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"What the flying fuck?"
As the maknae, Jeongguk is just trying to get through his unofficial job of being the errand boy. It's tough enough balancing a Computer Science major, dance crew practices and the occasional visit from Jimin (that ends up as a full-blown party, when he inevitably drags his hundreds of friends along, much to the displeasure of Yoongi). So he usually tries his best to get through the day peacefully. Grits his teeth and gets on with it, throwing not-so-subtle sneers and teasing jabs, even when Seokjin comes back home one day and bestows on him the label of Errand Boy.
This is how he ends up at the nearest supermarket, the fancy new place that's just popped up and stocks too many organic products that no one needs. Their resident eomma had insisted that he go to this specific one, even though it's a half hour's drive away, because he "needs some healthy food to cancel out last night's pizza". Never mind that he has a report due in forty-eight hours or a showcase in a week. He's only eighteen, what is this responsibility you speak of?
So, when he comes back from the cereal aisle to find that the watermelon—the last good watermelon, which he had to scuffle with a ruthless ahjumma for—in his shopping cart has all but vanished, who can blame him for cursing like a sailor?
The criminal isn't even trying to hide it either. It's a boy, as tall as he is but lankier, a gigantic white shirt hanging off his frame as he clutches the watermelon with both hands and scuttles toward the dairy section. He bows his head down and with quick, small steps, dashes away from Jeongguk's Shopping Cart, i.e. the scene of crime.
"You! Stop right there!" Jeongguk shouts. He is so fucking done, it's seven in the evening and he's exhausted and he just wants to pay for all of his hyungs' shit and get it over with, not deal with watermelon thieves. "Dude!"
He sprints forward just as he drops the box of Cheerios in his cart, making a mental note to tell Seokjin that the multigrain version always sells out, just buy the original, goddamn it. But Watermelon Thief whips his head around at the noise. His eyes widen and he starts running—not quite jogging, not when you've got a nine kilogram fruit weighing you down—grandfather slippers slapping against the ground.
And just as he reaches the frozen section, he skids to a stop, five meters away from Jeongguk, who stops on instinct too. Establishes eye contact and loosens his hold on the watermelon. Lifts up his shirt and tucks the watermelon underneath the damn thing and turns on his heel and runs away, hiding a watermelon under his shirt.
Jeongguk is a hundred percent done.
He throws his hands into the air in a gesture of defeat and heads back to his shopping cart, only to find that the last box of strawberries has mysteriously disappeared.
I should have gone to art school, he thinks bitterly, as he makes his way to the cashier. His hyungs can buy those fruits themselves.
Two weeks later and Jeongguk has all but forgotten about Watermelon Thief, the wide-eyed boy with no moral integrity whatsoever. Seriously, who hides a watermelon under their shirt and thinks they can get away with it? (Alright, he's still bitter. Just a little bit.) He'd relayed the story to his hyungs and they were anything but sympathetic, instead opting for raucous laughter and fruit puns. (He hated "Orange you upset?" and "Lettuce turnip the beet!" the most.)
He will never forget that face, though, and so he recognises Watermelon Thief immediately when Jimin brings over one of his friends, a supposed childhood bromate.
"We're the 95z bros," Jimin announced proudly.
"How do you even pronounce that?" Yoongi asked.
"Ninety-five zzzzzzzzz."
Watermelon Thief is dressed a lot nicer than before. Instead of grandfather slippers he has on a decent pair of sneakers, a fitted navy sweater instead of an oversized piece of cloth hanging off his frame, snapback showing off strong brows and fuck, he's hot. The realisation hits Jeongguk like a freight train. The universe definitely hates him.
"You!" the boy exclaims when his eyes land on Jeongguk, guitar in his lap as he pores over the chords to the latest Zion.T song.
"That's my line," Jeongguk sneers. He turns to Yoongi, Jimin and Seokjin and thrusts an accusing finger in the general direction of the worst person to have ever lived, ever. "This is the Watermelon Thief. Why are you letting criminals into our place? We're not a charity, you know."
"This is Taehyung," Jimin introduces. Watermelon Thief (Taehyung, a traitorous voice in his head whispers) beams widely and even dares to do a short little salute. "Chemistry major and Maplestory extraordinaire."
"Who still plays Maplestory nowadays?" Jeongguk scoffs. He wrinkles his nose and sends a polite, curt nod anyway. "Hi, I'm Jeongguk, Comp Sci."
