Chapter Text
Taehyung
“We’re back and going live with another caller. Go ahead, you’re live with V.” Taehyung leans back in his chair, licking his lips, waiting to hear the caller speak.
Hoseok’s voice is shy, hesitant as he begins. “H-hi, I’m Hoseok, and I’m calling about my crush…” He laughs softly. “Don’t really know what to say. I’ve never done this before.”
Taehyung smiles, leaning closer to the mic. “No worries, Hoseok, I hear that a lot. So what made you call in tonight? What’s on your mind?” He learned early on that smiling while talking emotes even over radio waves, and he wants his callers to feel at ease. He always feels so endeared to the shy callers, wants so desperately to help them.
Hoseok sighs. “I just need some advice on how to, I dunno, confess, I guess. I don’t know if that’s the right word? But I just.. I really like this guy, and we’ve been friends forever..”
“Ah, friends to lovers,” Taehyung hums. “Yes, we all love this story, don’t we, friends?” He lets out an airy laugh, twirling in his desk chair. “So you are in love with your friend—”
“—best friend,” Hoseok corrects.
“— best friend,” Taehyung repeats. “And does he listen to the show?”
“No, I don’t think so…” Hoseok’s voice trails off. Though Taehyung can’t see him, he can imagine his eyes widening in shock when he says, “But what if he does! Then he’ll know!”
“Isn’t that what you want?” Taehyung laughs. There’s a pause, and he speaks again, his voice gentler now. “Love is risky, Hoseok. It’s this weird, difficult, wonderful thing we actively choose, even when it makes us feel crazy. It’s risky, but we want it anyway. So if you’re going to tell your friend you love him, you’ve got to be ready to take the leap.”
“You’re right,” Hoseok answers quickly. “Yes. Okay. So how do I tell someone?”
“Well, tell us about him. What kind of person is he? What do you love about him? I bet you have the answer already.” Taehyung leans back in his chair, flicking the mute switch on his mic as Hoseok takes a deep breath to speak.
“People think he’s a bit tough, maybe even cold, but he’s a sweetheart. The way he lights up about good coffee and interior design. You should see him,” Hoseok laughs. “The guy goes nuts for light fixtures. He’s really thoughtful, never raises his voice, only gives advice when you ask for it. But his advice is always so wise, so perfect.”
Taehyung unmutes himself quickly. “Hey!” Taehyung laughs. “Tell him the job is already taken.”
Laughing, Hoseok continues, “He loves music and philosophy, but he also loves Kumamon and cute pajamas. He’s so comfortable with himself, and he makes me comfortable with myself. I want to be better when I’m with him. He just… pulls that out of everyone he meets.” There’s a beat of silence before Hoseok continues, this time his voice sounding smaller, more afraid. “I just don’t know how to tell him I love him.”
“Hoseok,” Taehyung says, his voice smooth and kind, “I think you already have. It’s clear you adore him. Why don’t you tell him what you told me?”
“I’m scared,” he admits.
“Of what? What would happen if you told this person you loved him? Could this person possibly feel the same way? And if he doesn’t, would he actually hurt you when he turns you down?”
“No,” Hoseok answers, his voice soft. “No, he’d be so kind about it. Like, so nice, it would break my heart, but he’d never be mean about it.”
Taehyung looks up to see the program manager, Jungkook, waving frantically outside of the booth. He gestures at the callboard, and Taehyung sees the flashing light. “Hoseok, I think we might have someone else who wants to chime in.” He clicks over to the other line. “You’re live with V, you’ve got something to say to our lovesick Hoseok?”
The voice on the other line is breathless, like they’ve just run up a flight of stairs. “Um, hi, I am Hoseok’s friend…” He clears his throat and waits.
“Sounds like we’ve got your friend on the line, Hoseok,” Taehyung says, linking the calls. “Hoseok’s friend, do you have a name?”
“It’s Yoongi,” he answers. His voice sounds small and far away.
“Yoongi,” Hoseok gasps. “You heard?”
“I did,” Yoongi answers.
Then there’s silence. An eternity of silence by radio standards, but Taehyung lets it linger for a moment. He knows the audience at home is probably salivating over this revelation. It’s not everyday that the person calling in for advice gets to talk to their person live on air. Taehyung hopes Jungkook screened this second caller thoroughly; he doesn’t want to imagine the fallout if this is a hoax call.
He’s been hosting this show for nearly a year now. He’d worked at the radio station with Jungkook as an assistant, and one day, their DJ called in sick, leaving them desperate to fill in. Jungkook insisted Taehyung step in—”just give it a try”—he’d said, shoving Taehyung toward the booth. It was a late-night show, something with obscure indie bands, and Taehyung slipped on the headphones and hosted the show for an hour in the middle of the night. The station was flooded with tweets and calls about the new DJ—the fans reveling over his velvety, deep voice, the smooth way he transitioned between songs, offering little anecdotes whenever he thought of something.
