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Something’s wrong.
Had been for a while. Ever since the sunlight’s glare harshened, the canteen food tasted blander, and similar joys of the like — that he’d taken for granted before — began dwindling. Even those books he picked up at the library no longer bore previous readers’ annotations, and the fact was weirdly unsettling.
All of it felt like a constant embodiment of distressful nights when the mattress seems to forget who you are, your body tossing and turning to be cradled into a slumber that never arrives; because your bed of comfort doesn’t recognise you anymore and sleep is a stranger to the estranged.
Something was awfully off, Jeongguk could feel it in his bones the same way the frigid air penetrated his skin.
It was the usual winter, typical overcast skies raining down dreary fog.
Yet even that was different.
Do the people even notice?
Jeongguk didn’t think anything could faze through the apparent detachment that the inhabitants of this town had seemingly developed. Churned through a rigid cycle of familiarity until they lost themselves in the routine, becoming smaller details of a bigger picture they could no longer perceive from an external point of view. You always become indifferent to what you’re used to, after all.
In that sense, perhaps, Jeongguk had a fresher eye. His intrigue of the mundane had yet to expire, which explained why he took particular interest in the barely skewed ensemble of winter.
“Jeongguk?” Jimin called out, “What are you doing there? Get back, we need to head home.”
Jeongguk tore his gaze away from the patches of desolate forest peeking through the gaps in the fog. Which was new. Normally it’d drape the town thoroughly enough to limit one’s vision within the radius of a few meters.
He joined his cousin, steps falling in sync. “Don’t you think it’s a little different,” he asked.
“What is?”
Everything. “The air. It’s different, I can smell it.”
Jimin shot him a deadpan look. “You can smell the change of season, how peculiar. It’s not as though anyone has ever witnessed winter before.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
Jimin sighed, “I’m aware. Don’t worry. It’s like this sometimes, nothing concerning.”
But he didn’t know what like this was, and that Jeongguk had been sensing it well since summer.
Jeongguk hummed, “I suppose. One thing that’s definitely not changed is your waddling, though,” he teased. “You’re still like a baby penguin in that puffer coat, even after three years.”
“I should’ve drowned you in the lake sometime within those three years so I wouldn’t have to deal with your shit today.”
Jeongguk laughed, knowing the animosity was benign. In the time they’d been living together since the divorce, Jeongguk had grown rather fond of Jimin, and vice versa, even as an introvert at heart. He was also appropriately polite to his aunt and uncle, Jimin’s parents, who had graciously taken him in when his own parents had made it clear that neither of them desired to nurse a reminder of the failed marriage that had transpired between them.
Jeongguk didn’t greatly mind that that’s all he was deemed as. He had never been exceptionally close to the pair.
Or to anyone, really, even Jimin, like it’d been a trend since childhood. Jeongguk had parts he simply couldn’t bring himself to put on display, an uncanny fear thrumming at the thought.
It was why he couldn’t explain to Jimin — what like this was. That he could feel something missing, or misplaced, in the puzzle that made the idyllic town. He wouldn’t have been able to dress his sentiment in words, the poor articulation skills marking him a paranoid wreck, instead.
Jeongguk chose to prevent that, keeping to himself the inane notion that bugged him all the time.
-
Yet, he wasn’t left unnoticed.
It was bound to happen. Jeongguk knew he couldn’t have possibly gone around inspecting every minor detail that piqued his outlandish curiosity, without being spotted by someone in the meantime. But he didn’t expect this moment, exactly.
It was a stranger that caught him in the act. “Why are you lurking by the jungle at this time? Looking to get added to the bears’ dinner menu?”
Jeongguk turned around. He couldn’t make out all of the person’s features in the dark, but he knew the voice didn’t belong to any of his acquaintances. “Couldn’t I ask the same of you?”
He shoved down the apprehension at confronting a stranger in such a setting. The reader part of his brain couldn’t help but supply that it was the perfect outline for the victim of a murder mystery.
Jeongguk gulped when the stranger laughed, “No. Unlike you, I’m aware of the lack of bears in this forest.”
The remark made him scowl. “How would you know what I know or don’t,” he snipped. “I don’t know you.”
“You’re Jeon Jeongguk. Everyone knows.”
“What?” Jeongguk’s exhale puffed in his face as he spoke in surprise. The nerves were growing.
The stranger seemed to roll his eyes. “You’re a newbie, of course you don’t know everything about here.”
Jeongguk couldn’t think.
“I was new years ago..,” he breathed, not even certain of the point he was trying to make. The boy stepped forward, peering at his face.
“I guess some people take more time to lose novelty than others,” he said evenly.
Up close, he looked rather youthful — beautiful. Moonlight caressed his skin in a starlight blush, face unmarred of any imperfection. Or perhaps that was the darkness disrupting Jeongguk’s view. Eitherway, he found nothing familiar in the face of the other.
“What’s your name?”
“I’ll answer you when you answer me.”
“Huh?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh,” Jeongguk mumbled. He was never adept at making excuses. “Exploring.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed. “The clumpy mosses, dirty grass and poisonous frogs, I’m sure?”
