Work Text:
Jeongguk steps out of the apartment kitchen, catches sight of Taehyung, and nearly spits out his coffee.
Taehyung: boyfriend, sweet-talker, sleep-talker -
Currently draped out on the couch, legs stretched out, dressed for work. Black slacks too baggy just the way he likes them. Plaid shirt creased at the edges even with Jeongguk’s best efforts whenever it's his turn to do the laundry. Blue socks half shucked over toes, because Taehyung never likes to wear them properly.
Everything as per usual, just like every other weekday morning since they first settled into routine - two night-persons crawling out of bed at ass-early o’clock, bumbling about the apartment and exchanging poorly-aimed kisses as they get ready - Jeongguk for the office where he wrestles with numbers, and Taehyung for the elementary school art rooms where he collects student-caused paint stains on his clothes.
The same clothes that he’s wearing right now, which look almost ordinary, nearly normal.
Nothing unexpected, except-
“Taehyung,” Jeongguk says. Downright horrified.
“Yes, babe?” Taehyung says. He’s smiling, knowingly smiling. What a fucking dick. Jeongguk cannot believe he’s dated such a dick for over four years now.
“Don’t babe me,” Jeongguk says. “It’s the 11th. Why are you wearing that?”
“Wearing what?” Taehyung grins wide now, all faux innocence and flashing teeth and it is a direct attack on Jeongguk’s sanity; Jeongguk takes full fucking offence.
“You’re wearing a tie today.” Jeongguk says. “You’re wearing a tie on the fucking 11th.”
“Correction,” Taehyung cuts in, flicking the loose ends of the strip of fabric up and down in his fingers. “I’m almost wearing a tie. Come tie the knot with me.”
Jeongguk shakes his head, still appalled, but puts down his coffee mug and steps over to Taehyung, anyway. Picks up the tie ends in his hands, and starts trying to coax them into a knot.
(It’s the maroon patterned tie, the one his parents gave Taehyung on their visit two weeks ago. A son-in-law gift, they’d teasingly called it, even though everyone knew there could be no plans for marriage; no legal ones, anyway.)
“That joke is getting old,” Jeongguk grumbles. “But really, why are you wearing this today? I thought I got it right with the triangular numbers. 1, 3, 6, 10- where did 11 even come from? The next was supposed to be the 15th.”
“Hey,” Taehyung says, pushing himself upright up on the couch and reaching his arms out to Jeongguk, for better tie tying (and boyfriend’s-unreasonably-tiny-waist holding) posture. “I never said you were right. I just kissed you.”
“I thought that meant-” Jeongguk says, fingers reaching to fumble with the loose ends of the tie. “What the fuck?”
“I love you, bebe,” Taehyung grins.
“I don’t understand you,” Jeongguk says, trying to fit Taehyung’s anomalous tie-wearing behaviour into the logic of his mind. 1, 3, 6, 10, 11. Why 11. Why would he wear a tie on the fucking 11th. “Didn’t you say it wasn't that complicated? And stop saying bebe.”
“Bebe,” says Taehyung obediently. “You’re thinking too hard.”
“But there really is a pattern in the days you wear this thing?” Jeongguk says. “You’re not just fucking with me, right?”
“Of course,” Taehyung says.
“Then-” Jeongguk says.
“Hey,” Taehyung interrupts, laughing. He brings his hands up to wrap over Jeongguk's. “You fucked up the tie again.”
Jeongguk blinks. Brings his focus away from Taehyung’s smiling face - as annoyingly (but heart-stoppingly) pretty as it is - and down to the dark red fabric between his fingers where the knot of Taehyung’s tie is supposed to be. The “knot”: a messy coil of fabric, shaped more like a run-over egg tart with a serious case of scoliosis than the crisp triangle it’s supposed to be.
Mathematical precision shot, poisoned, and buried alive.
“Fuck,” Jeongguk says, rescuing the tail of the tie from the monstrosity he’s created. “I’ll try again.”
“Sure,” Taehyung says. “But hurry up or we’ll both be late. Don’t really want to spend the next thirty-five thousand three hundred and twenty-one generations waiting.”
“Shut up,” Jeongguk laughs. “I’ll get it right this time. I’m saving the guess this earns me for tonight, okay? I’ll get it fucking right.”
