Chapter Text
it’s taehyung who brings the sparklers - grin eager and wild beneath the moonlight. namjoon skips over to him to grab one but seokjin and hoseok nearly push each other off course as they lunge for the lighter in namjoon’s hand. jeongkook watches as namjoon pouts as the lighter is confiscated but obediently holds out the long, thin stick out in front of him for seokjin to light.
“hey, come on, come over here!” hoseok calls out but jeongkook is good right here, sitting up and sideways to lay his feet on top of the arm of the beat up couch as the warmth of yoongi leans up against the space between his shoulderblades. jimin scrambles from where he had his head pillowed on yoongi’s lap, eyes still closed, and lets the way taehyung’s and seokjin’s laughter bounces around the empty warehouse guide his teetering path towards the other boys.
jeongkook holds his breath when yoongi grumbles a little, one hand curving around jeongkook’s waist and the other pressing against the too soft cushion under him to sit up straighter. jeongkook looks over his shoulder to yoongi, sleep mussed, hair sticking up on one side of his head and eyes swollen.
“what time is it,” yoongi drawls, voice deeper and syllables slurring together more than usual.
“1:32 AM,” jeongkook responds, smiling a little at yoongi’s face contorting in a giant, ugly yawn. they watch the others for a moment, laughing out loud when namjoon yelps at the fuschia sparks coming a little too close to his hair as jimin stops his wild spinning, gasping for breath as he cackles and clings to namjoon’s arm in apology. seokjin drops his fizzing sparkler, crying out as hoseok yells in companionable surprise as it spits out light in a particularly violent wash like rain.
yoongi’s voice is warm like a scratchy woolen blanket, “stupid fuckers.” jeongkook looks at yoongi. yoongi doesn’t look back. instead, he lets the light from their friends illuminate his hooded eyes, the faded silver his hair turns in random pops and receding hisses.
jeongkook drops his gaze. if he could see me, he thought as he picked at his jeans fraying at his knee, if he could see me, if he could just see me and look at me,
“yoongi hyung! jeongkook!” namjoon waves his hand in the air to get their attention.
yoongi sighs like he’s pretending to give in, “all right, all right.” the two twist and stand from the comfortable grooves their bodies were making in the old cushions. they hear jimin point, laugh at taehyung’s poor attempt at drawing something in the air with the sparks, the shape becoming more like a strange rectangle than a star with each aggressively strong motion. then all the boys are doing it - hearts and wild circles, seokjin and his stick figures. namjoon jumps up and down with his, quickly sputtering in his hand, and tries to write the last character of his name.
“hey, hey, where’s the polaroid camera,” yoongi turns to dig through the pile they made earlier with their jackets.
jeongkook leans in to look too, to toss taehyung’s beanie and namjoon’s sweatshirt aside, “hold on, i think it’s - here.” he hands yoongi the palm sized camera and looks on as jimin comes forward to have his picture taken.
“hyung, take a nice one, okay? nice one,” jimin says as he spins the lit sparkler around and around, the height of the curve just at his shoulders. yoongi presses the button after fidgeting with the dial around the lens. jeongkook laughs as jimin, last minute, pulls a face and click -
seokjin places his chin on jimin’s left shoulder and hoseok puts his arm around jeongkook, peering over where yoongi has the camera still aloft to see the developing picture.
taehyung and namjoon abandon the burnt remnants of the sparklers, kicking the ash with their clumsy feet.
“did the picture come out all right?” taehyung calls from where he’s pulling out more boxes of sparklers, poppers, ground spinners.
yoongi holds up the little glossy square, still opaquely white in large patches. then jimin’s face slowly emerges, half obscured just where his hand is swinging in a downward arc, the orange blaze of the incomplete circle just hiding his left eye curved in excitement.
