Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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November 18, 1995

The air is stifling, weighed down with the heat and the roar of a lingering crowd. Taehyung squeezes his way past the throng of people, a small frown pressing creases into the space between his brows as a dull ache begins to settle alongside his temples. His bottom lip is swollen, bruised red and split open from the force of the fist that had slammed into his face earlier and left him reeling. A steel-cold numbness settles over the edge of his chin and his jaw, making it hard to open his mouth. 

Wearily stumbling out onto the open street, he briefly loses his footing over the uneven pavement. He coughs a little and it catches against the back of his throat, bringing blood to his tongue. When he takes in a shuddering breath, he's reminded of the wound that sits beside his sternum and he winces at the tug. Away from the sea of spectators, along the Seoulite streets, the autumn colours bleed into the trees and paint them crimson and gold.

The faded yellows of the leaves match the bruises that mar his skin, painting a stark contrast to the ashen complexion of his skin where discomfort drains him of colour and leaves him paled. He looks like shit and he feels like it too, but the crumpled cheque sitting in the front pocket of his hoodie for five hundred thousand won is almost worth the trouble. As the skies fade to grey with the promise of rain, Taehyung steps into the shelter of a nearby convenience store. His stomach twists with hunger and he ignores the low rumbling sounding from his belly, as he pulls the cap of his hoodie over his head and makes his way over to the back of the shop.

Standing before the wall to wall refrigerator, Taehyung’s gaze drifts over the varying bottles, cans and containers. Colourful labels line the shelves, their packaging ranging from soft pinks to neon blues. Overpaid celebrities smile up at him through the advertisements, all polished teeth and coiffed hair. Taehyung rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek and tastes copper; pulling the door open, he reaches inside for a faceless can of beer.

It's cold inside the fridge and the frigid temperature makes the cuts that line the inside of his palm and the tops of his knuckles sting. Taehyung quickly gathers the essentials: beer, coke, water. They join the other items in his cart—instant ramyeon, microwavable rice and overripe bananas that look as beaten down as he does.  

Grabbing a hand warmer, he makes his way to the counter. He keeps his head low, disheveled hair falling over the length of his eyes. Taking out his wallet, Taehyung eyes the bills pressed between the leather and waits. His ears are met with silence, the seconds ticking by, and he blinks, lifting his head a little when the cashier remains unmoving. 

The boy—man—behind the counter stares at him, doe eyed and curious. He looks at Taehyung with the expression of someone who knows they shouldn’t be staring but is unable to look away and Taehyung wonders briefly if he looks as awful as he feels. Awkwardly, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other and glances down at the untouched items on the counter. 

It’s only November but the muted volume of Christmas carols filters through the overhead speakers. Fairy lights hang from the ceiling, red and green blinking against the warm air of the store as they disperse rainbows across the walls. Amidst the lights and festivities, Taehyung feels sorely out of place. The swelling beneath his brow weighs heavily against his eyelid and, feeling a little self-conscious, Taehyung turns his head to the side and looks away. 

“Sorry, but could you—” he starts, warmth creeping up against his collar as he awkwardly gestures at his neglected purchases.

At that, the employee behind the counter startles a little, eyes sheepish. “Huh—Oh! Right, sorry.” 

Clearing his throat, the man hastily picks up the first of the items and scans the barcode. He looks a little flustered, and as Taehyung throws him a sidelong glance, he takes a peek at the name-tag that rests against the breast of his vest. Park Jimin . Glancing up towards his face again, Taehyung takes in the other’s features quietly. 

He looks young, about the same age as Taehyung. His hair is dark and it hangs over his eyes, where it casts shadows over the rosy complexion of his cheeks. His mouth is equally pink, pursed and pretty; like a petal or a blossoming bud. 

He seems to feel Taehyung’s eyes on him because he looks up again, and this time it’s Taehyung who's caught staring. Their eyes meet, and for a brief moment, something shy settles over Taehyung like a blanket. There’s a lingering pause, one that stretches for the entirety of the chorus to ‘ All I Want For Christmas Is You ’, which came out the year before and seems to have stayed on the radio, stretching from one winter into the next. It's made its way to international radio stations, found a home on their local frequencies amidst the likes of Seo Taiji & The Boys and Kim Kwang Seok.

“Looks like someone did a number on you, huh,” Jimin finally says, breaking the silence. His expression relaxes into a smile and a distant part of Taehyung’s mind flickers with static. Jimin's smile is sweet and small, pressing the smallest of dimples alongside his smile lines. 

There’s a brief pause during which Taehyung tries not to think about the clamminess over his palms. Wetting his lips dryly, he nods a little and murmurs a reply, “Yeah.” Taehyung’s voice sounds a little distant, the back of his throat still irritated from a fight; he clears his throat a little, feeling sheepish. “I guess so.”

"Well, I sure hope the other guy came out looking worse than that,” Jimin teases. The playful lilt in his voice makes the corner of Taehyung’s lips quirk upwards in the beginnings of a smile. 

For a long time now, Taehyung hasn't been in the habit of brief conversations; it’s easy for him to feel a little small, awkward and lost inside of the walls he’s built up around himself over the years. But when the stranger across from him smiles up at him warmly, the knots along his shoulders relax a little and Taehyung has to remind himself to take in a slow, measured breath that steadies the nervous pitter-patter of his heart. 

“I think he did,” Taehyung says, after a beat, and he gives the other a small smile. His thumb fidgets against the seam of his wallet, blunt nail dragging along the threads. The look that Jimin gives him holds something akin to clandestine appraisal and Taehyung feels the colour blossoming over his cheeks. 

As Jimin continues to scan the items, he steals another glance, peering up at Taehyung through hooded, round eyes. Questions glimmer in the brown depths of his eyes and curiosity settles over the dip of his pursed, rosy lips. He looks like he wants to ask why the other is in a state, looking as though Taehyung had been dragged to the ends of the world and back again. Instead, Jimin finishes scanning the items and it’s Taehyung who breaks the silence this time, speaking up before he registers it.

"I box," Taehyung says, by way of explanation. “I’m a...uhm, a boxer.” 

His hands continue to fiddle with the edge of his wallet, thumbing along the stitches. He doesn't know why he's offering up explanations that he hasn’t been asked for, but the words escape him before he can second-guess himself. Lowering his gaze, Taehyung looks down at his idle hands. Underneath the harsh fluorescent lighting, the crimson lacerations over his knuckles paint a sharp contrast against the cyan bruises that bleed into his skin.

“Oh,” Jimin blinks, nodding in acknowledgement. He looks a little skeptical though, as if Taehyung might be a small-town gangster with a bounty over his head. But they’re in the middle of Seoul, and the thugs in this part of the world are  often decked in expensive suits and perfectly styled, neatly trimmed hair. They carry briefcases in their hands and diamond studded watches on their powerful wrists, carrying the fate of people in the palms of their hands.

Taehyung doesn’t own expensive suits and diamond watches. A single, grey suit hangs at the end of his closet, tucked away behind oversized tees and his winter jacket. Once in a while, he wears it to job interviews at companies that have no intention of hiring people like him. Taehyung’s hair has never been pulled back with gel and coiffed to perfection. His hair always looks a little windblown, wild around the edges where they curl inwards and kiss the nape of his neck. The long locks hang in loose waves, falling over his eyes and concealing the gentleness that hides beneath the imposing stature of his height and breadth.

His eyes settle over Jimin’s hands as the latter pinches open a paper bag. Jimin hesitates for a moment and enough time passes that Taehyung lifts his gaze to look up at the other’s face again, wondering if something was wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time Taehyung has been turned out of a store for walking in looking like that . He knows that, looking like this, he seems a lot like trouble and, taking in a deep breath, Taehyung braces himself as he grips his wallet a little tighter. 

As Taehyung lifts his head a little more, the shadows fall away from his eyes and Jimin stills for a moment, standing. Even in this state, under the unflattering lights, Taehyung manages to paint a pretty picture simply by standing there. Gaze softening once more, Jimin smiles again, skepticism dissipating. Taehyung nearly breathes out a sigh of relief. 

“Hold on,” Jimin says lightly, excusing himself with a small smile as he steps away from the till. When he returns, it’s with a tube of ointment and a box of band-aids. He drops them into the bag and they settle against the paper. “There.”

Taken aback, Taehyung begins to shake his head, eyes widening the slightest bit. “Oh, I don’t need those—”

“Oh, no” Jimin cuts in, eyes curving into slender crescents that twinkle beneath the Christmas lights. “No. It’s fine. Please? Don’t worry about it.” 

Taehyung blinks, staring until Jimin’s smile begins to falter and his cheeks begin to turn pink. Cute , he thinks distantly. He hesitates though, brows coming together unsurely. “Is that even…?" 

“Allowed?” Jimin supplies, tinted cheeks rising with his smile. Taehyung nods slowly, gaze lingering on the gentle curve of Jimin’s mouth. 

Shrugging lightly, Jimin sways a little on the balls of his feet. He hums thoughtfully, lips pursing together, and when he opens his mouth, there’s something teasing lacing his words as he asks, “Pretty sure band-aids are the last thing you need to be worrying about.” He throws a pointed glance at Taehyung’s bruised hands as he makes an observation, “I mean, is that allowed? You don’t really look like a professional boxer, if I'm being honest.”

The accusation catches Taehyung off-guard and he falters, lips parting in mild surprise. Amidst the list of things allowed on these streets, fighting was definitely not one of them. Street fighting is illegal—it’s punishable by the law; Taehyung would know. He’d spent a little over forty-eight hours behind bars years ago, nursing a black eye behind his eighteen year old hands. He’s run away from enough cops over the last few years, watching as establishments were raided and torn down by men in blue suits who commit more crimes than the people they beat down with their batons. Fumbling over his words, he says, “I told you, I box—"

“Not professionally though,” Jimin says, nodding at the blisters that adorn the younger’s knuckles. “No gloves, right?” 

Taehyung follows the other’s gaze to his own hands and then flinches, immediately pushing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and balling them up defensively. He swallows dryly; this time, he’s the one avoiding Jimin’s eyes as the other looks him over with an amused smile. 

“I mean...it’s alright,” Jimin adds, chuckling and picking up the bagged items and holding them out. Reassurance wraps around his voice like honey, and for a fleeting moment, Taehyung finds himself wanting to stay with him a little longer. “‘M not gonna tell anyone if that's what you're worried about. We're all just trying to make a living, yeah?"

Not knowing quite what to say to that, Taehyung hesitates briefly and then nods again, slow and measured. He lets out the breath he’d forgotten to exhale and, uncertain, he pulls a hand out of the confines of his pocket. Reaching out, he takes the bag. When their hands brush together in a fleeting, featherlight touch, Taehyung pulls away like he’s been electrocuted. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, lowering his head in a polite, brief bow. When he glances up again, their eyes meet and their gazes linger a little too long. And just like that, as Fate deals her cards, Taehyung turns on his heel and makes his way out of the shop. 

Moments later, the doors slide shut as Taehyung exits the store. Jimin eyes the crumpled bills that sit on the counter, and he bites back a smile. As he rests back against the chair, Jimin hits the Play button on his walkman and brings his headphones over his ears, gaze drifting towards the doors once more. 

Belatedly, the door chimes jingle as a gust of wind blows into the shop, destiny close on its heels. 

______

December 1, 1995

Thud Thud Thud.

Taehyung pants harshly, light on his feet as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He strikes the punching bag again and again and again, each hit harder than the last. The wrappings over his knuckles come loose, the bindings worn through. The skin beneath them is chafed and rubbed red.

He pictures faceless opponents, their sleazy smirks and taunting remarks, and it makes him want to strike the smiles clean off of their faces. Many of the men are much larger than him, heavier and taller. They pull him under their weight with ease and drag his head along the ground. It makes him try a little harder, pushing himself a little further.

Clenching his teeth together, jaw tense, he pulls his arm back and lands a final blow against his target and the force reverberates up along his arm and blooms over his jaw in a lingering ache. Out of breath, he stumbles forward, steadying the punching bag with both of his arms as he brings it to a still. 

Knees unsteady, he sinks to the floor and tries to catch his breath. His heart taps a thunderous rhythm against his ribs, like the distant echo of beating drums. Head swimming and nausea bringing bile to his mouth, Taehyung collapses to the ground and lays himself down, arms and legs spread starfished. 

.

"Alright, come on; up you go."

Taehyung turns his head towards the voice, hair falling over his eyes as his head lolls to the side. He feels like he must have dozed off for a moment, head swimming as he squints a little. Laid out over the faded red tarp of the ring, Taehyung offers a lazy smile to the familiar figure that steps into the room. 

"Hello to you too," Taehyung drawls, dragging a hand down the expanse of his chest. His shirt is damp with perspiration, clinging to his skin as his chest rises and falls with every laboured breath. He's a bit sore, having over exerted himself not even a day after his last fight, one in which he had sorely lost.

Yoongi pauses in front of the ring, arms crossed over his chest. "Come on," he groans. "I have to lock up."

"But I told you," Taehyung interrupts, pushing himself up into a seated position with a quiet grunt. His hair is a little damp and the strands cling to his temples, matted down with sweat. "I'll lock up in the evenings from now on."

"Yeah, right," Yoongi mutters, rolling his eyes. The older male crosses his arms over his chest and lifts his eyebrows. "Like you did last time, and I came in the next morning to my gym completely thrashed." 

Taehyung blinks and rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek, expression bordering on sheepish. "That was literally one time."

"You mean aside from the time you forgot to lock up and I came in the morning to a bunch of homeless drunks pissing on my ring?" Yoongi snorts, shaking his head a little. "Yeah, fuck that; get down from there. I'm closing early tonight." 

Wrinkling the bridge of his nose, Taehyung makes a face as he pushes himself onto his feet and drags them to the end of the ring. Bending over, he ducks beneath the barriers and hops down onto the floor below, sneakered feed landing with a solid thud that reverberates in the stale air. 

"Why? Date night?" Taehyung teases, jabbing an elbow along the other's side as he walks by. He manages to slip away, but not before Yoongi lands a smack against the younger's back. 

It's not often that Taehyung finds himself in a mood that's this playful; he's grown quieter over the years, less inclined towards this brand of casual teasing. He doesn't have many friends in this part of the world, but he has Yoongi. More often than not, Taehyung thinks that he's more than enough. 

"Out." Yoongi is firm, but there's no bite to his voice. Taehyung groans.

It's definitely date night. Taehyung wonders if Yoongi is still seeing that dimpled dancer with the pretty smile and colourful sneakers. Yoongi doesn't divulge in his private life and Taehyung doesn't ask. They're friends, but not like that — people like them didn't need to seek out close friends. And in this line of work, fickle as it is, it's always been better that way. 

The rusted metal gate creaks as Yoongi pulls it down over the front entrance, crouching down to turn the key in the lock against the ground. Outside, the temperature is below zero. It's a striking contrast to the warmth of the overused gym, where the heat of the floor seeps into the redness of Taehyung's post-workout flush.

Away from the confines of the four walls, Taehyung shivers a little. The faux leather of his jacket does little to protect him against the wind, thin t-shirt clinging to his skin with lingering perspiration until the wind lifts away the dampness and leaves goosebumps in its wake. 

And as Yoongi walks away, taking with him the key to the building, Taehyung lifts a hand, flipping his middle finger at the elder's retreating back. They've spent enough seasons together that Yoongi doesn't need to look back to return the favour, bringing a hand over his shoulder with his middle finger held high as he crosses the street. 

The first time they'd met, Taehyung was only sixteen. In retrospect, Yoongi was only eighteen; but at a time when the world seemed too large and too small at the same time, Taehyung found comfort in the older boy who spoke with a dialect that reminded him of home. 

At sixteen, Taehyung had stumbled out through the back door of their little house in the countryside and he had kept running. Leaving behind shattered glass bottles and an all-pervasive fear, he tripped over the stone overlay that lined a path from the house to the wooden gates and he'd let his bare feet lead the way to freedom. 

He didn't stop running until he was at the bus stop, his stepfather's wallet in his back pocket and his mother's ring clenched tightly in his fist. The money was enough at the time to take him to Seoul, and even though the bills reeked of strong soju and bitter cigarettes, they found him temporary homes in jjimjjilbangs —bathhouses—and dimly lit motels. 

When spring had finally come around and the cherry blossoms had begun to weigh down the boughs of the trees, Taehyung met a boy with a sullen mouth and a sharp tongue. Yoongi's words dripped with cynicism, as sharp as the curve of his hooded eyes. He looked as if the weight of the entire world was resting against his back, and his speech switched back and forth between crass vulgarity and wisdom far beyond his eighteen years. 

Taehyung had never asked why or when or how Yoongi had come to be in Seoul. Yoongi wasn't much of a talker and he's always kept mostly to himself, but when Taehyung no longer had a place to go to, Yoongi stayed awake and watched over him as they spent long nights beneath the bridges that connected Seoul's two halves together. He kept the both of them warm with stolen cigarettes and an electric-blue lighter, and Taehyung no longer found himself alone whenever he shook himself awake from the bad dreams. 

Now, at twenty-five, there are scars on his body that have been there longer than the eight years he's spent picking fights with people he hardly remembers; they're the reason he hasn't gone back home ever since he'd left.

The money he earns finds its way into an envelope underneath the frame of his bed. The rest of it finds its way to Geochang, where he knows his mother probably keeps the bills at the very back of the kitchen cabinets in an old tupperware box, just like she used to all the way back when.

At the thought of her, Taehyung presses his lips together thinly and inhales deeply through his nose. He holds his breath, until the walls of his chest begin to ache. 

The tender wound beneath his ribs from a failed fight strains a little and when he exhales, the breath leaves him in a rising cloud. Puffs of translucent mist escape his lips in rising condensation that lingers in the cold air. Shaking himself out of his train of thoughts, Taehyung glances up at the empty gym, at the locked doors and the shuttered windows. 

Vaguely, he wonders if things would have turned out differently if he'd stayed in Geochang all those years ago—he wonders if he'd have even been alive.

Kicking at the ground, he pulls out a cigarette and sets it alight. 

.

Heavy speakers crackle with static, music muffled and distant. The sound flares and then cuts off as the plug falls away from the wall, overused and ill-fitting. 

Pushing himself off of the floor, Jimin glances at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors and takes in his surroundings. He can feel the heavy racing of his heart beating against his shoulder blades and expanding along his chest. Every inhale burns its way through his lungs as he pants heavily, his harsh breaths echoing within the confined space of the empty studio. 

It’s late, and the quiet ticking of the faulty clock now seems almost deafening once the music dies out. It’s dark out, but the second and hour hands point towards the fading ‘5’ at the bottom right corner of the clock, and Jimin twists around to peer out the window, wondering what time it really is.

Fire burns through his veins, heat pulsing along the tips of his fingers and the taut line of his thighs where his muscles are strained from hours of use. The sheer cotton of his shirt clings to his slender frame, damp perspiration bleeding into the fabric and curling the ends of his hair against his temples. He isn’t sure how many hours he’s spent inside of the studio, but the silent emptiness of the streets outside indicates that the world around him has long since retired for the day. 

Feet on the ground, Jimin remains standing in the middle of the room as silver moonlight washes over the fading floorboards. Shadows dance amidst the starlight, and as his mind unravels from its dazed state into a more wakeful one, Jimin finally remembers how to move. Pushing a hand through his hair, Jimin takes a step forward and then another, and the knots in his shoulders begin to loosen  a little. He sheds the veil of concentration, stepping out of the world he so easily loses himself to when the music comes to life.

There’s an ache in his ankle from a strained muscle that wraps around his calf, and when Jimin bends down to untie the ribbons of his ballet shoes, it makes him grimace in discomfort. He shoves the flats into his backpack unceremoniously and packs up his belongings, chugging down the remainder of the water in his bottle before he tosses the container into a bin.

Hauling the bag over his shoulder, he steps into a pair of worn out sneakers, the ends of the laces frayed and discoloured. As he exits the building and steps out onto the pavement, he winces a little at the weight that settles over his leg and hisses softly. 

He’s sore all over, and the electricity that courses through his veins leaves behind a lingering buzz that sticks to his skin like static. Adjusting his backpack, Jimin lowers his head against the wind and counts the bricks beneath his feet as he makes the short walk from the studio to his flat. 

His apartment is two floors above a fast-food joint three blocks down from the hidden alleyways that line the edge of Mapo-gu's riverbank. It's tucked away behind an abandoned officetel, its walls painted red by the neon poster signs that hang from the windows and doorways of neighbouring motels and bars. 

It's not much, but it's home, and in this moment, all Jimin wants is to climb up into his bed and let himself sink into the warmth of the sheets. His feet pick up their pace, steps quickening as he ducks past an unlit street. Makeshift cardboard shelters line the walls, empty soju bottles caught in the loose grips of elderly men and women drunk on heartbreak and loneliness. 

There's a gym up ahead, its faded sign collecting dust, and Jimin walks towards it, crossing the street. Behind it, he can make out the glaring red and green lights of the restaurant that sits two levels beneath his floorboards. 

Gaze lowered once more, Jimin pushes against the biting wind, nose pink. His feet move instinctively, muscle memory guiding him through the alleys and narrow streets as the weariness of his day catches up to him. Exhaustion seeps into his bones and wraps around him in a slow embrace; Jimin closes his eyes for a moment, pausing in his steps as he steadies himself. The air smells stale, of metal pipes and chipped paint. 

Inhaling deeply, Jimin tucks his chin towards his chest and continues on his way. He’s off-set when he collides against another body, a warm, solid weight wrapped in leather and soft cotton, and when Jimin stumbles back and looks up, he's met with the sight of a wild mop of loose, wavy locks and broad shoulders. He'd walked right into a man. Taking a small step back, Jimin opens his mouth in a quiet apology, the words dying on the edge of his tongue as the stranger turns around. 

It's him —and he's as tall and as broad and as beautiful as Jimin remembers him to be. The end of the cigarette held between his lips flickers with orange embers that die before they reach the ground. 

Underneath the twilight and amidst the rising fumes from the cigarette, it’s hard to make out the look on the man's face, but when he lifts his head in mild confusion, street lamps wash his features with a golden glow. Their eyes meet and Jimin feels his heart push up against the base of his throat. 

“You—” The word comes out like an accusation and Jimin instantly presses his lips together, embarrassed.

Turning towards the sound of Jimin’s voice, the man twists around properly to look at him. For a fraction of a second, the man’s eyes widen slightly and Jimin stills, like a deer caught underneath headlights. 

Underneath the moonlight, Taehyung looks a little lonelier than he did on that night at the store, several weeks ago. The night sky presses faded lilacs and blues along the spaces beneath his eyes, passing clouds drawing a veil over his five o'clock shadow. He looks tired, and as he draws in a deep breath, inhaling smoke, Jimin sees recognition flicker in the midnight hues of his eyes.