—☕️→
“Wrong,” Yoongi says. He doesn’t even have to look back over his shoulder to envision Jimin frowning at the back of his head, cup of rejected wannabe-Cypher Pt.3 in his hands. “Too much vanilla.”
Jimin huffs, tiny fingers probably curling over the cup protectively. Not that Yoongi's observed him closely enough to be aware of this habit. “Like anyone could taste the difference.”
“You,” Yoongi states, “clearly have not met Kim Taehyung.”
“And you clearly don’t know about artistic freedom,” defends Jimin.
“Art is art, coffee is coffee.”
“Why are you so serious over this,” Jimin complains, but there is no real edge in his voice. None Yoongi can discern, anyway; based on the incredible amount of attention he certainly does not pay to Jimin’s precise speech patterns and cute vocal tones. “You haven’t even seen that Taehyung guy in real life.”
“Coffee is serious fucking business,” Yoongi insists, wiping his hands on his apron as he turns around to get to the coffee machine himself. Somebody has to make the Taehyung-bound coffee, and Jimin is clearly not ready for the demanding task.
Admittedly, he’s getting close. Yoongi is platonically proud.
Still, close is not close enough -
“The last time I let Jeon bring home the shit you made, I got eleven messages asking why there was a Cypher Pt.4 now.”
Jimin pouts, not cutely, into the failed Cypher Pt.3 - now apparently claimed for his own drinking purposes. Yoongi consciously peels his eyes away from the foam clinging to his coworker’s top lip. Fuck his life. Fuck Park Jimin. Wait, no, don't fuck Park Jimin.
"Seriously," Jimin says. “If he and Jeongguk weren’t basically married, I'd think you were in love with him or something.”
Yoongi nearly drops a spoon in the sink. “Taehyung? All he does is blow up my texts whining that the Cypher isn’t on the menu yet.”
“But-” Jimin starts.
“But nothing,” Yoongi cuts in. Because he’d sooner stick his hand in the bean grinder than talk about love with Park Jimin, bane of his existence, fly in his ointment, mountain of excess sugar in his tea, with the stupidly tiny hands and migraine-inducingly warm smiles. “It’s almost closing time, go wipe the tables or something.”
Jimin huffs, but grabs a rag. “Speaking of closing time, shouldn’t we do something about, um, that?”
He nods out over the counter, at one of the only tables still occupied, courtesy of one Jeon Jeongguk.
Or, possibly, one hyper-realistic fibreglass life-casted sculpture of Jeon Jeongguk, if how creepily still he’s been for almost two fucking hours, transfixed by some kind of mysteriously attention-seizing piece of paper, is any evidence.
Same pose, same spot, same crease between his brows.
“See?” Jimin says.
“Huh,” Yoongi says.
“I don’t think he’s breathing,” Jimin says.
They watch in silence as Jeongguk's finger makes a minute twitching movement.
“Leave him to fucking suffocate,” Yoongi decides. “Work day hasn’t ended yet.”
←☕️—
The game starts like this:
A morning. Jeongguk’s birthday. September 1st.
When he wakes up that morning, it’s to a kiss from Taehyung, leaned over him already dressed for work. That, and a lot of shoulder-shaking and generalised-slapping, but Jeongguk likes to focus on the kiss.
“Morning, angel,” says Taehyung. “And get up already. You have work, if you remember. Unless you really went and poisoned that shitty boss of yours. I wouldn't blame you.”
“What year is it?” Jeongguk mumbles. He blinks himself closer to wakefulness. “And I wouldn’t poison my boss. Poison - too expensive.”
Taehyung laughs, and kisses him again. Quick but sweet, on the corner of his mouth.
“Prehistory, probably. Go shave. That beard could give a caveman a run for his caveman money.”
Jeongguk snorts, and Taehyung kisses him again. Earlobe, this time. Jeongguk reaches an arm up to catch him around the nape, and rubs his chin stubble up against Taehyung’s cheek.
“Beard attack,” Jeongguk announces. Taehyung sputters, and laughs, and pulls away with a finger jab to Jeongguk’s side.
“Disgusting,” whines Taehyung. “And happy birthday. I’ve got something special for you.”