“Exactly that,” Jeongguk nodded uselessly. “Who doesn’t cherish a late winter walk? You’re on one too…,” he trailed off, raising his brows questioningly.
“Kim Taehyung,” the boy obliged.
Not a single bell rang in Jeongguk’s mind. They may as well have resided in entirely different worlds, rather than in the same small town.
“Well, Kim Taehyung. It was nice meeting you,” Jeongguk rushed to bid goodbye, social anxiety mingling with the urge to avoid further inquiries, even at the expense of his own wonder. Jeongguk could’ve asked if they went to the same school, but it was pointless, the answer laid conspicuous in the emblem on Taehyung’s sweater.
“Just go, Jeongguk.” Taehyung sounded tired.
And Jeongguk shifted around in bed yet another night, this time kept awake by a bounding curiosity instead of the discomfort. “Jimin,” he whispered, poking the boy sprawled on his left. “Jimin, wake up.”
Jimin groaned in response, pulling his blanket over his head. Jeongguk would’ve pried if not for past episodes of being kicked in the groin. Wisdom was truly founded in experience.
“Jimin, do you know Kim Taehyung?”
“What?”
“Kim Taehyung.” Jeongguk poked him again. “Do you know him?”
Jimin turned around with a glare, voice roughened by sleep. “Jeongguk, if you’re rousing me at the dead of night for another horrid joke, I swear to god—”
“What? No,” Jeongguk frowned. “I’m not joking. Why would you think so?”
“Are you messing with me?”
“I’m not.”
Jimin sighed. “I told you to lay off on all that reading. You need to daydream less,” he yawned, rubbing his eyes.
“What are you talking about?” Jeongguk sulked at the jab at his hobby. He didn’t even daydream that much. “And what does that have to do with Kim Taehyung?”
Jimin turned back onto his stomach, mumbling half-asleep, “Go back to sleep, Jeongguk. There’s no Kim Taehyung in our town.”
-
There’s no Kim Taehyung in our town.
But Jimin had to have been wrong, right? Taehyung even wore their school uniform’s sweater. Either Jimin’s impeccable socialising streak veered off abruptly when it came to the enigmatic stranger, or Jeongguk had woken up in an alternate dimension.
Or maybe the answer was something else entirely that he couldn’t come close to deciphering yet, feeling drenched by a bucket of cold water as he stared at the person before him like he’d seen a ghost, unreadable face illuminated by a batch of fireflies.
“Kim Taehyung,” Jeongguk blurted out despite his better judgement and against the instinct to run. His alarm intensified at Taehyung’s bewildered expression.
“What did you just call me,” Taehyung asked quickly in apparent shock, the strange reply spooking Jeongguk further.
Or maybe it’s a ploy. Maybe he’s really not from here and he’s out to get me and this is all an ac—
“Jeongguk,” Taehyung reiterated firmly, brows furrowed in what Jeongguk couldn’t tell was more ire or perplexion. “Answer me.”
“What kind of ridiculous question is that?” Jeongguk glared like a fool. Shit, what if he gets mad and kills me? “Your name— you said it to me yesterday in the fore—”
“Yes, I did. But how—” Taehyung swallowed, looking more and more distraught as the seconds elapsed. He composed himself eventually, rather quickly in retrospect. “How are you here again?” His tone was stone cold. “No one comes to this ravine. Not even for a winter walk.”
Jeongguk looked away. “You can’t interrogate me for the things you do yourself.” He closed his eyes, smacking himself internally for riling up the potentially dangerous — maybe even crazy, considering that reaction — stranger even more. Jeongguk did not have a death wish, so why did he act like it?
“There’s a vast world of difference between how I do things and how others do. How you do,” Taehyung crossed his arms, the fireflies never leaving him. The second they turned away, they’d float right back like a moth to a flame, as if they were drinking their shine right from his skin.
Taehyung glowed golden, contrasting his appearance to last night’s in the pale moonlight, a disarming sight. Jeongguk was caught off guard by the unexpected course of events, by the fact that he was discovering all these alluring shades of Taehyung despite having never seen him before.
If not for anything else, Jeongguk was inclined to give Jimin’s claim the benefit of the doubt that there truly had been no Kim Taehyung in their town because how did I never notice him before?
Surrounded by amber fireflies, Taehyung was absolutely dazzling.
“And what is that difference,” Jeongguk asked softly, carefully watching Taehyung’s gaze that was not ignited with anger or reprehension, but something gentler; more timid even in the sharp stare he directed at Jeongguk.
“Why should I show you?” Taehyung’s tone was reproachful, but a genuine confusion quivered in his voice that shook the slightest bit. Jeongguk didn’t know what caused it, but it echoed with the cluelessness he felt within himself.
This whole situation unfolding with Taehyung was new and unprecedented, but somehow it didn’t feel dangerous, not really. The misguided sense of safety was risky to nurture, it meant making himself vulnerable in front of someone who was still very much a stranger. A mystery.