For once, Jimin's presence doesn't signal the arrival of another hundred of his friends from the Dance department. He and Yoongi end up snuggling into one end of the couch, Seokjin plugs in his headphones (probably Apink or some lame girl group; alternative music is where it's at, obviously) and works on his thesis. Jeongguk's still on the couple-free end of the sofa, trying to learn this damn song, Taehyung perched awkwardly on the seat smack in the center.
A documentary on dolphins is playing quietly in the background when Taehyung clears his throat.
"So, how was your wa-tae-melon that day?" he snickers.
Jeongguk turns his head to the right as slowly as he possibly can—he's learned a lot from dramas, okay?—and casts a deadpan look at Taehyung.
"Was it tae-sty enough?"
"Please stop trying to replace good, honest syllables with your name." Jeongguk rolls his eyes, but it's kind of cute, how his mouth curves into a rectangular smile and his eyes go all crinkly. "Also, why'd you steal my watermelon?"
"I really needed it," he admits. He shifts back on the couch and leans into the seat, angles himself toward Jeongguk. "Jimin was having a fruit-based vegan phase."
"Fruit-based vegan phase?" Jeongguk asks, incredulous. "He just ate hotpot with us last night."
"I did say phase. It lasted for, like, two days?" Taehyung laughs. The low baritone fills the air but doesn't wake up the sleeping couple or the busy hyung. "He wanted to make watermelon steak."
Jeongguk eyes the sleeping Jimin, head nestled in Yoongi's lap, with skepticism. "Okay."
"It was pretty good, actually," Taehyung says, eyes sparkling as he leans forward, forearms resting on his thighs, "I can make it for you sometime."
"Yeah, sure," Jeongguk replies distractedly. There's something else nagging at his mind. "Why did you hide a watermelon under your shirt?"
"Some questions don't have answers, dear Jeonggukkie." He reaches over and actually pats Jeongguk's head, two light taps that he shakes off with an offended glare. What is he, eight? "But if you really wanna know, I was desperate. You know what desperate men do, right?"
"No...?"
Taehyung laughs. "Neither do I."
Alright. Jeon Jeongguk will grudgingly concede that Kim Taehyung is a decent person (with decent looks, too, but that's secondary, in spite of the way his eyes run over his hyung's jawline each time they meet). It's been maybe one, two months since their first official meeting, sans-grocery store fiasco, and they've been meeting up for bubble tea and BBQ way too often.
"Are you guys together or something?" Yoongi asks one morning, after he's dropped five sugar cubes into his coffee and Seokjin's scolded him for trying to get diabetes.
"No, no," Jeongguk replies, eyes still fixated on his phone. Taehyung's just sent a particularly cute selfie featuring himself and his motley crew of desert animal-themed soft toys. "We're just good friends."
"In spite of the watermelon thing?"
"Yeah, yeah."
"Yah, look at your hyungs when we're talking to you!" Seokjin snatches the phone away from Jeongguk's hands to a loud "What the hell, Seokjin-hyung?" and his eyes fall to whatever is on the screen. He looks up at Jeongguk with an incredulous expression. "Seriously? Dubsmashes too?"
"I need a creative outlet, okay!" Jeongguk pouts. He holds out his hand expectantly and Seokjin drops it back in his palm. "And so does Tae."
"Tae?" Yoongi snickers, and Seokjin grins knowingly.
He glares at them, shoves the rest of his cereal into his mouth and heads for his first class of the day.
Four months later and they're basically best bros. Brotp, broship, a certain Park Jimin kicked out of the picture because he has no time for this "anime and chill nonsense".
Taehyung and Jimin's dorm is only five train stations away but it already feels like forever, what with the quintessentially Seoul way of shoving each other as you rush to find a standing spot in the train. It's fall and the weather's getting colder. Jeongguk shivers as he walks through the streets, quieter than his own—after all, they're further away from campus—and regrets not putting on an extra layer. He can almost hear Seokjin nagging in his ear.
The door swings open after two knocks.
"Ethanol?" he asks, warmth heat blasting in his face the moment he steps in. He shrugs off his hoodie and collapses onto the couch.