Jeongguk grins. “Really?”
“Of course,” Taehyung says. He smiles, ruffling fingers through Jeongguk’s rat’s nest of bedhead. “Anything for my angel.”
“So cheesy,” Jeongguk laughs.
“Only because it’s your birthday,” Taehyung insists. “And get up, already. We can't be late for work.”
Jeongguk groans, and doesn’t (does) pout, and maybe whines just a little bit, and kicks the covers off his legs. Taehyung watches him stand up with a weird honey-gummy smile on his face that Jeongguk’s brain is too tired to theorise explanations for.
“Oh, and,” Taehyung says. “Let’s play a new game.”
And there it is - the explanation. Jeongguk isn't even sure if he's surprised.
(It's hard to be, when Taehyung has long proved himself to be a box of surprises, everything up his sleeve. When he's always playing games with Jeongguk. Official ones, like the coffee game, and unofficial ones like the way they always fight to be the last one to say goodnight, the way the last one to say I love you on Valentine's day wins, the way Jeongguk leaves his supplement pill bottles on the counter and Taehyung never fails to line them up back in the cupboard, stacked like cheerleaders in some elaborate pyramid. It's like it's his creative outlet, or mode of communication, or modus operandi. Something like that.
Life with Taehyung is always a game, whether he puts that label on it or not.)
“A new...game?” Jeongguk half-yawns-half-says. Taehyung’s grin widens.
“Game,” Taehyung affirms. “Like our coffee game, but different. It’s been boring since that ended.”
“Oh,” Jeongguk says. “Another game?”
“Yes,” Taehyung says. “It won’t be as fun, though. You don’t get to kiss me.”
“I kiss you all the time anyway,” Jeongguk says.
He then kisses Taehyung to prove his point, and Taehyung laughs against his mouth.
“You taste gross,” Taehyung whines. “Wash up first. I’ll tell you later.”
And Jeongguk shrugs, and doesn’t question it - he’s loved Taehyung far too long to question anything he says, anymore, even at dangerous suggestions like celery won’t ruin the spaghetti sauce, I swear - and continues to not question anything as he washes up. Brushes his teeth. Makes a point to shave extra cleanly. Gets to the kitchen and chugs half a cup of coffee before he remembers he’s still in his goddamn pyjamas and leaves the mug on the nearest flat surface to go and fix that.
And Jeongguk steps back out of the bathroom, half-caffeinated and fully-dressed, to see-
“What the fuck?” Jeongguk says.
“Yeah, baby,” Taehyung says.
Taehyung: boyfriend, joker, game-maker -
Suddenly splayed out on the couch, feet propped up on the arm rest, with what looks like every single fucking neck tie they own between them lined up over his body, in an honest-to-god colour gradient. Stripes and spots draped over his chest, Mickey Mouse print on his stomach, hot pink streaking across his thigh. Impossible to imagine, replicate, or understand.
Jeongguk thinks long and hard about what to say.
He takes a deep breath.
“Your feet are on the couch.”
“So?” Taehyung grins. “Pick a tie, any tie.”
“What the fuck,” Jeongguk says, again. But Taehyung’s expression is infectious and he can't help but obey with a smile, numbly picking up a dark blue tie with some kind of squid pattern on it. Cute - especially cute on Taehyung - but not too crazy to wear as a schoolteacher.
“Are you certain of your choice?” Taehyung asks solemnly.
“Um,” Jeongguk says. “Sure?”
Taehyung nods, just as solemnly. Then he sits up and all the ties on his upper body fall in a very un-solemn stack at his waist.
“I’ll explain the rules,” Taehyung says.
“Rules,” Jeongguk echoes, confused. “Why’s this game so complicated? The first one was better.”
“Sequels always suck more than the original.”
Jeongguk pouts.
Taehyung smiles back. “Rule one: you earn your guesses.”
“Earn?” Jeongguk says. “Guesses?”
“Rule two: you earn one guess for each time you tie my tie for me.”
Jeongguk blinks, a small drip of horror sliding ice-cold down his spine. His grip tightens over the tail of the squid tie in his hand. “Tae, I suck at tying ties. You know that. You tie ties for me.”