Closing his fingers around the cigarette, Taehyung pulls it away from his mouth and Jimin watches as the smoke leaves his lips, coiling against the cool, autumn air. Jimin stares for a moment, at the way pink, pillowed lips purse around wispy ellipses of smoke. The silence stretches between them for what feels like miles, drawing oceans that come crashing together when Taehyung opens his mouth and speaks up. “Getting out of work?" 

His voice is still rich, oceans deep and velvety. It's the kind of voice that demands to be heard, even when the words are soft spoken and quiet. 

Adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder, Jimin breathes out a quiet chuckle. "Kind of," he murmurs, eyeing the other quietly. There's a fresh cut over the other's brow, where the short hairs have been knicked away, the skin beneath it turning an ugly yellow.

Taehyung nods. He holds the cigarette between his fingers and glances at it before glancing up at Jimin again, as though he’s wondering if it’s impolite to smoke in present company. He pauses for a moment and then drops it to the ground, putting out the embers with the heel of his shoe. Something about the way the impending precipitation hangs in the humidity of the air leaves Jimin feeling a little reckless, honesty flooding through his veins and settling over his lips. 

"I was on my way home, actually," Jimin explains, unprompted. Lifting a hand, he points behind the other, towards the bright red lights and the creaking doors. “I live right over there.”

He isn’t sure what he’s trying to do, or why he’s telling the other any of this, but there’s a quiet sort of intrigue in Taehyung’s eyes that makes Jimin want to drag the time on a little longer. 

"Are you," Jimin starts slowly, twisting the hem of his shirt around his fingers, "did you just…?" 

Tipping his head to the side, Taehyung lifts a brow. 

"Were you also...you know, working ?" The words sound a little silly even as they leave his lips, but Jimin points to the wound that swells above the other's brow, and his heart stutters a little at the way the other's lips tug upwards at the corners in the hint of a bemused smile.

"Kind of," Taehyung says, echoing back Jimin's earlier words. He's a little less tense now, shoulders relaxing, and Jimin finds himself smiling slowly. Taehyung gestures towards the cut. "This one's from a couple o' days ago, though." 

"Oh. Do you...live around here, then?" Jimin asks, before he can stop himself.

"I—well, I just work out here sometimes," Taehyung answers, pointing towards the building beside them. Following his gaze, Jimin looks up at the building, the faded but familiar gym logo staring back down at him. 

"I thought this place was closed down," Jimin says, confusion pulling his brows together.

"It is," Taehyung says, shrugging. "Officially, at least." Legalities. Meh.

Something electric buzzes in the air, rising between them like water in a kettle. 

"How...how have you been?" Jimin asks, stalling for time, because he wants to know more about this stranger that he knows nothing of. Because Taehyung is beautiful in an untainted sort of way, but the shadows beneath his eyes make Jimin yearn to fall into him. 

If Taehyung is unused to making small talk, or if he's taken aback, he doesn't show it. Instead, underneath the dim city lights across the neighbourhood he feels most comfortable in, the nicotine leaves him unraveled and he smiles a half-smile. He has a lopsided grin, one that curves up into squared edges and shows off the freckle that sits along his bottom lip. There's an endearing quality to it, marred only by the fading blues and greens that line his jaw and temple. "Alright; you?"

"Alright," Jimin echoes, staring. 

A pause. 

Lonely insects hum in the night, their wings playing music that counts down the seconds. Jimin presses his teeth into the pillow of his bottom lip and hesitates.

“By the way, I, uh—I never caught your name the other day,” he pipes up, drawing out the minutes. A part of him wants to stay here, wrapped up in these blue and grey hours with the quiet stranger with a voice that drips like honey. 

Shaking the curls out of his eyes, Taehyung pauses for a moment as though he's thinking it over, and then he opens his mouth in a quiet reply. 

“Taehyung.” 

The name settles atop the very edge of Jimin’s tongue, sweet and simple. It feels familiar for some reason, even as it rests between his lips and bleeds its way inside of his veins. 

“Taehyung,” Jimin echoes back, distantly. “I’m Jimin.”

Taehyung knows it; he remembers the printed lettering over the plastic name tag from several nights ago, but he nods anyway, as if he was none the wiser. 

"I’m sorry, but,” Jimin starts, the words tumbling past his lips before he can stop himself. “Do you...maybe, want to get a drink or something?"

This time, Taehyung does look surprised. His eyes widen a little, like he isn't used to pretty strangers offering to buy him a drink or two. Somehow, Jimin finds that surprising and yet, at the same time, not quite.

"Beer?" Taehyung asks, finally. 

"Beer is good," Jimin nods. He tries not to smile too widely, but his face betrays him anyway.

Pop.

Taehyung pulls at the ring over the can and peers into it, watching the way the carbonated bubbles fizz and rise to the top of liquid amber. It smells stale and too sweet at the same time and Taehyung has to hold himself back from making a face. He's never liked beer, has never been fond of the way it rolls over his tongue and settles in his mouth like something acidic and fermented.

He prefers the crisp edge of soju, but it reminds him too much of the broken bottles back at home. It reminds him of a father who looks nothing like him, and a mother who bore his beatings. Soju tastes a little sweeter, but the memories it brings are bitter. 

Next to him, Jimin pops open his own can and tips his head back without hesitation, gulping down the alcohol like it's water. It makes Taehyung think of his mother, stranded between a string of shitty boyfriends and an even shittier husband, with a hand around a soju bottle and a scowl on her face. He looks away and brings the can to his lips, taking a sip. 

They sit on concrete steps, at the end of an alleyway that separates one street from another. Next to them, the neon signs of a grocery store flicker half-heartedly, Jimin's five storey apartment building in their line of sight, just across the road. 

"How long have you been, uh, 'boxing'?" Jimin asks suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence gently. 

There's a loose wrapping in Taehyung's left pocket that's found its way into his hands, where he twists the ribbon between his fingers and ties it into a knot—it's a lingering habit and he doesn't seem to register it as he looks over at Jimin, brows lifting slightly.

No one's ever asked him that before; no one's ever taken enough of an interest. Taehyung hums thoughtfully, cocking his head to the side a little. "A while," he says finally. "Since I was eighteen, I think."

"Then, how old are you now?" Jimin asks, curiosity getting the better of him. 

"Twenty five," Taehyung answers, lifting his gaze to meet Jimin's. There's something bordering on vague confusion in his dark eyes, as though he can't fathom why Jimin is taking an interest in him, why he's still here and talking to a man who finds simple words difficult to come by. 

"Oh?" Something lights a spark in Jimin's eyes and he sits up a little straighter, grinning. "What month?"

Blinking again, Taehyung looks perplexed for a moment, before he says, "What? My...birthday? December."

"Two months," Jimin points out, smiling. Taehyung looks lost. "You're two months younger than me. We're the same age."

Oh. 

"I suppose I can drop the honorifics then," Taehyung says, and this time, his mouth tugs upwards too. Something about his smile seems to change his entire countenance, setting his features alight and softening his eyes. 

"Don't get too ahead of yourself," Jimin jokes, feigning a scoff. "I just turned twenty six last month, so that's Jimin hyung to you. No honorifics shall be dropped—yet."

Snorting, Taehyung rolls his eyes and he allows himself a bemused grin that he tries to hide against the collar of his jacket. "Okay," he says, dropping the honorifics anyway. Jimin elbows him and it's playful and this is;

It's nice. It's unfamiliar, but it's nice . 

"You sound like the type of guy who'd have a 'hyung' kink, or an 'oppa' kink," Taehyung teases, the ghost of a smirk toying along his lips. There's a beat of silence and a pause that stretches out the seconds.

It's Jimin's turn to look perplexed and when he sputters, he seems affronted to such a degree that it's almost comical to witness. He looks downright offended, but he plays it off with an air of faux defensiveness, expanding out his chest and scoffing. "Okay. And what if I do? What about it?" He asks, almost as if he's challenging the younger. 

And for the first time since they've met, Taehyung throws his head back and lets out a laugh. It's a delighted, effervescent little sound. It bubbles up from just beneath his belly, reverberating against his chest and plucking at Jimin's heartstrings. 

"I guess it's true then," Taehyung says, once his laughter has subsided and faded into an amused smile. 

Only playfully disgruntled, Jimin pretends to feign annoyance, false bravado overtaking him as the alcohol in his system relaxes his mouth. "Why don't you find out for yourself?"

At that, Taehyung blinks, his smile falling away from his features, replaced by surprise. Instantly, Jimin wonders if it's possible to turn a hundred and eighty degrees forward and crawl through the Earth's crust straight into the depths of hell. 

"Fuck," Jimin breathes, and Taehyung's briefly reminded of Yoongi. "Shit, I'm sorry. That was—that was weird, wasn't it?" 

There's a spark in Taehyung's eyes that wasn't there before, one that wasn't there the first time they'd met either. It's a little hard to place a finger on it, hard to tell what he's thinking of, but when Jimin opens his mouth to apologise again, mortified and embarrassed, Taehyung cuts in first.

"No," Taehyung says lightly. He bites back a smile. "Amusing though." 

Jimin blinks and then breathes out a disbelieving laugh. "You know...you're not at all what I expected," he says, shoulders relaxing as the embarrassment begins to lift away with the breeze. The ground is cold beneath them, and the backs of his trousers are already damp with dew. Hugging his knees to his chest, he cradles his second can of beer to his shins and rests his cheek against the curve of his knee as he looks up at Taehyung. 

"What were you expecting?" Taehyung asks, his smile fading in favor of something bordering on curious.

"I dunno," Jimin admits, staring unabashedly. "Just different."

Jimin doesn't believe in love at first sight, but right in this very moment, as they sit on the pavement underneath the stars, he thinks he could want to fall in love with a man of whom he knows only the name of. For a brief moment, he entertains the idea of a shared past life. 

"Not disappointed then, I hope," Taehyung chuckles, looking away once more as he empties the can and downs the remainder of his beer. It burns on its way down his throat and lights a flame that spreads over his chest and up his neck, painting his skin with warmth. Glancing over at the other, Taehyung stills for a moment when he catches Jimin staring.

A single droplet falls from the skies and catches along his cheek. It cools his skin instantly, and Taehyung finds himself wanting more of it. He feels too warm all of a sudden, pinned beneath Jimin's unwavering gaze. 

Another droplet of water signals the rain, and Taehyung glances up at the greying clouds. He clears his throat. "We should get going," he murmurs, and when he looks back down at Jimin, something about his gaze is different. It's darker, a little restless. Like maybe he doesn't want to part ways tonight either.

"Hey, uh," Jimin starts, hesitant. 

"D'you want to come over?" He asks suddenly, emboldened by the look in Taehyung’s eyes. He can’t quite place a finger on the expression that settles within the other’s gaze, but something about it leaves an itch underneath his skin that makes Jimin want to unearth the mysteries that swim within the depths of those eyes.

It’s a bold question, one that’s laced with an unspoken intention, and even as he lets his gaze roam over the wounds that litter Taehyung’s skin like stars, Jimin readies himself for a rejection. It never comes though; instead, Taehyung bites down along the inside of his cheeks and when he opens his mouth to speak, Jimin feels his heart skip a beat.

Okay.

Okay.

They’re quiet as they make their way into the vermillion tinted building, ducking past the velvet draperies of the restaurant. They don’t speak, Jimin leading the way in silence. Beyond the glass bead curtains that separate the front of the building from the back, winding steps lead a path up the staircase to the floors above. 

The air smells stale, dust and mildew fading into the scent of fast-food and spices. The Chinese takeaway establishment at the ground floor level is loud; pots and pans bang together in rapid succession, metal chopsticks hitting the countertops and wash basins as used utensils are switched out for clean ones in between food prep. 

The lighting is dim throughout the building, neon red signs filtering in their light through the cracks in the wooden floorboards. The space is suffocatingly narrow, each floor housing two small studio apartments, the doors facing each other across the landing. 

Distant, muted chatter filters through the walls, and Taehyung feels like he's suspended inside of a fish bowl amidst the artificial lighting and the gypsum walls. Anticipation buzzes against the ends of his fingertips and at the base of his chest, like butterflies. 

They come to a stop, and Jimin fumbles for his keys. Pushing it into the lock, he twists it around until the rust gives way, hinges creaking as Jimin pushes the door open. The space beyond is impressively small. 

Standing outside the apartment, Taehyung can make out the entirety of the layout. From where he stands, he can see the bed against the opposite wall. To the right, there's a narrow desk and an electric fan. A small coffee table and a chair complete the space, floorboards painted red by the light that filters in through the floor to ceiling windows along the right hand side of the room. There's a balcony outside, wide enough for two lovers caught in a tight embrace, and it overlooks the motel across the street. 

When Taehyung steps into the flat and looks out the window, he can see right into the room at the opposite end of the road. The streets are narrow in this part of the city, buildings crowding over one another, and Taehyung doesn't need to strain his eyes to see the woman that cradles a stranger's mouth to her naked breast. He wonders if the couple is aware of the fact that they're out in plain sight of everyone on the street, but as he watches the man lift the woman up and press her bare back against the windows, the answer becomes obvious. 

The neighbourhood is a voyeur's guilty pleasure and an exhibitionist's dream. It's a little dirty and scanty, but the ease with which Jimin drops his bag to the floor and ignores the building up ahead makes it clear that he couldn't care less. He's clearly used to it, and Taehyung looks away as well. 

The lights flicker on as Jimin flips the switch, and when their eyes finally meet again, Jimin smiles small. "Make yourself at home."

It's a small space, much smaller than the one bedroom apartment Taehyung shares with Yoongi. He sits along the edge of the bed because there's nowhere else to sit. The single chair by the window has been pulled away from the narrow desk that usually houses it. On it, is a pile of freshly laundered clothes. 

"You don't have curtains," Taehyung observes, musing aloud. 

Jimin looks up from where he's crouching by the mini-fridge. "Mm? Oh, yeah," he nods, looking a little sheepish. "I don't really—I don't like the dark. Makes me feel kind of suffocated." 

Taehyung nods slowly, eyes raking over the small space. He doesn't like the dark either. 

There's a small kitchenette across from the bathroom door. A single stove top and a sink are situated above the cabinet that conceals the mini-fridge. As Jimin straightens up, he emerges with two more cans of beer, and one of soju. 

Cradling two of the cans to his chest, he holds one out to Taehyung, waiting until the younger takes it before he sets the remaining two cans on the mattress. He seems to notice Taehyung's pensive gaze because he smiles sheepishly and brings a hand up to rub along the nape of his neck.

"It's not much," Jimin says. "But it's home, I guess."

The couple across the street have found their way to the bed, and as Taehyung twists open the ring on his can of beer, his eyes drift back towards them. 

He wants to look away, but he finds himself staring unthinkingly as the two kiss, heated and eager. The view is marred a little by the rivulets of rain water that trek down the windows, but little is left to the imagination and Taehyung presses his tongue along the inside of his cheek.

Suddenly, the room feels a little too warm, a little too stuffy. Clearing his throat, Taehyung looks down at the drink in his hands, too aware of the heat trapped beneath the faux leather of his jacket. He hesitates for a moment before he sets his drink down on the floor, shrugging off his jacket and keeping it aside. 

He can't help himself when he asks, "Is it always like that?" He nods towards the windows

Jimin follows his gaze and then blinks, eyes widening as though he'd only just noticed the full frontal nudity beyond the balcony.

"Oh," Jimin starts, embarrassment colouring his features. "Kind of? I dunno, I just kind of got used to it, I guess. I don't really pay much attention to it.

When Jimin had first moved in, years ago, he'd been perplexed. The water usually ran cold and the heater broke down every few weeks. Sunlight was scarce in the winters due to the position of the windows, and his flat looked right into the motel room across the street. At first, it had been unsettling. But after months and years, he's grown immune to the oddities of the area. 

"Sounds fair," Taehyung murmurs, nodding. He reaches for his drink again, and this time, Jimin turns his attention to the man before him. 

"That doesn't look so good," Jimin says suddenly, changing the topic. He reaches out and gingerly traces a finger along a poorly healed cut just beneath the cuff of Taehyung's sleeve. "You should cover that up; it could get infected."

Craning his neck, Taehyung looks down at the aforementioned wound and hums. "Ah, yeah; I forgot about that," he murmurs. Truth be told, he hadn't cared enough.

(Later, Taehyung will find himself thinking that Jimin makes him want to care though. Jimin makes him want to be cared for.)

"I've got a first-aid kit," Jimin supplies, thumbing at the cooling condensation along the side of the can in his hands. 

Taehyung blinks and begins to shake his head, lips coming together in an attempt to say no . But Jimin is already up on his feet, making his way to look through the shelves above the kitchenette. He returns with a small, compact box, which he waves a little in the air and smiles about. 

"Yeah, everything here's kind of small," Jimin says, jokingly. "Come on, scoot over. Let's see what kind of nasties you're hiding." 

And Taehyung?

Honestly, he can't say no when Jimin smiles at him like that.

The air is heavy, charged with something electric that weighs over their shoulders and burns at their skins. Jimin’s eyes remain lowered, hooded lids concealing the emotions within his irises as he soaks a towel and then wrings it out. Gentle hands dab the damp cloth over chafed skin, wiping away streaks of vermillion red to reveal the soft, tan skin beneath. 

The ceiling fan whirrs quietly, lifting away every slow breath that leaves their parted lips. Unable to look away, Taehyung stares at the way neon signs cast shadows amidst shades of cerulean and red over the other’s demure features. Even in the midst of this crumbling, dim apartment, Jimin looks angelic. Every source of light seems to seek him out, bathing him in a soft glow that leaves him looking ethereal. 

Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's just raw, unfiltered attraction—Taehyung can't seem to look away from the man before him, the couple from earlier at the forefront of his mind. 

Careful fingers dab ointment and oils over bruises and scraped skin before Jimin covers an open wound with gauze. Something restless buzzes within Taehyung’s veins, setting them alight with a flame that burns beneath his skin. The fire scorches at his skin, painting a warm pink over the apples of his cheeks that slowly washes down his neck and bleeds out over his chest as Jimin’s hand comes to rest against a firm pectoral. 

“Does it hurt?” Jimin asks softly, voice quiet. He’s referring to the wounded rib that sits alongside Taehyung’s sternum, but Taehyung thinks of the way his heart constricts around itself at the fleeting touch, and he nods a little. As Jimin’s fingertips trail tender touches over Taehyung’s skin, they give birth to butterflies that rise from his lungs and bloom along the base of his throat, rendering him speechless. He wonders, in this moment, if Jimin can feel the way his heart skips a beat. 

Jimin seems to feel the younger’s gaze on him because he glances up, a silent question glimmering in the depths of his brown eyes. Their gazes meet, and for a moment Taehyung feels himself floating. It’s easy to get lost in those dark orbs; there’s something calming about Jimin’s presence that slows the beating of Taehyung’s nervous heart and makes it easier to breathe. He feels strange, cotton wool settling along the edges of his mind and making it hard to think. 

Lethargy has begun to bury itself inside of his bones, wrapping around him like a warm embrace that draws him closer to the other. Jimin remains unmoving, his hand still resting along the hardness of Taehyung’s bare chest. For a moment, Jimin forgets how to breathe, his fingers wavering a little before they curl against Taehyung’s skin. The dull, flickering orange light of the table lamp casts flecks of gold within his eyes that Taehyung feels bewitched by. 

“Taehyung?" 

The name leaves Jimin’s lips on an exhale as he finally remembers to breathe. They’re closer to each other than they were minutes ago but Jimin makes no move to pull away. His eyes track down Taehyung’s features, taking in the beautiful slope of his nose and the red hue of his lips. 

They linger, studying the freckle that sits along the edge of Taehyung’s mouth, and when he looks back up again, Taehyung is close enough to kiss. And oh, he wants to kiss him so dearly. All he knows is the man’s name and his face, but Jimin is starting to believe he really might have been in love with him in another life. 

He mentally shakes his head, trying to snap himself out of it. That's ridiculous; the alcohol must be catching up. Jimin's lost count of the number of beers he's had tonight, but it's enough to make a part of his mind feel like it's been shut down for the remainder of the night. 

Warm breaths ghost over his lips and Jimin blinks. Taehyung is closer than he'd registered earlier, and it makes his breath catch along an audible inhale. 

“Taehy—" Jimin starts, voice barely rising above the steady beating of the rain against the window panes. He’s hushed though, when warm lips press over his own, stealing his breath away. Oh .

Jimin’s mind is static, heart tapping incessantly against the base of his chest. It flutters, like the wings of a bird trapped inside of its cage, waiting to be set free. Taehyung’s mouth is gentle against his, and when the younger presses closer, Jimin parts his lips with a quiet sigh that the other drinks in easily. It brings a whimper to the end of his tongue and trails a shiver down the length of Jimin’s spine. 

His fingers have curled into a fist, balled up against the other’s sternum, and when Taehyung brings a hand up to cradle Jimin’s face, he leans into the touch. The palm that rests along Jimin’s cheek is warm, and Jimin lets his eyelids flutter shut. 

Up close, Taehyung smells of musk and of cinnamon. He smells like earthy florals, like lavender and the rain outside. It’s as if nature had tenderly kissed him in the early hours of his life and then stayed with him, watching him grow. It leaves Jimin feeling heady, and the flowers that bloom inside of his heart suffocate him with an ache of longing. 

Silver light floods the room as a flash of lightning precedes distant thunder, and Taehyung pulls away, the apology on his lips dying on the tip of his tongue as Jimin surges forward and kisses him again. The makeshift wash basin falls to the floor with a dull clatter, cheap aluminium glinting in the dark where it lands on the faded carpeting. 

Pushing himself up onto his knees, Jimin shifts closer and closes the distance between them. Strong hands find Jimin’s waist and hold him steady as he falls forward, taking Taehyung down with him. They land against the pillows, mouths moving together with a newfound desperation that borders on something feverish. 

The ointments and bandaids lay forgotten, lost between the blankets as Jimin breaks away from the kiss. He’s out of breath, cheeks flushed, and his heart is threatening to rip itself away from him. His shirt has found its way to the floor, soaked around the hem from where the water has seeped through the carpet and wrapped around the cotton. They’re both in equal states of undress, stripped down to their bottoms—Taehyung in his grey sweatpants and Jimin in faded denims. They’re breathless, their skins warm and their veins buzzing, and when Jimin pulls away enough that he can look down at the other, they both forget how to breathe.

The room is silent, bathed in hues of muted yellows from the lamp and flickering reds that beam through the window from across the street. The rain has picked up, and it washes over the city like ocean waves, beating against the brick-lined buildings and paved sidewalks. The wind howls distantly, thunder clapping from a place in the heavens that’s closer to home now, and Jimin swallows dryly. His Adam’s apple bobs noticeably, and he seems to be hesitating for a moment as he strings the words together, letting them wash over his tongue. 

