the coffee, but it’s cold and bitter
now, sinking heavily in his stomach.
“They weren’t that good.” Jungkook blushes, waving a hand in dismissal to show he’s
unbothered, but he looks everything but breezy.

“Shut up, Kook. No fake modesty here.” Yoongi crumples a napkin, and throws it at
Jungkook’s chest. “I almost teared up with the one you published a couple of months ago, the
one about the most ordinary boy on Earth.” His eyes flick over Taehyung for a brief, almost
imperceptible, moment, then licks his lips, looks back at Jungkook and says, “You’re getting
softer, uh?”

Jungkook shifts in place, mimics Yoongi’s move and directs a quick glance at Taehyung.
Then, he looks back at Yoongi and Hoseok. “I’ve been… I don’t know?” He scratches his
nape.

A soft laugh falls from Yoongi’s lips, his mouth gently curved up in this amused yet
incredulous smile. He downs the rest of his coffee, licks his lips afterward. “I bet you could
do wonders in lyric writing.”

“I’ve never even written a song in my life,” Jungkook says, head shaking in concern.

“Jungkook, please.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “As if that could stop you.”

“But you write poems!” Hoseok remembers, snapping his fingers repeatedly to fish for
information that doesn’t come. “What was that one, the one I like?”

Laughing, Jungkook says, “The one about the lost snail? That was silly.”

“That was fucking sweet, Jeon Jungkook.” Hoseok says firmly. He points, shaking Yoongi by
the arm. “It was about the search for home and you wrote from the point of view of a cute
snail that already had a home in it.”

“Oh, I’ve read that one! Yes!” Yoongi confirms, then adds another comment that Taehyung
can’t get himself to listen to.

The ugly thing bubbles in his chest. He looks back and forth between them, forcing a smile
that feels wrong on his face. The three of them talk in detail about Jungkook’s poem, Hoseok
even quotes wrongly a sentence that has Jungkook laughing. Yoongi draws back to his
writings from years ago, a poem he wrote when he was a kid and his mom showed to the
whole family.

And Taehyung stays there, watching quietly, with nothing to add to the conversation because
he’s the only one who has never read any of Jungkook’s writings. Not the recent ones, not the
ones he made as a kid just for fun, not the ones he published in the magazine he once
mentioned.

Slowly, he sinks his body back into the chair, trying to make himself more invisible than he
already feels. Maybe if he curls his torso, if he breathes really slowly, the other three won’t
notice he’s still here.

In a way, it already feels like he’s not.

His mind starts working in overdrive, a pressure circling his head with how hard he tries to
make sense of what this all means for him.

Why is he the only one who hasn’t seen Jungkook’s writing so far? Jungkook said he wanted
to wait until he had something good enough to show Taehyung, but from what he’s listening,
everything he writes is good. And of course it is, Taehyung knows that without reading a
single word that came out of his pen.

They’ve been sharing so much, they’ve been sharing everything, in Taehyung’s opinion, but
it doesn’t seem enough for Jungkook to fully trust him. Is that the case? Is that the case even
when he has put his heart and soul on the table for Jungkook, has offered bits and pieces of
himself that he didn’t dare to share with anyone else? Without meaning to, he had made his
heart available again even when he thought he wasn’t ready. Because maybe there’s no such
thing as being ready.

We’re more than friends and yet less than this, Taehyung thinks.

And it has happened before. It always happens, in the end. To be wanted for some things, but
not for everything .

Am I the problem? He wonders, feeling this tight grip in his throat, cold and suffocating at the
same time.

He already knows he’s not worthy of Jungkook, but having proof of it brings an ache to his
heart that is completely different from the squeezed sensation he has been feeling in his chest
lately. Is it because he’s always falling? Jungkook never seemed to mind, he told Taehyung
once. Maybe he’s more broken than he thought, maybe Jungkook does mind.

What was he expecting, after all? That he would be deserving of receiving the most important
part of someone? Isn’t it normal to him now, to give all of himself while only receiving back
something incomplete?

It has happened before. It always happens. To be in a room full of people but to be the only
one who doesn’t fit that space.

His breath gets shorter, the pressure in his head irradiates through his neck and down his
spine, making everything warm but in a bad way. In an alarming way.

He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be in a place he doesn’t fit. And he means
much more than this cafe. In reality, there’s nowhere he thinks he would fit right now.

“Come on, Jungkook, you can do anything.” Yoongi swats his shoulder. “Right, Tae?”

Taehyung blinks hard, is abruptly pulled back to the conversation in front of him only to
realise he missed half of it. “Oh, yes, yeah.” His voice comes out clipped, and it doesn’t go
unnoticed by Jungkook this time. Yoongi and Hoseok, on the other hand, don't seem to mind.
They keep talking about Jungkook’s writing, about music, and god knows what else, because
Taehyung’s ears are ringing, hot and loud.
He rubs his palms on his jeans, trying to catch his breath. It’s useless, because it doesn’t
work, and he only grows more nervous.

“Is everything okay?” Jungkook asks, one hand softly placed on his knee to keep it in place.
Taehyung didn’t even realise he had been bouncing it the whole time.

Today, the touch that has always been welcome burns his leg. Taehyung has to make an effort
to not push Jungkook’s hand away. “Yeah— I—” he stutters. He inhales deeply through his
nose, and presses his mouth into a straight line. “Just this weird headache, I think I might go
home.”

“What? Already?” Hoseok interrupts, then pouts. “The Danny guy hasn't even started yet!”

Taehyung smiles, pushing his chair back to stand up. The room tilts, but he keeps his grip on
the chair, balancing himself. He sees Jungkook’s gaze following his every move, but doesn’t
feel brave enough to look back.

“I’m sorry, hyung. I hope you guys have fun, yeah?” He gets his jacket from the back of the
chair, and waves a faint goodbye.

Yoongi and Hoseok bid their goodbyes, the latter asks him to join them the next day and
Taehyung says yes, even though he already knows it's a lie.

It’s not until he is two steps away from the door that someone circles his wrist to stop him.
He doesn’t need to look back to know it's Jungkook. His prints press firmly on the soft skin
of Taehyung’s inner arm, in the way that only he can. Taehyung closes his eyes, wishing the
touch didn’t make his aching heart flip once again in his chest.

“Hey.” Jungkook searches for something in his face. Taehyung only hopes his blank
expression is enough to keep inside all his feelings. “Are you sure you’re fine? Do you need
me to go with you?”

“Yes, don’t worry.” Taehyung nods curtly. “Go have fun with them.”

The way Jungkook’s forehead creases in a hurtful expression is a hint that maybe Taehyung
isn’t as subtle as he thinks he is. Maybe the bite in his voice is undisguisable, the hurt in his
face is blatant.

His mom always told him he was too transparent, but he always enjoyed believing otherwise.
Just those little fictions you create about yourself to make you seem more interesting, more
confident.

“Say hi to Danny for me, yeah?” Taehyung adds when Jungkook doesn’t say anything, just
keeps staring at him, waiting for something. He reaches for the door, pulls it open.

A swirl of cold air and traffic noise comes inside, muffling the pumpkin spicy smell a little
bit. Jungkook nods. “Will do,” he says in a small voice. “Bye, bun.”

The nickname resonates in his mind, too familiar of a word that he wishes was foreign to his
ear. Taehyung’s heart cracks inside his chest. The words he kept there in the last weeks crawl
up to his throat, suffocating him.

“Bye, Jungkook,” it’s all he says.

Jungkook (bun) [8:47 pm]

Hey, are you feeling better?

You [9:50 pm]

yeah

Jungkook (bun) [9:53 pm]

Danny just sang that Beatles song you like
Wish you were here >.<

You [10:15 pm]

hm pretty sure thats a pink floyd song

Jungkook (bun) [10:18 pm]

Ha
I mean it .

You [10:56 pm]

:)

Jungkook (bun) [3:45 pm]

Hi bun, Hobi and I are going to this club tonight
Do you wanna join us?
It’s his last day here
Jungkook (bun) [5:27 pm]
Bun?

You [7:12 pm]

i can’t mak it today
srry, jungkook-ah

Jungkook [7:22 pm]

Is everything okay?

You [8:02 pm]

yea, just busy with work

Jungkook [8:06 pm]

Take care of yourself, yeah?

<3

Jungkook [8:16 am]

Just left Hobi hyung at the airport.
Very bittersweet =(
Can you believe ten days goes by that fast?

Jungkook [8:34 am]

You must be busy, but we could get dinner tonight.
If you’re free, I mean.

Jungkook [9:47 am]

And if you want to, of course.

You [6:29 pm]

sorry, i cant tonight
working the night shitf too
Jungkook [6:33 pm]
Ah, okay.
Tomorrow?

You [8:20 pm]

this week is kind of complicatd
i’ll let you know if anything changes

Jungkook [8:21 pm]

Okay, bun =(
Just
Take care of yourself.
You’ve been working too much lately
<3

Jungkook [5:41 pm]

Hey, bun
Do you have plans for the weekend?
I saw this exhibition at Serpentine Gallery
I think you’d like
[link attached]
We could also get lunch at that Indian place you mentioned
Let me know if you’re down =)
I miss you

You [3:08 pm]

hi, i missed this message yesterday
i went there with namjoon earlier this week
maybe next time?

Jungkook [3:20 pm]

Ah, okay.
Is just that I thought you were busy during the week, uh
Nevermind
Jungkook [3:36 pm]
Is everything okay?
I
I have the feeling we’ve been missing each other a lot lately.

Taehyung [1:54 am]

yea, i just have a lot in my head rn
with all these thigns yk
the phd thing and money thing, i mean
i just need some time to myself

Jungkook [8:29 am]

Okay, yeah, of course.
Just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.
I miss you

Jungkook [8:32 am]

A lot.

Jungkook [7:28 pm]

Came to Jimin’s cafe by myself
It’s weird
To not have you here.

The good part of cultural traditions is that differently from places and people, you can take
them anywhere with you. That’s why, annually, Taehyung ends up elbows deep in vivid red
chili paste, helping with the ‘Kim’s annual kimchi-making’.

“Not even my mum made me do this when I was a teen,” Jimin complains, wiggling his red
fingers in the air from where he’s kneeling on the floor beside Taehyung.

“That’s because men don’t have house obligations in Korea, but this is not a sexist
household,” Namjoon says, splashing the red paste on his t-shirt. “Oh, shit.”
“I told you to wear an apron.” Seokjin throws one at his face.

“Yah, why aren’t you helping?” Taehyung interrupts, gesturing to the three massive bowls of
paste and cabbage on the floor.

“Someone has to coordinate the mess,” Seokjin says with a cocky grin, bringing the glass of
somaek to his lips. “You all would’ve been lost without me.”

“No, we’d be clean and having fun instead of swimming in kimchi,” Jimin snaps back, lifting
a specially large cabbage in the air.

“You’ll thank me later when you’re eating homemade kimchi for the next six months.”
Seokjin leans forward, holds the soaked red vegetable with his index finger and thumb to
avoid getting his hands dirty, and throws it back into the bowl with a splash. Jimin yelps,
glaring daggers at Seokjin.

Taehyung laughs, rubbing the paste between the layers of the cabbage. He likes complaining
just to piss Seokjin off and knows Jimin is like that too. Both of them know they wouldn’t
change this for any other activity.

The little traditions of their family are what makes life in a foreign country bearable. It’s not
like the casual dinners or movie nights they do every now and then. This is an unspoken
commitment. Things might not be going according to plan for any of them, but they will
always have these non-negotiable moments they can share every year. Like a reminder that
everything can change, but this will always be the same.

And annual kimchi-making might not sound very exciting, but it’s comforting, it’s a place
where Taehyung knows he will always fit in. It’s just what he needs now. A little bit of
comfort to deal with his internal uneasiness. A place to belong.

He looks down at the cabbages, his gloved hands tinted red. The words inside him are
squeezed in his chest just like the cabbage heads inside the bowls. Too many for just one
container.

There’s a hierarchy in his mind of people whom he should tell first about the PhD based on
how much his chest will burn with shame. Friends always come before family in the list,
because as much as his skin is already prickling hot, he knows acceptance will come way
easier from Seokjin, Namjoon and Jimin. People who taught him that love comes in many
forms, especially when it’s not attached to ideals of success.

He has been rehearsing for too long in his mind, and maybe he could say it. He doesn’t need
to go into much detail, just say it.

I’m not going back to the PhD.

He knows they won’t judge him but that won’t stop them from asking questions and throwing
glances. He knows Namjoon might give him a pitiful look without realising it's pitiful. That
Seokjin might make a joke just to ease the tension and Taehyung will pretend to laugh. That
Jimin will act like a concerned parent, asking too many questions until Taehyung asks him to
stop.

It’s simple. He has played the scenario too many times in his head already. Taehyung has all
the answers on the tip of his tongue.

It’s okay, hyung, he will say to Namjoon, I wanted this.

Thank you, hyung, he will reply after the joke, when Seokjin asks if there’s anything he can
do, I’ve got this, he will lie.

Yes, Jimin, I thought this through. No, I couldn’t ask for an extension. Please, I’m fine but
don’t, he will beg.

Taehyung might not be a liar, not a purposeful one, at least, even though he lies to himself
quite often about being okay, about not having an available heart, about not being ready. But
sometimes lying to the people you love is the only way to handle a situation. Not to be
dishonest to them, but to not be honest with yourself.

Perhaps they will know the moment the words come out of his mouth that he’s not being
genuine, and perhaps they will call him out on it. But part of Taehyung’s heart hopes his
friends will see the ache in his eyes and hear the strain in his voice and will understand where
he’s coming from. Understand that sometimes the truth just tightens the restraints that are
holding you.

“Actually, I might need extra,” Jimin says before Taehyung can let the words hanging on the
tip of his tongue slip. His friend aims for casualty, but his tone lands on nervousness.
Everyone looks at him curiously and Jimin laughs awkwardly, rubbing more paste on the
soaked cabbage. “I won’t have much time to cook for the next six months, or next year to be
precise.”

Slowly, everyone stops their movements, squinting at him in question. Jimin keeps mixing
the ingredients, eyes locked on the bowl in front of him, biting his lips to hide the smile that
slowly spreads on his face.

“Care to expand on that, Jimin-ah?” Seokjin deadpans, looking at him over the rim of his
glass.

Jimin closes his eyes, scrunches his face into a huge grin, and jolts up to his knees, arms
raised to the ceiling when he says, “Arthur offered me the cafe! I’m gonna be a business
owner!” The words rush out of his mouth, eyes going wide waiting for the reaction.

“You what!?” Namjoon jolts in surprise and flips the bowl of red paste, splashing everything
on top of the plastic Seokjin used to cover the floor of the kitchen. The table was strategically
pushed aside because this is the kind of task you need unlimited space for, as Seokjin always
reminds them.

“Namjoon-ah!” Seokjin yells, then he throws his hands up and turns to Jimin, eyes going
comically wide. “Jimin-ah!”
Taehyung’s heart pumps on his chest, his hands frozen on the cabbage. “No way!”

Jimin laughs, wiggles his hands in the air, sprinkling red debris all over the place, but Seokjin
doesn’t care anymore, he barely waits for Jimin to peel off his gloves to crawl his way to him
and pull him into a hug.

“Jimin-ah, that’s amazing,” Seokjin says with a loud, happy laugh that Taehyung feels
compelled to join. Without getting rid of his own gloves, he joins them in a group hug,
swaying them both from side to side.

Namjoon is the last one to crash into the embrace, almost knocking them all on the floor. It
only helps to make them all giggle harder.

“My clothes, you’re ruining my clothes!” Jimin yelps, trying to get out of the three pairs of
arms crushing him. When he finally does, he looks at the red stains on his sweater and shakes
his head.

“How did that happen?” Namjoon asks, slumping back on the floor, his back hitting the
cabinet behind him. “I didn’t know he was selling. Seokjin! Bring more alcohol, we need to
celebrate!”

“Already on it! Hold on!” Seokjin rises to his feet too fast, his socked foot slips on a blob of
paste on the floor and he has to hold himself on the counter to not fall. The way he laughs
makes it clear he wouldn’t mind if his butt hit the tiles. He gets too many beer bottles from
the fridge, puts them all on the messy floor, and starts opening them one by one.

“Did you talk to him?” Taehyung asks eagerly, taking the beer Seokjin offers and kneeling
back beside Jimin with huge, expectant eyes.

“Kind of, he approached me—”

“Wait, you already knew?!!?” Seokjin gapes, retracting the hand that was offering the bottle
to Jimin. “Yah, how did you not tell your hyungs about it?”

“Aish.” Jimin snatches the beer out of Seokjin’s hand. “I didn’t want to worry you, but yes,”
he turns to Namjoon, pointing the bottle at him, “Arthur wants to retire officially, and he is
going to put the cafe up for sale. And I was,” Jimin stops, takes a large gulp of the beer to put
his thoughts in order, “I was so fucking stressed out about losing my job. I was considering
talking to him, to ask for help finding a new thing and all, but earlier this week he called me
at his office.” Jimin smiles, looking down at the bottle of beer clutched against his chest like
he can’t even believe what he’s about to share. “He told me about how he didn’t want to sell
it to someone who would destroy everything he worked his whole life to build and he offered
me a deal. It’s a lease to purchase contract.” When everyone blinks blankly at him, he adds,
“I’ll be leasing it for six months, like a test for both of us. At the end of this period, we’ll
officialize the sale.”

“Jimin-ah, that’s…” Taehyung tries to say but the emotion gets the best of him.
“I know.” Jimin eyes shut close with how strongly his lips stretch on his face, but Taehyung
doesn’t miss the way they sparkle as he shares the good news.

“It’s your fucking dream, it’s coming true,” Taehyung says in a loud whisper, and he wishes
words were more than just things you say and that fade in the air, getting overlapped by other
noises, by other words. He wishes there were other ways to make people understand what he
means. So he throws himself on his lap, pulls him into another hug, says with his whole body,
“I’m so happy for you.”

“Me, too,” Jimin says in a choked voice. Taehyung pulls away from the hug just to see the
tears pooling on the corners of his eyes, his lower lip trembling in his never-ending smile. “I
can’t believe it.”

Taehyung smacks a kiss on his cheek, wet and loud. “You better believe it!”

Across the plastic towel, Namjoon reaches a hand over all the red mess on the plastic. “You
deserve this more than anyone, Jimin-ah.”

“Thanks, hyung.” Jimin nods, one arm on Taehyung’s waist, the other holding Namjoon’s
hand.

“So, when do you take over?” Seokjin asks, wiggling his brows.

“January,” Jimin replies with a deep sigh, his jaw shutters and he bites his lips for a moment
to contain the emotion. “God, it’s so soon.”

“You’re more than ready, Jimin-ah.” Namjoon squeezes his hand, directs him this fond glance
that makes Taehyung sure Namjoon has nothing in his heart but pure devotion towards the
people he loves. “You’ve been running that place by yourself basically.”

“God, I have, haven't I?” Jimin laughs wetly. Taehyung runs a thumb under his eyes to collect
the few tears that paint his flushed face.

“You have, that’s why it will be yours,” Taehyung adds, his own face hurting with how much
he smiles.

He feels his heart doubling in size, feels this enormous sense of pride that he only learned
how to feel when he met the people who are with him now. His family. Taehyung has to hold
back his tears, and not because his own problems are suffocating him right now, but because
he can’t even remember he has troubles in the first place. All of his body and mind are here,
with the people that matter the most. The people he wants to see achieving everything in life,
more than he wishes it for himself.

Jimin’s eyes fill for real this time, no more shy tears. They stream down his face at the same
time giggles escape his mouth, all the ways a body can process true joy. Taehyung keeps
peppering kisses on his temples until the giggles turn into sobs, and Jimin gasps for air. He
plants soft kisses until Jimin sucks a hard breath in, controlling his emotions so he’s steady
enough to talk.
“I just can't believe it, I—” He sniffs, letting out this shaky laugh. “It’s been so long since I
came here. It was so hard— It’s still so fucking hard all the time, and— There were moments
I thought I would never make it.” He shuts his eyes, squeezing the heavy tears. “I was
nineteen with nothing but money to pay for tuition and rent for my first semester and now
I’m running my own business, I—”

Taehyung feels his own eyes sting, a wave of emotion crossing his whole body. Seokjin and
Namjoon seem to be experiencing the same, their eyebrows scrunch up together as they
watch Jimin struggle with his words.

“I finally made it. What I came here for, I made it,” Jimin says with a sigh of relief, the tears
now are heavy, they plummet from his cheeks in a free fall. “My mom, she— She would be
proud of me,” he adds in the tiniest voice Taehyung has ever heard him use, and it’s
devastating to know these happy words are so embedded with pain. “She always told me she
knew since I was little that I would— That I was destined for great things. She believed so
much in me. I don’t know if this is something so great but— I think, I think she would be so
proud of me.”

Seokjin waddles on his knees until he’s behind Jimin, runs a hand over his hair, and says in
the most soothing voice, the hyung voice, “She is. She is so proud of you, love.”

Jimin leans his head on Seokjin's stomach, eyes falling shut as his bodies shake with emotion.
Seokjin keeps hugging him through it all.

“And so are we,” Taehyung completes, pressing his chest on Jimin’s back, pouring all of his
love for his friend into the hug.

When the tears dry and the smiles grow back on their faces, they make a toast. It’s all charged
but happy, so immensely happy that Taehyung breathes normally for the first time in two
weeks. Eventually, Seokjin forces them to go back to preparing the kimchi, which goes
haphazardly considering Namjoon had two beers before returning to his task. It’s all filled
with laughs and spicy paste everywhere, and the kimchi might not turn out as good as they
usually make it but it’ll have the taste of happiness, and that’s what matters the most.

Because food has the taste of what’s made of. In every sense.

The kitchen gets too dirty, the beautiful sink both Seokjin and Namjoon love, stained red.
Taehyung scrubs it with a light heart, thinking of all the dreams this house is made of, all the
dreams they shared and will share here. All the dreams that were broken here, too. Weirdly
enough, his heart doesn’t feel so squeezed in his chest. Even if the words are still there, caged
inside him. Maybe it’s the shared bliss, the fact that his heart just grew a few inches to
accommodate Jimin’s happiness. Because in the end, it’s his happiness too.

It makes him relieved, to realise that even when it seems like he’s too small for himself, he’s
never too limited for the people he loves.

Jimin tries to help with the cleaning, but Seokjin forbids it, telling him he’ll have enough
messes to clean up in the next few months and should enjoy it while he can. It doesn’t take
long for him to kick them out, his last straw being when Namjoon and Jimin start sprinkling
soap bubbles on each other, spreading the redness on the tiles instead of containing it.

“Can I ask now?” Jimin says when they throw their bodies on the ugly couch in the living
room.

Taehyung brings the bottle of beer to his lips, arches one puzzled eyebrow. The look on
Jimin's face is not good, too stern to be something light, and Taehyung’s shoulders tense at
the sight.

“Ask what?”

Jimin kicks his feet on the coffee table, sinking his body further on the couch. He turns his
face up so Taehyung can’t dodge his question. “What's going on between you and Jungkook.”

Just the name is enough to make Taehyung’s stomach drop an inch. He hasn’t heard it out
loud for two weeks now, the sound of it echoing in his mind like a forbidden word.

“Not this again.” Taehyung sighs, resting the bottle on his leg and scratching the label with
his finger. “And I already told you there’s nothing going on between us.”

Jimin shakes his head. “No, I mean, he’s not around anymore. Well,” he pauses, shrugs his
shoulders, “At least not around you. He’s been going to the cafe quite often.”

Gulping, Taehyung tries to control his breathing. He wants to ask how Jungkook’s doing, if
he looks healthy, if he’s been writing when he goes to the cafe, if he asks Jimin about
Taehyung.

He knows all the answers to that question are within his reach, he just needs to open his
message app and ask Jungkook himself. He knows he will answer, will be happy to do so. Or,
he can just stop by Jungkook’s place on his way home, it’s not far, just three bus stops after
his own. He knows it’s all on him now, but it never felt so unreachable before.

“Nothing happened, we’ve just been busy, you know, with Hoseok-hyung’s visit and work,”
Taehyung shrugs, prays that Jimin doesn’t look at his face too closely. And if he does, if he
sees the lie swimming in Taehyung's eyes, he prays that Jimin understands that his lack of
honesty is just self-preservation now. “But we’re good.”

Jimin hums, looks straight ahead at the living room wall as he takes a sip of his beer. When
he lowers the bottle on the armrest of the couch, his mouth opens and closes a few times, all
the questions on the tip of his tongue.

Please, not now. Please, not now.

It’s not simply that he can’t talk about it, it’s that he feels so embarrassed with himself to
even admit out loud that he’s been avoiding Jungkook because he felt jealous and he felt
small and he felt unworthy. When he was already feeling small and unworthy for so many
other reasons, reasons he hasn’t disclosed to Jimin and the others yet, because it never feels
like a good time. It never feels fair to dump his own problems when people are happy or
when people are sad, or when people are just busy with their lives.

In the end, Taehyung is such a huge mess of untangled hard feelings that he doesn’t even
know what to do with himself anymore.

“That’s good. That you’re good, I mean,” Jimin says vaguely. “We all like him.”

“Or his friend and cousin,” Taehyung teases, gulping down the unpleasant taste in his mouth
with another sip of the bitter. It’s all made of the same bitterness. He rolls his shoulders to
appear more casual, but they are stiff, completely tense in a way Taehyung hadn’t noticed
tonight.

“Yeah, them too,” Jimin laughs, rolls his eyes and elbows him. “But Jungkookie, he’s just…
He’s good,” he says firmly, then he gives him this quick glance, checking Taehyung’s
reaction before he adds, “We like to see how you get when he’s around.”

“And how’s that?” Taehyung pulls a face like doesn’t understand what Jimin is saying, as if
lying to himself would work when he knows the truth already.

“Happier, Taehyung.” Jimin presses his lips together, stares at him intensely, still searching
for a reaction that will tell him everything he wants to know and that Taehyung isn’t giving
him. “You look way happier.”

But Taehyung keeps this impassive face, nodding as his heart shrinks inside him again. He
tries to remind himself that Jimin’s words are just sounds, just things that hang in the air and
get carried away by the wind.

Jimin sighs, places a palm on Taehyung's leg softly. “I hope you two get less busy soon.”

Taehyung has always liked big cities. There’s just something welcoming in the tall buildings
and busy streets, something in just existing in the middle of chaos that’s soothing.

The blissful energy makes him feel alive. All the unknown people passing by and the
constant stream of events works like a company. He’s never alone, even when he’s
completely lonely.

Because being alone in a big city is something easy to disguise, but being lonely is a whole
different story.
He can blur himself among the crowd as much as he wants, can frequent exhibitions and go
to meetings and have lunch with people, but, in the end, it doesn’t change the fact that for a
few weeks, all Taehyung feels is lonely.

All Taehyung knows is to be an island. Surrounded by so much, but so unreachable.

Since the first day he set foot in London, Taehyung had welcomed the sense of never being
truly alone as something good. It makes him feel like this place could offer him shelter, could
be somewhere safe for him to build a new life. The life he envisioned for himself outside of
Korea. Instead, the more he stays here, the more he realises London only makes him feel like
a fragmented version of himself. Always never enough.

When he’s mad, he puts the blame on the city, he curses each of its old pretty buildings and
its perpetually grey sky that will never feel like home. When the madness shifts to sorrow,
Taehyung thinks that maybe London isn’t the one to blame, maybe the fault is on himself, for
not living the city the right way.

Now that sorrow is all that he feels, Taehyung keeps punishing himself for making all the
wrong decisions.

It’s a mourning process, in the end, to grieve not only people, but also things, the
possibilities. All that never was and all that will never be. His losses from the past that erases
the possibility of a future Taehyung dreamed so much about once.

The people rush around him, blurry faces and uncoordinated bodies roaming in the same
space as him, but all Taehyung feels is lonely. He knows as long as he keeps all these feelings
to himself, he’ll remain impenetrable. He knows the more he lets the unsaid things remain
unsaid, the more they’ll grow, rooting inside him in a way that becomes even harder to let go
of them.

He has a whole city to keep him company, but as long as he keeps it all inside, he might as
well be as lonely as ever.

Someone bumps into him, it makes him realise he’s been staring at the same painting for at
least ten minutes. He sighs, walks around the room to look for more, but even being
surrounded by his favourite paintings in his favourite museum in the city is not working.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. The shiver going up his spine mimics the vibration of the
message alert. Taehyung clenches his jaw, his fingers flexing, reaching for the phone even
though seeing the message will hurt.

Because there’s only one person who’s been trying to reach him lately, only one person he
doesn't know how to approach anymore.

Jungkook [6:43 pm]

Danny’s singing again at the cafe tonight.
Yoongi came with me this time, but it’s not the same.
I hope you’re okay…

He slumps himself on the bench in the middle of the room surrounded by paintings and stares
at the message. His first thought is to wonder if Jungkook has ordered black coffee at Jimin’s
like he always does. Then, he wonders if his fingers are stained with ink, and under which
light he is right now, if it makes his skin look smoother or evidences the dark circles around
his eyes. Either way, Taehyung knows he would find Jungkook as beautiful as always. He
wonders if today some clueless old lady will bother him at the cafe and he’ll be nice to her
like he always is.

Because Jungkook is always nice. He’s nice now, even when Taehyung doesn’t deserve it.

The screen goes dark in front of his eyes, and Taehyung taps it to life again. Not that he plans
to reply, but as long as Jungkook keeps sending him messages, Taehyung can keep feeling
that feels someone hasn’t given up on him. He’s not sure what he would do if Jungkook
stopped sharing his words with him completely.

He rubs his forehead with his fingers, slides them down to pinch the bridge of his nose. The
air is so heavy in his lungs, it makes its way through his nose in a sultry puff. Everything is
so tangled up inside him that he can’t remember the last time he inhaled and exhaled easily. It
shouldn’t be this hard to simply breathe.

When he looks down again, the screen is dark once more. But this time, Taehyung doesn’t
move his fingers to light it up. Instead, he faces his reflection on the dark screen for a fraction
of a second and it’s enough to make his stomach twist in nervousness.

His eyes are sullen, cheeks hollow and he just looks so worn out, even a stranger would
recommend something around fifteen hours of sleep.

It’s the same face he had when all this started, almost two years ago. The same exhausted
expression of when he decided, after too many sleepless nights, that he needed a leave from
the PhD.

If shame consumed him before, it’s nothing compared to what he feels right now every time
he remembers that there are still people out there who need to hear from his mouth about
what happened. People who count on his success, people who believe in him. People who
deserve to know he’s not who they think he is.

It’s draining, debilitating, to keep it all to himself, to try to hide he’s a failure even though it’s
clear in his face that something is very wrong with him. The weight that sinks his chest
makes his whole body ache, begging for release.

And maybe Taehyung should put an end to his suffering. Maybe he should pull the lump out
of his throat with his bare hands before he chokes for good. Even if shame makes him burn to
ashes.

His palms start sweating around the phone the more he thinks, the noise around him becomes
static in his ringing ears. His mouth shudders, but he clenches his teeth with so much force,
it brings a sharp pain to his jaw.

He can’t stumble now. Even if his own body trembles from inside out. These words that
suffocate him are in his mother tongue, he can’t falter in them.

Shaky fingers bring his phone back to life. The message app is already open, Jungkook’s
words swim in his line of vision, making bitterness rise to his throat. He pushes it all down,
because that’s not the chat he’s looking for.

The list of unread conversations only grows, but he scrolls down until he finds the one he got
two nights ago.

Eomma [11:05 pm]

Taehyung-ah, I’ve started crocheting for Christmas
*image attached*

His trembling thumbs hover over the keyboard. He sucks in a breath, bites his lower lip with
more strength than intended. He swears he tastes blood, but he can’t be sure. He can’t be sure
of anything besides the press of his prints against the cold screen. With air held on top of his
lungs, he types,

hi eomma, i have something to tell you. last year i decided to take a leave from the phd. i was
struggling a lot with some mental health issues, and i thought it was the best decision at the
time. one year has passed and the leave expired, but i decided i’m not going back. i have
officially dropped out. i’m sorry i didn’t tell you or appa before, i just didn’t want you to think
of me as a failure like i think of mysel—

A sharp pain hits him in the back of his eyes, his vision gets blurry and Taehyung
immediately presses delete repeatedly in a panicked movement. The words vanish, letter by
letter until he holds the key, erasing everything at once.

The air is pushed out of his lungs in a loud gasp. Taehyung hangs his head low, trying to ease
his breathing but it seems useless. He closes his eyes shut, the words swimming in his head
and, no! That was too much detail. That was too weak and vulnerable. No.

Another deep, strong inhale that makes his nostrils burn, and Taehyung tries again.

hi eomma, i have some news about the phd. you don’t know this, but i was struggling a lot in
the program so i decided to leave it. permanently.

Before he even adds another sentence, and his thumb jerks over the keyboard, pressing the
retract button, deleting everything one more time.

Too impersonal. No. No!

He shakes his head strongly, the pain he felt earlier from clenching his jaw too hard irradiates
through his face like hammers hitting his temples. He ignores it, gritting his teeth again,
trying to make his blurry eyes focus on the screen. Unblinking, to avoid any emotions from
escaping them as he types,

hi eomma, remember the phd? well, i’m not doing that aymor—

His breath catches in his throat while he is still typing, the lump so big he has to cough,
sharply drawing air in as his lungs burn for relief. Like his life depends on it, he presses
delete again, his chest heaving.