“i should have brought my camera,” yoongi shrugs and passes it to hoseok’s, jeongkook’s eager fingers. they ooh and aww over it for a moment, complimenting and laughing at yoongi when he turns his head, cheeks pink. hoseok lumbers over then to taehyung, laughing and pushing namjoon playfully. seokjin and jimin set, one by one, the matches alight. taehyung and hoseok lift up the ground spinners and the others cheer.
jeongkook keeps his eyes on yoongi. the other looks on the group, the crackling flames that domino into swirling pops on the cement. he is washed again, cleansed of all color, replacing rosy flesh with white. jeongkook’s ears itch with the hiss of fire, the spinning pink and white that spread wide to almost touch his boots. he hears taehyung laugh in gasps and hoseok in starts and stops. he steps in close, close enough for his chest lifting and sinking in breath to startle yoongi’s sleeve.
yoongi turns his head towards him and it is the last image, thrown in heavy contrast, behind jeongkook’s eyes when he leans in to kiss him.
jeongkook has his hand curled around the back of yoongi’s head, cradling the itch of the short strands of hair in his palm. yoongi’s mouth is warm and jeongkook knows that as they lean closer together, that he can taste the rush of red under his. jeongkook fists his hand in the front of yoongi’s shirt but yoongi remains still, his arms obediently by his side. the fireworks continue to go off in jeongkook’s ears when yoongi moves his lips, a minute, wet shift and his hand comes up to circle jeongkook’s wrist. the fireworks fade away and jeongkook feels the marching band in yoongi’s chest. he wonders if there is a parade behind his ribcage too, forcing blood up into his head and oxygen out of his lungs.
they part, then. jeongkook’s eyes are only just opening when yoongi pushes him hard. jeongkook stumbles back and yoongi rounds on him quickly, pushing him harder once again. the other falls back, scraping his elbows in an attempt to catch himself.
the fireworks sputter weakly beside jeongkook, strewn on the ground like him. yoongi’s breathing hard, arm coming up to wipe at his mouth and his shoulders hiccup strangely for a beat. taehyung’s hand limply holds another sparkler. hoseok grabs namjoon by the shoulder when he sees the boy make to walk towards the two.
jeongkook tilts his head back. seokjin, upside down, frowns.
--
“don’t be so fucking stupid,” namjoon’s voice rings clear and sweet, like a rush of wind that makes jimin shudder behind the blankness he keeps tight over his eyes. seokjin runs the pad of his index finger along the edge of the polaroid, again and again. hoseok leans his head against seokjin’s knee, staring into the white fire. yoongi doesn’t move from where he leans his head back against the top of the sofa cushion. jeongkook pretends along with them, pretends he can’t hear.
“fucking stupid,” taehyung’s consonants pop, bitter and painful like splashes of hot oil, “that’s right, i’m fucking stupid.”
namjoon sighs, all the fight whooshing out of him, “taehyung, i shouldn’t have said that.” fabric rustles. an arm is wrenched out of an apologetically weak grip.
“shut up,” taehyung replies, “don’t touch me.” he comes, stomping through the underbrush, the weeds straining to live even under the pale moon and cool night. plopping down onto the dirt next to jimin, he starts pulling them up, viciously and teeth bared in a fearsome grimace. jeongkook dares to look up, look past the junked metal twisted, sheets of wavy metal roofs jumbled on top of it all. the slab of mirror namjoon looks at hangs awkwardly there, a flourescent light bolted to the top of it shining hard.
namjoon’s sad face under a spotlight, the lamp buzzing like a halo beside his head; the man behind a cage with only himself for company.
he breathes onto the glass and watches the mist receed. the man’s hand twitches, lifts a little, then thinks better of it, jeongkook thinks. namjoon turns to them then, plods back to them with his head drooping and limbs following suit.
jimin cracks open a bottle, the sharp tang of lemonade bursting onto the small space. jeongkook allows himself to fall back, fall and nestle the groove of the back of his neck to settle on yoongi’s thigh. the wheel of the lighter hisses then pops. hiss - pop. hiss - pop.
jeongkook turns his head. seokjin opens his mouth to speak.
hiss - pop. jeongkook blows out the flame, the little light.