It wasn’t long before Jungkook convinced him to do a show of his own. “They seemed to like your life stories and advice,” Jungkook mused, scrolling through the tweets. “See?” He gestured at the screen, and Taehyung leaned over, curious to see what they said.
He was an instant favorite, and in a couple weeks, Jungkook had found room in the schedule on Sunday nights for Taehyung—who later named himself V on air—to give romance advice. The show picked up in popularity, and each week, he dispensed life and love advice to lonely callers lamenting missed connections, lost love, or stalemates with crushes. He loved it.
And nights like this were no exception—not when someone had just confessed their love on air only to be linked with his crush. It’s perfect.
“So Yoongi,” Taehyung says gently, “you heard what Hoseok had to say. What do you think?”
“I think he’s perfect,” Yoongi gushes. Hoseok sighs loudly into the phone, blasting Taehyung’s ears with a burst of static.
“Ah, another successful evening with V,” Taehyung sighs, grinning to himself. He looks up to see Jungkook grinning back at him from outside the booth, flashing a thumbs up. “How about you two lovebirds take this offline? But call us back in the future with an update, yeah?”
“Of course,” Hoseok agrees quickly.
“Good luck, and have fun.” Taehyung ends the call and glances at the clock. Only a few minutes remain in the show, and he loads his next song. “Why don’t we take a break with our next song and imagine those two sweetehearts running off into the sunset together? I’ll be right back for one more call.” He turns on the song and pulls off his headphones.
Jungkook opens the booth door and slips in quietly, leaning against the control board. “Well that was delightful.” His head is bowed as he looks at his phone, scrolling endlessly through Twitter. “The listeners loved that.”
“Of course they did,” Taehyung answers smugly. “Everyone loves a happy ending. Any calls on deck yet?” He turns to look at the callboard, but it’s dimmed.
“Not yet. There’s still time. Run the ads after this song and buy us a few minutes.” He slides his phone into his pocket and runs his hands through his hair with a sigh. “Might need your advice about Namjoon at some point. He’s driving me nuts.”
“Why don’t you call in and we talk about it on air?” Taehyung suggests, twirling lazily in his chair. He cues the ads to play after the song and turns his attention back to Jungkook. “We can mask your voice if you want. Might be fun to talk to someone I know.”
Grimacing, Jungkook shakes his head. “No way. I can’t do that. I’ll be such a mess and give myself away. You know what they say, the taller they are, the harder they fall. And I’m pretty tall.”
Taehyung groans. “I think the expression is ‘the bigger they are’.”
Laughing, Jungkook replies, “Yeah, but I wasn’t about to call myself big. Besides, Namjoon is taller than me, and he’s gotten pretty buff lately too...” His voice trails off as his eyes drift toward the ceiling, a dreamy look washing over him.
Taehyung scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You’re enormous, Koo. But okay.” He slides his headphones back on and licks his lips. “Looks like we’ve got a caller. Go screen ‘em and we’ll wrap this up.”
“On it,” he says, saluting quickly before slipping out of the booth.
“Alright, lovebirds,” Taehyung croons, coming back on air. “Hope you’re all feeling warm and fuzzy about our latest couple. How’s everyone feeling? We’ve got one more call this evening, so let’s go.” He clicks over to the flashing light, connecting the call.
“You’re live with V. How are ya? What brings you here tonight?” He fiddles with the pen on the counter, drawing loopy circles on his notepad. He knows better than to expect anything as exciting as the last call. Those moments are rare and impossible to duplicate.
“Hi.”
“Hi there, don’t be shy,” Taehyung says, putting on his friendliest voice. The show’s nearly over, and he doesn’t have the patience to coax a story out of a dud caller. He shoots a withering glance at Jungkook who motions for him to keep talking. “Who’s calling?”
There’s a pause then a small laugh. “Hi, um, yeah, hi. I’m Jimin.”
Suddenly, Taehyung feels the blood rush to his ears—like the feeling of a rogue wave crashing on him, tugging him into the undertow. Jimin.
He would know that voice anywhere—the unmistakable breathiness, the laughter like the tinkling of bells. He can even picture his mouth—plush and pink, curved in a near-permanent pout—can picture the way he’s cradling the phone against his ear. It’s easy to imagine him lying in bed, lying on his stomach, feet crossed in the air behind him. The familiar image makes Taehyung’s heart ache.