“Do you want to stay the night?” Jimin asks finally, after what feels like a fleeting eternity. He's already out of breath, chest rising and falling with each shallow intake of air. 

He’s met with silence, Taehyung’s hands unmoving from their place against the curve of Jimin’s back. 

“It's just...the rain...” Jimin starts, by way of explanation, and his eyes grow shy, downcast. Taehyung interrupts, voice quiet and soft.

“Yeah.”

Jimin blinks, heart skipping stones over the riverbed of his chest. “Okay,” he exhales, lips still burning from the press of Taehyung’s mouth against his own. 

“Okay,” Taehyung echoes, voice barely audible amidst the storm. 

Swallowing dryly, Jimin leans in again, closing the gap between them. He lingers a small distance away, lips ghosting over Taehyung's. Pressing his teeth into his bottom lip, Jimin stills for a moment, trying to steady his breathing. His eyes skirt along the younger's features, and Jimin thinks it's likely he could never tire of looking at Taehyung's pretty face. 

"I'm gonna kiss you now," he whispers, and Taehyung makes a quiet noise of acknowledgement that rumbles from somewhere along his chest. Bringing his hands up to cradle Taehyung's face, Jimin comes down to press their lips together and this time, it feels electric. 

It's by no means Jimin's first kiss. Jimin has had several kisses, amongst other things, with both men and women. But there's something inexplicably magnetizing about Taehyung that leaves a buzz beneath his skin and static in his veins. Kissing Taehyung feels a lot like getting too close to the stars. It's scalding, and it brings a fever to his skin that makes him want to whimper. 

Taehyung's hands are as broad as Jimin's back, and they span the width of his waist from side to side easily. His fingers rest against the dip of Jimin's spine, tracing the ridges along the hollows. 

Every touch feels scorching, like the sun against his back, and Jimin gasps into the kiss. Taking the chance, Taehyung licks into his mouth, tongue tracing along the curve of Jimin's pillowed lips before tentatively tracing along the edge of his teeth. 

Taehyung tastes like beer and cigarettes, like honey and sweet melon, and Jimin can't seem to get enough as he draws their tongues together. When they pull away to catch their breaths, saliva strings between their lips before breaking apart. 

"Do you have—" Taehyung starts, his question dying on the tip of his tongue, and Jimin nods, breathless and dizzied. 

There's a moment's scuffle, where Jimin scrambles away from the younger and out of bed, hasty in his pursuit. When he returns, condoms and a packet of lubricant in hand, Taehyung's sweatpants have already found their way to the floor. The tented arousal beneath his briefs leaves Jimin's mouth dry with an unquenched thirst. 

He feels like a teenager all over again, nervous hands fumbling with the button of his own jeans as he strips out of them and climbs back into bed. 

"How do you want it?" Jimin manages to ask, heart racing against the base of his chest. 

"I don't mind either way," Taehyung murmurs, glancing down at the packaged latex held between Jimin's gentle fingers. Taehyung isn't picky in regards to how he gets fucked, and right now, he doesn't care about the formalities, eager to be held close. It's been a long time since he's had the warmth of another body against his own, and an even longer time since he's been stretched out and filled to the brim. On that thought—

"Wait," Taehyung breathes; a sudden change of mind. "Actually, could you..?"

And for a moment, Jimin looks perplexed. Perspiration is already beading along his brow. 

"Fuck me," Taehyung elaborates, voice a little terse, and Jimin feels his stomach swoop towards the ground, because. Okay. Alright, yeah. 

In retrospect, it's better that way. Because when Jimin slides down the waistband of Taehyung's briefs, he nearly groans aloud, hissing a quiet, 'fuck , ' that almost makes the younger blush. Fuck , is right though; Taehyung's fucking huge, and Jimin doubts the condom would have fit over his cock. It would tear probably, if not settle over it a little too snugly. 

He stares, a little too openly, a little too unabashed, until Taehyung has to pull him in and kiss him again to keep him from staring any longer. 

And it's evident that neither of them has done this in a while, too caught up in the blues of life, because Jimin's hands are a little nervous as he works the younger open while Taehyung frowns and grits his teeth through the stretch. 

"Shit, you're so tight," Jimin whispers, scissoring his fingers apart as he attempts to loosen the other up carefully. The lube squelches as some of it trickles out, dampening the sheets. 

"S'been a while," Taehyung breathes, hips lifting a little as he tries to accommodate. 

"You know," Jimin murmurs after a while, in an attempt to lighten the air, "I wouldn't have taken you for a bottom."

The words seem to catch Taehyung off-guard because his body relaxes for a moment, the frown over his brow fading as he lifts his gaze and looks up at Jimin. He looks a little incredulous, doe eyed and glistening with sweat, and after a moment's pause, he breathes out a brief laugh. "No?" 

Breaking into a grin of his own, Jimin shakes his head a little, rotating his wrist as he eases his fingers in a little further, massaging along the inside of Taehyung's sensitive taint. "Nope."

"'Surprise, surprise," Taehyung chuckles, biting his lip and stilling for a moment when Jimin's fingers brush along the sensitive gland that sits at the base of his spine. He breathes in sharply through his nose, stomach tensing, and Jimin fixes his gaze over the younger's face.

"Is that it? Right there?" Jimin asks, voice soft. He watches, fascinated with the way Taehyung's expression contorts into one of pleasure. He keeps his hand like that, palm facing up as his fingers knead at Taehyung's prostate. He massages it in gentle circles, over and under, pressing the pad of his finger to the smooth roundness of the sensitive bundle. 

Taehyung's lashes flutter, eyelids growing heavy, and he bites down on his bottom lip, breaths shallow. He shifts a little, spreading his legs a little wider. Inching a hand towards his navel, Taehyung brushes his fingers along the head of his own cock, where it curves up to rest against the base of his belly. He teases at the slit, tracing the tip of his index finger over the small opening until his finger comes away sticky and damp. 

"You know," Taehyung starts, letting his eyes flutter shut as he rests his head back against the pillow comfortably. Hand wrapping around his cock, he gives himself a slow, measured stroke upwards and his breath hitches audibly. "If you don't fuck me soon, I might just come on my own."

Jimin fumbles a little, embarrassed; he'd only been trying to work him open. (Truth be told, Jimin had zoned out, caught up in staring at the pleasure over Taehyung's handsome face as his fingers circled his prostate.) 

Wiping the excess lube off on the sheets, Jimin is quick to roll on the condom. The rubber feels cool, snug over his aching, hard erection, and his thighs tremble a little as he rolls it down all the way to the hilt. He lines himself up with Taehyung's hole and holds his breath for a moment, teasing the head of his cock along the glistening rim. 

He slides in slowly, eyes transfixed on the way his cock disappears into the tight heat. He only remembers to breathe once he's buried to the hilt, entranced as he stares at the point where they now connect. He's a little dazed, and when he lifts his gaze slightly, watching the way Taehyung strokes himself lazily, he reaches out and pushes away the younger's hand. 

He's awed, a little bit, when he wraps his own hand around Taehyung's cock. His fingers just about close around the girth entirely, and he strokes upwards experimentally. It's heavy in his hand, hot to the touch, and when he strokes upwards and gently presses down the base of his palm, Taehyung groans aloud and Jimin feels his own cock twitch a little in response.

He feels out of breath already, and when Taehyung draws him in for a kiss, Jimin briefly feels like he might pass out. Once they settle, accommodating each other, Jimin slowly begins to move his hips. He pulls out about halfway and then pushes back in. They kiss through the slide, open mouthed and feverish, and groan in unison. 

They're both more than a little tipsy, veering on just this end of loose limbed and wanton. What had escalated into eager hands and desperate kisses slows down into a lazy, languished fuck. Their kisses are sloppy, more tongue and spit than anything else, and when Taehyung pulls away with a quiet gasp, Jimin busies himself with lapping up the perspiration that collects along the hollows of Taehyung's pretty collar bones. 

Taehyung feels overstimulated, head swimming with too much beer and too little air. Jimin kisses him over and over, his hands and his mouth seemingly everywhere all at once. When Taehyung comes, it's with a rosé tinted groan, pink lips parted and back arching off of the sheets. He spills over his tummy and the inside of Jimin's palm while the latter picks up his pace, chasing his own release as pinpricks dance underneath his eyelids.

Later, after Jimin comes (and the stars beneath his eyelids explode into fireworks), he laps up the bittersweet stickiness that coats the ridges of Taehyung's chiseled abdomen. He cleans off his cock as well, sucking and licking until Taehyung whines at the overstimulation, half heartedly pushing him off. 

The next morning, when Jimin's eyes open to sunlight flooding the room, he's all alone. The space next to him is empty, sheets cold to the touch, and if it wasn't for the smell of sex in the air and the clothes strewn over the floor at the foot of the bed, Jimin might have been convinced he'd imagined it all. 

______

It's been nearly two weeks since that night.

Jimin reaches out, adjusting the cereal boxes on the top shelf. He sets them up in a straight line, fingers skimming along the cardboard as he presses his lips together and holds back a sigh. 

The cart next to him is filled with items to stack, and he moves almost robotically, mind elsewhere. The headphones over his ears don't play any music, but they amplify the ringing in his ears as his thoughts drift. 

Putting down a box of oats with a little more force than necessary, Jimin lets out the quiet sigh. He's being ridiculous. 

Jimin has slept with enough people before, some of whom he has absolutely no recollection of at all—be it their names or their faces. He's not one to make a big deal out of it, not one to hold onto one night stands and pine after strangers he's only known for a handful of hours.

This time though, as Jimin stares at the shelves along the whole grains and cereals aisle, he finds himself thinking of the boy with the squared smile and tainted skin. He wonders if Taehyung's alright, if he's lost another fight or if he's won a cheque or two. 

Frowning faintly, he reprimands himself for acting like a schoolboy with a crush, willing himself to forget about the other. A part of him feels foolish, because although it had been in passing, he'd briefly entertained the idea of destiny bringing them together again. 

Foolish, because he's spent several minutes and hours daydreaming and thinking back to Taehyung's low voice and pretty mouth, his wide hands and heavy cock. Shit. He shakes his head. Not here—not in the middle of the god damn grocery store. Not when he has other things to worry about.

Like his audition. 

Fuck . The audition. Twisting on his heel, Jimin pushes himself up on the tips of his toes in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the analogue clock that hangs on the wall next to the counter. His shift should be over soon, and if he hurries, he might be able to squeeze in a couple hours of practice. 

Swan Lake, or Lebedínoye ózero —composed by Pytor Ilyich Tchaikovsky, circa 1875. Jimin has been practicing for months, having auditioned for the role of Prince Siegfried. He'd been turned down for the same role last year, but with a new ballet company in town and more practice under his belt, Jimin hopes that the blisters on his feet and the grace in his poise will earn him a spot on a stage. 

.

Ten days later, Jimin comes home to a letter wedged underneath the edge of his door and he nearly yells in relief. Signed by the director, written in plain ink: 

Congratulations —

His heart skips a beat and soars.

The stranger from all those weeks ago is forgotten, and Jimin doesn't think of him again. 

For now.

______

December 29, 1995

Sugar. Salt. Lime. 

Taehyung toys with the edge of his glass, dragging a finger along the rim of the cup. When he brings his finger to his mouth, his lips buzz with the sweet and sour notes that will linger on his tongue for the rest of the night. 

He drowns out the background noise, the bass of the music and the loud cheers. Neon strobe lights beat down over his back, where he's turned away from the dance floor and towards the bar. Somewhere in the crowd, someone hollers before a glass shatters against the ground. 

"Rough week?" 

Taehyung blinks, looking up. The tattooed bartender offers him a sympathetic smile. Amidst the colourful lights, the man's hair bleeds blue and lilac. He cocks his head to the side and Taehyung catches sight of the several earrings that line the bartender's helix and lobe. 

Dark ink adorns the expanse of his arms where both sleeves are rolled up towards his elbows, and something in Taehyung's gut twists and coils. There's a ring on the man's right hand though and so Taehyung looks away, murmuring an idle, "Not really," that passes off as uninterested. 

Distantly, Taehyung finds himself thinking of the man from two weeks ago, in the apartment that overlooks cheap motels and neon signs. His fingers twitch a little, around the cigarette in his hands. He shifts in his seat, a little restless, and he presses the dying cigarette in his hands into an ashtray. 

"Okay." 

Taehyung blinks, twisting around in his seat at the sound of a familiar voice. Speak of the devil. 

He's met with a familiar smile and a pretty face, dark hair pushed back over his forehead. Jimin grins, lifting a brow, and nods towards Taehyung's untouched drink. 

"Now this is just getting weird," Jimin says, laughing. He'd genuinely forgotten about the wide eyed stranger for a while, caught up in the excitement of a new stage in his life. Now though, with a few cocktails in his system and music in his veins, Jimin finds himself feeling a little giddy at the sight of Taehyung.

And yeah. It is getting a little weird. Taehyung gawks at him a little, the bar fading into distant white noise. In a city as busy as bustling, metropolitan Seoul, the odds of bumping into the same person more than once within the span of a month were slim to none. 

Third time seems to be the charm though, because as Jimin pulls up the empty bar stool next to him, it's easy for them to fall into something that borders on playful and familiar. The spark had never quite faded away, and now, underneath the heavy bass and moving lights, a different sort of flame is reignited. 

"Are you following me or something?" Jimin asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

At that, Taehyung breathes out a snort and rolls his eyes, the knots in his shoulders relaxing. "I was here first," he muses. 

"Are you implying that I'm the one following you, then?" Jimin grins, leaning against the bar as he takes his seat. The bartender from earlier has moved on, taking another order. 

"Aren't you?" Taehyung questions, lifting a single, dark brow. He smiles small, amusement glimmering in the depths of his eyes. 

At that, Jimin smiles in a clandestine sort of way, bringing a teasing finger to his lips as though asking Taehyung to keep a secret. Taehyung smirks a little, gaze settling on the other's mouth, and it's easy to keep staring now that he knows what those lips feel like against his own. 

"Buy me a drink?" It comes out as more of a request than a question, as Jimin turns to face the bar, hooking one heeled boot along the step of the stool. 

"Are you here alone?" Taehyung asks instead, absently waving over the bartender. He points to his glass and wordlessly asks for another one of the same, sparing the man a moment's look before his attention drifts back towards Jimin. 

"That depends," Jimin says, eyes twinkling. "Alone in what way?"

"Alone, as in; have you got someone to go home with tonight?" Taehyung presses, lips settling in a thin line. 

"Why?" Jimin's expression turns coy. "Are you volunteering?" 

At that, Taehyung presses his lips together and looks back towards the bar. They're flirting. Taehyung's heart tumbles a little in his chest. He hasn't felt this sort of an attraction towards someone in a long while. 

"Would you like me to?" Taehyung asks coolly, bringing his glass to his lips. The salt and sugar stings at his tongue, crystalline and rough. 

"Dunno," Jimin says lightly, cradling his chin atop his palm, elbow on the counter. "Are you gonna run away like last time?" 

At that, Taehyung's gaze flickers with mild embarrassment as he throws the other a sidelong glance. "At this rate, even if I did, I feel like you'd just end up finding me again," he muses, voice quiet. 

The smile that plays over Jimin's mouth is bemused, gentle. "Would you hate that terribly?" 

Jimin's smile is infectious and Taehyung finds himself slowly smiling back. "No; no, I think not." 

Laughing softly, Jimin shakes his hair out of his eyes. "I'm here with friends," he says, pausing, before adding, "Sort of. Co-workers, maybe? We're celebrating." 

"Yeah?" The bartender returns with Jimin's drink, and Taehyung pushes the glass closer to him. 

Leaning in close, eyes sparkling, Jimin smiles through pursed lips and declares proudly, "I'm going to be performing in a ballet— Swan Lake. " 

"Tchaikovsky?" Taehyung asks, lifting a brow.  

Blinking, Jimin's smile falls away in favor of pleasant surprise. "You know him?" 

"What? Only one of the best composers of all time?" Taehyung grins. "Come on; who doesn't know him?"

Looking impressed, Jimin settles back on his seat, brows raised. He breathes out a chuckle, tipping his head to the side. "You really are not at all what I'd expected," he says, repeating his words from nearly a month ago. 

"I don't know what you were expecting when you came across a queer boxer, but…" Trailing off, Taehyung bites back a smile, watching as Jimin throws his head back and lets out a genuine laugh. 

"Touché," Jimin acquiesces, raising his glass. Taehyung does the same and their glasses come together, ringing sharply. 

"To Tchaikovsky—may his artistry continue to live on," Jimin says, tipping his head back as he brings the glass to his lips. He downs the drink in a single go, relishing in the way it burns on its way down. 

"To you," Taehyung says instead, lifting his glass towards Jimin. Taking a small sip, he sets the glass back down and rests his weight against the bar. "Break a leg." 

"Thank you," Jimin quips, eyes sparkling. 

There's a bit of a pause before Taehyung speaks up, the hint of a playful joke in his voice even as sarcasm coats his words, "You know, aside from classical music, I also enjoy reading and painting." 

Feigning a gasp, Jimin brings a jewelled hand to his chest. "Astonishing. Look at you, breaking stereotypes and all that."

Mouth quirking upwards in a poorly suppressed smile, Taehyung turns away for a moment, lightly biting down on the end of his thumb. 

.

"Fuck," Taehyung slurs, frowning in slight disorientation. "I'm sorry." 

They're standing in the bathroom, a little over an hour later. With fumbling hands, Taehyung dabs at the front of Jimin's trousers with a handful of paper towels. Crimson liquid bleeds into the crisp white linen of Jimin's shirt, staining the front of his trousers cherry red. 

Less than ten minutes earlier, they'd been joined by Yoongi and his—partner? Boyfriend? Friend? Wrapping his arms around Taehyung's mid-section, Hoseok had squeezed him inside of an impromptu embrace.

"Happy birthday, Taetae," he'd sing-songed, to Jimin's delight and surprise, both of which were short-lived when Hoseok accidentally nudged the glass out of Taehyung's hands and onto the floor. The glass had shattered instantly, its contents spilling over an unsuspecting Jimin's lap. 

Now, amidst the repetitive apologies and clumsy hands, Taehyung sinks to his knees and holds the towels to Jimin's thighs even as Jimin tries to take a clumsy step backwards. 

"I'll pay you for the dry cleaning," Taehyung says, distracted as he tries and fails to soak up the stains fruitlessly. 

"It's fine, really," Jimin says, for what feels like the umpteenth time. His stomach lurches a little as Taehyung's hands veer dangerously to the side, and his hands dart forward, grabbing the younger's wrists before his hands can come down over the semi that Jimin is already sporting beneath the pleated front of his black trousers. 

Pausing, Taehyung blinks, hands hovering inches away from where Jimin simultaneously wants them the most and the least. Belated realization settles in and he blinks again, hastily withdrawing both hands. The napkins fall to the ground, and Jimin freezes, teeth pressing into the plush curve of his bottom lip.

Their eyes meet, Taehyung's head tipped back so that he can look up at the other from where he kneels on the bathroom floor. He's now acutely aware of the slight tent along the front of Jimin's pants. Eventually, his gaze dips, falling below Jimin's belt, where an arousal rests in line with Taehyung's lips. 

Suddenly, the air feels a little heavy, charged with a sort of tension that's different to the flirtatious air between them at the bar. 

Maybe it's the last of the gin, or the sugary cocktails, but Taehyung opens his mouth before he registers it, words a little strained as he dares to ask, "Need some help with that?"

Breathing out a startled, short laugh, Jimin brings his hands up to run them through his hair, heat settling low in his belly. He hesitates a little, biting his lip, and he swallows thickly. "Okay," he whispers weakly. 

The sound of the zipper coming undone feels almost deafening. Jimin watches on, the back of his mind full of rolling tumbleweed and little else. His ears are ringing, the background noise of the club feeling miles away. Here, separated from the world by a gypsum door, Jimin feels his stomach swoop downwards as Taehyung tugs down his ruined pants and frees his arousal. 

The drink has seeped through the fabric of his trousers and into his underwear, where the light grey briefs are now tinted pink. When he'd first spotted Taehyung by the bar earlier that night, this was not the note Jimin had envisioned the night to end on—although he'd be lying if he said that he hadn't hoped for something along these lines. 

In fact, Jimin would be lying if he said that this was it; that after tonight, none of this had to mean anything. Because Jimin isn't sure he wants this to end now, not when Taehyung's lips feel like heaven against his skin and his tongue feels like sin. So he says as much, as Taehyung leans in and licks a stripe along the base of Jimin's cock. 

"I was thinking," Jimin starts, a little breathless. 

Taehyung hums, an invitation for Jimin to go on, as his mouth latches onto Jimin's perineum and sucks lightly. 

"Fuck—I was thinking," Jimin tries again, hands blindly grabbing at Taehyung's shoulders to steady himself. "I wanna see you again. We should—we should do this again, maybe." 

Another hum, nonchalant and pensive. The sound rumbles against the base of Jimin's cock and it makes him go weak in the knees. 

"Do you have a phone? I could give you my number," he rambles on, getting ahead of himself before Taehyung parts his lips and pulls the head of Jimin's cock into his mouth, tonguing at the slit. That makes him shut up for the time being, and Jimin bites down on his tongue, muffling a quiet groan as the outside chatter grows louder in proximity. 

Closing his eyes, Taehyung focuses on the way the weight of the cock settles against his tongue. It's heavy and sticky, bittersweet and warm, and when he groans softly, the sound reverberates up Jimin's cock until it leaks precum that drips along the back of Taehyung's mouth and coats his tongue with pearlescent white. He takes his time, tongue and hand working together to bring Jimin to the edge. 

His knees are already beginning to ache, the space between the tiles irritating the skin of his legs. As Taehyung shifts a little closer, it presses indentations into his knees, leaving marks that will fade by the morning. 

Hollowing his cheeks, Taehyung sucks hard , and he whines a little at the hand that cards through his hair and pulls up a fistful of it, tugging harshly. Pulling back for a moment, he tries to catch his breath, breathing harshly through his nose as he wets his lips. He can taste the salt there and not much else aside from a sugary sort of stickiness that coats the inside of his mouth.

Closing his fingers around the girth of Jimin's cock loosely, Taehyung strokes upwards and then down again, picking up a slow but steady pace that begins to pick up as Jimin is brought closer to the edge. He watches, doe eyed and focused, as Jimin reaches out a hand and steadies himself, gripping the edge of the sink.

He jerks him off, short, quick strokes now that spill droplets over Taehyung's parted lips and welcoming tongue. Their eyes meet, and Jimin's breath catches audibly at the sight of Taehyung on the floor, tongue out and mouth open. It's a pretty sight and Jimin feels his belly tighten, scrotum tense. When he comes, he spills over Taehyung's mouth and chin and the collar of his shirt, apologies tumbling past his lips profusely. 