--
he’s stumbled for what felt like days. jimin winces as he clutches his right arm and slides down a little against the stone railing of the bridge. he breathes heavily, gasping as he struggles to get back on his feet. teetering for a moment, he continues down the sidewalk.
he can see the river water below him, the putrid glide of dark green, spinach yellowed in a plastic bag. he can’t remember the last time he drank water, ate anything.
the umbrella, he abandoned a couple of miles back - it had served him well as a cane until the spike point gave way in the dirt, expanding the metal ribs, ripping into the canopy, and collapsing completely. his ankle has felt wrong since, since he fell onto the ground.
nausea tries to get the better of him just then, but he’s already vomited out all he could hours ago. he can still smell the candlewax, the blueberry compote that sat gelatinously atop a white cake. if he closes his eyes, he can hear the shutters on the studio windows fall closed, the squeal of sneakers on polished wooden floors. the smell of chocolate bars and sharp pine needles.
jimin leans over the railing and dry heaves, spitting hard below after the convulsions in his throat and chest stop. there are sparks behind his eyelids and he swings his head to clear his vision. jimin remains still against the bridge to catch his breath.
if only he could get to the arboretum.
if only he could rest his body in the soft green grass below the white birch trees beside the manmade stream under the dome of glass. rest in the place he and hoseok once ran their fingers through before getting caught by the security guard.
jimin hefts himself back upright and walks again.
the sun rains down hot pinpricks of heat through his shirt, still damp from the night before. jimin’s eyes flutter closed then open; his hands feel cold. he can see the flowers verdant on silver boughs, exploding violently and spraying the black air with orange pollen. again and again, the petals crumple like pieces of paper only to unfold in vast expanses that extend like birds’ wings.
he wilts, shoulders falling low and head bowed. placing a hand over his mouth, jimin bends and slides his feet weakly forward.
if only he could reach the arboretum (he’s been there before, when he was younger). the place where he gaped at blue trees and waxy leaves the size of his head.
if only he could get to the place where he last heard jeongkook’s voice (a man he doesn’t know holds his drawing out to him. take it, he had said with a strange smile) through the humidity that hung around their heads like fog.
the blood drips from the very ends of his fingertips. jimin lifts his hand to stare at the red liquid pool, turn this way and that on his skin at the change in direction. flowers are blooming there too, the tightly round and untried buds of cherry blossoms falling, falling, falling. (the closet was dark - i don’t remember, jimin had said.)
a hand is on his shoulder, turning him around. jimin cries out his name. wants to hope.
seokjin’s striped shirt is white and stark, each horizontal line, black staff, burdgeoning under a cascade of flower notes. jimin falls into his arms, sobbing. seokjin smells of yellow carnations, flushed and open.
--
“wake up, jeon jeongkook,” the voice is even, “come on, wake up.” a warm hand rubs up and down jeongkook’s forearms, his shoulders. it is an easy, gentle coaxing and jeongkook opens his eyes, vision bleary still with sleep.
the sound of waves rushing along the sand a couple of meters away greets his ears. he heaves himself up slightly by his elbows, groaning lowly. looking up, the flat expression on yoongi’s face watches him.
“where are we going,” jeongkook starts to whisper but yoongi’s already turned around, hand lazily in the air to motion for jeongkook to follow him. jeongkook shrugs taehyung’s abandoned bomber jacket on stiffly. he hefts himself from where he is lying down as quietly as he can. wincing when his left boot clangs against the metal bumper on his way onto the ground, jeongkook sighs and watches for any sign that his hyungs are awake.
hoseok and namjoon are snoring together - even with the windows mostly up, jeongkook can still hear the thunderous rattling from where he stood. how could seokjin hyung sleep in the middle of all that, jeongkook shakes his head and wearily smiles, fond. jimin shifts, a long snuffle into taehyung’s bicep, and kicks at the red flannel blanket wrapped around him. taehyung doesn’t move at all, the gentle swell of his chest barely lifting in breath.
stretching his arms up, up, taller and taller, jeongkook yawns. his face burns hot when he sees that yoongi has stopped, turned, and is looking at him. then, he watches as the older boy just turns back around, scuffing the bottoms of his sneakers with little, short kicks at nothing but dust. still, jeongkook’s gait turns eager, like a newborn puppy’s, and draws nearer to yoongi.