“About tieme you learnt,” Taehyung replies easily, barely batting an eyelash as Jeongguk grimaces at the pun. “Rule three: each guess is valid for one day.”
“Um, okay?”
“Rule four:” Taehyung smiles, taking the free end of the tie in Jeongguk’s hand to wrap around the back of his own neck. “You have to guess my tie pattern.”
Jeongguk blinks. Once, twice. “What?”
“Tie pattern,” Taehyung repeats. “The pattern of my ties.”
Jeongguk looks down at the tail of fabric between his fingers.
It’s blue. With squids on it. Squid-patterned.
“Isn’t that kind of obvious?”
“Not this pattern,” Taehyung laughs. “Think big, darling. The world is bigger than this. The pattern in the days I wear and don’t wear it. You know I’m not actually required to wear this thing to work, right?”
“Oh,” Jeongguk says.
Taehyung nods, and bumps their foreheads together as praise. “I’m going to start wearing them in a pattern, starting today, September 1st. Promise it’ll be, like, legit. No dirty tricks. No fucking with you except in the literal way.”
“Huh,” Jeongguk smiles. “What about weekends? You don’t have work.”
“I can still wear them,” Taehyung protests. “I have, you know, a neck.”
“Really? You’ll wear them? Even if we just stay home in our pyjamas?”
“Of course,” Taehyung says, eyebrow quirking up. “It’s up to you to think of fun ways to use it.”
Jeongguk considers this.
There isn’t much to consider.
“Okay,” Jeongguk says, fingers starting to knot the blue-squid-September-1st tie. It’s already coming out crooked. “Deal.”
—☕️→
Ten minutes past closing time at the coffeeshop, Yoongi does the deed of the devil.
Because, yes, Jeongguk is a valued customer. And, yes, he’s considered a friend by now, too. And, yes, he can sometimes give off extreme levels of aww-what-a-poor-little-baby-bunny vibes when he’s desperate enough to tap into his inherent reservoir of youthful cuteness.
But the gravitas of some things outweigh that of customer service, and friendship, and even unreasonably big eyes.
Like life, and death, and coffeeshop closing time.
“Jeongguk,” Yoongi says.
He’s walked up to Jeongguk by now, at his regular seat in the coffee shop. He’s walked literally right up beside him, barely enough space between them to wedge a chihuahua - but also apparently mastered advanced ninja stealth techniques without being told he’d done so - because Jeon fucking Jeongguk completely doesn’t notice Yoongi is there.
“Jeon Jeongguk,” Yoongi says, louder this time.
Jeongguk doesn’t look up. Just continues to scribble on some notepad he’s got. Yoongi frowns. He reaches out to place Taehyung’s takeaway cup of Cypher pt. 3 on the table, directly in Jeongguk’s line of vision, and raps his knuckles sharp on the tabletop.
Jeongguk jolts like the devil screamed bloody murder in his ear.
Nearly spilling what’s left of his own coffee - something weird, with too much vanilla and an honest-to-god cookie blended in - Jeongguk’s eyes dart up to Yoongi’s face.
“Um,” Jeongguk says.
“Get out,” Yoongi states.
“Hang on,” Jeongguk says.
“There’s no on to hang,” Yoongi states. “It’s closing time. I’m kicking your ass out.”
“But,” Jeongguk says. “Wait, I’ve almost got something. I think.”
“You-” Yoongi blinks. Looks down at the notepad Jeongguk’s spent the past two hours scribbling on. It’s full of numbers and tiny writing and what looks like a hand-drawn honest-to-god mathematical diagram. “What?”
“I just-” Jeongguk says. He pauses, to chug down the (cold) remains of his (neglected) coffee . “I’m playing another game. With Taehyung.”
Yoongi blinks. “Then what are you doing here? Wouldn’t he be, like, waiting for you at your lovebird house with fucking flowers or candles or something?”
“But I don’t have a guess ready,” Jeongguk says, as if that’s supposed to explain everything.
Clear as fucking mud.
Yoongi narrows his eyes. “Can you do your - whatever - outside, or something? I have a shop to close.”
Jeongguk frowns up at Yoongi, then back down at his notepad. Yoongi swears the fucker is pouting. “Five more minutes?”
Yoongi stares him down. Jeongguk stares him up.