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry—" he fumbles, shaky hands making a grab for the paper towel dispenser on the wall next to them. Taehyung looks a little stunned, like he'd been expecting a warning of some sort, but he looks fazed for only a moment before he takes the napkins that Jimin holds out to him. "I'm so sorry, I just—"

Wiping his mouth and his jaw, Taehyung uses the remaining paper to clean up his shirt. It only seems to make it worse though, so he gives up and tosses them into the bin before pushing himself up onto his feet. He catches his reflection in the mirror and turns to the sink, turning on the tap. 

"02-662-5348," Taehyung says simply, running his hands underneath the faucet. He watches as the water wicks away the semen, waiting until most of it has circled down the drain before he picks up the soap. 

Jimin blinks, freezing half way through pulling up his trousers. He stares, perplexed, one hand over his limp cock as he pauses in the midst of tucking it into his stained briefs. "Huh?"

"I thought you wanted my number," Taehyung says, blinking. He looks over his shoulder, having washed his hands and his face. Turning around to face Jimin again, he shakes the water off from his hands and leans back against the sink, the hint of a smirk over his face.

"Wha—oh. Oh, yes," Jimin stammers, hands patting down the pockets of his shirt and his trousers. "I don't...I don't have a pen on me."

"You dance, don't you?" Taehyung asks, amusement glimmering in his eyes. 

"What? Yeah," Jimin says, brows pinching together in confusion.

"I thought dancers had a good memory, or was I misinformed?" Taehyung asks, quirking a brow. "I mean, that's what I've heard."

Jimin looks a little stumped for a moment, the cogwheels in his mind turning slowly before he nods again, a little unsure. Jimin does have a good memory; but he isn't sure if that stands true when he's got alcohol in his veins and his own cum over his thighs. 

"Okay, then," Taehyung says lightly, smiling. "02-662-5348." 

"Zero, two—" Jimin murmurs, willing the numbers to stick to the ridges in his brain, "six, six, two— fivethreefoureight ." The words leave him in a rush, and he recites them again, muttering the numbers under his breath until he's sure he's got it memorized. 

Taehyung can't help but grin, and he hides the smile against his collar as he steps past Jimin and sidles out of the bathroom first.

Later that night, the phone rings twice before Taehyung answers it. 

It's the first time Taehyung has received a phone call on his birthday—ever. Jimin's voice on the other end of the line is hesitant, bordering on shy, and for the first time in a long time, Taehyung finds himself wanting to give in to whatever this was.

Glancing at the clock, where the second hand points at three in the morning, Taehyung sinks onto his bed. The phone cord stretches taut across the room, and Taehyung tries to contain his smile as Jimin talks to him until the sun begins to rise. 

______

January 08, 1996

Taehyung eyes the phone, lips pressed together in a thin line as he taps his foot against the ground. His legs are restless, bouncing impatiently, and he leans back against the chair. He's spent the last hour or so doing this, pacing around the small apartment and then seating himself on the edge of the threadbare chair next to the only table in the room. 

There's a single phone in their shared apartment, and the only time it seems to ring is when Yoongi calls to let Taehyung know he'll be spending the night out. It's sleek and black, a new model supposedly. It records voice notes and its sensor glows red when a call is missed.

When they'd first moved into the new apartment and finally paid for a landline, the first thing Taehyung had done at the time was go to the post office and pen a letter. In it, he had included his new address and the telephone number, along with a few notes of ten thousand won for his sister's birthday. 

He'd been hopeful at first, waiting for a letter or a call in return. He'd left Geochang in the mid-80's, at a time when most homes did not have a phone, and Taehyung had no way of knowing if they had one now. 

But it's been years, and instead of telling himself that his family had chosen to not get in touch with him in any way at all, it was easier to make believe that he'd made a mistake in writing down the home address when he'd tried to get in touch. After all, it was possible that after several years of being away, he could have forgotten.

Deep down, Taehyung knows that's impossible; he doubts he could ever forget. There never seems to be a problem when it came to the money he wires over to his mother's bank account, though. It's always withdrawn on time, and, with a strange sense of relief, Taehyung finds comfort in that as well, knowing that if nothing else, she was still alive. 

Somewhere nearer to the fishing villages down south, lying South-West to the borders of Daegu, his sister turns nineteen and Taehyung finds himself growing listless as he stares at the phone. He stares until his vision begins to blur, the cord overlapping as his eyes lose focus.

Hours later, the phone rings and Taehyung startles, racing forward to answer it. Instead of voices from his past, he's greeted by familiar lilt of Jimin's voice, and Taehyung isn't sure how he feels between the way his stomach sinks in disappointment while his heart skips a beat.

Pushing aside the lingering disappointment, Taehyung manages to focus on the way Jimin sounds when he asks if he can come over for the night. Taehyung thinks about it for a moment, lifts his gaze to the window, and when his heavy heart begins to feel a little less burdened, he says yes .

And just like that, they fall into one another again and again.

And again.

_____

February 28, 1996

They're not a thing . Not really.

Taehyung tells himself as much even as he watches Jimin stretch along the faded carpet on the floor of his room. Resting his head back against the edge of his bed from where he sits on the floor, Taehyung watches the way Jimin smiles to himself, a kaleidoscope of colours spilling over his elfen features. 

They're watching television, but the quality is poor. Yoongi had bought a second-hand box TV a few months ago and Taehyung had helped him carry it up the stairs into their apartment. It rarely works as it should, the antenna on top hanging precariously where Yoongi had fixed it into place with duct tape. 

The audio doesn't work, so Jimin watches his favourite movie in silence while Taehyung watches him, hands busy with the piece of twine in his hands. He twists it around his finger until the circulation cuts off and the edge of his nail turns blue.

A few feet away, Jimin yawns and interrupts Taehyung's train of thought. Taehyung grins lightly, reaching out and playfully nudging the heel of his foot against the supple curve of the other's ass. 

It's snowing outside, but the heated floor keeps their bodies warm and Jimin relishes in it as he stretches his limbs, catlike and nimble.

"Tired?" Taehyung asks. 

Neither of them had slept much the night before, too caught up in each other to lay their minds to rest. Taehyung can still feel the weight of Jimin's desire inside of him, settling against the base of his spine like something nostalgic and heavy. The bruises over his neck and shoulder hurt differently now, a product of Jimin's lips on his skin instead of the usual fists against his body.

"Mm," Jimin hums. He rolls onto his back and turns his head to look up at Taehyung, smiling lazily. There's an impressive mark sitting along the jut of his collarbone, blossoming into shades of red, green and purple. Looking at it now, Taehyung feels a sense of smug satisfaction. 

"When did you say your roommate was coming back, again?" Jimin asks casually, rolling over once more so that he was facing Taehyung. Reaching across the carpet, Jimin wraps a loose hand around Taehyung's ankle, thumbing along the thin skin. 

In these last couple of months, Taehyung has come to learn that Jimin's appetite for pleasures was insatiable. He had the stamina of a dancer, almost unrivaled to Taehyung's own fighter's endurance. It helps that Taehyung is in every way, wholly and utterly attracted to the man before him. 

There's something captivating about Jimin in a way that's unforgettable, clawing underneath Taehyung's skin and leaving its mark. 

"Not for a couple of days," Taehyung says, lifting a brow.

There's a look in his eyes that Taehyung has become well accustomed to, and as he answers, he bites back a smile and revels in the way Jimin gets up and closes in on him with a twinkle in his eyes, movie forgotten.

______

April 12, 1996

“I’m going to Geochang tomorrow.” 

Jimin looks up from where he’s sitting behind the counter, faded purples and blues pressed into the tired spaces beneath his eyes. The stage has been exhausting, but in a good way.

He blinks, smiling softly, and cocks his head to the side. “Okay,” he says. There isn’t much else to say. 

They're not—they're still not dating . At least, not in the traditional sense of the word. They don't go out for dinner and they don't go to the movies. They don't cuddle after sex, and they only kiss in the midst of it. 

They're not dating, and so Jimin doesn't think he's meant to have an opinion on whether Taehyung stays in Seoul or not. 

Across from him, at the small table, Taehyung picks at the noodles in the cup, stringing them along the wooden chopsticks in his hand. The convenience store is quiet, mostly empty aside from the couple that talks in hushed whispers as they shop together, arms intertwined. 

He doesn’t have an appetite, and a roasted sweet potato sits neglected next to the bottle of water. Looking away from Jimin, Taehyung shifts on his seat and glances up at the shop windows, staring at the reflection mirrored in the floor to ceiling glass panels. He takes in the sight of himself; the fading bruises and healing scars, the too-long hair and weary set of his mouth. 

Behind him, the shop is bright and pristine clean. The couple from earlier makes their way to the counter and pays for their items. Once again, Jimin and Taehyung are left by themselves; two men whose relationship borders on the odd precipice between being more than strangers and less than friends, with a desire to map each other out and kiss away the creases between their brows. 

Jimin doesn't think he's meant to have an opinion on whether Taehyung stays in Seoul or leaves, but as the seconds tick by slowly, Jimin opens his mouth. He speaks up before he can help it, his voice carrying across the store. “How long are you going for?”

The noodles are cold, and they stick together as Taehyung prods at them unwantingly. “A day, maybe. A week, perhaps. Could be a month.” 

Taehyung looks back down at the table and he wonders if things have changed. If he closes his eyes, it's easy to picture his mother with her slender frame and short, cropped hair. He looks nothing like her. From his height to his smile and the shade of his skin, Taehyung has been told he looks just like his father. 

Except for his eyes; he has his mother's eyes. 

Taehyung wonders if his life would have been any different if his father was still alive—probably. Maybe not. 

He might not have met Jimin, though, if that had been the case. 

“Will you call?” Jimin asks, like they’re more than just two people who fall into bed together. A small part of him feels hopeful that they are.  

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, without hesitation, and Jimin smiles softly. 

“That’s a lie,” Jimin says, leaning back against the chair. He looks amused, soft, pink lips tugging upwards. He appreciates the sentiment though, truth or not.

“Why would I lie about that?” Taehyung asks, lifting his gaze to meet Jimin's. Outside, the cars line up before a red light and pedestrians laugh as they cross the street amidst a group of friends. Crimson and yellow illuminate Taehyung’s features against a backdrop of bokeh lights that find their way into the shop through the icy windows. 

The question seems to catch Jimin off-guard for a moment and he stares, drinking in the way the street lights cast light over the younger’s handsome features. Even from across the store, Jimin can make out the shadows that dance over Taehyung’s cheekbones, following every dip and rise of his long, beautiful lashes. 

Instead of answering, Jimin presses his lips together until they’re slightly pursed. “Why Geochang?” He asks, eyes curious. He smiles then, teasing a little. “Do you have friends there? A lover?"

At that, Taehyung’s lips quirk up into a small smile of his own. “No friends,” he says lightly, despite the heaviness that sinks along the bottom of his chest, weighing down his lungs with something melancholic.

He thinks back to earlier that morning, to the ring of a phone and the cold discomfort that had wrapped its fingers around him when he'd first heard his sister's voice. He hadn't recognized it at first; the last time he'd heard her or seen her, she was only nine and her voice was higher, almost musical in its quality. Now, it sounded tired. 

Jimin lifts a brow, gaze pointed. 

“And no lover,” Taehyung adds, almost as an afterthought. 

“I was about to kick you out of the shop for a second there; almost worried that I was the other man ,” Jimin says, jokingly. The smile on his face is audible in his voice, and Taehyung’s shoulders relax a little. He smiles back, small, before his expression falters.

“It's my mother," Taehyung starts. He hesitates, teeth pressing into the curve of his bottom lip. The smile on his face fades entirely and his brows come together; Jimin subconsciously mirrors the expression.

"Oh." At the look on Taehyung's face, Jimin hesitates, before saying, "I hope she's alright."

As the two of them fall into another stretch of silence, Taehyung finds himself tentatively hoping that she'll be alright, too. 

"Are you going by train?" Jimin asks after a while. 

"Bus," Taehyung says. Jimin nods, and they fall silent again.

The next morning, Taehyung steps onto the bus and he feels his stomach beginning to churn, even hundreds of kilometers away from his destination. His singular suit is folded in his bag, ready to be worn to the funeral of the man whose death makes him sigh with relief.

______

It's a little cold in the evening, even as May rounds the corner. 

Taehyung looks up at the house he'd grown up in, feet rooted to the ground. He's not sure how long he's been standing out here, lingering by the empty flower pots like a ghost from the past. After several hours spent on the bus, he can still hear the steady rumbling of the tyres and the rubble on the roads. 

He looks out at the yard, where the weeds are overgrown and the tiled path has crumbled away. The place looks like something out of his nightmares, an abode to misery. Hesitating, he takes in a slow breath and pushes open the door to the surrounding fence. The wood is heavy, hinges creaking, and for a moment, Taehyung is reminded of the night he'd stumbled through this very gate in search of freedom. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, his subconsciousness plays the memory of bare feet running across the uneven streets. They're calloused and wounded, footprints leaving crimson shadows where he'd stepped on broken glass at the foot of the stairs. 

Now, Taehyung takes a step forward and walks towards the house, his shoelaces tight and and his heart is heavy. Back then, through the eyes of a child, the house had seemed impossibly large, filled with terrors. 

Today, as Taehyung looks up at it, it looks narrow and uneven. There's only one main floor at the ground level, and an attic above. Absently, he wonders if his bedroom is still there, tucked away beyond the stairs.

Unsurprisingly, the door is unlocked. It groans a little at the hinges, swinging open slowly. Tentatively, Taehyung pushes it open further and takes a step into the foyer. He's holding his breath, but he doesn't even realise it until his chest begins to constrict, coiling around his heart.

As the door slides shut behind him, the lock clicks into place and Taehyung finally exhales. 

He hasn't been here in years, not since he had turned his back on these walls nearly a decade ago. Eyes roaming over the interior, he takes in the familiar carpeting. It's remained unchanged, a faded crimson that spans from one end of the hallway to the other. The floor beneath it is lukewarm, indoor heating barely just raising the temperature inside the house as the night settles. 

There's a familiar mark on the wallpaper from when Taehyung had fallen down the stairs and landed against it. The floral pattern has faded over the years, paper peeling away to reveal the wood underneath. A clock ticks by steadily somewhere, too loud in the otherwise quiet house. 

Distantly, he hears a door opening and he tenses. 

Anxiety begins to gather underneath his skin, omnipresent in its discomfort. It builds up inside of him, expanding like an effervescent weight that pushes at his rib cage and beckons the walls around him closer. 

For a moment, it feels as if the house is shrinking itself down, closing in around him, and pinpricks twinkle in the peripheries of his vision. Briefly, his mind shuts down, a Pavlovian reaction that readies him for whatever he's about to face. He only vaguely remembers how to breathe, shallow and unsteady. His hands are already clammy, the nape of his neck prickling with heat. 

Taehyung hasn't felt the pangs of debilitating anxiety for years now, but standing here, in this house that threatens to swallow him whole, Taehyung feels like he might throw up. He'd thought he'd be fine; that ten years would have been more than enough to forget the fear that crawled underneath his skin at the sound of creaking doors and heavy footsteps.

But as his feet remain frozen, weighed down with dread and trepidation, Taehyung finds himself wanting to turn around and never look back. 

"Oppa?"  

The air in his lungs leaves him in a rush, heart settling against the curve of his stomach. He blinks, the cobwebs in his mind lifting sluggishly. The world comes back into focus and the nervous ringing in his ears quietens to a dull roar that makes him think of ocean waves.

A willowy figure steps out into the corridor and Taehyung feels his heart skip a beat. The adrenaline begins to drop, fight or flight response dulling as he realises the person poses no threat. 

"Eunha-yah," he murmurs, when he finally remembers how to speak. He still can't seem to bring himself to take a step forward, even at the sight of his baby sister— not a baby anymore, he corrects himself.

She's grown up, no longer the child he'd left behind. She has her father's height and wide, pretty eyes that have lost their spark too early in life. Her hair is no longer short and cropped to a bob; it's long and dark, tied up into a knot atop her head. She looks like the spitting image of their mother, pretty lashes and a rosebud mouth that's forgotten how to laugh.  

At the sight of her oldest brother, her expression shifts into one of apprehension, sadness, and then relief. She looks unsure though, like she isn't sure if she should run forward and embrace him, or if she should keep her distance as though they were no more than two strangers. 

Heat pricks at the space beneath his eyelids as slow relief washes over him, and Taehyung has to blink them a few times to keep the tears at bay. A lump settles against the base of his throat, making it hard to breathe. He hesitates for a moment and then he lifts his arms, opening them in quiet, uncertain invitation. A moment passes, and then another, and then Eunha takes a step forward and then a second. 

When Taehyung finally manages to take a step forward, the world finally seems to fall into place, like puzzle pieces coming together. Eunha ducks forward and Taehyung isn't sure who closes the gap between them first, but when they finally come together in a hug, the lump against his throat grows impossibly wide. It pushes down at his heart and draws warmth behind his eyes that materializes into wetness that clings to his lashes. 

"You came," she breathes, her arms squeezing around his midsection. Her face is damp against the material of his shirt, and when Taehyung blinks, the tears finally fall free, trekking down his cheeks until they catch against his cupid's bow. "You're really here."

Taking in a shaky breath, he breathes out a laugh that chokes him a little, and he pulls away so that he can look at her once more. With only a shared mother between them, she still looks a lot like him. For the first time, Taehyung finds himself wondering if that means he looks more like his mother than he'd ever thought.  

Bringing his hands up, he gently cups her face and cradles her cheeks between his palms, thumbing at the wetness that clings to her lashes. His smile is faint, lethargy settling into his limbs as the adrenaline leaves his body entirely, taking with it his initial anxiety. 

"You've grown so much," he murmurs; he can't bring himself to look away, unable to tear his gaze away from the years he's missed out on. Time has settled over her features with a graceful sort of weariness years beyond her tender age of nineteen. The spark that used to glimmer beneath her honeyed irises has become muted, dull and fatigued. 

"You've grown so much," she says, laughing weakly. "Gosh, you're—you're so tall ."

He has grown; he's no longer a young, broken boy, skin painted black and blue. Now, Taehyung towers over the cabinets that once seemed like skyscrapers. He's twice as wide as he used to be, shoulders strong from years of fighting and self-defence. 

He wonders briefly, distantly, if his stepfather would dare to hit him now if he'd been alive and not left their mother a widow for a second time. He presses his lips together thinly. 

"Where is she?" He asks, reluctantly, when he remembers.

Blinking, Eunha mirrors his expression and takes a step back, hesitant. She glances over her shoulder, as though she's anticipating to see someone behind her, and then she takes in a deep, slow breath. "In her room," she says quietly. "She might not be very...I mean, she hasn't really been feeling well, since appa—well."

Since he died . 

Her breath hitches. Although the man had never shown an ounce of love to her, she had after all, been his only real child, and he'd shown their attachment by hitting her a little harder, shaking her a little harder until she was screaming.

Giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze, Taehyung steps aside and walks past her, muscle memory guiding his feet down the once-familiar hallway. The door to his mother's bedroom is at the very end of the corridor, its paint chipped and its wood old. 

Standing outside the room, he can already smell the bitter acidity of cheap alcohol and nicotine. Something inside of him twists unpleasantly as bile rolls against his belly and rises to the back of his throat in waves of nausea. The anxiety is back, bleeding into his veins like a slow, lazy current. Gripping the door knob, he gives it a twist and then pushes the door open.

A glass bottle rolls out from behind the door, its emerald green glinting prettily against the remnants of late evening sunlight that filters in through the blinds. It rolls to a stop at the foot of the bed, and Taehyung follows it with his gaze, lifting his eyes towards the mattress. 

Eomma.

The word hasn't slipped past his lips in years. The two syllables coat his tongue and cling to his lips, heavy and bittersweet. He watches, waiting with bated breath, as the woman on the bed turns to look at him. Her expression is blank, and for a moment, Taehyung thinks she doesn't recognise him. 

Their eyes meet, and the silence that stretches between them seems to push them further apart. Sizing him up, she seems to study him, and then, as her mouth twists downwards, he winces. 

"You," she drawls, pushing herself up into a seated position. Her eyes are cold, void of emotion. "What do you want?"

The words hit him like a slap to the face. 

Jaw tight, Taehyung takes in a slow, measured breath through his nose. "I—I'm sorry for your lo—"

"Get out," she cuts in, voice rising in volume, "of my house, you cursed little rat. Get out—get out, GET OUT."

The bottle nearest to her finds itself hurling across the room. It crashes into the wall and Taehyung only winces a little bit before he squares his shoulders. Somewhere in the deeper recesses of his mind, ten year old Taehyung cowers in fear. His arms coming up to shield himself as he curls into a foetal position and begs for reprieve as his mother grabs him by the hair and throws him down the steps in their house, her breath reeking of alcohol.

He opens his mouth and the words die on his tongue. The distant clock continues to tick loudly, his bare feet sinking into the faded carpet. Pressing his lips together, he turns around and walks back out. Long strides lead him towards the entrance once more, his heart echoing loudly inside of his skull.

The ringing in his ears is back, cotton wool where his mind used to be, and as he blindly makes a beeline for the door, he's stopped by a desperate cry.

"Wait," Eunha calls out, catching his hand. "Don't go, please. She doesn't know any better. She's not in her right mind—wait!" 

Whirling around to face her, Taehyung tries to keep himself from snapping as he raises a hand and points towards the room he'd just walked out of. "Look, I'm sorry. I can't stay here," he breathes. He feels hot, face warm, and if he doesn't walk away this instant, Taehyung thinks he might throw up. 

"Please—" She's all but begging, gripping his hand in between both of her palms. There's a tremor in her voice, buried between layers of fear and desperation. Taehyung pulls away in an attempt to shake her off, but she follows, stumbling to the ground as she hugs his knee to her chest. 

"Don't go," she cries out, begging as her fingers press into the denim of his frayed jeans. 

At that, Taehyung stills, his heartbeat pulsing against his eardrums. He swallows hard, hands trembling.

"Please," she whispers, lifting her eyes towards him beseechingly. "Stay."

Taehyung looks down at her, into the eyes that look just like his own, and he swallows again, dryly.

He stays.

.

It's like he's stepped into a time machine. 

Standing before the open door of his old bedroom, Taehyung takes in the sight of the space before him. It's almost exactly as he'd left it. His old school bag is collecting dust against the desk. Books litter the floor, clothes strewn over the ground from a past scuffle. 

The memory of a leather belt snapping against his back makes him wince. It's the last, prominent memory he has of this room, and as he steps inside, he can almost hear the disgust in his stepfather's voice. 

"Fuckin' faggot," he'd spat, venom in his voice, "I've seen the way he eyes that boy in his class. The kid's fuckin' gay, fuck. Deserves to be beat — come here, you little bitch."