The 95z bros' apartment is a lot messier than Jeongguk's even though there are fewer people living here. Books and clothes strewn everywhere, most with dubious-looking stains and only some without, and if it were not for Seokjin occasionally popping over to straighten out the place, he's sure it would've turned into a pig sty by now. The couch and the bed are the only places he dares sit down on.
"Ethanolic potassium hydroxide and heat results in an elimination reaction for halogenoalkanes," Taehyung announces. He sits down and leans the back of his head on Jeongguk's shoulder, stretches his legs across the length of the couch. "Anyway, that was just a ploy to get you over. It's just anime again."
"You know I'd come over even if you said it was, I don't know, EXO dance practice videos." Jeongguk rolls his eyes and reaches for the laptop on the coffee table. "Anyway, what is it this time?"
Taehyung perks up immediately and shifts his body such that he's kneeling on the seat, shins digging into the sofa.
"One Punch Man. Have you heard of it?"
"Tae, the only ones I know are the ones you've introduced to me," Jeongguk explains. "So that basically limits it to supernatural basketball and Kaneki x Suffering."
"Worth a shot." Taehyung shrugs and pulls up the file, balancing the laptop between their two laps and resting his feet on the coffee table. "It's fucking amazing. You'll love it, I promise."
He didn't doubt that to begin with, but he ends up loving the show way more than expected. He laughs all the way through the bald-headed protagonist's nonchalance and overpowered abilities, feels his heart clench a little whenever said protagonist is maligned, gasps at the intricacy of the fight scenes, and groans out loud when the last episode ends on a cliffhanger.
"What the flying fuck?" he exclaims. "I feel so used." He turns to the side and sees that a mischievous smirk has made its way onto Taehyung's face. "This was your plan all along, wasn't it. Get me hooked and then leave me with blue balls."
"Yes." Not even a hint of shame. "Should I tempt you with the manga?"
He should've seen this coming. He'd agreed to watch anime after Taehyung bribed him with promises of intricate fight scenes and special effects, but had adamantly refused to go even anywhere near manga. He knew that once he started reading, he wouldn't be able to stop. At least with anime, he only ever bothered watching when Taehyung was around because he's too lazy to torrent anything, but it'll be damn near impossible with manga, not when all the sites are just at his fingertips.
"Fuck this," he mutters under his breath. "Fine. Give it to me." Taehyung hands him the laptop, site already keyed into the address bar, with a shit-eating grin. He glares. "I hate you."
"You love me," Taehyung sings, and Jeongguk can't find it in himself to disagree.
It's three in the morning when Jeongguk stumbles out of the bar, half a guitar in hand.
He doesn't know what to do, not really, not when he'd just come out to his parents over the phone and received only silence and a dial tone, not when he'd checked his email and found out via his brother that his parents are disgusted at him, and that he should probably not come home for Christmas because they need time. Snow is pouring outside and his family is on the other side of the country and just when he thinks he can go home, just for a week or two, fall back into a familiar bed and look out toward familiar mountains, it all comes crashing down.
He's known for a while now. It started with him thinking that Taehyung would look really good between his legs, and when he actually woke up one night to come on his stomach and damp sheets, chest still heaving from what was way too vivid a dream, he knew that he was fucked. It's one thing to have a wet dream, it's another to have a wet dream about a guy, and it's a completely different ball game when said wet dream is about your best friend.
A stray foot leads to a particularly hard tumble, guitar crashing down with him. He has no energy to get back up, simply lying on the cold hard ground. (Cue the Taylor Swift flashbacks.)
It's too cold. His coat isn't enough to keep him warm and the bartender's chased him out for very politely swinging his guitar at the coat rack—because, let's face it, who doesn't want to wield half a guitar as a weapon?—and drinking too much vodka. HIs back is stiff against the frozen ground and at this rate, he's probably going to get hypothermia. Maybe that would be for the best.
He's about to fall asleep when his phone buzzes.
"Jeonggukkie?" a familiar voice rings through his ear. A low, warm baritone, reminds him of burnt honey and late nights. "Where are you?"
"I'm out," he breathes.
"Out where?" The voice is more insistent now. Ah, right. He remembers. This is Taehyung, his Taehyung. "We're worried about you. Yoongi-hyung and Seokjin-hyung said they can't contact you at all."
"Really?" He vaguely remembers seeing the alert '19 Missed Calls' flashing across the screen. Guilt gnaws at him but he shoves it aside. "Hey, Tae, do you think I'm disgusting?"