How many times had he come home, cranky and tired, only to see Jimin’s face cupped in his hand, humming and nodding to himself as he flipped through a magazine, beaming when he saw Taehyung walk through the door? Too many times to count, but now the memory feels far away, hazy in the details he can’t imagine now. Is he alone? Who’s beside him in that bed these nights?
Taehyung swallows the lump in his throat and looks at Jungkook again, eyes wide and he mouths what the fuck? Jungkook shrugs, feigning cluelessness, and motions for him to keep going.
“Hi Jimin, you’re on air with V. What can I help you with tonight?” He hopes his voice sounds steady, that the flutter—no, the thrashing—inside his chest isn’t evident in his voice. Jungkook is going to pay for this.
“I’m calling about my ex,” he says. His voice is flat, no hint of emotion, and Taehyung feels like he’s squinting at an undeveloped photo, unable to make out the shape of Jimin’s face, what he must look like as he speaks into the phone.
“Hmm,” Taehyung hums, feeling too blindsided to put together anything more coherent. “Go on.”
He hesitates for a moment before answering. “Well… What do you do if you can’t get over him?” There’s a lift at the end of Jimin’s question, a bright note of hope that Taehyung wants to grab before it disappears, hold it close and see if it’s real.
Exhaling sharply, Taehyung leans back from the mic, resting his hands on his head. What do you do if you can’t get over him? It’s the question Taehyung has carried with him for six months now, like some fragile package he has to tote with him day to day. He doesn’t know what would happen if he didn’t carry it with him anymore.
The breakup their friends knew of had been messy—knock-down, drag out messy, the kind that made friends choose sides. It was childish, really, the way they broke up: a public drunken argument that expanded into days of silent treatment, quiet mornings of tearful apologies and the admission that maybe this isn’t working anymore.
What they didn’t tell their friends is that they broke up quietly—not with a bang, but a whimper—and somehow that made it worse. Their friends speculated about Taehyung and Jimin’s relationship, every intricate detail, trying to piece together in hindsight when and how they fell apart.
But it was simple: they hurt each other, then they said goodbye.
A simple breakup, but one that left a gaping wound in Taehyung’s heart—the kind that people write overwrought ballads about, the cheesy love songs of pining and angst he plays every Sunday on his show.
Only Jungkook knew the truth about how badly Taehyung missed Jimin. Only Jungkook knew how Taehyung blew off blind dates and wallowed around his apartment, unwilling to go out and socialize. After a month of Taehyung’s misery, Jungkook finally asked him to spill it, and Taehyung did, revealing how he still missed Jimin, hated the idea of going out and bumping into him somewhere—happy and carefree, someone else holding him close, nose tucked into his ear, whispering something to make him laugh. He couldn’t bear the thought.
So it makes sense that Jungkook would patch Jimin through, eyebrows raised in expectation as he watches Taehyung take the call. Other than Taehyung himself, Jungkook might be the only other person on earth rooting for the two of them to get back together.
Clearing his throat, Taehyung finally replies, “It can be hard to get over someone you once loved. Why don’t you tell me more about this person?”
There’s hesitation in Jimin’s voice, a deep breath giving him away before he speaks. “We were best friends. Now we’re nothing. I think that’s the hardest part? He’s beautiful and stubborn—” (Taehyung chuckles softly, grateful to be muted) “—and really thoughtful but careless all at once? I don’t know. He’s… complicated. But isn’t everyone?”
“Hmm,” Taehyung hums in agreement. “Yes, love is complicated. People are complicated.” Taehyung leans toward the mic, wishing he were tucked in a dark booth somewhere with Jimin, his face shadowy in a candle-lit room so he could lean into him, hear his voice, feel his breath against his ear. He looks up to see Jungkook waving and pointing to his watch.
“Jimin, I’m afraid we’re out of time, but stay on the line. We’ll get your information so we can follow up next Sunday night. Tune in next week to hear more from lovesick Jimin. I’ll leave you all with this track, and I’ll see you next week.” Taehyung clicks the song, mutes his mic, pulls off his headphones, and pushes back from the counter, standing quickly. He paces the booth, hands on his head, face twisted in a grimace. He hates ending the show so abruptly, but with any luck, Jimin is still on the line, waiting for him.
Grabbing his coat off the back of the chair, Taehyung gathers the rest of his things from the booth and makes his way to Jungkook’s station. “What the fuck, Jungkook?” he hisses, approaching him.
Jungkook holds up a hand to silence Taehyung, nodding along with the phone cradled against his ear. “And can we get your number? We can contact you directly for more—” He pauses, frowning. “Might be easier if we had your num—okay, okay. Yeah, just call in again, and we’ll try to get you through. Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He sighs, hanging up the phone. “He wouldn’t leave a number.”