"Ya hear that Minjung? Your boy's a fucking fag." The belt had come off first, and for a moment, Taehyung feared the worst. Instead, he finds relief at the strike of leather against the bare skin of back. It could be worse. His mother watches from the doorway, a wine glass in her hands as she hardens her gaze and pretends she doesn't see the plea in Taehyung's young eyes.

"What are you doing here?" 

The voice cuts through his train of thought, and Taehyung blinks himself out of his dazed reverie. Slowly, he twists around to look behind, and the white noise in his mind comes to a ringing silence. He hadn't heard the boy come home and Taehyung finds himself staring.

The first thing Taehyung notices about his younger brother is the height. He's outgrown Taehyung now, his frame wiry and tall. The second thing he notices is that they look nothing alike, aside from the curve of their eyes.

Jonggyu has grown into his features, and in doing so, has taken on the slender curve of their mother's jaw. He has her eyes, as they all do, but they lack the warmth that Taehyung has managed to desperately hold onto. 

He looks livid and out of breath, like he'd run up the stairs after finding out that Taehyung had come home, ready to throw him back out again.

"I asked you a question," Jonggyu says, a scowl settling over his handsome face. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Jonggyu," Taehyung murmurs, standing his ground. He blinks, giving him a onceover, but when he opens his mouth to speak again, he's thrown off-kilter. He stumbles back, electricity burning at his jaw where his brother's fist lands over his face forcefully.

"What the fuck—" Taehyung hisses, scowling as he steadies himself, bringing a hand up to cradle his jaw. Belatedly, he tastes blood over his tongue, an older wound reopening at the impact.

"What the fuck, is right," Jonggyu snaps, scathingly. "You don't get to walk out on us and then waltz back in ten years later like nothing's happened. You don't get to be here."

"You think I came here because I wanted to be here?!" Taehyung snaps, voice rising in volume. He's agitated, irritation flaring like the flames over the candles that keep the house warm. 

"I think you came here to feel better about yourself," Jonggyu scoffs, and when Taehyung's temper flares and he brings a fist up in retaliation, Jonggyu doesn't even flinch. He throws Taehyung's fist a pointed glance.

"What? Now that that asshole's gone, are you gonna hit me, hyung? Are you gonna do a dead man's job for him? Huh?" He's goading him on, pressing every button that could possibly set Taehyung off, and Taehyung grits his teeth together. 

Taehyung's arm trembles mid-air, fist clenched so tightly that his knuckles are white. His nails are blunt, but as they dig into his palm, they leave crescents that break skin. 

"Get out of my room," Taehyung mutters, jaw tight and teeth clenched. He's shaking with poorly repressed anger, gaze hardening.

"You need to get out of this house," Jonggyu snarls, and when he takes a step forward, fist clenched, Taehyung braces himself. 

Quick footsteps hurry up the wooden steps as a rough hand grabs at the collar of his shirt. Taehyung stumbles a little, just as the hurried feet reach the landing.

"Stop it!" Eunha's voice is shrill, panicked. Out of breath, she steps in between them and turns to face Jonggyu. She looks up at him, indignant and upset as she pushes him away from Taehyung. "Stop it! I'm the one who called him. He came because I asked him to come!" 

Expression hard, Jonggyu looks down at her with something close to contempt. "That— bitch only thinks of himself, Eunha," he spits. "He doesn't care about you. He doesn't care about you, he doesn't care about our mother, and he sure as fuck doesn't care about me."

Taehyung holds his tongue, jaw tight, and he tries not to focus on the way his heart is beating so hard that it feels as though it might rip out of his chest.

"It's only right that he's here for the funeral," Eunha protests, and as Jonggyu takes a step forward, she presses her hands to his chest and holds him back, a plea in her dark eyes. She stares up at him, the space beneath her lids tinted with exhaustion and Jonggyu jerks back.

Throwing Taehyung a withering glare, he gives him a look as if to say that Taehyung isn't allowed to stay for too long before turning on his heel and walking away. Moments later, the door to his room slams shut loudly and Eunha stumbles back, knees growing weak. Taehyung catches her by the arms, steadying her, and a quiet part of him feels sick to his stomach at the thought of this little girl having to face the anger of her father, her brother and her mother all by herself for the past decade.

.

The bed is small, better suited for a frail teenager than the man Taehyung has grown into. His old bedsheets lie on the floor, discarded from the mattress that Taehyung had dusted down before falling onto. Cobwebs line the walls and a moth settles along the window sill, its wings almost translucent against the night sky.

Taehyung shifts, turning onto his side, and he sighs softly. The curtains are untouched, left open from all those years ago where dust has settled along the linen. It's a small window, like a portal to the outside world where the sun always seemed to shine brighter than any room inside of this house. 

Even now, as the house rests in pitch blackness, the sky outside glows bright underneath the full moon. It's hard to see the stars underneath its brightness, but if Taehyung looks hard enough, he can make out the familiar constellations that he used to gaze up at wistfully as a child.

Letting his lashes flutter together, Taehyung closes his eyes and gives them reprieve. It's in this moment, as he teeters on the borders of the land of dreams, that he realises he's unable to string together any other memories of his past. He remembers this room and this house, he remembers the way he used to cower beneath his stepfather's anger, but he fails to remember a time before the man had come into their lives. 

Eyes shut and mind whirring, Taehyung finds himself walking along the shores of his childhood. He looks down at his hands, at the short, stubby fingers. His blue dungarees are stained with sand and water, the beach burying a home within the sun bleached strands of his dark hair.

He can taste the ocean on his lips, and he can feel the summer breeze kissing the tan of his skin like fleeting angels. A familiar figure walks towards him, taller than Taehyung remembers him to be. He's not like the man his mother had later remarried; this man feels warm, he feels a lot like home. Taehyung looks up, for a face that he hopes might remind him of himself and for the first time in his life, Taehyung realizes—

He doesn't remember.

He doesn't remember the way his father used to look at all, all those years ago. Taehyung knows that they share so much in common, that he has his father's smile and his angled jaw. He has his height and his breadth, and he shares a familiarity in the roundness of their cheeks. He knows all this, because it's what everyone has always told him. 'You look just like your father .' 

He knows his father was a fisherman and then later, a salesman. He remembers lazy afternoons on bobbing boats, watching with bright eyes as his father taught him the art of roping together nets and tying together fishing rods. 

Bleakly, Taehyung wonders if his habit of toying with ribbons and threads come from a place of longing and aching familiarity. 

Be it twine or loose thread, a rope or a shoelace, if his hands stumble upon something, he'll find a way to wrap it around his fingers, twisting it into knots upon knots that chafe at his skin and leave his fingers blue.

Swallowing hard, Taehyung wonders what good that does to him when he can't even remember the man he resembles. The realisation sits heavily on his chest, weighing him down until it becomes hard to breathe. The musk of his father's favourite perfume is no longer a memory Taehyung can conjure up, nor can he remember the weight of warm hands atop his head, accompanied by the quiet rumbling of fond laughter. 

It's been years. Taehyung has lived more than half his life without his father now, but it's only now that he realises how much time has passed, that his mind has wiped away nearly every memory related to him. 

His heart stutters uncomfortably and he takes in a ragged inhale that catches at the base of his throat and drives daggers into the pleura of his lungs. It's only much later, when he presses his face into the uncovered mattress, does he realise his cheeks are damp with regret. When he opens his eyes, his lashes cling togetherm

"I can't remember him," he whispers aloud, with no one to hear him but his demons. 

.

The funeral is a quiet affair. 

No one comes to pay their respects, and as Taehyung looks up at the portrait on the wall, he feels a something close to bitter satisfaction as his stepfather stares down at him.

______

May 16, 1996

Taehyung looks up at the door, a familiar set of gold tinted numbers staring back down at him. They glow copper beneath the red lights. 

He's been back for nearly three weeks now. He hadn't kept his promise of calling Jimin when he'd been in Geochang, and he hadn't called him after coming back to Seoul either.

A small part of him had entertained the idea of disappearing entirely, slipping out of Jimin's life as easily as he'd slipped into it. Perhaps that would have been for the better. 

But here, as he stands outside Jimin's apartment door, Taehyung finds himself wanting to be back in his arms. There's something about Jimin that keeps him coming back, leaves him wanting more. 

And as the tensions of the last few weeks grow inside of him, as the frustration of his circumstances and reminders of his failures continue to grow, Taehyung finds himself wanting Jimin more than ever. He's wound rightly, like a clock or a spring that's ready to snap as the events of the past month buzz underneath his skin in the form of pent up, restless energy. 

Since his return, Taehyung hasn't won a single fight, each competition ending with his face against the floor and an endless ringing in his ears. He's running out of ways to release the pent up stress, running out of ways to clear his mind, and he hadn't even realised he was standing outside the familiar door to Jimin's apartment until he'd found himself standing across from it, feet rooted to the ground.

Without thinking, he finds himself bringing a hand up and he taps his knuckles against the door. Once, twice. It's late and Jimin is probably asleep by now, drifting amongst the clouds that adorn his dreams. Taehyung waits for a heartbeat and then two, the muscles in his body pulled taut in trepidation. 

He lingers and then takes a step back. Eyeing the doorway, Taehyung shakes his head a little and moves to turn away. As he steps foot onto the landing of the stairs, he hears the lock click. The floorboards creak and the door creaks softly.

When Taehyung looks over his shoulder, he's met with the sight of a ruffled head of bright, blonde hair and sleepy, rounded eyes.

Their eyes meet, and it takes a moment for recognition to flicker in the depths of Jimin's sleepy eyes, but when it does, he straightens up and gawks at Taehyung through the crack in his door. They stay like that for a while and Taehyung feels a little like a deer caught beneath the headlights. 

"You're here," Jimin says simply, like he hadn't expected to ever see him again. And maybe he hadn't, not in the middle of the night after weeks of radio silence, as thunder clouds gather beneath the skies outside. There seems to be a metaphor in there, something symbolic in the way the sky always seems to cry when Jimin and Taehyung find each other again—like a bad omen, perhaps.

Taehyung opens his mouth, hesitating, and then closes it again, something helpless settling in the depths of his eyes. Neither of them says another word, separated by a wall of silence and four feet of narrow space. Jimin stares at him like he's trying to figure Taehyung out, like he's trying to unravel the threads that make up the thoughts inside of his head. 

Finally, after a long, bated breath, Jimin steps aside. He holds the door open and Taehyung follows him in, unspoken words sitting at the tip of his tongue. As the door falls shut behind them and blocks out passage light, they're shrouded in the same sort of darkness that's been eating away at Taehyung for weeks. It gnaws at him from the inside out, wrapping around him in its entirety until it's buried inside every crevice of his body. 

It leaves him restless, stranded on the edge of a cliff with nowhere left to go, and so he falls forward instead. He falls forward, off of the edge and into Jimin's arms; and as they come together, Jimin wraps around him in a warm embrace. 

Sinking into Jimin, Taehyung leans into the warmth as their mouths find each other in the dark. It's easy now, after all the countless times they've done this, to come together so naturally. He isn't sure who reaches out first, the quiet rustling of clothes too loud in the small space. 

His shirt finds its way to the ground, nimble fingers gliding over the firm stretch of his belly as Taehyung loosens the drawstrings of Jimin's shorts. There's an urgency in his movements that Jimin reciprocates and matches with ease, his growing frustration needing an outlet. 

When their lips meet, it's anything but tender. Taehyung steps out of his pants as Jimin kicks aside his shorts, and as they stumble in the dark, Jimin grabs at his wrist to steady himself.

Taehyung's hands are clumsy with rising desperation. His mind feels numb, filled with white noise and emotional turmoil, and he struggles to find a semblance of calm. He pulls Jimin closer to himself, like he's trying to absorb any good in him into himself, in an attempt to blot out the darkness that claws at his visceri with an ugly sort of anger. Digging his fingers into Jimin's sides in an attempt to steady himself, he finds himself an anchor even as Jimin makes a quiet noise of passing discomfort. 

They kiss, over and over again; each kiss feels rougher than the last, until the press of their mouths together begins to border on painful. It draws a whimper from Jimin even as he brings his arms up and wraps them around Taehyung's neck, letting himself be pulled up and slammed against the nearest flat surface. 

The force of it rattles the walls a little, wood creaking beneath their combined weights, but Taehyung can't find it in himself to care as he ducks down and buries his face into the other's neck. There, he busies himself with a mark he bites and suckles into Jimin's skin, pressing shades of crimson and lilac into unmarked skin.

"Is this okay?" It takes a bit of effort, but Taehyung manages to ask anyway, even as fire courses through his veins and burns along the ends of his fingertips. 

Jimin makes a soft noise of assent, his hands sliding up the length of Taehyung's arms where they come to rest atop his shoulders. He squeezes them gently, as though in reassurance. Tipping his head back, Jimin rests the back of his skull against the wall. He only gets a moment's pause before Taehyung leans in again, chasing his lips for more. 

The kiss is rough, bruising, and if Taehyung could press any closer in that moment, he would. The lights are still off, the bed unmade from where Jimin had just woken up from slumber and shuffled towards the door. Jimin smells of sleep and of lethargy, of moonlight and fresh soap. The ends of his hair are still a little damp from a late night shower, curling against the nape of his neck. When a single droplet escapes and trickles down towards the crook of his neck, Taehyung catches it along his tongue. 

Gentle hands cup Taehyung's face as Jimin looks down at him, eyes glimmering even in the dark. There's something peaceful about Jimin at all times, and for a moment, Taehyung slows down enough to simply stare. 

The t-shirt that hangs over Jimin's frame is too large, and it takes Taehyung several moments to recognize it as his own. Leaning in, he nuzzles into the warmth of Jimin's chest, dragging his lips over the latter's sternum through the thin, white cotton that separates them. 

He can feel the light tapping of Jimin's heart, quick, little beats in succession. Like the frantic wings of a bird trying to escape its cage. He kisses over it, lingering where a pulse beats against his lips.

Jimin holds his breath, watching the way Taehyung lays his lips upon him with something close to reverent desperation; like he's trying to calm himself down and anchor himself to a shore. He can tell something is off about the younger; that something is on his mind, bothering him.

He doesn't ask though; he isn't sure if he's allowed to ask. But as Taehyung kisses his way up to Jimin's mouth again, Jimin finds himself kissing him back a little more tenderly. As though he's hoping it will soothe the wounds in Taehyung's heart. 

The softness of the kiss seems to take Taehyung aback a little, because he makes a quiet noise that muffles against their lips. He fumbles a little, and their noses knock together clumsily. It's as if he hadn't expected it, too wrapped up in his own anger and bitter regret, that the stark contrast between their touches had thrown him off. 

He blinks and pulls back, unsure, but then Jimin draws him in again and this time, they kiss in the way that Taehyung needs it to be. They kiss in a way that's verging on hunger and desperation, void of gentle touches and soft press of lips on skin.

There's no patience to stop and search for the lube, no time to rummage in the dark for hidden condoms, and when Jimin urges Taehyung to push inside of him, Taehyung only hesitates for a moment before he does exactly that.

His fingers do a decent job of working Jimin open, damp with Jimin's spit from when Taehyung had eased his fingers into the latter's mouth and watched as Jimin dragged his tongue over them. He'd cursed a little under his breath, cock aching with a need to ruin the other and have him whimpering.

When he thrusts up into Jimin, lining his cock up with the latter's hole, they both groan together. Jimin's fingers dig into the width of Taehyung's biceps, and his short nails leave crescents in their wake. 

He starts off slow at first, measured thrusts that press deep into Jimin's tight heat. His hands grip along the underside of Jimin's thighs, holding him steady against the wall.

Picking up his pace, Taehyung fucks up into the other, his grip nearly bruising along the backs of Jimin's thighs. He grunts softly, each thrust driving Jimin up the wall and then back down again, a few millimeters at a time. Sweat pools along the dimples in his back and the dip of his spine, and when Jimin drags his short nails over the length of Taehyung's back, his hands come up glistening.

With trembling thighs, Taehyung buries himself deeper until their bodies are pressed flush together. This close, it's almost impossible to tell where Taehyung ends and Jimin begins, their hearts racing in tandem at the point where their chests meet. 

Leaning in, Taehyung rests his forehead against Jimin's as the two of them share oxygen, breathing each other in harshly. Their skins are equally clammy, and as Jimin shifts against the wall, his back chafing against the wood interior, his muscles tighten around the girth of Taehyung's cock until the younger is whimpering, muffling his cries into Jimin's shoulder.

He sinks his teeth into Jimin's skin, breaking the surface until it tastes metallic. With Jimin's ankles locking against the curve of Taehyung's spine, he pulls him in closer until they're both groaning in unison. Rutting down, Jimin grins his ass slowly against Taehyung's pelvis, each little turn of his hips calculated and drawn out. It makes the younger shiver, a full-bodied tremor traveling up his spine that Jimin delights in.

When Taehyung comes, he spills half of his seed into Jimin with a keening moan that gets lost between Jimin's lips. He dirties the floor and the backs of Jimin's thighs. Minutes later, cock softening, Taehyung pulls out slowly as he tries to catch his breath, and his knees nearly give in beneath their combined weights. 

They slide down together, settling over the floor in a crumpled heap of soft, tan skin and clammy limbs. With Jimin's thighs bracketing Taehyung, and his arms loosely wrapped around the younger, Taehyung sinks into the Jimin and closes his eyes. 

It takes a while for them to catch their breaths, and as the minutes ebb into hours, they find themselves entangled together over the floor of the room. Lazy starlight dances over the wooden panels, twinkling like distant constellations. Some time ago, Jimin had fumbled around, hand searching for the corner of his blanket, and he'd pulled it off of the bed and onto their bodies. 

Now, with Taehyung's nose buried against Jimin's neck and his lips centimeters away from the tapping butterfly wings of his heart, Jimin holds him close as the younger succumbs to slumber. Taehyung's head rests against Jimin's forearm, drawing pin pricks and needles over the trapped arm. Even so, as the rain clouds begin to drift and the moonlight washes over their skins with a transparent, gossamer blue, Jimin pulls the younger even closer, his fingers gently twisting into strands of dark, brown hair.

.

"Morning, sleepy head."

Taehyung opens his eyes blearily, sunlight dancing behind his lashes in a bokeh of tangerine colours. His body feels stiff, sore from having slept the night away on the ground, and he groans a little as he rolls onto his back. 

He closes his eyes again, willing away the oncoming ache that settles along his temples. The pressure swells beneath his eyelids and expands beneath his brows in the beginnings of a migraine, and Taehyung frowns faintly against the filtered sunlight before a shadow falls over his face. 

It takes him a moment but he opens his eyes, tentatively at first, before he looks up at the hand that blocks out the sun. His gaze lingers for a moment, on the small freckle that rests along the inside of the ring finger, before his eyes trail downwards and then up to the face of the man beside him. 

Like this, golden hair bracketed by the sunlight, Jimin looks ethereal. There's a bemused, soft smile on his features that presses the hint of a dimple along his smile lines. Briefly, Taehyung is reminded of the first time they'd slept together, of the way dancing lights made Jimin look otherworldly, even back then. The fan hums away in the background, blowing weak wisps of air towards them. It's quiet for a moment as Taehyung tries to speak past the cobwebs in his mouth. 

"Your hair," he says finally, voice rough with sleep. He reaches up, arms heavy, and traces along the light strands of silver-gold with the edge of his fingers. "It's different."

Breathing out a chuckle, Jimin sits up and crosses his legs together, blanket draped over his bare lap. Shaking his fringe out of his eyes, he runs a hand through his hair, static making the strands rise like a bleached dandelion against the sunlight. 

"Different, like, bad?" Jimin asks, a self-conscious smile tugging at his rosy cheeks. 

Taehyung shakes his head, gently trailing the end of his finger along the slope of Jimin's cheek. 

"Do you," Jimin starts, hesitating as his gaze grows a little shy, "like it?"

Nodding slowly, Taehyung turns his hand to rest his palm along the latter's cheek, cradling his jaw carefully. Thumbing at the pillowy curve of Jimin's bottom lip, Taehyung lifts his gaze to meet Jimin's eyes, and he smiles softly in response. "Mmhm."

At that, Jimin's cheeks tint a deeper pink, the flush blossoming over the tips of his ears and spanning across the width of his chest. His eyes twinkle, much like the stars Taehyung remembers watching through the windows of his childhood bedroom. 

"I missed you," Taehyung murmurs suddenly, and the words feel heavy on his tongue. They settle there, foreign and unusual; he doesn't catch the look on Jimin's face before he looks away, subdued. 

He wonders if it's silly, to be missing a man he's barely scratched the surface with when it comes to knowing him. There's a pause, and then Jimin's voice sinks against his skin, soft and gentle. 

"I missed you, too."

Taehyung looks up and their eyes meet again, gazes holding each other in a warm embrace over the dust and the atoms that lay suspended between beams of sunlight. 

Because maybe Taehyung does know enough about Jimin to miss him. He knows that Jimin likes his coffee dark, with just enough sugar to keep away the bitterness. He knows that Jimin is afraid of the dark, and that the curtainless windows keep him safe at night. 

Taehyung knows that Jimin likes to sing when he showers, and that he loves the snow. Jimin likes ice cream after dinner and turns his nose up at the taste of peppermint and licorice. Jimin likes cats as much as he likes dogs, and when he dances, he moves with the grace of a swan gliding along river currents. 

Jimin prefers spicy foods and he holds his alcohol well, despite his slender frame. There are nights when Jimin wakes up with a tremor in his hands and inexplicable tears in his eyes as his demons chase him without cause or reason. 

Taehyung knows that Jimin likes to read and that he likes to watch movies at old drive-thrus and at the cinema. Taehyung knows Jimin's body like the back of his hand, can trace constellations and patterns over the freckles that line his skin. He's familiar with the raised edges of the tattoo that sits along the edge of Jimin's ribcage. He knows the way the letters and numbers feel against the pad of his thumb when he traces the tattoos along the inside of Jimin's wrist and the backs of his elbows whenever Jimin fucks into him, slow and deep. 

Taehyung has grown fond of the dimples that press into Jimin's cheeks and his smile lines, his eyes disappearing behind his laughter. 

So, yeah. 

Maybe Taehyung knows just enough to miss him, and is ignorant enough that he's left wanting to know more. 

"Breakfast?" He asks, after a beat. 

"Please," Jimin accedes, bringing a hand to his taut belly. Taehyung's gaze follows, settling over the dip of Jimin's navel and traveling down to stare at the wispy, short hairs that lead a trail down to his groin. "I'm starving."

Taehyung echoes the notion internally, and, with a playful twinkle in his eyes, ducks beneath the blankets. 

Needless to say, as Taehyung sinks his mouth down over Jimin's cock and swallows hotly—as Jimin throws his head back with a throaty groan and fists a hand into the younger's hair, breakfast is forgotten entirely. 

.

Lunch is a quiet affair for the most part. They sit on the floor, takeaway dishes placed on newspapers spread out between them. It's spring and Jimin leaves the windows open, so that the breeze can wick away the perspiration that settles against the napes of their necks. 