"What?" Puzzled, frantic, concerned. "No, of course not, why are you asking that?"
"Even if I like boys?"
"No, not even that," Taehyung says, slow and measured. There's an exhale over on the other hand and Jeongguk can almost picture fingers clenching around the phone, a harsh breath escaping. "Jeongguk, where are you?"
"At this bar," he answers. He tilts his head backward and looks up into the night sky. It's pretty. Like someone's scattered diamonds across an expanse of nothingness. "In Hongdae? Some guy called Zico chased me out, that bitch."
He hears rapid chatter over on the other end and is about to hang up when Taehyung speaks again.
"Alright, I'm coming to get you. Stay where you are, don't move, alright?"
Don't move. Got it.
It must be a million years later when he hears frantic footsteps and sees a familiar face bend down toward his own, brows furrowed and eyes hooded and lips downturned. There's a beanie on his head and it covers up his bangs, strands of light brown hair that he itches to play with now hidden from sight, a gigantic scarf wrapped around his neck.
"Fucking hell, Jeongguk," Taehyung mutters. He places both hands on Jeongguk's shoulders and lifts him up into a standing position. Puts two callused hands on Jeongguk's cheeks and whispers, satoori slipping out, "You're gonna freeze to death."
"That was the plan."
He's a bit winded. Standing up makes him dizzy and his back feels cold and hot at the same time. Where Taehyung's fingers touch his skin, a burning sensation travels down his spine and curls around the base of his stomach, red hot electricity sizzling through his veins.
And now, for the millionth time in his life, he doesn't know what to do. With Taehyung's hands on his face and so close, so fucking close that a distinctly caramel scent swirls around him and swathes him in Taehyung, that he can see the last gasp of winter escape full lips with each heave of the chest. Familiar eyes, staring back into his own, the same ones he's imagined peeking down at him as he kneels between smooth thighs. The slope of his nose and the curve of his lips illuminated by dim street lamps and the light of the moon.
What's he supposed to do now?
Tell Taehyung that hey, I came out because I had a wet dream about you? Reach out and bring Taehyung's face to his own, close that tempting distance?
A pink tongue darts out to lick at a lower lip and Jeongguk groans internally because fuck, but it's what jolts him out of the trance. He jerks backward and almost stumbles butt-first into the snow, Taehyung's hands immediately falling from his face like they've been burnt twice over. A rush of heat climbs up his neck to his cheeks and ears and he just wants to climb into a hole right now.
"You're an idiot," Taehyung breathes. He lets out a weak laugh but it does nothing to tamper down Jeongguk's beating heart, not when Taehyung's sporting red cheeks and an embarrassed smile. "We gotta get you somewhere warm."
"Okay, okay."
Taehyung wraps an arm around Jeongguk's shoulders and starts to walk the both of them down the street. It's only then that Jeongguk realises just how long he's been lying on the frozen pavement, because his legs start to wobble and he feels like a newborn fawn, not a grown-ass eighteen-year old boy. He falls on his face thrice and each time, with Taehyung's arms curling around his own as he's dragged upright, his heart beats a little faster.
At the station, they head not to Taehyung's place but Jeongguk's, and he's more than a little shell-shocked to find everyone there—Yoongi, Jimin, Seokjin, even Seokjin's silver-haired boyfriend and his roommate, a Dance major he's seen Jimin hang out with a couple of times.
Seokjin gets up and throws a pillow in Jeongguk's face.
"Young man, you are grounded!" Seokjin shrills. Fuck, are those tears?
Said silver-haired boyfriend gets up and places a placating hand on his shoulder while Jeongguk bends down, knees still wobbly, grabs the pillow and hugs it to his chest. He shrinks into the wall as Taehyung steps in front of him protectively and shields Jeongguk's body with his own.
"Kid, why'd you go missing?" Yoongi asks. The usual hint of sarcasm is missing and in its place it what sounds suspiciously like genuine concern.
"I was only gone for the night," Jeongguk replies, voice small and confused.
"It's been seventy-two hours," Jimin interjects. He steps forward and knits his brows together, looks like he's about to grab Jeongguk and make sure he's real. "You know if you need to talk, we're here, right?"
"Yeah, of course," he mutters.