He can’t do this. He can’t do this now.

The thumping of his heart is loud in his ears, like all the blood of his body has travelled to his
head in one motion, and everything is hot and loud and suffocating and he can’t do this. He
simply can’t.

With his eyes screwed shut to avoid the pain that only grows behind his lids, Taehyung holds
the urge to throw his phone at the other side of the room. It wouldn’t only make his financial
situation worse, needing to buy another one, but it would probably damage some art pieces,
maybe even get him banned from his favourite place in this city. And he can’t afford that. He
can’t afford to lose the only place he feels safe in this forever unknown place.

Taehyung stares at his phone, vision completely blurred by tears as he types,

You [7:25]
hi eomma, that’s such a pretty scarf
will you make me an ugly sweater just like those in the movies? :P

When Taehyung was little, his grandma used to say he should enjoy the time while he was
still young and time was still slow, unhurried. She used to look over her glasses, hands
always busy with her embroidery, and say the older you get, the faster it goes, little bear.

Taehyung never understood quite well how years could get shorter when they all have the
same duration since the beginning of time. Deep down, he always carried this fear inside him,
of the day he would finally notice it.

It's early December, and in a minute, he’ll be twenty-eight. Just yesterday he was in this same
space, the gallery where he works, looking at a painting and thinking about life at twenty-
seven, how important it is. Thinking about how waiting for a good life doesn’t seem so bad,
because in the end, he knows he prefers giving it time instead of counting the time.
Except Taehyung has been patient and he has been giving it all the time in the world, but
waiting doesn’t stop him from realising that the time in the clock is running, faster than ever.

And how terrifying it is to notice that time is going by in the blink of an eye and the oh-so-
important twenty sevens changed so much for him but that, at the same time, he remains
stuck in the same place, not moving forward.

Taehyung is still someone who’s always falling. Just like he was a year ago, just like he has
been all his life. Only now, he’s in a free fall without any hopes of being pulled back up, but
still never reaching the ground. The chances of a better future escape his hands at every tick
of the clock.

The more time passes, days blending into each other, the hours slipping through his fingers
like sand in an hourglass, the harder it is to get rid of the weight that keeps him rooted in the
same place. Like the words he carries inside him have nestled, refusing to leave his lips.

To be honest, he doesn’t know how to get rid of them anymore. They are entrenched in his
mind and body, eating away his confidence and self-worth. As he keeps them inside, they
whisper in his mind that he’s just undeserving of being happy or being loved. He almost
doesn’t mind if they choke him now, he has no possibility of a future anyway.

There’s a small part of him that tries to battle these thoughts, tries to convince himself that he
is still worthy of it even though he quit, even though he might not be the best in the area,
even though his English is a bit broken and his self is a lot broken.

But then, he wonders how many even thoughs can a person be made of, how many fragments
a person can divide themselves into until they stop being whole, recognizable. And he
realises, one even though is already one too many.

The sculpture in front of him smells too much like concrete. He never realised concrete had a
smell until he entered a gallery full of grey pieces and noticed it smelled just like a
construction site. Lately, it’s been a lot like this. Pieces made of concrete, metal, glass.
Colourless. Like people aimed for minimalistic and landed on dull. It’s not bad , but
particularly uninteresting. Some things are just like that, born to be in the middle.

He sighs heavily, walks away from the sculpture to get back to his desk at the reception. The
gallery is as stale as it always is, the computer making a humming noise that is not muffled
now that the AC isn’t on anymore. The screen is bright in front of him, reminding him that he
has work to do, but Taehyung’s mind is somewhere else.

Lately, his mind is always somewhere else. Is always on someone else.

Someone in all black, with endless eyes.

He knows it’s a dangerous thought to indulge. He has been trying not to think about the
things he’s been avoiding, only to be reminded that the effort to forget only makes you think
about them more.
Especially when what he’s been trying to avoid isn’t really far from reach. Jungkook’s texts
have become rarer, but they still come.

The last one from three days ago still sits unopened on his lock screen there. Taehyung
doesn’t need to get his phone to know what it says, it’s engraved in his mind by now.

I get it you don’t want to tell me what’s going on but

Could you please tell me you’re okay?

He could erase the notification, but Taehyung likes to keep it pinned there like a little
punishment, a not so gentle reminder that he might as well give up ever being deserving of
good things again.

Because how can he be deserving of Jungkook’s gentle words when he’s been nothing but
cruel to him? Jungkook should be so mad at him by now. He’s mad at Jungkook, for fuck’s
sake. It’s not rational, he has given up on being rational a while ago when it comes to how he
feels about Jungkook.

He’s mad and he needs to keep his distance, but less because he wants to punish Jungkook for
something and more because the idea of facing him right now sounds too much like looking
at a mirror.

Jungkook is the only one who knows the failure Taehyung is. The only one who always knew
Taehyung was always falling and yet treated him like he wasn’t. Jungkook is the reminder
that he wants to give himself entirely, but people will continue wanting only bits of him.

Being hurt and being mad should be enough to keep the distance from what’s hurting him.
Except Taehyung can put as much physical and emotional distance between them as he
wants, and, in the end, it still doesn't change the fact that his mind is always there, keeping
Jungkook close. And how the hell can he heal from this pain if all he thinks about is
Jungkook?

If he misses Jungkook him so fucking much?

He misses Jungkook’s big nose and his large hands, and the way he laughs, bubbly and
childlike. He misses the little sounds he makes when he sleeps. Most of all, he misses his
words, even if they’re not all for Taehyung.

And fuck, they should be all for Taehyung.

Taehyung pushes his hair back and drops his hands on the keyboard. This hot, itchy sensation
crawls up his spine.

He’s been good at keeping his promise, still hasn’t read anything Jungkook wrote. He isn’t
sure if his promise matters anymore. Not when Jungkook is not gonna show him his writings
anyway.

The itch spreads through Taehyung’s body, it runs all over his skin prickling hot. His mind is
assaulted by the thoughts of how much he misses Jungkook, and how mad he is at him at the
same time. In between thoughts that are wistful and maddening, Taehyung feels a twisted,
selfish urge to address both ends of his pain.

He stares at the blank search bar on the screen, he thinks of what it would be like to go
looking for Jungkook’s texts. What would it feel like to have that part of Jungkook he so
desperately craves and misses, while at the same time breaking his trust a little.

It’s petty and all consuming, and he hates that that’s where his mind takes him. To think that
he trusted Jungkook with all of himself, even the bits he didn’t offer anyone else. To think
that right now, nothing seems more fair than taking that part of Jungkook for himself too.

He hates that it comes from this place of hurt and mistrust, and he hates how the idea makes
him so hot and nervous, it’s almost like he’s moving outside of his body, like his mind is
controlling hands that aren’t his when his trembling fingers start to type.

Staring at the keyboard as if to not miss any keys, Taehyung types Jungkook’s name on the
search bar. In English and in Hangul. Just to be sure. His heart thumps in his chest, but not in
a good way. It’s nervousness mixed with hurt and shame and guilt, and disappointment at
himself when he presses enter and—

A swirl of air jolts inside, the noise of the streets invades the silent gallery. Taehyung’s heart
stops on his chest, his hand pushes the mouse away like the object burst into flames under his
palm.

For a brief moment, his chest aches with the thought of someone in all black opening the
door, sliding the cold air inside, just like that first day. It’s a déjà vu that sets his stomach in
somersaults, makes expectation burst inside him like a volcano.

But then, the screen in front of him loads the results and the heat on his skin dissipates,
replaced by cold ice running through his veins when the fear of being caught overpowers
every other feeling.

It’s only a second between the door opening and Taehyung looking up, but it might as well be
hours until his eyes trail up from the list showing Jungkook’s name and other words he can’t
make sense of and focus on the person walking towards him, steps echoing loudly in the
silent gallery. His vision goes blurred with how fast he snaps his neck, and he sucks a hard
breath in, his face twisted in a confused mix of expectation and fear.

“You don’t seem very happy to see me.”

Taehyung’s heart beats again, erratically this time, his breath coming shattered when exhales.

“Alicia,” he says, pushing all the air out of his mouth with his words. It’s a sigh of relief but
at the same time, it’s not. The adrenaline runs off his body, no more ice cold or hot lava in his
veins, and he feels disoriented for a minute, has to blink hard to make sense of what’s going
on. His whole core trembles as he watches Alicia standing in front of him, long hair tied in a
ponytail and a smile as bright as her pink blazer. He tries to recompose himself quickly, but
his voice still comes out strangled when he says, “Sorry, you just caught me off guard.”
He gives the screen one last glance, the results of the search blurred as he haphazardly rushes
to click the tab close, like Alicia would be able to tell he had been breaking someone’s trust
just from a glimpse of his screen.

“How have you been, Taehyung Kim?” She asks, leaning on the reception desk.

Lying is the first thing Taehyung considers, but as his heart still beats too fast inside his
squeezed chest and his hands tremble, he realises that his body can’t take keeping one more
word to himself. So he clasps his hands to make them settle, looks up at Alicia. “To be
honest, not quite well. But I’ll get there.” He forces a smile on his face, feels his cheeks stiff,
like they are not used to this motion anymore. “What about you? Still complaining about
dubious quality art for a living?”

She laughs, it echoes through the room pleasantly, bringing a little bit of life to the staleness
of this place. She looks around, curious gaze analysing the gallery. “Every now and then,
yes.”

“I assume you came here to see the space,” Taehyung says when he notices her watchful gaze
getting caught in a particular painting on the back of the room.

She hums, gives him a quizzical, amused smirk. “Depends. Does it have dubious quality art?”

Taehyung shakes his head to the side, amusement slowly growing on his face as his body
relaxes from the adrenaline. “Legally, I’m not allowed to confirm or deny it.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” She winks, nodding her head to the side to indicate a direction.
“Will you show me around?”

“My pleasure.” Taehyung stands up, gestures a hand for her to go ahead first but it’s only so
Alicia doesn’t notice how weak his knees are when he tries to leave his desk. He places a
hand over his heart, feels it coming back to normal as he pushes deep breaths in and out.

Alicia walks purposefully towards the pieces she finds most interesting, chin held high, not in
arrogance, but in a confidence only held by those who know how to behave in the world.
Taehyung has always envied those people, the ones who always seem to hold themselves. His
mind takes him instantly to Jungkook, to how he doesn’t walk with a chest puffed out, but
talks like he owns all the words known by a language. And maybe he does.

He just doesn’t think they’re enough to share with Taehyung.

He pushes the thoughts away, remembers he’s trying to avoid them. Especially now, after he
almost did something he wasn’t supposed to. Something he would regret later, just another
one to add to the list that makes him burn with shame and disappointment at himself.

So he focuses on Alicia humming at the pieces, sometimes making comments about them
that Taehyung laughs more out of politeness than because he’s paying attention. And he
needs to pay attention, he’s a fucking mess.
“You know,” she says, pivoting on her stance to look up at Taehyung. Her brown eyes aren’t
big, but they’re fierce, penetrating. “I thought you would’ve reached out to me.”

“Oh.” Taehyung raises both eyebrows. “Was I supposed to?”

Alicia frowns, crossing her arms over her chest, seems to consider it for a moment. “Hm,
that’s a tricky question.”

“Why?” He mimics her confused expression.

Shrugging, she walks towards the other piece, scrutinising it as she speaks, “Supposed to?
Are we supposed to do anything?”

Taehyung stills, not knowing how to answer. As much as Alicia is bright and good to be
around, she also frightens him quite a bit. She notices his discomfort when he doesn’t say
anything for a long while, just the sound of his hard gulp in the silent gallery.

“I just mean I wanted you to reach out.” She smiles, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “But
only if you’d like to, I don’t enjoy the idea of you doing it out of an obligation.”

Taehyung shakes his head strongly. “No. It wouldn't be an obligation.” He pauses, lets out an
awkward breathy laugh that makes his shoulders sink. “I just— A lot has happened in the
past couple of months. I had to sort a bunch of things out with my University, I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t beat around the bush, asks frankly, “Is that why you’re not doing good?”

This time, Taehyung doesn’t consider lying. Even if shame burns in his skin, he’s so fucking
tired of it.

“Yes,” he says, rubbing one of his arms, the same void opening in his stomach as he expects
her questions, her pitiful gaze. His shoulders tense back up again, rigid like his whole body
lately.

Alicia simply hums and nods, then walks to the next piece without sparing Taehyung any
charged glances.

“Sorry.” Taehyung feels compelled to say it again, not even sure why he’s apologising.
Maybe it’s the British culture rubbing off on him, the habit of saying sorry even when there
are a thousand other words that would be more fitting.

“Why are you apologising?” She laughs, giving him a funny look. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Yes…?” Taehyung questions more than he answers.

“Look.” She turns to him, gestures around, her gaze following her hands. “I came here to see
the place, yes, but also,” she locks eyes with Taehyung once again, “I wanted to talk to you
about something.”

Taehyung isn’t sure what to feel besides confusion, so he nods slowly, allowing her to
continue.
“A couple of months ago I met this Mexican-Korean artist,” she explains, already searching
for something in his face. “They just had their first solo exhibit in Berlin last spring. Their
work is quite… Impressive. No bullshit.”

Taehyung keeps nodding, like his body doesn’t know how else to react, but he says with
genuine interest, “Oh, that’s actually cool. What’s their name?”

“Yun Flores.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell, no,” Taehyung says, but snickers at himself. Why would it? When he’s
been so closed off to the Korean art scene lately.

“Not many people know them,” Alicia comments. “But yeah, they’re in London now and
I’ve got this art grant to work with international artists, and we’ve been in touch to make an
exhibition at my space.” When she finishes telling him, she runs a tongue over her lip,
pulling it inside her mouth to suppress a smile. There’s excitement in her face, a hint of pride
and satisfaction, too.

“Alicia, that’s incredible,” Taehyung pushes the words out alongside a genuine smile. The
first thing that comes to his mind is their talk in Brighton, of how enthusiastic Alicia had
spoken about the projects she carefully chose to work with, the ones that she could do only
sometimes but wished she could do always.

“Yes, I know.” She claps her small hands in front of her chest, bounces on the balls of her
feet. “There’s not much right now, very initial talk but I think it’s a strong project.”

“I’m really happy for you,” Taehyung says and he doesn’t really know Alicia that well but for
some reason, he feels truly happy for her, knows somehow that she’s deserving of it. Of
doing what she’s dreamed of doing in this country. And maybe everyone deserves to dream,
to conquer that dream, even if just partially. The people whom he loves the most, like Jimin,
the people whom he feels fond of, like Alicia, and people he doesn’t even know that well,
like the Japanese lady from the Asian market.

Alicia cracks her fingers nervously, chewing her lower lip in a sign of apprehension. It’s a
sudden change of body language that throws Taehyung off guard. She studies his face
carefully before saying, “We’ll start working on the project next year, and I want you to join
us.”

The words hang in the air for a solid minute before Taehyung can finally make sense of them.
He blinks rapidly, jaw slackening when he says, “You what?!”

Alicia laughs at his sheer sock, she brings her small hand to cover her mouth. “You heard me
quite well. Why do you sound so sceptical?”

“Because, why— why?” Taehyung frowns, so confused his brain doesn’t seem to register her
proposal. He’s not only a failed PhD student, he’s someone who has been distanced from his
own field of interest for at least a year. His head spins a bit and he places a hand on the wall
for stability. Why would a successful person want someone who’s always falling to work on
their precious project? Why would Alicia waste her time with someone like Taehyung?
Someone with no future.

This must be a mistake. Or worse, a tasteless joke.

Alicia keeps looking at him with this intrigued face like she’s torn between finding Taehyung
amusing or insane. She pushes her shoulder back, lifting her chin up as if to make a
statement. “Well, I liked you the very first second we met. But I’ve done my homework,
Taehyung Kim.” She cocks her hip to the side, still meeting his gaze like there’s nothing
more important for her in this room. “I’ve seen the exhibitions you worked in Korea, the few
shows you assisted here. And your Master Thesis on Queer Representation in Korean
contemporary art?”

Taehyung blinks at her in surprise, suddenly feeling his cheeks warm up and his brain go
blank.

“You know what’s funny?” She says, completely unfazed that Taehyung hasn’t uttered a
word. “Normally, art people love to talk big.” She rolls her eyes slightly, one side of her lips
lifting. “It’s an overkill, to be honest, the way they sell themselves like the most important
and qualified people around. But I get it, it’s a cruel world.” She stops, places a hand on her
hips, sizes him up in a challenging gaze. “You, on the other hand, don't let out a peep out
about yourself.”

Taehyung has to resist the urge to retract his shoulders, to make himself smaller. He’s familiar
with what Alicia is describing and maybe that’s the reason why he avoids saying anything
about himself to others. Everything sounds like bragging, like people are perpetually
competing to see who’s better. Taehyung knows quite well it isn’t him.

“I don’t like to brag,” he says to her, chewing the insides of his cheeks.

“Being proud of your work isn’t bragging, Taehyung.” Alicia squints at him once again. “You
worked hard to do it all, you deserve to be recognized by it.” Taehyung opens his mouth to
retort, but Alicia holds a hand up, keeps talking, “And that’s what I’m trying to do here.”

Biting his lower lip, Taehyung studies her. He isn’t sure what he’s trying to find in her face,
maybe a sign that this is all a joke, that she’s mocking him with this very refined, very cruel
prank. But the more he looks, the less Alicia shows signs of doubt in her offer. He sometimes
forgets that, unlike himself, some people walk in this world with more certainty than
uncertainty.

She remains ruthless under his scrutiny, only curving a brow up in question.

“I— Can we talk more about it?” Taehyung stutters, not minding that this time he’s stumbling
on his words. He doesn’t think Alicia will mind either, she probably did a lot of that in her
life too.

Slowly, a smile spreads on her face, and Alicia reaches a hand, squeezes his shoulder. “I’d
love to. Do you have time now or should we set a meeting?”
“Now is fine.” He looks around at the empty gallery and smiles. He blows an exhale as
slowly, his mind starts to make sense of what’s happening. He rubs his hands on his pants,
still a little unsure, but realising that the sweat on his palms doesn’t come from raw anxiety.
“Do you want some coffee or tea?”

“Coffee would be great,” she nods continuously, and it feels like every assertive movement of
her head makes him a little less doubtful.

As he walks to the staff room to make the drinks, Taehyung feels a bloom of hope sprouting
in the roots of his chest.

He climbs the stairs of his building two at a time. His heart pumps so loud, Taehyung feels
his head buzzing. It’s all confusing and exciting at the same time, and he kind of can’t
remember the last time he felt like this. Alive. Hopeful. Expectant.

Alicia gave him the basic information about the project, and left him to research more about
Yun Flores and to think about it. Taehyung could barely wait for his shift to end, legs
bouncing nervously until it was over. The proposal is risky, not as steady as the contract he
has at the gallery now, which is something he needs to think about because he needs the
money. He would work for this project for a year, probably keep working with Alicia if they
make a good team together.

Something tells Taehyung they would. It’s a thing he feels in his chest, mostly, not in his gut.

By accepting it, he would not be an assistant at a gallery anymore. He would work again as a
curator, would be listened to by people who care about how to pronounce his name correctly,
people who want to hear what he has to say, people who want his critical opinion on what to
show to the world.

The mere idea makes his belly swoop in a pleasant way.

He runs inside his flat, kicking the door closed with his foot at the same time that he throws
his jacket on the closest chair, getting rid of his shoes haphazardly. The door bangs louder
than what is polite for this hour, but Taehyung doesn’t even register the sound.

All his focus is on running towards the bedroom to get his laptop. He does so, laying on his
stomach on the bed to face the screen.

He’s so excited when he starts typing that the search comes with too many typos for just three
words, but Google seems to find what he needs anyway.

Yun Flores artist.

Taehyung’s eyes run over the screen like the content will vanish at any second. He opens too
many tabs, gets a little overwhelmed with the amount of information he finds. Pictures, social
media profiles, reviews, critics, exhibition catalogues.

It’s a lot and it’s exhilarating and, at the same time, it’s absurdly remorseful. The more
Taehyung searches about Yun’s work, the more he regrets dedicating the last year and a half
of his life to a more conservative circuit of art. And he knows it’s not entirely conscious, the
way your body and mind find to protect yourself from trauma, the way you push yourself
away from the things you like just to not put yourself at risk again.

The way he closed himself off to new relationships, the way he locked himself away from
working with what he loves the most. The way being used by another person made him
believe that there was no future for him, no dream left for him to dream.

And some things are a point of no return, like giving up the PhD because he was too hurt to
keep doing it, but other things… Other things are different.

Other things are possible to begin again.

With excitement buzzing through his veins, Taehyung judges that the best place to start is
Yun’s official website, the page that gathers all information about his work. There’s a lot to
see, but one thing in particular captures Taehyung’s attention the second he lays his eyes on
the screen.

The title says Maps to Nowhere, Yun Flore’s first exhibition in Germany. Painting meets
installations and video art in a work about queerness and transnationality. The show focuses
on this person travelling to the frontiers of five different countries over the course of two
years, trying to recreate the different routes their family members took when they
immigrated.

One particular piece hits him like a tidal wave, causing his heart to ache in this weird but
comforting way. It’s a video entitled How to call mother, in the frame, Yun’s mouth says the
word mother in 72 different languages. None of them the two languages his own mother
understands. Korean and Spanish.

His hands tremble a bit as he keeps reading, heart pounding inside his chest in excitement.
It’s unsteady, but it doesn’t make him feel desperate.

It feels good for a change, to have his body reacting positively to something. To be affected
by something.

Because Yun’s art does that. It puts Taehyung in motion.

It’s a very welcomed and familiar feeling, one that he hasn’t felt in so long, to look at an art
work and feel like he’s being hugged and strangled at the same time, feel invaded by the
drive to embrace new ideas, new feelings, new actions. In a way that only genuine artworks
can do. It reminds him of why he chose to do this. To be affected, to be enchanted, to feel
alive.
As emotion hits him in the throat and in the eyes, he starts laughing. The wet laughs are a
relief, for so long he thought he wouldn’t be able to feel this again, this need to know more,
to learn more. To be fully involved with the career he chose in this life.

For so long he felt stuck in the same place, it’s overwhelming the way he feels like he can
move again.

He flips on the bed, his stomach up, and runs a hand over his face as another laugh bubbles
out of his chest.

His fingers are jittery, there’s so much inside him, so much happiness, relief, sadness and
shame, all overlapping and all confusing. The expectation gets entangled with the things he
still carries inside, and Taehyung thinks he might explode.

The sound of his phone buzzing repeatedly is what grounds him back to this room, his breath
short of all the emotions running through him. And he laughs again. Taehyung laughs
because this might be a sign that he cannot be an island anymore. Someone is reaching for
him and he has something to share, something that doesn’t make his whole body burn with
shame.

He rustles to reach for his phone in the back of his pants. A small bubble of hope grows
inside him before he looks at the screen, the anticipation of it being a name he can’t keep off
his mind. His heart skips more beats, beating right on his throat and—

He looks at the screen, freezes in confusion holding his phone over his head.

The incoming call shows the word Eomma.

It’s not the person to whom he would share it first, but his mom will be happy to hear the
news, he thinks, right before he slides his thumb and accepts the call.

“Hi eomma!” He says enthusiastically, closing his eyes, his lips stretched into an impossibly
big smile. “You’re not gonna believe—”

“Hello son,” his mom cuts him right away, voice clipped and low. Taehyung’s hand grips the
phone and he opens his eyes in alarm.

“Uh, hi?”

“Taehyung,” his mother says, and his name always sounded so important rolled off her
tongue. The first person to ever think of calling him that, the first voice he ever heard calling
him when he came into this world. His name sounds off now, it sounds wounded.

“Is everything alright, eomma?” He frowns even though she can’t see him right now.

“I don’t know, son, is it?” She says with that same clipped voice. Taehyung opens his mouth
to answer but she doesn’t wait for him, adding right away, “Care to explain why I received a
letter from the university saying your termination from the PhD has been officialised?”
The room spins when Taehyung jolts to a sitting position, his stomach sinking so low he feels
nauseous.

“Wha—? I—”

“Kim Taehyung.” She sighs this time, her tone a mix of harshness and disappointment and
Taehyung is quite used to that, he has heard it many times. A wave of unpleasant heat engulfs
him whole, fight or flight instinct kicking in, except he can’t fight or flight. He has been
caught, and his whole body burns in shame. “Don’t you dare to lie to me. Explain, now.”

Taehyung shutter his jaw when he tries to speak, the words stuck in his throat, the unwieldy
silence on the other end of the line oppressive.

When Taehyung opens his mouth to talk again, when he’s finally able to push a sound out of
his mouth, the noise that reaches his ears is unfamiliar. It’s not made of the words that have
been cramping his chest. The sound that comes out of him is a loud, broken sob that crawls
up his throat and escapes his lips without any restraint.

A sharp pain hits the back of his eyes, and Taehyung gasps for air, the words finally choking
him as he cries.

To: Hobi <hopehobi@naver.com>

From: Jeon Jungkook <jeon_jk@naver.com>
Subject: What’s a word anyway?

December 18, London, UK.

Dear Hobi-hyung,

After your visit, I’ve been thinking more than usual about words. Our friendship was forged
with them. Written words, the ones in which are hard to notice nuance, easy to get wrong
when your fingers type too fast. The ones you have to think a little harder to put out into the
world because it takes longer to write than it takes to speak.

Seeing you in person was probably the first time I ran out of words with you. Not only
because I was so filled with emotions I felt them all stuck in my throat the moment I saw you
crossing the airport gate. But because now I feel we have more ways of communicating. We
always had only words, but for the first time, I could see you, and I could touch you, and I
could see the way your body responded to me. Like when I took you to my favourite cake
place and you said you liked it just to make me happy, but I could see all the little ways your
face twisted in displeasure, a silent way of saying you hated it. Or when you made me cookies
that Sunday, and you acted like it was nothing, but I think every gesture of your hand was a
way of saying you loved being here.

It’s curious, don’t you think? How much weight we give to words when there are so many
ways our bodies can speak when our mouths run out of them. All the ways we can verbally
pretend, but our gestures and expressions will hardly be able to be deceitful.

As a writer, I think too much about words. About the ideal ones, the beautiful and the ugly,
the ones that make me a person. A mix of English and Korean, but sometimes words in
languages that I don’t know. Words that only exist in one specific cosmology, that represents
something so unique, like Hiraeth , which in Welsh means when homesickness meets longing
for a place or a past that doesn’t exist anymore.

I always remember this one because the pain of Hiraeth is something that is always following
me. I also find it funny how a word that is not mine, per se, can accompany me around.
Maybe because all words are ours, even when we don’t know them yet.

Even when we don’t want to put them out in the world.

Because sometimes not saying a word is also a way of communicating something. Silence can
be very telling.

Perhaps, that’s the kind of communication that hurts the most. In the most traditional sense,
communication involves contact between two or more things or people. But when it happens
through silence, the receiver is left alone.

And I think there’s a sort of violence when a process based on sociality, on connecting people,
leaves us lonely.

I say that from a place of someone who’s used to that feeling. Billy-Ray Belcourt wrote in a
poem the following verse “and i wince a little because the earth hasn’t held all of me for
quite some time now and i am lonely in a way that doesn’t hurt anymore.”

I fell in love with these words because they’re raw and vulnerable, and because I wanted
them to be true.

I wanted it so hard to be true, hyung, that sometimes I caught myself doing things to convince
myself I was not that lonely. That ‘lonely’ is just a word, and a word only has the meaning we
attribute to them. If I pretend the word lonely is nothing, then it won’t weigh on me. But the
reality is, I feel terribly lonely. I feel lonely in a way that still hurts.

It hurts because I don’t think I know how to be lonely. I don’t think anyone knows, it’s not in
our souls. But I thought that, by now, I would have gotten used to it, I would’ve gotten thicker,
braver, and all those words we use to think highly of ourselves. What a silly thought, huh?
 Lately, it has become hard again, harder even. Because I had hope and I held it so tightly in
between my hands, but sometimes I think I was just holding water.

I’d like to find it in my heart to feel comfortable with loneliness. I try to find the right words
to console me because even though there are many ways of communicating, I’m still a
creature of words. I need them to understand myself and to understand the world. I need them
to convince myself that even in the silence, I’ll be alright.

Since I came here, I have sought to learn how to be with myself and face the fact that all I
need is me, but that’s not true. Because I need you, and I need Yoongi, and my childhood
friends, and even my mom, who drives me crazy with her selective blindness. And I need
Taehyung.

And it’s so hurtful to need someone who doesn’t have words for you anymore.

Words, the most basic thing you can give someone. The thing that has the power to shorten
distances, to make something known. Words, or the lack of them, and their capacity to put
oceans between people even when they’re standing next to each other, their capacity to make
the most familiar face unknown when all there is is silence.

Words. Sometimes they’re so mundane. Sometimes they sound more like a privilege.

I’m afraid right now, they’re a privilege I can’t seem to have.

I’m sorry for the terribly sad tone of this letter. I miss you every day since you went back to
Seoul.

I noticed in the last letter that you cut your explanation about the levain fermentation too
short because you probably thought I would get bored. You should have more faith in me,
hyung! Although my baking knowledge is close to zero, I truly love when you explain your
things to me. They make me feel closer to you, like I get to see this whole other side that is
not the gamer Hobi or the silly best-friend Hobi. And I love every piece of the universe you
are made of.

Love,
Jungkook

Chapter End Notes

Well, I am sorry for all the pain I have caused you! I promise it will get better, after all,
next chapter it’ll be winter again and that can only mean one thing (YES, I MEAN
ROMANCE!)
Editing this chapter was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. There’s just so much going on
inside Taehyung, that his confusing feelings were making >me< confused ahuahs
Initially, this was the shortest chapter of this fic, but it ended up being the longest after
all the editings, so I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it even though I know there’s nothing
light about it.
I am speechless for all the love this fic is receiving! Thank you all so much for sharing
your words with me, they are very very precious. I’d like to beg you to check this
beautiful edit my dear friend Carolis made for this fic. Please, the song??????

And I have more!!!! The sweetest @ifyoudontlisten made this amazing poster and my
lovely @localwordsmith also made this stunning poster . I seriously have no words to
say how thankful I am.

Please, knowing you’re enjoying this story is very important for me! I’d love to know
your thoughts. If you’re too shy, I’m also on neospring =) Life has been crazy busy, but
I'll try my best to finish editing chapter 5 until next Friday. I'll keep you posted on
Twitter as always!
 flurries
Chapter Notes

Hi, if you’re not familiar with the song Walk In The Sun - McFLY I highly recommend
listening to it when Danny sings it in the fic. The link is here in case you want to listen
before reading, but I've also attached it to the scene.

It's winter again. Have fun.

twitter | neospring

See the end of the chapter for more notes

I
never asked for flight.
Only to feel
new this fully, this
entire, the way snow
touches bare skin––& is,
suddenly, snow
no longer.

Devotion, by Ocean Vuong.

The noise of the ceramic hitting the metal of the sink rings in Taehyung’s ear. The kind of
disruptive noise that hurts physically, makes his heavy head throb. Taehyung squints down at
the sink. He didn’t even notice it slipped through his fingers.

“Shit,” he hisses, fumbling to get it fast as if he is fast enough, the mug won’t break even
though it has already landed on the hard surface a few seconds ago.

It’s not broken. He doesn’t really know how that can be because the noise was so loud he
swears is still echoing in his mind. He brings the mug to his eye level, squinting, to make
sure there are not any cracks or any chipped edges, but his vision doubles. If he can see two
Queen Elizabeths and they all seem fine, then that’s a sign he can keep drinking.

He pours more wine, drinks it in large gulps until the liquid runs down the corners of his
mouth. He licks it, it tastes sweet like the grape and salty like his tears. A good flavour for a
Korean palate.

This wine was supposed to be reserved for Christmas dinner. It’s from the same brand he had
on Seokjin’s birthday celebration earlier this month, and he found a good deal at the liquor
store. Two bottles of this Portuguese red wine that’s supposed to have a nice blend of grapes
but Taehyung isn’t sure anymore. He’s too drunk to evaluate and his mouth is a mix of wine
and tears and snot, so everything is compromised on his tongue.

His hip hits the counter, he hisses again when his sharp bone meets the edge of the formic.
Not a very nice kitchen, not the one he dreamed of, just one that was available for him. His
hissing is cut off by a hiccup that turns acidic too fast, his gagging reflex working to keep the
disgusting liquid down his oesophagus.

He clutches the mug closer to his chest, grips the counter with his free hand, and presses his
eyes closed.

A deep breath in might help him to sober up, he thinks. He takes one, two. On the third
inhale, the hiccup is back again and the air gets stuck in his throat. It makes his eyes sting,
just adding to the burn that has been there for a couple hours now. He isn’t sure if the new
pain is due to the brief suffocating feeling or to the new fresh tears.

By now, Taehyung should’ve already known that drinking doesn’t help you to forget. Yet, he
needed something, anything, to stop his mind from repeating his mother’s words over and
over. Except the more he drinks, the louder the words resonate in his mind like a broken
fucking record.