With his big fucking eyes.
Yoongi huffs, and sighs, and decides five minutes aren't a big deal, anyway.
“Keep it to five, or I’ll whoop your ass,” he peers over at Jeongguk’s notepad.
2^n: 2, 4, 8, 16, 32, 64
-1 -1 -2 -6 -21
0 x 2 + 1, 1 x 2 + 1, 2 x 2 + 2, 3 x 2 +4, 4 x 2 + 3
1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13
an = 1/2(n)(n + 1) - (n - 2)
+0 +2 +4 +7 +6
2n - 31
It’s...math.
Instantly Yoongi regrets looking. “What the fuck is this? 2n - 31? Wasn’t that a girl group?”
Jeongguk’s pout (it’s definitely a pout now, what a goddamn stupid baby) deepens. “I need to get a pattern out of this. 1, 3, 6, 10, 11. But I’m only good at the boring kind of math.”
“The fuck?” Yoongi says. “Isn’t Taehyung an art teacher? Why’s he making you do math?”
“Hell if I know, Taehyung’s the smart one.” Jeongguk pauses. “Don’t tell him I said that.”
Yoongi stares, and frowns, and just maybe softens a little bit.
“Whatever. Take your five minutes and go.”
—☕️→
Taehyung greets Jeongguk with gusto that night, materialising by the door to give Jeongguk a tight flying kiss-hug and the cup of Cypher Pt. 3 a near death experience.
As Jeongguk twists his arm in possibly the most acrobatic movement he’s ever made - possibly breaking body speed records, probably rearranging tendons, but definitely saving the coffee - Taehyung pulls back and fixes him with a sharp stare.
“You’re so late,” Taehyung scolds.
“Sorry, Tae,” Jeongguk says. He leans in and kisses Taehyung again. “I’m home now.”
“What took you so long?” Taehyung chides, tucking his head into Jeongguk’s neck to deliver a good nuzzle. “It’s too peaceful here without you. I could almost hear myself think.”
Jeongguk leans into the touch, wrapping his Cypherless arm around Taehyung’s waist. “Should I have stayed out, then?”
“Dumb bitch,” Taehyung says. He stays a little longer, then detaches himself from Jeongguk - leaving one hand, of course, to take the Cypher Pt. 3. “Take off your shoes and come in already. And tell your boss if he holds you back one more time, I’ll stalk him down and strangle him with my shoelaces. Then feed the body to roaches, or whatever else eats human trash.”
Jeongguk laughs, and takes off his shoes. And waits until Taehyung is a safe distance into the apartment to release his admission.
“Um,” Jeongguk says, as offhandedly as he physically can. “It wasn’t my boss this time. I just got a little carried away solving your tie mystery.”
Taehyung freezes mid-step (and mid-sip), and swivels back around.
“What?”
Jeongguk puts on his most sheepish apologetic oopsie-daisy smile, desperately hoping he can look sweet enough to trigger some shred of protective instinct in Taehyung.
Boyfriends protect each other, right? No killing or roaches involved. Jeongguk is about 40% sure of that.
“Jeongguk,” Taehyung says, sounding just about ready to personally spit hot coffee down Jeongguk’s windpipe. “You’ve been gone, like, five hours more than usual.”
(Maybe 30%.)
“Uh,” Jeongguk says. “Yeah?”
“Are you actually stupid?” Taehyung frowns. “I missed you. Don’t make me miss you for dumbfuck bullshit like this.”
“Sorry. It was an accident. Lost track of time."
“Fuck you.”
“I won’t do it again,” Jeongguk says. “Promise. And I’ll let you call me bebe.”
Taehyung huffs, and sits down on the couch.
“Get over here and tell me your new guess and maybe I’ll forgive you.” A pause, then an afterthought, with maybe a sliver of a smile. “Bebe.”
Jeongguk lets out a breath. He complies.
Locks the door behind him and heads in to where Taehyung is. Settles on the couch, numbers and theories whirling in his head.
"So?" Taehyung says.
“It’s your birthday,” Jeongguk blurts out. “Isn’t it?”
Taehyung blinks. “Oh, really? Funny how I thought that was on December 30th my whole life.”