"We're going to his room," Taehyung announces loudly, whirling around to hook his arms around Jeongguk's and walk them to the bedroom. He follows along blindly, feels five pairs of eyes sear into his back.
The door clicks shut. Taehyung pushes him onto the bed and stands a few feet away, arms crossed and lips pursed, the very picture of a mother scolding her child. But there's a softness in his eyes and in the way he's standing, as if he's aching to reach out to Jeongguk.
"You said something just now." His shoulders sag. His arms drop. "What's wrong?"
He slides onto the bed beside Jeongguk, the sides of their bodies pressing together. It spurs on a heady feeling in Jeongguk's chest; he can't tell if he's drunk on alcohol or on Taehyung, but all he knows is that he's never felt this giddy and warm all over in his life.
He realises with a start that a certain broken instrument is missing. "Shit, my guitar."
"It was broken, Jeonggukkie. We left it there, remember?"
"Right," he sighs.
"So, what happened?"
Taehyung is infuriatingly patient. Jeongguk wants him to shout, scream, grab him and shake him until all his fears and worries shake off and crumble to dust, but he knows that that won't happen. It'd be infinitely easier for him to retreat back in because fuck, his shell is safe, damn it. But when Taehyung looks at him with tenderness instead of the annoyance and irritation that he's used to, he doesn't know what to do.
That seems to be the pattern, doesn't it? That whenever Taehyung is around, Jeongguk's heart stops and so does his brain, and he has no clue what to do with himself.
So instead of talking, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through his email inbox until he finds that particular email from his brother, the one he's filed under '!!!!!!!!!', a folder usually reserved for things like overdue library fines and speeding tickets. He watches with trepidation as Taehyung scans the email for what seems like forever, before finally setting the phone aside.
"You know," he starts, eyes piercing into Jeongguk's and something grabs at his stomach, twists it and doesn't let go, "that your parents are assholes?"
"They're still my parents," Jeongguk frowns. There's a pang of hurt and he can't tell why the fuck it's there.
"Anyone can be an asshole. I'm not gonna apologise, I'm gonna be blunt about this. Your parents are being assholes." His voice is calm and level, as if he were explaining math to a child. "And you are not disgusting. Not now, not ever. You're not a disgusting person because of the way you are, alright?"
He thinks back to all those nights, waking up alone in bed with sticky come on his sheets and thoughts of Taehyung. All those nights thrusting into random, faceless girls as he sees only Taehyung behind closed lids.
"But—"
"No," Taehyung interrupts, voice firm. "Your sexuality doesn't make you disgusting. You can be whatever you want. Heck, you don't need to put a label on it. You don't owe anyone an explanation, not even your parents, and if they think it's okay to call their child disgusting because he's, quote unquote, 'not normal', then they are assholes, plain and simple."
He lets the words sink in.
"So you don't think I'm disgusting too?"
"You are not," Taehyung breathes, punctuating each word with a harsh breath, "disgusting."
They're close now. Even closer than they'd been on the street, moonlight filtering down to cast dark shadows on dirty snow. Each breath ghosts across Jeongguk's lips like a dream and he's almost inclined to believe that it is, except that dreams never strike as hot a chord up his body as this moment does. Dreams are a swathe of calm, lazy sex, of drawn out passion. Dreams don't have Taehyung's heart beating so immensely loud that he can hear it even whilst apart, don't have his own leaping out of his chest.
Hands wrap around Jeongguk's own and instinctively, his own fingers curl into Taehyung's palms, surprisingly callused given how often he rubs it in Jeongguk's face that he gets to wear fancy-ass nylon gloves in the lab. But they're rough, and they slide over Jeongguk's like they know it from inside out. (They do.)
He doesn't know what he's looking for. He looks into Taehyung's eyes to search for something, to search for the answer to what are we doing?, but in them there's only a blackness clouded by something softer, more tender. Like a bunch of walls have come down but there are a thousand more behind.
"Thank you," Jeongguk whispers.
It's a lie. He still feels like dirt, a piece of gum stuck on some grade-schooler's shoe as he heads home from class. Images of his parents snarling at him two years ago when he'd tried to tell them he liked the boy next door, of them throwing his things out, of him frantically correcting himself and explaining that it'd been a slip of the tongue, are still stark in his mind.
But it's a little better now. In place of the underhanded insults and nasty sneers are memories of Taehyung, and though they don't drive out the pain completely, they have somehow managed to cloud over and cast a light glow over the darkness swirling in his head.