It should be ironic, how the words he kept inside squeezed his chest for so long, but now that
they’re out there, he doesn't feel their weight is gone. Maybe when something hurts you,
taking it out to free yourself hurts as much as keeping it in place. Especially when they are
forced out of you.

Standing in this kitchen, Taehyung realises his chest had to be ripped apart to take them out,
and now that part that is empty is also open like a wound.

Not in a million years he thought the university would send a letter to the address from where
he sent his application. A letter that’s more of a formality than anything, because Taehyung
has signed all the documents. This PhD has already taken so much from him, mentally,
financially, and emotionally. What more do they want by sending a letter all the way to South
Korea?

Like it wasn’t enough taking his future away from him like it wasn’t enough scattering his
present. It’s like they were trying to reach him in a past, a place where he doesn’t exist
anymore, but that still has the power to hurt him.
There are many things that fade away from the memory mere seconds after they happen. The
smell of something unknown or the voice of a stranger. Today, Taehyung wishes his mom’s
voice was one of these pieces of information that simply does not stick to your brain. But his
mother’s voice is too familiar. All the nuances it carries, the ones he learned to decipher from
an early age, those he can identify even over the distortion of a phone call.

Going West has made you lazy. I didn’t raise you to be a slacker.

His mom’s voice is something that sticks, and he will never be able to erase from his memory
the disappointment in her voice. It doesn’t matter how much he drinks to forget it.

The almost empty second bottle of wine of the night is a sign that he has tried so hard to
make it vanish from his mind how her voice was cold and her words, piercing. Not just a
sound that floats in the air and gets lost. They were almost tangible, made of something that
can cut him open.

What am I gonna tell your father? He’ll be so disappointed.

The conversation was set up for failure from the beginning, Taehyung thinks as he lowers the
mug on the counter, haphazardly looks for the bottle, and pours himself more wine. He didn’t
postpone it for no reason.

They are the people who raised him to believe accomplishment and success is what makes
you worth being loved. He should’ve known that they would react like this.

But somewhere in the deep of his heart, he clung to hope that it could go well. They’re his
parents, after all, the people supposed to care for and protect him. Even though he knew it
would go wrong, part of his brain was built to always expect acceptance from the people who
put him in this world, even when reality proved otherwise many times.

Part of him wants to feel relieved that it’s over, this is not a weight he has to carry around
anymore. But what a bittersweet relief it is, when the words still resonate in his ears.

You should’ve tried harder.

How can he feel relieved from releasing what was hurting him if what he was offered in
return damages him even more?

He tries to take a deep breath in, tries to not blame his mother for reacting like she did. It’s
generational, in the end, how his parents don’t understand mental health issues, even though
they suffer from them all the same. It’s cultural, to learn and teach your loved ones to never
quit, to find a way of succeeding no matter the consequences. He tries to convince himself
that demanding unrealistic achievements is their way of showing love, of showing that they
care.

You are upset? At me? I didn’t say anything.

As he gulps down more of the wine, he tries to remember his parents are just people, and
maybe he was the wrong one for putting an expectation in them that they couldn’t fulfill.
That his parents are hurting too, for seeing their son struggling so much.

The hot tears keep rolling down his face, streaming from his eyes like there’s no foreseeable
end to them. Taehyung tries to breathe in and out, but the only thing that comes out of his
mouth when he exhales is another broken sob — the only sound he’s been able to put in the
world in the past hours.

He cries because he can try to understand his parents as much as he wants, but in the end,
he’s just their kid. The one who’s been failed to be cared for and protected once again.

Maybe it’s better if we talk another time. When you’ve thought better about your future.

He finishes his last cup of wine, places it back on the counter, the ceramic hits the formic too
hard this time, but he doesn’t care if it breaks. He can find another Queen Elizabeth mug
anywhere. His stomach churns inside him, too full and too empty at the same time.

He wobbles his way towards the couch when his legs get too weak to sustain his weight. Not
tripping is hard, almost impossible with his blurred vision and the unsteady floor. The room
spins and spins, and Taehyung hates it, the way this building was not built to feel like a
home.

It’s just another reminder of how lonely he feels. Especially now, when nobody knows. It’s
not like he can call Jimin now, in the middle of the night, and ask him to cross the entire town
to help him with something he didn’t have the guts to tell him in the first place. Jimin would
come, of course he would, but Taehyung would hate himself even more for that.

There’s only one person he could reach out to now, but he was stupid enough to burn that
bridge too. And maybe he kind of hates this place, but he’s not so different from Britain
himself. You can only hate what you recognize, after all.

When he reaches the living room, the couch seems too far away even though his flat is too
small for it to be true. So Taehyung ends up on the floor, curled up on his side, holding his
knees close to his chest.

The snot is clogging his nostrils, and he has to breathe through his mouth, large gulps of air
that make him feel like he has run a marathon. His face is all hot and wet, and his eyelids
hang so low he’s not even sure they’re open anymore. It’s too bright in here, it hurts his
already sore eyes, he’s not even sure what he sees every time he blinks. He’s even less sure
what he's looking for when he searches for his phone, finding it in the back pocket of his
jeans.

It’s all this confusing haze of drunkenness and sleepiness and pain, so much pain, and for a
moment Taehyung swears he listens to a familiar voice. Someone calling his name in a way
that sounds too wholesome to be real, an unreal reminder that some things cannot be erased
from your mind, not even after so much alcohol.

With his eyes closed, something bubbles in his chest at the absurdity of it all. For a moment,
Taehyung thinks it’s a laugh, but it comes out more like a sob.
Taehyung wakes up in the middle of the night with a strained neck. The pain radiates from
his neck to his shoulder when he moves. He silently curses himself for passing out on the
floor, but as he shifts to make sense of his position, he feels a cushion under his head. He
doesn’t remember getting one from the couch. He doesn’t remember anything, to be honest.

He smacks his lips, his tongue is too rough and dry inside his mouth like someone replaced it
with cotton. The aftertaste of alcohol lingers, begging to be washed away with water and
toothpaste. Taehyung blinks his heavy eyes open, only to find it all dark.

Weren’t the lights on?

Each blink of his lashes makes his head throb, and Taehyung blindly tries to fix himself into a
seated position. When his vision finally adjusts to the darkness, he jolts in panic, back hitting
the couch as a silent but desperate gasp escapes his mouth.

Taehyung knows alcohol doesn't make you hallucinate, it doesn’t matter if two bottles of
wine are too much for just one person. But he must be imagining things as the darkness shifts
from complete blackness to this faded grey. He has to be, otherwise, why is Jungkook sitting
on the other side of the living room, knees bent close to his chest, dark eyes watching him
protectively like a lion to its nest.

“Jungkook?” Taehyung says in a hoarse voice, trying to lift himself up to a kneeling position.
Everything spins and he has to splay his palms on the floor for support.

“Easy, hey.” Jungkook launches forward like the lion would do too. In mere seconds his
hands are supporting Taehyung, always ready to catch him before he falls.

“What are you doing here?” Taehyung says, the sound of his own voice hammering on his
head no matter how low he speaks.

Jungkook frowns, pulls back slightly but doesn’t take his hand off Taehyung, still holding
him firmly by the elbow even though he’s stable.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook studies Taehyung’s face carefully. “You called me.”

“I did?” Taehyung looks confusedly at his phone thrown on the rug like he would be able to
find the call still on the screen. Then he realises that that’s not the strangest thing that
happened, and he lifts his head up. After weeks of silence, Jungkook is here, in front of him.
“And you came?”

A flash of hurt crosses Jungkook's face when he grimaces. “Of course I came, Taehyung. You
were crying and saying you were alone— Sorry, I knocked but nobody replied and then I
noticed it was unlocked.” He pauses, darts his eyes to stare at the floor between them. “I— I
was just worried.”
Taehyung gulps, feels embarrassment heating up his cheeks. Before he can answer, Jungkook
e reaches for the glass of water and two pills waiting on the table next to the couch.

“I’m sorry, I looked for them in your bathroom. It’ll help with the headache.”

He hates that Jungkook keeps apologising, he wants to scream at him to stop, but he doesn’t
have the voice to do so. His mind is too confused with everything, his heart too heavy on his
chest.

Taehyung nods again dumbly, then gulps the whole glass of water like his body is nothing but
a piece of parched, dried fruit.

“Taehyung,” Jungkook says cautiously. It’s not a tone he likes associated with his name, it’s
not the way he likes to hear Jungkook pronouncing it. Too impersonal, too distant. Still, all
the syllables are whole. “What happened?”

He stares at Jungkook over the rim of his glass, taking in all of Jungkook’s features. It strikes
him that he had been afraid he would forget them.

How silly of him. He could never forget those eyes, even when they blend with the darkness
of the room.

“My mom,” Taehyung whispers. “She knows about it. The PhD.”

“Oh.” Jungkook’s jaw slackens, then he closes it shut when his forehead frowns, and he gives
Taehyung this look that is too heavy to hold, too emotional to bear. Because Taehyung
doesn’t deserve his sympathy, doesn’t deserve his affection after what he’s done. “Is that
why…?

It’s always hard to be on the receiving end of a comforting gaze. It’s a constant reminder of
the reasons you need care in the first place.

“Yeah,” Taehyung nods, placing the glass on the floor and keeping his gaze there. “It was bad
It was—” his voice catches on his throat, a new flow of tears threatening to burst from his
eyes again.

Jungkook’s arms move like he wants to hold Taehyung but he gives up halfway, dropping his
hands on his lap. Taehyung tries to pretend it doesn’t shatter his heart even more. “You don’t
have to, not if you’re not ready.”

He nods slowly, darting his eyes to the window to try to keep the tears at bay, only to find the
outside as dark as the inside. “What time is it?”

“Around four.”

Taehyung snaps his head back, the abrupt movement makes him wince, but he ignores the
pain. “Jungkook, it’s too late, I’m sorry I woke you—”

“Taehyung, I wasn’t sleeping, don’t worry.” He raises a hand in interruption, and the dim
light coming from the kitchen illuminates his ink-stained fingers. The confirmation that he
had been awake resting on his fingertips. “I haven’t been sleeping well these days.”

There’s more than his words say, and the hidden meaning hits Taehyung straight in his chest.
In that place where he’s still keeping his words for Jungkook.

He nods slowly, shutting his eyes when his head and neck hurts even more with the
movement.

“God, I feel like shit,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything, massaging his temples.

Jungkook clenches his fingers, opens and closes his mouth a few times in unsureness.
Taehyung nods again, a smaller movement this time.

“Do you want me to prepare you a bath?” Jungkook asks hesitantly, eyes huge and round.
“It’ll help sweat off the alcohol.”

Taehyung blinks at him, chewing his lower lip hesitantly. Jungkook looks at him, lips pressed
together like he’s waiting for Taehyung to reject the offer, but he doesn’t find it in himself to
say no.

With some effort, he follows Jungkook to the bathroom in this fragile and unfamiliar silence.
It’s nothing like the other ones they’ve shared, in which there were a lot of unsaid things
between them, but they didn’t make the air heavy like it is now. Hard to breathe, to move
around, even.

Taehyung doesn’t know how to behave as he waits, back leaning against the cold tiles of the
bathroom. His skin feels too tight for the size of his body, his head too heavy to be supported
by his neck. He tries to help, but Jungkook stops him, finds the bath bombs easily, his long
stained fingers testing the temperature of the water when the bath is ready.

“There you go, it should be good,” he says, standing up and looking down at the water. He
shifts his weight from one foot to the other, apparently as awkward in his own body as
Taehyung is, and he hates it. Because Jungkook is the person who always fits in this world.
Fits in himself. Taehyung hates to think he’s like this now because of him. “I’ll leave you to
it.”

Without thinking, Taehyung reaches for his arm when Jungkook passes towards the door,
grabbing the edge of Jungkook’s sleeve to stop him before he can leave the bathroom.

“Jungkook?” he says, and Jungkook raises his gaze to meet him. There’s so much in his
irises, the same universe from that first day they met, where time and space are not a thing.
“Could you, hm, do you mind— Will you stay?”

“Oh,” Jungkook blinks blankly, seems surprised by the request. His eyes grow impossibly
bigger, impossibly sweet. “Yes, I can wait in the living room.”

“No.” Taehyung shakes his head, grips the sleeve of his sweater tighter. “Stay here. Please.”

Uninvited tears fill his eyes again when he pleads, the vulnerability of the word too strong to
just be said with his mouth.
Jungkook’s face breaks, a sort of pain that seeps through the pores and takes over all of your
being. Taehyung inhales a shaky breath, holds it up at the top of his lungs as he waits for
Jungkook to reply.

“Okay,” he finally settles with a weak voice and a curt nod. Turning his back, he waits until
Taehyung peels his clothes off, too slowly, his movements compromised by how heavy his
body feels.

The water is warm and the first thing Taehyung notices when his body sinks into the bath is
that the strong lavender smell helps to soothe his throbbing head. He mumbles that he’s okay
so Jungkook can turn around again. He does, leaning on the wall and sliding down until his
butt hits the floor.

The silence stretches in this bathroom that feels more like a sauna. Even Jungkook’s cheeks
are flushed and he rolls up the sleeves of his sweater. The only noise Taehyung hears is the
small bath bubbles bursting too close to his ears like mini explosions. It’s a gentle reminder
that the silence between them has become louder.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything, just keeps his head leaning against the tiles, staring up at the
ceiling. He doesn’t look particularly uncomfortable, they’ve been in intimate situations
before, but this is different. There’s a distance between them that goes beyond the physicality
of it all.

Opening his palms over the water, Taehyung watches the bubbles fit into the spaces of his
fingers, how the white foam remains pretty even though they have to change to accommodate
his presence.

Just like life, and how people change to make space for the things they want around. How to
keep people you love close requires adaptability. Taehyung can’t help but look up at
Jungkook, to think of how much his life has changed to fit him. So effortlessly.

The alcohol is gone from his system, but he feels heavy. That’s not a new feeling, though. He
has been carrying this extra weight for a long time with him. He sinks down, letting the water
cover his mouth just so he doesn’t let any words escape without meaning. Because he wants
to say them, he feels that he has to say them, but they have to be chosen carefully. Jungkook
is not someone who deserves random ones. Not someone who deserves to be called on a
drunken haze.

His eyes don't leave Jungkook. They never do. He watches his Adam’s apple bobbing up and
down when he swallows, observes his hair sticking to his forehead, the bathroom too moist
and warm. He studies all the lines of his face hoping to find something new, something else
that he missed in this time they were apart.

“Your hair is longer,” he ends up saying, watching the tips of his black hair curling on his
nape.

Instinctively, Jungkook runs a hand over his head absentmindedly, curls one lock around his
index finger.
“It’s just been a month,” he replies, still staring straight up at the ceiling.

“Still.” Taehyung shrugs, the water sloshing softly by his sides. He sighs, inhales again the
fragrance coming from the bubbles. “Thank you for coming.”

Jungkook slowly rolls his head, faces Taehyung with an exhausted expression that makes him
want to take back his words even if they were necessary. He releases a long sigh that makes
his lungs expand and shrink like a balloon. Then, he runs both palms on his hair, doesn’t stop
at the tips this time, and drops his hands on his lap. He stares at Taehyung for a long minute.

“It’s okay but— this—” Jungkook pauses, frowning like it hurts to push the words out of his
lips. He inhales deeply as if gathering his courage with a puff of air. “This isn’t fair,
Taehyung,” Every time he repeats Taehyung’s name, it sounds like he owns it. For the good
and for the bad.

Taehyung brings his chin close to his chest, watches the bubbles bursting from up close.

“I was hurt,” he manages to say.

Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles even deeper, and he gives this short scoff. The small sound of
frustration. “And that gives you the right to hurt me too?”

Biting his lower lip, Taehyung fights the urge to submerge, to hide from Jungkook just for a
tiny bit. The hurt in his tone only sinks his heart even further, and he doesn’t think he has the
strength to face this now.

Jungkook releases another resentful sigh, shifts on his spot, holding the edge of the tub to lift
himself. “Look, I’m sorry. I know that’s not the best time to talk about this, I’m—”

A small wave of panic hits Taehyung in the guts, the idea of Jungkook leaving and spending
one more day like this. Filled with silence. He jolts forward, snatches his hand over
Jungkook’s wrist. The water splashes on the ground, a few drops sprinkling on Jungkook’s
clothes.

He has been avoiding everything for so long, only to learn things find their way to catch you.
Avoidance can only get you so far.

“No! Please,” Taehyung begs urgently, eyebrows pushed together in nervousness.

The glare Jungkook sends his way is sharp, a perfect mix of annoyance and hurt. “Why,
Taehyung?” He searches for something in Taehyung’s eyes, frowns even deeper like if he
squints hard enough, he might be able to find it. “So you can keep this silence? Like suddenly
you have nothing to say to me.”

Taehyung gulps, his fingers sliding from Jungkook’s wrist and back to the water. The
lavender smell coming from the bubbles doesn’t seem soothing anymore, it is almost violent
on Taehyung’s nostrils, making his head throb even harder.

“But I do, Jungkook.”

He is aware his replies are vague, aware of how they make Jungkook’s frustration grow, but
he’s still gathering his words, like they’ve been buried inside him for so long that Taehyung
now has to dig to take them out.

“Do you have any idea how it felt? To be ignored? To not know if I did something wrong? If
something serious happened to you?” Jungkook says with a high-pitched voice. He’s not
screaming, but the veins on his neck pop out, trying to hold the emotion inside his vocal
cords. Taehyung has never seen him distressed like this, but he hates that he’s the one to
blame. “I went to Jimin’s cafe more than I should just to talk to him and see if I could get
answers.”

“Jimin didn’t know,” Taehyung mumbles, voice as small as he would like to make himself
now.

“Yeah, I realised that.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything else, seems to be waiting for Taehyung to give him
something. It hurts Taehyung even more, how on top of his hurt, Jungkook remains patient,
and remains the person who will never rip something out of Taehyung.

Shame burns on his insides, makes this bath unbearably hot when Taehyung notices he’s the
one who tried to do that to him. To rip something out of Jungkook when he wasn’t ready to
offer him. He feels nasty, wants to scrape the unpleasant feeling from his skin with the
sponge.

Taehyung recoils, scoots back to the far edge of the tub. Suddenly, he gets hyper-aware of his
naked state, wet and exposed inside this bathroom. He never felt this vulnerable, like every
part of himself is wide open for Jungkook.

“I couldn’t tell anyone about the PhD,” Taehyung confesses, bringing his knees close to his
chest and looping his arms around them to hold himself. “I wanted to, but I couldn’t.” He
pauses, lifts his gaze again only to find Jungkook already waiting for him. “Anyone but you.”
Taehyung licks his lips to gain time, the lavender smell now on the tip of his tongue, too
bitter, the complete opposite of the fragrance. “Well, and now my mom. But I didn’t tell her.”
He pauses, stares down at the foam. “She found out.”

Jungkook looks confused but doesn’t ask. He seems to notice Taehyung is struggling
internally to put things out.

“But back then, back when I stopped talking to you I— I was already in a bad place. Trying
to figure out how to tell people, how to deal with this feeling of…” he sighs, fluttering his
lids closed because some things aren’t meant to say looking into someone else's eyes. Some
things are too intimate, too fragile. More like a confession, one that you need to put a barrier
between you and the other person so you can feel you’re talking more to yourself than to
someone else. “Of not being enough. Not being worthy. And you didn’t show me. You never
showed me. Everyone had seen it but me.”

Jungkook shifts in place, and Taehyung opens his eyes, finds a deep wrinkle of confusion in
his expression.
“What? What I didn’t show you, Taehyung?” Jungkook’s voice has this small hint of
desperation, like he is trying to reach something that he cannot see.

“Your writing.”

Taehyung’s jaw stutters, his eyes sting but there are no tears. He’s underwater already,
doesn’t need to drown himself even further.

The silence grows heavy in the damped air, and it’s the way Jungkook’s eyes drop even
further or the subtle movement of his shoulders shrinking that indicates he finally
understands it.

“That day with Hoseok-hyung and Yoongi-hyung at the cafe, they were talking about your
writing and it just made me feel so out of place,” Taehyung continues, voice shaky as much
as he tries to steady himself by planting both palms on the tub, sliding his legs slightly
forward to have more surface contact. “And to feel like this with the company you’re most
comfortable with was just— I just feel out of place all the time already. It was—”

Taehyung cuts himself, running his damp hands through his hair. He shakes his head and
presses the heels of his palms on his eyes to see if the self-inflicted pressure makes it hurt
less. It doesn’t.

His mind is foggy and there’s nothing to do with the alcohol. His thoughts are crashing
against each other, and he feels suffocated by too many feelings, too many sensations like his
body cannot choose one to focus on at a time. But now that he started, he doesn’t know how
to stop.

“I thought you trusted me enough for that,” Taehyung finally says, resignation loud in his
tone. “Trust me enough to show me.”

“Taehyung,” Jungkook says too slowly, too carefully. It’s painful to hear so much care
infused in his name. His brows knit together when he says, “It had nothing to do with trust.”

“How could I know?” Taehyung breathes out. He moves again, too hard to keep his body
still. His buttocks slide on the surface of the tub, the lack of friction making his torso sink
further down into the water and his knee hit the edge of the tub. He winces, readjusts himself.
“It wasn’t rational, I know that, but— I was feeling like shit and it made me feel worse.” He
stops, sucks a huge amount of air into his lungs. “It’s not the same, I know it’s not the same,
but it made me feel like before, like— I’m only wanted partially. Like I’m never enough as
myself.”

Alarm takes over Jungkook’s face, it’s mixed with confusion and perhaps something akin to
dejection. It’s too much at once for Taehyung to identify.

“Taehyung.” He sounds so hurt, it splits Taehyung’s heart in two. His eyes keep wandering
over Taehyung’ face, searching and searching. “How could you think that of me? I would
never. I’d never,” he repeats, almost pleading.
“I didn’t think that of you, I thought that of me.” He pauses to shake his head. “Or maybe I
did,” he says in a voice charged with sadness, bringing his index finger and thumb to his ear,
pulling his lobe softly. “Maybe I did think you’d see me like that, but that’s only because
that’s how I see myself most of the time. That’s how I learned how to see myself. And I was
going through so much already that I couldn’t deal with it. I didn’t know how to deal with it.”
Another small pause, this one impossibly charged as Taehyung gathers his next words. “With
the fact that I wasn’t enough for you.”

Jungkook’s face scrunches up in pain, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. He
looks like he’s trying to make an effort to meet Taehyung where he’s at, but it’s obvious he
remains frustrated, confused. Because how could he not?

“I got so hurt I almost broke your trust,” Taehyung adds.

“What?” Jungkook’s expression falters when utter confusion hits him.

“I promised that day, remember? That I would wait for you to show me your writing. But
today I searched your name, and if it wasn't Alicia, I— I would’ve read your texts,”
Taehyung tries to snort, but his clogged nose gets in the way. He ends up almost choking, the
small sob trapped in his throat. He’s tired of crying, but his body still feels ready to do it at
any second. “It’s so silly, oh god.” He groans, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Because I
don’t mind waiting, I swear, I don't, but being the only one left out…”

“I wouldn’t have minded.” Jungkook’s eyes are glazed, it looks like there's glass in front of
them, and they look so distant. “I would get maybe a little self-conscious, but—”

“It’s not about reading them, Jungkook.” Taehyung shakes his head. “I mean, it is. I want to,
but it’s about—” His lips tremble and his eyes burn, and oh god, why is it so hard to not feel
like his heart is going to burst out of his chest with how much it hurts. His face is so wet he
can’t tell if he’s crying, but the way his voice comes out completely broken tells him he
might as well be. “I wanted you to find it in your heart to show me, and you never did.”

Taehyung leans on the edge of the tub, crosses both arms on top of it, and rests his cheek on
his arm. He closes his eyes at the same time his chest finally tears open. His voice is nothing
more than a whisper when he completes, “I’ve been waiting for your heart, Jungkook. I was
giving you all of mine, but it wasn’t enough.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, looking so full of hopelessness but remain so, so sweet. Taehyung
wonders how someone can carry so much inside two such small parts of their bodies. He
wonders if his own soul shows through his eyes like Jungkook’s does. If Jungkook can see it
now, how honest he’s being, how much more he has inside him but his heart is too shattered
now to look for more words under the pieces.

If he wasn’t sure he was crying, now he can’t fool himself anymore. The salty tears land on
his lips, hotter than the water in the tub.

A warm palm presses on his cheeks, and Taehyung opens his eyes in alarm, finds Jungkook
kneeling close to him, holding so many emotions, it might burst through his eyes, too.
Somehow, he manages to keep them inside, they don’t roll down his face, just make his gaze
sparkle, like it’s made of too many stars.

“You’re always enough,” Jungkook whispers, his voice this fragile, little thing that almost
hurts to hear. His fingers trail from his cheekbone until they reach his earlobe. He pulls it like
Taehyung always does to himself, soothing his insides.

“No.” Taehyung sighs. “Maybe this place has broken me.”

“Don’t say that,” Jungkook says, voice not louder than a murmur. He’s so close, his breath
fans over Taehyung’s wet face. “Please.”

It’s not a casual pleading. There’s this quality in Jungkook’s voice that’s urgent even when he
speaks so softly.

Taehyung presses his lips together, incapable of giving Jungkook this. Just one more thing to
the list. “It’s true. I did things that weren’t nice.”

Jungkook adjusts himself on the floor, leaning an arm over the edge of the tub, and places his
chin on top of it, closer to where Taehyung is. He blinks his huge eyes, inches away from
where Taehyung’s face rests on his own arms.

“It wasn’t nice, no.” His breath shutters when he exhales. “But you were hurt too,” Jungkook
recognises in a small voice, almost like Taehyung wasn’t meant to hear it. He traces his
fingers over Taehyung’s wet arm like a little person walking over it. It’s impossible to hide
how the touch makes goosebumps break on his skin. All the small ways his body reacts to
Jungkook. He looks at his hair rising up, then darts his eyes back at Jungkook’s to see he’s
observing the same thing.

“How have you—” Taehyung gulps, bites his lower lip. “How have you been?”

Jungkook gives him this sad smile. “Not great. After Hobi-hyung was gone and everything—
I was…” He sucks the inside of his cheek, seems in pain when he adds, “just lonely.”

“Shit,” Taehyung hisses when a new wave of emotion hits him. His mind throws at him
memories of all the times Jungkook has said how lonely he feels, and his heart aches. He
manages to keep his tears inside this time, he doesn’t know where he finds the strength to do
so.

“Come on, the water is cold,” Jungkook says after a while. “This was a long day, you should
sleep.”

“Will you—” Taehyung cuts himself, lifts his head up. “Will you stay the night?” He looks
confused at Jungkook. “Morning?”

The same sad smile is still on Jungkook’s face, just pressed lips slightly curved up, it doesn’t
reach his eyes at all. He pushes away from the edge of the tub, squares his shoulders back.
“I’m still… I need to think.” Hesitantly, he bites the edge of his thumb. “I think it’s better if I
go home.”
He doesn’t say why it’s better, doesn’t explain what he needs to think about, just stares at the
floor and keeps his gaze there. Taehyung has a few ideas about the vagueness of it all.

There are too many fresh wounds in his heart — in their hearts — and sometimes the
distance is good. You can’t heal a burn by staying close to the fire.

Taehyung nods slowly, tries not to show his disappointment, but he doesn’t think he can
disguise anything else anymore. Not now when everything's out in the open.

“Jungkook?”

“Yeah?” He hoists his head, eyes landing on Taehyung too easily.

He wants to say that Jungkook looks tired, the bags under his eyes are darker, puffier. The
yellow lights of the bathroom make it even worse, enhancing all the rough edges of his face.
He thinks it wouldn’t be nice of him to bring them up now. There are a lot of nice things he
could say to Jungkook, he has many of them stored in his chest, still, but there’s one thing
that is not nice and that he must say. One thing that Jungkook deserves to hear.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook nods slowly, taking the words as if they are precious, as if they are not the most
mundane thing you can offer someone. Taehyung knows they’re not special, but he hopes
they’re enough. Because they’re honest.

“I’m sorry too, Taehyung.”

Mariah Carey’s voice echoes loudly around them, but Jimin doesn’t sing along like he always
does. Instead, he’s just listening attentively to Taehyung, like every word matters.

Lately, Taehyung has been noticing what he has to say matters way more than he thought it
would.

Jimin’s frown is a little foggy from the steam that comes from his mug of mulled wine, held
strategically in front of his lips to keep himself warm, but probably also to avoid
interrupting.

“That’s how she found out. A fucking letter send to Korea.” Taehyung sighs, pinching the
bridge of his nose with his cold fingers. He’s staring at everything but his friend in front of
him. As he talks, he lets his vision get blurred by the excess of Christmas lights, distracted by
the kids yelling around them, asking their parents for more buttery cookies.
Perhaps a Christmas market is not the best time to tell your best friend everything you
couldn’t say in the past three months, but the latest events made Taehyung realise there will
never be such a thing as the right time.

In the end, time is just time, never good or bad, right or wrong.

Time is just time and what we make of it.

So tonight seems as good as any night.

There’s a long pause in which Mariah’s voice gets replaced by Bing Crosby. Taehyung finally
takes a sip of his own wine, now lukewarm. It still goes down his throat sweet and easy, his
chest with plenty of space to accommodate things other than the weight of his unsaid words.

He finally looks at Jimin, expecting his reaction. His friend lowers the mulled wine on the
small wooden table in between them, licks his lips slowly as his face twists in something very
akin to anger.

“What a fucking bitch, Taehyung!” He finally yells, then shuts his eyes closed, presses the tip
of his gloved fingers against his forehead, and clenches his jaw. “I’m sorry, I know she’s your
mother, but what the actual fuck? How could she not see she was saying such horrible
things?”

Taehyung bursts a small laugh, a huff of hot air escaping his nose and mouth and
condensating in front of his eyes. It’s a relief to feel like laughing instead of crying. It’s not
that it doesn’t hurt anymore, it’s still too fresh of a wound to be healed. It’s just that he can’t
do anything else about it.

It’s done.

He had been so afraid of facing it, he forgot that the aftermath sometimes is more bearable
than the anticipation.

“I know,” he sighs, taking another sip of his drink.

“And… that was it?” Jimin frowns deeper, sucking his lower lip inside his mouth.

“Yeah…” Taehyung scratches his nape awkwardly. “She hasn’t called me again after that.
Not that I‘m looking forward to her call but… I don’t know. I think I tried to live up to her
expectations for so long that now that I realised I haven’t, I feel almost like… it doesn’t
matter anymore?”

Jimin nods slowly, taking his words in. “I know we were raised to think otherwise but,” he
pauses, looking at Taehyung attentively, “it’s a good thing that you don’t want to meet her
expectations anymore. It’s your life in the end, if you keep chasing someone else’s dreams,
you won’t live yours.”

Unsurely, Taehyung tilts his head to the side. “You’re right I just—— It didn’t have to be this
hard, I guess.”
“Of course not. I’m so sorry, Tae. You’ve been keeping this for so long, not just the last bit,
but the whole—” Jimin reaches a hand over the table, squeezes Taehyung’s forearm firmly,
looking at him a little lost, a little helpless. Taehyung can’t blame him, he would’ve felt the
same if it was the other way around. Heart aching for not being able to help. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, Chim. I— I was too in my head to let other people in.”

“Even so,” Jimin says. Slowly, his expression shifts to something puzzled, and squints his
eyes like he’s thinking too many things at once.

“Go ahead, you can ask,” Taehyung snorts, knowing his friend too well.

Jimin pushes out this relieved breath, starts talking as if the words are going to run away from
him, “Is everything okay? Like I know it’s not, but you’re talking so you seem more… At
peace? Is everything sorted out with the University? Do you have to pay for something? I
know universities can be a bitch too, trying to get all the money from international students. I
wish you had told me, I could give you financial advice.” He stops, gasping for air, directs
him this sad expression, “Does anyone else know?”

In another moment, Taehyung would probably be overwhelmed by Jimin’s questions. He

would beg him to stop, to give him some time to think, would dismiss all the tricky questions,
probably even tell a small lie so Jimin didn’t have to worry.

But it’s the end of the year and Taehyung is almost twenty-eight and most of all, Taehyung is
tired. He’s tired of keeping things to himself and running away from what’s hard because, in
the end, there’s never running away from your own life.

With a resigned exhale, Taehyung slumps his shoulders down. This time, he doesn’t look
around, afraid of people looking at his face and knowing he’s always falling. This time, the
shame doesn’t burn his skin like it once did. Not that it is easy to say it all, but it is less hard.
So he replies to Jimin, “I’m not exactly okay, but it is what it is. At peace could be a good
way to put it now… Now that the worst has happened.” Taehyung pauses, smiles at Jimin to
reassure him, but knows it’s heavy with sorrow and guilt when the next thing he says is,
“Things are mostly sorted out with UCL, I have two more installments to pay, money has
been tight but it’s manageable. And yes..” He lowers his gaze, scratches a stain on the
wooden table with his finger. “Jungkook knows. He’s the only person I could tell.”

Someone bumps into Taehyung, mumbles a sorry, mate , and keeps walking, unaware of the
heavy conversation taking place. The perks of having your own language as a shield in a
foreign country.