“hyung,” jeongkook nearly giggles and is mortified. yoongi bends and sits at the edge of the dock, patting the empty concrete next to him. jeongkook scurries to obey, scrunching all of his newly grown 177 cm of himself beside him as close as would be considered polite.
the pair sit for a while, legs swinging just above the well of seafoam below. yoongi throws his arm around jeongkook’s shoulder and jeongkook startles, keeps his now shaking hand where he has shaped it into a mock telescope over his eye. he desperately hopes that yoongi’s firm palm doesn’t feel where it has sent his entire body into fine tremors.
the sea passes against the dock in glugging sounds. they remain in silence under the sky that is slowly brightening ahead and above. jeongkook holds his breath in intervals, closing his eyes and pinching at the back of his left hand with his right, the hand that has finally come down to rest in his lap.
“hyung,” he starts, eyes fluttering open.
“do you only know the word ‘hyung’?” yoongi laughs, voice hoarse, “i can count on one hand the times you’ve said any other word to me than the word ‘hyung’.” pouting, jeongkook nudges yoongi’s side, shy and blushing red.
“hyung,” he says defiantly. yoongi laughs again, the kind of laugh that sounded like quick huffs of air that sounds like he pushed up from deep in his stomach. his amusement tightens his grip across jeongkook’s shoulders and the boy under it feels like his head is going to explode. yoongi quiets eventually, smile fading slow on his pale face. jeongkook dares to tuck himself a little closer, a small amount of space closer to him.
“look, jeongkook,” yoongi whispers close to his ear a few moments later, “how can the sky and the sea look so much alike? look at the colors, look.”
the sun, a white dinner plate, edges upwards and away from the water. the sea and sky are overlapping each other like discolored paper under hours of high light. the horizon, jeongkook is sure, is far, far away but it feels so close, like if he reached out, he could touch and feel its softness like bird down.
it’s beautiful.
he looks to his left. yoongi’s eyes are glazed over in ecstacy, wide mirrors that reflects the pale blue exactly and without flaw. it makes jeongkook feel inexplicably brave.
“hyung, are you going to get in trouble,” jeongkook’s words are little orange buoys, bouncing in waves and wavering in the quiet, “you know… because of me? because i - ”
“don’t worry,” yoongi smiles rakishly and his words are soft, “don’t worry about stupid shit like that.” he drums his fingers against the joint where jeongkook’s arm and shoulder meets, eyes resting on the bruise no longer there on jeongkook’s left cheek, the scar that remained like a divet in ice cream.
jeongkook tugs at his sleeve, “i can’t help it.”
yoongi breathes in deeply, “i know.” their eyes meet; yoongi grins softly, shaking them back and forth, side to side by his arm around jeongkook and jeongkook laughs brightly at the rocking movement.
“what are you two doing?”
seokjin stands high up on the hill that slopes down to the dock, namjoon sleepily rubbing at his eyes just behind him. his brows are furrowed and his eyes reveal nothing though his mouth is parted like he has something to say.
“nothing,” yoongi whips his arm down, away and holds it to his stomach as if it were in a cast, “what?”
jeongkook mourns the cold, face turned back to the sea, as he feels yoongi get to his feet quickly. he hears the gravel give way under yoongi’s footsteps and jeongkook scrunches his shoulders up to his ears, kicking his right foot harder and harder above the roiling saltwater. he hears whispering, the jut of some words sudden and harsh and at that, he turns to look.
namjoon holds both hands up, placating but it’s no use. yoongi’s waving off seokjin’s words that get furiously faster and faster. it doesn’t look like he’s responding at all until he does, seething, and sends seokjin recoiling.
jeongkook gets up. his motion causes all conversation to stop, seokjin wearing a mournful expression on his face as he looks at him. namjoon sighs and tries again to talk to yoongi but he’s already elsewhere, jeongkook can tell by his eyes.
“come here, jeongkook,” seokjin says, not flinching when yoongi pushes between him and namjoon to walk away, “taehyung wants to go to the tower before we leave.”
jeongkook scampers up the hill and falls in line behind seokjin and namjoon. hoseok stumbles out of the truck, blearily rubbing his hands up and down his arms. jimin laughs at him as he trips a little, only to be grabbed into a weak, sleepy chokehold and sent into giggles.
taehyung is already far ahead of everyone, standing in profile to everyone headed his way and eyes aiming up into the cloudless sky. jeongkook jogs a little, making his way to yoongi’s side.