Taehyung picks at the jjajjangmyeon , pushing it around the bowl with his chopsticks until the sauce sticks to the metal. There's a sigh at the tip of his tongue, held against the edge of his chest, and when he finally lets it out, Jimin glances up at him. 

"Do you wanna talk about what happened?" Jimin asks carefully. He looks back down and then keeps his gaze lowered to his own plate of food, prodding at the yellowed radish. 

Blinking, Taehyung lifts his head a little, brows coming together slightly. "About what?" 

"You know," Jimin mutters, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. He taps his chopsticks against the edge of his plate and rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "About...whatever it is that had you so upset last night?" 

"Oh," Taehyung murmurs, frowning faintly. "Not really."

"Sure?" Jimin asks, lifting his gaze as he peers up at the younger through his lashes. His hair is damp, matted down after a shower, and a few spare droplets of water cling to his skin. 

At that, Taehyung hesitates a little and fixes his gaze along the floor. He stares at the way the wood splinters along the edge of one of the panels and he makes a mental note of filing it down lest it hurt Jimin's feet. A moment passes by, and then several, as the second-hand on the analogue clock ticks slowly.

Jimin presses his lips together thinly and drops the subject, bringing his cup of water up so that he can wash it down. They finish the rest of their meal in silence; the only noise in the room comes from the open windows, the distant cars and fleeting birds.

"My," Taehyung starts as Jimin moves to get up, voice quiet but clear in the relative quietude.

Jimin pauses in the midst of picking up the utensils, glancing up at the younger. Hand hovering over the used dishes, Jimin lowers himself back to his knees slowly and places his hands atop his lap, giving the younger his undivided attention. He doesn't push, listening patiently as he waits for Taehyung to continue. 

Taehyung doesn't seem to know where to look, avoiding the other's eyes as he rests his hands atop his bare thighs and rubs his palms down their length. He fidgets a little, restless as he picks at the hem of his shorts where they ride up. "My stepfather died."

"I'm sorry," Jimin murmurs, brows coming together.

"Don't be," Taehyung says, shaking his head a little.

Jimin swallows thickly, biting his lip. "I'm glad you got to be with your family."

"Doubt they felt the same," he murmurs, pausing, before he breathes out a short, forced laugh. It reeks of bitterness. "I don't blame them."

Jimin bites down on his bottom lip, lowering his gaze briefly. He's not sure what to say, so he stays quiet; but the lingering discomfort in his chest grows tenfold suddenly, expanding like an unpleasant heat that wraps around his lungs with an iron grip. 

"They said it was a stroke," Taehyung mutters. "Bet he was piss drunk and got himself killed." He shrugs. "It's whatever."

"Were you not close to him, then?" Jimin asks before he can stop himself, curiosity piquing. 

The look Taehyung gives him is wry, a fleeting smile on his face as he rolls his eyes. "Hardly."

"What about your...real…?" Jimin continues, voice quiet.

"My real father?" Taehyung rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek and breathes out a dry chuckle. "I don't really remember him." His voice changes a little, suffocation lacing the words with a different sort of sadness.

Jimin swallows thickly and then he looks back down at the floor. He hesitates, and then, "Me neither," he murmurs. Biting down along the inside of his cheek, he looks up at Taehyung once more, words measured and cautious as he asks, "What happened to him?" 

"My dad?" Taehyung asks, hesitating a little as Jimin nods slowly. 

Taehyung pauses, trying to reach into the furthest recesses of his mind. He tries to sift through the memories, carding through each and every one. He comes up empty though, like always. "I don't know," he murmurs, truthfully. 

"Sounds kind of stupid, saying it out loud like this, huh," Taehyung murmurs, lips tugging upwards faintly. The smile doesn't reach his eyes. "But I don't know, I just—one day, he was there and the next...he wasn't. I don't remember." 

"You must've been really young," Jimin says quietly. Outside, a car honks distantly. 

Taehyung blinks, eyes growing unfocused as he tries to recall something. Anything. Nothing.

"I guess I was," he murmurs. "Jonggyu was still a baby."

"Jonggyu?" Jimin echoes, curious.

"My brother," Taehyung explains. "I'm not—I'm not really that close to him." He winces a little at his own words, as he remembers Jonggyu's words.

"I didn't know you had a brother," Jimin murmurs, smiling faintly. 

"I don't really...talk about him much, I guess," Taehyung mutters, brows pinching together in a small frown. "Him—them. Eunha, too."

"Eunha?" Jimin echoes again, blinking inquisitively.

"My sister,"  Taehyung mumbles, and he looks a little embarrassed at the way he's kept his family hidden all this time; as if they simply didn't exist. "Well, my half-sister." 

"So your stepfather's…?" Jimin asks tentatively, and Taehyung slowly nods. The younger's brow relaxes a little, something soft settling in the depths of his eyes. It's clear that he cares for her, even if he's chosen to miss out on half of her life so far. 

"What's she like?" Jimin asks, voice soft. 

At that, Taehyung smiles faintly and he cocks his head to the side a little, murmuring, "Like nobody else in that God forsaken house."

He looks a little wistful, as though longing for the only person of his family that might feel a bit like home. It's short lived though, because when Taehyung clears throat a little and looks up, the passing vulnerability is gone. Instead, he turns to Jimin, steering the conversation away from himself. 

"What about you?" It's Taehyung's turn to ask, and Jimin blinks like a deer caught beneath the headlights. 

"What about me?" Jimin asks, shifting in his spot uneasily. "I don't really have a lot to say. My parents died when I was a baby. Car accident."

"Oh," Taehyung murmurs, frowning faintly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Jimin whispers, echoing Taehyung's words from earlier as he smiles softly. "Can't really miss what I've never had." 

They fall into a secluded silence again, isolated from the rest of the world. Time seems to slow down for a moment even as the rest of the planet continues to move. A faint breeze whispers its way into the room and Jimin shivers a little, breaking out of his quiet reverie. Putting on a smile, he takes in a deep breath and straightens up, once again reaching for the used utensils. 

"Well," Jimin starts, smiling brightly. "Anyway."

For the first time, Taehyung realises that Jimin's smiles don't light up his eyes entirely. There seems to be little room left for joy in those eyes, when loneliness has taken up most of the space in his heart and his mind.

"Well," Taehyung echoes, leaning forward to help the other clean up. Their eyes meet, gazes softening, and there's a moment where quiet understanding settles in the air like something tangible. 

Well.

Anyway.

______

September 01, 1996

"You should come see me dance some time," Jimin murmurs. He looks up at Taehyung, a spark of something hopeful in his eyes. 

They're not in love, but maybe—maybe they're close to it. 

"Yeah?" Taehyung smiles softly. "I think I'd like that."

"Really?" Jimin grins, lifting a neat brow. 

"Only if you'll come see me fight though," Taehyung teases, eyes twinkling.

Something in the air seems to have shifted after that late afternoon conversation on the floor of Jimin's narrow, studio apartment months ago. There's an unspoken understanding that wraps around them and brings them closer. It's as if, after confiding in each other the things they never spoke to anyone else about, they had stepped over a steep, invisible precipice and into a calm body of water.

Currently, they're curled up on Jimin's bed, wrapped up in each other and little else, bodies bare. Takeaway bowls sit on the floor, food uneaten yet.

"I'm not sure I want to see you get beaten up," Jimin confesses, grinning softly.

They're gentler with each other lately, careful hands and even more careful words. Time had made it easier to forget the spring, and with some reluctance, Taehyung allows himself to be happier here, trapped beneath the afternoon sunlight with Jimin by his side.

"Are you questioning my skills?" Taehyung snorts, looking almost offended as he pulls back a little. "Saying I won't win?" 

"I'm saying I've seen you come back from a fight looking worse for wear more often than not," Jimin quips, rolling his eyes. He grins though and reaches out to playfully run his fingers through the younger's hair. 

"Well, maybe if you came, it'd turn out differently," Taehyung retorts. He lifts a brow, smiling, and Jimin presses his lips together to keep his own smile from widening. 

"What? Like good luck?" Jimin asks, grinning.

"Like good luck," Taehyung says, nudging the other's side with the end of his finger. "What do you say?"

"Maybe," Jimin says, lightly. "Will you come see me dance?"

"If you want me to," Taehyung says, smiling faintly. 

"Cool," Jimin quips. "You come to my recital, I'll come see you fight, then."

"Cool," Taehyung echoes, and he pushes himself up with his elbow, grinning as he steals a quick kiss. 

______

"Hey," Jimin calls out, twisting in place as he rocks back on the balls of his feet. There's a smile on his face that makes him look cheeky, mischievous. He's distracting, in the best way possible. 

Taehyung looks up, out of breath, and sets down the weights in his hand. 

They do this sometimes now, on lazy, sunny afternoons. The first time Jimin had come to watch Taehyung practice and work out had been earlier in the summer. Following that, he'd accompanied Taehyung to a back alley fight somewhere along the hidden streets of Songpa-gu.

He'd watched with his eyes half closed, peering through the gaps between his fingers. They'd left together, with a cheap medal around Taehyung's neck and a tightness in Jimin's chest that Taehyung had to kiss away.

The fights have proven to be too much for him, and so Jimin decides that he prefers to see Taehyung within the comfort of bright white lights and four walls instead. 

"Didn't you say you'd teach me how to box?" Jimin calls out. He's being cute on purpose, arms wrapping around the elevated punching bag as he leans against it and looks at Taehyung with a smile bordering on sugary sweet. "I feel like we're very unevenly matched at the moment."

Grinning, Taehyung pushes the hair out of his eyes and turns to face the other. There are days when Jimin feels like a child, excitable and clingy, needy for attention. Today feels like it's shaping up to be one of those days, and as Taehyung crosses the floor and climbs up into the ring, Jimin's eyes light up.

Smiling cheekily, Jimin squares up and stands with his feet shoulder-width apart, the way Taehyung does when he trains. Looking over at Taehyung with a cheeky smile and a twinkle in his eyes, he raises a fist and lands a soft hit against the punching bag that's suspended from the bar inside the center of the ring. 

"Like this?" he asks, looking towards Taehyung for approval as the younger stops to stare, amusement glimmering in his eyes.

Laughing, Taehyung raises his eyebrows and folds his arms over his chest. The cuffed sleeves of his t-shirt rise up over his toned upper arms, cotton clinging to the broad expanse of his chest, and yeah. Jimin would be lying if he said he wasn't ogling at the view. 

Taehyung is always pretty to look at. He has the kind of beauty that draws an audible hush over any room he walks into. 

Like this though, with his loose, wavy locks pulled up into a messy ponytail and stray strands matted to his forehead with damp perspiration, Taehyung looks positively appetizing. Heat has settled over his cheeks like powdered wine, a faded red that bleeds into the bronzed tan of his skin. It matches the natural red of his mouth as well as the very tips of his fingers and the flush over his chest. 

Exertion is a good look on him, and it takes Jimin only a couple of minutes to realise why he's so entranced by the sight of a sweaty, pink cheeked Taehyung. 

This is exactly how Taehyung looks underneath the moonlight, spread out and pliant as Jimin rocks up into him. Hair wild and eyes dark, skin glistening with unshed pearls; he's like something out of a pictorial or a dream. Like this, Taehyung looks like he belongs amongst Monet's water lilies, with oil and paint wrapped around him in shades of lavender and amaranth. 

The thoughts dissipate as Taehyung steps up behind him, cutting Jimin short in the midst of waxing poetic about the man before him. Wrapping around Jimin like afternoon sunlight, Taehyung stands close, hands ghosting over the natural curve of Jimin's waist. 

He's warm, the way he always is, and Jimin leans into him. He smiles to himself at the way Taehyung drags his hands down the length of Jimin's arms, enveloping him entirely. He's pressed against Jimin, his chest resting along Jimin's back and hips in line with the curve of Jimin's ass. 

"Your posture's all wrong," Taehyung observes, amusement lacing his voice as he hooks his chin over Jimin's shoulder and brings the latter's arms closer to his chest, tucking his elbows inwards. "You need to keep your arms close—like this."

Turning his head inwards, Taehyung noses along the curve of Jimin's neck. His breaths are warm, drawing goosebumps over the latter's flesh. His lips skim over Jimin's skin and Jimin feels his heart skip a beat, breath hitching audibly.

"Relax your arms," Taehyung explains, swaying a little from side to side as his arms find their way around Jimin's waist. "It's all about your core strength; let your shoulders relax." 

Giggling softly, Jimin leans back into the firm, solid weight of Taehyung's chest. He rests his head against the younger's shoulder, getting comfortable. "Alright," he murmurs, instinctively swaying along. He tilts his head back and twists his neck a little so that he can look up at Taehyung, amusement twinkling in his eyes.  

"What?" Taehyung asks, smiling back instinctively. 

Shaking his head, Jimin grins a little wider. "Nothing," he quips, before his gaze drops towards Taehyung's mouth. Stealing a quick kiss, he turns back around and pretends to get into the right stance, smacking the punching bag sideways with the weaker side of his fist.

Laughing, Taehyung loosens his grip around the other. "What the hell was that?"

Jimin laughs, pulling away and repeating the motion. "What? Am I not doing it right?"

Wrapping his arms around Jimin's midsection, Taehyung tugs him close again. He's playful as he squeezes his arms around the other and lifts him up, until Jimin is on the very tips of his toes and then off of the floor entirely. Laughing as the latter squirms and twists in his embrace, Taehyung pulls him away from the punching bag. "You're a disgrace to my equipment."

"You're just picky," Jimin counters, squirming even as he tries to pull himself out of Taehyung's arms. Managing to escape momentarily, Jimin makes a beeline for the ropes, but before he can duck through them and hop out, Taehyung pulls Jimin away from them. Jimin's fingers skim over the rope as he lets out a delighted laugh, and when Taehyung yanks him back, they stumble to the floor together. 

They land on the tarp, bouncing a little at the impact, and Taehyung rolls them over until he's got the other pinned beneath his weight. 

"Gotcha," Taehyung whispers. His breath is warm where it ghosts along Jimin's skin as the younger leans in and nuzzles into the slope of the latter's cheek. 

"Well, that's not fair," Jimin muses, a playful pout taking hold of his mouth. He turns away, petulant, even as Taehyung chases his lips for a kiss. The younger misses, and his lips only skirt along the corner of Jimin's mouth. 

" You're being unfair," Taehyung complains when Jimin refuses him a kiss. It's his turn to sulk a little as he noses along the curve of Jimin's jaw and kisses at the pulse that beats against the column of his neck instead. He nips at the skin there in silent reprimand.

Jimin's gaze is almost coquettish when he glances back up at the other, eyes twinkling. "Yeah? So what—Are you gonna punish me, Kim?" 

At that, Taehyung breathes out a short laugh, and it ghosts over Jimin's skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "Should I?" he muses idly, and Jimin feels his heart skip a beat as strong yet gentle hands slide underneath his waist. This close, Taehyung always seems massive. It's easy to feel like the width of his shoulders covers the skies as Jimin lets himself sink into the warmth of broad, calloused hands. 

They're pressed impossibly close; close enough that Jimin can feel the way Taehyung's heart is beating through his shirt. It's a steady lub dub, lub dub that eventually matches the pace of Jimin's own pulse. Wrapped up in all of Taehyung, Jimin feels safe, and he rests his head back against the floor, silver blonde hair splaying out prettily like the ends of a halo. He feels light, like he's floating above the clouds, and Jimin breathes out a giggle that leaves him giddy..

"Maybe," Jimin murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. A smile plays over his lips, eyes bright. His eyes hold Taehyung's, staring as the younger lowers himself down the length of Jimin's body. He lowers his head and tucks his chin inwards, watching the way Taehyung slowly slides back and settles in between Jimin's thighs. 

Jimin holds his breath in anticipation, blunt nails scratching gently where his hand rests along the other's arm. For a moment, the world around them ceases to exist. All he's aware of is the quiet rustling of their clothes and of the heat radiating off of Taehyung's body, as gentle hands slip underneath the hem of his shirt and slide it upwards. 

Jimin's belly is taut, tensing slightly when soft lips press over the sensitive skin just above his navel. His hand flattens out over the curve of Taehyung's shoulder and he squeezes gently, encouraging him to go on. He lifts his hips, a silent invitation to slide off his jeans. 

He watches with bated breath as Taehyung pops open the button and unzips the zipper. They're both silent as Taehyung works the denim down Jimin's hips and his thighs, where the material catches briefly, snug and fitted over the dancer's firm legs. There's a pause, before Taehyung opens his mouth. 

"You're not wearing any underwear," he observes, voice a little rough around the edges. 

"No, I'm not," Jimin answers, voice hushed like he's imparting a secret. His chest dips a little, when he remembers to breathe again.

" Fuck ," Taehyung hisses, the edge of a quiet groan lacing his voice. The jeans have found their way to the floor and like this, half clothed in a thin, cotton t-shirt that's pushed all the way up to his rib cage, Jimin looks debauched before he's even been touched. 

Their eyes meet and this time, instead of lingering amusement, Taehyung's eyes are dark with hunger. He looks as though he might devour him whole, like he wants nothing more than to ravish Jimin.

Gripping at Jimin's thighs, Taehyung pulls him closer, dragging the other across the floor. The tarp dips a little beneath their weights, padded floor the slightest bit flexible where the canvas has been stretched from one end of the ring to the other. Knees bent and legs apart, Jimin bites down on his bottom lip, squirming a little underneath the weight of Taehyung's heated stare. 

"God, you're really something," Taehyung whispers, spreading Jimin's legs further apart with own knee and the back of his hand. Lowering himself, Taehyung settles down so that he's level with Jimin's flushed cock. 

This close, Jimin smells of shower gel and soap, clean and soft. They'd showered together before leaving the flat, and Jimin had wrung Taehyung's cock dry underneath the water, wrist twisting and tugging with practiced ease as the younger came over the tiled walls with a broken whimper.

"Have I been bad?" Jimin murmurs, heat coiling low inside of his belly, where it blooms and spreads towards his groin. His cock is hard already, curved up towards his belly. Pre-cum beads along the head, a single droplet catching along the short hairs that line a path from Jimin's navel to his dick. 

Throwing Jimin a bemused glance, Taehyung blows a gust of cool air over the base of Jimin's sensitive arousal. He watches, entranced, as Jimin's cock twitches a little at the coolness, and then he leans in, tonguing at the thin stretch of skin just above the other's sac. 

At the sudden dampness, Jimin's entire body flinches a little and he sucks in a sharp intake of breath that seems too loud in the otherwise quiet space. Taking the response as an invitation, Taehyung ducks forward and presses his mouth along the underside of Jimin's cock, tongue pressing flat along its length. Dragging his tongue up, he works his way to the very tip, where Taehyung wraps his lips around the head and then sinks down until Jimin's cock is entirely nestled inside the heat of his mouth.

The moan that leaves Jimin's lips is music to his ears as Taehyung hollows his cheeks and sucks intently. He doesn't let up, even as Jimin's hips lift off of the floor and his thighs come up, pressing down against the sides of Taehyung's head. He welcomes the burn along his scalp as Jimin's fingers find his hair and pull, gripping at the messy ponytail. 

"Tae—" Jimin gasps brokenly, voice keening, "— hyung ." 

Even after all this time, after all these months, Jimin hasn't been able to get used to the way Taehyung works his mouth around his cock. Taehyung sucks cock the way he fights, with the same sort of focused attention and intent deliberation. He's messy with his tongue, lapping up at the stringing pre-cum until it's smeared over his chin and painted over his cheek. 

It makes Jimin's toes curl and his thighs shake. He utters Tehyung's name like a mantra, its repetition making him sound like a broken record. 

The scent of citrus and honeyed florals clings to the backs of Jimin's thighs, and when Taehyung finally pulls off of his cock, he can't help but lean in and sink his teeth into the flesh. The sound that Jimin makes is exquisite, and Taehyung reaches up, thumbing at the taut, thin skin over the former's perineum. Stretching him open, Taehyung leans in and drags his tongue over the other's hole, little kitten licks that tease at the fluttering rim and leave Jimin gasping for more. 

Laving his tongue over the dip of Jimin's hole, Taehyung teases at it until the skin is glistening with spit and Jimin's body is quivering over the mat. Taehyung covers the rim with his mouth, pressing down and sucking hard until Jimin is grabbing at his tied hair and pulling forcefully. His leg jerks, kicking up and jolting when Taehyung sucks at his taint again before the younger pulls back and spits down over Jimin's entrance. It's filthy, and it's hot, and Jimin throws his head back with a quiet cry that remains suspended in the air for several seconds. 

"Fuck, I wish you could look at yourself right now," Taehyung breathes, mouth hanging open slightly as he watches the way his spit clings to the fluttering hole. Some of it trickles to the floor and Taehyung vaguely makes a mental note to clean up before Yoongi checks in the next morning. 

"Later—just—please," Jimin gasps, tensing his lower body. His hole clenches around nothing, and Jimin whines softly. "Need—your hands, please. Your mouth— anything ."

"Fuck," Taehyung breathes, feeling as dizzy as Jimin looks. "Wait, let me just—" He pulls back for a moment, in search of his bag. It's thrown on the floor, several feet away, and he moves to get up. Jimin pulls him back down though, the grip on his hair still strong. 

"No, just—no need, just," Jimin manages, brows pinching together. "Just fuck m—ah." He gasps, hips jolting as a single digit presses into him. 

Taehyung's index finger pushes against the tight ring of muscle around the rim, pulling it taut, before he presses the pad of his thumb into the empty space. Curling his thumb inwards, Taehyung slides it forward, massaging along the inner walls of Jimin's sensitive perineum. 

One finger turns into two, and as Taehyung scissors apart his index and middle fingers, Jimin keens loudly. It's hard to leave, and Jimin looks like he might cry at the loss of contact, but Taehyung manages to peel himself away for only a moment. When he comes back, it's with the lube and a condom, the latter of which tears between clumsy, impatient hands. 

"Shit," Taehyung mutters, and Jimin lifts his head to look over. He looks ruined, lashes damp and mouth swollen red from the press of his teeth. He looks dazed and out of sorts, silver hair a static mess. He looks like a dandelion, or a fairy, or perhaps an angel of some sort, debauched and delirious. 

"It's fine," Jimin breathes, as his eyes glance at the torn condom. He eyes the lube and shifts a little closer, spreading his legs apart in invitation. "It's fine, just— please , Taehyung." He's desperate, cock heavy against his belly where it leaks pathetically. His shirt has ridden up towards his chest, where his nipples are bare and hard against the cool air. He looks like sin, and Taehyung finds himself craving a bite from the Forbidden Apple, even as he hastily discards his own clothes.

When Taehyung lines himself up with Jimin's hole and finally slides in, they both sigh in relief. He fills him up entirely, the large girth of his cock stretching Jimin to a degree that makes him feel full . 