Jimin takes a while to assimilate the answer, and Taehyung expects him to ask more, but
instead, his friend reaches for his hand again and interlaces their fingers. “I know I’m
annoying with finances and I worry too much… I’m sorry you thought you couldn’t tell me.”

“It wasn’t that.” Taehyung shakes his head, squeezing their fingers together. “I was confused,
I guess I still am.” He stares down at their hands, frowning at Jimin’s small fingers against
his long ones. So different, but so fitting. “I did a lot of shitty things in the meantime.”
Slowly, Jimin curls up one eyebrow. “Is this about Jungkook?”

“Yes…” Taehyung sighs, returning to the part of the story he didn’t mention to Jimin. “I—
While I was freaking out with everything, I shut him out. I didn’t see him for a whole
month.”

“Oh, Tae.” Jimin knits his brows together and leans forward over the table. At the same time,
he brings their clasped hands close to his mouth to plant a soft kiss on the back of Taehyung’s
palm. “I mean, it was pretty obvious something was wrong but… Have you talked to him
ever since your mom called?”

Taehyung clenches his fingers in their hold, darting his eyes to the table to the side where a
mother tries to convince her grumpy teenage son to try a roasted chestnut. “The same night
mom found out, I— drunk dialed him without meaning to. He came to my flat right away to
help. It was…”

Jimin pulls his hand away like he was burned, smacks the table top with wide eyes. “Wait!
Did he come to your place?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung confirms, feeling the tip of his ears burn. “I— It wasn’t my best
moment… And he— I was drunk and passed out and when I woke up he was there. He
even…” Taehyung shuts his eyes for a moment, like what he has to say stings him. “He even
helped me take a bath.”

“You what?!” He yells, drawing attention from the family by their side. “Kim Taehyung!”

Taehyung dismisses him with a small eye roll. “Not like this, Jimin.” He sighs again, gulps
down the rest of his drink. It’s so cold now it sends a shiver down his spine, and Taehyung
brings his coat closer to his body.

“So he knows? About what happened,” Jimin asks carefully.

Nodding small, Taehyung presses his lips together. “Yeah, he does. We— We talked. I
apologised and all.” There’s a pause in which Jimin looks at him with a million questions on
the tip of his tongue, but instead of asking them, he busies himself with the mulled wine,
waiting for Taehyung to finish. “I wanted to make things right but I think I might have
dumped too much on him. I think he needs time to process.”

Jimin squints over the rim of his cup. “Too much like…?”

The puff of air that Taehyung pushes out of his mouth is so strong it makes his shoulders sink
down. “I might have said I was giving him my heart and wanted him to give me his,”
Taehyung cringes, not daring to meet Jimin’s eyes.

“Oh.” Contrary to his expectations, Jimin doesn’t mock him for being a sap. His mouth hangs
open in an o shape for too long. Long enough for Taehyung to feel too aware of what he just
confessed.
He starts fidgeting with his fingers, not sure how to react to his own words. In the lack of
response from Jimin, they hang in between them just like the Christmas lights, too bright to
go unnoticed.

He can’t hide from it anymore, can’t keep it inside his chest. Taehyung inhales deeply,
mustering the courage to say it out loud. “I think— No.” He interrupts himself, shakes his
head. His heart picks up its pace, it’s all funny inside him now, from his chest to his stomach
when finally says, “I like him, Jimin.”

“Oh, love.” Jimin knits his brows together, juts his lips out in a small pout. “That was
obvious since, I don’t know, the beginning of the year?”

Taehyung fights the urge to roll his eyes, to snap back and say that no, it wasn’t. But it’s the
end of the year and he’s almost twenty-eight and he’s tired of lying to himself, too.

“I’m afraid I fucked up,” he says instead, staring down at the wooden patterns on the
tabletop. “I’m scared he won’t come back.”

Circling the table, Jimin stops by his side, loops an arm warmly around his shoulders, and
squeezes Taehyung close to him.

“Of course he will. The guy went to your house after you ghosted him for a month,
Taehyung-ah.” There’s no bite to what Jimin says, but Taehyung winces at the cruel reality of
his own actions. “He just needs time,” he says more softly when Taehyung flinches in
tension, and it’s enough to ease him. A warm embrace. Taehyung, too, is a creature of touch,
after all. He leans his head on his friend’s shoulder. “You hurt him too, he has the right to try
to come to terms with his feelings. Just like you did.”

“I know, I just—” Taehyung sighs, lifting his head so his eyes can meet Jimin again. “It’s
hard, you know? After the last time. To let myself be open to another person… to feel like it’s
okay, that I’m worth having this again.”

Shifting in place to rest both palms on Taehyung’s shoulder, Jimin sobers up, giving him a
severe look that he only reserves for really, really serious matters. “Of course it’s hard, but if
there’s someone who deserves good things, Taehyung, this person is you.” He wets his lips,
squinting at Taehyung. “Don’t let all this shit that happened— Don’t let your mother think
you don’t.”

“Thanks, Chim. I— Thanks, really.” He smiles at Jimin in the most genuine way he can
without feeling really happy. “We should walk around, we still have to find the perfect
Christmas ornament.”

Jimin groans, stomps his feet on the ground like a child. “God, I hate Seokjin’s obsession
with Christmas. Wasn’t he a Buddhist?”

“No, that’s Namjoon,” Taehyung replies, directing them toward a craft stall they didn’t stop
by before.
“Ugh.” Jimin stops, inspecting the thousands of ornaments in front of them. “Can we just get
a cute one? Look,” he lifts a small penguin and gives a dazzling smile at Taehyung, fluttering
his lashes angelically, “penguins dressed as Santa! That’s perfect on my terms.”

Taehyung snatches the penguin off his hands, place it back on the display. “Uh uh, not
according to Seokjin's terms. We need a funny one, not a cute one.”

“It’s Christmas!” Jimin throws his arms up. “It’s not supposed to be funny!”

“Will you tell him that?” He lifts a challenging eyebrow, biting back a smile.

Jimin’s shoulders slump and he pouts. “No, I won’t. He gets almost overbearing during the
holidays.”

Taehyung laughs, throws an arm around Jimin’s shoulders, and keeps guiding them to another
stall. The song now is that one that mixes Spanish and English and just repeats the same
lyrics over and over until you go crazy. It’s uplifting and Taehyung mumbles the lyrics as
they walk.

He has never been the biggest Christmas fan, but since moving here it’s just another one of
their family’s traditions to spend it together. Seokjin is as obsessed with making the perfect
dinner as he is with finding the funniest ornaments. He cooks a mix of classic Western
Christmas food and Korean classics, and Taehyung always finds joy in mixing turkey and
roasted potatoes with kimchi and doenjang paste. Namjoon tries his best to make handmade
cards that always make them tear up — either emotional tears at Namjoon’s sweet words or
tears of laughter at his poor drawing abilities. Jimin always comes up with a different coffee
dessert, and Taehyung is in charge of choosing the Christmas movie of the year.

It’s all warm and homey, and Taehyung can’t help but think of what it would be like to share
this with other people who could also use some comfort right now.

“Do you think I should, hm,” Taehyung says after a while, when the thought comes and goes
too many times to be ignored. “Do you think I should invite Jungkook and Yoongi to spend
Christmas with us? Would it be a stretch?”

“Uh,” Jimin looks up at him with surprise, holding a not-so-funny ornament. He sucks his
lower lip into his mouth in apprehension, puts the object back in place.

Taehyung tilts his head, feeling his stomach dropping an inch at his friend’s reaction.
“What?”

“Yoongi and Jungkook are going to hyung’s parents in Norwich for the holidays.”

“Oh,” Taehyung blinks at him, his stomach free-falling now. It’s a silly sensation. Of course
they’d have plans. He shouldn’t be indulging these thoughts, not when everything with
Jungkook is so uncertain. “I didn’t know,” he mumbles, looking down at a ceramic holiday
gnome.
The cold night air swirls around them, flaps Jimin’s bangs out of his flushed face, making
him look a little bit older without the hair covering his forehead.

“Yoongi told me the other day when he went to the cafe to meet Danny.”

“Ah.” Taehyung nods slowly, tracing the ornament with the tip of his finger. The corner of his
lip lifts in a lop-sided smile. “And weren’t you jealous that your man is going there to see
another boy?”

“Why should I?” Jimin puffs his chest out, mimicking his smirk as he keeps staring ahead at
all the ornaments in front of them. “They have a strictly business relationship.”

Laughing, Taehyung is thankful Jimin followed along with the deflection. “You didn’t try to
deny he’s your man.”

Jimin shrugs, rubs the tip of his nose to hide his smile. “It’s complicated.”

“Look at us.” He bumps their shoulders together. “Both in complicated situations with our
boys.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Jimin flicks a hand in the air, snorting amusedly. “Hyung and I are
way less complicated than what you and Jungkook have.”

“Ouch!” Taehyung palms his chest like he’s just been stabbed. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“Nooo!” Jimin pouts right away, turning to the side and bringing his hands up to pinch
Taehyung’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean to make you upset, sorry,” he says with a baby voice,
bobbing Taehyung’s head from side to side.

“That’s okay, I deserved it.” He shrugs off his hands, taking a step back and Jimin laughs,
focusing again on the task they have.

Taehyung is about to inspect what looks like a cucumber wearing a Santa hat when his phone
buzzes in the pocket of his coat.

This time, he doesn’t feel the same dread that has been following him in the past month at the
notification. Now, Taehyung sucks in a breath in anticipation. Jungkook hasn’t texted much
since they last met, just scattered messages about random topics. A Leonardo DiCaprio
meme, the link to a new exhibition that will open next month. Safe topics, nothing intimate,
nothing soft, but he has patiently been waiting for them anyway. Anything Jungkook wants to
give him.

The screen lights up with two short messages, but long enough to make his heart skip one,
two, three beats inside his chest.

Jungkook [7:45 pm]

Hey
You’ll come to the New Year party at the cafe, right?
“Okay, are candles ornaments??” Jimin asks by his side, the voice so far away Taehyung
almost misses it.

He keeps staring at the screen until it goes off again.

“Hm, yeah?” Taehyung answers, not sure what he’s replying to.

“Because we have a Saint Mariah Carey prayer candle, I think we could add it to the table
centrepiece.” Jimin inspects the candle with a stern expression, then out of the blue, he breaks
into giggles. “Oh, having dinner while being blessed by the Christmas mother! That’s fun!”

Taehyung taps the screen back to life, holding his breath at the top of his lungs as he inspects
the texts like they’re going to respond on their own. For a second, Taehyung is afraid to
answer yes. What if Jungkook wants his answer just so he can avoid Taehyung’s presence?

His stomach twists again, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He gulps the nervousness
down, remembering he’s tired of running away.

You [7:47 pm]

yea, i’m planning to

He doesn’t say he wouldn’t miss it for the world. The party that’s not only supposed to
celebrate the new year but also Jimin’s full ownership of the cafe. Jungkook probably knows
it too, actually.

“Taehyung?” Jimin snaps his fingers in front of his eyes.

He flinches, jolting his head back up, and finds Jimin wiggling something in front of him but
barely registers what it is.

Taehyung squints, realisation sinking inside him as he slowly makes sense of the candle.
“Saint Mariah?” He says, his voice far away from his ears like he’s talking from underwater.

His mind is all Jungkook now. Why did he want to know if the answer was obvious? Is he
making other plans? Is he also nervous about meeting Taehyung again?

Jimin says something that Taehyung doesn’t catch, his thoughts way louder than his friend’s
voice and the Christmas song playing in the background. The only thing that brings him back
to reality is the disruptive buzz of his phone in his palm.

Jungkook [7:49 pm]

Please, come.
Danny will sing.

Taehyung's heart stops entirely, only to pick up its pace when he reads over and over please,
come. Jungkook wants him to go and Jungkook is asking him to go, and Taehyung is about to
burst into tears or let out a wicked laugh. He still isn’t sure, the second part of the message
leaving him too confused to properly react.

Taehyung keeps frowning at the screen, waiting for an explanation until Jimin’s gaze burns
holes in him, and he clears his throat to get his attention.

He looks right back up to an expectant Jimin, stiffens a smile, and nods. “Yeah, super funny.
Hyung’s gonna love it.”

He looks down, nothing new on the screen, so he types,

You [7:50 pm]

okay now i’m curious

Taehyung’s breath shortens after he presses send, hoping the light tone will help to ease the
charged secrecy of Jungkook’s words. He taps his fingers anxiously as Jimin pays for the
candle, his grip around his phone tightening. He doesn’t let the screen go off this time,
keeping the message app open so he doesn’t miss it.

Jungkook [7:53 pm]

You’ll understand what I mean.
Trust me, please.

The message doesn’t explain anything, doesn’t ease the massive hole opening in Taehyung’s
stomach and he wants to ask understand what? but the second part of the message leaves him
disarmed. Jungkook is not only blatantly asking for his presence, but he’s also pleading for
his trust. It’s also a vulnerable request, one that says softly that Jungkook isn’t sure if he
deserves it, after everything.

Taehyung inhales deeply, wondering if Jungkook has the vaguest idea of how much
Taehyung trusts him. Trusts him enough to give his heart.

The world around him ruffles when a gust of air crosses them, bringing Taehyung back to
reality. Jimin has finished paying and is already calling him to go get more mulled wine with
a satisfied smile on his face. A new song plays in the background, a more melancholic one
this time. Taehyung makes a movement to follow Jimin, who’s already a couple of steps
ahead but then his phone buzzes again.

Jungkook [8:54]
I hope you have a nice Christmas, bun.

Bun.
It’s the smallest of the words, but it still has the power to make his heart do that thing again.
The old funny thing that it hasn’t done in a while, when his chest was too cramped with too
many words and feelings for his heart to have space to be happy for another minute.

Taehyung has always felt ambivalent about New Year’s Eve, the date that shadows his own
birthday, but gives him the opportunity to attend two parties in a row.

The whole city gets chaotic, the traffic is pure madness with people coming and going to
meet friends, to find the perfect spot to watch the fireworks show, to arrive at the party on
time. But the chaos comes from the fact that everyone is celebrating the same thing, at the
same time. The date makes people nostalgic, reflexive, looking back at the year that has
passed and selecting all the highlights. The good things and the fucked up things, as if life is
something that can be improved like a skill you acquire. At the same time New Year's Eve
makes us look at the past, it holds promises - maybe too many. All the wish lists and hopes
that the next one is gonna be bigger, better.

It all looks fresh and promising, and everyone pretends they don’t know it will be just like
every year. A mix of good and bad moments, because that’s life.

Usually, at this time of the year, it is never cold enough in London to snow. The streets are
that deep shade of grey and brown, rain and mud, that leaves the soles of your boots
disgusting. It makes Taehyung envious of people somewhere else in the world where it is
summer and they are at the beach, skipping waves for good luck.

But tonight London is painted in a thin layer of white. The first snow of the winter on the last
day of the year, Taehyung thinks it’s poetic.

It’s cold enough to make the flurries fall from the sky but warm enough to make them melt as
soon as they touch the ground. Changing their form so fast, Taehyung barely has time to
appreciate it.

As he looks up to see them fall, in their perfect frozen state still, he can’t help but think about
last winter, when it snowed more than usual and he felt happier than usual, too. Because
Taehyung loves the winter, loves to feel the cold biting his cheeks, loves to be a winter-born
kid. Because as much as all the seasons are the same in England and in South Korea, only
winter feels really the same in both countries.

Here, spring blooms different flowers, and summer depends on heat waves to be really warm.
Autumn here is wet and too long, starts even before it should really begin.

But winter feels almost the same in both places. London is colder due to its sharper winds,
Seoul is colder due to the low temperatures, but winter is reliable in both places. It will be
cold and it will be silent and it will be dark. But it won’t stretch longer than necessary. Winter
is familiar and it’s known. Winter is when his age changes and the year changes and it brings
too many promises, no matter if here or there.

Taehyung doesn’t particularly like to hold onto the promises of a new year, a new age.
Growing up, everyone around him got older with the new year. It wasn’t a privilege of his to
be a winter baby, to celebrate another cycle with the Earth. Here, it’s a pleasure reserved only
for him — well, and for other Capricorns born in the last few days of the year, too.

He’s twenty-eight now.

He can’t tell if twenty-seven was the most important, he doesn’t even care about it anymore.
He remembers earlier this year, talking about how he wasn’t sure what he wanted in life
anymore, and maybe that was what the most important thing the last year did for him. It
made him realise that no matter how old you get, how much you have to have your shit
together, you’ll probably never will. As the year passes, you keep changing and you keep
falling and putting yourself together. And so do your dreams, or the lack of them.

And sometimes it’s okay to let them go. Sometimes it’s okay to want something different.
Something simple. Sometimes it is okay to want less in this world that keeps pushing you to
want more and more .

Maybe that’s what being an adult is, after all. He feels strangely peaceful thinking about it
now.

And Taehyung isn’t the one to make lists and reflect so much, but now, looking at the snow
falling on the street, people passing by already tipsy, yelling Happy New Year to each other
even though there are still a couple of hours left until then, he can’t help but think about
where life is taking him.

In this place that doesn’t feel more like home than it did last year, this place that he isn’t sure
if it’ll ever feel like home, but it’s the only place where his life with Jimin, Seokjin, and
Namjoon exists. The only place where he has family traditions with the people he chose to be
related to, the only place where the last week of the year means several days of celebration in
a row because Christmas with Seokjin starts on Christmas Eve and lasts until Boxing Day in
a succession of lunches, dinners, and brunches, and then what’s the point of stopping if you
have Taehyung’s day and then New Years just around the corner?

The only place where he learned how to be with himself, learned how to fend for himself for
the first time. Where his heart was broken over and over, but it was also mended by all the
love he was able to find in the corners of every street.

Because he has come to terms with the fact that home will never be around the corner here,
but there are so many other things to find there when you’re willing to walk the path.

This might not be the perfect place, and Taehyung wonders if there is such a thing, a place
where he will feel a hundred percent comfortable, a place that will always be his.
Taehyung might be getting a little bit emotional. The cold burns his skin, especially when
these large white flurries kiss his face, melting on the warmness of his cheeks and sliding
down his skin like tears. From ice to water. A reminder that everything changes.

And for the first time, Taehyung looks at the upcoming promises of a new year and thinks he
might be okay being here. He thinks of Alicia and the proposal she made, still waiting for an
answer that he knows quite well what it is. He thinks of his family, and sometimes how the
distance is good for relationships. How being far away makes you value the good moments
because they’re rare. His mom hasn’t brought up their argument again, but called him on
Christmas and on his birthday and Taehyung thought he would be sad, but he wasn’t.

Sometimes it is better to accept the way some relations between people are not meant to be
deep. Some of them are made to be just like this, an exchange of nice words and easy topics
that cover the ugly and the hurt so the relationship can continue existing.

He thinks of how a new year means new opportunities and he hopes so, so much he still has
one with Jungkook. He still has so much in his chest and he’d like Jungkook to know — if
he’s willing to receive it. If he still thinks Taehyung’s enough.

Because this will never be the perfect place, but this is the only one where he and Jungkook
exist.

His belly swoops inside him again, to think of Jungkook and the way he asked Taehyung to
be here. To know he’s at the cafe behind him, where the windows are foggy due to
condensation, too hot inside with all the bodies and all the music and all the booze. His heart
beats a little fast, for the good and for the bad, knowing he’s going to face Jungkook again
because things are weird and he doesn’t know how to do weird with Jungkook.

“Hey!” Seokjin's head hovers on the crack of the door when Taehyung glances over his
shoulder as if he was just waiting for him to turn. “Come inside! He’s about to start!”

Taehyung smiles at him with a sort of resignation that he hasn’t felt in years. “Yeah, I’m
coming.”

It takes him a little while to finally go inside. Maybe a lot has changed, but not the fact that
Taehyung isn’t very brave. So he lingers a while longer outside, letting the cold embrace him
with its familiarity.

The party is supposed to be something small, the cafe isn’t that big in the first place. But it
turns out that Jimin is very popular, so now Taehyung is squeezing himself between people
he doesn’t even know to reach for a drink.
As the sparkling wine bubbles down his throat, refreshing and festive, Taehyung makes an
effort to engage with whatever Seokjin and Namjoon are saying. Something about Dougie
and Harry finally having sorted out their tension. A quick glance towards one of the corners
shows them with their hands all over each other, but Taehyung can barely pay attention to it.
Not when he’s hyper-aware that Jungkook is on the other side of the room, engrossed in an
energetic conversation with Yoongi and Danny, but his body language doesn’t look as relaxed
as it should be.

Taehyung steals a glance his way quite often, that old thing his body does, eyes always
searching for Jungkook in any room like they’ve been trained to do so. Every time his eyes
land on Jungkook, he is fidgeting with his fingers or chewing his bottom lip, his shoulders
looking stiffer than they should be for a party. A huge contrast with Yoongi and Danny, who
gesture wide and share shoulder bumps and laughs.

Taehyung doesn’t let his gaze stay too long, just long enough to have a chance of Jungkook
catching it. He’s afraid of Jungkook doing so, but he’s also afraid of him not even sparing a
glance in his direction.

The sparkling wine bubbles inside him, making the flapping in his stomach stronger. He darts
his eyes back to his friends, only to find Namjoon and Seokjin staring at him with
expressions that are half annoyed, half amused, it’s hard to tell.

“Oh god, just go talk to him, Taehyung-ah!” Namjoon tilts his head to the side exaggeratedly,
his eyes indiscreetly wide.

Taehyung pulls an offended face, gulping more of his drink.

“I will, I just need to wait,” Taehyung replies nervously, sucking his bottom lip inside his
mouth.

Seokjin raises a brow in question, and Taehyung sinks his shoulders, placing his drink on the
counter by his side.

“Wait for what?” Namjoon inquires, looking at Taehyung over the rim of his cup with one
arched eyebrow. It’s intense, the way he stares, demanding but concerned. Namjoon has this
ability to always make people feel seen, always trying to see more than just what’s on the
surface. It’s terrifying and loving at the same time.

Taehyung sighs, adjusting his shirt, a silky olive green button-up that has a strap of mesh on
the top part, showing his shoulder and collar bones through the translucent fabric. He chose
after reading somewhere that green is the colour of new beginnings. He also knows it makes
him look good. “I just want to have the right thing to say this time,” he says.

Seokjin is about to say something, but Namjoon nudges him with his elbow, giving him a
pointed look. He probably can notice the nervousness in Taehyung’s tone, hidden by the loud
chatter in the room, or maybe it didn’t go unnoticed by him that Taehyung’s been chewing his
inner cheek anxiously since he arrived here.
“Oh, Danny is gonna sing now!” Seokjin smoothly changes topics, clapping enthusiastically
when the crowd starts to move closer to the impromptu stage in the corner of the cafe.

A happy Danny approaches the mic wearing a ridiculous Happy New Year hat, hyping up the
crowd with a drink in hand.

“Alright, alright,” he says, lifting his glass and placing one hand on his chest. “I know you
can’t wait any longer to listen to me singing, but first I want to thank my mate Jimin for
hosting this party and for always offering me a place to annoy you all with my songs.” The
crowd is a mix of excited shouts and dismissive yells at his self deprecating line. He raises
his glass even higher, smiling blindly, “May the new year bring us much more opportunities
to celebrate and sing together. Cheers!”

Taehyung moves forward when the crowd basically forces him to do so, a small fish in the
middle of a shoal he doesn’t belong to.

He looks around, eyes always searching. Except he doesn’t find what he's looking for.
Jungkook is not where he was before, and it’s inevitable the way emptiness takes over
Taehyung’s stomach. It’s disappointing and the crowd is yelling and clapping to something he
didn’t pay attention to, but he whistles, raising his glass anyway.

Seokjin and Namjoon have found a spot closer to the stage where Jimin and Yoongi are
swaying side by side when Danny starts singing his first song, a The Killers cover that goes
straight to the nostalgic part of the crowd’s brain.

With everyone dancing and singing in pairs or groups, Taehyung feels slightly misplaced in
the crowd. He could join his friends, sway his hips alongside them, but he still feels like he
needs to find Jungkook. It might be stupid of him to wait for someone who hasn’t asked to be
waited for, but Jungkook wanted him here tonight, and Taehyung wants to be available for
him.

He’s on his second drink and Danny on his third cover when someone moves by his side, too
slow to be one of the people in the public just enjoying the party. Like they know what they’ll
find, his eyes move instantly to the person standing next to him.

Jungkook is not looking ahead like everyone else, his gaze is fixed on Taehyung. His eyes are
as endless as every single day Taehyung has looked into them, but tonight they’re not heavy
like the last time they met at his flat. They’re warm, welcoming.

A breath catches in Taehyung's throat, even though he has been following Jungkook from a
distance, nothing could prepare him to see him this up close. Jungkook’s bangs are a little
shorter, his hair mostly long where it reaches the nape. A new haircut. He’s not in all black
today, wearing a white t-shirt tucked inside baggy leather pants. Silver chains around his neck
and the hoops on his ears.

Standing in the dimmed lights of the cafe, Jungkook looks as good as ever.

Taehyung wants to say something, wants to stop staring like he just found the most precious
thing in front of him. But he can’t, because he might as well have. He just needs to find a way
to show Jungkook that.

“It’s almost time,” Jungkook says calmly, but his breath shutters when he finishes the
sentence.

Confused, Taehyung checks the clock because maybe he got lost in time, but they still have
almost two hours until midnight.

“Time for what?” He asks, voice coming raspy after keeping it for himself for so long.

Jungkook tilts his head towards Danny, smiles gently. “You’ll see.”

There’s something in the way he seems so calm as he talks, so tender, that leaves Taehyung
even more bewildered. Because Jungkook is everything but relaxed. His empty hands are
fidgeting in front of him like they’re searching for something to do, and his foot taps on its
own rhythm, ignoring the one set by the music. His voice doesn’t match his body language,
and Taehyung wonders if he feels like this just for being close to him. He wonders if
Jungkook’s stomach is flipping inside him like Taehyung’s is at their proximity.

He chews his inner cheek, still staring at Jungkook who’s facing Danny now, expectancy
written on every edge of his face.

“The next song is an original,” Danny says, and the crowd roars. “It’s a very special one, and
I had to play it tonight. I hope you give it some love,” he keeps going, but Taehyung still has
his eyes on Jungkook, to the way he holds his breath while Danny speaks, teeth sunk in his
lower lip. “This one is called Walk In The Sun. ”

Jungkook closes his eyes, releases his breath when the first chords float softly from Danny’s
acoustic guitar. The softness of it makes Taehuyng’s shiver, like he’s being touched by the
sudden change of mood.

Slowly, his gaze travels to Danny, to where he sings with his eyes closed, mouth almost glued
to the microphone.

I wonder what it's like to be loved by you

I wonder what it's like to be home
And I don't walk where there's a stone in my shoe
All I know is that with time I'll be fine

The verses hit Taehyung right in the chest, and his body freezes. His glass almost slips from
his fingers, but he grips it tightly at the last second, bringing it close to his chest, right over
his tripping heart.

I wonder what it's like to fly so high

Or to breathe under the sea
I wonder if someday I'll be good with goodbyes
But I'll be okay if you come along with me
The words echo in Taehyung’s head as Danny dives into the chorus, emotion dripping from
his voice, even though he isn’t the one to whom these words belong. The whole room spins,
the floor vanishing from beneath Taehyung. His body warms up, being enveloped by this
glow that he can’t contain.

His jaw drops as he gasps for air when it’s all knocked out of his lungs. Because this song,
this music——

“You,” he whispers, turning to Jungkook. His vision gets cloudy, and he blinks to get rid of
the blurriness. When his eyes focus again, Jungkook is already there, with his own eyes
charged with emotion, staring right back at him. “You wrote this,” he says again, just to be
sure he’s not hallucinating.

But he can’t be.

Taehyung is familiar with these verses because he was there when Jungkook first thought of
them.

He never read any of Jungkook’s writings, but he knows Jungkook. He knows his heart and
he knows his words, even the ones he never told Taehyung.

“Yeah,” Jungkook exhales a laugh, it comes out faint, a little bit wet too. He steps closer,
brushing his fingers over the length of Taehyung’s arm. So gently, it could come across as
unsureness, but Taehyung knows his touch. He has a whole dictionary of them in his mind.
This one Jungkook only gives when he’s scared. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to tell.”

Taehyung blinks at him, knitting his brows together, pushing a strong exhale out. “How could
I not?”

How could he not, when he spent most days of the year listening to Jungkook and being
graced by his thoughts and small pieces of his soul? How could he not, when all he pays
attention to is what Jungkook has to say?

Shrugging, Jungkook drops his hand, looking down to hide his shy smile.

“This is—” Taehyung looks up at Danny again, now almost finished with the song, and then
looks back at Jungkook. His voice comes out small like raising it would disrupt the
captivating words coming out of the singer’s mouth. “Jungkook, this is beautiful.”

Jungkook lifts his gaze, hesitancy is blatant in his expression.

Taehyung wants to laugh, he wants to put his hands on Jungkook, to pull him closer and tell
him everything he does is beautiful. But Jungkook is looking at him in a way that makes him
seem smaller than Taehyung, in a way that suggests he is not convinced Taehyung really
enjoyed it.

Taehyung wants to laugh, but his heart is beating so fast inside his chest that he doesn’t think
he can do anything properly now. There’s nothing funny or silly about it, about the way it
trips and craves for Jungkook. His hand clutches the glass closer to his sternum again, just
something to do with his needy fingers.

And he wants to laugh, but he’s afraid it will come out wet. Because of these lyrics. Because
there’s nothing too explicit or loud about them, but they speak volumes to Taehyung. The
subtle ways Jungkook chose to show him the most vulnerable parts of himself.

Taehyung licks his lips and shakes his head, his breath still a little short when he repeats,
“This is so beautiful Jungkook. It’s so… you.”

Slowly, Jungkook’s face changes, splits into this relieved, sweet smile that melts all of
Taehyung’s insides.

“I have more,” he says, eyes going wide and too round. He pushes his hair back nervously. “I
mean, if you wanna see them. I have more to show you.”

Taehyung is the one who steps closer, invading all of Jungkook’s space. When he inhales,
there’s that vanilla smell mixed with fabric softener that is so familiar and so comforting that
it clouds his mind a bit, erases all the other scents and noises from their surroundings.

Like he needs anchoring, his hand finds Jungkook's fingers, brushing them hesitantly at first.
He looks down at where their fingertips meet, Jungkook following his gaze. Taehyung gulps,
waiting for permission, for an opportunity to do what his hand has been aching to do for so
long now. And as if afraid that Taehyung might give up on the touch, Jungkook's fingers
twitch as he clasps their hands together.

It sends a wave of warmth through his body, making everything around him stop for a brief
moment. All Taehyung can do is to release a relieved breath, one that was stuck in his throat
without him meaning to.

“I do. I wanna see everything. Show me, please, ” He isn’t ashamed of begging. He waited so
long for Jungkook to offer it to him.

Jungkook searches for something in Taehyung’s face, eyes rounding even further, too close to
his face, too easy to jump into them. He wonders what it would be like falling in the
endlessness of it. He knows falling quite well, all the different types of it, and something tells
him this would be his best fall so far.

“Now?” Jungkook asks.

Now seems like as good as any time, Taehyung thinks. He doesn’t want to seem too eager,
but there’s this sense of urgency growing inside him, starting at the pit of his stomach and
rising to his throat. He needs more, and he needs everything.

Taehyung pulls his hand closer, squeezing their interlaced fingers.

“Yes, let’s do it now.”

Jungkook bites his lip, glancing around like he’s looking for something, but then snaps his
head back to Taehyung, eyes glistening with new found confidence. “Okay, let’s do it now.”
It would probably be good to let his friends know they’re leaving, but Jungkook’s palm is
pressed against his and he’s pulling Taehyung towards the exit and everything is moving too
fast around Taehyung this time.

He barely registers when they stop to collect their coats, and he can’t even remember
anymore what he was supposed to do here when they get outside, the cold winter air biting
his cheeks and freezing his nostrils. Taehyung doesn’t mind, as long as his hand is in
Jungkook’s, he’s all warm.

On the way to Jungkook’s place, the silence stretches in the overpriced uber they requested.
They don’t talk, there’s something fragile hanging in the air that cannot be disturbed by
mindless talking. The things that were said and the things that are still to be said, and
everything they meant, everything they will mean. Jungkook looks afraid of moving too
hastily and breaking this thing between them, sometimes, even the loud noises coming from
drunk people on the streets seem too disruptive.

Taehyung replays in his mind the lyrics the whole way, afraid of losing them in his restless
mind, of losing them in the middle of all the other words he has inside his chest.

When they finally reach Jungkook’s house, the same heavy silence hovers over them. Their
hands are still clasped, and Jungkook doesn’t let go, not even when he opens the door, kicks
his shoes off and guides Taehyung to his room.

Taehyung has been here before a few times, but this time is different. This time the bookshelf
is illuminated only by the table lamp Jungkook flicks on when he searches for something on
his desk. This time, the air is charged, still a lot of unsureness gravitating around them even
though the touch that links them together is assertive.

Jungkook walks towards the bookshelf, pulling Taehyung with him. His fingers slip from
Taehyung’s palm so he can reach a notebook with both hands. The one with a black leather
cover that Taehyung has seen him carrying around many times. It looks almost finished, the
used papers flicked and rough against a few, smooth ones.