But that stranger was vulnerable too, trembling in the cold that his flimsy sweater didn’t suffice to repel. He visibly tried to hide it, but his body shivered regardless. Suddenly, the mystery felt fragile, like Jeongguk could pull it apart with his hands, if only he'd be gentle with them.
“Because..,” Jeongguk took a tentative step forward. Taehyung’s eyes widened as he stayed transfixed to his spot, watching the former take off his shawl. Jeongguk stood directly in front of Taehyung, matching his wary gaze as he wrapped the fleece shawl around his body.
Taehyung inhaled sharply as fingers brushed his neck. The touch was barely a graze, yet his skin burned beneath it. “Because you’re cold, Taehyung,” Jeongguk whispered, looking into his eyes.
Taehyung didn’t reply, he realised there was more being said here than what was represented at the surface, although he didn’t know what that meant. Still, he nodded, out of words and breath. Jeongguk took a step back, halting at a distance but close enough to touch.
-
Because you’re cold, Taehyung.
Somehow the unspoken conversation that day had encompassed a mutual agreement to share warmth.
The emotional kind, where Jeongguk would say a few words everytime he’d find Taehyung loitering alone somewhere — because the fascinating boy was recluse like that — and Taehyung would say some back, both of them managing to somehow encapsulate deeper meanings within sparse phrases.
If Taehyung knew that Jeongguk was specifically meandering around in search of him, like a lone man on a picnic with food and books that he’d then share with Taehyung, he made no mention of it. Akin to how Jeongguk would never speak a word of the muted longing he’d catch in Taehyung’s eyes whenever he’d stare at Jeongguk’s hands.
He’d simply allow himself to touch Taehyung’s skin, under the guise of random excuses, while Taehyung allowed him to exist nearby, reading aloud or rambling about something that he’d feign disinterest in until giving up and spurring onto full-fledged conversations that took up most of their leisure time as they’d linger together in the forest because no one else came by and Taehyung was comfortable that way.
Taehyung was something of an amicable woodland spirit that was nice to exist with.
That was the simplest understanding Jeongguk could derive of Kim Taehyung, whom no one knew and whose presence didn’t etch the town even in the slightest manner. He may as well have been air, unseen.
But not untouched.
Because somewhere along the way, sharing warmth had become a physical endeavour. Gone were the excuses required as leeway to touch, and in their wake they’d paved a beautiful path that the pair treaded on eagerly and shyly, one more than the other.
Jeongguk wouldn’t craft reasons anymore, little white lies like,“There’s something in your hair,” to card his fingers through Taehyung’s strands and rest a hand on the nape. Or an index on the wrist over the vein that Jeongguk had often seen Taehyung massage in a self-soothing habit.
Although Taehyung never responded to Jeongguk’s touches, not verbally anyway, the rose-tint of his blush was enough of an answer. Sometimes, his repressed yearn to reciprocate the affection showed itself through an involuntary twitch of his fingers, or the pointed gaze he caressed Jeongguk with until his hands finally did.
Until Jeongguk guided them onto his own body, because he could tell Taehyung needed the encouragement.
And, Oh. Jeongguk had not thought this through. Enamoured by the hitch in touch-starved Taehyung’s breaths whenever hands would be laid upon him, Jeongguk had gotten carried away, maybe even selfish, and ultimately successful in sharing warmth if the effervescent heat that rose in his body, whenever Taehyung let go of the tentativeness and the guiding hands to hold Jeongguk of his own volition, was any indication.
Several weeks spanned into a month and more, and while winter still lingered, Taehyung wasn’t that cold anymore.
-
Taehyung became Jeongguk’s most precious secret.
His prized possession that wasn’t his but kind of was, because for some unknown reason, Taehyung was an obscure being. An idea? Jeongguk wouldn’t call him that, not when unravelling him felt like the closest Jeongguk had ever gotten to truly beholding another human, in all their facets.
The wondrous and whimsical, or the closed-off and guarded, the quietly intimate or the loud innocence. Overall, the beauty and the bad - except Jeongguk couldn’t really list any of his flaws if he tried.
And he’d be correct nonetheless, because as a growing selfishness assured him, he was coming to know Taehyung best.
Or at all.
But Jeongguk never brought up the eerie aspects of their bond, even forgoing Taehyung’s confuddlingly startled reaction at being addressed by his name when they’d met back in the firefly ravine, complying with a terrible fear that speaking it out into reality would pop whatever ephemeral, ethereal bubble he entered around Taehyung.
But it itched at Taehyung’s conscience — and his confusion — what Jeongguk was to him and in general.
“Something’s wrong,” Taehyung muttered.
Jeongguk looked up from his copy of Animal Farm. “Hm?”
Taehyung pulled his legs to his chest, hands balling into fists where he sat atop a tree log. “You’re coddling me,” he glared nowhere in particular. “Letting me off the hook easy because you’re scared to ask. Scared of me,” he snarled.
Jeongguk scrambled up to his knees. “That’s not true.” He reached for Taehyung’s hand, arm falling limp when it pulled away.