Their hips align as Taehyung leans over him, supporting his own weight with his hands on the floor at either side of Jimin's head. He snaps his hips forward and it makes Jimin jolt, his body sliding up along the canvas of the mat with the force of the thrust. 

When Jimin reaches up and cups Taehyung's face between his hands, pulling him closer, the kiss that follows can only be described as tender . With every thrust, Jimin breathes out a moan that Taehyung swallows readily. They share every breath and every noise, tongues meeting halfway before their lips connect again, open mouthed and sloppy. 

Jimin comes first, spilling his seed over their taut bellies and bare chests. 

Taehyung's name is lost amidst the kisses, and as Jimin lays his head back down again, their hands find each other blindly, fingers locking together over the ground. His other hand finds Taehyung's hair again, fingers threading into the strands and pulling until the elastic breaks apart, springing away and landing at a distance. 

A muffled, 'sorry,' escapes Jimin's lips, drowned beneath a giggle that Taehyung cuts off by deepening the kiss. They melt into each other, like springtime snow, and when Taehyung comes, Jimin locks his heels around the base of the younger's spine. He holds him close, whining softly as Taehyung fills him to the brim, his seed escaping down the sides and trickling to the floor. 

When they come down from their highs, chests still rising and falling with every laboured breath, Taehyung pulls back the slightest bit to look down at the other. And Jimin looks absolutely spent. He's drenched, a post-coital glow settling over his flushed cheeks. He looks like a painting, all rosette lips and pink cheeks. 

Dewy eyed and lethargic, Jimin pulls Taehyung closer for one more, lingering kiss. They kiss slowly, lazily, tongues drawing out each other's tastes and memorizing every dip and curve of their mouths. When he grows breathless, Jimin turns his head to the side, panting softly. Briefly, Taehyung chases his lips, wanting more, but when Jimin tips his head back and bares his neck, Taehyung busies himself with sucking a mark onto the pale, freckled skin instead. 

Taehyung kisses any inch of exposed skin he can reach, almost reverent—almost worshipping in the way he drags his lips over the slopes and dips and contours of Jimin's body.

Eventually, they drift off like that, amidst lazy, stolen kisses and shared body heat. They doze off for half an hour or so, slipping in and out of wakefulness. Their hands remain intertwined, and when Taehyung rolls off of Jimin and scoots onto the floor, Jimin immediately presses closer, mouthing at the line of his neck. 

He makes Taehyung come once more that night, laid out over the floor of the ring as the sun sets outside and the stars come out. And somewhere at the back of his mind, Jimin finds himself toying with the idea of something that's beginning to sound a lot like love.

______

October 31, 1996

Eleven missed calls. Four voice messages. 

Taehyung hasn't been home in days. These days, he finds himself at Jimin's small apartment more often than not. A part of him craves it, waking up to Jimin in his arms and falling asleep with their chests pressed together. 

For a while, he has managed to forget himself, managed to focus on the things that made him happy instead of hiding himself away amidst the grey and black shadows of his life.

The numbers blink up at him in alternating shades of red and green. Taehyung stares, mind washing itself empty of his surroundings. His heart seems to grow louder, pulse beating against his eardrums as Taehyung reaches out, hand hovering over the answering machine. 

He hesitates, nervous trepidation crawling over his skin, before he hits the button and listens. 

The first message is silence followed by the click of the phone being put back down. He presses the button again. The second recording is muffled, but Taehyung makes out Eunha's shaky voice and a shuddering intake of air before the line cuts off. 

The third is similar, but this time, Taehyung can hear the way Eunha's breath catches around a sob, her voice small. He swallows dryly, index finger hovering over the machine for several, long seconds, before he finally plays the remaining voice note. 

A minute later, the speakers crackle and the message comes to an end. The automated voice recording reads out the date and time of the last message. October 26th, 4:53 AM. Five days ago. 

Ears ringing loudly, Taehyung replays the last message, dread settling over him like a dense fog. 

She's at the hospital — they don't know if she'll make it.[static] I'm scared.

Five days ago. Zero missed calls since then. 

Taehyung sways a little, all the strength leaving his body. He sinks to the ground, the static in his mind louder than ever.

.

The air smells sterile, laced with iodine and bleach. The monitors beep steadily, loud and distracting. 

Taehyung stares at the familiar figure on the bed, wrapped up in layers of white and sky blue. His mother has gotten frailer these past months, almost unrecognizable. Her hair, once her beauty, has thinned out, weak and brittle. 

Her periods of lucidity are rare and far apart, and for the last three days, she hasn't opened her eyes at all. A small, shameful part of Taehyung feels relieved at the possibility of all of this finally coming to an end. 

The door opens and Jonggyu steps in, avoiding his brother's eyes. They've been skirting around each other, as though neither of them exists, and Taehyung regretfully finds himself thinking it's better this way. 

It's a testament to their mother's nature, that none of her children's eyes are glimmering with tears. Instead, they look listless, empty and unsure. 

"It's only a matter of time, you know," Taehyung says, speaking up and breaking the silence. Jonggyu pauses in the midst of washing his hands at the wash basin behind the door. "Before she dies, I mean."

Lifting his gaze to the mirror over the wall, Jonggyu looks at Taehyung through its reflection, jaw terse. 

"You should come to Seoul," Taehyung continues, voice steady but quiet. 

Breathing out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, Jonggyu turns off the faucet and shakes his hands dry before turning around to look at Taehyung properly. "You're joking."

"No," Taehyung says, pressing his lips together. "I have enough saved up for a deposit. You and Eunha could move into an apartment there. Start a new life." 

"Bit late for that, don't you think?" Jonggyu sneers. Under the harsh lighting, Taehyung notices for the first time, a deep scar that runs from the edge of his brow to the end of his temple. 

"Have you enlisted yet?" Taehyung asks, ignoring the other's words. He thinks he knows the answer before Jonggyu says it. 

"What?" Jonggyu scoffs. "And left Eunha alone? With those two?" 

Taehyung nods quietly. His gaze rests on the slope of his mother's nose, raking down over her sunken cheeks and her beautiful eyes. 

"You should go," Taehyung says.  "Be good for you. They make you work hard, but you get paid. You get a place to sleep. You get food, water." 

Jonggyu stares at him, gaze impassive. 

"I'll look after Eunha," Taehyung continues, finally tearing his eyes away from the wires and the tubes that surround their mother. They keep her alive, but just barely, her liver and her heart failing her by the day. 

"You don't know anything about Eunha," Jonggyu mutters, eyes hardening. 

"I don't have to," Taehyung says quietly. "I'll look after her, though. Like—"

"Like what?" Jonggyu laughs in disbelief. "Like a sister? She is your sister, you fucking prick." 

"Like I should," Taehyung completes, voice firm. 

"Yeah? Why now, then? Huh?" Jonggyu scowls. "'Cause it's easy? 'Cause she's fucking dying?" He points to the only invalid in the room, the ventilator machine whirring quietly. 

"Because I want to," Taehyung snaps, scowling as well. "For fuck's sake, Jonggyu, I don't know what you want from me."

"I want you to leave us alone!" Jonggyu all but yells, and his voice carries out of the room, all the way to the nursing station. 

Taehyung swallows, hard. His fingers tremble a little, itching to reach towards the pack of cigarettes inside of his pocket.

.

Evenings in Geochang are cold, the early November air promising an early frost. 

The house is empty, its remaining three occupants standing outside. The sun has already lowered itself beneath the horizon, trails of fiery orange streaking the purple skies. 

Taehyung's belongings have been thrown out, bag left open. His clothes are on the ground, catching dirt over the damp soil. He clenches his teeth together, hands at his sides. When Taehyung had come home from the hospital, it was to the sight of Jonggyu flinging his belongings out from the porch as a nervous Eunha tried to console him. 

Now, as the three of them stand before the house that's spent years trying to suffocate them, Taehyung takes in a deep breath and tries to keep his frustration at bay. 

"Leave," Jonggyu demands, bitingly. "Please."

"Oppa—" Eunha starts, but he raises a hand, silencing her. 

"I'll leave after the funeral," Taehyung says, voice clipped and strained. 

"She's not dead yet," Jonggyu snarls. "She could be like this for months."

"Then I'll stay until then," Taehyung states. 

"Don't," Jonggyu starts, venom in his voice, "Don't try to play the supportive, big brother role now, Taehyung. It's not going to work." 

And Taehyung winces internally. Because Jonggyu is right, but Taehyung wants to do this. Not because it's easy, but because he's been running away long enough. 

"Look, I—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, don't you get it?!" Jonggyu yells.

"You left!" He continues, his voice rising in volume. His face is flushed with anger and hurt. Taehyung recognizes that expression; he's seen that same look in his own eyes, reflected in the glass of a mirror.

Taehyung flinches at that.

"I had to," he murmurs, voice wavering. Brows coming together, he lowers his gaze. I thought I was going to die.

"You left us ," Jonggyu snaps, bringing a hand up to shove at his brother's chest. He pushes, hard, and Taehyung stumbles back, not putting up a fight. "We were just kids, Taehyung."

There's venom in his voice when he says his name. No formalities; no hyung . Just Taehyung. Taehyung . Laced with loathing and disgust. It makes him despise his own name.

"I was just a kid, too," he murmurs, voice barely audible. 

"But you got away, didn't you?" Jonggyu spits his words out, jabbing an index finger against the guilt that wraps around Taehyung's heart. "You got away. You left. You were free. "

"I—" 

I was scared , is what he doesn't say. We were all scared , is what hangs in the air, unspoken. 

"You what?" Jonggyu scoffs. "You thought you could just send us some money now and then and that would help? Well, you can fucking keep your fucking money, hyung ."

Taehyung swallows dryly, the beginnings of anxiety igniting a fire at the base of his heart. Hands numb and head heavy, he takes an unsteady step back. "I can't do this." He shakes his head a little, mind swimming between oceans.

"Oh, you can't?" Jonggyu raises his voice. "No. Of course you can't, Taehyung. You know why? Because this is what you always fucking do. You see things you don't like and instead of facing them, you run away and leave the rest of us grovelling in the dirt." 

Taehyung winces. He wants to leave. He takes another step backwards. There's an apology sitting along the seam of his lips, unspoken and hesitant. Jonggyu's gaze darts downwards, catching the retreating steps. Taehyung turns on his heel, walking away.

"That's right," Jonggyu calls out after him, taunting; his words drip with bitter mockery. "Go on then. Run away, Taehyung. That's all you've ever been good at anyway."

"Run away like the time you ran out on us, like you ran out of his house," Jonggyu hisses. "Like you ran away from our father!"

Jaw tight and eyes burning, Taehyung lowers his head as he breaks into a run. Jonggyu's words follow him until his world becomes muted, the peripheries of his vision swimming with shades gray and blue.

"I wish that had been you in the water!" Jonggyu yells after him, his voice echoing inside Taehyung's skull, eating away at his mind. "I wish you'd fucking died instead!"

The words break through the walls Taehyung raises around himself. The pressure behind his eardrums falls away and the world rushes back in with the roaring of ocean waves. His ears ring, tinnitus flooding the hallows of his skull and ringing against every sinew and suture line of his bones. 

As the words sink into his skin and bleed into his veins, he forgets how to move his legs and he stumbles. Feet catching against the ground, he falls forward, hands and knees beating down on the earth with a sinking realization. 

The rubble is sharp beneath his palms and it presses into his skin like shards of glass. Taehyung breathes heavily, head swimming as the ground beneath him sways and rocks like the hull of a boat.

Taehyung is six again. 

The boat rocks beneath his weight as he leans over the edge, peering at his reflection. Hooking his fingers into the corners of his mouth, he pulls his lips wide and makes a face at the unassuming schools of little fish that swim the waters. 

"Careful, teddy." 

Taehyung looks up. The voice is familiar, the memory of it twisting daggers into the space beneath his heart. 

The sun is too bright. Taehyung holds his breath and waits for the clouds to drift closer. 

"Come away from there," comes the gentle voice. Soothing, low, velvety. Taehyung's eyes grow damp. 

Shade falls over their temporary haven, and Taehyung stares at the face he'd forgotten a long time ago. Deep set eyes, warm and caring. A squared jaw and a lopsided smile. 

Appa. The word sits on his tongue, ready to take flight. Taehyung blinks and the warmth slips down his cheeks, damp and hot.

Taehyung is six again, but he's no longer on the boat. 

The stench of iodine makes nausea roll inside of his belly. The hospital gown is too large on his small frame. It's a faded, sterile blue. White and purple fish pattern the material. Taehyung wants to throw up.

It was an accident. 

He was drowning, caught between the fish and the algae. Seaweed wrapped around his legs and pulled him under, like the underwater monsters that continue to plague his dreams. 

His father couldn't swim. Not after his accident. Taehyung should have known. Taehyung should have stayed on the boat. It was his fault. His fault.

His fault.

Taehyung's stomach heaves and he retches, dryly. The ground is no longer swaying, covered in rubble instead of sea water. The world feels small all of a sudden, its corners folding in on him until Taehyung is suffocating. Claustrophobia wraps its arms around him, tenderly at first and then with a bone crushing grip. He can't breathe. 

Distantly, Eunha's voice rings through the night, calling out to him worriedly. Quiet footsteps hurry towards him and Taehyung shakes his head, bile rising to his tongue.

Stumbling, Taehyung sways dangerously as he pushes himself up to his feet unsteadily. The world swims beneath his feet and he staggers, losing his footing, before he does the only thing he's good at.

He runs.

.

The nighttime air is cold, and it whips at his cheeks harshly. Taehyung pants harshly, every intake of air burning its way down with fractals of ice. 

He can't think, mind buzzing with static and confusion. For years, he couldn't remember any of it, and now—

It's all he can think about. His father's eyes, his smile. The infectious nature of his laugh. The callouses over his fingers, pressed into his skin from years of manual labour. 

Gone. All of him. 

And it was Taehyung's fault. It's always been his fault. Everything was, is —all of it. He'd been the one to step over the edge of the boat, triggering the butterfly effect that dropped everything else into place like a set of dominoes. 

His father's death. His mother's subsequent drinking. Her string of failed relationships and her marriage to a man who went on to humiliate her and beat her. Her slow descent into addiction, her illness. Her death. Almost. Not quite yet. 

Suddenly, Jonggyu's hatred feels all the more deserved. Jonggyu was only twelve when he'd woken up to a home absent of the only person he could depend on, and Taehyung hadn't spared a single glance back. He had never looked back, never spared another thought as he fought to save himself, to stay alive.

Standing along the river bank, miles away from home, Taehyung remembers a lot of things. Little things, like being locked up in the outhouse, begging to be let out hours after the sun had set because it was dark and he was frightened. 

He remembers the hands around his throat and the alcohol on his stepfather's breath. He remembers the nights spent on the bathroom floor as he hugged his knees to his chest, Jonggyu's quiet footsteps finding him as gentle arms wrapped around Taehyung and held him close. 

Amidst it all, he remembers the devotion in his brother's eyes and the worry between his brows as he taped bandaids over Taehyung's skin with small, careful hands. He remembers the pockets stuffed with apples and bread that Jonggyu had stolen from the kitchen pantry on nights that Taehyung was not allowed to eat. 

And suddenly, it all falls into place. It isn't anger that lingers in the depths of Jonggyu's eyes when he looks at Taehyung now. It's betrayal. Taehyung had betrayed him the night he'd left, and he'd taken a part of him with him.

Taehyung struggles to catch his breath, chest expanding and constricting against his racing heart. His legs ache, and he no longer recognizes where he is or how far he's run. Behind him, the road stretches on for miles, stretching all the way from Daegu to Seoul and then further beyond the two cities.

I wish you'd died instead.

Taehyung wonders if it's too late to change things. Delirium settles along the crevices of his mind, impulsivity pushing him forward as he steps towards the water. 

A reasonable part of him knows this won't change anything. 

But a bigger part of him, weighed down with guilt and growing regret, heavy with a newfound loathing for himself—it makes him careless. He hardly thinks as he steps out of his shoes, windbreaker falling to the ground in a crumpled heap. 

It should have been you in the water.

Taehyung swallows thickly, jaw tight and eyes stinging with heat.

Wading out into the water, Taehyung tries to ignore the chill that burns at his skin and numbs his limbs. The wind howls, full of longing, as if it’s begging him to turn back around. It calls out to him, pushing him against the currents of the water as the frigid air whips him backwards. He stumbles, losing his footing along the riverbed. As the water rises up to his chest, it sways him, cradling him in its cold embrace. It invites him closer, beckoning him into its depths even as the wind tries to pull him back, gripping at his hair and clawing at his clothes. 

The temporary world he creates for himself in this fleeting frame of time is bitingly cold but the wetness that hangs over his eyelashes is scalding. It burns a trail down his skin as it slips over the slope of his cheeks and settles along the dip of his mouth. This late into the night, the earth is quiet, and its colours fade into muted shades of blues and greys that bleed into the water and stick to his skin like tar. 

Infinite shadows swallow him down until he can no longer see where the horizon begins and where the sky ends. The water fades into the twilight colours of the sky and Taehyung is left feeling stranded, suddenly afraid of losing himself in it. 

He wonders briefly, if anyone would miss him. 

Fear grips at him and digs its claws into his flesh, rearing its ugly head as it coils inside of his gut like hot iron. Squeezing his eyes shut, Taehyung looks away from the monster his subconsciousness gives rise to and he falters in his steps, hesitating where the water laps at his chest. The river ebbs and flows, beating against the shores of his sternum until it matches the distant echo of his heart. 

Eyes closed, Taehyung escapes for a moment to golden skies and soft linen. He thinks back to better days. He loses himself to the memory of a warm body pressing closer to his own, their chests drawing together until their hearts echo together as one. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to see freckled skin and a dimpled smile, Jimin’s warmth at the forefront of his mind. Much like the gentle sway of the river currents against Taehyung’s chest, Jimin’s heart slows down to match his own pulse. 

The water is icy cold, but for a moment, the waves feel warm. Imagining Jimin’s embrace, it’s easy to lean into the water, easy to sink into the pull of gravity and find home. And so, as Taehyung falls, the world disappears and Jimin vanishes with it. 

What feels like an eternity slowly ticks by and it drags Taehyung down with it, its vines wrapping around him as it holds him underneath the water. For a moment, he lets himself float, suspended inside of the eternal blue that washes over him entirely. The current roars against his ears as blood rushes to his head, and when Taehyung opens his eyes, he’s completely underwater. 

He’s weightless, and when he looks at his hands, they seem to turn in slow-motion, waves weighing him down. Refracted light scatters over his skin as he lifts his palms skywards, as if in prayer. He wonders, belatedly, if he’s already dead. 

Taehyung isn’t religious, but when his lungs finally expand and remember how to breathe, he hopes that God will save him anyway. 

The water rushes into his lungs like a glacier, flooding him with a bitter cold that pierces at his heart and catches along the cobwebs in his mind. He gasps, lucidity taking over his senses as he thrashes against the water and tries to come up to breathe. 

He looks up, where the night sky is almost impossible to see in the dark, vision obscured by sea green waters. His chest begins to constrict, pinpricks blurring his peripheries even as he tries to swim up towards freedom, kicking his legs against the currents.

When he breaks the surface, gasping for air, his chest caves in on itself as the waves threaten to crush him. Pushing his arms against the water, Taehyung tries to remain afloat even as his clothes weigh him down and cling to the pallor of his skin. 

His lips are trembling, their natural hue having faded into a muted lilac in the cold. They part in a silent prayer, a quiet plea to a God he does not believe in. Please. Please . 

His eyes are hot, fear gathering along his lashes in tears that cling to his lids. Dark hair curls over his eyes damply, and he pushes it away and he tries to cough the water out of his lungs. He looks around, gaze frantic, for help. For anything. For a saviour. 

The shore seems too far out of reach—a thin strip of land that separates the river from the highway. There are no cars at this time of the night and nothing to see but the distant silhouette of an isolated phone booth. A dimming bulb glows from within, bathing the glass panels with a faded light that’s concealed by the wintry, early morning fog. Its golden warmth beckons him over, like a beacon atop a lighthouse, and Taehyung tries to swim towards it. 

His limbs are heavy and fatigued, and that makes it all the more difficult to push himself forward. The cold has stiffened his joints and chafed his skin, and every stroke over the water feels like it could be his last.

The water weighs him down, arms and legs filled with lead and confusion. Years of fighting keeps his stamina up though, and despite the numbness that prickles at his limbs, Taehyung manages to get across the water. His ears are ringing; water gathers against the walls of his eardrums until they're stretched taut with a rising pressure that wraps around his skull like an elastic band.

What remains only meters away feels like several miles, and when the beginnings of rubble find his hands and feet, Taehyung almost sags with relief. Shaky hands find purchase along a rocky ground and he pulls himself up onto the land with every last bit of strength in his fingers. Collapsing, Taehyung allows himself to sink into the soil as he struggles to catch his breath, panting harshly. He coughs, exhaling mist that wraps around him and leaves condensation against the shadows that kiss the spaces beneath his eyelids. 

Closing his eyes for a moment, Taehyung lies against the earth and listens to its slow pulse. His chest rises and falls heavily, each intake of breath drawing shards of what feels like ice along his airways. Slowly, as he catches his breath, Taehyung brings his hands up to his eyes and presses his palms against the heat of his eyelids. He stays like that for a while, as his racing heart begins to slow down a little.

Blades of grass tickle his skin as cattails sway with the breeze and kiss the top of his head. Suspended somewhere between wakefulness and somnolence, Taehyung imagines familiar hands soothing over his scalp as gentle fingers card through his hair. If he tries hard enough, he can hear Jimin’s voice over his skin. It’s okay. You’ll be okay. 

Swallowing thickly, Taehyung lowers his hands and opens his eyes, lifting his gaze towards the cloudy skies. Jimin. Jimin . 

He wants to hear his voice, needs the quiet reassurance of it to lull him to sleep tonight and calm the restless energy that buzzes along the ends of his fingertips like electricity. With some difficulty, Taehyung lifts his head off of the ground and he pushes himself up so that he's sitting, hunched over amidst the overgrowth. He blinks blearily and he looks around, the beginnings of a fever burning at his cheeks. The phone booth glows dimly, its door creaking against the wind, and as Taehyung turns, it catches his attention.

In retrospect, Taehyung isn't sure how he manages to find the strength to push himself up onto his feet and stumble towards the light. He pays no heed as he crosses the street, roads empty for miles.

Pushing open the door to the booth, Taehyung sags a little against it, his knees weak. Discarded coins collect dust on the counter and the floor, and Taehyung is slow as he crouches down and picks them up with shaking hands. He gathers dust and copper, sweeping what he can into his hands before he stumbles towards the payphone.