There’s something precious about the way he holds it against his chest, fingers firm but
carefully placed to not damage the paper. To not squeeze too tight what Jungkook has put so
carefully on those pages.

Without a word, he offers it to Taehyung.

Taehyung’s heart leaps again inside his chest as he stares at the notebook. This is the thing he
waited for since he met Jungkook.

The leather is soft under his fingers, but the object is heavy on his palms. It carries the weight
of everything Jungkook has thought for god knows how long. Taehyung doesn’t take it
lightly. The responsibility of holding in his hands all the words of a person.

He looks back and forth between Jungkook and the notebook, checking if he’s sure, one last
silent question. Jungkook nods, and with a long inhale, Taehyung flicks it open.
It’s like a new world has opened up to him. At first Taehyung is slightly confused by the lack
of consistency. But as the paragraphs and verses dance in front of him, he starts to get the
rhythm. Jungkook’s writing is made of a mix of prose and poetry, of drafts and complete
texts, of simple words put together gingerly and of dense, almost violent words. Some of the
writings look like they’re gonna be just small verses, only to end up as this long narrative,
like he was testing what would be better as he wrote. Like writing is the only way to organise
everything inside him.

He reads it attentively, savouring each sentence of this new big discovery. Every passage in
as foreign language that is not his, but it’s also part of him now. He reads some quotes over
and over, just to check how the words sound in his brain. Some of them, he says out loud, test
how they sound in his tongue. How it is to taste Jungkook’s words with his own mouth.

He blinks up at Jungkook in hesitancy, just to see if it’s okay to say them out loud, to give
voice to his words. But Jungkook doesn’t seem bothered about it. His expectant face is
almost apprehensive, watching his every movement, waiting for approval. As if Taehyung’s
approval mattered.

Taehyung doesn’t know how to voice that it is everything he imagined it would be, but
nothing like what he expected at all. It’s much more vulnerable, much more raw. There’s this
lingering melancholy when Jungkook writes about loneliness, and this fierceness when he
composes about love.

His heart beats faster and fuller as his eyes wander through the pages, and Taehyung is afraid
he might not be able to hold it inside him anymore. There’s so much in this notebook, so
much that sounds too familiar and too intimate.

On a particular draft about loving the ordinary things in life, written so simply and yet so
honestly, Taehyung feels emotion rising up to his throat.

He’s not an avid reader, can’t remember if he ever cried reading a book, but he can recall the
many times he had to hold back his tears in a gallery or a museum. He remembers vividly all
the times an artwork entranced him, made his body respond in ways that are rare.

Reading Jungkook’s texts brings back the familiar feeling of encountering an artwork that
changes everything.

He might not be familiar with texts, but Taehyung knows quite well what’s in a painting or
installation that makes the world around him a little brighter, a little more meaningful. What’s
in an art piece that tugs his heartstrings, that makes him feel full of life and full of love and so
full of everything good he could float. It’s the exact same thing he’s finding in the endless
words Jungkook poured into this worn out notebook.

Running a finger on the edge of the stained pages, Taehyung can’t help but wonder what
could be more exquisite than having in hands a piece of the most pure part of a person? What
could be more heavenly than being able to touch a portion of someone's soul?

Because that's what Jungkook’s writings are made of. There’s no separation between the
person standing in front of him and the words marked on this paper. Everything in this
notebook is him. Unapologetic and irrevocably him.

And how could Taehyung not feel moved by it? How could he not feel his eyes filling at the
same speed his heart is being filled? How could he not feel so warm like he was just hugged
by a thousand arms? All the good things combined and all the ways our bodies find to react
to them.

“Everything I write is too personal…,” Jungkook says in this small, unsure voice. It’s fragile,
but it pulls Taehyung back from his trance. Jungkook shifts his footing, interlacing his fingers
in front of his chest. “I was— I don’t know. I was scared.”

“Scared of what?” Taehyung tilts his head to the side, blinking up at him. With the same
concern Jungkook seems to share, he whispers, “Jungkook, this is wonderful.”

Jungkook’s eyes round in surprise, mouth hanging slightly open like he’s at a loss for words.
Taehyung’s assurance doesn’t seem to ease whatever is going on inside his mind. He steps
forward, fingers searching gingerly for a touch, but he gives up halfway, drops his hand by
his side. “There’s a reason I didn’t want to show you right away… Other than wanting to
show you something good.”

“Yeah?” Taehyung frowns, fingers going a little rigid in the hold of the notebook.

Nodding in a small way, Jungkook runs a tongue over his lips, pulls his bottom one inside his
mouth to chew at it as he gathers his words. His dam's apple bobs up and down as he musters
his courage to say it. “I didn’t want you to think I was using you,” Jungkook murmurs almost
inaudibly. It echoes loudly in the silent room.

“Wha— What?” Taehyung stutters in shock, dropping the notebook on his lap to give
Jungkook his undivided attention.

The sigh that Jungkook releases comes out broken, in an effort to control his own emotions.
He rubs his face with both palms, looking more nervous and apprehensive than he did at the
cafe. “You know, I didn’t want to paint you like one of my French girls, or something like
that.”

Taehyung gives him a quizzical look and finds it in himself to let out a soft snicker. “What
are you even talking about?”

“Your ex.” Jungkook closes his eyes, lowers his voice until it gets impossibly small, almost
like silence this time. “He— He used you for his art. I didn’t want to make you feel like that
again.”

Looking down at the notebook and up at Jungkook, Taehyung feels this violent flip inside his
chest.

His lips tremble, in what it must be every visible piece of him reacting to this steady tremor
inside his chest. This quivering that has been going for so long, making it impossible to keep
his heart still even though he begged it to do so. This vibration that only grows stronger each
time his eyes meet Jungkook’s.
“Why would I feel like this?” It’s almost a rhetorical question. The answer lies in the words
open under his palms, engraved in these stained, wrinkled pages. Almost rhetorical. Because
Taehyung needs to hear the answer, needs to know without metaphors or hyperboles or hard
words.

Jungkook takes another step closer and fits in the space between Taehyung’s legs. He
searches and searches for something in Taehyung’s face for a while. He seems to not even
breathe as he does so, lower lip sucked into his mouth.

Until his eyes stop wandering, focusing solely on Taehyung’s.

He takes a small inhale, the last breath of courage, the one you take before doing something
that might change things forever.

“It’s you, Taehyung. It’s all about you.”

Taehyung has experienced many moments in which the world stopped around him. His first
kiss, his first time, when he graduated from college when he opened his first show. That silly
feeling of being so in the moment that nothing else matters.

Except this is nothing compared to the other times. This is not just a simple case of time
being suspended. This is the moment time and space ceases to exist at all.

All there is around them are the words Jungkook wrote and the words Jungkook said and
Jungkook himself, looking at him with gentle and soft eyes, and oh, Taehyung’s heart beats
even louder even though sound doesn’t exist where there is no time or space.

How silly of him to worry that he had never read anything Jungkook wrote when Jungkook is
made of his words. And how silly of him to think Jungkook wouldn't trust him to know the
content of his writing when Taehyung himself was there, with him, experiencing all the
things Jungkook wrote about.

How silly of him to think Jungkook wasn’t giving him his heart when his heart is already
Taehyung’s.

As if it’s possible, Jungkook steps even closer, Taehyung’s forced to lift his chin up further to
not miss his eyes. He will never want to miss those eyes.

“It’s all about how I see you, and how you make me feel. For quite a while now, it has been
all about you,” Jungkook continues, voice nervous but delicate, like he’s afraid his words
might hurt when all they do is heal Taehyung’s erratic, wounded heart. “My writings, and my
thoughts, and my movements, they’re all about you. And I think—” he pauses, running a
hand over his hair, then pushes it all back so his bangs don't cover his eyes. His fingers twitch
as if they need more to touch but he keeps them to himself as he pours it all out, “I think if
there are other ways of communicating, they will all be about you too.”

He seems a little breathless when he finishes. His eyes do that thing again, search for a
second longer, and this time, they seem to find. His hand finally reaches Taehyung’s face,
cupping his chin like he’s holding something too delicate.
Like he’s holding Taehyung’s heart already.

It’s only when his thumb runs over his cheek that Taehyung notices it’s damp.

“Jungkook.” He finds his voice in the depths of his pounding heart, it doesn’t come broken as
he expected. There’s no way he could pronounce those two syllables with nothing but
assurance. “Jungkook,” he repeats urgently. “Jungkook,” he repeats because it sounds so
whole in his mouth, just like that first time he said it out loud. He repeats because Taehyung
feels invaded by the relief of saying a word so lovingly in his own mother tongue, without
being concerned about getting it wrong.

“Yeah, bun?” Jungkook replies softly, a nervous smile spreading on his face.

Taehyung closes his eyes, leaning to the touch. With trembling hands, he puts the notebook
on the mattress and places his palms on both sides of Jungkook’s hips, keeping him close.

“I could never feel used, not because of this. This is beautiful, this is genuine, this is—”
Taehyung stutters, inhales a shaky breath. “This is you.” He opens his eyes, looks at
Jungkook through his lashes. He almost expects to find something different after the
confession, someone new, like he always does whenever he faces Jungkook so close, but all
he finds is the same dark round eyes, the same big nose, the same chapped lips, the same
constellation of moles. What a relief to find he’s still the same. “And you’re one of the most
precious things this place has brought me.”

“I am?” Jungkook cups both of his cheeks, frowns slightly like he’s surprised but also
alleviated.

“Of course you are.” Taehyung grips his t-shirt, wanting to keep him closer as if he’s going to
escape his fingers. Taehyung is not good with words like Jungkook is, but he has so many
inside him that he has to give back, he cannot keep them to himself anymore. “I thought I
wasn’t ready, I thought it was nothing but— All this time, I don’t know exactly when, but
I’ve been falling for you.”

Taehyung stops for a second, trying to search for the precise moment in his mind. Perhaps it
was that time during the autumn when Jungkook said Taehyung was an explosion and his
heart almost escaped his chest in the middle of the night. Or maybe it was during the summer
when they laughed so hard under the moonlight Taehyung thought his cheeks would never
stop hurting. Maybe, maybe it had been during the spring when they ate ice cream and
Taehyung shared a little bit of his heart for the first time.

The more he searches among these big little moments for when he has started falling, the
more it seems that he has always been in free fall. Since that winter day in the gallery.

“I don’t know if it matters when or how.” Taehyung squeezes the fabric of the shirt in his
hands. “But maybe,” Taehyung whispers, “Maybe I’ve always been. Since the first time we
met.”

Jungkook’s chest heaves, he looks erratically from Taehyung’s eyes to his mouth, his hair
falling over his eyes as he stares down with the darkest eyes Taehyung has ever seen.
“Taehyung?”

The name echoes in the room, hitting Taehyung’s ears like the most beautiful word that has
ever come out of Jungkook’s mouth. Like the name is his to own. It sends shivers through
Taehyung’s spine, making something warm nestle in the base of his stomach.

Another shaky, expectant breath. “Yeah?”

Jungkook leans forward, the warmness in the pit of Taehyung’s stomach expanding through
his whole torso the closer he gets. His breath fans over Taehyung’s face, and he instinctively
runs a rogue over his lips, parting them in anticipation.

“Why haven’t we kissed yet?” Jungkook says inches away from his mouth.

Something bursts inside Taehyung. The warmness, breaking like a river of lava in his groin.
A laugh, escaping his lips like the happiest sound on Earth. “I have no idea.”

Hurriedly, his hands travel up to the collar of Jungkook’s shirt, pulling him closer.

Their foreheads meet, their eyes in sync with each other, looking through their lashes. They
still don’t kiss, just share the same intense gaze, the same hot breath. And it’s more than
they’ve shared before, but it’s also nothing compared to everything they’ve shared so far.

Time and space don’t exist now, but if Taehyung waits one more second he thinks he’s going
to burst. Moved by this burning sensation that flicks inside his stomach and tingles on his
fingertips, Taehyung closes the distance and presses their lips together.

Jungkook sighs into his mouth the moment their lips touch like he’d been waiting only for
this to breathe again. His lips move, slowly, these small pecks that aren’t heated but aren’t
chaste either. It’s something in between, because with Jungkook is never just one exact thing,
it’s always a mix of things Taehyung hasn't experienced before but can’t wait to live them
all.

He tilts his head to the side, opens his mouth because he needs more, he needs everything
Jungkook can give him. Everything around him is fresh vanilla and the faint taste of sweet
sparkling wine. His tongue pushes past the plump of Jungkook’s lips, licks inside his mouth
as Jungkook holds him firmly, one hand sliding to the back of his neck to keep him firmly in
place.

Taehyung’s fingers crawl to his hair, tugs slightly just to put the smallest of distances between
their mouths, just so Jungkook can release that sigh again, this time more dragged, less
relieved than before. A tiny noise that sends waves of pleasure to Taehyung’s body, makes his
insides melt like molasses.

He never thought he would hear fireworks, but he swears there is a whole pyrotechnic show
going on, bursting around him and inside him at the same time.

Jungkook pulls away with a flinch, Taehyung keeps searching for his lips but it’s interrupted
by a surprised, “ Oh.” Reality comes back to him as the noises get louder, and Jungkook lifts
up his gaze to look out the window behind the bed where a strange glow is coming from. A
happy smile curves Jungkook's lips up, and tilts the corner of his eyes down. “Happy New
Year, bun.”

Taehyung looks over his shoulders and lets out a laugh that shakes his body, making
Jungkook laugh too even though he has no context as to why Taehyung thinks it's funny.

“Happy New Year, bun,” he whispers into Jungkook’s mouth, digging his fingers into his hair
to bring him closer again. “I can tell already it’s gonna be a good one.”

He pulls him in for another kiss. This time, their lips meet with more urgency, flicking a new
flame in the pit of Taehyung’s stomach. He grabs Jungkook’s hair and the back of his shirt
and everywhere his hands can reach. Not desperately, not rough, just a vital need of having
his hands full of Jungkook.

“Yeah?” Jungkook pants against his mouth, pulls his lips into a sly smile. “Why?”

“‘Cause I get to start the year doing this,” Taehyung says, breathing heavily.

The fireworks continue popping outside, glowing in the night sky, but inside the room, all
Taehyung can hear is the small whimpers that come out of his own mouth when Jungkook
slides his lips down his throat, sucking the sensitive skin.

Taehyung’s neck strains from looking up so much, and he starts to scoot back on the bed.
Jungkook follows him on all fours. He stops when Taehyung’s back hits the headboard, one
arm on each side of his hip, eyes impossibly wide and dark. There’s so much in them
Taehyung loses his breath for a while, they’re sharp and soft at the same time, warm but also
wanting .

And it’s been so long since Taehyung has been looked at like this.

“Jungkook,” he says. Pleads .

And a name is just a word falling from someone’s lips. But, right now, Jungkook’s name
seems to be the most important one he has ever spoken out loud.

Something flicks in Jungkook’s gaze, and he crawls onto Taehyung’s lap. The next time they
kiss, there’s also an imminent need in the way Jungkook licks the inside of his mouth, pulling
his lower lip with his teeth.

Taehyung scrapes his fingers over the length of Jungkook’s nape just to feel his skin erupting
in goosebumps.

“I’m here, bun,” Jungkook says, breathing into his mouth. He cups Taehyung’s face away,
holds him firmly by the jaw to keep their gazes locked together. “I’m here,” he repeats. It’s a
simple statement to appease Taehyung’s needs, but it’s so much more. It’s an assurance that
they’re not apart anymore.

His thumb runs over Taehyung’s lower lip, pulls it down, and releases with a loud pop, eyes
following every movement.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” Jungkook whispers, thumb now tracing his cheekbones. “I’ve
been waiting for so long to tell you how beautiful you are.”

Under the dim light, Taehyung flushes, running his hand down Jungkook’s spine to bring him
even closer to his lap. It’s a dangerous movement because it settles Jungkook’s ass right on
top of his hardening cock and Taehyung can’t contain the groan that escapes his mouth.

“Jungkook, please, kiss me.”

Jungkook obliges, sinking his whole body into the kiss. He holds Taehyung’s face between
his palms and rolls his hips on his lap, and he can’t contain his own groan.

Sliding his hands under his shirt, Taehyung digs his fingers into his skin, pulls him closer
until Jungkook is parting the kiss to throw his head back. His back arches, curving under
Taehyung’s palm, and the outline of Jungkook's body is the most beautiful thing he has ever
seen.

“Fuck,” Jungkook hisses. “Do it again.”

His fingers scrape his back again, from his shoulder blades to the base of his spine, and
Jungkook curves his back even more, pressing his hips even further.

Taehyung has never been this turned on while still with all his clothes on. Everything is hot
and loud like the fireworks are inside this room. Their shared moans and their heavy breaths,
and god, the way their hips buckle is enough to send sparkles through all of Taehyung’s body
and maybe the fireworks are inside him.

“Tell me what you like— tell me,” Taehyung says, pulling Jungkook’s face back to his,
searching for his mouth with urgency. “I wanna give you everything I—”

“Anything, Tae, I—” Jungkook pauses, pressing both hands on top of his chest. “I’d like
anything with you.”

Taehyung’s breath shudders when Jungkook’s eyes meet his, intense and sure.

Giving yourself to someone is always a strong display of vulnerability and it often comes
with conditionals. But Jungkook doesn’t give any to Taehyung, offers himself whole like he’s
not someone who knows how to give only pieces.

It’s such a treasured thing, Taehyung can’t take it for granted, he simply can’t just accept it
without giving back everything Jungkook deserves.

“We never talked about this, why did— fuck—” Taehyung panics a little bit, runs both hands
over his head to cool himself off. “Why did we never talk about this?”

Laughing, Jungkook leans down for a quick peck. “Why would we talk about it?”

“I don’t know, friends talk about sexual preferences, no?” Taehyung frowns, tucking one lock
of dark hair behind Jungkook’s ear, too delicately for such a heated moment.
“And that’s what we are?” He asks, that familiar, confused wrinkle forming in the middle of
his eyebrows. “Just friends?”

A breath gets lost in Taehyung’s lungs, his stomach coiling in arousal and nervousness. “No,”
he closes his eyes. “I don’t think we've ever been just friends.”

A soft peck is placed on both of Taehyung’s lids, then one on the tip of his nose, on his chin,
and he smiles, his hands easing around Jungkook’s waist.

“I’m good with anything, I mean it,” he says in a more serious tone. “But, is this too fast?”
Jungkook asks at the same time he rolls his hips down, pressing their hard cocks together.
Taehyung rolls his eyes, clenching his jaw when the not-enough pleasure hits him square in
the guts. “Because we can wait if you want, but—”

“No.” Taehyung shakes his head, lifting his head just to capture Jungkook’s mouth into
another kiss, tongue lapping over his lower lip. “It’s not too fast.”

“Okay, good,” Jungkook nods eagerly, moving again on Taehyung's lap. “Cause I can’t wait
to feel you inside me.”

“Oh, shit,” Taehyung groans, throwing his head back when his hips automatically go up to
meet Jungkook’s. His cock is strained inside his pants, his whole body running too hot to
endure any layer of clothes at all.

Taehyung holds Jungkook by the waist and straightens his back so he’s not leaning on the
pillows anymore.

“Can I?” He asks, hands holding the hem of Jungkook’s shirt.

When he nods, Taehyung slowly starts to lift the soft fabric. His knuckles brush over the
expansion of Jungkook’s skin, and he tenses his stomach at the feather-like touch.

His golden skin is smooth under the dim light, and Taehyung can’t help but run his palms up
and down his pecks, needing to feel him entirely under his prints.

“Holy shit,” escapes his mouth without Taehyung even noticing, and Jungkook chuckles.
“Were you always this hot?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, starts pulling Taehyung’s shirt unceremoniously. “Look who’s
talking!” He gestures towards Taehyung’s naked torso exaggeratedly.

“And you dared to make fun of me because of pilates,” Taehyung swats him in the chest.
“Oh.” He presses a palm again over Jungkook’s peck. “This is like, way too hard. How’s that
possible?”

Laughing, Jungkook pushes Taehyung back against the pillows, pressing his whole torso
against his. “It’s not the only hard thing I’ve got for you,” he smirks, circling his hips so he
presses his hard-on against Taehyung’s leg.
“Oh god,” Taehyung half moans, half laughs. “This is so cheeky. I thought you were good
with words, bun.”

“Hey, I am good with them.” Jungkook grimaces in fake offence. Then, too easily, his face
splits into a silly grin. “And my best words are always for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Taehyung asks, feeling wings flapping inside his chest at the same time
something churns in his groin. He brings his hands to Jungkook’s ass, keeps grinding.
“Which ones?”

“Hm.” Jungkook looks up at the ceiling, pretending to think. Then leans forward, places a
kiss on the hollow of his throat. “Pretty.” Taehyung shivers, biting his lower lip as Jungkook
keeps going down, places a kiss on his collarbones. “Sexy.” Humming, Jungkook lays his
tongue flat over Taehyung’s sternum, licks a strap, then murmurs against his damp skin.
“Hot.” A breath fans over the wet trace Jungkook left on his skin and Taehyung squirms,
back arching before he has control of his body. Jungkook lowers down even further, planting
an open mouth kiss just below his navel, and whispers, “ And I want you to be mine . ”

“Fuck, fuck,” Taehyung pants, arms reaching to pull Jungkook’s head up by his hair. “Fuck,
I’m yours already .”

Everything burns inside Taehyung, and by the way Jungkook is smirking, chin tilted and gaze
impossibly hooded, he’s also in flames too.

It’s all a haze after that.

Jungkook starts unbuckling Taehyung’s belt with fumbling hands, pulling his pants all the
way down. He doesn’t really know how it happens, but in a second, Jungkook is also in his
underwear, lying on his stomach, settled in the middle of Taehyung’s legs.

His hot breath fans over the fabric of his boxers, damped with precum, and Taehyung throws
his forearm over his eyes, groaning loudly.

“Don’t tease, please, don’t tease,” he says when Jungkook starts kissing his thighs, fingers
pressing the protuberance of his hip bone to pin him in place.

Jungkook hums one more time, presses his palm onto Taehyung’s length, and then hooks his
fingers under the elastic band to get rid of his briefs. All the while Taehyung doesn’t seem
capable of controlling his small whimpers.

Relief floods his body when his cock springs free, but it does nothing to tame the fire inside
him. Taehyung has to grip the bed sheets to keep himself from squirming again when
Jungkook holds the base of his cock, circles the head with his tongue.

He lifts his head, finds Jungkook’s swollen lips around the tip, jutting out to accommodate
him. His eyes are closed, and Taehyung can barely blink as he watches Jungkook sliding
down and down until he takes all of him into his mouth.
A moan ripples from his chest, the warmth of Jungkook’s mouth too much but far from being
enough. When he starts bobbing his head in a steady rhythm, his hand lets go of the base, and
he touches, squeezes, and digs his fingers everywhere he can, like it isn’t just enough to touch
him with his tongue.

Taehyung has been in many beds in his life, has been caressed in many different ways. Has
had hands over him that seemed like they were touching to try to take a piece of him, mouths
that left bruises no matter how tender they intended to be.

With Jungkook, it’s the complete opposite.

Jungkook unravels him with his hands just to put him back together with his mouth.

He touches because he needs to feel Taehyung’s skin against his, and not because he needs a
piece of him. His mouth is hot and wet, and even when he bites or sucks, it’s always soft.

He treats Taehyung like he treats his words. Carefully. With love.

And it’s not just arousal that is making this unbearable for him, it’s all the ways his heart flips
inside his chest, all the ways every bit of his skin feels on fire from all the overwhelming
sensations inside and outside him and—

“Jungkook,” he says again like a prayer, lifting himself on his elbows. “I wanna feel you, I
need— More. ”

Jungkooks stops, the tip of Taehyung’s cock pressed against his lips. His hair is mussed in all
directions, eyes hanging low and lips cherry red and he never looked so beautiful before.

“Come here, bun,” Taehyung says, making grabby hands.

Jungkook crawls over him, finding his mouth in seconds. His tongue is a mix of the remains
of sweet alcohol and bitterness from Taehyung’s own body.

It tastes divine.

He loops his arm around Jungkook’s neck, moans into his mouth when he keeps grinding and
grinding, and Taehyung’s sure he can come just from his. From the heat of Jungkook’s body
pressed against his.

“Jungkook?” Taehyung asks, pulling Jungkook’s bottom lip into his mouth. “I wanna fuck
you. I wanna fuck you so bad.”

“Tae, Tae, oh shit,” Jungkook hisses when Taehyung grabs his ass, drags his hips slowly
against his with more pressure. “ Please.” His voice comes mellow and dragged, and
something coils inside Taehyung. “Wait here, I’ll get the lube.”

Jungkook leaps from Taehyung's lap, almost trips when his feet land on the floor. He opens
the chest of drawers on the opposite wall, and Taehyung turns to his side, watches the soft
curves of Jungkook’s body in the shadowy room.
He’s all sharp edges and muscles and golden skin, at the same time so dainty and delicate,
Taehyung thinks he might fall in love all over again. He wants to trace every inch of that
body with his mouth, in a filthy way but also in a sacred sense.

If it’s up to him, Taehyung would spend his whole life worshipping Jungkook.

“Hey, why are you looking at me like this?” Jungkook turns to face Taehyung, the shy smile
on his face almost hidden by the lack of direct light. He tucks his hair behind his ear, and
Taehyung can swear he’s blushing. Out of all things, Jungkook is flustered over a stare.

Taehyung bites his lower lip to avoid a giggle, one that wants to come out of him out of pure
giddiness and offers his hand. “Because you’re always all I see.”

Jungkook breathes out a laugh, gets rid of his boxers way too fast, almost like he’s
embarrassed, and gets back on the bed. Taehyung catches a glimpse of him, though,
Jungkook’s so hard it looks like it hurts, and his mouth waters thinking of all the ways he
could solve that.

Automatically, their legs interweave when Jungkook lies on his side, staring into his eyes,
and Taehyung is thankful for this piece of familiarity, this comforting touch. It soothes his
racing heart a tad bit.

“And you said I was cheesy?” He runs his fingers on Taehyung's hair, nudging his cheek.

“You’re already rubbing off on me, bun,” Taehyung whispers, flicking the bottle of lube open
and dropping a big amount on his fingers.

Jungkook leans closer when Taehyung is done, pressing their chests together. Taehyung
buries his face in the crook of his neck, and Jungkook rolls his head back to allow him to
scrape his teeth on the length of his neck. The man shivers all the way when he bites and
sucks at the same time his hand starts sliding down his back.

His lubed fingers find their way in between his cheeks, and Jungkook throws his leg over
Taehyung’s hip to make the access easier.

There’s a small gasp when Taehyung’s middle finger grazes over Jungkook’s hole, his whole
body tensing under Taehyung’s palms.

“Go easy, okay?” Jungkook asks, in a small voice.

To think Jungkook hasn’t done this in a while shouldn’t make Taehyung’s insides twist in
anticipation and arousal, but it does. It does because he’s in the same position. It’s not like he
purposefully waited for this moment, but somehow, it didn’t make sense to give himself to
someone to whom he didn’t belong.

His heart thumps inside him at the thought that Jungkook feels the same way.

“Of course, bun.”

As requested, Taehyung starts slow, just circling his finger around the rim, adding the
smallest of pressures. Jungkook keeps rutting, moving his hips so their cocks slide against
each other.

It’s all moaning and it’s all hard and wet, and Taehyung isn’t sure how long he can keep
going slow. But when he sinks the first finger in, the dragged groan Jungkook lets out, ass
pushing against his finger says he won’t have to endure much.

Although, if it means hearing all the beautiful sounds that come out of Jungkook’s mouth,
he’d be willing to never speed anything up.

“More,” Jungkook asks when Taehyung teases his hole with the second finger.

Taehyung stops, searches for something in his scrunched-up face. Finds only the expression
of someone too close to losing it. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah— Fuck,” Jungkook groans, latches his hand back over Taehyung’s wrist to make him
keep moving. “Your fingers so fucking long, so fucking good, ah.”

He’s nothing but a mess of groans when Taehyung adds the second, presses with more
pressure, curling up his fingers so he can reach the bundle of nerves that has Jungkook's
whole body quivering against his.

Taehyung barely blinks, feels his own breath shortening. His dick is hard and all the blood is
focused there, and he might come at any moment. Jungkook’s grinding against him is good,
but nothing, nothing is better than watching him unraveling in his hands.

Nothing is better than Jungkook’s parted lips gasping for air, than his eyes shut closed in
pleasure, than this bead of sweat running down his neck that Taehyung doesn’t think twice
before licking because he wants to taste all of Jungkook.

He can’t remember the last time felt so entranced by someone’s pleasure but his own.

When he presses against Jungkook’s prostate again, the man almost flinches, gripping his
shoulder until his nail sinks into his skin.

“I’m not— I need— Too much—” Jungkook tries to say, but can barely finish a sentence,
eyes rolling back on his skull.

“I’ve got you, bun,” Taehyung says, mesmerised. “How do you want this?”

“Wanna see you,” Jungkook jolts his head back to meet Taehyung’s eyes. His own are
hooded, almost impossible to keep them open. “Wanna see you, wanna kiss you.” He leans
forward to kiss Taehyung. It’s more tongue than anything, but it’s as good as everything.
“Want all of you.”

“You have all of me,” Taehyung replies into his mouth.

“Wanna ride you,” Jungkook says, and Taehyung’s hand freezes on his ass, a jolt of pleasure
crossing his body, making his cock twitch between them.
“Shit,” Taehyung hisses, and Jungkook laughs. “What the fuck?”

Jungkook smacks him in the chest, and Taehyung rolls to his back, arms sprawled to the
sides. Promptly, he rolls the condom down Taehyung’s length, shifting in his lap until he’s
straddling him again.

It’s tortuously slow the amount of time Jungkook takes to position himself right over
Taehyung's cock. He looks at Taehyung intensely all the way down, like he doesn’t want to
miss any reactions, any sighs of pleasure or frowns of delight.

“Oh,” Jungkook frowns, shutting his eyes closed for a brief moment. “It burns, fuck.”

Taehyung tries to keep his hips in place so he doesn’t go further, but Jungkook bites his lips,
shaking his head.

“In a good way,” he says in a broken voice. “Shit, in a really good way.”

He lets out this small laugh that seems unfitting for the moment, but it’s so Jungkook, it’s so
genuinely him that Taehyung’s heart grows in size.

“Oh, god,” Taehyung says when he finally bottoms out. It’s so warm and so tight that he
thinks he sees stars for a moment. His cock throbs when Jungkook doesn’t move, but he just
squeezes his hips further, waits until he has adjusted.

“Gonna move, yeah?” Jungkook pants, already out of breath from the stretch.

“Take your time, bun,” Taehyung says in a strangled voice, the knot inside him already too
tight.

“I don’t think I can wait,” Jungkook frowns, starts to move experimentally, the smallest of
movements that has Taehyung squeezing his hips almost to bruise. “Oh, oh! Taehyung, fuck!
”

The more Jungkook’s speed increases, the more vocal he becomes. His mouth is all made of
Taehyung’s name, their pet names, praises and unintelligible noises. Voice going high pitched
every time Taehyung hits his sweet spot.

And it feels good, it feels so fucking good to listen to all the familiar words. Feels so good to
repeat them back. All the praises and the curse words, and even the groans. They all sound
more real when they’re not curved or elongated with a foreign accent. To have sex in another
language can be exhausting, can be impersonal. To repeat words that your brain takes a while
longer to attach meaning to.

But this is different. This is the most intimate and genuine way Taehyung has connected to
someone.

With his body and his words, in the language that was born with him just like his own skin.

Taehyung runs his hands over Jungkook’s legs and then up his side body, his muscles hot and
firm under his prints. Jungkook doesn’t dare to shut his eyes, moans louder all the time
Taehyung looks somewhere else just so he can sustain his gaze again, showing him how good
he feels riding his cock.

It’s terribly hot but also unfair to be watching this from a certain distance, to not have his lips
attached to Jungkook’s, swallowing all of his pretty noises. So Taehyung holds Jungkook by
the ass for support and lifts himself up into a seated position. When they are readjusted,
Jungkook resumes his movements, fingers digging into his shoulders. It hurts, but it’s the
good kind. The kind of aggressiveness that will leave Taehyung whole in the end.

Hungrily, Jungkook smacks their lips together, runs his tongue over his lips and the roof of
his mouth, mumbling small nonsense.

“This is so good,” he says when he lifts himself all the way up just to sink down. “Hyung,
you’re so fucking good.”

The word makes Taehyung freeze in place, but Jungkook keeps moving, keeps repeating so
good non-stop. He ignores how his heart stops in his chest only to peek up its erratic pace
when he hears the word, decides to let it go.

A word is just a word.

One of his hands slides up, ending up in Jungkook’s hair. He tugs to test the waters, earns a
low, deep moan in response. He pulls again and Jungkook picks up his pace.

Taehyug latches his lips on his throat, feeling the vibrations of Jungkook's whimpers. All of
them to him.

To realise that, at this moment, all of Jungkook is his does things to him. To his heart, and to
his stomach, and to his cock. Because Taehyung isn’t a man of feeling just with one part of
his body.