“No,” Jeongguk smiles. “The pattern. You started on the 1st, my birthday. But then you add 1, for the first number in your birthday, 1230, and then an extra one because people age by a year every birthday. Then you get 3. Then the next day is the 6th, like, you add 2 from 1230, and an extra 1 again. It’s that, isn’t it? Just like you to throw in something like birthdays.”
“What the fuck,” Taehyung starts laughing. “Say that again.”
“Your birthday numbers, 1230, that’s the key to the-” Jeongguk stops, as Taehyung breaks into full-out guffaws and he collapses onto Jeongguk in a mess of shaking laughter.
"You're so fucking cute," Taehyung says. "What the fuck?"
That’s a wrong, Jeongguk supposes. But then again-
“Don’t play dumb,” Jeongguk frowns. “I’ll know when you wear your tie on the 13th.”
←☕️—
It continues like this:
That night. Jeongguk’s birthday. September 1st.
He and Taehyung stacked in a sweaty pile on the bed, wine drunk and thankful for the weekend ahead. Jeongguk’s arm starting to lose feeling where Taehyung’s head is pillowed on it, but not quite enough that he can actually bring himself to move.
Instead, he brings his other hand up to Taehyung’s neck. Rubs at the spot he always gets aches at. Then tickles.
Taehyung snorts, and elbows into the general mass of Jeongguk’s torso.
“Stop,” Taehyung whines, the tail of his voice trailing high, the way it always does when he’s drunk. Jeongguk loves the sound.
“Move,” Jeongguk mumbles. “I can't feel my arm anymore.”
“I’ll be your arm,” Taehyung says.
“You’re not army enough.”
“Shut up, that joke is too meta to make sense.”
“Move,” Jeongguk insists.
“You ask so much of me,” Taehyung complains. But he migrates to Jeongguk’s chest instead, anyway, making a point of aligning his ear over his heart, Tarzan style. He smiles as he settles down, slotting his hand in a comfortable spot where he can smooth his fingers over Jeongguk's waist. Jeongguk stretches he de-Taehyunged arm. It prickles, but with Taehyung looking the way he does Jeongguk can’t help but smile, too. It’s wonderfully contagious.
“I love you,” Taehyung suddenly says, voice husky, tightening his hand over Jeongguk's waist.
“Love you too.”
“Liar,” Taehyung whines. “Your heartbeat didn’t change.”
Jeongguk laughs, and crooks his head to awkwardly kiss at Taehyung’s hair. “Really?”
“It didn’t,” Taehyung insists.
“Huh,” Jeongguk says. “Must be used to you by now.”
“Jeon Jeongguk,” Taehyung says. “Kim Taehyung is not someone you just get used to.”
“Y-you are.”
Taehyung laughs. “Your heartbeat changed.”
“No way,” Jeongguk says, even as he can feel the heat dusting his face.
Taehyung kisses his chest. “It’s been, what, four years? That’s too soon to get used to me.”
“Nearly five.”
“Still too soon,” Taehyung says. “Five years is not enough.”
Jeongguk laughs, and shakes his head, and wraps his arms over Taehyung and smiles.
“Isn’t it weird,” he says. “The way we met?”
Taehyung hums. “College, coffee shop, 'love at first sight'. That’s not weird, just cliché.”
“Cliché is weird,” Jeongguk pushes. “Cliché is too easy.”
Taehyung half-giggles-half-laughs, and kisses Jeongguk’s chest.
“Then maybe we were soulmates in our past life.”
A pause.
“Soulmates?” Jeongguk says.
“Yeah,” Taehyung grins. “Like all those stories. Reincarnation, past lives, you know? Or is that too cliché for you too, Mr. Edgy-Edgeworth McEdgelord?”
“Past lives,” Jeongguk laughs. “I think I like that.”
“I like that too,” Taehyung says.
“I hope there’s one where-” Jeongguk says.
“We’re space rangers?”
“-I get to marry you.”
“Oh,” Taehyung laughs, and laughs and laughs. He kisses Jeongguk’s chest again. “I’ll marry you in space. In a coffeeshop. With rap music playing.”
“You’re so lame,” Jeongguk says. “I’d rather have superpowers.”
“Superpowers?” Taehyung snorts. “And I’m the lame one?”