“Yes, you are. You can’t not want to know unless you’re fucking terrified or— Who are you,” he demanded, scowl reckoned harmless by the glassy eyes. “What will you do to me?”
“I— What?”
“You heard me,” Taehyung’s voice broke. “Jeongguk. Or whatever your name really is, why do you know me?” Tears slid down his face as he blinked, yanking at Jeongguk’s heart. “How do you stay?”
“Taehyung, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jeongguk whimpered, reflecting his fragility. “I’m just me,” the statement ended in a question as his face crumpled, sad eyes hurting Taehyung even amidst his outburst.
Taehyung yearned to comfort Jeongguk, but he was petrified.
“No,” he shook his ahead, tears falling askew. “Then how aren’t you gone,” he sobbed. “Why do you stay? Why is it you?”
“What do you even mean,” Jeongguk fired back, offended by the connotation as Taehyung hyperventilated, “I haven’t lived in months, Jeongguk. There’s no trace of me left in the world, and I— Everyone always erases me the second I’m out of their sight like I never fucking existed at all but you don’t? How is that possible, Jeongguk? Explain it to me, please. I’m so confused,” his imploring eyes jumped frantically between Jeongguk’s wide ones as he begged.
Jeongguk stammered at a loss, “I— I don’t know, Taehyung, I really have no clue but—” he clutched his chest, trying to calm his breathing. “You were erased? That’s- that’s so lonely, Taehyung. Oh my god,” he whispered, horror dawning upon him. “You’re so lonely.”
At that remark, Taehyung went still. His body froze, gaze unfocused before curling into himself like a wounded child and Jeongguk’s heart crumpled. He cradled Taehyung in his arms at the lack of resistance, kissing the side of his head while Taehyung cried silently into his shoulder.
“Yes, I am. I’m lonely, so lonely, Jeongguk. And I love that you’re here with me, I love you but I’m so scared you’re going to forget and leave me to—”
“Hey, no,” Jeongguk pulled back, cupping Taehyung’s wet face. “I’m never going to leave you, okay? I don’t know why I don’t forget you but I’ll be damned before I let anything change that and you can trust me on that, Taehyung, alright? Please.”
Taehyung stared helplessly, because while it may have been his biggest wish, it simply wasn’t up to him whether Jeongguk forgot him or not. But the hopeful, irrationally rational voice in his head told him that if it were to happen, it would’ve already.
Just like it had with his parents and everyone else he’d had to reintroduce himself to every few moments before he had enough and moved away to be a ghost sneaking glances in from the outskirts.
He just never guessed Jeongguk would’ve join him in this lonely apocalypse.
But he was so, so glad he did that Taehyung could almost forgive himself for clinging to half-existence as pathetically as he did.
Having Jeongguk never leave would make any sliver of residual life worth it, even if he’d soon fade away entirely into the abyss.
Taehyung nodded eventually, relaxing when Jeongguk stroked his head as gently as he did always. “Let’s calm down, first, alright?” Jeongguk whispered, “You and me both. Then we can talk about everything, later.”
-
“It’s weird.”
“What is?”
“You make me feel like less of a ghost than when I was alive.”
Jeongguk frowned, thumbing at the vein of Taehyung’s left wrist. It pulsed beneath his finger, steady. “You’re not dead, Tae,” he whispered.
“No,” Taehyung's smile was morose, “I’m forgotten. Which may be worse, in retrospect. At least the dead are grieved for.”
“You are craved for,” Jeongguk admitted, tone clipped. “Each time we part, you’re all I can think of. Your hands, your face, your eyes, your smile, your words— All of you. All the time, blooming in my chest like a live, painful craving and if that is an ache good enough for you then you can give up dreaming to be grieved because I will not mourn you like something I’ve lost when I pine to have you in the first place.”
Jeongguk’s face burned with the audacious confession as Taehyung stared at him in amazement. Have I gone too far? That was so stupidly bold of him, confessing at such a crucial moment like this but then again, Taehyung had just said he loved Jeongguk, so maybe it was alright?
What if he said it as a friend, though?
As Jeongguk berated himself in his great ruminous dilemma, Taehyung watched him tenderly with words at the tip of tongue that he couldn’t bring himself to utter out loud, because he knew the answer to the question that Jeongguk didn’t even know the history of. “Why pine when I’ve always been yours?”
“You never even noticed me back then,” is what Taehyung settled on instead.
Jeongguk frowned at Taehyung’s tone, feeling as though he was missing context. “Back when?”
Taehyung’s lips curved. “You hated the sunlight on your face.”
“Huh?”
“Your seat was fixed and our chemistry teacher never allowed for the curtains to be pulled during class, so you pouted and squinted your way through the periods, looking as cute as ever which is a sight I wish I could’ve painted but I couldn’t let you keep suffering that way,” Taehyung explained through a laugh. “So I shifted seats with a shorter boy by the window to block the sunlight on your way.”
Jeongguk’s jaw fell slack. “You did what?”