He isn’t gonna last long, he’s almost seeing everything white, even when he closes his eyes.

“I’m not— fuck, hyung, ah!” The word slips from Jungkook’s mouth again. This time, it
sounds heavier. It vibrates differently against Taehyung’s lips. It resonates like something
new, something Taehyung has never heard before.

That’s when, in the middle of all the haze of pleasure, something flicks in Taehyung’s mind.
Something way deeper than what they are sharing now.

He doesn’t know how his brain rescues the information when all of his body is on fire, but his
memory pulls back the moment Jungkook told him he makes an effort to not call his friends
'hyung' here. It's kind of second nature to me every time I speak Korean, Jungkook had said
that night in Taehyung’s flat. Like it comes from this deep part of my chest.

A word is just a word, but it’s also part of Jungkook. It’s the most intimate part of him, one
that comes out naturally, when he’s not trying to make an effort, when he has let all his
guards go.
“Taehyung.” Jungkook digs his fingers more firmly on the flesh of his shoulders. “Hyung,
please.”

When Jungkook repeats it again, Taehyung notices he’s been frozen in place, leaving
Jungkook impatient as he tries to move faster and harder by himself.

When Jungkook repeats hyung again and again close to his ear this time, Taehyung notices
Hyung is just a word, but in this bedroom, it’s also one of the most intimate and essential
parts of Jungkook’s heart.

It’s too much for Taehyung to make sense of, his breath catching in his throat as emotion
ripples through his body alongside arousal.

“I’m so close, ah, ” Jungkook says again, and his loud moan is what makes Taehyung place
his hand back on his hips, helping him to move faster.

With a low cry and a hyung on his lips, he comes all over their stomachs.

His body jolts forward with the intensity of the pressure, making them lie down again. He
pants over Taehyung’s mouth, sweat making his hair stick around his face.

Planting his feet on the mattress, Taehyung keeps thrusting, chasing his own high. With
trembling hands, he pushes the hair out of Jungkook’s face, kisses his mouth messily. It’s
more like breathing in each other’s mouth, more of an exchange of air than of saliva, but it’s
just as good.

It doesn’t take much for Taehyung to come, burying his cock inside Jungkook so deep the
man has to arch his back, curling his fingers around Taehyung’s arms.

Jungkook drops his whole body on top of Taehyung, squeezing his lungs. He doesn’t care,
doesn't care about the weight on his chest. It seems infinitely lighter than the one he was
carrying before.

With Jungkook in his arms, peppering kisses all over his shoulder, Taehyung feels for the first
time in a while that instead of falling, he’s being lifted.

The night is still endlessly dark in a way that only winter can grant when they fall back into
bed. Expended bodies in fresh clothes.

“God, they are so drunk.” Jungkook laughs at his phone.

“What? Who?” Taehyung stretches his neck to peek at the messages.

Jungkook squints at the screen, holding it closer than necessary to check if he can see
anything clear, just like grandmothers do. He rolls up the messages, finds the first one. “Jimin
started by texting me life threats for standing you up at the party, then he had his realisation
moment. It was very eloquent, look,” Jungkook turns the screen to Taehyung, scrolls up with
his thumb, showing an alarming amount of ohs, nos, whats, and sijdoerkebt. “Now he’s just
spamming…” Jungkook brings the phone closer to his eyes. “ Taekook forever?”

Laughing, Taehyung tucks one hand under the pillow, adjusting himself better on his side.
“Hm no, that sounds like sober Jimin.”

“Oh,” Jungkook gapes. “Even Hobi hyung is texting me kissy emojis. Jimin is not wasting
any time.”

“How is he so sure?” Taehyung’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “We could have left with
different people.”

Jungkook turns just enough to give him the most sceptical side glance on earth. “No, we
couldn’t.” The way his expression is not only incredulous but also a little bit offended makes
Taehyung all giddy. Small wings flapping inside his stomach, and oh, what a nice feeling.
“But also, hm, Yoongi knew about it.”

“About what?”

Jungkook drops his phone in bed, turns sideways, and scoots closer until their noses are
almost touching. His legs find Taehyung’s under the covers, locking their ankles together.

“About the song,” he says. “And that I was hoping you’d listen to it and understand.”

“Oh.” Taehyung frowns. “So was it… a plan?”

“Yeah.” He breathes out an embarrassed laugh that fans over Taehyung’s face. “After that day
at your place I— I left because I was kind of overwhelmed by everything you told me.” He
plants a sweet kiss on Taehyung’s nose. “It was never my intention to leave you like that but
also, what you said, about giving me your heart…”

His fingers trail the side of Taehyung’s face, stopping at his earlobe to give it a gentle pull.
His attention follows his own movements, and Taehyung closes his eyes, feeling the softness
of the touch, the gentleness of the gaze.

“I don’t know how I didn’t say everything to you back then, I wanted to make everything
good for us so bad but—” Jungkook sighs, dropping his hands and his gaze in the middle of
them. “I was hurt and you were hurt too, I don’t think confessing right away would have
fixed the situation.”

Slowly blinking his eyes open, Taehyung wets his lips, and smirks. “I mean, it wouldn’t make
it worse either…”

“Shut up,” Jungkook says too lovingly to sound annoyed. He pokes at his rib cage, then
keeps his hand there, sliding up and down as if he’s counting Taehyung’s ribs. “You were sad
because you felt left out so, in my mind, the right thing to do would be to show you my
writings. More than just saying it all, I had to show you. I—” He pauses, taking a deep breath
in, fluttering his lashes. “After that day at the cafe, after Hobi-hyung and Yoongi suggested I
could write songs, I started working on those lyrics, and then Yoongi said it would be
amazing in Danny’s voice and— I’m sorry I made you wait, I’m sorry I wasn’t there when
you were going through so much. I just— I wanted to do it the right way. ”

Taehyung looks up at him, brings his palm to his cheek. “You don’t have to apologise. I
understand. I understand everything now.” He leans closer for a kiss, lingers a while longer
because Jungkook’s lips are so sweet and soft, and why not? “And those lyrics, they are…
They are stunning.”

With his eyes closed, Jungkook smiles. “Thank you.”

“Is that a thing now? Writing songs?” Taehyung pulls away again, searching for the answer in
Jungkook’s eyes before he can give it to him.

“I don’t know. It could be.” He shrugs one shoulder, lips pouting. “Yoongi is excited, but I—
I don’t know yet.”

There’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice that Taehyung knows quite well, the possibility of
trying something new, of not knowing if it’s the way to go. He doesn’t press any further, lets
the silence take over them for a while.

It’s pleasant as it has always been, to be in the quietness with Jungkook. He smiles in the
dark, a sense of contentment invading him whole simply from knowing that Jungkook feels
the same as him, knowing that their bodies go as well as their lips and their feelings.

To simply know, not wonder anymore.

Taehyung hums pleasantly, nudging against his neck again. It seems like the perfect place to
be. Sweet and warm.

“Jungkook,” he murmurs after a while, when he’s almost drifting off to sleep as Jungkook’s
hand caresses circles in his back.

“Hm?”

“Earlier… the thing you’ve said.”

“I’ve said a lot, bun.” Jungkook kisses his neck, still rubbing his back soothingly. “And I
mean all of it.”

“I know I—” Taehyung smiles against Jungkook’s collarbones. “You never say something
without meaning.”

Jungkook’s hand slides up to his hair, tangling in his locks. “Cause I’m good with my
words,” he says in a cocky, pompous voice.

“Exactly.” Taehyung rolls his eyes and breathes out a soft chuckle that makes his shoulder
shake. He places a palm over Jungkook’s chest, pulls away to look at him. “But the thing you
said. The Titanic quote.”
Groaning, Jungkook throws his head back. “Oh god, I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did, bun.” Taehyung laughs, patting his chest.

“I was nervous and I panicked.” It’s dark but by the tone of his voice, Taehyung can imagine
pink painting his cheeks. “Sorry”

“Hey!” He swats his chest again. “Never apologise for a Titanic reference!" He says. "But
that’s not the point.”

Jungkook rolls his head back, looking at him with a warm smile. “Okay, what is it?”

A faint, refreshing sensation runs inside Taehyung’s belly. This sparkle is reserved only for
when you’re about to say something silly but also very true.

“I want to be your French girl.”

The breath Jungkook was about to exhale gets stuck in his throat, and he almost chokes.
“What?!”

Taehyung giggles, hiding his face in the pillow. He has to control himself to not kick his
legs.

“I love that you wrote about me,” he says, shyly, voice almost inaudible. “I don’t mind it, to
be your muse. I don’t mind if it’s you.”

All the air escapes Jungkook’s lungs, making them shrink a bit in a relieved motion. “That’s
good.” Jungkook cups his jaw so Taehyung can meet his gaze, thumb running along his lips.
“‘Cause I don’t want to stop now.” Shivers run down Taehyung’s spine when Jungkook leans
forward, pressing their lips together in a ghost of a touch. “All my words are for you.”

Jungkook kisses him so long and tenderly until that thing happens again. Time and space
disappear around him.

Taehyung inhales deeply into the kiss, only to be invaded by the same fresh vanilla smell that
feels too much like coming back home.

“What are you writing?”

The question falls from Taehyung’s lips easily, like a breath of fresh air. He feels extremely
comfortable asking, the words made for his mouth.

He stops in the middle of the living room, lowering the laundry basket on the coffee table
without taking his eyes off Jungkook.
The words don’t startle Jungkook, don’t make him clutch the notebook closer to his chest so
Taehyung cannot peek. Instead, he lowers the pen, face softening from the concentration pout
he had been holding just to look back at Taehyung.

“Just experimenting with some verses,” he says, tilting his head to the side. “It doesn’t even
make sense yet, but here, take a look.”

The offer makes Taehyung feel warm all over. He shouldn’t feel giddy about it, still. It’s part
of their routine now, just like locking ankles under the blankets and drinking from royal
mugs. Every time Jungkook is writing when they are together, he offers it for Taehyung to
read, as if his opinion is the most valuable thing in the world.

He accepts the notebook from Jungkook’s stretched hand, kneels on the floor facing him, and
looks at the opened page.

Taehyung knows very little about words. He doesn’t have the critical eye for them as he has
for art pieces, but he’s absolutely sure everything Jungkook writes sparkles gold. The words
he’s offered now are just loose ideas on paper, but they carry Jungkook’s style, and knowing
he can recognise that makes Taehyung especially proud.

He murmurs some praises, looking up from the page to smile extra softly at Jungkook, only
to find his gaze glued to him. A sign that his eyes can never leave Taehyung either.

“I’m happy you’re giving it a shot,” he says, giving back the notebook.

“Yeah, me too, actually,” Jungkook smiles shyly, flicking the pen cap so he can continue
writing. “I never thought about it but it might be interesting. New year, new plans, right?”

“Yeah…” Taehyung trails off, busying himself with the clean laundry. He takes the t-shirt
from the basket, starts to fold it way too carefully. From his peripheral vision, he can see
Jungkook has resumed writing, and hesitancy builds in Taehyung’s stomach as he keeps
folding his clothes, unsure of how to approach the topic. After a few seconds, he says
vaguely, “About that.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook replies, unbothered by the lack of context, aware that the conversation
happens in the flow. He keeps scribbling something, eyes focused on the paper.

“I haven’t said yes to Alicia yet.” Taehyung pauses, holding a hoodie mid-air, at the same
time Jungkook pauses his movements, grip tight on the pen. “About the offer I told you
about…”

Jungkook frowns, that adorable wrinkle forming in the middle of his brows. “Wait. I thought
it was a good deal, that you were excited about it.”

Letting out a small laugh, Taehyung lowers the piece on his lap, starts curling the drawstring
on his finger as he bites his lip. “It is. I mean, it’s not safe but it’s good for my career, and I
am excited about it.”
“But…?” Jungkook tilts his head, placing the pen in the middle of the notebook and closing it
to give him his undivided attention.

The sigh that leaves Taehyung’s lungs is long and tired. He’s been thinking about it a lot. It’s
not a heavy weight, like the previous things that had been on his mind, sinking his chest
down. This is different. Now, the thought doesn’t leave him because it makes him excited.
Hopeful.

Taehyung can’t stop thinking about the fact that he might have a future again.

“Now that I don’t have to spend all my energy being anxious about— you know,” Taehyung
starts, he doesn’t sound unsure.

This is a thing he paid attention to, all the ways his body started to react differently to the
things in his life. The new feelings began to bloom after the weight of anxiety stopped
crushing him. Even so, he keeps fidgeting with the hoodie on his lap, his body hesitant to put
the thoughts out. Jungkook looks at him patiently, this unreadable expression on his face as
he waits for more.

Releasing a long exhale, Taehyung adds, “I feel that I have it in me to dream again.”

“Bun…” Jungkook blinks at him, his endless eyes are slightly confused, but a pleased smile
spreads on his face. “That’s so great.”

“Yeah.” Another small, nervous laugh, and Taehyung shakes his head. “But also scary.” He
doesn’t wait for Jungkook to say anything, the man’s face shifts in surprise, but Taehyung
drops the hoodie, starts talking with his hands flicking in the air. “It’s frightening, really, to
realise I want something so bad again. It’s been so long— I’m afraid I don’t know how to do
it anymore.”

“What?” Jungkook asks with interest, his eyebrows arching. “To dream?”

“Yes.”

Jungkook puts the notebook on the seat by his hide and slides down the couch. When his butt
reaches the floor, he adjusts himself, sitting right in front of Taehyung. Their kneecaps brush,
and he places a palm over his thigh, thumb pressing softly like he needs to be close because
just offering his words are not enough. He has to be touching Taehyung too, has to be sharing
the same space. “I know it can be scary, but of course you know bun.” Jungkook’s other hand
searches to clasp his palm. When their fingers interlace, there’s a newfound assurance in the
hold that Taehyung is still getting used to. “You’ve always known, even when you thought
you didn’t have it in you to dream anymore.

Taehyung meets those impossibly big eyes. There’s so much in them. Fondness mixed with
admiration and tenderness and truthfulness. And maybe that’s why they’ve always been so
alluring to Taehyung. Because Jungkook’s eyes carry all of him inside them, vulnerable and
transparent just like his words.

They make Taehyung feel seen even when he can’t seem to notice himself.
“What do you mean?”

“That spring day at the park in South Bank you told me you didn’t have any dreams,”
Jungkook says with a soft smile, probably seeing the moment in his mind. “But dreaming is
not something we unlearn how to do. Dreams die and they are reborn and they change, but
we don’t lose the ability to chase them. To hope for them to come true.”

Slowly, Taehyung lets the words wash over him like a breeze. His gaze travels to the window
on their side, it’s not white out there anymore. The trees are naked, shaking hopelessly
against the wind, anxiously waiting for the leaves to sprout again.

“Is that what you’re doing?” He frowns, trailing his eyes back to Jungkook. “With music?”

Jungkook smiles, cocks his head to the side. “Perhaps.”

“I’m not— I’m not in that bad place anymore,” Taehyung gulps, looking at their clasped
fingers. He thinks of how long he spent avoiding the things he loved because he wasn’t
capable of wanting them anymore, how draining and hopeless it had been. And it’s weird to
think how much we get used to uncomfortable situations and feelings just because they’re all
we know. For a long while, not dreaming had been all Taehyung had known.

When Alicia made the proposal, it ignited this small sparkle inside him that started shy and
small, but it took over him with time. It is exciting, but at the same time, it’s so terrifying
Taehyung has no idea what to do with it. With the fact that he’s capable of wanting something
again.

His thumb rubs the soft skin of the back of Jungkook’s hand, offering the touch enough to
give him the comfort he needs. He says, “But I’m afraid of fucking this up because I want it
too much.” Taehyung sighs, shoulders sinking. “I know it’s silly. It’s a great opportunity and I
don’t want to be this person who’s always stumbling in life...”

“Taehyung,” Jungkook says softly, pulling his hand so Taehyung can pay attention to him.
“Taehyung,” he repeats, this time more firmly. “I don’t think wanting too much is a bad thing
in this case. If so, it’s reason enough for you to do it.” He pauses, gives him a small
encouraging nod. “Even if you’re afraid.”

Taehyung bites his lower lip, still unsure of how to deal with all the softness that comes from
Jungkook’s words mixing with all the excitement and uncertainty inside him.

“And this time,” Jungkook goes on when Taehyung doesn’t say anything, “if you fall, I’m
here to catch you, okay?” Jungkook brings the back of Taehyung’s palm close to his mouth,
planting a soft kiss without breaking eye contact. “I’m always here to catch you.”

❄
“Oh,” Seokjin opens the door with a confused face. Not the reception Taehyung was waiting
for. “It’s just you.”

Namjoon appears behind him, leaning his chin on his husband’s shoulder. “We thought
Jungkook was coming with you.”

“It’s great to see you both too, hyungs.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, pushing them to the side to
get in without waiting for their invitation. “Always a warm welcome in this household, I
see.”

“Yah, brat,” Seokjin smacks his butt with the dish towel he carried with him all the way to the
front door for god knows what reason. “We’re just confused.”

Taehyung hangs his coat on the hook by the entrance, turns back to his friends, and sinks his
shoulders in exasperation.

“Oh, no,” Namjoon frowns, hands getting jittery. “What’s wrong? Did you guys fight? Is
everything okay?”

“No, no!” Taehyung waves in dismissal, takes a step forward to calm Namjoon down. “We’re
fine. He is finishing a work thing, that’s why I came early.” Taehyung bites his lower lip,
gaze dropping to his feet. “That and because I’m nervous.”

Seokjin places a hand on his shoulder. “Why, Tae? I thought things were great between you
two.”

“They are.” Taehyung sighs dreamily. Things are more than okay, he thinks. It’s just the first
month of the year and Taehyung wants to say it’s the best year of his life so far. If someone
asks, he isn’t afraid of saying that yes, he’s that cheesy. Because how he could not be when
he gets to wake up to being kissed senseless, when he gets to hear the most beautiful words
known by any human language. All of them for him. “I’m nervous because he’s coming
tonight!”

Namjoon tilts his head to the side. “I mean, it’s not like we haven’t met him?”

“Yeah, but it’s different this time!” Running a hand over his head, he paces in the entrance
hall, like the matter is so urgent he can’t be bothered to get inside first. “I feel like I’m
introducing him to my parents!” He gestures wide, voice a little bit strangled.

“And the parents are… us?” Namjoon stops, face twisting quizzically when he wiggles a
finger to indicate himself and Seokjin.

“Of course, Namjoon-ah.” Seokjin elbows him, shakes his head in impatience, and scoffs.
“Who else do you think it would be? Jimin ?”

A yell comes from the kitchen, “I can hear you, hyung!”

“That’s because you’re the eldest son!” Seokjin snaps his head over his shoulder, yelling
back. He turns back to Taehyung with a smile that looks more threatening than gentle, bats
his lashes too theatrically. “You have nothing to worry about, you’re our maknae.”
“I’m literally the same age as Jimin.” Taehyung narrows his eyes at the sudden mellow tone.

Seokjin blows a raspberry and rolls his eyes. “What matters in this country is whose birthday
comes first, you know that.”

“Don’t mind him, Taehyung-ah.” Namjoon steps in front of Seokjin, using the most
comforting voice. “We love Jungkook already. As your dad, I approve of him completely, if
that’s your concern.” As soon as he finishes the sentence Namjoon stops, face contorting in
disgust. He throws his palms up in the air, steps back. “No, nope. That sounded weird.”

“Say for yourself, Namjoon-ah.” Seokjin lifts his nose up, owning the room. “I might need to
have a little chat with the guy.”

“No, hyung,” his voice comes out almost a squeal. He points a threatening finger on his
friend’s face. “You don’t.”

“Daddies!!!” Another yell comes from the kitchen, louder and higher this time. “Is there
paprika in this house? The sauce needs paprika.”

Namjoon groans, slumps his back against the wall, and screams, “Don’t you ever call us that
again!”

Ignoring his husband completely, Seokjin smiles mischievously. “Daddy is coming to help,
baby!”

He twists on his heels, flips his hair back dramatically, and exits, leaving Taehyung laughing
loudly and Namjoon groaning in displeasure.

“Tell me, Taehyung-ah.” He thumps his head back on the wall. “Why do I still love this
man?”

Letting the chuckle die on his lips, Taehyung leans on the wall by Namjoon’s side. “The face
card, hyung.” He nods slowly, pressing his lips in a tight line as if sharing serious
information. “The face card.”

“Damn, you're right.”

They share a small laugh that hangs gently in the air, coming more from their noses than from
their mouths.

“Hyung?” Taehyung says after a while, eyes locked up on the ceiling.

There’s a little storm going inside his chest, and he knows it isn't a bad one. It’s the feeling of
wanting something too much but not being sure how to get it.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not only nervous because of the parents' thing,” Taehyung whispers.

“Okay…”
Taehyung wets his lips and places his hands in the back pockets of his jeans just so he doesn’t
have to feel how clammy they are.

“How do you know you’re more than friends?”

Namjoon rolls his head to look at Taehyung’s side profile, directs him this quizzical look.

It’s silly to think of it in those terms, and Taehyung knows it. He and Jungkook have always
been more than . He says it out loud with a small laugh, not hiding his sudden
embarrassment.

“Oh.” Namjoon blinks at him in realisation. “You didn’t ask him to be your boyfriend yet.”

Taehyung scoffs again, pulls away from the wall to better face his friend.

“Like, do I have to?” He grimaces at his own sillines. “Is this a thing we still do?”

“You’re asking me?” Placing a hand on his chest, Namjoon’s eyes widen in surprise. “I've
been married for almost six years.”

Taehyung shakes him by the shoulder, pouting all the way when he says, “And you’re my
role model when it comes to love, hyung.”

He knows his way to Namjoon’s heart, and Namjoon knows Taehyung is well aware of the
effect pouting and sweet words have on him. He smiles giddily nonetheless. “Well, I asked
Seokjin back then, but he likes grand gestures, he likes reassurance. High maintenance, that
husband of mine.”

“I’m not sure that applies to us, like,” Taehyung exhales deeply, dropping his hands on his
sides. “Except for the fact that now we kiss, and, you know, do other stuff—"

"Needless to say," Namjoon interrupts raising his palm.

Taehyung breathes out a laugh and keeps going, "what I mean is, very little has changed
between us. It almost feels like… Like we’ve always been together.”

Namjoon directs him with a gaze so affectionate that Taehyung feels his cheek warm. He
might not be his parent, but he surely cares about him like he’s one of his own. And
Taehyung knows he is. Namjoon is one of his, too.

“Why don’t you just talk to him, Tae? Instead of asking?” He says simply, the dimple
popping on his face when he smiles. “He probably thinks you’re already boyfriends, too.”

Chewing his lower lip, Taehyung lets his lips curve up. “Do you think so?”

“I mean, you haven’t asked and you’re bringing him to meet your parents?” Namjoon teases
with a wink. “Sounds pretty serious to me.”

Taehyung shoves him aside, lets his laugh mingle with the silly nervousness inside.
Taehyung never really understood the idea of being a fool in love. When The Cranberries
said I’m such a fool for you it made him feel terribly sad. He always associated it with people
making unwise decisions, going after the person who’d always turned them down. After all,
when someone is a fool, it means they lack awareness, lack good sense.

He feels too much of a fool trying to live in a language he falters in all the time, feels too
much of a fool trying to fit in a place that is cast in a different mould. Why would someone
want to be a fool for someone?

Except that’s exactly how he feels when Jungkook crosses the front door, holding a massive
bouquet of flowers to Seokjin and Namjoon. His body gets too warm, his smile too
uncontainable. And he can’t make his lips curve down to a neutral position, not even when
Jungkook presses his mouth onto his in a kiss in front of everyone. Not even when Seokjin
doesn’t miss the opportunity of clearing his throat loudly, saying this is a respectful
household, young man, leaving Jungkook extremely confused and Taehyung terribly
embarrassed.

Over dinner, his cheeks start hurting from how much he keeps smiling and smiling, fingers
laced with Jungkook under the table because not being attached to him sounds impossible.

And maybe being a fool is not so bad. It’s not sad or unwise. It’s just… looking at the person
that makes your foolish heart skip beats and think that that’s the best feeling existent. Maybe
being a fool is simple. Easy.

Taehyung likes easy, he needs a little bit more of it in his life. The romantic idea of struggling
to get things is only appealing when you don’t have to actually go through them. After all the
changes and hardships he’s been facing since moving to this country, he realises that he
deserves ease.

And holding Jungkook’s hand at all moments it’s easy. Sharing a table with the people he
loves the most is easy. Telling his friends good news is so much easier than telling them bad
news.

“So yes, I’m talking to Alicia next week.” Taehyung lowers his fork, looks around the table
with the same foolish smile.

All the eyes focus on him, Seokjin raises one questioning eyebrow. “So, did you make a
decision?”

“I was scared but,” he looks at Jungkook, his smile grows large when the man returns the
same foolish, happy face. His gaze travels around the table again. “I’ll say yes.”

A collective breath is released, and Namjoon raises his almost empty wine glass. “That’s
great, Tae,” he says. “Since you first told us about the offer I thought you had to take it!”

“I’m so proud of you,” Jimin leans on his shoulder, by his side, and he feels Jungkook
squeezing his hand. “I know there are risks, but it’s such a good opportunity!”

Taehyung sighs in relief, he too, is proud of himself.

“And now you can always ask Jimin for a job, worst case scenario,” Seokjin reminds him,
raising a finger in the air.

Jimin glares. “I’ll have you know working with me is a delight!”

“Never said otherwise.” Seokjin blows him a kiss.

“Oh, looks like we’re out of wine,” Namjoon says in this weird voice, lifting the bottle and
holding it against the light to see the content. “Jimin-ah, would you mind going to the room
at the end of the corridor to get us more wine?”

Jimin places his empty glass on the table after downing the last drops and looks at Namjoon
sceptically. “Why the fuck are you storing your wine in your office?”

“Seokjin thinks the temperature and humidity conditions will enhance the flavour,” he
explains.

“What?”

Seokjin throws him an offended glare, placing a palm over his chest. “What? You can be a
coffee weirdo and I cannot be a wine connoisseur?”

Jimin rolls his eyes, standing up. “It’s called coffee expert !” He sticks his tongue out.

“Yah,” Seokjin laughs. “Respect your daddy!”

“What did I miss?” Jungkook leans towards Taehyung while Seokjin mumbles something
about how the first-born is supposed to be more obedient. “What’s with the daddy roleplay?”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know—”

“So, Jungkook-ssi.” Seokjin says firmly, clasping both hands on top of the table and leaning
forward with eyes sharp and a threatening smile. “Since we’re all here, I can’t help but ask.”
There's a long pause in which he holds Jungkook’s gaze and Taehyung feels the man on his
side tensing his shoulders. “What are your intentions with our Taehyung?”

Groaning, Taehyung throws his head back. “Hyuuung, I told you not to do this.”

“What?” Seokjin gestures wide, offended. “He’s being introduced to the family!”

“You’ve known him for a year.” Taehyung reminds him.

“At a different capacity.” Seokjin dismisses him with a wave. “Now he’s with my youngest, I
need to know his intentions. So, Jungkook-ssi?”

Jungkook’s face is unsettled, he looks back and forth between Taehyung and Seokjin with his
huge eyes, then frowns in a pleading to Namjoon, who just pursues his lips to avoid laughing.
He knows better than to go against Seokjin right now.
Sensing he won’t get any help, Jungkook squares his shoulders, inhales deeply, and says with
an unnaturally low voice, “My intentions are the best possible, sir.”

Namjoon is the first to break, letting out a mix of a laugh and a groan. “Oh no, don’t call him
sir, Jungkook-ah. You’re giving him too much power.”

Seokjin follows next, barking a loud laugh and pushing his hair back, face proud and voice
loud. “No no, that’s the right answer, young man.” His face sobers up again, “How do you
exactly expect to provide for him?”

“Uh.” Jungkook freezes comically, and Taehyung is half embarrassed, half amused, but now
he just feels completely sorry for Jungkook.

“You don’t need to answer that,” Taehyung reassures him, rubbing a palm over his thigh.

“But, Taehyung.” Jungkook looks at him with puppy eyes, then whispers loudly, “I want the
family's approval.”

Seokjin starts cooing, but before he can say anything else—

“AAAAAAAAAH!”

Taehyung jumps from his chair, it drops on the floor with a loud thud. He flinches again,
“What? JIMIN-AH?” He yells back, ready to run after Jimin when Namjoon’s voice keeps
him rooted in place.

“Oh, he found it,” he says serenely.

“It took him long enough!” Seokjin smiles pleasantly.

Taehyung barely has time to ask what Namjoon is talking about when Jimin comes running,
mouth covered with his hand, eyes prickling with tears.

“Are you hurt?” Taehyung looks at him, then at Namjoon and Seokjin, hugging each other
sideways with smiles bigger than their faces. Something is not adding up, and Taehyung
grows restless in the weirdness of it all. “What’s going on? Why did you take so long?”

“I went to the loo first but,” Jimin looks lost when he replies. With a trembling hand, Jimin
points at the room at the end of the corridor. “Hyungs, why— Why is there a baby’s room in
your office?”

“WHAT?!” Taehyung squeaks, eyes jumping out of their sockets.

“We’re gonna be fathers!” Seokjin and Namjoon say in unison, throwing their hands up in
excitement.

“It’s official!” Namjoon adds, eyes squeezed in a thin line when his smile grows even wider,
dimples popping impossibly deep.
The way Taehyung’s heart picks up pace is new. It’s more wholesome, more lively than in
any other circumstances. He feels ready to run a marathon, ready to explode, to rip through
the air like small confetti.

He looks from the couple to Jimin, already in tears, and releases his own yelp, throwing
himself in his friend's arms. “WE’RE GONNA BE UNCLES!”

Seokjin laughs wetly, says, “You are! Of a little girl!” He squeezes Namjoon’s hands,
bringing them to his lips for a quick kiss.

“Her name is Alora, she’s three and a half years old,” Namjoon adds with the same
enthusiasm.

“What— When?” Jimin asks, eyes jumping from Seokjin to Namjoon in bewilderment.

“After last time we decided— we decided to not adopt a newborn anymore, so we started
visiting children’s homes,” Namjoon explains in a charged voice. He sniffs, his own tears
rolling down his cheeks, crystal clear. The most precious diamonds Taehyung has ever seen
in his life. “We didn’t want to have our hopes high, but we met her and—”

“We just signed the final papers this week,” Seokjin completes, whipping his running nose
with the crumpled napkin he found on the table. He releases this relieved laugh like he’s
dropping the weight of the world from his shoulders. “ Alora… She’s… fantastic . I can’t
wait for you to meet her.”

Taehyung doesn’t know if it’s possible to love someone he hasn’t met yet, but the moment
Alora’s name comes out of Seokjin’s mouth, he’s invaded by a warm assurance that love is a
guaranteed feeling.

Because a name is just a word, but it’s also a promise.

The silence is broken by Jimin’s loud sob, followed by another shrilling yell. “We’re gonna
be uncles of a little girl!!!” He throws himself back at Taehyung, starts jumping in circles at
the same time he laughs and cries.

Emotions erupt from Namjoon’s body like he’s been waiting his whole life to release this
specific cry. Taehyung detaches himself from Jimin and circles the table to crash his body
against the couple in a haphazard hug. The other joins the group hug in a second, almost
knocking the air out of Taehyung’s lungs when he crushes his body against his back.

From the corner of his eyes, Taehyung sees Jungkook holding his hands close to his face with
an impossibly fond expression.

Namjoon lifts his head, looks at Jungkook through his tears. “Come here too, Jungkook-ah!”

Jungkook almost leaps the table in excitement, opening his arms to try to embrace the four of
them at once.

“Congratulations!” He says in a joyful voice.

“Thank you. You joined us in a good moment.” Seokjin smiles. “Welcome to the family,
Jungkook-ah.”

February hasn’t ended yet and the weather is already spring-like. Temperatures spiked in the
last week, and Taehyung even has the privilege of sweating on his way home.

If he’s sweaty because he power-walked his way from the bus stop to his apartment, climbing
the stairs two at a time just to arrive faster to meet Jungkook, that’s completely unrelated.

Taehyung arrives at a house smelling of basil and smoked bell peppers and, when he hugs
Jungkook, burying his nose in his neck, it all smells of vanilla and fabric softener and a little
bit of sweat too. And this might be his favourite place of all.

Just here.

Wherever he is with Jungkook.

A hand grips his ass, squeezing one of the cheeks strongly.

“Wow!” Taehyung swats him on the shoulder. “You didn’t even dine me first. Romance is
dead indeed.”

Jungkook laughs the sweetest laugh on Earth, leaning forward to kiss Taehyung’s lips and
when he parts, Taehyung chases for one more peck. That ends up being more two, three,
four.

“What if you are the dinner?” Jungkook asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Taehyung looks over his shoulder, to the small table all set with wine glasses and the pretty
set of plates they bought together at a quirky store at Camden. And Taehyung hates to feel
giddy over ceramics, but he can’t help but think about beautiful kitchens made by two
people.

“Then what’s all this?” Taehyung asks. “The fancy glasses? Not even the royal mugs?”

“Ah!” Jungkook loops his arms around Taehyung’s waist. “Thought we could have a little
celebration.”