“It’d be cool,” Jeongguk insists. “We can have, like, matching powers.”
“You dumb fuck,” Taehyung laughs. “Matching powers? No way, mine would be better. ”
“They can still match.”
Taehyung laughs. “How about one where you actually took up writing, instead of your weird business thing?”
“Ouch,” Jeongguk says. “College course angst.”
“Then I’d get romantic poems instead of math.”
“Fuck that,” Jeongguk says. “I’ll write you hate mail.”
“In iambic parameter?”
“Fuck you, ” Jeongguk corrects. "And it's iambic pentameter."
“Fuck you back.” Taehyung laughs. “Besides, if I wanted hate I’d just go be an idol. We should have one where we're idols.”
“Then should I call you oppa?”
“Gross,” Taehyung laughs.
“Soulmate,” Jeongguk says.
“Soulmate,” Taehyung agrees.
(And it is only much later, when they’re nearly asleep but just awake enough for Taehyung to suddenly remember and squirm out of bed, that Taehyung gives Jeongguk his birthday present. It’s a photograph of them both, barely two inches big, perfectly sized to fit the locket Taehyung delivers it in.
The other half of the locket contains an almost-five-year-old receipt, carefully folded so the tail end of Taehyung’s quick-scribbled phone number and the little heart he doodled beside it are visible through the glass.
“How do you even have this?” Jeongguk says, as his eyes hover between their printed faces and the crumpled paper on the opposite side. “Didn’t you give me that receipt, years ago? How did you even-”
“Talent,” Taehyung states. “I’m a master detective, you know. As if you could hide this key evidence of a first date.”
“Huh,” Jeongguk says. He laughs. He thinks he might be crying.)
—☕️→
On the 13th of September, Jeongguk actually chokes on his orange juice, when he sees Taehyung waiting for him on the couch.
Smiling, playing some phone game, humming Jeongguk’s favourite song -
- And completely without a tie.
(This itself is a pattern, by now. Horror, frustration, resignation, Taehyung, rinse and repeat. And somehow the last bullet point always makes up for the rest.)
—☕️→
Three weeks after the start of it all, Jeongguk is close to giving up.
But still only close.
“Fucking,” he mutters, tugging at the fabric in hands. “Bitchass hell-spawn cocksucker piece of devil-”
“Jeongguk,” Taehyung laughs. “Watch your mouth. What a terrible influence you are on our hypothetical kids.”
“We can’t have kids, you know that.” Jeongguk frowns. “And blame this impossible - fucking - tie.”
It’s his own fault, to be fair, for picking one with especially slippery fabric.
(But it’s bright orange, embarrassingly bright orange even for Taehyung, and Jeongguk can’t help but want petty revenge after the shock of being still wrong yet again had him spilling coffee on his favourite shirt.)
“Ah,” Taehyung remarks. “Such is the difficulty. How to tie a tie a tie.”
Jeongguk pauses. “A tie a tie?”
“A tie a tie.”
“Why ‘tie a tie’?” Jeongguk says. “Why not just ‘tie’?”
“Why tie a tie? Obviously to wear it.”
“Stop,” Jeongguk says, flicking at Taehyung’s chin with an unoccupied finger. “You know what i mean. Why ‘tie’ twice?”
Taehyung laughs. “Because you never tie it right the first time, baby.”
Jeongguk groans, and drops the tie ends from his hands. They fall in a loose ugly amorphous sort of beginning of a knot. “Kim Taehyung, what the fuck. I’m so tired of your sh-”
“Tie- ered, you say?” Taehyung grins, quirking up his eyebrows.
Jeongguk swears he chokes right then. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Hey,” Taehyung scolds, putting his hands on Jeongguk’s cheeks. “You’re just pissed that you spilled coffee on yourself. Don’t take it out on me. I’m innocent.”
“No,” Jeongguk says. “You’re guilty. It’s your fault for wearing a tie on the 22nd - why would you wear one on the 22nd? - and right after I got my coffee, no less.” He sighs, picking up the tie for tying; trial two. “I swear I choke on coffee every morning you wear a tie different from my guesses. Is that the pattern? Me choking?”
Taehyung falls strangely quiet, for a suspiciously long second. The faintest change of expression flits over his features. “No.”