“hyung,” jeongkook whispers. yoongi doesn’t acknowledge the younger’s presence, stalwartly staring into the now bright morning and taehyung in the distance.
“hyung, let’s come here again,” jeongkook smiles as he practically skips beside him. together, he means, just the two of us. some of jeongkook’s bravery, some of the giddiness yoongi’s proximity brought to jeongkook sings in the younger’s chest.
yoongi stops. jeongkook nearly falls over when he tries to stop galloping at the other’s furious pace, turning to face him. yoongi begins to laugh, the big hitches and hiccups that were dredged up from the very middle of himself. jimin and hoseok look, confused expressions on their faces, but continue on past them. jeongkook smiles and laughs too, spinning in place to make yoongi laugh harder.
jeongkook can pick the grains of sand from the wind around him, his hands flexing in the breeze. the sun feels good now, warm on his back and he feels free under yoongi’s warm gaze. their laughter peters off and they stand, facing each other. the others are a long ways off now.
yoongi’s chest caves with the force of his sigh and smiles, helpless, “all right.”
--
jeongkook stumbles, hand scraping against the brick as he throws it against the wall to hold himself up. he rubs his eyes tiredly, fingers then combing upwards and palm running through his black hair.
the wind from atop the building had tousled the thick, dark strands and jeongkook winces as he pulls his fingertips through knots and lets his hand drop to his side. the street is near pitch black, the royal blue of the evening sky dredged down to the concrete sidewalk into the kind of tar left behind in the filter of a coffee pot. he keeps moving.
he stumbles again to the staccato of a piano, faintly in the distance. jeongkook winces as his head pounds along with the angry notes, its volume sudden and close.
he manages a couple more steps, a quiet buzz of neon from a pawn shop window illuminating his way for a little while. the song has soothed itself now; it’s only a tickle of sound, one that jeongkook has to strain to hear.
he had been so skinny then, so skinny jeongkook could wrap his hand around his wrist easily, his thumb covering the nail of his index finger - just like that. he had been given a key and jeongkook abused the privilege again and again and again.
here, a song for you. it’s ours. yours and mine.
jeongkook hears it now, as if standing in that room again with the large window streaming light inside it. he wonders if he’s not so skinny now, grown into his lankiness with a weird grace, the same that once pulled him along hallways, down piers and through tunnels. jeongkook wonders if his hair is still copper, burning in the sun or a muted, mature umber.
the thump of his shoulder against another makes him shudder, the piano shimmering into view on the pavement with the back of a skinny man with red hair at its keys under a pallid green spotlight. when the first punch slams into his face, jeongkook grins, their melody ringing lovingly in his ear. no, yoongi’s hair is black. jeongkook smiles as a knee digs forcefully in his stomach.
the music stops.
--
tell no falsehoods, the sisters say, and the lord will bless you from the top of your head to the very bottoms of your feet. hoseok’s fingers fidget with the little flap that holds the candy wrapper together. when he closes his eyes, he can see their neat grey habits, the clean white coifs bobbing up and down in a procession to evening mass.
his head hurts when he opens his eyes, the contents of his stomach sloshing this way and that. he grunts when the lap his head was resting in shifts.
“oh, i’m sorry, dear,” sister hannah tuts, running the dry, cool palm of her hand up to ruffle his dark hair and then to comb the strands back down with her slow fingers, “does it still hurt?”
hoseok stays quiet. he has memorized every groove in the cabinets hanging on the wall opposite the bed here. he loves the feel of the miniscule indentations that generations of orphans’ feet made in pain, in aching, and hurts. the curtains, age thin, shake at his peripheral. the stirrings of familiarity make him see hearts floating in the air above his head, like the cartoons they play in the hollow auditorium sometimes when it’s raining too hard to play in the playground.
he loves the statue of the madonna, star of the sea, blessed mother and her marble face as she looks upon the mangled body of her son. she looks bored, hoseok thinks as he swings his free leg over the edge of the soft bed, under the stern veil of graying marble. he clutches the chocolate tightly again, the peanuts bulge through the wrapper.