And when he looks up, Taehyung is impossibly close.
Someone leans in and their lips meet. A slow fire burns its way up Jeongguk's chest, and just as he thinks yes, this is definitely a dream, he blacks out.
"If you ever do that again," Seokjin explains. He's calm but it's scary calm, the worst kind of calm to face, especially when it comes to a certain Kim Seokjin. "I will personally lock you in your room and make sure you only ever come out for food."
"And hygiene things?" Jeongguk asks.
"And hygiene things," he reaffirms.
Two days later when he's recovered from the seventy-two hour haze of exhaustion and alcohol, the guilt finally begins to seep in. He can't help the way his stomach falls each time he looks at any of his hyungs, when they look at him with a mixture of pity and concern and he fucking hates it, but he hates the feeling of having disappointed them even more.
They're his family, now. And he hates disappointing his family.
He's apologised a thousand times over, even offered to grovel at their feet and serve them tea (Jimin had been enthusiastic about it but everyone else—even Taehyung, surprisingly—had objected) and they'd accepted it, but he still feels no less guilty for making them worry. For making everyone worry. For disappearing in the dead of the night and showing up three days later, half-dead and missing a guitar.
So when Taehyung invites him over as per usual, he accepts it as per usual, but it's not without hesitation.
"Jimin's out," Taehyung explains. "Date night with Yoongi-hyung. And they even brought sleeping bags. Those kinky lil' shits." Then he turns around and holds a hand up abruptly. "Wait! Let me tell you a joke."
Jeongguk stills. "Okay..."
"Einstein, Newton and Pascal play hide and seek. Einstein's the seeker, so Pascal runs off to hide somewhere but Newton just stands and draws a one metre by one metre square around himself. Einstein sees Newton and says 'Ha, I found you, Newton!' but ol' Newton just goes, 'No, you found Pascal!'"
He pauses for effect, grins and looks at Jeongguk expectantly.
"I know about programming, not dead science people."
"Pascal and Newton are units, right?" Taehyung waits for Jeongguk's nod before continuing. "And Newton meter square equals to Pascal!"
Jeongguk totally gets it. "Alright. Cool."
A frown makes its way onto Taehyung's face and he wrinkles his nose.
"Are you tryin' to get me all fired up? Because I have a whole arsenal of science jokes that I wanna use, you know."
"Your satoori keeps showing up now," Jeongguk points out. "You never used to let it slip."
"I know." He sighs and leans back on the bed. "Only around you, though."
"Yeah," Jeongguk gulps. "What are we watching?"
"Psycho-Pass." The video loads up and immediately he's struck with some insane vocals and holy shit, that instrumental is going in hard, all electric guitar and a killer bass and crazy drums. "Sci-fi, dystopia-utopia. You're going to love this, you fake deep piece of cheese."
He'd been tense at first, still unsure how to act around Taehyung. The night's events are blurry but still somewhat clear—he at least knows he'd destroyed his guitar, talked about his family and sat really, really close to Taehyung, the memory of honeyed breath stark in his mind—but the two days prior to that are a complete blur. He'd learned from Zico, the owner of the bar he'd camped out at, that he'd drink for a while and then stop and drink again, and the owner has no idea how his liver survived.
And now, armed with all that knowledge, he knows just how much of a 'piece of cheese' he was. How's he supposed to hang out with Taehyung knowing that he'd been a clingy, needy little kid?
Yet, as the night passes by and they bond over insane world-building and character development, he finds himself settling back into that old rhythm with unprecedented ease. Of relaxing into Taehyung, knees digging into shins. Of Taehyung's head nestling into the crook of his neck, and fuck, does it feel comfortable, like it's belonged there all along.
It strikes him on a Thursday night as he trudges back from dance practice, sweaty all over and tired and just really, really desperate for a cold shower and a warm bed.
He flings open the bedroom door and finds Taehyung already on it, cross-legged, bending over a bunch of papers. The glasses on his face are almost slipping off the edge of his nose as he rapidly punches some numbers into a calculator. Light brown hair a mess on his head, gigantic white shirt almost slipping off. Looks up when he hears the soft click on the door and smiles at Jeongguk.
"Welcome home, Jeonggukkie," Taehyung greets, and Jeongguk's knees buckle.