Taehyung’s heart drops. It would be a lie to say he didn’t hope to get Jimin’s number so he could call him in private. “Okay, well,” he chews his lip, looking at the floor. “Fine. We’ll talk next week then.” Brushing his bangs out of his eyes, he shoots Jungkook a tired look. “Do you think the listeners even care?”
Scoffing, Jungkook nods at his computer monitor. “Already blowing up our phone line. They like Jimin’s voice.” He clicks the mouse, scrolling around, pointing at some of the tweets. “People say they like your voices together. Think we can make this a regular thing?”
Groaning, Taehyung smacks Jungkook. “No, you're not going to milk this for some programming goal. Come on.”
“If people are interested and he’s going to call back… why not?” Jungkook closes out the window and starts shutting down his equipment. “Hopefully he’ll call.”
Taehyung can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at Jungkook’s interest in the call—that somehow the show is more compelling than Taehyung’s own emotions. How could he let him be blindsided by a call from his ex? No matter how he words it, Taehyung knows he’ll sound too angry, too emotional to make any sense.
Sighing, he says, “I’m going home. Don’t pull that shit on me again.” Taehyung frowns, pulling on his jacket. “Please,” he says, voice softer now.
Jungkook’s eyes widen, his expression softening. “Oh, Tae, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”
Waving him off, Taehyung makes his way to the door, pausing for a moment. “Maybe something good will come out of it. Maybe not.” He shrugs and leaves, pulling the door shut behind him.
After most shows, Taehyung travels home feeling lighter, a bit more hopeful about the world. He’s no love expert, just someone eager to hear about others and their own romances. He’s a good listener, and usually his callers figure things out on their own. They just need a little nudge. Most nights after the show ends, he feels like he’s made a small difference in someone’s life, and it makes him happy.
But tonight? He feels out of sorts, like someone’s picked him up and shaken him like a snowglobe, his mind fuzzy and unclear. Jimin’s voice on the line had unmoored him, making him suddenly feel like he did six months ago when they broke up: alone on an open sea, the dark sky impossible to navigate without any light.
When Taehyung gets home, he’s feeling restless and desperate to hear from Jimin. After a shower, he settles into bed, scrolling through his phone for any trace of him. After their break-up, he’d deleted all of Jimin’s contact information—not even a scrap of social media existed on his phone or in his memory. What he wants more than anything is to scroll through Jimin’s photos, make himself heartsick zooming in on the snapshots of his perfect life without him.
He searches Instagram—nothing. Twitter—nothing. Tries sending a text to a number he half-remembers, only to get the wrong number. He’ll have to wait until next week if he wants to hear Jimin’s voice again, and the prospect of another seven days makes his chest burn.
Sighing, he tosses his phone on the bedside table and stares at the ceiling fan, eyes following the slow turn of the blades. His mind wanders to a happier time, one of many memories of Jimin, naked and warm in this bed, smelling of lilac soap. It was so easy then to be together, to spend hours in bed, tongues licking along jawlines and collarbones, hands kneading at supple skin along hipbones and thighs.
Though it was months ago, Taehyung can still remember how Jimin tastes, how his kisses left him breathless and wanting. The feeling of Jimin’s small hands wrapped around Taehyung’s cock is forever imprinted in his memory, the image of Jimin’s dark eyes looking up at him through dark lashes.
It’s too embarrassing to admit how easy it is for Taehyung to slip his hand into his shorts, to palm at his half-hard length, imagining Jimin’s hips grinding against his own, the fevered whimpers escaping his lips.
Like a tender, painful bruise he can’t help but touch, Taehyung imagines Jimin with him in bed—his lithe body rutting against his own, the hungry way Jimin would grab at Taehyung, bite him anywhere he could leave a mark.
If he closes his eyes and concentrates, Taehyung can picture Jimin in his bed—the way the light of a streetlamp would catch on all his angular features, awash in golden light. Can picture Jimin’s body on top of his own, can feel the weight of him against his hips. Taehyung grips himself tighter, wanting to hold onto this feeling—this feeling that Jimin is still with him, desperate and wanting him like this, that the hand he’s wrapped around himself belongs to Jimin, that each stroke is Jimin’s hand working its way up his swollen cock.
Heat pools in Taehyung’s gut, and if he tries hard enough, he can imagine the way Jimin would lick his lips, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he works his hand up and down along Taehyung’s length. Can imagine the way he’d whisper Come on, Taehyung, you look so pretty as he strokes over and over.
And when Taehyung comes, spilling over his hand, dampening his shorts, he’s alone again—the image of Jimin vanishes, the harsh reality of a cold, empty bed so goddamn bleak, Taehyung has to bite back a sob.