“Why?” Taehyung frowns, leaning his head back to better look at Jungkook. “We’ve already
celebrated Valentine's day.” His jaw goes slack in offence. “I can’t believe you forgot that,
bun!”
The smirk that grows on Jungkook’s face is enough to make a heat coil in Taehyung’s lower
belly, but then he whispers against his ear, “I don’t think I could ever forget how this ass
looked in lace, bun.”

Another squeeze in his ass and a gentle bite on his earlobe, and Taehyung is gone, a mess of
blushing and shivering. But Jungkook lets go of him as fast as he had grabbed him.

“You got a new job, and we have to celebrate the beginning of things,” He pecks Taehyung’s
nose sweetly, leaving Taehyung all hot and bothered and endeared at the same time. “But
also,” Jungkook pauses, smiles so so so softly, “Sometimes celebrating an ending is also
really good.”

Taehyung blinks blankly at him.

“It’s your last day at the gallery, bun.”

“Oh.” Realisation falls on Taehyung like a warm blanket. “You know, I can’t believe I just
said goodbye to the palace we first met.” Taehyung brushes their lips together, inhales deeply
like he wants to inhale all of him. “And it was over a year ago already. We’ve known each
other for so long but only now we get to do this.”

“Hmmm, now we might have to make up for the lost time.” He pulls Taehyung’s lip into his
mouth.

“More?” Taehyung teases. “I might lose the job I haven’t started.”

Laughing, Jungkook gives him a quick peck, detaches himself from the embrace but not
before Taehyung pouts his way through two more kisses.

God, he doesn’t remember being this happy.

“How was the last day?” Jungkook asks, turning to the stove to look at the sauce boiling in
the pot. “Can you take this to the table, bun? Thank you.”

Taehyung shrugs, lifts the sleeves of his sweater, gets the cheese and the grater Jungkook
pointed at, and does as he is told.

“It was oddly nice. Goodbyes do that to people, right? Makes everyone emotional, even if
you’re not close, so.” Taehyung shrugs. “Do you need more help?”

“No, it’s done. Ouch!” Jungkook brings his finger to his lips, grimacing after he touches the
hot pot by accident. Taehyung makes a movement to help, but he waves the other hand in
dismissal. He drops the roasted bell pepper pasta into a platter and brings it to the table.
“That’s good. Fred wasn’t the nicest but I know the gallery was important for you.”

Sighing, Taehyung slumps in the chair. “I did. It brought me here, right? With you, with a
new job offer.”

Jungkook smiles across the table, starting to serve both of them, and Taehyung can’t keep his
eyes off him. He never can, but especially today, when he looks all cozy and soft with the
new cream sweater he bought the other day after Taehyung had ranted for half an hour about
how pretty he looks in lighter tones. He doesn’t intend to mention that it lights up Jungkook’s
face, makes him look perfect even under the dim lights of the kitchen. He intends even less to
reveal that it doesn't matter the light, Jungkook always looks perfect.

He watches how Jungkook’s hand moves carefully around the spoon, not stained in ink this
time because it’s his day off and he probably spent the whole afternoon playing video games
with Hoseok.

His eyes trail the curves on his face, as he thinks about how he loves to kiss that nose, and
those round cheeks, and the wrinkle in the middle of his forehead. How he loves to have his
mouth on those lips, and his hands in his hair and wherever else Jungkook lets him.

And Jungkook always let him. Do anything. Because he loves Taehyung’s hands on him the
same amount Taehyung loves touching him.

He looks at Jungkook and he thinks he loves and loves and loves so much.

His heart feels so light knowing that now.

It’s been a year and Taehyung has always loved winter. He’s a winter-born kid, love the cold
like he’s made of it when everyone knows he’s made of pure warmth. He has always loved
the winter but now he has more reasons to adore it, like the fact that winter will always be his
season with Jungkook. Where it all started, where all is headed.

Jungkook, who’s a summer baby, but is quiet and bright like a snowy winter morning.

People talk a lot about summer crushes, about how they’re intense and fast, but they never
mention winter loves, and how it’s the perfect season to start something everlasting. The cold
is when you have to nurture things so they can thrive. It’s when everything is quiet and slow,
preparing to bloom later.

Taehyung looks at him and thinks of all the seasons and all the words they’ve been through,
and he can’t help but let out a giggle.

“What?” Jungkook asks, the serving spoon frozen in the air when his gaze meets Taehyung.

“Do you remember the pet names?” Taehyung looks fondly at him. “How we used to call
each other honey in the beginning?”

“And then darling, and then sweetheart.” Jungkook places the food on his plate, rests the
spoon on the platter, and scrunches up his nose in a grin. He reaches for Taehyung’s hand,
plays with his fingers before interlacing them. “We barely knew each other when we started
this, no wonder our friends were so confused.”

“No wonder everyone thought we were together already, you mean,” Taehyung says.

“That too.” Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“Out of the pet names, which one is your favourite?” Taehyung asks casually, the funny thing
in his heart doing what it always does since he met Jungkook.

A pout grows on Jungkook’s lips as he thinks. “I really like bun . It rolls off nicely out of our
mouths,” Jungkook smiles. “It’s close to Korean too, so I don't have to change the intonation
that much to fit into the sentence.”

“I like it too,” Taehyung says, ignoring the way his heart leaps inside his chest as he talks.
“But I was thinking that maybe we could try a new one.”

Jungkook looks curiously at him. “Oh. what do you wanna call me?”

It’s not a big revelation by any means. None of his feelings for Jungkook are a big revelation.
They were always there, nested in his heart just waiting for the right time to bloom. But
Taehyung likes to think of it as a new realisation. The way he looked into the vernacular his
mind made just for him and Jungkook, only to find the word that fits Jungkook the most, the
one he wants attached to him, one that suits him so well just like his name.

He spent days searching and could only think of one.

“ Love .” Taehyung smiles at an expectant Jungkook. “I’d like to call you love.”

To: Hobi <hopehobi@naver.com>

From: Jeon Jungkook <jeon_jk@naver.com>
Subject: The first one about love

10 March, London, UK

Dear Hobi-hyung,

The other day you told me you think it’s cute how I write too much about love. I argued that I
actually don’t, that I had never sent you a love letter, or a letter about love at all. You made
fun of me, and I, as stubborn as you know I can be, decided to go over the letters I wrote you
in the past year just to prove my point.

Well, this letter is me not proving my point.

I wrote about many different things to you and, at first glance, they might have little to do
with love. But when I repeated the words I wrote out loud, I realised that maybe everything I
have written since I was born is about love.
To talk about the loneliness of living in a foreign place is to talk about how much you miss
being loved. To write a whole letter about your mother tongue is to write about your love
story with a whole language. To think about people is, naturally, to think about love. Because
what else connects us all in this world if not our ability to love and be loved in return? As a
writer, to write about words and their meanings is basically a love confession.

I’m sorry I doubted you. I can see now that maybe all the letters are love letters.

Some people think words are only words. Sometimes, I want to believe it myself. Words are
often dismissed as something that is always lacking. As if they’re not followed by actions,
they’re meaningless, weightless.

But words hold power.

Words are what we use to give something a name. I often think that naming something is to
bring it into existence.

As much as capitalism found a way to monetize names as well, I like to think of the genuine
and selfless act of giving something a name. The first thing you give your baby when they
come into this world is a name. The first thing you do when you find something unknown is to
give it a word that denotes it. The first thing you do when you meet someone new is to give
them your name, receive theirs in return.

When we think of naming something as an act of giving and receiving, as an act of making it
known, I can’t help but think of how to name is also to care. To name is to nurture, to know.
To name is to love.

A name is something small, something ordinary and mundane. A name is just a word, but a
name is also a whole person. And a person is made of many, many words.

Maybe it’s just because my brain is constantly focusing on them, but I love to create a little
dictionary of all the words a person is made of for me.

For you, I think of joy, sunshine, homemade cookies, baby pink dahlias, and underground
lady impersonation. Yoongi is made of wisdom, music, coffee, lazy mornings, and warm hugs.
In my eyes, Taehyung is made of art, winter, earlobes, fancy tea in tacky mugs, warmness,
and sweetness.

And isn't it beautiful? All the words we can attach to a person? All the ways we can find of
recognizing them, of caring about them, of loving them?

For a long time, I thought my writing was just a way of putting my thoughts out there, of
informing the world. With time, I’ve started to learn that my writing is also my way of loving.

I don’t have much in this life but my people, my words, and my love for them all.

Whatever language they speak, wherever they are geographically. As long as we can have a
name to call each other — the one you were born with, friend, boyfriend, honey, darling,
 sweetheart, bun, or love. As long as you have a word for them, you have a way of showing
your love.

With all my love,

Jungkook.

P.S.: Remember when the other day I told you Taehyung and I went to an afternoon tea date
like two old ladies and instead of mocking me, you said it was the sweetest idea ever? Well,
he thought it was sweet too. But the thing is, we ate the best bread and butter pudding ever
and I know you despise the word pudding BUT I’m definitely taking you there on your next
visit.

Chapter End Notes

Wow, 112k words for the first kiss!!!!!!!!1 That was my personal record, thanks for your
patience.

I promised I would mend your hearts, didn't I? Also, I have to say, I JUST LOVE
THEM SO MUCH!!!!

Walk In the Sun is one of my favorite songs ever, and when I thought of how it would fit
into this story, I couldn’t have it in any other way than making it a Jungkook song.

I can’t believe chapter 6 will be the last!!!! This story has been with me for so long and
it’s so important to me that I have mixed feelings saying goodbye to them. The next
chapter will be shorter, more of an epilogue, but lots will happen, don’t worry! See you
next Friday! I can’t wait for you to meet Alora =)

As always, thank you for giving this fic so much love. I absolutely love it when you
share your thoughts with me, so please, don’t refrain from doing so.
I’m always on twitter! Let’s be friends. and if you’re shy, I’m also on neospring
 crystals
Chapter Notes

Well, I said this fic would be around 115k and now we’re past 135k hehehe look at us,
who would’ve thought?!

Some people mentioned that, as much as we have Jungkook’s letters, we still don’t
know much about him. Hopefully, the final letters of this chapter will give you a piece
of his heart in a less metaphorical way.

Also, if you don’t know the song Honey I’m Home - Mcfly , I also recommend listening
to it or reading the lyrics. It’s the last song of the playlist for a reason ehehe =)

This is the last bit of the story. I hope you enjoy a glimpse of their life together!

twitter | neospring

See the end of the chapter for more notes

I had to make up all the words myself.

The way they taste, the way they sound in the air.
I passed through the narrow gate, stumbled in, stumbled
around for a while, and stumbled back out.
I made this place for you. A place for you to love me.

Snow and Dirty Rain, by Richard Siken

The first rays of sunlight filter through the curtains announcing one of those rare, bright
winter mornings. Soft and easy breaths puff over Taehyung’s neck, waking him up slowly.
The hand placed over his chest is heavy and steady, a sign that Jungkook is still sound
asleep.

He looks at the window, where the sun seems old in the sky, already bursting in different
shades of golden. He rolls his head, looks at the man lying by his side, an even brighter shade
of golden.

It’s been a year and he still has a hard time believing this is how all his days begin now.
In this world, there aren’t such things as miracles or fate or god, but Taehyung can’t help but
think that this is a little bit of those three things combined, a little bit of a rare magic. To find
your person at the same time they find you. To exist in the same time and space.

To love each other in the same time and space.

He runs a hand over Jungkook’s hair carefully, tracing his eyebrows with his thumb until
Jungkook frowns, and lets out a small hum that is almost a whine. Slowly, his lips curve up
and he presses his body closer to Taehyung’s.

“Hm, you smell nice,” Junkgook mumbles lazily, throwing a leg over Taehyung’s hips and
nuzzling into his neck. “You smell so nice.”

Taehyung chuckles, pressing a palm on his back. “It’s the new shower gel.”

He feels Jungkook shaking his head, inhaling even deeper. “No, you always smell nice.”
Shifting, Jungkook rolls all of his weight on top of him, straddling his hips. He leans forward
and brushes their lips together, humming lazily. “You smell like honey and sea salt and… like
me.”

“Oh.” Taehyung nudges their noses, a silly smirk growing on his face. “Is this why I smell
good?”

“Hmmm.” With closed eyes, Jungkook traces Taehyung’s bottom lip with the tip of his
tongue, the movement too slow as if Jungkook is still not fully awake. “Not only this, but it
makes me all hot and bothered that you do,” he says in a low, dragged voice at the same time
that he sinks the weight of his hips on top of Taehyung's and oh, maybe he’s not as sleepy as
it seems.

His hands fly to the curve of Jungkook’s small waist, bringing him even further down. “Oh
no, we don’t want to leave you all hot and bothered.”

“Would be a bummer.” The lazy smirk in Jungkook’s face grows impossibly bigger before he
presses their lips together.

Jungkook rocks forward, kissing him lazily but messily until they’re both fully hard. Pleasure
buzzes under Taehyung’s skin, extinguishing any traces of sleep from his body. By the way
Jungkook moans his name in between kisses that are more tongue than anything, he’s fully
awake too.

It snowed the whole night, the room is far from being warm with the heater at its lowest
capacity, but Taehyung’s skin prickles hot with arousal, and sweat grows on his forehead
when Jungkook lifts his torso, holding Taehyung’s wrists and guiding his hands to his chest,
indicating where he wants to be touched.

Taehyung palms his pecks, rolls his nipples with the pad of his thumbs and Jungkook throws
his head back in pleasure.

“More, love,” Jungkook says when his own hands go down to palm his hard cock. “ More .”
Seeing Jungkook’s golden skin shining in the morning light is one of Taehyung’s favourite
things on Earth, but seeing how the yellow light evidences his hard muscles and sharp edges
while he demands what he wants is even better. He loves that about Jungkook, how he is
needy and exigent, but not in a bratty way — although he can also be when he wants to —
but in a way that shows that he’s sure of himself, sure of what he wants from Taehyung.

“Want some help with that, love?” Taehyung asks, looking at Jungkook’s hard cock, the tip
exposed from his underwear where Jungkook thumbs at the slit.

Biting his lips, Jungkook nods, his bangs falling over his eyes, making them look even more
sultry. “Yeah.”

“Why don’t you come up here?” Taehyung asks with hooded eyes, mouth watering just by
having his lap full of Jungkook.

Jungkook fumbles forward, straddling his shoulders and Taehyung takes him into his mouth
with a dragged moan.

It’s sexy and it’s filthy the way Jungkook thrusts his cock towards the back of Taehyung’s
throat, and it’s also tender how Taehyung’s hands travel up and down his thighs and back,
like he can’t afford not touching his boyfriend. It’s heated the way Jungkook looks at him,
flames of arousal flicking in his dark eyes, but it’s so gentle how his fingers push Taehyung’s
hair back, thumb sliding over his cheek so they can hold their gazes.

Taehyung just can’t stop thinking about how magical it is that they exist here together.

When Jungkook is almost coming, Taehyung pulls away, Jungkook’s cock sliding off his
mouth, wet and throbbing. The broken noise that leaves Jungkook’s lips is a frustrated one,
but it shifts to one of raw desire when Taehyung asks him to turn around.

Eagerly, he does so, and Taehyung groans in pleasure before licking a strap from his
perineum to his asshole that has Jungkook’s back arching as he gasps for air.

“ Hyung, fuck,” Jungkook moans, head hanging low, completely spent as Taehyung keeps
sucking and licking his rim.

It’s a thing Taehyung doesn’t ask and Jungkook doesn’t mention, how hyung falls from his
lips so easily whenever they’re at the most vulnerable and intimate. All Taehyung knows is
that he loves it, loves to know how Jungkook doesn’t hold himself back when he’s with him.

In fact, he loves every bit of sex with Jungkook.

He loves how responsive he is, loves all the ways Jungkook moans his name besides moaning
hyung . Low and dragged when Taehyung edges him. High pitched and desperate when he’s
almost there. Lazy and mellow when they are tired after a long day, but not tired enough —
never tired enough to not fall into each other's arms.

It rolls off his tongue so sweetly, so easily, like a name is something that can be made for a
specific mouth. Like Taehyung was meant for Jungkook’s, from the very first day he listened
to him pronouncing his name and realised how much better it sounded coming from his lips.

Taehyung loves how pliant Jungkook goes under his hands, his body shaped for his prints,
bending and stretching and just fitting under his palms. He loves how his own body responds
to Jungkook, how his heart never stops tripping inside his chest, how his skin buzzes and
tingles and urges for more touches. How he feels his stomach in a free fall everytime his eyes
meet Jungkook’s, but he never felt so far from hitting the ground.

Taehyung loves . He simply, irrevocably, loves.

When he’s a finger and a tongue deep into Jungkook’s ass, his boyfriend bends forward and
takes Taehyung into his mouth. His neglected cock twitches in Jungkook’s mouth, a moan
rippling from Jungkook’s chest. The vibration of his throat hits the tip of Taehyung’s cock,
and the heat in his lower belly grows tight.

Jungkook rocks back and forth, fucking himself into Taehyung’s tongue at the same time he
takes more of his cock, a moaning mess that has Taehyung’s toes curling even before he
climaxes. Which doesn’t take that long to happen.

Taehyung relentlessly presses his finger over Jungkook’s prostate, licking his rim with the
same urgency. Jungkook’s movements grow erratic, Taehyung’s length sliding off his mouth
when his noises get too messy. He works with his hand, then licks the head as he jerks
Taehyung off until they’re both coming with loud groans.

Jungkook cleans the cum out of their stomachs with wipes strategically placed on the
nightstand, and then flops on his side, arms open wide and chest heaving.

“I wanna a hug,” he says after a while, his erratic breath coming back to normal. He pouts,
rolling to the side to offer his back to Taehyung, ready to be the little spoon.

Taehyung, who’s half bent to the other side, waiting for Jungkook to crowd over him, frowns.
“No, come here you, I wanna be the little spoon.”

“I asked first.” Jungkook looks over his shoulder. “Who asks first gets to be the little spoon,
that’s the rule.”

In shock, Taehyung drops his jaw just to close it shut in a huff. “Fine, but tomorrow you—”

“I wanna be the little spoon tomorrow too!!!” Jungkook yelps, throwing his hands up and
kicking his feet on the bed.

“What?” Taehyung curls his hands into fists and hits the mattress when he flops on his back.
“That’s not fair!”

Shaking his head with the silliest of smiles on his face, Jungkook looks at him through his
lashes to give him the most innocent gaze. “It’s the rule, love, we can’t go against it.”

“I feel like I’m in a toxic relationship.” Taehyung pouts, rolling his way to Jungkook with
open arms.
“Yeah, it must be terrible to have morning sex and cuddles all the time,” Jungkook hums in
agreement, nestling himself against Taehyung’s chest.

Taehyung buries his nose in Jungkook’s hair, it’s a little bit longer than last year, the tips
curling against his nape. “Cuddles I have been denied!”

“But isn’t cuddling me the best?” He twists his neck and flutters his lashes angelically.

Possessed by an imminent moment of cute aggression, Taehyung bites Jungkook’s cheek,

making him yelp. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Jungkook.”

In between giggles, Jungkook sighs deeply into his hug. “No, I’m lucky because I’m with the
love of my life.”

Taehyung’s heart flips inside him again and again. It’s been a year of this constant shaking
inside him. It’s been a year he doesn’t ask for his heart to be still anymore.

“Apparently this was the first white Christmas in Busan in more than twenty years,”
Jungkook says, looking at his plate to cut a thick slice of bacon. “My dad was over the moon
about it.”

There’s something odd in the way Jungkook talks too casually as he keeps cutting his food
almost mechanically, not bringing any of it to his mouth. Taehyung looks at him attentively
over the rim of his cup. Jungkook clears his throat, frowning at the bacon, but not in the usual
grimace that says he’s enjoying the food. It looks like he’s having an internal dilemma, and
Taehyung patiently waits.

The restaurant is not packed as it usually is for brunch. It’s between Christmas and New
Years, people are probably still eating leftovers or have run away to somewhere warmer than
the cold, grey London. Different from other times of the year when this place is always
crowded, they don’t need to raise their voice to talk, but the music in the background and the
couple chatting beside them get louder in Taehyung’s ears when Jungkook’s silence stretches
a while longer.

“You know, Yoongi’s mom told him I didn’t spend Christmas with them,” he completes,
playing with a cilantro leaf this time. He keeps staring at it like it’s the most interesting
thing.

That’s when Taehyung realises where his discomfort comes from.

Slowly, Taehyung lowers his cup. He reaches his hand across the table, palm up, open to
Jungkook.

“Love—”
“No, it’s— It’s okay,” Jungkook rushes to add with a nervous smile. He’s a little out of
breath, like saying these things has the same effect as lifting weights. Some words are heavier
than others, after all. “I told her I spent it with you and—” Jungkook stops, drops his fork and
takes Taehyung’s hand with a small frown. “I think maybe it made him realise that it’s…
serious? What we have, I mean.”

“Oh.” Taehyung blinks at him, fingers curling around the back of Jungkook’s hand.

Telling Jungkook’s parents about their relationship caused a few changes in their dynamics.
Now, instead of pretending his sexuality is not a thing, they had to find new ways of
dismissing their son. So, since Jungkook informed them he’s dating Taehyung, they decided
to paint their relationship as something that won’t last.

It doesn’t matter how much Jungkook explains that they’ve been together for longer than
what’s considered “too short to last”, they simply don’t care. Whenever they call their son,
they don’t acknowledge Taehyung’s presence at all. And that’s on good days. On particularly
bad days, they inquire if Jungkook has plans to return to Korea to start a family, ignoring
completely that this was never an option for him. It’s a stubborn denial that Taehyung hasn’t
encountered many times in his life. It leaves Jungkook heartbroken even if he doesn’t really
say it out loud. It’s impossible not to, and he doesn’t need to use his words for Taehyung to
know.

“He asked…” Jungkook gulps, smiling nervously when he finally lifts his round eyes to meet
Taehyung’s. This morning, they’re impossibly doelike, granting him an innocence only found
in the gaze of young, uncorrupted people. “He asked if I was happy.”

For a brief moment, Taehyung’s heart stops inside his chest only to resume beating at a faster
pace. He widens his eyes, “He what?!”

Ruffling a small laugh, Jungkook shrugs disconcertedly. “I know.”

The couple sitting by their side starts laughing too loud when the boy sings the song that’s
playing on the speakers. He’s completely out of tune but Taehyung doesn’t blame him, it’s
really hard to match Frank Ocean’s high notes.

“What did you answer him?” Taehyung asks casually, as if he doesn’t know the answer
already.

The annoyed eye roll Jungkook gives him is completely shaded by the tender smile on his
lips. “That I’ve never been happier. He nodded, said it was good.”

Taehyung squeezes their clasped hands. “Why did you wait to tell me?”

“I—” Jungkook licks his lips slowly, eyes darting to the window. “I was still trying to figure
out how I felt about it.”

Humming, Taehyung fishes a crisp from his plate, puts it in his mouth. The crunches
harmonise with the song playing in the background, with the couples endless laughs, with the
erratic beats of his heart. “And how do you feel?”
“I want to feel happy,” Jungkook confesses in a small voice. “But I know it’s not a lot, like,
he didn’t even ask about you but…”

“Jungkook-ah,” Taehyung says at the same time gently but firmly. “Feel happy. It’s a good
reason to feel happy.”

Jungkook releases a deep sigh that makes his shoulders sink. “Okay.” He smiles tentatively.
“It’s a good start, right?”

“Of course it is. By next Christmas they’ll be inviting me to the family dinner.” Taehyung
winks, earning a soft laugh from Jungkook.

“Dreaming big, aren’t we?” Jungkook teases. “I also think Yoongi’s mom talked to them. I
mean, she never told me anything, but she’s always complaining about how my parents need
to stop being so closed minded.”

“I can see that happening, Eunji-ssi is so protective of you, not a surprise Yoongi is just the sa
— Oh!” Taehyung stops abruptly when the woman by their side starts singing the new song
that’s playing in the restaurant. Her high voice is a complete contrast from the raspy one that
comes out of the speakers singing honey, honey, honey I’m home, it feels that I’ve been here
all along. “Love!!! It’s your new song!!!”

Taehyung almost rises up from the chair when he realises, smacking his hands on the table
and making the cutlery shake.

He looks at Jungkook with wide eyes, and his boyfriend grins proudly even as warmth
reaches his cheeks and he has to take a sip of his coffee to disguise how embarrassed he still
feels at the attention after all this time. Even though it’s only coming from Taehyung’s
praises.

It’s not strange by any means to listen to a song Jungkook wrote playing on the radio, but
every single time Taehyung gets excited as if it’s the first. Especially when it’s one of
Danny’s. When Jungkook told him he would write more lyrics for Yoongi’s company,
nobody was counting on Danny suddenly becoming a hit in the alternative scene in London,
but now they’re here, listening to their friend’s voice on the radio, singing Jungkook’s words.

It’s cute the way Jungkook tries to not make a fuss about it, always the one who enjoys living
away from the spotlights. But it’s inevitable the way the tip of his ears always gets pink when
someone brings it up. And oh, how much Taehyung loves doing so. Pride swells in his chest
every time he can recognise the song playing. He doesn’t take it lightly that most of the lyrics
Jungkook writes are about love. Their love. It always brings a funny thing to his heart to
know that, across the country, people sing them and dedicate them to their loved ones.

He thinks of that time during spring, when Jungkook said his dream was to be recognized by
his words. Maybe songwriting doesn’t bring the same kind of recognition as writing a book
would, but songs are on people’s lips and ears and minds all the time. Jungkook’s lyrics are
spread around the whole nation, touching people who don't even know who he is, but that
believe in his words like they were written for them.
There’s such a fragile but constant beauty in it. In the way dreams can remain the same for a
lifetime, but the way of achieving them can take many forms.

Jungkook still works as a journalist, but had to reduce his hours to dedicate himself to lyric
writing, because yes, Jungkook is that good and on high demand. But that’s a thing Taehyung
always knew would happen.

An overly smiley waitress stops by their table with the pot of coffee in hands, disrupting their
little moment that consists in nothing more than Taehyung looking at Jungkook’s dazzling
smile with unbearable amounts of pride in his heart.

“Sorry to interrupt, do we need more coffee here?” She asks, lifting the pot.

Fastly, Taehyung takes Jungkook’s cup and offers it to her. “Thank you. My boyfriend, the
one who wrote this song we are listening to right now, would like more, yes.”

The woman blinks her deep green eyes at them, staring at Jungkook with a frown.

Taehyung watches his boyfriend’s golden skin turn completely red, eyes popping out of his
face.

“Oh, it’s a really good song, they always play it here!” She says as she pours him some
coffee. Then, as if something clicks inside her brain, she stares harder, trying to recognize
him from somewhere. “Wait, are you the singer?”

Jungkook almost chokes, and Taehyung chimes in, an impish grin plastered on his face. “No,
he’s the songwriter— No, he’s the poet who wrote the lyrics ,” he stresses the last word
pompously, and offers his cup to the woman as he wiggles his brows. “Fancy, huh?”

“Oh, cool, mate!” She nods at them with a smile that says she’s surprised but not really that
interested anymore. “Cheers!”

As she goes to serve the table by their side, Jungkook leans forward, eyes wide and face still
tinted the most beautiful tone of pink.

“Taehyung!” He whispers-yells.

Fluttering his lashes angelically, Taehyung rounds his eyes and pouts. “What? I’m just proud
of you, bun.”

It’s a low blow. He knows it’s Jungkook's favourite pet name, the one they still use
sometimes, like the fancy china you use on special occasions or when you need to impress
someone.

“Very loud, too.” Jungkook jokes, squinting at him.

“Yes, proud and loud, always.” Taehyung smirks, blowing him a kiss from across the table.

The last bits of the song hum in the background. Taehyung leans back on his chair to listen to
it, the words hitting him like it’s the first time.
“So,” Jungkook starts when his face resumes to its normal shade of golden. He hums as he
munches a bite of the avocado toast. “You’re reaching the last year of your twenties, how do
you feel?”

“Old,” Taehyung huffs, making Jungkook roll his eyes. He squares his shoulders, places his
elbows on the table and smiles. “But not in a bad way. I think this was the first year I really
felt like I’m an adult.”

Jungkook tilts his head in question. “What do you mean?”

“Like, it’s not that I didn’t know I was an adult before, it's just—” Taehyung sighs, drawing
random patterns with his forefinger on the table top. The gentlest of smiles adorns his lips,
easy like this Sunday morning. “I think it was the first year I decided to stop looking for
things outside. I decided to stop fighting this city, and stopped fighting situations I cannot
control. It’s the first year I looked into myself and came to terms with the fact that this is who
I am and…” His smile grows and he looks down at his plate. “I like who I am.”

“And who are you?” Jungkook asks, licking his lips and trying to not narrow his eyes. There's
a challenge in his voice, probably anticipating what Taehyung will answer, but still hoping
it’s different from what he expects.

“Someone who falls, but has learned how to land, I guess.” Taehyung lets out a breathy laugh
as he shakes his head. He doesn’t think he will ever stop falling. It’s not possible to go on in
this life without stumbling, but that doesn’t mean balance is out of reach.

The answer takes Jungkook by surprise, he raises both eyebrows.

“It’s the first year I’ve been comfortable in the city, too,” Taehyung confesses, raising his
gaze to meet Jungkook’s. He wets his lips, lets himself get lost a little in his dark orbits. Just
like he loves to do. “I think I finally learned this city is not just a place with its buildings and
its history.”

Jungkook’s smile is the easiest one he has ever put on his lips. It’s heavy in genuinity, it’s just
another way of saying I love you .

“A city is never just a city.” Jungkook nods slowly. He gets the pepper shaker, sprinkle some
over his food although he has eaten half of it already.

“No, it’s not.” Taehyung gestures vaguely around them. “And London might always be this
ambivalent place for me. But there are things that only exist here, and they are things I
wouldn’t trade for anything.”

“Like what?” Jungkook asks, still holding the pepper shake, thumb scratching the paint on
the ceramic. He asks even though he already knows the answer.

Taehyung is glad to give it to him anyways. “Like you and I.” He smiles, taking in all of
Jungkook’s soft edges. Bathed by the late morning light, he looks extra round, extra soft.
“You make this place better for me.”
Jungkook rests the shaker back on the table, scoots closer so he can reach Taehyung’s hand
again.

“I love you so much.” Jungkook slides his hand, placing the tip of his own fingers over the
edge of Taehyung’s to play with them like they are piano keys. “I also realised something this
year. Now that I’m twenty-eight, I can finally tell you,” he says and Taehyung wrinkles his
forehead, puzzled. “Whoever told you twenty-seven is the most important age before your
thirties, lied.” Jungkook says that in a way that’s light and serious at the same time, in a way
that makes his eyes round and his face look oddly younger. Like Taehyung is having the
privilege of seeing this version of him he never met before.

Taehyung’s mouth rounds in an O shape, and he blinks back at him. “Oh, really?”

Carrying the weightless expression of being as young as he will ever be today, Jungkook
says, “The most important age of your life is always the one you’re the happiest.”

Taehyung hums, eyes glinting with mischief when he moves his fingers faster to outpace
Jungkook’s movements. “Which one is that to you?”

He bites his lips first, like he’s keeping the words inside his mouth a little bit longer, tasting
them on his tongue before he gives them to Taehyung. Before he says it out loud and it’s not
just an idea anymore. Before it becomes something real.

His voice doesn’t falter and his eyes don't leave Taehyung’s for a single second when he says,
“Each year I’m with you.”

The song in the background is one Taehyung doesn’t recognise anymore, the couple by their
side keep giggling and singing loudly. But it’s not what’s happening outside that matters. It’s
the way his heart pounds inside him, the way he feels so warm he could melt in the middle of
a winter day.

“Seems like you’ll have a lot of important years ahead, then,” Taehyung says, twisting his
hand to clasp his fingers with Jungkook’s.

His boyfriend smiles in that way that makes his nose scrunch up and his eyes wrinkle.
Taehyung’s favourite smile of all times. “I hope so, love.”

Taehyung drops the keys on the kitchen table as he hears a laugh coming from the bedroom.
It’s not just the laugh he’s used to listening to in this house. It’s mixed with a voice coming
from far away. The moment it hits him, he runs towards the bedroom, finding Jungkook
laying down on the beed, holding his phone close to his face.

Hoseok’s unmistakable laugh echoes in the room, coming from Jungkook’s phone.
“Oh, hi love!” Jungkook greets him with an amused smile.

“Don’t you ‘hi, love’ me!” Taehyung throws himself in bed with a grimace. “I can’t believe
you didn’t wait for me to call hyung!” He swats a hand at Jungkook’s chest, frowning in
feign anger.

“Ouch!”

“Don’t be mad at him, Taehyung-ah!” Hoseok says, grinning large like the sun on the screen.
His hair is back to black now, longer too. He looks younger and softer like this. “My fault this
time. I was the one who called.” Hoseok throws both arms up, forgetting one of them is
holding the camera and all Taehyung sees is the ceiling when his voice travels through the
speaks, excitedly saying, “I have news!”

“Oh!” Taehyung’s jaw slackens, and the hand that just smacked Jugnkook’s chest, now pats
his pectorals softly. Jungkook squints at him, but doesn’t refuse the caress. “What’s it?”