“You hated the canteen food too,” Taehyung downright giggled. “Although, everyone did, to be fair. I just didn't care because I had my own lunch but then I saw you upset and fiddling with your meal one day instead of eating, and. Well.”
“Oh my god.”
“Don't be like that,” Taehyung chuckled, trying to pry Jeongguk's palms away from hiding his face. “It was fun. The chef was awfully conceited about her cooking and stayed glued to her phone most of the time. I just snuck in behind her back and added some spices, that's all.”
Jeongguk blinked. “I don't know whether to focus on the fact that you did this everyday, or that you can cook, or that you did this for me.”
“None of those sounds exceptionally remarkable.”
“Would you say the same if it were someone else in your stead?”
Taehyung's smile dropped. “Now, about someone else cooking for you,” he trailed off with a raised brow that Jeongguk snorted at, swatting his shoulder. “But it's fair, you deserve the best and everybody should ensure that.”
“Tae,” Jeongguk huffed a laugh, overcome with love for this unforgettable boy. “I can’t believe…”
A sudden realisation hit him like a truck.
Ever since the sunlight’s glare harshened, the canteen food tasted blander, and similar joys of the like — that he’d taken for granted before — began dwindling. Even those books he picked up at the library no longer bore previous readers’ annotations, and the fact was weirdly unsettling.
Every component of Jeongguk's unease was prompted by Taehyung’s absence.
The sun hit him harder because Taehyung was no longer around to block it. The food was bland again because no one fixed it for him.
What were the odds that the annotations had been courtesy of the same person?
“Taehyung, were you writing in my books too? Were we talking to each other then?”
Taehyung smiled, cheek bunched around the fist supporting his face, “Yeah, we were. I especially enjoyed how your comments disappeared near the explicit scenes,” he teased. “Did you get shy?”
“No, I didn’t,” Jeongguk explained. “I tend to skim those because I can never relate. I'm not much taken by kissing scenes either.”
“Because you've never done it?”
Timidly, Jeongguk nodded.
“Me either.”
Jeongguk's gaze snapped to Taehyung's, “But how? You're so pretty,” he blurted out quickly.
Taehyung chuckled, “Perhaps I was outshined by something prettier.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind Jeongguk's ear.
It was a sweet nothing to say. Since Taehyung had been looking out for Jeongguk, he also must’ve known that the latter kept to himself, not requesting or attracting any company.
Still, Jeongguk couldn’t comprehend how he could've possibly overlooked Taehyung. He felt an irrational ire bubble up towards his past self, speaking to distract himself from the bitter emotion.
“How do you want your first kiss to be,” Jeongguk asked quietly.
Taehyung let a silence stretch before drawling, “I mean, I’m kind of dead, so…” Jeongguk groaned his name in annoyance, playfully hitting his chest, “You. Are. Not. Dead. You literally have a beating heart,” his exclamation came out more of a funny-sounding whine.
Taehyung laughed as he seized Jeongguk’s hands, the two close together with Jeongguk kneeling between Taehyung’s legs, breaths heavy at the distance.
Too close.
Not close enough.
And much closer when Taehyung snaked his arms around Jeongguk’s waist, securing a firm grip before pulling him nearer until their noses brushed. “I think I should ask the person I want to kiss, don’t you think,” Taehyung whispered, eyes darting between Jeongguk’s.
Jeongguk took a deep breath, voice shaky, “And what will you ask them?”
“I don’t know, Jeongguk,” Taehyung teased sweetly, a shy smile adorning his face. “You tell me. How should my first kiss be?”
Jeongguk gave the answer, translating the ineffable sentiment trapped in his chest into a tender kiss. His arms wrapped around Taehyung’s neck, fingers playing with the hair as Taehyung tilted his head to kiss him back better, like he’d been waiting to forever. And now in this lull in time, he finally did.
They staggered forward while the kiss deepened, hands never leaving each other even as Jeongguk reclined on a heap of leaves with Taehyung on top, softening his fall. Taehyung’s lips glided against Jeongguk’s one last time in a dizzying stroke before he moved to shower pecks on the rest of Jeongguk’s face that had both of them breaking out in giggles.
Taehyung fell back beside Jeongguk on the ground, craning his neck back when Jeongguk shifted to return the affection with kisses peppered along the line of Taehyung’s jaw. Taehyung sighed when Jeongguk pulled back, tangling his fingers in his silky hair to keep Jeongguk from moving too far. He pressed a soft kiss on the bridge of Jeongguk’s nose where a stray tear trickled by.
“Taehyung,” Jeongguk sighed, “I want this. I want you. I want you back, and to live with you, I want this so much.”
Taehyung’s eyes softened with palpable sadness around a hint of guilt, even though none of this was his fault. If anything, he’d been the biggest victim of his warped invisibility. It’d be insanity to blame someone for being isolated when they were still trying to make a dent through glass.
None of this explained why Jeongguk was the only one immune to Taehyung’s curse, but he was going to find out.
“What was the reason that you… that you disappeared,” Jeongguk asked carefully.
Taehyung frowned, “I’m not sure, Jeongguk. I don’t remember well but I think nothing was out of the ordinary?”