Picking apart the coins, he searches through them and separates the smaller ones, letting them fall to the ground again. He pushes one of the larger coins into the coin slot and he reaches for the phone. Muscle memory helps him punch in the numbers that he knows by heart, and when he brings the phone to his ear, Taehyung holds his breath. He listens to the dial-tone, counting down the rings until someone picks up on the other side.

“—ello?” Jimin’s voice is rough with sleep and hoarse with a lack of use. He sounds so far away, voice muffled against the pillows that still carry Taehyung’s honeyed scent. Hearing Jimin’s voice is almost cathartic, and the waves from the riverbed seem to roll up against Taehyung’s heart, trapped inside of him in the form of a lump at the base of his throat.

"Jimin." Taehyung's voice is wet, heavy with fearful trepidation. Jimin’s name quivers on the tip of his tongue, and as Taehyung takes in a shuddering breath, it pushes against his rib cage painfully. He grips the phone tightly between both hands, and he leans against the counter when the weight of heart becomes too much of a burden for him to carry.

Taehyung is shaking, completely soaked to the bone, and when he lifts his head a little, the droplets that collect along the ends of his hair break free. They trek down his face, mixing in with the damp warmth that still clings to his lashes. Salt sits over his lips and it tastes of his own tears mixed in with the countryside. 

The temperature outside continues to drop, and even inside of the phone booth, Taehyung's breaths rise up in a translucent mist. Every exhale leaves him in a trail of smoke, drawing the heat out of him and leaving him colder.

"Tae?" Jimin's voice sounds distant, groggy with sleep. "Taehyung—s'that you? You okay?"

The phone cord stretches, its crimson plastic unwinding as Taehyung takes a shaky step backwards and leans his weight against the wall. He slides down the glass and sinks into the ground, wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and let Jimin's voice wash over him. 

Tucking his knees up against his chest, Taehyung tries to focus on the way his lungs expand and press down against his belly, heart slowly pumping oxygen into his blood. Wrapping his arms around himself as best as he can, Taehyung holds himself in a loose embrace, just like Jimin had told him to do whenever things became too much.

Now, with one hand clutching the phone and the other curling into the fabric of his soaked sweater, Taehyung wishes Jimin was here to hold him instead. 

"Taehyung?” Jimin sounds more awake now, worry lacing the edge of his voice with uncertainty. "What's wrong?"

Swallowing thickly, Taehyung opens his mouth and then closes it again, cobwebs lining the back of his throat. Tufts of cotton bloom inside of him, scratching along his throat and teasing at the unshed tears that still prickle at his eyelids. 

"I'm scared, Jimin," Taehyung whispers, the words finally escaping his lips. His voice sounds hollow, faraway, even to his own ears. Giant waves roll against the hallows of his skull, beating against his eardrums. 

Jimin stays quiet and for a few moments, all Taehyung can hear is the soft rustling of cotton sheets and faint static. He hears the spring of the mattress, the quiet creak of the floorboards as Jimin gets out of bed. 

“Where are you, baby?” Jimin asks after a bit, voice soft and only the slightest bit unsteady. He seems to be controlling the emotion in his voice, concealing the worry with a gentle coaxing that does nothing to lessen the weight of the lump in Taehyung's throat. 

Something flips a switch inside of Taehyung, slow warmth seeping into his bones and flooding his veins. Its flames lick at his skin and draw heat over his cheeks, engulfing him entirely. Despite the heat inside of him, his skin feels cold where goosebumps bloom over his arms and his neck. It’s a sickening feeling, one that Taehyung had experienced several times as a child and one that he's found himself growing familiar with once again these past few, tormenting months. 

He's on the precipice of an anxiety attack, throat tight. Nausea rolls inside of his stomach, and when Jimin whispers his name once more, his voice finally breaks the dam holding back Taehyung's tears.

Taehyung hasn’t cried in years, but here, curled up into himself on the floor of a phone booth in the middle of nowhere, he lets the despair wash over him in torrents. 

It wraps around him and drowns him, pulling him under the waves until he can’t breathe. He’s drowning again, buried six feet underneath the weight of his own guilt, his own misery. When he remembers how to breathe again, an exhale escapes him in a ragged sob that leaves his shoulders shaking. 

On the other end of the line, Jimin clutches his phone a little tighter, chest constricting. Warmth springs to his eyes, blossoming into crystalline tears that glisten along the ends of his lashes. When he blinks, they break free and drip onto the floor. A single droplet lands over his foot, right over a faded freckle.

He’s never seen or heard Taehyung cry before and, after tonight, he hopes he never will. Taehyung very rarely cries, but when he does, it sounds like every sob that leaves him is ripping his soul apart. Every breath he takes is jagged and harsh, his sobs growing into cries that make Jimin's heart ache.

Bottom lip quivering, Jimin tightens his jaw and something in his belly twists pitifully. Speaking up tentatively, Jimin hopes he doesn’t sound as broken as he feels. “Taehyung?”

It takes a moment, but the younger replies with a muted hum that makes Jimin want to sink to his knees.

“Can you tell me where you are, baby?” Jimin asks. He inhales slowly, breath shuddering, and he closes his eyes for a moment as he waits patiently for the younger's cries to quieten. It takes what feels like an eternity, and Jimin fears that the line might disconnect soon.

"I don't know." Just when Jimin is starting to think that the line has died, Taehyung finally speaks up. His words stick to his tongue, voice barely above a whisper.

"Can you please check?" Jimin whispers. "Maybe there's a—a sign, outside. A board, or a number or a name—anything. Anything will do, Taehyung, so could you please check?" He holds his breath, swallowing thickly.

Please.

There's a long pause, during which Taehyung's sobs subside just enough that he can steady himself and reach for the counter with a fumbling hand, pulling himself up onto his feet. He hiccups and Jimin winces internally.

Jimin listens as Taehyung shifts around, a little sluggish in his movements, as though he had been about to doze off. There's a pause as the younger sets the phone down for a moment, and Jimin waits with bated breath. He hears the creak of a door and realizes that Taehyung must have stepped out for a moment. 

When Taehyung returns, it's with the route number and Jimin finally breathes a little easier. 

The payphone disconnects first, and Jimin hangs up soon after, sagging against the wall as he tries to clear his mind.

He wastes only a moment, before he straightens up, body moving on its own accord. It’s only when he’s standing out on the pavement in his thin pyjama bottoms and a sheer, oversized top does he realize that it’s raining. He’s soaked within minutes, toes curling against the dampness of his bedroom slippers. 

He doesn’t know where he’s going, clutching a piece of paper with only a double digit route number scribbled onto it. His eyes scan the streets frantically as he takes a few steps forward, slippers sliding dangerously over the slippery, uneven pavement. 

Finding a cab in Seoul should be easier than this, but the universe seems intent on keeping him apart from Taehyung for just a little longer as the rain picks up and falls more heavily. Heaven opens up its flood gates, as if it’s weeping for the boy huddled inside of a glass room in the middle of nowhere.

A short, orange car rounds the corner and Jimin runs towards it, waving it down urgently. It rolls to a stop and Jimin hurries in, the blast from the heater hitting his cheeks with warmth. He leans forward and passes the driver the bit of paper, and though the man seems irked at a lack of direction, he sets off, heading South. 

Jimin doesn’t know where they're headed, and the cab driver no longer bothers to ask. Everything is still and quiet, and even the distant thunder seems to fade away. It’s as if, for a brief moment, the entire world has been silenced in grieving. 

Even Seoul comes to a rare standstill as the nighttime hours thread themselves into the early morning light. Jimin wonders if Taehyung is alright, or if the fear and the cold have left him to ruin. He fidgets a little and leans forward, asking the driver to speed up a little despite the slippery roads and obscured windows.

The journey is long, but as they begin to slow down, their destination approaching, Jimin sits up straighter. By the time they're en route to Taehyung's hometown, Jimin keeps his eyes open for any signs of the younger out on the street. It's cold and he hopes that the younger has some shelter or some warmth. 

It's been a couple of hours since he'd spoken to the younger, and with every passing minute, he grows more worried for Taehyung's well-being. He asks the driver to slow down a little and he keeps his eyes on the sides of the road. As they get closer to the Southern states,  the beginnings of early morning light begin to tease at the heavy, grey clouds. The rain has slowed down to a quiet pitter-patter that hangs over the windows and scatters light into rainbows that dance over Jimin’s skin.

Elsewhere, Taehyung caves into the lethargy in his bones. He's curled up, huddled against the corner of the booth. His sweater is still damp, and it seems to worsen the fever on his cheeks and the pounding in his head.

As the night fades to day, the rain outside comes to a stop. He breathes in slowly, deeply, as he slips in and out of consciousness, on a brink of a restless sleep. His eyelids feel rough, dry and irritated from a night of crying into the sleeves of his sweater. 

The hours slip by slowly, silver light blooming into something golden as the sun climbs above the horizon. 

When Taehyung opens his eyes much later, it's to the sound of the door creaking open. The sky is blue and the clouds are purple, golden sunlight teasing through the gaps. Head heavy and body fatigued, he vaguely registers the discomfort of a sore throat every time he tries to swallow. He feels congested, the spaces beneath his eyes and underneath his skull burning with a temperature that leaves him looking as flushed as he feels. 

Taehyung already feels sick, body having succumbed to the November air and the lingering dampness over his clothes. His fatigue is amplified by the exhaustion that comes with the passing of adrenaline, and it renders him immobile, limbs heavy. He feels like he's floating, suspended somewhere between wakefulness and unconsciousness, and it takes him more than a few moments to register the presence of another person inside of the booth. 

"Hey there, pretty." Jimin's voice is soft and quiet. It coaxes Taehyung like a lullaby, gentle words washing over him like a lukewarm bath. A careful hand settles behind the nape of his neck, and Taehyung sighs softly at the tender touch. 

Lifting his head, Taehyung raises his eyes until his gaze finds Jimin's underneath the early morning light. As the events of the night weigh blanket their shoulders, Taehyung feels a chill run down his spine.

Up close though, as Jimin crouches down next to him, the warmth he radiates feels a lot like heaven. Silver sunlight dances against a persimmon tinted sky and it sets his hair ablaze, drawing a halo around the golden strands. He looks ethereal and unreal, and Taehyung briefly wonders if he's seeing angels.

"Jimin?" He murmurs, his own voice sounding far away to his ears.

At that, Jimin shifts a little closer, the hand around Taehyung's nape verging on protective. "Yeah?" He whispers, eyes raking over the tired pallor of Taehyung's features. 

"Am I dead?" Taehyung asks slowly, words barely above a whisper. His voice is strained, hoarse from a lack of use and the itch that settles against the back of his throat, clawing at it with a feverish discomfort. 

Something stirs inside of Jimin and makes his bottom lip tremble. Hesitating for a moment, Jimin shakes his head a little and attempts a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "No," he whispers, bringing a hand up to gently away the dark strands that cling to Taehyung's forehead. 

"No, you're not, Taehyung," he says, voice shaking a little. He brings his hand down to cradle Taehyung's cheek, and he wipes his thumb at the traces of tears that have dried along the younger's skin. "You're going to be just fine, okay? I'm going to take care of you." 

"I don't feel so good," Taehyung mumbles, taking in weak, shallow breaths. His lashes feel heavy, eyelids sinking with exhaustion. Leaning into the warmth of Jimin's hand, Taehyung turns his head until he can rest his temple against the cradle of the latter's palm. 

Swallowing thickly, Jimin moves a little closer and he wraps an arm around the younger protectively. "I've got you. You'll be alright, pretty."

Taehyung's skin is hot to the touch, and when Jimin gently presses his lips to the former's forehead, he hears him sigh with relief at the cooling touch. 

"Let's get you out of here," Jimin murmurs. 

And with a strength that Taehyung sometimes forgets Jimin possesses, he slips an arm around Taehyung's waist and he hauls him up onto his feet. Steadying him, Jimin waits until the younger rests his weight against him entirely, and he rests a patient hand against the small of Taehyung's back.

It takes a collective effort to help Taehyung out of the booth and onto the sidewalk. He's stiff, body heavy with fatigue and exhaustion. With every step he tries to take, he stumbles a little, swaying. Jimin holds onto him a little tighter, catching him around the waist. As they make their way back to the same cab that Jimin had arrived in, he utters a quiet word of gratitude to the driver for waiting. 

Inside the car, the heater is still turned up. It breaks a sweat against Taehyung's burning skin, and draws beads of perspiration that hardly take any time to settle over his temples and sink into the dips of his collarbones. The fog that presses along the sinews of his skull make it difficult to think, and Taehyung finds himself at a loss for words as he gives in to the aching emptiness that floods his thoughts. He barely registers Jimin's words when the latter addresses him, and he only distantly registers it when Jimin redirects the driver to the nearest village.

Drifting, Taehyung briefly dozes off, a fever in his veins. By the time the car comes to a stop again, a mere fifteen minutes later, the sun is nearing its zenith. Blue skies chase away the last of the pink clouds and later, when they step out of the car and onto the pavement, Taehyung has to fight the urge to simply sink into the earth and lay there for a while.

The world spins on its axis slowly as time slips through his fingers like smoke. Taehyung feels dazed, and as Jimin guides him to the narrow motel across the street, he leans his weight into his saviour and closes his eyes once more.

They go through the motions in a daze, and Taehyung barely registers the journey from the entrance to the front desk, and then later to the narrow stairways that lead a path up to even narrower rooms. Jimin unlocks the door for him and, with a hand resting along the base of Taehyung's spine, he gently ushers him into the room. 

Taehyung's body seems to be moving on its own, his mind having shut down hours ago. His feet shuffle over the floor, and he realises belatedly that they're bare. His shoes and coat lay forgotten somewhere by the riverbank, his wallet trapped beneath the pebbles. He opens his mouth to say as much, but words are scarce and Taehyung closes his mouth once more. 

He stops and he stares at his feet, at the mud from the river and the blood that has dried where his skin had caught against the rocks. For a brief moment, Taehyung is sixteen again, standing at the bus stop and looking down at his bare feet with shame. It's funny, in a crude sort of way, how the universe seems intent on bringing him right back to where he'd started. It's as if the world is taunting him, teasing at the fact that he'll never be able to truly escape from it all. 

Behind him, Jimin busies himself with turning the key in the lock. He looks through the closets, and he comes out with a set of towelled robes that look worn out but warm enough to change into. 

Taehyung is pulled out of his train of thought, when a small hand wraps around his wrist and gently tugs. He blinks and looks up from where he'd been staring at the ground, feet rooted to the floor. He doesn't ask questions and he follows wordlessly as Jimin helps him into the bathroom and out of his clothes.

"Let me just," Jimin murmurs, curling his fingers along the hem of Taehyung's shirt. Lifting the material, he hikes it upwards, over the younger's pliant body.

Jimin doesn't ask Taehyung why he's drenched, but he's able to make an educated guess that wrings his heart. He wonders, if perhaps Taehyung would have died hours ago this morning, if Jimin hadn't woken up and answered the phone. The possibility of it makes his hands tremble and Jimin has to bite his lip to stay quiet, eyes stinging.

Instead, Jimin lifts himself a little onto the tips of his toes as he pulls Taehyung's sweater up and off of him. He lets it fall to the ground in a wet heap and then does the same with the cotton t-shirt underneath. Taehyung's pants come next, and Jimin has to lower himself onto his knees so that he can tug the material down the firm softness of the younger's toned thighs. 

Taehyung lets Jimin undress him, pliant and obedient as he steps out of his trousers and waits. Jimin pauses for a moment, like everything is starting to weigh heavily on him too, like Taehyung's exhaustion is bleeding out into the spaces between them and burrowing itself into Jimin's skin. 

Sighing softly, Jimin leans in for a moment and closes his eyes, resting his forehead against the base of Taehyung's thigh. They stay like that for a while, until Taehyung reaches out and cards his fingers through Jimin's hair gently. 

The events of the night lay unspoken between them, the elephant in the room growing bigger the longer they avoid speaking about what Taehyung had attempted to do to himself. 

Swallowing dryly, Taehyung opens his mouth again and this time, he manages to find his voice as he whispers, "I'm sorry." 

He feels the way Jimin's breath catches, instead of hearing it, and he watches with bated breath until Jimin finally pulls back and looks up at him. The smile over Jimin's face is small and weary. He looks tired, eyes rimmed with red, but he shakes his head reassuringly anyway and leans in close once more, pressing his lips just above Taehyung's knee in a lingering kiss. 

Jimin stays like that for a moment, and when he pulls back, there's newfound determination in his eyes as he pushes himself up onto his feet. 

"Let's get you washed up and into bed, yeah?" He whispers. He avoids Taehyung's eyes, like he's afraid of what he might see in them. Lowering his gaze, Taehyung nods quietly, and he lets Jimin walk him over to the narrow, ivory tub. 

Helping Taehyung down, Jimin seats himself at the edge of the tub, and he lets the warm water wash over his own hands before he cups his palm and collects it. Like this, he gently washes Taehyung's face, wiping away the grime and the tears that stained his pretty face. 

It's a slow process, but it's one that Jimin takes the utmost care in as he works his way from top to bottom. Gentle fingers push soap suds through dark hair, and when Jimin washes them down, Taehyung closes his eyes and sighs softly. 

Once they're finished, Jimin helps Taehyung out with a strong hand and he dries him off with a towel. He takes care to wipe him off thoroughly, over his legs and down his back. Later, when Taehyung is seated at the edge of the bed and wrapped up in a robe, Jimin towels the younger's hair dry with a tenderness that borders on being loving.

When Jimin leaves and then returns, having showered himself, they find themselves once more stranded in silence. The air is awkward and a little tense, and Jimin hovers by the foot of the bed, dressed down in a robe similar to the one wrapped around Taehyung. 

Neither of them says a word, until Taehyung looks up at him and parts his lips slightly, eyes beseeching. Swallowing heavily, Jimin feels his chest tighten as he takes a step forward, and then another. 

Standing between Taehyung's legs, Jimin hesitates for a moment before he brings his hands up to cup the younger's face. Gently, he tips Taehyung's head back and lifts Taehyung's chin upwards so that he's able to get a better look at his face.

"How are you feeling?" Jimin asks softly, after a long pause. His thumb gently strokes over the clean slope of Taehyung's cheek. He's still a little warm to the touch, and as Taehyung shifts a little closer, Jimin brings his hand up to touch the younger's forehead, checking his temperature. 

Like a moth drawn to a flame, Taehyung leans into the other's touch and he nuzzles in close. Wrapping his arms around Jimin's waist, Taehyung pulls him closer and presses his face into the warmth of a soft belly and breathes in deeply. Even after a shower, Jimin smells of lavender warmth and honeysuckle, of rain and of home.

Breathing in slowly, Taehyung lets the familiar scent wash over him. "I'm okay," he whispers, closing his eyes. He nuzzles in gently, nosing along the exposed sliver of skin, where Jimin's robe hangs loose. 

"Can we stay like this for a while?" Taehyung murmurs, eyes remaining closed. He holds onto him, wanting nothing more in this moment than to lay his body against Jimin and sleep. 

Humming quietly, Jimin cards his hand through the younger's hair. It's still a little damp, and it catches along his fingers. He holds him until Taehyung's breathing slows down, short, shallow breaths of air that tease at his own belly. 

They remain unmoving, both of them listening to each other’s quiet breaths. Noticing the way Taehyung seems to be matching the rise and fall of his own breaths, Jimin slows down and inhales deeply. 

When he exhales, Taehyung exhales with him, and Jimin's mouth quirks up at the corners in a faint smile. They breathe together, until the restlessness inside of Taehyung comes to a quiet lull and Jimin wonders if he's fallen asleep just like that.

He tucks his chin in and leans back a little, trying to check, but when Taehyung's grip around him tightens a little, preventing Jimin from pulling back, he breathes out a short, quiet laugh. 

"I thought you'd fallen asleep," Jimin murmurs, resting both hands atop Taehyung's shoulders. He squeezes gently, kneading and rolling his thumbs along the tightly wound tendons. 

A small shake of the head is his response, and Jimin smiles faintly. 

"Do you want to lie down?" He asks softly. Just for tonight, they'll pretend nothing is wrong, and the elephant in the room from earlier walks away. 

"Will you lie down too?" Taehyung asks after a while, words barely audible. Jimin hums quietly in response and gently pushes the younger back.

Reluctantly, Taehyung pulls back and looks up at the other. His eyes are clear, albeit tired. Underneath a veil of exhaustion, Taehyung's expression is honest, and the look in his eyes glows warm with devotion and adoration. For the first time in his life, Taehyung feels safe in the arms of another person. 

"Tae," Jimin whispers, because something in his eyes feels a lot like a confession. Something in Taehyung's eyes feels a lot like forever, and Jimin swallows thickly as Taehyung presses his hands to the small of his back and draws him close once more.

They fall onto the mattress together, bouncing a little, with Jimin blanketing Taehyung's body with his own. Jimin blinks, looking down into Taehyung's eyes, at those beautiful, beautiful eyes, and he leans in close until their noses are almost touching. 

His hands are trapped between their chests, Taehyung's hands tracing patterns into the curve of Jimin's spine. As they breathe each other in, the seconds grow longer and the world outside falls silent. 

"I love you." The words leave Jimin's lips in a rush, without a second thought. They hang suspended in the air, and when Taehyung inhales sharply, he breathes them in.

"I love you," Jimin repeats, because he's glad that Taehyung is here, that he's alive. Because he almost never got to say it at all. He whispers the words over and over again, like a quiet prayer, until the words sink into the golden warmth of Taehyung's skin and paint it red. 

He isn't sure when Taehyung's hands come away from his back and over his face, but when the younger pulls him down into a kiss, Jimin melts into it. They kiss, slow and tender, and when they break apart, their smiles are soft and their eyes are damp.

For the first time in a long time, Taehyung is grateful to be alive. Because loving Jimin doesn't make any of this go away. It doesn't fix anything, doesn't make anything better. But loving Jimin makes him feel safe, and that's all he needs tonight.

Later, as the sun rises beyond its zenith and then begins its slow descent towards the horizon once again, Jimin watches the way the afternoon shadows dance across Taehyung's sleeping face. He counts the freckles that litter his skin like faded constellations, scattered between old and new scars. The light that filters in through the crack in the blinds fades into a brilliant pink as the sun begins to set.

Threading his fingers through Taehyung's hair, Jimin pushes back the strands with an almost maternal touch; one that Taehyung hasn't felt ever since he was too small to reach the kitchen counters. Brushing through the dark locks, Jimin teases at the roots along Taehyung's scalp and finds himself hoping that he's able to ease the ache that settles behind the younger's eyes. 

Jimin studies the way Taehyung's lashes throw shadows that lengthen over the apples of his cheeks, as the golden hours deepen, and he lets him sleep away the hours. As the sun disappears, it leaves behind the blue shade of the night and Jimin welcomes the end of another day with Taehyung in his arms, relieved. 

What a relief that they have each other, he thinks.

What a relief that they're still here.

______