From the other end of the line, Hoseok brings the phone back to his face to show his
eyebrows wiggling as he holds the silence to build suspense. It doesn’t last a couple of
seconds before he yells, “I’m coming to London again!”

“What?!” Jungkook squeals, launching forward to a sitting position so fast he almost drops
his phone on the mattress. “When?!”

A bubble of excitement rips from Taehyung’s chest, and his whole face morphs in surprise.
“Hyung, that’s amazing!”

Hoseok is so excited, he keeps wiggling the camera, unable to keep his body still when he’s
too happy. “In the beginning of March!”

Clapping his hands, Taehyung exclaims, “Oh, just in time for Yoongi’s birthday!”

The shy laugh that escapes Hoseok’s mouth is unusual, too nervous to be casual. “Yeah!” He
scratches his nape awkwardly.

“Oh my god!” Jungkook widens his eyes, pointing an accusatory finger at the screen.
“You’re totally coming for Yoongi’s birthday!”

“Shut up!” Taehyung mimics his boyfriend's expression, clasping a hand over his mouth.

“Well, I was gonna say you can stay with us,” Jungkook adds in a teasing tone, “but I assume
you’ve already arranged things with Yoongi.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes, but the teasing doesn’t faze him as there’s this everlasting smile
plastered on his face. “I kind of did, but only because your new place is too small for three
people,” Hoseok argues, pouting on the screen.

On his side, Taehyung feels Jungkook stiffening, his fingers gripping the phone tightly.
“My what?” Jungkook frowns, throwing a quick side glance at Taehyung only to dart his
gaze back to the screen. “I literally live with Yoongi.”

“Uh.” Hoseok's face falters a bit, and he opens an apologetic smile. “Sorry, you just spend so
much time at Tae’s, I thought you had moved in already,”

“That’s not true!” Jungkook gapes, offended. “I would have told you!”

Hoseok shrugs, “I mean, sometimes these things happen without us noticing.”

“Moving houses?” Jungkook stresses each word, completely in shock.

Taehyung only has it in him to laugh and rub a soothing hand over his boyfriend’s tense back.
He looks at the dresser on the corner of his room, the one in which two drawers are filled
with Jungkook’s clothes. Some of them are even hanging in his closet to prevent wrinkles. He
thinks of the ceramics they’ve been choosing together, and how Jungkook has selected the
corgi mug as officially his. He thinks of how his bedsheets smell like vanilla and fabric
softener, and how his house is such a better place now that he arrives home to a familiar
laugh.

He thinks of how this flat feels like an actual home now that every corner is filled with pieces
of Jungkook.

The tension doesn’t leave Jungkook’s shoulders, so Taehyung doesn’t mention that Hoseok is
right. That sometimes a house together is built in the flow of everyday life, like sharing
everything is just second nature to its people.

Taehyung dismisses the topic with a laugh, snatching the phone from Jungkook’s hand.
“We’re getting side tracked here! Hyung, I wanna know everything about Yoongi-hyung.”

Throwing them a sly smile, Hoseok says innocently, “What? You know him already. Yoongi,
music producer, Jungkook’s cousin—”

“Hoseok-hyung” Jungkook is the one who interrupts now, squinting at the screen like the
distraction is enough for him. “Spill!”

Hoseok cackles again, drops his body on his couch and rests a hand behind his back.
“Alright, alright. Well, I’m improving my game.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “It
all started when I told him it would be a shame that candles would be the only thing he would
be blowing on his birthday night—”

“You call this getting better?” Taehyung interrupts, moving the phone away from his face as
much as he can to show his disgusted grimace.

At the same time, Jungkook groans, throwing himself back on the mattress. “Suddenly I don’t
want to listen to this anymore.”

❄
The gallery is starting to get crowded, and Taehyung’s nerves are growing proportionally to
the number of people arriving. He tries to not rub his sweaty palms on his pants. They’re
made of a fancy fabric, he can’t leave greasy, wet stains on them, so he opts for running a
hand over his hair, just to remember that he had styled it with the mousse Jungkook bought
and he must have ruined everything—

A small but incessant tug on his sleeve stops his inner panic. Taehyung looks down, finds
Alora staring up at him with her immense brown eyes and his heart eases all of his worries
instantly.

“Uncle Taetae,” she says with a high pitched voice. It’s February, and the weather outside is
nasty, but Alora’s curly hair is braided all the way up, ending in a high bun, and her yellow
and pink sundress takes Taehyung directly to summer. When she gets something in her head,
nothing can’t stop her — not that her parents are trying too hard.

“Hi, baby!” He crouches, taking both of her hands in his. They’re still impossibly small, but
Alora is almost five now, and has grown so much in the past year that Taehyung kind of
wants to freeze time for just a few seconds to stop her from getting too big.

“Did you know my name means dream ?” She asks with an excited smile, in English.

Nodding exaggeratedly, Taehyung answers her in Korean, “I do.”

She yanks her hands from his grip, places them in her hips and frowns. A perfect copy of
Seokjin. This time, her next question comes in Korean too, “How?”

“Your parents told me,” Taehyung says, bopping her nose. “They told me the day you came
to us.”

She gives him a sceptical once over, then her face breaks into a huge grin. “What does your
name mean?”

“It has more than one meaning in Korean, but one of them is all wishes will come true. ”

Her eyes sparkle and she yelps, “Just like dreams!” Alora claps her hands close to her face in
enthusiasm and Taehyung laughs. “Our names are connected, uncle!”

Taehyung can’t resist, he pinches her cheek, giving her his best grin. “They are!”

“Is that why we are family?” She frowns, then she smacks her palm on her forehead.
Taehyung doesn’t know if it is because she mixed the two languages in the same sentence or
because realisation just hit her. “Oh, I forgot you are Kim too! Just like me,” she says in full
Korean this time.

Talking to her is always an adventure. Her words stumble in between English and Korean,
some of them come more like Konglish. Taehyung is always in awe when he sees her
learning how to talk in two languages like both of them belong to her.
Taehyung laughs, delighted, then says, “But Jimin is a Park and Jungkook is a Jeon, and they
are family too.”

She gives him this little annoyed look, and taps her foot like she’s explaining the obvious.
“But daddy told me they adopted uncle Jimin too, just like me,” Alora presses a finger on her
chest, “That’s why he’s not a Kim, but he’s also family.”

Taehyung tries his best to look serious, but he can’t contain the bubbling laugh coming from
his chest and escaping through his mouth and nose. He throws his head back to laugh, feeling
his chest expanding impossibly bigger.

“Don’t laugh!” She pouts. “I’m being serious.”

“Sorry, sorry, babygirl,” he says, pressing his lips together to keep a straight face. “Go on.”

“And uncle Kookie is family ‘cause he married you. So, he’s borrowed family,” she
continues, then stops, ignoring completely that Taehyung is almost choking on the
information. “But that’s family, too, daddy told me.”

Taehyung tilts his head, looking at this little extension of his heart with incredulity and says,
“Oh, I am married now?”

“Yes.” She nods. “Uncle Kookie told me.”

Taehyung gapes, about to ask what exactly Jungkook told her when a hand touches Alora’s
shoulder.

“Alora-yah.” Namjoon speaks to her in his mother tongue. “Stop bothering Taehyung, he’s
here to work.”

“But appa!” she pouts.

Taehyung wants to say she’s not a bother, that she’s actually helping a lot with his nerves but
he doesn’t want to dismiss Namjoon’s authority as a father, so he catches Seokjin on the other
side of the gallery, looking fondly at them.

“Why don’t you go tell your daddy what uncle Kookie just told you?” Taehyung says, poking
her at the ribs. She squirms, hiding her face on her shoulder. “I bet he’s gonna love the news.”

“Okay,” she agrees too easily and bolts across the floor, her shoes squeaking on the wood
panels.

“Be careful with the other peo—!” Namjoon tries to advise, but she’s already bumping into
everyone to reach Seokjin. He runs a hand over his hair, his dimples popping when he smiles.
His face looks more tired than it used to be, but way happier too. He turns to Taehyung, then
wrinkles his forehead in question. “What news?”

Standing up, Taehyung smoothes a hand over his clothes to straighten them up again. “That
Jungkook and I are married.”
“What?!” Namjoon’s eyes go wide, he’s about to complain but then it sinks in. He closes his
eyes, takes a deep breath and laughs. “Oh no. How did she come to that conclusion?”

“Apparently my own husband told her that.” Taehyung huffs, hitting Namjoon’s shoulder
playfully. “Can you believe it? She knew it before I did, hyung.”

Namjoon shakes his head, his shoulders bouncing when he laughs. “I see why the kid is
unhinged now, she’s being raised by lunatics.” Namjoon throws his hands up, turning around
and saying, “I’m gonna tell Seokjin we’re moving back to Korea.”

He walks away, shaking his head nonstop and Taehyung can’t contain the smile that spreads
on his face as he watches Seokjin holding Alora in his arms, fussing over her as Namjoon
tries to make them both behave.

The gallery is buzzing with people talking and laughing, and Taehyung’s nerves are almost
better, but now that Alora is not distracting him anymore, he’s starting to feel it again in the
bottom of his stomach, the hollowness. Not in a bad way. It’s just this deep want, this raw
anticipation of being too close to achieve something you’ve desired so much.

His eyes run over the space in appreciation for everything that surrounds him. The people
look happy, excited even. The pieces are all where they are supposed to be, no last minute
sales this time.

Noises from outside invade the gallery, and Taehyung looks over to the entrance to see who’s
opening the door only to have his gaze pulled back to a person who is eyeing their
surroundings suspiciously, standing too close to a piece. Way too close.

“Jimin-ah,” Taehyung whispers-yells, taking long strides across the floor. “You can’t touch it!
You know this!” He snaps Jimin’s hand before the tip of his fingers can touch the surface of
the object.

“Yah!” Jimin flinches and brings his palms to his chest, covering his hand with the other one
as if to protect it. “But it’s so inviting.” He pouts.

“I swear to god, sometimes you and Alora seem to be the same age.” Taehyung rolls his eyes.

Laughing, Jimin places both hands on his shoulders. “Chill, I won’t touch it,” he says
earnestly. “You know I won’t.”

Taehyung squints, inspecting his mischievous face and then he understands. “You’re trying to
distract me!”

“You look like a turtle!” His hands slide to the tensed muscles close to Taehyung’s neck and
squeezes them. “I couldn’t stand just seeing you there, looking around, totally ready to
burst.”

There are a million reasons why Taehyung loves his people, but the ability they have of
seeing what he needs before he even knows what exactly is is probably the thing that matters
the most. How they pay attention to the smallest of the details. How they’re all attuned to
each other.

Blowing a long exhale, Taehyung says as he slumps his shoulders, “Thanks. And thanks for
coming, I know things are hectic at the cafe.”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Tae.” He smiles big, slides his hands
from Taehyung’s shoulders to the side of his arms to give them a little encouraging squeeze.
“By the way, Danny is having a show at the cafe next week. Are you coming?”

Taehyung blinks in surprise. “Isn’t he too famous for that now?”

“Yes, and now we get to sell tickets to his performance.” Jimin winks, firing finger guns at
him. “But he really likes to play there, says it’s more intimate. I think he just misses the time
he used to play there for fun.”

“I bet,” Taehyung says, looking around until his eyes catch on Jungkook, coming his way
with a glass of sparkling wine. “I’ll be there, of course.” He tilts his head towards his
boyfriend. “If you excuse me.”

Jimin follows his gaze and winks at him once again. “Go to your boy.”

The room rushes around Taehyung as he walks towards his boyfriend like he’s being pulled
by an invisible, but undeniable force. Jungkook meets him in the middle, like he always
does.

Taehyung accepts the drink he offers with a dazzling smile, and takes two long gulps without
blinking. The bubbles are abrasive in his throat, but it distracts him from the unsettling
feeling in his stomach.

“Word on the street is we’re married,” Taehyung says with an amused grin when he swallows
the drink.

Jungkook's face morphs from that stunning grin to a pained expression. “Oh, so Alora has
been talking to you too.” He shrugs embarrassedly, a faint tone of pink tinting his cheeks.
“She came to ask why I don’t have your last name, and I asked why should I have your last
name and—” Jungkook looks down at his feet. “And she said that’s what people do when
they get married.”

“I’m curious about your answer.” Taehyung clicks his tongue, amusement replacing the
nervousness inside him for a moment. “Considering you can never say she’s wrong about
anything, I imagine what it was already.”

“That’s absolutely not true.” Jungkook gapes offended, bringing a hand over his chest.

“Love.” Taehyung gives him a pointed look, and carefully tucks a strand of black hair behind
Jungkook’s ear. “You let her yell lift, come to pick us up, please every time you ask her to call
the lift.” Taehyung snickers when Jungkook pouts.
“Because it’s too cute!” He protests, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can’t find it in me to
tell her how it really works.”

“So…” Taehyung twists his glass carefully. “You let her believe we’re married?”

Sighing, Jungkook drops his arms. “Yes. I told her I just liked my family name too much to
get yours.”

Taehyung takes another sip of his drink, pushes his tongue to the sides of his cheek and looks
at Jungkook attentively.

“I mean, it’s not a bad thought to have.” Taehyung says casually.

Surprise takes over Jungkook’s face little by little, his eyes grow a bit bigger and his lips
part.

“Oh?” He recomposes himself, mouth curving up. “Is that how you propose, love? No rings?
No knees on the floor? Where’s the romance?”

Taehyung huffs a laugh, and downs the rest of the wine. The bubbles are funny in his throat
this time, settle even funnier in his stomach, but maybe it’s just this conversation.

“Just an idea,” he says, shrugging, ignoring the way his heart flutters madly inside him.
“People are making a lot of assumptions about us these days.”

He darts his eyes, more to mask how flushed his face feels than to actually look around, but
when he does, he can’t stop noticing that more people have arrived. It must be almost time.

A hand gently cups his cheek, and in no time, Jungkook’s fingertips graze over his earlobe,
pulling it gently. “Nervous?”

“I can’t fake it for the life of me, can I?” He sighs heavily, hands fidgeting with his glass.

“It’s the opening night of a project you’ve been working hard on for a year. The project you
helped bring to life.” Jungkook lets go of his ear, then places a secure palm on his waist,
locking eyes with him. “It’s normal to be nervous. But you’re gonna do great.”

“What if I fuck up my speech?” Taehyung asks, chewing his bottom lip. “You know I get
nervous speaking English in public.”

Jungkook cups his cheeks, brings his lips close to Taehyung for a quick, soft kiss. “You
won’t,” he says firmly, against his mouth. “And nobody here is gonna care if you stumble on
some syllables.”

Taehyung’s breath quivers, and he smiles with his eyes closed.

“As much as I’d love to continue doing this,” Jungkook pecks his lips once again, “I think
Alicia and Yun are waiting for you.”
Jungkook steps back, his lips and his touches disappear, and so does the bubble that only he
can create for him and Taehyung. The one that makes everything around vanish, everything
but them.

Taehyung blinks to help situate himself, turns his face to find Alicia wiggling his brows at
him. She mouths ready? at him and he gives her a quick nod. He’s learned a long time ago
that now is as good as any time. When you’re never ready, you’re also always ready.

“I have to go,” he says, stepping back into Jungkook’s space again.

“Go!” Jungkook says, but places a hand on his hip keeping him in place. He squeezes. “Go
show them I have the hottest, smartest boyfriend on Earth.”

Taehyung flutters his lashes, giving him this cocky smile. “Wait, are we dating the same guy?
Because my boyfriend is the hottest and smartest person around.”

“Hmmm. What a coincidence.” Jungkook squeezes his hip again, smiling blindly at him.
“Guess we’re just both very lucky, then.”

Giggling, Taehyung says, “Guess we are.”

“Now go!” Jungkook steps back and snatches the glass out of his hands.

Taehyung takes firm steps towards Alicia and Yun, and is welcomed with huge, nervous
smiles and pats on the back. He looks at his coworkers, looks at the people in the crowd. His
friends from South Korea, Alicia’s friends from Mexico, Colombia, and Brazil. Yun’s friends
from India, Turkey, and Nigeria.

The mixture of languages and accents rings in his ears like a song. And Taehyung smiles,
relieved.

No matter what he says here tonight, all these people will understand him just fine.

So he clears his throat, holds the mic close to his mouth and says, “Hello! Welcome to the
opening night of Borderless Souls by Yun Flores. A project dreamed together by the artist
Yun Flores, the producer and director of this lovely space, Alicia Gonzales, and myself, the
curator of this show, Taehyung Kim.”

London is the same as always: Windy, white and grey as Taehyung walks down the streets
with hands in his pockets, trying to keep himself warm in the end of the winter that seems to
have forgotten it’s time to go.

London is the same as always with its people from everywhere, its pretty, historical buildings
and a pub in every corner.
London is the same as always, but this year, Taehyung can’t say the same about himself.

He walks down the roads, dodges some teenagers that come his way, talking, laughing and
arguing about something at the same time.

He’s twenty-nine now. He still isn’t sure which twenty-something is the most important age
before the thirties. Perhaps age is just a number. He doesn’t think numbers are the best way of
sensing the time passing when he can do it by seasons, by watching the world around him
change, by sensing how people get more resilient, more mature, more comfortable in being
themselves.

That’s perhaps the most important thing Taehyung has been learning with time. The older he
gets, the better he understands himself in this world. The more he feels part of it. Even if he
doesn’t truly belong anywhere. And he wouldn’t trade that for any fake sense of youth that an
age could give him.

Taehyung doesn’t believe in fate or gods or miracles, but Hoseok believes a lot in the stars
and how they move alongside us. Just the other day, he told Taehyung that all this that he’s
going through is what people call Saturn Return. Taehyung isn’t really sure what it means
besides this time around twenty-eight in which people go through the growing pains all over
again. Truth be told, he thinks we never stop going through them. Not after we grow out of
being kids, not after we reach puberty, not after Saturn has returned.

And Saturn might be coming back but, this time, Taehyung thinks he’s moving forward.

Even if he is still in the same city. Now, he is not attached to a failed dream that didn’t fit him
anymore. Now, he has found the art community he belongs to, one that gives him new
dreams, even though they are simple. Just to have a job doing the things he likes with the
people who believe in the same things as him.

He has the family he chose for him, now expanded with the arrival of sweet Alora. He hadn’t
known that he could have a love so big for a person so small until his heart doubled in size
just to fit her. He has this little home he’s building with Jungkook even if they still haven’t
realised they're building a home together. Deep down, Taehyung can’t wait to choose ugly
couches and beautiful sinks with him. But, this time, he's not waiting for fear of not being
ready. He’s just not in a rush, because Jungkook and he are never in a rush. It’s like savouring
a ripe fruit, the slower you taste, the longer it will last in your mouth.

When he looks up and around him as he continues to walk, Taehyung doesn’t see anything
different than what he sees every day. London is just a city, meant to be there, in the same
place forever. Taehyung is just a person, meant to be everywhere, moving forever.

Because moving is just the essential way of being in this world.

Short distances, long distances. Human or other-than-human. Taehyung thinks of Monarch

butterflies flapping their wings towards the South, escaping the winter because their bodies
cannot handle the cold. For them, home is everywhere that is warm.
Taehyung thinks of himself chasing the winter, the silence, the everlasting quality of it. He
thinks of how he chased dreams, how he thought home could be here instead of there, but
ended up not being here nor there. Home sometimes is nowhere and everywhere

Because when you're always moving, every corner of the world is a potential home and every
corner is also never home.

He turns the very corner in front of him, happy to find the sign of Jimin’s cafe shining in
neon lights against the dark sky. He smiles, thinking of how this place has become one of his
favourite places on Earth. Alongside his grandmother’s house in Daegu, and that park close
to his home in Seoul, and the beach in Brighton where he went with Jungkook, and Seokjin’s
and Namjoon’s kitchen.

Because when you move, home is never just one place. When you’re made in the flow, your
favourite things are spreaded around the world at the same time they’re still inside you. No
matter how much you change and how many places you go to, you’re always made of all the
things you’ve encountered in this life. All the people, and all the traditions, all the memories.

Taehyung keeps smiling, it's uncontainable the way his lips stretch when he sees through the
foggy windows that Jungkook is already there, showing something in his notebook to Alora.
His fingers are stained with ink, as always. Namjoon and Seokjin are by their side, casting
loving glances at the girl whenever she makes a wild gesture that makes Jungkook laugh.
Behind the counter, Jimin is talking to Yoongi, probably making him blush again.

He pushes the door open, the small bell rings and Alora yells the moment she sees him. His
eyes travel from her to Jungkook’s warming gaze, and Taehyung places a hand over his heart
just to feel how it beats a little bit faster under the two layers of clothes he’s wearing.

Because when you're always moving, you search and search only to realise the home you
yearn so much for is already within you.

So home is annual kimchi making and Christmas with funny ornaments. Home is listening to
Danny singing a song that was made for him at Jimin’s cafe. Home is a beautiful piece in a
small gallery and the history behind it. Home is Jimin’s laugh, Namjoon’s clumsiness,
Seokjin's jokes, and Aloras' whys. Home is Jungkook’s ink stained fingers and his vanilla and
fabric softener scent and their ankles interlaced under the covers.

Home is Taehyung’s silly heart, that always beats erratically for the things he loves the most,
but it’s always in the right place.

To: Taehyung Kim <thkim@gmail.com>

From: Jeon Jungkook <jeon_jk@naver.com>
Subject: The letters I’ve never sent you

6 March, London

Dear Taehyung,

Another winter is almost over. You know, I didn’t used to like it. There’s something in the
darkness and the quietness of winter that makes me face my loneliness all the time. It all
changed the winter I met you.

This is my third winter by your side, and now it might as well be my favourite season. Yes, I
count the first too. Even though we weren’t together, together . If I look back, though, I have
the sense we always were. Maybe it could be my memory playing those tricks, changing the
way we remember things to make them seem nicer, more wholesome. I hardly doubt it,
though. My memory doesn’t need to paint our relationship as something brighter. It already
is.

And that’s why you’ve changed winter for me. As long as you’re by my side, there’s no
darkness or quietness. As long as we can lock our ankles together, I’m not alone.

Another winter is almost over and now, you read almost everything I write. Many of my
words for you, you can even sing out loud. I don’t think I ever told you this, but I truly like
them better when they come out of your mouth.

I say you’ve read almost everything because some of it I selfishly kept to myself this whole
time. I don’t know why I did it, maybe some parts of ourselves are just meant to stay private.
But the more time I spend with you, the more I realise there’s not an inch of myself that I don't
want you to have. So, tonight, as you were sleeping by my side, I was invaded by this urgent
idea to show you all of them. I don’t think it makes sense to keep them with me anymore, not
when my whole heart is yours anyway.

Since the first winter we met, I have been collecting these little thoughts about you. You know
I write mostly in English, the distance between me and this eternal foreign language allows
me to face my feelings more easily. Curiously enough, all the entries I wrote about you in my
journal were in Korean.

I like to believe it was a way of my brain telling me that the distance wasn’t necessary in this
case, because I can’t hide from what I feel. A way of my heart making it clear that my feelings
for you come from the most essential part of me. Just like my mother tongue.

There’s no escaping, no hiding from what's inherently ours.

These are small entries in my journal about the way you make me feel.
 13 March, London, UK

Out of the ordinary things that I like, being seen is what feels the most magical to me. There’s
such a rarity when someone looks at you and can see past the collected facade, past the sad
smiles, past the blinking eyes that try to hide so much behind thick lashes.

To lock eyes with someone and suddenly realise they’re not just looking at you, to notice they
are seeing you. Because being seen is different from being visible. I can walk around this
world and be visible to almost everyone who crosses my path, but they won’t spare me a
second glance. They will notice me as a moving body, they will acknowledge me as a person,
but they won’t ever see what’s beneath my skin.

The moment I met Taehyung for the first time, I felt seen.

Maybe it’s something in his sharp gaze. It’s so tender and piercing at the same time, like his
eyes are capable of stripping me naked. Maybe it’s the way he looks attentively, like nothing
else matters but what’s in front of him. Somehow, he sees me for what I truly am in this
country. He sees how lonely I am, and it doesn’t scare him. It doesn’t make him feel sorry for
me either. He sees how lonesome I am and, for some reason I can’t understand, his eyes make
me feel like I don’t need to feel that way anymore.

1 June, London, UK

There’s no escaping ourselves. I am my own company every day from the day I was born to
the day I’ll die, and, yet, I don’t ever think about myself as much as I do when I’m with
Taehyung.

He makes me question my words and question my thoughts, and my words and my thoughts
are all I have but, sometimes, I look at him and the most essential part of myself is forgotten.
I can’t even remember my own name, and it’s a true gift when he’s the one who gives it back
to me.

I’m glad he calls me honey or darling, but I love it even more when he calls me by my name.
It doesn’t happen often, so it is so precious when he spares his time to say the two syllables
that sound just right on the tip of his tongue. It’s not just a sensory pleasure, it’s also a
reminder of who I am.

Sometimes, I look at him and I think I can find myself. I can see me through his eyes and he
might have the most generous gaze I’ve ever encountered. But, most of the time, when I look
at him, all I feel is that I'm losing myself . It’s hard to meet all these contradictory feelings at
once, but it’s such a blessing that his eyes can offer me so much.

I wish I could say as much, but Taehyung carries this hesitancy that makes me step back. I
don’t ever want to be the person who pushes him to say or act in a way that he’s not ready to.
So, I’ve been keeping these thoughts to myself, waiting for when he’s ready to receive more of
me.

Yet, I can’t help but wonder, is it too early? Is it too early to feel so much just from a gaze?

26 August, Brighton, UK

My grandmother was a great storyteller, and maybe that’s where my appreciation for words
comes from. I don’t think I am great at telling stories, no. My texts are open, more abstract
than cohesive. And that’s fine. Poetry is something I like because it has no real commitment
to beginning and end. It can be just a loose verse, it can start from nowhere and lead to
everywhere.

Just like us.

No beginning and no end.

It’s been only a few months, but I have a hard time recollecting what my days looked like
without you. If I try to catch a glimpse of the future, it is unthinkable to imagine one where
you are not there. In any capacity you want to be in my life.

At this point, I think I’m willing to receive you in any way you allow me to.

When I think about us, I’m not sure it would make a great story. A lot is undefined, so many
words remain unspoken. Perhaps it doesn’t need to be a novel, where beginning, middle and
end have to be specified to make it a good narrative.

We could be poetry. An endless one. Just one verse connecting to the other, with no intentions
of finding where or how it may end.

That’s how I like to think of us.

You’re sleeping by my side and this is the first time I dare to address a letter to you. I still feel
silly for doing so. Sometimes, I believe that, as long as I keep addressing you in the third
person, I’m also putting some distance between me and all these overwhelming sensations
you bring along. Maybe you’re not the only one who’s hesitant. I keep convincing myself I’m
just following your rhythm, but maybe I’m afraid too. Especially when it feels like I can’t
contain all of this that’s inside me. I’m mostly afraid I’ll let it slip without even noticing, and
I don’t know how you’ll react.

There’s just so much in my heart that you still don’t know about but I suspect you might have
an idea.

30 November, London, UK

It’s been a couple of weeks since I last saw you and I can’t help but think and overthink every
bit of our interactions. I don’t know what happened, but I wonder all the time if it was
something I did. Or even something I didn’t do. I wonder if I should quit texting, but before I
can stop myself, I’ve already pressed send. As long as I keep trying, I can keep hoping you’ll
reply.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about this. About having hope.

Emily Dickinson says:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -”

I realised, hope is a strong word I don’t like to hold onto.

How can I feel such an attachment to a wordless sound if words are all that I have for you?
How can I trust this never ending sensation if it creates nothing but a false sense of
promises? Promises of a better tomorrow. Promises of brighter days. Promises of us.

How can I not hear it sing when it’s already so settled in my soul? Its melody is so familiar to
me, I might add lyrics to it.

Hope, sometimes, is the only word we have left.

Even though so much is broken between us now, how can I possibly not have hope that things
might change? How can I possibly not be hopeful, if every time I get my pen, I can’t seem to
write about anything other than you?

January 1st, London, UK

Of all the things I like about our mother tongue, perhaps my favourite is the fact that the
words for person and love are almost the same.

사람 and 사랑.

I’ve lost count of how many times I had a Freudian slip in the middle of a conversation and
said “I met a love” instead of “I met a person”. At first, it’s funny, but the more you repeat it,
the more sense it makes. After too many lapses, I realised maybe all the times I mixed “love”
for “person” weren’t a slip after all.

The more I look at these words lately, the more they come to me as intrinsically connected.

Even though love and person can be essentially the same, they weigh differently. Love carries
a commitment and a sincerity that sounds more sublime, more everlasting. Person is more of
a mundane idea, something we all are. Only, we forget that love is also something we all can
be.

In Hangul, all you need to make a person become love is to reshape their edges. And isn’t this
exactly what love does? It changes these little things in ourselves that don't modify our
essence, but are transformative enough to make us become something different?

When you come to my mind, which happens quite often, I cannot ignore how these two words
are the first I think in relation to you. For me, person and love are synonyms of Taehyung.

Writing this on this first day of the year, I don’t have to wonder what it feels like to be loved
by you anymore. All the hesitancy we both carried for so long is gone.

But I do wonder if it’s too soon to use the word love with you. Not because I have doubts, but
because I know the weight it carries. I don’t mean to say you’re too fragile to handle it. If
anything, you’re the person who can hold the magnitude of love without any effort. Resilience
and strength is what you’re made of, even if you think otherwise.

I don’t ever want to outpace you, and, in a way, it could be too soon to tell you that. In many
other ways, it’s already too late.

So, I’m gonna write something that carries the same meaning, because I don’t think time
really matters when it comes to us. I’ll say something I think I’ve known since the first day we
met.

Kim Taehyung, you are my person.

Those are not all the excerpts I have, but they are the ones that I think are the most
 important. They’re from that first year, when we were not together, but also not really not
together. I’d love to show you more if you want to.

I meant it when I said all my words are yours. I knew they would be since the first time we
met. It may sound strange, but since that first day in the gallery, I had the certainty that you
would be in my life for a long, long time.

I told you this a few nights later, in a nasty pub after Danny’s party, when it wouldn’t be so
weird to say such a thing. It’s funny, because on that same night, you told me you thought you
were imposing yourself on me, and I said your presence was never imposed. I remember quite
well that I assured you I was there because you allowed me to be.

I’m not quite sure why, but in the middle of all the hesitancy and unsaid words from both
sides, you kept allowing me to be in your life.

In the end, I like to believe this is what love is about. Allowing a person to be in your life,
allowing yourself to be open to them. Allowing someone to erode all of your sharp edges just
so they can fit.

Isn’t it the most beautiful thing? To love someone so much you’re willing to give a little bit of
your life to them. Willing to make a life together with them?

I love the life we make for ourselves every single day. I love to make room for you in my
heart, and I love the space you make for me in yours. I love to reshape the places we frequent
and the relationships we nurture to fit the both of us, even when we don’t really notice that’s
what we are doing. I think it makes it even more special, to do it all so naturally, like our
hearts and our lives always had a free space to accommodate each other. We just had to
allow it to happen.

I am glad we did it back then, and I’m glad we keep doing it everyday. For as long as you
keep allowing me to, I will love you.

All my love,
Jungkook.

END

Chapter End Notes

little update: If you've reached this far, check this christmas drabble I posted on twitter!
*emotional writer’s note*

I first thought of this story in November 2022, over a year ago. At the time, I just
wanted to write a beautiful love story, but the moment I decided to make these
characters immigrants, I knew this would be the most important thing I’d write. And
that’s why I was so afraid of facing it.

It took me a year to finally muster the courage to write all the ideas I spent a whole year
carefully collecting. In November 2023, after moving countries for the second time, it
hit me that I couldn't postpone it anymore (yes, just like Taehyung I was waiting for the
“right time”. How silly of us, uh?)

If you know me, you know this story is very personal on many levels. Even if you don’t
know me personally, I guess you can sense that haha But the thing is, writing this fic
was a dive into my deepest feelings towards immigration and academia. Feelings that
used to hurt me in the past and still hurt me on some days. I was scared of putting them
all in the open, scared of what people would think and how they would react.
Thankfully, I have the most loving and generous readers in this world. I wrote this fic to
feel less alone in my own pain, but seeing people relating to these characters also makes
me realize I can make them feel less alone in theirs - either if you’re an immigrant or
not. This kind of love that we share through fanfics is something really, really precious.

I cannot express how thankful I am for everyone who got excited about this story and
gave it some love, even if silently. For everyone who said they can relate to these
characters, I wish I could give you a hug. It means the world to me that his story has
touched people somehow.

I also owe a special thanks to my beta @sureaintmebabe for joining this journey and
treating this taekook with so much care, I love you, luci!!!

I was 27 when I wrote the first chapter of this fic, and I’m finishing this story at 28.
When a friend told me about 27 being the most important age before the thirties, I didn’t
understand why. I still don’t, and I don’t think it really matters, but it was the age that
brought this fic into my life. And maybe we don’t need to give that much meaning to a
number, but I’ll be forever grateful to my 27s for that.

I’d love to know what you think about this story. I’m always on twitter and also on
neospring if you’re shy. See you with another story very soon =)
Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!