Given any other situation, Jeongguk might not have noticed.
But with the puzzle at the front of his mind and Taehyung’s face so close to his own optimizing the close monitoring of facial expressions, Jeongguk would be damned if he didn’t notice.
He's mastered the art of straw-grabbing by now, and like hell he's going to let this straw get away.
“What’s,” Jeongguk says, “with that face?”
“My face?” Taehyung says, faux innocent. “My parents gave it to me.”
“No, you-” Jeongguk squints. “Don’t tell me the pattern does have to do with me choking? On my fucking coffee?”
“Do not confuse cause and effect.”
“That’s not an answer,” Jeongguk frowns.
“If I tell you the answer, you lose,” Taehyung says.
“So it’s really something to do with that?” Jeongguk says. “What is it? Give me a hint.”
“I don’t know,” Taehyung says. “Tie my tie already.”
Jeongguk narrows his eyes. “If I tie this really well, give me a hint.”
“Hmm,” Taehyung says. "That wasn't in the rules."
"Hmm," Jeongguk says. "Make an exception."
"Hmm."
“Hmm,” Jeongguk repeats. He starts knotting the fabric again, trying to summon all his 22 days of accumulated tie knowledge and the advanced fine motor skills he’s certain he has.
“Hmm,” Taehyung says, eyes widening as Jeongguk twists the fabric in a way he’s not supposed to, but as the knot actually comes out unexpectedly well-shaped.
“Hmm!” Jeongguk concludes, as he fastens the knot with a final tugged flourish, bright orange triangle sharp against Taehyung’s collar. “Now will you give me a hint?”
Taehyung purses his lips. “It’s in this room.”
“What?”
“The key to my tie pattern is in this room.”
Jeongguk blinks. “What the fuck. Is it...me?”
Taehyung laughs. “Not really.”
“You?”
“Not really.”
“The tie?”
“Not at all.”
“The lamp?”
“Nope.”
“My shirt with the coffee stain on it?”
“No.”
“My coffee?”
Taehyung goes silent. Jeongguk’s mouth falls open.
Suddenly everything and nothing makes sense, as memories of tie-wearing Taehyungs match up with coffee in the morning, and tie-less Taehyung’s match with fucking juice, on those rare days he doesn't feel like caffeine, and nothing matches with any of the math he’s sprained-ruptured-lacerated his brain trying to do.
Taehyung: cheater, swindler, betrayer -
Now sitting before him, looking far too good for anyone to look in a bright orange tie, smiling serenely and sweetly like he hasn't just revealed that the hardest thinking Jeongguk's done, probably in his whole life, was all for naught.
“This doesn’t even make sense,” Jeongguk cries. “What the fuck?”
“Hmm,” says Taehyung.
“It’s like some cop out ending to a terrible story that was never really about this game, anyway.”
“Hmm,” repeats Taehyung.
“Why? What does coffee even have to do with ties?” Jeongguk says.
“Because,” Taehyung finally answers, a coy look spilling across his face. “You have to think big. I told you. It’s a sequel to our first game. Continuity is important, you know?"
Jeongguk blinks. Then stares. Then blinks and stares again but with more horror.
"Fuck," Jeongguk says.
“See,” Taehyung says, laughing now. “It all ties in with the big picture.”
Jeongguk shakes his head. “Shut up.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, you don’t have that authori-tie.”
“Please shut up.”
Taehyung only laughs harder, leaning forward to kiss Jeongguk sweetly. Unfittingly sweetly, for the torture he’s putting him through. “Asking nicely now? That’s my cutie.”
“That’s not a pun that works verbally,” Jeongguk mumbles.
“And you’re not a person that works from home,” Taehyung reminds, “We should get going.”
Jeongguk shakes his head. “I hate September 22nd.”
Taehyung grins annoyingly adorably. “Oh yeah, Jeongguk?”
“Yeah?”
“You guessed the pattern, but I gave you a hint,” Taehyung says. “So I can’t count you as winning.”
“But I didn’t lose,” Jeongguk says.
“Then I guess,” Taehyung announces grandly, throwing an arm around Jeongguk’s waist, “it’s a tie.”
Jeongguk groans. “I hope I tie.”