“Maybe we can figure it out if you trace back to the last time things were normal? We can fix the problem if we understand its root.”
Taehyung hummed. “I’d been depressed for a while, honestly. Things were falling apart at home and I had no one to talk to. I was lonely, even then,” he admitted quietly. “Maybe… maybe even more than I am now, because I have you now.”
Jeongguk kissed his eyelid when Taehyung fell quiet, silently encouraging him to continue. “But I had you before too, in a way, through the books we read together. I loved scribbling notes there and finding your replies later. It was the highlight of my life.”
Taehyung chuckled fondly when Jeongguk blushed, thumb caressing his rosy cheek. “The day before I… faded, so to speak, I was reading your choice of book at the time. The Dove and The Fawn.”
Jeongguk gasped, “I remember that one! It disappeared and I never got to finish it.”
Taehyung nodded. “And that’s my fault… I brought it with me and buried it underground.”
“What,” Jeongguk’s eyes widened. “Why would you do that?”
Taehyung hesitated, breathing quicker as he moved away from Jeongguk, about to shrink in on himself. Jeongguk respected his vulnerability, yet placed a gentle hand on Taehyung’s. “You can tell me,” he whispered gently. “It’s just me here, you’ll be fine.”
Jeongguk being just himself meant more to Taehyung than anything else in his fleeting world, but it was hard to explain how the bridge between theirs had formed, especially when he himself didn’t fully understand it. Still, Taehyung tried, “Do you remember the story?”
Jeongguk nodded. “A particularly skittish fawn catches the eye of a watchful dove, who then realises that the fawn is blind.” Jeongguk paused, hoping for affirmation that Taehyung provided with a hum. “The dove keeps the fawn safe from a stealthy tiger, helping it at a distance with sounds and the like to signal danger. But the fawn never realises the dove’s protection, and the dove doesn’t make its existence known; in fears that the fawn would scamper away.”
Taehyung nodded, “Anything else?”
“Something about winter, I guess? I can't recall well.”
Taehyung continued without meeting his eyes, “The flock of birds migrates during winter, and the dove stays behind.”
“To look after the fawn?”
“Precisely. It misses its family but… they abandoned it anyway and at least the fawn would never push the dove away if it never learned of its presence.”
Jeongguk exhaled, “That’s… that’s incredibly selfless.”
“It’s also cowardly.”
“What do you mean?”
“The dove was scared of rejection and severed possible ties before they could form. Of course, it sought to protect the fawn too, because the tiger was still around, but even then. The tiger was close to giving up, you know? You never chase for long something you've tasted sustained loss at.”
Jeongguk considered the perspective, although Taehyung’s criticism of the dove sounded quite harsh. He mentioned this to Taehyung, who let out a bitter laugh.
“I know, you wrote your sympathy down in the page’s margin.”
“When?”
Taehyung sighed heavily, “The dove was… it suffered. The fawn never spared it a glance, not that it could, but that fact made the dove sadder. Seemed sort of pointless to me, honestly, to make someone else’s suffering about itself. I was rather put off when the dove wept by the lake, weary with despair. But then the nymph showed up.”
“The nymph of the forest? She could grant wishes, if I remember correctly,” Jeongguk supplied.
“Yes, she was also greatly empathetic. Her kindness wore the dove down. It cried in her arms about the pain of being alone. I'd been judging it for caging itself in its own trap of fear and weakness, but then I read what you scribbled there.”
“What was it?” Jeongguk waited with bated breath, feeling a growing anticipation within him. Taehyung turned to him, a sheen in his eyes, “You said you were sorry. That the dove was lonelier than need be, and hoped it'd learn that love was enough to be worthy of the fawn.”
Jeongguk said nothing as Taehyung hiccuped, breaking into tears that Jeongguk wiped with his thumbs. “Did you think of yourself?” Taehyung exhaled in relief and embarrassment at the cautious question, at being seen so thoroughly after having not been seen for so long.
Desperately, Taehyung nodded. “Like a fool I compared the dove to myself and hated it because of that but funnily enough I saw the fawn as you,” he laughed. “But I couldn’t keep reading further, the book slid from my hands when I fell asleep crying and when I woke up it was floating on the lake because I was reading here, right?” Jeongguk nodded even though he didn’t know where this was going. “And I freaked out when it didn’t even look the slightest bit drenched but so pristine and lustrous in an odd way as if moonlight was seeping out of the pages instead.”
Taehyung’s face pinched in visible confusion as he explained further, “I couldn’t take it back with me but having it open and staring at me felt worse. So I buried it somewhere here and left. That… that’s when no one knew me anymore,” he mumbled when the heaves subsided. Jeongguk stroked his head while Taehyung leaned into the comforting touch.
“I think the answer lies in the ending, Taehyung,” Jeongguk wondered aloud with a budding incredulity. “Neither of us knows it, right?” Taehyung nodded.
“Then let’s find the book and end winter for them, alright? Then their spring can bloom.”
-
And spring was blooming.