A quick nod is all he can send before he stumbles into the bathroom, breathing heavily and pulse racing and face hot, and presses his forehead against the tiled wall.
Because now he doesn't just think about Taehyung's body slick and wet against his or his low voice, heavy with want. He thinks about Taehyung in a stupid oversized shirt, sitting on his bed and waiting for him to come home. He thinks about Taehyung with messy hair and lab goggles and nylon gloves, trying to help him understand science jokes.
He wants to wake up every morning and see Taehyung's sleeping face beside his own. He wants to hold Taehyung and not carry doubt in his heart. He wants to come home to Taehyung. He wants.
It hits him like an arrow through his heart, and he knows everything's about to go to shit.
Jeongguk is mopey.
"Why are you more mopey than usual," Jimin asks, as he plays with Yoongi's newly-dyed mint green hair.
"The brat's in love," Yoongi drawls.
"What?" Jeongguk and Jimin exclaim at the same time. He's always known Yoongi to be a bit sharper, a bit more observant than the others; his trademark is that of sarcastic jabs, but Jeongguk knows that those are carefully selected, reveal only what he wants to reveal. But he never expected that Yoongi would notice it. He's already pretty mopey on a regular basis, it should be pretty easy to hide the extra weight that's been burdening him nowadays, the knowledge of this thing called feelings. And now, Yoongi has outed him.
"Bro," Jimin starts, dragging out the vowel like his life depends on it, "it's Taehyung, isn't it."
"I don't need to tell you anything," Jeongguk says, just as Yoongi interjects with a curt, "It is."
"If you guys get married, I'll be your brother-in-law," Jimin exclaims, but as soon as he sees Jeongguk's face turn as pale as a sheet from the word 'marriage', he immediately corrects, "Okay, no marriage. Not yet, anyway."
"It's not like I'm gonna tell him." He leans into the couch, tilts his head back and sighs. "He doesn't even like me that way."
"How are you so sure?"
"Gut instinct?"
"Your gut instinct sucks ass," Jimin says. Then he grins. "Offense intended."
He skirts around Taehyung, even, and when the older boy invites him out for anime or bubble tea or anything in between, he makes an excuse, citing assignment season or dance practice. And it's counterproductive too, since the less time he spends with Taehyung, the less energy he has (how that works, he has no clue; the boy is bouncing off the walls and he's half-convinced Taehyung actually sucks energy out of the people he's around) and he becomes even more mopey, if that's even possible.
It gets to the point where Yoongi and Seokjin physically corner him in his room and chew him inside out.
"Just fucking confess already," Yoongi complains. "You know how annoying it is every time I go over to Jimin's and hear Taehyung complaining about why your Comp Sci teacher gives so many assignments?"
Seokjin takes a softer approach. "Namjoon and I were like this too. Then we got together and the only thing we regretted was that we hadn't gotten together earlier, because that meant we missed out on a lot of bomb sex."
And so he does. He takes their advice not because they are Old Wise Hyungs, but because even he is started to get sick of himself. This soul-battering shit is draining.
And less than a half hour later Taehyung is standing at his front door. The beanie on his head is almost falling off and he's drowning in a thick Naruto scarf, wrapped around his neck and skimming his chin. Eyes wide, he looks right at Jeongguk—right through Jeongguk—and breathes.
"I like you," Jeongguk says.
Taehyung steps in through the doorway and takes off the beanie, sets it down on the coffee table. Takes off his scarf and coat and hangs them on the knob with an infuriating slowness.
He stands in front of Jeongguk, lips parted slightly.
"Say that again," he murmurs, so low and soft that it almost escapes with the winter wind.
What is he supposed to do? All he knows is a bit of programming and how to play a (now non-existent) guitar. All he knows is the searing feeling of Taehyung's skin against his own as they curl up on bed to badly translated Korean subtitles, the way he waits patiently for Jeongguk to finish showering after his dance practices.
It's painfully easy to clamp up and walk out, leave Taehyung hanging in the middle of the apartment. Ruin everything that they could be, that they will be.
"I like you," Jeongguk repeats, more confidently this time round.
He waits with bated breath.
"I like you too."
Taehyung grins, a rectangular smile curving across his lips and reaching his eyes, little half-moons, cheeks flushing a brilliant red. He bites down on his lower lip and steps closer and they've been close so many times before—impossibly close, even—but this is nothing like those times, because now, there are spoken words hanging in the air. The tension that filled Jeongguk almost imperceptibly dissipates with each quirk of Taehyung's lips.