the place where he fell after supper, suddenly and heavily on his knees and the meat of his palms, is left hardly scratched, only tiny pinpricks of blood welling only just below the unbroken skin. the boy who had pushed him had received 10 whacks from mother superior with a switch in front of the entire cafeteria. the boy had cried and earned himself two extra swats before he was sent off to bed without food.
hoseok himself hadn’t even needed a bandaid. his eyes feel red and hot from all the tears he forced from them.
he remembers earlier in the day, the white sky of the winter afternoon. the boy sputtering under him, his throat working harshly under the mighty press of hoseok’s palms. the mud squishing against his knees.
the boy and his minions had come upon hoseok’s secret, the little grove hugged by two bent trees with bark white with age. he had smashed hoseok’s collection of acorns he had hid in the hollow of one of the trees’ roots. he wouldn’t stop. just wouldn’t stop. just wouldn’t. stop.
hoseok thinks about how after, he had washed his uniform pants in the bathroom sink, rubbing away the mud and the thrum of blood, the boy’s blood underneath his grip, along the fault lines as he choked him, shook him.
his fist undulates a couple of times around the candy. when the nurse prompts him again, hoseok nods.
--
jeongkook stands at the mirror. the light is harsh and white, his nose and even his hooded eyelids casting long shadows on the plains of his face. the sounds of the party outside the bathroom door pound against the hinges and jeongkook closes his eyes, hoping to block it out.
fucking yoongi, this had been his stupid idea. this stupid party with all these stupid people, hoseok’s graduate friends, yoongi’s friends from work congregating at his place because it’s bigger and jeongkook lives alone.
jeongkook flings the medicine cabinet open, the headache throbbing behind his eyes and in his ears. he feels around from knocking other medications off of the shelf and the spare small box of razorblades clatter noisily into the sink. he pauses, thinks on the glint of the blades in the light. the door swings shut and an edge of light blinds jeongkook.
he looks up then, his face? (is this his face?) or someone else's face suddenly paint stained and eyes rimmed in black charcoal. it’s bleeding purple, sickly green, blue from his temples and yellow by his jaw. he opens his mouth to scream and the image in the mirror copies him - butterflies, large and volumous, speed out of his mouth like a waterfall.
jeongkook chokes and bows his head, suffocating. he coughs out butterfly wings, one after the other. his hands come up to claw at the brilliant colors that stain his reflection.
the man falls back, kicking against the bathroom sink and fingers grasping a stray blade. he runs it, panicked across from his cheek to his mouth. he bleeds and black, thick like blood, comes away from his trembling hands.
the door swings open, a man jeongkook thinks he should know, asks, "are you all right?" the man falls to his knees next to jeongkook, confused with his hand up on his face to feel nothing but smooth skin. he can see that people are starting to gather at the door, concerned at his screaming but jeongkook can make out yoongi and hoseok, yoongi's arm tight around hoseok's waist, their backs turned to him. jeongkook sobs once, eyes on the back of yoongi's head as the man slowly turns but the scene stops before he does so completely.
--
taehyung opens the door.
seokjin towers over a girl’s dead body, her limbs strewn and crimson blood flowing easily from her chest, down her legs. the man turns his attention to taehyung’s father, cowering in the corner of their tiny apartment and stalks slowly to him.
taehyung watches as seokjin drives the glass again and again and again into a fragile chest, scarlet blooming on the dirty white t-shirt, the body pitifully slumping in the darkened corner after a while.
"is it worth it?" seokjin pants after a while, wiping the sweat from his chin with the back of his unblemished hand.
"i exist," taehyung replies as he sits on the floor, back against the front door, "i can only exist."
seokjin walks close to him, kneels before him in taehyung's sister's liquid black hair. he runs his fingertips down taehyung's sternum.
"when are you going to stop?" taehyung whispers.
"tell me the story," seokjin answers. the room shakes, a light shattering the glass of the window. the scent of flowers, ripe and open, falls on the two undisturbed. cracks appear on the mildewy walls that climb high like ivy.
"there once was a man, punished by being born," taehyung's voice cuts off suddenly into an absolute silence.