It bloomed under their fingertips as they clawed through verdant grass, tiny flowers laid in their midst.
Taehyung and Jeongguk sat close to each other, the latter clutching the unearthed book while he read the conclusion of the story aloud, like he did ever so often.
“The nymph strokes her nimble fingers along the plumage of the desolate dove, who peers up at the watery sensation threading through his body. The dove frowns at the nymph’s cryptic smile, which reads too much like a goodbye. ‘Are you leaving me too?’
The nymph shakes her head. ‘Sometimes you are the light you can’t find in the tunnel, my dear.’
The words never make sense in the dove’s worn-down mind, even as the nymph disappears along with the rest of the surrounding, vanishing in a black void that has the dove panicking. It springs up abruptly, batting its wings in a rapid attempt to reach outside this dark isolating veil.
The dove’s flight falters when it encounters the fawn standing amidst the void, peering at it as though it is finally visible to the deer. The dove's heart can’t bear the weight of false hope, but it doesn’t have to, because the nymph has transported it within the same realm of darkness where the fawn dwells.
Where the fawn can see, in its own abstract manner, that the dove is a prism of light. It glows in the eyes of the fawn, whose ebony irises ignite with sparks of starry flecks reflecting the light seeping from the dove’s skin.
Because sometimes the light that you can't see ahead has been watching your back instead all this time.
And beyond our shadows, the world is indeed bright.”
Tears streamed down Taehyung’s face when Jeongguk closed the book, a disastrously beautiful heartbreak that made Jeongguk's chest ache. With the crushing regret of having missed out before and an even more compelling urge to never look away.
“Taehyung,” Jeongguk whispered softly, “do you feel any different?”
“Crestfallen,” Taehyung replied in a similarly hushed tone. “An eternity of blindness, and then all the fawn can see is someone who had never dared show itself before?”
“Taehyung, no.” Jeongguk moved closer, cupping his face because he read through the connotations and what Taehyung was truly implying. Somehow, they were entwined with this fairytale, and Jeongguk would be the one to ensure it met its happy ending.
“The dove is a window for light to enter the fawn’s world. And it’s a better, safer world now because they can release their inhibitions and be happy. The nymph saved them, Tae.”
“The nymph is a mystical creature known to be fickle. Who’s to say she didn’t confine the dove in an optical illusion where the fawn isn’t even rea—”
“Jeongguk?”
They both whirled around at the sound of Jimin’s voice, watching him awkwardly step around twigs to make his way towards the pair. “What are you doing here?” Jimin frowned, “And who is this?” He peered at Taehyung in concern, noticing the streak of dried tears. Taehyung stayed silent.
A matter flashed in Jeongguk’s mind. “Jimin,” he asked quickly, “Do you remember me waking you up one night, asking you about someone who you said wasn’t from our town?”
Jimin frowned. “Jeongguk, what are you even talking about? I swear you make no sense these days.” Jimin’s memory is flawless, Jeongguk thought to himself. Yet he’d forgotten even the mere mention of Taehyung’s name.
A glance at Taehyung's sullen face, and Jeongguk knew he'd connected the dots. The realisation deflated him, that nothing had changed miraculously, after all.
Taehyung still remained smudged from the tapestry of their world.
Jeongguk turned to try and comfort Taehyung when Jimin pressed, “And you still didn't tell me who this is.”
“Kim Taehyung,” Taehyung informed dully, like he'd repeated the phrase a million times.
Unsurprisingly, it was of no use. Jeongguk watched Jimin's face lack the barest hint of recognition.
“Are you the reason why Jeongguk seems to be permanently moving to the woods now? Is there a treehouse here somewhere?” Jimin arched a brow.
Jeongguk blushed while Taehyung huffed a laugh, “You're funny.” Jimin snorted. “ Thanks. One of the many coping mechanisms of living with Jeon Jeongguk.”
“Shut up, Jimin.”
“You shut up and follow me. Mom's been yelling that you're missing lunch.” Jimin pointed at Taehyung, “And you should come too. I need to know how you charmed Jeongguk into speaking more than two words.”
“Jimin, oh my god, don't embarrass me,” Jeongguk rubbed his forehead, effectively hiding his face. Taehyung's chuckles simmered down to a useless, “Alright.”
Jimin spun back on his heel, striding away. Taehyung averted his gaze with a sigh, instinctively preparing himself for a potential reintroduction in case Jimin turned around again.
Out of sight, out of mind.
That's how it always was with him.
Taehyung beckoned for Jeongguk to trail after Jimin when an impatient voice called out, “Jeongguk, Taehyung, you coming or not?”
The pair's heads darted forward comically fast, with Taehyung nearly pulling a muscle while Jeongguk exclaimed, “What did you just call him?”
Jimin scowled in irritation. “Taehyung, his literal name that he just told me? I know you're daft, Jeongguk, but this is poor even for you.”
But Jeongguk didn't mind the insult, didn't mind anything at all, actually. He was too busy springing to his feet and yanking on the arms of a frozen Taehyung who sat staring up at him with tears in his eyes.