"I'm sorry," Jeongguk says, voice low, and Taehyung raises his brows. "That I avoided you this past week. And that I'm gonna be a shitty person. Probably. I'll try not to."
"Your satoori's slipping out too," Taehyung says. And he smiles. "But, hey. It's okay. I'm pretty bad at this too."
He leans in and takes Jeongguk's lips between his own. It's slow and tender and kind of familiar, like he's done this before, maybe a week or a month or a million lifetimes ago. The warmth builds up gradually and then spreads hot and fast across his body, as they lick into each other's mouths and he memorises the nooks and crannies of Taehyung, only Taehyung. And, fuck, he smells familiar and tastes familiar, and all he can think is why have they not done this earlier?
By the time they pull apart for air, he has one hand on Taehyung's neck and another wrapped around his waist. Pressed together like this, it feels too comfortable, too easy.
He nuzzles his nose into the crook of Taehyung's neck and lets the scent of honey burn him to the bone.
"No dancing around? No painful emo angst and wishy-washy feelings?" Taehyung asks.
"We'd make shitty romantic protagonists, then," Jeongguk says, voice muffled, mouth against Taehyung's neck. He mouths at the strip of skin that the slip of his collar reveals. "Thank you."
Taehyung is more than he needs and nothing he deserves and everything he wants, and right in this moment, it's enough.
"If there's a watermelon, why aren't there airmelons or earthmelons or firemelons?" Taehyung asks.
"Melon Lord!" Jeongguk cheers, punching a fist into the air, and the two break down into a fit of laughter, collapsing onto each other for two whole minutes before they finally right themselves again.
Jimin eyes Taehyung with derision. "Did you introduce him to Avatar: The Last Airbender?"
"Yes," Taehyung announces proudly. "Yes, I did."
"You know what?" Jeongguk asks, an idea springing to his mind.
"What?"
"For Halloween, you should go as Watermelon Thief and I'll go as Errand Boy." Realisation dawns on Taehyung's face and the shit-eating grin that spreads matches Jeongguk's own. "You tuck a watermelon under your shirt and I'll, I don't know, hold a box of Cheerios or something."
He high-fives Taehyung as the others groan loudly.
It's been two weeks since they officially started going out. Two weeks since Jeongguk thought everything was just a dream, because all he's ever known was that if you jumped off a ledge without checking how far you'd fall, you would die, no questions asked.
It's been a whirlwind of stolen kisses and sly touches, too many impromptu anime and chill sessions and even more impromptu sleepovers. Not much different from what they were doing before, to be honest, except now the weight in Jeongguk's chest has been lifted and even though the thoughts are still there, swimming darkly, he walks with lighter steps.
Now, he's with Taehyung. They're together, and this knowledge makes him giddy with happiness. He comes home to a grinning Taehyung who waits and wants and he does the same, and that's more than he could ever ask for.
"You guys took for-fucking-ever," Hoseok, Namjoon's roommate and a new addition to Jeongguk's dance crew, sings.
"Yeah, well," Jeongguk shrugs. He looks down at Taehyung's sleeping face in his lap, slight snores escaping every now and then. He makes a mental note to record it for future use as perfect blackmail material. "I wasn't ready. I'm still not ready. And I don't think Tae is, either."
"Does it matter?"
Questions are hard, there are still a million of them swirling around in his mind and this one in particular eats at him with each second that passes by. Is he ready, though? Will he ever be? Does it even matter?
"No," he says, tucking the blanket underneath Taehyung's chin and tightening his hold on the boy so that he stops shivering. "No, it doesn't."
A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY BAB E have a good one. i'll come scream at u after u read this sorry for this.... whatever this is. i know u wanted crack and fluff but there was a bit of angst but it was MOSTLY fluff right??
anw hi guys! exams are finally over and i am a free bird (unless i fail my a levels in which case, well) so yes, taekook. the ending is really cheesy but i just wanted to make it fluffier and happier, i guess. like, bam! romance. happiness. cc always appreciated, hit me up on tumblr or twitter, let's all get hyped for hyyh pt.2 together. i'm half-dead as i wrote+edited this so if you catch any errors do let me know.