“Come on, Tae,” Jeongguk said excitedly. “We're going home.”
-
“Remind me again whose idea it was to group study?”
“Yours,” Taehyung quipped immediately from behind Jeongguk.
“Right,” Jimin sighed, raising a finger, “which — never again, by the way. I can't tell if I spend more time thirdwheeling or babysitting you two.”
“You wouldn't have to thirdwheel if you invite Namjoon over,” Jeongguk proposed from his usual spot snug on Taehyung’s lap, giggling when the latter nosed at his ear.
“My boyfriend actually cares about his grades, unlike you two.” Jimin threw a snide glance before returning to arranging his papers on the desk. “Plus, I don't want him to barf at the sight of whatever this is,” he waved in the general direction of Taehyung and Jeongguk on the couch.
“Definitely. It'd be a horrible ick for you to witness him throw up," Jeongguk snickered while Taehyung echoed in the hilarity and kissed his ear.
“Ugh, you're disgusting,” Jimin groaned, pushing back on his rotating chair. He faced the clingy couple, “Look, I love you guys but I'm actually gonna fail if I stay in your vicinity any longer and then even I wouldn’t be able to support you when you're destitute freeloaders and all three of us would be homeless. So,” he saluted dramatically, “taking my leave.”
“Sure.”
“And make actual progress,” Jimin glared at Taehyung’s reply, halfway out the room. “Don't just make out.”
“No promises.”
Jimin rolled his eyes at Jeongguk’s stuck out tongue. As soon as he closed the door, Taehyung grabbed Jeongguk's jaw and sucked his tongue into mouth without any prior warning. Jeongguk shifted on his lap with a groan, turning around to press their chests flush. A strangled moan caught in his throat, more of a breathy whine when Taehyung moved down to nibble at his collarbone.
“Jimin has a point, Tae,” Jeongguk exhaled, clutching Taehyung's hair. “We do need to progress.”
Taehyung leaned back on the couch, hands loosely clasping Jeongguk's waist. “Let's, then,” he agreed, but Jeongguk was distracted because Taehyung's lips were so pink and puffy because of him.
“Although… he never specified what to progress on,” Jeongguk said playfully, biting the finger Taehyung used to boop his nose. “You're such a pervert,” Taehyung chided fondly.
Jeongguk gaped. “You're the one that sucked my tongue.”
“I've done more than that,” Taehyung smirked proudly.
Jeongguk rolled his eyes through a blush, pushing himself off Taehyung's lap. “Whatever, let's actually study. I don't want to pull an all-nighter.” He settled on the rug, going through his notes on the coffee table.
Taehyung watched him thoughtfully. “You know, I never thanked you enough.”
“For?”
“All those missed lectures you got for me when we came back. After I revived.”
Taehyung’s revival. That's how they referred to the period of returning to his normal life, which welcomed him back as if he'd never left in the first place. Like the fading was simply a wrinkle lost in time.
It may have disappeared, but its effects remained. Taehyung had carried an evident distress that concerned his parents, leading them to ultimately get their shit together and improve for the sake of their son.
Things at school were alright too. Perfect, even. Because now Jeongguk and Taehyung were together, and Jeongguk could always share from the extra lunch Taehyung prepared for him everyday instead of the bland canteen food.
Both of them also expanded their social circles, brimming with a newfound cheer and confidence. In the end, they weren’t overly popular but their group consisted of five others who were amazing company, nonetheless. Yoongi, Seokjin, Hoseok, Namjoon and Jimin. They’d replaced the previous lack of friendship in the formerly recluse pair's lives, while they themselves thrived in a blissful bond of love.
“I'm glad it happened,” Taehyung said to Jeongguk.
“What did?” Jeongguk raised his eyes from his assignments, mimicking Taehyung's smile.
“The fading. I'm glad I was erased if the new lines brought me to you and the life we have now.”
Jeongguk's smile wavered, overcome with a guilt he knew Taehyung hated seeing on him. As expected, his boyfriend complained, “It wasn't your fault, Jeongguk. I told you to stop blaming yourself,” Taehyung frowned. “We can't control what life throws at us. All that matters is we find footing somewhere decent.”
Jeongguk looked down, wishing to agree despite the part of him that would probably always resent itself for having failed to notice Taehyung before and unintentionally become the catalyst of his fading.
“I'm more than decent with you, Jeongguk,” Taehyung whispered softly. “I'm the happiest I've ever been. Because now I get to kiss you and boop your cute little nose whenever I want.” Jeongguk couldn't repress a chuckle that Taehyung smiled at. “I don't think we'd have reached this stage had everything not gone down to make us the way we are. Let it go, alright? We can't carry old wounds into new beginnings.”
Jeongguk nodded, better convinced this time. “I don't want to forget the past that made this beginning, though.”
“Then we won't. You can forgive yourself without forgetting, just keep in mind what you've learned. That's all.”
“And what have you learned,” Jeongguk asked Taehyung who seemed content with a clarity he hoped to achieve someday.
Taehyung smiled warmly. “That I wouldn’t change a thing.”